Based on a clip from Season 3 Mission 10 (but set at some point in S1/S2)
Janine and Simon have some pillow talk about their pasts and their potential future. Also, Simon reveals he's just as much of a dickhead as he's always been.
Also available on AO3!
(TW: cancer mention)
“None of it mattered, though. It didn’t stop what was going on inside, where the gym and the tan couldn’t touch. Every moment in that perfect body of mine, cells dividing and dividing and dividing until someday, just one of them, only one, that’s all it takes. Then suddenly, you’ve got your own death growing inside you. I was pretty on the outside, but inside, I was just rotting away."
- Simon in Season 3 Mission 10 Clip 4
Simon looked like a smug bastard and he knew it.
He couldn’t help it as he lay naked and sated on the mattress, covers rumpled and pushed to the end, his heart rate returning to normal as he caught his breath.
“Stop watching me.”
He smirked, not heeding the instruction at all.
“Can you blame me when the view is so damn lovely?” He mused, winking at Janine even as her back was turned as she leaned down to place everything they’d used back in the designated drawer, then pushed a heavy box in front of it, concealing its presence from anyone else who would ever dare walk into her bedroom.
“Relish in said view while it’s there, then.” She said as she stood back up.
Simon did exactly that, unashamedly raking his eyes up and down her bare body before she reached up to pick a sky blue nightie from her oak wardrobe then pulled it over her head, the hem landing just above her knees.
Simon tilted his head to the side, humming, “That number looks a bit like a hospital gown, and yet you still make it look sexy. That’s a feat, I was never able to do that on any of my visits.”
Janine had been putting her hair up into a loose ponytail, but halted her movements as the words registered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He amended quickly, resting his head against the pillow again, “Talking nonsense. As I do. ‘Specially when you’ve turned my brain to mush. Now, forgive me if I turn into a stereotypical male and fall asleep.”
He closed his eyes, willing his breathing to slow. Seconds later, he felt the mattress dip beneath him as she sat down, and then her voice to his left.
“No, what did you mean?” The words were soft, yet laced with a concern that he could tell she was trying to conceal.
He exhaled heavily in a sleepy sigh, “Just… Let it go, love.”
Janine knew that he knew that she melted whenever he called her that. He was pulling out the big guns, but she remained unfazed, dedicated to her objective just as she was in other aspects of her life.
“I won’t.”
He sighed again, opening his eyes and turning onto his side to face her. “You’re a stubborn gal, you know that?”
She didn’t reply, instead simply raising a poised eyebrow as she waited.
He squinted at her, then grunted as he flopped onto his back, “Damn you and your MI6 interrogation techniques.”
Janine laid down next to him, the silk fabric cool and smooth against his bare side. She wrapped a slender arm around his middle and traced her thumb against his hip in small, excruciating circles.
A shiver made its way up his back, “They teach you to do that to your victims too?”
“Suspects.” She corrected with an amused tone.
“Whatever you call the poor souls that are on the other end of your patented stare.”
Janine lifted her head to give him that very same stare.
He kept his composure for as long as he could, then his resolve crumbled. “Fine.”
Satisfied, she lay her head down on her pillow, dark hair fanning out behind her.
Simon was grateful that she wasn’t giving him direct eye contact anymore, hoping it would make telling the story easier. Still, he felt an unease creeping into his chest just at the memories.
The words came out hurriedly, “One day, I was posting a weekly progress picture at the gym - like the dickhead that I was - and when I was editing the photo to give myself more of a tan, I noticed a mole on my back. Tiny little thing, almost looked like dirt. I deleted that picture then used a different one instead, not thinking anything of it.”
Janine gave a short hum to prove that she was still listening, but otherwise didn’t interrupt.
“Then, a couple of weeks later, I could actually feel it when I was showering. Took another picture of my back with my handy dandy influencer selfie stick and… there it was. Darker and bigger.”
He felt her stiffen ever so slightly next to him, but ploughed on, knowing that if he didn’t get it all out, then he never would.
“Booked an appointment with the doc, and he immediately sent me to the hospital. As in, the next week. Which is never good. Ran all the tests. Got out a magnifying glass. A camera. Poked and prodded it. Later a CT. Then an MRI.”
He could feel the anxiety that had been present in that situation rising in his chest just from retelling it, desperate to make it leave.
He forced out a chuckle, “I remember thinking ‘hey, at least they don’t need a prostate exam’. Though maybe if they’d done it, you wouldn’t have been the one to make me discover that I like taking it up the arse-”
"Simon-” The word sounded exasperated, chastising and sad, all in one.
“Don’t.” He snapped.
He felt her jump at the sudden sharpness, then sighed, regretting the hostility.
The next words were much softer, “Don’t… say my name like that. Don’t pity me.”
“It’s not pity.”
The two stayed in silence for a while, the only sounds around them being their breathing, the distant ticking of a grandfather clock in the study and the gate's siren sounding outside as someone left for a mission.
Janine was the one to break the tension, words barely above a whisper, “I wish you would have told me sooner.”
He let out a humourless huff, “Why? So you could look at me how you’re looking at me now?” He turned his head to see exactly the expression he expected.
Her face was twisted, almost like she was experiencing physical pain. He reached a hand out to touch her, thumb pressing against the wrinkle that had emerged between her eyebrows, smoothing it out like an iron.
Simon continued, “That’s why I didn’t tell people back then either. If anyone asked why I cut my hair shorter, I’d say that I liked my luscious locks, but they hid my chiselled jawline. Asked why I was losing weight? Trying a new regime. Leaving work in the middle of the day? Booked the tanning bed or a sports massage or had a salacious booty call. Why I didn’t take shirtless pics anymore? Reply with a quip about how they just wanted to see those rock hard abs.”
“You couldn’t be shirtless?”
A chuckle escaped him, the question unexpected, “Hard to believe now, I know.”
The hand on his hip swatted him playfully, even as her voice remained serious, “No, what I mean is, why?”
“Surgery.” He answered, “Told everyone I was going to Ibiza for a crazy week, no one questioned it.”
Janine hummed in thought, “Is that why you have the small incision scar there?”
He laughed again, “Forgot you see my back more often than I do.”
She rolled her eyes, then sobered up again, “No one knew?”
“Told me nan. She said it was all part of God’s plan for me.” He sighed deeply, shaking his head, “As if a loving God like hers would plan for anyone to die painfully in their 20s.”
Janine was silent for a split second before replying. “You deserved better.”
He gave another chuckle, this one mirthless and flat, “No, I didn’t.”
Janine lifted her head and neck from the pillow to look at him.
It took all his might to keep staring at the ceiling instead, too worried of seeing her look upset with him.
Until she placed a hand on his cheek, gently turning his face to hers. “You did. You do.”
Simon swallowed thickly, breathing out steadily, “You can’t just say things like that and expect me not to-” He trailed off.
Janine’s eyes widened slightly, “Not to what?”
Not to love you. The words remained unspoken between them. Yet they both knew, the words circling around the air. They’d been dancing around them for weeks now, but neither had dared use them.
“Not to ravish you!” Simon quickly wrapped his arms around her and turned them both so he was above her, making her emit a surprised squeal that he’d never thought that the serious Janine De Luca would be able to make.
Her eyebrows raised at him, and with a practised move, she quickly turned them back again. Her face hovered above his, wisps of her hair framing her face, “I’d rather think I was the one doing the ravishing.”
“And you won’t let me forget it.” He lifted his head up to press a quick yet hard kiss onto her cheek, making a grin break out onto her face.
“Definitely not.” She agreed, moving down to rest against his chest, hearing his heartbeat thudding in his ear. Steady, and so wonderfully alive.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, debating the wording of her next question.
Without even looking, Simon could somehow sense that she was thinking, so he waited it out, tracing his hand up and down her spine lazily.
“Did they…” she finally began, “estimate your prognosis?”
Simon let out an undignified snort, “As in how much time I had left before I popped my clogs?”
She swatted his upper thigh, but remained silent so he could answer.
“Well, last check up I had, it was gone, all hunky-dory, but there was always a chance it could come back so I had to have check ups every six months. Then three weeks after that, the world went to shit and it was even harder to get a GP appointment than usual. So…” He shrugged, but only minutely, careful not to jostle her comfortable position.
Janine nodded against him, “So you’re not going to - as you say - pop your clogs any time soon. Are you?”
Simon tried not to focus on how there was an underlying sense of worry in the words. It felt too much like caring. A dependency on him that he didn’t want anyone to have.
“Why? You getting fond of me?” He continued quickly before she could give a response, afraid of what it might be, “Not if I can help it. If it were up to me, I’d never leave.”
Janine turned her head to press a soft kiss to the left side of his chest, then returned to her previous position, settling in further and wrapping a leg around his, trying to get as close as possible.
“Good. I would… rather like that eventuality.”
In the end, he gets what he wants. But not with the person he wants it with.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Almost without thinking, Janine’s mind detaches itself from her body: from her racing heart, her pounding head, her burning hands and feet. She coolly observes the wild, frantic response of her own body betraying her.
You are part animal, de Luca, she tells herself calmly. The animal part is in love. Surely you have noticed.
Something roars inside her chest, beating against her ribcage to escape.
There, there, she continues, watching herself crouch in the dark. I’m still here. I am not in love, and I never will be. I will tell you what to do.
