“Make sure you blend in.”
You roll your eyes in half-annoyance, half-affection, “we know, cap. We aren’t green anymore.” You talk low to not reveal the comm in your ear.
Your fancy shoes click against the marble of the entryway as you stick close to Simon, hand in his elbow. The image of a perfect couple.
He grunts, “yeah well, with the way you lot act sometimes…”
“Oh don’t lie, cap, we know we’re your most trusted lieutenants.” You’re joking around, but you’re still focused. Eyes taking in all the cameras, doors, and windows. You can tell Simon is doing the same.
“…yer my only lieutenants.”
“Exactly.” Simon butts into the conversation.
You reach a bottleneck: the doors that lead into the ballroom. You take the opportunity to scan the party-goers, hoping to get an early read on who’s making the exchange.
There’s a man whose right ankle is slightly bigger than his left under his dress pants. Perhaps a firearm? You tug Simon’s arm gently and he’s immediately looking to you. You feel a subtle tense of his muscles like he’s already prepared to fight.
You jerk your head just a little toward the man. “Ankle,” you whisper.
He turns his head back to the front like he was simply looking around curiously, “I see it.”
You finally get into the actual ballroom. This is where the real fun begins. At some point tonight, a rogue ambassador will exchange state secrets for money. It’s your job to stop the transaction. The only problem is this is a party to celebrate the hard work of the embassy, and you don’t know who the mole is. So basically you’re looking for a needle in a stack of needles.
You meander your way to the drink table, still profiling the crowd. Simon picks up a champagne glass and hands it to you before grabbing one of his own.
You raise an eyebrow, “drinking on the job, Simon?”
He gives you a side eye, “I’m not going down to a flute of champagne. Though if you can’t handle it, I can grab you a lemonade.”
“Funny.” Your face is deadpan. You take a sip.
You both stand there for a moment, taking in the room, until he grabs your flute and set them both down.
He pulls you in by the waist, torsos pressed to each other probably more tightly than necessary.
“Blending.” He guides you in the center of the room as a waltz begins.
“Is this really necessary?”
“It’s a good way to scan the room. Pay attention.”
He takes the first step, guiding you in the dance, hand heavy on your hip. You can feel the calluses on his hand that’s in yours. He pays no further attention to you, though, rather he’s looking at the other patrons.
Admittedly…he’s a good leader. A good dancer. Which you hadn’t expected. You knew a basic waltz, sure, but you’d figured you wouldn’t be dancing tonight.
His eyes briefly flick to yours, “it’s tactical.”
That gets a small smile out of you, “tactical. Right.”
His voice lowers as he brings his mouth to your ear, “we are on a mission, are we not?” His breath is hot against your ear and you can’t stop the goosebumps that erupt on your neck at his low tone.
“We are.” You swallow thickly, allowing yourself to imagine that you weren’t for just a moment. A reality where he chose to be here with you.
You go to retort, but your train of thought is interrupted by the sight of two men in tux’s leaving the room and heading down a service corridor.
He gracefully ends your dance, starting for the edge of the room to follow the men.
Except you never get to the hallway. As soon as you make it off the dance floor, your world explodes in light and sound.
You vaguely feel your body move with the force of the blast, but then there’s a blinding pain and you stop thinking at all.
You don’t know how long it is until your mind returns to you. You try to peel your eyes open but there’s so much dust and someone is screaming and the lights are blinking and everything hurts—
Suddenly a familiar face (or three?) is in front of you.
You cough, trying to blink away the other Simon’s that cloud your vision…there’s only supposed to be one of those, you’re pretty sure.
He grabs your bicep, fingers digging into the skin as he pulls you to an upright position.
“There wasn’t supposed to be a bomb.” It’s the only thing you can think right now.
“Yeah, well, there was.” For once he looks distracted, eyes locked on your forehead. You’d expect him to be scanning for more threats right now.
He brings his thumb to your hairline, causing you to hiss and jerk back a little. His thumb comes back covered in blood.
He grabs one of the fancy cloth napkins that used to be on a table, pressing it to the gash as his other hand cups the back of your head.
“Ah-“ you grab his wrist, wanting to stop the pressure.
“Hey.” He stops you, “I need to stop the bleeding.”
“What we need is to find those guys.”
“I’ll find them.” He’s not meeting your eyes.
“You’re probably concussed—“
“What I need-“ he cuts himself off and takes a breath, volume lowering, “I need you in working order.” I need you safe, is what he wanted to say.
He taps his ear as a form of ending the conversation. “Cap? Captain, how copy.”
You scoff. If he thinks he can stop you from helping, he’s dead wrong.
Your comms are only met with static.
“Fuck.” His head drops. “Comms must be fried.”
You’re going to continue making your case when the building starts to shake again.
Immediatley Simon is on top of you, covering you from the raining debris with his body.
You let out a noise of distress. He’s completely forfeiting his own safety for you, but he must think you’re in pain or something because he squeezes you tighter under him, arm coming up to cover your head.
The door that was blocked by debris is blown open. Instantly you and Simon are both on alert. You prepare for the targets to come in guns blazing, but instead you’re met with the very welcome sight of the rest of your team.
“Oh thank god-“ you sigh, head falling back.
Price, Soap, and Gaz are all in full tactical gear, guns up and sweeping the room for any threat.
Simon stands and their guns are trained on him in an instant before they recognize who he is.
“Ghost!” Your captain takes long strides to reach him. “We heard the explosion then lost contact, sitrep.”
You let yourself relax a little as he explains what happened. At the mention of your injury, your two sergeants are poking their heads into your field of vision.
“You broken?” Gaz asks, brows furrowed in concern.
“Probable concussion. I recommend exfil.” Simon cuts you off.
“Alright, I’ll call for a medic.” Your captain says immediately, not even waiting to hear you out.
You try to protest but it seems like the whole team is in agreement.
“We’ll take it from here, bonnie, ya needn’t worry.” Soap goes to pat your head but then thinks better of it and just gives you a thumbs up.
Price starts directing them on sweeping the building.
“Where do you want me, cap.” Simon asks.
“You’re on exfil with flight risk over there.” He jerks his head in your direction.
“Hah.” You can’t help it slipping out. Karma.
Simon glares at you briefly before trying to argue.
“Ah! I won’t hear it. You were in an explosion too. We got it taken care of, Simon.” And then he’s off to find the bombers.
You hum in satisfaction, “looks like we’re both benched, Riley.”
“Don’t start.” He sits back down next to you.
He’s trying to sound mad, but with how tightly he’s pressing his thigh to yours, you suspect he might be glad to stick with you.
You’re glad to stick with him too.
