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Soap runs across a field, laughing at his little sister who trips in front of him. From the distance he could hear his father screaming at them to knock it off while his mom laughed at their antics, the youngest child attached to her hip. He reaches down. His baby sister, only about eight at this time, stares back up at him. The smile on her face quickly morphs.
Instead they’re now in his childhood living room. Tears stream down his now two teenage sisters’ faces as his mother holds them in her arms, her own blue eyes glassy. Their father glares at him. “Well?” He asks.
He shakes his head, “No. I’m not changing my mind. I’m joining the military. I’m sorry.”
His father paces around for a moment, obviously not sure what to do with the anger that courses through his veins. So, he grabs his coat and storms out the door. The force slams it back open. His mother releases his sister as she watches her husband go before looking at him. She slings her own coat over her arm. A gentle hand is placed on his face. He smiles back at her, almost ashamed. Then she’s off into the night, chasing after her husband.
Sometimes he dreams he’s still in that living room. That he took the opportunity to take over his father’s business and watch after his sisters like he was supposed to. But he didn’t.
He always thought he had a pretty good idea of what love was. It was his father’s words, strict but out of a place of care. It was his mother’s gentle touch. It was his sister’s final goodbye to him with a punch on his arm followed by a bone crushing hug. It was the youngest sibling of the Mactavishs giving him a family picture to put wherever he could. To remind him to come back. It was that living room back in Scotland.
When he had met Simon, also known as Ghost, he saw someone who didn’t seem to feel that emotion. There were no hugs, no little hints. No love languages. There was just a calculating glance and a “English, MacTavish.”
But it didn’t stop him from falling in love anyways. It was stupid, really. Falling in love with the one man he could never possibly have. He didn’t know how Ghost grew up. However, he figured it was nothing like he had. His family had its bumps, sure. Like when he had originally told his family that he was gay. It’s smoothed itself out now but at first there were arguments between him and his father over it.
Soap doesn’t think Ghost knows what love is. He can tell by the way the man’s eyes darken every time they talk about the holidays or how they glaze over when the word “dad” is uttered. Or the way he excuses himself at the mention of a mother. He can tell by the way he just stares at Soap’s hand whenever it claps over his shoulder. Every inch of the man screams, “I have no memory of what love is.”
A snapping in his face brings him back to reality. He was tied up in the chair by a group of Shadows. They sneer and laugh at the way he shakes his head, coming back from his internal debate. Now, why is he debating love? Well, the whole reason why he got himself into this god forsaken mess.
They had been after Ghost, from what he could tell. It wasn’t too surprising. He’s sure the man has made a lot of enemies with the type of reputation he has. It’s not like the man is easy to get a hold of though.
“L.t, how copy?” He had asked into the comms.
Ghost immediately responded, “Solid.”
The sergeant breathed out in relief. Once he had filled him in on what he had overheard from the enemies, Ghost had gone suspiciously quiet. Not in a captured way, they were still talking back and forth about the mission. It was more in a “why-isn’t-he-telling-rubbish-dad-jokes” way.
It had all happened way too fast for his liking. One second he was talking into the comms as a way to check on the lieutenant, the next thing he knew he had a bag over his head. If he hadn’t had been so worried about Ghost, he would’ve noticed that a Shadow had snuck behind him.
Ghost was going to absolutely kill him for this. It was a stupid mistake, if he’s honest. One he shouldn’t have made in a million years. Yet, his mind is still on the man even though he knows he’ll get scolded for this if he lives. Wondering if he’s okay or if they’ve got him too. Unlikely, for sure.
“Soap, is it?” The ringleader asks, “You know, you were surprisingly easy to get.”
He furrows his eyebrows together at that. Him? Weren’t they after Ghost? He swore he had overheard them right. They had been talking to each other about “capturing the Ghost.” Which, he knows that he isn’t the ghost so what gives?
The man must see the expression of confusion on his face. He smirks. Then, let’s out a genuine laugh. John couldn’t tell you what the hell was happening if you had put a gun to his head. The mission started simple. Graves apparently had some guys left over so it was their job to take out whatever operation they had going on. Nothing they couldn’t handle. But now the sergeant was so unbelievably confused about the situation he had found himself in.
“What’s so funny?” He finally asks.
“Your mug,” The man respond, “The confusion on it. It’s just you’re a lot dumber than I expected you to be, sergeant.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
The man considers him for a moment. He stalks cowards a couple of steps as Johnny moves away from him as best as he can with the whole being duct taped and tied to a chair situation. He places his hands on the arms of the chair. “You’ll be dead by the time big boy with the mask gets here, anyways. Why not?”
He continues, “You’re merely bait, MacTavish. That was the plan all along. We get you, then Ghost— all while he’s in his impulsive pursuit, would be too scatter-brained to even pull himself together an actual plan.”
Now Soap is the one that laughs. Impulsive? Scatter brained? This guy is out of his mind. Ghost not having a plan is like if the sky suddenly turned green. It doesn’t make sense. The man’s eyes widen as if Jesus himself had come down on a giant fucking cloud and told him some great prophecy.
“Oh,” He mumbles, pushing off the chair.
Soap just stares, chuckling every once in a while. Ghost. Impulsive. A joke, really. An hilarious one. But then, “You don’t know about his weakness.”
That really sent the Scot over the edge. He swore he had literal tears in his eyes. Weaknesses weren’t Ghost’s thing either. He feels slightly better about the whole getting captured thing because these guys are idiots also. Then, a punch straight into the jaw. The laughter in his throat dies as he spits some blood onto the ground.
The man glares back at him, shaking off his his hand slightly. He then grabs Soaps chin, forcing him to look at him. “I don’t know why you’re the one laughing,” He growls, “Don’t you understand? It’s you.”
“Yeah, no I get it. That’s why I’m laughing. You really think that he’s going to run in here blind over what? Me? You’ve clearly lost your mind.”
“Do you really think that he won’t come for you?”
“Oh he’ll come. I know that. But I don’t know what you’re thinking about the whole weakness and impulsive thing because that’s not the Ghost,” He responds. And he believes it. He knows Ghost will come for him. He’d never insult his lieutenant by not believing that he will. As said in Alejandro’s safe house, they are in fact a team. But he has no idea what this bloak is thinking.
“Every man has a weakness, Mactavish. For some, it’s simple. Maybe it’s their family or their tickets to some baseball game. But no man is without one. Hell, sometimes it’s even another man. An annoying one with a stupid fucking mohawk and a mouth that just won’t stop yapping.”
And he really wants to laugh again. Him? Ghost’s weakness? First things first, he doesn’t have weaknesses as already been covered. The man hardly seems human sometimes. Second off, him? What would make him Ghost’s weakness? Another punch.
“He’s in love with you, you moron!” The man’s voice bounces off the wall. Then, it’s quiet. He tries to push down the blossom of something that could only be called hope in his chest. Because it’s not true. There’s absolutely no way. Ghost doesn’t do emotions and he certainly doesn’t do love. Plus, how would a Shadow know this?
Maybe he could allow himself a moment to pretend. Where he can close his eyes and picture dirty blond hair in his fingertips or a slight smile on a face that normally does not. “I love yous” traded back and forth. It would be so easy for them. He knows it.
It’s not possible, however. It never will be. Soap loves Ghost more than he’s ever loved another human being that wasn’t family. A life without Simon Riley seems like it never existed in the first place and he’d rather die with his feelings then risk losing that. So he allows himself a couple of glances or touches here and there yet never anything more.
He respects Simon too much. He loves Simon too much. And he’s sure that his lieutenant cares about him as much as he could— hell, maybe even considers him a friend. But a love interest? Never.
“Yer aff yer heid,” Soap responds.
It was obviously the wrong answer. He sees the glint of it, metal in the moonlight that gleamed through the cracked roof of the warehouse. Then, a coldness. He watches the knife get pulled out of him and at that moment registers what had just happened.
Then he feels the blood. Now, it isn’t the first time that he’s been injured on the job but it is the first time he considered he was going to die. Realistically speaking, he was fucked. Absolutely fucked. He was losing blood quite quickly and if the slow sluggish feeling enveloping him was any indicator, he wasn’t going to last too long.
A cold item is pressed to his head. A clicking sound follows. “A little overkill,” He mumbles, accent thickening, “Don’t you think?”
So, yeah. This was it. The man was going to pull the trigger and then Ghost along with the 141 would come to rescue him, only to find a lifeless corpse. Then, maybe they’d try to kill Simon. The only comfort he has in his dying breaths is that he knows it won’t work. Price will be there to back up the man along with Gaz, Laswell, Rudolfo, and Alejandro. Simon will live. He will be okay.
At that moment, Soap thinks of Scotland. He thinks of cold winters and fields. He thinks of his sister and his mother. He thinks of his father answering the door, only to be told that he was right about his son not making it through the military without dying. He doesn’t want to think about the shell of a man that his normally lively but firm father would become. He doesn’t want to think of his mom collapsing and screaming out for her boy that will be coming home only to be put in the ground. Or his sister angrily throwing rocks at his grave while the baby of the family stares at the dirt, hoping he’d crawl out.
Would the 141 come to his funeral? He’s sure. Would Ghost stay back and stare at his grave for a long period of time? Would he remember him? Would he miss him?
His head feels heavy and it lulls forward. Soaps mouth feels of cotton balls and his mind swims. He lets his eyes slip closed as he waits for nothingness to engulf him and take him away from this world.
“Step away,” A low voice growls.
The gun clatters to the ground causing Soap to startle awake again. He watches the figure in front of him step aside as laughter echos around him. It’s slightly muffled. The Scots vision blurs for a moment before it focuses again on the man a couple feet away.
A skull mask. A tall, muscular frame. He does his best to smile but he’s not sure if his muscles move. Ghost falters at the sight of him. “You’re too late and we got you just where we want you,” The man who captured him laughs, “Stupid—“
A sound of a gunshot pierces through the air. Then a bunch more. Johnny’s eyes slip closed again as he hears Ghost talking through the comms to Price. Good. He didn’t give them what they wanted. Backup is coming. It’s a shame though. Part of him might’ve hoped that he could die knowing Ghost loved him enough to be impulsive and run to his aid without any plan. But a bigger, less selfish, part of him is glad he doesn’t. Because he brought backup. He’s safe.
With every groan followed by the sound of a loud thumping to the ground, he feels his consciousness slipping. As each Shadow member dies quickly, he goes slowly. Ghost is going to kill him for this. But he’s so ready to let go. And he’s just about to when two hands cup his face.
“Don’t you dare, Sergeant,” A warning. It wakes him. Instead of the skull mask staring back at him, he was looking at Simon. Beautiful Simon. His brown eyes were wide and his hair was unkempt.
He murmured back, “Simon.”
“Fuck, Johnny,” He hisses, “Price, Soap is down. Need immediate evac.”
Whatever is said back through the earpiece, he obviously doesn’t like but knows he can’t argue as shown by his groaning loudly. His body slumps forwards suddenly, probably due to being cut free. Instead of hitting the floor, though, he’s caught. Just like Ghost. Always catching him before he falls. Most of the time. Didn’t stop him before he fell in love like he should’ve.
It occurred to Soap at that moment that this might be the only chance he gets at letting the man knows how he feels. Two hands press into his wound. The sergeant cries out. The pain was a reminder that he, at this moment was still here. He was alive. But a numbness was starting to slowly take over his body as his consciousness dipped in and out.
He looks at the man he loves. The only thing he can do is open and close his mouth a couple of times. Perfect, thick eyebrows furrow together. With the last strength he has, he reaches up and places his hand on the man’s cheek. “Beautiful,” Is all he says before the nothingness takes him.
Ghost was fucking panicking to say the least. Johnny wasn’t opening his eyes. “No, don’t you fucking dare do this to me,” He growls, “Not you.”
He watches in slight horror as the hand slowly slides off of his face, falling limp. It slaps against the concrete floor loudly. After, he laid him into a more comfortable position from where he was on his knees before. Now he had the man in his arms. Dying.
He grabbed his chin, shaking his face again. Johnny’s eyes remain loosely shut and his mouth agape. Too limp. Too still. Ghost decided that this was a version of Soap that he was not interested in seeing.
“Please,” He begs. Not sure exactly to who he’s begging to but he is. Maybe God? Although, he’s not religious. But If it meant that the man would live through this, he’d get on his knees and beg to a God who’s showed him nothing but pain.
The lieutenant places his fingers on the man’s neck and he can feel a slight pulse. At that moment he breathes. Then, Price’s voice cuts through on the radio and he’s off. The mask is back on and he’s carrying Johnny to the helicopter. Rudy and Alejandro, who were outside keeping watch and taking out any runaway Shadows, follow.
Gaz grabs Soap from his arms and helps get the very limp body into the copter. Price is immediately on with Laswell, asking about the closest hospital. She responds back. Everything moved so quickly to the point where it hardly felt real.
They make it all the way to the nearest hospital and he’s hopeful that the man will make it. However, as soon as the nurses get a hold on of him to bring him in— He codes. And just like that the world stops moving. He feels that feeling again.
Anguish. He slowly turns away, not caring to watch the nurses trying to revive the man. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He was too late. Always too late.
It was the first time in a while she’s felt so many things at once so strongly. So much guilt, anguish, anger, grief— Heartbreak.
And the worst part about it all, This was his fault. He allowed someone to get too close to him which was never a good idea. The Shadows were after him. They took Johnny because they knew what Ghost was always too scared to admit to himself.
So he ran. Well, more like speed walks. He kept going until he ended up back in the barracks. Until he was back into his room. He threw off his blood covered gloves. Then, just like when he had first found Johnny, the mask suddenly feels so unbelievably suffocating. He rips it off. He stares at the fabric in his hands, the skull glaring right back at him.
Suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. He slammed it down on the table and rushed to the bathroom. There, his own reflection met his eyes. The black makeup surrounding the dark irises another reminder that he wasn’t safe from this feeling. Not even as Ghost. He ripped off the balaclava next, throwing it onto the ground.
Ghost scrubbed. He scrubbed until his face felt raw but he couldn’t escape the feeling. It was so deep in him. Nothing could wash it away. He stares long and hard at himself in the mirror. The now longish dirty blonde hair, the scar that was long his cheekbone, the water dripping from his eyelashes. And he saw him. He saw Simon. The fear in the eyes that were red from tears reminded him of who he once was. Who he still is. He couldn’t breathe.
He still hears Johnny’s last word echo within his brain. “Beautiful,” As he had stared up at him with so much adoration— Too much for a dying man. As if all of his pain had gone.
There was nothing beautiful about Simon Riley. There never was. The world hadn’t designed him beautiful. He was scarred and vicious. People feared him. Everyone always had. Hell, he’s sure he scared even Price once or twice. But Johnny? Johnny never feared him. Lord know what the man had seen in him.
The door opens without warning and just by the footsteps alone he could tell it was Price. Of course the man came. Soap was dead. He probably wanted to make sure that Gho-Simon was okay.
“Ghost,” He says from the doorway.
And he hears Johnny. It’s not Johnny but it sounds like him to his ears. And rage builds up within him. Within Simon. Ghost was the reason that Johnny was dead. Simon would’ve never let that happen. He knows that realistically they’re the same people but maybe if he had just stopped being tactical fucking Ghost and let emotional Simon weigh in a bit, he would’ve gotten there sooner.
Or maybe, Simon was the reason this was happening at all. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to be Ghost right now. Ghost wasn’t human. He needed two bloody seconds to be human and feel this grief. Especially for this one. He felt like he was going to lose his mind after this and he knew that once Ghost came back he was going to burn it all to the ground. Including everyone that stood in his way. Shepherd be damned.
Shepherd. That was his next target. That’s who was going to pay. The Shadows were just an extension of him so at the end of the day it’s his fault. But for now, he needed to let Simon deal with this before he kills that part of him forever.
The two hands on the edge of the sink squeeze until the knuckles are white. Just like the mask. He glared up at the older man who’s been nothing but patient and kind to him.
Price stares back. Unrelenting. And as patient as always. He stands up and grumbles, “Don’t.” Then he pushes past him to the main area of his room. The sun was rising now, causing the space to have an orange hue. He doesn’t like how the world is still colorful even if Johnny is no longer in it. Price follows.
“Ghost, he—“
“Stop calling me that,” He turns on his heel, a warning to his tone. He picks up the mask shaking it slightly before throwing it his way. Not hard enough to hurt the guy at all.
He watches Price’s orbs move over the item, confusion clearly reflected on the man’s features. “That,” Simon spits the word out as if it was venom, “Is what got Johnny—Soap killed. I just need a moment as Simon. I can’t be Ghost right now.”
It clicks together. He can see it. When the pity in the man’s gaze meets him, thats the moment Simon breaks and he wants to destroy. He wants to hurt. And he’s scared of it. He’s scared of truly being his father’s son.
He doesn’t want to cause harm to Price, though. Never. But he does want to cause harm to himself. The room starts spinning as his chest heaves and it’s too much to bare. So what does he do?
He destroys. He slides everything that was on the nearest off. Price jumps towards him. His fault.This was all his stupid fucking fault. Stupid Ghost. Stupid Simon. It doesn’t go much farther than this, however. Because Price jumps in. Two hands wrap around his wrist, “Simon! Stop.”
Then, two words shouted at him as he struggles.
“He’s alive!”
He freezes. The world starts tilting off its axis for the millionth time that day. “What?” He practically whispers.
Tears prick at Price’s his eyes, “He made it through. Soap came back.”
His knees buckle underneath of him from the weight of the relief that coursed through his being. Price holds him up and then brings him into the tightest hug he’s ever received from the man. And Simon cries. It’s a rare thing.
Sure there’s been moments where it’s almost happened but he doesn’t allow it. Especially not in front of others. But right now, with fingers clutched into Price’s jacket and the smell of cigarettes deep in his nose, he allows it.
“We have to have a long talk about this, you know that right?” Price says once they pull away. A steady hand is squeezing his shoulder.
“I know,” Simon mumbles, “But I’m not sorry for breaking.”
“No—“ He cuts himself off. This confuses the lieutenant. The older man sighs.
“About your feelings for him.”
——
When Soap opens his eyes, he finds himself in a cot with an IV in his arm. Why was he here? What had happened? The bright light practically blinds him until his eyes adjust to the light.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” a voice says. Soap turns his head to see Price sitting there, a smile on his face.
He croaks, “I died?”
His throat felt like sandpaper, vocal cords scratching up against each other aggressively. Price stands immediately, handing him a water cup. As the sergeant drinks, the captain hums an affirmative.
“After you’re out of here, you and Simon will be on leave for a bit. Probably a couple weeks or until you’re cleared to come back to duty,” He sits back down, “Meanwhile we have a lot of work to do with figuring out if there’s a mole. I’m pretty confident that this is you two dense wankers faults, though.”
The younger man swallows, voice still gruff as he asks, “Sir?”
“I was born on a day, but it wasn’t yesterday, Mactavish.”
Everything comes rushing back to him at once. Him getting captured, the Shadows, Ghost. He feels his cheeks slightly heat up at the subtle accusation thrown out there. Then he glances around the room, disappointment pricking in his stomach.
“I told him to give us a moment,” Price sighs, “Bloody hell. A little codependent, are we?”
Soap huffs out a slight chuckle at that. He sits up slightly. So Ghost was here. He ignored the little flutter of his heart like a school girl with a crush.
“Let’s go over what happened, shall we?” Price mumbles, placing his hat on the table next to him.
After they finish, Price nods. Soap is informed that there are some things he needs to discuss with Laswell but to not worry about it. They’ll have everything figured out when he gets back. Which… What the hell does that mean? He didn’t like the professionalism in his voice as that was said either.
“And Soap?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m glad you pulled through. Had us all real scared for a moment, there,” Price nods once before opening the door, “Alright go on in.”
As he walks out, Ghost walks in. His eyes were wide underneath the balaclava and he could see the bags underneath of them due to the fact he was missing the usual eye paint.
“Hey, L.T.” He smirks, “Did ye miss me?”
And Ghost’s shoulders slack.
—-
“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost chides as he opens the door, their bags in his hand. Soap rolls his eyes. He walks into his house, flicking on the light as he does so.
He hears the door shut behind him. It’s been exactly a week since the whole stabbing incident and honestly? Johnny was glad to be home back in Scotland. He was even more ecstatic that Ghost had decided to come with him. All professional reasons, he’s sure. Probably just needed to make sure that the man was taking care of himself.
However, the idea that this was simply just his lieutenant checking up on him was tested when he had turned around to see Ghost pulling off the balaclava and tossing it onto the coffee table. He stared as the man brought a hand up to ruffle at his now longer hair.
Beautiful. Beautiful Simon Riley. And when the man sheepishly smiles at him, his heart officially melts. “Sit,” The man orders.
Honestly, Soap probably sits down on the couch a little too fast. But with him looking at him like that? He’d probably be willing to do anything for him.
Not for the first time, he realizes how absolutely smitten he is with this man. It’s kind of embarrassing if you think about it. But he doesn’t care. He tracks him as Simon waltzes around the living room, as if it’s his own. Did he stay dead and go to heaven?
“You’re staring, Johnny.”
“Sorry.”
He tears his gaze away. The home wasn’t much. It was just a little thing that was bought for times like this where injuries happened. There was only one bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, a living room, and an office space. The office space was impulsive. It made younger Johnny feel like an adult. Since then, it’s turned into where books and his sketches live.
Ghost kneels down in front of him after putting the bags away and Soaps brain actively does what can only be described as a “!!!” The man reaches for his shoes and starts untying them. He’s so. Gone. He’s gone.
It was too much. It was domestic. It was like the things you see only in those cheesy romcoms that Soap likes. It was jarring how well they fit into this little routine together. It reminded him of when his mom had come from the hospital after having his youngest sister. His father did exactly this. Sat her down on the couch and started to take off her shoes for her so she didn’t have to bend down. He was afraid of her hurting herself.
When Soap had asked why he did those things. His father had simply smiled at him, “Because I love her. When you meet someone, never stop trying to win them over. That’s the secret. The whole point in loving someone is having a partner in life. You have to take care of each other. So if I have to kneel on the ground to take off her shoes so that I know she doesn’t open a stitch trying to do it herself— I’m glad to.”
It hits him. It hits him harder than a semi truck. Ghost has shown love. Love wasn’t just hugging or kissing or flirting. It was him cracking jokes all throughout Las Almas in attempt to keep him calm. It was the way he had immediately corrected him after he disagreed with Rudy. It was the way that each and every time Soap was in trouble, he’d come to his aid. Not just come to his aid but full on panic any time it seemed like he might die.
It was Ghost, here right now, pulling off his shoe before going to work on the other one. Without thinking, Johnny reached out. His fingers grazed the man’s cheek. He looked up.
There, Soap finally saw it clear as day on the blond’s features. The way his face smoothed out as soon as those brown pools land on his face which he was sure was nothing but awe. Simon leaned into the touch, resting a hand on his until Soap’s laid flat and closing his eyes.
Yep. Johnny was for sure dead. There was no way any of this could possibly be real. But Ghost pulls away and his hand flops down onto the couch. Then, the second shoe is slipped off. Simon stands, placing the shoes by the door before slipping his own off.
“Staring again.”
This time Johnny doesn’t apologize. Simon walks back over to him and the couch dips with his weight. For a moment, they just stare. As if the two men were truly seeing each other for the first time. “Did you mean it?” Ghost asks, breaking the silence.
Somehow, he doesn’t have to ask. He knows he means when he was dying. How the last the thing he had done was the same thing he just did two minutes ago. Except that time a slight confession followed. He blinks, “God, yeah L.T. It wouldn’t have been my dying words if I didn’t.”
Simon considers this. Then gently reaches out and pulls him with him as he lays down on the couch, careful enough not to jostle his injury too much. Soap never knew that he could be so gentle. Johnny decided to take it all in and bury his head into his neck just as Simon buries his into his hair.
The Scot laid his hand gently on the man’s chest, to feel his heartbeat underneath of his fingertips. A small reminder that this was real. Every thump pushed a new feeling of comfort into him. The larger man pulled him impossibly closer, an arm wrapped around his upper back while the other hand massages his scalp.
Soap could die here. Was this what Price meant when he said that he had to talk to Laswell about some things? Did the old bastard know? Not fair that he got to know before him.
“Didn’t know you were such a cuddler, L.T.”
“Simon. When on leave like this where it’s just me and you, you can call me Simon. During times like this we’re just Johnny and Simon, yeah?” He corrects.
And Soap doesn’t have the strength to fight off what that does to his heart. It echos around his skull for a moment. Times like this. Times. With an ‘S.’ So there will be more? He lifts his head up slightly and the Brit turns his head also. They lock eyes.
“Careful, Simon,” He mumbles, eyes falling to his lips for a moment, “I might start to think you’ve gone soft on me.”
“And what if I have?”
His eyes shoot back up to the other’s. “I almost lost you, Johnny,” He continues. The tender words float through the little space between them. Simons fingers still run through his hair.
“Can’t get rid of me that easy.”
Soap winks at that but it sort of falls flat. The man has a sincere look on him that Johnny is convinced he’s never seen before in his life. Not directed towards him. “When you coded, I ran. I couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t lose you but I had and…”
Words have been always hard for the man. He knows that. So he was proud he managed to get just that little bit out before he stopped himself. “I’m here, Si,” Johnny whispered, “And I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always try my hardest to stay, okay?”
And he debated on saying the last part floating around on his tongue. He weighed the possibilities and he liked the odds of a positive reaction. Soap leaned a bit closer, whispering, “I love you, Simon.”
Without warning, Simon connected their lips. After a moment of shock the Scot had reciprocated it enthusiastically. That night, he didn’t hear the words back. Which was fine. He didn’t know Simons past but he knew the man probably hardly ever experienced proper love in his life. But that was fine with Soap. Love was so much more than just words and he couldn’t wait to teach the man how it feels to be loved.