Old Scars, New Wounds

Chapter Four

TW: Mentions of blood and violence

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Simon woke up naturally at 0130, and he immediately tensed before remembering where he was. It never got easier, waking up in a new place and having to adjust to foreign surroundings. It always left him on edge, something that he'd typically shrug off with a light jog around whatever base he was staying at. But seeing as the weather was the way it was, he would just have to settle for a splash of cold water instead. 

The rest of the joint task force didn't have to be up until 0230 for their 0300 departure, so he sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. Simon glanced over in the dark where the moonlight faintly traced over Celeste's still sleeping figure. Moving as quietly as he could, he crept out of bed and headed over to the sink, glancing one more time through the mirror at her before slipping his balaclava off. 

He made a quick ordeal of it, turning the sink on so a gentle trickle dispersed, enough to cup his hands and splash a few quick drops of the freezing water across his face. He massaged his temples, hoping it would clear any remaining fog. He had stopped drinking coffee a while ago, but cold mornings like this made his body crave it almost as much as a cigarette. 

Simon dried his face off and slipped his balaclava back on in muscle memory, before he gave a big stretch and felt his eyes gravitating to her sleeping figure once more. 

He couldn't help the amusement he felt in his chest watching her sleep. She slept like a cat doing its best to combat winter, wrapped tightly inside the blanket so the only indication of life was a small trickle of hair that poked out from underneath. He was naturally warm-blooded so he welcomed the change of weather, but she had seemed to be shivering since last night, and even now. That caused him to frown, and without thinking, he walked over to his bed, grabbed his blanket, and gently laid it across her sleeping form. And then he paused. Was that weird? He wouldn't do that for Soap or Gaz. If anything, he'd steal their blankets just to fuck with them. Would this action seem sexist in some way? That's not how he meant for it to come across. She just seemed like she was cold, and he didn't-

Simon froze as she began to stir, and deciding that it was too late, walked over to his closet and busied himself with choosing between two shirts that were exactly the same. 

He ignored the way Celeste mumbled her way back into the waking world, and chose the black shirt on the right as opposed to the one on the left when he heard her sit up and yawn quietly. 

"Oh," he heard her mutter, indicating that she had noticed the extra blanket. 

Why did I do that. 

He heard her stand, and he slipped his shirt off to change and busy himself with literally anything else. But Celeste cleared her throat, indicating that she wanted his attention, and he pulled the black shirt on before turning and facing her. 

"Thanks," she mumbled, folding the blanket and placing it back on his bed. "I hope you didn't freeze to death or anything."

"No worries," he breathed out, hand stilling from where he moved to grab his jacket. "I wake up early. Didn't need it anymore."

She smiled her thanks, and moved to her bag to start preparing for the day. 

"You're an earlier bird than me," she noted, redoing her long, jet-black, soft hair into a ponytail. "First time I've encountered that."

"I want my worms," he joked, shrugging his gear on. 

She let out a quiet, amused huff, and moved to the tactical uniform she had pulled from her bag. He watched her trace her name badge, watched her pick at a loose seam. The expression on her face was unreadable, but there was a mixture of feelings, that much Simon could tell. Dread. Guilt. Anger. Sadness. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she assessed it, moving first for the vest once she had gotten her jacket on.