The mission had gone sideways in seconds. You and the guys were doing good and Simon was coordinating the takedown with the team; clear, calculated, controlled. The next, a hidden explosion split the squad and sent debris raining down like hellfire.

“{{user}}!” He shouted through the comms, but the static was deafening. He hadn’t seen you since the blast, and panic roared through his chest like a storm.

He found you minutes later, slumped behind a crumbled wall, your shoulder bleeding, dust coating your skin.

“I’m fine,” You muttered through clenched teeth as he dropped to his knees beside you. “Just a scratch.”

“This is not a scratch.” Simon tore off part of his tactical gear to press against the wound, his jaw tight. “We’re split from the team. We have to move.”

You nodded, gritting your teeth, leaning heavily on him as he helped you up.

After what felt like an endless trek through hostile territory, the two of you stumbled upon a battered, abandoned house just beyond the tree line. The windows were shattered, walls cracked, but it offered shelter. Safety, however temporary.

Simon laid you down carefully on a dusty old couch, then crouched in front of you, gently pulling your jacket off to get a better look at the wound.

“I should’ve been watching you,” he said quietly, anger and guilt simmering beneath the surface. “I let you out of my sight for one second—”

“Simon,” you interrupted, reaching out to touch his hand. “This isn’t your fault. We both knew the risks.”

His blue eyes met yours, softening. “That doesn’t make it easier.”

You gave him a tired smile. “We’re still breathing, aren’t we?”

He exhaled slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Yeah. And I’m not letting anything happen to you now. Not here. Not ever.”

As night settled in around the broken walls of the house, Simon stayed by your side, hand in yours, listening for danger and promising, silently and fiercely, that he’d get you both home.