I Don't Love Him, a mr. & mrs. smith fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Don't own the script. Don't even own the movie—but I will soon. I don't own Brad Pitt, Vince Vaughn, or Angelina Jolie. Someone else owns everything mention above (except the actors and actress of course).

A/N: SHORT ONESHOT. This is my view on the scene where Jane Smith discovers that her husband is the man that she has to kill, and she's at her office, getting drunk. She's convinced Jasmine that she doesn't love John…and she'll do whatever she can to convince herself of the same.

Warning: Some adult thoughts. Though I still don't think that this is 'M' material.

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He'd shot at me. I can't believe that John shot at me. My HUSBAND ran through the neighbors' backyards just to get a good shot at me as I drove our car out of there because I didn't want to hurt him. I can't believe it, how could I have been so stupid? How had I not known that my husband was another agent? How could I have come home to him every day, sleep in his bed, have the occasional sex, and not know that he was the enemy?

Looking around my office, I cursed myself for still being sober enough to be able to think. With all the shots I'd taken you'd think that I'd be dead to the world right now, but no, I'm thinking of him. Of that traitor. How could he have done this to me? How could he have done something so unlike him?

Are you sure you even know the real him?

That thought tears at me. Six years and I don't know him. I don't know the man who shot at me when I was retreating.

Why does my heart ache so badly?

"I don't love him." I whispered to myself, closing my eyes and softly knocking my head against the wall. "I don't love him." He wasn't even that good in bed. I mean, the few times that both of us hadn't been too tired and we'd done it, well, it was sloppy. It wasn't like when we met and were first married. Back then the sex had been hot, passionate, but now, it was like he just wanted to stick it in there and when it was in he was satisfied with that accomplishment.

Not even seeing that Marriage Counselor had helped. It had been the beginning of our downfall. Or maybe it was just the turning point. Just remembering our first session caused my blood to boil and for me to see red. We'd been married for six years, why the fric was it so hard to remember the number six? SIX! Not Five! What year had John managed to completely forget?

Throwing an empty bottle away from me in anger, I didn't react when it broke into millions of pieces. I didn't even notice that my head was beginning to pain me or that the room was slightly blurry. All I knew was that my marriage had been a sham. I'd wasted six years of my life with a man that I wasn't even sure was faithful to me. Whom I know wasn't faithful to me.

Then again, 312 men in six years didn't make me monogamous either, yet that wasn't the point of the matter. The point of the matter was that I hadn't shot at him! And he did me! He followed me and he shot me and then he wouldn't be run over and have this done with! No! He had the nerve to jump on the car and tell me that we needed to talk—that I didn't want to go to bed angry! Right after he fricken shoots at me he says that I shouldn't go to bed angry? Well John, I'm fricken jumping with happiness now.

Was I only a job? Was that it? Did he ever really love me or was he with me so that he could keep tabs on me and inform his agency on my whereabouts? Was our first meeting planned? Had he known who and what I was back then and still toasted with me 'To Dodging Bullets'? The bastard! He was probably laughing it up with his friends about it while I was desperately trying to be the All American Wife, cleaning, cooking, and buying blasted curtains just to try and get him interested in our house and in our life together He never did anything around the house, unless watching the game every night counts. Well, then again I never cooked in my life, but that was beside the point as well!

Getting up I had to lean against the wall for a couple of moments to try and recuperate the feeling in my legs. They were wobbly and numb, and I wasn't feeling so great either. Everything in my life was wrong. I had been identified by another agent and that agent was my husband—a husband I was hiding from right now, whom I must kill, and who infuriated me to no small extent. It was all his fault that I wasn't sleeping peacefully in our bed, in our home.

That hit me hard. Our home. We'd never have a home together anymore. We'd never have a family. I wanted children. Not right now, my career was far too important in this time of my life to be having children, but I did want them, and I had wanted them with John. I know that he would have been the perfect father, he was loving—or he had been.

Stop thinking about him Jane!

But I can't. I can't help but think about the good times that we have shared. I remember that day at the fair where I found out that he had a terrible aim…and the days during the first years of our marriage where we would make love all night and barely make it to work the next day. I remembered the days with the laughter and the love. What had happened during those six years to change us from those passionate lovebirds to the cold and heartless people we were now?

Finally able to walk, I looked into the shadows, not noticing the tears that had somehow made their way down my cheeks. Images of us laughing together, taking pictures of the happy moments, flooded my view. I remembered our wedding. God. I'd never been so nervous in my life—that was where I met his parents…and he met mine…err…I mean…he met the people who I'd paid to act as my parents.

If I lied about mine those might not have been his real parents either.

That thought made me frown, since Mr. and Mrs. Smith Sr. had been everything I had thought a loving couple would be. They'd been my role model. I'd tried fashioning my marriage after theirs. My parents had died when I was a child and I looked up to John's parents as if there were my own.

Maybe they knew all along and were laughing about you behind your back.

Groaning I shook my head.

There has to be some more alcohol somewhere.

I stumble, walking around clumsily, without purpose except to find more liquor to try and numb my senses, to try and give me the sleep that I couldn't find. I needed to stop thinking, because the more I try thinking about all the reasons why I should shot John straight into that little brain of his…the more I remember the reasons why I…

No! No! No! Jane! You do not love him!

I can't love him. It has nothing to do if I do or don't, I just am not allowed to love him anymore. He is the enemy, the target that needs to be eliminated. If there was anything I was exceptional at it was my job, and I knew that I had the ability to kill him. I was the best of my agency, the boss' top woman—yet the thought of killing John sickened me. The thought of living my whole life knowing that I'd taken away him life, his happy-go-lucky life…I can't do it.

You have to!

But I can't!

Alcohol…I need it badly.

Searching desperately, I suddenly wondered something. What if he didn't want to kill me? What if he was experiencing the same thing that I was? What would I do? I couldn't kill him if he didn't put up a fight, I couldn't murder him in cold blood. Despite the fact that during past arguments I had been tempted to do so I couldn't do it now! He was my husband! I'd sworn before God to be with him in the good times and in the bad!

Now is a definitely bad time.

I had to smile an ironic smile at that.

You'll have to make sure he wants to fight you then. Be a bitch and make him want to kill you. It will be easier that way. That way you would have been defending yourself. Either him or you.

Then again, he had shot at me, so I don't think that I would have to go through all that trouble. He wanted me dead.

He wants me dead.

Crying, I gave up my search and slid down to the ground. Tomorrow it would begin. Tomorrow I would start my new life as Jane Doe. Jane Smith would be forever gone, either killed by John Smith or…or barely existing.

Barely existing…

Curling up into the fetal position, I cry myself to sleep. Six years have passed. Six years of lies from both parts. Six years of coldness and infidelity. Six years of putting my work over my marriage—and it has all led to this. This breaking point when I suddenly realize something all too late for it to make a difference.

"I love him so much."

First OneShot like this so please go easy on me!

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