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“Ghost… Ghost! Simon!” John shouted as he shook his partner, a stern look set onto his features, “I said: leave me and go RV with Soap and Gaz right now!”
“No way, you just got shot–” Simon had just gotten to his captain’s aid after killing the men who had shot him. His voice was no longer the rough Ghost’s but Simon’s scared voice, scared of losing one of the men he loved during a mission that went awry at the very end. He looked at his partner’s leg and then his stomach area– they weren’t mortal wounds but they were certainly painful, and John was losing blood.
“No, you listen to me, lieutenant Riley,” John hated pulling rank and Simon knew that, “You are getting out of here alive without me.”
“I won’t do that, Captain,” Simon was a stubborn bastard and his voice, although wavering, recovered the rough edge it had during missions, “I can take all of the bastards inside this AQ base and take you home alive.”
“Jesus fucking Christ! Simon, I don’t want you to die because of me!” John was desperate, he could hear more men coming closer to their location and so could Simon.
“Soap. Gaz.” Simon spoke through comms, barking out orders as he stood to face the door, “I want this base cleared on your end, now!”
The men were quick to flood in and Simon was even quicker to act, not bothering to count them before attacking. The macabre dance of knives and guns that surrounded Simon was a sight to behold, blood sprayed as the assailants fell. Simon wasn’t going to let John die there– Ghost wasn’t going to let any of these men get out of this base alive. It wasn’t an elegant fight, it was absolutely feral. Simon was praying to every deity that the base would be cleared on time so he could stop John’s bleeding and carry him out to exfil as soon as he physically could. He was desperate, having foregone any proper technique and just using his brute force against the assailants. None of them could live, not after their comrades had wounded his John.
It was down to two men and Simon was fighting with his hands and knives, mostly his hands. His mask had been pulled off by one of the men before, but Simon couldn’t care at the moment. In his daze, he got sloppy. He dropped one of the men and went for the other, however he didn’t get the kill properly. As Simon was dropping the last man, a knife stabbed into his cheek ruthlessly. Once. Twice. The third time, Simon stopped the man. He shattered his wrist and with the same knife he was stabbed with, Simon finished the assailant.
Simon ran back towards John, not bothering to check his own wounds. Mask, knives, and guns… all forgotten in the sea of bodies. Before he could say anything, the lieutenant could see the horror on his captain’s face. Right, Simon had gotten stabbed in the face. It was the adrenaline combined with his high pain tolerance that didn’t make him realise the pain. Now he felt it, or at least some of it.
“Simon, bloody hell…” John sounded equal parts amazed and terrified, “I can see your teeth through that wound.”
“I’ve had worse,” Simon shrugged, “Let’s RV with Soap and Gaz, yeah? Let me carry you.”
That wasn’t a question and John knew that. He stared at Simon’s bloodied face up to his war paint dirtied eyes, and he just sighed. Simon carried him bridal style as if John weighed nothing to him– well, he didn’t weigh as much to him. At that moment, John was nothing but a cloud to Simon. As he carried his captain, he could hear him on the comms ordering Soap and Gaz to head over to their rendezvous spot. Simon walked faster through the bloodied halls, avoiding bodies. He just needed to get John home.
When they got to the RV spot outside of the base, both Johnny and Kyle looked worried as all hell. The small look of relief that had begun to bloom on their faces was suddenly torn apart and replaced to one of horror and worry once more. They ran towards both injured older men, Johnny taking John off Simon’s arms into his own while Kyle looked for something to press against the lieutenant’s visible face wound.
“Simon, holy fuck,” Kyle held a piece of gause against the wound with trembling hands, eyes frantically scanning the older man, “What in the world happened to you two?”
“I got shot and this one wouldn’t leave me like I ordered him to,” John said after a long beat of silence from Simon’s part. He knew that the blond man wouldn’t speak at the moment and he was right, Simon was too worried over John’s wounds to even speak. Hell, they’d be lucky if the blond man would speak at all after the mission.
“Oi, whit did ye expect? Fur him tae juist lea ye tae die, auld man?” Johnny had a fierce look in his eyes as he set John down, the frustrated growl of his voice a testament to his feelings.
“Well, he fucking should have!” John was equally as fierce, if not a little bit more tired from the blood loss, “Look at him, he is fucking wounded all over! The wound on his face is not the only one! He could have died!”
“Boo fuckin’ hoo, ah wid hae dane th' same and sae wid hae Kyle!” Johnny countered, striking his hand against his palm– his desperation evident in the way he no longer spoke as a sergeant but a worried lover, “Tis na man left behind and that includes ye, John.”
Both of them were at a standstill with glares that could kill, however John was the first to relent, sighing as his eyes softened. Johnny held his glare for a beat longer until he too let it soften, going in to check the older man’s wounds.
“Dinnae be a martyr, please. We need ye alive.” Johnny finally sighed, resting his head against John’s chest.
John’s injuries were enough for him to need to go home and rest, while Simon’s were just bad enough for him to not be allowed on active duty for some weeks. So Kyle left to take care of John as he healed, and Johnny kept a close eye on Simon at base. Both sergeants filled their group chat with updates on both ends.
Just as they all expected, Simon refused to speak out loud for a while, resorting to BSL or just answering with grunts, nods and head shakes. Johnny could understand the sign language quite well so it wasn’t a problem. However what was a problem was that Simon refused to tell him anything that was going on inside his head, he would instead bury himself in paperwork and ignore the hurricane forming inside his mind.
“Simon,” Johnny knocked on Simon’s office door for the third time that minute and couldn’t help but smile when the older man finally turned to look at him with a lost puppy look to his face, “Awright, thare yer.”
Johnny, Simon signed, Sorry. Got lost checking these reports for John.
“Cuid see that. Whit's gaun oan in that bonny heid o' yers, huh?” Johnny walked closer to him and leaned down to press a kiss on Simon’s forehead, before stepping back enough to allow the blond man to sign.
Nothing, Simon signed at first and then hesitated before he continued, Actually, that’s a lie... I could’ve lost John. We could’ve lost him, stupidly so.
“But we didnae lose him, aye? Ye fought weel and ye brought him home alive. Ye even git a freish scar tae shaw fur it.” Johnny reassured Simon and even tried to joke around, gaging the situation with humour as he often did.
Oh, this thing? Simon signed about the scar on his left cheek which showed his teeth partly, Yeah, no, I hate it so much. When the knife went in the first time, I was reminded of… you know.
“Simon, a'm sorry,” Johnny kneeled beside him and put a loving hand on Simon’s thigh, dropping the humourous route, “Have ye bin battling these thoughts by yersel'?”
I’m ignoring everything, Simon sighed, I just want… I want to stop thinking about it.
“Simon–”
No, I know I shouldn’t ignore it but if I think about it, I will go insane.
“Simon–”
… Johnny, would you still love me if I had failed?
“Pardon?”
Would you, John MacTavish, still be able to love me had I not been able to save John Price?
“Stoap daein' that tae yersel'. John lived cause o' ye and yer alive fur o' yersel',” Johnny squeezed the panicking man’s thigh, “Simon, yer an amazing man. Look at me. Awright, tis okay.”
Simon shook as he cried, thinking about the incidents fully for the first time in two weeks. All of the feelings he had rationalised and compartmentalised, but not felt, came crushing him down and all he could do was cry, ugly and dry heaving. Johnny held him and caressed his back, allowing the blond man to cry his heart out. Simon pushed away with trembling arms in order to sign some more.
All of my scars, they burn. The Glasgows and the one around my neck are the worst, Simon explained as he sobbed, not even bothering to wipe his face, I can hear him calling me his bitch in my head, I feel trapped and I can see John bleeding out. All at the same time. Everything burns. It burns. It burns. It burns.
Simon kept signing fire, with both hands held against his chest with his palms facing each other, wiggling his fingers while his hands moved up and down alternately. He looked anguished. Johnny knew that the older man wasn’t looking for him to say anything, Johnny just needed to listen and be there for him– that was what the taller man needed when his thoughts got too much for him. No amount of pretty words could erase what was done to Simon or what he had witnessed in his life, but the physical touch and just knowing that somebody listened without judging was what the blond man craved for when he had these types of breakdowns. It wasn’t often that he got like this, however it was good for his partners to be prepared and able to help him.
As the sobs died down, Simon finally allowed himself to slump fully against Johnny. He had finally stopped signing fire, the hands in front of his body no longer moving about miserably. Johnny held Simon’s trembling hands in his and kissed them softly; the older man allowed him to do so, no longer needing to sign anything for the moment.
“Simon, a’m not gonnae say that things wull git better fur ye ken tis nae true,” Johnny wiped Simon’s tears as he spoke, opting for not sugarcoating anything just as the blond man had once begged him to do, “But it wull git easier tae cope wi’. That's why a'm needin' ye tae talk or sign tae me... Tae us all... Even if it seems hard tae dae.”
Simon nodded his head as he looked at Johnny with sad eyes, all of his emotions evident in them. God, Johnny thought that the universe was held in Simon’s big brown eyes at that moment and, hell, the Brit was the universe himself. The Scot wanted nothing more than to protect him, go after everyone that had ever made him feel small even if Simon had already killed everyone of them. The truth was simple: Johnny couldn’t do anything about Simon’s past, but by God he could make his best effort to make his future look like paradise.
“Okay, let me dry yer face. Thare,” Johnny was incredibly gentle, as if Simon was a brittle flower, “Gorgeous, juist lik' th' first time a saw ye wi'oot yer mask.”
The loving words got a soft Simon to exhale softly and smile. It was a small smile, careful not to tug at his still fresh wound. He was more precious than any gem when he smiled. Johnny leaned towards him to kiss his forehead and was surprised by Simon kissing his lips. It wasn’t a desperate or hot kiss, it was slow and loving as if the older man needed to be reminded that he deserved love.
Thank you, Simon signed as he pulled away, I needed this.
“It’s okay, love,” Johnny reassured as his hand found itself on Simon’s stomach, ever soothing and grounding, “How about you finish this up tomorrow? Let’s sleep together?”
Simon hesitated for a moment before he nodded, smiling once more. Johnny thought that even if the devil hid behind Simon Riley’s smile, he would rather fall with him for all eternity– he was sure that both Kyle and John would agree– because no paradise could ever compare to the man before him. He was entranced with him and he almost missed the way Simon was gently signing his name.
“Aye, love?”
I love you, Johnny.
“I love you too, Simon.”