[ES/EN] (she/ella) Lvl 37 • N7◢ • Writer that makes videogames • I use uppercase a lot • I'm nice, really • Kaalshya on Twitter 😌 • Mostly Spanish, but sometimes, I write in English • Modern Warfare reboot stole my soul
I just want to point out the core of what the diffuser did in this conversation
They recognized that the mother was also expressing a vulnerable truth about herself - that she felt like a bad mother because her child was expressing gender feelings she wasn’t equipped to help with - and met her where she was, a concerned parent with limited information - to point her where she should be heading, research and resources.
Im going to make more of an effort to stop reflexively pushing people away when they express biases and make more of an effort to hear the underlying fears when i can
Camus already made a post on blue sky but ghoap nation, or any ao3 writer for that matter, might wanna block and mute this user who thinks being rude to hobby writers in public bookmarks is cool and edgy
ALSO MUTE THEM OR YOU CAN STILL SEE THEIR BOOKMARKS
[Image ID: A screenshot with the definition of constructive criticism from the source https://www.betterup.com with the highlighted text that states that it is "a feedback method that offers specific, actionable recommendations for change and improvement." the last portion of text is unhighlighted but states "Good constructive feedback facilitates positive outcomes and creates a positive working environment." /.End ID]
I've been showing little pieces in this website, small trinkets and daily fashion complements, just some of my last works I steal time after my regular job to keep enjoying leather. But THIS... this is THE THING. This is THE DREAM. This is the BIG DEAL.
Well, to be more precise, THIS is my leathercraft course final project. Finished like 3 years ago, just after the pandemia. This is the culmen of 5 years of formation in a Arts&Crafts school, under the lessons of Pepe Pereira, and after 500h of investigation, designing, patterning, redesigning, carving, molding, hardening, dying, painting, texturing, undercutting and aging.... This is the piece I'm most proud of. It's full of mistakes, greatly improvable and too shiny, but fuck, it's my little girl. It's my first complete armour, is my first female design, it my first corset, my first moulded cuirass... It's size adaptable, comfortable especially for the lumbar zone, mostly functional (maybe I'll redesign the shoulder pads, I can't make some spear movements properly)... and honestly beautiful. And all mine.
There is so much of me in this piece, you can't imagine, I cried, bleed and sweat so much on it that I feel it a part of me already.
THIS is ME.
Simon was silent.
"Is that what we have?" he whispered without moving. "A relationship?"
Johnny didn't respond right away either.
The couple is going to Scotland to spend Christmas 🎄🎅🤶
Lots of soft stuff but be careful because there is a lot of sensitive content in the chapter because it explores Simon's past (the same as Ghost from 2009).
Content warning: torture, suffering, blood, implied sexual abuse (not explicit), dead bodies, family death (including child, no death of any member shown)
AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 13 - Roadtrip
Fanfic Masterlist: Here
Next Chapter: WIP
Previous Chapter: Chapter 12 - Routine
Wordcount: 6529
Rating: Mature
Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex
A/N: Hope you're well! Thanks for reading, it means a lot 💚
I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).
SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - TF 141
ROADTRIP
FUEL STATION, UK
DECEMBER 23, 2022, 09:25
Simon picked up the chocolate bar and looked at it for a few long seconds before putting it in the bag and heading to the counter to order a couple of coffees to go. He paid as soon as the clerk served them to him and left the small shop at the gas station, left the shopping in the back seat of the car, the coffees in the cup holder and waited for Johnny to return from the bathroom.
They were halfway to North Berwick and had stopped to refuel the car, buy something to eat and stretch their legs. Although Soap had insisted on driving all the way, Ghost had completely refused. After discussing it, they decided Simon would do the first half and Johnny the second, since he knew that part of Scotland best.
"You've paid for it all!"
Simon looked towards the door of the store and saw Johnny coming out. He smiled a little as the Scot walked with an indignant expression on his face.
"Why did you do it? It's my car, it's up to me to feed it."
"Precisely for that reason," Simon replied calmly. "Since I've been at your house, you haven't let me contribute to the expenses; I wasn't going to let you pay for the trip too."
"But you took advantage when I was not at home to do the shopping!"
Simon smiled beneath his mask and turned to lean into the cabin of the car.
"Stop complaining."
He handed him the chocolate bar and Johnny took it, looking at it for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.
"It's not worth attacking my weak point."
"It's what's in the manual, Johnny: take advantage of weak points," he put a hand on his shoulder and pressed gently. "Let's go?"
Soap pushed him playfully and took the driver's seat. Simon sat in the passenger’s and turned to look at Biscuit; the cat was lying in his pet carrier, dozing and purring peacefully. Johnny had told him that, although his landlady took care of the animal when he was on a mission, he always took him on trips if he was going to spend a few days with his family. Ghost gave a half smile and settled into the seat, removing his hood as soon as they entered the highway.
Simon ran his hand through his hair and perceived the gesture as foreign, as if something was wrong. Although it was true that he always wore his head uncovered when he was alone with Johnny, doing so in front of people seemed strange to him. Simon was aware that nothing was happening, that it was all in his head and no one had forbidden him to hide, but still…
He carefully removed the mask and looked at it, caressing the fabric and the pattern gently.
It had been his idea to wear a cloth mask that only covered the lower part of his face. Simon mentioned it briefly the days before the trip and Johnny had given it to him the day before.
"I bought it when I came home from work," Johnny had told him. "The drawing is not perfect... but I think it turned out quite well."
The mask was black, with the lower jaw of a skull drawn by Soap. Simon had been left speechless and, feeling a small wave of affection towards him, he had hugged him tightly, smiling helplessly.
"If you don't feel confident, I've put your balaclava in the suitcase."
Simon looked up, surprised, when Johnny spoke. He was smiling despite keeping his attention on the road.
"It's… something I’ve to do," he replied, looking back at the mask. "Still, thank you."
Johnny rested a hand on Simon’s thigh and pressed gently.
"I don't want you to force yourself. Seriously, don't do it for me."
Simon looked at him and this time Soap looked back at him for a few seconds.
"It's okay. I'll let you know if it's too much."
"Thank you."
"Are you sure your family won't mind if I take it?"
"Look, if they've put up with me wearing this haircut since I was sixteen, they can put up with you having your face covered most of the time."
Simon looked at him silently.
"You've had that stupid haircut since you were sixteen?"
Johnny snorted, amused.
"From when I wanted to join the army. One of the higher-ups looked at me with disapproval and I decided it was going to be a form of rebellion."
"Wait a second," Simon asked. "When did you want to join the army? You were sixteen, Johnny."
"Yep. And I passed the tests. Twice," he raised his hand with two fingers raised. "But they didn't let me pass because I wasn't the right age."
Ghost looked at his friend with renewed interest. He knew that he was the youngest to enter the SAS, but not that he had tried when he was younger. He now understood why many people kept calling him the Fucking New Guy.
"Why did you want to enter so young?" he asked curiously. "Problems at home?"
"No way!" Johnny laughed. "My cousin Jack serves in the 23rd SAS regiment and one day I went to visit him. From that moment on, I knew I wanted to be part of this."
"Did you never consider anything else?"
Johnny didn't respond instantly.
"Yeah, but I was never so convinced," he finally answered and looked at him for a few seconds, smiling. "What about you, LT? Were you clear about that too?"
"No. I had no other way out."
He was staring at the mask and felt Johnny staring at him for longer than he should have. Simon knew that the time had come to open himself up and let Johnny look inside him, to let him see all the horror that he carried on his back and that had made him who he was. To find out if Johnny was going to stay by his side or run away.
He sighed.
"I warn you that it is not a pretty story."
SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - SAS
EL DÍA DE LOS MUERTOS
[Day Of The Dead]
ZARAGOZA, MEXICO
NOVEMBER 2, ████, 22:30
Sensitive content ahead: torture, suffering, blood, insinuated sexual abuse (not explicit)
Simon had a bad feeling. One of those that was born in the stomach and climbed until clinging to his neck. However, he pushed the feeling aside, as he always did, and tried to focus on the objective of the mission: Manuel Roba, a drug trafficker who was giving Americans too many headaches. Such were the problems he was causing, that they had been forced to ask the SAS for help to send them his best man.
That's why Simon was in Mexico, in the middle of the Day of the Dead celebration, instead of in Iran.
The small team consisted of himself, Sparks, Washington, Vernon and Cumberland. Sykes had jumped alongside them, but he had died when the parachute didn’t open. Riley soon realized that those guys were unbearable and the only thing he could think about was finishing that mission so he could return. However, that night everything seemed to be against them.
They had been divided into two groups: Vernon and Cumberland on the one hand; Riley, Sparks and Washington, on the other. And, at that moment, they were hiding in some bushes waiting for Major Vernon's order. However, the signal had not yet arrived and the bad feeling settled on Simon’s shoulders again. His colleagues began to murmur nervously and, just when he was going to turn around to tell them to shut up and think of an alternative plan, they detected movement in front of the drug dealer's house.
A small group of men carried Cumberland under guard.
Simon quickly made a plan, gave orders to his two companions and advanced towards the door of the house. He pretended to be drunk and, when the two guards who were stationed lowered their guard, he knocked them out and grabbed a gun. He walked through the house and was thankful for having painted a skull on his face and thus gone unnoticed; no one stopped him and he walked through rooms and hallways until he heard a moan of pain. Upon entering the room from which it came, he saw Cumberland tied to a chair and with his crotch covered in blood.
He approached him quickly, but before he could do anything, someone shot him in the head and Cumberland stopped moving. Simon turned and saw Major Vernon there. He had a gun in his hand and a small cloud of smoke was coming out of the barrel.
"What are you doing?" Riley growled.
Vernon chuckled softly and shrugged.
"What do you think? Earn my salary," he took a couple of steps forward without lowering his gun. "I wouldn't try anything," he added when Simon stirred a little. "Besides, Sparks and Washington have also been captured. I highly doubt you'll get out of here alive."
Riley remained silent and after a few seconds several men entered the room to capture him, but he did not make it easy for them. He managed to escape after knocking them all down and ran through the house until he reached the garden. He had to get out of there, he had to hide and contact his superior to request support. Devise a plan to rescue his two companions and catch Vernon. That son of a bitch had betrayed them and being aware of it pissed him off. Simon trusted him. And that had been his biggest mistake.
He climbed up the wall that surrounded the garden and, just as he was moving one foot to the other side, he felt a lash of pain in his side. Simon lost his balance and fell into the yard, hitting his wound. He grunted and tried to get up, unsuccessfully, being knocked down by another person. Someone started kicking him and Simon covered his head, curling in on himself to protect himself. They lifted him off the ground and his jaw tensed as he saw Roba himself before him.
"So you're the SAS son of a bitch they sent after me," he laughed. "«Llevadlo al sótano. Y con cuidado, es importante.»" [Take him to the basement. And be careful, he's important.]
And, without understanding what he had said, someone hit him on the back of the head and knocked him unconscious.
A sharp pain in his side woke Simon up and, when he opened his eyes, he didn't know where he was. His head felt like it was about to explode and, as soon as he tried to move, he knew he was hanging from the ceiling. That's when he realized why his arms and shoulders hurt. However, that was not what had woken him up, it was…
Someone had stuck a knife between his ribs, just enough to hurt him without damaging his vital organs.
At that moment, Riley remembered everything that happened at Roba's house and tried to break free, getting him hit again.
"«Hijo de puta», stop moving," a voice growled behind him. [Son of a bitch]
A dark-skinned man, with short hair and an angry expression, appeared in his field of vision. He had a knife in his hand and didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment, to cut him with it. Every ten minutes he slid the blade across Simon's skin, always being careful so that he didn't bleed to death.
That day gave way to another. And to another. And another one. Until Riley lost track of the hell he was in. Other types of things began to join the blows, cuts and broken bones: substances injected into his nervous system that left him dazed, that made his brain slow, that made him imagine things. That forced him to obey even if he didn't want to.
And Simon didn't like it.
And he fought against it.
His captors, seeing that he did not give in, increased the number of blows and wounds, of substances in his body, and that worked for a time. Simon became obedient. He hit when he was told to hit and he killed when he was told to kill. The days became blurry, overlapping each other, and there came a point where he couldn't distinguish what was real and what wasn't; he had a hard time knowing if he was fighting for Roba or beating up his abuser father in Manchester.
However, he soon began to become conscious again; to realize that they were trying to manipulate him, to try to brainwash him. All those injections had to have some kind of purpose and his mind, more resistant than he thought, began to rebel. Maybe it was tolerance to the drugs that had been put into his body day after day; that after being abused so much, they no longer had the same effect. Or, perhaps, it could be that he had reached his limit and his own survival instinct had awakened. Either option was perfectly valid and Simon stuck with them.
For his part, Roba did not seem very happy and one day he showed up at his cell, angry and frustrated. The drug dealer beat him almost unconscious and Simon soon realized that this was what he wanted: for him to be awake because Roba hadn’t finished with him. He ordered two of his men to place Simon on a table, with his belly resting on the furniture and facing away from him. Simon thrashed and tried to free himself, but they tightened the ropes until his wrists bled. He heard Roba speak, leaning close to his face to growl something, but his ears were ringing and he couldn't hear him.
Simon soon realized that the words were not important because as soon as Roba kicked his legs apart and reached under him, searching for the button on his pants to undo it, he knew what he meant.
SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - TF 141
ROADTRIP
SERVICE AREA, UK
DECEMBER 23, 2022, 10:55
"Simon, wait."
Ghost turned his attention away from the landscape and focused it on Johnny, frowning a little.
"Do you want me to relieve you?" he asked him as he saw him turn into a service area.
His partner remained silent until he parked the car and took a deep breath, turning in the seat to face him.
"No, it's not about that. I..." he sighed. "I'm sorry."
Ghost looked at him, blankly.
"Why?"
"For… for having touched you without your permission. For having invaded your space without stopping to think that maybe you didn't feel comfortable."
"Johnny..." Simon said softly in an attempt to get his attention, however, Soap didn't seem to want to listen and continued with his verbiage.
"Not thinking that, perhaps, you were keeping your distance for a good reason," he ran his hand through his hair, nervously. "Fuck, the signs were there and I didn't want to see them."
"Johnny."
"I try to be careful and, in the end, I always end up screwing up," Johnny shook his head, frustrated. "I'm a real idiot for not thinking, for not paying attention. Damn, I even pressured you into having sex in Chicago."
"Sergeant!"
Soap looked at him surprised and Simon sighed. He knew that using his range, and an imperative tone of voice, would get his attention enough to break the loop that Johnny seemed to have gotten stuck in.
"You don't have to apologize, you haven't done anything wrong."
"Of course I have to apologize!" Soap replied indignantly. "Simon… you were sexually abused and tortured. And that explains why you don't leave a single piece of skin exposed, why you don't let people touch you, and why you keep your distance from those around you. And I couldn’t see it" he sighed. "I'm so sorry."
Simon was silent for a few seconds. Johnny had gotten many things right, but he had gotten one wrong.
"Do you think if I wanted you not to touch me, I would have let you?" he asked softly. Soap opened his mouth to respond before closing it, defeated. "The first time, I let it go. The second, I let it happen. All the friendly punches you gave me, the pats on the back, the approaches, and even you leaning on me to sleep… each and every one of those times was because I allowed it."
"Despite the difference in rank, you were the first to treat me as an equal. You were..." Simon snorted softly and gave a half smile. "You are the first who has wanted to know me in depth. Not counting Amelia, you are the first person who wants to know who the man behind the mask is. Who wants to know who I am. And all that..."
He didn't finish the sentence. Simon heard the sound of the seat belt unbuckling and the next thing he knew, Johnny was hugging him tightly. Ghost blinked in surprise and smiled; hugging him back and burying his face in the crook of Soap’s neck, closing his eyes.
"I… I’ve no words," Soap whispered in his ear. "I’d like to tell you something, but everything seems insufficient to me. I’m very sorry, Simon. I’m sorry that you had to go through all that, I’m sorry that you had to wait so long for someone to treat you well, for you to feel safe enough to to open yourself up to someone else. I'm sorry, I really am."
He hugged him tightly and Simon felt like his chest would break with pain. Because of the love he felt for Johnny, yes, but also because he hadn't finished telling him what happened with Roba. Not even with his family.
"Do you want to hear the end of my story?" He murmured and kissed him softly behind his ear.
Johnny broke away to look at him and frowned, worried.
"There's still more?"
Simon smiled tiredly.
"I'm afraid so."
SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - SAS
DEATH
ZARAGOZA, MEXICO
█████████████████, █████
Sensitive content ahead: torture, suffering, blood, corpse, family death (included child)
He lost track of time.
Sometimes he was in Manchester, kicking his father out of his house, helping his brother get clean and marry a wonderful girl. Other times, he found himself fighting with strangers that Roba put in front of him, asking Simon to kill them in the most painful way possible. And he, most of the time, refused. Despite everything they had done to him to control him, to break him, there were still things he chose not to do. And with each passing day, his mind became more lucid and his brain found it less difficult to work.
And Roba didn't seem satisfied with it.
One night, Washington and Sparks appeared in front of his cell with a key made of bone. They tried to get him out of there, however, the guards arrived first and Simon asked them to leave. Resigned to die in that dark, smelly cell, he leaned against the wall and waited for Roba's men to come look for him at dawn. Like every day.
To his surprise, Roba showed up there a few hours later. He had painted his face white, like a skull, and was smiling. A big smile on his lips told Simon that he would never set foot in that cell again. They tied him up, beat him and dragged him out of there. It was still night when they went out into the garden and put him in the trunk of a car. After a long journey, they pushed him out of the vehicle towards a hole in the ground and Simon hit his back with something hard; when he turned to see what he was, he discovered a half-decomposed corpse. Simon tried to get out of the hole, but someone hit him in the head with the butt of a gun.
"Do you like the bed, «Inglés»?" Roba asked and crouched down to get a better look. "It's true that Major Vernon isn't in the best of times, but he's still… soft." [Englishman]
Simon didn't respond and looked at him with suppressed anger. Roba laughed.
"You both have failed me," he cocked his head. "Actually, I had high hopes for you, you know? I had been told that the SAS were good and I thought you would be a great addition to my little army. Unfortunately, you’re too good and the experiments haven't worked on you. It's a shame," he stood up. " «Enterradlo y plantad flores»." [Bury him and plant flowers.]
Although Simon tried to prevent the coffin from being closed, it was in vain. He was soon left in the dark, with only the corpse and the sound of the earth falling on them for company. Nausea hit him and he suppressed the urge to throw up, focusing on finding a way to get out of there. He hit and pushed the wood, without it moving one bit. If only he had something to break that box with…
He turned towards Vernon's corpse and, although he couldn't see in the darkness, a macabre idea crossed his mind. He didn't think too much about it and, in desperation, he pulled on the jaw of his former companion; it took him several minutes to break it and remove it from the muscles and tendons and an hour to make a small notch in the wood with it.
Finally, and after many, many hours, Simon managed to break the lid of the coffin and emerge through the earth to the outside.
Simon took deep breaths to recover the lost oxygen and looked around. He was in the middle of nowhere, far from any populated area, and he was almost grateful for that. Riley got up and started walking aimlessly. The days passed, one after another, until he ended up collapsing to the ground. Dehydrated and malnourished, his body had reached its limit. His wounds ached from infections and he knew he would die there. That, despite having escaped from the coffin, Roba had gotten away with it. He wouldn't return to Manchester, he wouldn't see his family again. He would no longer enjoy gatherings with his mother, his brother, his sister-in-law, and his nephew; to laugh with them and feel happy. And that hurt more than any other blow or wound.
"Hang in there, son. I've asked for help."
Simon opened his eyes with an effort and saw a pair of boots in front of him. The voice had spoken in English and, from the accent, he knew that he wasn’t in Mexico. His mind had a moment of lucidity as he realized that he had walked so far that he’d arrived in Texas. The corner of his mouth turned up a little and he closed his eyes, letting exhaustion take over.
Several months later, now in the United Kingdom, he left his superior's office to go to the psychologist's office. Even though his body had healed quickly, everyone seemed to be worried about what’s going on in his head. Simon was aware that he had been through hell, however, he was convinced that it would not affect his work or his daily life. The number of nightmares had been greatly reduced and he noticed his mind lucid and agile.
He felt like he was himself again. That everything seemed to be going well.
Until one night, while he was playing with his nephew in the company of his family, Sparks came to visit him. Simon thought it was strange since he didn't remember telling him where he lived, however, the joy of seeing his former partner surpassed any type of suspicion. He went out to have a beer with him, to catch up, and learned that Sparks was passing through since he was being sent to Afghanistan to train the militia there.
"And how are you feeling?" Simon asked him as he drank from his bottle.
"Pretty good, actually," he laughed. "And you seem to be in top shape, although I’ve heard that they are not making it easy for you to rejoin."
Simon snorted, smiling.
"It all depends on the psychologist. Until she says I'm fit to work, I won't be able to return."
"I see," Sparks paused briefly before continuing, watching a girl walk away from the bar with a drink. "Did you tell her about the nightmares?"
"Do you have them too?"
Sparks shrugged.
"Sometimes. Although the pills help, what really works is to stop fighting them. You know," he waved his hand vaguely, "as Roba said: rules are the bars of a cell that keeps a man caged. And that applies to nightmares. When you stop thinking that they’re something bad, you become a free person."
Simon was silent and raised the beer to his lips, feeling a bad feeling settle in his stomach. Perhaps the escape of his two companions wasn’t so fortuitous, perhaps someone helped them escape for some reason that he did not know. The mere idea that Roba could be controlling Sparks and Washington pissed him off. Not only for the fact itself, but because it could be dangerous. Who assured him that they weren’t there to kill him? To get rid of him and not tell about the experiments that Roba was carrying out.
But, to discover that, he had to keep a low profile, so he swallowed his anger and put on his best smile.
"I guess you're right. Maybe that's why I was able to escape from Mexico."
Sparks patted him on the back, smiling back, and they both finished drinking. They left the pub and Simon accompanied him to the hotel but, on the way, he had to stop Sparks when he tried to assault the girl they had seen in the pub and Simon didn’t remain calm until they were at the hotel.
Sparks sighed.
"I appreciate it, man. Anxiety sometimes plays tricks on me," he sat up in bed and ran his hands over his face. "Can you give me the pills? They're in my backpack."
Simon walked over to the dresser where the bag rested and opened it.
"What do they look like?" he asked, pretending to be rummaging around inside when what he was doing was pulling out a knife that he had hanging on his jacket.
"You should know because they're just like yours," Sparks responded, his voice sounding closer than he expected, and before he could turn, he felt the muzzle of a gun against his temple. "You knew what would happen if you chose the wrong option."
In one swift motion, Simon turned and punched Sparks hard, making him lose his balance just long enough for Simon to pull out the knife and make a deep cut in the hand that was holding the gun. He pushed Sparks and they both fell on the bed and he was about to cut Sparks’ throat when the bedroom door opened.
Washington stopped dead when he saw them and Simon sprang to his feet and ran to the window as soon as he saw the gun. Washington fired just as Simon crashed through the glass, falling to the ground. Before he could thank him for the low height, he felt a stab of pain in his thigh. He took a quick look at the wound and knew that one of the bullets had hit him but didn't have much time to assess the damage because his former partner shot him again. Ignoring the pain, he ran down the street, pulled a taxi driver out of the car and fled.
Roba knew he was alive and had sent Sparks and Washington to kill him. His mind quickly connected the dots and he accelerated the car, picking up his phone and calling home, praying for someone to answer. His pulse pounded in his ears and increased when the call ended without anyone picking up. He tried calling his brother, but he didn't get an answer either.
He got out of the car quickly and felt like everything was coming down on him when he saw the door ajar and the lights off. He entered slowly, with trembling hands, and flipped a switch to turn on the light, regretting it as soon as he entered the lounge.
There, in the middle of several pools of blood that joined together, was Simon’s family. His mother, his brother, his sister-in-law and his nephew. All had gunshot and stab wounds; the bruises on his brother's body told him that he had fought and Simon felt a fleeting burst of pride for him. Although it didn't help much knowing that they weren’t going to get up again, that he would never hear their voices, their laughter again.
That he would never hug them again.
Simon cried. He cried for a few long, bitter minutes before wiping away his tears and leaving the house.
After treating his wound and covering his head with a balaclava, he snuck into the military base near Manchester. He took advantage of the darkness of the night to move to the offices and access the information about which soldiers occupied the barracks. Both Sparks and Washington were in it, and one corner of his mouth turned up.
He turned off the computer and left the building, searching for the barracks while avoiding the patrols. He slipped in easily and ended Washington's life quickly, silencing his agonized moans with his hand. Simon walked over to Sparks' bed and covered his mouth before waking him up.
"Shh," he whispered softly. "You’re coming with me."
They got a car and left the military compound. No one stopped them because everyone knew Sparks and Simon made him drive to his house. Once there, he took Sparks out of the car and dragged him inside the home, where he tied him to a chair. Simon took off his balaclava and took a morphine drip from a backpack.
"What are you going to do with that?" Sparks asked. His voice trembled and his chest began to rise and fall faster.
"What do you think?" Simon replied. "I'm going to give you morphine while I gut you so when the serum runs out, you'll start to feel the pain of having your insides out. Maybe then you'll understand how I feel."
Sparks' eyes widened and he shifted in his chair, trying to escape.
"Have you lost your mind? I didn't kill your family, Washington did!"
Simon smiled bitterly and entered the next room, opened a drawer and took out the carnival paint that his nephew had, skin paint, and began to cover his face with white.
"And Washington would say it was Roba. Who cares?" Simon took the black paint to give the last details. "You both followed his orders and came for the same reason. You’re equally guilty."
"I can help you, Riley. Give you names, you have no idea how many people are involved in this. Important people."
Simon tilted his head a little when he heard Sparks’ voice, closer than he thought, and took out the gun he was carrying in his pants. When Sparks appeared in the room, carrying the fireplace poker as a bat, Simon pointed the gun at him.
"Do you think you are essential?" he asked him. "Everything I need to know, I'll get from Roba."
He pulled the trigger and Sparks fell to the ground, limp. Simon snorted in annoyance and put the gun on the table, reaching up to his neck to take out the dog tags that had his name on them and exchanged them with Sparks’. Then he set the house on fire. For a few minutes, Simon watched as the flames engulfed the building. Everything he had cared about, everything that had made him happy and given him a reason to be better, was turning to ashes.
Everything, except one photo. One in which his family appeared and that he folded carefully so as not to lose it.
After one last look at the house, Simon turned and walked away. There his life ended, in every sense. He had entered that house as a living man and left it as a dead man.
Like a ghost.
SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - TF 141
ROADTRIP
SERVICE AREA, UK
DECEMBER 23, 2022, 12:00
Johnny remained silent and Simon took the opportunity to drink some water. They were still parked in the service area, but neither seemed to be in a hurry to move.
"So... you're dead? I mean... legally speaking."
Simon nodded and Soap frowned a little.
"But you have credit cards and a driver's license," he commented. "How is it possible?"
"You'd be surprised how the government can make a dead person have everything in order," he looked out the window, distracted.
"So, what happened to Roba? Did you go after him?"
"Of course," Ghost's jaw clenched. "I managed to get back to Mexico and torture his second-in-command until he gave me his location. As soon as I had it, I went after Roba. I snuck into his house, stole all the important data from his servers, and killed him. Then I set the place on fire. Price showed up a few hours later. The bastard had followed me because he wanted me in his unit."
"Wait, Price? He was a lieutenant back then, right?"
Simon smiled somewhat indifferently and looked at Johnny.
"They had just promoted him to Captain. He found out what happened and saw me on the security cameras, so he talked to his superiors and they fixed everything," he shrugged. "The army’s interested in having ghost men so they can send them on certain missions and that's what I ended up specializing in."
Soap put a hand on Simon’s thigh and pressed a little there.
"That's why you always keep your face hidden, right?" he said softly. "So that no one can recognize you."
Simon looked at him for a few moments in silence, then looked away to focus on the mask in his lap. He shook his head.
"What happened with Roba made my own face seem foreign to me, as if it were that of another person, someone I didn't know; so I began to cover it so as not to see it. Over time, and with help" he smiled a little, unable to help it, remembering that Amelia was always there, "I was able to get through it. However, I spent so much time wearing a mask that I find it strange, and uncomfortable, to go with my face uncovered."
He turned when he noticed Johnny's hand on his chin and returned his friend's fond smile. Simon closed his eyes and rested his cheek on his palm. He didn't need to say anything, with that simple gesture Simon knew what Johnny wanted to say. That he was sorry, that he was glad that he had reconciled himself with himself and that it made him happy that he felt comfortable enough with him to go with his face uncovered.
Johnny caressed his cheekbone gently and Simon opened his eyes to look at him. He had his head resting on the seat and an expression of deep love that made his heart tremble, followed by the usual ache of his own fondness for Soap.
Without thinking, Simon unbuckled the seat belt and leaned forward to kiss him softly, without rushing. When they broke apart, Johnny pulled him into a hug and Simon rested his head on his chest.
"Thank you for telling me," Johnny whispered and kissed his hair.
"Thank you for not running away after listening to me."
"Are you kidding?" He snorted. "All this helps me to know you better, to understand you. And that’s important because good communication is essential for a relationship to work."
Simon was silent.
"Is that what we have?" he whispered without moving. "A relationship?"
Johnny didn't respond right away either.
"Only if you want."
"It's also important what you want," he replied, pulling away to look at him. "I want to know. I want to know what you're looking for in me, Johnny. What you expect from me."
He smiled and kissed him on the lips.
"I don't expect more than what you've already given me, which is a lot," Soap chuckled. "I think it's obvious what I'd like, but I don't want to pressure you."
"You don't," Simon whispered, leaning over him a little to rest his forehead on his. "By now, I think you know me well enough to know that I won't do anything I don't want to do."
"It's okay," he murmured, stroking Simon’s chin again. "Well," he laughed, "we’ve an hour left to travel, I think that's enough time to decide if we want to tell my parents or not."
"I don't mind if you do," Simon kissed him on the nose and pulled away, leaning back against the seat and looking at Johnny. "So it's all up to you."
"You're ducking the issue," he mocked.
Simon laughed.
"It's your family, you know better than anyone how they’ll take the news."
Johnny put on his seat belt and Simon followed suit.
"I think they'll be really excited about it. It's been a few years since I last took a couple home and I think they'll like you."
"Won't they... be scared when they see me?"
Soap laughed.
"No way. Remember that I’ve several relatives in the army. Scars and tall, big guys don't scare them."
"It's a relief."
"It'll be okay," Johnny assured him, resting a hand on Simon's thigh. "You’ll see."
He nodded and looked back at the landscape that could be seen from the highway. All of this was new to him. Not only the fact of officially having a partner, but the fact that he was an hour away from meeting his in-laws. Simon was afraid that they would reject him because of his physical appearance and because of his difficulty in relating to people. He was scared that they thought he wasn't right for Johnny, that his son deserved someone better. And Simon knew that last thought was true. Any family would want his son to have the best and he wasn't exactly a good match. On the contrary. Everyone he loved had suffered, in one way or another. And if Johnny's family found out, he had no doubt they would ban him from ever setting foot in the MacTavish house again.
He ran his hand over his face and forced himself to take a deep breath. The hand on his thigh pressed gently and Simon moved his hand on top of Soap’s, intertwining their fingers. He continued to be amazed at Johnny’s ability to read him, to know when he needed to be distracted from his own thoughts.
He looked at him and Johnny looked back at him for half a second before looking back at the road, smiling. Simon smiled too and rested his head on the seat.
At that moment, the pain in his chest had stopped bothering him.
"I think I need a new tattoo."
"Oh, really?" Johnny raised his head to look at him.
"I've been thinking about it for a while and I think it's the right time."
"Sounds good," he shifted his position so he could see him better. "Where were you thinking of doing it?"
Simon moved his right arm and showed Johnny the inside of the wrist.
"Would you design something for me?"
Another chapter in which Ghost and Soap get soft.
AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 12 - Routine
Fanfic Masterlist: Here
Next Chapter: Chapter 13 - Roadtrip
Previous Chapter: Chapter 11 - Rest
Wordcount: 5533
Rating: Mature
Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex
A/N: Hope you're well! Thanks for reading, it means a lot 💚
I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).
SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - 141
ROUTINE
SOAP’S HOUSE, HEREFORD, UK
DECEMBER 4, 2022, 14:45
Simon woke up with a start and fumbled for the knife he always had under his pillow. He felt naked not finding it, however, he relaxed when he remembered he was at Soap's house. Ghost took a deep breath and shifted a little on the bed, realizing that the space next to him was empty.
"Johnny?" he asked warily.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," he replied.
Simon frowned and sat up, groping in the dark until he found him. Soap was sitting on the bed, with his knees slightly bent, and Simon put a hand on his shoulder, sliding it down his back in a comforting gesture.
"All good?"
"Yeah. I was just going to drink some water, that's all."
He stood up and Ghost heard him walk to the bathroom; squinting as Johnny turned on the light and waited for him to return. When time seemed to drag on too long, Simon stood up and moved toward the closed door, gently knocking it a few times, waiting for a response.
"Johnny, you solid?" he asked when he didn’t answer.
"Yeah, don't worry. Physiological needs, you know," he chuckled. "Go back to bed."
However, Simon knew him too well to know that the laugh was fake. He opened the door and found Soap sitting on the floor, between the shower and the toilet, with his head leaning on the wall and his legs stretched out. Johnny looked at him for a moment before looking away and Simon hurried over to him. He crouched down, ignoring the tug of the stitches, and cupped his face in his hands, frowning when he saw that he was crying.
"Come here," Simon whispered and pulled him into a hug.
Johnny let himself go and rested his head on Ghost’s chest, wrapping his arms around his back. Simon kissed him on the hair and hugged him tightly when he noticed he was crying again. He felt his chest break at seeing Soap like that and felt helpless as he couldn't do anything but whisper to him to let it all out, that he wasn't alone. In that moment, he wondered how Johnny did it, how he knew what to say and what to do at all times, and Simon wished he could be a little more like him in that way so he could help him with the nightmares in the same way Johnny did with him.
"Thanks," Soap whispered suddenly, voice strangled and broken.
Simon kissed him on the temple and rubbed his back.
"Whenever you need me, you know," he paused. "Come on, I'll make you something hot."
Simon helped Soap up and guided him to the kitchen. He sat him in a chair and disappeared for a moment to grab a pair of sweatshirts. Johnny stared blankly as he dressed him and Simon frowned a little, worried. Finally sighed and faced the kitchen, opening the cabinets until he located what he was looking for. When the milk was hot, he poured in the chocolate and filled two mugs with it. He put one in front of Johnny and sat next to him.
"Want to talk about it?" he whispered kindly.
"Actually, I don't need to," Soap replied, looking at the table. "I mean… these are stressful situations, it's normal in our work."
Simon then understood what Johnny had dreamed about. He’d always thought that Soap had had some near-death experience, that his discomfort during the events of Chicago, and Las Almas, was due to feeling useless and overwhelmed by the situation. Apparently, he had made a mistake and scolded himself for not taking it into account.
"It's the first time that's happened to you, right?"
Johnny looked up and stared blankly at him.
"Being aware of how close you've come to dying," Soap nodded and Simon continued talking. "It's… a strange feeling. As if you've spent a wild card. Something that life will come to recover," he smiled. "Luckily, it doesn't work that way. You survived through a mix of skill and luck. Two things that are part of life and that we cannot separate from it."
Johnny looked at him and smiled kindly.
"I already knew that," he fixed his gaze on the table again. "I haven't dreamed about that."
Simon frowned. Now he was the one who didn't understand what was happening. If Soap hadn't had a nightmare about what happened during the search for Hassan, what had disturbed his sleep?
"So... with what?"
Soap was silent for a few moments.
"The gulag," he whispered. "I thought I would lose you, that you would die in my arms before the medevac came," Johnny said with a tired half smile. "Actually, I just needed to let go of the anxiety, and fear, that I've been building up since then. I haven't been able to until now," he looked at him and his smile widened. "I'm sorry I worried you."
Simon didn't answer. He still felt guilty for having caused that upset to Johnny, but he didn’t verbalize it because he remembered Amelia's words: he hadn’t been reckless, he hadn’t done anything wrong. On the other hand, knowing that it was so important to Soap to the point of having nightmares excited and terrified him in equal measure.
He didn't have the energy to deal with it, so he pushed it aside.
"How do you do it?" Simon asked her instead.
"With what?" Johnny frowned before raising his eyebrows in understanding. "Take out the anxiety? Well, I start crying. I guess?"
"No, not to let things get stuck."
Johnny shrugged and focused on the cup, wrapping his hands around it for warmth.
"I really don't know. There are... things that are beyond our control, things that we can't change no matter how hard we try, so I don't see the point in feeling bad because I can't do anything about it. If it has a solution, it’ll be fixed. Otherwise, why am I going to think about it? I’m not going to wallow in misery if I have made a mistake; I will learn from it and move on. Even when people die. I try to be better, think through decisions," he sighed. "It's... difficult, but not impossible. It also helps to get it out, talking about it with the people you know will listen to you."
Simon listened in silence and didn’t respond immediately. He valued Soap’s words and knew that, deep down, he was right. It was something as simple as that: learn from your mistakes so as not to repeat them again and talk about what makes you feel bad.
Talk to people who will listen to you.
"You do it? Verbalize what's troubling you, I mean."
"Sure," Johnny responded with a soft laugh. "I talk a lot with my sister Alex."
Simon nodded and focused his attention on the cup of chocolate in front of him. He looked up when he felt Soap's hand on his, stroking it gently before tangling his fingers with his.
"You know you can tell me whatever you want and whatever you need," he added in a whisper. "I'll listen to you when you're ready to talk."
Ghost took Soap's hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss Soap's knuckles.
"I know. It's just..." he sighed.
"You need time, I'm aware," Johnny rested his hand on Simon’s cheek and stroked his cheekbone with his thumb. "Don't be in a rush, although it may not seem like it, I am a patient person" he added with a soft laugh.
Simon blushed a little and Johnny sat up to kiss him on the lips. Then he glanced at the two cups still on the table, untouched.
"Did you make me hot chocolate?" he asked in a mocking tone.
"I thought it would help you feel better."
Johnny smiled and drank some. He frowned, surprised.
"Oi, it's really good! What did you add to it?"
"Vanilla," Simon replied, drinking from his cup.
Soap laughed.
"You don't have to drink it for me, I know you don't like sweet things."
Simon rolled his eyes.
"I like sweet things, but too much of them saturates me. I like ice cream, chocolate, cakes... you..." he added with a half smile.
Johnny choked and Simon sat up straight, worried, although he relaxed when he heard him laugh.
"Do you consider me a sweet person?" he asked with a raspy voice. "I think this is the first time someone has told me that. Well, my mother does, but she doesn't count."
Ghost drank again from his cup and took his time responding.
"You're a sweet person when you want to be. Besides," he smiled slyly, "with the amount of sugar you ingest throughout the day, I'm sure there's more glucose than oxygen running through your veins."
Soap laughed and moved his chair to sit next to him; leaning on Simon’s thigh and resting his head on his chest. Simon put his free arm around his shoulders, enjoying his presence. Johnny moved his head to gently kiss him on the chin and Simon returned the gesture with a kiss on the cheek. They drank the chocolate quietly, enjoying each other's silent company, until Simon spoke.
"I think I need a new tattoo."
"Oh, really?" Johnny raised his head to look at him.
"I've been thinking about it for a while and I think it's the right time."
"Sounds good," he shifted his position so he could see him better. "Where were you thinking of doing it?"
Simon moved his right arm and showed Johnny the inside of the wrist.
"Would you design something for me?"
Johnny opened his mouth and eyes, surprised.
"You... want me to..." he sighed. "You're sure?"
"Of course, why not?" He shrugged. "I like your style and I wouldn't mind wearing something of yours drawn on my skin."
Simon noticed Johnny blush and couldn't help but crack a half smile.
"Well... do you have something on your mind?" Soap whispered, looking down.
"Actually, no. I leave it to your choice."
"What? Simon, you can't let people choose something you'll wear on your skin for a lifetime," he laughed.
Ghost finished the chocolate in one gulp, unfazed.
"I tattoo the things I like," he replied. "I don't need them to make sense together and I know I'll like what you design."
"The things you like?" he repeated and raised Simon's left arm a little. "In that case, I’ve some questions about this."
Ghost looked at it and noticed that several memories were rushing to come out of the drawer where they were kept. He shoved them away and sighed.
"Let's just say that my adolescence wasn't the best."
He knew Johnny understood when he saw his expression.
"Okay, I'll think of something."
"Thank you," Ghost paused before continuing speaking. "How do you feel?"
"Much better," Johnny smiled. "Nothing that a shot of sugar won't fix."
Soap laughed and Simon smiled. He stood up, removed the cups, and scrubbed them in a moment. He then approached Johnny and kissed him on the forehead.
"Good, because it's time to go back to bed."
Soap's smile widened and he cocked his head.
"Say it again."
"Mmh?" He frowned, confused. "It’s time to go back to bed?"
“Yes, I like the way that sounded," he whispered.
Simon smiled slyly and leaned down to speak in Soap’s ear.
"Let's go back to bed," he whispered.
Johnny chuckled, shivering, and moved to bite his earlobe. Simon sighed.
"That voice of yours is going to kill me," he whispered while kissing him on the neck.
"Just my voice?" he asked, mockingly.
Soap rose to kiss him and rested his hands on Simon’s hips. Ghost put his arms around his waist, kissing Johnny back.
"You know you drive me crazy," he whispered against his lips.
"Good, because I think it's my turn to make you feel better."
Simon moved his hand towards Soap's pants and Johnny clung to him, grunting as soon as he reached into his underwear. Soap laughed and followed him into the bedroom and Simon undressed him, laying on top of him. He kissed Johnny and descended while leaving a trail of kisses all over his body. Soap arched, whispering a moan, and Simon smiled.
Johnny sighed and touched his shoulder gently.
"Don't push yourself too hard, okay?"
Simon looked up and frowned a little.
"I wouldn't want to have to explain to Emma that your wound opened by giving me a blowjob."
Ghost had a fit of laughter and had to sit up in bed. He held his belly and leaned back a little, groaning in pain as he felt the tug of the stitches. As it passed, Simon turned to Johnny and saw that he had sat down next to him, with his legs crossed and his arms over them. He was smiling with that smile of affection he only dedicated to him.
"Sorry, I…"
"What did you say? Did you say ‘sorry’?" Soap interrupted. "Don't even think about apologizing."
"I've ruined the moment."
"You haven't. On the contrary," Soap approached him and caressed his cheek. "Seeing you laugh like that is the best gift I could have."
Simon blushed and Johnny smiled a little more. He moved to retrieve his clothes and began to get dressed. Ghost frowned a little.
"You don’t want me to…?"
"Nah, I'm fine," Soap replied, putting on his shirt and moving a little closer to sitting astride him.. "I told you, hearing your laugh was so much better."
"I don't think it's that big of a deal," Simon muttered self-consciously.
Johnny kissed him on the lips and put one of his arms around his neck while, with his other hand, caressed the corner of Simon’s mouth, right on the side where he had the scar.
"It may not be for you," he whispered, "but I will treasure that memory."
Simon looked down and nodded. He placed his hands on Soap’s waist and rested his head on his neck. Ghost took a deep breath as Johnny began to stroke his hair.
"You know?" Johnny whispered in his ear.
Even though he couldn't see it, Simon could perceive that loving smile curling her lips.
"What?"
"You are also a very sweet person."
Simon pulled away abruptly and looked Johnny in the eyes. He returned a surprised look that quickly changed to a friendly one.
"I'm not sweet and you know it."
"Well, I just stated it," he laughed. "You don't perceive yourself that way, I know. You think you're a killing machine without feelings, but it's not true. Remember what I told you: you're like a crab, hard on the outside and soft on the inside," he stroked his cheek again. "And yeah, you could kill a person in a thousand ways but... when you are with me you are sweet and kind. None of my previous partners have treated me as lovingly as you."
Simon forced himself to swallow through the lump in his throat and looked at Johnny carefully, taking advantage of the fact that his attention was focused on one of the scars that he had on his chest. Simon saw melancholy in Soap’s eyes. How could it be that someone with as good a heart, as kind as Johnny, hadn’t been treated with affection? No matter how much he tried to understand it, the reason escaped him. Anyone should be grateful to be able to be with Johnny in the same way he was; in fact, Simon felt very lucky about it and was convinced that he had spent all the luck he had left in life.
"I'm sorry," Simon whispered as he hugged Soap.
Johnny took half a second to react and hugged him back.
"It's not your fault," he murmured, kissing his shoulder. "Look on the bright side, if it hadn't been like that, we wouldn't be hugging at five-thirty in the morning," he added with a soft chuckle.
Simon couldn't help it and snorted in amusement. Of course he’d seen the positive side of that whole situation. He sighed and tapped Soap on the hip a couple of times.
"You better get up, my legs are falling asleep."
Johnny pulled away and lay down on the bed; Simon followed suit and covered them both with the duvet. He looked at Soap as he moved to snuggle into his arms and, without a second's hesitation, took him close to him. Minutes later, Johnny was breathing deeply, peacefully asleep. Simon kissed his shoulder softly and took a deep breath. He would never have thought that he would enjoy the presence of another person so close to him so much, that he would feel so safe.
He rested his head on Johnny's hair and took a deep breath. Having him in his arms had become one of her favorite sleeping positions, as if hugging Soap would push away bad memories and thoughts, keeping nightmares away. As if it were an invisible cure for his insomnia and Simon felt lucky to have someone like Johnny in his life.
---
Living with Johnny was easier than Simon had expected. Although they had more physical contact than when they lived apart, it didn’t burden him. On the contrary, Johnny left him alone while he drew in the studio and Simon, who didn’t want to disturb him, sat reading in the living room armchair. Ghost loved paper books and Johnny had a lot of them, so it was easy to find him with his nose in the book, smelling the paper.
To his own surprise, he quickly got used to living together and to the routine, Simon had no problems adapting to Johnny's quirks and customs and Soap also quickly adapted to Simon's.
Johnny continued to go to work in Credenhill while Ghost stayed home, resting. Although he was recovering quickly from his injuries, there were still weeks before he could return. In any case, Simon was doing pretty well this time. On previous occasions he had forced himself to return to work as soon as possible, however, right now he was in no hurry. And it was something that felt strange to him.
"That's because you haven't done it in years," Amelia commented, sitting down next to him. "But it's okay to disconnect from time to time."
Simon kept his gaze on the soda in front of him. He had gone to see her like almost every day since he started living with Johnny temporarily; Simon had thought of visiting her to ask if she could lend him a guitar and Amelia had enthusiastically agreed. In fact, she had offered him one of the pub's soundproof rooms and Simon had taken the opportunity to practice again.
"I admit I missed it," he whispered, sipping some of his soda, resigned. Amelia had refused to give him anything with alcohol and he was dying for a whiskey.
"Oh really?" she asked, surprised. "Wow, I'm glad to hear that. I've really missed hearing you play and sing. If one day you'd like to play together, let me know."
Simon looked at her and smiled.
"Sure, I want to see how much you've improved since you started playing again."
Amelia made a vague gesture with her hand.
"Don't get excited, I've lost a lot of practice and there are still some movements that are difficult for me. Although I'm improving little by little."
"You sure are underestimating yourself," Simon made a sly expression and Amelia laughed.
"You're going to have to check it," she challenged before sighing. Amelia looked at her glass with disinterest and a kind expression. Her smile was one of appreciation, one that Simon had seen on a few occasions and always when she talked about Gary, Price or himself. "I'm happy."
Ghost looked at her for half a second and nodded.
"It makes sense. You're going to get married. And to a SAS captain no less."
She pushed him.
"You're an idiot. It's not just about that, it's about you too," Simon raised his eyebrows in surprise and she continued speaking. "You’ll never admit it, because before you would shoot yourself, but you are happy. For the first time in many years, you look happy."
Simon was silent and looked back at his soda. He watched the bubbles and ran his fingertip over the condensation covering the glass thoughtfully. He drank some and sighed.
"You're right," he whispered. "I'm happy. And that scares me."
Amelia placed a hand on his arm and gently traced circles on it. Simon moved his and placed it on top of hers.
"I understand, but this time everything will be fine," Amelia assured him.
"What if something happens to him?" Simon murmured, watching as she intertwined her fingers with his. "What if... what if he gets hurt and I'm not able to save him? What if because of me he…"
"Thinking about it won't help," Amelia interrupted gently. "Honey, the 'what ifs' are the devil's burden. He can break his neck while taking a shower. Or fall down the stairs because he's looking at his cell phone. Or he can get cancer and die. Life takes many turns and many things can happen, but they don't have to be bad," she sat up a little and kissed him on the cheek. "You deserve to be happy, Simon. And I think Soap is the right person."
Ghost looked her in the eyes. He knew she was right; that it was his insecurity that was really speaking, his fear of losing someone important to him again. To see how they suffered because of him. That Johnny ended up hurt by being with someone like him. Simon couldn't bear to see that light that emanated from Soap, one so strong that it was capable of illuminating the darkest corner of his soul, be extinguished; that smile full of joy cooled on his inert lips. Not only because of him, but on the battlefield.
Simon couldn't bear Johnny's death.
And being aware of that made him see how much he loved him, in every way. Simon had been repressing his feelings for Soap so much that he hadn't realized it before. Of how blind he had been, of how wrong he was to believe that it had been Johnny who had started the flirtation when it hadn't been.
"Sweetheart?"
He focused on Amelia. She had a worried expression on her face and, although she kept her hand on his arm, she had stopped tracing circles with her thumb.
"Sorry, I got distracted."
"I've seen it," she replied softly. "What was it this time?"
Ghost didn't respond immediately. He took his time to think and Amelia caressed him again.
"I've realized how much I love Johnny."
He said it so quietly that he wasn't sure Amelia had heard him. He knew she did when Simon saw the change in her expression, now friendly and inviting him to continue talking.
"I thought he was the one who approached first but... it wasn't like that."
She frowned a little.
"You told me that, a few months after you started working together, he had insisted on being your friend."
"That's not what I mean," he shook his head and leaned back in the chair. "I’m talking about the other approach. I started flirting after seeing his performance at the Sin Nombre's house."
Amelia blinked and opened her mouth a few times, trying to speak without success, until she burst out laughing.
"Honey, you don't know how to flirt. You just approach people and whisper in their ear if they want to sleep with you. And it's that sexy voice you have that does the rest."
"Do you also think I have a… sexy voice?"
She leaned over him a little.
"Look, if it hadn't been for John getting there before you and you being much younger than me, you would have had me in your bed on the first day. Your voice sounds almost like a purr when you want and it's incredibly effective."
Simon blushed and she laughed again.
"And I think Soap thinks the same," she added.
"I'm still surprised that he knew how to interpret my stupid comments as a way to flirt," he shook his head, surprised, and drank some more of his soda. "I didn't even realize, I wasn't aware that I had done it on purpose."
"Maybe you had other things to think about," Amelia shrugged. "It's something I noticed when we worked together. You set a specific goal on your list of priorities and the rest of the things take a backseat; it's not that you stop paying attention to them, you just go on automatic. And you do, and say, things without realizing it."
"Seriously?" Simon looked at her surprised. It was the first time someone had said something like that to him about himself.
"Sure. In the same way that your brain blocks pain when it releases adrenaline, it also takes care of things that aren't a priority but that you can't ignore. That's why you're so good at undercover missions and you're such a good lieutenant."
He snorted, dissatisfied, but didn't argue. Amelia seemed to understand because she changed the subject.
"Well, what are you going to get him for Christmas?"
"Excuse me?"
"Christmas is next week, honey," she laughed. "You'll have to give him something."
"We're not spending Christmas together, so I don't have to think about a gift."
Amelia raised her eyebrows, surprised.
"Why not? You have something better to do?"
"No, but Johnny is going to Scotland, like every year."
"Well, you can always go with him. Or maybe he'd prefer to stay with you this year, you're at his house and you're convalescing, so I doubt he'll want to leave you alone."
"I don't need help, Amelia."
She burst out laughing.
"I don't think you really know how relationships work, honey."
Simon was silent, evaluating his friend's words. That word again that he didn't know what to do with. A word that carried too much weight and that seemed more and more appropriate.
He looked down.
"So you think?" He asked. "That we have a relationship?"
"That's what it seems," she answered doubtfully. "Though I may have read too much between the lines, I'm sorry."
"No, don't apologize. It's just… well. I'm not sure."
Amelia seemed to understand.
"Of course, you've never had a partner," she took a deep breath and raised the glass to his lips to drink. "Given my history, I'm not the best person to talk about it; what I can tell you is that a relationship is based on trust and communication. Telling the other person how you feel or if there’s something that bothers you or makes you uncomfortable, among other things," she shrugged. "Honestly, I think what you have between both of you is a good definition, even if you haven't given it a name. Which isn't necessary either, you know," Amelia hastened to add. "And it all depends on what each of you is looking for. If you haven't talked about it, you should."
Simon nodded and remained silent. He remembered what he had felt when Makarov stabbed him in the gulag, all those regrets about how he felt about Johnny, the words he hadn’t dared to say but had dared to write in a letter he carried in his vest pocket. Since he woke up in the military hospital, Simon had thought about it more times than he would admit; he had rethought whether they were really feelings that were born from the fear of dying or if they were real and, in the end, he had come to the conclusion that they were real. That he really loved Johnny, that he wanted to stay by his side for the rest of his days. And, from how he carried himself, he knew that he wanted to have him around too.
Simon ran his hand over his face and realized he had to gather his courage and sit down with him to talk about it. Clarify things.
And, for the first time in a long time, his stomach turned with anxiety.
"I should go," Simon commented as he finished the soda and stood up. "Johnny's about to leave and I haven't made dinner."
"Do you cook now?" Amelia scoffed.
Simon snorted.
"I feel guilty for living with him without contributing anything, so I started making dinner," he replied, putting on his balaclava. "I'm not as good at it as him, but he hasn't complained yet, so I assume it doesn't taste bad."
"You look like a married couple," Amelia laughed.
He blushed, though his mask hid it, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she told him.
"I'll be here."
He left Amelia's house, pulled up his hood as soon as he stepped outside, and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Simon had three-quarters of an hour of walking ahead and too much to think about. Things that he had to deal with that he didn't know how to approach. Ghost thought of a thousand ways to approach the subject and rejected them all. In the end, while he finished cooking, Simon decided to do what he always did: say things upfront, bluntly.
"That smells really good."
Simon turned sharply when he heard Johnny's voice. The Scot raised his eyebrows a little, surprised, but he didn't stop smiling.
"Did I startle you?" he asked, mockingly.
Ghost snorted and turned to move the pot off the stove. Soap walked over to him and placed a hand on his forehead.
"You don't have a fever, are you okay?"
Simon looked at him and Johnny's mocking expression slowly faded. He removed his hand and cocked his head.
"I'm sorry. It's the first time I've seen you startled."
"Don't apologize, I'm… a little distracted," he replied, moving to set the table.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Johnny probed gently, helping him.
Ghost was silent and placed the food on the table, put in the water and looked at the pitcher as he filled the glasses.
"I should, but I don't know how to approach it," he admitted at last.
Soap put a hand on his back and kissed Simon’s shoulder before taking one of the chairs.
"Don't pressure yourself. Do you want us to start dinner? Maybe it's easier for you this way. Besides, I have to tell you something."
Simon sat up and looked at him curiously.
"What is it?"
"The old man has given us a few days off, so I was thinking about spending Christmas with my family."
"That sounds good," Simon replied, picking at the peas on his plate.
"I believe so. I can't wait to see them," Johnny smiled. "It's been a year since I was home," he paused and looked at Simon. "Hey…" Ghost looked up, expectant. "Would you like to come with me? Don't feel obligated, okay? I mean, I'd like you to come with me but I also don't want you to say yes for me and be uncomfortable. My family is relatively large and noisy and maybe..."
"I'll go."
Soap stopped and looked at him carefully.
"Are… are you sure? You don't have to come, I can stay with you."
"You want me to come with you and I want to do it," Simon replied simply.
Johnny's huge smile lit up the kitchen.
"Oh, really?"
Ghost couldn't help but smile a little.
"Of course. It’ll be… weird," he looked down at his plate and moved the food around with his fork, "and it might be a little difficult, but I want to do it."
"Maybe not that weird," Johnny commented. "My family knows your existence, you know?" Simon looked at him instantly. "Nothing personal, don't worry. They know that you are someone important to me, that you don't like people very much and that you don't want to show your face."
"Won't they... have a problem with me wearing the mask?"
"Nah, my family is pretty tolerant," he waved his hand. "We can always have dinner alone in the kitchen."
Simon was silent and shook his head.
"I'm not going to separate you from your family at Christmas, Johnny."
"But... your face..."
"As long as there are no photos, everything will be fine," he interrupted.
Soap was silent and looked at him for several minutes until Simon looked up. Johnny smiled fondly and Ghost noticed him blushing a little.
"Thank you, Simon," he said softly. "It means a lot to me."
Ghost's heart twisted with pain from the love he felt for that idiot and he did the only thing he was able to do: smile. That lit up Soap's face, who chuckled and continued eating his dinner.
Despite having insisted that he wanted to do it, Simon was not entirely sure about that trip. There were many things that could awaken feelings and memories that he had kept locked away, but on the other hand, maybe a six-hour car trip was the perfect opportunity to talk to Johnny about a few things.
2087
titsay
areudirty
stormborns
