In death, sacrifice.

The radio had some holiday jingle playing and neither you nor Simon moved to change it despite neither of you wanting to listen to it. Snow had started to fall, not enough to merit the use of the wipers, but enough to bring some slight amount of excitement– some childish part of you deep inside loved the snow, even if the adult in you found it annoying. “What’s our plan once we’re in Manchester?” You asked, watching the snow as you drove by. “Set up at the safehouse.” Simon replied, eyes locked on the road ahead. “And?” “And what?” “After that?” You nudged him. “Do you want Price to order you some take out? I don’t know what you’re looking for right now.” “Bloody hell, Simon. Some fun, perhaps?” You sat back in your seat and folded your arms. Only the merry jingle filled the void between you. “This isn’t a vacation.” His tone was cold. “It doesn’t have to be a vacation in order to have a little fun, Simon.” “You are being hunted. You do understand that?” He snapped and your head turned on him in surprise. “Of course I do.” You fidget with your thumbs, looking back out the window, “I just– don’t want that to be the only thing I think of, that’s all.” He let out an exhausted sigh, eyes still forward, “I know.” “Besides, I have you to keep me safe– nothing bad will happen to me with you around.” You smiled, he huffed. You finally changed the station, a rock station playing ‘the hottest hits of yesterday’ quietly as the snow started to fall in thicker flakes and the road ahead began to blur in the snowy haze. The truck slowly came to a stop in the road, you couldn’t tell why Simon had done so until a pack of deer began to bounce across the roadway. Once the last of them crossed, the truck pushed forward again. “You heard about those wildlife freeways?” You remarked, “Bridges for wildlife to cross over major roadways safely and all that? Why didn’t those ever catch on?” This spiraled into a lengthy discussion about the environment and capitalism that took up enough time to call for road trip snacks. Simon promised you’d stop once you reached Tuxford to get pizza from the late night pizza shop. It was still some ways off, but the promise of pizza was enough. Thirty minutes passed and you had started to drift off to sleep, it was far past your typical ‘bed time’ and Simon didn’t seem much for conversation tonight. A bump and metal screaming jolted you awake. “The fuck’s happening?” You asked groggily, Simon not replying as he kept the truck righted on the road as it skid across the ice. He didn’t say anything, and you were too scared to scream, but comforted by Simon’s calm composure that you didn’t feel you had to. The truck came to a stop tucked nicely behind some trees just off the road, obscured from view of the road. There was one more car on the road, it was some distance behind but the way Simon’s eyes narrowed, you knew already they were likely the culprit of your off-road adventures. Simon pulled his sidearm, shoving it into your chest, “Stay in the truck. If I go down, you keep to and get to Manchester.” He grabbed his M4 and pulled on his mask, he wasn’t Simon anymore.

He was Ghost. You stared at the gun in horror, then back to Simon, “But Simon, I–” he didn’t hear any of it and exited the truck, his M4 in hand, “Ghost…” You called as a last ditch effort, terrified of being alone in the truck in the dark woods after someone just kicked you off the road. He had already vanished into the darkness. You could make out very little from your angle, and the little you could see was shrouded in darkness. The other vehicles headlights did little in the brewing snow storm to aid your sight as it continued to pour down and build- though not nearly enough yet to brighten the night. A gunshot pierced the night, you ducked into the seat and peaked only a fraction to try and get a view of the outside. Nothing still. The world became too still. Too quiet. If only for a moment. A symphony of gunfire shattered the silence and you covered your ears and hunkered down. It ended nearly as abruptly as it began. The only sound you could make out was the thumping of your heart in your chest. You stayed down, the sidearm being held tight, but you knew you’d hesitate if you were faced with the need to fire. Time dragged for what felt like hours, but the clock on the dash said it had only been a couple minutes. The sound of fresh snow crunching just outside the door made your heart leap and you shot up, throwing yourself back against the passenger door and gun pointed towards the driver side at the black figure in the darkness. The door opened, you still had the gun aimed at the figure as he started to slide into the driver side seat. “You can stop pointing that at me any time now.” Simon said, pulling off his mask. With trembling hands, you lowered the gun and passed it back to Simon. You didn’t quite expect what happened next as Simon pulled you together, one arm wrapped around your shoulders and his free hand took the gun and holstered it, then came back to hold your shaking hands. You fell apart. Too much, far too much at once. Simon held you close, whispering into your ear that he was proud of you. You couldn’t begin to fathom what in that moment Simon would be proud of you for, but the words helped. 

You stayed like this for a minute, until your breathing was normal again and your heart wasn’t pounding in your ears anymore. “You good?” Simon asked, still holding you to him and you nodded. “Good, yeah. Good. Ready for pizza.” You put on a brave face and a weak smile, he could see right through it but you both knew better than to remark on it. Off once more, Tuxford just ahead. Your anxiety had you wired, your eyes watching everything outside the windows for a possible threat, taking up so much of your mental space that you didn’t even notice that Simon still had your hand in his. 

Your role within the 141 was unique, to say the least. Your job was ‘morale’. One might wonder ‘what does that actually mean’, but the 141 were very clear on what it meant. 

You were there to ‘boost morale’, by any means necessary. That devolved into an open free-use agreement between you and all members of the 141. 

Soap was the first to suggest it. Everyone else agreed quite quickly, by that point you’d already slept with all of them, they all slept with each other, making it ‘free use’ just made it easier on everyone.

Depending on the mission, depending on your mood, it always rotated what happened with you when the 141 returned. 

Despite the similarities between all of them, you could be blindfolded (and you often were) and know exactly who was fucking you by the way they moved and touched you. 

Gaz and Ghost were gentle, but where Gaz was firm and confident, Ghost was so focused on you that his touch often felt more careful. Gaz was polite to a fault and it translated to his time in bed, and Ghost’s trauma(s) made him hesitant at first, but once he was comfortable it was all in. Yet, he still maintained the same careful touch, that he feared hurting you, or pushing you away.

Soap and Price were not gentle. Far from it. However, Price preferred for you or Gaz to top him in bed. While he happily took charge if needed, Price let you two take the reins in your intimate activities and his interests veered towards being dominated. You understood; he took charge in so much of the rest of his life, he was always in control of everything— this was the one way he could be on the other end and he thrived with it. 

Soap, on the other hand, was a dominant switch, which played in everyone’s favour. He was also rough and aggressive in bed, feral almost. Again, it played in everyone’s favour. He loved to choke, hair pull, bite, and slap, and he loved it more when you returned the favour. 

The 141 took turns with you, or took you together. Ghost and Soap preferred to team up on you, the juxtapose of Ghost’s gentle touch paired with Soap’s feral behaviour made it a pleasant time that sent you reeling. Soap usually passed out while Ghost drew you a bath and made you both tea after. 

Price and Gaz preferred the solo routes, but if they were wanting to enjoy more than just each other then they’d drag you in, too. Price, similar to Soap, falls asleep soon after while Gaz maintained the aftercare. 

When the five of you got involved together, it turned into a frenzy that was impossible to follow. Teeth, tongues, hands, cocks, limbs, ropes, knives, candles, an absolute mess of fluids and sex. Those events were rare, usually they happened right after the 141 came back from a longer deployment. They’d fucked each other enough while deployed and now they needed time with you and to decompress with each other. 

One day, as a joke, Ghost and Gaz had made a bet; who could hide you the longest from the others.

Ghost managed to find you first after the bet was on, absconding with you and hiding you away from the others. He came back regularly to fuck you silly and make sure you were tended to, then returned to business as usual. It took three days before Price found you, fucked you, and dragged you to a new hiding spot. 

This went on for a month before rules had to be laid down; Ghost wasn’t allowed to hide you anymore— he hid you too well from the others and had you all to himself, which made (mostly Gaz and Soap) a bit jealous to lose the team's shared ‘toy’. When Ghost had you hidden from the others a possessiveness came out of him that only made you weaker to him as he’d pound into you, your hands and feet bound as he growled into your ear;

 “Mine.” 

“All yours, sir.” You would cry out as he buried himself inside of you.

“Good little bird.” 

He wasn’t happy about losing his rights to hide you from the others, but he was good about finding you. 

Gaz was better at hiding you than Price, and Soap always just hid you in his room (he liked the idea of hiding you, but he also liked to share you far too much to keep you hidden from the others for long). 

Gaz would hide you anywhere he could think, Ghost often finding you almost immediately and after he finished filling you until you were leaking onto the floor, he’d draw a little ‘Ghost’ on your ass with a marker and leave. Gaz returning to you still dripping, and he’d cursing “That fucker.” before refilling your greedy holes, front to back. 

Price would only start to look for you if he was getting antsy, he could usually find you pretty quickly, stuffing you full of him and then dragging you off to his office where you became a cock warmer until he finished whatever work had annoyed him enough to come find you in the first place. 

You had a room in the barracks, you only slept there while the 141 was away, and even then you often slept in one of their rooms, rotating each night; whosoever room you were asleep in when they came home got you first. 

The unwelcomed audience chatting to the two of you, already questioning; When’s the wedding? Any plans for kids? How long have you been together? And more far too invasive questions for strangers to be asking regarding your ‘private’ life. Simon deferred to your lead, the bastard. A practised smile as you enthusiastically spewed a steady stream of lies to every question thrown your way. Simon spouting off brief agreements or mock light-hearted ‘protests’ to add weight to the lies you fed the staff. After what was, certainly, far longer than necessary for the staff to pry into your life, they congratulated you both and departed for you to be in peace, and the moment nobody was in sight, your cheerful grin sank into a burning glare that burrowed into Simon.  You couldn't tell if you were paranoid, cautious, or what, but that felt like a bit much. “Not my idea.” Simon mumbled as he took a bite of cake and offered a piece to you from his fork. With a snarl, you accepted the bite and Oh. Oh my. “Price?” You asked, meaning ‘is Price the one who organised this’. Simon understood, or you… hope he did.

“Worth it.” Simon winked. Seems he did.

“Bastard.” You growled, Simon shoving another small bite of cake your way, but he wouldn't take another bite, and neither would you. “Can we, like.. Take this to go? Or? Because I would really like to get to the next part of our evening plans.”

Simon got up, his phone vibrating next to yours on the table. An odd occurrence, you’d never seen him get a notification or message before in all the time you had known him. He took a very brief glance at his phone, closed it, and waved someone down. A member of the staff came back a few minutes later with a box far too fancy to be a simple ‘to-go’ container.

God, richy pomp people really do too much. Simon passed their fancy ‘don’t do anything too crazy, kids’ card that Price and Laswell gave them, well, more gave Simon. You weren’t apparently trusted with it. Hard to imagine why. 

The cake cradled in your arms and Simon’s arm around your waist as you waved yourselves off and thanked the staff. You both seemed to breathe easier the moment you left the restaurant. The trip to your flat was quiet. More so than normal for the two of you. Sure, Simon wasn’t a ‘Chatty Cathy’, but he kept steady communication going between the two of you as his baseline. He was funny, considerate, and seemed to always know the right things to say. Tonight, he was straying far too close to silence, and it was making you anxious. I mean, you just got ‘engaged’, right? You should be talking. “Si?” You leaned towards him, bumping your shoulders together. He didn’t answer immediately; he was watching the sunset as you walked, his arm still around your waist. You stopped, he didn’t. It took him a brief moment to realise once his arm was behind him that you weren’t moving with him, and he looked back. “Something the matter?” “Do you want to watch the sunset?” You nodded towards the horizon. He looked over, admiring the sky as you admired the way the light gleamed against his skin, the way the setting sun still brightened his eyes, making the subtle hues of golden brown glisten, then he turned back to you. He was gorgeous. “Yes.” He pointed towards a park bench, but as you moved, he grabbed your arm and turned you to face him. You cocked your head, studying him for answers before you spoke. He looked down at the cake. “You know, this is the tastiest thing I’ve ever had in my life.” You held the boxed cake out like a prize. Simon put a finger to your lips. The way his eyes narrowed in on you and the way his body tensed as he loomed over you told you everything. Put the damn cake down. You rolled your eyes, walking off to place the cake on the park bench and returning to him with a pout. He maintained his silence, as well as returned his arm to your waist. You gave him a weak smile, looking back as the most delicious bait to ever bless the world disappeared the more distance was made. He had a lot to answer for once you were home. Once you were inside, you kicked your shoes off and collapsed backwards onto the couch. Simon stayed at the door, odd. “Si?” “Yeah?” he snapped back to reality, “Sorry.” He took off his shoes and headed for the fridge, pulling two bottles out. “Drinking?” He held them up. “With you? Always.” You said, a sly grin spread on your lips. He had his mask on, but you could see the tug of one under the mask. He closed the fridge, discarded his mask on the counter, and passed you a bottle as he crossed to the chair adjacent to you. “You ok, Simon?”

“Yeah. Yeah…” He was bobbing his head forward, but not as if to say yes. “So, no.” You adjusted on the couch, taking a sip of your drink and carefully watched him. He hadn’t been the same since he got that message. He shook his head ‘no’, taking a long drink off the bottle in his hand, and then a deep breath. “No.” “What’s going on?” A part of you really, desperately wanted to make a joke about how you promise not to embarrass him in front of his family, but something was very wrong. “We’re going to Hereford.” “Fuckin- No. Simon, no. What was my one condition for this whole ongoing gig between me and the 141?” “Besides keeping you out of prison?” “Yes, obviously, besides that, you ass. No Hereford. You want to fuck my world? Ruin my life? My connections? Ruin your intel? That is the fast track to fuckin’ doing it. I have spies at Hereford, so I don’t have to be anywhere near Hereford.” “You have spies at Hereford?” You raised a brow at him, studying him as if he just sprouted a second head, “Really?” “Right, right.” Silence took hold, but you wouldn’t let that stand for long. “Why?” “You’re in danger.” “I’m a data broker for the darker side of society, Simon. Of course, I’m in danger. In fact, it wasn't all that long ago that you were that danger.” You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed, not wanting to give away that you were, in truth, quite frightened. Simon wouldn’t be saying this or telling you that you’re relocating unless it was a truly credible threat. But, you insisted on pressing on, “I mean, the fact I’ve lived this long with nary a scratch is beyond miraculous. And, it isn’t like England is going to give any honours or give a shit if I die anyway. I’ll just be a loose end that got tied up on its own like a neat little bow.” “Too bad for you, Price likes you alive.” He snapped, and you recoiled; he’d never really… snapped at you like that. Simon dropped his shoulders, his head hanging, “I like you alive.” He sounded broken, as if admitting that changed his entire course in life and altered fate.

“Oh.” was all you could manage to squeak out. You weren’t quite expecting that from your fake fiancé. “I need you to go to Hereford. At least for a week or two, where you can be protected until this is sorted.” “Absolutely fucking not.” “Please, don’t make me…” he trailed off, not wanting to finish the threat. “We can go meet your family.” You announced, puffing out your chest. “My family i–” he started, but you cut him off. “Dead.” You stated bluntly, he looked up, and a part of him burned with rage, but it wasn’t directed at you, “Our relationship is known, but who you are isn’t. You dodge cameras impressively well, you use burners, fake IDs, fake names. I only ever refer to you with pet names or as ‘Si’ in public. You’re a difficult man to track. Helps, too, that you’re legally considered dead and the last pictures from when you were ‘alive’ look vastly different from who you are today.” You shrugged, “So, we have a clean palette to work with. Make up a fake family of operatives, and we’re going anywhere but fucking Hereford.” He paused to prepare his argument, “Do you realise how much you’ve dodged today alone?” His tone was quiet; if you didn’t know any better, you’d suspect he was genuinely concerned about your safety. “The restaurant was bugged, some of the servers were spies, the cake was drugged, and the box had a tracker. Yes, Simon, I didn’t make it this far by being oblivious.” You sighed, sinking into the couch. “Three men followed us.” He said, you didn’t know about that. Maybe you were oblivious. “Gaz handled them.” So, they’re dead. That’s going to be bad for business. “I’m sure they just want to see what we look like rolling naked on top of each other in bed.” You purred. “I–” he struggled for words, losing them entirely, and a shade of red burned on his cheeks like you’d never seen before. You laughed, a bit too loudly as he attempted to recover from the mental flashbang you just threw at him, “Give me your phone, we’re sorting this with Price.” You held your hand out, Simon seeming to collect himself enough to piece together your request and passed you his burner, “Then we can work out who gets to be the top tonight in celebration of our engagement.”

“Bloody hell.” He groaned, with no mask to hide his face, he buried his head in his hands to hide his face, but the deepening shade of red on his ears gave him away. You’d have to mess with him more about this. He was usually so composed; it was nice to see him thrown off his game. 

You scrolled to Price’s number, one of five numbers programmed into the device, and dialled out. He answered on the first ring. Good man. 

“Go for Price.” 

“I’m not going to Hereford.” You stated bluntly, if there was one thing you and Price appreciated about each other in your fucked up relationship, it was that neither of you beat around any bushes with each other. Direct, no filler, no fluff. 

“That’s too bad. I’ll see you here in about two hours.” 

You turned on Simon, “In two hours? Like hell you are.” Seems Mister Tomato Face forgot a rather imperative detail for tonight’s evening plans. 

“You got a better solution?” 

“I do.” You said, putting the phone on speaker so Simon could be a part of the discussion, a kindness he had apparently not afforded to you when he and the others decided that you’d be packing up and leaving tonight.

“And?” 

“Simon and I are now betrothed. Thanks for that, by the way. And we did so quite publically.” You were going to continue, but Price spoke up immediately.

“Their informant saw, no disputing it. Gives you a safe reason to leave the city.” 

“Yes, but it won’t be to Hereford.” 

“Your solution then?” 

“Manchester.” Simon’s head shot up and narrowed his eyes on you, “I said you were hard to track, not impossible.” You waved him off, but his gaze remained fixated on you. 

“Manchester? That’s a bloody fuckin’ drive. Look, we set up the safe house here an—”

You cut him off, “Manchester or I’m not leaving.” 

“You’ll be dead if you stay, and I won’t leave one of my men out as bait. 

“You know Hereford isn’t an option. Manchester and we’ll leave as soon as I pack, I promise.” 

“Kate won’t like this.”  “That’s not new.” As much as you and Kate respected the skills of the other, it didn’t change that you were two very different sides of a coin— and so you didn’t quite get along when it came to ‘work’. “Price, you know I have to protect myself from more than just physical threats.”

There was a long pause, “I know. Get packed and if you’re not in Manchester by midnight, I will personally drag you to Hereford.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Watch it, kid.” He sighed, “Midnight. I’ll forward details to Ghost once we get things sorted.”