One For The Other

“We’re all killers. We’ve all killed parts of ourselves to survive—we’ve all got blood on our hands. Something, somewhere had to die so we could stay alive.”

-M.A.W., If Memories Could Bleed, If Dreams Could Scream

Clothes are protection. A protection Simon has been using as a crutch for a long, long time.

There were good reasons for him to protect himself as much as he did, make no room for doubt in your mind. His past was something he was not ashamed of, but something that greatly affected the present in a way that could only enable bad habits and encourage unhealthy behaviors, so he accepted it for what it was. He knew the others in his circle of interaction were grateful for this being his bad habit, not drinking or smoking or any rather cliche way to end your life early. So, if Simon wanted to stay covered 24/7, everyone let him. Why the hell not?

“Why the hell not?” he scoffed to himself, leaning up against the corner leading out to the dark hallway, as if he were waiting for someone—though anyone who knew him well enough wouldn’t be so easily fooled. Simon never waited for anyone simply because of his nature, a lone wolf at heart after some life-changing events. It was something Captain MacTavish and Captain Price had gotten used to, something they had learned to respect as time flew by. However, that had recently started shifting and changing.

Simon himself resented the change, and it only made his two Captains worried. For years they had watched this reclusive behemoth of a man move in silence, sit with complete stillness, and talk with nothing but coldheartedness for. For nearly a decade, Lieutenant Simon Riley was a pillar of stone in their department, useful, yes, but distant and detached from everyone and everything. He seemed to watch all that happened around them closely but never appeared any more interested in doing anything past just that—watching. Then, Gary joined the force.

Sergeant Gary Sanderson, with only five years worth of experience on the field; Sergeant Gary Sanderson with his five foot three stature; Sergeant Gary Sanderson, who managed to befriend the unfriendable, who managed to worm his way into Simon’s bubble of boundaries and rest comfortably inside. Sergeant Gary Sanderson, boy wonder of the department. No one had seen it coming, really. Especially not Simon himself. If he had, he would have packed up and moved far away. Not one for personal attachments, especially not with his past and their line of work, but that didn’t seem to matter once Gary’s mannerisms started to work and he charmed his way into the grumpy man’s presence. It was scary—no—terrifying to everyone else and the Captains constantly gave each other looks when they noticed this happening.

All this time, the two higher-ups had watched Simon resist harming himself. As long as Captain MacTavish had known him and for almost as long as Captain Price had known him, Simon Riley had three constants: never showing more than necessary, whether it be skin or emotion; never talking more than necessary; and never, ever, ever taking more than one of anything. The last of the three was a rule Simon seemed to have set for himself early on in the military and one that everyone else respected. Going out for drinks? Simon orders one. Having a smoke? Simon takes one. What’s for dinner? Doesn’t matter, Simon’s only taking one plate of it. That’s how it was, that was life with Simon for everyone who interacted and held a semblance of a relationship with him.

But now there’s an exception to the rule. One that unnerved the two bosses in a way that shook them down to their core, because after all that self-control, the Captains watched Simon dive straight into destroying himself by way of a small but fiery demolitions expert-in-training, because that was never going to end well. Honestly, it shook Simon down to his core, too; how on Earth did that little roach squirm his way past, his defenses? Avoiding everything that made Simon tick as if he were swerving out of the way from landmines out on the field, Gary snuck his way into Simon’s space and lit up a fire in his heart that could be reflected through his eyes. Maybe that was the most unnerving part, the part that made it real, that solidified it. Simon was not exactly different, but there were parts to him that didn’t seem quite the same anymore. And Gary was to blame for that, as he was reminded of now.

A patter of footsteps in the previously silent hallway caused Simon’s eyes to raise from messing with his gloved hand. Gary noticed the way his hands intertwined, though, and his eyes traveled downwards, scrunched up with light concern while Simon’s blue eyes stayed right where he landed them, not bothering with the effort it took to move them away from Gary’s face. Wasn’t such a bad sight, after all. Gary raised his hands and signed two words, ones often aimed at Simon from the selectively mute Sergeant and now easily recognizable from the amount of use. “Everything ok?”

Simon’s only answer was a grunt that meant “affirmative,” and a sigh right after that made Gary pause again. Before the significantly smaller man could do anything, though, Simon reached out and took hold of his shoulders, moving him to face away and pushed, noticing almost agitatedly how much softer the push was than he could do, that he would do if it were anyone else. But it wasn’t someone else, it was Gary, and that was enough so Simon shut down that line of thinking before it got anywhere deeper.

Good thing, because just then the pair reached the door. He saw Gary reaching for his ID to scan so they could get out the door and reached down to grab his own, except he felt nothing. He had been feeling nothing, at least in his fingers, for the past few days.

It had been getting worse. At first it was just the fingertips, when Gary started to physically reach out to Simon. He always noticed when Gary reached out a hand, the feeling of his palm on his well-clad shoulder, or his forehead pressed lightly against his bicep, or the side of his balled-up fist striking him once, gently mind you, against his chest before a mission. Slow after slow attempt, Simon’s armor chipped off, the clothing meaning less and less. Yes, that’s where the numbness truly originated from, because once Gary started that up, Simon’s body shut itself down, a creeping sense of coldness and lifelessness buzzing around and finally manifesting at the bottom of his hands. It slowly started creeping up his tendons after making itself known, and now there is no feeling anywhere from his knuckles down to the clipped-short nails.

Simon realized that patting himself down blindly for the stupid piece of plastic was a waste of time quickly enough and looked down, willing his muscles to move despite the lack of feeling and swiped his card right after the Sergeant, feigning full capabilities. Because he couldn’t lose this. Not yet. Not even if he didn’t want it in the first place; because, now that he did, he sure as hell was going to protect what fragile precipice the two found themselves balancing on. One move could shatter everything, and dammit if Simon was going to be the one to do that.

The sound of weight shifting brought him back to reality.

The sound was small and it sounded intentional, Gary’s way of getting Simon’s attention in quiet moments. He looked around, lifting his head, realizing he’d been stopped in time, head hanging down and looking at the ground while fiddling with his glove again. Looking down again, this time directly at Gary, he knew he had to do something to stave off the younger man’s worry stemming from his own aloofness.

Instead of saying anything, Simon moved in close without warning. Gary didn’t even flinch, a complete faith that Simon wouldn’t hurt him, and something that Simon considered absurd but knew he needed, or else they wouldn’t be as close as they were. Everyone else didn’t trust him outside of missions, at least not like this, and Simon didn’t begrudge them; he knew others considered him intimidating and odd. But not Gary, and that’s maybe why he was so special. It takes a different kind of being to willingly give oneself up to a monster, and a monster is exactly what Simon felt like most of the time. Maybe the numbness would come to replace that, if it kept growing like it was now.

Lifting the smaller man off his feet easily, he maneuvered him to be over his head. Gary caught on quickly and helped along, grabbing Simon’s head and settling his weight evenly across both his shoulders. Finally Simon stood up again, making sure his posture was straight for the first time since basic training, feeling every point of contact between his and his sergeant’s bodies, the touch burning through his clothes. The sensation was uncomfortable and he wanted nothing more than to push it away, to shove the Sergeant away and out of his personal space, but something stopped him from doing so. Simon swallowed and ignored the almost unbearable feeling, focusing instead on the noises of utter delight and shock coming from above him.

“Solid, Sergeant?” He asked evenly. It took a second for Gary to respond, but when he did it almost made Simon’s lips tip up into a smile for the first time in a while. Almost.

A tap to his head signaled the OK, or what at least he could assume to be an OK, and so Simon took that as his cue to move, taking a step towards the door.

“Duck,” was the only warning he gave before he himself crouched a little to avoid losing Gary to the top of the doorway.

Outside, the heat and sun were also burning, but somehow, Gary felt hotter against his clothed shoulders, his mask-covered neck, and the beanie covering his head. But also, somehow, he could live with it. He could live with this ever contrasting heat and cold warring within his body. It wasn’t like he was any stranger to chaos.

As Simon walked down the strip of pavement that separated the station from the parking lot, Captain MacTavish rounded the corner, presumably also heading home and left through the side door versus the main door, like Simon and Gary had walked through. Well, Simon walked through, anyway.

A look of utter shock crossed the Captain’s face before he managed to regain some level of composure before he resumed walking towards them.

“Lieutenant Riley, what’s the Sergeant doing on yer shoulders?” He asked the strange pairing, amusement evident in his voice and accent thick. Simon was tempted to walk away without a word, but unfortunately, Captain MacTavish was in his way and looked like he wouldn’t move without one.

“He likes to feel tall,” was the dry answer. The Captain laughed, and Simon could feel Gary shifting. It felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped on him suddenly when he realized Gary was laughing. Simon made him laugh.

The numbness had reached his wrists. Simon half-interestedly wiggled his hands for a second before stopping and refocusing on the task at hand, a mission report due by the end of the day. He was supposed to have done it a week ago, but Captain Price hadn’t noticed yet, at least he hoped he hadn’t, but it was nearing the time he should get it done before he earns a comment from the older man.

Then, he noticed a presence at his shoulder. Using only his peripheral vision, he nonchalantly looked next to him. Yep, the Sergeant sat peacefully on the desk next to him, legs folded and a book in his hands. How he enjoyed reading was beyond Simon, but he found it didn’t bother him as much as he liked. As much as he was used to.

But maybe that was ok. Maybe it was ok that they could simply exist in this small pocket of peace they had found, each one in the other, and just enjoy the space the other had cleared for their sake. Maybe it was ok that Gary liked to read, and proficiently so, and maybe it was ok that Simon liked to listen to lyricless music, which he knew Gary was not such a fan of but let him play anyway when driving together. Maybe it was ok that Simon had finally found his destructive habit, the thing that would finally put his second foot in the grave.

Watching from afar, Captain Price took the cigar out of his mouth and blew out, watching the smoke for a moment with the barest hint of a smile. Captain MacTavish watched from next to him, arms crossed and leaning against the wall with a frown etched into his features.

“It was about time,” Captain Price said good-naturedly, but meaning it genuinely. Simon couldn’t have gone on forever like he had been. But MacTavish couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness that stemmed from the two’s relationship.

“How could ye love someone else so much to be ok with killing a part of yerself, too?” He wondered quietly, out loud. Partly for himself, partly for the older Captain’s advice.

For a moment all was silent again, Gary and Simon off in the distance, across the station from them and separated by desks and some glass. Gary turned a page. Simon rolled his neck, fiddled with his glove. Price blew smoke out from his mouth again, talking as he watched it rise to the roof and disappear once more.

“‘I will remove my teeth, for I want to remain kind despite my anger,’” he breathed. MacTavish looked at him out of the corner of his eye, wary.

“What?”

“It’s a song. One I know he-” Price pointed the lit end of his cigar at Simon, still pouring over his long-overdue report, “-listens to.”

He fell quiet but spoke up again before the younger Captain could speak, turning to the Scotsman with a fond expression on his face. For who, MacTavish couldn’t say. “Look, John. Simon was already dead when he came here. He’s been through tragic incidents that have killed off even the most engrained parts of who he is, or was. He was just waiting to die. Now, he’s found a reason worthy of it.”

Captain MacTavish shook his head, uncrossing his arms and pushing himself off of the cheaply painted wall, chuckling while grabbing his jacket from the chair behind the desk. “Away n’ bile yer heid, Cap. Ready t’finally get some food in our stomachs?”

“Oh, am I ever,” Price bantered back, light and playful, before giving one last glance back at the couple across the station. Simon was already staring him down, almost as if he could hear the conversation from where he was, but most likely he was wondering if he could get away with another night of not having this report turned in as he knew Price was about to leave. Smiling fondly he turned and put out his cigar, grabbing his own jacket and shrugging it on, walking as briskly as his old age let him to where Captain MacTavish was holding open the door for him.

“Thank you, son,” He nodded towards the younger equal-ranking officer. MacTavish rolled his eyes and stepped out after him, his last words could still be heard faintly before the door quickly shut behind them.

“Aye, let’s leave the lovebirds alone, that’s a great idea.”