you tell simon you’re pregnant with his third child.
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Your third child with Simon: a story told over the phone. On a busy, frantic morning at the barracks, Simon had barely pulled himself a minute to stand aside and return your missed call.
“Everythin’ alright?” His words composed, although every time you phoned he liked to imagine the worst. Stood a good distance from his unit, hand clutching onto the opposite bicep with a habitual frown. “You phoned.” His jaw tight, the heel of his boot digging into the dirt beneath with a stomp.
“Yeah, yeah no, all fine.” You were spitting the words, pacing around your kitchen and haphazardly tidying with the phone snug between your shoulder and ear.
Simon shifted. “So. What is it?” You could hear the loud bustle of masculine laughter from far away on the other line, the uniformed men audibly walking past your husband.
There wasn’t a break between his words and your own, “I’m pregnant again.” You said without much gusto, as if this was routine by the third child and a few scares. “And I um, I don’t know how.” His silence on the line was briefly penetrated by a murmur of his own confusion, the sound of his weight shifting against the dirt beneath him.
“D’you want me to come back?” His dry tone wasn’t met with an answer, the pair of you in silent thought for when this could’ve happened. “I’d need to know, now, ‘cause—“
“No. I don’t need you back.” You cut him off, gaining a grunt of acknowledgment on the other end. “I just wanted to tell you.”
“Do you want it?”
A long sigh came. “Do you?”
The sound of crunching dirt grew louder as someone approached and you knew he wouldn’t answer you now. “Can I phone you back, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah. No rush,” Simon forcefully grabbed Soap’s shoulder as he walked past, pulling him to the side. “Just think about it though.” You continued, Johnny staring at the silencing gesture Ghost had held up, his finger mere centimetres from the Sergeants face.
“I will, I will.” He glared at Soap, brows fixed into a frown at his lieutenants nods. “Yeah, yeah, right bye.” His eye contact was ditched. “Love you, bye.” The phone hastily shoved back into his pocket, hands on his hips.
“Well?” Soap snorted. “What’s this about?”
“She’s pregnant. Again.”
Johnny’s brows shot upward, smile intruding his face, and leaning back to clap his hands together in amusement. “Christ, Lt. ‘Yous fucking like rabbits when you’re home, eh?”
“Fucking keep it down.” Ghost warned.
“So what’s the deal?” Soap rubbed his face, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No idea how it happened.”
“Well, I assume the shagging had something to do with it.” His joke forced a laugh from Simon, shaking his head and lifting the bottom of his balaclava to rub at his jaw. “A third kid, mate. Can you hack it?”
Simon shrugged.
“Could be a boy.” Soap said absently, receiving a face of sarcastic agreement. Everyone knew Simon was never having a boy, the nurses especially were the first to say as much all those years ago. “Just go home. Talk in person.”
“I’ll phone her.”
And that was Johnny’s cue to leave, nodding once before taking backwards steps. Simon turned around, dialling the number with his eyes to the floor, absently nudging the dirt around with his boots. “Yep.” You answered, clearly still in your busy state.
“I’ll come back.” He murmured.
“No. You’re going away—“
“For three months.” His bite wasn’t intentional. “And by then it’ll be an issue.” The logical side of his brain was forever more in tune than its emotional counterpart. “So let’s just sort it now, yeah?”
And that you did, resulting in the birth of a third child nine months down the line. Miraculously, he was even there for the birth. His first and probably last out of your three children, and god was that an experience. He hadn’t known what to expect but what he came out with was the knowledge that childbirth is seemingly more traumatic than anything he had ever seen on the field. And that was impressive.
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Readijg through Dad!Simon stuff, and I had a thought.
You just *know* that if Soap had a son, and if that son and Si's daughter ended up dating, Si would be a million times worse on the kid than he ever would be on a random boy.
oh dude 1 zillion percent. and when it gets brought up as an idea that’s the reason he’s being like that he chews it up and spits it out
Jake Gyllenhaal’s Detective Loki is a little too hot like what the fuck do you mean you’re angry all the time, have tattoos everywhere, hair slicked back and when you’re angry it becomes beautifully dishevelled and strands fall over your face what do you mean
Code name Hawk for you seemingly had eyes like one. Able to pick out a man from miles away, the glint of a lazily tucked dog tag, shine of a boot or pearlescent haze of non-issued sunglasses.
“Visual, Hawk?” Your lieutenant had asked down comms, his voice tepid amongst others in the branch.
“Visual.” You confirmed, your rifle and breath stilling.
“Hit ‘em. Short and sweet.” Ghost mumbled, his own rifle pointed toward the same collection of people.
Ten seconds of silence passed before the sound of a pop echoed against the red-stone valleys your team sat atop. “Easy.” He said simply, “Stand down for further order.”
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