You and your husband, Simon, had been at each other’s throats for the past hour.

The mission had gone sideways—you had disobeyed his direct orders, pushing forward for the sake of completing the objective. It had nearly cost you your life. If he hadn’t pulled you away at the last second, you would’ve been caught in the explosion.

Now, back in the safety of your shared quarters, the reality of what had happened was crashing down hard.

Simon’s voice thundered through the room.

"If you can't follow orders, you shouldn't be on this team!"

His usually composed demeanor cracked, raw frustration bleeding through as he yanked his mask off and threw it onto the table. His hands, his steady, battle-worn hands, trembled as he slammed them down beside it.

He never raised his voice at you like this.

But tonight, he did.

You felt the anger flare hot in your chest.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shot back, your voice sharp, unwavering.

Simon’s head snapped toward you, his jaw clenching, teeth grinding audibly. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he took a slow, deliberate step forward.

His eyes—dark, furious, scared—locked onto yours.

Neither of you backed down.

Not yet.