Somewhere deep inside Skybase, a pair of voices echoed in the distance—sharp, hurried, coming closer.
"Captain Scarlet, report to Command deck—repeat, immediate request—Captain Scarlet?"
But he wasn't answering.
Because right now, he was very much off the radar.
"I can't believe they fell for it," Destiny whispered, tucked into the narrow warmth of a disused sensor alcove, hidden behind one of Skybase's less traveled maintenance corridors.
"I can," Scarlet replied dryly. "Rhapsody could sell ice on Venus."
"Melody helped, too," Destiny added with a grin. "She told Lieutenant Silver I was helping with a malfunctioning comm array. She panicked and ran."
Scarlet arched a brow. "She's never going to let you forget that."
"I know. Worth it."
It had started as a joke. Scarlet—exhausted, harassed by back-to-back alerts, cornered at every turn—and Destiny, grounded by admin duties and desperately in need of escape.
Then Harmony passed her a folded note like they were in school, complete with the words 'Deck 7. Storage N6. 1400 hours. Bring him.' No signature, just a tiny smiley face and an 'x.'
She'd found Scarlet before the next alarm and said, "We're disappearing."
He hadn't argued.
Now they stood in the tight hush of the forgotten space, one strip of auxiliary lighting casting them in dim gold. Metal walls. Low hum. Close.
Too close to ignore.
Destiny leaned back against the bulkhead, looking up at him with a mix of triumph and mischief.
"I think this makes us fugitives."
"Temporary," Scarlet murmured, stepping just a fraction nearer. "The Colonel will forgive us. Eventually."
"And if he doesn't?"
He smiled. That smile.
"I've been through worse."
For a moment, the pressure lifted. They weren't Captain Scarlet and Destiny Angel, poster faces of Spectrum. They were Paul and Simone. No call signs. No protocols. Just two people trying to breathe in a world that never stopped.
She reached for his collar, tugging it lightly, fingertips grazing the soft edge of his jaw.
"You know they're doing this for us," she said, voice softer now. "The girls."
"I know."
"I don't think they realise how dangerous it is—giving us five uninterrupted minutes."
His lips brushed hers, barely.
"They'll find out soon enough."
The kiss deepened like a wave crashing slow and certain, not rushed—never rushed—but full of everything they never got to say aloud. All the moments missed between missions, all the half-smiles across briefing rooms, the aching pauses in corridors.
Scarlet kissed her like time had no bearing.
And for a moment, it didn't.
Eventually, they came up for air, breathless and close.
Destiny let her forehead rest against his. "You taste like stolen time."
He smirked. "Better than ration coffee."
Their comms crackled again—this time Rhapsody's voice.
"Scarlet? Destiny? Just a heads-up: Blue's on your trail. You've got maybe three minutes before he tries to check Deck 7."
Destiny clicked her mic. "Copy that. Just finishing a 'systems check.'"
A pause.
"Gross," said Rhapsody. "Hurry up."
They slipped back into their uniforms with regret and quiet grins.
As they stepped into the corridor, back into the spotlight of command, Scarlet glanced sideways.
"We need to disappear more often."
Destiny smiled. "We'll just need the right cover story."
"Think the Angels are up for it again?"
"Please. They're already planning the next one."