Simon might have looked like a grim and cruel bastard, but that didn't mean he didn't care. He cared about his team in his own way. Including you. Although, when you showed up after Johnny, the team lost a fighter. And you came in his place. He wasn't expecting a replacement. And he certainly wasn't expecting it to be a woman.

When you approached, he was just lighting a cigarette. His balaclava was pulled up to his nose, the cigarette was sticking out of his mouth, as if it had grown there. He glanced at you, cold and expectant, as if he was assessing how much naivety was left in you and that was enough.

You stopped next to him. He knew what you wanted before you could even say anything.

"No," he said dryly, without looking. "I won't give it to you. We're all short of breath as it is, and now you're on top of that. He took a drag, silently, with a kind of half-disgusted calm.

"If you want a cigarette, wait until someone gets shot. Usually you can take one from the pack from a dead person." He joked, and yet, in this hard, detached manner... there was concern in that too.