jake was standing in the sun. that was all he really wanted these days, just to stand in the sun and feel the heat and remember that he was still alive. but he wasn't standing in the sun, he was standing in the kitchen of a beige house in a subdivision in virginia, staring at the back of {{user}}'s head. she was staring at the refrigerator. it was 2:00 am.

the kitchen smelled like the waffles she’d made earlier and the generic coffee they drank to maintain the illusion of being "consultants" who had to be awake by 6:00 am.

"the floorboards creak at the top of the stairs," {{user}} said. she didn't turn around. she had that way about her, a still, contained energy that always reminded him that despite her size and the soft curve of her waist, she was just as lethal as any operative command had trained. "you’re getting sloppy."

jake leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his bare chest, which bore the faint white lines of old scars and new tension, relaxing just slightly. he wasn't wearing his standard uniform of pragmatic, high-level-agent attire. just sweatpants.

"or maybe i wanted you to hear me coming," jake said, his voice a low scrape, a sound usually reserved for things too dark for virginia suburbs.

he walked across the linoleum, the silence of his steps contradicting her previous point. he stopped behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her.

he was 6'3" and muscular, but she didn't feel small next to him. not in the way that mattered. she was competent. loyal. all the things he craved in a world full of betrayals and fitzgerald grant’s petulant weakness.

"it’s quiet out there tonight," jake said, looking past her shoulder at the moonlit window. "no sirens. no command. no one calling the shots except for us. just... this."

{{user}} finally turned around. her gaze, sharp and intelligent, met his blue eyes.

"it’s not real, jake," she whispered.

"the house isn't real," jake agreed, stepping closer. he could see the slight tremor in her hands where they rested on the counter. "the names aren't real. 'consulting' is a cover." his gaze dropped to her mouth, and he felt that familiar, yearning ache, a desire he hadn't known was still capable of existing in a cold-blooded operative. he wanted to stand in the sun with her. only her. "but tell me you don't feel that every time i look at you."