Chapter Text
I
His boots feel strange on such a mundane and familiar terrain. He had walked this city a thousand times and had been condemned to her since birth, and still, it was always strange to walk through her like a normal person.
He was, indeed, not a normal one but walking through Manchester when on leave always felt like he was normal.
She was probably the only place on Earth that will always welcome him, didn’t matter if he was a sinful son of a bitch, or a saint deserving of Saint Peter’s favor.
He is not happy to be at home, but she gives him reasons to come back and stay, every single time. He is convinced that she does it on purpose, not just to annoy him, but to also remind him that he has a place to call home and he refuses to acknowledge it like he refuses anything that has to do with feelings or society.
He hates her as much as he loves her, and he hates it even more so when he remembers that she is your home too. And that coming back home always means seeing you again.
You are the last vestige he has of his old life, the one he ran off, the one he didn’t want to remember that still tormented him every single minute of every one of his nights.
Somehow you have survived and like Manchester herself, you were always a reminder of the humanity that he was always trying to run off from. The humanity he knew he still had inside and that he was always trying to keep away.
War was supposed to dehumanize him and for some reason, it made him more human.
But it didn’t make him feel human until he came and was reminded of the good times he had spent in this city and the only person alive to remember them as him.
He couldn’t do anything to stop the leave this time, though.
A bullet to his shoulder summited him to the operating table once more and made the doctor dictate that terrible sentence that makes him mad enough.
Price didn’t hesitate to sign it either, not even when he tried to convince him otherwise.
“I know you, lieutenant, I know you aren’t going to rest shite if you stay here so, nothing you say will convince me otherwise. You’re going home to rest and that’s final”.
And like a grounded child, he got onto the first plane to England, and straight home he went with a hurting shoulder in a sling and with petty anger still in his veins just as the painkillers a nurse in the plane gave him to survive the flight.
His feet stop in front of his apartment complex. He hates how it always stays the same or how he can see it from a distance thanks to the horrible color it has.
He hates how his heart beats with excitement at the prospect of being at the only real place he can call home besides the base.
He sighs annoyed but crosses the street while holding tighter than necessary his duffle bag with his good shoulder.
He takes the stairs because he hates elevators, he then walks through the hall and almost hesitates when he stops in front of the flat, he calls home.
He eyes the door for a long time, between scared and thrilled to get inside.
He even asks himself if something has changed, if you had changed.
The last time he stepped through this door you both had been more than a year younger and, if he has learned something from all his years in the military is that no time is small for a change.
Everything changes.
Everything is changing.
Nothing stays the same, especially people, and is your duty to move on.
He has never been good at moving on, especially from people, but he always makes people think otherwise.
He is a soldier, his job is to lie, and he is a good liar, or at least, that’s what he wants to believe.
When he finally gets the courage to stretch his good hand to open the door, the door opens itself and a familiar face appears on it.
His heart skips a beat, and he is not sure when was the last time he had been that scared in his life.
Probably that time he discovered the bodies of his family.
When his eyes connect with another pair, they go wide as him too and he can see the fear all over your face.
But it only lasts a few seconds, since after a good look at him, you appear to recognize him, even if he is wearing a balaclava and you haven’t seen his real face in more than a year.
“Simon?”
He doesn’t remember when the last time someone called him by his name.
His real name.
He is Ghost at work, and he is too used to that name, so used that his actual name sounds weird coming from even you.
You are probably the only person alive who uses it.
And make him feel things he shouldn’t.
Your fear transforms into happiness as fast as it came. And he knows, you are grinning at him.
A hand reaches him and before he can dodge it, you are touching him, like you can heal him by just that. But is short-lived, since your eyes catch his sling in a matter of seconds.
“What happened to you?”
He gulps, out of words. Is stupid, he is stupid.
He can’t believe this is happening again in front of you.
You two exchange looks and they say most of what he can’t say at the present. You understand, you always have had that ability, since a second later, you are smiling softly and are pushing the door wider.
“Come on in”, and before he can complain or resist, you are dragging him inside by his good arm.
You close the door and pull him inside. He notices that you are wearing your coat like you were going out and that to support that statement further you have some reusable bags in your hand.
While you pull him through the hall, he notices that some things have changed. You have a new carpet; you changed the armchair and there is a new bookcase in the lounge. He wants to smile, but he remembers he is too stunned by you to even do that.
He hears you say something about shoes, and when he turns to face you again, you are pointing at his boots. He tries to get them off, but the duffle bag falls from his arm, and he hates how hopeless he feels without a functioning arm.
You solve that problem fast, by taking his duffle bag (you don’t have your empty bags in hand anymore) and complaining for a second about the weight until you throw it on the settee.
“Let me help you”, you say and before he can stop you, you are pushing his good hand away and you are the one getting the laces loose so he can get them off.
It makes him feel weird.
He is not used to being treated like this, but at the same time, it reminds him of his mother. She used to treat him like a king when he came home, even if he was very convinced, that he didn’t deserve such treatment.
“Here we go”, you say, standing up again.
When he looks at your face again, you have a grin, and you are putting his boots just beside the shoes you were wearing moments ago. He takes the moment to take you in.
You hadn’t changed much in over a year. Except that maybe your hair was longer and that you have several more piercings that he remembers. They look nice on you, though. You also have a new coat, a smaller bag across your chest and unmatching socks but that last wasn’t new.
“Welcome home”, you say, once you are standing in front of him again. “Sorry for the mess, if I knew you were coming, I will have cleaned a little”, you chuckle nervously before rushing to the coffee table to get some books off and your laptop away.
“This is your flat more than mine”, he finally says.
“Nonsense, you still pay the same rent as me”, and he can’t see you, but he knows that you are somewhere in the hallway, probably on your way to your room.
His brown eyes catch a photo on the wall. Is a photo of you and your family. Then is another one of you on your graduations, with some of your friends and family, him included. He was just right next to you, with a simple smile and mask-less. If he remembered right, for those times, he didn’t need to hide his face outside of the job yet.
Then there was a third photo of just the two of you. He was on it looking very awkward and bashful, while you held a cake and sang him happy birthday. His face was mask-less and his hair a mess and he guesses that it was also way before he had to be Ghost all the time.
He looks away when he hears your steps returning and you appearing at the back of the lounge. You are not wearing your coat, instead, the t-shirt with a snarky graphic you had underneath was on full view, and your bag wasn’t on you anymore either. You looked fairly small in it since you liked to wear big shirts, something about hiding your fluffiness like it was necessary.
You were nice looking just like that, and he will fight you on that as many times as necessary.
“This is your home, stop looking so awkward”, you say, smiling. And then you disappear again, but this time he is sure you are in the kitchen since he can hear some clicking around.
He sits down on the settee, feeling like he is everywhere except his home. He carefully gets his jacket off and eyes the space a little bit longer before you appear with a tray and tea.
“I know you fancy some tea. You always like tea when you return home”, you say, casually, before serving it and offering him a mug. He accepts and holds it with his good hand after raising his balaclava to his lips.
The tea tastes strange, and foreign in his mouth but is because he is sure that he forgot how your tea tasted.
It was his favorite tea in the world, and he was annoyed at the fact that he forgot how it tasted.
“Were you going out?”, he asked, while you sat right beside him, just a few inches between the two of you in the settee.
“Yes, but it can wait. I hate going shopping anyway”.
You chuckled before taking a sip of your tea.
To his utter surprise, you don’t ask questions or engage in more conversation. You simply drink tea in silence, like your brains could talk to themselves without the need of mouths or words.
It was a nice feeling and it reminded him that he couldn’t do that with anyone at base. Not even with Price who he had been working with the longest.
He is drunk in the warmth your body spurs and he is numb with it until he finishes his tea.
When the tea is finished, you return to the kitchen and get your things to go out. You say something about dreading the shopping but the fridge not holding a day more without proper food, so you go, reminding him that he is at home and that he should relax so.
Of course, the last part you don’t say it out loud, but he knows.
When you leave, he sighs and starts crying because he is, somehow, happy to be at home.
He had forgotten how it felt to be at home.
That it felt safe.