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Edinburgh Airport wasn't exactly glamourous, but it wouldn't take long to show off the real sights of Alba. Simon had obviously been north of the border before, but never just to take in the sights. He'd once, half soused after they'd survived an absolute cunt of an op, confessed to Johnny that he'd always wanted to travel the UK and see all the touristy shite that he'd never had a chance for before. They had enough leave time saved up for Johnny to make at least some of that tour happen; a full four weeks to show Simon everything Scotland had to offer.
Johnny had hired a car, since he'd never gotten around to buying one for himself; there wasn't much point in keeping a car when he was rarely in the country to drive it. They'd need a car for everything Johnny had planned, though, so hiring would do.
The little flat he'd rented for them for the next three days was right on the Royal Mile, situated so that they could look down and see the street performers entertaining the hordes of tourists.
"Cute," Simon said cheekily, peering around the small living room.
Johnny snorted. "Just wait until it gets dark," he said, beckoning Simon over to the window to show him the view from there, then hooking a finger in his belt loop to reel him closer. "We winnae be spending much time inside anyway. Ah've got the whole holiday planned. Ye'll be sick ae all the tat shops by the time I'm done wi' ye."
Simon leaned down to kiss him, grinning. "Do your worst, MacTavish," he challenged.
Johnny took the challenge with glee. The first day started with a pre-dawn trek up Arthur's Seat to watch the sunrise, and then it was back down to find breakfast in a tiny cafe down one of the closes. From there, Johnny dragged Simon all over the city to various tourist shops and experiences. The afternoon even included a ride in a tour bus, allowing them to hold hands while they listened to the tour guide explain the history of the city.
Simon looked fairly satisfied when they sat down for a pub dinner that evening, and Johnny considered it a good start to their holiday.
The next day was equally full, with a tour of the castle, expensive as it was, and then to Mary's Milk Bar for ice cream so they could wander around the Grassmarket and enjoy the sunshine, poking around the stalls and nearby shops. Johnny pulled Simon into a vintage shop to try on the kilt hanging in the window, and then into one of the many tacky tourist shops to laugh over the saccharine tchotchkes and keepsakes. They left with a fuzzy wood and yarn highland cow keychain hanging from Simon’s keys and a new mug each with men in kilts showing off their bare arses.
Once the sun began to set, they made their way back to the Royal Mile for a ghost tour of the city.
In the catacombs under the city, they snickered at the exaggerated way the guide spoke of ghosts and hauntings, shoulders bumping as they leaned in to whisper jokes to each other.
"Don't believe in ghosts, then, do ye?" the guide asked as they made their way down to Greyfriar's.
Johnny couldn't help but grin. "I believe in 'em alright," he said, bumping shoulders with Simon. "My Ghost's scarier though."
Simon scoffed, and the guide raised an eyebrow, but left them alone to their amusement to continue scaring the shit out of the trio of American tourists that had been absolutely bricking it in the catacombs.
"You think I'll save you from the ghosts?" Simon murmured, and Johnny could hear the smirk in his voice.
"The Mackenzie Poltergeist's got nothin' on Simon Riley," he said, grinning. "Scariest fucker alive, you are." He slid his hand into Simon’s back pocket, grabbing a handful of his arse as though to punctuate his point.
Simon huffed a laugh, only taking a quick glance around before relaxing into the touch, letting Johnny know just how at ease he was. They only ever got this touchy on leave, and it sometimes took Simon a few days to settle into their off-base dynamic. For him to be so comfortable so quickly was a good sign.
They got a good laugh out of the Americans at the Covenanter's Prison, all three of them working themselves into a tizzy about the poltergeist, much to the guide's glee. Johnny and Simon had to fight down giggles the entire time, barely able to control their expressions and having to look anywhere but at each other lest they cause offence by laughing out loud.
They managed to keep it together until they made it to the pub, and then spent the evening ripping the piss out of the trio, taking advantage of the loud music to hide their inelegant guffaws. Johnny nearly choked on his beer when Simon did a spot on impression of the quavering voice of one of the Americans as she asked whether the ghosts had ever killed anyone on the tour. Simon made up for it by helping him mop up the beer that had spilled down his chin and neck, his hands gentle as he touched Johnny’s throat.
There were no teammates or fellow soldiers to heckle them here, and Simon was safe to show softness that Johnny could soak up greedily for the next month.
No matter where they went, Johnny managed to find the most breathtaking sights to show him. Tiny cafes in quaint, hidden away villages that served the best bacon rolls he'd ever tasted, or waterfalls spilling down the side of the mountains just off the beaten track.
They waded in lochs, walked among the heather and thistles, and ate a truly inordinate number of pies. Simon had tasted whiskys from distilleries his tongue was too clumsy to pronounce the names of, and each and every one of them tasted better on Johnny's lips.
It was a relief to finally be able to freely put his hands on Johnny again without worrying who was watching or what they might say. Civilians and their opinions on their relationship meant nothing to him, but he was more than aware that Johnny’s career could be impacted by the wrong person reading the wrong thing into how they interacted on base.
He’d been talking to Price about retirement, and the time they spent together away from the pressure of their careers made him more sure that he would take the plunge sooner rather than later, and try to find who he was outside of the SAS. He hadn’t said anything to Johnny yet, but it was only a matter of time.
They took a boat out on Loch Ness, and Simon watched Johnny grin wildly as the wind whipped at his overgrown mohawk.
"Ah think Nessie must be sleepin'," Johnny commented on their way back to shore, and Simon couldn't help but laugh. He'd never spent so much time doing things just for the fun of it, and there was nobody he'd rather be spending that time with.
That night, in a pub barely big enough for half a dozen tables and the bar, Simon realised just how gone he was on Johnny.
They'd stumbled on the place by happenstance, taking a walk from the bed and breakfast they were staying in, and Johnny had dragged him inside for a couple of drinks. They'd chatted with the locals, Johnny making friends as easy as breathing, until they'd stopped giving Simon strange looks for his black medical mask, and then one of them had brought out a guitar.
Leaning back into Johnny's chest, he could feel the rumble of his voice as he sang along, barely in tune, but enthusiastic enough to make up for it, Simon let the atmosphere wash over him. He'd never felt so at home among total strangers as he did in that moment.
Johnny wrapped his arms around Simon's waist, making him sway along with him to the music, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.
"Let me tell you that I love you, and that I think about you all the time," Johnny sang into Simon's ear. "Caledonia, you're calling me, and now I'm going home."
Simon was at home in that moment. At home in Johnny's arms. He wanted to stay there forever. He wanted Johnny to be his for the rest of time.
The sky was grey when they set out for the castle that morning, but Johnny seemed sure it would clear up soon enough. He'd been jittery all morning, and Simon had chalked it up to too much caffeine at first, but the jitters hadn't let up at all over the next few hours.
Almost as soon as they'd paid for their tickets, rain had started to patter down upon them, and Johnny cursed under his breath, looking even more frazzled than before.
"We could come back later," Simon offered, flipping his hood up to keep the rain off him. The waterproof had been a smart choice, it seemed. "Don't have to walk around in the rain."
Johnny waved him off. "Nah, it'll stop soon anyway," he insisted. "Besides, it just adds to the atmosphere, don't ye think?"
Simon laughed, shaking his head. It was sort of true though; the mist and light rain gave the area a somewhat ethereal look, like something out of a fairytale. Eilean Donan was picturesque, and the surrounding scenery was equally beautiful. Simon was more than happy to brave the rain to explore.
As their tour continued, however, the rain didn't let up, and Johnny grew ever more frustrated; muttering to himself and scowling as they trekked all over the castle and surrounding island. Simon had been excited about the trip, having looked the castle up beforehand, but Johnny's sour attitude was dampening the experience far more than the rain.
It was the first time in their trip that Johnny had seemed so angry to be doing something, and Simon was beginning to wonder why he'd bothered planning it into their itinerary if he was so annoyed by it. The past three weeks, he'd been almost more enthusiastic about all the touristy things they were doing than Simon was, but now... Simon was beginning to wonder if it had all been for show. The thought that Johnny would go to so much effort and endure so many boring outings for his sake was touching, but Simon would have much preferred he just be honest about not enjoying it all as much as Simon did.
Johnny had stormed off ahead, ignoring the rain that was now pouring down on them, and Simon sighed as he followed in his wake. He wanted to leave, but Johnny had seemed irritated every time he'd suggested it, so he was resigned to waiting for Johnny to decide that they were done.
Near the water, Johnny finally stopped, turning to face Simon again. He looked like he was facing down a three day march in enemy territory with just a handgun and a single clip.
"Johnny," Simon said, reaching out for his hand.
Johnny shoved his hands in his pockets, and Simon fought down the wave of hurt that followed. He'd turned down affection plenty of times in the past, and he knew it wasn't fair to apply a double standard to their relative comfort with public displays of affection, but it still stung to be turned down so abruptly, especially after Johnny's behaviour the rest of the day.
"Is everything okay, Johnny?" he asked, his voice quiet enough that he half expected the question to be swallowed by the rain.
Johnny swallowed, nodding jerkily. "I'm... aye. I'm good. All good. I'm great," he babbled. "I'm just... That..."
He began to pace, and Simon could only watch in bafflement, then horror as Johnny's heel slid along a rain slick rock, sending him reeling backward. It happened in slow motion; almost comical in its absurd mundanity. He'd watched that man rappel down the side of buildings, move silently through forests and rivers alike, and perform feats of almost superhuman strength and agility in the heat of combat, but some wet stones were what had him wiping out.
Johnny's arms windmilled as he tipped backward, descending so quickly that Simon couldn't move to intercept him, though he held his arms out in a vain attempt to break Johnny's fall.
Johnny hit the puddles pooling between the stones arse first, face burning bright red as he stared up at Simon from the ground, jaw clenched so tightly Simon could almost hear his molars creaking.
"You okay?" Simon asked.
"Let's just go," Johnny bit out, groaning as he hauled himself to his feet, ignoring Simon's outstretched hand once more, leaving Simon to roll his eyes over what a petulant shit he was being. "Should've fuckin' known the fuckin' rain would ruin it. Can't have one fuckin' holiday without the pissin' rain makin' an arse of it."
Simon let him mutter his frustrations the entire way back to the car, handing him one of the towels out of the boot for him to sit on so he didn't get the seat wet. He fumed the entire drive back to their bed and breakfast, and Simon tried his best to work out what was bothering him without speaking.
They had less than a week left of their leave, and Simon wanted to spend it having fun with Johnny, but if Johnny wouldn't tell him what he was angry about, Simon foresaw a painful, frustrating six days.
Johnny stormed straight to the shower when they made it to the b&b, leaving Simon trailing behind him, grinding his teeth as he fought down the urge to pin Johnny to the wall and demand answers. That wasn't how he wanted their communication to go; he wanted to be better than his father, and physical force and raised voices would only keep the cycle going. Besides, the two of them saw more than enough violence in their lives without inviting it into their home too.
Simon sat on the bed, wondering at how quickly he'd come to see Johnny as home. No matter where he was, Simon was at home with Johnny.
When Johnny emerged from the shower, scrubbing his hair dry with a towel, the anger seemed to have drained from him entirely, leaving him looking somewhat dejected. It was an improvement, but only barely, and Simon worried for him. He was slumped and tired looking, hunched in on himself.
He didn't offer any explanation, so Simon let him stew in it while he took his own shower, appreciating the warmth after the chill of the rain.
They went for a pub dinner, still without having spoken about Johnny's piss-poor attitude, and as they ate, Johnny seemed to grow more upset with every passing second, until Simon couldn't help but bring it up, sick of watching him fidget moodily.
"What's going on with you?" he demanded. "You've been in a shitty mood all day, and it's starting to piss me off."
Johnny sighed, poking at the leftover peas on his plate. "Sorry. Don't worry about it. 'S nothin'," he muttered, shaking his head, but Simon wasn't having it.
"No. I'm not having you fuck up the rest of the holiday with a sour face," he said, scowling. "If you don't want to do shit, just fucking say so. We can do something that's fun for both of us. But today would've been a hell of a lot more fun if you weren't being such a pissy little shit."
Johnny frowned down at his plate, avoiding Simon's eyes for a long moment, clearly considering how to respond, and Simon waited him out.
"I don't... It's..." he sighed again, slumping back in his seat to grab at his jacket hanging over the back. "Probably better if I jist show ye. Thing is, I had a plan. Was gonnae gie ye such a romantic week yer teeth'd rot. What's more touristy than a romantic getaway to the Highlands and Islands? Dae all the castles an' scenery, see all the shite that folk go nutty over."
From the pocket of his jacket, he fished out a small black box. Simon's breath caught in his chest as he spotted it, eyes locking on it like it was a live grenade as Johnny slid it across the table.
"My sister said Eilean Donan's the most romantic place to propose," Johnny explained. "Better than Edinburgh castle, 'cause it's nae crawlin' wae tourists every hour of the day, an' the pictures are always dead gorgeous. I... I've been wantin' tae propose for a bit. Want tae spend the rest of my life with you. Today was meant to be perfect, an' then the rain fucked it, an' I made it worse by fallin' on my arse like a dickhead."
Simon reached for the box with a trembling hand. He had to see it; had to prove to himself that Johnny wasn't lying to him, and that there was really a ring waiting in that box for him.
It felt too light for what it represented. Their future stored in such a tiny box.
Flipping open the lid, he felt tears prickle at his eyes and his throat close up, emotions overwhelming him as he took in the sight. Matte black, with a thin sliver of gold running through the centre, it was perfectly suited to him, obviously picked with great care. Simon could see in his mind's eye how Johnny must have agonised over the choices, wanting to find something perfect.
"Johnny..." he started, unsure of how to respond.
"Just... I wanted to do it better," Johnny said, scrubbing a hand through his mohawk. "You don't have to... Fuck sake, give it back an' I'll figure something else out an' ye can pretend yer surprised. Or we can pretend none of this ever happened an' forget the whole thing."
Simon ignored his babbling, pulling the ring from the box with reverent fingers. Turning it this way and that, he inspected it closely, taking in every detail. It was made of tungsten, if he had to guess at a material; better suited to the two of them than the traditional gold or any of the trendy newer styles. The gold band was so thin that there was barely space for a shine, and the black was matte to avoid catching the light. It was perfect.
Johnny trailed off, looking more nervous than Simon had ever seen him before.
"I... I can't wear it at work," he said, voice sounding rough even to his own ears. "But I can wear it with my tags, and put it on while we're on base or on leave."
Johnny swallowed hard, eyes wide with hope as he watched Simon slide the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly, just as Simon had suspected it would.
"You... are you...?" Johnny's voice was wavering and unsure as he struggled to find the words to ask the question he so desperately wanted to.
Simon put him out of his misery by leaning across the table to kiss him.
"You were right," he said, chuckling. "Really is the perfect touristy holiday."
Johnny chuckled, grinning. "Aye?"
Simon kissed him again. "Can't wait to see how you top it for the honeymoon."