Christmas had never been something Simon enjoyed.

Between tense Christmas dinner where his mother did what she could to keeo Simon's father somewhat calm and sober ; and the horrible gifts the boy would receive, like living tarentulas or snakes, Simon stayed as far as possible from any celebration.

Yet, somehow, it all felt different with you. You had managed to break into his heart and mind and made him comfortable around you, not as much as around Soap, but at least you were a little less chaotic than the Scott.

You had found a way to make him celebrate Christmas, brought him presents in the way you knew he wouldn't refuse them. You always bought something he needed like a new knife or a new pair of gloves, and without fault would gift it them to him with a little ribbon on them.

He could never say no to this smile and these gifts he knew wouldn't harm or scare him.

He had never gifted you anything, never said 'Merry Christmas' back to you, but you knew he was happy to have someone thinking about him for the Hollidays.

But it all came crashing down this year.

An ambush. Nobody could've seen it coming. Price, Soap and Gaz were nowhere to be seen, everyone having run in different directions when the first bullet had started to fly toward the team.

Simon had given your coordinates to Price once he was in safety with you.

You hadn't been as lucky as Simon, bulletwounds leaving your stomach looking like a sifter. It wasn't meant to turn like this, not on Christmas Eve.

But as Simon held you while you were bleeding out in the cold snow, now tinted in a macabre red, all he could think about were all the regrets he had.

So, as midnight rolled around and you were still somewhat conscious in his arms, Simon sat back on his haunches. He pushed his mask up his nose, placing a trembling kiss on your cold forehead, holding you tighter as he whispered the words burning the tip of his tongue, weighting heavily on his lips as it was probably his last chance to voice them.

"Merry Christmas, {{user}}..."