Hiya people! I don't really know what to say here . . . I know! I'll introduce you to my muse!

KIKI: NO! I don't want to start listening to you B at me.

Wow. You know what the scariest part of my muse it? I've honestly never known her to be this nice to me. Or anyone for that matter.

'Kay. This is my first Mr. and Mrs. Smith fic, so be nice. It's weird, and kind of hard to understand for the first chapter, but yeah.

Disclaimer: I pledge allegiance to Mr. and Mrs. Smith. And to the genius of which this movie stands, one coolness, under awesome . . . blah blah blah. You get the idea.

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

AFTER THE PARTY AT THE COLEMAN'S:

Jane's POV:

Sometimes, I hate children.

And, interestingly enough, what I hate most about them is what most people love about them. As usual. To me, they're things I just don't need to waste my time on 24/7. Things that get in the way of me doing my job.

I huff quietly at the thought of how much time I'd have to waste.

I hate the way they look up at me and smile, like every thing in the world is good and fun; they don't know what it's like to watch your parents die. And I hate the way they're so dependent; I had to learn to take care of myself before most children can read. But most of all, I hate the way they cry over everything; they don't know what real pain is. What real fear and loneliness is. As far as I'm concerned, they have no right to cry as though they're dying. They could cry if they thought it was necessary, I'm not so cold as to say no to that, but they cry for attention not from pain! And that is just unacceptable.

I pulled my dress over my head and started putting on my nice silky pajamas. I stared at the material and began to think of all the things a little kid could wind up doing to it.

Plus they're disgusting. Burping out their food, crapping in their pants, slobbering all over themselves, not to mention the way they just can't understand that every time they decide to smear themselves in mud or food someone was going to have to wash them. Someone who might not appreciate that all over themselves as well.

Damn these buttons! Why do they always have to be so frickin' small? I can barely button them.

Now, I'm not heartless. I understand something's small children can't help. Like letting loose in their pants. But when a child is old enough to know that their pants aren't the acceptable port-a-potty anymore and still do it, that just sickens me. Especially when their parents try to cover it up and say the child can't help it. They're just a very stressed child. What do they have to be stressed about? Their parents give them everything, they're probably one of the richest kids in their school! Maybe the child can't help it because they're always saying it's okay and normal. You don't have to tell the child it's weird, but at least do him or her the favor of trying a little harder to have them use the toilet without just changing their pants and smiling about it. That just shows they can do it again and it doesn't bother anyone. When in truth, it just makes everyone want to throw up.

A soft sigh escaped my lips. Just why, I have no idea.

So why is it, that with all the hate I have for small children, did I feel something strange when I held that baby earlier?

A frown fluttered across my face briefly.

It's like a dull throb in my heart really. My stomach tightened in a way that reminded me a lot of when I first met John.

I smiled at that memory. For all that John hated to dance, he really was quiet good at it. Very romantic and passionate about it. Got her in bed within a few hours. And that was saying something. she was pretty much considered a 'prude,' back then, even with all the flirting she did, she never slept with anyone. Not even a target. Especially not a target. That's probably why Jasmine was so worried when she found out just how far my relationship with John was going.

But it was a completely different feeling. While my feeling back then had been a little odd and a bit pleasant, my feeling when I held the girl had been almost painful in a way I can't describe.

A flash of worry passed over my face as I thought about what happened.

And when the child's mother had reached to take the baby back, I had, almost unnoticeably, tightened my hold. For a brief second, after the girl had smiled at me, I felt a possessiveness over the child. I felt almost like I wanted . . .

NO. I hate children.

I shook my head fiercely and walked into the bathroom. Just my luck. John was in there.

Teenagers are the worst.

I hate the way they whine like their whole world is ending. They don't know what real loss is. I hate the way they pour out everything that goes 'wrong,' in their lives. I was being trained to be an assassin while they were whining that they weren't allowed to go to the mall that weekend. But most of all, I hate the way they act as though they can do anything. They don't seem to realize that maybe they could die. I'm living proof of that.

The silence between us is awkward. It always is nowadays.

Still. . . when I held that little girl. . . It just felt so . . . right.

But that had to be wrong.

I mean, I hate children. . .

I took a quick, sidelong glance at John.

If John want's some he'd tell me. And I'd tell him 'no.'

Right. . . . . ?

LKLKLKLKLKLKLKLKLKLKLKLKLKLKLKLKLK

John's POV:

I'm lost.

Jane's never shown any interest in children, so I assumed she didn't want any. But earlier, when she held that baby, she looked down. . . Away from me. . . like she was ashamed about something. . .

To be honest, I've never really thought about children.

And it's not like I hate them. I just don't really like them. I mean, when I'm around a kid I just sort of feel awkward.

They look up at me like they expect something. God knows I don't know what that could be. Candy? A toy on the shelf? I mean, give me some sort of clue here.

A low growl escaped my throat as I thought about how lost I felt around a kid.

But as for having kids, that just never really ran through my mind.

Just then, Jane walked in wearing pajamas that left a lot to be desired. Pink really wasn't her color. John sighed, wishing she still wore all those dark, revealing clothes she used to wear to bed.

You sometimes read corny love stories where someone's either, 'I want to have your baby,' or 'I want you to have my child.' At first, before I met Jane, I thought that when you fell in love you would want kids with that person. Of course now that I'm married I know that isn't necessarily true, but still. . .

I looked up at Jane.

Maybe Jane wants some. . .?

I went back to clipping my nails.

I've never really asked.

Maybe I should. If she says no then there's no problem. If she says yes, I'll just think about it. I mean, we're married. And besides, would having kids be that bad? Someone to greet me when I come home, someone to spoil . . . All I really need to do is ask. Either way, no harm done.

I looked up at her and mumbled softly,

"I like your dress tonight. . . It was nice."

I did not just say that.

She looked at me through the mirror for a second.

"Thank you,"

I am such a wuss.

I looked up again, took a breath . . . And went back to clipping my nails.

Maybe . . . Maybe I'll ask tomorrow night. At dinner.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Well? What do you think? I had to start here for reasons that will become clear later on. I know this is OOC, but to make my idea work, it needs to be.

Well,

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW

See ya!

Lil' Pup out.