Overgrown Fangirl Extraordinaire

simon 💕

Back-to-back. Always.💫

They would do anything for their daughter's happiness ♥️

You swore up and down to your civilian friends that your teammates were normal. Even though they were in their prime (old), they weren’t weird. Now you’re regretting saying a thing.

In hopes to salvage this awkward encounter, you prayed that Simon would act normal. Which… says a lot. Because that man would probably walk in and just glare at everyone.

In the midst of talking to your friends, you had received a text from Simon that he had arrived. You could’ve sworn you left the front lobby door ajar so your guests can pop in and out whenever. “I’ll be back…” you mumbled to your friend, staring at the message from Simon as you made your way to the front door.

There, Simon stood by the front door and who would’ve guess! The door was ajar; a small rock wedged in between the door and doorway. “The doors unlocked, Lieutenant. Why didn’t you just come in?” you asked with a small chuckle, opening the door wider for him.

Simon steps off to the side to prevent himself from getting smacked in the face and shrugged. “Wasn’t sure if I could,” he simply stated.

You glanced down at the poorly wrapped gift in his hand and the back up at him. There was a moment where the two of you just awkwardly stood there— you waiting for him to squeeze pass through you and him just staring down at you.

“Can I come in?” Simon finally asks, raising a brow under his balaclava.

Now… Some may say you’re crazy and to some degree, you agree. But you’ve just watched a movie about vampires with the hottest actor alive playing as two brothers and right now, Simon is giving off vampire energy.

He was always one to just barge in and ask questions later.

So what in the world has gotten into him?

“Why’re you asking?” you asked slowly, still propping the door open. He hasn’t moved.

Instead, Simon shifts his feet a bit and gives you another shrug. “Figured I asked. Bit impolite to walk in without an answer, innit?” he questions with the faintest of head tilt.

Your eyes narrow a bit. “Well— doors wide open, so,” you say with a hum after, still waiting for him to step inside.

Yet— Simon doesn’t. Fucking idiot is unaware that you believe he’s gone full blow vampire.

Now, as he’s standing in front of you, everything is starting to make sense. Why he’s always wearing a balaclava; to hide from the sun (definitely not because of his job, duh), and why he’s always glaring at your silver necklace (it’s definitely not because he’s a proper son of a bitch and wonders if it’s cubic zirconia or sterling silver). “You a vampire or some?” you blurted out, eyes narrow.

“Fuckin’ hell, what?” Simon gasps out, his eyes blown out in confusion. “Is that why you’re asking me these questions? You bloody psycho,” Simon grunts out, taking a step back as if he was disgusted you’d even think that. “You’re proper mad,” he adds.

That’s the most you’ve heard Simon talk in the few years you’ve worked with him.

“Outta my way, I’m not a bloody vampire.” Simon had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he slides in between you and the door, letting out a quiet scoff and shaking his head.

You pursed your lips, turning to look at him, “hey, it’s not my fault! You usually just barge in!” you defended yourself, noticing how he was biting back a smile behind his mask.

Simon gently shoves the gift in your chest and continued shaking his head, “not when it comes to you,” he says under his breath.

You held onto the gift, unmoving as you continued to stare up at him. Would you say that there was some underlining romance between you two? Fuck no. Well— you’d like to not think so but everyone else around the two of you says otherwise. “That was really cringy,” you say with a snort, gently dropping the gift to your side.

Simon glances off to the side and shrugs a bit. He’s fully aware that everyone notices the “I’m flirting with you but it’s coming off as a joke so no one can ask me about my feelings” between you two. “Can’t I be honest?” he asks, rocking on his heels a bit. He nods to the gift, “open it.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Don’t want anyone else to see what I got you.”

You raised a brow, slowly looking down at the gift in your hand before your fingers flicked the loosen edges. “And why’s that?”

You could’ve sworn you seen a smile behind Simon’s balaclava. “Can’t let everyone know I tolerate you enough to gift something meaningful,” he says lowly.

Biting back a smile, you slowly opened the gift and stuffed the wrapper under your armpit. “I’m still suspicious of you being a vampire,” you say while opening up the box.

As soon as your eyes landed on the gift, you stopped breathing and blinking all together. A gift card— no, two gift cards. One for your favorite restaurant out of the base and another one for a shop online you’ve mentioned once about it “being your favorite.” The other gift? Simon’s dog tag.

“If I was a vampire, I’d turn y’into one,” Simon said, sticking his hand under his balaclava and pulled his dog tag from under his hoodie. “Mean it when I say I tolerate you.” He lifts his dog tag with the back of his thumb and nods down at the other one in the gift box.

By tolerate, Simon meant: “I’m deeply in love and can’t express my feelings so here’s my dog tag with my entire information on it.”

You looked up at him, jaw ajar and eyes wide. Yeah, you’re sure he’s grinning behind the mask now, there was no way he wasn’t. “You psycho!” you whispered, hitting his chest. “What if I stole your information with this?!” you hissed, grinning as you watch him snort and roll his eyes.

“I’d let you,” Simon said, taking a step to the side. He paused for a second before turning around to head into the community room, “let’s go. Don’t need people thinking I have feelings for you.”

With that, Simon began walking away as you strutted behind. “Took you long enough,” you whispered, nudging his arm.

Ghost is not what the captain would call a gentle man. Everything about him carries weight. His presence, his stare, his skills, his callsign, his reputation. But most of all, his voice. Price has heard Ghost in all sorts of situations, from enemy interrogations to dropping some of the most driest sarcasm to ever grace his comms.

Ghost's voice, like the rest of him, is rough. Like the sound comes from mortar-blasted boulders grinding against each other in his chest and not vocal chords. When Ghost speaks, everything sounds like an ultimatum.

But that's what happens in the military. Show him a man surrounded by other soldiers that doesn't develop some obnoxiously loud, deep vocal affect and Price will eat his hat.

Which is why, when you, the new medic transfer on base, are tasked with administering this year's flu jabs he notices it almost immediately.

"Sleeve up, please, Lieutenant," you tell him. Ghost is sat in the little plastic chair in front of you with his arm fully exposed before you finish.

"Busy day, yeah?" Price nearly chokes when Ghost asks you that.

It wasn't just the fact that he was making conversation, but it was the sound of him. If Price wasn't looking directly at him when he said it, he would have thought there was someone hidden behind his Lt.

But no. It was him, speaking without prompt to you in a tone of voice that Price didn't even think the man was physically capable of.

The boulders in his chest are silent. His voice having moved from them up to some higher register. Like the years of chain smoking and yelling over weapons fire is an inconvenience for once. Ghost even clears his throat when you turn away from him for a moment. Subdued. Soft.

Ghost. Soft. Hell has frozen over.

"It always is," you reply oblivious to the anomaly in front of you, a little smile on your face as you swipe Ghost's bicep with a little disinfectant wipe.

Price watches how Ghost never takes his eyes off of you as you do your work with the same fascination as watching a dog wearing pants walk on its hind legs.

It quickly becomes apparent that this is not an isolated case.

One morning some time later has Ghost walking with him to his office going over upcoming itineraries. Both of them have their minds on the looming, still unconfirmed, deployment. When you turn the corner into the hallway with a stack of files in your hand, Price swears he sees the lights brighten a little bit just from how Ghost perks up.

"Mornin', ma'am." And all of the sudden his hardened veteran, skull mask wearing, second in command is gone and replaced by two meters of tender puppy-dog eyes and velvety voice. He's pretty sure if Ghost had a tail it'd be wagging.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. How many times do I have to tell you you don't have to call me that?"

"At least one more," Ghost all but purrs.

Price feels like he's witnessing something that should be behind an age verification.

You roll your eyes and pat his shoulder as you pass, disappearing down the hallway without a glance behind you. If you did, you would've seen how Ghost's head turned to watch you go.

The other time occurred when you weren't even around to hear it.

It was classified as a training incident only because of its proximity to the grounds. Very little surprises Price anymore, so he didn't bat an eye when he saw a soldier drive up in a humvee, get out, and then just dumbly watch the vehicle creep backwards, gaining speed until it crashed into a nearby prefab.

The car was fine, of course, but those inside the prefab when it made contact weren't so lucky, especially anyone in the falling radius of the shelves and full crates held inside. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one got flattened.

The soldier responsible was getting torn a new one while someone else called for medical support, just to make sure no one was dying or anything. The worst Price could see from here was some bumps and bruises, someone holding a hand to their bleeding head.

"What is it now?" Price asked as he stepped up beside Ghost who lingered from a distance.

"Bloody idiot kept it in neutral, not park," Ghost tells him, arms crossed. "Didn't use the—" The moment you pop into view, medic bag in tow, Ghost's voice shifts like a switch had been flipped and all of the sudden that rolling thunder tone is gone like it was never there to begin with, "—parking brake. Hopefully it won't be a mistake made twice."

Price registers the words in his subconscious, but most of his attention is still on the fact that you had Ghost switching up mid sentence. And you weren't even within earshot. Just the fact that you were in his eyesight had Ghost lowering his voice, lightening his pitch.

He watches you flit around, grabbing the bleeding person and setting them down to start cleaning them up. All of his attention on you. Price is pretty sure that an ant wouldn't be able to crawl within 50 feet of you without Ghost knowing.

Part of Price wants to nip this in the bud, take Ghost aside and tell him to drop it. All of them know what being in this task force means. Having a distraction like this has a higher chance of being a hindrance than a benefit. If there ever comes a time where any of the 141 are in a situation where his sacrifice is non-negotiable, there cannot be hesitation. All of them know this.

But when the captain looks over at Ghost, he doesn't think about sacrifice. He doesn't see a muzzled war dog whose leash is held in Price's firm grip.

For the first time in a long time, Price recalls a young man with dark brown eyes that had seen too much too young, hair so blond it’s almost white, and the strongest sense of loyalty he's ever seen in a fellow soldier.

Ghost glanced at his sergeant, grunting as he sat down, leaning down to untie his boots.

"Fed 'er." He grunts, undoing the knots. "Was cookin' one of my mum's recipes, felt like it."

He pulls a foot free. "Smell must'a wafted over to 'er 'ouse. She was my neighbour at the time." He explains, Soap listening intently. "Well, not too long later I hear a knock at my door. I check and there's this pregnant bird standing there, askin' if she can have some o' whatever I'm cooking."

Ghost looked up, standing to take his pants off now that his feet are free. "'ow could I say no to tha'?" He scoffs slightly, throwing the balled up pants into the basket in the corner. "Sweet thing like 'er coming up to a man like me? Mum would've come back from the dead if I did."

Soap chuckles a bit, pulling a fresh top over his head. "So ye fed a pregnant lass and she stayed?"

"Aye." Ghost nods, top off, mask pulled off as he begins wiping the eyeblack off his face. "Couldn't refuse even if I wanted too. She was a vision, mate. Big belly, glowing cheeks, and..." He trails off, remembering how cute you'd been, standing at his door, heavily pregnant and hungry for that delicious meal that lured you into his home.

"Lt?"

Ghost grunts. "Kept feedin' 'er. Like a damn cat, she kept coming 'round." He mutters. "Was there when our daughter was born. She put my name on the birth certificate and I knew I wasn't letting 'er go." He says, opening his locker, pausing as he took in the photo taped to the back.

You and your little girl, only a few months old.

From behind him, Soap hums.