John collapsed face-first, panting. A second later, he got a pointed shove. “Sorry,” he said, and rolled off to lie on his back. “God, I’m getting too old for this.”
“Bullshit,” Holly said. “With all the hijinks you get up to?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, do you prefer shenanigans--"
“Saving large quantities of people, including, let me think, you, on a regular basis--"
“Property damage, collateral damage, blowing up multiple aircraft--"
John pinned Holly under him again. “Your point?”
She smiled up at him. The slight fade of color in her hair and the few lines in her face didn’t detract in the slightest from the sass and the determination John had fallen in love with nearly thirty years ago. “My point, Detective McClane, is that the idea of you being too old for anything is laughable.” She tilted her head in thought. “Well, maybe a mullet.”
John let out a howl, half outrage, half humor. “I’ll get you for that,” he said, and proceeded to demonstrate his fitness for--nearly anything--ruthlessly.