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“Thought I’d find you up here.”
Price padded closer to Ghost, two travel mugs of freshly brewed tea in his hands, made just the way he knew his lieutenant liked. This spot had been frequented by his own Captain—MacMillian—on more than one occasion, the location passed down to Price himself when the man moved up, and now to Ghost as a place away from prying eyes.
It didn’t hurt that it boasted a beautiful view of the sun setting over the range, the sharp crack of gunfire still echoing even long after the two of them departed. Ghost’s own rifle still sat slung over his back, muzzle pointing up towards the sky as the stars began to twinkle overhead. Ghost turned, glancing briefly at Price before Price sat, glancing sideways to watch as the fading light cast a golden glow across the stark white skull mask.
”Thanks,” he grunted, taking one of the teas. Price watched him shove the mask up, letting the shell rest over his head and baring his face—content in the knowledge that no one would see them up here. The waning sunlight lit his amber eyes ablaze, so utterly captivating in that moment that he didn’t dare look away.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Price remarked, jerking his chin towards the horizon in an effort to save face. Ghost, halfway through a sip, huffed a quiet laugh before he shook his head.
”Never thought I’d hear you call a sunset beautiful, Captain.”
Oh, Simon.
Price smirked, turning to look properly at the blond sitting beside him, knocking their knees together in an affectionate gesture. The wind picked up as he did, sending the steam from their drinks billowing sideways as he set his down in favor of taking Ghost’s hand. “Wasn’t talkin’ about the sunset.”
Ghost stiffened, the teasing edge to his expression faltering. Without the mask, Price could see the pain written across his face, the stricken look he donned for a moment before cool neutrality kicked in. He glanced away, voice softer than usual when he spoke. “Careful, John. Don’t know what you’re gettin’ into.”
Price scoffed at that, rolling his eyes. Simon, the self depcreating king, at work once again… some days he wanted to take the lad in his arms, flip him upside down, and shake him silly until all the stupid shite fell out. Years of friendship, months of relationship, and yet he still struggled to believe that he held any worth without a weapon in his grip and blood on his hands.
Price would change that. Or die trying, potentially, but if it meant getting his boy to see just how dearly beloved he would always be? It’d be worth it.
”Don’t I?” He challenged, claiming Ghost’s free hand in his own. In a deliberate move, he pulled one of Ghost’s gloves off, forcing their skin to meet. “Think I know exactly what I’m getting into. Been here this long, haven’t I? Don’t think I’d want it any other way.”
Ghost hesitated, even as Price squeezed his hand again. His gaze dropped to the ground, watching the people coming and going from the building they sat atop as he seemed to fight with himself. All to get the words out. It made Price want to bundle him up and carry him far, far away from all this, but Ghost would squawk and fight and argue the whole damn way, stubborn bastard.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he muttered. “The things I’ve done. The things I am.” He looked up, and for the first time Price could see the faint swelling around his eyes, the blotchiness of his pale, freckled, scarred cheeks. He’d been crying. “I’m a bloody monster, John.”
He wasn’t talking to the Ghost anymore. No, this—in all his glory—was Simon Riley. No mask. No walls. Vulnerable in the way so few people ever got to see, and Price counted himself among the lucky few who ever would. Because being loved by this man felt like being loved by the moon—fleeting, waxing and waning with the days, but always there to guide him through the darkest nights. And god, did he know what it was like. Knew exactly what Simon felt—wondering if each action truly did lead to the greater good.
Price’s grip on his hand tightened. “You’re no monster, Simon. Not to me. Not to anyone who’s ever gotten the chance to know you, to see you, to love—“
”I don’t deserve your love.”
That stopped Price in his tracks, his train of thought screeching to a halt. Wait, what? He knew Simon’s self-loathing got bad—really bad—on occasion… and with a wince, he realized Simon still truly held onto those beliefs, thought that he was nothing. “Simon Riley,” Price growled, low and gruff and attention-grabbing in the way he needed to be to keep this man from unraveling before his very eyes. “You listen to me, boy. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to feel safe. You have worked your bloody arse off to get this far, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit here and bloody listen to you tell yourself that you don’t deserve my goddamn love!”
Simon blinked at him, clearly taken aback. Good. Need to hammer this through his thick goddamn skull. For one of the smartest men I know, you’re still a bloody idiot, lad. “You trust me, yeah?”
”With my life,” came Simon’s immediate reply.
“Then trust that I know my heart. Trust that I love you, Simon Riley. That it’s not a game. Not a joke.”
”You don’t mean that,” Simon tried to protest, voice cracking around a hushed sob as more tears gathered in his deep mahogany gaze.
“I do.” Price cupped his cheek with one outstretched hand, supporting him as he leaned into the pressure while forcing their eyes to meet. “Y’know why? Because if you’re a monster, that makes me a bigger one. We’ve both got blood on our hands, love. It’s the job.”
”We get dirty, the world stays clean,” Simon whispered, almost timid. Price nodded.
“That’s exactly it. We’ve done things that others didn’t have the guts to. That counts for something. And you’re more than just this—we both are. You’re worth so much more than you realize, Simon. And even if it takes the rest of our lives, I won’t stop until I know you believe me. Until I know that you’ve realized just how damn serious I am when I say I love you.”
His words hung in the air between them—thick from the weight of years they’d spent together, both good and bad. Simon stared at him, mouth slightly parted as if searching for a response he couldn’t quite find. Price’s hand—still cupping his cheek—guided him closer, bringing their foreheads together in a slow, deliberate movement.
”You’re not alone anymore, Simon,” Price murmured, quiet and firm. He knew Simon needed—no, craved—this certainty, something he’d never known before them. “Not in this. Not in anything.”
Simon’s breath hitched, a shudder wracking his body before his eyes finally softened, meeting Price’s with the most raw, vulnerable openness he’d ever seen. “But I don’t know how to believe you,” he admitted. “Not after everything I’ve done.”
”I know, love,” Price murmured, brushing his thumb against Simon’s cheek to wipe a straying tear away. “I know. But that’s why I’m here. To remind you that it’s not about the blood we’ve spilled, the mistakes we’ve made. That doesn’t define who we are, Simon. What matters is where we are now, the difference we try to make in the world.”
Another silence stretched between them, only broken by the faint rustle of wind and the distant hum of the world around them. But this quiet place they’d claimed for themselves, Price could see it quell the storm churning inside Simon’s heart. “Think we are? Makin’ a difference, I mean.”
”I hope so,” Price replied truthfully. “I think so. It’s not a pretty job, but it needs to be done.”
Simon nodded, absorbing the words. Slowly, his hand came up, hesitantly resting over Price’s touch against his cheek. His thumb traced the rough outline of Price’s knuckles, grounding himself in the touch, in the fact that they were both still here. He didn’t speak, content to let Price do the talking, but the openness in his gaze, the softness of his expression and how he leaned in told Price all he needed to know.
Price pulled back just enough to brush his lips over Simon’s forehead once more, leaving a lingering, loving kiss against the skin and scars he found. Simon melted into it—eyes fluttering shut for a few brief moments, and god if he didn’t look so much younger than his thirty-plus years of life. Price wanted to shield him, to protect him from harm, from anything that could ever threaten the happiness and security of his love.
That life wasn’t for them, not yet. So instead, he silently vowed to always walk by this man’s side, to never let him face the darkness alone.
“You’re mine, Simon. And if you’re a monster, then so am I. I won’t let you be alone. Never again.”