Dana woke up abruptly, too alert for comfort. She looked around the room with her green eyes and didn't recognize her surroundings at first. Her heart pounded inside her ribcage from her uncomfortable dream which was fading from memory. She wasn't in her small studio apartment where she thought she deserved to be; the cold, moist air and the painfully familiar relics would sashay around her to remind her of the life she once had before her mother passed away. It was a painful reminder of what used to be, one which she clung to as a child would a worn out, but precious, teddy bear. She needed the reminder that she couldn't be happy.
Here the air was warmer, though, and mock comforting. The four poster bed and fluffy comforter massaged her legs, and the pillows were sleep-inducing. She felt horrible, but willing to fall back into the slumber which had been presented to her. She wasn't comfortable with the comfort she had been provided. Her long raven hair fell back against the pillow as she curled up from the traffic she had in her mind. She didn't want comfort. It was something normal people settled into, not hackers, deserters of the light, like her. She knew if she relaxed, something bad would happen. Bad things always happened to her when she let her guard down. Sitting in this bed wasn't easing her mind, but if she left this room she risked the chance of meeting him.
Her stomach turned awkwardly at the notion of being out of her room let alone out of her bed; she frowned instinctively at the thought of referring to this place, this horrible relic of the past, hers. Suddenly the place she was staying was full of relics of a tasteful reminder that she didn't deserve happiness. Anymore than Alan deserved to be off the hook. Making comparisons between him and herself wasn't wise psychologically, but she did it anyway. Now that there was nothing out there besides a few friends, who didn't know where she was, and the Bureau, who were in the same predicament. Alan wanted her around. It awakened a small notion that had been dormant since she met the man.
She was sure she loved him.
Her stomach turned again. It felt right, but she knew it was wrong. It was wrong knowing that he held something over her and she still felt something because of him.
She realized she was starting to feel hungry. Leave it to me to feel hungry at inopportune times, she thought. She knew now that she wasn't going to be able to sleep anytime soon; she decided to get up and find something to calm her anxious stomach nerves. Pulling the covers off of her, Dana stood on the soft carpet for a moment to gather her bearings. Satisfied after her balance, she moved toward the door which would lead to the long corridor. From there, she would pad down the wooden hallway alone with only her breathing and footsteps to accompany her, which wasn't an unhealthy notion. Being alone was something of a second nature to her. Then she would descend the stairway and walk to her right until she faced the opposite direction. Her feet would carry her down a smaller corridor to the main kitchen, where Alan said she was welcome to rummage for whatever suited her craving. That had always been the case between them.
When Dana entered the kitchen she flicked the lights on; she complimented Alan silently on his designer's work on furnishing the area. Cobblestone tiles provided a rustic feeling against the pads of her feet. The dark wood cabinets and cabinets and hanging bronze pots over the stationary island made her stomach ease a little. Very little attention was paid to the cream-colored walls. They blended well with the rest of the room.
The refrigerator was chrome, contrasting the décor but not drawing from the rest of the design Dana walked over to look inside for something which would make her feel better. As she stepped past the closest corner of the island to the door she froze from hearing footsteps behind her in the entrance. Turning her gaze from her target which stood in front of her as she stood between the objects, she saw Alan leaning against the doorframe. He wore a pair of black jeans and a green tee shirt which appeared to be slightly worn in. His arms crossed, he stared intensely into her eyes as though he were debating an important issue. She let his eyes rove over her flannel shorts and loose tank top; for a long second she realized that she was glad she wore her undergarments. Then Alan spoke.
"Insomnia?" The word was simple, direct and confusing. For a moment Dana was certain that Alan was being sincere. She shook off the awkwardness and shrugged lightly.
"New surroundings, new situation. You?"
"I don't sleep very often. Have business to tend to usually. Want anything in particular?" Dana fell silent, refusing to look like she was being held against her will. She decided not to bring this fact up; Alan sauntered past her to get to the fridge first since she hesitated. He kept his distance for the first time since she knew him. She was tense, and she knew he was being cautious. Did it mean anything?
"We've got Chianti."
"What year?"
"Seventy-nine."
"Sure." Alan pulled a half empty bottle from the chrome fridge and approached Dana. Her back shifted to rest against the flat edge of the island which faced the door, Alan to her left. She took a long moment to admire his profile as he approached her slowly. He had never dressed down around her before, and she found this half of him more attractive than his casual wear. All she usually saw was the businessman and the sex-centered man.
Tonight was, without a doubt, a night of firsts.
Alan reached behind her and grabbed two wine glasses from the same rack the pots and pans hung. Apparently he left those out just in case she had a hard time adjusting to her new surroundings. He poured them a glass each which finished off the bottle, and took a sip of the sweet liquid. She wasn't supposed to drink. Her condition...a flash of color passed by her eyes and she grabbed onto the island as her lips parted the glass. Alan sent her a look of concern, but she refused to meet his stare. She copied his motion. Though they were minors, they weren't strangers to alcohol. The times they had during their education and blackmailing days were often a pilot to midnight drinks, even if only one of them were strong-willed enough to make the trip down for a nightcap. Usually they were so tired from all of the physical activities they'd had.
