Part Two

V.

In all the various ways Jason Morgan had prepared himself for his death over the years – a gunshot wound, a bombing, a knifing, even by poison, never once had the idea crossed his mind that he would eventually perish from boredom, but, a month into his forced stint in the witness protection program, and that was exactly what he was fearing.

His life was nothing but a mundane routine. He got up in the morning, showered, got dressed, and then made himself a pot of strong, scalding coffee before leaving for work. Work consisted of the same menial tasks over and over again. Hammer this beam into place. Patch this roof. Hang this sheet of drywall. The tasks were rote and unchallenging, and, during the day, they were only broken up by coffee breaks with the other guys and lunch, and he wasn't much for downtime, and he sure as hell didn't enjoy small talk. After work, he returned home to a place that was far less welcoming than any hotel he had ever stayed at or any room above some dive bar he had inhabited. The evenings were passed quietly in isolation. Sometimes he would read; other times he would play a solo game of pool, but there was no deviation from the norm, and, quite rapidly, it was making him feel trapped, even slightly suffocated.

While most men had the small pleasures to enjoy while living the simple life, he didn't. His wifedidn't greet him at the door every evening when he returned home from a long day at work with a smile and a welcome home kiss. There were no lazy Saturday mornings spent in bed, savoring the fact that, technically, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he was a newlywed. Hell, Elizabeth wouldn't even speak to him, let alone spend any time with him. And it wasn't as if he expected her to actually treat him as her husband. In fact, of all the men in the world, he'd probably be one of the last ones she would ever be able to feel that affectionate towards, but, nevertheless, at that point, a shared meal where they could talk about their day and maybe even laugh a little together would be greatly appreciated. He'd probably even take a fight with her if it would break up the monotony of his life, but he knew better than to expect anything from his blushing bride of one month.

Letting himself into the house, Jason sighed. Another day had passed, and, still, Elizabeth had not yet attempted to unpack any of her things. While he had quickly gone through the task of unboxing his own possessions, she, apparently, was in no hurry to do the same. Each morning, she would dig through the various containers until she found some clean clothes… or at least that's what he assumed she did. After all, he really had no way of telling, because she wouldn't talk to him or even allow him to be in the same room as she was, and he knew well enough that she had not yet attempted to do laundry, because it was nearly impossible to find one's way through the over-stuffed and obscenely crowded laundry room.

It was as if she was still in denial about their current lifestyle, as if she thought leaving everything packed would make it less real, but he knew better. He knew that the longer she fought their situation, the harder it would be for her to live with it, and that if she just made half an effort to adjust to her new life, she might find that it wasn't so bad. Even though he himself wasn't a social person, he knew that Elizabeth enjoyed going out to lunch with her friends and going shopping, and there was nothing stopping her from doing those same things in Dovetree. The town was filled with unique and interesting people, people who would embrace her and make her a part of their lives, but she was stubborn and unwilling to try, and he knew better than to suggest anything to her. If an idea came from him, she'd

be more than likely to turn it down just on the principle of disliking him alone, no matter the merit of the idea.

So, resigned to being miserable, resigned to being bored, he weaved his way through the still full boxes lining their entryway, and the kitchen, and even the small hallway that led to the living room and approached the twenty-two year old woman he was supposed to be spending his life with. She appeared to be awaiting his arrival, perched on the edge of the couch while starring into nothing. Unconsciously, his gaze swept over her. While the former enforcer told himself it was habit, that he was just making sure she was physically safe, at the same time, he wondered if there was something more to his actions, but he immediately dismissed them.

She was dressed appropriately for the summer heat. Wearing a light sundress over her bathing suit and filp-flops on her feet, she looked relaxed and cool, but he knew better. Whenever she was in his presence, she was always nervous, constantly fidgeting with her hands and biting her bottom lip, and her evident apprehension towards him always made Jason feel resentful. After all, he had never set out to hurt her intentionally and, after their first initial meeting, never gave her reason to believe that he ever would, but, still, she cowered away from him, always refusing to meet his eye unless she was angry and in an antagonistic mood.

Refusing to exist in the shroud of silence that had been hanging over them for the past four weeks, he greeted her. "Hey."

But, as always, she wouldn't return the gesture. Standing up, Elizabeth went to leave, tossing a canvas tote over her shoulder, a tote, he assumed, was filled with the various essentials a woman took with her when she went swimming. Although they didn't have a pool, Dovetree was located on a small lake, making it a natural destination for seasonal tourists and providing its citizens with easy beach access. "I'm going out," she informed him brusquely, leaving the room while she talked. Instead of taking the path he had just used, though, she, instead, meandered her way around the pool table filled dining room and out the sun porch as if the very idea of even stepping where he had once been appalled her.

And that was it. She never invited him to join her, she never offered him an explanation as to where she was going or when she returned, and she didn't even say goodbye. But Jason wasn't surprised. In fact, those three words were more than he had gotten from the brunette in the past two days combined, but, still, he wanted more. She was the only other person he knew who could understand what he was currently going through and vice versa, and, although they had never been friends in the past and he didn't expect them to be in the present, it would have been nice to have someone that he could really talk to, could really be honest with. Everyone else he had to lie to. It wasn't by choice but by necessity, but he had always hated lying, found it hard to do, and, even after years of being entrenched in the mob, he felt no differently.

Besides, if he was so unhappy with their current living situation, he couldn't even begin to imagine how miserable Elizabeth was. She was an innocent and by no means should have been messed up in his world or the witness protection program. Despite the fact that he could barely tolerate her company, he could easily admit that he regretted the fact that, somehow, she had gotten dragged into the high stakes game of chance he was involved in at the moment. But it didn't matter how sorry he was or how much sympathy he felt for her, the recent college graduate was determined to shut him out, and he had no idea how to change her mind. So, pissed off at himself, at Elizabeth, and at their situation, he

stomped to the kitchen, yanked open the fridge door, and pulled out a bottle of beer. If he couldn't do anything productive, then he might as well try to forget by getting drunk.

VI.

One hour, four beers, and a whole hell of a lot of balls sunk into the various six pockets of his pool table, and Jason Morgan was feeling much better. The fact that he had to get up the next morning, bright and early, to restart and relive basically the same exact day he had just finished was far from his mind. Suddenly, it didn't matter as much that his only real source of companionship wanted nothing to do with him, that life as he knew it no longer existed, and that he was hiding out from instead of facing his enemies head on. In fact, the only thing that mattered to him at the moment was that he still had several cold beers with his name on them in the fridge. At that point, there wasn't much else he could ask for.

But, then, there was a knock on the door, and he knew it wasn't Elizabeth forgetting her key. Instead, it would be their first official visitors. Not only was he on his way to getting drunk, but, to make matters worse, his wifewas nowhere to be found. Talk about making a great first impression with the neighbors. But there were lights on in the house, the windows were open to let in the night breeze, and their SUV was parked in the driveway. There was no way he could act as if no one was there, and it was far too early for anyone to be in bed. So, with no other option at hand, he dropped his pool stick onto the green felt of the table and made his way towards the entrance off the kitchen, the one that led to the driveway.

Beer bottle in hand, he pushed the screen door open only to be confronted by the very last two people he had been expecting. It wasn't some desperate mother looking for a cup of milk to finish her evening meal for her family, and it wasn't some lost traveler needing directions. Instead, it was the two agents assigned to his and Elizabeth's cases, and, seeing them there before him made the retired hitman grit his teeth in frustration. Although dressed in plain clothes, their guns and badges nowhere to be seen, Jason knew their visit wasn't one of pleasure; it was business, and chances were they were arriving with bad news.

Taking a long sip of his rapidly cooling drink, he swallowed and then squinted out against the falling sun, never once meeting either man's eyes. Finally, he demanded to know, "what do you want?"

Houston was the first to speak. Always to the point and never one to spare words when they weren't needed, he coldly inquired, "are you going to let us in, or are you going to give your neighbors even more to gossip about?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Long time, no see, Jack," Agent Maloney greeted the discourteous blonde, stepping forward to shake his hand and pat his back in a friendly, manly way. Although his behavior seemed warm enough, Jason knew it was nothing but a show put on for those who might be watching them. Their meeting was to appear as if two acquaintances from the past had just been randomly driving through town, so they stopped to see their old friend. "So, how's Dovetree treating you and the Mrs.? She's here, too, isn't she? I've missed her pretty little face."

"No, she's not," he answered bluntly. "She went swimming."

"Aw, now, that's a damn shame," Bill continued, frowning slightly. Winking towards Jason and elbowing his partner, he teased, "but I bet I know why you didn't go along with her. There's no skinny-dipping allowed, is there?"

Taking another drink from his bottle, the former enforcer simply shook his head no. Realizing that they wouldn't be able to stay there for the duration of their conversation, though, he pushed the screen door open wider and gestured for the two men to come inside. Dutifully, they followed.

Once inside, though, all pretenses disappeared. "Nice housekeeping skills, Morgan," Adam mocked, kicking aside several boxes as the three of them made their way into the kitchen.

He simply ignored him. Opening the fridge, he pulled out fresh bottles of beer, popping the tops off all of them before handing both agents their own drink. Silently, they all took a long pull before sitting down, slumping into separate chairs around the plain, wooden kitchen table.

"What's going on," Jason asked, meeting both Maloney and Houston's accusing gazes. "Why are you here, jeopardizing our cover?"

"Well, you see it's like this," the older of the two FBI men started only to be interrupted by his partner.

"You think we're jeopardizing your cover," the thirty-something year old agent demanded, rolling his eyes. "Trust me, you and Webber are doing a damn fine job of that all on your own."

"What do you mean," the once mafia entrenched blonde demanded. "We've done everything you've told us to do – we moved to this hole in the wall town, we're posing as a married couple, and we're…"

"Yeah," Adam interjected, "a married couple who's on the brink of divorce, a married couple who is never seen together out and about, a married couple who's about as attentive to each other as a pair of dead fish. You're the ones who are going to get yourselves caught; we're just here in a last ditch effort to save your sorry asses."

"Look, Agent Houston, while sometimes harsh, has a point," Bill sighed, leaning back in his chair to share a meaningful look with the one-time hitman. "We don't expect the two of you to have public sex in your backyard," he admitted, blushing slightly at the reference, "but you're going to have to step it up a little. Like you pointed out, this is a small town, and people around here talk. The word out there about you and Ellis is that you moved here in one final attempt to salvage your marriage, that you married too young and now you're regretting your decision to be together."

"They assumed all that in a month's time?"

"And more," the balding man informed him, "but I'm just giving you the cliff's notes version. Bottom line here, Morgan – you and Miss Webber need to be seen in public more. Start socializing some; make friends with your coworkers, your neighbors. These people might not be the kind of people you're used to, but they're good and honest; they're friendly. Take your wife out to dinner on the weekends, take trips into town together to pick up supplies,

hell, join a club or two. We really don't care how you do it, but just make sure that you're seen out and about with Elizabeth."

"And make it believable when you are seen together," Adam added, offering the blonde a pointed look. "And to do so, you might actually have to stand close enough together to actually touch one another. Jesus, Morgan," he cursed, laughing at the younger man. "You're a guy, and Webber, though not my personal taste, is a very attractive woman. What we're asking of you isn't rocket science. Just act like you want to get her into bed, and you should be fine. I'm sure even you can manage to pretend that much."

Ignoring the blatant dig at the mental defects he suffered from since his accident, Jason stood up, pulling the bottle of beer out each of the agents' hands. "Are we finished here?"

"Not quite," Bill warned him. "There are a couple more things you could do for us. First of all, wherever your wife is, meet her there. Surprise her, pick her up, walk her home – whatever. Just be seen with her tonight after we leave, got it?"

The one-time enforcer sighed but the gesture was one of acceptance. "What else?"

"Clean this place up," Houston demanded. "Unpack all these damn boxes; make this place actually look lived in. You were lucky tonight that it was us at the door. How the hell were you going to explain the state of this house to someone else?"

Jason shrugged, shoving his hands into his jean's pockets. "I don't know," he hedged. "We are supposedly newlyweds, right? I could have just told them that we had better things to do together when we weren't at work."

"And that's exactly why I have faith you'll be able to make this work," the older of the two agents complimented him, slapping him on the back once again. "That was said just like a true husband obsessed with his new bride. Why I remember when my wife and I first got married…"

"Spare me the visual, Bill," his partner beseeched him. "A Philly cheese steak is not going to look very pretty on the floor of your brand new car."

"Right."

"We'll be in contact, Morgan," the dark haired FBI employee told Jason, making his way out of the house behind the fifty-something man before him, ignoring the other man's previous acceptance of his demand. "And you better make this work."

There was a veiled threat underneath the agent's parting statement, but the blonde wasn't in the mood to decipher it. He knew what was at stake; he knew that his and Elizabeth's ability to fool the rest of the world into thinking they were a happily married couple was their only means of survival at that point, and he really didn't feel like contemplating what would happen to them if they didn't pull the ruse off. So, instead of worrying, he tossed his empty beer bottle out and left the house. Head down to block the still strong rays of the setting sun, he slowly made his way down the road towards where the street would lead him to the lake, towards where the street would lead him to his wife, and, even though he knew she wouldn't be happy to see him, he was kind of looking forward to seeing her. After all, anything was better than the incessant loneliness he existed under or the unwelcome company of a couple of FBI agents – even the company of a woman who despised him.

VII.

Déjà vu was not something Jason Morgan experienced often, and he was thankful for that fact, but, nevertheless, as he approached Elizabeth that evening, the ever advancing dusk turning the flat, shimmering lake a brilliant myriad of colors, he was struck by how similar the events of that evening were to those the night he had first met the petite brunette. Years of time separated the two occurrences, but, still, it almost felt like yesterday to the former enforcer. He could remember every single detail about the first moment he encountered Elizabeth Webber, and, because of the sheer misery of those few minutes in each other's company, he knew he would never be able to forget it.

He wasn't blind, though; he could see the differences. Whereas before she had been timid with immaturity and fear, she was now a confident woman distracted by the uncertainty of her life. Adulthood had more than aged her physically; emotionally, there were more scars lining her already damaged heart, and she wore those scars like the proud coat of strength they were. Unlike years before, the onetime artist now had straight hair, the curls of her youth replaced with a more sedate, professional appearance. And even though time had given her a chance to forget the woes of her past, she smiled even less today than she did as an eighteen year old, and Jason worried that he was a large part of her unhappiness.

However, as the night wore on, dusk progressing into twilight, he remained hidden behind the trees, the vantage point providing him with an opportunity to watch the woman who was supposed to be his wife while, at the same time, keeping him from being watched by her, and he forgot to look for darkness in the twenty-two year old before him; he forgot to notice the ugliness she held inside of her so tightly. Instead, he saw the beauty she possessed, not in a covetous way but simply as an impartial observer. He looked at her just as he would a view from the top of a cliff – objective and disinterested.

More than four years later, she still refused to wear a bikini, just as she also refused to fully immerse herself into the water. Apparently, for Elizabeth Webber, swimming meant wading out to her knees or walking along the shore, and it made the onetime hitman wonder why she refused to completely let herself go, why she always insisted upon remaining in control. After all, even he, someone renowned for his constant awareness and rigid restraint, sometimes gave into the seductive nature of the water. But not Elizabeth. Up and down the beach she ambled, occasionally stopping to admire her surroundings or to lean over and pick up a particularly attractive stone or shell, but it was when she spread her arms out wide and stretched up as tall as she could on her toes, as if she wanted the wind to sweep down and lift her to the heavens, that he was transported back into the past. And, just like that, he was back there again – on the island, young, inexperienced, and grossly mistaken.

He had been working for Sonny Corinthos for approximately six months, and, as a reward, both for hard work and dedication and for managing to stay alive, his boss invited him down to his private island, promising the newly minted enforcer a week of sunshine and surf, leisure and, if he wanted, temporary love. It was the first time he had been able to really travel since waking up as Jason Morgan, and, though he missed the routine of his daily life back in Port Charles, he had to admit that the island was beautiful and full of places to explore. However, unlike his employer and sometimes friend, the blonde was not fully capable of shutting down, of relaxing.

Although he wasn't supposed to working that week, he took the responsibilities of his job very seriously, and it was his responsibility to make sure that Sonny was always safe. There were far fewer security risks on a private island, but, still, he took precautions. Always alert, always vigilant, the hitman was constantly observing his surroundings and those of his boss,

taking mental notes of various strategic points and areas of weakness. When he was supposed to be out swimming or yachting, he took the free time to roam the tropical paradise, memorizing every single nook and cranny of the tiny island community. By the time he went back home at the end of the week, he wanted to make sure that he knew his boss' personal oasis better than he knew the back of his own hand.

On that particular day – a Wednesday, he was hiking his way around the shores, going from one end of the island to another, up and down, from left to right, across and back again, north, south, east, and west. By the time he was finished that evening, there wouldn't be a sand dune he didn't recognize or a shell he couldn't locate. It was early evening by the time he ran into anything of consequence. While he knew that Sonny entertained many women while he was on the island, some of them floating around the don's private villa while others stayed at the casino, the particular woman… or girl, to be more precise, that he found standing at the edge of the ocean was someone he didn't recognize.

Now, Jason Morgan was a man who never forgot a face. If he saw you once, he'd recognize you again whether he met you in a dark alley or spotted you across the room at a crowded public place. It was one of the skills that made him such a good enforcer, why he had progressed so rapidly in the organization, and he valued it accordingly. So, when he spotted the young woman on the private beach, her arms spread wide as she stood on her tiptoes to embrace the salt-tinged breeze, he mentally did a recount of all the women he had met that week thus far and found himself coming up empty.

No one fit the brunette's description. At five foot, two inches and no more than 110 pounds, she was petite yet still curvy, her body, while still young and fresh, definitely all woman. Her hair was to her shoulders, the color of a rich, Belgian chocolate, and it curled wildly at the ends, the tropical winds tangling the tresses and whipping them around the girl's head. Her skin was pale, making Jason assume she was not a native to the Caribbean, and it glowed like alabaster as the setting sun cast its orange warmth over it. With her back to him, though, he couldn't see her facial features, not even from the profile, but, so sure he was that he had never met the woman, he treated the situation like a breach of security.

Soundlessly, he raced down the sand, fountains of the granules being kicked up by his feet behind him with every long, confident stride. Within seconds, he was behind the unknown brunette, and, taking her by surprise, he wrapped one corded, taunt arm around her abdomen while the other moved up so his hand could cover her mouth. Effortlessly lifting her off the ground, he held her against him, his lips settling in right above her left ear.

"Don't move, don't struggle, and don't you even think about attempting to get away from me."

And she didn't. He felt the young woman go completely still in his arms, almost as if her body was shutting down. Immediately, his awareness level jumped. No one he had ever encountered before reacted that way unless they were trained to do so. If the girl had been an innocent, she would have continued to fight against him even though he warned her not to, and that made the professional hitman just that much more wary of her being on the island. Women were few and far between in their business, but they weren't unheard of, and he was not taking any chances.

"I'm going to uncover your mouth so you can answer some questions for me, but, when I do, you better remain just as still as you are now. And don't even think of playing any tricks, do you understand me, because, if you even think about screaming or escaping, it'll be your last thought."

Waiting for a response, Jason slowly uncovered the brunette's mouth after she nodded her head several times in rapid succession. With his free limb, he wrapped it around the girl's neck, holding it against her throat tight enough to limit her air supply but still keep her alive and capable of talking, albeit very quietly.

"Now," he instructed her calmly, unhurriedly, as if talking to a child, "I want you to tell me who you are."

She coughed for several moments before being able to speak, but, when she did, her soft, feminine voice, a voice he had to admit to himself didn't sound like one coming from a hardened criminal or underworld enemy, answered, "Elizabeth." Gulping for air once, twice, and then a third time, she finally expounded, "Elizabeth Imogene Webber."

"Who do you work for?"

"Bobbie Jones," she replied as quickly as possible.

Although the blonde doubted her easy sincerity, the name did strike a chord with him. While he couldn't identify the supposed mob boss by face or reputation, he did recognize the identity and mentally labored to determine just who the person was, what their business was with Sonny, and why they might have wanted the mafia don killed. But he couldn't think of a single reason or even a reference to Jones, so he was forced to resort to more questions.

"And what does he want with Sonny; why are you here?"

"What," the female stranger asked, sounding confused. "Bobbie's a woman, and I'm a college student who works part time as a waitress." Pausing to suck in another fresh breath, she pressed on, "And, as for Sonny, he's my friend."

"Yeah, kid," Jason mocked, tightening his hold on her and making her cry out in pain, "that's what they all say."

But, then, out of nowhere, the very man they were discussing appeared. Running down the beach, the Hispanic man approached them at a hasty clip, waving and yelling for his enforcer's attention. It was the first time he had ever seen Sonny Corinthos exert himself, and Jason knew immediately that he had made some kind of grievous mistake.

"Put her down," his employer screamed, rushing to Elizabeth's side to comfort her, to make sure that she was unhurt, to apologize and then send the young woman back up to the villa. By the time he turned back to the blonde across from him, Jason could see the fury radiating from his boss' cold onyx eyes.

That moment had truly been a turning point in his life and, never again, was his relationship with the don the same. Eventually, they became partners for convenience, and they were friends due to necessity, but neither man could ever really forget the first time they disagreed, and the distance it created between them only seemed to grow over time. But that wasn't the only reason, the main reason, why Jason could never forget that evening so many years before. Instead, that night haunted him because of what he had done to Elizabeth.

She had been an innocent. Later, he learned that Sonny had brought her to the island as a means of escaping the living horror that her home had become for her. She had been brutally raped, and the mob boss had found her broken and bleeding in the park that past February. Selflessly, he had taken care of her, made sure she got the medical help she needed, and became her friend. After her grandmother passed away just a month after her attack, she was left with only three living relatives, two parents who wanted nothing to do with her and a brother who was busy completing his medical degree at Stanford. In essence, Sonny became her only source of comfort, of family, of platonic love.

And what did Jason do? Well, he managed to sneak up behind her, violently grab her, and then threaten to kill her just five months after her rape all because of some misunderstanding. While he never saw the petite brunette again that week on the island, it was inevitable for them to run into each other back in Port Charles. She was Sonny's friend, and he was Sonny's enforcer and second in command, but each and every time they came face to face with each other, she treated him with nothing but barely concealed hatred and trepidation. Eventually, her fear dissipated, but she was never quite able to forgive him for their initial meeting, not that he begrudged her the bitterness and resentment.

For years, they coexisted like that – Elizabeth abhorring his very presence, while he felt awkward around her. As time wore on, the awkwardness bled into antipathy as well until the point where they both held the other in mutual disregard. She avoided him, and he avoided her until one day, as fate would have it, they were tossed back together due to necessity. So, there they were – living together, pretending to be married, and their very lives depended upon their ability to actually get along.

"It was a long time ago, Jack," his twenty-two year old bride startled him out of his thoughts, approaching him from the water's edge as she slipped her sundress back on over her damp bathing suit. "I barely think of that day anymore when I see you."

"Yeah," he challenged, "but that doesn't mean you've forgotten it either or forgiven me."

She shrugged her shoulders as if dismissing the very thought. Instead of disputing his statement, she changed the subject. "What are you doing here?"

"While you were gone, Maloney and Houston paid me a little visit."

Plastering a fake smile on her slightly tanned face, she teased, "well, that was sweet of them."

"Could we please have a serious conversation just this once,… Ellis," Jason pleaded with her, his shoulders stiffening with tension at the sheer tone of annoyance in her voice. "This is important."

"Alright, fine," she agreed, marching away from him towards the tree lined path that would lead them back to the main road. He simply followed behind her. "You want to talk, then talk. Tell me, what did Frick and Frack want this time?"

"They want us to start actually behaving like a married couple," he explained, sighing at the mere thought of having to actually get along with the woman in front of him.

"Well, we're already living together. What more are we supposed to do?"

"Apparently, a lot," the once enforcer replied sarcastically. "They basically ordered us to start getting along, to go out in public, to socialize, to act like we have a successful, functioning relationship."

Elizabeth whirled around, tilting her head back in a confrontational manner so that her eyes could meet his. "I'm not a damn actress. I just can't pretend to actually like you."

"Well, you better learn how, because, the way I see it, we don't have much of a choice. So, either figure out something you admire about me that you can build upon, or imagine that I'm someone else, but, no matter what, we're going to have to start behaving like newlyweds when we're in public."

"Whatever," the brunette remarked spitefully, pivoting around just as quickly as she had before only to start walking again at a steady pace. "Did they say anything else, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," he grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "They said you have to get all those boxes of yours unpacked." Before she could interrupt and ask why, he continued. "They said that, in case some neighbor dropped by one day, we better make sure that the house actually looks like a home."

As they approached the main road, he caught up to her, surprising the twenty-two year old former artist by reaching out and grasping her right hand in his left. "Look," he attempted to persuade her, weaving their fingers together. Despite himself, he couldn't help but notice how soft her hands were, how comforting it felt to feel the touch of her skin against his, but, just as quickly as the thoughts occurred to him, he brushed them aside, arguing that it had just been too damn long since he had been with a woman. "Maybe we should just do it already. You know," he hedged, the tips of his ears reddening slightly. "Maybe we should just talk about everything from the past, clear the air between us once and for all. It might help matters."

Her only response was to dig her nails into the back of his hand, making the retired hitman grimace in pain. Without talking for the rest of the walk home, the ignored each other but, somehow, still managed to look like a happy couple out for an evening stroll, a doting husband holding his wife's hand as he walked her home from the beach. The sun had long since set by the time they reached the house, the home's bright, welcoming lights serving as a beacon through the darkness for the young couple, but, once they were inside, they separated instantly, the door being slammed behind them, and the lights turned off quickly. As she made her way towards the master bedroom, the room she inhabited alone, he collapsed onto the couch he used as a bed, groaning out loud in pent up irritation.

But that's how it had always been – one step forward and a whole hell of a lot back. Apparently, being married had changed nothing between them.