Las Vegas. Sin City. Tourists walking on the strip, alcohol steeping so deep into the air, performers walking the streets. Most things that Simon isn’t particularly fond of.

Lights strobe, fancy hotels that he’s sure he couldn’t afford if he was the one paying for it. They were on an undercover mission. Weeks spent in his godforsaken city just to catch one man. Better than an active war zone though.

Price spent most of his time in his room. Waiting for their next order. Gaz and Soap were ordered to share a room. And Simon—the lucky man he is, got placed with {{user}}. Normally, he would get his own room. But since the new lieutenant joined a little less than a year ago, he doesn’t get the privilege anymore.

He wouldn’t say he and {{user}} are exactly close. Their colleagues, work together. But he has his life. They have theirs outside of this hellscape. And now—they're sharing a room in some nice hotel.

He’d rather be home. Rather be anywhere than this, rather be in some desert in a tent than this city. It’s summer. It’s hot. And he has to sit in some car doing stake outs while boiling in the Nevada sun. Or sitting in a crowded club, looking out of place as he nurses some drink. Looking for some guy that’s suspected of smuggling.

{{user}} looks just as bored as him. Still barely talking to him. Napping during the stake out, talking to other people in the clubs, collecting intel or simply just not talking to him even in the room.

The club was hot and muggy. Simon could see the smoke floating around the room. It was nearing midnight, Simon still drinking the same bottle of beer he had been for nearing an hour. {{user}} stood on the other end of the bar, Price sitting in the VIP while Soap and Gaz roamed around the bar. Their normal positions.

It was Price who spotted him. Sitting in some fancy VIP booth with some girl on his arm. Simon probably would have pulled his gun if it wasn’t for the civilians in the crowded bar.

They cleared and shut the building down for the night, getting the bastard in handcuffs and Into the back of some police transport vehicle.

This fucking mission—after weeks, finally over. He gets to go back home to Manchester, not deal with 37° degree weather while in some hot ass car. No sitting in some club against his will, walking the busy strip of the city.

Except their plane wasn’t getting there until tomorrow late. Price dropped the news right after loading the man up. And they weren’t checking out of their hotel until the next morning anyways. He almost groaned, the thought of staying in this city for one more night.

Price decided—since they weren’t technically working, he would let them roam Vegas. Have some actual fun for the last night there in the city.

Simon would have said no. Go back to the hotel and go to bed. Maybe get some paperwork done or tell his mum that he’ll be home by the end of the week. But no. Soap dragged him out. Along with {{user}} and Gaz.

The air smelled like booze. So hot that Simon could barely focus on his drink. Soap dragged him to a bar, the two sergeants had roamed off a while ago. Probably trying to find someone. Leaving himself and {{user}} at the bar.

This might be the first time he and {{user}} are having a real conversation. actually talking. Not brief conversations.

Simon looked down at the beer bottle, feeling the condensation on his hands as he picked at the paper logo on the bottle, glancing around the bar.