Broken Angel Hospital

You slide out of bed before he can displace you again and look down at his sleeping frame. Six feet of solid muscle, sure, but you grew up wrestling brothers in a cramped apartment and learned early that if you didn’t hold your ground, you’d end up sleeping on the floor next to the radiator.

“You want to play dirty, MacTavish,” you mutter with narrowed eyes, “then let’s play.”

Another shove to his shoulder gains you just enough room to crawl back into bed and plant your feet against the footboard. You manage to wedge your shoulder under his center of mass and with one smooth, powerful motion, you roll him.

Johnny goes tumbling off the opposite side of the bed and hits the ground like a sack of potatoes falling down a flight of stairs. The nightstand rattles and the lamp falls over on its side.

Johnny wakes up on the floor completely disoriented. ”Wha…”

“Fulcrum, bitch!” You say triumphantly as you burrow back down into your pillow and pull the heavy blanket up over your shoulder and under your chin. Victory is yours.

“Hen .. did … did ye just …”

”Sleep on the floor tonight, Johnny. You brought this on yourself.”

“Whit? Ah didnae — hen, Ah wis asleep!”

”And I was asleep. Now I’m awake. That is your fault.”

Johnny sits up and rubs his shoulder. You can feel his eyes on you in the dark, but your field of fucks is barren. You lie there like a queen on her throne, taking up exactly as much space as you want. Unbothered.

“Ye could’ve jist … woken me up,” he tries.

”I did.”

”Ye rolled me off the bed!”

”Correct. I woke you up.” Finally, you turn your head, just enough to fix him with a glare. “You want to try again? I will put you through the wall next.”

Johnny’s standing next to the bed now, staring down at you. There is a hint of guilt tugging deep in your chest.

“ … That wis kind of hot.”

Nevermind! “You’re an idiot.”

“Yer idiot.”

You huff and press your lips together in the darkness to hide a smile. “You’re a dead idiot if you don’t let me go back to sleep.” You shift and lift the blanket in silent invitation. “If you kick me again, I am selling your organs.”

He climbs back into bed carefully. “Ye wouldnae even ken to call.”

You reach back and pat his hip twice. Bap bap. “Mm. Simon would.”

Johnny goes completely still, then bolts upright and points an accusatory finger at you in the dark.

“Right, that’s it. Yer banned. No more talkin’ tae the scary lieutenant. Ah’m revokin’ yer Ghost privileges effective immediately.” He flops back down and yanks the blanket up to his chin. “Cannae believe ye’d conspire with command against me internal organs.”

Even as he says it, he’s already sinking back down into the bed and shuffling across the mattress until his chest is pressed against your back and his arm is slung heavy and warm over your waist. “G’night, ye wee bampot,” he mutters as he presses a sleepy kiss into your shoulder.

Also on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88452651