the scent of oranges

In the time you and Simon have been together, you've come to learn a plethora of ways to deal with your worry.

Simon's deployments are often long, with little, if any, word from him - he rarely contacts you when he's gone, and you know better than to send him anything unless it's an emergency. You're left to your own devices in the time that he's gone, forcing yourself to occupy your time with things that will distract from your growing anxiety. You've tried everything: meditation, yoga, drawing, knitting, cheesy movie marathons.

You find some success- there's a collection of colorfully knitted scarves that Simon insists are ugly despite refusing to leave the house without one in the winter hanging in your closet and a stack of self-developed boudoir photos that he's much more appreciative of sitting in the top drawer of his nightstand.

It takes months of failed hobbies and worrying yourself into the early hours of the morning to finally find your holy grail: a nice, hot bath.

You make this discovery by accident; worrying yourself into a panic attack the night before, you were left sore and ran yourself a bath in hopes of easing the tension from your too-tight muscles. It worked phenomenally, relaxing your body and mind into a state of contentment usually only felt when Simon was home.

After that, you experiment, buying an assortment of bath bombs, salts, candles, and enough flower petals to put your local florist out of business. You have fun in your experimenting, finding what works best for you. Eventually, you get into a routine, knowing which combination to use for your different levels of stress.

It's an orange and herb morning, you decide as soon as you wake up- alone for the fifth month in a row, tired from another long night of uneven rest. Making your way to the bathroom, you head straight for the tub, letting the water run, steam billowing from the tub, and filling your bathroom with a soft haze. Foregoing the candles, you leave the door to your bedroom open so the sunlight can stream in. You sprinkle in the mint and basil, sitting on the edge of the tub as you focus on your intentions- a safe mission for Simon and a stress-free day for yourself- and peel the oranges, sneaking a few slices for yourself.

You drop the peels into the water, squeezing the juice from the remaining slices before shedding your pajamas and sinking into the blissful warmth of the water. Letting yourself fall against the back of the tub, your eyes fall shut, nearly sinking into a peaceful slumber as you breathe in deep the calming aroma.

The same citrusy aroma that greets Simon as he steps into the house. He inhales deeply, taking care to be extra quiet as he removes his boots and carries his bags to the bedroom. He deposits them at the foot of the bed, not bothering to unpack as he wanders to the bathroom.

Simon leans against the doorframe, focused entirely on you, from the calm stillness of your face to the swell of your breasts as they disappear beneath the water. You've told him of your little "rituals" before, oftentimes trying to persuade him into joining you while he's home- moments that more often than not end in the two of you barely making it to the bed, much less the tub.

He enjoys you like this- concern he still doesn't believe he's worth a distant thought to you, the tension eased from your shoulders.

You let out a soft sigh, and Simon finds himself crossing the room without a second thought, kneeling behind you. He removes his gloves, setting them on the cold tile beside him, sliding his hands across the delicate skin of your shoulders.

He's tall enough to look down at your face even while kneeling, and he takes full advantage, gazing down at you as your eyes snap open.

"S'alright, pet," he chuckles quietly, massaging the surprised tension from your shoulders. "It's only me."

Your eyes find his, and Simon feels the stress disappear as you register his presence. You hold his gaze, reaching back to place a wet hand on the side of his masked face, pulling him toward you by the fabric. He obliges, leaning down enough for you to kiss gently over his covered lips. He sets his head against yours when you pull away, fingers skimming your shoulders as they travel up your neck to knead into the base of your skull.

"Missed you," you breathe, eyes falling shut at his expert touch.

"I can see that," he rasps. "Taken to steeping yourself out of boredom, have you?" You scoff, lightly knocking your head into his. That earns you a small, amused huff before he pulls away from you entirely. You feel his absence immediately, the heat of the bath doing nothing to make up for the sudden loss of his warmth.

You sit up, turning around to come face to face with Simon's bare chest as he strips himself of his shirt, then stands to take off his pants. You fold your arms along the tub's edge, resting your chin atop your arms to peer up at him as you watch him undress.

He lowers to one knee, large hands running up and down your arms until you sit up so he can take your hands in his. He moves in like he's about to kiss you but tilts his head to the side at the last minute and guides your hands to his neck, where your fingertips graze the frayed edges of his balaclava.

He lets you go, letting your hands linger, fingers dipping under the rough fabric. You gather the edges in your fingers, pulling up as he allows you to slide the mask from his face- your breath catches as your Simon is revealed to you in all of his beautiful glory. You can feel the blush starting as he takes the mask from you, tossing it next to the rest of his clothes.

He leans forward, close enough for your noses to bump against each other, staring at you with his shadowed eyes.

"Gonna make room for me, pet?" he questions with a taunting smirk, lips brushing against yours, eyes staring directly into your own. "Or do you just plan on making eyes at me until I freeze to death out here?"

"'m not your pet," you pout.

"Course not, sweetheart." Simon grins as you move to the other side of the tub, the blush spreading from your cheeks down to your shoulders.

(Later, when the two of you lay tangled in the sheets of your bed, exhausted and sated, you'll claim it was only from the heat of the water. He'll nod, humming in mild agreement, but you'll both know it's a lie.)

It takes some work to get yourselves settled- Simon's far too tall for the tub, you realize, and he has to bend his legs until his knees sit above the water for him to fit- but you get there, Simon sitting behind you, strong arms curled around you to hold you close to his chest. You relax against him, tenderly trailing your nails along his forearms as you turn your head to listen to the rhythmic thumping of his heart.

An hour passes before Simon decides it's time to get out. He shifts, and you mumble something, pulling his arms tighter around you. When he looks down, he finds you asleep. Guilt crawls up his spine at the thought of waking you, but his fingers are starting to prune. Carefully moving you to sit up, he soothes you awake enough to understand him as he guides you into standing and stepping out of the tub.

There's a considerable amount of effort on his part, leading you through the motions of drying yourself off, changing into clean pajamas, and getting into bed, but he doesn't mind. He pulls the covers over you, parting from you only after you make him promise he's coming back. He puts on a spare set of black sweatpants and heads to the bathroom to empty the tub.

You cling to him the minute he returns to bed, tucking yourself into his side and throwing a leg over his, head resting on his chest just over his heart. He waits until you've settled yourself against him, wrapping an arm around you to rest on your head, the other on the knee of the leg lying across him. He presses his face into your hair, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo. He whispers softly to your sleeping form, a quiet confession to you in the stillness of the early morning:

"Missed you, too."