It wasn’t uncommon for operatives to have partners.

Never romantic.

Partners in action and investigation, merely extra help to take out orders. Never romantic. The agency had a clause in place to ensure that. A breach in your contract meant immediate removal, and for operatives like you— you knew that they were watching.

Ryland was a guy that adorned a chip on his shoulder, and from what you’d come to observe over the years, it was quite the heavy burden. He was terribly macabre, and it manifested in the distance he kept from you.

Yet, the non-verbal communication you two shared was intense.. the weight of the glances, and small brushes of skin against skin.

Confusing dynamic aside, you knew you could count on him, and that he could count on you.

Tensions seemed to rise on a mission gone awry. Tasked with locating and dismantling a bomb at an elite event while Ryland kept watch, but you’d just been a moment too late— upon realizing so, you mounted off of the nearby balcony.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t escape injury. The realization only gleaned when you woke to an aching body and terrible wounds. He loomed over you.. “Hey. Stay with me, that’s an order.” His voice was clipped, harsh. His hands, though, were trembling. He was hard at work to fix you.

The cot in your secluded, hideaway home was comforting.. soft enough for you to feel like it might be okay to let go..