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It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Key phrase is supposed to be. But because someone (probably Soap or Gaz) did something to fuck up their luck as a child, nothing ever went how it was supposed to. Interestingly it was Ghost, the only person who was not actively in the firefight, who got the injury.
Obviously, the injury wasn't remotely close to the worst one he's gotten, but the doctors deemed it grave enough that he had to stay in the hospital.
No reasonably sane person enjoys staying in hospitals, and despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Simon Riley is relatively sane. For a man like Ghost, hospitals are bad news in several ways. Even if he's just a visitor, he hates them. They're too open. There's not nearly enough privacy. But if he's the patient? Ugh. He's too exposed and vulnerable.
Due to the nature of his job, he's always hypervigilant wherever he goes, but it gets knocked up several notches in hospitals.
Laswell, bless her soul, managed to get the hospital to give Ghost his own room. He's eternally grateful for her continued hard work, even if he never outwardly acknowledges it.
Despite having the much-needed privacy that the room provides, it also means that he gets cut off from the rest of the hospital. Nobody can see him, but he also can't see anyone else. Sure, he can hear what is happening outside his room, but he doesn't know who exactly passes by (even though he memorized the footsteps of his caregivers. Is it paranoia if it's useful?).
Despite the uncomfortableness of the hospital, it's nice not to be in the field with profusely bleeding extremities.
Ghost was in the Glasgow Hospital (Soap was having too much fun with that) for two days when the 141 met her. Gaz, Price, and Soap gathered around his bed, Price filling them in on the details of the mission. And where it had gone wrong.
"It was some more good, old-fashioned betrayal. Our info was good, but the source was compromised." Ghost scowls as he nods along.
Gaz opens his mouth, likely to make a smart-ass comment if the look on his face is anything to go by, when there is a light knock on the door. Their heads whip towards the door, guards raising.
"Yes?" Price answers. The door cracks open enough for the head nurse of his care team to stick her head in.
"Are you feeling well enough for a visitor?" The other soldiers frown, but Ghost nods. A tall, thin woman enters and looks over her shoulder to speak to someone.
"Just wait a moment. I'll tell you when," the woman says softly.
"Sheila, what-" Simon starts.
"Laswell called us. Ari very nearly had a fit when I told her we couldn't come yesterday."
"Are you sure it's a good idea for her to see me like this?" The woman, Sheila, frowns.
"Simon, don't be daft. It'll be worse for both of you if she doesn't see you. Besides, she knows what to expect." The team startles at her tone. They look at Ghost with various expressions of confusion, but he ignores them, instead shifting in his spot.
Sheila turns to open the door but stops, hand hovering over the handle.
"Simon, the mask." He reaches up and discards the black medical mask onto the table beside him. The other men's jaws practically fall to the floor. Who is this woman ordering The Ghost around, using his given name, and telling him to take off the mask? And the fact that he is listening to her?
The door finally opens again, and a young teen stands in the doorway. Simon's expression softens in relief.
Blonde curls frame a face that looks eerily similar to the man sitting in the hospital bed. If the looks aren't enough confirmation, her words are.
"Dad," she breathes out, rushing forward. Simon opens his arms for her, and she nearly dives into the bed.
"Hi baby," he says into her hair. Her shoulders shake as she sobs into his chest.
"I was so scared."
"I know, I know. I'm okay," Simon says, stroking her hair. Her fingers grip his shirt.
When he tries to pull away from the hug to look at her, she follows the embrace. He lets out a small laugh and looks up at his teammates.
Price collapsed into a chair, Gaz braced himself against the wall, and Soap swayed slightly. Simon greatly resists the urge to tell them to close their mouths. He can only imagine how crazy the situation is for them.
When the girl's sobs subside, she pulls away from the hug a little. She leans back, and Simon takes her face into his hands.
"Look at me, Aria. I'm okay." She reaches to touch his face as if she can't believe he's there.
"Sorry for tackling you," she mutters. Simon lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. He takes her hand and places it over his heart.
"I'm alive. I'm here." He catches Sheila's eye, and she nods to Price, who looks for the world like he's on the edge of an aneurysm.
Simon nudges the girl and motions to the other people in the room. It takes her a moment to register who they are, but when she does, the mood change is instant. And drastic. She gasps, nearly falling out of the hospital bed in shock.
"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Dad, it's the 141. They're here. They're real." They look between her and Ghost.
"Of course they're real. Did you think I was making them up?" She doesn't respond, her eyes staring at them, unblinking. They shift under her unflinching gaze. Yeah, definitely Ghost's daughter.
"Hi?" Gaz tries. He flinches when her stare bores straight into his soul.
"Sergeant Kyle Garrick. Gaz. Holy shit, it's an honor." Simon and Sheila grumble at her swear, but no one acknowledges them.
"Do I...do I know you?" She shakes her head vigorously.
"No, but Dad talks about you guys all the time.
"He does?" Soap asks hesitantly. Her head whips around to him.
"Sergeant John MacTavish. Soap. Dad calls you Johnny." She frowns slightly. "You are very Scottish."
The Scot in question sputters indignantly and turns to glare at Simon, who is laughing to himself.
"What did ye say te her?" But she has already moved on. She takes a few steps toward the man in the chair.
"Captain John Price. You've saved my dad several times. Thank you," she whispers. He looks at her in disbelief.
"You - I - what?" He sputters out. Simon cringes a little. Whoops.
"Men, this is my daughter. Aria Riley." The girl gives a small wave.
"Hi, it's nice to meet you." Captain Price stands up, looking distinctly pale in the face.
"Laswell. I need to call Laswell," he says before stumbling out of the room. Aria's smile fades a little. She looks over at her dad, who shakes his head.
"It's not you," Simon says. "He's just caught off guard."
"He's not the only one," Gaz mumbles. Soap stares at her in bewilderment. Sheila clears her throat.
"Why don't we leave the two of them to catch up," she suggests. Gaz and Soap follow her out of the room in a daze. Aria pulls up the chair Price had collapsed on and settles next to her dad.
Sheila, Gaz, and Soap leave the room to find Price pacing back and forth in the hallway, phone held up to his ear.
"And you didn't think I needed to know that my Lieutenant has a daughter? The Lieutenant, mind you, that has targets the size of Big Ben on his back?" He growls into the phone.
The other person says something that makes him pause and pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Kate, I get that. But this could have serious consequences if we're not careful." He pauses. "Yes, I know that already. But Simon-" He's cut off. Price lets out a sharp huff.
"Yeah, yeah. Okay. Fine. Bye." He hangs up and puts the phone away. Gaz clears his throat, and Price turns to the group that left the room.
"Laswell knew. She knew he had a kid. Didn't know anything else, though. Not her name or what she looks like, or where she lives. But she knew about her." He rubs his temples, headache already setting in.
"That was Simon's doing. He wanted Aria as far away from his job as possible." The men turn to look at Sheila.
"Are you mum?" She shakes her head.
"Aunt. Her mum isn't in the picture. I take care of Aria when Simon gets deployed."
"Are you and Ghost..." Gaz trails off, and Sheila laughs.
"No. Simon's a good man, but I'm not interested. Neither is he."
"Can we ask about her mum?" Sheila huffs.
"Aria was the product of a one-night stand. When my sister got pregnant with a military man's child, she wasn't thrilled. But she made do. She had support, plenty of it. We would have helped her with whatever her decision was. She wanted to keep it but eventually got tired and didn't want to deal with the responsibility of being a parent anymore. The situation would be difficult for anyone, but it wasn't like she was alone. Despite everyone telling her not to, she gave Aria up to Simon. She found a lawyer who found him. After the legal work, the court turned over custody to him. Caught him completely off guard." She sighs and leans back against a wall.
"Does her mum have any contact with her?" Sheila shakes her head.
"She fucked off the second the court decided Simon could have custody. I don't know where she went, and I don't care."
"How long has Simon had her?" Sheila sucks in a breath through her teeth.
"Uh, she's 13 now, and he got custody when she was five, I think, so...eight years? That seems right."
"Right after Las Almas," Price says. Soap nods.
"He's had custody of his child for eight years and never said anything." The hurt begins to set in.
"Please don't be mad at him." The group turns to see Aria standing in the doorway of Simon's room. Sheila steps forward.
"Dad wants to talk to you," Aria says to her. Sheila looks between Aria and the soldiers before going into the room. Aria looks at the men.
"Please don't be mad at him," she repeats. "He was just trying to keep me safe. He wanted to tell you, but it's too dangerous for me. He hated not saying anything." She fidgets with her hands.
The men are quiet, looking at each other in silent communication. Finally, Price steps forward. He drops to one knee in front of her.
"We're not mad at him, kid. Surprised? Yes. Maybe a little hurt, too. But your dad is a good man. We trust him and his judgment." A small smile pulls at her lips.
"Thank you," she whispers. Price smiles at her and pushes himself to his feet.
"You said he talks about us," Gaz says. "What does he say?" Her shy smile morphs into a grin.
"I had a hard time falling asleep when I was younger, especially when he was gone. I was scared of the dark and not seeing him again. So, when he was home, he told me about you guys. Instead of storybook heroes, I had you. He talked about how strong and brave you are. And how you always protect him. And that I shouldn't worry when he is gone because the 141 is the best and won't let anything happen to him. He didn't stop as I grew up. He'll tell me stories when he comes home now."
Price's eyes burn with unshed tears.
"Oh," Soap says in a small voice.
"I knew he likes us," Gaz jokes, voice wavering. The group breaks apart when Sheila's head pops out of the room.
"The doctor is here to talk to Simon."
The prognosis is good. The doctors expect that Simon will make a full recovery. Despite that, Price puts him on a three-month medical leave. He's not too upset. He gets to spend more time with his daughter and become more involved in her life.
He gets discharged after being in the hospital for five more days. Aria stays the entire time.
She gets closer to the 141 during that time. They turn from heroes in her stories to real people who provide actual protection. They become less like legends and more like family the more she talks to them.
The team gets called away the day before Simon leaves the hospital. The goodbye is bittersweet. He wants to join his team, but having his daughter next to him, holding his hand, makes it easier to stomach.
Aria surprises the 141 with farewell hugs. For someone with Ghost as a father, the team finds that she is a very tactile person. As they leave, they promise to visit when they can.
Simon is nearly scratching his skin off when the discharge finally comes through. The walls have begun to feel as if they are closing in. Despite her best efforts, Aria can only do so much for her dad's anxiety. He's snapped at the nurses and doctors more than he can remember.
It's a rare day of sunshine in Scotland when he leaves the hospital. He tilts his unmasked face to the sky, letting the cool air brush over his face.
He hears his daughter step up beside him. Her hand finds his, and he looks down at her.
"Ready?" She asks with a smile. He grins.
The seven-hour drive to Manchester isn't especially pleasant for him, but he makes do. He does his best to stretch out in the front passenger seat of Sheila's car, but there isn't much legroom for the 6'4 man.
The drive itself isn't very interesting. It doesn't matter to Simon. Not when he can look over his shoulder and see his daughter in the back seat playing on her phone, animatedly filling him in on the gossip at school, or even sleeping. Just having her near, knowing she's safe, is enough for him.
It was mid-afternoon when they left the hospital, the sun high in the sky. By the time the group reaches the apartment, the sun has begun to dip below the horizon, bathing Manchester in orange and red.
Aria is out of the car first, jumping up to stretch her legs. Simon is soon to follow, grunting slightly when his injury twinges. Sheila looks over at him.
"Take it easy, soldier. You just got home." He lets out a huff.
"I'll be fine," he says. Sheila rolls her eyes.
"Stubborn," she mutters.
"I heard that."
"Good." Simon goes around the car to grab his bag, only to see Aria hefting it over her shoulder. The sight of the tiny girl attempting to grapple with his massive military duffle bag makes him snort.
"Careful, kid. Only one of us can get hurt at a time." She huffs and stumbles a little before righting herself.
"I've got this," she grunts, almost falling over again. Simon shakes his head and holds out his hand.
"Let me." Aria opens her mouth to protest, but a raised eyebrow from her dad shuts down whatever argument she was planning to make.
She frowns and grumbles but hands the bag over anyway. Simon ruffles her hair with his free hand. She swats at him, and he laughs while walking away.
Their apartment is on the third floor. The smell of home hits him like a truck. He kicks off his boots next to the door, followed closely by Aria and Sheila.
"Go put your stuff down and then sit. I'll make tea," Sheila says.
"I'll help!" Aria starts to bounce off to the kitchen. Sheila pulls her back by the hood of her sweater.
"Not so fast, young lady. Go help your father, and then put your stuff away." Aria pout but does as she says.
"Sheila, I'm fine," Simon protests. She fixes him with a hard stare.
"Simon, this is not up for debate. For all of our sanities, go." Simon knows he won't win this argument, so he leaves for his room, Aria right behind him.
His bedroom looks just like he left it, besides the bed looking like someone had slept in it recently. He turns to his daughter, one eyebrow raised. She looks sheepish.
"I sleep in here sometimes when I miss you." His heart aches. Simon drops his bag and pulls her into a tight hug. She wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face in his chest. One hand lifts to her head and gently strokes her hair.
"I'm sorry, baby," he mutters.
"I just miss you so much," she sobs. Simon pulls her closer.
"I know, I know." The guilt sits heavy in his chest.
Simon moves them to sit on the edge of his bed, hand not moving from her head. He feels her tears soaking through his shirt, but he doesn't pull away.
They are eventually interrupted by a knock at his door. Sheila peeks her head in. Aria's cries have subsided, but she doesn't remove her head from his chest. Sheila gives them a small smile and retreats, returning momentarily with two steaming mugs. Simon gestures with his free hand to the bedside table, and she sets them down.
"I'll be going to the store and meal-prepping for you." He nods in thanks, and she leaves once more. He faintly hears the front door of the apartment opening and closing.
Eventually, Aria pulls away from the embrace. Her cheeks are tear-stained, and she has a wavering smile.
"Feeling better?" She gives him a little nod.
He hands her the tea and takes a sip of his own. The familiar taste of sweetened Earl Grey coats his tongue. Aria stares down at the light brown liquid in her hands. Her fingers grip the mug. Simon sets one hand on the small of her back.
"I'm okay, kid. I'm here, and I'm safe." She nods, not looking up at him. He gives her forehead a light flick, causing her to glare up at him.
"What's going on in that head of yours?" She shrugs.
"Just glad you're home."
"Well, you're about to get real tired of me." Aria snorts.
"Not likely. If anything, you'll get tired of me." He grins.
"We'll see about that."
It takes a month and a half before the 141 visits. Neither Aria nor Simon has gotten tired of the other. Despite the occasional nightmare, Simon finds it relaxing to be home. He goes without his mask more often than not. Simon acts like a "true" dad, picking Aria up from school and learning all about her life. He also finds a therapist he sees semi-regularly.
He's in the kitchen when the 141 finally knocks on their door. The smell of Sheperd's Pie fills the air of the apartment. Soft piano music and the sizzling meat on the stove surround the father and daughter. Aria sits at the table with her head stuck in her homework.
The knock on the door has both of their heads whipping around. Logically, Simon knows they are safe, but the anxiety courses through his body regardless.
Before he can say anything, Aria jumps up from the table, desperate to pause her work.
"I'll get it," she says, bouncing to the door.
"Aria-" Simon starts, but she's at the door. She briefly peers through the peephole before throwing the door open.
John Price, John MacTavish, and Kyle Garrick stand in the hallway. Price holds a bottle of wine, Soap has a bouquet of flowers, and Gaz holds a plate covered in foil. The three of them look unsure of themselves.
Aria grins and stands to the side to let them in.
"Dad, it's the 141," she calls out.
"Shoes off at the door," he responds from his spot in the kitchen. She shakes her head in amusement but motions to the shoe rack.
The men slip off their shoes and follow her into the living area.
"Something smells wonderful," Price comments as they round the corner.
Their eyes comically widen as they take the Lieutenant in. Simon stands, maskless, in the kitchen with a pastel pink apron that says "Best Dad" in silver cursive. He's in black gym shorts and an army green tank top, showing off his tattoos and scars. He has pushed his hair back with a pink bunny ear headband.
"Nice look, Lt.," Soap says. Simon rolls his eyes.
"Set your stuff on the counter." He jerks his head to the kitchen island behind him. They do as he says.
"Ria, can you fill a vase with water and plant food, and trim the flowers?" She nods and maneuvers behind him, grabbing a crystal vase from a cabinet. She fills that with water while she gets a packet of plant food and a pair of garden shears from a drawer.
"Take a seat," Simon says, motioning to the chairs at the island with the hand not stirring the lamb sizzling in the pan. The team watches him with varying degrees of shock as he cooks.
Aria makes small talk with the 141 as she prepares the flowers. They ask what "the Ghost" is like as a dad. She tells them he has been cooking a lot and recently made a batch of Early Grey and lavender muffins for her school's bake sale.
Soap and Gaz lose it, nearly falling off their chairs from laughter. Price sports a small smile. The back of Simon's neck burns bright red, and he throws a carrot chunk at Aria. She yelps and retaliates with a clipping from a flower stem.
The men watch with fondness at the sight of their usually rigid Lieutenant relaxed and happy. Price fills him in on any news from the base and new non-work-related information.
"Alejandro and Rudy heard about the injury through Laswel. They send their regards. They don't know about Aria." Simon nods, not saying anything.
Once finished, Aria places the vase with flowers on the dining table. She gathers her books and papers and deposits them in her room. She returns with a grin.
"Wanna see pictures of us when I was younger?" All of their heads snap to hear. Soap and Gaz look delighted, Price looks for the world like a proud father, and Simon looks beyond apprehensive.
"Ria." Simon's voice is a warning she pays no heed to. Aria stands between Soap and Gaz. Price leans over Soap's shoulder as she holds her phone out.
She opens an album in her photo app titled "Dad" with a skull and ghost emoji. She opens the folder and scrolls back to the oldest picture.
Simon sits at a child's table across from a young Aria. He towers over her, dwarfing her and the table with his size. He looks a little more than slightly uncomfortable, and she gazes up at him in wonder and a little apprehension.
"This was taken about three months after he got custody. Apparently, he got so freaked out about being around me that he refused to let Sheila leave us alone."
"Lt., yer adorable," Soap cheers. Simon grumbles under his breath.
Aria continues to swipe through the pictures, explaining each one. The men coo over them. There are pictures of them at birthday parties, her sleeping on top of him as a child, them cooking together, him at a fair with face paint.
"Please send those to me," Soap begs.
"Johnny," Simon growls. The effect disappears due to his outfit and the blush and small smile he has. Aria nods.
"Absolutely."
"Aria," her father groans. She laughs. Simon's spared further embarrassment when the timer goes off for the Sheperd's Pie.
He removes his apron to reveal the front of his tank top. A black and white cartoon drawing of a smaller version of Ghost (mask and all) sitting on a toilet. Below the cartoon are the words "LOOtenant Simon Riley" printed in white. The men snicker. Simon looks very proud of himself.
"Ria, please set the table." She tucks her phone away and grabs napkins and silverware. Simon plates the food and pours four glasses of the wine Price brought. Aria pours herself a glass of water, and the group sits at the table.
"Thanks, Dad."
Thank you, Lt."
"Thanks, Simon."
"Thanks, man." Simon nods at them.
"Dig in," he says.
The food tastes as good as it smells.
"Lt., this is amazing. Cheers, mate," Soap says, lifting his wine glass. Simon smiles.
"Dad's an amazing cook. He's really talented," Aria says between bites.
"You'll have to cook on base, Simon," Price suggests. Simon snorts.
"Not a chance, sir. It's an exclusively home experience."
"Then we'll just have to crash dinners more often," Gaz jokes.
"Sheila comes over for dinner on Saturdays! We can do a group thing," Aria suggests.
"Ria," Simon groans. The smile on his face disproves the reluctance in his voice.
The rest of the meal is not a quiet affair. Due to obvious reasons, the 141 is very curious about Aria. They had spent their time in the hospital focusing on something else, so they still had a lot of questions.
Aria fills them in on her life. What she does in her free time (bake and draw), her grades (she's a decent student but can't for the life of her pay attention in class), her interests (military history, much to her father's chagrin), and so on.
The 141 watches her with piqued interest. They can see traces of Simon in her. Not just in her looks but also in the way she expresses herself. She twists her fingers around each other like he does when focused on something. Her eyes twitch like his when she laughs. The longer they talk to her, the more she shows her relation to him.
The sun has long dipped below the horizon when Aria begins stifling yawns. They are munching on the cookies that Gaz brought, simply enjoying each other's company. Simon glances over at the clock on the wall.
"Time for bed, kid," he says, hand placed on her shoulder. She shakes her head while holding back another yawn.
"Not tired." He snorts.
"Yeah, right. You've got school tomorrow. Bedtime, now." She pouts but gets up, taking the plates from the table. Soap gets up with her and gently grabs the dishes from her hands.
"I've got it, don't worry." She opens her mouth to object, but Price and Gaz join them.
"Ye have been wonderful hosts, and me ma always told me tha' if someone else cooks, ye clean. Cannae disappoint her now, can I?" Soap asks. Aria shakes her head.
"It was nice seeing you again, Aria," Price says, ruffling her hair. She quickly hugs them as she says goodbye and retreats to her room.
Soap brings the dishes to the sink and begins to wash them.
"You don't actually have to wash the dishes, Johnny," Simon says from his spot at the table.
"I meant what I said," he says, not turning around. "Ye cooked, I'll clean. Cannae let ma down." Simon huffs but doesn't say anything more. After a moment, he stands.
"Anyone fancy some bourbon?" Price and Gaz affirm.
"Not fer me, Lt.," Soap says, still elbow-deep in suds.
"I've got scotch as well." Soap pauses.
"Aye, scotch, please." Simon grabs four crystal glasses from a cabinet in the island. He gets the two bottles of alcohol from a shelf above the counter. He pours the drinks and joins Price and Gaz back at the table.
When Soap finally finishes the dishes, he sits down with his team.
The four of them sit in silence, enjoying their respective drinks. It's Price who finally speaks.
"She's a good kid, Simon." The man in question nods.
"Good deal of that is thanks to Sheila. Couldn't do it without her."
"While I'm sure that may be true, don't dismiss what you've done for her. She looks at you like you've hung the damn moon." Simon looks towards her door.
"I would do anything for her. I can't stand being away, but she's why I do what I do. I need to keep her safe." Simon looks down at his drink.
"I'll give you more opportunities for leave," Price says. Simon's head jerks up.
"Sir, I-" Price holds up his hand.
"She needs you. You should be around more." Simon sinks back into his chair.
"Thank you, sir."
The group finishes their drinks in relative silence. Simon gathers the glasses and sets them in the sink, determined to wash them tomorrow. He turns to put the bottles away but watches as Gaz does it for him. Deep admiration for his team surges through him.
He follows the men to the door, watching them pull their shoes on. Soap slaps him on the shoulder.
"See ye soon, Lt.," he says before opening the door. Gaz follows suit with a less aggressive and quicker clap on the shoulder. Price stands in front of him, hands resting on his shoulders.
"I'm proud of you, Simon. You've got something good here. Don't forget that."
"I won't, sir. Thank you." Price nods and follows the Sergeants into the hallway.
"We'll see you soon, son," Price says in farewell. Simon nods to them as they leave.
He shuts the door soon after they leave and rests his head against the wood. He lets the emotions of the evening wash over him.
"Dad?" A pajama-clad Aria stands behind him, clutching the teddy bear he gifted her for her 6th birthday.
"Hey, kid. I thought you were in bed already." She shakes her head.
"Wanted to say goodnight." He gives her a tired smile.
"Brush your teeth and wash your face?" She nods. "C'mon. I'll tuck you in." He follows her into her room.
She crawls under the covers, pulling them up to her chin. He kisses her on the forehead.
"Love you, Dad."
"I love you too, Ria." She gives him a sleepy grin and turns over. He gently shuts her door behind him.
Later that night, as he lies awake in bed, he thinks of his family, not just his daughter and Sheila but the 141 as well. They are a solid foundation. They welcomed him in and supported him. They always have his back, both on and off the field. They welcomed Aria with open arms after the initial shock wore off.
In what is becoming an increasingly more common occurrence, he falls asleep with a smile on his face.
Returning to the base is a bittersweet affair. Simon's glad to be back with his team, of course, but her misses his daughter. After welcoming him back, the team immediately asks how she is. He tells them about her exam scores and how she is steadily learning new baking recipes.
He talks to her as often as possible, but something is missing. The distance hurts. He deals with it in his own way. The 141 help as much as they can.
Eventually, a package arrives in the mail for him. It's a medium-sized box with a bit of weight to it. The wrapping is light blue. There's no visible address, but at least three cat postage stamps are on the box. There is a name scrawled in messy cursive on the top.
Aria Riley
The 141 stands over Simon's shoulder as he opens it. On top is a folded letter. Simon picks it up, and another piece of paper slips out.
It's a detailed drawing of the 141, complete with Price's hat, John's scars, and Gaz's ballcap. Simon isn't wearing his mask. Instead, he's drawn in his fatigues, his scars on show, and a grin on his face. He vows to hang it up immediately.
Another box sits nestled at the bottom of the package. Simon pulls it out and opens it. Inside are a variety of cookies, no doubt homemade. Simon has to slap away Johnny's hand when he reaches in.
Dad,
I miss you. I know why you do what you do. I appreciate everything you and the 141 do for use. But you're still my dad, and I worry. I'm rooting for you.
I made these biscuits with you and your team in mind. Please share them. I hope you like them and the picture. I drew it in art class. I hope it reminds you that we are waiting for you at home when you see it.
Be safe. Come home soon. I love you.
Love,
Aria
P.S. please tell Johnny that if he has any of the biscuits with coffee, he's banned from having any more.