Chapter Text
When Price leaves, Johnny falls back onto his pillows with a sigh. “Can’t believe he’s forcing us off base this time.”
He turns to look at Ghost when Ghost doesn’t respond. “L.t., you good?”
Ghost turns and looks at him. His usual balaclava has been replaced by a black medical mask, but even if he still had it on, Johnny can see the dead look in his eyes. He’s always very good at hiding his emotions, but this, this is different. Johnny sits up, and swings his legs over the side of the bed so he can face the other man better. He tilts his head, squinting his eyes at Ghost, trying to figure out what is wrong, why Ghost is shutting down now, only after Price has left.
“Simon?” he tries again. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. Not even a slow blink or anything. Just a dead stare with a hint of a bone deep sorrow that is starting to permeate the room.
His knee screams at him when he stands up, but who gives a shit, Simon is a thousand times more important than his knee at the moment. But that doesn’t stop him from all but collapsing into the bed with Simon after only a few steps. He manages to get Simon to cross his legs where he sits against the pillows so Johnny can sit in front of him, his left knee that he managed to dislocate again stretched next to Simon. Reaching for Simon’s face, Johnny gently presses their foreheads together, whispering, so only Simon can hear him, “You solid, Simon?”
A hitch in Simon’s breath. If Johnny wasn’t holding Simon’s face, wasn’t pressing their foreheads together, wasn’t so utterly focused on Simon that the world could’ve been ending outside and nothing could’ve torn his focus away from Simon, if Johnny wasn’t watching for it, he would have missed it entirely.
Simon’s eyes drop from where he’s been holding Johnny’s gaze. Johnny’s heart aches at the sight of the tears pooling in Simon’s eyes, at the fact that Simon won’t look at him. He has to crush the urge to shake the man and demand that Simon answer him. Johnny stares at him steadfastly, waiting for Simon to spit out whatever it is that is bothering him. Simon looks past Johnny and his eyes dart around the room, settling on the sheets near Johnny’s bad knee.
“I- I don’t have anywhere to go, Johnny,” he finally whispers into the air between them. “They’re all dead, I have no where, no one, Johnny.”
Johnny nudges Simon’s forehead with his own so he’d meet Johnny’s eyes again. “Bold of you to assume you weren’t already going to be coming with me, Si. My parents won’t mind me bringin’ a friend along, and they’re going to love you.” He smiles at Simon. “Besides, you can’t do much for yourself without hurting yourself more, gotta make sure my favourite L.t. isn’t hurting himself. You’re coming with me, Simon, no arguing.”
“Ok, Johnny.” Simon’s eyes fall shut and the tears finally start to fall.
Johnny swipes his thumbs across Simon’s cheeks to brush away the first few tears. But when it becomes clear that the tears aren’t going to be stopping anytime soon, Johnny drops Simon’s face in favour of wrapping his arms carefully around Simon’s shoulders, mindful of the one he’d dislocated on their last mission, and pulling him in until Simon’s face is nestled in the crook of Johnny’s neck. Johnny runs his fingers through Simon’s hair and just lets him cry.
Later, when Simon has all but exhausted himself and is just about boneless against Johnny, Johnny shifts and tries to pull away a little. Simon makes the most pitiful sound as Johnny tries to slide out from where he is, ever mindful of Simon’s injuries and trying to let him sit up on his own instead of pushing his shoulders to move him away. He makes it again when he realises he can’t just pull Johnny back again either because one arm is in a sling and his other is stuck close to his body because his stab wound protests every move. Johnny huffs fondly. “C’mon, L.t., I’m just gonna move over so we can be more comfortable. An’ I need to get my phone from my bed so I can text my parents. Won’t be gone more than a minute.”
Simon grumbles at that, but he does sit up and allow Johnny to move, though he stops him before he even has his feet swung over the side of the bed. “Let me get it for you, Johnny. Wouldn’t want you falling and hitting your head just because you needed your phone so badly.”
Johnny rolls his eyes at Simon and scoffs, “Fine, but only because I do actually need to make sure my knee is rested enough to survive the train station tomorrow, and you do happen to have two working legs right now.”
—
By the time Simon has taken the three steps over to Johnny’s bed and turns around, having acquired the phone in question, Johnny has shuffled around so he’s laying where Simon had just been sitting. Rolling his eyes, the phone exchanges hands before Simon slowly crawls back into bed behind Johnny. Johnny leans forward to let Simon settle behind him as he types out a quick message to his mam.
He doesn’t allow himself any time to think about what just happened. Before this, Price would always just let him stay in his room on base, or let him stay in one of the safehouses for the entirety of his leave. And it’s not like Johnny didn’t know his family was gone. But he’d just admitted to not having his own flat or house and it felt shameful. Yeah, he’s legally dead and can’t really sign a lease or anything, and logically, he knows Johnny would never tease him or make jokes about it, no matter what else he jokes and teases about. But Johnny had just all but ordered him to come home with him, to Johnny’s parents house, and then he cried, actually honest to god cried. He hasn’t cried in front of anyone in god knows how long and after he just admitted how little he has outside of the military? His only saving grace is that it was in front of Johnny, who he knows will never say a damn word about it, but still he cried - Simon cuts his thoughts off before he spirals even more.
Simon’s legs end up on either side of Johnny and Johnny carefully leans back against Simon’s chest like he does sometimes when the two of them are hanging out in one of their rooms. He told Simon once that those are the nights he just needs to be close to someone, when his skin cries with the need to be close to someone, to be held, to feel someone else against himself. Simon looks around the room as Johnny flips between apps, trying to decide what bullshit app to waste his time doom scrolling on this time.
He’s just opened tiktok, if the sound is anything to go by when his phone pings with a new message. "Fuck," he says, opening up the message.
Simon stops looking around and taking stock of what they have and where, just in case something goes to shit in the middle of the night, hooking his chin over Johnny’s shoulder. “What is it, Johnny?”
Johnny huffs a little and turns the phone so Simon can read the message he just got from his mum. That’s fine, dearie. Can’t wait to see you and meet your boyfriend tomorrow night!
A hum. Johnny flinches. “I’m sorry, Ghost. I can text her back, tell her you’re not my boyfriend. I don’t know why she assumed that. I only told her you were a friend. I’m sorry, L.t., I-”
“Johnny,” Simon stops his rambling. “Johnny, it’s fine.”
Johnny manages to twist himself around so they’re face to face. “Simon?” His eyes are searching Simon’s face, looking for…something.
But Simon remembers a time when it was just the two of them at the pub after a mission, after everyone else had already headed back to base. Johnny had had probably a few too many drinks, and, in all honesty, Simon probably had too many too. And Johnny had admitted that, while his parents were supportive, he’d only ever had girlfriends. His parents acted like they didn’t care and would be genuinely happy for him if he went out with a guy instead, but he’d only ever had girlfriends and, at that, all girlfriends that he never brought home. Over their last drink of the night, Johnny had admitted that he was terrified his parents were only supportive because they thought it was just a phase and they would go back on everything they’d ever said if he ever had a boyfriend, or, god forbid, brought home a man. Simon remembers the sadness in Johnny’s voice, the hunch of his shoulders, the way his lips wobbled dangerously as he finished off his scotch. And Simon makes a decision.
“It’s fine, Johnny. No need to tell them anything different, yeah? I don’t mind,” Simon can’t help smiling at Johnny beneath his mask. “Not the worst undercover job we’ve ever had. It’s only a couple of months, can’t be that hard, can it?”
—
This is it. This is how Johnny dies.
There is no way in hell that the Ghost just agreed to be his boyfriend for several months, just because his mum had misread a text and made an assumption. There is no way that Simon is smiling at him right now like he didn’t just turn Johnny’s entire fucking life upside down.
He almost reaches down to pinch himself, but his knee chooses that moment to twinge in pain from twisting around so quickly. Johnny grimaces before he can stop himself. Simon’s face falls and Johnny has never been so disappointed in his life, he thinks. He would do anything to see Simon smile again. To see him look at Johnny like he means something.
Simon gently plucks the phone from Johnny’s hand and places it on the little table next to the bed. “Come on, Johnny, time for bed now. We can figure the rest out on the train tomorrow and we’ll just have to get our tickets at the station tomorrow.” He scoots down the bed a little so he can properly lay down before his good hand reaches out and takes Johnny’s hand, tugging him forward. “It’ll be fine, Johnny. We’ll be fine. We’re solid, gonna stay solid. Promise.”
Sighing, Johnny shifts until he can lay down between Simon’s legs comfortably. Carefully rolling himself over, Johnny lays his head down on Simon’s stomach as carefully as he can between the stitched up stab wound and the arm held in place against his stomach with a sling.
Sleeping together is nothing new for them. Sometimes, safehouses only have one bed and they’re too tired to try and argue over who has to sleep on the floor, or nightmares keep them both up only to fall asleep together on the couch in the rec room, or they’re hanging out together late into the night because neither of them want to give up the comfort of being close to someone who understands and they end up falling asleep together.
This time, though, it feels like more. Like maybe it’s a tipping point for this thing they’ve been dancing around for years.
But Simon says they’re solid, and that they’re gonna be fine and that’s how it’s going to stay. So Johnny gives in to his own selfish desires and carefully works his arms under Simon’s torso until he’s hugging him, holding him close. “Goodnight, Simon,” he whispers as his eyes start to close.
“Goodnight, Johnny.”
And just before he falls into Morpheus’ embrace, Johnny could swear that he felt Simon’s bad arm come to rest on the back of his neck and fingers tangling in his hair, gently rubbing circles into the base of his skull.
—
By 0730, both of them are up and ready to leave the medical wing.
By 0745, they have somehow managed (it was absolutely Price’s doing, no doubt) to be fully discharged and on their way across base to pack their bags.
At Johnny’s insistence, they stop at Simon’s room first. Simon lets Johnny bully him into changing into a more comfortable sweater, before Johnny glares at him and tells him to stay. Simon sits and just watches Johnny putter around, limping, packing Simon’s duffle bag for him. They have been mission partners enough and Simon has allowed Johnny close enough that Johnny clearly knows exactly what to pack and what Simon prefers, as well as what he needs given his current state.
It is strange, Simon thinks, to have someone who cares so much caring for, caring about him, of all people. Simon idly wonders how Johnny’s family will react to him, to them, as the man of his musings disappears into his bathroom to collect his toothbrush and other toiletries. When he starts to consider where they will be as kind to him as their son always has been, Simon cuts his thoughts off viciously. Instead of letting himself spiral, he redirects his train of thought and instead ponders what them being in a fake relationship might mean. Hopefully, he might get to hold hands with Johnny. It might be a tad foolish, especially given his current injuries, but he’s admittedly a bit starved for attention and Johnny has such nice hands and he’s always so warm.
Johnny appears out of the bathroom, smiling his bright sunshiny smile at Simon and Simon thanks every fucking god in the universe that he gets this, for however long, he gets this . “Got everything ye could possibly need, L.t. You ready to go?”
Simon grunts and stands, following Johnny out of the door, closing and locking it behind him. He reaches for his bag, but Johnny swats his hand away. “Ah ah ah, nope, I’m carrying the bags today, Simon. Or did you forget that your arm is currently in a sling?”
“Oi, I have two hands, and you shouldn’t carry it either! You don’t need to fuck up your leg anymore either.”
Johnny cackles and leans out of reach of Simon’s reaching hand. “Yes, but you forget that that is just my knee, and you also have like, what, 15 stitches in your other side?” He’s still cackling as he catches Simon’s hand and holds on, preventing him from reaching for the bag. “Wouldn’t want a bonnie lad such as yourself to end up hurting himself even more now, would we?”
He grunts, unable to think of anything to say at all. Not when he’s already getting everything he could’ve ever asked for when he agreed to this.
In Johnny’s room, Simon sits in the chair at the desk and lets Johnny go about his own business in gathering his own belongings. He fiddles with his sling with his good hand. What does it say about him that the part he is looking forward to the most, in all of this, - besides getting to spend time with Johnny and getting to be close to him - is just to have his hand held, like he’s some sort of little kid who still needs help crossing the street, or who’s too scared to leave his mom’s side? What does it say about him that he would do anything, just for Johnny to hold his hand like he just did in the hallway for one more second? Like, sure, of course he’d love to kiss Johnny, and he looks forward to being able to sleep in the same bed without having to worry about hostiles or having to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to train recruits. But deep down, he wants to know how Johnny’s fingers slot between his, if they’ll slide right in place and be a perfect fit together, just like they were in the field and off it, from the first time they met.
By the time Johnny finishes, it’s just about 0800, and the car Price had arranged to take them to the train station in London isn’t due for another fifteen or so minutes. Before Simon can stand to leave though, Johnny stands in front of him. Instinctively, Simon opens his legs so Johnny can stand between them. He looks up at Johnny, who smiles at him again. Johnny lifts one of his hands and runs his thumb over a small scratch on Simon’s cheekbone. “You sure you’re ok with this, Si? Last chance to bow out before we leave, no hard feelings.”
Simon huffs in fond annoyance. “Told you, Johnny. It’s fine. It has been fine, and it will be fine.” He smiles beneath his mask. “We need to talk about it a bit more on the ride there, yeah, but I’m not going to bow out. I’m solid, we’re solid, Johnny. Now let me up, it’s time to leave, Sergeant.”
Johnny rolls his eyes, but steps back to let Simon stand. Picking up both their bags, Johnny leads the way out of his room, trusting Simon to close and lock the door for him. Simon doesn’t try to take either bag from Johnny this time, but he shadows the other man’s steps carefully, ready to catch him if he stumbles.
By 0815, they have made it to the base gates and their bags have been taken from Johnny and put in the back and they are leaving the base for King’s Cross.
They do not speak on the way to the station, for which Simon is grateful. The last batch of pain meds they gave him sometime last night are starting to truly wear off and his shoulder is slowly turning into a deep ache that is only growing more intense.
By 0930, they are stepping out of the car at King’s Cross. And Price really must have pulled some strings, because there is someone waiting with a wheelchair for Johnny to use until they have to get on the train.
Johnny holds their bags in his lap and Simon pushes him into the station, grateful that it is a Wednesday morning and it is not very busy. There is still a line at the ticket counter, but it is relatively short and there is enough room in the station for Simon that he is confident no one is going to accidentally run into his shoulder or Johnny in the wheelchair.
They acquire tickets for the train at 1300, and Simon pushes Johnny out to one of the benches, parking him next to it before sitting on the bench himself. Johnny dumps their bags on the ground at their feet before pulling out his phone and texting his mam to let her know when they’ll be in. After he’s finished, he holds his hand out to Simon, who just stares at it for a moment. Perhaps it is just the pain, but he doesn’t know what Johnny wants. When Simon doesn’t give Johnny what he wants, Johnny huffs. Then he reaches out and grabs Simon’s uninjured hand, hooking their fingers together.
Simon can’t breathe. This is it. This must be how he dies. Johnny’s fingers slot perfectly between his own. Johnny is holding his hand.
Johnny glances back up at him. “This ok? I know we haven’t really talked everything out yet, but, I figured we could at least get used to this for now?”
“Yeah, yeah it’s ok,” Simon manages to croak.
He’s rewarded with another of Johnny’s signature smiles and he lets himself be tugged over a little closer so he can watch whatever it is Johnny is watching on his phone. And they wait to board their train together.