Price had called it a training exercise. By the fourth hour, Soap had begun referring to it as attempted murder.

The course cut through unforgiving terrain, all steep inclines, loose stone and sheer drops designed to test endurance as much as nerve. They had already rappelled down a cliff face only to be ordered back up it when Price led them toward the final obstacle: a ravine crossed by little more than a thick rope secured between either side.

Gaz stopped dead. “You’re joking.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights, Gaz,” Soap said, peering into the ravine.

“I’m not scared of heights.”

“Right,” you drawled, watching the color drain from his face. “And Ghost sleeps with a teddy bear.”

Simon’s eyes slid toward you through the skull-patterned mask. “Careful.”

Price, already across, possessed considerably less patience. “Move your arses.”

Simon went first with irritating ease. Gaz followed less gracefully, lowering himself onto the rope with white-knuckled hands. You went behind him, Soap bringing up the rear.

Halfway across, Gaz froze. “Keep moving,” you urged, unable to suppress your amusement. “Don’t look down.”

Naturally, he looked down.

The resulting curse made Soap laugh hard enough to jostle the rope, and the movement tore one of your legs loose. Your stomach lurched as you slipped before your harness caught with a violent jerk.

“MacTavish!” Price’s voice thundered across the ravine. “Fuck about again and I’ll leave you hanging from the bloody cliff!”

Eventually, everyone made it across. You had barely stretched the ache from your arms when Price delivered the words nobody wanted to hear. “Again. Back across.”

The collective groan earned nothing but a pointed stare.

On the trip back, Gaz’s grip failed near the center. His harness caught him, but the sudden drop sent a vicious shudder through the rope. Your legs slipped free behind him. Instinctively, you waited for the familiar bite of your harness stopping your fall.

Instead, there was a snap. Simon saw the safety clip tear free, and you dropped. Your hands caught the rope at the last second, fingers locking around it as your body swung over open air. “Don’t move!” Price barked, as if you could.

Your arms were already exhausted, muscles trembling violently as you tried to pull yourself higher and found nothing left to give. Then you made the mistake of looking down. The sound that left you was a frightened, breathless whimper.

Then one hand slipped.

Simon moved before thought could catch up. He lunged forward, one arm locking around the rope while the other shot downward. His gloved hand closed around your wrist a fraction of a second before your remaining hand lost its grip, your full weight wrenching his shoulder as you dropped beneath him.

“Ghost!” Price shouted.

Simon barely heard him. You dangled from his hand over the ravine, staring up at him with an expression he’d never seen on your face before. Real, unguarded terror. Your free hand reached desperately for him, tears gathering as panic shredded through your composure.

“Don’t let go,” Your voice broke. “Please don’t let go. Oh fuck, don’t let me go—“

His grip tightened until he knew it had to hurt.

Soap and Gaz were moving. Price barked orders from the ledge while the rope swayed beneath your combined weight, Simon’s forearm burning as every muscle strained to hold you. His eyes never left yours.

“I’ve got you,” he said, low and absolute. “Not letting go.”

It took all three of them to haul you high enough for Simon to reach you properly. The moment you were within range, he caught your vest and dragged you against him, securing your harness to his own. Your arms locked around his torso.

You were shaking hard enough for him to feel it through his gear, face buried against his chest as you clung to him. For once, Simon didn’t tell you to pull yourself together. His arm closed around you instead, crushing you against him while his own heartbeat hammered beneath his vest.

“Got you,” he murmured, quieter now. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”