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Simon woke up in a soft haze that only came with half-remembered dreams, still halfway dreaming. His ears could practically hear the soft shuffle of soft small feet against hardwood floors distantly, and small giggles coming from the living room. He opened his eyes to the soft light of the morning with images of small fingers wrapped around his one larger finger, he could feel the phantom skin against his and the imaginary strength. He dragged a hand over his eyes trying to get the crust out while the last feelings from the dream settled deep in his chest, a sense of calm washing over him.
He could half remember the dream as he stretched and got dressed in comfortably worn joggers and a soft jumper. Images of piercing blue eyes and soft soft skin flashed through his mind as he padded towards the kitchen.
Johnny stood there, in jeans and a thigh t-shirt, nursing a coffee while scrolling on a tablet laying on the kitchen island. Simon felt nearly disappointed in seeing the clean pristine kitchen, a weird sense of disappointment of not seeing any weird stains on the walls and the lack of colourful paper hanging from the fridge. John looked up and smiled that soft smile he sported in the early morning when he was still fighting off sleep, looking relaxed and warm.
Simon muttered a “good morning,” accepting the cup of tea that John got out of nowhere, still steaming and tasting just how Simon likes it. It had taken a long time for them both to get here. After all the things both of them had endured, both alone and together.
It had been an easy and the most difficult decision to make, John had gotten shot in one of their last missions - it was more of a graze - but it had been the last drop in the nearly overflowing glass.
Ever since The Betrayal - so aptly nicknamed by John - Simon had been doomed. His cold heart had exploded into tiny pieces seeing John get shot way back in Las Almas, and John himself had pieced it back together again after the whole deal. Their relationship developed slowly after that when Simon was still unsure of how much he would allow himself to feel these feelings , still scared of the prospect of having one more person ripped away from him. They both had to deal with bigger issues before anything could ever happen anyway.
The 141 had dealt with Makarov, Simon couldn’t even begin to remember how, it had just been dealt with. Gruelling months where none of them quite knew if they all would return home. If the mission was even doable. But it had gotten done in the end.
And in the wake of the freedom of that being done, Ghost had crumbled. A name and identity to protect and conceal the softer man underneath, a reputation that felt more and more like an actual ghost - haunting enemies' minds and unsuspecting rookies in full gear ready to run laps until their legs gave out.
Simon had walked into John’s - back then Soap’s - room deep into the dark hours, two days after That mission. He’d shed his mask, and stripped himself of all the protection and anonymity it gave him. It had been a slow dance up until that point, orbiting around each other until one would leap into the air for the other to catch. But that night, when Simon had opened up, breaking down the walls separating them, he chose John. And John had miraculously chosen him back.
Simon had walked out of that room with a piece of himself lodged in John’s chest. Leaving it behind without a second thought.
The missions after that had been even harder than before, while Ghost had always detached himself from emotions and feelings, Simon hadn't. There had been closer calls for both of them. Long nights spent alone while the other was out doing dangerous things in dangerous places. Months where they had been so busy they barely spoke to each other.
It had started as a fleeting idea while they both had taken leave, one of the few times Simon had been excited about the prospect of taking leave. John had shown Simon Scotland, where he grew up, close to where his parents lived but they hadn't visited them yet then. And while on a stroll they saw a house up for sale. A run-down cottage with a big garden and a garage enough for two cars. John had looked through the murky windows with a distant comment about ‘potential’. Simon had just hummed and looked over the garden where dead plants, bushes and weeds grew.
It ended with the graze as Simon dragged John to medical, he had stinging tears in his eyes and panic in his chest. When the nurses had gone out of the room Simon dragged off the skull mask, clutching John’s hands in his own and staring intensely into John’s eyes. “What do you think about buying that house back in Scotland?”
Price had known instantly when they both entered his office, signing their discharge papers with a knowing smile and sad eyes.
And now they were here, a soft domestic morning where tea was just prepared because John knew Simon wouldn’t be able to sleep long after John had gotten up.
“Why are you in jeans?” Simon asked, tugging on a belt loop while sipping his tea, feeling the leather belt underneath his hooked finger.
“Veronica asked if I could pick her up for her appointment,” John let himself be tugged closer, settling a hand on Simon’s hip, “Colin got called in for a fire two hours ago.”
Simon hummed and put the cup down, leaning into John’s neck and pressing his nose into the hinge of his jaw. He wore cologne today - the one he had bought when he was just 15 and never changed - Simon liked when John wore it. It smelled like home and special occasions. And it was a special occasion as John was driving his very pregnant elder sister to an appointment. John’s hands went to his waist, sliding up underneath the jumper and meeting warm skin.
“Slept well?” John asked and let his hands wander, tugging the jumper further up, exposing the scarred skin on Simon’s lower back to the cool air from the kitchen.
Simon shivered and nodded, moving back to look at John, “had a dream…” he mumbled, still feeling the remnants of disappointment still in his chest.
“Bad or nice?”
“Nice,” Simon said, he thought of the dream, still half-remembered but the vibe was still present. The phantom feeling of someone small tugging on his pant leg, jumbled words that he would nod to as he pretend to understand their meaning.
“What was it about?” John’s accent had thickened when they moved to Scotland, but Simon after all this time with John started to just hear it as normal. He rarely had to ask for shop workers to repeat themselves when he didn't understand or look at John helplessly as John’s mum would go on a tangent about something Simon’s English brain couldn't even comprehend.
Simon thought about an answer, how could he even begin to articulate that dream? It wasn't too weird to dream about children, John’s sister had a child already and one well on the way. Simon had gotten the honorary title of ‘Uncle Simon’ and he was often around children because of said sister’s son Lewis. Simon settled for a shrug, “dreamt of a child, I think, can’t remember it properly,” he rushed it out, picking up his tea again to have something else to do with his hands knowing that his Johnny could read into any nonchalant answer he gave him.
John had his eyebrows raised in surprise, and a wide smile spread across his lips, it was the type of smile Simon knew only meant mischief and embarrassment on his behalf. So he raised the hand still with the cup in it and pointed towards him with a warning look.
“Don’t,” he started wanting to change the topic for something safer, something that wasn't a big life achievement, “I think it’s because of Veronica’s due date coming soon, my subconscious trying to adjust to having a baby around.”
He got saved by a phone ringing, John had to pull back away from Simon to fish it out from his jean pocket and fiddle around the broken screen to accept the call. John had long given up on fixing the screen he kept breaking, the fickle glass screen notwithstanding the harsh treatment John gave it. So it stayed broken and half-responsive.
“Yer outside?” John didn't even greet the caller as he stepped around Simon towards the hallway, Simon padded after, socked feet moving silently across the hardwood floors. Watching as John said he’d be outside in a minute and dragging on a jacket from the peg he had dubbed as his own. Simon liked to watch John go through his mental checklist after he had gotten on his shoes, the dance-like movements as he patted himself down, mumbling out if he had his keys, wallet and phone. Nodding after he seemed satisfied he turned towards Simon, he stepped forward and Simon almost instinctively hunched down.
It was always nice to kiss John, soft and slightly dry lips against his own, scratchy stubble against his shaved chin. It was always nice to kiss John because no matter how little time John had, he would always get sidetracked and try to deepen the kiss just a little, sneaking in a tongue when the opportunity presented itself. It always ended with Simon pushing against his hard chest, mumbling a ‘go’ as John pouted against him but gave up and stepped away backwards like he didn’t want to turn just yet. His eyes lingered for another moment before he opened the front door and walked out.
“And if ye think we’re not talkin’ about that dream of yers love, then yer really wrong!”
They did in fact not really talk about it, John had been too excited when he got back home later that morning. He had ultrasound pictures in his hands and excitedly pointed out the limbs of the child in the blurry black-and-white pictures. Simon looked at them listening intently as his fingers traced the outline of the rounded head. His chest tightened and he half-heartedly remembered the images from the dream and distant memories from way back when Joseph had been just a blurry image.
John saw the look in Simon’s eyes, saw the way his fingers traced the image and heard the tone of his voice as he asked about the appointment. John saw the excitement when he mentioned he had recorded the heartbeat on his phone, a broken phone screen showing the tiny beating heart on the monitor and the fast strong pulses that were heard.
They didn’t talk about it, not even when Simon was sitting on the floor with Lewis and drawing with him while visiting John’s parents for dinner. Lewis was chattering on and on about everything and nothing but Simon listened intently, just like how he used to listen to debriefs and mission plans back when they were still in active service.
Lewis talked about beginning school in august, and Simon nodded and thanked him for the green crayon that was given to him by small sticky hands. He absentmindedly drew a dog, a german shepherd with purple ears as Lewis needed the brown crayon when Simon had started on them. John could draw much better, he had even told Lewis when the child had asked (begged) him to join him on the floor, but Lewis had just shaken his head with force and said he wanted Uncle Simon to join him. So, Simon found himself on the floor, his back ached in protest but he soldiered on for Lewis’ sake - he had endured much worse for longer before.
“Did you have a dog like that back when you saved the world, Uncle Simon?” Lewis asked and pointed towards the dog on Simon’s paper. His skewed perception of the military made his heart skip a beat for his childhood innocence.
Simon thought of Riley, a german shepherd he had worked with on some missions before she had retired, “I borrowed one once, but she was a bit old so she had to go home.”
Wide grey eyes turned towards him, and he knew he had opened up the floodgates when Lewis took a deep breath in to prepare himself for the massive amount of questions his mind started making up. While Simon never really shared much of his military life with anyone other than John, sometimes he let himself slip up. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Lewis had carved himself a decent-sized spot in his cold heart. Every time he talked about the military, Lewis would eat up every detail. Simon steeled himself and straightened his posture to try to alleviate the ache in his lower back, he would be sitting there for a while, his mind already trying to find ways to make the missions he’d done with Riley as child-appropriate as possible.
John watched the whole interaction with half interest, he was helping his mam with peeling potatoes and keeping her company while his nephew stole his partner away. It always shocked him to see Simon with his nephew and other kids. John tried to think of Simon in full tac gear and skull mask doing the same thing, but he couldn't see it, couldn’t see the children hanging from those arms that also held a sniper ready at the trigger. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when he heard the man on the floor slip up about Riley, knowing that he would eventually have to save him from his own predicament.
“He is really good with kids John,” his mam had stopped chopping vegetables and looked over to the two on the floor. A soft motherly look on her weathered face. John nodded absentmindedly, still half listening to the conversation happening in the living room while peeling another potato, Simon had always been a bit soft for kids.
It looked like his mam would be making dinner for the whole neighbourhood at this point and John found himself relieved to think about not having to make dinner tomorrow when she would pack enough leftovers for them to not bother with preparing food themselves.
“Have ye two talked about it?” She asked bluntly, out of nowhere.
John dropped the potato down into the sink with the peels and whipped around to look at his mam in shock. He spluttered, trying to kickstart his brain into working. “Wha’?”
“Oh don’ be like that John,” she continued with the vegetables in front of her, huffing an amused laugh, “Ye two have been together for a long time now, he is great with Lewis and he has been so excited for the baby too. Remember when Veronica let him feel the baby kick? Oh, dinnae look at me like that you, I didna say ye had to get one now!”
“Ma!” John’s cheek flushed deep red as he fished out the half-peeled potato from the sink, “I dinnae think he is the one who wants kids on his own, we haven’t talked about it.”
She didn't say anything more on the topic, she just smiled knowingly and pointed towards Simon on the floor with a pointed look and John just gaped back at her.
They didn’t talk about it, yet John saw the lingering looks at baby clothes at the unfortunate time they both needed new jeans from the store. Simon had stopped to look at a onesie, a small black one for newborns with small cartoonish skulls on them. Simon chuckled and took it off the hanger to show John. “Hey Johnny, how did the skull reprimand his kids?” John couldn't see the smirk on Simon’s lips as he was wearing a cloth face mask, a simple black one with a skeletal print on it because this was Simon we are talking about. It wasn't often that Simon felt he needed to cover his face after they discharged, but some days he donned the mask, just for some comfort on bad or overwhelming days.
John groaned and shrugged, “I dinnae ken Simon.”
Simon hung the onesie back again before he answered, “He skull-ded them.”
It wasn’t even remotely funny, but John laughed nonetheless. Maybe it was the delivery, monotone and gruff as Simon’s voice tended to be in these overly public places. He tried not to think too deeply about the onesie, but he chalked it up as excitement for Veronica’s second kid. He tried not to get his hopes up while Simon strolled over towards some black cargo pants with too many pockets and straps hanging on a display because again this was Simon we are talking about.
Simon woke up from a nightmare, already forgotten as he dragged off the duvet and sat up. The clock on his phone showed 0334 hours and he tried to calm his breathing quietly. While living in the cottage - which was not too long ago so run down that it only could be described as ‘having potential’ - alleviated some of the nightmares he got. They never truly disappeared. Most nights were dreamless and he would wake up at the slightest sound or change in light, some nights he slept deeply and only woke up to the cooling spot where Johnny usually slept, and on some rare nights he had pleasant dreams.
Tonight was a nightmare, not the terror-inducing night terrors he suffered from back during active duty, not the cold-sweated nightmares he remembered in full detail afterwards, and not an unpleasant memory twisted in some grotesque way. It was just a non-memorable nightmare, where he was left with a sense of bad energy twisting in his head.
He still got up and padded out softly, closing the door as quietly as the old hinges would allow. He stepped onto the cool tiles in the kitchen with bare feet, modern and greyish-white with a slight texture so they wouldn't be too slippery. He grabbed a glass and filled it with the coldest water he could get out of the tap and chugged it down, icy water slipping down his throat and cooling his chest from the inside letting the panic dissipate with the cold. He felt the remnants of the nightmare slip away as he filled another glass and sipped at it. He stepped back from the sink and leaned against the kitchen island. Something Johnny had wanted to put in because then they’d had a casual place to sit in the kitchen when the dining room seemed to be too formal.
It was dark brown stained wood to match the hardwood floors they’d hired professionals to restore in the rest of the cottage, with brass and matte black details. At the end of the island was a vase, a ceramic vase that they had gotten from Colin and Veronica as a moving-in gift. She had said it was made with lots of love and tiny hands, and underneath it was a scrawled ‘LEWIS’. It had probably been meant as a gag gift, but Simon had proudly put it down on the island and chucked some fake flowers in it.
His eyes lingered on the vase, its rough texture and small finger indents from small hands. He let himself smile, and his eyes strayed towards the fridge. There was a set of polaroids on it, a photo of him and john on their last day at the base before shipping out for the last time posing with the rest of the 141 and the new soldiers that would be taking their place within the task force. Another polaroid was Price, Gaz, Kate and to everyone's surprise Alejandro and Rodolfo in their cottage when it was half finished and looked more like a construction site, piles of wood planks served as a bar with beer bottles and tequila straight from Mexico. The last two polaroids were from a visit from Price and Gaz alone, a sleepy Gaz on the newly bought couch cuddled up against Price who had his hat square on his face and John standing in the background holding up a peace sign. And a fishing trip where Simon had ended up fishing up John from the water rather than fishing actual fish, a picture taken right before disaster struck. Gaz holding the camera smiling with Price’s hat on his head, Price without it just behind, John had decided that he would perch against the side of the boat next to Simon and two seconds after Gaz had taken the picture he tipped backwards and into the water.
Then his eyes strayed down towards the new set of pictures on the fridge. The ultrasounds John had stuck on there for safekeeping, saying he needed to remember them for when he made the new kid a photo album. Like he had been making for Lewis.
The tightness in his chest returned and he plucked them down from the fridge. Observing the ultrasound of a child he wouldn’t meet just yet. He felt himself smile just looking at it, he remembered Joseph then. He had gotten the same feeling in his chest when he had met him at Tommy’s old house. Usually, when the thoughts of the boy entered his mind he would feel dread and guilt. But now, he felt only sadness that he never got to see him grow up properly.
Civilian life had made him do many things outside his comfort zone, and one of them had been going to a therapist. A therapist specialising in PTSD and veterans returning to civilian life.
It had been good, and done wonders for how he processed his trauma, while it would never go away, it felt easier to carry. He had only agreed to meet Lewis after he had talked to his therapist about Joseph - and extension his whole family. Could only bear to meet John’s little nephew after he learned how he could avoid projecting all the guilt he carried for Joseph’s death over to Lewis, he didn't want John’s nephew to be a trigger. Wanted a fresh start where he could interact with kids without feeling guilt for being in their innocent presence. Wanted to show John the graves of his family back in Manchester and change out the wilted flowers with ones that would come back year after year. Let the guilt settle in the ground with them and let it rest there.
And now? He felt a good feeling bloom in his chest as he looked at the ultrasound in his hands. He felt content as he stuck it back onto the fridge, he walked softly back to the bedroom and watched from the doorway as John’s back moved with each deep breath he took.
John turned and squinted blearily at Simon when the hinges of the bedroom door squeaked, “wha’re ye doin’ up?” he mumbled and turned towards Simon as he crossed the room. John opened the duvet and Simon slipped into the warmth underneath it, cuddling against John and settling against him.
“Had a dream,” he mumbled into John’s chest, letting his hands splay against John’s back, feeling the warm skin against his hands.
“Bad or Nice?”
“Nice,” he lied, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Dreamt about small feet against the floors…”
John laughed and buried his nose into Simons sleep tousled hair, “ ‘s funny, dreamin’ about small feet…”
“I didn’t mean it like that…”
John was silent, and Simon had half a thought that he had fallen back asleep, but John’s heart was hammering against his cheek.
“Let’s talk about it in the morning over breakfast, yeah?” John said after the silence stretched, nuzzling against Simon and worming his hands underneath the shirt Simon wore to bed.
“Yeah.”
Breakfast came with expectations then, it never had before, but Simon felt the charged air between them as he plated eggs and toasted bread. They settled in the dining room, where the morning sun spilled over the horizon and into the room greeting them with a sunny day.
John never pushed these things, and Simon didn't either, all of their life achievements together came naturally without many conversations between them. Officially beginning their relationship started with a teary kiss in John’s - back then Soap’s - room that didn't need the words, the decision to discharge came with a mutual agreement they didn't even have to voice, putting down a bid for a run-down cottage in Scotland that had no other bids seemed natural as breathing. Conversations about them and the future had never really been seen as important, taking day by day and week by week. They talked since communication was the best foundation for a healthy and good relationship - or that's what Simon’s therapist had said at least - and they argued about important things. Like finances, work and car repairs, they bickered about what groceries and gym equipment were best. Mumbled their way through sexual boundaries and lines they couldn't cross.
But these conversations never felt natural. Marriage had never been brought up - though Simon had a ring stashed with his old uniform if the opportunity ever presented itself.
Children hadn't even been considered, perhaps until now.
John sat in the chair opposite of Simon - a chair he had dubbed as his own and he would fight tooth and nail to sit in - wearing soft pyjama pants and a black hoodie with SAS and MacTavish on the left breast. Simon had his own matching pyjama pants - a gag gift from Gaz during the early stages of their relationship from when Gaz had caught them without pants on - and a soft t-shirt with a skull on it because he had seen it in the shop and couldn't quite leave it behind.
“Veronica’s due date is in a month,” John started, easing into the topic like he always managed to do, poking at the eggs on his plate with a fork, “how do ye feel about it?”
Simon hummed and stared down at his own plate, trying to muster up the courage to get out feelings trapped in his chest. “I don’t know,” he shrugged and let his finger trace the edge of his teacup, “good… I guess.”
“Ye guess?”
He nodded and tried again, opening his mouth but shortly closing it again when nothing smart came out. He didn't know how to have this conversation, he had never ever thought about himself in this situation. How could he? He spent two decades in active warzones with a rifle in his hands, how could those two same hands hold something so innocent as a child of his own? But his chest tightened at the idea, warmth and content feelings flooding out from his heart. He could imagine Johnny with a dopey smile and small hands trying to grab anything on his face, a pained expression as small fingers curled around the now grown-out mohawk and tugged on it.
“I think I want one,” he settled on after a short bout of silence, the words hanging between them as John processed it. John nodded with raised eyebrows and a glint in his eyes. Smile lines around his mouth and crow feet at the corners of his eyes, his hair had been grown out in a longer mohawk - but it had still shaved sides - since he didn't have to think about the constant tugging of a helmet on his head anymore. He rarely shaved nowadays too, letting the five o'clock shadow grow into a too-long stubble before shaving again. If Simon had anything to say about it he looked the part already. “Maybe not now… but, sometime in the future.”
“Just so we’re on the same page,” John gesticulated with his hands, he usually talked with his hands like this when things were serious, his hands mimicking his words like he used to do back during pre-mission meetings and his hands held a pencil instead of air. Drawing out the shapes to straighten out the plan and visualise it in front of him, “ye mean a kid right? Us doin’ the thing Veronica and Colin is doin’”
Simon nodded, letting a hand catch one of John’s instinctively curling his fingers around his. “Yes, Johnny, a kid.”
John let out a long breath, that dopey grin he got sometimes when he looked at Simon too long, nodding along like he was listening to music. His eyes strayed away from Simon and out the window. He laughed, deep and filled with mirth, “I cannae believe yer sayin’ that love.”
“We don’t have to consider it right now, but I…” Simon’s words trailed off, not really knowing where the sentence was supposed to go. But John’s hand squeezed his and their gazes locked, something different passing between them, that fundamental understanding that made them such a good duo in the field floated between them, unspoken but well-known.
“It’s okay Simon,” John let go of his hand and continued to eat his eggs, the smile never really leaving his lips as they shelved the subject for later.
Una, John’s younger sister had all but burst into the cottage some two weeks later, right as John had settled rather comfortably in Simon’s lap with his hands twisted within the blond strands and his lips sealed against Simon’s. They had separated quickly and Simon had all but thrown John to the opposite side of the couch, desperately trying to find the t-shirt John had just ripped off him. Trying not to fish out a knife he knew was stashed underneath the couch in his panic as someone burst in.
“Ugh Gross!” she yelled as she stepped in from the hallway, leaning down and throwing Simon’s shirt at his face. “Get decent and in the car, Veronica is like pushin’ now down at hospital!”
Simon gaped at her and then at John who vaulted himself over the back of the couch before he spurred into action. Embarssamnet of being caught by John’s sister vanishing as the three of them sprinted to the car and peeled out of the driveway, Simon barely dragging on his jacket and shirt at the same time while putting on the seatbelt.
His shirt ended up being inside out, but it was forgotten the moment it was noticed because Colin was standing in the waiting room and beckoning the three of them with him. Following through the hospital and shushing them outside a door. Simon could hear the distant yell of labouring mothers and wailing babies, the smell of disinfectant and hospital wafted through the air and half reminded him of the many visits to Medical at the base.
John grabbed his hand with a force hard enough to hurt as they ducked through the door and in. It was darkly lit, and Veronica sat upright in bed looking exhausted but proud. She immediately began to cry when John gasped and abandoned Simon near the door as he checked on his sister. Mumbling small praises as he glanced down towards the baby on her chest, dressed in a onesie and a small hat, letting his hands gently cradle the small head still against her chest.
Simon had never been in a situation like this before, he had met Joseph when Beth and Tommy got home from the hospital way back when. Now he stood there, all his 193 centimetres feeling out of place and intruding on a clear family moment. Una had walked in and hugged Colin, Hilda - John’s mother - kept stroking Veronica’s hair and answered some of the questions John managed to ask about the labour.
So, he stood still, slipping in with the shadows like he always had done in situations he felt out of place in. No one really noticed as everyone quietly took in the fact that their family had expanded with one. His eyes caught a glimpse of a scrunched-up red face bundled up against Veronica’s chest and he smiled into the collar of his jacket. He felt content here in the corner by the door, shadows swallowing him and allowing him to intrude on the moment.
It was Veronica who pushed John out of the way and called out a tired “Simon, ye daft bastard, get in here,” it left no room for arguments and Simon stepped into the soft light towards the bed. She immediately grabbed the baby and beckoned him to take them. He looked at her with questioning eyes and she rolled her eyes and nodded, “take him please!”
Then his hands, the very same ones that had killed so many before - scarred and rough from years in the military - held a baby. Dwarfed by the size of his hands, he made sure to support the head, letting the head and neck lay in his right hand, and the rest of his small body lay against his forearm with the other arm supporting the body too. He glanced up at Veronica who just smiled gently and nodded reassuringly, “what’s his name?” Simon’s voice was rough as he fought back emotions that threatened to surface.
“Alec.”
“Alec,” he whispered to no one in particular as he took in the baby in his hands, small and fragile. Red face, small nose his left hand moved to trace gently, feeling the brows of his tiny face scrunch together and big eyes blinking open. They were dark, nearly black, and they locked on Simon’s face.
John stood there next to his sister, feeling her hand on his upper arm as they both stared at Simon and tiny Alec in his hands. John had never seen his partner like this, enthralled in a way John couldn't describe. He felt tears bubbling up behind his eyes and something settling in his chest. The conversion two weeks ago replaying in his mind, ‘ I think I want one’.
Yes , John thought, I think I want one too, with you .
He snuck out his phone and took a picture, a future reference for his journal when they got home and something for the future photo album he had promised to make both of his nephews for their first years of life. A photo of Simon holding a very average-sized baby - albeit looking like the smallest child in his hands - with a finger tracing the tiny features of Alec’s face and a dopey enthralled look on his face.
He sent it to the old TF141 group chat they had made a long time ago, attaching a message underneath about ‘ The Ghost holding a baby’ and a short sentence about the both of them becoming uncles for the second time. Just so Gaz wouldn't get any ideas and Price wouldn't be too confused.
John knew then, glancing back towards his sister and mam, both with a very knowing look in their eyes. He would have to do some research when he got back home… Maybe after finishing what Simon and he had started before Una burst in, he already made a new checklist in his head about things he needed to research. He stepped towards Simon and leaned against him, hooking his chin over his shoulder and looking down at the baby in his partner's large hands. Letting his hand slide around his tight waist and the other feeling the soft skin of Alec’s small fingers peeking out of the sleeves of the onesie. “Hey you,” he whispered down at the baby and Simon shot him a smile John couldn't quite decipher, something passing between them as their gazes locked, a deep mutual understanding of what this whole thing meant for them both.
An unspoken echo rattled between them 'I think I want one'.