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Desperate times called for desperate measures. That’s what you told yourself as you marched into the main offices on the base. It was for the good of everyone that you completed this mission. You weren’t confident in your success but you had to try. So with squared shoulders and a stiff upper lip you confidently breezed into the office that had been quartered off for the 141, laying eyes on your target. At least you thought it was your target.
The man sitting at the desk was the same build as Simon. He had the same hunch in his shoulders as he sat, looking over a laptop. Same dark brown eyes that seemed to bore holes into whatever he was looking at as he glanced your way. But instead of the dirty blond hair and black medical mask you had grown used to, the man at the desk wore a balaclava with a skull printed or maybe sewn onto the upper half. You suppose anyone could find the sight frightening, run the risk of making someone scream. It seemed like the man at the desk was preparing for that as you opened your mouth.
“Why the fuck do you look like an edgelord?”
“What the ‘ell are you doin’ here?”
It was good to know that it was indeed one Simon Riley you were questioning, familiar voice assuring that weren’t insulting a random man who decided wearing a human skull was the peak of fashion. No instead you were simply married to one.
“I asked you first.”
“And I ask’d second.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“It is in my office.”
God could the man be any more annoying? He acted like any time you asked him something it was an affront to him and god. Rolling your eyes you deposited your pay load onto the desk; one plain black lunchbox. You’d of thought you’d placed a bomb there with the way he eyed it warily. Fucking men.
“W’at’s this?”
“A lunch bag.”
“I can see that.”
“Then you’ve figured it out Sherlock.”
At least you could get some satisfaction knowing you made Simon roll his eyes as often as he made you roll yours. You watched as he gingerly opened the bag, looking down at what you had packed in it. Again, like he was handling an IED, he picked out the things, setting them on his desk in a neat line.
First an apple, then an orange, a bag of trail mix, and finally the tupperware.
“W’ats this?”
“Eggplant lasagna. Made it last night.”
You’d spent the better part of the day prior roasting the eggplant slices so they wouldn’t be slimy. Hours were spent rendering down the mushrooms, the peppers, and onions to add flavor to the marinara sauce. You’d started prep the night before soaking white beans so they can be added in. You calculated all the ways to add protein and fiber so ensure that it would be fulfilling and nutritious. You were rather proud of it.
“’M not eating it.”
E-fucking-scuse you.
“Yes you are.”
Simon looked up at you like you’d insulted him when you told him that. It was like he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to tell him what he was going to do. You had not only the audacity, but you were going to force it down his gullet if you had to.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because that you do to my bathroom on a near weekly basis is diabolical.”
It honestly truly was. Any and all windows had to be opened to air out the place and at least one can of air freshener had to be deployed. So many scented candles had already fallen in the line of duty, and you were over it. It stopped now
It seemed that your restroom related distress didn’t ruffle Simon in the least, what with the way he leaned back into his chair, arm crossed in front of his chest.
“Not ‘appening.”
No one would blame you if you made yourself a widow, surly no one would. They’d all understand. But if you got caught you wouldn’t be able to keep the boys...
Taking a deep breath you decided to let go of plans of any mariticide and instead attempt some reverse psychology. Entering into a silent battle of wills with Simon you tried to stare him down, to not back down first. Or at least make it look like you were trying to win it. You knew you were never going to out stare the master of staring. The man really did have a problem.
Once enough time had passed for it to be believable, you gave a big sigh, making a production of putting everything back into the lunch bag. You let Simon bask in what he thought was victory. Oh if he knew, if only he knew.
“Fine.”
You made sure that the bag was shut and safely in your hands before taking the shot.
“I’ll just find someone who can appreciate your wife’s home cooking. I’m sure Johnny would like it.”
Oh the way Simon seemed to go slack in disbelief was delicious. Utterly delicious. You couldn’t bask in it for long, turning away from your slack jawed husband so he couldn’t see the smirk on your face. You’d just made it to the door, starting to pull it open when it was pushed shut by a force behind you.
“Give me the bag.”
“Nope. You blew your chance.”
Turning around you leaned against the door, making sure to hide the bag behind your back. Simon loomed over you, skull mask boring down. It could be likened to an angel of death. You could understand how it might strike terror in the hearts of those on the battlefield. But this wasn’t his battlefield.
“You would be much more intimidating if I didn’t know you struggle to shit.”
You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at Simon’s silence. Giggles spilled from your lips and they didn’t cease even when the man leaned in closer to you. In fact if anything they only got worse.
That was the price to pay for being known.
Before anything else could happen the door behind you jarred, someone on the other side trying to open it, just for Simon’s weight to keep it from moving. Much to your delight a familiar accent spoke out.
“Uh-eve’ythin’ alrigh’ LT?”
Good ol’ Johnny. Right when you needed him.
You didn’t let Simon answer, instead turning back to the door and trying to open it yourself. You had an easier time as Simon actually let you, the man taking a step back so he wasn’t directly breathing down your neck.
The Scott seemed surprised to see you as the door opened, brows raising as he glanced over you and the man behind you. You ignored the questioning look, instead side stepping to let the man come into the office space.
“Hello Johnny.”
“Hiya Thimble...ah, wha’cha doin’ here?”
Oh poor Johnny. He seemed so confused and you were only going to drag him further into the middle of this.
“I was just dropping off lunch for Mr. Edgelord over here but it seems he-”
“He’s going to take his lunch and Mrs. Edgelord is going home.”
You couldn’t help but pout when the bag was plucked from your hands. So mean of him to take advantage of an opening. Though you did reach your objective. Which meant time for you to go home. You had fried chicken waiting for you.
With a quick bid goodbye you left Simon at the mercy of Johnny and his inquisition on why Simon got meals and he didn’t.
Maybe tomorrow you’d drop off something for him as well.