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After being away for six months Simon had finally returned home to you. It was a complete surprise, he'd given no indication that he was on his way back. You hadn't heard anything from him for the last two months, it wasn't new; sometimes when he was away on a mission he would have to cut contact for a while. If you were lucky he would pre warn you ahead of time.
This time you weren't so lucky.
Simon always called you, that was the rule and after three weeks of not hearing from him, you accepted that you probably wouldn't for a long time.
You know that you shouldn't worry, after all the two of you have a running joke that the only thing that can kill Simon Riley, is Simon Riley.
It doesn't stop the worry that seeps itself deep in your bones, holds your mind hostage in the dark of the night. His job is dangerous, he doesn't tell you the darkest parts of it but you get an idea from the many times you'd had to wake him from a nightmare that leaves him drenched in sweat.
So, when you walked through the front door to see him sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees with his head hanging low, wearing the black balaclava.
It stopped you dead in your tracks.
Simon never wore the mask at home.
The man sitting in front of you isn't Simon, it's Ghost.
You're unsure how to approach him, unable to get a read on him. He knows that you're there but he hasn't made any attempt to remove the mask or move for that matter. It unsettles you making you second guess every move you want to make.
Despite sharing the same body Simon and Ghost are two entirely different people.
Simon, who is a little rough around the edges and a behemoth of a man who has been through his own personal hell, from what you learned from whispered confessions in the dark of the night. A man who had to learn that he was deserving of good things and love; is soft and gentle.
He would die before he hurt you.
Fiercely loyal and protective, he loves with all his heart. Simon lets his carefully constructed walls down and trusts you intimately to not break him. At first you found it to be strange, but it became obvious that beyond his towering height and at first scary looking demeanor, he was fragile. He only trusted at most a handful of people and when he welcomed you into that group, you swear it made your heart swell beyond the walls of your chest.
You put him back together piece by piece and in turn he did the same for you.
Simon wasn't the only one that needed putting back together. You had also dealt with your fair share of demons and Simon had tenderly mended the parts of yourself that you'd deemed broken.
"Not broken love, just bruised is all."
Together, the pair of you had formed something nothing short of beautiful, relearning how to trust and how to love each other. Molding your lives around each other, becoming intricately wounded together. No matter how far he went, the red thread connecting your hearts went with him, never breaking.
However, Ghost, you don't really know him.
Simon doesn't allow for you to see that side of him. From what you're witnessing in front of you, this man isn't who you know. The unforgiving tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clench and unclench almost rhythmically. He screams danger and it makes your heart jump into your throat.
Words fail you as you stand cemented in place. You can do nothing but watch as he gets up and walks away, without a word or a glance in your direction. It's only when you hear the lock of the door to his study do you release the breath you've been holding.
He doesn't have to say anything for him to communicate. It's clear that he needs space, needs time to decompress to peel Ghost away from his skin.
Simon disassociates from himself entirely to become Ghost, who is a weapon. The only focus is finishing the mission regardless of the cost. To make the calls that Simon Riley is incapable of making.
He cannot be Simon on the battlefield; he has to be nonexistent, so he slips on his mask to become that. It's a barrier between himself and Ghost. In a way he kills Simon each and every time he puts on that mask.
You'll just have to wait for Simon to dig himself out of his grave and come back to you.
It's been just shy of a week and the house is still eerily silent, you haven't seen Simon as he stays locked away. At least you know he's eating from the empty plates left outside the door.
The days are bad but the nights are worse as you lay and stare at the empty side of the bed for countless hours. His pillow no longer holds his scent and you mourn the loss of it. You miss him more now than you did when he was away. It's hard to describe like his namesake; it's like living with a ghost.
You don't know how to help him.
Not having him by your side is killing you, the ache inside your heart grows more and more each day. It's that burning need for him that leads you to take a very risky decision.
You call Johnny.
If anyone can help you know it's him he knows Ghost better than anyone.
Johnny knows instantly that something is wrong, his voice filled with concern, you're calling him in the wee hours of the morning of course something is up. You explain to him the predicament that you're in, how he came home wearing the mask and how he has closed himself off from you.
You find yourself almost pleading with him to help.
"Don't you worry Lass, I'll sort that eejit out for you."
"You can't tell him I called, he'll go mad."
Johnny laughs, "Mad at you? Never, but I'll not tell him, now get to bed."
"Thank you."
"No need to thank me hen, just let ol' Soap take care of it."
After a quick goodbye to him you settle yourself down, you can't help but worry you know you've crossed a line by calling Johnny but you found yourself with no other option. After almost a week with no change you're desperate for something, any small glimpse of your Simon.
You just hope he sees it the same way you do.
When the sun's morning rays peer through the window directly into your face, you scrunch your eyes together and roll over, like a bad habit you reach out seeking him but you're met with nothing. Just a cold and empty unforgiving space. The dam breaks and you can't stop the tears as they pour down your face. You feel ripped open so raw and vulnerable, he's here but he's not and it hurts.
Face burrowed in his pillow to quieten your sobs, you allow yourself to purge all the negative emotions you're feeling; unable to hold it back no longer. You're lost and incredibly lonely, the silence is driving you crazy; you've started talking to yourself out loud as you go about your day, saying anything to fill the empty void.
When you finally do calm down and get your emotions in check, you feel exhausted but you drag yourself out of bed regardless to start another day. You've been trying to keep yourself busy as best you can, today you've got on a cleaning spree. Even going as far to get down on your hands and knees and scrub the skirting boards.
In your spree you noticed that his duffle bag is still where he left it and you haul it into the kitchen to tackle the pile of washing that needs doing. As you pull out his dirty clothes, you make sure to check all the pockets. Simon has a habit of leaving items inside of them and you've accidentally washed his wallet at least twice. It doesn't take you long until you find something; a cigarette lighter. By the end, you've found a few more lighters, an almost empty pack of cigarettes and odd bits of change. You can't help but let out a small chuckle, it's not that it's funny, no, it's just so Simon.
You look inside the bag to make sure you got everything, opening the many zips to check for no hidden dirty socks.
"What you doing?"
His voice is tense and it startles you; when you turn he is standing in the doorway his face still covered by the black mask.
"I'm just-" You stutter, looking anywhere but at him, "Washing needed doing."
"Really? Looks like you were rifling through my shit."
You shake your head, "N-no, just making sure I got all the dirty clothes."
The duffle bag is clutch close to you subconsciously using it as a barrier between you and him.
"Sure, you were." You can feel the building animosity from his tone alone, warning bells start ringing in your head.
"I was-"
"Liar," He snarls and within a blink of an eye he's in front of you, roughly snatching the duffle from your hands with such force you almost fall forward, fabric burning your fingertips. You're frozen in place; he's never spoken to you like this before. Even during past arguments, you've both spoken to each other in calm tones; taking small breaks when it gets too much.
He's so close that you can feel his body radiating heat, usually comforting but this time you find it suffocating, the heat rolling off him is coated with rage. You risk looking up at him and your heart stops, he's staring down at you with dead eyes, it makes you think if this is what his enemies see before he kills them.
Your heart thunders in your chest and he stalks away from you, pacing around the kitchen with quick steps, his chest heaving with each step.
"I've told you before, don't touch my shit but you don't listen do you?"
"I'm sorry."
He whirls on his heel and you don't need him to take the mask off to know he's baring his teeth. You take a step back the counter top digging painfully into your back, you've never seen him like this before and it scares you.
No, it terrorizes you.
"You called Soap."
It's said with no emotion it's not a question, he knows that you did. Lying about it will get you nowhere, you know that first hand it just makes things much worse.
"Yes," You whisper and you see all his muscle tense, his breathing once more heaving as his rage boils to the surface once more.
"What," He spits out, "Gave you the fuckin right?"
You can't speak, fear has you in a chokehold, your head is shaking rapidly from side to side pleading for him to stop but he's lost to the anger that your plea is unseen. He barks the question out at you again, it's a clear order to answer; like you're nothing more than a soldier who messed up.
"I was just trying to help you."
It does nothing to pacify him, it does the complete opposite in fact.
"Help?" He sniggers at you as he slams the duffle down on the kitchen table. "I don't need your fuckin help."
"Si-"
"Shut up," It's spoken in a hiss, "What makes you think you can help eh? You sit in blissful ignorance, you don't see what I see out there, the horror of it all."
It's an angry confession he has let you in only slightly but his anger isn't allowing him to open up fully. He's releasing so much unadulterated pain but the rage is clouding it, mangling it as it comes out, twisting it so that it can only leave his body as pure fury.
You watch helplessly as he paces once more, his hands are gripping at the fabric of the mask. Nausea churns in your stomach, acid burning the back of your throat. Tears burn your eyes as you follow his every move, trying to anticipate what he's going to do.
He picks up the duffle bag and turns in your direction, he lifts it slightly and your mind goes blank.
At this moment, you don't see Simon.
You don't even see Ghost.
All you can see is him.
The man you thought was banished from your mind. The man who hurt you, who broke you all those years ago. Bracing yourself for the hit that is going to come but it doesn't. The sound of glass breaking cuts through you, it's loud more so than any of the words that have been screamed.
The sound makes you whimper and plead.
It's your sound of fear that pulls Simon out of his red mist. When he finally comes down enough to actually look at you and the sight breaks his fucking heart.
You have your arms in front of your face in a defensive position, shaking violently. He can hear you sobbing; broken pleads repeating like a prayer.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please I'm sorry.
Don't hurt me, please don't hurt me.
Won't do it again, please just don't hurt me.
You're begging for him to not hurt you, but it's not his name you're saying. No, it's the monster of your past that you're pleading with.
It's like ice water is poured over him.
Simon has done the one thing he promised to never do; he broke you.
He rips that mask from himself, finally burying Ghost deep inside. Something that he should have been able to do long before he stepped through the front door.
His throat feels raw, a testament to how loud he was shouting. All the anger that he was feeling is very quickly defusing, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of regret and bone chilling guilt.
"Love-" It's the first softly spoken word from him since he got back and he takes a tentative step towards you. Simon calls your name trying to pull you out of the personal hell he put you in.
It doesn't.
It just makes you worse.
You flitch somehow managing to curl more in on yourself, as if you're trying to make yourself disappear. Your hands buried in your hair, twisting the strands around your fingers, clawing it out.
He moves towards you at a pace too fast, wanting to stop you from hurting yourself more.
Big mistake.
The scream you let out is nothing short of gut wrenching.
It freezes him in place.
And in the blink of an eye, you're moving.
In your haste to escape you slip on the broken glass that litters the floor but it does nothing to slow you down. Stumbling to your feet, he hears as the front door opens - slamming against the wall.
By the time he reaches the front door before he can even call your name, you're gone.
"Fuck, you fuckin bloody idiot."
It's raining and you've left in nothing more than a t-shirt and sleep shorts.
"You absolute bastard Simon."
Now isn't the time for him to wallow in self pity, he has to find you. Get down on his hands and knees, beg for your forgiveness. He just has to hope that you'll find it in your heart to forgive him.
Simon is going out of his mind. He's been looking for over an hour and he hasn't found you yet. His coat doing nothing to protect him from the ever present gloomy Manchester rain.
It isn't called the rainy city for nothing.
His fingers flex nervously against the steering wheel as he waits for the traffic lights to turn green. There is one last place that he hasn't looked yet, he'd hoped that you'd found refuge somewhere inside, out of the rain. Really, he should have gone here first after all, it is your happy place. There is something that you love doing more than anything else, you had very proudly admitted it to him, not one ounce of shame.
You love to feed ducks.
Even going as far to have your favourite duck.
"He's a mandarin."
"An orange?"
"Don't be silly Simon, he's a duck. Been through the wars that one only has one eye."
When he finally lays his eyes on you it feels like he can breathe again. You're sitting on the bench that overlooks the pond, hair plastered down flat, heavy from the rain. Learning from his past mistake he approaches with caution, but loud enough so that he doesn't startle you. His knees hitting the hard unforgiving ground as he submits to you, ready to beg.
You're shaking and breathing too fast for his liking, teeth chattering loudly. He takes off his coat and drapes it across your shoulders and you pull it closer around yourself.
"No orange today?"
It's a weak attempt to reach out and rebuild, but he can see from your eyes that they are devoid of all emotion, just empty pools of nothing. He needs to bring you back before he can apologize.
"He-he thought it was stupid."
Barely a whisper but he hears it loud and clear.
"Said it was childish."
He doesn't need to ask, he knows what you're talking about. Simon only knows little about your ex but it's enough for him to despise him. How a man could take someone like you, with all your kindness and unbridled love and nearly destroy you.
It makes him want to set Ghost free.
"He's all I can see, can hear him in my head," Your hands cover your face, "Over and over and over."
Every over is punctuated with a fist hitting the side of your head. Simon decides that now is the time he needs to bring you back. He's gentle when he takes hold of your wrists but you still make a feeble attempt to fight the hold.
"No- no, stop. Look at me love, I need you to look at me."
Despite the pouring rain he can see the fresh wave of tears rolling down your cheeks. Yet, you still won't look at him and it kills him, hurts worse than any bullet he's taken. He makes a desperate attempt to reach you, placing your hands on his face.
"Feel me, please- love just feel; it's me. I'm here."
When you do finally look at him, the world around you comes to a stop. For the first time since he's been back you finally see your Simon.
Not Ghost. Not him.
Simon.
You see him along with his scars, you feel the scruff of his growing beard. How the raindrops cling to his lashes and he is simply beautiful. Sorrow and grief fill the pools of his eyes, he's open and raw showing you everything that you've wanted to see since he got back.
"Welcome home, Simon."
He collapses into you burying his face into your stomach. His body hitches with each breath a concentrated effort to not break to keep himself together, the warmth of it only remind you of how cold you actually are.
When he looks up at you, his eyes are red and he looks exhausted. His hold on you is tight; desperate even - as if you would disappear if he let go.
"I'm sorry," It's blunt and to the point but it's spoken softly, "I'm so fuckin sorry."
He presses a delicate kiss on the inside of your wrist; the first time you've felt his lips against you since he's been back.
"Please," A whispered plea, "Never again, I- I can't."
Calloused fingers brushed against your cheeks cradling your face, thumbs brushing away stray tears. He looks you straight in the eye.
"Never."
A solemn vow.
One he will not break.
Slowly inching his face closer towards you, studying you carefully. His intention is clear but he waits ever so patiently for you to close the gap. He doesn't have to wait long. You move quickly to close that miniscule space, craving the feeling of his lips on yours; fill your lungs with him and only him. The kiss is desperate; a perfect representation of how you've been feeling, you've yearned for this for six long agonizing months. It pulls a needy whimper from you and Simon holds you close.
When he pulls away he doesn't go far tucking his face into your neck, each exhale like a feather. Simon needs this to know that you're there, when you ran to escape him for the first time in a long time he felt fear. He felt vulnerable and he didn't like how it made him feel. The ache in his knees is bordering on painful yet he takes it, punishing himself.
The cold has made you numb and the little warmth that Simon had you've quickly sapped away, once more leaving you shaking.
"Let's go home, yeah?"
You nod eagerly and Simon slowly rises; knees protesting the movement. You go to stand but instead with no effort, he picks you up, arm under your knees, the other around your back, your arms wind around his neck.
It's the warmth that hits first as you walk back into your home. At first it feels wonderful as it starts to chase away what felt like a persistent chill but that quickly fades, the wet clothes that cling to you feel horrible against your skin, you're stood awkwardly, arms slightly out to avoid them touching your wet shirt. Simon is gentle as he guides you towards the bathroom. He turns the shower on and gets it to the right temperature, steam quickly gathering in the space. He strips out of his wet clothes, leaving them a pile in the corner.
He stood just in his boxers and bizarrely you cast your mind back to when he would hide his body from you, he didn't want you to see the abundance of scars that covered his skin. You've traced everyone of them with your fingers, pausing while he'll tell you the story behind them.
"Sneaky bastard tried to gut me, missed the vital parts. Lucky for me, unlucky for him."
"Stabbed myself with my own knife trying to show off."
Some scars when you've grazed over them he goes deadly still. Only letting you get a glimpse of their history.
"Dad like to smoke."
That one sentence spoken in such a monotone way, like it almost meant nothing, painted a picture of some of the untold violence he'd experienced. It's clear that the memories of them are painful and it makes your heart ache for the small defenseless boy that's trapped within him.
You're brought back when you feel his fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt, he looks at you asking for permission and you lift your arms in reply. He takes care as he removes each piece of clothing, keeping you steady as he takes down your underwear. It's not the first time that he's done this, usually it's in the throws of passion and even after countless times he still chuckles when you squeak when your back meets the frigid tiles.
This time is different, he's gentle and taking his time, treating you like fine porcelain. When he's done, he guides you under the warm spray of the shower, the heat of it chasing away the cold. You take a moment, savoring the feeling as the water cascades over you. Simon slips in not long after, wrapping his arms around your torso holding you close to him; your back against his chest, the steady beating of his heart reverberating against yours.
Calling to one another.
The silence that surrounds you both isn't uncomfortable, it's soothing.
"Lemme take care of you, eh?"
He reaches for your shampoo, it smells like strawberries. The scent is uniquely yours, and every time he smells the sweet scent regardless of where he is, he's reminded of you. It's hard when he's away, makes his heart clench as he longs to be back home. Simon has magic hands and makes you purr as he lathers it into your scalp. Perfect pressure as he works, paying special attention around the sides. You're practically half asleep by the time he's done, leaning against him. He's careful when he rinses ensuring none of the soapy water enters your eyes.
You take it in turns caring for one another, he has to crane his neck down so you can properly reach to shampoo his hair. The normally soft stands feel dry and rough and Simon melts as your nails work to get rid of the dirt and grime, letting out a satisfied groan. With each act of care, you're stitching yourselves back together, mending the parts that have frayed, the bond that you share pulsing with nothing but love and adoration.
Even after you're both washed and clean you stay under the warm spray embracing one another. A gentle sway in his movements as he clutches you to him, when his cheek brushes against yours, the short and sharp hairs prickle your skin.
"You need to shave."
Simon huffs a laugh, it's the first words you've spoken to him since leaving the pond.
"Thinkin' of growing a beard."
You laugh out loud and it's like music to Simon's ears. "Wouldn't cope with it under your mask, you'll itch like mad."
"Good point," He hums, "Best sort it out then, yeah?"
Knowing what he wants, you reach over and turn the shower off, he follows you out of the shower. You wrap yourself up in a towel, you grab all the items that you need lining them neatly on the bathroom skin before hopping up to sit on the cabinet. He stands in between your legs, perfectly still as you work the shaving cream over the lower half of his face.
Simon loves it when you shave him, perfectly capable to do it himself but there is something intimate around it when you do it. Having your delicate hands so close to his throat, a place that his enemies aim for makes him feel vulnerable in all the right ways. Plus, he gets to see your adorable concentration face, how the tip of your tongue peaks through your lips. It's no wonder that sometimes he couldn't help but ravage you on the sink cabinet you're sitting on. You've become a professional over time, your once shaky hand now steady as you work the razor over his skin. Your skilled hands never leave him with any nicks or razor burn and he's grateful for the time and attention you pay to it. By the time you're done, his skin is practically glowing from the gentle care.
"Skin care is important Simon, all that paint is just clogging your pores."
When you've finished applying the soothing balm, you finish the routine the same way you always do, pulling him down for a soft kiss.
You hum, "All smooth again."
"Thank you, love," He leans in again, stealing another kiss, he can feel you smile into it, "You're welcome, Si."
"Let's go to bed."
"It's the middle of the afternoon."
"And?"
You roll your eyes playfully but you can't deny the fact that you're tired, "Okay then."
Simon still doesn't let you lift a finger as he dresses you in the fluffiest pajamas you own, he even carefully blow dries your hair in the way you like. When you finally do get into bed you plaster yourself against him, throwing a leg over his hip, laying your head on his shoulder. His hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly.
"I missed you," He confesses, "Not being able to hear your voice."
"I missed you more when you came home," You swallow the lump in your throat, "Being so close, yet so far away."
He squeezes you tighter against him; he isn't saying anything but you can hear as his mind turns over, searching for the right words. Simon has always struggled when it came to talking about how he felt, so used to just being alone and ignoring his emotions. It takes him a while when he finally starts to explain, you listen intently and patiently when he takes long pauses.
Putting together the parts of his jumbled story, the picture starts to become clear slowly. The mission had been in his words a 'shit show' from the beginning, the Intel they were working with hadn't been the best, going in practically blind. How he and his team had spent months in the desert, the unforgiving heat during the day and the freezing temperatures at night had destroyed the team morale. They'd risked their lives to save a captured squad and in return they betrayed them.
They lost four good men in that fight, one of them had a pregnant wife waiting for him at home.
He didn't want to cut contact with you but he had no option. They had been compromised and ultimately he had to keep you safe, keep you away from falling into the dangerous part of his life. Simon spares you the violent details, he never shares that.
The mission was a failure.
They found out that they were just chasing their own tails. Intel was wrong and in the end, wasted months of time for nothing and that left him furious.
"Six months for fuckin nothing, men lost their lives for nothing."
"Not your fault," You soothe rubbing your cheek against his shoulder, "You know that right?"
Simon knows that the job he has is dangerous and people dying isn't anything new, it comes with the work. Still, he struggles where to draw the line, where the blame should lie. At the end of the day be did his job, followed the orders given like a good soldier, it wasn't his fault that the information was wrong but men died under his watch.
Still angry when he returned back to home base, he was going to stay for a couple of days to get the mission out of his system but the overwhelming urge to come home to you, beckoned him like a siren song. He should have stayed on base, decompress and strip Ghost away from himself, but he needed to see you. It was a bad decision and he knew as soon as he walked through the front door, the air smelt too clean and the couch was far too soft. It felt wrong. His home was his safe place but in that moment it was far from it, he felt like a caged animal. He was going to leave but then you walked through the door.
He didn't want you to see him this way, so he locked himself away. Attempting desperately to dig himself back from the grave, but he couldn't and the harder he tried the more Ghost stubbornly remained.
Then Johnny called him and he knew that you had reached out to him. The reasonable side of him saw your side, the desperate situation that he had put you in and that it had pushed you to make this choice. Unfortunately, he got blindsided by rage and in his fucked up brain a line had been crossed. He was going to leave just for a few days but then he'd seen you with his duffle and his mind just snapped.
"You were scared of me."
You shake your head, "Never, I didn't see you Simon, it wasn't you I was afraid off."
"Still, it was my actions."
Sitting up so that you're sitting on top of him, you look down at him, staring deep into his eyes.
"I love you," You speak softly, "You're my safe space, taught me what real love feels like. You don't scare me Simon, I know the real you, sometimes more than you do."
His eyes become glassy and his breath hitches in his throat. Large hands finding your waist and squeeze ever so gently, as he grounds himself.
"I don't deserve you."
You smile, "You deserve nothing but good things Simon Riley."
"Come ere."
It's a kiss that fortifies your bond, one that it's filled with both an apology and forgiveness. Soft and slow, you hold one another tightly and when it ends you stay just basking in each other's presence.
The red thread connecting you to each other now has a kink within it. It'll be a reminder of a difficult time but that's all it will be, like a scar it carries a story, one that doesn't need to be told but it shows that the two of you not only survived but prevailed.
He made his solemn vow and in turn you make yours, you'll remind him everyday just how much he deserves to be loved.