You’d never been scared of Simon before. Sure maybe uneasy, especially toward the beginning when he was just an intimidating figure in a mask, but once he started spewing his stupid jokes, you realized he wasn’t the ghost everyone made him out to be.
You can’t say the same right now, though, as he slams his fist into the ground beside your head, hard enough to rattle the floor, barely missing breaking your skull. Right now, you were scared for your life.
You knew whatever the terrorists were doing was bad. I mean…they got the label of terrorist from somewhere, but you’d never expected to find what you did.
The team was split between a couple different warehouses. You and Simon in one while the others checked somewhere else. You’d been given word of some nefarious on-going’s inside, but when you slid open a giant door to reveal people—hundreds of people strapped to beds with wires and tubes attached to them—you were shocked.
“Simon…” you whispered as you gently encroached into the room, looking around at the unconscious bodies. Were they even alive?
“I know.” Is all he can say. “John, we’ve got some fucked up shit in here,” he relays.
“No, John…there’s people, like a lot of them, strapped into medical beds with some weird fluid being pumped into them.” You explain further, walking deeper into the room and shooting a disturbed look back to Simon, “it’s human experimentation, John.”
“…fuuuuckin’ hell,” he breathes deeply down the line, “we’re on our way.”
You build up the courage to approach one of the…patients. She’s pretty but gaunt, her skin is pallid and her cheekbones are too accentuated. She’s breathing, though, you can tell now. You’re so focused on her that you jump when a commotion breaks out behind you.
You whip around, gun raising to meet the threat. It’s a crazed looking doctor grappling with Simon, you think he must’ve caught him off guard too because Simon’s gun is on the floor. They’re a mess of limbs and you don’t have a shot, you’re trying to find one when you notice the glint of a needle in the doctor’s hand.
Your gun drops, you have no idea what could possibly be in that needle, but if it causes Simon to end up like the people in these beds, there’s no way it’s getting in his system.
You resort to charging into the fray, knocking the doctor away from Simon, slamming both of you ungracefully into a cart. It goes flying, metal crashing onto the floor and medical supplies skidding. Somehow, the syringe stays locked in his grasp. He moves to jam it into your arm, so you pull your knees to your chest and push against him to gain some distance.
Simon swoops in, pulling you off the ground and away from the man, but it’s like he’s rabid. He just picks himself up and lunges once more, poised to stab you with the needle.
He brings his arm down, finding purchase, but not in you. Simon wrapped his arm around your chest, taking the needle into his own arm to prevent it from going into you.
“No!” Your strangled cry floods the room.
Simon’s grip releases as he falls to the floor. You don’t look back, instead ripping your knife from your thigh holster and stabbing it into the doctor’s chest.
His rampage finally stops. He’s gone, but the damage is done. You flip around, scared of what you’ll find. Simon is on the floor, not moving. Your heart drops harder and faster than it ever has.
Please. Please don’t be dead.
You fall to your knees next to him, one hand going to his chest and the other to his neck for a pulse. You take a breath. Another. And you feel it, faint but there. You almost cry out in relief, still, you bring your head down to his chest, needing to hear the beating to be okay. You hear one beat before you’re flipped over and slammed into the ground.
Your head hits the unforgiving concrete hard, only adding to your disorientation. Was the doctor not dead? But when you look up, instead of the enemy you only see Simon.
His knee is on your stomach and his hands are locked around your neck, squeezing. He’s choking you.
You don’t know what’s happening, this picture doesn’t make sense. Your hands come up to grasp his wrists, trying to pry them away. Already you’re losing your breath. Maybe he’s confused because he passed out? Adrenaline response?
“Si—“ you try to choke out but his grip is too strong. Your eyes are filling with tears. His are emotionless. These eyes do not belong to your Simon.
You throw your hand to the side, fumbling, trying to find a grip on something, anything. Finally you hit the cool metal of a tray that flew from the cart earlier. You don’t hesitate to bring it up to slam against his head.
The response is immediate, he lets go, hand flying to his head to cradle where you just hit him. You take the opportunity to twist him off of you, finally gasping in a full breath. You stand, or try to, and end up stumbling away from him. On instinct you go for your discarded gun.
…if it came down to it…could you shoot him?
No. No you don’t think you could.
Still, you don’t know what else to do. You stagger over, “cap—captain—“ your gruff voice starts down the comms. But Simon has always recovered fast.
He shoves against your back, sending you flying again. You’re ready this time, though. Whatever is happening to him to make him like this, you just need to knock him out so you can take him back home and get him back to normal. You beat him regularly, your wins pretty much split 50/50…you just hope today luck was on your side.
You flip around, immediatley having to block a nasty right hook with your forearm. The brunt force is harsh, but at least it wasn’t your face.
You go for a hit on his spleen, a spot he would normally cover, but he’s in such a blind rage he isn’t holding his form properly.
“Simon, please—“ you try to start. It’s not like he’s gone…right? He should be able to hear you?
He’s unrelenting, attacking you with a force you’ve rarely seen out of him. You can’t even spare two thoughts about the jumble of chatter coming down the radio. You calling for your captain and then going silent is bound to give him a few greys.
You’re being pushed back with every hit, hes swinging wildly and you’re just doing what you can to keep up. He gets in some good hits, one splits your lip. Finally, you’re able to slam a kick into his shin, slowing him marginally. You gain what distance you can and try again.
“Simon, listen to me. It’s me okay…your teammate, your friend. You can trust me…” you settle on friend because you don’t know what else to call whatever you are. Your hands come up in a placating gesture, but he barely bats an eye, just lunging for you again.
Your leg catches on a gurney, sending you to the floor. Simon follows you down, straddling you again. Then he pulls out his pistol, aiming it at your head.
It’s the first hint of hesitance you’ve seen through this whole ordeal. And He…he’s crying. The cold metal touches your forehead.
“It’s okay,” you whisper. Whatever fucked up drug they put into his body is to blame for this, and right now you don’t know if he’ll come back or if he’ll wake up with the memory of killing you.
If he does, he’d never forgive himself.
Your eyes start to water too, you tell yourself it’s from the fight. “It’s okay, Simon. It’s not your fault.”
Your hand comes up hesitantly to his face, grabbing his mask gently and pulling it off his head. He lets you. You toss it aside, finally able to see him again. You put your hand on his cheek, wiping the stray tear.
His finger finds the trigger. I love you. You mouth, still too much a coward to say it out loud.
His hands shake harder, like he’s fighting himself. The gun flys out of his grip, skidding across the floor. His head falls into your chest as he collapses into you, a sob leaves him.
It makes your heart clench as you finally inhale shakily.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to I swear, I’m so sorry—“ he’s crying into you.
You try to keep it together, hand coming to the back of his head, “shh, Simon it’s okay, I know. I know you didn’t.”
That’s where the rest of the team finds you both. The room a mess, a doctor dead on the floor, and both of you covered in cuts and bruises, holding each other tightly. If they see the tear streaks, they don’t say anything.
You tell them you need to raid the facility for information on what Simon got shot-up with, and to help the poor people that have been here for who-knows-how-long. They move into action, calling backup and starting to look for formation. But you and Simon stay right where you are, just letting yourselves be with each other. Sitting in the fear of the near-miss and the peace of knowing you’ll be okay.
After a while, he moves to press his face into your hair, whispering three words back to you.
turnnoffyourmind
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
areudirty
