Coda in a coffin (Abby-Weiss, PG-13)
So I lied. They had one more thing to say.
Epilogue-coda-end
The James Bond theme done in ring tones brought Weiss out of a confusing dream of jungles, snipers, and acrobats, and into groggy and disoriented consciousness. Someone was lying on his chest.
deee dah, da di dahhhh sang his phone, and unwillingly he opened his eyes.
A coffin lid was canted upward over his head, lined in ice-pink satin. So were the sides enclosing him. Snoopy sheets were pulled up to his waist and over the naked Cleopatra sprawled across his equally bare chest. Sunlight was streaming in the large window, and considering how much he remembered drinking, he was remarkably hang-over free. Then again, he might still be drunk, and possibly hallucinating, going by the decor. Egyptian met late anime', went fifteen rounds with early Renaissance, and lost the title to 40's noir. Dante would've liked it.
Another blast from the phone, the ring seguing into The Spy Who Loved Me, and Abby's eyes popped open. Grumbling, she slithered down his body, awakening all sorts of pleasant sensations, then came back from somewhere around his knees with his ringing phone in hand. She shoved it at him, then closed her eyes and curled back into his side, apparently already asleep again within two breaths.
Weiss took a minute to admire the picture she made, then answered his phone before it could go into the Mission Impossible theme. "Yeah?"
"Do you have any idea what time it is? Where the hell are you?"
"No. And I'm in a coffin."
"Coffin!?"
Vaughn spluttered for a couple minutes, and Eric grinned and pulled Abby closer, enjoying the warm slide of skin on skin. She mumbled something that sounded Latin but otherwise didn't respond. "I gotta say, it's very comfortable. Tell Syd I think I got the deluxe model."
"Get used to it, 'cause if you don't get your ass to the airport in an hour you're gonna miss the flight! You're just lucky Syd talked the concierge into letting us check out for you. I was going to leave your luggage at the hotel, you bastard."
"Thank her for me."
Vaughn snorted. "Thank her yourself."
Weiss waited, and when Syd got on the cell he could hear the smile in her voice. "Weiss? Are you alive?"
"Maybe. Or reanimated. Possibly zombified. Tough call, but it seems to be pain-free, whichever it is."
"Are you going to make the flight? I can cover for you at APO, just say the word--"
He could hear Vaughn objecting in the background, and he found himself smiling freely for the first time in weeks. "Syd? It's not your fault Nadia dumped me."
"I know that." She still sounded defensive, but hesitant. "It's just, she's my sister. You know? And you've been one of my best friends for a while now. It's... awkward."
"Don't tell Mike this, but the singing helped. And I'll make the flight." He paused. "And yeah, we're still friends."
"Oh... Good to know. Yeah." The relief gave way to amusement as she giggled. "So, a coffin? Did you actually-- in the coffin?"
"Ain't sayin'." He yawned, and stroked Abby's hair. "I'll see you guys at the airport. Don't let Vaughn sell my suitcase for cab fare."
"Will do. Tell Abby that Tony didn't appreciate getting stuck with her bar bill."
"Heh. Sure. Bye, Syd." He clicked off and lay back, staring up at the bottom of the coffin lid. Last night, it hadn't seemed weird, but now....
"So why Oklahoma?" Abby asked without moving or opening her eyes.
He tilted his head to look at her, and when she stayed lazed over him, he gave it some thought, his hand moving down to slide over her shoulders. "Not sure." Thinking back, he wasn't sure there was a reason, except to get under Vaughn's skin. "The cowboy thing, I guess. Cowboys don't need women. Even though you wouldn't know it from country/western songs."
"Hmmmmmm."
He couldn't say he'd forgotten Nadia last night. But there had been at least an hour there where if you'd asked Weiss about her, the words Nadia who? would've been all you'd gotten. Man, he owed this woman. More than the singing, just having someone listen to him and then ignore all the heartbroken warning signs had jolted him out of his funk.
Another long pause, and then he thought to ask a fairly important question. "How far are we from the airport?"
"About half an hour."
"Damn."
That opened her eyes-- still smudged with liner, but probably a lot clearer than his looked. Whatever she'd given him about 4 a.m. to head off the hangover was a frickin' miracle, but she'd also had less to drink than he had. "Damn, what? And damn, why? Or who?" she asked.
"Damn, my flight leaves in an hour. For L.A."
She steepled her fingers and perched her chin on them, staring at him inquisitively. "And that deserves damnation because...?"
'I was hoping we could work through maneuver number three again and now we don't have time,' would probably not be the suavest thing he could say. 'I'm going to miss you,' would be an overstatement for a one-night stand, but not by much. Funny how waking up in the coffin was the *least* awkward part of this morning-after.
He was still trying to think of something polite-and-not-too-pushy when she grinned, crinkling her nose fairly adorably and scooting up his chest. "Awww. You're cute when you're speechless, did you know that?"
"Thanks. So much." Suck it up, he told himself. Be a mensch. She saw you drunk and whimpery about your ex, she's not expecting huge declarations. "And thanks for last night. I'm just sorry it's already over."
"I'm not," Abby said, wriggling against him and searching for something in the sheets.
"O-kay."
"No, I mean, don't feel bad. It's cool." She flashed a grin at him and he relaxed, relieved. "We had fun, and if you're back in D.C. again, or if I'm in L.A., we should hook up. You really do have great rhythm."
"We have great rhythm."
"Exactly." She swooped in for another one of those friction-defining deep tongue-sucking kisses that had taken up so much time around dawn, and now he was *really* regretting the flight to L.A. Uumph. Maybe, if he could get a commercial ticket--
"Got it!" Abby broke off the kiss and sat up on his chest in triumph, holding something between her fingers that it took him a minute to focus on, distracted as he was by the sight of her pale breasts. Was that another tattoo, right there...? He quit his examination of the markings on her skin to see what had her so happy, and blinked.
"I knew we had one left. If you shower and get dressed really, really fast, I'll drive you to the airport, and we can have sex in the parking lot," she chirped, spinning the condom on her finger.
"No problem. Right." He rubbed his face, then chuckled. "I gotta say, this is the best that singing the blues has ever worked out for me."
Abby shook her head at him reprovingly. "Then you should sing them more often." She braced herself on the side of the coffin and hopped out. "Now c'mon! Mush! You have a plane to catch!"
He saluted. "Aye aye, ma'am."
Long-term parking in D.C., he discovered, was not visible from any of the parking kiosks, and Abby's VW had reclining seats.
Epilogue-coda-end
The James Bond theme done in ring tones brought Weiss out of a confusing dream of jungles, snipers, and acrobats, and into groggy and disoriented consciousness. Someone was lying on his chest.
deee dah, da di dahhhh sang his phone, and unwillingly he opened his eyes.
A coffin lid was canted upward over his head, lined in ice-pink satin. So were the sides enclosing him. Snoopy sheets were pulled up to his waist and over the naked Cleopatra sprawled across his equally bare chest. Sunlight was streaming in the large window, and considering how much he remembered drinking, he was remarkably hang-over free. Then again, he might still be drunk, and possibly hallucinating, going by the decor. Egyptian met late anime', went fifteen rounds with early Renaissance, and lost the title to 40's noir. Dante would've liked it.
Another blast from the phone, the ring seguing into The Spy Who Loved Me, and Abby's eyes popped open. Grumbling, she slithered down his body, awakening all sorts of pleasant sensations, then came back from somewhere around his knees with his ringing phone in hand. She shoved it at him, then closed her eyes and curled back into his side, apparently already asleep again within two breaths.
Weiss took a minute to admire the picture she made, then answered his phone before it could go into the Mission Impossible theme. "Yeah?"
"Do you have any idea what time it is? Where the hell are you?"
"No. And I'm in a coffin."
"Coffin!?"
Vaughn spluttered for a couple minutes, and Eric grinned and pulled Abby closer, enjoying the warm slide of skin on skin. She mumbled something that sounded Latin but otherwise didn't respond. "I gotta say, it's very comfortable. Tell Syd I think I got the deluxe model."
"Get used to it, 'cause if you don't get your ass to the airport in an hour you're gonna miss the flight! You're just lucky Syd talked the concierge into letting us check out for you. I was going to leave your luggage at the hotel, you bastard."
"Thank her for me."
Vaughn snorted. "Thank her yourself."
Weiss waited, and when Syd got on the cell he could hear the smile in her voice. "Weiss? Are you alive?"
"Maybe. Or reanimated. Possibly zombified. Tough call, but it seems to be pain-free, whichever it is."
"Are you going to make the flight? I can cover for you at APO, just say the word--"
He could hear Vaughn objecting in the background, and he found himself smiling freely for the first time in weeks. "Syd? It's not your fault Nadia dumped me."
"I know that." She still sounded defensive, but hesitant. "It's just, she's my sister. You know? And you've been one of my best friends for a while now. It's... awkward."
"Don't tell Mike this, but the singing helped. And I'll make the flight." He paused. "And yeah, we're still friends."
"Oh... Good to know. Yeah." The relief gave way to amusement as she giggled. "So, a coffin? Did you actually-- in the coffin?"
"Ain't sayin'." He yawned, and stroked Abby's hair. "I'll see you guys at the airport. Don't let Vaughn sell my suitcase for cab fare."
"Will do. Tell Abby that Tony didn't appreciate getting stuck with her bar bill."
"Heh. Sure. Bye, Syd." He clicked off and lay back, staring up at the bottom of the coffin lid. Last night, it hadn't seemed weird, but now....
"So why Oklahoma?" Abby asked without moving or opening her eyes.
He tilted his head to look at her, and when she stayed lazed over him, he gave it some thought, his hand moving down to slide over her shoulders. "Not sure." Thinking back, he wasn't sure there was a reason, except to get under Vaughn's skin. "The cowboy thing, I guess. Cowboys don't need women. Even though you wouldn't know it from country/western songs."
"Hmmmmmm."
He couldn't say he'd forgotten Nadia last night. But there had been at least an hour there where if you'd asked Weiss about her, the words Nadia who? would've been all you'd gotten. Man, he owed this woman. More than the singing, just having someone listen to him and then ignore all the heartbroken warning signs had jolted him out of his funk.
Another long pause, and then he thought to ask a fairly important question. "How far are we from the airport?"
"About half an hour."
"Damn."
That opened her eyes-- still smudged with liner, but probably a lot clearer than his looked. Whatever she'd given him about 4 a.m. to head off the hangover was a frickin' miracle, but she'd also had less to drink than he had. "Damn, what? And damn, why? Or who?" she asked.
"Damn, my flight leaves in an hour. For L.A."
She steepled her fingers and perched her chin on them, staring at him inquisitively. "And that deserves damnation because...?"
'I was hoping we could work through maneuver number three again and now we don't have time,' would probably not be the suavest thing he could say. 'I'm going to miss you,' would be an overstatement for a one-night stand, but not by much. Funny how waking up in the coffin was the *least* awkward part of this morning-after.
He was still trying to think of something polite-and-not-too-pushy when she grinned, crinkling her nose fairly adorably and scooting up his chest. "Awww. You're cute when you're speechless, did you know that?"
"Thanks. So much." Suck it up, he told himself. Be a mensch. She saw you drunk and whimpery about your ex, she's not expecting huge declarations. "And thanks for last night. I'm just sorry it's already over."
"I'm not," Abby said, wriggling against him and searching for something in the sheets.
"O-kay."
"No, I mean, don't feel bad. It's cool." She flashed a grin at him and he relaxed, relieved. "We had fun, and if you're back in D.C. again, or if I'm in L.A., we should hook up. You really do have great rhythm."
"We have great rhythm."
"Exactly." She swooped in for another one of those friction-defining deep tongue-sucking kisses that had taken up so much time around dawn, and now he was *really* regretting the flight to L.A. Uumph. Maybe, if he could get a commercial ticket--
"Got it!" Abby broke off the kiss and sat up on his chest in triumph, holding something between her fingers that it took him a minute to focus on, distracted as he was by the sight of her pale breasts. Was that another tattoo, right there...? He quit his examination of the markings on her skin to see what had her so happy, and blinked.
"I knew we had one left. If you shower and get dressed really, really fast, I'll drive you to the airport, and we can have sex in the parking lot," she chirped, spinning the condom on her finger.
"No problem. Right." He rubbed his face, then chuckled. "I gotta say, this is the best that singing the blues has ever worked out for me."
Abby shook her head at him reprovingly. "Then you should sing them more often." She braced herself on the side of the coffin and hopped out. "Now c'mon! Mush! You have a plane to catch!"
He saluted. "Aye aye, ma'am."
Long-term parking in D.C., he discovered, was not visible from any of the parking kiosks, and Abby's VW had reclining seats.