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"I did not set this all up for you just so you can take her on a second honeymoon."
"Answering the phone does not equal setting up this whole thing."
"Do not split hairs with me, my friend. And you know what I find even more disappointing?" Eddie asked, in a pained voice.
"What?" John said without looking up from his bag.
"That you were the one who planned all this. I mean, good for you, because that woman is a control freak, maybe the biggest one I've ever met, but really? You thought this would be the best way to go about it?"
"It's perfect."
"Do not pull this romantic, lovey-dovey stuff. I mean it, John. I went down this road with Gladys, and believe you me, it is the road you do not want to travel."
"I'm not having this conversation anymore, Eddie. Drop it."
"Fine. But, Johnny, don't think I didn't notice at the gym yesterday that you're covered in bruises."
"Those bruises," John said, looking up with a grin, "are not just from fighting."
"Jesus, John, listen to me here. The woman threw a knife into your leg. I am telling you, you cannot trust her. She is like one of those tarantulas they show on the Discovery Channel, one of the ones that kills its mate. As soon as she has gotten what she wants from you, boom, she'll inject you with poison. And then where are you? Dead."
"Hello, boys," Jane said from the kitchen doorway.
"Sweetheart! You're early." John stood up.
"I'm right on time."
"Of course you are," Eddie muttered under his breath as John leaned through the doorway to kiss his wife.
They broke apart slowly, Jane smiling. "I'll be in the car."
"Just let me get my stuff together and I'll be ready to go."
They heard Eddie's mother walking down the stairs.
"Jane dear, would you like a cookie?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Jones, I would."
"See?" Eddie whispered frantically. "I do not like this. I don't like her coming here, to my house. My mom asked me last week when I was going to find a nice girl and settle down, like you had."
John just smiled at Eddie's discomfort. "Goodbye, Eddie. See you in a week."
As he closed the front door behind him and headed down the walkway to the car, John said to himself, "There's not another girl like her in the world."
Halfway to the airport, John said, "I know you didn't mean to hit me with that knife."
Without taking her eyes off the road, Jane said, "Thanks, baby."
"Just like you know that when I said I didn't mean to shoot at you that night, when you were in the car, I was telling the truth."
She turned towards him, eyes narrowing. "Is that so?"
John smiled. "Would I lie to you, Janie?"
"Reason for visit?" the customs agent asked by rote.
"We're on our honeymoon," John replied.
Jane corrected: "Second honeymoon."
"Congratulations," the man said dryly, stamping both of their passports.
The island resort was something out of a travel advertisement: blue waters, sandy beaches, the sun so bright it promised to give you a headache even with your sunglasses on. John would've been impressed, except that Jane was wearing white, just like the day they met, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her.
He would've liked to do what they did that night, drinking and dancing on the beach, but they already had reservations for dinner at one of the resort's fancy restaurants.
"Champagne, please," John ordered. Once the waiter left, he said, "The last time that you had champagne, you tried to blow me up."
"Please, it was ticking," Jane responded, waving a hand lazily in the air. "If you couldn't notice that, you deserve to be blown up."
They fell silent when the waiter returned. Once he'd left again, John raised his glass and Jane followed suit.
"To Christmas morning."
Clinking their glasses together, they exchanged a second, silent toast: To dodging bullets.
As his heart started to slow back down, John silently marveled at how they had gotten here. It worked out well for them, though, hadn't it? Five, six years spent sleeping next to his wife, now his partner as well.
"I knew the knife was an accident," he said, as Jane slowly traced her fingers over the scar on his thigh.
Jane laughed sleepily, a sound that made John want to go another round – or ten – with her. "Baby, if I really wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"Back atcha."
After a few minutes, Jane broke the silence. "John?"
"Hmm?"
"It wasn't me who pushed the button," she confessed softly.
"I know," he said, carefully covering her legs with the bedsheet. "I know."
It was something of a surprise to wake up alone. After the construction had finished on the house (there had been some creative threats involved in keeping the contractor on schedule), Jane had quickly gotten used to being woken up by John in the mornings. She hadn't set an alarm for today because she'd expected to already be awake.
Jane got up, pulling a book out of her bag. She had a feeling she knew where John was this morning, though.
As though her thoughts had summoned him, he knocked on the door and came in. "Room service."
He put the tray on the bed carefully. She picked the flower up off the tray, and tucked it behind her ear. "Let's go for a hike this afternoon," she suggested.
"I was thinking the exact same thing."
John let Jane lead, in part because she'd researched their route but also so that he could enjoy the view. He liked this side of Jane, the one who was quick to get dirty and not interested in keeping her clothes clean. Once they'd started officially working together, he'd discovered early on that he had a thing for Jane in fatigues and camo.
She stopped, pausing momentarily to drink some water. She passed the bottle to him and he put the gear bag into her outstretched hand. Jane being Jane, she opened it immediately, which was exactly what he'd planned on.
"John! You shouldn't have," she exclaimed.
"I saw it, I thought of you."
She admired her gift, then grabbed him and planted one on him.
"When I think about all the effort I used to put into getting you anniversary presents," he began. Jane snorted delicately. John ignored her. "If I'd only known that what would make you happiest would be a new gun or a pair of knives."
"Instead you gave me all that cookery stuff. One of the I-Temp girls cried the year you bought me those expensive pans, she was that thrilled."
"That so? Well, I'm glad I impressed someone with that one. You know, someone once told me that poison was a woman's weapon."
"Yeah?" Jane's eyebrow lifted slightly, amusement written over her face before she spoke the next words: "Well, I've never been a cook. I prefer the direct methods."
"Woman after my own heart," John said.
The climb grew steep shortly after, and they both shut up, concentrating on the terrain and their footing. The perfection of the scenery gradually melted away, until John felt like at last he was looking at real land, not a travel brochure. Finally, they reached the location.
"All yours, Mrs. Smith."
He was treated to Jane's quicksilver smile. "Really?"
"Call it a belated wedding present."
"Thanks, honey." Jane turned, prepping the gun. She sighted and pulled the trigger.
John didn't need the binoculars to know that their target was dead.
With any luck, the man wouldn't be noticed missing for hours, the body perhaps not found for days.
Still, as they headed back to the resort, John put his arm over her shoulder, a casually possessive gesture that left both hands free while allowing him to shield her body if need be. Jane had her left arm around his waist, secure in the knowledge that his gun was right there, tucked into the waistband of his jeans, perfect for her to reach.
After Home Base, she knew exactly where he liked to keep his weapons. Could tell just by looking at him, the way he walked, where he was carrying and what. This was a different kind of intimacy for them, one that built on six years of marriage.
They walked where the surf curled up onto the sand, just like any other couple on the beach.