Chapter Text
Simon
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Whoever said hospitals were quiet was a liar. There was always some kind of noise; a gaggle of nurses at the desk, a cart with a squeaky wheel, constant mechanical whirring noises, and of course the steady beep coming from heart monitors. Some of those sounds were easy enough to tune out as Simon stood inside the doorframe of Johnny’s room, backlit by the hallway and casting a long shadow across the tile floors. One wasn’t.
Beep… beep… beep…
The machine beeped in the same cadence as the bomb that’d almost taken Johnny from him. It made Simon’s skin itch as he watched the little green line jump with his steady heartbeat. It was steadier than Simon’s own had been these last twenty-four hours.
He stepped inside, letting the door fall gently closed behind him and pulled his IV stand along. They’d both been dehydrated and treated for smoke inhalation, but Simon would be discharged in the morning if his tests came back well enough. Typically, he wouldn’t have wanted to stay in hospital, but being here meant being closer to Johnny.
The man was asleep.
Between the blood loss from a gash in Johnny’s calf and a concussion, he’d mostly slept thus far, and judging by his lack of movement, it was a deep sleep now. Not like earlier when he’d been drifting in and out as the doctors and nurses fussed over him. His breathing was slow and deep, so much better than it had been when they’d managed to get them out.
Johnny looked small, almost. He’d always been smaller than Simon (which wasn’t hard), but he’d never looked quite so fragile as now, not even in Las Almas. There hadn’t been a hospital there, and he’d had stims to keep him sharp. But now, there was none of that. For all Johnny’s usual bluster, he looked worn down, more than he should have been even after a day in a hospital bed. That was Simon’s fault, and his chest ached for it.
The beeping continued.
He stopped at the edge of the bed, clean balaclava hiding his features and probably looking stupid with his hospital gown and cheap plastic slides. Simon wanted to touch him, reassure himself that Johnny’s back was indeed rising and falling with his breaths. Simon hated seeing him like this, pale and wrapped in crisp white bandages. Guilt roiled in his gut.
Simon was close enough now to see Johnny’s lashes twitch as he dreamed and hear the sad little whine as Johnny curled tighter on himself. He wondered what about. Was he reliving the explosion? Las Almas or Chicago? Or was he remembering Simon’s insults?
It was his fault, all of it.
They hadn’t even managed to unbury them from the rubble before Johnny passed out. He’d taken the brunt of the debris as it shifted, earning bruises far beyond those Simon carried from the incident. He always took too much onto his stubborn shoulders and all Simon wanted to do now was take some of that burden away. Only, when he reached out, intending to help soothe Johnny’s growing nightmare, he couldn’t connect them. His hand hovered over Johnny as the monitor continued to beep.
An explosion he could handle. Give him an ambush any day of the week, and Simon would survive it and come out victorious. But this? This silence and distance between Soap and Ghost, Simon and Johnny, that he couldn’t take.
Johnny stirred.
A faint wrinkle creased his brow as he inhaled, his breath hitching with the extra hit of oxygen as he unfurled himself from his blanket cocoon. As Johnny rolled, he reached out and touched Simon’s hand before he could pull it away. If anything, he tugged it closer as he partially sat up in his hospital bed and took in his surroundings as he blinked his eyes open. It wasn’t ever particularly dark in a hospital either. Light from the hallway and streetlights filtered in through the shit blinds.
His lips twitched in a tired smile. “Simon?” Simon couldn’t move, not while pinned by those sharpening blue eyes, and when he respond, Johnny’s mouth curved into a lopsided grin. “Joining me, LT?”
Simon didn’t trust his voice with everything threatening to burst out of his chest. He was so grateful that Johnny was talking to him again, even after what Simon did. He’d protected him and kept him sane while buried alive. The feelings knotted up in his throat as Johnny patiently waited him out.
He grunted softly. “You know what? Sure.” The words came with more false bravado than Simon had ever needed in his life. Humour was the only weapon left in his arsenault. “I even brought my own IV. Scooch over, soldier.”
“So bossy,” Johnny huffed a weak laugh and shifted enough to make room on the cot as Simon carefully eased himself down, leaving his slides on the floor and brushing the sheet out of the way. It was warm enough in here, and plastered together they’d be sweating under a blanket.
When he settled along Johnny’s side, curling his larger frame around him, something in his chest loosened. He draped an arm gently over Johnny’s waist, mindful of the bruises and bandages. Johnny was warm beneath him, alive and breathing.
Ghost rested his head down on Johnny’s chest and allowed himself to melt into the stiff mattress, knowing he’d rest easier than he had in years. Johnny rested on his back, one leg over Simon’s and with his arm behind Simon’s head.
“Comfortable?” Johnny teased.
“Very.”
The silence that followed was easier this time and the beeping noise disappeared with the steady thump of Johnny’s heart there instead. Simon was on the edge of sleep himself when Johnny started rubbing his back, gently pulling him away from sleep. “I didn’t think you would come by,” he murmured into the still air between them. Simon tilted his head so he could meet Johnny’s eyes. “Sorry-”
“No. That’s my line,” he interrupted, and Johnny stilled beneath him. Simon felt the shift, the tension that wasn’t pain-related. So he continued, voice low. “I’m so fucking sorry, Johnny. Shouldn’t have-”
Johnny’s finger landed on Ghost’s masked lips, missing the mark a bit but getting his point across easily. “I forgive you.”
“Shouldn’t,” Simon grunted. “Was a right tit.”
“S’just one of the things I like about you, Lt,” he chuckled. “Like a lot of things. Just not your shite jokes.”
“Hey, Johnny?” The smaller man groaned as Simon took the out. “Why did the dalmation go to the eye doctor?” he paused for dramatic effect and could hardly keep himself from chuckling at the answer. “Because he was seeing spots.” Plastered against Johnny’s chest, he felt the reluctant laughter. “Knew you liked them.”
“Like you,” Johnny said, tugging Simon closer, and he went easily.
Soon enough, Johnny’s breathing slowed and deepened. His body relaxed fully into Simon’s hold, and in the morning, that would be where Price and Gaz found them, wrapped in one anothers’ arms. Warm and safe once again.