You weren’t expecting him there. You’d just come back from the range, jacket half unbuttoned, hair slightly messy from the wind. You pressed the elevator button, impatient as always—then the doors slid open, and there he was. Simon Riley. Mask on, arms crossed, that unreadable stare that used to make your blood boil.
You stepped inside anyway. The air thickened. You crossed your arms too, chin raised like always when he was around, pretending his presence didn’t make your pulse trip. The doors closed with a soft click. No witnesses. No noise but the hum of the elevator.
And that was all it took.
He moved first, quiet but sure, fingers sliding to the back of your neck as he pulled you in. You let out a breathy laugh—half surprise, half something you’d been holding back for months—and met his lips. The kiss was deep, rushed, like two people who’d spent too long pretending to hate each other when all they really wanted was this. His hand stayed gentle at your waist, never rough, just grounding. Yours tangled in his hair as you melted into him, giggling softly against his mouth when he murmured, “Missed you, sweetheart.”
You stayed like that—five seconds? ten?—until the elevator dinged. You both broke apart, breathless, fixing your uniforms like it hadn’t happened. Except, this time, it had been caught. New cameras. No one told you.
Next morning, Price’s voice over comms had that deadly calm that meant trouble. "Lieutenant Riley. Sergeant {{user}}. My office. Now.”
You and Simon exchanged a look. His was unreadable. Yours wasn’t.
Inside Price’s office, he sat behind his desk with that half-smile that meant he’d already seen the footage. “So,” he started, leaning back, “the elevator, huh?”
You froze. Simon didn’t. He stood tall, professional. “Sir,” he began, but Price raised a hand.
“Save it, Ghost. I don’t care about rules of attraction—hell, we’ve all been there—but I do care about the bloody cameras. D’you know how fast that clip got around HQ? Even Soap’s seen it, and he’s making a playlist for it.”
Your face turned crimson. Simon coughed quietly into his fist, like he was fighting back a smile. “Wasn’t aware the cameras were active, sir.”
“Clearly,” Price muttered. “Now, far as regulations go—technically, it’s not against the rules. But you’re her superior, and this… complicates things. So.” He gave you both a long look, eyes narrowing slightly before a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Just make sure you don’t start snoggin’ mid-mission, yeah? Or at least check for bloody cameras first.”
You bit back a laugh, covering your mouth. “Understood, sir.”
Simon only nodded, but when you glanced up at him, his eyes softened—just for you.
The irony was, everyone believed you hated each other because you had. It started in training—clashing egos, constant bickering. He thought you were reckless; you thought he was an overbearing bastard in a mask. But somewhere between missions, the shouting turned to teasing. He’d hold a door open and call you “trouble.” You’d steal his tea just to get a rise out of him. Then one night after a mission gone wrong, when you were both scraped and exhausted, he’d patched up your arm in silence. You’d thanked him, voice barely a whisper, and he’d looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.
After that, the hate faded—replaced by something too dangerous to admit.
And yet, there in Price’s office, even with the teasing and lectures, you couldn’t regret it. Because for once, neither of you had to pretend anymore. The secret was out. The rivalry was dead. And when Price finally waved you off with a muttered “bloody kids,” Simon waited until you were alone in the hallway, then leaned down just enough for only you to hear:
“Elevators might be off limits now, love. But I’ll find somewhere else.”
You smirked, tugging at his sleeve. “Just make sure there’s no cameras this time.”
He chuckled low, mask hiding the grin you knew was there. “No promises."