The news about these two women hit him like a perfectly timed bucket of cold water, cooling the restless heat in his veins.
He remembered the trust in Rachel's eyes, the feelings Tracy kept restrained yet roiling beneath the surface, and Landon sighed to himself.
'Sorry, Mia.' Regret showed on Landon's face.
'Tonight's impossible—I already have plans. And with the next few scenes coming up, I need to stay focused. Tony's mindset at this stage is pretty introverted; I have to live inside it.'
The smile on Mia's face froze for a heartbeat, a flicker of surprise and frustration passing through her eyes.
She clearly wasn't used to being turned down so bluntly. Still, she recovered quickly, reached out, and gave Landon's shoulder a playful pat, fingertips casually grazing the side of his neck.
'All right.' Her tone stayed light, but her gaze was pure temptation.
'But next time you can't say no, cutie.' She tapped his chin once more, tossed her hair, and sashayed off, leaving a gorgeous silhouette in her wake.
Landon watched her go, quietly exhaling in relief—yet feeling a pang of inexplicable loss.
Just then he looked up to see Brother Dennis Haysbert raising an eyebrow at him while Sarah hid a grin behind her hand.
Landon could only shrug, shake his head, and shove the distractions aside as he picked up his script again.
Ahem—women only slow my draw; Hollywood women especially. Career comes first.
That night Landon returned to the apartment, watched Rachel bustling in the kitchen, and pestered her from behind, the day's on-set teasing still simmering in him.
After they finished Rachel's pasta, they showered together—wasting plenty of water in the process.
Then the two of them turned in early.
As Landon toyed with her, Rachel told him the day's amusing bits.
Breathing in the scent of her hair and listening to her bell-bright voice, Landon felt his mood lift at once.
Unconsciously… "Ow…"
Suddenly Rachel flinched, swatted his hand away, and shot him a mock-angry look.
Landon ignored her, brazenly put his hand back, and kept listening.
For some reason the little minx kept mentioning Tracy tonight—and singing her praises.
Landon didn't see any harm in it and just went along.
Rachel squirmed under his touch, glanced at him shyly, and finally murmured:
'Let's get some rest, darling.'
Landon rolled over, pinning her beneath him, teasing:
'And how exactly should we rest? And why do you keep talking about Tracy—what'd she bribe you with?'
'Not at all—mmph!'
Before she could finish, Landon leaned down and kissed her.
'…'
Rachel, all tear-streaked and limp, whimpered:
'Oh, Landon, have mercy! Please!'
'…'
'Darling, go find Tracy! Waaah!'
'…'
In those moments Rachel was certain she'd glimpsed heaven.
The double peak of body and mind left her loving and hating it at once.
She resolved anew to trick Tracy over as soon as possible—and, in that urgent wish, happily passed out again.
Landon looked at Rachel's state and felt like crying.
He'd meant to vent his on-set frustration on her—clearly he'd overestimated the plan.
On the 24 hours set the pace remained relentless, yet Landon grew ever more at ease with the shooting schedule.
He felt Tony Almeida seeping into his bones, as though the role had truly fused with him.
Today brought a pivotal, tricky internal scene.
Tony began to suspect something was off with his girlfriend Nina yet hated to admit it.
No action here—everything depended on facial nuance and line delivery so the audience could feel his inner torment.
Before the take Landon huddled alone in a corner of the rest area, searching for the state.
Eyes closed, he sank into Tony—a loyal agent torn between duty and love, the two identities clashing in his skull.
'Action!' the director called.
The camera found Landon at his CTU desk.
The monitor glowed, but his eyes weren't on it; fingers drummed the desktop, mind adrift.
A co-worker passed: 'Tony, Nina didn't bring you coffee today—miracle.'
Tony (Landon) steadied himself, flashed a smile that never reached his flickering eyes.
'Oh… she's tied up today.' The grin vanished fast; if you looked close, his mouth twitched and a hint of panic slipped through.
Once the co-worker left, the smile collapsed into exhaustion and bewilderment.
He drew a long breath, leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and exhaled.
The camera pushed in for an eye close-up.
In those blue irises swirled a storm: love for Nina, dread at the clues he'd found, self-deception, and a rending pain.
Tony's eyes reddened; no tears fell, but the suppressed emotion was unmistakable.
Then Jack Bauer's voice crackled through the earpiece, asking about a lead that hinted at someone inside CTU.
Landon hesitated. 'Copy that, Jack. I'm on it,' he answered, forcing calm.
Below frame, his fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening.
The call ended; he stared at Nina's photo on the wallpaper—love, suspicion, and a despairing confusion mingling in his gaze.
Softly, achingly: 'Nina… what's happened to you?'
'Cut!' the director cried, thrilled. 'Great work, Landon—beautiful emotional build!'
The set relaxed; crew members nodded approval.
Kiefer Sutherland strolled over and slapped his shoulder: 'Landon, you nailed it—almost had me believing.'
One take. Everyone marveled: the guy could run, fight, and still deliver delicate emotional scenes with depth and empathy.