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And you are too tired to control how you look like you feel, like you should.
And you think I don’t notice the way that you were, and act like you don’t feel, like you should.
Johnny notices Simon start to pull away in mid November.
It starts out as little things. He comes to bed later, he works later hours, volunteers for more solo missions, and is quiet. Painfully quiet. More than usual. The banter between them lessens, the playful flirting, the small touches. Doesn’t take his tea in the morning like he usually did, alongside Johnny’s morning coffee. It almost feels like Simon’s just going through the days like clockwork, stuck on autopilot. Wake up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed. Life’s mundaneness seeping into his bones like acid on the sidewalk. Routine, except chronic.
He doesn’t touch Johnny anymore. Not like he used to. Sex feels rehearsed, the passion absent and it fucking kills the Scot. It goes from weekly to monthly to barely at all. Kisses goodmorning or goodnight are treats, the mask stays on longer than it comes off at this point. Showers together subside, cuddling became an afterthought. Thanksgiving was spent just the two of them, Simon not feeling up to visiting Johnny’s family this year and Johnny just wanting time with Simon.
How much did they hurt you? The way that you were
And how much did they break you? The way that you were
And how far did they take you? The way that you were
(You will never be the same)
The nightmares start in early December. They were highly trained military human weapons, nightmares were not uncommon nor unheard of. Hell, even Johnny still will wake up in a panic over the memory of being shot in the head, barely surviving as he laid in that hospital bed for months as he recovered. Simon never leaving his side.
But these nightmares are different. Multiple nights a week. On the good days, he wakes up to Simon screaming, a quick half-asleep rub to the back to calm him down, and a warm cup of tea that Johnny brings him afterwards usually does the trick. The bad days, and there have only been a few, Johnny finds Ghost bloodied in the bathroom, razor clutched in his hand as he just mutters over and over. I just wanted to see the red, Johnny, I just needed to feel something, needed to know I was alive-
It was only one night that Johnny woke up to Ghost’s hands wrapped around his throat, a necklace by a broken man. Panicked eyes, arms shaking as he did so. With a quick motion, Ghost was pulled to the floor, Johnny on top of him, not to injure but to disarm. Simon struggled only for a moment before seemingly being pulled back to reality, his eyes wide in disbelief. With a sigh of relief, Johnny climbed off, holding his hand out. “C’mon Simon, back to bed.” He had said, grunting as he helped the Brit off the floor.
Johnny held him as he sobbed, smoothing over blond curls as he shushed him, eyes half lidded in exhaustion. I’m so sorry Johnny, it wasn’t you- I wasn’t..I didn’t mean..You weren’t who- Johnny kissed him, laying him back down with whispered forgiveness. The rest of the night followed without incident.
And I am so ready
To tear that knife from what once would have been dead fingers
Lying blue against the door.
The suicide attempt comes 2 days after the choking incident.
Johnny came home with arms full of groceries, using his foot to kick the door back shut as he made his way to the kitchen. “Simon! I really wish you’d check yer damn texts once in a while!” He called out, chuckling. “Damn near dropped the jam jar.” He muttered, opening the fridge. He placed the broccoli in the fridge drawer, thinking of what he’d use it to make later on. Maybe broccoli soup?
He made it over to the front door, noticing the mail hadn’t been touched from its place on the floor below their mailslot. That was the first thing that struck him as odd. As he bent down to grab it, a feeling overcame him, something wrong.
As he rifled through it, he made his way through the kitchen, throwing away the junk mail, setting Simon’s off to the side. “Hey, Simon?” He called out. No answer. That was the second thing. A small twinge of fear set in his heart, something panicky. He swallowed, setting the mail down slowly on the table before heading to his and Simon’s room.
“Simon?” He called out again, a bit louder as he walked down the hallway. He braced himself for what he might find in the bedroom as his hand slowly wrapped around the doorknob. He turned it quietly in case the man was sleeping, and pushed.
What lay before him was an empty bedroom. Too empty, Johnny decided. Both lamps were off, Simon’s phone laying on his nightstand, the same place it was when Johnny left an hour and a half ago to go pick up groceries. The third and final thing that struck Johnny as odd, and that solidified his panic, was the bed.
You learn on the first day of basic training how to make a bed. It is ingrained in you from day 1, you spend every morning doing it, well into your military career. Every day, without missing a beat, that damn bed is made. Very few soldiers lose the habit, so when his eyes landed on a messy, disheveled bed, the first he had ever seen of the man since they began living together, Johnny knew. Some part of him instantly knew, another part was trying desperately to cling onto the hope that he was wrong.
Instantly he bolted from the bedroom to the bathroom in the hallway, attempting to turn the knob before realizing that it was locked. He banged on the door in a frenzy, voice panicked. “Simon! Simon, open the fucking door!” He cried out. When nothing happened, he readied himself, slamming his shoulder into the door hard enough to hear the crack of the bolt through the wood.
Ghost laid there in the waterless bath, blood staining his front as his wrists were fileted, Johnny holding back a retch at the sight of tissue through the slayed flesh. He instantly dropped down to Simon’s side, reaching into his pocket dialing the 3 digit number before setting it on speaker, throwing the phone down as it rang.
“Mmm…J’nny.” Simon mumbled through haze, head laid back as he held on to consciousness. Johnny tore off a long shred of his t-shirt, then splitting that shred in two to tie above the massacred flesh, hoping it would be a half decent tourniquet as the operator answered. “No hosp’als..”
Johnny quickly gave the operator their address as he held his hands tight over his wrists, just trying desperately to stop the blood as best as he could. “Simon, God fucking damn it, you blithering fuckin’ idiot.” He cried as he held the other’s arms tight.
Come on, tear off the bandage
The way that you were
With pain as your language
The way that you were
Will you show me the damage?
“He’s gonna have to go through a psych eval.” Price placed a hand on Johnny’s shoulder as they sat in the hospital. Johnny nodded solemnly, fighting back a dry chuckle at the statement. He knew how those were, and how absolutely teeth pulling they always seemed to be, especially for a soldier as guarded as Simon Riley.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he leaned back in his chair. “How long does he have to be on leave?” He asked, eyes drawn down to his own fidgeting hands. He knew Simon would be pissed at having to stay home for a long period of time. Stir crazy, he says. Always have to be moving, always have to be doing something. Keeps his mind busy. Johnny wonders what his mind had been busied with that night.
Price sighed, chewing at his cheek for a moment before answering. “Minimum’s 3 weeks, but could take longer depending on how much trouble he gives the counselor.” He shrugged. “I’ve known Simon for a long time. He’s been dealing with these things on his own since forever. But that worked until it didn’t. He’s gonna need to pull his head outta his arse if he wants to keep on.” He drew his lips in a tight line.
Soap nodded. “I understand, Cap’n.” Price gave him a nod back and placed a hand on his shoulder, holding there for a moment. He squeezed it before dropping his arm and heading towards the exit, leaving Soap to sit and hope to God or whatever higher power there was, that Simon would quit being a stubborn bastard for however long it took to get him back into shape.
And you will no longer stand between collapsing walls
Wearing a smile
Like you cannot bear it anymore
Sunshine peered from the window of their apartment, shining a warm patch over the bed as Johnny rolled over with a stretch. He yawned as he wrapped his arms tightly around his partner, pulling Simon towards him more. “G’mornin’.” He mumbled, pressing a lazy kiss to the other man’s temple.
Simon groaned and wrapped his arms around the Scot, earning himself a yawn as he did so. “Mornin’ Johnny..” He mumbled through a sleepy haze. He pulled the blanket further over them, burrowing deeper into Johnny’s side. He brought his hands up to rub at sleep soaked eyes.
“Don’t forget, you’ve got counseling at 9.” The shorter man reminded him. Simon nodded. It had been about 3 months since his attempt, and some days are harder than others. The winter was always the hardest, Simon’s mind turned to dark string, grimy and unforgiving. The nightmares subsided once he started taking the little pills he was described. He agreed to it only through the winter, when it got to be at its worst. But it was a start, Johnny knew.
Johnny brushed a tuft of blonde curls out of the brit’s face, smiling. “You need a haircut.” He noted. Simon once again nodded, eyes zoned in on the man in front of him. Johnny cocked a brow at him.
“Wha’?” He asked before Simon leaned over, pressing a kiss to his lips. Johnny melted into it, hand coming up to tangle his fingers in Simon’s pale golden locks. The kiss deepened and went on for a minute or so before the men broke apart, pink flushes on their cheeks.
Simon’s cheek tugged his lips into a half smile as he spoke. “Just felt like it.” He answered, before the other could even ask. Johnny smiled and pressed a short kiss to his lips.
“Me too.” He said before rolling out of bed.