His alarm went off at 6:00 as it always did. He didn't roll over and beg for 5 more minutes of sleep like I would. He sat up like a shot and stretched before heading to the bathroom. I, on the other hand, rolled over to take his side of the bed. I heard him shuffling around in the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. But I couldn't go back to sleep—DJ was already doing his jumping-jacks upstairs. It's never quiet for long in Graceland.
I reluctantly rolled out of bed and followed him to the kitchen. Mike was finishing off a glass of orange juice while working a hand grip. He was looking out the window to the ocean, his back to me. I came up behind him and put my hands on his waist. He tensed and I saw his right hand instinctively jerk toward his waist, where a gun would normally be strapped.
"Just me," I said quietly, kissing his shoulder. He relaxed and leaned back against me.
"What are you doing up?"
"DJ takes his jumping-jacks very seriously," I replied with a grimace. He laughed and turned to face me.
"Can I talk you into going on a run with me?" he asked, cradling my face between his hands. The look I gave him was answer enough. He laughed and gave me a quick kiss before heading to the door. "I love you!" he called back over his shoulder as he left. I smiled to myself and headed back to our room. DJ was done with his jumping-jacks, but I knew I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. I threw open the window to breathe in the fresh, salty ocean air, and let myself soak in the shower for about half an hour. I made the bed—not quite as neatly as Mike would have, but still—then headed back out to the kitchen to appease my grumbling stomach.
The second I opened the fridge I heard a voice behind me—"Don't you dare touch my orange juice!" DJ came into the kitchen and reached around me for his orange juice, but I got it first.
"That's not very nice, DJ!" I said, dancing out of his reach.
"You don't separate an agent from his orange juice, Samantha—didn't anyone tell you that?" He chased me around the island of the kitchen before snatching the juice out of my hand. "Goddamn jumped up little housewife," he grumbled as I laughed.
"Aw, DJ, don't be like that! Graceland needed a civilian's touch," I joked as I grabbed the Cheerio's—Cheerio's that Mike and I bought ourselves, Cheerio's that didn't have a "DJ" scrawled on the box. Johnny came in as I was pouring myself a bowl.
"Sammy Sam-Sam Sammy!" he sang, giving me a peck on the cheek. "Where is the respectable married Mike?" he asked, grabbing a handful of my cereal.
"Out the door at 6:00 of course—he went on a run." Johnny laughed and headed toward the beach.
"I got something to pick up at the farmer's market—anyone need anything?" he asked, one foot already out the door. But before anyone could answer, the door slammed and he was gone.
"I'd like some things, Johnny, thanks for asking, see you later," joked a voice from the entrance to the kitchen. Briggs came in and grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge. "I'm making pancakes, who wants?" he asked.
"ME!" yelled DJ, thrusting his hand into the air.
"I'll take a couple," I said.
"After a bowl of Cheerio's, Samantha? You're going to lose your hooker's figure," Briggs laughed.
"Shut up, Briggs, I'm not a hooker!" I yelled over DJ's laughter.
"Ugh, DJ, your laugh is so loud!" Charlie came in from the beach, barefoot and her hair a mess.
"Morning, Charlie," I said, smiling. Of the ladies in Graceland, Charlie was the one with whom I was friendliest. "Wild night?"
"God, it was horrible. Briggs, give me a few pancakes, will you?" She collapsed into the seat next to me. "I saw your obscenely cheerful husband this morning. Was he out at the crack of dawn?"
"6:00, actually. I don't know how he does it," I answered, finishing off my Cheerio's.
"I don't know how he's so cheerful all the time—for God's sake, he's married to a hooker," she said, trying to hide her smile.
"Goddamn it, I'm not a hooker!" I yelled.
"Who's calling you a hooker?" said a voice from the doorway. Mike came in, sweaty but with the exhilarated look he always had after running on the beach.
"They all are, because of the stupid stunt you pulled when you were undercover! Now I'm the sexy Russian hooker Katarina—none of which is true!" I said, glaring at Briggs.
"Well, the sexy part is," Mike said, kissing my cheek before grabbing a glass. DJ wolf-whistled and Charlie laughed. Briggs put a few pancakes on my plate and DJ's, but he ignored the plate in Mike's hand.
"Are you still punishing me?" Mike asked indignantly, reaching for one of my pancakes.
"Samantha, don't let him get one of those. Your genius husband needs to learn a lesson," Briggs said, slapping Mike's hand away from my plate.
"What did you do this time?" I asked Mike, cutting up my pancakes. Mike laughed uncomfortably and looked down, avoiding my eyes.
"Tell her, Mike," Briggs said as he poured more batter into the pan.
"I… overreacted when I saw a guy stealing chips from a taco stand," Mike said. He reached again for my pancakes, but Briggs hit his hand again with his spatula.
"'Overreacted' is an understatement. He chased this guy for about 10 blocks before we could actually catch up with him. Nearly blew his cover, the idiot." Briggs glared at Mike.
"Mike!" I said. "That was extremely stupid." But I gave in and handed him my fork. He took a bite of my pancakes, then gave me another kiss.
"Alright, alright, enough with the happy married couple thing," Charlie complained.
"Jealousy doesn't look good on a girl, Charlie," DJ said as he headed out the door. Charlie threw her shoe, but he was already gone.
"Where's DJ going?" asked Johnny as he came into the house from the beach. In his hands he had a bag with a weird looking fruit inside of it.
"He's still working those illegal birds, remember?" I answered, proud of myself for remembering.
"Oh yeah…" Johnny started cutting open whatever he had bought at the farmer's market. The second he broke the skin, a distinctly moldy smell permeated the room.
"Jeez, Johnny, I don't think that's any good anymore!" I said, covering my nose with my shirt.
"What the hell is that, wet shoes and cheese?" Charlie asked. She looked revolted.
"I gotta eat this stuff, it's durian fruit! I'm undercover with the Malaysians, I've gotta sweat this stuff out to smell the part." Johnny continued cutting the disgusting fruit.
"Well, at least it smells better than you normally do," I said, grinning at Mike. Briggs laughed so hard he let a pancake burn.
"That is cold, Sammy! Don't play me like that!" In payback, he put a piece of his nasty fruit on my pancakes.
"You trying to poison my wife?" Mike asked indignantly.
"Gross, Johnny!" I tried to flick the fruit off my pancakes before they were contaminated.
"What are you doing with your day, m'dear?" Mike asked, eating another bite of my pancakes.
"I'm still working out my lesson plans—I've only just begun planning the second week of class," I reached for my bag of school stuff.
"What grade are you teaching again, Sam?" Charlie asked.
"11th grade—US History," I grinned. Southern California was great for me. A teacher in a nearby school retired and no one had stepped up to take her place, until I found out that Mike and I were going to Graceland. I knew how lucky I was to be teaching an advanced placement class as a new teacher.
Johnny began opening the mail and handing it out. He gave both Briggs and Mike a psych order from the bureau because of the "world famous Russian shootings".
"I didn't pull the trigger," Mike complained, resting his head on my shoulder. I stroked his hair sympathetically—he hated visiting psychologists.
"But you watched two guys get shot, by me," Briggs said, flipping through his own psych order. "Besides, everyone on our island of misfit toys needs a little head shrinking. Including Miss Samantha, I'm willing to bet." Briggs winked at me and I glared back.
"I'm not as crazy as the rest of you seem to think I am," I said angrily, stabbing at my pancakes while Mike laughed.
"Briggs, where's Lauren?" Charlie asked.
"Upstairs, being Lauren," Briggs answered, flipping a few more pancakes. Mike saw my slight grimace and rubbed my shoulder sympathetically.
Married agents going undercover were rare, or so everyone had told me. I knew it was rare for agents to even be married by Mike's age, but we couldn't help that. We were the first couple to come to Graceland—if we weren't married, they wouldn't have allowed it. But everyone in the house had been welcoming; at least, as welcoming as federal agents ever were. It took them a while to warm up to the idea of a civilian living in the house, but once they accepted it, they were friendly enough. Briggs was cryptic and hard to read, but he was always polite to me. Charlie was helpful and welcoming, and we got along really well (even though Mike pulled his gun on her the first time he saw her). DJ was gone most of the time, but when he was around we were friendly. And Johnny was never mean to anyone—he was thrilled at the idea of a civilian to make fun of. But Lauren had been cold from the moment we first set foot in the house. I understood that it was hard on her to have her partner replaced by, well, us, but she didn't even try to hide her resentment. The other agent, Paige, I hadn't met yet, but I hoped she'd be more like Charlie than like Lauren.
"What did you do to piss Lauren off so much?" Charlie asked, finishing off her pancakes.
"I moved some stuff around in the closet. She made it quite clear that I wasn't to touch anything and that I shouldn't even bother unpacking. But my dresses were getting wrinkled!" I was upset that Lauren didn't like me, but even more upset that she didn't like Mike. My unpacking seemed to make her even more resentful toward him, and I worried how that would affect their relationship, should they ever have to work together.
"You should talk to her, Briggs," Charlie said.
"I'm going to get dressed," I said, pushing away from the counter and leaving my pancakes unfinished. I heard Mike follow after me, but I didn't turn. When we got to our room, I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to at least look cheerful. But talking about Lauren upset me, and Mike could see it. He could read me like an open book, and no matter how much I tried to hide my true feelings, he could always see right through me.
"Sam, it's not your fault," he said, crouching down in front of me. "She would have hated me anyway, just because she thinks it's my fault Donnie is out of the house. You're just… salt in the wound."
"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better," I said, lying back onto the bed. Mike lay down beside me and took me in his arms. "Why are we even here, Mike?" I put my head on his chest and settled into his embrace. "You said we could go wherever we wanted, and we decided that D.C. would be best. But here we are, on the other side of the country."
"I don't know, Sam, but there's nothing we can do about it now; besides, do you think you could have gotten a job teaching AP in D.C.? This is a great opportunity for you!" He kissed my forehead and ran his fingers through my hair.
"But it's not just about me, Mike. What about you? How does this factor into your career, how does this affect your well-laid plans?" Mike had always had a plan. I threw a wrench into them when we decided to get married, but luckily for me he had a plan B. I guess planning becomes second nature when you're an F.B.I. agent.
"You know what they say about well-laid plans of mice and men," Mike joked, trying to sound unconcerned. But I could read him almost as well as he could read me, and I knew something was wrong. I pulled away to look at him, just in time to see him rearrange is face into a neutral expression.
"Mike, what was that call about? The one you got when we were on the beach?" I asked. The entire house celebrated Mike "popping his cherry" (going on his first mission) with a celebration on the beach, and he had taken a call that I knew had shaken him at the time. I didn't ask—I learned a long time ago not to ask if he didn't volunteer the information—but this seemed serious, and it wouldn't be the first time he kept things secret trying to protect me.
"I can't tell you. This is one of those things that I really and truly have to keep secret," he said. I huffed and lay back down angrily. He grinned and situated himself on top of me. "You knew what you were getting into when you married me." He began kissing my face in the way he knew I liked, trying to get me to stop pouting. Eventually he succeeded.
Whenever he kissed me, it felt desperate, almost frantic. It felt like he was trying to kiss me as much as he could before he lost me… or I lost him. Today was no different. The second our lips touched, he grabbed my waist and flipped me on top of him. He ran his hands along my waist, up and down, as though memorizing my figure. I ran my hands through his hair and sighed at his touch. More slowly, he turned again so he was on top of me. His hand ran up the length of my leg, making me tremble and clutch him even closer to me.
Before I could even comprehend the bliss I was experiencing, there was a knock on our door. I slid out from underneath Mike and he ran to open the door while I tried to fix my hair and clothes.
Briggs stuck his head in our room and said simply: "I thought about it, and your plan is awesome. We get rolling this afternoon. Told you I'd think about it!" and he left as abruptly as he had come in. Mike turned around and looked exulted. Needless to say, I was extremely confused. Mike thrust his fists in the air victoriously and fell over onto the bed, his head in my lap. I looked down at him expecting an explanation.
"I had an idea for Briggs' operation with Bello, but at first he told me it was crap. But I guess we're going for it! I get to be a marine!" Mike looked so excited, but I couldn't help voicing my concerns.
"He thought your idea was crap, but now he's going for it? Could this be Briggs trying to teach you a lesson or something? Is that the kind of thing he would do?" I wouldn't put it past Briggs to teach Mike a lesson the hard way. But putting the whole operation in danger would be going pretty far, even for Briggs.