Chapter Text
John Price, as Captain, has been woken up many a time in his field of work with frantic messages from fellow soldiers. Cases of infiltrators, emergency missions, actual heads being blown off from time to time- he’s sure he’s heard it all by now.
Eleven-thirty PM sees him tucked up in bed (loose term; it’s a janky old military thing that certainly does not help with Price’s bad shoulders) ready to call it a night when his phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Price never ignores a call to action.
He grabs his phone and swipes without checking who is on the other side, answering with a gruff, “This better be worth my time.”
Out of all the scenarios Price was expecting, a hysterical John ‘Soap’ MacTavish on the other side of the phone was not high on his list. He even rubs his eyes and checks the caller id twice to make sure he isn’t dreaming before listening properly to the man.
“Son, hey, Soap- slow down, what’s going on?” Price asks, kicking his blanket off his legs and already shuffling out of bed.
“Thank fuck you answered, Sir, I’m losing my fuckin’ mind- I don’t know what to do!” Johnny spirals back at him and Price shouts a sharp ‘Soap’ back at him to get his attention.
“I don’t know what to do if you don’t tell me what’s going on!” Price huffs.
“I- Are you here? England, I mean? How fast can you be at ours?” Johnny asks.
“I can get to Formby via helo. At this time of night, I can drive from there to you in less than an hour. Call it one thirty, two hours tops. Are you going to tell me why I’m needed?” Price asks.
He is out of his room without even a shirt. He prays he left some in his office otherwise whoever he gets to fly this damn helicopter at this hour is gonna get an eyeful of unkempt, greying Captain hair. His shoes rub against his feet from being unlaced and the fact he isn’t wearing any damn socks but the urgency in Soap’s voice has him moving like he does at any other time of night he’s disturbed- he solves the problem and deals with his issues later. Blisters be damned.
“It’s Simon,” Johnny hushes, “He- he’s gone! He went out a couple hours ago and he hasn’t come home and- he’s not answering his phone or anything! I waited till at least the pubs shut, y’know, but I’ve still not heard from him or seen him.”
“You want me to come to Manchester and wait with you for Simon to come home?” Price asks.
“No! I need you to look after Elizabeth so I can go look for him! I need some fucking help or something! It’s less than a month till Christmas, Price, what if he’s thinking about his family and out there doing something fucking stupid? Please, John, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. I can’t leave Elizabeth home alone.”
“I know, I know,” Price sympathises, “I’m on my way, alright? Leave your door unlocked, I’ll let myself in. You ring me if you hear from him or if he makes it home okay?”
Johnny hums in agreement and sighs softly, “Thankyou, Sir.”
“Keep me informed, lad, I’ll be there soon.”
He’s true to his word. After realising Nikolai was still on base he roped his friend into flying him to Formby where he radioed in, announcing his impending arrival, and soon commandeered one of their jeeps with the promise of returning it before sundown the next day. He makes it to Soap just after midnight, letting himself into the apartment block and creeping up the loud stairs so as to not disturb any of the neighbours.
Once in Johnny’s apartment, he sees the man sitting on the couch, with Elizabeth fast asleep with her head in his lap. He closes the door quietly to not wake her but Johnny turns his head rapidly at the sound. The look of hope on his face quickly melts but relief replaces it instead.
“Price, thank fuck.” He sighs.
He walks over to Johnny and sees him twisting the coils in Elizabeth’s hair around his finger before letting them spring free again, then repeating the process. He goes to stand, to slide Lizzie out from his lap, but Price puts a hand on his shoulder, “Stay with Elizabeth, I’ll go look for Simon.”
“What? No- I need to go and look for him, I need to make sure he’s okay!” Johnny says.
“I can do that,” Price says softly before forcing a chuckle, “I am a Captain, y’know.”
“I can’t sit here doing nothing!”
“You’re not,” Price assures, “Elizabeth would be scared if she woke up and both you and Simon weren’t here. You stay here with her, I’ll go out. I’ll tell you when I’ve got him.”
“I’ll send you a list of all the places I would check. I’d go to the graveyard first, Sir. It’s probably locked for the night but that’s never stopped Ghost before.” Johnny mumbles, grabbing his phone and beginning to type frantically.
“I’ll call when I find him,” Price says, leaning down the squeeze Johnny’s shoulder, “You’ll do the same if he finds his way home, yeah?”
“Aye, Sir.” Johnny nods, looking up at Price and offering him a nervous smile.
The Captain buttons his coat back up and bids his former Sergeant farewell before thudding down the stairs, no longer caring about waking the neighbours. Soap had given him the keys to his car but Price leaves it parked on the street, taking off on foot instead.
It’s cold and wet but thankfully not raining as Price follows the GPS on his phone to the cemetery no more than five minutes away from the apartment. Sure enough, the gates are bolted when he makes it there (after nearly being taken out by a boy racer in his modified Ford Fiesta of all things) but he scopes the place out and sees some scuff marks along the short wall where somewhere has boosted themselves over before.
They’re fresh, not dampened by any rain, and the wall is just about shoulder height for Price so he knows he will be able to clear it too- potential grave robber be damned.
Following the markers on the ground with his flashlight on low, he directs himself to the Riley family graves courtesy of the information given to him by Soap. Simon isn’t there, shows no signs of being there in fact as the grass hasn’t been flattened by any footsteps- mud unmoving and grass still wet.
Price chances a flicker at the stone he knows once held his ex-Lieutenants name, feels a pit grow in his heart at seeing the remaining chunk of rock still wedged in the ground beside the family.
“Where the fuck else would you go, lad?” Price grumbles, pulling his phone back out to check the list of places on the text Johnny sent him. There’s already another text below: any luck yet?
As Price is walking back the way he came, he notices another grave marker on the list Soap sent to him. Confused, he heads there, wondering if maybe it’s someone from Simon’s childhood or a distant relative Price doesn’t recall hearing about.
Standing in front of the grave he understands.
Damien Riley
No Beloved Father. No Husband to Elizabeth Riley. Not even a birth or death date. Just a name and a filthy stone, moss adorning the top and bird shit splattering the plinth. Price thinks he deserves worse, honestly.
He turns his flashlight on for a better look and sees a bottle left in the grass, leaning to the side and with the lid beside it. Kentucky Bourbon. Not Simon’s favourite one, of course, a £20 bottle if that by Price’s estimation, but still his tipple of choice. There’s roughly a dram left but going by the state of the bottle, it’s not brand new so hopefully Simon hasn’t had the rest of it.
Price takes a photo of the grave with the whiskey in shot, forwarding it straight to John with the caption: This seem like his typical moping to you?
Johnny takes a moment after seeing the message to reply but just puts: fuck. not there?
Price: No. Gonna check his other haunts now.
John: just tried his phone again, straight to voicemail
Price: I’ll try
Price had made his way back to the wall of the cemetery and vaults back over, landing with a huff and with protest from his knees. He pulls up Simon’s contact and dials the number. He hears the dial tones and looks up from his phone, eyes scanning the area and furrows his brow when he sees no other than Simon fucking Riley sat on a bench over the road smirking at him.
“I can’t come to the phone right now,” Simon calls, “Don’t leave a message, I don’t know how to delete them.”
“You motherfucker.” Price huffs, anger starting to creep through his body. He hangs his phone up and clicks back into his chat with Johnny: found him, home soon. He then turns the phone off and paces across the street, staring down at the man on the bench, before reaching and grabbing him by his collar and pulling him to his feet, “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”
Simon stays quiet, just staring at Price who white-knuckles his shirt like it owes him money.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to see you vault that wall. Twice. Tough in jeans, that’s why I went with joggers. Didn’t account for the rain though, got a right wet arse now.” Simon chuckles out a stilted laugh. Price can smell the alcohol on his breath, the vanilla of his bourbon, but he doesn’t seem off balance nor are his eyes hazy.
He pushes Simon against the bench forcefully, his legs hitting the metal seat hard enough that he is forced to sit. Simon points behind him to some community garden with trees, “Was in there. Heard some scuffling and saw legs disappear over the wall. I figured it was someone looking for me. I waited to see who it was and to my surprise it was you.”
“Do you have any idea the kind of stress you’ve put us through tonight? Do you even comprehend how Johnny is feeling right now?” Price asks, exasperatedly.
Simon looks up through his lashes, “He wasn’t supposed to know. He was asleep when I left, I thought he would stay asleep.”
“That doesn’t explain why you haven’t been answering your phone.” Price asks.
“Should’ve invested in a screen protector. Slid right out of my pocket when I went over the wall. It smashed and took a swim in that puddle. Honestly scared to turn it back on now.” Simon explains. He fishes the device out of his pocket and Price looks at the cracked screen, splinters of glass falling out at the slightest touch, and the corner of the phone is dented.
Price sighs and sits down beside Simon on the bench, looking out in front of him, “Right, spit it out lad, the fucks going on? I’ve come all this way, you might as well talk to me now.”
Simon doesn’t speak, just sits there running his thumb over the screen of his phone and only stopping when a piece of glass nicks his skin. He pockets the device and stares ahead, unmoving and silent as ever. Price reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one quickly and taking a long drag.
Silent treatment. Price huffs, bringing the cigarette to his lips. Two can play at that game.
He crosses one of his legs over the other and periodically puffs through his smoke. Simon lasts longer than he thought as the cherry starts to burn at his fingers with the more time that passes but Price remains stubborn as well.
Eventually, Simon cracks, and sighs as he says, “Johnny is pregnant. Ten weeks now.”
Price looks over at Simon who is staring ahead still, not giving away any of his emotions as per usual. He takes one final drag of his cigarette, the embers catching at his calloused skin, before he stubs it out on the bench and flicks it away, “And you’re moping about that why? Surely that’s something to celebrate, no?”
“Everything’s been perfect for the last year or so.” Simon mumbles, “Coming home, having a family waiting for me, having Johnny and Elizabeth- it’s all been good. Too good. I’m waiting for something bad to happen because something always happens to me and I don’t want to take them down with me. I can’t do it again.”
“That’s what this is all about?” Price snorts, “You’re out here worrying the shit out of everyone because you’ve got some ‘Main Character Syndrome’ going on? Simon, the world doesn’t hate you. You’ve been dealt a shit hand in the past, nobody doubts that, but maybe- just maybe- the fact that it’s all going good now is a sign that this is what the rest of your life will look like.”
Simon grunts, “I want nothing more than the family I’ve got. I want nothing else but Johnny, Elizabeth and the new baby but I- I’m scared. I’m scared of having a newborn in case I don’t know what to do, I’m scared of fucking up. I’m scared of the world, John, and I’m terrified of what it’s going to do to me next because the only thing left for it to hurt is Johnny and my kids. I want to disappear just to keep them safe but I need my family. I cannot live without them but I worry that no matter what I do I will lose them either way.”
“If you want nothing more than the family you have, you’ll fight for them no matter what. How are you supposed to protect them if you’re not here?” Price asks.
“And if my being here is what puts them in danger?”
“Simon, get over yourself. You really think that if something, heaven forbid, came knocking at your door that you and John couldn’t dispose of the issue before it even became a problem?” Price sighs and looks up at the man beside him, “I understand your reservations, Simon, and I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling but you’ve lived your life having your choices taken away from you. Or being made for you. You have a choice here, a choice to stay and to make a life for your family and yourself. You can protect them.”
“I’m really happy here.” Simon mutters. “And that’s the problem.”
“Jesus kid, I worry what your unhappiness looks like if this is what you do when you’re happy.” Price jokes.
Simon scoffs and rolls his eyes, “I’m opening up to you for the first time in my life and you’re cracking jokes.”
“Simon I’m worried fucking stiff. I’m worried about you always and when you left us to stay home with your family I finally felt good for you. Then I get this call and have to come traipsing around bloody Manchester looking for your arse and I’m more worried than I’ve ever been. Not just about you but for John and especially for your little girl. The fuck are you playing at Si?”
“You said you couldn’t understand what I’ve been through so don’t fucking start now.”
Price snaps. He huffs and shakes his head before grabbing the ex-Lieutenants neck, spinning him to face him, and getting up in his face. Simon doesn’t even try to fight but Price can see the shock in his eyes. Price thinks it might be the first time he’s ever caught The Ghost off guard.
“We’ve all lost things, Simon. You lost everything, I get that, but you’re not seeing the bigger fucking picture. What about John, huh? Youngest to pass selection, fastest times on record and hiding the biggest fucking secret from everyone. Spending every waking moment wondering if today is the day people are going to find out. And then you two somewhat sort your shit out just for you to leave him. Whilst this isn’t your fault, John then went through having and raising a baby completely alone and thinking that you fucking despised him.” Price spits. Simon pulls against Price’s hand but the Captain squeezes tighter, solidifying his grip, “And Elizabeth. That little girl, sweet as pie and innocent as can be, would be fucking devastated if you left her again. How could you do that to her?”
“I wouldn’t!” Simon spits out, “I can’t leave her and that’s my fucking issue! If she gets hurt, ever, because of me I will never fucking forgive myself. I don’t want to leave and I physically cannot leave because I’m fucking happy! I’m happy for the first fucking time ever, Price, and I’m selfish enough to not give it up to save my family. I shouldn’t be a Dad! I should’ve never come back, never looked for Johnny again, never let myself have this.”
“Well maybe you shouldn’t! Maybe you should’ve stayed in the army and got shot to shit for the rest of your life. Maybe you should’ve never joined in the first place. Simon, life is unpredictable, life is fucking awful, but you have a man back at home that loves the ever-loving shit out of you and a daughter that cherishes you like you’re made of gold. Who’s to say you should or shouldn’t be a parent other than the little girl that gets to call you her Dad? If you asked her she would tell you that you’re all she’s ever wanted and more, all she’s ever needed. You and Johnny have something good, Simon, don’t throw it all away.”
Simon has tears streaming down his face and he falls limp in Price’s arms. Price loosens his grip and lets Simon pull away. In the next moment, however, Simon buries himself in Price’s arms, “You aren’t selfish, Simon. You’re not. You’re a good Dad and you always will be. You coming back here is the best decision you’ve ever made, I can promise you that. I’m sorry for yelling, alright? Tough love is my thing, I suppose, but you’re deserving of kindness too, lad.”
“I don’t wanna mess this up, Price. I can’t fuck this up, not again.” Simon mumbles. He digs his face into Price’s neck and sniffles.
“You won’t. I know you, Simon, and the fact you’re so concerned about their safety now just shows how much you care, even if you have gone the wrong way about this.”
Simon flushes and looks up through his lashes, “How worried is Johnny?”
“Well, now I know that he’s pregnant his reaction makes a lot more sense,” Price chuckles, “But he was fretting and babbling and yelling when I told him to calm down.”
“Thought you’d have learnt by now not to tell Johnny to calm down.” Simon chuckles.
“I think the message is starting to sink in.” Price smiles. He throws an arm around his friend, pulling him into his side more comfortably, “Congratulations, Simon.”
“Thankyou Sir.” Simon mumbles. He accepts the slight hug from Price and huffs out a laugh, “You should’ve had a better name, would’ve named them after you.”
“My name’s perfect, don’t know what you mean.” Price laughs back.
“And if they’re a girl?”
“Joan? Johanna? Lots of options there for you, lad.” Price chuckles. He stands and offers a hand out to Simon, the younger man taking it and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet, “Let’s get you home, ay?”
Simon nods and falls into line besides Price. After a moment he mutters, “I’m not calling my baby Joan.”
Price chuckles again and slaps a hand on Simon’s back, “Wouldn’t expect you too. Appreciate the sentiment though.” And he does. Price’s heart warmed tenfold upon hearing that Simon thinks highly enough of him to name his kid after him, even if it was only meant as a joke.
“How long have you known?” Price asks as they stroll up the street to Simon’s apartment.
“A few weeks? Over a month now actually. Johnny knew a couple days before me. He told me at Elizabeth’s party. I was encouraging him to have a drink, said I would stay sober, but he told me to get me off his back.” Simon chuckles.
“And you’ve felt like this since Elizabeth’s party? Not told John about any of it?”
“No.” Simon says quietly, “Think he’s going through enough of his own stuff right now.”
“You two need to communicate more, for both of your sakes.” Price mutters.
“You know what I’m like.” Simon shrugs.
“Ah you can’t get out of it that easily Simon,” Price chuckles, “I’ve known you both a very long time and let me tell you, I spent twice as long getting Soap to ever open up to me than I did with you. He’s much better at keeping his emotions to himself.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Simon replies. He walks up the short path to his flat and heads inside, pacing down the hallway with Price in tow as he stands before his door. He tries the handle and finds it’s still open, Johnny no doubt awake and pacing the apartment knowing him.
Simon pushes the door open and looks across the room before him. The apartment is open plan, the living area directly before him, the kitchen and dining space on his left and the bedrooms and bathroom on the right.
Johnny is sitting on the couch, fingers combing through the curls atop Elizabeth’s head. He must’ve been doing so for a while if the frizzy state of her hair is anything to go by. She’s fast asleep, tucked up in his side, and he’s cradling her like a baby in his arms as he holds her close. Soap turns his head to the door and the worry prevalent on his face just melts off when he sees Simon stood there, sheepishly shrugging his jacket off.
As fast as he can without waking Lizzie, Johnny lays her on the couch and jumps to his feet. He runs over to Simon and throws his arm around his neck, pulling the Lieutenant close to his body and hugging him tight. He slips his other arm around Simon’s body, hand gripping right in the middle of his back, and he squeezes him close, “Fuck, Simon, I was worried sick.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Johnny.” Simon mumbles.
“I’ll take the little ‘un to bed,” Price mutters, “Think you two have some talking to do. I believe congratulations are in order too.”
Johnny pulls back from the hug and blushes slightly before nodding, “Thankyou, Sir.”
Price just nods and slips over to the couch, picking Elizabeth up with ease and carrying the sleeping girl to her room. Simon follows and stops Price by her door. He brushes the hair from her face and leans down to kiss her forehead lightly as she rests. He smiles at his old boss and thanks him quietly before letting Price take Elizabeth away.
“Johnny I-” Simon starts but Johnny presses a hand lightly on his chest and shakes his head.
“It’s late. And you’re drenched. Get a shower and we can do this in the morning.” He says with a light smile.
“Actually,” Simon scratches the back of his neck, “I was hoping we could talk now? I know it’s late and if you want to sleep that’s fine but I’ve kinda got a lot going round my head right now.”
Johnny takes a step back and looks up at Simon, his smile growing a little, “Never thought I’d hear you want to talk about feelings so eagerly. I can wait up- but please get a shower, you are literally dripping onto the floor.”
Simon nods and leans down to rest his forehead against Johnny’s, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, you’re home, that’s all that matters. We’ll talk, figure things out together, right?” Johnny mumbles as Simon sighs and nods.
“I’ll be quick in the shower.”
“I’ll set Price up on the couch, no doubt he’s ready to crash. Hopefully the base can function without him for a few hours in the morning.” Johnny jokes.
“Unlikely.” Simon adds before disappearing down the hall to find a towel and head to the shower.
Price emerges from Elizabeth’s room not long after and finds Johnny standing in front of him with a blanket and pillow, “Fancy crashing on the couch? Wouldn’t want to send you flying at this time again, and with the weather to match.”
The Captain consults his watch and puffs out a breath at the time; taking the blanket he says, “I’ll contact Kyle. Sure he can sort the morning shift whilst I make my way back.”
Johnny smiles and for a moment, underneath the worried bags under his eyes and the hair that is pointing in all directions, Price can see nineteen year old Soap again. Rounder in the face from where his features hadn’t chiseled out yet, facial hair patchy and thin where it struggled to grow, and his chest still sported red scars at that point, not yet faded into his skin so he never dared to go shirtless. He always had determination in his eyes but behind it all was fear. Fear someone would know. Fear someone could tell. Scared that he was alone.
“You’ve got this, yeah?” Price asks, vaguely gesturing towards the bathroom where they can hear the shower running.
Johnny nods, “Yeah, I’ve got this. We’ve got this. I think.”
“He’s just in his head,” Price mutters, “He’ll be right as rain again soon.”
Soap just smiles again, nods to his former Captain, and bids him goodnight before heading to his and Simon’s bedroom to wait for his partner.
Simon doesn’t take long, no more than ten minutes pass before he’s walking into the bedroom in his pyjamas and running a towel through his curls, scruffing them up so they’re not soaking. Johnny has turned the bedside lamps on, keeping the room dimly lit and cosy, and Simon turns his back momentarily to hang the towel over the back of the door to air out and to compose himself.
“You feel better for that?” Johnny asks as Simon makes his way into bed.
Under the covers, his shower-warmed skin presses against Johnny’s own colder exposed body as he wraps his arms around him, “Yeah. Thank you.”
“Anything you need, Si.” Johnny mumbles, reaching a hand to Simon’s damp hair and starting to separate the curls, wrapping strands around his fingers to form the individual ringlets that frame his face.
They’re dancing around the topic, evidently so, but neither of them know what to say or what to do. Simon expected to be met with anger- a part of him wants Johnny to be mad at him, not so blindly trusting and forgiving. Another part is glad that Johnny is still here with him, still here for him.
Simon sighs and decides to just rip the plaster off, get everything out in the open and finally fucking talk like a grown up, “I’m sorry about tonight. I really am. I didn’t mean to worry you and stress you out. You were asleep when I went out and I know that doesn’t make it any better but I didn’t think you’d know I was gone.”
Johnny nods slowly before taking a deep breath, “Where did you go? Why wouldn’t you pick up the phone? I don’t want you to feel cooped up in here or anything, Si, you’re a grown man, but I was worried when you didn’t call me back.”
“I went to the cemetery. Had to break in because of those stupid high walls,” Simon huffs, “My phone was in my pocket and fell out. Smashed it to fuck. I was- I went to my Dad’s grave.”
“Your Dad’s?” Johnny furrows his brows and slows his hand in Simon’s hair down.
“Yeah. With the new baby on the way I started thinking and I- I was comparing myself I guess. Started thinking I wasn’t much better than him because I’ve only been here for Elizabeth for a short while. I shared some bourbon with the grave,” Simon chuckles, “But then I started thinking about Mum, and Tommy and everything I’ve lost and it just hit me that the only fucking thing I’ve got left to lose is you. You and my kids. And I can’t have that. I’m so scared to lose you.”
“Oh Simon.” Johnny hushes him softly as Simon looks up at him with fear stricken eyes.
“It didn’t seriously cross my mind but I thought to myself ‘Fuck, would they be safer without me? Would Johnny and Elizabeth live better lives without me in it? Am I a bad omen?’ Somewhere along that thought process Price showed up.” Simon mumbles.
“You’re not a bad omen. Nothing is bad or wrong or ‘off’ about you, okay?” Johnny assures Simon who nods weakly, “Please talk to me like this more often, Simon. Don’t run away from me. I can help you or we can get help. We can go to therapy if you want to, god knows both of us have enough problems to keep a therapist in business for life. We need you, Si. This family needs you.”
“Still blows my mind to hear you say that, I think. To say it and mean it too. I’ve never had someone want me before.”
“Need you,” Johnny reiterates. “We’d fall apart without you. You’re like icing on a cake- technically we’re still a cake without you but we’re ten times better with you.”
Simon pauses for a moment and feels the movement in his hair still. Then, his body starts to shake with poorly constrained chuckles.
“Si? What? What’s wrong?” Johnny asks, feeling his hand wiggling around from Simon jostling it.
“Never attempt to make an analogy again? I’m like icing? Seriously? Most people say glue or some shit but icing? Jesus Johnny you’re something else.” Simon laughs.
Johnny taps his finger lightly against Simon’s scalp and tuts, “Fuck off you bastard, I’m trying to be nice. Why would I say you’re glue? It’s white and sticky and gets all over your hands and no- I’m not making a dirty joke.”
“Icing is white and sticky and gets all over your hands.”
“Get tae fuck with you, shoulda fuckin’ left you in the rain you prick.” Johnny huffs, though his soothing petting would suggest otherwise.
Simon relents with his teasing then and looks up through his pale blonde lashes at John. His blue eyes are already looking down at him and they’re full of adoration- calming oceans of love and relief and Simon just melts by looking at him. He smiles softly at him and mumbles, “Am I forgiven? I’m really so fucking sorry, Johnny.”
“I know you are. I was never mad, just worried about you. Don’t bloody disappear on me again, alright?” Johnny says. Simon nods and receives a warm smile back from Johnny, “Then you’re forgiven.”
“I’m sorry, I love you so much.”
“Don’t apologise anymore, love, tonight’s over.” Johnny kisses the top of Simon’s head and pulls his partner in closer, “And I love you too.”
A moment passes, a serene moment of peaceful quiet where they just exist in one another’s hold, before Simon pipes up and adds, “If the baby’s a girl, what do you think about Johanna?”
“I think that’s a forty year old woman’s name- why?” Johnny mumbles.
“Told Price if you weren’t called John and if the name was better in general I would’ve named the kid after him, he said he’d settle for Johanna and I told him I’m not calling them that or Joan or any other variation he thinks of but y’know, if you liked the name, I could’ve eventually got on board.”
“I hate it.” Johnny deadpans.
“Thank fuck for that.”
“What’s his middle name?”
“William.”
Johnny snorts, “No. The baby is not getting nicknamed ‘Willy’.”
“It’s a strong name, it means ‘strong-willed warrior’.” Simon adds
“And when they go to high school they will be called rotten their entire time there, I’m not feeding my child to the bullies. Besides, what’s your female alternative? Wilhelmina? Wilma?”
“Willa is nice. I’ve heard that before. Or Willow.” Simon shrugs nonchalantly.
“Willow? Is it a baby or a tree?”
Simon chuckles, “God we better find out the sex of this baby as soon as we can, naming them is going to be a nightmare if you’re like this after I’ve mentioned two names.”
Johnny huffs but mumbles, “It’d help if you gave options that weren’t trees.”
“Well, there goes Maple.”
“One more and you lose naming privileges.”
“If you’re so sick, you won’t want to hear anymore- hey! Sycamore!”
“You’re ridiculous. Go to sleep, Simon.”
“Yew too.”
There’s silence for a moment. Simon leans over and switches the light off and settles under the covers until:
“Yews are trees aren’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“For god’s sake, Simon.”