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The first time the two of you actually share a bed, only one of you is sleeping. It's been nearly six months since you both signed your marriage license. And even though the time spent together under the same roof can probably only add up to a couple months, it hasn't been terrible.
Sure there's the period of growing pains, learning to co-exist with another human being when you're so used to being alone. Petty arguments and even pettier revenges. Hell you even had to go and explain your sex life, or lack there of, to the entirety of Simon's team. But even with the ups and downs, it hasn't not been worth it.
The night you share a bed, Simon has been back from a mission for a week now. It wasn't good. Really none of them are actually good, just varying degrees of what can be shoved down and ignored. Hostages were involved, a fire fight broke out. Their rescue mission became a recovery one.
Death wasn't something new to any of them. It clung to their skin. Ghost practically exuded it. He was the omen of the end to everyone who stood against him. At times he was judge, jury, and especially executioner. Ghost was a walking death. But there was something that knocked him off kilter, once the shooting had stopped and the team started the futile task of checking for survivors.
The woman looked nothing like you, really there wasn't anything similar and yet it was her eyes. Once Ghost caught sight of her eyes Simon felt something rattle in his chest. For some reason her eyes reminded Simon of yours. Only hers were dull now, lacking any spark that showed a hint of life. Simon stared for a second too long before crouching down to gently close her eyes. Ghost stood back up to continue checking. He didn't look at any other eyes.
When he came back, Simon wouldn't really look at you. His eyes would flicker to your face for a millisecond at a time, to show he was listening as much as he could, but for the most part it felt like he was trying to burn a hole into your left ear.
You just figure that he's being...well, Simon. Sometimes he went from not making a lot of eye contact to staring into the depth of your soul to make you confess every sin you even thought of committing. Just something that made him...him.
He was grateful you didn't push. He couldn't explain why he dreaded the idea of looking into your eyes. Well he could guess a theory or two, but that would mean admitting that maybe, maybe you meant a sliver of something. It all came to a head though with the nightmare.
Ghost was back in the firefight, ears ringing from the number of shots being fired and screaming being torn from people's throat. It felt like it would be unending, a vortex of sound and violence that would swallow him whole. Until it didn't. Until it suddenly became so quiet he could hear his heart and breathing.
Only...it wasn't his breathing.
His breaths weren't uneven struggles that had that wet struggling sound.
Ghost wasn't in control of his feet as he started moving forward, or when he stopped.
Ghost wasn't in control of his neck as he started to look down at what was making that struggling wet sound.
Ghost couldn't make himself stop from looking at you laying on the ground, chest making sad futile efforts to keep pulling in breath to keep you alive. Until it didn't
Ghost couldn't avert his eyes when they met yours; cold, empty, and dead.
Simon woke up choking on a gasp, fingers clutching the handmade blankets as if each stitch could shield him from the horrors his mind made him live through. He couldn't see the ceiling for minutes at least, unable to get his bearing as to where he was.
Slowly he could though. He came back to himself and to the four walls around him. To the dresser that housed your clothes and the weird little knick knacks you insisted on collecting. He felt the weight of the blankets on top of him and how they pushed him into the bed.
He came back to himself, in his bedroom, alone.
He had to remind himself that you were real, that he had just been talked at by you this afternoon. You were just in the living room. Too far away.
He probably shouldn't have done it, should have just flicked a light on, or tried to go back to sleep, but Simon had the clawing need to see you. So he got up quietly, used his stealth to make it the living room where the weak barely there rays of early morning were starting to lighten the room.
His mind couldn't hold onto any thought besides just looking at you. Sprawled out on the right side of the pull out, face half buried as you laid on your front, leg hiked up as if you were attempting a very poor man's army crawl. There was just enough space for him to sit along the head of the bed with you, and the fact he did so without waking you up was impressive. Or you were just that deep of a sleeper.
You didn't even seem to notice how intensely Simon stared at you. It was as if he was trying to commit to memory the way your eye lashes rested against your cheek, or how the way you were resting your head caused your lips to just barely pout. It should have been obvious that seeing you drool in your sleep would force him to cheer up, just a little bit. He counted the number of times your back moved with your breathing, until the number was high enough that it started to push away the idea that it would stop.
Simon spent hours just watching you. Letting the sounds of your gentle snoring and mumblings wash over him. For a second he debated seeing if he could get you to argue with him in your sleep...though...maybe he'd try that a different night.
And when the actual morning came to greet you both, Simon took extra care to watch as your eyes fluttered open. He took in the sleepy way you took in the world, eyes hazy but warm and alive.