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In your defense, you saw it coming years ago.
That didn’t stop you, of course, but you saw it coming. Johnny is charming: funny, warm and beautiful. His accent is cute, and his eyes sparkle like hope. Now, that is not why you’re in this situation. The actual reason for your downfall is less superficial and far simpler: Johnny gives. He’s always giving, never asking for anything in return. Take that and add your emotionally constipated ass; your awkwardness combined with your touch deprivation, and there you have it: unrequited love in its purest form.
It isn’t your fault. When you met the team, you’d been alone for years. You knew you’d be alone for many more. That is why having the prettiest man on earth giving you the minimum of attention was so deadly. You honestly never expected it to mean anything. You still don’t. You know better. He knows better. Soap is way too friendly for your own good, and you’re too closed off also for your own good. He hugs you, saves you in battle and jokes with you. He taught you his favorite Scottish words. He dances with you in pubs after missions and… And he does that with all his friends. It’s easy to see how much love he has to give, how much he enjoys having fun with the people around him.
Of course he doesn’t know. And, of course, he doesn’t feel like you do. In his eyes- you’re sure- you are just his fourth teammate. One of the people who endure his outbursts of energy, the one that shares her food with him. Someone who doesn’t turn down his hugs, who doesn’t move away when his leg touches theirs in the helo, but who doesn’t seek his touch either. Just a nice person, someone nice to pass the time with.
Nothing more.
And it shouldn’t hurt. It’s usually okay; you’ve always lived with emotional pain, what’s a little more? Nothing you can’t handle. Who cares?
Well… you do now, apparently. Because Johnny has just walked into the pub with a very pretty woman holding his arm. His eyes are shining even more than usual. And they look so good together. She isn’t that much shorter than him, and has a cute blush on her cheeks. Her lips are full, and her hair is in the most effortless-looking intricate updo you’ve ever seen. She looks comfortable, happy, and her smile is sincere.
He told the team he wanted all of you to meet someone. The thing is, Johnny had said that before. The first time, your heart had trouble keeping up. It turned out he had met a Moroccan circus artist in the Russian border. The sixty-year-old man didn’t speak a word of English, let alone Scottish or Spanish- you had tried. Still, somehow, he and Soap had become friends, and he had convinced the man to perform for the team. Strangest night of your life.
Similar things had happened after that. The idea of Johnny introducing someone to the team ended up being more of an adventure than a reason to brace yourself. Until now, that is.
Lilith is kind and interesting. She has an easy laugh- just like you, except hers is way more musical. Her hand is on Johnny’s knee all the time, and his arm is around her shoulders. He can’t stop looking at her.
Again, in your defense, you knew this would happen. In retrospect, it surprises you it took him so long to find someone to love this way. Someone who basks in his attention, who gives it back. Together, they are like a golden sun in the midnight of the pub.
You’re used to crying at night, though, so you don’t really appreciate the light. Luckily, everyone is so focused on Johnny and his “precious bonniest lass” that no one pays any attention at the way you down your drink in one swing. You make sure to stay as long as it is socially required to not look rude in front of Lilith, and then let your eyelids drop and fake a couple of yawns, just to gain credibility. Then, with the biggest, most naturally rehearsed smile you can force, you tell Lilith it was a pleasure to meet her. You even go as far as to offer Soap a knowing smile, and he winks at you. It usually warms you on the inside, having his eyes on you, with that look that means complicity.
This time, it makes your stomach hurt.
You wave your goodbyes to the rest of the team and just leave. It’s one of your best performances yet, and that’s a lot speaking of someone who hides her feelings on a daily basis. You feel oddly proud of yourself, in the middle of the hurt.
Hey, look at how good I am at fooling people! Even at an all-time-low I can appear happy. I’m so good at this.
Maybe you shouldn’t feel so good about it.
Outside of the pub it’s cold. You can still hear Johnny’s laugh, loud and happy. You’ve managed to make him laugh, every once in a while. It’s easier when he’s halfway down a bottle. Or when he’s tired. His eyes get all shiny, his love too easy, and he asks for hugs more often. Not just from you, of course. Even Price has been caught by Tired Mactavish™. You guess it won’t be happening that often now, though.
And just like that, as you try to run away from the bar without looking too desperate, it downs on you. All the things you shouldn’t be doing with Johnny now that he’s taken. No more looking at him like the sky borrowed its color from his eyes. No more explosive laughter, holding onto his arm to stay on your feet. No more using him as a pillow to watch movies on base, no more accepting his invitations to dance.
Though maybe he won’t ask anymore. He has someone to do all that with, now that Lilith is in his life. Of course Johnny will want to do that with her, instead of anyone else. Which includes you, sadly.
You’re so caught up running away from your broken heart that you don’t notice the shadow until it’s next to you. You fail to get scared, though, because the rough voice coming from the dark is a familiar one.
“S’not the first time he finds a bird.”
A cold, dark alley isn’t the place you expect your Lieutenant to start a conversation, but he’s never been easy to predict. You scramble to pull the mask up again and give him a confused smile.
“Who?”
As soon as you see his unamused glare you know it was a bad attempt. He pretends you didn’t say anything and starts walking, so you follow him.
“He gets one, every now and then. The first one I met was Amelia. Blonde, long legs, shy. Looked at’im like he hung the bloody stars.”
You try to picture it. It’s awfully easy.
“T’was a couple years back. Johnny kept talkin’ ‘bout ‘er. He’ll do tha’ a lot. Only thing he’ll want to talk ‘bout. And he’ll show pictures.”
You’re actually confused now. But, in your experience, Ghost doesn’t talk just for the sake of talking. Eventually, he’ll get somewhere. You’re just not sure you want to get there with him. It tends to be either a dark observation or a bad joke. It’s not a good time for either of those, you think.
“He’ll come tired from leave. Doesn’t sleep t’spend time with ‘er. Gets a dreamy look, the sucker. Shiny eyes’n all.”
Simon takes glances at you.
“Lasts a while. More than it should. Always does. He’ll be happy, for some time. Will look happy. Then it’ll go south.”
Ghost shakes his head softly. His broad silhouette absorbs the street lights like a black hole.
“With Amelia t’was too much. With t’next one, t’was the schedule. The other one didn’t like the killin’. There’s always something.”
Your breath comes out a little shaky.
“Why are you telling me this? I’m sorry it hasn’t worked for him so far, but…”
“The bloke doesn’t see it. What he does to the people ‘round ‘im.” There’s something in his voice, though it’s hard to say if he’s frustrated at your attempts to save face or at someone else. “Johnny’s own light blinds ‘im.”
You would’ve never put it that way, but that’s exactly how it feels. He’s too busy giving love like it’s free to think about the people around him. You have a hard time seeing that as selfish, though.
“It blinds ‘em, too. ‘S never enough, you’ll see. He’ll be back to us in a couple of months. First it’s gonna look like he’s gettin’ married”, Ghost pushes his shoulder against yours, and if his voice wasn’t so serious, it’d be playful, “felt like tha’ with Amelia.”
He takes a turn and suddenly you’re on base. You’ve been so focused on his words that you forgot about your feet and where they were taking you. Ghost doesn’t stop- either walking nor talking- so you have to rush to keep up.
“All tha’ attention on a pretty civvie bird. S’not made for tha’. S’going to burn through her. And when he’s done, he’s gonna come back even more… Johnny.”
He stops talking and it’s like the night just got colder. The image of Johnny looking at her like he’s won the lottery sits heavy on your heart. You find yourself desperate to keep listening to Simon.
“So… Amelia? How did that go?”
Ghost is a big man. Even when he’s hiding, or dodging bullets in the battlefield, you’ve never seen him appear so small. Despite the muscles and the mask, he looks rather unstable. A crumbling mountain.
“T’was a nightmare.”
You stay silent, because if you’ve learned anything from him after all this time, is that being quiet is the best way to keep someone talking.
“Johnny started acting weird. Came back from leave with dark circles. Spent all the time awake wi’er. Had a glow. He likes the dangerous bombs the most, you know. Nuclear weapons are his weakness. I think they match his energy.”
It’s hard to know if Simon is saying it as an insult. You end up deciding he isn’t. Johnny does have a feverish energy: it expands and infiltrates everything- everyone- in a ten miles radio, and lasts way longer than his actual presence.
“Amelia took over everyhtin’. All his notebooks.”
There is something in his voice. Wetness? For the sake of his privacy, and because picturing Lilith’s features bleeding out of Soap’s pencil onto his paper is making you sick, you just ignore it.
“He talked ‘bout her asleep. When he wasn’t wi’er on the phone. Carried a picture…” The scoff he lets out this time is definitely dark. Whether it’s irony, frustration, mockery or indignation is unclear, though. “No of’er face, I’ll tell you that. He made a ring. Out of a bullet’s shell.”
If it wasn’t so dark, you’d say Simon is frowning. And is that bulge in his hoodie’s pocket his fists?
“We met’er, before he got down on his knee. A blonde bird, Amelia. Eyes the color of nothing. Might as well ‘ave been one of those bloody Scottish spirits of his. Laughed an awful lot, too. Had’im wrapped ‘round her finger.”
Suddenly, this girl and the new one don’t sound so different. Now that you think about it, you’re not sure what color were Lilith’s hair or eyes. Could have easily been blonde and empty.
“He didn’t look away from’er once. Never looked around. Could have shot’im a dozen times.” It sounds like a threat. “She was just there, lookin’ pretty. Johnny was all over her. Arms, hands, legs… Always touching her. She didn’t reciprocate once. Was too busy talking about’er little soldier boy.”
You know how that is. People who fall for the uniform. Well, usually women. Men fetishize the uniform, when they’re not threatened by it. It makes you shudder. Ghost gives you a side glance.
“Are you cold?” You are about to lie reply with a very weak no, but he takes his hoodie off before you have time to. It’s embarrassing how easily he pulls it over your head. In less than two seconds you’re inside a very warm, very large extension of black that smells… This is not the direction you were expecting tonight to go.
“Thanks.”
It’s quiet, weak. Simon blinks, the streetlights reflecting on his ghostly eyelashes.
“Don’ worry ‘bout it. People like us- we gotta stick together.”
There’s that sound in his voice, again. You’re not sure he’s talking about the cold. Or your job.
“Come ‘ere. I’ve my own scotch in the barracks. This one won’ make you cry.”
It clicks. As you follow your Lieutenant, it dawns on you. He meant “us, Jhonny’s victims”. He gave you the hoodie because he’s known the cold way longer than you.
It’s hard not to stare at him as you follow. The broad shoulders, the pale skin of his wrists, the phantom eyes. Makes you wonder how long until you become like him. You picture yourself a couple years from now: hardened, experienced in pain, distant… Just as in love with Johnny.
Stupid.
You shouldn’t be angry at him. It isn’t his fault. He can fall for whoever he wants. Johnny doesn’t owe you or anyone else any kind of love. Still, it feels like betrayal. How dare he? How dare he show light to people like you and Simon and then, just as easily, take it away?
People like you, starved, alone, cold. People who don’t dare wish for anything, fully aware of your own undeserving nature. People like you, whose only way of loving is to endure.
It’s easy to enter the room. To drink and drink. To sit on Simon’s bed, to welcome the warmth. So easy to laugh, even if his jokes are the worst you’ve ever heard. Easy to see the shine in his eyes.
They aren’t Johnny’s. But who cares? Simon’s eyes are the ones who worry when you start to cry. His are the arms that hold you against his chest. His the heart that calms you down. His the bed you fall asleep on.
And it’s his hand the one that brushes against your knuckles the next morning when you enter the mess hall together. His the reassuring nod that helps you breathe deeply. It’s Simon’s eyes you find safety in.
Maybe if they weren’t, you’d see Johnny’s sour face. Maybe you would have noticed his jealousy when he saw you come out his Lieutenant’s room. Maybe, if they weren’t, you would have cared. But it’s Simon the one you’re looking at. And he’s looking right back at you.