He's alright.

It only took a few steps for him to reach her, then he dropped onto the chair beside the bed, pulling it close before his hands were brushing tears.

"I know you'd have preferred Gaz or Soap, but no need to cry over it," he scolded gruffly.

"I—" her words died away, too occupied making sure he wasn't hurt as she searched him for injuries.

"You're alright," he assured, his tone a degree softer than usual.

"Is everyone okay?" she asked quickly, voice wavering. "Please tell me everyone is okay."

"Everyone is fine," he nodded, "you took the heat today. You like being special, don't you?" he taunted.

"Obviously," she agreed tearfully, "Where are we? What happened?"

Simon looked over his shoulder, checking that the nurse had left before turning back to her. "We're still in Finland, in Oulu. Around noon the terrorists sent an airstrike then raided us; they were looking for the 141... and they succeeded in getting two of the leaders from the bunker out."

"What? No, no, that's going to ruin everything—is someone looking for them?"

"Yes. Everything is under control there. You, on the other hand, are a different story. Are you in pain?"

"I'm fine—can I help somehow? We—"

"Drew, stop. You got out of surgery two hours ago; you're not doin' shit."

"I can't just sit here, please, I can—"

"Yes you can."

"I'm useless here," she argued, "please."

"You're hurt. We'll call the team later, they'll update us with anything that's happened. They'll manage."

She didn't have the energy to push, so she nodded, biting back more arguments. The silence had her memories flaring wildly, and her throat tightened. "I didn't know what happened," she whispered, "I didn't know if you were alive."

"Those wankers won't be the ones to kill me," he assured roughly, "had me thinkin' they might have done you in though."

"I'm sorry. Everything happened so fast. I couldn't—"

"I know. It's not your fault," he interrupted, brushing away a stray tear.

"You're not hurt?"

"No, I was away from the explosions, and those bastards beatin' you didn't land a fucking hand on me."

"They know who we are."

His brows furrowed, "How?"

"I don't know... But I'm sure of it. They came in right after the explosion, dragged me down the hall. They knew where I was," she said rushed, "or at least that I was in the intelligence building, and the radios were saying they knew you were in the admin building—and that they bombed it—fuck I thought—I thought you all would be dead—there—there must be a lot of people dead, hurt—how many people were hurt?" she panted.

"Deep breath, Drew," he ordered, waiting to speak until she followed the command. "A lot. But we arrested a two of attackers. We still have one of the leaders from the bunker and he gave us some information. We're too close to lose them now."

"And the team's alright?"

"They're alright. Even your boyfriend Mikkola is fine."

"He's not my boyfriend," she argued, voice cracking in relief. But then her lips curved down as a burning started in her throat at the thought of what happened. "I was so sure they were going to kill me... What a fuckin' waste of a death that would have been..."

          

"Wouldn't believe you'd settle for something like that," he agreed. "They still did a number though... Doctor said the surgery went well, all of the shrapnel was removed, and your burns weren't too bad. Your muscles are going to be sore from the blast, and then the blunt force from those pricks left your ribs bruised and clavicle fractured. You should only need a few days of bed rest before you can be transferred."

"Days?" she whispered.

He nodded.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"I'll stay."

"Can't have much fun with a broken clavicle," she teased quietly.

His eyes narrowed, "I also brought a computer so you might be able to do some work," he continued, "but you're not touching it today. You're taking time to rest."

"That's fucking cruel."

"I know, I'm an asshole," he agreed.

He's not.

Her hand moved from his to the back of his neck, pulling him close until their lips pressed together. It pulled at a cut on her top lip, and her face was tender with swelling, but it didn't matter to her. He wasn't an asshole. Not in that moment, at least.

When they pulled apart, he let his forehead rest on hers as he let out a breath. "You ain't allowed to do somethin' like that again," he bit roughly. "No more nearly dyin'. If I hadn't come to get you when I had—fuckin' hell, I wish I made them choke on their blood."

Her mind stuttered on his words, "Wait, you came for me?"

"Yes."

"You came to find me?"

"I wouldn't leave you."

"Simon, you could have been killed," she argued.

"You're my teammate."

She let out a puff, "Can we just call each other friends now?"

He shrugged, "I'm only bein' nice cause you're hurt."

Her eyes flitted between his before she pressed her lips against his again, keeping him there a few extra seconds.

When he pulled away, he quirked a brow, "What's that for?"

"I'm just really glad you're alright," she said quietly before sitting back, unable to keep herself up any longer.

He nodded, "I'm glad I'm still around too."

"And you said you're staying?"

He nodded.

"You're allowed to stay?"

"Price worked the system a little, but it's all been approved. We'll fly back to base when you're released."

"Okay... Thank you. For coming here," she said gently.

"Would've been here sooner, but they didn't let me onto the helo."

"I'm surprised you didn't fight your way in just because they said no," she tutted.

"There were a lot of injured people, there wasn't room..."

She nodded, hoping they were all recovering as well. "Should we call the team?"

He shook his head. "The doctor said she would give us ten minutes before coming in to do a post-op, then you should be cleared for something to eat. Get through all of that, then we'll call."

She nodded, but a weak smirk came to her lips. "You really like bossing me around, don't you?"

"It gets me off."

Daisy | Simon RileyWhere stories live. Discover now