Title: Muy Mono

Feedback: Welcome.

Classification/Rating: Fluff/Fun/Action. PG-13 at the highest. I'm tame.

Disclaimer: La la la, not mine la la la…

AN: Uh. Well. Late late late Celli birthday fic. Thankyou to Karen T for the beta, Rach for the "hee!", Thorne and Jenai for being Plot Whores, Kat for the idea, two random people who will never read this for the city. Celli asked for Vaughn in jeans kicking ass, so, here it is. It's fluffy, it's half-funny, it's drunkfic, Vaughnfic, birthday fic… as I told Celli, it's my Virgin Fic. No, don't be dirty. First time I'm writing all the aforementioned. Pfft. Song is Lowen & Navarro's 'Walking on a Wire'. That's all.

"Don't waste your breath

Don't waste my time

If I hear one more excuse I'll lose my mind…"

Madrid, Spain

The lights glowed, hitting my eyes, and I rubbed them almost sleepily, my vision blurring. The orange and yellow on the walls mixed with the green and blue lights flickering over the sea of young, gyrating bodies on the dance floor, and I blinked, the pounding techno filling my head and confusing my thoughts.

So maybe all the bourbon hadn't been the best idea.

The bartender raised one eyebrow at me, and I realized I'd been speaking out loud. I paused, watching her. Cute, was my first thought.

When she smirked, I wondered whether I'd spoken aloud again.

"Dispénseme." Excuse me. I spoke in Spanish, startling myself with how my voice sounded: so slurred.

Nah. Imagining it.

"Yes?" she asked, her English not even hinting at any kind of accent. I suspected she wasn't local (yeah, smart one, Mike), and reverted back to my own language. I'd always found Spanish kinda tricky, anyway. Too much rolling of the R's.

"Did I speak out loud?" I asked her, and smiled when she laughed, not quite understanding why. Weird.

"Yeah, you did," she nodded, wiping down the counter with a small cloth.

I flushed. My God, that wine before the bourbon hadn't been the best idea either. Crap.

"Sorry," I mumbled, staring at my hands. She laughed again, a nice loud laugh, one of those you immediately like. I glanced up at her out of the corner of my eye, my vision still slightly blurry. Breathing deeply, I pushed away the glass in front of me.

She grinned in my direction. "I get worse. Trust me, it's not every day I get a cutie like you sitting at my bar." She turned to her side, still smiling as she started to dry glasses and place them upside-down on the shelf behind her.

"Good to know," I replied, my tongue fumbling with the words. Damn, I felt lost. And my jeans felt way too small. I reminded myself to request a size larger than skintight my next time out.

She smirked again; her charming little face scrunching up. I stared at her for a moment, then forced my eyes away when she quirked an eyebrow at my gaze. I said that aloud? Again? Whoops.

I sighed, checking the clock on the wall above her head. Only twenty past twelve. A new day had begun, yes, but I didn't have to leave before twelve thirty. I rolled my eyes, then winced when I realized it actually hurt.

"I'm Celsa, by the way."

I glanced up at the bartender, wondering if she'd actually spoken or whether I was just hearing things. When she looked over at me sceptically, I realised she was expecting me to answer.

"Ryan." My name for this particular mission: Ryan James, graphic artist. Not that I had any knowledge in the field whatsoever – my 'art' consisted of sketches of M-shaped birds. Very kindergarten.

Celsa nodded, not looking at me as though I was stoned, so I guessed I hadn't repeated the last part aloud. Thankfully. I'd had enough humiliation for one night.

And the jeans still hurt.

I sighed again as the music thumped its way into a new beat. Some people in the club whooped at the new series of trance noises, and I half-smiled to myself, recognising the song.

"So what are you doing here, Ryan?" Celsa asked, placing a glass of water in front of me and leaning on the counter. I glanced at her questioningly, and she answered with a shrugged, "No coffee." I sipped at the cool liquid, feeling it roll down my throat without the burning sensation of the previous alcohol. My head was clearing, I hoped. Although… Celsa was still slightly blurry.

"Just some business." I decided to talk in short words and sentences, hoping that everything would come out more or less correctly. Celsa looked at me for a moment, and then moved on, the look on her face sceptical.

"What?" I asked, wondering if I'd offended her.

"Nothing," she replied with a shrug, and I felt that I actually had done something to offend her. Just great. I'd known her (oh, okay, I'd known her name) for all of ten minutes, and I was offending her already? Good one, Mike. Really well done.

I think I drink too much.

"I'm here on business. Nothing special. Just some sketches to show some clients."I waited for her reaction. And when Celsa glanced back, less sceptically, I was pleased to note, I hoped I'd sounded convincing.

"Okay. Sure. Business. It's just weird to see someone who's here on business in this place." She waved a hand to indicate the club in general, and I cocked my head to the side, nodding slightly.

"Yeah, I know. But I need to unwind somehow."

She smiled, then, and I figured my time was over. A glance at the clock told me that yes, I had to leave, and that again, maybe I shouldn't have drunk anything on the job.

I sighed as I looked at Celsa. "What?" she asked, and I prepared to go.

"Duty calls." Probably one of the most used phrases in the history of dramatically stealthy exits. I hoped to leave the bar with Celsa looking longingly after me as I turned back to wink at her, my leather jacket billowing out like a cape. The techno beat matching my strides as I crossed the crowded dance floor easily, disappearing into the night. Strutting away sexily as everyone in the club turned to watch Mysterious Man leave. Kinda Angel-esque.

I pretty much fell off the stool.

Celsa shrugged indifferently. "Have fun." She smiled at me briefly, then returned to her glass drying, and I paused for a moment. No dramatic arguments? No sighs of longing? Nothing?

She looked at me again as I stood there. "Are you gonna go?"

I snapped myself out of my stupid little stupor. Spunk. I liked it. "Yeah. Bye. Have a nice night, Celsa."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Yeah. Whatever. You too." And she headed off down the length of the bar to tend to someone else. Redhead. Cute, I noted.

Oh, man, everyone and everything looked cute.

I decided to leave.

Fifteen minutes to get down to the street and meet Sydney. Great. The leather jacket almost tripped me up as I stumbled across the dance floor, crashing into Spandex-clad girls… and guys. Ew. I could see the exit sign, glowing a nice neon above the rest of the neon (such differentiation), and I practically lurched over to it.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating. I was close to lurching.

There were stairs, which I climbed down in one minute. Three hallways to get myself out of, which took me five minutes. Nine minutes left. And then there was the street. Noisy at this time of night, middle of summer and all that, and only three hundred more feet till I reached Sydney. I started strolling down the sidewalk, trying to look cool and not at all tipsy as cars drove past and music pounded from the numerous doorways I passed.

And there she was, near the corner, in dark leather pants that hung low on her hips, a dark leather mini-jacket to match, and a bright blue shiny top underneath that accentuated her newly blue eyes and curly raven hair.

Then there was me: my hair was black. My eyes were violet. Talk about attracting attention.

She looked over at me and smiled, and I found myself grinning back. I stood next to her as some more cars and a motorcycle drove past, and then she stepped off the curb, looking to her left.

We crossed the street and walked down a few blocks, heading towards a small warehouse-turned-theatre. Find tiny little calculator-like device, situated in attic office safe. Retrieve said device. Get the hell out without tripping security.

That was what she'd been told by SD-6, but hey, the CIA apparently had some more intel. So I got to tag along for the ride to help with the security that SD-6 hadn't anticipated, packing little except for leather and a lot of talcum powder.

Sydney glanced over at me once we'd reached the theatre. I paid for two tickets and we walked in, slightly late for the movie. There were no ushers, and we hurried through a doorway on our left marked "Staff Only," heading up the stairs just behind it to reach the office. Sydney touched my arm after the first flight of stairs as my mind was running over how many were left – three flights, thirty-six more steps to go – and I stopped, glancing at her and the strange look on her face.

"Vaughn… have you been drinking?"

She could tell? Well, yes, international spy and all that, but really. She sounded like she'd caught an alcoholic with a bottle of chardonnay in his hand.

"A little." I conceded. Her eyes widened.

"How much is 'a little,' Vaughn?" Her brows lifted as she asked, the blue in her eyes starting to darken. Oops.

"A few glasses."

"A few glasses?"

"And a few… shots."

"Vaughn! Shit."

I realised I'd never actually heard her swear before. And then I also realised it wasn't really the time to focus on that fact because she was pissed off. That, and she was running up the stairs faster than she had been before.

"What?" I implored as I started to race after her, my head throbbing in time with my footsteps. Ow. I refrained from moaning.

"Vaughn, you can be such an idiot."

"Gee, Syd, thanks. That means the world coming from you."

She stopped short, and I almost fell over trying not to crash into her. She turned to face me, eyebrows quirking and then scrunching down as she narrowed her eyes at me. Too many facial expressions. I blinked.

"We'll talk about this later." And with that, she'd turned again.

Eh, like hell we would. There wouldn't be a later. I'd go my way, she'd go hers, she'd return to SD-6, and I'd return to Donovan.

Now that was a depressing thought.

I stumbled up the rest of the stairs, half worried about how much noise we were making and half worried about the fact that my headache was getting worse. I decided to start blaming the techno. Damn music.

We reached the attic. The top floor of the building was divided, and what we'd stepped into seemed to be a lounge of some sort. Long, sprawling couches, plush carpet, modern art, hot tub by the large windows to the left. And to the right, two doors.

Sydney immediately headed for the second as I looked around, checking down the stairs for security every once in awhile. I glanced through the doorway to the office to see Sydney fiddling with something on the safe, situated originally behind a painting. I turned away and then heard a quiet tap, and swivelled my head around to see it had just been Syd popping the safe. She stuck her hand in, moved some things around, then withdrew with a small box clutched in her hand.

"Got it?" I asked.

She practically glared across at me. "Yes. Let's go."

We got out the doors and down two flights of stairs before it turned out we'd tripped a silent alarm. And then there was the sound of footsteps from below. Sydney leaned over the ancient rail to look down the flights, and quickly turned back, bumping into me and pushing me up the stairs.

"There's six of them. Come on."

We tramped up the stairs again, pretty much side by side, until we returned to the office. Sydney looked around and rushed towards the windows, pulling one open and looking down. She frowned slightly, then turned back around and spoke.

"Okay. We fight them, and then we're out the window. There's a ledge a fair bit down that we probably won't miss." She prepared, positioning herself in a fighter's stance facing the doorway.

I joined her as my heart lurched. "Probably?"

She shrugged. "It's the best I can do."

I rolled my eyes and then paused as the footsteps stopped outside the door. We heard a mumbling and Sydney glanced over at me, an I-don't-know look on her face, before the door was smashed open by three bodies, splintering and tearing slightly at the hinges. I almost smirked.

"You could've just knocked."

Sydney glared at me for a moment, obviously amused at my matter-of-fact attitude, and I shrugged. We turned back, and the men dived at us.

There were five, not six as Sydney had counted, so naturally three attached themselves to me, expecting me to be the kick-ass master of four kinds of martial arts.

Yeah, well, try karate.

Within four roundhouse kicks which killed my thighs and much too many punches, Sydney had her two down and was taking down one of the two that were left. I watched in as much awe as I could manage out of the corner of my eye as she kicked him in the stomach, kneed him in the face, and then elbowed him in the back of the neck, sending him unconscious and sprawling face-first to the floor.

The last one charged at me, and I punched him before he got the chance to throw one of his own. My left foot connected with his side, my right arm connected with his solar plexus, and when he dropped to his knees I elbowed him downwards in the shoulder. He slumped forward.

Sydney looked at me, surprise etched slightly into her features. I shrugged. "Training."

She almost smiled before another guy – the sixth, I guessed – ran in from outside and kicked her in the small of her back. She fell forward, landing on the guy I'd just put out of action, and didn't move.

The guy looked up at me, then grinned and charged.

A split second after my shock wore off, I leaned in, shoving my shoulder into his stomach and flipping him over my body, thanking high school football for the lessons in throwing blocks.

I winced when glass smashed, and I turned around to see a hole in one of the large windows we were meant to make our exit out of.

Looking back down at Sydney, I kneeled on one knee and shook her shoulder. "Syd?"

Vision? Still slightly blurry, but clearing quickly. Thankyou adrenaline.

Sydney twitched, and I gently rolled her off the guy she was lying on. I glanced up towards the door, hoping no one else was going to come rushing through it, and brushed the curls out of Sydney's face. She opened her eyes, then squinted, scrunching up her face and suppressing a moan.

"You okay?" I asked her, helping her to stand. She leaned her head forward, hands on her hips, taking deep breaths.

She looked back up at me. "Yeah, I'm good." And with that, she half smiled and turned to the windows.

I shook my head. Women.

She looked out and downwards, then turned back to me, her head cocked in confusion.

"There's a guy lying on the ledge."

"There is?" I walked over and looked out. Yep, Friend Number Six was sprawled nicely on a ledge a fair few feet under the window, one leg and arm hanging out into space. "Oh. Him."

"You do that?"

"Uh, yeah."

She grinned at me, then pulled the hair back from her face and twisted it, securing with a rubber band. "Nice job." And then, without warning, she jumped onto the side of the hot tub and soared out the window.

I looked out, and heard her thump as she landed. A thump, and a muted "Ow."

"You good?" I called down.

"Yeah. Watch your legs, though."

I stepped up onto the hot tub, cursing my jeans, and glanced out the window quickly. Then I leapt.

The cool evening air was again nice on my face, and I landed with a louder thump than Sydney had, definitely groaning louder than she had. "Craaaaaap! Ow."

Sydney smiled down at me as I rubbed my calves, and then indicated a nearby roof with a tilt of her head. "Let's go."

So we jumped over and climbed down to the street, my head still throbbing as we passed more cars and motorcycles, and the wailing of a police car heading towards the theatre. We jogged to a park near Sydney's and my hotels, and she turned to grin at me.

"Thanks for that, Vaughn."

I grinned back. "You're welcome."

She grinned wider, then touched my arm. And with that, she turned and jogged off towards her hotel, the raven curls bouncing in the air behind her.

I grinned harder, then winced as the quick action sent a bolt of pain to my temple. I twisted around slowly, starting the short walk back to my hotel room, a quick stroll down a quiet street.

And my jeans still felt too tight.