The next morning, Paul was twenty minutes early.
He stood outside the OPESTM training facility with a cup of coffee in one hand, the other buried in his jacket pocket, checking the time more often than a man with nowhere else to be had any right to.
-You're early.
He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
-You're late.
-I'm two minutes early. Veronica checked her watch, mostly to prove it.
-Exactly. Late.
She gave him the look she reserved for exactly this kind of nonsense, then noticed the coffee in his hand a second too late; he'd already held it out to her.
-You remembered.
-You said you like it this way.
-I said that once. Months ago.
-I listened. He said it like it surprised him too.
-That's new, she said, and took it before he could decide whether that had been an insult.
The first sip made her flinch.
-This is terrible.
-You're the one who wanted coffee.
-I wanted coffee. Not whatever this is.
That's not the same as it being good. She handed it back anyway, mostly empty, and started walking.
-Come on.
-Where?
-Training. Unless you'd rather stand out here interrogating my taste in coffee all morning.
He caught up to her at the door.
-By the way! You didn't say good morning.
She stopped, turned, deadpan.
-Good morning.
-Now that's better.
-You're becoming annoying.
-Becoming?
-Fine.
She pushed the door open.
-You've always been annoying.
But she was already smiling by the time she said it, and neither of them mentioned that either.
Training was supposed to be routine. It rarely stayed that way once the two of them were in the same ring.
Paul moved first; she blocked without looking like she'd tried. He stepped back, she pressed forward, and for a while neither of them spoke at all; there was a language in it that didn't need words, feints and counters that had replaced most of their arguments over the past few months. He caught her wrist mid-strike. She twisted free and answered with a kick he only barely got his arm up in time to block.
-You're becoming predictable, she said, circling.
-So are you.
-I've beaten you three times this week.
-Twice.
-Three.
In a bitirritated voice paul said,
-You cheated.one time.
-I used a move.
-You kicked me.
-That's generally how fighting works.
A couple of the nearby soldiers laughed before they could stop themselves. Paul shot them a look that did nothing to actually silence them.
-Focus on your own training.
" Oww! You're embarrassed, Veronica said.
-I'm not.
With a pitiful and mocking face, Veronica replied
-You are, sweetheart!
That made Paul more ferocious. He charged instead of answering, and she barely got the block up in time, close enough that for a second neither of them was sure who'd actually won that exchange.
-See? Predictable.
He stopped.
She blinked, and in the half-second it took her to register the stillness, his hand was already on her shoulder.
-There I got you.
-Hey! That was cheap."
-You said fighting doesn't have rules.
-I said that about kicking.
-Same principle.
She shook her head slowly, more amused than she wanted to admit.
-You're impossible.
-And yet you keep training with me.
-That might be my biggest mistake.
-Probably, he agreed, and for once she didn't argue.
The instructor finally called time. They were walking toward the edge of the hall, still catching their breath, when Mpho fell into step beside them, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
-You two done flirting?
Paul nearly choked on air.
-We're training.
-Of course you are. Mpho nodded with the gravity of a man delivering a verdict.
-Don't start, Veronica warned, pointing at him without even looking.
-I didn't say anything.
-You didn't have to.
He laughed and walked off before either of them could throw anything at him a lesson learned, apparently, from prior experience.
Paul waited until he was out of earshot. -Why does everyone keep saying that?
Veronica shrugged, already walking. -Maybe they're seeing something we're not.
He glanced at her. She looked away first.
-Come on.
He'd expected her to disappear after that, the way she usually did. Instead she was waiting for him in the corridor.
-You doing anything tonight?
-No.
-Good. I need to go shopping.
-What?
-Yeah! Shopping.
He looked her over full uniform, still faintly out of breath.
-Well, you have dress.
A smash on Paul's head out of nowhere. Then Veronica said,
-I mean normal dresses, idiot!
He slowly got up, rubbing his head and said,
-And you want my help with that?
-I need someone who'll tell me when something looks terrible.
-That does sound like a job for me.
-Exactly,
She said, already walking away, clearly assuming he'd follow. He did. Two hours later, he regretted it.
-This is horrible.
She turned in front of the mirror.
-It's a shirt.
-Exactly.
-What's wrong with it?
-Everything.
-You said you'd be honest.
-I am being honest.
-Too honest.
-You asked to be.
She vanished back into the fitting room and came out holding a different one, held it up without a word.
-Better, he said.
-How much better?
-Considerably.
-That's not a compliment.
-Wasn't meant to be.
She threw the first shirt at him; he caught it out of reflex, which she seemed to find funnier than it deserved.
By the fourth outfit, the rejections had turned into something closer to a rhythm than an argument. She'd hold something up, he'd make a face, she'd roll her eyes and disappear again, and somewhere in the middle of it neither of them was really talking about the clothes anymore. It was the kind of bickering that didn't need to go anywhere to be enjoyable.
She finally stepped out in a simple dark jacket and didn't ask this time. She just looked at him.
-That's good, he said, and meant it.
-Really?
-Yeah.
Her smile lasted right up until he found the price tag.
-Absolutely not.
-What?
-That's too expensive.
-It's my money.
-You could buy three jackets for that.
-Do you want to buy them for me?
-An absolute No!
-Then stop looking at the price. She was already walking toward the register. He trailed after her, still muttering.
-I'm just saying…
-Paul.
-Yeah?
-Shut up.
He managed exactly seven seconds of silence.
-Still too expensive.
This she couldn't hold back her laugh and didn't put it back.
They spent the rest of the afternoon just walking. It was strange, Paul thought, how unfamiliar a city could feel from ground level after years of seeing it only through a windshield or a helicopter door. Streets he'd searched for targets in, buildings he'd watched collapse, people he'd been sent to protect and rarely had time to actually look at. He hadn't realized how much of it he'd missed simply by moving through it too fast to notice.
Veronica stopped in front of a small bookstore without warning.
-You read? He couldn't quite keep the surprise out of it.
-Of course I read. She looked almost offended.
-You never told me.
-You never asked.
And then she was gone, through the door, leaving him to follow at whatever pace he wanted.
He found her twenty minutes later sitting cross-legged between two shelves, a book open in her lap, completely somewhere else.
-You've been here twenty minutes.
-Thirty-two. She didn't look up.
-You've been counting?
-The clock's right there.
-What are you reading?
-A novel.
-I can see that.
-Then why ask?
He didn't have a good answer, so he sat down next to her instead. -What happens?
-Not telling you.
-Why?
-You'll ruin it.
-I won't.
-You absolutely will.
She held the book protectively when he reached for it, and for a moment they were just two people quietly fighting over a paperback in the middle of a bookstore, which felt, somehow, exactly right.
-Fine, he said, standing. -I'll wait outside.
-Wait! You're actually leaving?
-You said don't touch.
-I didn't say leave.
-Make up your mind.
He was smiling by the time the cushion hit him in the face. She'd thrown it without even really aiming.
He didn't leave. He just waited by the door instead, close enough that she never had to wonder where he'd gone. By evening they were sitting at a food stall near the river, the kind of place with plastic stools and a menu that hadn't changed in years. Paul took whatever Veronica wanted to have for herself.
-It's good, he admitted, a few bites in, surprising himself slightly.
-Better than good.
-Nah! I think just good.
-You meant better. She reached over and took a piece off his plate without asking.
-Heeeey! You have your own.
-But yours looks better.
-That's not how food works.
-It is when I say so.
She took another piece, and this time he pulled the plate half out of reach, which only made her more determined.
-Get your own.
-But I like yours.
-We are eating literally the same food.
-That's not the point.
He laughed despite himself and slid the plate back toward her. -Take it. I know you're not going to stop.
-Thank you, she said, already reaching, as if his surrender had never been in question.
The sun was starting to go down by the time she leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, looking more relaxed than he could remember seeing her in a long time.
-This is nice.
-The food?
-No.
-The weather, then.
-No. She looked at him properly. -Not having anywhere to be.
He hadn't thought about it that way, but she was right. No alarms. No orders. No countdown running somewhere in the back of his mind. Just the river, and her, and nowhere else either of them needed to be.
-I could get used to this, he said.
-So could I.
A few seconds passed before he added, -We should do this again.
-Do what?
-Nothing. He didn't elaborate, and she didn't make him.
-You're terrible at explaining yourself.
-You understood me anyway.
-I did.
-Then it worked.
She studied him for a moment, something softening in her expression that hadn't been there a second ago. -You're different outside OPESTM.
-How?
-Less serious.
-I'm serious.
-Not right now.
-Maybe that's because you're not annoying me.
-I'm not?
-Not currently.
-Give me five minutes, she said, and he was still laughing when the food stall owner came to clear their plates.
Their relationship didn't suddenly become effortless after that day. If anything, they learned more about each other's flaws than either expected. Paul forgot appointments the way other people forgot dreams, entirely and without apology. Veronica couldn't stand being kept waiting for anything, ever, on principle. He thought terrible movies were the best kind; she refused, categorically, to sit through one. She could spend an hour deciding what to eat. He'd pick whatever was closest to the top of the menu and never look back. He left things wherever he happened to set them down; she complained about it constantly, and somehow neither of them minded any of it nearly as much as they probably should have.
They weren't learning each other as soldiers anymore. They were just learning each other.
One evening, Paul was leaving the facility earlier than usual when he ran into De Nemo coming the other way.
-You're leaving early.
-It's not early.
-For you, it is.
De Nemo glanced past him toward the entrance, where Veronica was waiting, and something in his expression eased.
-Good.
-You don't want to know where we're going?
-No.
-Why not?
-Because it's none of my business. He was already walking on when Paul called after him.
-Hey. One day I'll beat you.
De Nemo turned, unbothered. -You've said that before.
-I mean it.
-I know, he said, and kept walking, like it was a promise he had no reason to doubt.
Veronica caught up as Paul watched him go.
-What was that about?
-Nothing.
-You're still planning to beat him?
-Obviously.
-You're obsessed.
-I'm ambitious.
-Same thing,
She said, but she was smiling when she said it. -Come on, ambitious.
That night they ended up on a rooftop neither of them had planned to visit, the city spread out beneath them in a quiet they'd both stopped expecting to get.
Veronica leaned on the railing. -You ever think about leaving OPESTM?
-Sometimes.
-Really?
-After retirement, maybe.
-That's not what I meant.
She waited him out until he actually thought about it.
-I don't know what I'd want. A normal life, maybe.
-What about you? What would you want?
She didn't answer right away either. When she did, her voice had changed less like banter, more like something she hadn't planned to say out loud.
-I want this. Not the missions. Not the fighting. She looked out at the skyline instead of at him. -Just... this.
-I want that too, he said, and meant it more plainly than either of them was used to.
She turned toward him.
-Paul. What are we?
Paused for a second, then continued again.
You know exactly what I mean, she added, before he could deflect it.
He didn't try to.
-We spend all our free time together. We go out together. We annoy each other constantly….
-Mostly you.
-Fine. He let that one go. -And I don't want any of it to stop.
Her smile faded into something quieter, steadier.
-Neither do I.
He'd imagined this moment more times than he would have admitted rehearsed something clever, something that sounded like it deserved the weight of it. None of it mattered now that it was actually happening.
-I love you.
She went still for a second. Then she smiled, small and certain.
-I was wondering when you'd finally figure that out.
-Wait, that's your response?
-What did you expect?
-I don't know. Maybe you would be in shock. Your eyes would fill with joy and you'll…
Before he could finish, she stepped closer.
-I love you too.
That very moment Paul stopped. He had nothing to say to that.
-Wow, she said. -I actually made you speechless.
-Don't get used to it.
-Too late.
She leaned into him, and he put his arm around her without either of them deciding to make it a decision.
Below them, the city kept moving cars passing, lights coming on one building at a time, people going home to lives that had nothing to do with any of this.
The world hadn't changed. Theirs had.
They had spent years learning how to survive. Now, for the first time, they were learning something neither of them had ever been trained for.
How to live.
And for once, neither of them was afraid of what tomorrow might bring.
To be continued...