One year, it had been one whole year since Sara’s passing, one whole year of organizing the perfect plan to avenge her. The one time Simon couldn’t join her because of his deployment, she was caught in the crossfire of a terrorist attack during a convention in London, while he was stuck on the other side of the globe.

He couldn’t believe it when Laswell showed him the footage, and how the CIA and the Captain told him to “not get involved”, that they would have dealt with the investigation. A year later, and they were all still alive. But Simon, oh, he was not the type to sit back and collect dust. The whole time, he had collected all the information about all the men involved in the attack, their connections, their networks, patiently monitoring them– with your help.

Inquiline, that was your code name. Simon always teased you saying you were a Russian middle-aged hacker living in Istanbul, and in a way, you were, since you had taken after your dead husband after the KGB found him. He had taught you everything, and you had been taking care of all his clients the whole time, including Simon. He was sure of his image of you he had in his head until he actually met you.

One of the men was in Turkey, and Simon was ready to collect justice for his wife. He did look surprised when he saw you weren’t a 50 year-old burly Russian man. He needed a place to stay and it was too risky for him to check into a hotel– the CIA was most likely already onto him, and it wouldn’t have taken long for them to find his encrypted conversations with you, too. The least you could do was let him stay in your hiding spot.

You had both been lonely for so long, coping with your respective grief in your own ways, but both always lonely. You had almost forgotten how it felt like to share your space with someone else, and then you started to miss everything else, too.

It was late at night when you woke him up. “I don’t expect anything from you,” you murmured. “But I just need some warmth again.” He didn’t think twice before nodding.