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silli---lilli · 3 months

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Part 4 - Blind Soap and Wounded Ghost/Soulmates

AO3 whole fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50092006

Johnny has been temporarily blinded, Ghost had a private room to deal with his wounds until Soap gets moved in. Ghost has the mark of a soulmate appear.

TW: Injury

Part3:

“They said you’re well. Leaving soon.” Price sat across from Simon at a small table in the cafeteria on a lower floor of the hospital.

The man had been around, Simon felt guilty for feeling so alone, knowing there was at least one person that cared for him.

“If things stay steady.” He sipped his tea, he looked out the window, and he wished to be back in his room. With Johnny.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Price had half a smile when Simon looked back at him and the accusation wasn’t unkind. And it wasn’t unknowing.

“How could you tell?”

“It’s my job to tell.” He shook his head. “It happened here? You were always a magnet for horrible coincidences.”

“I’ll do you one better.” Simon never looked back at his captain. “He’s back in my room right now. We were bunked together.”

Johnny still couldn’t see. Not fully. A bit of light recognition had found him and hope carried him in the form of Simon’s words. That he could see. That the injury to his eyes must not be permanent, must not be a scar. But the science wasn’t perfect and when he was alone he wavered.

And he knew Simon was leaving soon. Simon never said it but he heard the nurses and doctors speaking to him about his future plans. He was healed. He would go home soon, and then to rehab, and then back to work and Johnny would just lay there, by Simon’s window alone.

He’d been a mess of emotion in the days after their bond was revealed. He couldn’t hold it against Simon for keeping it secret, he thought he probably would have done the same. And it gave him great insight into the man he couldn’t yet see.

They spoke a lot. Johnny marveled at how his voice began to sound different with use. How it held a warmth with him that he hadn’t heard when he spoke to others. Johnny knew Simon’s CO had come to visit him that day and that he met him downstairs rather than rub it in Johnny’s face. It made him sad. He would have liked to meet someone else that knew him.

He could hear Simon walking down the hall a long time before he reached the room. His gait wasn’t perfectly even, and especially light from years of covert work, but it was familiar to him. It made him feel safe. His life as he knew it was over but he felt anchored to the other man. He felt a possibility of something more. He turned to face him as he entered, and Simon didn’t bother stopping on his side of the room. He came to Johnny’s, taking his usual place in the chair beside his bed. It had remained empty of visitors, but he took it easily.

“How was it?” He asked.

He swore he heard Simon shrug. “Fine. As to be expected.”

“He has work for you?”

Simon chuckled. Johnny found he’d like to bottle the sound for later. “He won’t tell me anything until I get a medical all clear.” He cleared his throat. “And a psych eval.”

Johnny laid his head back against his pillows. That meant he’d told his Captain about the bond. Anyone who wanted to fight with a soulbond had to be assessed separately, to determine if they could properly focus, if they could continue to make decisions that benefited the team as a whole.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” He breathed. He had managed to ruin Simon’s grand return.

Simon didn’t sigh. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but he stood. Johnny could hear him move closer. Stand at the edge of his bed. “Now why would you apologize for that?”

Johnny shifted, uncomfortable. He could imagine their dynamic if all were well, but he was so weak like that. He wasn’t afraid of Simon, but he felt so much less. “It’s the mark, isn’t it?”

Simon shrugged again, and his hand found Johnny’s arm. Like it had the first night he comforted him. It had become common between them. “Sure, but the mark isn’t your fault, John. It just is what it is.”

Johnny groaned again and pressed his hands to his eyes. He knew it was a bad habit but damnit he wished he could see. “When?”

Simon loosened his grip, running his hand up Johnny’s arm. “When what?”

“When do you leave?”

Simon let go of him, walking toward the window. Making Johnny’s stomach drop against all his preparedness. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you about that.”

Johnny was better, his body healed. The scars he’d left on Simon were no longer loud and achy. And he was amazed by how the man had gone from not wanting to chat to wanting to know everything about him. They’d both found the prospect of a mate to be terrifying, that they were the wrong men and the wrong souls to burden another and the universe had seen that truth as an opportunity. Johnny had learned little of Simon’s past, only that he had been through some truly horrible things, losses, and that he didn’t like being seen.

He supposed that was why they had connected at all. That inhibition was meaningless to eyes that couldn’t see. And he supposed Simon would go back to his life, that Johnny would become one of the marks on his to-do list until he could function. He could imagine the man coming to see him a couple of times a week, smelling like winter and the city and bringing him something he missed from the outside. It didn’t feel like enough.

He cleared his throat. “Okay.”

Simon stayed facing the window. Johnny could hear the path of his voice off the glass and the wall and indirectly to his ears. “I’d like to take you with me.”

Simon knew it was quite a proposition. He had lived alone his entire life, even when sharing his home. Even as a child, with his family, he had been isolated. Ostracized. He liked working with a team, but Johnny was the first person he wanted close. It was under his skin.

He turned and looked at him. He knew Johnny knew he was watching him. He dropped his shoulders, his unseeing eyes widened a bit and Simon felt he might have misjudged things. He was deathly afraid of rejection, but they had only gotten closer. He swallowed. That didn’t change that he was never going to force anything on him. Especially not when he felt so vulnerable.

“Simon, that wouldn’t make any sense.” Johnny sounded like he was trying to be logical.

He turned to face him. “Why’s that?”

“I…” Johnny half-laughed, the forced smile crinkling the corners of his blue eyes. “I’m like a child. I need everything done for me.”

“That’s not true.” Simon said, softly. He knew Johnny was perfectly capable, but he wanted to help him.

“You would have to pick my clothes, make my meals. Anything I needed to go out for, I can’t drive. I can’t walk to the train. I can barely do anything.”

Simon watched him carefully. The wheels in his mind turning, but his shoulders lowered, already defeated. He knew the feeling, he knew what it was like to be less than, to be impatient with yourself and a process you couldn’t rush. But he also knew him to be resilient, he’d noticed that about him in the very beginning, weeks before, and he knew him to be kind and incredibly intelligent. He was the missing broken piece of Simon, he fit his jagged edges perfectly and if Johnny could be his warmth and gentleness and patience, then Simon could be his eyes.

“It’s such a small price, Johnny. You think I can’t handle picking your clothes? Cooking for you?”

“No, I know you can.” Johnny mumbled.

“You could stay here, longer than you need to, alone. Or you could go back up to Glasgow and stay with your family, hours from the doctors you need to see and with no privacy. Or you can stay with me. Here in the city. Close to your appointments and anything else you might need.” Johnny’s eyes just searched, he looked distraught by the idea of any of the options. “You need to be out walking, getting some fresh air. You need space to take care of yourself. You need a bed that fits.” Simon motioned to the hospital bed. Johnny wasn’t as large as Simon but large enough to be uncomfortable. “You need a real meal.”

“I’m aware of what I need.” He turned his face toward Simon. “But I can wait. Until my sight is back. Then we can talk about living arrangements.”

Simon walked closer to him, not touching him. Not begging. Yet. “I don’t think this is good enough for you. I want you with me.”

Johnny laid his head back. “You’re going to leave.”

He shook his head. “Not for a long time. I have months of rehab still, and even then I can tell Price doesn’t want to send me out. Maybe I lead remotely for a while, I don’t know.” Maybe I retire. The thought surprised him and he swallowed.

Johnny would go back to work, too, eventually. He wanted to, anyway. “What if my sight never comes back?”

He was waiting for that. He knew Johnny thought it would be temporary, Simon caring for him. That it must be the reason the older man would ask. But he didn’t need Johnny’s eyes to feel he had all of him.

“What if?”

Johnny ran his bottom lip through his teeth, frustrated. It was what Simon wanted, really. To get his truth out of him however he could. “A soulmate is supposed to provide. It’s not fair.”

“Losing your eyes is unfair, you’re right.” Simon shook his head. “But you provide more to me than I think you realize. And leaving you here would be so wrong of me, Johnny. They don’t care about you. They don’t know what you need.”

“And you care about me?” Johnny didn’t turn his eyes toward Simon, but they were open, searching again.

“Yes.” Simon said quietly. “I know I’m not the most heartfelt person, I’m not used to feeling close to someone, but the feeling is undeniable….to me. If it’s not for you, Johnny, you must know I would never force you to do anything, that’s not what I’m here for–"

Johnny blinked. It was one of the longer strings of words he’d heard out of the man’s mouth. And he understood. The connection was real, he couldn’t deny it anymore than he could deny his own blindness. It wasn’t just a feeling, it was whole truth. Very nearly tangible, like a scar. And he hadn’t meant to make Simon feel like he was being rejected.

He thought of how gentle he had always been, a hardened, broken, stealth killer of a man and somehow Johnny had been born on the wrong side of his walls. The inside. And he knew Simon was protective of him. He knew he cared. Those weren’t things a man like him could fake. But he didn’t want to become a burden. He didn’t want to have to beg for help, for small kindnesses. He’d always been able to care for himself. To figure it out. He couldn’t imagine forcing that wedge between them so early, it would devastate him.

“You’re not forcing anything, Simon. I know that.” He swallowed. “It’s undeniable to me, too, it’s….it’s science. It’s real. And I want it, you don’t have to worry about that but…but you’ll grow tired of me. It might seem sweet now, to have to lead me around like a lost dog, but it will become a burden.”

“Your eyes will come back, Johnny.” Simon touched him, then, emphasizing his words. “You’re no lost dog. I don’t see it that way.”

“They might not.”

“Fine.” Simon shrugged. “I don’t want to be seen anyway.”

Johnny laid a hand over Simon’s where it rested in its usual place on his arm. His cast was off, his wrist healed, but Simon was still careful with him. “I’d like to see you. I hate that I can’t.”

“You see more than most.” Simon breathed. A painful admission, he could no longer hide.

“Maybe we make it a trial period. Give it a week. See if it’s something you can stand.”

“I think you underestimate my tolerance.” Simon spoke so softly. Johnny wanted to go home with him. He wanted to lie beside him for real. Feel more of him.

It wasn’t something they’d spoken about. Being physical. Neither of them needed it, he supposed, they were cemented in place, that could come when it felt natural. If it did. Plenty of soulmates remained platonic, though it wasn’t something he could imagine.

The thought made him realize they had plenty to talk about. They needed to be alone and he didn’t have much desire to wait.

“I don’t want you just to tolerate me.”

“Trust me, Johnny. I won’t be. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do, believe me. And I don’t pity you. I just want you there. I’d like to sit somewhere comfortable together. I’d like to take you to dinner.”

The last words were like an afterthought but Johnny wanted the same thing. He reached for Simon’s face. Also not an uncommon gesture between them. It was affectionate but it also gave him an idea of who stood beside him. His strong jaw and soft lips and long lashes. “I’m going to talk to your doctors today. I’m supposed to be discharged at the end of the week. I need to go home and make sure it’s livable. And then I’m coming to get you.”

#call of duty #cod #mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #soapghost #john soap mactavish #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #i will go down with this ship

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silli---lilli · 8 months

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Part 3 - Blind Soap and Wounded Ghost/Soulmates

I'm making twitter vote in a 'Choose Your Own Adventure' style thread :) This was part two, part three will be up soon based on their choices.

Part 1 is here: https://www.tumblr.com/silli---lilli/727957218306162688/part-1-blind-soap-and-wounded-ghostsoulmates?source=share

Part 2 is here: https://www.tumblr.com/silli---lilli/728120391412957184/part-2-blind-soap-and-wounded-ghostsoulmates?source=share

AO3 whole fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50092006

Johnny has been temporarily blinded, Ghost had a private room to deal with his wounds until Soap gets moved in. Ghost has the mark of a soulmate appear.

TW: Injury

Simon did get in the shower after turning it on, realizing he couldn’t reenter the room yet, he couldn’t even look at his own face to see if it was passable. So, then, he had to wait until the nurse left. Johnny would never know what his face looked like. Not while they were boarded together, anyway.

Johnny wouldn’t know. His first thought upon finally calming down enough to fit one in was that he should make his exit as quickly as possible. But Johnny wouldn’t know. He would never know the scar matched, he wouldn’t see Simon’s body, and more importantly, he wouldn’t see his own where he must be wearing Simon’s pain. That nearly made him sick again.

And by the time he had cleaned himself off and exited, he was having…other thoughts. Like how he could stay, he could get some real taste of what it was like to not be chased off, to not be feared, to not be pitied. He’d noticed the scar and convinced himself that whoever wore the matching one deserved to never be aware of him, to never carry his weight, and he realized he could still have that but in the presence of something that had become a comfort to him.

He wondered if Johnny even noticed his new scars, or if he cared. Simon Riley was no talker, he had never learned to truly connect with another human being, but he suddenly wished he could. A small voice, one he smothered as quickly as he could, spoke of the hope that maybe Johnny would get to know him this way and learn to accept him before he ever felt it was forced upon him.

A strange thing to ask of the universe, considering it had made him this monster in the first place. Price had worked so hard in the beginning to teach him that all the loss and all the torture wasn’t something he deserved. That Simon Riley put himself in harm’s way for the good of others, that didn’t mean he deserved punishment. And Simon had accepted that, he had accepted himself, at least the man in the mask, and that was enough. He’d known it was a possibility, but he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected the same universe that had ripped him apart time and time again to then make him whole at the end of the hall in a hospital with a man he knew would rather be anywhere else.

He exited the bathroom and went back to his bed, quite sure the heightened sense in the sightless man would make his racing heart audible. But Johnny said nothing to him, and he lay on his back, his face turned away, unable to look at him. His hope was quickly crushed by how unfair it was. It was so obvious to him, from the first moment he entered the room, what a light John Mactavish was. He was always hopeful, kind, respectful, Simon never heard hate in his voice, not even in speaking about his injuries.

John was young and fit and handsome, he would go on about his life and never be lonely and never wonder if anything would fix him. And Simon would always know what he’d missed out on. So he decided to stay. He decided to drink every minute more that they were safe there together like the antidote to his poisonous soul and they would heal and move on and he would always remember that the universe matched him to something so beautiful, in spite of his ugliness. It pulled at the muscles in his chest and made his throat tight. He was never given anything unless it was to be lost, and already he dreaded it.

He wondered if the nurse had given Johnny bad news when she was there, because he was so quiet. He didn’t speak to Simon at all, and he didn’t sleep either. He reclined, his eyes closed, but Simon could tell he was awake. Tense. He stared at him even though he knew Johnny knew. He wondered if he might be able to somehow convey that he wasn’t alone.

“You think you’ll go back to the field soon?”

Johnny heard Ghost’s voice from across the room and it startled him but not enough for him to jump. Still, he let his eyes open, feeling the cool air touch them even though he couldn’t see. He had told the other man that he knew when he was being watched, and it was no different then. It wasn’t beyond him to realize that the question was meant to make him think about something else, to be positive, it wasn’t purely out of curiosity. It was the second act of kindness out of the man that couldn’t speak his own name.

“I hope so.” Johnny answered him, though his voice sounded as dark and empty as the soul he spoke from.

He knew only a few things for sure, that his blindness wasn’t leaving any time soon, maybe ever, that he was in no shape to be back in the field otherwise, mentally or physically, and that the pain in his leg wasn’t his. Not really. He’d asked the nurse to tell him of his other injuries again and a few of the aches he felt weren’t from his own mishap.

She’d looked at them. Described them. Unless he’d forgotten his own body, he knew they were someone else’s and his heart sank slowly. He couldn’t be someone’s soulmate, because his life would always be this. Fighting, fighting enemies, fighting inadequacies, fighting life-altering injuries. Who could understand that? Who could be bettered by it? He was lost in his own mind, he didn’t want a focus other than work, and he’d lost that by getting hurt. Now he’d lost it permanently.

He didn’t have any desire to say any of it to Ghost. He didn’t think Ghost would have a lot of sympathy for him, he already looked weak in front of the Lieutenant, all he wanted was to get through the next little bit until they were separated, either by positive prognosis or by growing too tired of each other. The thought was cold to him. Ghost wasn’t a warm person, but not being alone in the room at all was a warmth he needed.

“It’s time to sleep, Johnny, you ought to try.” Ghost’s voice sounded…different. More human somehow. It intrigued Johnny enough to make him sit up, lean to hear it better.

“I figured, based on how quiet you are.” Johnny shifted. “But you’re not sleepin’ either.”

Simon waited a moment before answering. He wasn’t sure what he should say, that he didn’t want to see his nightmares yet, that the bed was uncomfortable, that his instinct was keeping watch.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, what’s on your mind, then, Ghost? Tell me something.”

“Mm.” Simon hesitated. He couldn’t tell him the truth. “My team rolls out tomorrow. I was supposed to be leading them.”

Johnny laid his head back again. He’d been curious before but it wasn’t until that moment that he wanted to see his companion so badly it brought tears to his ruined eyes.

“You miss it.”

It wasn’t exactly the quiet statement Simon had expected. He swallowed. “Suppose I do. It’s all I know.”

Johnny suspected that wasn’t true. He had a feeling, a suspicion that it was all Ghost knew then, that it was what held him together. He guessed he knew plenty of other things he wished he didn’t.

“I miss it, too.” Johnny sighed. Simon was unsure if he should continue. He was unsure if he knew what to say at all.

“Guess that makes two of us.”

Johnny woke again, not realizing he had fallen asleep. A presence was closer to him, but it wasn’t a nurse or a doctor. And the noises around him were still small and quiet, if it was morning it was early yet.

“Ghost.” He stated.

It seemed too forward to acknowledge his presence, but he knew it was his. He felt a little different. Large, rough, but not threatening. Not dangerous, not to Johnny. He heard the other man turn toward him instead of away and it gave him a rush.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He was at the window looking out again, only this time wishing for the open sky and dirt under his feet. His nightmares were bad again, though no different, really. The power that had kept him alive, his physical and mental strength, failed him. In waking life and in sleep. He hadn’t meant to wake Johnny. He had meant to stand closer to him.

“What’s wrong?”

Johnny ignored the apology, unsure whether Ghost had woken him or not. He doubted it. He was more at ease with him there, at the foot of his bed.

Simon couldn’t tell his soulmate what was wrong, not then, so he went with a different, equally damning truth. “My name is Simon.”

Johnny could hear that he had turned back to the window to say it. Like he was ashamed.

“Hmm.” Johnny hummed. “Simon. It’s a nice name. Biblical.”

Simon huffed a laugh. It covered the emotion brought up by hearing Johnny say his name for real. By choice. “I suppose so.”

He could tell Johnny was still…down. That he was somewhere else, and not just because he was tired, or because he hadn’t healed yet. Maybe he had nightmares, too. Maybe he was as lonely as Simon.

“It’s a long way down from up here.” Simon mumbled, breaking the silence again.

“You could have said we were in hell and I’d believe you.” Johnny mumbled in response.

It was him. It was Simon. Maybe Johnny didn’t know they were bound but already the little bit of Simon that he couldn’t hold behind his walls was weighing the man down. Staying was a mistake. He was going to do this forever if he wasn’t careful. He would always make Johnny believe he was in hell. He was shocked it was already beginning—

“Do you believe in soulmates, Simon?”

Simon startled out of his spiraling thoughts and took a step closer to Johnny’s bed. Of course he believed in them. It wasn’t something you could dismiss, it was scientifically proven and fairly common.

“What do you mean, do I believe in them?” He cleared his throat. “I’ve seen a few.”

Johnny felt him shift uncomfortably, but he didn’t move away. “I just mean,” he spoke with his hands again, “do you think the bond is what everyone believes it to be?”

Simon shifted, thinking. A fair question. The connection was romanticized to no end though it was possible to be matched to someone who would only abuse it. But it was believed to be beautiful in more realistic ways, that it strengthened both, that a bonded soul would live longer, be happier, lose it’s awful, painful longing and settle into a true happiness.

“It can be, sure.”

Simon was unashamed as he turned to watch Johnny. The younger man clenched his light blue eyes. “I don’t think I’m meant for it.”

That, he could agree with though it didn’t negate the truth. “I feel the same.”

“I feel so trapped. Even opening my eyes doesn’t make the nightmares stop.”

The change in subject, the harsh admission caught Simon off guard. He unfolded his arms and turned toward Johnny again. Maybe it wasn’t him, then, unless the darkness Johnny saw was somehow attributed to his own darkness. It was the middle of the night, they were alone, they both ached, and only one of them knew they were connected in a supernatural, irreversible, incredibly beautiful way. Going to him wouldn’t change that.

Johnny felt Simon lay his hand at the edge of the bed, far enough that they didn’t touch. “You’re here, John, with me. The nightmares aren’t real even if they don’t stop.”

“What color are the walls?” Johnny’s voice was almost a whisper. He was embarrassed by the display, but Simon made no move to leave.

“They’re white.” Simon said, his voice steady, calming. “The cabinets are gray. It’s boring, except for the window. I can see most of the city from up here.” His hand got closer, still not touching. “We’re on the tenth floor, Johnny, not in hell.”

Johnny nodded. “No one came for me out there. I wasn’t found until the next day, they were surprised I was alive, but I hadn’t gotten far because I couldn’t see, I had no comms. And no one is coming for me now.”

Simon did, though, didn’t he? However the universe had decided to spell it out, Simon had come for him. And maybe it wasn’t a comfort, having him there, but it was better than being alone. His hand finally connected with Johnny’s sprained wrist and he gripped his arm just above it.

“I’m here.”

He was unsure what else to say, he had no other comfort to offer though it seemed an incredible injustice that people in Johnny’s life seemed unwilling to care for him in what was an obvious time of need. It broke him in a way. He had no family, he would always be alone but somehow having one that didn’t seem to care felt worse.

Just as quickly, he walked away. Johnny hated that he found some comfort in the interaction, even though he was sure it should have felt strange. Knowing the man’s name made him seem familiar.

A few days later, after having soft, meaningless conversation, often late, when they couldn’t sleep, Simon watched as two nurses helped Johnny stand, walk from one end of the room to the other. The rest of his body was healing well, he needed to be moving around a bit, and he could get familiar with the room. It would help when he transitioned home, he would know how to learn his space.

Simon was in a horrible, gut-wrenching, ill, painful amount of trouble. Because he didn’t want him to go. He wasn’t quite done yet, he was getting attached. He had always known that was the danger of having a soul at all but try as he might, he’d never been able to get rid of it. He didn’t say much to Johnny that evening, beginning to prepare for the feeling of losing him, like he’d expected.

But later that night, he woke to the sound of movement and cracked his eyes to see Johnny standing, both hands pressed to the glass of the window. He heard Simon sit up and turned his head, lowering his hands, waiting to see if he was truly awake or just moving.

He heard him sit up, put his feet on the cold floor. He heard Simon stand, and walk toward him. He waited until he stood beside him to speak.

“Describe it to me.”

It was gray and cold and drizzly outside, so Simon lied. “It’s completely dark. I can see the stars tonight, though, in spite of the city lights. Not many drivers at this hour, but I can see the buses running.”

“This hour.” Johnny muttered.

“Around 3.”

Johnny just nodded, his hands gripping the sill. “You’ll leave soon, yeah?”

Simon knew what he meant but he couldn’t stop the response that fell out of his mouth. “If you’d like me to.”

“No.” Johnny’s unseeing eyes were wide at the night out the window. “I don’t want you to.” He turned his head slightly, speaking again in Simon’s direction. “I wish I knew what you looked like.”

This time Simon turned away, back to the glass. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do. No one else wanted to be here with me, Simon, except for you. I know you could have asked to be moved to an available room if you wanted.”

“Putting you in here means there weren’t any available rooms, Johnny.”

Johnny just nodded, a slight smile breaking his cold façade. “Surely someone has died since then.”

“I’m used to working alone.” Simon attempted to justify a want he didn’t even have.

“This isn’t work.”

Simon shook his head. Johnny marveled at the fact that he could hear it, he could nearly feel the energy of every movement the taller man made.

“You’re right, Johnny, it’s not.”

“Come on, Simon, let me see you.” Johnny turned, backing away from the wall, the only thing steadying him.

Simon knew what he meant, and it horrified him. He hated that anyone could see his face, and his scars, he swore he’d be dead before he let anyone touch them. Most of the scars on his neck and face were old enough that they wouldn’t appear on Johnny’s. For that he was thankful. Johnny never even knew he wore a mask. He had no idea that Simon’s face was the greatest source of his shame. In that naivete was some freedom.

So he nodded, unsure what his voice might sound like if he spoke and Johnny’s hand was already raised. He stopped it, just in front of Simon’s chest, waiting to be guided. And in an act he might always question where he found the strength for, Simon gripped Johnny’s wrist and pulled his hand to his face.

Simon closed his eyes, unsure what it might even feel like, knowing the demolitions expert’s hands would be rough and callused, like his. It still caught him off guard, though, how gentle he was.

Johnny ran his fingers over Simon’s cheek once, learning that he had shaved fairly recently but not recently enough to be without short stubble, well grown in. He carefully glided them over long eyelashes before raising his other and feeling his face with both hands. Simon was perfectly still, even as Johnny touched his hairline, badly in need of a trim, and ran his hands over his ears and down to his neck.

Johnny noted every smooth scar, including a large one across his nose, another deep one from his left ear to the corner of his mouth and several smaller, rougher ones likely from shrapnel or broken glass. It satisfied his need so little, it made him even more desperate, but pulling his hands away he realized how intimate the moment had been and he felt guilty.

He didn’t know that once Simon felt Johnny’s hands reach his neck, he opened his eyes to watch him. His brow was furrowed, his facial hair grown out long, long enough to be soft and he very suddenly lamented that he had no excuse to touch his face in return.

When Johnny was done, he stepped backward, like he might turn and get into bed, but the floor was slick and unfamiliar and he stumbled. As Simon reached for his shoulder to steady him, he reached for Simon’s arm. His right arm. His right bicep. And his hand connected, gripping Simon by the part of his body that belonged to him anyway.

Simon froze and as soon as Johnny’s hand connected with his scar on the back of Simon’s arm, still fresh and raised and tender, his eyes widened and he let go, catching his hand with the other, like it stung.

Simon backed away then, unspeaking, somehow hoping he hadn’t given himself away so quickly and so easily.

“No.” Johnny shook his head. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong. It’s nothing.”

Johnny shook his head again, harder, laughing coldly. “I’ve never heard a more obvious lie in my life.”

“Sorry, Johnny, I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off. He wasn’t sure which part he meant to downplay.

“To what? To tell me? To get close? To let me touch you?”

Simon backed away again, his voice still quiet. He didn’t want to cause a scene or upset Johnny further, not while he was standing in the middle of the room with no support.

“Yes. All of it.”

Johnny ran a hand over his mouth, carefully stepping backward until his legs met his bed and he could sit down. “This makes more sense than it should.”

“You knew.”

“I knew something was up. I could feel it.”

“Fuckin hell.” Simon felt sick again, and he felt like roaming the halls to see if anyone had died so he could take their empty room. Get out from under this mountain of horror and emotion. He turned, he walked toward the door, getting more and more sure he was going to do one of the two.

“Don’t leave, Simon, please.” Johnny said, not turning toward him. Not sure if the words mattered. But he’d stayed, even though he didn’t seem surprised by the revelation.

Simon stopped, his back toward his soulmate.

“You knew too, yeah?”

“I saw your arm. Maybe a week ago.”

“And you didn’t leave then.”

“Didn’t think I was in danger of being found out.”

Johnny shook his head again, hanging it. “But you didn’t leave.”

“I thought about it.” An easy truth.

“Why didn’t you tell me, then?”

Simon couldn’t find an answer, Johnny could hear him open and close his mouth more than once, trying to come up with an explanation.

“Because you thought I would tell you to leave.” Johnny finally answered for him.

“Maybe. Or because I didn’t want to inflict this on you.” Simon shook his head. “Except I had no choice.”

“Come back, please.” Johnny sounded nearly afraid. “I can’t follow you. I can’t find you if you leave.”

Simon stopped hesitating, knowing it was out of his hands. He went back to Johnny and stood in front of him.

“Your leg.”

Simon clenched his jaw so tightly that Johnny heard his teeth grind together. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry someone hurt you.” Johnny’s voice was tentative but his hand was sure as he reached for Simon’s thigh, touching where he knew the deep, fresh scar to be, the one mirrored on him. He shook his head quickly. “I wish I could see it. I wish I could talk to you face to face.”

Simon knelt, pulling himself out of Johnny’s rasp, knowing he was powerless to escape the presence of him, and put himself below him, looking up into his handsome face.

“My eyes work perfectly, the injury to your eyes can’t be permanent.”

Johnny’s perfect blue eyes widened with the realization and he swallowed. “Promise to stay until I can look into your eyes to have this conversation, Simon. Please.”

Simon knew in that moment that the only eyes he had ever wanted on his face, the only ones he ever would, were Johnny’s. “Fine. But I can’t promise anything else.”

Johnny’s fingers brushed his cheek. “Fine.” Simon stood, backing away. “You came for me.”

Simon let his own fingers brush Johnny’s cheek, more intimacy than he had known in as long as he could remember. “I was here first, Johnny. Waiting. You came for me.”

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