A/N: This is a quick(ish) self-indulgent fic I wrote for DoctorLia for just being a giving, wonderful human being.

I still can't believe I did it in one sitting! Writing's always daunting to me, because I'd rather literally draw a favorite scene out. So, here you go. My actual first full PoI fic. Also x-posted on AO3.

STILL KICKING

Zoe Morgan never made it a point to be early to a meeting. She was always on time. If she disliked the client, she'd make them wait—half an hour to an hour, tops—and call some 10-20 minutes before the time to let them know she was running late. It was an exercise in pettiness, but she didn't care. She was confident that if they wanted the services of a crisis manager of her caliber, they would be willing to wait her out.

But the people she was meeting today were exceptions. She would always make time for them whenever possible. She owed them her life, after all.

A familiar figure at their designated table, placidly sipping his drink and observing his surroundings. He smiled and stood up as she got closer.

"Miss Morgan."

"Harold." She gave him a quick hug, which he returned, then glanced around. "He'll be late again, won't he?"

Harold gave her a long-suffering, you know how it is look. "One would think that as a retired field agent, he'd have a better handle on time management."

She patted his arm as they sat. "No problem. At least he gets to go home in one piece."

Harold barked a laugh, mirth crinkling his eyes. He was smiling more openly nowadays. It warmed Zoe to see the ease in which Harold expresses his emotions after all these years.

"Don't I know it," Harold exclaimed, a haunted look immediately clouding his expression. On instinct, Zoe laid her hand on his as it clenched on the table, and squeezed it.

They've been meeting for lunch for years now that Zoe could practically predict when Harold or John would go down that dark memory in their lives...

Both men were scant with the details, assuring her repeatedly that it was for her own safety. All they told her was that very dangerous people were after them, almost getting John killed.

It was touch and go for a while for John, but he recovered, and was told he could never go back to his old work again.

Zoe never pried any further than what she was told, and she was fine with that. These men have clearly gone through a very terrifying ordeal, and it still haunts them to this day.

She decided to nudge their talk back to something pleasant. "So. Last I heard from John, Leila enjoyed soccer camp so much."

Predictably, Harold's face brightened. It always did when the subject of their daughter came up.

Leila. Another bright point in Harold and John's life, aside from each other. She was one of their "clients" they had to save when she was barely a year old. She lived with her only living family, her grandparents, until a car accident took their lives, leaving Leila as the sole survivor.

Upon learning of their deaths, Harold and John got the shock of their lives when they found out that Leila's grandparents have somehow arranged in their will to grant legal guardianship of Leila to both of them.

Zoe almost laughed in their faces when they told her about it, seeing how terrified they were at the prospect of fostering a child. That changed when they met on their next lunch date, when she noted how their features softened at the mere mention of her.

Zoe got to meet Leila when John invited her to a home-cooked dinner with him, Harold, Sameen, and their police friend, Det. Fusco. She has long reconciled with the fact that she was not great with children, but she was good at reading people. One look at how the boys interacted with Leila, and she knew they would die for the little girl.

Soon enough, Leila's adoption by the duo was completed within a year, thanks in part from Harold's mysterious network. Plus the fact that he and John getting married helped expedite things.

Now, Harold is the very picture of a proud father. "Oh, yes. She couldn't stop talking about it," he enthused. "She loves it because, and I'm paraphrasing here, 'I'm kicking butt like Daddy, only I'm kicking balls.'"

Zoe couldn't suppress her laughter. "I hope she meant actual soccer balls."

Harold gave her a mock-stern look. "I should think so. She's such a precocious nine-year-old. I'm actually having a more difficult time getting John to curb his language around the child."

Her smirk grew. "She said 'ass', didn't she?"

Harold could only sigh.

She giggled at his non-verbal answer, but then his face clouded over.

"What is it?"

"Well, John signed her up for her school's U9 youth soccer team two weeks ago. But we found out about a week ago that she didn't make the cut."

She made a sympathetic noise. "Did they say why?"

"According to the coach, their youth soccer league thought Leila didn't meet the physical requirements needed for the rigors of the game." The disdain in Harold's tone was unmistakable.

"Leila must be disappointed."

"'Disappointed' is an understatement," he quipped. "She was inconsolable. Picked at her food, kept to her room most of the time, and simply moped around the house. Even Bear couldn't cheer her up."

"Sounds serious." It was common knowledge in their little circle that Leila adored the old dog.

"John would agree with you. It was a stressful week for him trying to get Leila out of her funk." He leaned closer. "You know, I found him cleaning one of his high-caliber rifles in our garage, a few days into Leila's moping. He was grumbling about the unfairness of it all. It's usually never a good sign when he takes out and cleans an alarming number of his arsenal."

She's never seen John handle anything bigger than a pistol. But, John being John, she took Harold's word for it.

"Do you agree with the league's decision?" She arched a manicured brow.

"I think it would have been a good teachable moment for her to experience disappointment, to learn how to cope with challenges."

Count on Harold to take the moral high ground. It'll keep Leila out of trouble. John, too… some of the time.

Something in his wording caught her attention. "'Would have'? What happened?"

Harold sighed. "I met with the coach yesterday when I picked Leila up from school. He told me that the league has reversed their decision."

"But that's good news, isn't it?"

He winced slightly. "I have my doubts. Especially when the coach was walking rather stiffly and giving my spouse a very wide berth."

"No," she gasped. "He didn't…?

"I highly suspect so, Ms. Morgan," he replied with an expressive eye-roll.

"No doubt that John's trying to be a good father…"

"A good soccer mom, he is not," Harold finished.

Their shared laughter was interrupted by the trill of Harold's phone. Glancing at the screen, he grinned at Zoe.

"Hi, honey!" He placed it on speaker and set it in the middle of the table. "I'm with Ms. Morgan. What's keeping you?"

"Hey, sweetheart. Do you know I can hear you both?" came John's smooth voice, light and teasing. "Hello, Zoe."

"John," she responded in the same sultry tone, a ritual forged in playfulness during their peculiar encounters.

Harold looked mortified as he looked around, snatched up his phone and brought it closer to his mouth.

"John Henry Tallis-Dashwood," he hissed, "tell me you did not bug me again?"

A low chuckle came through the speaker. "I'll never tell."

Many thanks to RedGold for being my idea wrangler and keeping this story coherent. ^_^

LMK what you think!