#...oh wait

Simon never really understood it, someone sticking around and waiting like that, willingly risking heartbreak when the object of their affections didn't return home.

Lucky bastard.

Kyle was halfway through explaining a rather amusing blunder that had happened with some of the greenies on the obstacle course, Price leaned back in the booth with an amused twitch of his mustache and Soap cackling at the mention of an unexpected flying boot, when Simon's eyes off-handedly scanned across the pub.

The usual suspects occupied the stools by the bar along with several new faces, which was no surprise given how many new recruits had been shipped to base last week. There was a table off in the corner that Simon was fairly certain was filled with civilians, the group of men likely just finding the place from a stray online review.

He almost turned his attention back to the story being told, when his gaze stopped dead in it's tracks, drink paused halfway to his mouth.

Among a small group of people who'd just arrived, many whom he recognized vaguely, you stood out like a beacon. You had just shrugged off your jacket and Simon's brain stuttered for a moment. He was used to seeing you bundled in your scarves and hats and swaddled in your thick cardigans. Your usually loose and comfortable looking clothes were absent, replaced with articles that were more fitted and revealed more skin than you'd ever exposed on base. Not indecent by any means, just… different. Very different.

Bloody hell, you were a vision.

He somehow managed to drag his attention away, sipping at his bourbon and giving an occasional hum or few word answer in response to the conversation at the table, but if his gaze occasionally flickered back over to the bar, who could blame him.

Simon ended up staying beyond when he'd usually end the night, the pub filling more in the later hours. He'd never been a fan of sticking around when it got packed. If the sergeants noticed anything amiss, they didn't mention it. He was on the receiving end of a rather curious look from Price though, later morphing into an understanding and bemused tug of his lips when he spotted you at the bartop.

It wasn't long after that Soap hopped up with a large grin and a sweep of his arm. "Another round? Yer buying cap, aye?"

"Smacked our head hard enough to babble nonsense, hm?" Price shifted in his seat with a cheeky look, raising his brow at the small defeated breath Soap let out.

"Fine, fine. System's broken as shite, not treatin' us with that big ol' Captain paycheque o' yers."

Simon allowed his eyes to follow the Scot as he meandered towards the bar to order, glancing over towards where you were perched on a stool and chatting with one of the fellow people from the admin block. It was easy to assume the 141 weren't the only ones out for a bit of a celebration after making it through the week.

"Think he needs a hand?"

His eyes narrowed, a low chuckle escaping Price when he was quickly brushed off.

"I'm sure he'd be grateful for your offer." Simon stated bluntly.

Soap returned shortly after, and Simon almost thanked some higher power that the guy hadn't spotted you while he was over there, the thought of the following discussion threatening to make his head ache.

He did notice however, about halfway through Soap's ramblings over a recent demo he'd done for training, that while you hadn't caught the Scotsman's attention, you had attracted someone else's.

One of the men from the table in the corner, his eyes trained on you and a smirk that Simon was more than tempted to go knock off his face.

He continued to sip at his drink, staring daggers into the guy's back as he roared in laughter along with the others in his party and went back to the conversation. A glance your way eased some of the tension in his shoulders, watching the way you chuckled into your palm in response to something your coworker had said.

The thought struck him rather suddenly. He'd never heard you laugh before. It left him internally cursing at the bustle of the pub that drowned out the sound, curious what it sounded like.

It made him wonder if you'd find amusement in any of his jokes. Maybe next time you were both in the kitchenette, just the two of you, he could tell you his best one. Maybe he'd get a laugh out of you that he could memorize and tuck away in his mind, replaying it over and over like a worn record.

Stuck in his thoughts, he almost missed the man getting up from his table and heading to the bartop, the coworker you had been sitting with missing from the stool beside you which allowed him to slip onto it casually.

Simon's spine straightened, eyes fixated on the guy as he said something to the bartender, before he turned his body towards you. Whatever he said was met with a polite smile and a nonchalant wave of your hand. The universal sign for "I'm being polite and civil, but I'm not interested". Which must have meant this man was a complete numbskull, not taking any part of the hint and leaning forward in his stool as he continued to try and have a conversation with you and earning the tug of a frown at your lips.

Simon was seething, releasing his grip on his glass and standing up from the booth, ignoring the somewhat confused question aimed his way as he started making his way through the throngs of people crowding the floor. His glare turned downright murderous when the guy slipped his hand from the bartop and towards your thigh, blood rushing in Simon's ears as he nearly shouldered someone out of the way, ready to grab the bastard by the scruff and-

The man went suddenly rigid, but his gaze hadn't shifted away from you at all. His eyes were wide and his expression was pinched in some mix of discomfort and disbelief. Before, he looked like he was perfectly content to be where he was. Now he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. He looked like he was second-guessing every choice he'd ever made in life.

It became very obvious why when the crowd parted slightly for a moment, Simon's steps faltering.

You still had a polite smile on your face, but the look in your eyes was quite the opposite. You looked angry. Not the anger fueled by concern that Simon had been witness to before. You looked proper pissed off, smile doing nothing to mask the ice cold glare you had leveled the bastard with while you held his family jewels in a vice grip that threatened to end his bloodline.

Simon wasn't even sure what you said to the guy, who looked like all the blood had drained from his face, flinching when your grip tightened with your words. It lasted less than a minute, but when you finally released him, the bastard practically stumbled off the barstool and scrambled back to his table, making a quick exit from the pub in it's entirety.

Simon was still rooted to the spot when your coworker returned a moment later, stowing their carton of cigarettes back into their bag.

Fucking Christ.

He left you and you to your night and managed to snag his jacket from the booth, only catching a questioning look from Price, before managing to slip out the back door. He leaned heavily against the brickwork of the building, blinking belatedly.

His hands shook as he lit up a cig, head falling back against the wall as his mind ran a million miles a minute. It refused to settle on any thought, except for one that left him adjusting the very obvious tent in his jeans.

That was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen.