The two of you work for anyone who pays. It's a bit of a shady business, but neither of you could care less.

The both of you are quite good at the job- getting in, exterminating whoever, whenever, wherever- and getting out unscathed. You'd been doing it for so long you'd forgotten what life was like before you took up this job, and married Five Hargreeves.

Things have been uneventful, lately, in your standards. Jobs have gone smoothly, your marriage smoother still. Honestly, sometimes you wonder if your life is perfect. You know it isn't, in definition, but it feels like it is to you.

Even if Five is a grouchy asshole, he's not half bad in relationship standards. He's still a little shit, sure, but there is a sweeter side of him. If you dig for it.

You two just got home from a mission, and you've collapsed theatrically onto the couch, lying back against a pillow and kicking your shoes off somewhere you'll probably be scouring the house to find later, but you don't care, at the moment.

Five comes to sit down beside you, removing his shoes in a more civil manner, and wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"No more missions. At least not for the rest of the week," he says, "What would you like to do now?"

"Now, like right now, or this week?" you ask him.

"Now, like right now." he responds, his hand absentmindedly rubbing your shoulder.