Daylight was becoming precious. With each day of winter that passed the days were giving less and less of their love to the sun. Cold air wrapped around her, air cold enough to make her skin tighten painfully. Pulling the inadequate shawl across her chest, she fought the shiver creeping up her spine.

California air never got this bitter, at least no in Los Angeles. The air was temper mental, much like the starlets that soaked it in, but rarely was it ever cruel. The air here could be a bitch. Mean and hormonal her breezes gathered strength over the river and stole air from the lungs of those caught unawares.

Regardless of the chill and the breeze and the dying light, she remained in her spot. Her spot was the balcony off the master bedroom, her favorite place in the house. The new house she hadn't thought or knew she wanted until it hers.


Four weeks, give or take, this would be the place her child would call home. One hand began a slow circuit of her belly as her thoughts began to drift towards the changes about to come.

Once around, twice around, half-way through the third rotation her hand faltered. A warm presence filled her. An even warmer hand placed itself over her stilled one. Two heartbeats passed and the hand over hers began to slowly help her find its path once again.

Leaning back, sharing the weight, she let her eyes close. This was the reason she had braved the cold, the air distracting her from the lure of a soft bed and thick nap. In the instant his hand cupped her ever growing breasts; thoughts of naps were gone, replaced by the heavy ache of desire. Gods, but he knew how to touch her.

Pressing her face into his neck, the soft hairs behind his ear tickled her nose, she smiled. How she had missed him these past weeks. Not that she could or would tell him, it was still a fact.

Enjoying the rich scent of him, a perfect blend of cologne and java, her musings were interrupted by a moan, hers apparently. Naughty hands were doing things to her nipple.

How she was ready to play. Teeth sought skin; she bit down on his earlobe, tit for tat. The responding pinch to the underside of her breast, always a sensitive spot, made her gasp.

"Perhaps," that voice in her ear did things to her; always had. Rocking her hips twice, she was happy to discover what she did to him.

"Perhaps we should take this inside," his voice was tighter this time, strained. Good, let him suffer as she was, his retribution would only be to her benefit.

Maybe it wasn't wise to provoke him, but she was Sydney Bristow. Smiling, she replaced words with a long lick across his neck.

"Sydney…" the consonants and vowels were a threat, a promise.

Untangling her body from his lacked any of her usual grace, but she was aroused and he was her relief. Eagerly she moved forward, having only taken two small steps before his hand caught her elbow. Once again she found herself sharing her burden.

Ever the gentleman, he led her to the French doors, ushering her in with the sweep of his hand. Smiling, she crossed the threshold, the warmth of the room a wonderful welcome.

Dropping her shawl, ignoring his smirk she was certain was aimed towards her, how he enjoyed reprimanding her on the 'atrocious treatment' of her garments. When her top followed, it was her turn to smirk. Turning, she took in his dark eyes and tight jaw, his habits didn't seem to be a bother now at all.

Before her hands could reach for her skirt, he was there. Hands, lips, and teeth began relearning the shape of her body. From his knees he looked up at her, letting her see just how much, how much of everything was in them. Cupping his cheeks, thumbs dragging over the crooked line of his lip, she felt her stomach flip and twist.

These moments, slivers of time that caught them were the one of the few things that was real to her anymore; his eyes, her hands, their skin, each thing more real to her than the days and weeks of life in between the right now.

Somewhere, someone had drawn a line. A thick, black line and she was standing on it, hovering so close to the edge, she was certain this time she would fall over. Could she do it? Could she cross that line and not look back?

As though he sensed her doubt, her confusion, he pulled them back from the place of eyes and questions. One finger strategically placed on her clit and all manner of thought that didn't pertain to his body near hers, was gone.

All was as it should be.

Hours later, the fire that had roared proudly found itself living as ashes. Through eyes, thick with sleep she studied his face. Lying still in sleep, he looked younger than he would have liked, she smiled.

As wonderful as their sex was, and the intense connection of the moments before their couplings, it was these quiet moments that she treasured the most. These moments she felt the most like the Sydney she had left behind. Staring at her lover as he slept, memorizing the cut and angles of the face that would later star in her innocent and not so innocent thoughts. It was such a wonderfully girlie thing to so.

Sleep would not be hers tonight. Satiated, warm, and resting comfortably on her side, she should have been lost in dreams. Instead she was fully awake now, in every way. Tracing the shell of his ear with one finger, she smiled wider as his head shifted away from her touch. Propping her head up on one hand, she let her eyes travel the length of him. 'Delicious'

Trading ear for cock, she slipped her hand over the length of him. Base to tip, and back again, she stroked. Hard tugs and light scratches, she took from him what she wanted. She wanted his first waking thought to be of sex, of her. She wanted him hard and ready.

Beneath her hand he twitched, at least one of her demands was being met. Her eyes slid up to his face and she was surprised by the blue eyes that met her there. With an arched eyebrow, he sent her a smirk that sent sparks of desire straight to her swelling clit.

Not for the first time, she cursed the timing of their rendezvous. Were it not for the massive stomach she was currently burdened with, she would have straddled him, sinking onto his cock, riding him until that smirk faded. Behind closed eyes the image played out, in response, her hands and fingers moved faster, harder.

"Stop…Sydney…" a strong hand wrapped around her wrist, halting her actions. Opening her eyes, she found him studying her. Whatever he saw in her face, must have pleased him and not for the first time, she wondered if he had some Rambaldi installed telepathy.

"Roll over," the request was heeded instantly. On her left side, she slipped the pillow he handed her under her stomach, back arching slightly as his fingers traced her spine.

"Mmm..." Kisses were pressed into her shoulder, distracting her from the fingers that were pressing into her buttock. Lifting and bending her leg, she let it rest on his, her hand grabbed for purchase when his fingers slipped into her.

She was wet, so very wet, swollen from their earlier round and she sensed the hesitation in his touches. Digging her fingers into his scalp, she raked her nails across the scalp.

Tender touches would be for another time, she needed him inside of her right now, "Sark…Please…" she was not above begging it seemed and when had he ever been able to resist the request of a Bristow?

Against her ass, she felt his hand guide his cock into her. Opening her legs wider, she moaned when he finally slid into her. The angle was awkward, but they were limited in their choice of positions at this point.

Besides, such as they were, he could do that, "fuck," with his hands, and that "mmphmh…," with his tongue.

He handled her body without mercy, twisting and pulling at her clit, angling his hips just right, she felt her insides clench, she was close. Her hand was still clutching at his head, and she pulled it away from her breast, she wanted his tongue on hers when she came.

"Ungh…" lights exploded behind her eyes, her orgasm washing over, fast and furious. Moaning into his mouth, she felt him smile around her mouth. Bastard, she had started this between them and he had finished it in record time and he knew it.

His hand slid to her thigh, leaving behind a shiny trail, and lifted her leg. With loose limbs and tingling skin, she let him have his way with her, pressing her fingers into his scalp, tangling her tongue with his, anything she could do to return what he had given her.

Perhaps it was enough, small gestures that would never make the final cut on one of Weiss' 'special videos', but she felt him thrust deeply, fingers pressing into her leg hard enough to bruise and she smiled. Something was definitely right.

His body had arched against her back; his lips fell slack against hers as he rode his own orgasm. Pressing small kisses onto his mouth and chin, she felt his body go limp before it fell back onto the bed.

Laughing, she settled back into his arms, if only he knew how he looked at this very moment.

"Should I be worried?" Patting his thigh, she felt his lips press a kiss into her hair.

"No. It's just sometimes it all still catches me off guard," and that was the truth. Even now months after his initial visit, she still finds herself in awe of this, connection that has grown between them.

"I see," maybe he wanted to say more, maybe not, but sleep was calling her now and she was ready to accept it. Tugging at the covers, she pulled them up, glad when he took over. It seemed her limbs were done with moving at this moment.

Sighing, she stilled the hand that was tracing poems on her hip; she pulled it over the swell of her belly and covered it with her own. Not that she could or would admit it, but she was glad that he was here, now, and more importantly in the coming morning.

Dawn had broken some minutes ago. He was nearing the completion of his run, a habit that had been hers first, he adjusting his breathing, readying him for the final sprint, the last leg that would take him back. Back to the warmth, back to her.

Early morning runs had been her thing, he had preferred the late afternoon, it was one of the many things he had learned from her file when he had been working for her mother.

Running as he was now, across their beach, he found himself eager to be finished. His time here was not about solitude. Pushing his legs harder, counting off the steps as he went, he tried not to think about why he still came.

In all their time together, she had never asked why he came and he had never asked why she let him in. It simply was. They simply were.

The why's and when's, the reasons, if you prefer, were left silent. Stories, ideas, thoughts, like and dislikes were shared. It felt to him as though they were two people trapped, unsure as to whether or not there was hope of rescue, and clinging to person closest, the person most likely to understand.

He was nearing the completion of his run, adjusting his breathing; he readied himself for the final sprint, the last leg that would take him back. Back to the warmth, back to her.

Stretched out before him, the shoreline turned to the left and the house came into view. Structurally sound, it stood three stories high on several acres of prime river front property.

He never questioned the impulse that had gone into buying the land; he simply found the renting of any place to be a waste. When he had brought her here for the first time, he had helped her from the car, reading the question in her eyes, that she would never ask, he simply handed her the keys.

With an arched eyebrow and a ghost of a smile, she had closed her hands around the metal and headed up the pathway to the front door. Leaning back on the hood of his car, he had allowed her time alone; time to see and touch and wonder at it all, as he knew she would want to do.

Memories were wrapping themselves up in the present. Instead of a bitter winter wind on his face, he felt the calming breeze of autumn. Quietly he had stood, waiting for her.

Minutes fell forward and it was in the very moment before he made the decision to follow her, that he caught his first glimpse of her. A dark silhouette on the white balcony, seeking him out, and for one impossible moment their eyes met. Neither a breath nor a thought passed until one slender arm extended towards him. There was no force greater on Earth than the one generated by the welcoming flick of her wrist.

Pulled from the past by the wail of the gulls overhead, his eyes fell towards the house. Again she stood waiting and when she was certain his eyes saw nothing but her, she reached for him.

Pushing harder, he made quick work of the distance between them. Eager for shelter, he welcomed her hands as they urged blood back into his fingers. Catching her arm before she could head towards the scream of the kettle, he pressed a kiss to hand that had slipped into his, paying close attention to the faint blue veins in her wrist, how he coveted them.

Not that he could or would tell her that, but it was still a fact.