Gasp! What's this? A fic that doesn't feature the A/A pairing? Blasphemy! C'mon, you know you want to give it a try. ;) Enjoy!

Note: Starts right at the end of "A Girl Like You." If you haven't watched it yet, you should. Great ep!

Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affairs. It belongs to NBC Universal. Not making any money here.

Direct the Current

He's not coming.

Her smoky-eyed glance lands on the glass doors at the entrance to the bar and lounge. She cycles through points of contact. The doors. The countertop. The chip in her French manicure. Anything to avoid the sympathetic gaze of the bartender, who's already asked if she'd like another.

She refuses to believe she's been stood up, blown off, or forgotten. Those things happen to people on dates. This is not a date.

Annie focuses her search on the adjoining hotel lobby, scanning passersby for the familiar tall, broad-shouldered frame of the Mossad agent. No luck.

Hotel guests come and go, blissfully unaware of their surroundings. No one has informed them that, a few hours ago, a team of CIA officers stormed the lobby brandishing automatic weapons as they hunted down Israeli terrorists. How could they know that the frenzied skirmish on the eighth floor and the faceoff on the roof resulted in one man's death and left another with a bullet in his shoulder?

There are times when she envies civilians and their obliviousness.

Two years into the business, it's easier to compartmentalize certain aspects of the job—the constant reminders that there are bad people in this world don't faze her as much—but Annie still struggles with the tougher stuff. Like seeing someone she cares for get shot. It's all part of the job, a disclosed risk, but it doesn't alleviate the nauseating feeling of nearly losing a friend.

Annie never wants to feel that way again. At the same time, she knows she will. And the next time, things could be worse. Next time, it could be Eyal—or Jai or Auggie or herself—lying on the ground, lifeless.

This little voice inside her head is one that she must consciously try to smother. Thinking of "next times" and "what ifs" will make her go crazy. There's no making it in this business on hypotheticals.

Learn from your mistakes, and move on.

It was a mistake to come here tonight; a mistake full of wishful thinking. Annie gently bites the inside of her cheek, fixes a wrinkle on the bottom of her dress, and returns both hands to her glass. The chip in her manicure must be from her fight earlier in the evening.

Just one more time. Natural curiosity combined with an unusually high level of anticipation keep making her search for him. Each glance only heightens her disappointment. It needs to stop. One more time, then I'm leaving.

Eyal is twenty minutes late. . .to a meet which he initiated. At least, that's how she remembers it happening. He'd whispered his invitation—if that's really what it was—to her before being carted off to the awaiting ambulance:

"You know, that current I keep talking about," he'd said with that mischievous smile that implied he was up to something, "it might take me to the bar downstairs around eleven o'clock."

She had smiled while rolling her eyes at his cheekiness, shaking her head with a laugh. It was meant to be a sign of acceptance—coy acceptance, but affirmation nonetheless. Had he misinterpreted her reaction to mean she wouldn't come?

I have to start being more direct.

The last mouthful of her drink is warm, and it's not a good warm. It's the kind of warmth that comes from nursing one drink for nearly half an hour. It's similar to the unpleasant heat that colors her cheeks while nodding goodnight to the sympathetic bartender because it's clear that Eyal is not coming.

Being stood up—even if it isn't a date—is bad enough. When the invitation comes from someone else, it's even more embarrassing.

There are certainly logical, forgivable reasons for why Eyal didn't show up. Maybe the hospital decided to keep him overnight for observation; the man had been shot after all. Maybe Agent Rossabi put him on a red-eye back to Israel. Maybe Eyal realized that this isn't what he wants, that the metaphorical current he described is steering him down a course where their paths aren't meant to cross.

No matter the explanation—and she's sure he has one—it leaves her with an aching disappointment. It seems that every time they part ways, it gets a little harder. She's grown attached to the charming, screw-the-rules-whenever-possible Mossad agent.

Someone holds the door on her way out of the bar. Out of habit, she flashes a polite smile, but she barely raises her head in acknowledgement, still too lost in her "maybe" scenarios and trying to figure out why this not-a-date was so meaningful to her.

"I must be very good-looking for you to wait this long, yes?"

His voice brings her to a sharp pause. When she pivots, she sees Eyal still holding the door with his right hand. His left arm is in a dark sling, but only a few would guess that he wears it to lessen the strain on his stitched-up bullet wound.

He's changed his clothes, opting for a black suit jacket and a white shirt that doesn't have a blood stain just above his heart.

As always, he looks good.

"Didn't think you were going to show," Annie tells him.

"I like to surprise people," he says with his trademark smile, finally letting the door swing shut. He steps closer, then adds, "You see, I was on my way from the hospital when I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

Dark eyes practically gleam beneath full lashes in the bright lights of the hotel lobby. His grin grows at her confused expression. "That I owe you something."

One of her eyebrows hikes toward her hairline, but she can feel her lips pull into a smile. Eyal reaches inside of his suit jacket, wincing only slightly at upsetting his slung arm, and pulls out a sleek, new phone.

Her jaw drops a little in surprise as she turns her hand palm up. She never actually expected him to replace the phone he tossed out of his moving car. Eyal places the iPhone into her open hand tenderly, folding her fingers over the device to ensure it won't fall. She almost laughs at the boyish pride reflected in his eyes for a job well done.

"I took the liberty of entering my number," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

She can't contain her laughter anymore. Eyal looks pleased with her reaction.

Annie tucks the new phone into her clutch, then inclines her head in the direction of the bar. "Should we go inside and get a drink?"

"Is that what you want?" His voice is suddenly low, husky with intent.

This is a question loaded with consequences. They can go back into the bar, share a few drinks and ample flirtation, and part as friends. Or, they could pick up where they left off earlier in room 811 and leave as something else.

Eyal leans in, closing the distance between them to a few inches. Her skin picks up the heat coming from his body, putting all her senses on high alert. His whisper rasps against her ear—a sensation she's beginning to enjoy: "I have a room at the hotel across the street."

Even if she wasn't sure about his invitation to the bar, there's no mistaking where he stands now. The ball is hers to play.

Be direct, she reminds herself.

Resting a hand on his chest and standing on her tiptoes as much as her Louis Vuittons will allow, she whispers back, "You don't waste time, I'll give you that."

A/N: Don't get me wrong. I'm still an avid A/A shipper. But these two are adorable together and that slow motion make out session from last night was hot! You can't deny that there's chemistry there.

I'm intensely curious to hear your thoughts. On the story. On the A/E vs. A/A relationship. On the meaning of life. (Okay, so not that last one.)

Thinking that this a two-shot. I have some ideas on where it could go. I'm thinking "M" territory right now, but I'll see what you all think in the comments. How smutty (or not smutty) do I go? ;)