n o b o d y . l i k e s . a . s o r e . w i n n e r

Nobody Likes a Sore Winner
[by victoria p.]

Rating: G

Summary: Nobody likes a sore winner.

Notes: Thanks as always to Jen, Pete/Melissa, Dot, and Meg. written for Celli, who requested "Weiss, water balloon, worried."

Date: March 5, 2004

Weiss moves carefully, concern slowing him down. He pushes the door open and waits a few heartbeats before he enters. It's dark in the apartment, but he doesn't turn the lights on -- doesn't want to give notice he's arrived. He keeps his back to the wall where he can, sliding along on silent feet.

He won't be taken by surprise again.

He reaches the bedroom, and convinced he's finally safe, kicks off his shoes and flops onto the bed.

He's a well-trained fighting machine, a spy, one of the best the CIA has to offer. He makes James Bond look like an amateur. He ought to have known Syd was just playing around, making threats she wouldn't back up. Still, it always pays to be careful. She did seem pretty angry about the strippers showing up at the office, asking for her.

He's loosening his tie and congratulating himself on getting away with one when the water balloon splats on the headboard above his head, spritzing him with cold water.

"Hey!" He jumps up, pushing wet hair off his forehead, as Sydney bursts into the room, continuing her assault by spraying everything in sight with a supersoaker.

He dives behind the bed and tries to reach the safety of the closet but she's relentless. When then water gun is empty, she pulls two more water balloons from beneath her jacket and lobs them at him.

"Hey now," he says, easily dodging the awkward missiles. "There's such a thing as overkill, you know."

She smiles and even the sweetness of it sends a shiver down his spine. "Admit I've won our little game and I won't finish the job."

"Finish the-- There's *more*?"

"That'd be telling."

He looks around his bedroom -- the comforter is soaked, the curtains are streaming -- the place is barely habitable now, and won't be dry for hours.

"You've won," he says.

"Of course." She smirks at him as if he never even had a chance.

"Now you have to buy me dinner and let me sleep on your couch."

"What?"

He gestures to the bedroom and gives a smirk of his own. Losing so often has taught him how to turn the situation to his advantage.

"Nobody likes a sore winner, Syd."

She pouts, and he knows he's the real winner.

She offers her arm and together they head next door to her apartment. He's already planning his revenge.

end

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Disclaimer: All Alias characters belong JJ Abrams, Bad Robot, etc. This piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.