A John "Soap" MacTavish / Simon "Ghost Riley TheLastofUsAu
// General Warnings for Graphic Depictions of Violence, Zombies, Apocalypse Setting, Nightmares, Side Character Death, Family Member Death, Grief, and Body Horror(There's a Happy Ending I swear lol)
With so little knowledge to go on, he could really be riding into anything, a pack of runners, clickers, refugees seeking shelter, or a band of marauders ready to kill all that stand in their way. A bit of wishful thinking tells him that it really could just be nothing, and that this surveying of the area is all for naught. The practical side of his brain screams at him that this is a bad idea, screams that the scars lining his body ought to serve as a reminder for him of the dangers lingering out there, waiting for him…
Simon shudders.
Whatever it is that he'll be rushing into, he'll need to remain vigilant, keep an eye on his surroundings and stay light on his feet.
There’s no telling what sort of monsters he could be coming up against.
************
“Hmm... Got any fours?"
Alex clicks his tongue, giving him a look of pity. "Afraid not my friend. Go fish.”
“Ahh, come ON! Yer kidding me!? Agaain?!”
-Explicit
-Longfic, Slowburn, Angst w/ a happy ending, It gets real dark before it gets real better
(Very) Sporadic Updates coming to Tumblr, Twitter, and eventually Ao3!
It happened so fast, Johnny wasn't even sure if he had seen it right. But then a few seconds later, there it was again! A small dot jumped up right above Simon's lip before disappearing. He silently watched the man's face, looking for any acknowledgment behind the mask. But there was none. Simon's eyes continued to scan over the documents he was in the middle of signing off.
Johnny had been sitting on the edge of Simon's bed silently drawing away while the other man worked at his desk. About an hour ago, he decided to switch up his sketches of guns and other paraphernalia and moved on to one of his favorite subjects, Ghost.
The Scotsman would devote himself to mapping out every one of Simon's features. There were pages dedicated to sketches of his hands, his arms, his shoulders, and his back. His eyes and the way light bounced off of his eyelashes.
It was in the middle of one of these sketches, Johnny sneakily glancing over at the lieutenant when the movement caught his eye. Simon's mask was pulled taught over his face. Today's black fabric was a more form-fitting material which allowed him to make out more of Simon's face. The fabric was probably what allowed Johnny to see the movement as the Brit absentmindedly scratched at his chin. He grunted to himself, scratching off a line in the papers and there it was again!
The mask poked up along the corner of his mouth before running across his lips and dropping back down again. It finally clicked for Johnny when the dot was held out in place while Ghost sighed and drew his lips together in a grimace.
Simon stuck his tongue out when he was concentrating.
It took everything in Johnny not to giggle the next time he saw his lieutenant's tongue dart out across his upper lip. It must not have been enough because Simon looks up from his paper for the first time in an hour and shoots him a sideway glance.
"Something funny, Sergeant?"
Johnny tries to play it cool, hopes Simon doesn't note the way he freezes in his stare. "No....was just admiring the view, tha's all."
Simon's eyes narrow into a glare. With another sigh he drops his pen down on the table and spins his chair around to face him. "Alright, c'mon MacTavish. Out with it. What's on your mind?"
Awh crap. He's really in for it now. "And how do ye know I-"
"Johnny, you and I both know that at this point, we know each other inside and out. I can /SEE/ that you have something spinning around in that head of yours." He gestures to his forehead, rotating his fingers around imitating a cog wheel turning. "So out with it. I know you're itching to say something and I can't focus on my work until you've got it outta your system."
Well, if this is how he dies, let it be known that John "Soap" MacTavish died a soldier's death. Valiantly going where no man dared to cross before. He'll leave behind a legacy of bravery, dedication, and sacrifice.
"You know ye lick yer lips when you're concentrating?"
...
.....
"Fuuucking hell Johnny..." Simon drags his hands over his face, stopping to rub circles at his temple. "Is that what you were so focused on?" he asks, with amusement dripping into his voice.
"Well I was just surprised by it!"
"You're unbelievable."
"What?! I think it's endearing! I just couldn't tell what I was looking at with the mask." He pauses, considering his next question before going forward with it anyway. "Do ye taste yer mask when ye do tha'?"
"Alright, that's enough of that Johnny," he barks out. Simon turns back to his paperwork.
Part of Johnny worries that he may have made him feel self-conscious. But he sneaks another glance at the man, and he can see the telltale sign of a smile playing on his lips. The crinkle in his eye and the deep, low rumble of a laugh as he shakes his head let's him know it's fine. A smile starts to form on Johnny's own face. He opens his journal and flips back to the sketch he was working on.
And not five minutes later, he spots that tongue dart out again. And he absolutely puts everything he has into capturing it on paper.
....................
I'm still pretty new to writing so please excuse any errors. I felt inspired after watching Samuel Roukin's livestream yesterday. I love giving characters benign ticks and I am now a firm believer that Ghost also flicks his tongue out when he's concentrating.
18+ MDNI
John "Soap MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley
Size difference lovers come get ya'll's juice! Basically just Simon being too big for Johnny and Johnny losing himself on Simon.
Hope ya'll enjoy <3
They had been going at it for over an hour now, Simon slowly working Johnny open on the ends of his fingers, pulling all kinds of moans out of the sergeant. He had worked two, then three fingers inside of him, brushing them against his prostate and reveling in the way he arched back against his hand.
"Lt.... c'mon already! I can take it!" Aggravation seeped into Johnny's voice as he egged him on. Simon chuckled to himself.
"Patience, baby. Gotta take it nice and slow," he dragged out the last vowel in tune with the rhythm of his fingers. "We don't want to hurt you now, do we?" He punctuated the question by pressing down on Johnny's insides. The man yelped into the pillow he had fisted under him, another shameless groan getting muffled by the fabric.
"Fucking bastard," he had sighed into the sheets. Simon continued working him open until, finally, his partner relaxed into the sheets. The breaths escaping his chest having slowed down and his back and shoulders finally resting onto the mattress. Ever the impatient man, the lieutenant often found himself having to reign Johnny in, lest he hurt himself in his eagerness. This usually resulted in Simon working him over until he melted into his touch hours into the night. And enduring several complaints along the way.
He reached back for another pump of the lube, most of the bottle's contents already used on the sergeant's hole. As he pulled the thick digits out of him, Simon felt his own dick throb at the sight of Johnny's hairy ass open and clenching at the air, practically begging for something to clamp down on. With Johnny a pliant, open mess under him, Simon finally lined himself up and slowly pushed at his entrance.
The head of his cock was gradually enveloped by the tight warmth, both men openly moaning into the space at the sensation. Simon reached around to hold one of Johnny’s arm behind his back, grabbing and holding onto his hand. He used the ferocity of Johnny's grip to gauge when it became too much for the sergeant. More often than not, he'd become an incoherent mess of cries and whining during this next part.
Now, Johnny wasn't inexperienced by any means. In fact, when flirting between the two had veered further beyond the line of what was deemed appropriate between colleagues, he would proudly purr into Simon's ear about how he'd wrap himself all along Simon's length. The cocky arrogance and lopsided smirk thrown his way would send Simon into a tailspin out on the field.
All that arrogance went out the window though when Johnny, at last, got his hands on Simon's cock. Johnny was a sizeable man in his own right, tall and defined with muscles covering every inch of him. But next to Simon, he nearly looked like a dwarf. Simon TOWERED over him, with just as if not MORE muscle than him. He easily tossed him around on the training field, his hoodies draped over his arms and legs, and his hands completely shrouded his. And the daunting length and girth of his cock sent shivers down Johnny's spine. It took both his hands to wrap around it, left him gasping and chocking when he tried to swallow it, and honestly just did not fit in him yet.
It had been a work in progress trying to get him used to all the length. Johnny kept trying to apologize when they first started, but Simon shushed him every time. He'd damned-well tried his hardest, and he had been such a good, pliant lover with him. Simon was just simply too BIG for Johnny.
Despite that, they'd made good progress so far. The gradual push into him went smoother and smoother each time. Simon's hand kneaded circles into Johnny's hip as he steadily thrust forward. His hand seized every so often and Simon stilled to let him adjust, deep guttural moans escaping Johnny's lips.
They make it to about halfway down his cock before he feels Johnny's hand shoot up to grab his wrist. "Fuck, hold on! Don't--Agh!"
"Y'Alright? Need me to pull out?" Simon freezes, not wanting to add to the sensitivity by moving.
"Nae, nae. Just...--Ah, fuckin' Christ Si." He sits up on all fours, looking back at Simon and lets out a drained laugh. "Ah'm good. Just give me a second."
He gets a hum in response. "Take as much time as you need." A soft grin spreads across Simon's face as he locks eyes with his sergeant. His hair sticks out in various places and there's a light layer of sweat on his forehead. But there's still that bright glint in his eye reserved just for him.
He doesn't dare move, but /fuck/ is it tempting with the way he stares back at him. His breathing evens out and Simon drinks in the view of him leaning back down. Broad, muscled back giving way to the lithe dips of his waist, and coming down to the built, round ass currently clutched onto the better half of him.
He allows his hands to roam over Johnny's body, lets out a low groan as he fondles the tanned flesh. God, even his hands seem to make the man look smaller. Black skeleton gloves nearly able to cover the entire expanse of his ass.
"You're so perfect for me, Johnny." Simon cups his right cheek, slaps down on the meat of it before rubbing the irritated skin. "Why don't you take over for a bit, hm? Show me how much you love riding this cock for me."
It sounds like it's a go if the wanton moan Johnny lets out is anything go by. Simon chuckles as he watches Johnny start to rock back against him, his fist curling under him and finding his own dick to stroke. The hot, slick hole slowly rises to the head before achingly bearing slowly back down on him. His hole strains around the girth, sheathing and locking him into the warm, velvet embrace. They both lose themselves in the sensation as Johnny begins to fervently lose himself on Simon's cock.
"Yeah, that's it love. So good for me..." Simon's groans hit a new pitch when the angle is switched and his head presses along his inner walls. What they may lack when it comes to accommodating his body, Johnny more than a hundred times makes over for in enthusiasm. It doesn't even matter that he can't take the full length right now. He's a man of many skills, and he knows how to make the lieutenant see stars in a matter of minutes regardless.
Besides, he has to admit that part of him finds the thought that he's too much to be so fucking hot. Some perverted part of his brain turned on by the thought that he's breaking Johnny in. Revels in watching the rim of him stretch beyond its limits around his cock, the tears and spit falling down his chin from the exertion of wrapping his lips around him, and the way he leaves him a gaping, open mess afterwards.
And God, does Johnny love it too, evidenced by the way he keeps coming back for more. Spurred on by promises murmured over comms, making it his mission to take him in even further than last time. Nearly hurting himself in his haste. It almost feels like he's corrupting him in a way. Here he is, a bright beacon of joy and sunshine to everyone he comes across. He lights up any room he walks in with his charm and good looks. He could have anybody he wants, find love with anyone more suited for him. And yet here he was, losing his mind with Simon, the Ghost, of all people. Crying and moaning so loudly on a dick far too large for him that anybody walking by in the hallway would hear them. Hear the way his happy-go-lucky sergeant was splitting himself open on just a fraction of his full length.
Simon firmly gripes his waist, hands nearly wrapping all the way around him and carefully bucks forward against his body, testing the waters and gauging his reaction. Immediately, his body shivers underneath him. Simon moves barely an inch more into Johnny and the loud cry he lets out pitches up into a gasp. It takes little to no effort on his part to overwhelm the sergeant and have him crying into the pillow. Simon can't help but feel a sense of pride fill his chest, his ego being stroked by the whines that leave Johnny's lips. He splays his hand out onto Johnny's back and leans over him.
"Fucking hell Johnny, do you hear yourself? Practically broken on only half of me." Simon can feel the deep groan rumble throughout Johnny's chest in response.
He wraps his arms around his front and leans them both back to sit back against his chest, his upper body trapping the sergeant. "Makes me wonder how wrecked you'll sound when I finally get all the way inside you." Simon licks and nips at the curve of his neck and starts thrusting into Johnny.
"Holy Fuuck S-Si," he whimpers. One of Johnny's hand claws at Simon's forearms, the other reaching behind and try to find purchase. His right hand finds Simon's neck and cards through his hair, tugging a fistful of it with every thrust.
"Fuck Lt--so fucking big-Ah!" His voice falters as Simon slides his hand down between his legs, giving him a few playful swirls around the head before starting a rhythmic pace.
"You love it though," he remarks.
"Ahh, yeah I do. Want ye to fucking break me with it." The challenge elicits a possessive growl out of Simon. "Don't tempt me, sergeant."
Said sergeant actually has the gall to look back at him with a brazen stare. "Try me, Lt." There's a fire hidden behind those eyes as he winks and bucks into his grasp.
Goddamn snarky bastard.
Simon fulfills his request by sliding his grip down to his hips and knocking that sly grin on his face off with the drive of his thrust. Johnny began to howl and shout his name as Simon jackhammers as much as he can into him. He braces one palm onto the bed while the other goes back to his now abandoned dick jumping below them. He's unabashedly whining at the continued onslaught, sinfully arching his body towards Simon's touch.
"Taking that cock so--fucking--well for me, Johnny!" Each syllable was punctuated by another slam into him.
"Fuuck Si! I-Ah'--Ah!" The sergeant was becoming more and more of a sniveling mess by the minute. Tears streamed down his face and he had nearly ripped a hole in the bedspread from clawing at it.
Another few minutes of the bombardment and Johnny's head began to loll forward, the man seeming to lose a bit of strength. He had half the mind to stop and check on him, his pace faltering for a moment to give Johnny a breather. "Johnny? You solid?"
It took another bated breath for him to turn and face behind him. Johnny's hair was in a complete disarray, water pooled in his tear ducts, and his blown out pupils were lined with red. He looked like he was in shambles. But yet, he was still able to give a cocky smirk over his shoulder.
"Mhm, hell yeah Lt. Don't want t' stop til ye've finished off inside me," he teased. The sight of the man with his tear-streaked face bucking backwards on his dick was downright obscene. "Wanna feel ye pump yer load inside me."
"Fucking Christ.."
If there was any trepidation left in Simon's body, it was gone now. He picked up a fierce rhythm, pumping unforgivingly while the other man lost it on him. They were unabashed in their chase of ecstasy, letting every moan that rose in them fill the room. Johnny especially was being shameless with the sounds that escaped him, the creaking of the metal bed frame and his shrieks having a competition on who could be the loudest. At the rate he was going, he'd probably wake the whole base up with his shouting and pleas for more.
Not that either of them cared at this point, teetering too far close to the edge to care about anything else other than the friction between them. Simon chases after the feeling, swaying his pelvis to grind down on Johnny's prostate. The unrelenting pressure on that sweet spot finally sends him over the edge, face falling onto the bed and biting down on the pillow. His orgasm causes him to clamp down on Simon, his hole becoming impossibly tighter. It's not long after that he follows suit right behind him. He pushes in as deep as Johnny's body will allow him and rides out the wave after wave of searing pleasure.
It takes them a few minutes of labored breathing before they're ready to move. Johnny's the first to break, gradually getting more antsy and slowly pulling himself up. Simon helps pull himself out, sitting back on his heels to watch the way his spent dick leaves Johnny's hole gaping open. He watches a string of his load steadily spill out of him and drip onto the sheets. Simon grabs a handful of his ass and leans down, lapping up the remainder that continues to fall. The act sends shivers through Johnny's body.
"Alright ye fuckin' horn-dog, ease up," the voice that comes out sounds particularly rough. He languidly rolls over and laughs into the palm of his hand as he looks back at Simon. "So, how far'd we get that time?" he asks. Simon looks down at his half-hard erection and points to where he made it, a shy smirk on his face. His fingers point to a little past the halfway point, just under three quarters of the way down.
Johnny groans out of frustration. "Ah, come on! Tha's ridiculous. What the hell was yer mother feeding you!?" They both break at the outburst, Johnny's face lights up at the way Simon throws back his head in a full body laugh.
"Hey, you did pretty good, Soap! We'll get there someday, we've got plenty a' time."
"Not before ye kill me with that fuckin' thing," he playfully knocks his leg into Simon's side. He reaches for a glass of water on the nightstand while Simon laughs at him, downing most of the water in one go. "Steamin' Jesus Si. Ah'm gonna be walking bow-legged all week!"
The lieutenant just shakes his head, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as he falls down to straddle the man's side. "Believe you were the one that asked for that. 'Want Ye to break me in' if I'm not mistaken?" Simon plays up the Scottish accent in his mocking tone.
"Awh, shut up and go to sleep ya bampot," the name-calling is emphasized by an elbow to the side. It doesn't hold much strength though, as the Scotsman's eyes are already drooping from exhaustion.
Simon squeezes Johnny into his side, hums with delight as he rests his head on his chest. "Alright, alright, I'll quit teasing you." He presses a kiss to the top of his mohawk. "G'night love." Johnny barely manages to murmur a good night before he's already out cold.
Simon gradually relaxes into the mattress, relishing in the endorphins coursing through his body and gently stroking his lover's back. As fatigue finally begins to overtake him, he reminisces on the whirlwind that is Johnny. Behind closed eyes, he secretly thanks the universe for dropping this mad little ball of trouble into his life.
And he thanks the universe for letting him ruin him time and time again.
"I'm aware, Johnny," Ghost spoke with a tint of annoyance in his voice.
The meerkat perched on Ghost turned towards Soap, eyeing him up and down as if judging him, daring him to encroach upon his newly claimed territory.
Soap snickered at the beady eyes that raked over his form. The animal then turned its attention back towards Ghost. It sniffed around the black balaclava, nudged the fabric with its nose, and even lightly nipped at his head a couple of times. "Looks like the wee thing has taken a shine to ya," Soap teased.
"Well, that makes two pests who like getting in my hair," Ghost spat back. Soap would've kicked his side if it weren't for the little guy. "Just focus on the task Soap, it'll move on its own."
The meerkat decided to step right on the top of Simon's head then, balancing on its back legs and raising its snout into the air.
"I dunno Ghost, doesn't like yer little friend doesn't plan on leaving ya anytime soon."
"He'll move," Ghost huffed.
The said friend seemed to have no intention on leaving, it spun in several circles before curling itself into a ball, nestling itself smack dab in the center of his head and letting out a content sigh. Soap failed to contain the laughter bubbling out of him. Damn, if only he brought a camera!
"Not another word, Johnny. I'd hate to have to reprimand you over a fucking rodent," Ghost threatened with his signature harsh tone. The words didn't hold as much weight as they usually did, though, not with the fuzzy little critter sitting comically on top of him like it owned the place. "Eyes up Sergeant, targets on the move. Need you in position next to me."
Soap lifted his rifle and got down onto the ground, lining his scope up along the horizon, same as Ghost. "Can do sir... Well, /sirs/."
Ghost sighed next to him, but let the joke slide. His focus was drawn towards the complex now, the pair of soldiers tasked with keeping overwatch on the arms dealer while Price and Gaz snuck through the facility, disabling the security measures in place before kicking things off.
Minutes of scanning the buildings slowly bled into an hour. Soap occasionally shuffled a limb or two, shook his hands to get blood flow circulating again. Ghost on the other hand, lay stock still, not moving a centimeter as he remained vigilant. Soap could just see the small brown lump still fast asleep in the same spot as before if he turned his head just enough to the left.
He was halfway through a debate in his head of the pros and cons of reaching over and petting the little rascal when the crackle of comms rang through their headsets.
"A team to B team, sorry it took so long. The general pulled out all the stops on this shithole. You boys still eyes up?" Price's voice came through.
"In position, confirm visual on the target," Ghost responded.
"Alright lads, then let's get this party started. On your go," Price ordered.
"Copy. Soap, if you've got a shot, take it."
"Roger that. To Hell with this bastard," Soap held in a deep breath, lined his sights up on the target, and pulled the trigger.
*Pop*
The sound rolled across the hills and down the valley. As Soap watched the body in the distance fall to the ground, he saw several furry critters dash along the ground in front of them. Soap's eyes widened, he turned to the side just in time to see the lieutenant brush off another pair of meerkats off his back. The fuzzy little guys darted along the dirt, burrowing into one of the clusters of holes a few feet behind them.
Ghost dusted himself off and nudged Soap with his foot. "No time for a nap, Sergeant. Still need to rendezvous with Gaz and Price. On me."
Soap stumbled after the man as he trotted off towards the growing gunfire. "What happened back there?" he asked. "I thought there was just the one back there with us?"
Ghost shrugged. "Guess our lookout point was already occupied."
"Yeah, by a whole fucking apartment complex by the looks of things! How many did ya have laying on ye?"
"I stopped counting after the seventh."
Seven? Soap only saw the one! Well now he's definitely kicking himself for not sneaking a peak back at the man. It must've been a sight to see the big, scary Lt being huddled into by a whole family of little meerkats.
"Go ahead, say whatever stupid one-liner you're dying to say."
Ghost was met with a devilish grin. "Wha', I'd never! Honestly Si, ye've got to give me more credit. I wouldn't dare disrespect one a' the Disney princesses such as yerself! Never took ye for the talking to animals type, but I can't say I'm too surprised."
The lieutenant's shoulders shook as he breached through one of the buildings. "Funny. Room's clear. So here's the plan, we move from structure to structure, use the buildings for cover as needed. We head north towards the meetup point and provide cover for A team, got me?"
"Sounds like a plan," Soap said, gun drawn on the roofline.
"Good. Let's watch each other's six, yeh? Don't want any surprises on our asses."
"Always." Can't have anything happen to that ass of yours, now can we? Soap doesn't voice that last part. Instead, he sneaked a glance at his commanding officer's backside as they step out under the streetlight.
The sight that had greeted him nearly had him doubled over in laughter. Thin, light hairs covered nearly every inch of Ghost's backside, the tan fur stood in stark contrast to the black clothing he wore. The worst of it though was quite literally on his ass, it seemed he wasn't the only one with a disposition for his Lt's behind, seeing as his ass was completely white with the clumps of fur stuck to him.
"Johnny! We're in the open here, unless you wanna get shot again I suggest you get a grip on yourself and focus!" Ghost half-whispered, half-shouted at him as they crossed the street.
In the light, Soap could see the glint of fur falling off of Ghost as he spat out his words. Oh come on! How is he supposed to keep a straight face through the rest of the mission with that happening?
"Ri- Right, sir. Sorry, I'll behave, promise."
"Mmm," Ghost glared at him from behind the mask. "Right, well keep your head straight Johnny. Need to know I can count on you to have my six."
"Aye, ye can count on me."
"Good." The man gave him one last once over before climbing through an opening in a fence on their left.
A tuft of fur clung to the twisted wire in his wake. Soap chuckled to himself. Seems both he and half the animal kingdom out here had his six.
~~~~~~~~~~
Okay but I need you all to picture like 15 of these little guys sitting on Ghost while he's prone with his sniper. With at least 5 or 6 piled onto his ass
Thinking of Soap and Ghost coming back from a mission gone south, shell shocked and just needing the touch of another human to ebb away the horrors of the things they saw. It's emotional and uncoordinated as the two fall into bed, fumbling out of tac gear and clacking teeth together when they kiss. The harsher the better, the sting of skin breaking and metallic taste of blood on their lips a solid reminder that they're still breathing, in one piece.
Fears that were eating away at them on the field are whispered into bruised and battered skin as clothes are shed, the dread of what could've been making the two bodies tremor.
"I thought I lost you"
"I'm still here"
"I'm not leaving you"
"I'm not letting anything happen to you"
"I'm not gonna lose you, damn the whole world if I have to"
"I love you"
All this and more declared amongst cut off moans, hitched whines, and whimpers as hands travel south in between them. The feeling of being flush from head to toe with warm skin while pleasure begins to course through their veins can only be described as euphoric. Fists knot into and yank at hair as mouths and fingers work at each other with zero mercy, both of them desperately needing what comes next sooner rather than later.
For a second, time seems to finally slow down for the first time when hips are aligned and the first shallow thrust is made, eyes locking onto one another. The two bump foreheads with the first slap of skin, droplets of their own blood still drying on each other's faces as they hold each other's gaze.
The pace is brutal, an intense passion for the other half unleashed from deep within, hidden behind layers of doubt and uncertainty but brought out full force by the harsh reality faced that day. It's somehow both intimate and yet far from it in the way that arms wrap around each other in a near crushing hold, legs intertwine and trap one another, and nails are dragged across flexing muscles, biting into the flesh and adding to the litany of new scars gained throughout the day.
With the two soldiers dancing closer to the edge with each passing second, proclamations of love, their deepest desires rarely shared are uttered against a bruising kiss. Welled up tear ducts begin to spill over under the intensity of raw emotions, the words being babbled out now in between broken pleas and a flat out low sobbing one of them let's out.
When the dam hits, it hits just as fierce as the headboard meeting the wall was moments prior. Hands desperately reach out to clutch at anything they can find, grasping for dear life onto the metal frame of the bed, a hip, a shoulder blade, the meeting place of hair on the back of someone's neck, leaving red marks where they meet skin in their wake.
When all is done, neither move to clean up, tac gear and clothing thrown on to the floor and a mess of the sheets left to be dealt with in the future. With all their strength gone, all they can do is collapse from exhaustion, both feeling raw and laid bare in more ways than one with the fervent and intense lovemaking.
More tears are likely shed, a much more gentler embrace is shared and hands massage the shuddering of their bodies. A discussion of a future outside of this, one far away from the traumas of the battlefield and taking place in a beaten down farmhouse in the Scottish highlands, or tiny apartment nestled in the outskirts of Manchester is shared.
Soap promises loud, rambunctious get-togethers with the MacTavish family, holidays spent under the warm glow of a fire and a table full of Scottish family recipes. Ghost promises lazy mornings in bed, a fresh cup of tea (Yes tea, Johnny!) everyday, a garden filled with all kinds of vibrant flowers, and a few cats, maybe even a dog.
Hell who knows, maybe they can even see about trying to raise a kid after all this, make something good out of this life, sheltered far away from the horrors that they've faced.
A small peck or two is placed on bandaged hands and bruised ribs, bringing them back down to reality. It's all a pipe dream for now, the world still needing their skill set to fight the good fight.
But with each passing year, as knees grow weaker and each passing night like this leaves them more and more haggard by the end, the idea of finally retiring and leaving it all behind becomes all the more tempting...
The entire week had been pretty shit for Simon. A new group of recruits brought all kinds of new trouble, arrogance, and disobedience that higher-ups like him needed to wring out of the soldiers. Then about halfway through the week, Price informed him of some errors with the last round of paperwork. So, late-night tea time was spent huddled over his desk scrounging through stacks of documents till his eyes gave out on him.
And to top thing's off, the mini rec room shared between the squadron had a run-in with an ant infestation. Simon had planned to put a kettle on the stove when he rounded the corner and found Gaz spraying the bug killer along the floor.
"Oh hey! Sorry mate, looks like someone beat us to it this morning." Gaz stops to stomp on a few particularly stubborn ants hiding along the tile. "Woke up this morning to make a pot of coffee and the bastards were in the bloody coffee pot! I think I got most of them, but you might want to be careful, yeah? They were all over the counters earlier."
"Which counters?!" Simon's voice comes out harsher than intended, already fearing the worst. Sure enough, Gaz gestures along the far right counter. Simon nearly rips the handle off the cabinet while he's opening it. One look inside and the last bit of life in Simon's body leaves and shatters on the ground.
His Yorkshire tea. All the boxes he stockpiled. Now swarmed to the top with little black ants making the tea bags their new home.
So yeah, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that this week had been one of the hardest on his psyche in a long while. It was almost a blessing that the snarky little sergeant that was usually at his side was off on leave. He had the tendency to test his limits when it came to Simon. And one wrong joke with the lieutenant this week may wind up being the last one the sergeant makes.
"You sure those are the only reasons why you've been a right pain in the ass this week Simon?" Price had asked. The masked man shot daggers back at his captain.
"What else would I have to be mad about Price?" He handed the daunting stack of papers back to Price. The man chuckled behind his paper mug, hiding a smirk. "Nothing. Nothing... Well anyways, in unrelated news, Soap should be back in tomorrow! I'm sure he'd love to hear all the stories of your woes and misfortunes this week."
"Tch, I'm sure. He's not going to let me hear the end of it." He's going to have material for weeks when Gaz tells him about the yelling and crying he did when he was tossing out his tea.
"Oh lighten up Simon. You /know/, I'd hazard a guess that you actually missed the man more than you're letting yourself believe."
Simon lets out a cut-off laugh at that one. "I'd hazard a guess that you've lost it, old man!"
"Oh alright, I'm not even /that/ older than you!" Price shakes his head at him. "On that note, you're dismissed. Go and get some shut-eye," he stops to give him a once-over. "You need it."
Simon tosses another side-eye at the older man before he leaves. Once his door closes, Price groans to himself. "That boy could not come back soon enough..."
The next day, Simon wakes up with s scowl still on his face. The energy he sends off as he walks through the halls of the base sends chills down everyone's spines. It's as if he's singing the air around him with a black haze of /Do not come near me/.
That is, until the end of the day. As he nears the (now freshly cleaned out) rec room of the 141, a smell draws his attention. He can hear the sizzle of something cooking on the stovetop and the clatter of drawers being pulled. The savory smell drifts from the small kitchen and spills out into the hallway, tempting Simon to investigate further. Like a moth to the flame, he enters the room in a hunger-driven daze, coming to a stop at the entrance.
Oh, of course, that's who was drawing him in. It was honestly pretty comical how domestic the sight Simon walked onto was. Johnny had his back to him while he stirred a pan on the stovetop. A radio played some generic, slow tunes and he swayed his hips to the rhythm while he cooked. He must've just come back, seeing as he was still wearing his civies (a generic grey tee and figure-hugging pair of jeans) and his duffel bag was sitting on the couch.
Here, the sizzle of the skillet was even louder. The aroma of sauteed meat and spices was overpowering now, causing Simon's stomach to rumble. Johnny whipped his head around, his face lighting up when he saw who was by the entrance.
"Heyya Lt! Where've ye been?! I didn't see ya with the welcoming party at the gate." He turned to lower the heat on the stove, letting the food simmer. Turning back to Simon, he crossed his arms and gave the man an accusatory look, jutting the side of his mouth with his tongue as he spoke. "If ah' didn't know any better, ah'd say you didn't even miss me!"
"You wish Johnny," Simon huffed. "Been busy. Training ran late and a few of the soldiers needed a little... we'll say /positive reinforcement/" That positive reinforcement being several laps around the training field for a few too many pointed remarks about the mask.
"Aah, so that's yer excuse," Johnny jabs back. He bounds up to the lieutenant, not backing down despite the heated glare he gets from him. Instead, he comes up and fist bumps his shoulder, a lopsided smirk playing on his face.
"Bah, ah'm sure it's nothin' my ole Lt couldn't handle, aye?" He pats his back, his hand staying there as he transfixes Simon with a more serious stare. "Well anyways, it's good to see ye again, Si."
Simon doesn't know what it is about Johnny, but it's moments like this where the older man questions just how the hell he ended up in a situation like this. The hand on his back almost seems to soothe the embers that have been on fire ever since this week started. It's as if all the stress and tension he's held onto begins to slide off his shoulders the second Johnny blinds him with that wide, toothy smile.
God, he's so fucked.
A louder grumble from his stomach breaks the silence between the two. Johnny jumps excitedly, the thought of his food likely brought back to his mind.
"Oh! Are ya hungry?! Ah' almost forgot, I brought some leftover roast my ma and I made. C'mon, ye've got to try it!" He's already moving to fix a plate up for him before he can even respond.
Fuck it, he could give in to the seargant and pig out after the week he's been having.
With the dish finally in front of him, he has to admit, it looks pretty damn appetizing. Pieces of leftover chicken roast with traces of ground pepper, garlic, thyme, lemon, and other ingredients mixed in with carrots and other vegetables greet him. Johnny makes his own plate, leaving Simon to try it for himself.
He skewers a piece of the chicken, lifting the edge of his mask up and bringing it to his face. The first bite of the savory meat nearly elicits a groan from Simon. Maybe it's the stress he's been under, or maybe it's just that good. Either way, he finds himself getting lost in the dish.
Something about the chicken and the way it was prepared brings back memories of his own childhood. It wasn't often that they'd have the time or energy to indulge in very many different kinds of dishes. He still remembers one of the rare off chances that they did, barely tall enough to see over the counter but still helping his mom labor over the roast. Knocking into his brother Tommy who kept wanting to fight him over who got to do what. Simon watched one of the few fleeting moments of joy from his childhood as if he were watching an old recording. It was like he was living through the experience again, decades of trauma and heartache a distant sting. The taste of freshly roasted chicken on his tongue bringing back memories of the chill in the winter air, the soft glow of fire in the furnace, the soft vibration of his mother's laugh...
"...ye alright Simon?" the sergeant had gently asked. Simon jolted from where he sat, blinking away the wetness from his eyes. Since when the hell had he been crying?
The man cleared his throat, voice coming out more hoarse than he would've liked it to be when he spoke. "Y-yeah, yeah. Yeah, I'm uh..." His tone shifted back into the gravely vibrato he usually uses. His heartstrings felt rubbed raw from the vision. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
He stole a brief glance back toward Johnny. The man was sitting across from him at the table (and since when did he get there?). He stared back at him with wide eyes and a slice of chicken hung limply from his fork.
"Ehm... right, emm... no reason." He also cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, no doubt trying to shake off the uneasiness hanging in the air. "So um, h-how do ye like the food?"
The soft smile he gives Simon manages to settle some of his fried nerves. One of the nice things about the seargant is how swiftly he can handle the perturbances that seem to follow him. Either be a shoulder to cry on or give him the space he needs. Simon figures he ought to return the favor, at least try and lighten the mood a little. "Hmm, could've used less garlic."
Johnny actually gawks at him for that response. "Wha- /rude/!" Simon's happy to see the man break into a laugh, throwing his head back and shaking. "Ya fuckin' bawbag!" SImon doesn't hide the smirk that begins to spread across his face.
"Ach well, I was trying to follow my ma's recipe. She popped in to help towards the end but ehm, maybe ah've got a bit of learning to do still." He chuckles, but Simon notices the way his gaze drops back down. How his eyes bore into the chicken, self-doubt emanating off the man. Whether over the chicken or Simon, he can't tell.
"It's perfect Johnny," the lieutenant speaks just above a whisper. "It's my favorite actually, reminds me of home." There's another pause before he continues. "You should make it again sometime."
Their eyes meet again. Brown eyes, typically dark and gloomy and hiding layers of suffering shine brightly in the dying light. And bright blue eyes, who's edges usually give way to tumultuous, rocky waves soften into a rooted, tranquil state.
"Och, of course. Anytime Si." Johnny pushes out from the table. Grabbing dishes to stack in the sink, he pats Simon's shoulder as he passes by. Any lingering stress hanging in him melts away at the touch. "Glad to be back Lt."
He hums in acknowledgement. Simon relaxes into the seat and watches him deftly drown plates and pans into the sink water.
"Glad to have you back Johnny." He's rewarded with a beaming smile thrown back over his shoulder. And a nice view of Johnny swaying his hips to the music in pants that really fit him way too well.
/Fucking Christ/, he's so fucked.
....................
Once again got inspiration after one of Samuel Roukin's live signings. Someone asked what his favorite dish was and he proudly exclaimed "my mom's roast chicken!" So now it's Simon's favorite as well, sorry I don't make the rules.
SoapGhost TheLastofUs Au
OFD Masterpost (Includes Further Tag Warnings)
Chpt1 Masterpost
~2.6k Words
Also! For characters that speak multiple languages, I didn't want to trust google translate to get phrases and wording right, so instead, I decided to use brackets [ ] to signal what phrases are said in a different language.
As a general rule of thumb, there will be a symbol at the end of a group of text indicating what language is being spoken, with [ar] = Arabic, [es] = Spanish, and [ru] = Russian.
Ex: “[Bye!] I’ll see you tomorrow.” [es] would stand for “Adios! I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hope that makes sense but let me know if I just made it sound more complicated than it needs to be LOL
**********
The majority of Simon's body finally feels alive as he weaves his way through the more densely populated section of the city. Busy crowds move throughout the streets, and the occasional fellow patroller rides by on horseback, the crowd clearing up a path to let them through before swallowing it back up as soon as they pass.
With the whole base finally up and running, the city almost resembles something one would've seen pre-collapse, albeit, with fewer cars and a lot more deteriorating buildings.
Tall apartment buildings that have remained relatively unscathed now house the majority of the community members along these next few blocks. They spill out onto the pavement, striding between buildings as the sun continues to rise into the sky.
Simon adjusts his balaclava, the thin, black fabric covering his face from the rays, save for his eyes. The mask, in combination with the tall, formidable outline he makes up, leads to the sea of people parting for him, everyone unconsciously creating a wide berth around the man.
One of the many perks of the face covering, in his eyes. And a blessing too, after the way his morning started off, the last thing he'd want to get engulfed into the crowd as well, the thought of bumping shoulder to shoulder with everyone sounding like absolute hell right about now.
All the more reason for him to pack up his gear and head outside these walls for the majority of the day.
As he rounds the corner, the buildings give way to a large, open agora seated amidst the downtown area. The agora holds what was once a pristine, college campus, the library, residence halls, and lecture rooms reflecting sunlight off of the surviving glass windows.
Converted into the central base of a FEDRA outpost decades ago, then abandoned and left to rot, the buildings now serve as the main headquarters for the encampment.
The front consists of winding paths that converge in an outside plaza. A large bronze, abstract sculpture of a bear, the school's former mascot, sits in the middle, watching over the entire site. Simon passes the sycamore trees lining the pathways, walking straight to the cafeteria for his first stop.
Inside, there are a handful of lines wrapping around the food counter already. The smell of freshly cooked batter, eggs, and bacon hangs thickly in the air. Any other day, Simon would be powerless against the intense craving of a good, hearty breakfast. Today though, the fragrance only serves to make him feel nausea more than anything.
His eyes scan the room until they land on the two figures he’s come looking for. At a far off table, he spots the familiar braided ponytail and blue cap of Farah and Kyle respectively, the two chatting over their own plates of food.
It isn’t long before Farah senses him and waves him over. She nods her head without missing a beat in their conversation, and Simon pushes through the packed cafeteria to take a seat next to his patrol-mate for the day.
"Well there you are, was beginning to worry that you wouldn't show,” Kyle nudges him with his elbow, his hands occupied with the last quarter of an eggs benedict. “You better hurry if you hope to get anything ‘fore it’s all gone. Word got ‘round that Jerry’s crew’s behind the stove today, and then the place got swamped!"
Jerry, one of the refuge’s dozens of delegated heads of the kitchens, was a somewhat, highly regarded chef before the outbreak. Half the camp was convinced that the food came out at a much higher caliber with the man working as head chef in the back. Simon swore that half the camp was deluding themselves. Not that he didn’t at least try to like it, he just couldn’t find it in himself to care about what was on his plate. It was all food to him.
Suppose spending years getting by on scraps probably shot whatever sense of taste his palete had left.
"I'm good,” Simon sighs. “Just need to stock up on ‘munitions. I'm ready to head out whenever you’re done."
"Not getting anything for breakfast?" Farah questions.
"I’m good."
"You sure? You can pick off of mine if you don't wanna wait in line," Kyle motions to his plate, a singular muffin being offered up to him.
The sweet aroma of blueberries leaves a fruity, acrid tang in Simon’s mouth, and it threatens to make Simon gag.
"Not hungry,” he declines, coming out rather clipped, so he adds on, “Rough night."
Kyle and Farah nod, nothing more needs to be said between them, thankfully. They both refrain from pressing on the issue and roll right along with the conversation.
"That makes two of us,” Farah relates. “At least you're not playing nurse for your idiot brother while he licks his wounds back home."
Kyle giggles around the sip he takes from his cup. "I still can't believe he banged up his bloody wrist that badly, what the hell was he thinking?!"
“He wasn’t thinking,” Farah rubs at her temples in annoyance. "You wanna know what Hadir did?" she says to Simon. "He went out partying with his friends and drank more than he could handle. Apparently, he got into an argument with another guy and he ended up tripping and falling down the steps outside the bar. Not an actual fight… the handrail, is what injured his wrist…” A few Arabic curses tumble out of Farah, condemning him as an idiot or something of equivalence based on her tone.
Simon snorts through his nose. He really pitied the poor girl. Her brother, Hadir, has surely made the most out of luxuries afforded to them now that they’ve found safety here, easing up and letting his guard down in every sense of the word. This was far from the first time Hadir had done something stupid and landed on his ass, leaving Farah to begrudgingly pick up the pieces left behind by him.
"So is he out for today then?" he asked.
She nods. "Nova is going to cover for him while he's recovering for the next two days.” Farah groans, rubbing more circles into her temple. “His wrist is barely even sprained, but of course, he wants to be a baby about it and beg me to help him with everything. Like I'm his butler. Constantly."
"I'm sure that'll work out well for him," Kyle remarks.
"This morning it got him a package of ibuprofen thrown at his head. I don't know where he'd be without me."
"Dead," both men reply in unison.
The table erupts into a round of laughter. At least if there’s one thing Hadir’s misfortune can provide, it’s free entertainment.
"I'd better get going. Still need to see who his replacement for the day is, I’ll catch you guys around,” Farah gets up to set her tray away, nabbing Kyle’s empty plate for him and earning a courteous nod as thanks.
Farah pats their shoulders as she leaves. “[Good luck.] And stay safe," she emphasizes that last part to Simon, squeezing his shoulder just a little bit longer in their own subdued form of a hug. [ar]
Kyle begins to crumple the wrapper off his muffin into a ball. "Alright, guess that’s our cue to start heading off too. Let's go see the cap'n for briefing then, yeah?"
"Let's," Simon agrees. He is more than happy to leave sooner rather than later.
Kyle tosses his trash into a nearby bin and they make their way across the campus. They pass through hallways lined with classrooms and lecture halls. The rooms in this section are mainly used for storage, whiteboards that were used to teach lessons now hold a list of all the reserves and resources stowed away.
The walk through the hallway has them passing poster sheets that cover news about the encampment. Simon glances at the papers, skim reading updates on the latest reports, current inventory, and the newest infected sightings.
Everything covering the inside of the encampment was pretty standard, nothing out of the ordinary, it was the accounts of things outside of the walls that had more troubling news. More infected must’ve been migrating from the south lately, seeing as there was a warning to exercise caution in the area. And on top of that, it looked like Nikolai was organizing a hunting party to help cull the numbers later on in the week.
Always needing the help, but never having enough of the volunteers, Simon is already planning on lending a hand for that endeavor. And fuck, if that wasn’t a good way to summarize what a lot of their issues boiled down to lately! Having not enough scouts and armed guards meant that the regulars like Simon and Farah nearly always had to pull the extra weight by pulling double shifts and all-nighters, the small cluster of volunteers becoming overworked and spread thin anytime the hordes of infected started to grow.
And that was one of the things that worried him the most. They were nowhere near as strong as Simon would’ve liked to defend as large of a base as they have. Sure, they’ve successfully dealt with all of the hunters trying to seize their land and resources so far, but for how long would they be able to last with such a limited number of safeguards? Especially with the number of outside forces, human or not, seeming to only grow in size the longer time goes on…
Or maybe he was just getting more and more paranoid. The others certainly seemed to think so, telling him he’s sounding more and more like the harbinger of doom found in every classic horror movie every time he voices his apprehension.
While Simon was lost in his thoughts, the pair evidently made it all the way up the two flights of stairs and have nearly made it to the central hub by now. Kyle finally interrupts his downward spiral by nudging him at his side.
"Might want to shake the gloomy look you’ve got going on, unless you want an earful from Price," he warns.
"I look gloomy?"
Kyle simply blinks at him. There’s enough of an answer in his expression alone that Simon doesn’t have to ask him to elaborate.
"Hey,” he turns to face Simon, walking backwards down the hall with him. “You positive that you're all good for today?"
Simon pauses for a moment, moreso to give his answer a little more weight and substance to it than for him to actually consider himself.
"Yeah, I’m alright. Tip top shape even." He attempts a reassuring smile, the balaclava blocking most of it, though that may actually be working towards his benefit in this case.
"How much did you sleep last night?" Kyle suspiciously eyes him.
Simon shrugs. "Most of the night... save for maybe an hour or so before sunrise." It's a bit of a stretch, but Kyle doesn’t need to know that.
"Mm, if you say so," he hums. "Just wanna check in with you, Ghost. I’m not gonna push the issue, but,” he stretches out the word, “I do wanna remind you that we're a team out there. Gotta both be of sound mind if we’re gonna watch out for each other, you know?"
"I know, Gaz,” Simon sighs. “Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I could handle it today. You can still count on me to have your six out there. Genuinely."
That’s probably the most authentic statement he's said about his condition all morning. And it must show, because Kyle seems to finally relent on his grilling.
"Good. That’s what I want to hear." His back aligns with the push bar on the conference hall door. Before he pushes it open, he stops Simon with a hand to his arm. “Just promise me that if you feel unfit for it, and you need an out, you’ll let me know, yeh?”
Simon nods. “Copy.”
That one was probably another lie, but Kyle should hopefully be none the wiser to it.
They both push open the double glass doors and step into the large conference room. The main command center for the base is full of life by now, dozens of patrollers parade around each other, weaving through the handful of circular tables. Maps of the surrounding area cover the tables and more white boards are marked up with lists of their current supplies, schedules, and diagrams of recent infected numbers.
An older man wearing military fatigues and a boonie hat is delegating runs to a group near the middle of the room. Even from across the room, the frustration lying in the man’s body is noticeable, the hands balled up into fists on his hips giving it away. The group begins to dissipate at his dismissal, and Simon follows Kyle’s stride over to the man.
"Mornin' Price!"
Kyle’s cheery tone seems to work like a balm for the man, the furrowing of his eyebrows instantly smoothing over at the sound of his voice. He turns towards the pair, bushy, mutton chops framing his growing grin.
"Kyle, Simon! You boys getting geared up to head out?" Price’s booming voice carries over to them as he walks over.
"Yup, all set cap'n. Still just the standard shopping center run, right?"
"Well, yes and no," the captain leans and talks in a hushed tone. "I also need you two to do me a solid and circle by the eastern highway on your way back. I don't know if you got word, but Hadir is gonna be out of commission for a few days. And it being so bloody short notice,” the man grumbles, “I had to have Nova pull a double-shift for today. I'm having her and Farah move through only half their run, and I was hoping you boys could help cover the rest for them."
“We’ll take care it,” Simon answers for them before Kyle gets the chance to speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Kyle’s nose faintly twitch, but he remains silent.
"Perfect!” The captain claps them both on the shoulder. “I appreciate it you two. And I’ll be sure to let the girls know that they owe ya." He winks as he trots over to the marked up map just behind the trio, motioning for them to peer over the map with him.
"So, with that figured out, you guys'll start on the northern end of the Woodhurst district. Same as usual, pass through the storefronts, clear up what you can, jot down what you can’t. There hasn't been any reports on much movement so it should be a walk in the park. And afterwards..." Price thinks to himself for a moment, running his hand along his chin.
Kyle's eyes scan over the map as well. "And maybe as we come back, we take a right near sixth street and ride up the overpass?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. It’d give you a nice visual on the highway, might be a few stragglers that could do with some clearing out… How does some sniping practice with a couple of the big guys sound, eh?"
“Works for me,” Simon agrees. Popping a few heads off some infected on the highway does sound like a decent way to pass the time.
"Sounds like a plan, we’ll radio in what we see," Kyle says.
"Alright then, I won’t keep you both any longer. Let me know if anything comes up," Price lifts a stern finger, "And you know the rules. Keep in touch, keep it safe, and watch each other’s backs, yeah? One Four One!"
The two reply with the end of the mantra in unison. "And all for one."
**********
*Thump*... *Thump*... *Thump*... *Thump*
Johnny passes the time away by throwing a bouncy ball towards the opposing wall. He catches the red toy from his spot sprawled out on the floor, the sound of the ball’s rebounds echoing throughout the empty house.
*** To be continued in Pt.5***
More than a month later but we're back. My bad lmaohsajhdk
I hate having a job
SoapGhost TheLastofUs Au
OFD Masterpost (Includes Further Tag Warnings)
Chpt1 Masterpost
~1.5k Words
// Original Character
**********
"MacTavish, wake /uuuup/! Last warning before I dunk a bucket of water on you again..."
It takes a minute for the words to reach him through his comatose state, but when the words do finally process in the man's head, the threat of getting murky water from god knows where poured onto him quickly coaxes the Scotsman into moving. He jumps forward off the ground, almost bumping head first into the girl leaning over him.
"Alright, alright, I- /I'm up/," he yawns around his words, stretching his limbs out until an audible pop can be heard. “No need for the water theatrics again, ye little devil,” he mutters.
The teen next to him shakes her head, her eyes rolling as she tosses a wrapped up wad of parchment paper at him. "Here. You need to eat. Alex and my mom left you some scraps from this morning."
Johnny sits up on his knees and unwraps the package. Some sort of cooked game, likely rabbit, sits wrapped inside the paper. Johnny digs into the meat, gnawing at the cooked skin as he makes note of his surroundings.
They're sitting in the middle of a spacious foyer, a half-broken chandelier hanging over them, and their supplies lay strewn about the room. Old tables lined with gilded trimmings and loveseats adorned with lush fabrics are braced against the doors and windows, a film of dust collecting on them. A grand staircase wraps around the left side of the room, and late morning sunlight pours in through the glass doors out back past the kitchen.
"Shit, how late did you guys let me sleep in?" Johnny asks around a mouthful of rabbit.
The girl shrugs. "I dunno. Seemed like a few extra hours or so? Alex tried waking you up earlier, but you were not having it." She smirks at the man before continuing, "My mom offered to just go and scout with Alex instead, said you could use the rest."
Johnny groans fiercely at the news. "Goddammit Madison, you guys should've woken me up! Hell, kick me next time if you have to!" He waves his hand around as he talks, using it to swipe the irritation off of his creased brows. "That should have been my job. If they run into anything out there they can't handle, I'll-"
"Oh relax, Johnny!" she butts in. "For one, we did try kicking you, and it didn't work. And two, they can handle themselves out there just fine! They've done this sorta thing plenty of times before… Hell, they've dealt with just as much shit as you have."
"Ach! Language!" he reprimands, which earns him a very defiant tongue sticking out at him. Johnny responds by swatting at her leg, Madison, in kind, kicks away his hand with the point of her boot.
The two snicker at each other for a moment, their laughter bubbling over into a more solemn tone.
"Seriously though, they'll be fine. You trust them, right?"
"Och! Course I do… It’s just that this is the third time this week I’ve somehow managed to sleep through my patrol.”
“Well maybe if you didn’t work yourself to the bone like you’ve /been/ doing you wouldn’t be so tired.”
“‘M not ov’rworking m’self,” Johnny argues around a large bite of rabbit meat.
“You are!” Madison continues to reprimand him. “You don’t get enough sleep because you insist on keeping watch the whole night, you don’t eat enough because you keep rationing like we don’t have enough food or something-”
They don’t, really, this far into the journey, but that’s a little secret best kept between him and Alex.
“And what /really/ gets me is how you go out of your way to be the first one going through every doorway or around each corner. Seriously, it’s like you practically throw yourself at those things and it’s really starting to-”
“Oh Christ, Maddie, can you at least let me finish my breakfast before we start on this again?” Johnny begs. He knew the girl meant well and all, but after nearly three weeks, it was getting a little more than exhausting having the teenager scrutinize every other action he makes.
“No. I don’t mind, and I’m sure the rabbit doesn’t care either way,” she flips the better half of her auburn hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms.
Johnny had to admit, it honestly did amaze him that in the midst of of their harrowing, borderline-suicidal trek across open territory, she still managed to find the time to bestow upon him the imperious discontentment typical of a moody teenager.
“Look, I appreciate the concern Maddie… ‘Ay don’t give me that scoff, I mean it!” Johnny promptly moves past the jeer. “Now you’re not gonna like it, but I swear by it when I say that everything so far has been /categorically/ manageable in my books. Trust me, if you think this has been bad, you should’ve seen the last patrol our squadron got trapped on before me and Alex ditched the regiment. Did you know your skin turns all dark and purple if you’ve got a case of gangrene? Saw a guy with trench foot in our troop get it pretty bad.”
“Is this supposed to be reassuring somehow?”
“... Right, point being is that Alex and I, we’ve managed through plenty worse situations before. And I know it’s not much,” he reaches over and motions for Madison’s hand, she reluctantly holds it out for him to unwrap her balled up fist, twisting their pinky fingers together, “but what I can give you is a promise. I swear that if I feel that I’m pushing myself too far, I’ll let ye’s know, cross my heart and all. And in turn, you stop worrying that lil’ head of yours, that sounds like a fair deal to you?”
She seems to mull over his words, chewing on the inside of her cheek before eventually landing somewhere between dissatisfaction and despondence.
“I worry because I don’t want you getting hurt too, you know?”
Any lingering indignation Johnny felt at being lectured by the teenager melts away in an instant. He can’t hold any resentment towards the poor girl and her lectures, after all. He could see the lingering mournfulness in the way she fidgeted, the thought of her father surely flashing in her mind.
It’s been nearly a year now since the Kellers lost him. It still doesn’t make it any easier, he knows too well himself how the passage of time alone hardly makes the memories any less painful. Especially in a life like theirs, where no one’s afforded the luxury of a proper grievance, not when the next tragedy is waiting just around the corner.
Johnny gives her his best comforting smile. “Bah, you worry too much,” he says while bumping his fist against her shoulder. “Way too much for your age, I think you should trust that we’re all gonna turn out just fine. You know, I’ve got a good feeling on this one, a gut feeling that we’re gonna find something good at the end of all this, you’ve just gotta wait and see.”
“Mm, you sure that gut feeling isn’t the rabbit meat you just scarfed down?”
Johnny huffs a breath of laughter. “It’s not the fucking rabbit, Maddie.”
Madison’s expression morphs into a scornful, scrunched up expression. “Oh, so /you/ get to curse all you want to, but I can’t,” she scoffs.
“Well I’m not fifteen, Maddie,” he deadpans. “And I don’t have a mother as kind and considerate as yours. who’s only wanting the /best/ for you and who’s wishes you should respect-”
“Oh /brother/, now you sound like Alex,” if her eyes roll any farther back into her head, Johnny swears they might end up staying that way.
Ahh, and there it is again. That characteristically feisty temperament most teens are built with a natural disposition to.
If it’s a choice between the annoyed groans of displeasure, or the mournful sadness unbefitting any child not raised in as unjust a world as theirs, he’ll take the petulance any day of the week.
"I mean it. You’re not gonna lose me, or Alex, Mrs. K, or anybody else. I promise, alright?"
"Yeah… I know." She squeezes back his pinky, a sly grin growing on her face again. "Alright, but I’m not kidding when I say you better watch after yourself, or the next time I have to wake you up with a pail of water, I’m adding mud and worms to it."
Johnny pulls his hand back, putting on a show with his wide-eyed, shocked expression and his hand held tightly to his chest in mock offense. "Oh, you wouldn't /daaare!/ No, you’d never, you like me too much."
"Not as much as the worms will," she barks back, and his face contorts in hurt. He’s about to say another jab, but Madison pushes him over before he gets the chance.
She bounds towards the kitchen, yelling over her shoulder. "Alright, well I’ve had enough of all that, I’ll leave you to finish up your food. Oh, and start packing up your shit up so we can be ready before my mom and Alex get h-/eeere!/"
She narrowly dodges the rolled up parchment paper being launched at her head.
“Language!”
**********
The majority of Simon's body finally feels alive as he weaves his way through the hustle and bustle of the city streets…
