pairing; simon riley x reader
prompt; thinking of him coming home after a long mission
a/n: this is the first time i've ever written for him and the second thing i've written in about five years so i'm scared to post this haha
simon riley sees you in everything.
even in the most depraved corners of the globe he finds pieces of you hidden in the flowers that break through the frozen ground; the lines of your figure appear in the curve of the river they cross on foot, the bitter water seeping through his boots and leaving him aching; the creases in his coat become the creases of your brows when you first open your eyes to a new day.
he's been gone for weeks, the days and nights tumble over him until he's disoriented and doesn't know which way is the past and which is the future.
the last day of the mission falls like any other, but he feels a difference in himself – his skin itching as if the very surroundings are eroding at his soul. the safe house is quiet, the rest of the squad milling around waiting impatiently for the armoured vehicles to come and retrieve them.
he thinks about how much was lost here, the desolate surroundings bathed in sunlight like the last peace offering from a resigning god. if the last few weeks were anything to go by, no god had been here in a long time.
he tries his hardest to leave the ghost in him behind. first in the safe house, as they gather up the handful of belongings they have with them he hopes it will stay tethered to the house foundations and allow him to outrun it on his way home.
as the plane waits on the tarmac he tries again to leave the darkness behind, glancing reluctantly out the window at the pieces of himself he won't allow to come back with him.
when price wraps up the debriefing on base, simon tries on last time as he stops at the armoury, removing all his weapons and cleansing himself of the power they bring him.
despite his efforts, it bleeds through him still as he circles the area around your home, paranoid that someone, somehow, has found out about what's waiting for him and has taken it from him. he feels stupid, diseased by his job as his fears consume him. it takes him an hour to gather the courage for his trembling hands to park the car.
the notification on your phone is what alerts you first, a movement notice in your front garden from the exhaustive security system simon had set up early in your relationship. you pause, not expecting visitors and instantly assuming the worst, and tap on the live stream from the camera to see a car you recognise and a figure that makes your heart stop. the light is fading with the day but simon's form is unmistakable and before you can think you've dropped your phone and you're rushing for the door.
he meets you on the front step, the tense set of his shoulders still obvious and a simple black mask still covering his face. these facts mean nothing to you as you grab messily for him, hands finding the harsh cotton of his fatigues and face falling in the hinge of his neck like he was forged specifically to hold you.
he lets out a quiet noise of surprise as his bag falls unceremoniously to the ground and his arms find their way around you. the effect is instantaneous. after weeks of cold dread whenever the phone rang, of waking up certain something terrible has happened overseas and you've been left alone – weeks of picturing him meeting his end alone in some abandoned factory after years of tempting fate – you finally feel like you can breathe.
years of pushing down any semblance of humanity he had left are ruined when the scent of your perfume assaults his senses. he cannot hide the way his shoulders sink, the way his heart lurches when his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, how the ground beneath him is steady again. for a moment you stay like that, threaded together on the front step in the dying light, until you pull him inside and shut the door.
all of a sudden you need to see him and you pull your face away, the cold of the evening biting at the area his warmth had been. he can't move under the weight of your gaze, the way your eyes hold him still, wide and wet with tears he hopes won't fall on his behalf.
words evade you and you can do nothing except hook your fingers into the underside of his balaclava and pull it over his head. with every inch of his face revealed to you the breath comes back to your lungs until he in uncovered and simon riley has undeniably come back home to you.
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