He trusts her with everything he has, that much he knew, yet the events of the day forced him to reevaluate where he stood for her - was he just a plaything she could string along for the better part of a decade, then dump like a discarded coffee cup on the street while she locked lips with an old classmate?
They had decided, very mutually, to share their lives when they still had weight to them, had heartbeats and a pulse and a steady stream of oxygen. The person you pledge your life to isn't supposed to disappear from eyesight in a donut shop parking lot, then reappear in a bus stop camera with a fugitive and older sister in tow. Their path together was built on sharing - all the hardships, the mysteries, the joys.
Nothing was supposed to get in the way of that, national security or otherwise.
She was better than that, more than that, too reciprocal for that. He knew that every move she made had a purpose, every movement, every action or otherwise. There was a method to her madness, whether he could see it or not.
It's not like she kissed him without being aware of the ripples it could have - the implied break in trust, the audacity, the shattering of character. She had been taught to move with purpose, and did just that. An easy disguise from otherwise prying local police would let them remain unnoticed on all fronts - on the street, in the city recording station - except the one where it really mattered.
Just because it was slowly becoming her life didn't mean he had to always like it. Degrees of subterfuge blending in with domesticity would always feel unnatural, no matter how many days would pass by. They'd spent too much time in their work to know that having someone at home wasn't always a guarantee, that moments once treasured could slip through the cracks like sand.
So, she kissed him, in the shadowy corner, their images cloudy over surveillance, but did so with purpose - hopefully what trust they held would remain watertight, and this would just become another piece of the job, another action completed for the result, not to gain any kind of pleasure from the act itself.
Just because it was becoming her life didn't mean it would have to become his. She'd make it home, and kiss him without purpose, just as it should be.
