Chapter Text
"Birthday birthday, it's your birthday!"
Simon groaned, his phantom limb trying and (obviously) failing to pull his pillow over his head. What time was it-?
His eye was pried open by shockingly gentle fingers, and his Grandad's face filled his view. "Birthday birthday-!"
"Gah, what the fuck?!" Simon went to bat the old man away, but instinctively went for his long-gone dominant hand again.
Fucking Hell-
He switched to his right hand, finally pushing Grandad away from him as the old man just chuckled good-naturedly. "Aw, those aren't the words, Star!"
Simon huffed a harsh sigh, glaring at the man as he rubbed the offended eye and it began to water. He supposed it was a miracle he was as relatively normal as he was, if this was the man providing 25% of his DNA.
Grandad clicked on Simon's lava lamp and sat on the bed beside his grandson, grinning all the while. "Time for breakfast!"
"Breakfast..?" Simon asked blearily, rubbing both eyes as his irritation faded to a mild annoyance now that the adrenaline of being suddenly awoken has drained from his system.
"Most important meal of the day!" Grandad announced, far too loud for-
Simon blinked at his alarm clock, slowly turning back to the old man. "It is five in the morning, what is wrong with you?"
"Nothing the higher-ups could prove, thank God-" Grandad leaned over to pick up a plate off Simon's side table: a stack of pancakes with a lit candle stuck in the middle. "Happy birthday, my boy!"
Simon couldn't help but soften; the man was insane, there was no doubt about that, but he was still his Grandad at the end of the day. Simon had spent most of the last two decades repeatedly letting him down, he could at least give him this.
Sitting up in bed, Simon leaned forward to blow out his candle... only to receive a hand over his mouth.
"Now Si, you know the rules," Grandad scolded, before taking a breath to sing again: "Birthday birthday..?"
Simon rolled his eyes, though he couldn't hold in the chuckle that escaped him as Grandad freed his mouth and he spoke the end of the line: "For me, only."
Grandad gave a satisfied nod, apparently taking the win that Simon'd humoured him at all and letting him blow the candle out.
The smell of smoke invaded Simon's senses immediately, but not the unpleasant kind. It was nostalgic, something from his childhood that at one point, he hadn't known if he'd ever experience again.
But in the last five years, no matter how much of a stubborn brat he knew he could be, Grandad had never let Simon's birthday pass without a candle.
He didn't deserve the old man.
That's what he tried to remind himself as he tolerated the wet, sloppy "MWAH!" of a kiss Grandad planted on his cheek. "Make your wish, Star!"
A short laugh escaped Simon as he stood, crossing the room to his dresser to grab his work clothes; he was opening with Tony today, anyway, so the early wake-up was probably for the best. "I don't think I've earned a wish yet, Grandad."
The old man scoffed, setting the pancakes aside and following him. "Nonsense! A birthday wish isn't earned, it's a gift! From a universe that's grateful to have you in it!"
"Yeah, like I said," Simon shut the drawer, throwing the black jeans and green polo over his shoulder and grabbing his posture corrector off its hook on the door.
He heard Grandad scoff again, but ignored him as he headed to the bathroom to shower.
Simon took what was probably a disproprtionate amount of satisfaction in his ability to wash his hair. It had been pure Hell for the first few years- suddenly having one arm after twenty-three years with two was quite the leap. It was a lot of breakdowns and nights of Grandad helping him wash it in the kitchen sink that got him to where he was now, but it was worth it in the end. Now it was almost as easy as before his amputation.
Other things were harder to adapt to, though. While washing, drying and even brushing his hair were tasks he'd conquered years ago, tying it back was as frustrating as ever. Sure, he could do it, but it was always too loose and fell out way too easily whenever he tried it on his own, even after nearly ten years of practice.
He stared in the bathroom mirror after his shower, petulantly blowing a strand of hair out of his face.
He should really just cut it, it'd be so much less hassle if it were short, but... damn it, Simon looked good with long hair! He was allowed to be shallow about his own appearance!
Besides, five years in the navy had made him promise himself he'd never buzz it again.
But he still worked with food; even if the strands falling into his eyes didn't bother him, health and safety definitely would if he walked into work and didn't tie it up. "Grandad?"
"Coming!" The old man called from down the hall- possibly the kitchen? -before appearing moments later in the bathroom door.
Simon wordlessly handed him a hairtie; this was a regular part of their morning routine by now.
Grandad guided him over to sit sideways on the toilet lid; he was a bit taller than his grandson, but it was still easier to have him sit.
Usually he just tied Simon's hair back in a simple ponytail or bun, but Simon didn't object when he felt the old man separating his hair into sections for braiding.
Grandad was unusually quiet as he braided; Simon almost asked him if he was alright before his grandfather finally spoke: "I'm grateful to have you, Simon."
Simon blinked, confused, until the meaning of the words dawned on him.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes again. "Grandad, I was kidding-"
"Well, you shouldn't kid like that!" The old man scolded lightly, tying off the braid at the bottom and standing Simon up again, having him face the mirror as he searched the room for the younger man's watch. "You know I adore you, son, you're my boy!"
Simon sighed, rubbing his hand down his face; his facial hair felt scratchy against his skin, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to shave for the last few months. It didn't look half bad, it just felt kind of weird.
Grandad took his wrist, having found his watch, and fastened the band for him before turning Simon to face him, adjusting the collar of his polo with a soft smile as he added "...and you're the only piece of my Rosie I have left."
Simon's heart clenched, but he let the caught emotions out as another soft sigh.
Twenty years next month. That was how long his mother had been dead. That was how long he'd been under Grandad's care; how long he'd been competing with himself to see just how much of a dissapointment he could be.
Grandad read his mind- he'd always been good at that -and took Simon's hand, placing it against the younger man's heart.
The first time he'd done that- in a bout of Simon's thirteen-year-old, grief-and-hormone-fueled rage -they'd stayed like that for over an hour, Grandad explaining that Simon and his mother shared a heartbeat from the moment his cells had started reacting to electical currents. Her electrical currents.
It may not have always worked to calm him down, but it still helped him feel close to her.
He really was the only piece of her left in the world, unless you count the corpse buried two klicks down the road.
Grandad gave Simon a sad smile, pushing their joined hands more intently against his grandson's chest. "She would be so proud of you, Star."
Simon huffed, looking away to study his reflection again: scarred face, down an arm, prison tattoos dotting the remaining one, thirty-three and living with his Grandad while working a minimum wage job.
"Hey, I mean it." Grandad reached with his freehand to turn Simon's face back to him; despite the old man's eccentricities, Simon had yet to see kinder eyes than his grandfather's when he was being genuine. "We both know you've made mistakes, Simon, but look at you now! You've got friends, a job, you've been clean for eight years and free for nearly five now! Of course she'd be proud of you."
Simon took a deep breath in, letting it out slow as he nodded. Right. Right, he knew that. He couldn't start backsliding now, damn it, that court-mandated therapy had been expensive!
Grandad smiled, tilting Simon's head down to press a kiss- a normal one, not the big dramatic messy one from earlier -to his forehead. "I love you."
Simon returned the smile with a small eyeroll that he didn't really mean. "Yeah yeah, I love you, too."
With a satisfied nod, Grandad gave Simon's hand one last squeeze before letting him go, marching out of the room. "Come along, now! Breakfast!"
The eyeroll was genuine this time, but so was the laugh Simon let out as he followed his grandfather out of the bathroom.
~~~
Simon liked his commute, if you could really call it that.
It was a seven-minute walk; five if he cut through the park, and he usually did. Down the street, through the park, past the school and the fire station, turn right past the library. The most exciting thing that could or would ever happen on his walk was a dog rushing up to say hi in the park, a ball flying over the schoolyard fence to throw back ora fire truck pulling out of the station, sirens blaring.
It was mundane, and Simon liked it that way.
His work bag- just a simple, blue, cross-body backpack -jingled as he walked, his dogtags clinking together where they ung off the zipper. He hadn't put them on since his discharge, but he liked to keep them close for reasons he didn't feel like looking into.
The increasing sound of children shouting the closer he got to the school brought a small smile to Simon's face. It was a familiar ambience, and one he'd missed over the last eight weeks of summer vacation.
As he crossed the street to walk along the chain-link fence, he passively scanned the yard to see which teachers were on duty; it was a small town and he worked at the only grocery store, he knew a lot of people by name after three years. He smiled as he saw Mr. Murphy, the Shop Teacher and one of his closest friends (the husband of one of his managers, in fact). He was talking to another teacher- Simon could tell from their "yard duty" visibility vests -that Simon actually didn't recognize.
Simon cupped his hand over his mouth: "Hey, Rock!"
Mr. R. Murphy- Robert on paper, Rocky to his friends -turned his head so quick that Simon was surprised it didn't crack, breaking out in a grin as he spotted him and waving. "Hey, birthday boy!"
Simon gestured to the new teacher, who was eying him curiously; Simon couldnt blame him, a one-armed, tattoo-covered dude standing outside a school yelling at the teachers was probably mildly concerning. "Who's the new guy?"
Rocky's grin somehow widened and he threw an arm around the stranger's shoulders. The man chuckled, and Simon immediately liked him; anyome who was chill with Rocky's aggressive friendliness was in his good books.
"This is Mr. Grace!" Rocky said, giving the man a shake. "New science teacher! Mr. Grace, this is Simon, he works down at Murphy's!"
Mr. Grace nodded, sending Simon a small wave. "Nice to meet you."
Simon smiled, returning the wave before pointing at his friend while he continued walking. "Go easy on them today, Rock!"
"Never!" Rocky called back in jest; he was always easy on his kids, except when it came to safety around the tools. Simon almost feared for the day he and Adrian had kids, Rocky would cave the second they gave him puppy-dog eyes.
Speaking of puppy-dog eyes, Simon briefly met Mr. Grace's before turning away, catching the soft smile the man shot him.
And if he felt his own heartbeat for half a second, that was his own business.
Plenty of men were pretty, that didn't mean Simon had to acknowledge it.
Past the firestation, around the library and past the front door, Simon punched the code into the employee entrance at the side of Murphy's Grocery, pulling the door open once it beeped and flashed green-
-and was imediately hit in the face by a handful of ripped-up receipt paper.
His hand flew up, too late to black the assault. "Ah! What the-?"
A noisemaker was blown entirely took close to his face, hitting his nose and revealing Tony's beaming smile as it retracted. "Happy birthday, Simon!"
Simon shot the twenty-four-year-old the dryest look he could, closing his eyes just in time for the second handful of paper scraps he pulled out of his pocket to throw at him.
"Aw c'mon, at least smile?" Tony poked the corner of Simon's mouth, not even flinching as his hand was smacked away. "Do you know how long I spent making confetti?"
Simon hummed, nodding and heading for the stairs. "Jack's gonna kill you."
"I'm gonna clean it up!" Tony defended, following him up to the breakroom.
"Right, while I do all the setup so you can just hop on a register when we open without doing anything?"
"You know me so well."
Simon rolled his eyes. He loved the kid like an annoying little brother, but he really liked pushing the annoying part as far as he could.
He reached the top of the stairs, turning into the break/meeting room. Adrian sat at the lunchtable with his laptop; he'd move into the office once they were open, but he tried to be sociable with the staff when there weren't any customers in the store.
Including his biologically related annoying little brother (not that the relation made any difference to Tony, but it meant he had years more experience learning how to push Adrian's buttons. "Ian! Birthday boy's here!"
Adrian looked up, shooting Simon a small smile and a nod. "Happy birthday, Simon. Anything you want is free today."
Ah, the Murphy's birthday policy. Working for an independent store definitely had its priveliges over a chain, Simon would say that much. He tried not to abuse the deal, but he wouldn't say no to a Powerade when he left; he was planning on hitting the gym after work.
"Thanks, Ian," He replied, taking his "speed dial" lock in his hand and pushing the knob in a circle until it popped open (he'd never bothered to think of a better combo; no one there was gonna steal his lunch or his phone). "Can you get Tony to stop throwing paper at my face?"
"Hey!"
Adrian huffed a laugh, going back to whatever email he was typing up when his cashiers had arrived. "If I could get Tony to do anything I said, my life could be a lot easier."
"Hey!"
Simon chuckled as he dropped his bag in his locker and closed it. "Tell us we're wrong, Tones."
The youngest Murphy sibling straightened, putting his hands on his hips. "I'll have you know-"
"Hey!" A voice called from downstairs, the anger of an Irishman draining the colour from Tony's face. "Why the fuck is there paper all over the floor?!"
Tony blinked, "I was never here!" and ran into the office, shutting the door behind him.
Simon and Adrian just looked at each other, then laughed.
"Ava on the floor?" Simon asked, heading for the stairs again.
"Yes," Adrian replied. "Be careful, though, Dave didn't clean 2 before he left last night. She's in a mood."
"Well if that one is to be believed-" Simon gestured to the office door that hid Tony from Jack's wrath. "-I am a mood, so I should be okay."
Adrian shrugged. "Fair enough. Also, we're taking you to Fivers after close."
A groan escaped Simon before he could stop it- he was fine with people wishing him a happy birthday, but he couldn't stand being celebrated. "Come on, Ian-"
His manager/best friend raised his hands in defence. "Rocky insisted, nothing I can do. Don't shoot the messenger."
Simon chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back to the stairs. "You're completely whipped, man."
"Gladly and willingly!"
Laughing as he went Simon descended the stairs, meeting an irritated Jack sweeping up Tony's "surprise" at the bottom.
The maintenance man's eyes shot up to his. "Where is he?"
Simon nodded towards the stairs. "In the office. Don't kill him, we're closing together on Friday."
"Oh, I won't kill him," Jack replied with a grumble, sweeping a little more aggressively now. "I'd have to clean up the mess."
Simon raised his hand. "Okay, damn, whatever keeps my shift partner alive."
He decided to leave Jack to it, turning to the door that led to the sales floor.
"Happy birthday!" Jack called after him, his tone slightly more cheerful. Simon turned, opening the door with his back and shooting the man a thumbs up as he walked through it.
He emerged in the produce section and made his way through the store, past dairy and bakery and down the medicine aisle until he finally reached the four registers at the front of the store. As Adrian said, Ava- the floor manager and middle Murphy Sibling -looked quite aggitated as she scrubbed down Register 2's belt.
Simon took pity on her; if Tony was his annoying little brother and Adrian was his best friend/older brother, Ava was like his big sister who never let him get away with shit, but always took his side in arguments with others. She could be a lot, but he had a soft spot for her.
"You know," He began, walking over and taking the paper towel out of her hand to finish scrubbing for her. "You could just stop putting Dave on closers. He does this every time."
Ava huffed, rolling her right eye as the glass one in her left socket stayed still; she'd lost it in a Naval accident almost a decade ago.
The same accident that had claimed Simon's arm, coincidentally. That was how Simon'd gotten hired in the first place with his record, so thank God for nepotism.
Ava crossed her arms, leaning back against 2's counter as she watched Simon finish the job. "If he doesn't want to work close, he can tell me that. Until he does, he's getting what I give him."
Simon huffed a short laugh through his nose. Yeah, that was fair.
Once all the smudges had been wiped from the belt Simon took a step back, tossing the clump of paper towels to Ava (she always used way too many, in his opinion) to throw out. "We ready to go, boss?"
Ava sighed and checked her watch. "Just about. Where the Hell is Tony?"
"Hiding from Jack."
"He threw receipt paper in your face, didn't he?"
"Yup."
Rolling her eye again, Ava pushed off the counter, heading toward the back. "I'll wrangle him, switch on the sign and open on 1."
Simon gave a mocking salute and almost caught a laugh from his manager.
Dropping his arm and smoothing out his shirt, Simon approached the front door and stopped, watching his watch:
7:59:57
7:59:58
7:59:59
8:00:00
Simon turned the knob to unlock the door and flipped on the open sign, before walking back to the registers.
Time for another shift.