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The mountains didn’t look real.
They rose up in jagged blue layers, powdered with snow so bright it hurt to look at. The air bit at exposed skin, but the sky was a clear, impossible blue- too soft and open for people like them.
Johnny planted his snowboard into the snow and leaned on it, grinning at the man beside him.
“Y’know, Si, if ye keep glarin’ at the slopes like that, they might just surrender.”
Simon stood there in an insulated black jacket, snow pants, and a beanie tugged low. His skull balaclava was swapped for a plain black thermal mask that covered everything but his eyes. Somehow, he still managed to look like a specter at a family friendly ski resort.
“Not glarin-" Simon muttered, dark eyes tracking a kid in a neon green helmet zipping past them. “Assessin’ risk.”
Johnny snorted. “It’s a bunny hill.”
“The sign says ‘Beginner Slope.’”
“Bunny hill-" Johnny repeated, jabbing him gently with his elbow. “An’ ye promised. Off duty, remember? No risk assessments. No mission plannin'. No bein' a paranoid stiff bastard. Jus' us, an’ snow, an’… you, fallin’ on yer arse.”
Simon sighed, but there was warmth in it. “Only reason I agreed to this is because you begged.”
“I did not beg. I merely… strongly suggested. Wit' persuasive kisses.”
One of Simon’s gloved hands brushed against Johnny’s, deliberate. “And bribery works.”
Johnny grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. That was the thing about downtime, rare as hen’s teeth. When it came, Johnny hoarded every second.
Especially now that “us” meant something that wasn’t just callsigns shouted over gunfire and tensions so tight that could spark a fire.
“Right-" Johnny said, clapping his hands together. “Time to turn ye into a snowboardin’ legend.”
Simon stared down at the board Johnny had bullied him into renting. “It’s a plank with shoes attached.”
“Exactly!" Johnny said brightly. “How hard can it be an' What's tha worse that can happen?”
Ten minutes later, Johnny decided he should stop askin’ questions like that..about anything, ever again.
“Okay, lean on yer heel edge-" Johnny said, steadying Simon’s arm as they stood halfway up the gentle slope. “Yer heels, Si. Not yer whole bloody back.”
“Feels like a trap.." Simon rumbled, knees bent, weight stiff. The board wobbled. “How are kids doing this without snapping their necks?”
“Kids don’t have a stick up their arses-" Johnny chirped, then yelped when Simon’s gloved hand swatted the back of his helmet.
“Cheeky.”
“But accurate." Johnny sing songed. He maneuvered in front of Simon, their boards parallel, hands on Simon’s forearms.
“Look at me, not yer feet.”
Simon did. Johnny was too close not to. Eyes crinkled, nose pink from the cold, a smear of snow on his jaw from his last fall. His hair was mashed under his beanie, but a few dark strands stuck out at his forehead, curls damp with melted snow.
“Good." Johnny stated out proudly. “See? Yer doin’ it. Lil' shift o' weight. Heel edge to toe edge. Slow. Fluid. Like yer clearin’ a room, jus'… less death, more fluffy white shite.”
“Not helpin." Simon muttered, but he relaxed a fraction. His board slid a tiny bit down the slope, and Johnny shuffled carefully along with him, boots squeaking on packed snow.
The moment lingered in the cold air, warm in a way the thermal layers couldn’t quite manage. Johnny cleared his throat.
“Ye ready to let go, big man?”
Simon looked down the gentle stretch of slope. The grade was barely more than a ramp, but it suddenly felt like the North Face of the Eiger.
“No.”
“Wrong answer-" Johnny said, grinning, and slowly eased his grip from Simon’s arms. “I’m right here. Jus' a few meters. I’ll be next to ye the whole way. If ye biff it, you biff it. That’s half the fun.”
“Your definition of fun is broken.”
Johnny shuffled to Simon’s side, bending his knees, his own board angled. “Okay, we’re gonna slide. Tiny motions, aye? I’ll hold ye for the first bit.”
He wrapped an arm loosely around Simon’s waist, and Simon let out a long, exasperated exhale. Johnny could feel the muscles under his jacket, tense but trusting.
“On three.." Johnny readied. “One… two…”
He shifted his own weight carefully, coaxing Simon’s board into motion.
It was going… shockingly well.
At least for the first few tries, which mostly ended with Simon landing on his arse in slow motion and Johnny laughing until he had to stop to catch his own breath. But Simon was stubborn, and Johnny was obnoxiously encouraging, and somewhere in between the swearing and the near collisions with small children, Simon started to kinda sorta maybe get the hang of it.
Now they were back near the top of the beginner slope. Johnny was beside Simon, boards turned slightly downhill.
“Ye've got this!" Johnny said, phone already in one gloved hand, the other resting on his own knee. “Remember yer stance.”
“Stop sayin’ that.." Simon grumbled. “It’s just standing funny.”
“It’s controlled standing funny.” Johnny grinned. “Okay, lean forward a bit. There. Yer stable. Don’t move yet, right? Lemme jus' adjust my bindin'.”
He crouched, fiddling with a strap on his own board, phone tucked against his chest.
Behind him, Simon swallowed, focusing on keeping his weight balanced. The board shifted minutely. He breathed out.
Easy. Just like they’d practiced. Johnny just right there. He had him.
Johnny’s head was bent, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth slightly as he adjusted something that probably didn’t even need adjusting. Simon blinked, a curtain of cold air rushing into his lungs.
The board slid.
At first, it was barely anything, a tiny scrape of snow under the edges. But the slope did its thing, gentle incline suddenly turning into momentum, and Simon felt gravity shrug like, Right, my turn, mate.
“Johnny.."Simon said, low.
His board picked up speed.
“Johnny-”
There was a horrible, weightless feeling as his center of balance tipped forward. His boots were locked in. His body committed before his brain could catch up. The snow under him turned from stable white to a blur.
“JOHNNY.”
The shout ripped out of him, husky and rough, echoing down the beginner slope.
Johnny’s head snapped up. For a split second, his brain refused to process what he was seeing... Simon, massive, stoic, the terrifying Simon, zooming down the slight incline like a very confused fridge on wheels, arms slowly windmilling.
Johnny stared. Blinked.
Then he did what any responsible, loving boyfriend would do.
He hit record on his phone.
“Steamin' Jesus-" Johnny whispered, camera following Simon’s increasingly chaotic descent. “Bloody hell- Si! Yer doin’ it! Yer...uh...kind of doin’ it!”
Simon wobbled left, right, then somehow miraculously corrected, the board carving a wobbly line. A kid with a helmet shaped like a unicorn squealed as he passed. An instructor on skis did a double take.
“Look at ya go!” Johnny hollered, already sliding into motion himself, one foot strapped in, the other pushing. “Send it, ya beautiful bastard! Ye got it!”
Simon did not have it.
“HOW DO I STOP!?” Simon yelled, voice breaking slightly.
“Jus' edge! HEELS, LOVE, HEELS!” Johnny shouted, still filming.
Simon heard what Johnny said and did his damnedest, shifting his weight back.
For a glorious heartbeat, it worked. Then he overcorrected.
His board caught. The world lurched sideways.
Simon’s stomach followed. He saw a tree, thin, innocent, minding its own business, and thought distantly, Fuckin' hell- that's not ordeal-"
He slammed into it with a muffled, resounding whump that sent a halo of snow exploding into the air.
The video caught all of it: the zoom, the panicked windmilling, the shouted “JOHNNY,” and the final, cinematic crash.
Johnny stopped pushing and tried to brake with his free foot, laughing, breathless. “Oh, fuck- Simon!”
Momentum did not care.
“Nononono- ah, shite-"
Johnny slid faster than intended, board refusing to cooperate gracefully with his half strapped setup. He aimed for where Simon had come to rest in a snowdrift at the base of the tree, a black and gray heap with one leg twisted at an alarming angle.
“Si! I’m- oh, bollocks-"
He overshot his own braking, and the snowboard jerked sideways, sending him into an uncontrolled slide straight into Simon’s side. He hit with a graceless thud, sprawling half across Simon’s chest, phone skidding into the snow beside them but miracle still recording.
There was a beat of silence.
Johnny laughed, still pressed against Simon.
Then Simon said, very calmly, “Ow.”
Johnny scrambled up onto his elbows. “Oh fuck- are ye- Simon, talk to me. Can ya move? Fingers? Toes? Anythin’? Blink twice for ‘I’m pissed at you.’”
Simon exhaled through his teeth. “Leg. Right leg. Not good.”
Johnny’s heart, which had been doing a fun panic jig in his chest, dropped into his stomach.
“Shite. Shite, shite, okay. Don’t move. I’ve got ya. I’ve absolutely fucked this, haven’t I?”
“You.." Simon said, voice thin but dry, “are never planning our holidays again.”
Hours, X-rays, and a spectacular amount of paperwork later, they were back in their lodge room.
Johnny had expected some cramped, drafty box. Instead, Captain Price had apparently insisted on “somewhere decent, for once,” and the 141’s little R&R arranged by command had landed them in a cozy, wood paneled room with a view of the slopes, a gas fireplace flickering in the corner, and two big beds pushed together into one.
Simon was propped up against a small mountain of pillows on that bed, his right leg suspended on extra cushions, a fresh white cast encasing it from ankle to mid thigh.
The doctors had been brisk but kind. Clean break, they’d said. Good alignment. He’d be fine, as long as he didn’t try to get up and fight a tree again.
Johnny hovered at the foot of the bed, hands useless at his sides as he tried to find a marker to sign Simon’s cast. He couldn't find one.
“You can come closer." Simon said dryly, watching him over the edge of his mask before he slid it off finally.
Johnny shuffled forward, guilt heavy in his chest. He plopped down on the mattress by Simon’s good leg, shoulders hunched.
“This is my fault.." he muttered. “All this. The tree situation. Your bone situation. The universe’s cruel sense of humour.”
“Johnny-”
“No, I mean it-" Johnny barreled on. “I was supposed to be keepin’ ye steady. I turned my back for, what, ten seconds? An’ ye go flyin’ off like an unguided missile. Ya trusted me. An’ now yer stuck in a bloody cast, an’ Price is gonna skin me, Gaz is gonna laugh his arse off, Laswell’s never gonna let me hear the end of it-"
“Johnny.”
The way Simon said his name, low, firm, cut through his spiral. Johnny looked up.
Simon’s eyes were tired but amused. “It’s not your fault.”
Johnny flailed a hand at the cast. “Evidence would suggest otherwise, love."
“First-” Simon said, holding up a gloved finger, “I agreed to go. Second, I agreed to strap myself to that torture device you call a snowboard. Third, I’m the one who started movin’ before you were ready. That’s on me.”
“You shouted my name." Johnny said, voice wobbling. “Like I’d let anythin’ happen to ya if I could help it. Like, like I wasn’t payin’ attention.”
“You weren’t payin’ attention." Simon said, eyes crinkling. “You were fixin’ your binding.”
Johnny made an inarticulate sound of protest.
“And still-" Simon went on, “first thing I saw, after that tree, was you comin’ down after me like a maniac. You didn’t run away. You didn’t panic. You crashed into me like an absolute muppet, but you came.”
Johnny blinked rapidly. His chest hurt, tight and hot.
“’Course I came." he muttered with a slight smirk on his lips. “Ye think I’d let ya face plant a tree alone?”
Simon’s gaze softened. "Unbelievable."
They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the heater and the crackle of the gas fireplace filling the space.
Then Simon shifted slightly, grimacing as the cast tugged. “I am going to kill you, though.”
Johnny’s head snapped up. “Wh- whoa...hey-"
“As soon as this comes off.." Simon continued calmly, “you’re a dead man, MacTavish.”
Johnny spluttered, torn between guilt and horrified laughter. “Ye can’t threaten murder with a hospital bracelet still on, that’s not fair-”
Simon’s eyes glinted. “You launched me at a tree.”
“I did not launch ya! Gravity launched ye, I jus'… provided the environment.”
“That’s accessory to attempted murder." Simon said, deadpan.
Johnny let out a choked laugh that surprised him, and once it started, it didn’t stop.
He laughed so hard his sides hurt, hands pressed over his face, shoulders shaking. It was all too much- the adrenaline, the fear, the sheer ridiculousness of it. Simon, unstoppable in combat, taken out by a beginner slope and some pine.
Tears pricked his eyes. He scrubbed at them with the back of his hand, still hiccupping out giggles.
Simon watched him, the corners of his eyes crinkling, something fond and aching pooled there.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, though he clearly knew.
Johnny sniffed, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I- oh, bloody hell- forgot to show ya somethin’.”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “If it’s a bill for the rental equipment-”
Johnny unlocked his phone, thumbs fumbling. “Nah. Better.”
He pulled up the video and turned the screen toward Simon.
On the tiny display, Simon saw himself at the top of the slope, stiff as a board on the board. Heard his own distant, wary murmur of “Johnny.” Watched in miniature as he started sliding.
Then the moment: the sudden lurch, the shout- “JOHNNY" deep and rough, like a battle cry with all the dignity stripped out of it.
The camera shook with Johnny’s hysterical cackling as Simon zoomed down the hill, somehow both majestic and utterly doomed. The tree grew bigger. Simon did not slow down.
The impact was spectacular.
In real life, it had been terrifying. In high definition replay, with Johnny’s breathless commentary, the squeal of the unicorn helmet kid and double take of the ski instructor, in the background, it was…
Simon snorted.
It was a low, surprised sound that he tried to swallow, which only made it funnier. His shoulders shook once.
Johnny’s laughter restarted instantly, loud and helpless. “The way ya shout my name...like I’ve personally betrayed ye..look at yer face-”
“Turn the sound off.." Simon managed, but the words were softened by a quiet, rumbling chuckle that Johnny felt more than heard. “Christ.”
Johnny wiped at his eyes again. “I can’t. It’s art. I’m puttin’ this in the Louvre. Or sendin’ it to Gaz. Or-”
“If you send that to anyone..." Simon said, but his voice held no real heat, “they’ll never find the body.”
Johnny dissolved into more giggles, laughter blurring into relieved tears. Simon reached out, the movement slow but careful, and closed his hand around Johnny’s wrist, grounding him.
“Hey-" he said softly.
Johnny looked up, eyes still wet, phone slipping lower in his hand.
“I’m alright-" Simon said. “It hurts like hell, but I’m alright. And I’m here. With you. In a warm bed. On leave.” His thumb brushed absent circles over Johnny’s pulse. “Could be worse.”
Johnny swallowed. “Ye could’ve… it could’ve been yer head.”
Simon shrugged one shoulder. “Wasn’t.”
Johnny held his gaze, something raw and unguarded sparking in his eyes.
“You are infuriatingly calm." he muttered.
“Occupational hazard.”
“And stupidly brave.”
“That one goes both ways.”
Johnny huffed out a breath. “And mad attractive, apparently, ’cause I’m sittin’ here all mushy over a man with a busted leg who just threatened to end my life.”
Simon’s mouth quirked. “Mushy, huh?”
“Soft, sentimental, disgustin’,” Johnny agreed. “All yer fault.”
Simon tugged lightly on his wrist. “C’mere, then. Be disgustin’ closer.”
Johnny snorted but scooted up the bed carefully, avoiding the cast. He braced one hand by Simon’s shoulder, the other still holding the phone, which he dropped onto the duvet.
Their faces were close now, Johnny knee pressed against his good thigh, his breath warm and a little shaky.
“Still gonna murder me after this?” Johnny asked, voice dropping, a teasing lilt trying to mask the emotion thick in it.
“Mm.."Simon hummed.
“Postponin’ it. Gotta let the leg heal first. Can’t chase you otherwise.”
Johnny smiled, small and bright. “I’d let ye catch me, y’know.”
“Yeah." Simon said quietly. “I know.”
He tilted his head, closing the distance. The kiss was slow, careful,no rush, no frantic edge. Just the press of lips, the soft brush of Johnny’s nose against his, the taste of winter air and the faint hint of the hot chocolate they’d grabbed on the way back from the clinic.
Johnny sighed into it, the sound full bodied, like a long, frayed nerve finally allowed to rest. His hand slid up to Simon’s cheek, calloused thumb grazing the faint stubble and scars there.
Simon’s fingers curled in the fabric of Johnny’s hoodie, holding him close. The pain in his leg didn’t disappear, but it faded into the background, overshadowed by the warmth pressed against his side.
They broke apart eventually, foreheads touching.
“Y’know.." Johnny murmured, breath ghosting over Simon’s lips, “we could jus'… stay in the room tomorrow. Order room service. Watch terrible movies. Not tempt fate wit' any more sports.”
“Thought you wanted to go snowboarding again.." Simon said.
Johnny shuddered dramatically. “Absolutely not. The slopes have claimed enough Rileys for one trip.”
Simon’s eyes crinkled. “Alright. We’ll stay in, not much I could do anyway. I’ll milk this for all it’s worth though. You’ll have to bring me food, drinks, remote, everything. I’ll be unbearable.”
Johnny grinned, relief shining through. “You’re already unbearable, love."
“Yeah.." Simon said, tightening his hold just slightly. “I am.”
Outside, the resort lights twinkled against the snowy slopes, distant laughter carrying on the cold air. Inside, wrapped in warmth and a shared blanket, the chaos of the day softened into something they’d laugh about for years.
Johnny picked up the phone again and replayed the video, this time with both of them watching.
“Oh, that’s goin’ on my lock screen!” Johnny said reverently.
“Johnny.”
“What? It’s a masterpiece.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Ye love me.”
Simon glanced at him sidelong, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah.." he said quietly. “Unfortunately, I do.” Simon teased quietly.
Johnny’s grin gentled. He leaned in, kissing him again, softer this time, smiling against his mouth.
“Even wit' tha' broken leg?” he murmured.
“Especially with the broken leg.." Simon replied. “Gives me an excuse to keep you close.”
Johnny settled against him, careful of the cast, tucking himself into Simon’s side like he’d been built to fit there.
“Joke’s on ya-" he said, eyes drifting shut, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him. “I was gonna stay close anyway.”
Simon huffed a small, contented laugh, fingers carding lazily through Johnny’s hair.
“Good." he whispered, kissed the top of Johnny's forehead then let his own eyes drift shut slowly. "Wouldn't want it any other way." He muttered slowly with sleep.