Work Text:
Despite the moon shining through the cracks in the curtains, you couldn't sleep. It'd been such a long day and you still couldn't sleep. What was it, two hours now that you'd been tossing and turning? Your cuddle buddy spooned to your stomach? You really hadn't a clue on what to do.
So you crawled out of bed, sneaking your way through the hardwood hallways to push the front doors open, cool air enveloping you whole. Night time was always your favourite; silent, peaceful, calm. It was the equivalent of your fingers intertwining with someone else's, or perhaps the sensation of your eyes falling heavy on a cold pillow. You could feel your eyes drift shut when the breeze blew gently against them.
But that silence didn't last too long.
"Sergeant, what are you doing up?"
The voice had startled you, though it didn't scare you despite everything. Ghost, Simon Riley. You didn't expect anyone else to be up at such an hour, but it just made sense, he would be the first person up, and last person to sleep.
Gesturing for you to come and sit alongside him on the bench, his palm lay flat against the slats, almost as if he were saving you a space even if there was no one else to take it anyway. You and him were close, but tried to keep it professional, Simon knew you like the back of his hand and you were getting to know him almost just the same. You'd had group therapy with him, trusting him enough to explore 'age regression' alongside him, something the psychologist had mentioned. It wasn't a military-like thing for anyone to do, but you weren't robots; you were human. You always had been, and always will be.
Signalling that you were going to lean your head against Simon's shoulder, he wrapped an arm around you, holding you there as he took a drag of his cigarette, watching the lit tobacco flicker in the moonlight.
"You can't sleep, can you? Restless?"
There it was, knowing you like the back of his hand. You and Simon had begun to ease eachother through your problems, though Simon was the only thing that could cure your insomnia.
"Let me finish my fag, got your teddy with you? We'll go back to my room."
Since Simon was a lieutenant, he had his own dorm. The 141, because the squad was so small, resided with some other squads with the same enemies, meaning his room was branched with the captains and other high ranking individuals, Simon had been given it due his needs.
You were lucky that Price was the one bunking in the dorm next to Ghost's, he knew of your pairing, and agreed to turn a blind eye on the condition that it wouldn't worsen your work etiquette; if anything, it improved it.
You could already feel yourself start to drift as Simon smoked, the fumes secondhand entering your lungs and shutting down all of your unruly energetic bursts one by one. Smoke always did that, it was so, Simon.
You hadn't even registered his words as he spoke, him asking, "Do you need papa, love?", but your answer was clear. Simon was still getting used to affection, but was better when it was something that calmed you, something you needed, you and Soap were the only ones allowed to touch him, though the only one he threw himself at for hugs was Price. Simon understood the need for a caregiver, a father figure, because his was Price, whether it was known or not.
You were so out of it that you almost didn't feel Simon lifting you, wrapping your legs around his waist as one hand pressed against your lower back, his free arm under your bum to hold you as close to him as possible. No one was awake at such an hour, so you two were safe to be like this, soft murmurs of 'papa' leaving your lips. Simon always loved to listen to your babbles, cooing back at you with a bounce in his step from how adorable you were.
The world was getting bigger around you, and Simon was getting softer, hard muscle turning to soft pillows as your nose pressed into his neck. His giggles brushed through your ears like hymns; your gentle whines ringing in reply. The world was turning to just Simon, even causing you to begin to sob as he laid you down on his bed, only taking touch away for a second to change into his favourite grey joggers. He was always quick to soothe your sadness, shuffling back against his headboard as he pulled you up to his chest, the light tank the only thing between your ear and his pounding heart, cheek nested between his pecs.
Even once you were asleep, Simon continued to pamper you, maybe more so now he hadn't much to get embarrassed over. He really did love cherishing your prescence; brushing your hair and unwinding the knots in your muscles, thumbs circling into your calloused skin. For once, he lay awake without headphones, no form of noise other than the soft sounds of your chest raising and falling, the stirs, and small giggles in your sleep. The unpredictable sounds scared him slightly, but they signalled he was doing something right, and for that whole night there was never a straight face in sight, letting his smile gleam in the light of his lamp, book propped on your back. His baby, you were his baby. He felt so honoured to care for you in such a way, and mean so dearly to you.
After that, he never doubted his previous decisions. He chose the right path, he chose you.
He'd never tell a single soul how he held your teddy so close to his chest that night, tucking them in beside you. His babies.