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The most wonderful time of year was simply December for Soap. Sure, he’d occasionally celebrate with his mates but Christmas, itself, was always…just another day.
They weren’t bad people, his family. The MacTavish clan was never one for nurturing or over parental affection. Physical affection, like the hugs-and-kisses he’d see families do on the telly, just…never happened in his home, not even with his sisters. Too much would spoil a child, he’d been told. John knew he’d been a rowdy child and, during those days, rowdy children were “dealt with” with a firm hand. His father didn’t beat him, but corporal punishment wasn’t off the table. When a stern talking-to didn’t get the point across, the back of a hand or a belt could. John wasn’t showing up to school with bruises.
Ma wasn’t worse- just detached and tired after working and wrangling her four children. Lord knows it wasn’t easy.
When he was sixteen, his older cousin, Michael, invited him to visit the base in Birmingham. John always admired Mikey, looked up to him. They were six years apart in age, but he was never treated like a kid. Naturally his mam and da allowed him go- a weekend away from home and out of their hair was just fine with them, thank you very much. That weekend changed John for the better (or worse, to hear his parents complain about it). Just that brief glimpse of military life changed something in John. Structure, discipline, a chance to do something worthwhile…
And sure, maybe the recognition, the attention for his accomplishments would feel like a pleasant change for once. The only time his father ever provided any congratulatory remarks were after a particularly amazing block during a footie game, once. Even then, it was followed up with the backhanded compliment that there’s no way in hell John could ever go pro, but it was a “fine” feat.
But in the army…fellow soldiers always appeared so close-knit, so tactile. John watched his cousin’s best mates always knocking shoulders and giving one another fist bumps; a trio even had their own weird secret handshake that Mikey teased them about- John later learned he was merely jealous because his cousin hadn’t mastered the various patterns and slaps yet. There was so much laughter in the unit that it truly felt…like home.
Like what a home should be.
John took every opportunity to visit Michael and- much to the chagrin of the recruiters, join the army. They rebuffed him for his young age each time to the point where Mikey had to intervene. When his words fell on deaf ears, his cousin was forced to explain everything to his folks. Da only huffed and wished him the best, citing that a career in the army was at least feasible as opposed to trying to make a name for himself playing footie or go to art school of all things. His mam…as always, perplexed him. She could acknowledge the structure and routine would be good for him, that he’d get to see the world and have steady work. But they weren’t exactly a fan of sending their son to die, in the King’s name, most likely in some “shithole country” for a war that was caused by any and everyone else. If a country was losing a war, that was simply God’s will. As painful as it was, it was not the place for humans to question it. Why should her son get involved?
And of course, they blamed the army for when he came out as gay a year later. Said their perfectly good, Catholic son was warped by the sins of others. What a shitshow Christmas that had been.
Through it all, they were still his family. Soap looked again at the calendar and then back down to his phone. The MacTavish brood weren’t bad people. John knew they weren’t. No matter how much or how little they agreed or got on, they were his blood. He loved them and knew, in their own way, that they loved him in return.
“John?”
“Aye, mam.” Soap felt that sickly feeling already roiling in the pit of his stomach. “How’s everyone?”
Noises in the background distorted her voice at first. His mother huffed a command to wait a moment. John listened patiently. Sounded like she was on the move. “Ah. Better. Market’s full to bursting today. How are ye, boy?”
“Fine, mam. I uh…I’m still in country.”
“Oh aye? Ooh Donna! Hang on, John.” Through the shrill laugh and what snatches of conversation he’d managed to pay attention to, Soap realized his mother had caught sight of their neighbor. Silence reigned on his end as he dutifully took in his mother’s laughter and the snatches of gossip until Donna must have wandered off. “Haughty cow. Donna from up the road. Inviting herself over for lunch.” Soap wasn’t about to correct her and state that he clearly heard her inviting Donna over. “Ye were sayin’, John?”
“I um…was given leave for the holiday. Can actually make it back home this year. Be with you and da, see the yins.”
“Dinnae bother, lad. Ye’d find no peace at the house. No room for ye anyhow, with Craig bringing his twins and Ella’s three.”
The buttresses reinforcing his plastered smile crumbled but he strove to keep the crestfallen sound from his tone. “I can sleep on a floor or kip outside, ma. Slept in worse than a cramped house.” Maybe if he bargained just a hair more...
“I’m sure ye can, but ye dinnae need to waste yer time at home. John, we miss ye dearly, we love ye.” John knew the but was quick to follow, and sure enough- “We’ve already made plans, ye ken? An’ ye spend all yer time in a rush that ye’d find no peace here.”
Maybe it was churlish of him to feel rebuffed when his mother genuinely sounded earnest about wanting him to have some actual downtime during his leave. “I don’t mind, Ma.”
“John…yer aunt Sheila will be ‘ere and I cannae stand another row. She’s been worse since Frank passed and even if we tell that cow not to show, she’ll be there.” Unlike his immediate family, his father’s sister never “forgave” John his sin of being gay. The horrid woman made it her life’s mission to treat him like a lesser being or, worse, trying to save him from himself. The last time they’d been within close proximity to one another, things almost escalated into a physical alteration. Sheila certainly made no secret of trying to provoke him. “It’s for yer own good, John. You deserve more'n fighting with yer aunt for Christmas.”
For his own good. Pathetic. “Aye…well…gotta head off.”
“Lovely talking to ye, sweetie.” The phone disconnected on her end before John could even pound his thumb into the screen himself. Lovely talking to him, indeed. His mother couldn’t even offer some trite platitude like ‘stay safe’ or a promise to talk soon.
Anger rolled off his shoulders and he fought the overwhelming desire to hurl his phone across the room. “Happy Christmas to you, too.” He grumbled to the dead air.
No amount of arguing with Price could sway the man. No bargaining, no offers to swap, no bribes on the promise that Soap would offer him the world’s best cigars. By the twenty-third, their asses needed to be off-base. To his credit, the captain wasn’t unsympathetic, but Soap’s wheedling was clearly testing his patience.
Often as the case was, it was Ghost to the rescue. Soap had been sulking in his and Gaz’s office when the masked specter filtered in.Price all but demanded they leave base for the holidays. Between the time accumulated and an incoming regiment needing extra space for a few weeks, their captain brooked no argument. John hadn’t been home for Christmas in…four years? Five? He’d volunteer for assignments or stay on base. Ghost though…Unless otherwise assigned and flown out to who knows where, he’d vanish at least for the duration of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. One year, Price asked how everything went, and Ghost promptly griped about the crowds on Boxing Day but offered little else in regards to the details of his time off.
“Come home with me for Christmas.”
It wasn’t an order. No, Ghost’s voice had been too soft for that. It wasn’t pity, either. Ghost and pity weren’t compatible. There was something else, some hint of some indescribable want that propelled them both. Together, they’d been on the same collision course for a while, rotating dangerously too close to the other’s orbit. And they were fine with that. Whole conversations passed between them unspoken, solidified in the brush of fingertips or a bump of hips or knuckles or shoulders. John dared to believe that…there was something more.
So when Simon asked him home for Christmas, Johnny could only ask when they would leave.
Thick snow fell, accumulating long enough to stick to grass but not the roads. Everything was just cold and wet, grey and white sludge splattered on the curb. It would be pretty, eventually. When the temperatures dropped and drivers vacated the roads, when they could watch the silent world from the comfort and safety of the house.
John glanced over at Simon as he drove. Through the long years they’ve known one another, he can’t recall the man ever being this…excited. Or nervous. Every so often he’d catch those large hands drumming along to the rhythm of whatever Christmas song played on the radio. Warm air from the car’s heater hit him in the face and, lost to the droning of the radio and sporadic conversation Ghost offered, Soap found himself in a comfortable doze. All the stress, and admittedly, adrenaline at spending the holidays alone with Simon, sapped the energy from his body. Every now and then, Ghost would ask him a question and he’d mutter what he hoped would be an appropriate passing response. He'd been mentioning a few names before he paused. "-early to decorate. Listening, Johnny?"
"Negative, sir."
“Twat,” Ghost called him with no malice weighing down the words, but instead reaching over and placing one of those big hands on his knee. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“On yer six, LT,” Soap grumbled back, slipping ever deeper into his nap.
But now…
They were side by side, just a few minutes outside Manchester proper, heading to Simon’s home. His home. A giddiness bubbled inside him. John prided himself on the friendship he shared with the legendary Ghost. Since his early days as a recruit, he’d heard the myriad rumors swirling around Ghost. Some were debunked by the man himself, usually with a small, incredulous huff of a laugh. He wasn’t heartless, wasn’t some big, bad boogie man stalking the base. Ghost could be harsh, certainly- honestly the greenies feared Soap more than Ghost these days - but his drive stemmed from a place of genuine care. He pushed his subordinates because he knew they were capable and wanted them to see it. They excelled because he nurtured their natural talents.
And he was amazing. John loved his sense of humor, Ghost’s ability to ease his troubles by being there for him. Some nights, they’d just sit in the rec room together in perfect silence and simply exist with no pressure or expectations. Soap was falling for him. It wasn’t some cataclysmic, sudden realization so much as it was a blooming flower turning to face the sun.
“I’m glad you came,” Simon was saying, drawing John’s attention back to him. “Means a lot to me.”
“Means plenty to me, too, Si.”
“If it ever gets to be too much, say so. I know they are…a lot to take in.”
They?
What first caught John’s eye was the fact that the lights inside the house were already on. The second detail was the mid-sized sedan parked in the drive.
Before Soap could question if they’d arrived at the correct house, the front door opened. Now, he may be into men, but John was perfectly capable of acknowledging attractive women. And the woman stepping onto the porch was beautiful. Shoulder length red hair, a bright smile and- a small boy that looked so similar to Simon. Simon was out of the car, tugging the balaclava free of his head, rushing over to scoop the little lad into his arms and tug the woman into a hug.
John’s stomach lurched threateningly, the entire world thrown into a tilt. All the late nights and interminable days, all the close calls and nick-of-times…
Moments of nothing but the small space between them, sharing breath and finding comfort in the fact that they could still be so damn soft… Gentle touches never transgressing the realm of propriety but so much more intimate that the satisfaction felt beyond anything sexual…
…and here he was now, inside looking out through the fogging window; Simon pressing a kiss on the woman’s cheek and smothering the laughing child with affection. John was going to throw up in the footwell. He was going to slide across to the driver’s seat and drive as fast and far away as he could. He’d-
Ignore the way Simon was motioning at him to get out.
John could do nothing but obey and swallow the bile as he ambled closer. Ghost was already marching in his direction. “Johnny, Beth and Joseph. Beth will get you settled in, yeah?”
The warmth of Ghost’s large hand on his bicep felt like an acid burn. John wanted to wrench his body away from the point of contact. He wasn’t a good person, and no matter his feelings for Simon, he’d not fool around with a married man. Instead, he stood rooted to the walkway as his grumbling lieutenant unloaded their bags and got back in the car.
“Where…where are you going?” Soap hated out meek his voice sounded. Take him back to Verdasnk or Las Almas, leave him in Beirut or Urzikstan; strand him alone in any active combat zone. But please, Simon, don’t leave me here-
“Mum’s car broke down and Tommy can’t get out of work yet.” Who the fuck was Tommy? “You’re looking peaked. Get some rest Soap. I’ll be back soon.”
Then he was gone. Long legs carried him back to the car. John could only watch in helpless freefall as the red lights disappeared around the corner. That sickening, dizzy feeling only worsened when Beth gently touched his arm. “Let’s get you inside, hm? Snow’s getting worse.” John just nodded mutely before glancing down at the boy clinging to her leg. Joseph, Simon called him. Same big, brown eyes as his father, now peeping up at him from behind his mother. He couldn’t be older than five, if Soap had to guess. Beth followed his gaze down with a soft smile. “Jo gets a little non-verbal when he’s shy, but once he gets to know you, he’ll talk your ear off. Go on, Jo. Say hello to Uncle John.”
Uncle John.
The knife in his heart twisted mercilessly. Simon talked about him to his son. “He dinnae-”
“Are you Soap?” Joseph’s voice was quiet but suspicious.
John blinked. “Aye. Nice to meet you.” The words escaped the barbed wire constricting his throat. “Joseph, right?” The boy offered him a shy smile and resolute nod. “Gho…Simon talks about you a lot.” Should he feel bad about outright lying to a child?
Probably.
Beth saved him from his moral dilemma, ushering them both toward the house. “Come on. Told Simon I’d get you taken care of.”
Nothing could have prepared him for just how…cozy Simon’s house felt. Maybe it was because he never anticipated the man’s private space to be so lived in. The furniture was nothing too new but it was modern and made for comfort. A touch small, but considering Simon spent most of his time on duty, the house would be perfect for just Beth and Joseph. In the corner stood a Christmas tree. Aside from the lights, Soap only spotted a handful of decorations on its green limbs. Further along was the combined dining area and kitchen, and up the stairs their destination: the bedrooms.
What struck him as strange was the distinct lack of pictures on the walls. Not that his own family served as any true benchmark, but the MacTavish homes always hosted a plethora of photos.
Beth stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. “Simon said you would be staying here, which he better've because I wasn't about to let you stay at some hotel for Christmas. If those quilts are too heavy, let me know and I’ll find something a little lighter. Loo is down the hall to your right.”
John’s breath hitched. Alarms screamed at him that this was Simon’s room. Ghost’s personal bedroom, inside his home. And he’d…told his wife to let Johnny sleep here?
“I…Missus Riley I-”
Beth tsk’d and shook her head so fondly. “Just Beth, is fine. If Simon gives you any lip about that just because he’s your superior, he can take it up with me. I’d rather us be casual and besides…” She cocked her head to the side with a wry smile. “His mum is Missus Riley, but she’d also prefer you call her Milly. Or Mum.” Those perfectly groomed brows furrowed. “Alright, John? You’re a bit flushed.”
How could he be alright when the man he was in love with (that showed signs of reciprocation) had a wife and kid? John shook his head and plastered a smile to his lips. “Ta, ma’am. Beth. Yeah…jes’ a…lot to take in.”
Had he read the signs wrong all this time?
Beth’s hand was so soft and dainty on his arm. He could start with her fingers, then wrist. Break those fragile bones to the melody of her sobs and- “Simon told me a little. Said it may be a rough time of year for you. I know it won’t be the same but so long as you’re here, you’re our family.”
Those invasive, violent outcries went quiet under the weighty umbrella of guilt. Even if Simon wasn’t the man he purported himself to be, none of that was Beth’s fault. She was every bit a victim; more so, given that Ghost was the one actively deceiving her. John opened his mouth to reassure her that he was fine, only to be betrayed by the strangled whine that came out. Immediately Soap found himself enveloped in her arms. Moments ago he wished her nothing but ill, now he leached the comfort of her embrace. Beth was so tender, so kind. She smelled like cinnamon and ginger and-
Burning.
“Shite! The cookies!” Beth gave Soap one final squeeze before vanishing down the hall.
Needing a moment to just process the last fifteen minutes, Johnny closed the door behind him. Unsteady feet carried him to the bed- Simon’s bed - and he collapsed.
How strange it was that the photo on Ghost’s bedside table wasn’t from his wedding, wasn’t of Joseph, but from a football game the taskforce all attended together. All four smiling faces (even if Simon’s was covered by a scarf) beamed back at him. Johnny dozed off, staring at the light in those brown eyes.
Something moved around him. Training ingrained into his very marrow kept him from immediately showing any signs of being awake. Instead, he listened. The door to Ghost’s bedroom was opened and the sound of voices filtered in. A feminine voice- Beth - and another. Male, but not his lieutenant, and too old to be Joseph.
Joseph.
John opened his eyes and rolled over to spy the little lad placing a plate on the bedside table. Of course, stealth and five year olds weren’t exactly simpatico. Jo’s little tongue was sticking out between his lips as he jostled the ceramic against the lamp. Already the sweet smell was filtering over. Soap’s mouth watered and his rumbling stomach reminded him he’d not eaten since his paltry breakfast earlier this morning.
In typical child fashion, Joseph carefully reached up and took one of the cookies for himself. John couldn’t help but chuckle and startle the poor lad. “Goin’te get crumbs everywhere.” Soap lurched upright, those big brown doe eyes blinking up at him.
“Mum said to let you be the taste tester!” Joseph said between bites. "But you're napping!" Even though they’d not really interacted much, the boy seemed far less shy now. “I’m sharing.”
Despite the obvious crunch, the cookie wasn’t inedible. John preferred his cookies on the softer, cakey side but knew Simon enjoyed them solid enough to dunk into hot chocolate or tea. “Yer da’s favorite, I guess?”
Joseph nodded his head vigorously. “Yep! Mine, too!” As if to prove his point, the little lad took another prominent bite. “Mum asked if you’re feeling better. Does your tummy hurt?”
John swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “Aye…got a little carsick, maybe.”
“Did you bring me a present?”
Fuck. No, he hadn’t brought anything. But how could he tell the kid that? “You’ll just have to wait until Christmas, won’t you?”
It must have been the correct answer. Joseph’s little face lit up again and he scampered from the room.
Knowing he’d have to face Simon’s family eventually, he trudged out and headed toward the sound of the voices. Joseph was in the living room by the tree. Once more, he was attempting to be stealthy in picking up the wrapped boxes and giving them the occasional shake. When he noticed Soap’s presence, he grinned sheepishly. “I’m only looking for Mum and Dad’s!”
John only nodded and held a cautionary finger up to his lips to denote Joseph’s secret was safe with him.
He stopped dead in his tracks as he neared the kitchen. A man that decidedly was not Simon was draped over Beth, who in turn was giggling like an infatuated schoolgirl and feeding him one of the semi-burnt cookies. Any pity he once had faded in light of such open infidelity. Anger seethed under his skin. Sure, he’d been frustrated that Simon was leading him on, but witnessing Beth and-
“John!” Beth gave the man’s arm a swat and he let her go. “Feeling a bit better?”
“Who’s this?” Soap growled, feeling his proverbial hackles rising to the challenge.
The man didn’t seem to be aware of just how much danger he was in. Instead he wiped his mouth free of cookie crumbs with a smile and extended his hand. “Thomas Riley. Guess I can see why Si won’t stop talking about you- ow!” Beth nudged him hard with her elbow as John, flabbergasted, shook his hand.
Thomas Riley. Tommy. Ghost had mentioned something about a ‘Tommy’ before he’d left. Now that the wrathful red cleared from his vision, he could see the familial resemblance. Tommy was a bit shorter than Ghost, his hair more flaxen and less curly than his brother’s, but he had the same brown eyes and face shape. Naturally he wasn’t as stoutly built or muscular, carrying a slight bit more soft weight around his cheeks and waist, but this was definitely Simon’s blood.
Beth was having an affair with Simon’s brother?
The next half hour or so was…well, Soap had been through some rigorous interrogations that didn’t feel as painful. He almost wished for some physical pain to ease the overwhelming awkwardness he knew he was exuding. Tommy asked a few questions about his and Simon’s work but nothing strayed into the dangerous territory. Must have already known that most answers he’d received would be ‘classified’. Beth brought a newly made batch of cookies around (this time soft and gooey and all things perfect) along with some tea and coco. John did his level best to ask about their own lives- movies he’d missed or events around town.
Beth, he learned, worked as a nurse at the local hospital. Tommy worked IT for a few banks, and was late tonight over a downed server that was affecting ATMs at several locations around Manchester. John listened as intently as he could, trying not to judge the pair as they sat side by side on the loveseat. Tommy’s arm rested behind Beth’s back, their knees knocking so comfortably against his. Did Simon know? How could he not? Would they even try to be more careful once he arrived back?
As if on cue, something rattled against the front door and Simon pushed it open. He was accompanied by a gray haired woman, both of them shaking the snow off their boots. John gained his feet and ambled over. Introductions never felt awkward to him before but this…he simply didn’t know what to do with himself. “May I take yer coat, ma’am?” He offered in lieu of just standing there.
“Please,” the elder Riley asked. “You must be John then.” Missus Riley was almost as tall as he was, with the same lovely brown eyes as her son. Sons, John reminded himself.
“Pleasure to meet’cha, Missus Riley.”
Mildred pulled him into a warm hug once Simon took the coat from his hands. “Just call me Milly, dear. No need to be formal.” John couldn’t remember the last time anyone held him so close. Mildred Riley wasn’t a small, delicate woman, but she was far physically less imposing than either of her sons. Yet the coil of her arms around him felt like shelter. With one last squeeze, she released him and gave him a pat on the cheek. “Good to have you here for the holiday. My Simon’s been excited about having you here.”
“Glad to be here, mum.” And if that didn’t illuminate her face with the most matronly smile he’d ever seen. Even if he was making a few…unsavory discoveries about Ghost’s private life, feeling welcomed to the fold was certainly a change to the norm. Every family had skeletons in the closet; Lord knows his own did.
Naturally his gaze flittered over to Simon. He was kneeling on the floor next to the sparsely decorated tree, pointing out some of the presents to Joseph. God, he looked amazing. In those very nice, form fitting slacks and the green sweater that brought out the brown of his eyes, Simon looked…perfect. Normal. Despite the man’s focus on his son, John didn’t miss the way his LT’s gaze drifted back to him. The mythical Ghost was rendered down into something so unbelievably soft. Soap knew that if he bungled this, he'd at least retain these few precious moments.
Here with his family, Simon smiled and laughed so freely that even after knowing him for years, John felt like they were strangers.
Or, John felt like he stood out too much. Soap wasn't meant for cheery holiday warmth, for tender affection. For...whatever this was.
Milly and Tommy ushered them to sit so they could finish preparing dinner. Beth soon joined them, leaving John with only Ghost and Joseph. He tried. God, did he try to keep his smile fixed in place as he watched the pair’s antics. The festering jealousy somehow felt…worse.
Not because Simon was clearly so involved with his family, but because John couldn’t remember a time when his acted so close. Had his own da ever doted on him? They certainly never romped around the living room playing dinosaurs. John could remember the discipline-enforcing swats to his knuckles or backside when he was caught trying to tamper with the presents and yet, here Simon was, giggling right along with his son as he scooted one of the wrapped boxes out from under the tree to give it a shake. He and Jo would both make a face if they thought the box contained clothes, but through such disappointment, Simon turned it around, asking what sort of shirt design Joseph would like. When Joseph exclaimed that he wanted a dinosaur costume or a onesie of some cartoon character Soap never heard of, Simon dropped his tone into something conspiratorial and told little Joseph that it could be in the box!
And while there weren’t a lot of offerings under the tree, John could tell that Joseph was going to get everything he’d asked for. Joseph knew nothing but love and John knew...that this was worth fighting for.
Simon would flash him the biggest smiles over his son’s shoulder and the pieces of John’s shattered heart scattered further from its whole.
He was an interloper, here only on his superior’s good graces because John had no other choice and Simon was, regardless of all the haughty aloofness, a good man.
Beth was his savior, summoning them to the table while scolding Simon for getting Joseph too riled up.
Dinner was nothing too fancy but still very filling: some lamb stew and some potatoes. Milly informed John that the larger spread would be on Christmas Day.
The adults stayed gathered around the table while Joseph scampered off to play in the living room. John felt the looming tension above his head. The Riley’s were polite and interested yet seemed…particularly avoidant in regards to discussing… something. Years of sitting in, listening to the conversations of others schooled his senses. He couldn’t quite place the odd sort of hesitance and the way they would look to Simon, defer to him when there was even a momentary lull in the conversation. Without his mask, Simon wasn’t nearly as guarded. John didn’t miss the way he shot him looks fraught with worry every time he began to detach from the conversation. John did his best, truly. He tried to remain engaged, even offered Mildred a hand in looking at her car if they couldn’t get it into a shop in a reasonable amount of time. It finally reached the tipping point when John found himself scraping his utensils a bit too roughly on the China as he watched Tommy caressing Beth's wrist.
“Gho- Simon…” John’s eyes flickered toward the door, a silent plea for a moment of privacy.
Ever the astute lieutenant, Ghost had Joseph sat back down before Soap could even correct himself with his name. “Give us a tick,” He uttered in passing, nodding for John to lead the way. Not wanting to go back to the bedroom and trap the man, John headed out the front door. With the sunset brought on the frigid chill, much more biting than the afternoon. Simon didn’t comment on their venue, merely leveling him with a studious gaze. “Alright?”
No, he was bloody not alright. Not with everything going on around him, pretending nothing in the world was wrong. “If I say something, please, please swear to me you won’t…” John bit his tongue. “There’s something I need’te….”
Any mask of nonchalance melted, giving way to pure, raw concern on Simon’s face. “Johnny, what’s wrong? If this is all too much, we can leave. I’ll get us a hotel or something.”
“Not asking you to leave yer family!” John hissed back. “Fuck, Si…it’s just…Beth is…I dunno if I’m just reading things wrong or-”
“What about her?”
“I think she’s having an affair with Tommy.”
Simon’s face did something…peculiar. Seeing him without the mask, it was easy to track the confusion morphing into fear and then back to some confuddled rage. “She…she’s cheating on him? How do you know?”
“With him, Si. All night, before ye got back, they’ve been all over each other. I think your wife is-”
As he ranted, Ghost scrubbed a large hand over his face. “My…wife?” Soap could count the number of times he’d heard Simon genuinely have a good laugh on one hand. "Johnny she...Bloody hell." The laughing fit that left him wheezing and leaning against the brick of his home.Those normally pale cheeks were flushed from the cold and from his laughter. Normally, such a vision would have captivated John’s darkest fantasies and he’d covet the moment, horde that image like he was guarding some holy relic. Now, he feared Ghost’s laugh was a man coming undone, dancing along the precipice of insanity before taking a swan dive into darkness.
If it came to it, he was confident he could physically stop Ghost from doing something irrational.
“Soap…Johnny…” Simon’s teeth sank into his lower lip as he shook his head. “I would most certainly hope Beth is sleeping with my brother, seeing as how they are married.”
John blinked. “What?”
“Who did you think she was married to? I only have one brother.” Simon’s large hand was warm on his cheek. “I told you about them on the drive up. You told me you were listening…knew you were bloody asleep.”
“So she’s not…what?”
“Johnny,” It was the same dry tone Ghost took with him when he was stating the most obvious fact under the sun. “I’m gay and in love with a man.” Simon stared at him, unblinking.
He’s gay. John had always hoped. Wanted so desperately to believe that the unspoken thing between them wasn’t just blowing off steam on the field.
But- in love with a man.
Once again his world was spiraling on an unstable axis. Not only did he just force Ghost to out himself over an accusation of false infidelity, but he’d also pried out that bit of intel and Simon just wasn’t one to confess something like that but-
Powerful arms ensnared him. John found himself limp, unable to do anything but find himself cradled against his superior’s chest. “Just stop thinking you bloody idiot. It’s you, Johnny. Couldn’t ever be anyone else.”
“Wha-”
He felt the rumble of laughter from Simon’s chest against his cheek. “If you ask ‘what’ one more time, I’m going to march you back inside and tell my brother you’ve expressed interest in Japanese Kit-Kats. Won’t shut up once you get him going.”
Warmth seeped back into his being and Soap found himself tentatively wrapping his arms around Simon. “Tha’...dinnae sound half bad, actually.”
At last the derecho of thoughts settled and his mind knew nothing but silence. Like the snow-covered neighborhood, he felt peaceful and blanketed in Simon’s arms, basking in the shared body heat and lulled by the steady thump of his heart. His or Simon’s? John couldn’t tell the difference. They swayed in place for what felt like an eternity, time slowing with the gentle fall of snowflakes. Big hands rubbed up and down his spine. Finding the courage to look up at Simon’s face nearly bowled him over. Thank the heavens and Christmas miracles for the strong arms holding him. Simon looked angelic with the backlight of the porch light behind him, those mirthful brown eyes sparkling down at him.
Everything led to this beautiful culmination. Finally, finally he’d get to feel those lips on his own. John felt his eyelids drooping as he leaned in closer.
Two of Simon’s fingers covered his lips as Simon changed trajectory and planted a tender kiss right to his forehead. John didn’t know if he should be devastated at the rejection or fall deeper in love with the man to not take advantage of him in his clearly addled state.
“Wanna kiss you,” He muttered petulantly into Simon’s clavicle.
“Me, too.” Came the gruff confession. “But if I start now, I won’t want to stop. Want to take my time taking you apart, love. Can’t do that with the family over.” Another warm kiss was placed at his temple as Simon’s hands rubbed along his shoulders and forearms. “Freezing out here. Come back inside, Johnny.”
All he could do was nod mutely. Simon wanted him. Simon wanted him. He was in love. With him. Brought him here before John even realized the truth of everything beyond their friendship. To meet his family, to give him a Christmas. Simon laid all his vulnerabilities on the table without even knowing if John’s feelings were reciprocated. Simply because he was in love. At first he thought the man was only being a good mate, offering him some semblance of ‘home for the holidays’ when all this time…
John had his fantasies, of course, but never could he imagine that the feelings he felt would be anything more than a quick fling.
Simon’s family was already gathered in the living room. Everyone froze when the door opened. Tommy was fastening Joseph’s coat. Feisty rascal took advantage of the momentary pause to wriggle free and dart over to them.
To John.
Joseph wrapped his arms around John’s knees and peered up at him with the broadest smile. “Uncle John! Mum said I can open one present tomorrow night before Santa gets here! I wanna open yours!”
Simon was chuckling at his shoulder. “Usually picks mine first.”
Feeling the weight of the world lift from his shoulders, John stooped down to resume securing Joseph’s coat. “Aye, wee lad. Mine first, but only if ye mind yer mam and da. Christmas Eve is tomorrow but Santa is still watching!”
With all the energy of a five year old on the tail end of a sugar crash, Joseph squealed in delight and toddled back over to Beth. Goodbyes were bidden along with copious hugs and pats to the back. Despite their exchange outside, John and Simon worked to finish cleaning what was left of dinner. Tommy had already taken the liberty to put most things away, but in the sink remained a few dishes. Simon washed; John dried. After that was done, Simon herded them into the now quiet living room.
Nothing was said, at first. Simon dimmed the lights so the main source of illumination came from the Christmas tree. John took a seat on the couch and watched as his lieutenant turned on an old stereo. He wasn’t shocked when the crooning voices singing holiday favorites lowly hummed around him. Simon disappeared down the hall, only to return with a few more presents to shove under the tree. After framing them just right, he took his place beside John. There wasn’t much space on the sofa, but neither minded when their bodies naturally fell against one another.
“...they were worried about you,” Ghost broke the peaceful silence. “The first words out of Beth’s mouth to me the moment you were out of earshot was that it seemed like too much for you, and I was being a bully by dragging you into this.”
The thought made Soap chuckle. “Dinnae know what was worse,” He admitted. “My first family Christmas in years, or thinking that you were married with a kid and tha’ yer own brother was stealing her away.”
Simon stretched his arm around John’s shoulder and tugged him close. John went all too willingly.
“I…wanted to bring you home for Christmas for a long time. Even took the liberty of buying a few presents and signing your name to them.” Gentle fingers drew aimless patterns along his bicep. John wiggled so he could look up and watch Ghost as he spoke. “I…haven’t…exactly been completely honest with you, Johnny.”
“How so?”
Simon glanced down at him then- was the fucker blushing? - quickly, bashfully, looked back toward the tree. “Didn’t even know if you were into men but…told my family we’ve been dating for a bit. Mum’s pestered me for a while about bringing you around. Do you remember last year, for New Years?”
“A bit, I suppose. Copenhagen, aye?”
Most of the lads had only just arrived back on base that morning before they received their orders to ship out again. Piss-easy recon that didn't require the manpower top brass demanded of it, but needs must.
“Yeah…that bar near the water. The others were bemoaning their short leave and you…you told them you were glad to be back to work. That you were only invisible here when necessity demanded it.”
Had he? Truth be told, it sounded like something he’d have said. They weren’t drunk, only having a beer in hand to fit in with the crowds. But…he’d been truthful. He'd never seen any reason not to be. Some folks simply didn't like the holidays. That was just a fact.
Simon’s grip tightened a fraction. “I didn’t want to see that look on your face again. But I did…after you called your mum. When you badgered the hell out of Price to change your leave schedule. Made up my mind. Was going to drag you home with me and give you the best Christmas I could.”
He was at a loss for words. Sure, they flirted and dallied along the perimeter of 'something' else in their relationship, but he never expect Simon to have studied him so thoroughly. No expectations or bargaining- it was merely an act of pure...
Love.
Simon wanted to give him a proper Christmas with his family...out of love. A one-sided love, or so he perceived. John's heart ached in his chest with the guilt of not realizing sooner just how much they both meant to one another.
“...dance with me?”
A paltry, verbal answer wasn’t sufficient enough for Simon. He stood and took John’s hand while his free arm snaked around his back and pulled them together. Doris Day’s chipper voice gave way to Frank Sinatra’s mournful baritone. They swayed in a slow circle, time buried in the snow outside. The haunting melody brought tears to his eyes but he fought them off. Nothing else in the universe mattered.
“Si…”
Thoughts of any more turmoil vanished when Simon’s lips descended upon his own. Despite the promise made outside, their first kiss was tender, affectionate. The underlying lust simmered but this…this was about comfort- about finding something they only now realized just how badly they needed it. Several songs led their dancing feet to the bedroom. They still had much to discuss in regards to the future of their relationship, but one thing was certain:
That snowy night, in the arms of his lover, for the first time in his entire adult life, John finally felt like he was home.