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poledancingdinos · 3 days

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Hostile Territory - Chapter 24

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 4.2K

Warnings: Angst

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @athenepromachos @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019 @rosecentury

Day 215

Meetings were undoubtedly the worst invention in the history of humanity. Okay, there were some worse inventions but Sy couldn’t think of any, what with having used up all his brain power justifying every decision he’d made in the past year.

“What about the girl?”

Sy clenched his jaw to keep from barking the wrong thing. “Corporal Coleman? What about her?”

He hated the detached tone of his own voice. It was not a tone a man should ever use when talking about the woman he loved.

“The only reason she’s made it this far is because she had excellent marksmanship scores and had the best performance out of all the women during the physical fitness tests but she was completely untested in the field. Seeing now that she was injured within her first week tells me she isn’t cut out for this.”

“With all due respect Sir, she suffered minor injuries where many of my other men would have gone home in a bag. She more than proved herself to be field ready during her time at Warhorse and it would be foolish to exclude her from this next mission and separate her from her squad. Sergeant Fuller’s entire team is thrivin’ under his command.”

Some of the men around the table nodded in understanding but the man at the head of the table pursed his lips. “We’ll take that into consideration.”

Luckily the man to his left didn’t seem to share the same backwards opinion about women in the military and intervened on Leah’s behalf.

“Whatever group is selected will be performin’ a month long trainin' exercise before their mission. I suggest that we allow Corporal Coleman to participate and re-evaluate at a later date.”

“Yes,” the old fucker eventually agreed, “I suppose that would be acceptable.” It was obvious those words tasted terrible coming out of his mouth. “Are there any pain points we need to watch out for? How is she taking orders?”

Sy shifted in his seat, working hard to keep his mind from going to inappropriate places. This was not the time for his dick to go half-mast.

“She obeys them if that’s the question.” It was a half truth but there was no way Sy would give them any ammunition against Leah. She obeyed orders when it mattered, that was the most important thing. There wouldn’t be a repeat of the Niki incident so there was no point in bringing it up.

“Right. That brings us to our next point of attention.”

Sy may or may not have partially checked out after that. The rest of the meeting was marginally better with the knowledge that Leah was going to be given a shot. It didn’t sound like they were giving her a fair shot but at least she would have the chance to prove herself. And the memory of Leah being very good at taking orders.

Day 216

Leah startled as a heavy bag was dropped at her feet, nearly spilling her overpriced latte.

“Damn, Coleman, what’s got you looking like someone just kicked your puppy?”

BJ fell into the seat across from her, causing the chair to creak under his weight. His comment fell short of making her smile but she made an effort to show she was pleased to see him..

“I’m sorry, are you lost, kiddo? Do you need me to help you find your mommy?”

“Ha ha. Very funny, Princess.”

Leaning back, Leah pulled her hair over her shoulder, running it through her fingers. Even beardless, one could not describe BJ as having a baby face but it would definitely take some getting used to.

“I guess it doesn’t look so good if you don’t follow the grooming standards on your first day back from R&R.”

“No it does not.”

It hadn’t even occurred to her that Sy would have to do the same. He’d still been sporting his full beard when he’d left the night before.

“So… Any particular reason you’re just hanging out at the airport like a weirdo?”

That did succeed in making Leah crack a smile. Rolling her eyes, she kicked BJ under the table.

“I was savoring one last decent cup of coffee.”

BJ stole said cup, taking a sip. “You know that thing is stone cold right?”

“Maybe that’s what I ordered,” she grumbled, knowing very well that the cardboard sleeve on her cup was meant to protect you from the heat, not the cold.

She didn’t try to get her drink back. She’d only ordered it to have an excuse to sit on the comfortable bench in the cafe’s dining area rather than out by the doors.

“Do anything interesting while you were home?” BJ asked, taking a large gulp of the coffee, not at all bothered that it was no longer warm.

Leah knew he was fishing for juicy details about her and Sy but she wasn’t in the right headspace to talk about that.

“I got some new ink,” she said instead.

BJ perked up anyway. “No shit? Can I see?”

Leah grabbed her phone, finding the picture and handing it over.

“Looks fucking great, Coleman,” he said after a few moments of close inspection, zooming in and out. “Did you post this anywhere?”

“Uh, no. I just took it for me, why?”

“Oh, you know… your secret relationship might not stay secret for long if anyone spots what’s hanging over the back of that chair.”

Leah snatched the phone out of BJ’s hand, zooming in to see what the hell he was talking about. Sure enough, draped over the back of her desk chair was a very familiar red t-shirt.

“Fuck. BJ you can’t—”

“I know,” he assured, cutting her off. “I know what this could mean for the both of you.”

He raised his hand to his chin only to drop it as he remembered there was no beard left to stroke. After glancing behind him to make sure they were still alone in the back corner, BJ leaned forward on the table.

“This is gonna sound cold as fuck but I’m more worried about Sy than I am you. Sy’s already thirteen years in. Seven more and he gets his retirement which he really fucking deserves after the shit we’ve been through.”

Leah hadn’t considered that. A lot could happen in seven years but BJ was right that Sy losing his benefits after already serving so much time would suck.

“I don’t know what to do, BJ. The rules are clear about officer/enlisted relationships.”

At the very least, BJ looked genuinely sympathetic. “How long do you have left?”

He meant how long before her minimum commitment was up.

“About twenty-six months but I was planning to stay on afterwards.” If she didn’t get herself blown up first.

“Have you thought about becoming an officer? Then in a couple of years you guys could say you just started dating.”

She had and she’d already mentally crossed it out.

“I have less than half of an art degree, there’s no way I can possibly get the rest of my credits online from Warhorse.”

“Then you better make sure you get that shit locked up tight because you’ll both be fucked if word gets out.”

When they arrived at the base, the room was filled with the sound of soldiers greeting each other. Man hugs and pats on the back were exchanged all around. Leah’s boys enthusiastically lifted her in the air while the others mostly stuck to fist bumps.

Their reunion was interrupted by a shrill whistle and every head turned towards Sy. Leah’s breath hitched as she spotted her man standing in the doorway with arms crossed over his chest. His beardless face was no less attractive and just as stern. She didn’t like the way all the tension that had faded from his features over the last two weeks had returned. Leah continued to study him, appreciating how handsome he was in his full uniform, until her eyes fixed on his chest.

“I need team leaders with me.”

As the men followed Sy, a round of whispers erupted around the room.

“What is that all about?”

“Why do they need a briefing? I thought we were all going back to Baqubah.”

“It’s probably nothing. He’s probably just updating them on what has been going on at Warhorse since we’ve been gone.”

Leah continued to stare at the space Sy had occupied moments before.

“Coleman?” Ethan waved a hand in front of Leah’s face. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Leah turned her head, finding three worried faces looking back at her.

“Cap’s uniform,” she said on an exhale.

Jer shook his head, not understanding what she was saying. “What about it?”

“Seriously?” When her voice came out as a panicked squeak, she cleared her throat. “Have you guys forgotten what it’s supposed to look like?”

Ethan’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit. Guys, she’s right.”

“About what?” Jer asked.

It was Rohan who responded for them. “We can’t call him ‘Cap’ anymore.”

The team leaders returned, Sy and his newly earned Major’s rank following close behind.

They gathered around Benjie, eager to hear what their orders were.

“We’re flying out but we aren’t going East. Don’t bother unpacking. We’re lifting off at fourteen hundred hours.”

As Leah ran around the base, she grew more and more worried she wouldn’t find Sy in time. She’d called five times with no answer and was down to only ten minutes before she absolutely had to be gone. He wasn’t in his room, the mess hall or the gym.

As it turned out, he’d been looking for her too.

“Coleman, finally.”

Relief swept over her at the sound of his voice. Though she wanted to run into his arms, she knew that there were eyes on them even if no one was around. She made her way to him at a very normal, not at all inappropriate, speed.

“What’s this?” she asked as Sy handed her a folded piece of paper.

“My parents' address down in Georgia. If ya ever feel like writin’, send it there and my parents will make sure I get it.”

Leah frowned as she took it.

“Why can’t I just send it straight to you?”

The muscles ticked in Sy’s jaw, fully visible now that he was clean shaven. His non-answer as he looked down at the ground was enough.

“Because you don’t want anyone to realize I’m writing to you,” she concluded, feeling like an utter fool.

A month ago she would never have even considered starting anything with Sy for that exact reason. In the safety of her hometown, surrounded by her friends and family, she’d forgotten all about how he could be the end of her career. The reminder that she could only ever be Sy’s dirty little secret was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over her head.

“There’s a reason this shit is forbidden, Leah. I had to sit in front of my superiors and defend why ya should be allowed to follow the rest of the team on this trainin’ exercise. If it came out that we were in a relationship, they would automatically assume it was all bullshit even if every word I spoke about your skills was true. If we get found out, they can’t ever know how far back it started. If they look into your history under my command there can’t be any signs of impropriety or favoritism.”

Leah couldn’t help but wonder if he was just saying that to make her feel better. It felt like a cruel twist on the classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’. I’m not protecting my own ass, I’m protecting yours.

“You said that when our two weeks were over we wouldn’t be apart.”

Sy had to ball his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. Leah’s face was a blank mask but he could see the tears forming in her eyes and could hear the way her voice broke.

“I know. This isn’t what I was expectin’ either. Hopefully we’ll both be somewhere where we can use our cellphones.”

He knew damn well that was unlikely, hence the slip of paper with his parents’ address. He was going back to Warhorse for a few weeks before moving to a still undetermined location. Neither of them knew where they would be a month from then, let alone a year.

“Did you conveniently forget to tell me you were up for a promotion? Even if they hadn’t taken us out of Baqubah, you being promoted would still have meant leaving Warhorse.”

Shaking his head, Sy looked down at the insignia on his chest. “I thought we’d have more time. Those things aren’t automatic at my grade.”

“Right.”

He was losing her. Every wall and defense he’d worked so hard to knock down was slowly being rebuilt right before his eyes and he felt powerless to stop it.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, making sure no one could possibly overhear. “This doesn’t change anything between us. The timin’ is shit, I’ll give ya that, but don’t think for a fuckin’ second that this changes us.”

“How can it not?”

The defeat in her voice broke his heart.

“I won’t lie and say I know how this is all gonna work. Fuck, the truth is I ain’t got a damn clue what to do here. Please, just give us a chance to figure this out.”

Leah blinked back the tears threatening to fall. Sy could tell she was battling the urge to push him away and spare herself further heartache. If she did, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

She shut her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest and rubbing her arms up and down like she was cold. They were silent for so long, Sy almost thought she wouldn’t say anything at all.

Then, in the greatest demonstration of her trust he could ever witness, she looked back up and spoke a whispered ‘okay’.

There was so much more that needed to be said but their time had run out.

“Coleman, Jesus, we’ve been looking all over for you, girl. We’re moving out.”

Leah quickly took two steps back. Luckily for them, Sy stood between her and Jer as he approached so he didn’t see how close the two had been standing.

“Thanks again, Major. Take care of Aika for me.”

Those shouldn’t have been their parting words. He should have told her he loved her. He should have made it clear that that wouldn’t change even with the distance. Instead, he’d lectured her about why their relationship was wrong when he’d been the one to push for it in the first place.

As he watched her walk away, Leah peaked over her shoulder. Not wasting his opportunity, he mouthed those oh so important words just as she turned the corner.

Moving on auto-pilot, Sy made his way back to his room. After unlocking the door and stepping inside, his foot suddenly slid out from under him. He narrowly avoided falling on his ass by catching hold of the doorframe.

“The fuck?”

He looked down at the large manila envelope which was blank save for his bootprint. Shutting the door, Sy leaned down to pick up the offending item. There was no way it was an official communication of any sort and there was only one person who would bother sliding something under his door.

Sy found a knife, cutting open the top of the envelope and carefully pulling out the contents. The yellow paper had gotten wrinkled from being stepped on but it seemed Leah had had the forethought to protect whatever was inside by putting it between two sheets of rigid cardboard.

Between them, Sy found an expensive looking piece of paper on which Leah had drawn in ink. It was a snarling wolf, the lines of its body bold and sharp unlike the matching pattern on his back which had faded from his shower and the friction of his clothing. She’d signed the image with her initials and added yesterday’s date.

That was when Sy lost it. Though he was tempted to hold the drawing close to his chest, he had just enough presence of mind to put it back in the envelope and set it on the table before sitting on the edge of the bed. There, with his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands, Sy wept.

Day 214

Golden rays of sunlight filtering into the bedroom roused Sy from his deep slumber. Laying on his stomach with his face buried in a fluffy pillow, he almost let himself drift back to sleep but a strange tickling sensation running across his back forced his mind to slowly come back into awareness.

He kept his eyes closed as he took note of his surroundings—the cool air of the room on his naked back, the pitter patter of rain hitting the window, the lingering scent of cedar on her sheets. When he finally remembered where he’d fallen asleep the night before, he was easily able to identify the now familiar sensation of Leah’s marker gliding across his skin.

“What am I gettin’ this time?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

She hadn’t done much drawing in the past ten days, preferring to enjoy the time they had together, but she’d pulled her sketchbook out once or twice. The day Sy stayed in one place long enough to buy his own couch he was going to get a couch that pulled out like Leah’s. It was perfect for lazy evenings spent cuddling together.

It had been raining almost non-stop for the past three days, forcing them to stay indoors. Not that Sy was complaining. Any time he could spend with Leah next to him was time well spent.

“I’m drawing Fenrir, it’s a creature from Norse mythology.”

Thinking back to his conversation with Niki about Leah’s drawings being her diary, he couldn’t help but be curious if this particular drawing had a hidden meaning behind it.

“I feel like I’ve seen the name before but I don’t remember what it looks like.”

“It’s basically a big angry wolf. The short version of the story is that there was a prophecy saying Fenrir would be involved in the demise of the Gods during Ragnarok. They tried preventing this by tricking Fenrir into allowing himself to be bound by requesting that he test the strength of the bindings. Fenrir obviously didn’t want to stay trapped so he requested a sign of good faith by holding the hand of a god in his jaws as they tested the ties. When he realized he wouldn’t be released, he bit the hand clean off. In the end he still broke free, unleashing chaos and devouring Odin before meeting his own end.”

Maybe it was best if Sy didn’t try to read too far into this one. They had enough death, chaos and destruction in their line of work.

“Is the wolf on your thigh supposed to be Fenrir?”

“No, mine is just a normal earth-roaming wolf. They are gorgeous creatures.”

Sy opened one eye, peeking at Leah over his shoulder. “You were team Jacob weren’t ya?”

Once again, Leah was surprised by his knowledge of such a female oriented piece of pop culture.

“Only in the books. He’s kind of a whiny bitch in the movies.”

Sy attempted to keep his body still as he chuckled, praying he wasn’t messing up the lines of Leah’s drawing.

“How many sisters have you got again?”

“I’ve got two older sisters and twin younger brothers.”

Leah paused what she was doing, shifting to straddle one of Sy’s thighs now that he was awake.

“Wow. That must have been chaotic. We outnumbered dad two to one, I can’t imagine if it had been five to two.”

“It was mostly calm until the twins came along. Olivia and Abigail are eleven months apart and were both quiet, studious types. I’m three years younger than Abi and five and a half years older than Jackson and Austin.”

“Are you guys close?”

Seeing as this was the first time she heard all of their names, she could already guess the answer to that question.

“Not really. I mean, the girls and the twins are inseparable pairs but I never got along with the girls growin’ up and the twins were only twelve when I left.”

Maybe his sister had had a point after all. He’d been absent more than he’d been present in his brothers’ lives. He knew shockingly little of who they had grown up to be.

“I guess it’s kind of my own fault in a way. I was so desperate to leave because of how out of place I felt that I never really gave them the chance to show me things could be different now.”

It had been jarring to see the twins with babies the first time. In his mind, he still pictured them both as scrawny, shaggy-haired pre-teens.

“Why did you feel out of place?”

“I was always the odd one out. Even before the twins came along, the girls were always off doin’ their own thing.”

Too often he saw himself as a burden on the family. Like he was the extra mouth to feed and not much more.

“Is the relationship as strained with your parents as it is with your siblings?”

“No, my mama is the sweetest woman. A homemaker through and through. She stayed with us until the twins started school and even then she only went back part-time until I graduated. My dad worked a lot growin’ up but he had this rule that he always had to be home for dinner so sometimes he would come all the way home to eat with us before goin’ back to work for a double shift. The only time he was more present was right after the twins were born. My mama had had a C-section so she needed the extra help while she recovered.”

Leah was pretty sure extra help was appreciated at any point after having a kid, but good for mama Syverson if she could handle the first three babies all on her own. Growing up, people had sometimes told her father that she and Caleb would be happier with a motherly figure in their lives—especially after it became obvious that their dad wasn’t making any effort to date. Sy was proof that having two parents around didn’t magically make a family closer or happier.

Putting the cap back on her marker, Leah moved to lay down beside her boyfriend. Yes, their two weeks were up and Sy was most definitely her boyfriend. It was also their last lazy morning together. That evening, Sy was getting on the red-eye back to North Carolina and Leah was taking the one the following day. He had to be back earlier for various meetings with their superiors and Leah had already booked her ticket which cost too much to change at the last minute.

Sy rolled onto his side, pulling Leah flush against him.

“No picture?”

Leah shrugged. “Maybe next time.”

She had done her best to keep her concerns at bay but they were becoming harder to ignore as what felt like the end-date on their relationship crept nearer.

Now it was D-day and every fiber of her being screamed at her not to let Sy go.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

Sy placed a soft kiss to the space between her brows. “Worryin’. We’ll be okay.”

“You can’t know that.”

Leah pressed her forehead to the crook of Sy’s neck, stealing more of his warmth. They’d decided to stay at the cabin for their last evening together. Unfortunately, the only heat source was the fireplace in the living room and the temperature had dropped overnight.

Sy was only wearing his briefs while Leah was in her panties and a thin camisole. He was absolutely unbothered but Leah was getting to the point where her nipples were so hard she was sure Sy could feel them poking his chest.

“Darlin’, you’re shiverin’.”

He pulled the blanket back over the both of them, rubbing Leah’s arms and back. She could still pick up on the faint almond scent of the beard oil he’d used after his shower the night before. It was a smell that she now fully associated with Sy’s comforting embrace.

Suddenly she was shaking for a whole different reason. There was no way she could risk sneaking moments like this while at Warhorse. Her only cuddles or kisses would come from Aika. If she had a rough day she would need to take out her frustrations in the gym. When Sy addressed her it would be by her rank or her last name.

If either of them so much as slipped once, it was all over for them.

“Oh, baby girl.” Sy recognized the stiffness in Leah’s body. When Leah became stressed she became tense or jittery and working out was her way of expelling that excess energy. “I’m all in, Leah. No matter what happens, I’m gonna do whatever it takes to make this work.”

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ghostaholics · 9 months

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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

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