The truck rumbled through the streets as they made their way to Café Verity. Pulling up near The Grapes, an old pub that looked like something straight out of a different era, with its brick exterior and weathered sign hanging over the door.

John had been here a couple of times before.

The pub had that old-world, worn-in feel that reminded him of something timeless, and the fact that it was connected to Ian McKellen (the one actor who plays Gandolf from The Lord and the Rings—typical fan base for Soap and his daughter) always sparked a curiosity in passersby. But today wasn't about the pub—it was about the café just a few steps away.

Café Verity was next to The Grapes, its entrance understated but inviting. The exterior was painted a deep, muted green, with ivy creeping along the sides of the window. Inside, through the large windows, the space looked warm, filled with rustic wooden furniture, soft lighting, and the faint sound of a low jazz tune filtering out into the street. The place had a charm to it, an old-world feel that matched the surrounding area right.

John stepped out first to open the door for Charlie. This time, there were no slips or missteps—she climbed out easily and she glanced up to him and at the café.

"This place looks cozy," she said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face as she studied the warm glow emanating from inside.

John nodded, hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket.

"Thought it'd be quiet enough for tea."

Charlie gave him a warm smile. "Perfect."

As he lets her walk first before following her, they walked together toward the entrance, and John held the door open for her to enter.

The moment she stepped inside before him, they were greeted with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, and the rich aroma mingling with the soft scent of pastries.

Café Verity was intimate, with small tables scattered about and a few patrons quietly sipping their drinks.

Some with the book while the other working on the laptop with the headphones plugged in.

John led her to a table by the window, where they could see the street outside.

The barista came by, a friendly woman with a welcoming smile, handing them menus before disappearing behind the counter.

"Let's see," John started, his voice breaking the silence as they both scanned the menu. "What do you usually go for? Earl Grey with some flavors I found on the menu."

Charlie studied the menu longer than most, her brows furrowing before she set it down. "I see it, but I'm in the mood for either a chai or green tea."

John caught the way she ran her finger over the list, eyes flicking back and forth as if double-checking her choices. Nothing unusual—but he noticed things others didn't.

She glanced, up, her fingers lightly tapping against the menu. "What about you?"

John shrugged, setting his own menu down with ease. "Thinking of getting a black tea. Keep it simple."

She nodded. "Alright. I'll go for the chai."

After they both placed their orders when the barista came up—John chose a classic black tea, no frills, while Charlie went for her chai latte.

Once the barista disappeared, the two of them settled into a comfortable silence again or at least, it was comfortable for him.

When he watched her lookout the window, John leaned back in his chair and observed her. He'd bet she was somewhere in her twenties, but he didn't dare ask outright. That kind of question would make her uncomfortable.

Her hair was tucked behind one ear, the soft strands catching the light from the café window.

Her complexion fresh and unassuming, with a light flush on her cheeks that he suspected wasn't from the autumn chill outside. She was relaxed, but he could see the subtle tells of her nerves—how her fingers fiddled with her nails, the way her eyes darted toward him before quickly looking away when she thought he wasn't paying attention.

He was paying attention, though.

He'd been trained to notice details, to read body language. It was his second nature, and she was an open book to him. Sitting across from a girl he'd only just met, one who was too young for him and too good for this kind of arrangement. And yet... he'd agreed to come.

Why?

That was the question he couldn't answer yet. But he could make a guess of her body language.

She's nervous, he thought to himself. I'll have to thread this carefully.

Charlie caught him looking at her, and this time, instead of glancing away, she smiled.

"So, what're you thinking?" she asked out of the blue.

John raised an eyebrow. "You ask that question to strangers?"

Her smile faded. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Depends," he said dryly. "Might make a man think you're tryin' to dig somethin' up."

She frowned, but she didn't press. Instead, she smiled again.

"Okay, so about the texts. You, saving the world one day and grabbing tea the next?" Charlie started, her brown eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Quite the contrast."

"It's a balance. You take what you can get."

"Must be a heavy weight to carry."

"Sometimes," he admitted after a beat. "But it comes with the job."

Their drinks arrived soon after, the chai latte fragrant with spices as it was placed in front of Charlie, and the rich aroma of his black tea rising from his cup. She took a sip, her eyes lighting up as the warmth of the drink spread through her.

"I need to know something," Charlie continued, setting her cup down, "what made you decide to meet me? Was it the tea? Or did something else catch your eye?"

Her question wasn't coy; it was honest that made John pause to answer.

"Could ask you the same thing."

"Touché," she said, leaning forward as she cupped her mug. "I don't usually do this—dating, I keep it casual or friendly. But when I saw your profile, something about it just... I don't know. You didn't seem like you were there to mess around."

John nodded slowly, appreciating her candid response. "Guess we're in the same boat."

"You're not the 'social' type, are you?"

He let out a low chuckle. "No. I got roped into it."

"Let me guess—a friend?" Charlie asked, her tone teasing but kind.

John nodded, thinking about how Soap had insisted, practically thrown his phone at him, and wouldn't take no for an answer. "Yeah, a friend. But I'm here now, so I guess it wasn't the worst idea."

She giggled. It was soft and inviting, the sound making his pulse quicken suddenly.

"I'm glad you came. I was starting to think all the decent men in London were in hiding."

"I'm not hiding," John said. "Just busy."

"So you're a mystery," Charlie added.

He took a sip of his tea, glancing over the rim of his cup. "And you like solving mysteries, don't you?"

"I do," she said with a smile. "But I'm guessing you don't make it easy."

"Never,"

Satisfied with his response, Charlie leaned back in her chair, her shoulders relaxing.

"Alright, mystery man. I'll leave it at that."

Then, John nodded. A part of him was glad she would change the topic.

"I'm curious about what you do. International politics, right? That's no small field to dive into," he asked.

Her face lit up, the mention of her passion bringing a spark to her eyes.

"Yes. I've always been fascinated by how the world works. Politics, diplomacy—it's like this web where every decision has a ripple effect. I want to understand it, and maybe one day, I'll make a difference."

"That's ambitious," John said, smiling.

"Is that your way of saying it's idealistic?" she said, taking a sip of her chai again.

"Not at all," John said. "We need people who believe they can change things. Keeps the rest of us from getting too jaded."

Charlie tilted her head as she lowered her cup. Her gaze was thoughtful.

"And you? Are you jaded?"

John considered her question, feeling the weight of it settle between them.

"I've seen enough to know it's not black and white," he answered. "Doesn't make me jaded. Just realistic."

"Realism is important," she said, her eyes softened by his response. "But I think there's always room for hope."

Surprised by her words, he let out a dry chuckle. "You're one of the hopefuls, then?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't be studying politics if I didn't believe change was possible."

"Hmm, so if you could change something," John said, leaning forward. "What would it be?"

She thought about his question before answering.

"I'd start with diplomacy. Too many people talk without really listening. If more leaders took the time to understand the other side, maybe we'd see less conflict."

John loosened his grip on the cup. "That's noble. But understanding doesn't always stop bullets."

"No," Charlie admitted, "but maybe it stops a few from being fired in the first place."

There was a weight to her words that surprised him. For someone so young, she had an impressive grasp on the world's complexities. She may be an idealist—but there was depth behind her optimism, an intellect that made John feel like he was talking to someone who saw the world in a way that he did. Almost.

Before he could respond, Charlie shifted the conversation.

"Okay, enough about politics. Do you live by yourself or living with a roommate?"

"Just me. What about you?"

"I have a roommate," she said, wrinkling her nose playfully. "But she always leaves her clothes on the dryer or in the machine and never bothers it. It's my pet peeve."

John chuckled, picturing her frustration with her careless roommate. "That would drive me mad. When I was in the army, everything had to be put in its place."

Her eyes lit up with curiosity.

"The army?" She tilted her head, guessing.

"British Army," John confirmed.

"Oh, so, discipline suits you."

John nodded. "It was a long time ago."

"Do you miss it?" she asked.

He considered the question. Did he miss the rigid order and the backslapping?

"Sometimes," he said, almost his tone guarded. "But it's a young man's life."

"And you're what, ancient?" Charlie teased.

"I'm not that ancient, if you think I am." He said in his wry tone.

Charlie giggled. "No, but you wear it well."

"That I do," John said with a quick smile before it faded.

"Okay, here's my next question," she continued. "what do you do for fun? When you're not saving the world?"

"Fun?" John raised an eyebrow. "I don't have much time for that. But I smoke cigars, hunt, and sleep when I can."

"That's it?" Charlie said, unimpressed. "You're not secretly a chess grandmaster or a world-class chef?"

John shook his head, chuckling by her question. "I'd burn the kitchen down. I'm more comfortable in the field than in front of a stove."

"Good to know," Charlie slowly nodded. "I won't ask you to cook, then."

John grinned. "Noted."

"But when you're not saving the world, burning kitchens, or avoiding desk jobs... what's the last good book you've read?" Charlie asked, leaning forward, her curiosity lighting up her brown eyes.

John leaned back a little.

"Books aren't exactly part of the job description."

"Let me guess, you read much outside of tactical manuals?" she teased, sipping her chai.

John smirked. "Not much time for it. You?"

"Oh, plenty. But some of the political texts I have to read?" She let out a playful groan. "It's like they're designed to make your brain melt."

John raised an eyebrow. "Not a fan of reading?"

She shrugged. "Oh, I like it. Just... depends on what I'm reading. If I had it my way, I'd prefer listening to all my textbooks instead of reading them. I like reading specific books like paranormal romance and thrillers."

"Bit of love and danger, yeah?" John almost smirked.

"On the page," she clarified, laughing.

He chuckled again, genuinely intrigued.

"Last book you read?" He asked.

"I just re-read Twilight, the first one." Charlie answered.

"Twilight?" he repeated. "The one with the sparkly vampires?"

Charlie scoffed playfully."Don't judge me! It's a classic romance."

John chuckled, leaning forward as he rested his forearms on the table. "Really?"

"It is!" she defended. "It's nostalgic. I read it when I was younger, and sometimes it's comforting to revisit old favorites."

"Comforting, huh?" His smirk widened. "So, are you Team Edward or Team... what's the other bloke's name? The one that turns into a dog?"

"Jacob," Charlie corrected. "And I don't pick sides."

"Convenient," John said before rolling eyes. "Never took you for the sparkly-vampire type."

"Don't act like you're too good for Twilight," she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him. "Everyone's got their guilty pleasures."

"Not sure I've got any that glitter in the sun," he said, his tone dry but playful.

Then it was her turn to rolled her eyes at him.

"Okay, fine. Next time, I'll pick something more sophisticated to impress you."

John chuckled, taking a sip of his mug. "Don't change on my account. You don't strike me as the type to fall for moody blokes who brood for a living."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Charlie said, her voice teasing as she met his gaze. "But enough about my book taste. What's your guilty pleasure, John?"

He smirked, shaking his head. "Nice try. I'm not givin' you any ammunition to use against me later."

Charlie scoffed. "Well," she said, raising her mug to her lips, "if I'm ever in a life-or-death situation, I'll use my knowledge of Twilight to save the day."

John shook his head, his smirk turning into a grin. "Good to know. Just don't expect me to sparkle."

Then Charlie giggled, the warmth he could feel from her growing as the conversation shifted back to another topic. "Enough about the pleasure, what do you do in your free time?"

"I spent most on outdoors when I can," John answered.

"Like hiking? Camping?" She asked, her curiosity flared again.

"Fishing," he said, surprising even himself by how easily he shared that detail. "It's quiet. Peaceful."

Her lips curled into a small, teasing smile. "That's not what I expected from you."

"What did you think I do in my free time?" John raised an eyebrow again.

"I don't know," she shrugged, her eyes warm and playful. "Maybe something more... I don't know. You don't exactly strike me as someone who enjoys waiting for a fish to bite."

Then he chuckled heartily, surprised to hear her response to be the opposite of what she thought he would be into—hence, this is more onto Soap who prefer anything action or live for excitement, the adrenaline where he would want to blow anything (for a sake of ka-boom).

"It's about balance. When life's this loud, sometimes you need the quiet."

Charlie nodded.

"I get that," she said, her voice almost matching the tone of the calm atmosphere around them. "I've never been fishing before."

John looked at her, surprised. "Never?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Well, you're missing out," John said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "It's not for everyone, but the patience—it's worth it."

Charlie giggled, her eyes twinkling with a playful spark. "Okay, maybe I'll give it a try."

John hummed, the idea of them sharing that kind of quiet moment together settling into his mind. "Good, then I'll be your guide."

Her eyes brightened with humor. "You? My fishing guide? Alright, John, deal. But only if you promise not to laugh when I catch something weird."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, his tone softening. "Besides, beginner's luck might surprise you."

Charlie smiled in return.

"So, let me remember about you—fishing, cigars, tea... what else?" she continued. "What does John Price do when he's not being the world's most mysterious man?"

John shrugged. "Not much more to it. I like to keep things simple when I'm not on duty."

She tilted her head, a thoughtful expression settling on her face. "Is it hard? Switching between those two worlds like that?"

When John met her gaze, his expression softened and said, "It can be. One minute you're out there, and the next, you're supposed to go back to 'normal.' It's an adjustment, but I've learned how to manage it."

She nodded, her eyes reflecting a deeper understanding than he'd expected. "It must take a toll sometimes."

John turned his gaze to the window, watching the late morning sun filter through the trees outside.

"It does," he admitted quietly. "But you get used to it."

Before Charlie could respond, the barista returned, clearing away their empty mugs and left their table. John wasn't used to moments like this—where the world slowed down, where it felt like he didn't have to do anything other than just be present.

Her voice cut through the calm once more, her tone light but sincere. "I'm glad we did this."

John looked at her, his eyes meeting hers. "Yeah. So am I."

She smiled, and it wasn't the teasing smile—it was something kind. The type of smile that reached her eyes, lighting them up in a way that made John forget that he was supposed to be keeping his guard up.