"We're wasting time." Despite the complaint, Emilia kept her eyes on the menu.

Jack tossed his menu onto the table. "C'mon, it's Valentine's. Just relax and let me buy you dinner." Besides, the mission wasn't time-sensitive-yet. Napoleon's ship wouldn't even reach Palau Palau for another three days, and they couldn't steal something that was in the middle of the ocean. He was good, but he wasn't that good.

"And we are not lovers."

God, sometimes he wished they were. He knew the way her body felt against his-even if the circumstances surrounding how he came by that information felt a sour taste in his mouth. He'd like to know how she kissed, how her lips tasted, if that dress really was as hard to get off as it was in his dreams... But he'd been down that road before, it had a sixty-forty chance of ruining their working relationship and since she already looked like she wanted to kill him forty percent of the time, he didn't want to up it to sixty. But he knew there was percentage of time where she wanted to kiss him too. "And we were never just friends."

Em's gaze snapped up at that, and he grinned.

She set her menu down, leaning forward as she lowered her voice, "You are right, Jack, we were never just friends. We are partners, working for our countries' betterment. Something you seem rather fond of forgetting."

"I don't forget it." Em being high-strung wasn't unusual, but her whole attitude was making him wonder if there was more hinging on the mission than she had told him. "But would it kill ya to have a little fun once in a while? Let your hair down?" She looked good with her hair down. Granted, she shouldn't do it often or anything. He'd learned his lesson on that, and he wasn't looking for a second go when he was still smarting from the first one. But she was glaring at him hard enough to scorch so obviously she did not agree with his assessment. Jack sighed and changed tactics, "Look, I know you're worried about the shipment coming in, but there's nothing we can do about it right now and we still need to eat." And he'd been dying to try the food here since it opened, he hadn't had a decent steak in forever.

"I don't know, Jack. I don't think it would hurt for you to skip a meal... or five."

Ouch. He gave a low laugh to play along. Okay, tactic changing hadn't worked. And he was getting a little sick of her always harping on that. He might've gained a few pounds but it wasn't affecting his ability to carry out his assignments. He'd spent years running missions where he didn't know where his next meal was coming, or if there'd even be a next meal, he wasn't like Miss Fancy Pants who'd spent most of her spy career in a lab. Jefferson had intended this assignment as a punishment but it was the best op he'd ever had. He could partake in three full meals a day and even have snacks in between if he wanted. He could go to bed on a full stomach and, if there wasn't something that needed his immediate attention, he could even sleep in. There was plenty of booze that he, mostly, didn't have to worry about being poisoned and willing women who were unlikely to stab him in the back during sex. He was going to enjoy the pleasures as long as they lasted.

Because he might play the fool but he wasn't an idiot. He knew this was going to turn bad sooner or later. He'd either get pulled out because Jefferson needed him somewhere else or his cover would get blown and he'd either be fleeing or dead. His best hope with the latter was that Croque liked him just enough to make it quick because he was sure Brogard would take sadist pleasure in dragging it out in return for every humiliation he'd faced at the Dragoon's hand.

But he wasn't about to mention any of that to Em. She might be his partner, but his cover was multifaceted and he wasn't about to break any of it until he had to.

Instead, he waved the waitress over, and let his eyes linger on the low cut of her dress. Maybe he could take her out later. He forced his eyes up when she asked for their order. "I'll take your largest steak, medium rare, with a side of mashed potatoes. Oh, and bring by a bottle of something... nice but not too pricy, I'm on a budget." When she nodded, he continued, "Whatcha' getting, Em?"

She sighed, heavily. "The grilled fish and a salad."

They lapsed into silence as the waitress left. Tension sat in every inch of Emilia's rigid posture, and Jack tried not to let it get to him, letting his gaze play around the large, second-story, room. Windows occupied three of the walls, letting in the last dregs of the sunlight, and any of them would serve well if they had to make a quick break for it. A handful of servers were bustling around, lighting the lamps.

One of them passed a leaving dinner, hands casually bushing. Could be an accident, could be a handoff. But if he wrote it off as nothing and it came back on them, he'd be kicking himself.

Jack leaned forward. "Hey, Em," he cocked his head towards the employee, "is that guy one of ours?"

Her eyes flickered over lightning fast. "I don't believe so. Why?"

"What about the man leaving?"

"I've never seen him before."

Oh, great. He pushed the chair back. "Excuse me, I need to see a man about a horse."

"Honestly, Jack..."

Those windows would come in mighty handy in a minute.

Jack climbed back in through the window in the restroom and returned to the table with the air of a man who just hadn't. Anyone particularly observant would notice that his waistcoat's upmost button was undone and his hair was mused, with a few locks fallen from its ribbon. Anyone that observant and who knew of Jack, and the reputation he'd built on the island, would come to the conclusion that he had not been alone in there and move on with their day.

The best covers really were the simplest ones.

Em was picking at the remains of her salad. "How did it go?"

"Swimmingly." Almost literally, but thankfully not, having to explain away why he left the restroom soaking wet would've been a pain in the ass. And embarrassing, because there were really only so many ways to explain that. "I'll tell you about it later." After he'd eaten, and they were in a less public place.

He picked up his fork and knife and began to cut into his steak. If this was the largest they had, the regular-sized ones must serve as an appetizer. But, taking his first bite, the taste was good. Nicely seasoned and cooked perfectly. A little cold, but he couldn't complain. He glanced at the wine bottle before taking a sip from his glass. When it came to wine, he was not a connoisseur, it didn't matter what year or brand it was, as long as it didn't come from the local winery. They might've destroyed the drugged stock, but he was still hesitant to drink anything from there unless he saw Croque drinking it first.

"Is anyone dead?" She didn't look up at him.

Jack gave a non-comital hum around the food in his mouth.

She glanced up.

He stuffed another bite of steak in his mouth to keep from answering. He didn't understand her obsession with limiting casualties. There'd been plenty of opportunities to knock off Napoleon himself, if she'd just let him pull the trigger-even if he knew logically, he couldn't, it'd cause too big of a ripple-but an enemy agent with a coded message in his possession?

Well, she should know by now that his orders didn't always line up with hers.

He shot her a cocky grin, she could interpret it as she wanted. But the slight smile curling her lips as she rolled her eyes leaned towards her taking it as a 'no, I didn't kill anyone.'

And that was fine by him.