Work Text:
John stared at the letter that had been placed on his desk with a bit of apprehension, it wasn't like any of the formally addressed documents he gets everyday. No, it was a plain envelope you would get at a post office, with a dog stamp and hand written address to a Mr. John Price.
John wouldn't have been so apprehensive if he didn't know already that there was no reason for mail so-well-personal to be on his desk.
His parents were both long gone and his sister wasn't in contact with him after he cut ties to join the military at 18. He had nobody outside of the force to send him personal mail.
But here it was in front of him on his desk.
He finally reached forward thumbing the envelope for a moment reading the address, it was mailed from what he imagined is a quaint little street in what would be a distant world to men like him. It was heavy in his hands, more so than it should be since it was just paper.
He finally grabbed his letter opener and carefully ripped into the paper, he poured it on his desk only for a barrage of pictures to scatter out.
At first he was alarmed, then confused as he looked over the 4 or 5 pictures in front of him.
A toddler grinning from a highchair covered in cake with soft brown hair and blue eyes.
The same kid younger, standing on fat cubby legs in some grass somewhere outside.
Even younger now, the kid with his face peaceful in sleep sprawled on a brown couch thumb in his mouth.
And last a baby swaddled in hospital blue wide eyes staring into the camera it's skin fresh and red.
Johns eyebrows furrowed a he looked over the pictures each were dated on the back in soft handwriting with small descriptions like 'his first time walking outside' and '3rd birthday' and the realization hit John making his heart pause.
He stared into that baby's chubby cheeks and blue eyes and saw the same face he remembered looking at in photo albums at his mothers kitchen table. The same wide blue eyes that stared back at him in the mirror every morning.
He grabbed the letter that was also enclosed and opened it quickly.
John,
God I feel stupid for writing this, for taking so much time out of our lives to find you but I feel like I have too. This is our son- your son, he's 3 and a half as of writing this to you, may be 4 already by the time you get it.
He's a funny kid, strong willed and happy, loves to do everything for himself all the time.
I don't blame you if you don't recognize my name we only spend a couple days together- you were on leave and wanted company. I hope seeing him you don't regret that time together, cause I sure as hell don't. I'm sending you this to give you an option, I never knew the extent of your work but I know its important so I want you to have a choice in this matter. He is your son, no question with those pretty blue eyes, and if you want to be in his life your welcome too. You don't owe us anything if you don't, we are safe and happy and this isn't a way for me to beg you for money or sympathy, just to let you know he's here. I left my number on the other side if you want to contact us, I hope your doing well.
John was frozen reading and rereading the paper his knuckles tight and his brows knit together.
A son. He had a son a happy little baby who looked exactly fucking like him- one who had lived 3 years without knowing his father.
He instantly started for his phone to dial the number- to see his child but then stopped.
What could he offer this baby? A man tied to gunfire and violence, gone months at a time with no promise of coming home.
If he meets this boy- the way he craves to- will it be for nothing? Will he leave this boy alone one day when all that returns home is a folded flag and box of metals. Should this sweet innocent baby have to long for a father than will never be there for him?
Johns gut clenches at the thought and he sighs setting the letter back down and looking up at the ceiling. Memories he could make, the family he could have flies through his head and make him sick. He wants that so bad, the thing he's dreamed of his entire life but never let himself have.
He has worked hard, fought for others doesn't he deserve this one thing for himself?
He shoves back from his desk and stands heading towards the door with shaking hands, he needs to get out, clear his thoughts, reevaluate himself.
He heads down the hallway at a fake leisure pace to get outside into the afternoon haze. Then lights a cigarette hands still shaking and looks out over the base at the soldiers before him- at his entire life.
Almost as if summoned by his turmoil a figure slinks up leaning on the wall close by him, always a solace to John someone who would tell him what he needs to hear.
He looked to Ghost who was already watching the captain his dark eyes questioning but surprisingly soft.
"Hey Simon." John says his voice wavering in a way he didn't intend and Ghost looks forward and hums. Damn this man for being so fucking smart. He is waiting for John to spill, to tell him what has him so frazzled.
John closes his eyes and lets his head fall back to rest on the wall.
"I have a son." He says, ever blunt, no reason to sugar coat it. Not to Simon. Ghost hums again tapping his fingers on his vest before speaking up.
"You'd be a good dad." Simon rumbles out still looking forward and Johns head snaps to the man,
John knew Simon's history, knew the hardships he had with even the idea of a father figure in his life. John tried to fill it the best he could but Simon was someone who would never heal fully, who couldn't see someone as a father because in his mind a father couldn't be kind.
But here he was telling John the thing that he knew ate away at Simon constantly, reassuring the man in the best way he could possibly imagine.
John went to speak but closed his mouth, it was dry and he felt the start of a headache at his need to hold in his emotions.
Simon spoke again,
"I think this kid would be lucky to know you." He says staring forward still his voice even.
John made a hurt scoff at that.
"I can't let him bury his dad Simon, I can't make him go through that." He said voice gruff, warbled emotion etched into his tone.
His threw the stub of his cigarette down and stepped on it his hands coming up to rub his eyes painfully, willing the emotions away.
Simon didn't say anything else after that, just stood near Price offering him an Olive Branch of stability while he drown in his thoughts.
So John left back to his office to stare at the stupid fucking letter and the pictures right where he left them.
The tears fell finally, fat droplets running down his cheeks but not from sadness but bitterness. He thought of all the times his father was away as a child, how his mother raised him and his sister basically alone and the guilt he felt that it was his fault. That maybe he was why his dad was never home, maybe it was his mistake to fix, maybe he hadn't been enough.
He couldn't do that to this kid, he stared at the smiling boy, someone untouched by the rough world by the death on Johns hands.
He let out a choked noise and folded into his chair as the realization hit him like a bullet.
He was danger, the list of enemies against his name alone was a mile long and ever-growing- his job wasn't one of someone who could have this. He couldn't put this boys life at risk on selfish dreams he cant fulfill.
John closed his eyes and took a breath letting his vision clear before he grabbed the small pile of photos and looked at them again, letting himself get lost in this mirror world where he can have what he wants and be happy.
Then he put them back in the envelope his hands firm now, with every movement the callous over his heart thickening as he reseals it and grabs a stamp from the drawer.
Return to Sender
He stamps it quickly not looking back over it-he couldn't look back over it-before he shoves it off into the pile to be taken tomorrow morning to the post and dives into the stack of reports he has waiting.