Summary: You strike gold on a supply run and make sure that Simon knows about it.
Warnings: N/A.
Prompt: C is for COOKIES.
A/N: No excuses, I just wanted to write some short, mindless fluff. This is pretty short but because the letter D is gonna be pretty long!
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He's working on his truck when you come barrelling through The Sanctuary's front gate.
"Simonnn!" you call as you skid to a stop just in front of him, a wide grin on your face. You're usually bright and peppy, but this is a lot, even for you. Some Saviours stare, though quickly move on with their own tasks.
"Hello!" he greets jovially, holding his hands up in front of you. They're dark, covered in oil, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his tan skin reaping the benefits of the blazing sun. "I'd hug ya like we're in one of those sappy rom-coms, but alas–" he remarks facetiously, waggling his fingers at you, and you spare him a nudge before slinging your bag over your shoulder so that it's facing forward. You're barely able to keep still, bouncing on the balls of your feet as the excitement courses through you.
"Guess what I found, oh my God, guess what I FOUND!"
Simon laughs a little, one eyebrow arching. He's never seen you this hyperactive before. In small doses, he finds it so endearing that it almost makes him angry. "What?"
Wordlessly, you tear the zip of your rucksack open in one impressive downward arch, revealing the contents of your bag.
A single pack of cookies. Everything else you'd handed to your teammates to take stock of. You'll join them eventually– you don't expect them to do your job for you– but this was a detour you just had to take.
"No shit…" Simon murmurs, brown eyes going wide with wonder.
"I know, right?!" You can't contain yourself; you spin in a circle and perform a little jig, your rucksack quivering with the movement. "They fell down the back of a shelving unit. Must've constituted as a 'dry place'."
"Guess it's your lucky day," Simon says, leaning against the front of his vehicle. Something about his pose makes him look younger to you in that moment; ruggedly handsome in a quiet way. "Maybe. Depending on the expiration date."
He'd expected some sort of mad dash to check, but all you do is smirk wider.
"They're good for another two months and eight days," you tell him, looking proud of yourself, and he supposes he can't be mad. Sometimes he really does underestimate your mind simply because you're so kind; it can come across as airheaded on occasion. "I'm so happy."
"Couldn't tell," quips Simon, his grin large and goofy as he watches you pull the glued edges of the packaging apart. He wants to ask if you're actually allowed to do that, if you should be putting them in the pantry with all the other goods, but the sweet scent that wafts out distracts him entirely. To hell with it. He'll put his name down for one of them if he has to.
He can't remember the last time he smelled chocolate. He's always had a little bit of a sweet tooth, even before the turn, and he'd be lying if he said he isn't thrilled to see something like this again. Without his say so, his mouth becomes wet, pupils contracting like a cat's. The cookies sit in a row of eight, neatly arranged in standing formation, circular and perfect. Chocolate chips bulge from their exteriors like ornamental buttons on a coat.
He reaches out to take one, only to have his hand slapped away.
"Ex-cuse me…?" Disbelief; a smile tugging at one side of his mouth as he stares at you bewildered.
"Don't put your grease-covered hands in my cookie-box!" you chastise, reaching into the packet and pulling one from it.
"It's oil, actua– mmph–"
You feed a cookie into his mouth, effectively silencing his smart rebuttal. He's staring at you hard, but it's difficult to look intimidating when you've got half a biscuit hanging out of your mouth - and when you're tasting chocolate for the first time in only god knows how long. It registers on his face quite like a high does to an addict. It's a little hard, cutting it so close to the expiry date, but it does very little to negate the flavour.
His hand paws blindly along the hood of his truck until he comes into contact with the rag he'd brought with him, cleaning his hands to the best of his ability before finally plucking the snack from between his lips. It breaks in half, and his mouth immediately fills with gooey chocolate chunks.
"I'll thank you to not do that," he says after he's swallowed, though there's no real malice behind it. His eyes are twinkling. The candy's made him soft.
"You'll thank me for feeding you without charge," you tease, feeling accomplished as he tosses his head back and laughs.
"You'd never charge me."
"Maybe I should start. You probably have a lot of nice stuff in that swanky right-hand room." But he's right. You don't have the balls to charge him, even if you wanted to. "Anyway, I have to take an inventory of all the stuff I found, so I'll see you later!"
"Don't work too hard," Simon calls after you as you run towards the factory. He'll never understand how you're so full of energy, especially not after a run, but it benefits everyone greatly. Sometimes, when the mood is right, it's hard to remember that you're that same timid woman that cowers when he gets intense. For better or for worse, you've wormed your way in, made The Sanctuary a little brighter.
