liebling mj

You've never been so on point with keeping track of time until you've had to wait for Simon to come back from deployment. When the final day arrives, you haven't slept for not a minute. You couldn't imagine not being there for him when he finally arrives — so when you hear the familiar heavy steps and keys rustling from behind your apartment door, your heart completely stops for a second. You've never been up this fast, making your way to your small entryway in a heartbeat - probably hitting your foot against a few tables of yours while running too, making sure everything that you've planned is intact for the moment. But that plan gets thrown off immediately by pure impulse and instinct.

He reached out for your body and you jumped in, like a natural body reaction; your bodies fitting together like a puzzle meant to be, the familiar musky scent of him that you swear you hate, (but, if we're being honest, you truly missed and love) all of it taking over your senses. He held you so tight to himself as if you'd disappear if he let go – like a man starved of human contact.

During all this time of knowing Simon, you've already figured that his actions speak more than words – even with you, he responds in short answers. He's more of a listener, anyways. So that hold told more than any of your words could ever explain, not even those you scripted and waited to tell him. Without words, you both exchanged everything you needed to say. "...Simon." you finally managed to murmur against his vest, yet all you could make out was his name; hands gripping onto whatever piece of cloth you could find on him.

"In the flesh." hearing his voice again is like a nostalgic hit in the stomach. Like listening to an old song you used to cry to before. "Missed me?" His exhausted smug face was wiped off by your lips crashing against each other; It was his voice that took you out of the shocked state and made you pull his Balaclava off completely – kissing him like it was truly the last time you could. Simon laid his one hand into your hair and pulled you closer to him, the other holding at your waist. Both your eyes were screwed shut, just enjoying the euphoric relief of tension

You didn't even know how long you two have been stuck like this, but you could stay like that forever. That is if you weren't mortals, who need air to breathe.

"How many weeks has it been..fuckin’ hell, months even. –"

"67 days."

"...You counted it?"

You decide burying your head deeper into his chest was enough of an answer. You did count it – and his heartstrings were pulled as guilt flows through them. He didn't deserve to come back to this. Ghost didn't deserve to be loved like this, he believes.

Leave wasn't always comforting like this for Simon.

Well, comforting, sure. Depends on who views it. He found comfort — but in the bottom of a bottle instead of your embrace. His apartment was empty; and not just empty in the physical sense. It was empty of life, just dim light coming from the halfway opened windows, unopened mail and boxes scattered around, only indicators that there even was someone living here.

But now he, out of all people, had the priceless privilege of coming back to you. To a warm home with someone who's waiting for him, who's waiting for Ghost to leave and Simon to come back.

"Every single day that you were gone." You never really noticed how small your apartment feels when there's no one but you - how comforting it is to finally feel his presence back after weeks and months of an empty house - you couldn't even call it a home until then.

Because your home was standing tall in your doorframe, hunched just the slightest bit, dressed in gear and was reaching for your body.

"Don't just stay at the door like some jehovah's witness, Please." You give an awkward snort and make your way to close the door behind him. "...How was it?"

"Harsh."

You knew better than to ask about details of his job. You knew where he was, what he was doing, and (about) when he comes back. It was enough for him, because if there's one thing he never wants to happen it's to bring you into the operations. You didn't need to know more.

You were curious, sure, and he would tell you about the Taskforce once or twice - both of you laughing at some dumb thing that happened to a rookie or that one time he absolutely obliterated Soap in training — for the record, he is very proud of that. (Please tell him you are too.) He'd tell you about the impressive shots he did, and some ego-boosting updates on his strength that you're sick of hearing, but that's about it. You were okay with that to some extent, too.

While helping out Simon get out of his uniform and lay off his gear aside, you had to glance back at it twice before realizing what you saw on the side of his stomach.

"Jesus fucking-... You told me you'd be more careful this time!" You hiss out at the sight of his wounds painted with dark, dried blood, practically left unattended except for the basic stitches and what looks like some worn-out bandages. "Not quite easy when you've got targets in yer back love." simply huffing at his remark, you shake your head with annoyance at his lack of care.

Without a word or further complaint, you drag him into your bedroom and sat down with him on the shared queen-sized bed.

Taking a closer look on what you were being left with, you began by cleaning off his scarred skin;

" Fuckin' hell—"

"...Might sting?" A quiet chuckle, that you just couldn't hold in, escapes your lips as well as a soft smile that creeps upon them.

"But whose fault is that now.." The look in those deep, brown eyes that you fell in love with a long time ago, now signal you that familiar sign to what this is going to lead into. Your own face scrunches at the thought of it; so, so close to breaking down at the already overwhelming situation. "Can't always come out without a scratch." "That is not a scratch." "I'm jus' saying. You know what I do and what comes with it. Right? Listen."

"Simon." The first time, it's a warning to him - to remind you avoid this conversation like the plague for a reason.

"You'll live a long time without me —"

"Don't." The second, it's a plea. A begging whine brought in a shaky voice and accompanied by eyes swollen with tears, interrupting what other painful daggers of truth he was about to give you - he always did this in the worst moments.

It's so easy to pretend that it couldn't happen.

"I need to know you'll be fine on your own without me." And there it was. His voice was grating and raised, — if you didn't know him you'd think he was mad. But he isn't. He's frustrated and this is the only way he can deal with it - He's frustrated because It's killing him to talk about it too, tearing at his heartstrings, knowing that he might not come back to you after one goodbye. That after one unlucky mission, one unlucky shot, one unlucky ‘scratch’... he won't come back to your embrace where war and blood find no home. His dark eyes that indicate death and a cold-hearted killer on the battlefield are now yearning for support and understatement in yours. You could've sworn you even saw them beginning to look glossy. His voice now begins to hitch and breaks itself - the grip he had on you now trembling and weakening, eyebrows furrowing; a vulnerable sight that Simon swore to never let anyone see again. Yet here he is, kneeling in front of his love on their shared bed, begging for a single promise. "I wanted that to be the first thing we do when i come back, in case.." He drifts off as he gives you a stern look into your eyes, his hands gripping your arms in a tight hold. "In case there won't be another chance."

"I can't make it if you don't promise me to be okay." "I don't want to be okay without you."

He doesn't know what to say; he wishes he never had to even hear that. But this is what comes with loving Simon.

"And you won't have to. But if something happens —" A quiet, cried-out whisper interrupts him once again. "Don't say that." In return, he can't bring himself to respond with anything else other than an exaggerated exhale and a head tilted to look down. "...If something happens, you promise to live out your life, alright? None of that 'mournin’ for me' crap, yeah?" Simon wasn't one to comfort others, even though he tried his best for you. But god, he does know how to make you cry.

"Tell me you'll stay strong for me." "I don't take orders" a weak smile creeps onto your face as you jokingly scoff, but still linked with that sad expression.

"..."

When silence falls between the both of you and no sign of that hazy and mean playfulness in the dark orbs of his that usually lingers, letting you know he means it when he tells you to confirm. Who are you to disobey the L.T.’s orders?

"I'll try." After a few moments run by, you manage to say something in return with a shaky voice – basically forcing yourself to accept that pill that's so hard to swallow.

"I'll try to Simon. But I don't know how long I can try for." Averting your gaze from his, you finish touching up his stitches and lay off the med kit into some random bedside table drawer.

"I want to know that you're always somewhere out there, that that smile of yours' still goes around." he took your jaw into his hands and his dreary eyes were taking you in, your head immediately melting into the familiar hold of his as the calloused thumbs begin to wipe your tears off your pretty face.

"Come on lass, traveled back to you n' all that, and ya won't even give me a smile? Get me a refund." Losing to fight back a smile, you hit your one hand against his chest lightly and hide your smiling face into the crook of his neck - a heavy weight lifted off your shoulders, and where there were sobs, there are now those warm giggles of yours that Simon dreams of when he's gone.

"I'm tired."

"What's stopping ya?"

"Your need to shower."

"Oi, piss off." He grunts a chuckle under his breath as he throws you over his shoulder and heads to the bathroom; placing a kiss onto the hips that he was carrying. "Barely home for an hour and ya already have an attitude. Gonna have to get rid of that."

"Bet you do."

The water droplets grazing both your nude bodies as he leans his head atop of yours, your hands working their way to his face and gently rubbing it's paint off. — An vulnerably intimate and loving scenario between you two. You have to admit, it took an ungodly amount of time to build that amount of trust between you. But you'd wait for him over, and over, and over again if it meant to be together like this. When you two finally get out, he insists of carrying you into your bed.

His embrace feels so comforting, his bicep curled around you, pulling you into his chest – his heartbeat and the dimmed lights lulling you to sleep. It's a perfect way to warm ones heart after one half of it was gone for so long.

"I've missed this Simon."

"It's what I fight for, love." It's so easy to pretend that it can be always like this.

tags: @lovsavangeline2