Jo can't help it. There's a fry half in her mouth, lips pressed against it, teeth biting down, and she's already smiling before she even thinks to smile. It's so dumb. So bloody dumb, and she's never stopped being proud. Straight up arrogant and unapologetic. Never stopped finding it funny, especially in retrospect.

Even if it even further retrospect there's an echo of weighted ache, it's still beautiful.


She ate the rest of her fry, leaning back, stretching her legs straight against his seat. Smug is almost an understatement for the expression there. "A rifle against his back, before he was telling me to get lost, like the little lost kid in the wrong war zone I must have been, while singing the praises of his man crush on me."

Beat. "Before he knew I was the person he was supposed to meet."



Beat. "Which he didn't learn until he got home again, yelling at his people that his contact didn't show up, because someone blew the meet, only to be told his contact had been standing in front of him."



Beat. "We didn't meet, again, on his part knowing, until a few months later, and he was a little sore I didn't just tell him."




Until they fell into bed.