Chapter Text
”Daniel, dear— You don’t need to cook that much.” Simon said between laughs.
”Of course I do! I will be gone for who the fuck knows how long—“
”Ten weeks.” Simon corrected.
”I will be gone for ten weeks and I know you, I know you so well!" Daniel pointed a knife at him to further emphasize the point. It even had a threatening glint under the yellow light. "You’ll be too busy to eat! You’ll drink coffee and poison and call that a meal!”
Simon agreed but never admitted to it. At most, there was a blink. “Stop worrying, really. I can handle things from here, as we always do, dear.”
”But it’s you! Alone! Actually alone!” The knife found itself in its block (thankfully). Anxiety was rarely something that plagued Daniel. Him and his 'improvise everything' personality at the very least.
He wasn't wrong.
"Daniel, dear."
Every time he could say his name, he would. Every time he could call him dear, he would.
”We planned this, love.” Simon placed a gentle hand on his boyfriend's cheek. "Everything will go exactly to plan. Even if it doesn't, well, we weren't the Foundation's best agents for nothing, right?"
Daniel placed his hand over Simon's, a tear beginning to well in his eye. "Promise me that everything will be fine. Please."
"I promise." His voice honeyed yet genuine. "Cross my heart, dear."
"Fine, but don't hope to die. No needles either. I'll just finish this last one."
Pancakes. In the oven.
They were really pancakes but the source of heat was the oven rather than the stove. Some of them were big enough for dinner plates, others fit only the breakfast plates, the rest were small enough for the hand. They were far from perfect; most being some form of misshapen blob to say the least. Its scent was a mere hint of butter and pancakes, but with everything else in the kitchen, Simon hardly had the knowhow to point it all out.
Daniel was silent as he set down the plates.
Most nights weren't so gentle. Even after a long day for both of them, laughter would almost be piercing. They'd smile until their cheeks hurt. It was always an argument as to who'd do the dishes that night (Daniel always won). It was the latest the opposite sides of the Site they worked at. In all and complete honesty, Simon never recalled a bitter night.
Tonight was bittersweet at best.
Simon plucked his share of pasta from the plate in front of him. He couldn't admit not having an appetite.
"So, this is my last supper," Daniel mentioned awkwardly. A simple Alfredo. Something he could make in his sleep if he so desired. But even he isn't so dense to misinterpret the littlest expressions as worthless. He couldn't force him to eat if he didn't want to, but he preferred to bite his tongue than bring it up.
Simon couldn't stand to talk about the near future. "It's also the dinner of our first date. When you invited me over."
"Wait, really?" Clearly none of Daniel's intention. Though of course, now, it had been further improved since its first night. Years of practice added some more cream to it, a little more seasoning, a little less salt. "Huh."
”I remember..,” Simon bit back a giggle into a smile, taking a bite of food to hide it, “I don’t think we even counted it as a date at the time. You invited me over for dinner because you made too much!”
”Fuck!” Daniel fell back on his chair, weak with laughter. “Dr. Clef beat the shit out of me that day! He’s not as light as he looks, you know!”
”You still wore D-Class uniforms then.”
”Fuck, don’t remind me.” Nostalgia rewrote the memory of the time. He’s still alive after all. If he is to begin with. “Orange is not my color. I looked so bad in it!”
The lightest pink dusted Simon’s cheeks. Even Daniel wasn’t sure if he was flustered. ”Really? I thought, well..,” he twirled the pasta on his fork, “I already fell in love with you then, dear.”
Daniel squinted in disbelief, no less than questioning his boyfriend’s decisions for a few seconds of silence. “You have such bad taste, Si. I’m not even a normal criminal, I was on death row! In Mississipi! Do you know what kind of a person you have to be for that to happen?”
”Daniel, I thought you were framed!” Simon defended.
”I’m very much not framed, thank you very much!” He corrected. “I even received several life sentences for fuck’s sake! In order to be given capital punishment, it was murder with the conditions that— I remember this—” he started to count on his fingers, “I was knowingly creating great risk to multiple persons and I was especially heinous, atrocious or cruel and it was to escape and prevent arrest!”
Despite all the yelling, delight still laced the conversation. Simon giggled at the exaggerated, yet very true words. Perhaps the Foundation has changed his taste in men, but he's too far in love now to leave. He might have been an awful person, but he couldn't say the same for him as a lover.
”But you’re good now, aren’t you, dear?” A murmured question.
Daniel crossed his arms, dropping his smile for dramatics. “All it takes is five minutes, so you tell me.”
”You won’t kill me.” Simon mirrors him and smirks in vague reference that only few know well, leaning over the table with his hands in a steeple. “We both know you can’t.”
Daniel stood up and leaned over the table to Simon, who only stayed still while he was inches from his face. ”Wanna find out, cupcake?”
“No!” Simon pulled away, hiding his face in his hands. “You can’t use that against me!”
Daniel pointed at him between laughs. “Hah! Simp!”
”It’s not my fault you’re so pretty!”
”You just like a bad boy because you’re the furthest from it!”
”I have more bitches than you, Daniel, you know that, right?” Another vague reference that will never leave the walls of their bland Foundation apartment.
“Had, Simon. Had more bitches. I am currently one bitch ahead of you right now.”
Simon wracks his brain for a short moment. “Who?”
”Your m—“
”NO!”
Another burst of laughter. As how they remember most nights. To Daniel, they are one in the same, to Simon, every little detail of every night stayed with him. Everything he learned about Daniel often fell back on these nights, when they still had time to think about something that wasn’t work. Not even sleep stopped Daniel’s unstoppable habits to talk. Simon thought it an honest miracle how he was both such a light sleeper yet one able to completely ignore the conversation in his ear until morning came.
He's going to miss that. But there is little point in trying to find ill in joy.
Silence blanketed over them once their plates were empty. Daniel took it upon himself to put them in the sink to wash. One last act of love before he goes, he thought. One last before he’s left alone. It was no fault of his, but who was he to say?
"Dessert?" An anxious smile was painted on his face. Postponing the inevitable as long as he could.
"Sure." Simon couldn't not indulge him. Not while dread clawed at his gut, nicking his heart on the way. "What would you like?"
Daniel shrugged. He only pulled out a tub of ice cream from the freezer, setting it down on the dining table before grabbing two teaspoons and warming it under water.
Much to Simon's surprise, he dug the spoon into the strawberry ice cream. Not even a cup, or a bowl. Straight into the sweet dessert like a dagger to a chest, like a knife to meat.
"For us," he invited sweetly with an innocent smile.
"I don't think we can finish the whole thing tonight."
"And why not?"
To be fair to him, he only has moments left to live.
Simon took his spoon. He might as well.
Daniel took the food out the oven and set it on the counter to cool. Anything, just anything to give them the few minutes. He set aside the pancakes, stuffing them into a container, slowing and rearranging them as if it needed more thought than it did.
He looked down. Mouth open a second only to close like a word taken from him. Instead, he preferred to turn around like a man plagued with guilt. Simon did not pry; he was not cruel enough to.
Daniel joined him at the table again, pulling his seat and taking a bite of the ice cream, making sure that it came with a chunk of strawberry. While most things were homemade in order to reduce the amount of possible murders on the site, it would not do well to that goal if he had to make every little thing. So the ice cream was store bought. Granted, with Simon's money, but Daniel's the one who decided to get it.
"You made pancakes in the oven?" Simon tilted his head the slightest angle unknowingly when he asked. He meant no malice. He rarely does anyway.
"They're pancakes, I'm pretty sure." Daniel replied between bites of ice cream, not realizing he's taking more than Simon at this point.
"But, Daniel, if they're pancakes, doesn't cooking them in the oven defeat the purpose?" No, but it makes for funny conversation.
Daniel sighs lightly. "No, cupcake--" Again with the nickname! "A pancake is a cake made in a pan therefore, it counts as a pancake."
Another innocent bite of ice cream like he didn't plan this conversation moments ago. "But what defines a pan?"
Daniel (playfully) hit his boyfriend on the head with the lid of the ice cream container. Simon felt he had no reason to defend himself from it. "How about we don't think too hard about the pancakes and the pans?"
"Aren't I a pan?"
He got hit a second time, a little stronger with spite. "Don't make it three." He then eyed the knife on the kitchen counter.
"I'll try not to, dear." A polite smile like nothing happened. In typical Simon Glass fashion.
What did surprise him was Daniel actually standing up to get the knife. Now, he wasn't going to question, because questioning gave ideas, and he's already been stabbed and cut before. It was not completely pleasant nor unpleasant, but he did agree in that it was well-deserved at the time. (The details were best left unknown.)
The relief came with the knife coming down on the block of ice cream rather than any part of Simon. A sigh that he didn't know he held in. He didn't want to mention the little smirk of mischief that made his heart jump just the slightest bit.
He could only wish there was more. It was really just enough for two servings; one for each of them. Maybe a little more, but what was a spoonful or two in difference?
If it were any other night, it would have been perfect. Daniel seemed half-obsessed with anything containing strawberries, food or otherwise. It was a relatively calm day at work. No breaches, no heavy missions, nothing. Simon, on the other hand, was greeted with about three of five appointments, which was the record for the week.
Annoyingly, there was the creeping thought of something less sweet. It wasn't luck; it was just giving them time to prepare. Like how their old handler never gave them any vacations, and any vacations they received was purely for the sake of getting them to agree to go to a location without fuss.
In that day alone, Daniel has made pancakes, waffles, french toast, and even pre-buttered bread that would only need a few minutes in a toaster oven. Anything that would make Simon's life just a little bit easier, now that he's no longer going to be making their breakfast and dinner everyday.
There was never going to be something sweet that night, was there? Not a single moment was free from the plague of the inevitable future. It hung over them, their every word, their every movement, their every bite of ice cream until the container was clean.
Daniel tried to scoop up every drop of it, even taking from Simon's side of the container.
But he would have driven himself insane if he kept trying to delay like this, Simon knew that much. Not so much as a psychologist with a hard-earned degree and PhD, but more as a boyfriend who quickly learned that Daniel was far from the average person while also being so painfully average. Minus the criminal record, but he'll overlook it since the Foundation is all outliers in that respect.
And so, Simon took the liberty to pick up Daniel and carry him like he would a bride to their bed.
”Hey! Put me down!”
“But I want to carry you, dear.”
”It’s a three second walk!”
It was more of fifteen to twenty seconds, but Daniel seemed weightless to the psychologist as he gently placed him on their bed.
(The back problems, however, were not as weightless but he ignored it regardless. Love transcends pain. Most of the time.)
Simon followed him shortly after, going under the blankets and holding him as he always does.
”Are you ready, sleeping beauty?”
”I want to wait for midnight.” Daniel didn't care how tightly he clutched onto the fabric of Simon’s pajamas. If anything, he felt like a child not wanting to go to bed. The agreement was silent. Both holding on like the world was going to fall apart if they weren't.
Simon placed a sweet kiss to his cheek and moved down the bed just to press his ear to his chest. The only thing he wanted to do now is to savor the staccato heartbeat for every second that he could.
It was only that. Breathing and a heartbeat. There was nothing to say. Why avoid what was in front of you, but why speak when it hurt?
"I love you."
"I love you too."
The last time Simon recalled his boyfriend saying those exact words were... Too long ago. A mission when death was right at their door, impatiently waiting for a long overdue date. Even that was more tolerable than this. Even then, they had a chance to see each other again, be in each other's arms and feel the warmth.
Here, they only had moments before it was taken away.
"Daniel." He ran his hand over his arm in an attempt to comfort him.
"Okay."
It was unheard of that Daniel would be so compliant. He's never heard of him follow any given direction, any given order. It was so foreign. Simon nearly considered that this may not be his boyfriend in his arms. He never had so few words, he never took anything so quietly.
His mouth tasted of bitter ash as he reached for the pocket watched tucked away in the night stand's drawer, pressing it to his ear just to listen to it tick just a few more seconds.
Simon kissed the cracked glass, feeling the skin of his lip catch against the shard.
When he looked back up at Daniel, he couldn't help but be light up by the flustered blush. Hah! So it could happen! After all these years, so few moments did he catch such a moment from his boyfriend, no matter what he had done. The bright smiles and laughter was one thing, but the silent, shy reception of being loved? Of being too embarrassed or perhaps being too happy to receive it?
What an awful time to find out.
Simon clenched his teeth. The faster they do this, the faster it can be over with. Any minute that he can shave off those ten weeks is worth more than any gold or silver.
Daniel's grip tightened on Simon. Their connection felt nearly telepathic after all these years. Not even silence could separate their thoughts. Usually, this would be a wonderful aid in their missions so long ago, but now it served one purpose: To say what hurt too much to hear.
Daniel sat up. So did Simon. Daniel leaned against Simon, his head resting on his shoulder for a mere few moments. He fought for every second he could.
"I'm not dying."
"No, you aren't, dear." No, you aren't, Simon echoed in his head.
They've never done this before. They both knew very well that Daniel wasn't human but it was a dangerous experiment. There was a good chance Daniel could never wake up again, but Simon didn't want to entertain the thought. (Why be so pessimistic if it will only cause you dread?) They only had one shot at this, with a broken clock and workings neither of them could understand. Workings that the Foundation's researchers couldn't decipher if they tried.
But they've never backed down from a challenge, not while they had each other. They were too proud to.
Daniel took once last good look at Simon, studying his features under the lamp light. His blue and green eyes had a sparkle to them that he fell in love with all those years ago.
Simon forces a smile for comfort. "What are you looking at?"
"You."
The blond hair in just the right curls and waves, ever so slightly mussed with static from their pillows. The littlest nicks of scars that could only be seen from studying his face so close. Eyes softened with the years behind him but love in front of him. It was like starlight.
Daniel closed the gap between them with a kiss. One that Simon more than happily returned, feeling his pulse through his lips, instinctively placing his hand in dark brown hair. It was dizzying, like something swallowing them whole. Its rush was that of desperation but it was too delicate and gentle to be more.
He smelled of home, of warmth, like candlelight, like cotton fabric. Daniel was never sure what it was exactly. He only knew that it was Simon. Every second of comfort he remembered was from him. His hands, his words.
The lamplight seemed warm against them, the soft shadow of it being so foreign against the walls of their room. All the more, they refused to let go. It was suffocating. It was brilliant. It was perfect on its own. Daniel's hold on him born from the heartache of dread yet, in that precise moment, he had forgotten about it.
Simon, however, did not. He was cursed to remember more than he could take.
Click.
”Good night, Daniel.”
”Good night, Simon.”
Simon couldn’t remember if there was a sweeter kiss than that moment there. One more time, he placed them together, never knowing how long it will be until this happens again. One hand was tangled in Daniel’s hair, the other held the pocket watch, almost too weak to keep it.
Click.
Daniel fell asleep. That was Simon’s cue to stop kissing him.
He held down the button of the watch until it stopped ticking, until his heart stopped beating.
That was his cue to lay him down.
Simon hoped he didn’t notice the tear on his cheek.
Gently, Simon pushed away the strands of hair from Daniel’s face. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, then another to his cheek. His hand, his neck, his jaw.
He treasured the remaining warmth from Daniel’s body. He held him close, everything that he could touch, he did. His tears were few and far between, preferring to focus on staying awake until he’s gone cold. He could not tell what hour it was going to be, but he didn't want to.
He knew he was dead, he pulled the trigger after all. But the way the color did not drain from him convinced his heart he was still here, merelt in breathless sleep.
"Good night, my love."
Simon stayed awake the entire night.