Paris; 1961

The music around them was slow and intoxicating as they swayed in the warm night air. The Eiffel Tower was as Napoleon had so eloquently put it; lit up like a giant Christmas tree dipped in nuclear waste.

They were both exhausted and a little battered but he had insisted they stick to their plans and so here they were, in a tiny restaurant with only a small area for dancing among the al fresco tables with the soft bars of a tune that was undeniably French surrounding them.

She was in her favourite place; her hand safely ensconced in his and her ear to his heartbeat as he held her close and let the music guide them. Their steps were small; both refusing to admit how much the days activities had hurt them, though she was acutely aware of how an awkward turn on Napoleon's right hip was making him hiss in pain.

The soft melody was building to a crescendo and she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't be happy with people just admiring them; the couple embracing so tightly after a day of witnessing bloodshed, and his ego would force him into some elaborate spin or dip and she couldn't take the flare of pain in eyes again.

Pulling away from him, she offered him a tight smile before pushing up and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

"Let's go home, Napoleon." Her voice was barely a murmur and with a stiff nod from her partner, they were scooping up their belongings from the table and were making their way towards a taxi.

Throwing open the balcony doors and letting the humid air fan her as the gauzy curtains blew slightly she was grateful, not for the first time, that MI6 had splurged on the penthouse suite of their hotel.

Behind her, she could hear him shrugging out of his suit jacket and pulling at his tie, likely with a grimace, and wondered how long it was going to take before they were able to get today's carnage from the forefront of their minds.

She relaxed into him as his hands wrapped around her middle and they both stared out at the inky sky and the bustling city below them.

"Let me look at it." She picked up the conversation they'd had while getting ready to leave for the restaurant only hours earlier.

"I'm fine." He mumbled into her hair. "I sorted it."

"I've seen your 'sorted' wounds, Napoleon." She turned in his hold to face him. "And they almost always end up requiring medical attention." She stepped back, letting his arms fall away from her, and onto the balcony. "Just a peek?" She asked as he followed her to the small wrought iron table and chairs.

His fingers were working the buttons of his crisp white shirt as he begrudgingly took a seat and she fought the urge to strangle him as he hissed at her probing fingers on the bandage beneath.

"Yes, that definitely looks 'fine'." She sighed as she unwrapped the bandage to reveal an angry red slice in his otherwise tan skin. "I'll get the med kit."

She was back inside in a second and rooting through the draws where she'd stashed the always needed kit when they'd first arrived. Kicking off her shoes, she crossed the plush carpets until she was back on the cool stone of their balcony and set the kit down on the table beside him.

"If you'd just let me deal with him, this wouldn't have happened." She reminded him as she retrieved a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and upturned it on a cotton wool ball.

"If I'd let you deal with him, you'd have ended up like the rest of them." She paused as images of the women they'd been sent to rescue filled her mind before quickly shaking her head and pressing the ball onto the cut and ignoring his hiss of; "Damn it, Eva."

"Don't be such a baby." She admonished, dropping the ball and poking at the now clean wound as she tried to determine whether it would require stitches.

"It doesn't seem like we were here only a year ago." He mused, his gaze once again fixed on the shining city as memories of their honeymoon surfaced. "Something's different."

"Maybe it's us." She offered, opting against stitches and instead placing the largest plaster they had over it.

"Maybe." He echoed, turning back to her as she re-zipped the medical case.

They shared a soft smile as he opened his arms to her and she obligingly perched on his leg, his arms wrapping her closer as they both stared out at Paris. Her head instinctively came to rest on his chest as his broad frame protected her and her flimsy dress from the late night breezes.

Yes, this was her favourite place in the whole worlds; in his arms.