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The door closed behind them and Hetty closed the lock, and Granger sank down onto the couch.
"This isn't exactly how I pictured our wedding," he said.
"No?" Hetty perched beside him. "What did you imagine?"
"Primarily that it would be interrupted by a crisis of some level." He ran a hand down his face. "Probably some international emergency. Terrorists. Treason. War crimes. That sort of thing."
"Yet here we are."
"Here we are," he agreed, and they settled back in silence.
The service had been lovely, if a bit quick. Granger had been reluctant to have a service to begin with--"At our age, with my health, they'll think it's a funeral service"--but Hetty put her foot down. "Show a woman a good time, Owen," she'd told him, and soon enough she had him perusing Kippot and attending an aufruf.
In the end, as she often did, Hetty wound up getting what she wanted: a slightly less-than-Orthodox wedding with their friends and co-workers in attendance. There had even been fasting, though that was more a case of distraction than of religious observance.
Hetty went to the break room table and picked out a pear from the bowl there before tossing it to him. "Here," she said.
He tossed it back. "I don't like pears, remember?"
She picked out an orange and threw it at him, more emphatically this time. "Eat something, Owen. Your hands are shaking."
He looked down at his hands, which were in fact trembling. "Huh," he said. "I hadn't noticed."
"That's why you needed a wife," she teased, bringing her own orange to the couch with her. She handed it to him, and he opened it for her and handed it back.
"A wife," Granger echoed, as if he were trying the word out for the first time. Before he could complete the thought, something crashed outside the door, and they both leapt to their feet, reaching for guns they weren't wearing.
"Terrorists?" Granger asked. "Or the meerkats getting into trouble?"
"Only one way to find out." Hetty crossed to the door and knocked softly. "Everything alright out there?" she asked.
"Everything's fine," came G's voice. "Don't come out."
"Yup," Sam called. "It's all good."
Hetty looked to Granger, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"Might as well make use of the full eight minutes," he said. "You're the one who wanted a yichud."
Hetty smiled at him. "Oh, I can think of a few ways to make full use of eight minutes."
He smiled back and shook his head. "We're not teenagers, Henrietta."
"Perhaps not. But we're not dead, either." She returned to her seat and stared up at him. "Now, are you going to kiss me or not?"
He sat down at her side and nudged her slightly with his shoulder. Outside came another crash and another cry of, "It's fine!", but the couple on the couch heard none of it as they slipped into each other's arms.