SUMMARY:  Sydney and Weiss put a few things on the table.  Set mid-season three, before Lauren broke out The Eyeliner of Evil.  This is a Fan the Vote story, written for Em.

DISCLAIMER:  Jabrams owns these guys, though he seems less and less certain what to do with them.  Still, no copyright infringement intended -- fair use.

THANKS:  To all the people who encouraged me not to drop this story -- Lu and Em especially.

It ended badly in Ireland, and Sydney didn't have time to talk to Weiss after they touched down in Los Angeles.  They'd messed up badly enough to get a fellow agent hurt, even if they recovered the manuscript they'd been sent in to get.  None of them got any sleep on the flight back, and they were running on pure adrenaline and anger by the time they arrived back in the States.

Weiss had been in charge of the field op, so he'd gone in for debriefing, while Sydney accompanied Anderson to the hospital.  Two hours later, Anderson's compound fracture was reset and he'd slipped into unconsciousness.  When his wife showed up, Syd headed home by way of the liquor store.

One quick call to her father later and she pulled into the parking lot, walked right past her own door, and knocked on Weiss's.

Weiss looked like hell when he opened the door -- tense, bruised, and unsmiling.  "Hey."

"You're not asleep, are you?" Sydney asked.  He was still dressed in his black camis, but he'd stripped down to a rumpled white undershirt.

Weiss didn't blink.  "Do I look it?"

Syd held the tequila up.  "I come bearing gifts."

A moment's indecision, and then Weiss cracked a tired smile.  "Who am I to turn away a beautiful woman and a bottle of tequila?"  He swung open the door and stepped back, sweeping one hand out in invitation.

Despite her own lingering tension and worry, Syd found herself grinning up at him as she slipped past him and into his apartment.  "Good choice."

"I'll get glasses," Weiss said, taking the proffered bottle and disappearing into the kitchen.

She hesitated in the hallway, shrugging out of her leather jacket and hanging it on the coat rack.  When Weiss didn't reappear, she followed him into the large kitchen and slid into one of the wooden chairs.  He was rummaging through the cabinets, his back to her, and she scanned his form, making sure he hadn't really been injured.  She'd found him on the floor, breathing hard, but he'd insisted that he'd just tripped.  No injuries.  Concentrate on Anderson, Syd.  He's injured, not me.

Weiss turned and stopped short, seemingly surprised that she'd made herself comfortable in the kitchen.  Quirking an eyebrow, he asked, "You hungry?"

Syd considered the question, then wrinkled her nose.  "Not really.  But I should probably eat something."

Weiss placed two heavy glass tumblers, a dish of lime wedges, and a salt shaker on the table in front of Sydney.  "I have some lasagna.  Made it last night."  He paused in the act of twisting off the cap of the tequila bottle.  "Night before last, I guess."

Sydney helpfully slid the glasses toward Weiss, inhaling the sharp scent of the tequila.  "Gets confusing after a while," she said absently.  "All the traveling.  I lose days sometimes."

Weiss froze for a second, then jerked the bottle up, grimacing at the amount he'd poured into one of the tumblers.  "Oops."

He turned away, pulling the lasagna from the fridge and heading towards the oven.

Syd swallowed an annoyed comment and reached for the salt shaker.  She was so sick of the way everyone acted when anyone made a reference to time passing.  They'd freeze, everyone stealing glances at her to see if this time she'd react.  Every single time it happened, she had to swallow the urge to scream.

After a quick lick of salt, Syd slammed the shot, wincing until she sucked some lime juice to cool her tongue.  Eyes closed, she savored the sudden warmth in her belly, then glanced over at Weiss, who'd joined her at the table.

"It's been six months," she pointed out carefully.

Weiss frowned at her around the lime wedge in his mouth.

"I've been back six months," she clarified.

Weiss nodded and popped the wedge out, abandoning it on the table beside hers.  "I know."  The expression on his face was wary, and he studied her as if afraid she was going to snap.

So she did.  "I wish everyone would stop walking on eggshells around me."  She slammed a fist into the table, setting the glasses to rattling.  "I've had six months to adjust.  To everything.  I'm fine, and I wish everyone would stop--"

"Caring?" Weiss challenged.

Sydney glared at him.  "No.  Pitying me.  I don't need to be pitied.  I don't want pity."

Weiss leaned back, crossing his arms.  "Who's pitying you?"

"Vaughn," Syd answered with a bitter little chuckle.  "And Lauren."  She met Weiss's gaze defiantly.  "And you."

Weiss narrowed his eyes, then snagged her glass and pulled it over to his side of the table to refill.  "I don't pity you."

"Sure, you do," Syd scoffed.

"No," he said, sliding her tumbler back to her with so much force, some tequila sloshed out onto her hands when she stopped it.  "I don't."

Sydney took a deep breath, trying to rein herself in.  "I don't blame you, Weiss.  Really.  It's just that--"  She stopped, glanced around the kitchen, fighting the restless urge to pace.  "I'm not still pining for Vaughn."  She met his gaze.  "I'm not.  Sometimes it still hurts, but not because I want him back.  I just..."  With a shrug, she said, "Sometimes I wonder what could've been."

Weiss studied her for a long moment.  "I don't believe that," he answered, breaking her gaze to pour himself a considerable shot.  "And I don't pity you."

Syd wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that caused the sudden flare of her temper, but she was furious.  "Please, Weiss," she scoffed, her voice heavy with sarcasm.  "I see the way you look at me.  You watch me all the time.  You look at me like you're just waiting for me to fall apart."

Weiss very nearly choked on his mouthful of tequila, but managed to swallow it.  Syd knew him well enough to recognize just how angry she'd made him.  He skipped the lime altogether and stood, shoving the chair back so hard it bounced into the wall.  "I better check the lasagna."

Remorse flooded Sydney, and she reached out and touched his arm.  "I'm sorry.  Really.  I appreciate the way you watch out for me--"

"No," he countered, shrugging out of her grasp.  "You don't."

"Weiss--"

He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, his back to her.  "You don't have any idea--"  He shook his head and reached for the oven, pulling it open with hard, angry motions.  Absently she noted that he wasn't moving like an injured man.  Perhaps he had been telling the truth in Ireland.

Standing, Sydney took two steps toward him, unsure if she should reach for him again.  "I'm sorry, Weiss.  I don't want to fight with you."

He didn't seem to have heard her.  "I do watch you, Sydney, but if you think it's because I'm waiting for you to fall apart, if you think it's because I pity you, you're insane."  He glanced over and held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away.  "Food's ready."

Shocked, Syd couldn't quite muster a response, so she simply nodded her head, knowing he'd catch the movement in his peripheral vision.  Silently, she moved to the cabinets and pulled down two plates.  She'd spent enough time with Weiss at his place that she knew where everything was.  She knew him pretty well, now, too, but he couldn't possibly have meant what she thought he did.

Could he?

Weiss kept his back to her, slicing the lasagna with quick, sure strokes.  Syd placed the plates carefully in front of their chairs, noting with some surprise that her hands were shaking.  She slid into her seat, pressing her palms flat against the cool wood tabletop.  Inhaling slowly, she decided to blame her sudden nervousness on the alcohol.

Weiss couldn't... he didn't think of her like that.  He didn't.

Did he?

Silverware clattered onto the table and Syd jumped, her gaze shifting automatically to Weiss.  His brow furrowed a little, and he looked more than a little rattled.  "You okay?"

She forced herself to nod, made herself smile.  "Sure."

He relaxed visibly, the anger melting away, leaving a bashful expression on his face.  He held out the lasagna like a gift of penance.  "I'm sorry, Syd.  I shouldn't have yelled."

"It's fine," she assured him, even as she reached for the tequila. Liquid courage would serve her well.  It wouldn't help her to figure out if he...  But it would help her sudden nerves.

Weiss gave her a crooked grin.  "Doesn't really go with the lasagna," he said, taking the bottle from her to pour them each another shot anyway.  His hands were perfectly steady.

Syd found herself watching him with new eyes, examining the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he looked at her.  His eyes were warm when he lifted his glass in a jaunty salute.  "Na zdorovye."

Sydney smiled, dropping her gaze to her own glass.  Why not?  She slammed it, wincing as the tequila cleared her sinuses and started her eyes watering.  The warmth in her stomach radiated out, and she was flushed, hot, her limbs heavy.

"You should eat something," Weiss told her, sliding the serving plate toward her.

Obediently, Sydney snagged a piece and dropped it messily onto her plate.  The aroma was surprisingly enticing, and Syd dug in with relish.  Some sauce dripped down her chin, dribbling onto her shirt, and she dropped her fork.  "Ooops."

Weiss watched her, the hint of a smile lingering about his lips.

"What?" she asked, embarrassed.

"Nothing," he answered, smiling now.  "I just don't understand how someone so graceful can be such a klutz."

She favored him with a crooked shrug.  "We all have our flaws."

If she hadn't been watching him so closely, searching for any sign of... impartiality... she would've missed the way his smile wavered just before he said, "You?  Have flaws?  I don't believe it."

He was joking.  Just like always.  Good, dependable, funny Weiss, providing sardonic remarks in any situation.  Syd knew she could smile back at him, start a playful argument about her flaws.  She could even predict how it would go -- he'd feign disbelief, and then she'd provide an example of her klutziness, or her moronic moments, and he'd counter with scenes from Life of a Super Spy, the comic book he'd joked about writing to catalogue her illustrious career.  They'd one up each other until she was laughing and crying at the same time, just like they'd done dozens of times before.

Everything would be the same.

But she'd seen something in his expression, something in the way he looked at her, and suddenly "the same" didn't sound so appealing.

When she looked across the table, Weiss was watching her a little warily.  She'd waited too long to answer.

Syd pushed her half-eaten lasagna away, the plate sliding loudly across the table in the sudden thick silence.  Inhaling slowly, as if bracing herself for a blow, Syd said, "One of my flaws is--"  It was harder than she'd expected -- what if she'd read him wrong?  "Sometimes," she continued, "I can be too focused on work, on unraveling the mystery of what happened to me."

She saw the quip die on Weiss's lips -- he never joked about her missing time.  With a slightly puzzled look, he nodded and said, "That's understandable."

"Maybe," Syd allowed with a small shrug.  "But it has a tendency to make me blind to other things."  She held her breath until he spoke.

"That's not so bad," Weiss answered, his tone light.  "In certain circumstances, it could even be a plus."

He was deflecting her words with humor.  "Weiss--"

"For instance," he yammered on, talking faster now, an anxious look on his face, almost as if he knew where she was going with this, "I wouldn't mind being blind to LA traffic.  Sure, it would make the drive home challenging, but--"

"Eric."

He stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he snapped it shut.  "Syd," he said, a little bit of desperation in his voice.

"What?" she asked gently.

He looked positively pole-axed as he struggled for a reply.

"What you said before," she started, "about--"

"You really are a klutz," he blurted.  "I don't know how you manage to keep it under control on missions, but here in LA?  Total klutz.  Remember--"

"Eric," she said, exasperated, but she was laughing a little, too.  Not an uncommon combination when she was with Weiss.  "Not about that."

He popped out of his seat like a Jack-in-the-box.  "Are you done eating?" he asked, grabbing her plate before she could answer.

She watched him at the sink, fussing over the faucet, the detergent, the dishes as he prepared to wash them.  She wasn't sure how far to push him when he so obviously wasn't ready to talk about this.  Whatever "this" was.

Hell, she wasn't even sure what she'd say if they did have this particular discussion right now.  Did he really have feelings for her?  Did she have feelings for him?  The idea was too new for her to know for sure.  She needed time to think.

Sydney stood, carefully pushing her chair in, standing behind it, her hands curled around the back.  "I should go."

Weiss turned, the dish in his hands spilling soapy water onto the floor.  He gave the mess a chagrined look and replaced the plate in the sink.  "You don't have to go," he told her.  "Really.  I'm just--"  He closed his eyes for a moment, standing perfectly still..  "I don't want to think about serious stuff.  Not tonight."

Her first thought was, 'We'll worry about the repercussions tomorrow.'  Shocked at herself, Sydney felt a blush spread across her cheeks.  She ducked her chin, hiding from the curious look on his face.  "Okay," she agreed.  "No serious subjects tonight."  Glancing shyly at him, she added, "I really should go."

"Syd.  Really.  You don't have to go."

Sydney made herself meet his gaze.  "I do have to go," she told him.  "I have a lot to think about, now that I see... things."

Weiss made a slight choking noise, his eyes very, very wide.

Even as she was telling herself not to, she stepped closer to Weiss, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.  When she pulled back, he wore a puzzled frown.

She smiled.  "I'm going to go."

Sydney was halfway to the door when he managed a strangled, "Syd."

She turned back.  "Yes?"

"I--"  His jaw worked soundlessly.

"Not tonight," she told him.  "No serious subjects."

He was shaking his head.  "But."

She waited, but nothing more was forthcoming.  "Come find me," Sydney invited.  "When you're ready to talk about serious stuff.

With that, she let herself out of his apartment, seeking refuge in her own.  Because she had a lot to think about and, given Weiss's reaction to her words, she really didn't think she had a lot of time before he knocked on her door.

Sydney sank into her couch and started to smile.

***

Weiss stood in his kitchen, mouth opening and closing wordlessly, for a long damn time after Sydney left.  She'd--

She'd--

He shook his head, wishing he'd had more tequila.  Or less tequila.  The amount he'd had -- he felt slightly drunk and totally confused.  Because she'd--

What the hell had he done?  She'd ... implied stuff, and he'd stupidly refused to talk about it.  No, stupidly didn't even begin to cover it.  Catastrophically moronic, maybe.  Inexcusably idiotic.  Because he'd sent her home and now he was left here. In limbo.

"Good job, Eric," he muttered.  "Great fucking idea."

Because he could handle his stupid crush on Sydney as long as she didn't notice it, and he could even handle rejection.  Probably.  Maybe.  But now...  She knew and she hadn't rejected him yet, and the waiting was unbearable.  No way would he sleep tonight, and not just because it was already morning in Ireland.

Grabbing the tequila bottle, Weiss marched over to Syd's apartment without really letting himself think about it.  Just get it over with, he told himself.  He knocked too loudly, then winced, half-expecting some of their neighbors to pop out of their doors and tell him to keep it down.

Instead, Syd pulled the door open with a radiant smile.  "Hey," she greeted.  "What took you so long?"

"Um," Weiss answered stupidly.  She was just so gorgeous.  Always had been, but he'd always been able to keep it in perspective, because she was part of Syd-and-Vaughn, and he was Vaughn's best friend.  Which was sort of why he was there, so he shook himself out of his daze and said, "How about we just get this rejection thing over with so I can drink myself to sleep and we can pretend this never happened."

Sydney's smile faltered.  "What?"

"You," Weiss said, still standing in her doorway, "are gorgeous and funny and really kinda scary smart."  He told himself to stop talking, but it didn't work.  "And when we're together, I feel... good.  I have fun and then there's that buzz of, you know..." he waved a hand around in the air, unable to come up with the right word.

"Attraction?" Syd suggested, opening the door farther and reaching up to grab his shirt collar and drag him in.

Weiss stumbled into her.  Very smooth, he told himself.  And -- wait, what?  Attraction?  Did she mean--?  Of course not.  Just get this over with.  "Right," he nodded stupidly.  "Attraction.  There you go.  I said it out loud, so go ahead and slap me.  I'm attracted to you, which makes me, like, one of about a billion guys and a total asshole, too, 'cause Mike--"

"Eric."

Her simple use of his name shut him up quick.  "Yeah?" he asked, trying not to let himself wish for anything.  Rejection, he reminded himself.  You're familiar with the concept, and once you get some of that fabulous stinging rejection, you can numb yourself with tequila and call it a night.

Sure, tomorrow he'll be humiliated as hell, but that's also an emotion he's familiar with.  Yup, Eric and his old friends Rejection and Humiliation went way back.

"You," Syd told him, "are adorable."

Weiss couldn't quite suppress the frustrated groan.  Adorable.  Great.  He was that big, fluffy, sexless teddy bear all the gorgeous girls run to when they need comfort.  Story of his fucking life.

"That's a good thing," Sydney said, her fingers sliding over his as she pulled the tequila bottle from his nerveless grasp and placed it on the small table beside the door.  She reached for him, tangling her fingers with his to pull him into the living room.  "Believe me."

"Teddy bear," Weiss muttered.  What the hell was wrong with him, he wondered.  Where did the filter on his mouth go?

But Syd just grinned up at him.  "What?"

"Nothing."

"Eric," she chided, pulling him down to the couch beside her, and, wow, she was sitting really close.

Weiss tried to inch away, but maybe he'd had a little too much tequila after all, because his head was spinning.  "Teddy bear," he repeated with a sigh.  Might as well get it all out there.  Total humiliation.  "The nice, sexless, unthreatening guy that girls like you are friends with," he explained.  Then he frowned.  "I'm not sexless," he added seriously.

Sydney laughed, her hand landing on his thigh.  "I know that."

Weiss couldn't move, couldn't really breathe, 'cause the hot girls don't go around touching the thighs of their teddy bears.  And he really needed a new metaphor, 'cause he was having some really disturbing mental images here.  "Uh, Syd..."

"You're not a teddy bear," she told him, turning a little so she was facing him on the couch.  He could feel her studying him, though he kept his gaze fixed on an indeterminate point in the middle distance.  "You're intelligent and hilarious and--" she leaned closer-- "that is what makes you hot."

His entire body shuddered in reaction.  Hot.  She'd just--

Weiss jerked away from her, gaining his feet and managing to remain upright, despite the alcohol he'd consumed.  "I've heard the speech before, Syd, and you're going off script," he told her angrily.  "'You're a great guy, Eric, really, but I just don't feel that way about you.'  That's your line."

"No," Syd answered, appearing suddenly before him.  "It's not."

He didn't want to look at her, didn't want to read the lie in her eyes, but he couldn't help it.  She'd always been magnetic, and when he inevitably gazed down at her, she... she didn't seem to be lying.

Of course, that probably shouldn't reassure him, since her job required her to be quite an accomplished liar.

He couldn't think of anything to say.  "Sydney."

She held his gaze.  "Eric."

This was impossible.  She was... her, and he was just him.  Weiss was sure that he'd passed out on his couch and all of this was some sort of tequila-induced dream.  Man, he was going to wake up with a raging hard on and a serious headache.  "I don't understand," he admitted finally.  "This isn't how it's supposed to go."

For the first time, Sydney looked a little bit uncertain.  A small frown settled on her lips.  "It's not?" she asked, taking half a step back.  "I thought you--"

"I do," Weiss interrupted eagerly.  "I really do.  You don't."

Her frown deepened.  "I don't?"

This Weiss was sure of.  "No, you don't."

Syd shook her head, just a little.  "What are we talking about, exactly?  Because--" here, she stepped forward, invading his personal space and giving him a little trouble with that pesky breathing thing-- "I do want you."

Blink.  Blink, blink.

Weiss was sure that, at one time, he could form words.  Now, though, not so much.

Syd gave him an out.  "Do you want me?"

Now that was a question that could be answered with a vigorous nod.

Her smile was blinding, and then her hand settled on the back of his neck and he realized he was still nodding like a moron, so he stopped.  And she pulled, and he leaned and--

Holy shit.

They were kissing.  Sydney was kissing him.  He was kissing Sydney.

Wow.

It was good.  It was fucking spectacular, and then her arms were around his neck and his hands were sliding up and down her spine and--

She pulled away, a soft grin on those lips of hers that he was suddenly and completely fixated on.  "Eric," she said.

"Huh?"  He hoped to God she didn't expect any sort of coherent conversation now, 'cause the combination of alcohol and that kiss rendered him pretty much speechless.  Okay, yes, it was mostly the kiss.

Sydney leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.  "As much as I'd like you to stay--"  He made a really pathetic moaning noise, and she responded with another one of those amazing kisses.

When she pulled away this time, his hand was flat against the skin of her lower back, clutching her to him.  Syd reached up and cupped his face.  "We should probably do this when we're sober," she told him.

The words were like a glass of ice water, and he released her abruptly.  She was drunk.  Shit.  He'd been pawing at her and she was drunk and--

"Eric."

Weiss forced himself to meet her gaze.  "Yeah?"

"I want you," she said, and he felt it all the way to his toes.  "That's not going to change.  But we're tired and half-drunk, and I want to dedicate a serious chunk of time to this."

Words.  Weiss used to know some.  In several languages, actually.

She grinned, reaching up to smooth his hair.  "You really are adorable," she told him.

Somehow, from her, it didn't sound so bad.  Especially not when she followed it up with another of those searing kisses.  She pulled away too damn soon and extracted herself from his grasp.  "Get some sleep," she told him with that soft smile.

Sleep.  Did she honestly think he would sleep after this?  "Syd," he said and it sounded like a plea.

"Trust me," she murmured, walking him to the door.  He was stumbling along, pausing by the small table long enough to grab his bottle of tequila.  Sydney laughed at him, then kissed him again, and damn if he wasn't getting a little bit used to this strange familiarity.  "Good night, Eric."

He opened his eyes and realized he was just outside the threshold.  "Tomorrow?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded.  "Tomorrow."

"'Kay."  Words.  Good.  Weiss searched from some more.  "Night."

Just before she closed her door, Syd's smile turned a little bit wicked and she said, "Sweet dreams."

Weiss groaned and let his forehead drop against the cool wood of her door.  "You're a cruel woman, Sydney Bristow," he called.

He heard an answering laugh from inside her apartment, then pushed himself upright and weaved his way toward his door.  Probably it was a good idea to wait until tomorrow.  He was an adult.  He could wait.

Really.

THE END