Even If I Knew, The Day We Met You'd Be The Reason This Heart Breaks, I'd Love You Anyway
It’s a bit cliché to label them fire and ice, but in all reality, it’s true. To Simon’s cold and calculating, she’s hot and impulsive. And Simon’s no fool. A girl like that will send him to an early grave, but God if he isn’t already a dead man walking. It’s a long time before he finally drops his walls enough to let her inside, mostly because she’s always worming in places she shouldn’t be, asking questions she doesn’t need to know the answers to. That degree in psychology really starts to make sense when she needles him with the ones that instead of him glowering at her and snapping back, he falls silent and broods—he doesn’t brood but she swears he does.
She contradicts Simon’s frosty exterior with an inferno of life, and he begins to wonder if maybe he is too afraid of caring that he doesn’t let himself love. Which is why her words are so jarring as they come across his face, a verbal slap that has him reeling harder than any hit he’s ever taken.
“Simon, I can go on a mission by myself. I’m not a child.”
“I’m know. But I still don’t want you to go.”
“Okay, but you’re not my direct superior. So, I’m going.”
“Well, considering the fact that even if you’re a lieutenant commander. you’re in the 141. And if I recall, I am Price’s second in command.”
“You don’t get to control what I do just because you fuck me.”
It startles him, the way she bites that out and he shakes his head, a little disbelieving that she would say that—especially the way she did. “I’m not trying to control you, love,” he stresses. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
And then it happens. Her eyes slant in a way he’s never seen before and he never wants to see again, a frigid sneer crossing her face as she barks an ice-cold laugh. “Keep me safe? You couldn’t even keep your own fucking family safe.”
And that has Simon faltering a step back, throat tightening, heart beating so loud and so hard that it might come out of his chest.
“You fucked around with the wrong people, and you got all of them killed. Your own family. Your own fucking nephew.” Her laughter is dark. “You couldn’t keep anybody safe. What makes you think you can save me, you fucking failure?”
This isn’t his love. This isn’t her. He doesn’t like this version. She’s supposed to be hot; he’s supposed to be cold. She isn’t supposed to be cruel like this. He’s the cruel edged sword, she’s the fiery voice of reason.
Simon doesn’t even remember what they’re fighting about. And frankly, he doesn’t want to remember. But her laughter burns his ears, aches something in his body, he reaches for her, world suddenly tumbling in on itself and her cruelty is the last thing he hears.
He shoots up, heart hammering in his chest, throat tight as he sucks in a deep breath, sweat running down his temples and in a sheen on his chest. Simon takes a moment to assess that he’s in his room, he’s had a nightmare—a fucking nightmare of his girlfriend. His eyes draw down to his side and before he can even curse, her eyes are fluttering open, a sleepy-haze in them and he knows before she even says it.
“You okay?”
“‘m fine,” he mutters, reaching up to wipe his forehead. “Just hot.”
She stares at him, the sleep beginning to clear as she retorts, “It’s sixty-five in here and you’re covered in a sheet.” Her hand comes up to rub the sleep from her eyes and he grunts at her. “Just hot my ass.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Simon doesn’t fight when she sits up beside him and leans into his arm. “Bad dream?”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna—”
“No.”
She pouts. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“Because I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Her gaze is sharp, and he sees the inferno he loves building in them but uncharacteristically, she ceases needling and lays back down, and Simon thinks for a moment he’s in the clear before she grabs the back of his hair and yanks hard enough that he knows a smirk is on her face when he bites back that certain grunt low in his throat. He falls back, rolling onto her, head on her chest.
Her hands are cool from the temperature of the room, but he feels relief as she rubs his back and soothes everything away.
“You know I’m always here, Si.”
“Mhm.”
“I know you don’t like to talk about things that haunt your dreams but I’m always open to listen—without doctoring you to death.”
“I know.”
“Simon, I know I’m not everything I could be for you, but I love you, and I’ll follow you till the end. I’m in for the long ride.”
Simon looks up at her, a lifetime of exhaustion in his gaze, but a softness in the gruff of his voice as he admits, “Love, you’re the best thing I got.” She blinks and he lets out a long, deep sigh, repeating more to himself, “You’re the best I’ve got.”
Her hands become softer than he’s ever felt, and she brushes her fingers over his face, all had jaw and cheekbones. “Go back to sleep, Si,” she murmurs, her voice a halo of protection over him and their bed. “I’ll guard your dreams for you.”
