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Simon Riley looked a lot like his mother. People used to say that to them in grocery stores, at the park. How cute it was to have a mini version of herself walking around. Like looking in a mirror they’d said. Of course they’d ignored the dirty clothes, the signs of abuse that were clear if you were looking for it. But looking at them, even at a glance, they shared a lot of the same characteristics.
Soft curls, light brown, almost blonde hair, that if taken care of properly would be beautiful. Simon got to see it a couple of times before her death. How beautiful she could be if she got a little bit of freedom. They had the same eyes too, so blue that they were almost piercing to look at. Shined as bright as the sky above. An old lady at the checkout told him that one day. He never forgot it.
He had her nose too, fit perfectly on his face when he was a child, crooked as he got older. Broken a few too many times when things got bad. When he was old enough to understand that things were always bad. Simon just became a part of it. He didn’t know where his mouth came from, but he had his dad's jaw. Formed as he aged. A part of him liked it, wished it wasn’t his asshole of a fathers feature, but it made him look less feminine.
His father made sure he knew how unlucky he was to look like his mother. Soft. As he put it. Men shouldn’t be soft, and seeing Simon's face alone was enough to be disappointed in, he didn’t even have to say anything. Simon believed that for a long time. Even the word pretty still made him instinctively flinch sometimes. As if the person complimenting his face would suddenly sneer and back hand him for it. Or worse, but those memories he can’t think about clearly, even after all these years so he won’t.
It took a long time for him to come to terms with his own face not being something to be ashamed of. Maybe that’s why he used a replica of the mask his brother used to scare him with to hide behind. Or maybe it was just a way to remember something that he’d hated as a child, but would give anything to have just one more time. He’d lay awake, terrified of his brother in that mask everyday if it meant that they’d be alive now.
Ghost didn’t have such problems.
When Simon was Ghost, there was no face. There was no Simon , not unless he allowed it. Which was seldom. Because when he looked in the mirror as Simon, wearing Ghost's clothing, sometimes he wanted to punch the mirror. To shatter it to pieces for daring to show him parts of his mother back at him.
At the beginning of Ghost. The real start of his decision to wear the mask and not just hide his face. Sunglasses weren’t good enough with the mask anymore after his family was slaughtered. Simon just couldn’t function without the physical barrier between him and every single person around him. The skull helped more than he’d ever share with another person. Ghost was no one but a murderer and a protector of those who couldn’t protect themselves. He was a big scary thing that saw you before you saw him.
Feared and emotionless.
People talked and gave him exactly what he wanted.
Simon wanted to be left alone, to never have to deal with anything again and Ghost gave it to him.
Until he met Captain John “Soap” MacTavish.
The rest of the 141 never asked about the mask and Price knew who Simon was and left it the hell alone. Price had details, Price knew what happened and why Ghost existed in the first place. He never asked questions, and never once has he given him any type of pity. Only recommended a therapist that the man knew who wouldn’t take him off the field. Because Price knew that until Simon needed to be discharged, until Simon was done with it all, Ghost wouldn’t be going anywhere.
He talked to the therapist when he could. Which wasn’t often, but that’s not the focus of his thoughts right now. They knew more about him than anyone. His therapy sessions about all of the shit life’s given him can stay deep in the back of his mind, away from John until he’s ready for it all to come out. And he doesn’t know when it will, so thinking about it only makes the disconnection between Simon and Ghost sever and he can’t let that happen.
Not now, now that Johnny is calling Simon by his name. Casually like it slips before he can help himself.
Ghost remembers when he first showed the men his face. The way John had looked at him them. He’d casually pulled it off, trying to show a brave face. Price had sure made it easier, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Johnny and the way he seemed to be memorizing his features.
Simon
had to ignore the shiver that went down his spine because of the look in his eyes. A feeling he hasn’t associated without fear in years, of phantom hands across his body. He doesn’t feel that right now, not when Johnny looks at him like he wants to worship him.
He’d never been so far out of Ghost's demeanor when he slid the new mask on. Too taken off guard about the entire situation to easily slip into that state and shut off his emotions. It was ridiculous, it made him feel stupid.
All because fucking John MacTavish looked at him.
What a joke.
It was easier after that for a while. Missions and betrayal. That wasn’t his first rodeo, but it didn’t make him feel less affected. Simon was reeling, angry that he didn’t notice soon enough. For putting his team in danger, for letting his guard down. The slightest mistake caused all of this bullshit. Everything falling apart at the seams like it always seemed to do when Ghost was involved. Not always, but it sure as fuck felt like it. They knew his face, these men did, but it wasn’t even important enough to think about between all of the ranging of his emotions that he fought to shove down.
Fucking Johnny and the fact that he had hit the ground and Ghost, Simons chest surged with worry before he could stop it. Them running, separated and then together again.
Solving all of the bullshit and somehow living past it. Somehow Alejandro and Price and others lived past it. How Graves and Shephard were laying somewhere in the dirt.
How he hasn’t taken his mask off once since, not unless he had to shower. He was Ghost even when he was fucking sleeping now.
Simon thinks he’s done, this was the brick that broke the camel's back. Ever since coming back to base, he hasn’t been able to make a single joke. Barely even a few words leave his mouth these days. And if they do, they’re quiet and muffled behind the mask. His therapist thinks he should request leave. See how it makes him feel, even if he doesn’t actually leave base. To just be for a little while, let Simon process his emotions and see where it takes him.
Ghost knows Simon's thoughts won’t change. And if he’d just take the mask off and look at himself in the mirror. He’d see it. See the same abused eyes of his mother, looking for a break, freedom to do anything but what Ghost has been doing. Dull and sad, a bastard version of what those eyes once looked like. But he finds himself unable to just yet, doesn’t want to come face to face with himself and see it. Doesn’t want the reminder that he looks just like his mother did when he was young. How she looked the last time he saw her. Not at the very end, but close enough.
Price approves his leave.
It’s done with a blank face and eyes that tell him everything he needs to know about the situation. Knows what Ghost is telling him without saying it. Price always knows Simon, it’s a curse and a blessing to have his Captain be so in tune with what he won’t say. But if he doesn’t have to say it yet, not out loud at least, then he’ll count it as a blessing.
Ghost is training recruits for a different task force for the next 6 months. That’s the agreement they made. No other missions besides making sure these men won’t die the moment they leave base, and that Ghost can do. Doesn’t want to be involved with the fact that they’re screening other soldiers. Too many betrayals apparently, as if one wasn’t enough. He’d rather look at these men, who are new and full of life, life Simon hasn’t had since he was 4 years old and his father smacked him for the first time.
Ghost takes his balaclava off. He’s alone the first time he does it. Doesn’t even look at himself in the mirror as he does so. Only seeing curls that are too long on the top for his line of work in his side view. He can’t bring himself to look, not yet. But he washes his face and avoids the sink mirror and doesn’t put the balaclava back on. Instead he grabs a regular black face mask, holding in his hand for god only knows how long before he slides it on his face. Having his nose and mouth covered is enough and he can feel himself breathing easier because of it.
It doesn’t mean that the moment he leaves his room that newfound breath doesn’t leave him. His chest feels tight just walking through these halls to the training field where he’s going to meet these men for the first time. People are staring at him, he can feel it. It makes him itch unpleasantly but he charges on. He wants to do this, wants to let Simon have this because it’s what he needs. What he hopes will make him feel less like a caged animal.
So he soldiers on.
Outside, it’s bright without anything hiding his eyes. The blue is sensitive to the sun anyways but he’ll just have to deal with it. No sunglasses today. Not when he’s taking a major leap for himself.
Ghost probably should’ve told someone about it though. The new recruits look like they’re expecting him to go awol at any given moment. After a while, after he’s made them run and exercise until most of them are having a hard time standing up right, he realizes that they’re only looking at him because they have too. Their eyes are anywhere else unless he’s directly speaking to him.
It’s 2 months of this routine before Johnny is back on base. A mission took him away just days before Ghost requested and got his leave approved and he’s just getting back from that. Whatever he did while he was gone and Ghost doesn’t know what it was. He wonders if it would bother him, not knowing if it were anyone besides Johnny.
The revelation that the answer is no is more jarring than anything. Ghost is a lieutenant, they tell him things and since he’s on leave he’s been out of the loop. It’s a relief and that relief scares him.
But Johnny returning means that he’s probably going to be the only man on base that isn’t convinced that Ghost has lost his damn mind. While he can’t blame them for thinking that, he’s also not certain he hasn’t lost it. The only person that doesn’t think he’s losing it is his therapist, who looks happier than ever everytime he walks into that room with only a face mask on.
Ghost guarantees that Johnny will know everything before he even sees him again. And that moment comes sooner than Ghost is ready for it too, because the bastard comes to see him when he’s out on the field with the recruits, which means he can’t give into the urge to run away. His flight or fight engages as soon as he sees him out of the corner of his eye. Watching as the man’s eyes widened but never stopped walking. He can’t handle it when Johnny looks at him, it makes him feel things he shouldn’t feel, especially not as Ghost.
“I heard you requested leave.” Johnny talks softly, obviously making sure that he’s the only one that hears him. The rest of the men are too far away to hear but he silently appreciates the gesture.
“I did.” Ghost replies simply, “Four months left.”
Johnny hums, equally as quiet. He’s still fucking staring at him. “You doing alright?”
Probably not.
“Yes.” Ghost replies anyways, “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”
“Oh I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that most of you is visible.” Johnny replies, something other than sass in his tone that Ghost doesn’t have the energy to recognize. He crosses his arms and sighs, the man is standing too damn close. Ghost can practically feel the heat radiating off of him and the slight touching is doing nothing to help his psyche.
“My therapist says that this is a great time to unwind.” Ghost replies and what the fuck , but he can’t take the words back now. Replying with something so open, outside of all places. Johnny's breath hitched at that answer and Ghost knows he’s just opened a whole new can of worms.
“You see the therapist?”
Ghost grunts, hand tightening around his own arm, “Three times a week. Since we got back.”
“Oh.”
Ghost fights a scoff, only frowns behind his mask, his eyebrows crease and he knows Johnny sees it. It’s open to the world now after all. “It wasn’t the mission.” Mostly, the mission was definitely a catalyst for the decision, but Johnny doesn’t need to know that. He makes a face as if he doesn’t believe him anyways. He wants to tell him, he does, Johnny wouldn’t think of him any different but now is not the place, nor is it the time to be having a heart to heart with the persons who’s become as close to a best friend as a person can have in this line of work. “It was just time.”
That’s what Ghost settles on. Out here where anyone can hear them even with as quietly as they’re talking. That’s what it feels like to Ghost and it must show on his face somehow because Johnny drops it with a nod and Ghost couldn’t be more grateful.
“Well it looks like you’ve been having fun.” Johnny grins, suddenly so light hearted that it gives Ghost whiplash, and he has to look away from the man. Over to where he’s gesturing to the men who are still running because he hasn’t told them to stop.
“A blast.” He replies stonically and Johnny laughs, patting a hand on his shoulder, making Ghost's entire body seize up in his surprise. It’s gone as quietly as it came but the heat from being touched is still there and Ghost clears his throat, hoping Johnny didn’t notice.
“C’mon, since you’re here. Help me finish up.”
Johnny shakes his head and follows when Ghost walks, “You’re a menace, Sir.”
None of that interaction leaves his head for the next couple of days. And one morning he finds himself sitting on the floor in his room, the lights on and the mask off. Staring at himself in the mirror with unblinking eyes. They’re dry and he has to force himself to blink when it happens. He just cannot stop staring at him.
Ghost missed the training this morning. He doesn’t know what they’re doing, but he can’t do anything else but stare. Taking in his own features like they’re new.
It’s been a long time, Simon.
He’s still in the clothes that he slept in. Hasn’t even left this room. He’d accidentally gotten a glance at himself when he got out of bed and he’s been stuck in this very same spot ever since. He doesn’t even know when he sat down, or how long it’s actually been. Doesn’t care, not when his eyes are a bit lighter than the last time he caught a glance at them through a shattered mirror in a house that barely stood on its own foundation. Simon kind of feels like that house right now, even if the darkness in his eyes has faded. Not a lot but it’s noticeable to himself, the shadings different.
The knock on his door doesn’t even take him out of his own musings. Simons is too locked in on himself to move, and when the door opens, all he does is tense. Watching his shoulders hunch through the mirror, his expression goes guarded but he doesn’t look away. Not even when Johnnys voice comes in the room, saying something about food, and being worried that he missed the training.
Then it’s complete silence and Simon knows Johnny’s noticed what he’s doing. A clatter of a plate being sat down is heard and then Johnnys sitting on the floor next to him, out of the mirrors range, but close enough to Simon that their knees hit together.
The silence continues and Johnny doesn’t try to break it. It’s nice, it’s what Ghost and Simon like, the stillness of a room, barely any sound at all. It’s what he needs most of the time, and it’s nice that even though Johnny has clearly invaded his personal space, he’s not actually doing anything at all. Besides staring at him.
“I look like my mom.” Simon says softly, breaking their silence. Johnny's breath hitches but he doesn’t speak, just letting Simon talk in slow instances when he feels like he can. He promised himself that one day he’d share more about the things Johnny’s never asked, but would be the only one who would ever be able to. The only one who would be brave enough too.
“Got her hair, her eyes, and her nose.” Simon murmurs, the blue reflecting back him in the mirror as he filters over his own features.
“She must’ve been beautiful.” Johnny says almost hesitated, like Simons going to lash out at him but Simon only smiles softly at himself in the mirror. Seeing his eyes go misty with it.
“She was.” And Simon lets out a breath.
“Got my dad's jaw.”
“Yeah?”
Simon hums, not looking at it as much as he can. “My brother, if he could look in a mirror anymore, would see our dad looking back at him. Fucking hated himself for it.”
Johnny's hand slowly rests on his thigh, still so obviously hesitant in his actions but Simon doesn’t move him away. Looking at Johnny's hand in the mirror. It still stings, no one just touches him, ever. No one’s touched him in years. Not for anything. And never to provide a silent comfort. He must know what’s going on, and he doesn’t ask even if he’s curious. Just listens, and Simon has a feeling that Johnny would sit here all day if he had too. The more Simons let himself think. The clearer Johnnys been with his feelings. Even if no direct words were spoken, some things you just never have to say for the other person to understand.
These are things he has to say to be able to move forward. Even if he feels like his entire chest is being crushed with a boot as he does so. Simon deserves it and Johnny deserves to know what he won’t ask. So they can both move forward with whatever they’ve been skirting around.
“My dad hated to look at me. Hated to look at any of us really. But me, looking the way I did was his biggest disappointment.”
“Simon…” Johnny starts, and Simon only moves his own hand, ignoring the stutter in his chest from hearing his name after so long, and resting his hand on the top of Johnnys and squeezing. The man goes silent after that again.
“Told me I looked too soft, and I ...” He doesn’t know how making his son watch a prostitute overdose and be forced to laugh at her could get any worse, but he won’t share that particular memory with Johnny right now. That’s not what this or what has been specifically bothering him. “I thought that if I looked less like my mother, it would help. I shaved my head once, in the middle of the night and he smiled at me for the first time. And I thought it would help but I remember him telling me that ‘ finally, it won’t look like I’m punishing your mother twice. I’ll sleep easier.’ Like he was thanking me.”
“ Jesus . Simon… that’s fucked up, you know that right?” Johnny states, his other hand his squeezed into a fist, but the one holding his hasn’t gripped any tighter. Not once has the clear anger he’s feeling right now been reflected back into Simon and that noticeable thing kind of makes him want to cry.
“I do now.” Simon states simply, “I started covering my face when I first joined because I didn’t want anyone to look at me and think I was soft. I had convinced myself that it was a bad thing to look anything less than a soldier. I know now that it isn’t, but… then it turned into avoiding my reflection after… everything.” Simon hopes Johnny knows what he’s referring too because he can’t say that right now. “I didn’t want to look at her face and see what I could never have back.”
Johnny moves again, he can feel his emotions without even looking at him. It’s like they’re radiating off of his body and there’s so many of them all over the place. Simon’s talked more right now than he has in years but now that he’s started, he doesn’t think he can stop. Johnny's arm comes over his shoulder but he doesn’t try to move Simon. Offering comfort without expecting anything in return. Not even speaking. Just being there and that’s exactly what Simon needs right now.
“They started calling me Ghost.” He exhaled shakily, pausing before he continued, “I found a mask, one so similar to the one my brother used to scare me with when we were kids.” Smiling a little, lips quirked at a memory that used to piss him off. “And I used it to hide. I became Ghost so I didn’t have to think about anything anymore.” Between the torture, the betrayals, and the murder of his family, being fucking buried alive. “Ghost didn’t have the baggage Simon has. Ghost didn’t have to feel, he just needed to do his job.”
“Then you requested leave…” Johnny whispers, bringing them back to the present. Which Simon appreciates, just sharing the information he had was enough. They don’t need to talk about it anymore today.
“I’m… I’m tired, Johnny. I don’t think I can be Ghost anymore.” Simon finally takes his eyes away from the mirror and shifts. Turning his entire body around and into Johnnys. Something Ghost would never do in a million years, he’d never ask for affection. Would never allow him too, but Simons done. He can’t do it anymore and it’s finally time for Simon to get what he wants.
Johnny doesn’t even hesitate. Just takes Simon into his arms right there on the floor. That does make him cry, silently. But Simons never was a loud crier. Even though he’s a head taller than Johnny, here in his arms he’s never felt smaller. Basically in his lap, huddled up into him with his face in his neck.
“You deserve to rest Simon. You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be.” Johnny murmurs and Simon feels his hands cradle around him. One wrapping around his back and the other into the short hairs on the back of his neck. “Take it off.”
“Show my face?” Simon whispers, hand already moving to do so, not having the energy to fight the want to do so, even as their own teasing words of the past echo around them.
“Affirmative.” And Simon does it. The mask that was being gripped in his hands hits the floor as he sits up, away from his hiding place and Johnny smiles at him. Softly and privately in the space of his room. Hands moving to cradle his jaw, fingers ghosting on his cheeks.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a little soft, Simon. And you are so beautiful.”
Simons breath hitches and his eyes close at the feeling. His therapist is going to have a fucking heart attack when they see him again, but right here, on the floor, after spilling peices of his life to the only person he ever would, no mask on his face, Simon feels soft. And it feels good to feel this soft. He’s not afraid of it, doesn’t expect violence as the answer, only Johnny and his comforting hands and accepting presence.
He doesn’t know what’s going on in his head, but he knows that they understand each other a little better and they’ll move forward from this. Sharing what Simon has with Johnny, out of his own accord. Even if he doesn’t get to go somewhere away from here, somewhere new he can call home quite yet.
Lips meet his own and he at least knows he’ll get to start here and he’ll get to start as Simon.
Even if he’ll miss Ghost.