Chapter Text
Planes seemed to be taking off every twenty minutes from the base’s tarmac. Simon watched each one out of his office window. They were his occasional reprieve from his paperwork spread across the communal desk he’d reserved for that cold afternoon. He’d lost two men—good men, whom he’d known from boot camp—on the last mission. Death brought paperwork. Mission success brought paperwork. Everything brought paperwork. Part of him hated being a lieutenant. Another part was grateful that he wasn’t the captain.
Dark clouds were gathering beyond the airstrip, the only indication (besides the temperature around base being so low that he wore gloves while he wrote) that winter was upon them. The UK would already have snow, he was sure. Not that he would be there to see it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on leave long enough to go back to Manchester. What was there to see in Manchester, anyway? His apartment? Where he would sit and stare out the window until he was allowed to come back, like a kid in time-out?
Footsteps sounded up the linoleum hallway and stopped in the office’s doorway. He was thankful for the excuse to look away from his work, but still took his time looking up to meet his captain’s rare smile.
For a moment, he expected a work-related question, but he was quick to notice John’s lack of fatigues and the duffel over his shoulder.
Those jeans and black quarter shirt made him look like a different man. He seemed to have come to say goodbye, and Simon was glad that Price had made the effort to get them all holiday leave this year. It was certainly a feat on their captain’s part, he just didn’t expect John to be dropping everything and leaving as well.
“Almost done?” he asked in that familiar rasp that was worsened by hours of silently leaning over paperwork and smoking.
“No.” Simon’s voice was deadpan.
He suspected that John wasn’t done, either, so he wasn’t sure why he was standing in his doorway like an idiot.
“When you headin’ out, then? Kyle already caught his ride. Johnny’s got a couple things t’wrap up, then takin’ a bus to catch a flight.”
Simon just shrugged. “Dunno. Might meet with Alejandro; he’s working the cartel down in Mexico over the holidays. Said I can join if I’m interested in an interrogation.”
“You’re gonna keep working? Do you know what leave means, Simon?”
He felt pathetic, the way he returned his focus to his writing instead of looking at Price. Most of the team assumed that Simon didn’t have a family outside of the 141; Soap talked about his sister and nieces constantly, Kyle shared photos of him and his high school friends taking international trips together, but Simon never revealed anything about his people. Price knew why. Price knew that Simon only had Simon. “Haven’t been back to the UK in more than a year. I’m more useful here. Or anywhere else.”
“Oh… okay. Well, get some peppermint tea. That’s your Christmas thing, right?”
Under his balaclava, he forced a smile. Price could see the corners of his eyes crinkle. The wrinkles grew more numerous over the years despite the cloth that hid his face.
“Yeah. Thanks, John. Happy holidays.”
John’s footsteps were hesitant when they left the doorway. Simon could see his shadow disappear out of the corner of his eye. A moment later, the footsteps stopped and quickly returned to the room. It had him deflating slightly.
“Hey, Simon?”
“Hm?” Ghost found it difficult to keep the frustration from his low voice. John deserved to escape his job–this life–for a couple weeks. He’d given his entire existence to serving his team and the free world. Why was he determined to force Simon on leave as well? They weren’t the same. Price and Simon understood each other, but while Price could appreciate two weeks alone in a room with only himself to stay occupied and be ready to return to work afterwards, Simon certainly could not. That kind of domesticity made Ghost’s skin crawl.
“You wanna come with me?”
“I got shit to do. I can’t see you out, John.” He expected this behaviour from Soap, not his captain. He was not sentimental… until it came to his soldiers.
“No. I mean, come back with me to the UK.”
He could no longer read his writing. Ghost looked up, out the window, and then his narrow eyes fell on his captain. “Sorry?”
“I’m going to stay in my cabin. Been looking forward to it all year. Miles of forest, spider roommates, the best beer the little corner store in town can offer me. There’s room if you feel like it. Unless you think the Mexican cartel can throw a better Christmas party…”
Simon blinked at him.
He sighed, tossed his bag to the side, and crossed the room to stand over Simon. There was love in his face, hope, but also frustration that was rare for Price.
“Maybe it’ll be better than… this.”
“I…” for a moment, Simon was lost for words. He glanced out the window and watched the next plane take off. “…I don’t do presents. I mean, I don’t know what to bring.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Ye don’t have to bring a present, Ghost. I don’t celebrate Christmas. If you clean the bathroom once, rent is paid.”
Another pause. “And you’re serious? About wanting me there?”
John sighed. “Aye. As long as you’re serious about comin’ with me.”
Simon found himself gnawing his lip under his mask. The unknown scared him. Being alone with someone scared him. For a man who was notorious for being fearless, it seemed that it governed everything he did. Or didn’t do. Simon loved his captain; he was his best friend, if he ever had one. Normal people did that, right? Normal people went on trips with their friends, like Kyle did. Normal people spent time outside of their jobs. Normal people could function outside of an extreme military regiment.
“Quit overthinking it. You can say no. And you’re allowed to leave when you want. You’re in control, Simon.”
Little words like that escaped the captain sometimes, small reassurances for no one else to hear but Simon. It showed how well he knew his soldier, to recognize when those soft words wouldn’t be too much. It was another thing that scared Simon.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Okay.”
They could hear John’s smile when he spoke. “Okay. Last plane leaves in an hour. Lands in London. We can fly or train to Herefordshire. Save you a seat.”
The lieutenant released a shaky breath as he watched John pick up his bag and turn to leave. “Yeah. Thanks, sir.”
Simon didn’t have a lot of belongings. He wasn’t sure what to pack, either. It was unnatural to be leaving his usual combat gear behind, like he was some civilian—he was. John was about to turn him into some civilian. He tried to change his mindset while he walked the halls of the base and exited into the cool sun.
John was waiting with a ring of soldiers while the pilot walked a slow circle around his aircraft. They were laughing together, giddy with excitement for the holidays and to get a reprieve from their life-threatening work, but Price looked up and grinned widely as soon as he noticed Ghost.
It was normal for the other soldiers to be intimidated by the much larger man who outranked them, so they watched silently while John greeted him, “Hey, Ghost. That’s all you got?”
“I pack light.”
“Where you headed, sir?” Gomez asked Ghost sheepishly. The group silenced and waited for his answer.
“UK,” was all he replied.
“Man,” Gomez groaned, “I gotta catch another flight all the way to Texas.”
“I’m goin’ to Canada. First thing I’m doin’ is skullin’ a coldie, man,” Finders didn’t get a response because no one in their circle knew what skulling a coldie was, nor did they find his stupid Albertan accent endearing. He had a habit of calling himself a Sex Pegasus, and no one took him seriously after that.
“You guys can wait inside. Wheels up in fifteen, I think,” the pilot told them as he passed. The rear of the plane had been left down for the cargo to be loaded on, but there was still room against the wall for the men to hook up their gear and sit in those uncomfortable metal benches.
Simon sat beside John as he’d done hundreds of times before, their boots touching. Gomez and Finders quarreled like children at the end of the bench. A few soldiers trickled onto the plane, and one sat beside Price, but no one wanted to sit on the other side of Ghost. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. For now, he’d lean his head back, but once the plane started, it would be too rough of a ride to sleep.
They landed in London while it was still dark out. John had been quiet throughout the ride. He seemed to know that the plane was Simon’s space to unwind after a mission, like a quiet corner where he could sort his thoughts. No one spoke to him when he was on a plane. He was grateful, but dreading the loud and tedious journey from the tarmac to Price’s front door. Would he make it? Was it too late to turn back? Did John still want him there? Why the fuck was he spending Christmas with his captain, whom he only knew personally by shared smokes on the edge of base and quiet nights reading in his office? Why did the airport have to be so loud—?
He was standing in one of the sliding entrances of the bustling airport with his bag in one fist and his fingers balled into the other. He could feel the chill rushing against his face (now donned in a black medical mask) when the doors opened and people passed him, but something stopped him from stepping over the grates at the door.
God, he hated the UK. The worst things had happened to him in the place he used to consider home—his father brutalized him, his family was slaughtered, two of his three suicide attempts had taken place in Manchester… coming back was like checking himself into prison for a holiday sentence.
A warm hand brushed over his fist. His head snapped to the side to see who dared to startle him from his misery, but those familiar blue eyes didn’t hold an ounce of ill-intent. His fist unfurled.
“Solid, Si?”
He was no longer ‘Ghost’ here. John seemed determined to bring him back to this horrible place and make it something different than it always had been. He wondered why he let him. John was a good friend. A good teammate. But the father-son relationship he had with John only ever existed between missions and in the shadows around base, never in broad daylight where everyone could see Simon instead of the Ghost. It was a different feeling, a hesitancy that whispered suspicion into his mind. Maybe this was too much for him. Maybe John wasn’t meant to be talking to him outside of work. He’d be okay with that. It wasn’t like he deserved it.
Even if he wanted more than anything to have this.
“We’re taking the train?” was his absent reply. John squeezed his scarred shoulder through his hoodie and nodded.
“S’cheaper. Maybe we can sleep on the train, yeah? My aunt drops off the car for me at the station so we’ll have a ride.”
He’d planned the entire trip out. The reassurance rolled off of John’s tongue like he’d practiced it before, like he knew what Simon would do before he did it.
It sucked waiting for the train. He was thankful that Price hadn’t booked another flight—he hated flying, and he couldn’t sleep on them. Put him in an old truck on a dirt road and he could sleep like a baby, but not in a plane.
The train would take more than nine hours. The long ride cramped into a warm cabin next to screaming children and chatty businessmen induced anxiety, but John didn’t seem worried, and that helped. Rather, he seemed giddy with excitement to see his cabin. Simon could tell that he had a good relationship with the woods, and he wanted to share that with Simon. Despite his trepidation, he was honoured.
John was only able to get them seated coach seats on such short notice, but they would at least be seated together. As much as he wanted a window seat, the claustrophobia would destroy Simon, so he insisted that John take the window. He could spread his legs into the isle and go for a walk whenever he needed—which he did often, even when the clerks were handing around microwaved meals for dinner. He ate a few bites of his fish and potatoes. John (after insisting that Simon eat as much as he could) ate his own, and then shot the half-eaten meal in front of Simon uncomfortable glances until he got up to throw it away.
He probably did a dozen laps across the train by the time most people had settled enough to nap. It was quiet then. Simon approached the back of their row and could see John writing in a notebook over his shoulder. Then, he dropped his pen in his lap and looked out the window as trees flew past. The sky was grey and calming. Simon fell back into his seat beside him.
John briefly looked over to smile at him. Simon blinked. John looked back outside. Simon followed his gaze. The trees, a silent blur, were mesmerizing, but not enough to keep his gaze from travelling back down into Price’s lap. He initially assumed it was journaling. ‘Dear Ms. Ladlaw’ was who the writing was addressed to, though, and it made Simon’s gut twist. Justin Ladlaw had been one of the ‘good men’ they’d lost the week before. He was on a god damn train to go on a vacation while Justin’s body was being shipped home.
He looked away before he could stop himself when John turned his gaze to him. His smile was apologetic for some reason Simon couldn’t comprehend. They didn’t speak about it, though, especially when John closed the notebook.
“You should get some sleep,” was all he suggested.
“Can’t sleep on trains.”
“Can’t sleep in a bed, can’t sleep on trains, can’t sleep on a flight. Do you sleep at all?”
“I sleep.” He meant for his retort to be snappy, but he sounded as defeated as he felt.
“Mhm. Well, I’m going to. We got a good drive on the other side. Wake me if we de-rail and crash.”
John was already slipping his notebook into the duffel at his feet and readjusting in his leather chair to watch the trees pass as he drifted to sleep. Simon wasn’t so lucky. The ache in his chest was sharp. He wished he left that war zone in a body bag rather than Justin. At least Price wouldn’t have had to worry about a home address to ship his body to.