Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Ocean's 11
A/N: For InSilva. For reasons of sentiment that knows nothing about time. In more ways than one.
If Bobby was being completely honest, he didn't much care for Las Vegas. Too glitzy, too gaudy, too many faces. He preferred a town where, if you threw a rock, you had a hope of hitting an honest man. There were better places of spending his vacation time, he was sure.
Still, sometimes there was just no choice. Irwin Todd was in Vegas and with him was a collection of letters that Frederick Brel was desperate to get back. Now. Or yesterday. Or sooner, for preference. Bobby wasn't too impressed with Frederick. In fact, Frederick had struck him as being a particularly weak and frivolous young man. But, he knew people and he was paying good money, and Bobby was willing to go along with that. For the moment. Though if Frederick called him one more time demanding to know what was taking so long, that might just change.
Three days of research led him to be certain that the letters were kept with the rest of Irwin Todd's favourite valuables, in a safe in his penthouse office. Another day of research told him that the code was nowhere to be found. He was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. And to be honest, that didn't bother him one little bit.
A couple of phone calls, a little judicious use of fake letterhead, and he'd set Irwin Todd up for an all-afternoon meeting with the mayor's office. By the time both sides stopped yelling enough to figure out that there was no zoning issue...actually by that time he'd probably not only be long gone, he'd probably be retired.
He walked briskly into the glass-fronted building and headed straight past reception. Just as he'd expected, he didn't get a second glance. Look smart enough, walk tall enough, breath confidence and no one troubled you. Not that he couldn't pass a challenge if he had to; if he had to, he could prove he had every right to be here or anywhere else in the world.
The elevator was, apparently, somewhere on the sixteenth floor, and he pressed the call button and carefully stood behind an infeasibly tall pot plant, hidden from view of reception. Just in case. It was always better to be safe than sorry. Two minutes and no action, and he frowned, stepped forwards to check the display, and promptly had his foot run over by a rattling tea trolley.
"Oops!" the woman pushing the trolley said, as he grabbed his foot painfully. "God, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, thank you," he managed to say manfully, trying to massage some life back into his toes. "Don't worry about it. It was an accident."
"It's my first day," she confided guiltily. "Do you work here then?"
He stood up straight. "No, I've got a meeting with the boss."
"Irwin Todd?" she asked, with just a slight hint of familiarity that made him wonder. Then she smiled, and somehow the worry melted away. "That's where I'm taking this."
"Oh?" he said sharply. That wasn't good news. For him. Irwin Todd was not supposed to be in the office this afternoon.
"Uh huh," she nodded. "Where's this elevator, then? Are you sure you pressed the button?"
"I did," he protested indignantly.
She looked at him sceptically and leant past him – close enough that he was breathing in her perfume, and she smelt of snowdrops in winter – and pressed the button. It lit up.
"There you go," she said brightly. "Sometimes you need to be firm with these things."
He gritted his teeth and stood in injured silence until the elevator came. Then he was forced by the demands of chivalry, common decency and intense social embarrassment, to give her a hand getting the trolley through the elevator door. Between them, they managed to only scuff the paintwork a half dozen times.
He made an excuse and got off the elevator a floor below the penthouse. He'd need to check out whether the office was actually empty. And if it wasn't...he was going to have to change his plans. The thought made him grimace; he didn't like improvisation. Spontaneity. Things should happen the way he planned, anything else was risky. And he really didn't like risks.
The stairs, then, and he managed to find them without difficulty, managed to get up them and avoid the secretary. There was no sign of Irwin Todd. No sign of life generally. And that was good. Or it would have been good if there wasn't ample sign of death.
Stuffed animals. Lots of them. There was a polar bear at the end of the corridor that he'd swear was looking at him. A rather forlorn looking penguin was standing beneath it, looking like it would rather be anywhere else.
Bobby had seen a lot of strange things in his life. And he didn't frighten easily. You couldn't, if you wanted to be a world-class thief and an FBI agent at the same time. But hell, this place was giving him the creeps.
Shuddering, he knocked gently and opened the door to Irwin Todd's private office. And promptly leapt about two feet in the air when he came face to face with a snarling lion.
Jesus Christ. Oh, he was glad he didn't have his gun. He'd probably have shot instinctively.
A stuffed lion. Of course it was a stuffed lion. Probably Irwin Todd took great pleasure in observing his visitors' reactions.
Grimacing slightly, he edged round the lion and made his way into the office. The safe was behind the desk, exactly like he'd expected. Carefully, he pulled out his bundle of tools and took a closer look.
There was a motion sensor just in front of the safe. Clever. But it ran off a circuit and it shouldn't be a problem to cut it. He traced the wire, over the desk and down to the wall and prepared to get to work.
That was when he heard a noise at the door.
Quickly, he hid himself behind the sofa, cursing silently to himself.
The door opened and the woman from the elevator walked through, pulling her tea trolley behind her. Oh, safe to say she wasn't here to dispense hot beverages.
She jumped on seeing the lion and he felt a brief stab of pleasure that he wasn't the only one caught off guard. "Holy crap," she muttered, shaking her head and heading straight for the safe.
This wasn't good.
It got worse; she just glanced at the safe before heading back to the tea trolley and gingerly pulling out a little greaseproof packet and a couple of fuses.
Plastic explosives? He'd sent Irwin Todd away on a wild goose chase so that he'd have hours to crack the safe, and now someone was going to blow it up? Oh, this wasn't fair on Bobby at all.
Aghast, he watched as she carried the plastic explosives back towards the safe
The motion sensor.
Fuck, the motion sensor.
She was going to set it off.
Unthinkingly, he leapt to his feet, just as she was passing the sofa. "There's a motion sensor on the safe!" he hissed urgently.
In hindsight, he really could have handled that better.
She, unsurprisingly, was surprised by a man leaping out of nowhere while she was in the middle of robbing the place. She jumped. Swore. Dropped the little packet of explosives on the floor.
It felt like they stood, frozen, for years. In reality, it must've been rather less than a second and, without conscious thought, he grabbed her, pulled her behind the desk, pushing her to the ground and shielding her with his body to the best of his ability. Instinct. Sheer, simple, instinct.
The explosion was neither the loudest nor the most dramatic he'd ever been involved in. But it was more than enough to be going on with and, once he was sure neither of them were injured, he looked round, groggily. Ironically, the safe seemed undamaged. The wallpaper and the carpet, on the other hand.....
Seconds after, as the smoke was just beginning to clear, she pushed him away and scrambled to her feet, glaring at him all the while.
"Where the hell did you come from?" she demanded. "And what the hell were you thinking?"
"I was here first!" he insisted, standing up shakily. "And I was thinking about saving you from being arrested. Or killed."
It was a cliché, but she was beautiful when she was angry. He tried to pretend he wasn't thinking that as she snarled at him. "I was doing just fine on my own, buster, before you decided to butt in. What the hell were thinking?"
He snorted. "Oh, right, you were doing fine blowing things up. You ever hear of subtlety?"
"You ever hear of not yelling at people when they're handling explosives?" she shot back.
"There's a motion sensor in front of the safe - " he started to explain.
She wasn't having any of it. " - I know all about the motion sensor, thank you very much. I had a whitebox prepared."
He wasn't going to be wrongfooted. "You know how much time I put into getting Irwin out of his office? And you just - "
" - quiet!" she interrupted.
Oh, that wasn't on. "I will not be quiet, I'm telling you - "
" - they're coming," she said grimly, and he shut up. She was right. He could hear pounding footsteps on the stairs. Oddly, it seemed like someone had heard the little explosion.
He looked at her. She looked at him. "Run?" he suggested.
"Back stairs," she agreed immediately.
They ran, and the other door exploded open a moment before they got there. Bobby grabbed the handle of the tea trolley as they ran past, and shoved it hard. It flew across the room and hit the stuffed lion hard and the stuffed lion hurtled into two shocked looking security guards.
She grinned. "Attacked by a lion in an office block. Bet that doesn't happen often."
"Suppose it depends on the boss," he suggested, and they were out the door and rushing down the corridor, down the stairs, and he was caught in breathless exhilaration.
The street loomed in front of them and they were still together, even though maybe it was more sensible to split up, they were running together, and there were footsteps pursuing them, somewhere behind.
"We should get off the street," he yelled across at her, and she said the exact same words at the exact same moment.
There was a door to the left, opening and welcoming, and he grabbed her hand and they waltzed inside.
The showgirl smiled at them prettily from behind the desk. "Hello there," she began happily. "Were you looking to get married?"
He blinked, and outside there were running footsteps and angry shouting.
"Yes," beamed the woman holding his hand, this perfect annoying stranger. "We want to get married."
Five minutes later and Bobby was dreaming, he had to be, because Elvis was talking to him.
"Then, by the power vested in me by the city of Las Vegas, I hereby pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride. Uh-huh-huh."
He kissed the proffered cheek hastily and glanced round the chapel. Nothing and no one. There'd been a brief scuffle in the entranceway earlier, and Irwin Todd's people had glanced in, but they'd seen nothing but a couple getting married, and it had been barely a couple of seconds before they'd been chased off by showgirls.
They were home free. Home free and married.
"Thank you and goodnight," Elvis yelled enthusiastically.
"So where are you taking me on our honeymoon?" she grinned as they walked down the street a little while later.
He glanced sideways at her. "That's not funny."
She frowned. "Hey, lighten up, big fellow. It's no big deal. Eve Mitchell isn't my real name. I'd be willing to bet James Turner isn't yours. It's not legal."
"That's not the point," he said forcefully, and he wasn't exactly sure what the point was. Just that he didn't think that was it. He sighed. They needed to talk. "Can I buy you a drink?"
Smiling, she clicked her tongue. "My husband's buying me a drink and I don't even know his name."
"Robert Caldwell," he said immediately, not even thinking about it. "Bobby."
"Bobby," she said experimentally. "Bobby.....I think I like it."
"I'm glad it meets your approval," he told her dryly and she laughed.
"I'm Molly. Molly Prior. Good to meet you."
They drifted into a bar and he got himself a beer and her a gin and tonic.
"So what were you going after?" he asked when they were settled at a table.
She grimaced. "I was hired by this kid. Apparently Irwin Todd's got some letters that if they come out will lose him his father's company. Guess he doesn't want to be blackmailed. I'm a sucker for a sob story."
He stared, disbelievingly. "Frederick Brel," he stated heavily.
"Yes," she agreed, frowning. "How did you....oh, you have got to be kidding."
"He hired both of us," Bobby agreed. He'd hired both of them and they'd both wound up looking like idiots.
"That little rat," she said, wide-eyed. "I've a good mind to force his shiny white sneakers down his throat."
Bobby found himself grinning. He'd noticed those sneakers too. "Might just mention his name to a coupla guys I work with," he mused.
She looked at him questioningly.
He shrugged. "I'm an FBI agent," he said. And that was strange because he normally didn't tell people that until he'd had time to be sure of them. Unsurprisingly, it made a lot of people wary of him. Mistrustful, even.
In this case it didn't matter. She smiled gently at him. "Sure you are, sweet thing."
He blinked. "I am," he protested, and he stopped just short of offering to show her his badge. Not least because he didn't have it on him.
"Uh huh." She still seemed sceptical. "So how do you want to do this? We're both after the same prize. You want to toss a coin or what?"
He hesitated. "We could work together?" he suggested. "Split the money?" He had no idea why he'd suggested that. He didn't need the money, he didn't like Frederick Brel and he worked alone. He always worked alone, unless he really couldn't help it. But somehow, it just seemed the best plan.
"Mmm," she smiled. "Sounds good to me. But I want to put the thumbscrews on little Freddy first."
"I want to find out if anyone's looking for us," Bobby said firmly. Reuben would know. In this town, Reuben knew everything.
They glanced over to the corner of the bar and the single, solitary payphone.
"Race you," Molly said with a grin, and the scramble was brief, undignified and, from Bobby's point of view, unwinnable.
Turned out Frederick Brel had thought that two thieves were bound to be better than one. And he was more than happy for them to work together and he wanted his letters back now, or at the very least, sooner than humanly possible.
Also turned out that Irwin Todd was looking for them. He didn't have names and he only had the vaguest of descriptions, but they had to stay hidden and they had to look like anything other than they were.
Bobby would never understand how that train of logic got him trapped in the honeymoon suite of the hotel opposite Irwin Todd's office. Security had been tightened. They needed another way in, and inspiration wasn't immediately forthcoming.
Twenty-four hour surveillance for three days. And Molly kept smiling at room service and the complimentary chocolates and champagne kept appearing, and every day he relaxed a little more and every day he shared a little more, and she told him about herself, about her life and her hopes and her dreams; about the time that she'd impersonated a Russian Countess, and he'd been smiling and cheering her on; about the opera singer and the french poodle, and he'd been almost crying with laughter; about Francesca Thornton, and he'd found himself holding her hand tightly and promising it wasn't her fault.
He told her stuff too, things that he didn't think he'd ever tell anyone, things that mattered, and she understood him, didn't judge him.
In those three days, it seemed like he smiled more than he had his whole life.
At night, he lay on the sofa, stared at the ceiling and wondered.
He had a horrible feeling he was falling in love.
The fourth day, just when Bobby was starting to feel like he knew everything and nothing about Molly, they went back to Irwin Todd's office.
Friday afternoon and Irwin Todd himself had his weekly golf game with Willy Bank. Of course, since the break-in....explosion...however you wanted to put it, he wasn't taking any chances. Everyone was on high alert and Bobby knew that simple confidence had no chance of winning the day.
Molly had a whole other plan. Seemed like Irwin Todd had been having a difficult time with the people he'd called in to fix his office. Decorators coming and going all day - mostly, if Todd's ranting was to be believed, going – and nothing had been done.
It wasn't what Bobby would have thought of on his own. It wasn't something that Bobby could do on his own. But he loved it, just the same.
He followed along in Molly's wake as she swept haughtily into the building and headed straight for the penthouse.
"This is where we first met," she said suddenly, as they waited for the elevator.
"I still have the bruises," he murmured back and she giggled.
The secretary at the reception on the top floor looked harassed. The security guard in front of Irwin Todd's door, on the other hand, simply looked bored.
"Catriona Calina and you are expecting me," Molly announced, throwing a business card down on the desk with an air of disdain.
"Ms. Calina has been invited by Mr Todd with regard to his personal office redesign and refurbishment to see if it's the sort of project she'd be interested in undertaking," Bobby cut in and his eyes met the secretary's in a moment of world-weary apology and understanding.
More than slightly flustered, she checked the book in front of her. "There's nothing down here, are you sure - "
" - yes, yes," Molly interrupted impatiently. "It was all arranged."
She looked doubtful. "Well, Mr Todd's not here right now - "
" - also arranged," Molly insisted. "Mr Todd does not care for disturbance and irregularity. I must say, he is a man after my own heart."
Behind Molly's back, Bobby offered a sympathetic smile to the secretary and she struggled on gamely. " - and I'm really not comfortable letting you in without authorisation."
"Then you may tell Mr Todd that I, Catriona Calina, was here and was refused entrance. I will not stand to be insulted like some - "
" - If I may?" Bobby interrupted firmly, and he reached into the attaché case he was carrying. "This is the letter of confirmation we received from Mr. Todd. Perhaps there's been some confusion?"
The letter was one of his contributions to the plan. The letterhead was genuine, of course. The signature, not so much.
The secretary looked at it for a long time. "Well, this certainly seems to be in order," she commented, puzzlement in the place of doubt. "And that's certainly Mr Todd's signature. Just that it's not in the appointment book. And he didn't mention anything to me."
Molly looked scornful. "And Mr Todd clears everything through you, I suppose."
Bobby's smile was bright and compassionate and absolutely inclusive. It would certainly be so much easier if they did, was the shared thought. "Perhaps he forgot to mention?" he suggested diplomatically.
"Perhaps," she agreed, scanning the letter again. "Oh! This was sent out on Wednesday afternoon! I wasn't here then."
They already knew that.
"I suppose Carla must have typed the letter and forgot to add you into the appointment book," she said, with a sizeable hint of superiority. "You know, I should have thought of that right away. I can't think why I didn't. She's from Puerto Rico you know," she added confidingly.
"And here you are, left to clear up her mess," Bobby said sympathetically.
"Oh, I don't mind," she assured him, with a grimace that made it perfectly clear that yes, she did mind very much as it happened. "Still, at least we got it all sorted out in the end," she added brightly. "Imagine how awful it would have been if I'd sent you away."
"Imagine," Bobby agreed dutifully, and he took the letter back as she handed it to them.
Molly made a disagreeable noise. "The sooner we get on here, the sooner we will be done,"
The secretary blinked. "Oh, how long do you think you'll - "
" - not more than a couple of hours," Bobby assured her with a wink. "Ms Calina has another appointment." And, barring complications, they should be out long before then.
"We will go in now," Molly declared imperiously. "And we will not be disturbed. Inspiration must flow."
The secretary caught Bobby's eye and the tiny giggle wasn't especially professional. "You won't be disturbed," she promised.
The stuffed lion was conspicuous by its absence. Bobby had to guess that the collision with the tea trolley hadn't been especially good for it.
A quick exchange of looks and they set to work wedging chairs under the door handles. Wouldn't stop anyone for long, but it would be enough to give them some warning to switch from safecracking to interior design.
He watched in honest admiration as Molly – very, very slowly – laid a reflective white box over the motion detector. So simple, and he could see how it worked, but he'd never seen anyone do it before. She was amazing, he thought absently, and cursed himself. When she turned round, he was careful to present his very best poker face. "Very nice," he said with gruff approval.
She grinned a little wider and he couldn't help but feel she knew exactly what cards he was holding. "Okay then, big boy. Time to see what you got."
Honestly, he responding to the challenge before he even knew what he was doing, crouched down in front of the safe, cracking his knuckles, as focused as he could remember being, positioning the stethoscope, just a little to the right, just a little further up, and he turned the lock and listened.
His eyes were closed tight. A click there and that was first wheel and second tumbler. He made a couple of marks against each on his graph paper, and he moved the stethoscope ever so slightly and gave himself up to single-minded determination.
"That is the sexiest thing I've ever seen," Molly said from behind him, and her voice was hoarse and she sounded like she meant it.
Bobby could feel the tips of his ears going red.
Took forty minutes for him to get into the safe. And after her initial, intensely distracting comment, Molly had stayed silent and let him work.
Afterwards, as he was tidying up and generally making sure that no one could tell they'd been there, Molly was flicking through the letters.
"You know, I can see why our Freddy was worried about being disinherited," she commented. "Think if I was his father, I'd be asking some serious questions."
"If you were his father we'd all be asking some serious questions," Bobby replied, before he'd even thought.
There was a pause and then she laughed, delighted. "That was a joke. Bobby, you're full of surprises."
He looked up sharply, frightened that she was making fun of him, but her eyes were warm and she was practically glowing. "Right." He cleared his throat uncertainly. "I guess we should be going."
Going. They should be going because they were meeting Frederick Brel at seven, and then, after that, he'd be going back to Chicago, and Molly would be going...wherever...and they'd never see each other again. He didn't want complications, he reminded himself. He treasured his independence above all else. He didn't have any reason to see her again.
As they were leaving, the secretary smiled hopefully at him. "Would you like my number?" she asked.
His smile was apologetic and his answer was instinctive. "Sorry, I'm married," he said, and he didn't look at Molly.
For reasons that were entirely unclear, Frederick Brel had wanted to meet them in the lowest level of the underground parking lot beneath his hotel.
He hadn't improved any since the last time Bobby had seen him. Only difference was now he was dressed in an enormous coat, a fedora and an outlandish pair of dark glasses.
"You've got my letters," he demanded urgently.
"Yes we have," Molly told him, reaching into her pocket and passing the letters over to him.
Frederick grabbed them out of her hand and stepped back, the letters crumpled in his fist. "Yes!" He scanned the letters quickly. "This is it."
There was still an edge to his voice, and his hands were trembling.
"You're welcome," Bobby said cautiously, and there was just something not quite right here.
"I needed these back," Frederick said intensely and Bobby glanced at Molly and he could see she wasn't comfortable either.
"About our money?" he suggested hesitantly.
Frederick gazed at them with unseeing eyes. "I was willing to pay you. Honestly, I was. But you know about the letters. And I can't take any chances. I'm sorry."
He pulled a gun out of his pocket and the world froze.
It was a forty four magnum, Bobby noted almost dreamily. Kid thought he was Dirty Harry. And there was no way he could handle a gun like that, but it didn't matter, because a gun was a gun and death had a habit of following.
"You don't want to do this," he said, gently and firmly, stepping forwards and it was only partly about trying to talk Frederick down, mostly he just wanted the attention on him, the gun pointing at him.
But the point of the gun was wavering, and Frederick might be staring at him, but Bobby had no idea what he was aiming at. "I...I..." Frederick stammered, and he pulled the trigger.
The noise was deafening. There was no way he should've been able to hear Molly's soft, pained gasp over it. But he could. He could, and it was the worst, the most frightening sound he'd ever heard.
Frederick was thrown backwards by the recoil, and Bobby would put good money on his wrist being broken. He ignored the man's pained moans, snatched the gun off the ground and ran to Molly. God, let her be alive. Let her be alive. Please. He'd give anything.
There was blood staining her shirt and her eyes were closed. Nonononononononono. No. They'd only just met. They'd only just....
She was breathing. Ragged and gasping, but she was breathing, and there was a pulse. He tore at her shirt frantically, needing to see, and the wound was in her shoulder, and that was good, that had to be good, but she was losing too much blood, and he put as much pressure on as he could, this bleeding had to stop. He needed Molly. He needed.
"Molly, I'm here," he whispered. "Open your eyes. Please."
There was no response.
A noise off in the corner of the parking lot, and he looked up in time to see Frederick running past an attendant. The guy was staring over at them.
"Call an ambulance! Now!" he screamed and the guy ran like his life depended on it.
It was a nightmare. A nightmare that only lasted ten minutes at most, but it felt like forever.
The ambulance had arrived along with a swarm of cops and he'd given them his badge number and the number of his field office and watched as he changed in their eyes from suspect to VIP. He told them a story and hardly knew what it was, but they believed it and he had every confidence that they were going to find Frederick.
"We're moving her!" the paramedic yelled, and Bobby followed the stretcher into an ambulance. "Hey, is this guy allowed to come?" he added, calling to the cops.
"Yeah, he's FBI." the cop called back, and then he looked at Bobby. "Good luck, sir."
The door closed and for the first time, Molly opened her eyes. "You're really a Fed?" she asked, and her voice was soft and weak.
Bobby grasped her hand tightly. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'm really a Fed."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Thought you were trying to impress me."
"I wouldn't know how," he told her and the paramedic cleared his throat and Bobby had to move out of the way for a long and agonising moment as needles were inserted and drugs administered. The ambulance was moving, and it wasn't fast enough, and why hadn't he made more of the time? Why hadn't he let her know how amazing she was? The most special, the most wonderful, the most unexpected... "I want to marry you," he said in an astonished whisper.
She turned her head slightly. "What?" she slurred.
"I want to marry you," he said, gaining volume and certainty. "I've never met anyone like you. These last few days have been the best I could imagine. Better than I could imagine. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please, Molly. Say you'll marry me."
"We're already married," she told him, and a smile was hovering weakly around her face.
He stared at her, desperate and terrified. "Molly, I..."
"Idiot." Somehow, she found the strength to take his hand and raise it to her lips. "Think I'm going to let you get away that easy? I just found you, Bobby. And I don't ever want to let you go."
Later, after a three hour operation, and there was a hospital room, a cup of coffee that tasted like dishwater, a bunch of flowers that wouldn't look out of place in the rainforest from Reuben, and Bobby was just waiting for Molly to wake up.
Way he heard it, Frederick was dead. Shot trying to take on an armed roadblock. And that was good, because Bobby looked at Molly, pale and still, and he could all too easily imagine what he'd have done if he was the one to catch up with Frederick. Death would have been the easy part.
He reached out and stroked her hair and it felt so natural. So intimate. They'd never even kissed. Not really. They'd never kissed and she was the only woman who he ever wanted to kiss again. He took her hand in his and leaned forwards over the bed, her hand pressed to his forehead.
"Hi," she said softly, sleepily, and he looked up, startled. "You're still here."
"I never want to leave," he told her, quiet and meaningful.
Her face lit up like a summer's day, and she was so, so beautiful. "You meant what you said?"
"I meant what I said," he agreed tenderly. He more than meant what he said. He thought that maybe he wanted to be here every time she woke up from now on. Every morning for the rest of his life.
"I love you," she said and she looked at him like he was everything she'd ever wanted.
This wasn't anything he'd planned on. This was surprising and spontaneous and risky and everything he thought he hated. And he couldn't imagine wanting anything more.
"I love you too," he said, for the very first time, and he watched her smile and he felt like this would never, ever end.