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Simon was the Ghost. The face of intimidation itself, with his mere presence enough to move many interrogations and missions to their desired ends, he allowed himself no weakness. He didn’t speak of his nightmares, of his aches and pains, of Roba and all the baggage that came with that. He let few people close and even fewer ever saw him at less than his best.
That was what he wanted. That was what it should be.
But then he and Johnny got sent on a mission to Siberia and had almost immediately split up. Johnny had scouted their safe house while Ghost stayed in place to watch for their target. Ideally, they wouldn’t have split up like that, but they were already running behind and their backup team hadn’t been dropped due to the impending snowstorm.
Simon ignored the chattering of his own teeth and his body protesting against the constant cold, stoically watching the road until Johnny found him again. Together, they carefully made their way back to the safe house.
Johnny was chattering as he made his way around the rundown cabin, but Simon absorbed none of it, staring into the unlit fireplace. They didn’t dare light a fire, even if the storm might mask the smoke. Their only light was well away from any windows, which they kept the curtains drawn. It was a 2 day mission, Simon told himself. They’d endured worse.
He just couldn’t stop shivering. And he just wanted to sleep.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring into the fireplace. Suddenly, a familiar face was in front of him, concern written all over their features as they spoke. It took a moment for him to realize what they were saying.
“Ghost? Sir?”
Sluggishly, his brain worked to catch up. What was happening? He knew that mohawk though. “‘nny?”
“You look pale. And like shit, Ghost. Sit down, for God’s sake.” It had been a while since he’d heard the tightness in Johnny’s voice. He couldn’t quite remember when, but it had been warm there. His body was wracked with shivers then and he couldn’t quite keep his legs under him, sinking to his knees with a loud and concerning thud.
“Fuck,” he heard Johnny mutter. He wondered what was wrong. A cool hand grabbed his and fingers pressed against his wrist. He knew what this was; Johnny was taking his pulse. Why? He was clearly alive. “Sir, can you understand me?”
Simon struggled to form words, never his strong suit on a good day. “‘Course, I…fuckin’...” He didn’t understand why he was struggling so much. It felt like his brain was screaming at him and he could hear none of it.
Hands landed on his shoulders and he found himself looking into Johnny’s face. “Ghost -”
“‘m Simon…” He heard himself mutter. No one ever said his name anymore.
Johnny was silent for a long moment. “Simon, you’re hypothermic. We’ve got to get you warmed up. God, your clothes are fucking soaked. C’mon.”
Distantly, Simon knew that he wouldn’t ever let Johnny push him around in his right mind. But he didn’t find the fight in him to protest as he was stripped of his soaked outer layers. He had no concept of time passing before Johnny came back with a pile of thin blankets, probably stripped from the beds in the cabin, and wrapped them around Simon’s shoulders. Simon was pathetically grateful for the privacy as Johnny deftly helped him out of the rest of his clothes, stripping him down to his underwear. Flashes of memories threatened to surface, the position too familiar. He hated being naked even when he was alone, much less with another person around. He suddenly wondered how Johnny knew, why he was being so careful.
Speaking of which, Johnny was speaking to him again. “...I know you don’t want to, but you gotta.”
Simon searched his sluggish mind desperately for some hint of what he was talking about. “‘m?” was the best he could manage.
Johnny looked pained. “Your mask, Si. It’s wet too; you can’t keep it on.”
It took a moment for the words to mean something, but when they did, he scrambled away from Johnny, hitting the front of the couch within seconds. Fear and shame battled at the forefront of his mind. Here he was, reduced to this when he was not so long ago the mighty Ghost. But he was being thrown into way too many reminders of what made him Ghost.
“Hey, hey, no.” Johnny shrugged off his jacket, pulling off the hoodie underneath and placing it down in front of Simon. He quickly shrugged the jacket back on. “Put that on. You can cover your face with it. I’ll turn around, ok? Just put it on.”
Simon wanted to argue, but another wave of weak shivers hit him and he was left staring at Johnny’s turned back. The mask was wet from him sitting in active snow for so long and the prospect of another layer was enough to have him finally snatching the hoodie from the floor, stripping the mask from his face and pulling on the hoodie. It was still warm from Johnny’s body and he could feel the shock of it. Pulling the blankets closer to him and using one hand to hold the hoodie closed, with just enough space for him to see, he nudged Johnny with his foot.
Johnny looked relieved when he turned around, like he hadn’t been sure if Simon actually would. “Good. Good, that’s…fuck.” He ran a tired hand over his face and Simon felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. “Si, that’s all I got. No more blankets, nothing warm for you to eat or drink, nothing. I know how to help hypothermia and I haven’t got half of what I need here. I’m sorry.”
Johnny sounded guilty. He shouldn’t sound guilty. He was doing far more than he had to. “Shu’ up,” Simon forced out from his chattering teeth. “Ya…ya gave m-me the c-clothes-s off ya own b-back.”
Johnny was silent for a moment before barking out a laugh. “You’re still in there for sure, Lieutenant.” He glanced around the cabin and huffed. “I’m going to write a serious complaint to Kate when we get out of here.”
“‘s f-fine. C-could be w-worse.”
“Now you should shut up, sir. Don’t fucking tempt fate.” Johnny sat back with an exhausted look on his face. Simon was present enough to notice him shivering too and that wouldn’t fucking do.
Simon of tomorrow would hate him, but the Simon of now was half delirious and too damn desperate and worried to care. He reached over with his free hand and tugged on Johnny’s sleeve. “Id-diot. C’mon.”
Johnny obeyed his tugging and moved closer, even with a confused, “huh?”
“I kn-know hyp-hypothermia too. B-body heat he-helps. And you’re the f-fucking id-idiot who t-took off his h-hoodie.”
Johnny froze, tilting his head while scrutinizing Simon. He felt exposed even though he knew Johnny couldn’t actually see his face. “I didn’t think you’d want that, sir.”
“Si-Simon.” He didn’t know why it felt important for Johnny to say his name. “Are y-you ok w-with it?”
Johnny nodded quickly. “Fuck yeah, but you-”
“I’m too c-cold to c-care.” Simon wished he could explain himself further, but Johnny seemed to accept that. It took some maneuvering on the uncomfortable ground, but the couch would never hold them both. Johnny ended up spooning Simon, back to torso, and Simon felt better about letting go of the hood. He knew Johnny wouldn’t be able to see and wouldn’t try to. He trusted the Sergeant.
Speaking of the Sergeant, he was like a fucking furnace, radiating heat even as he shivered. Simon greedily drank in the heat and to some extent, the touch he hadn’t had in so long. Something under his skin curled in protest, but it felt too good to listen to that feeling for once.
Simon would reckon with himself in the morning.
Johnny was rambling about something. It sounded like it had to do with his nan. Simon knew what he was doing, as it was too dangerous for either of them to sleep with one down with hypothermia and the other at risk. So he let himself listen as he waited out the cold and damp’s attack on his body, selfishly drinking in the presence of the Scotsman.