#cod mw2022

Ten years ago

“Stay with me, Simon! Shit, shit, I need help!”

Ghost could hear Price yelling for the medical team, but he couldn’t make his mouth work enough to tell him to bloody stop. It was making his already splitting headache twice as bad. There were searing pains in his chest and abdomen that he was pretty sure came from bullets, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tried to focus on the pain to keep him awake, but he could feel his consciousness slipping.

“Shit, Kate! I need that medic!”

Laswell did respond, but Ghost couldn’t hear what she said over the commotion of being lifted out of the chopper. “C’mon, Simon. Stay with me,” Price muttered. The older man patted his cheek somewhat less than gently, shaking his other arm. “We’ve got too much work to do for you to go dyin’ on me now.”

Ghost tried to snort, but what came out was more of a wheeze. He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t seem to get enough air in to say anything. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to compartmentalize the pain. The stretcher he was on bounced along with the footsteps of the men carrying it, making the throbbing in his torso worse.

His eyes snapped open when he heard metal doors slam against the wall. A pretty medic jogged to the stretcher, carefully shining a light into his eyes and running her hands down his body. He could tell when she found the bullet wounds, fingers prodding gently at their edges. He wheezed again.

Ghost was still fighting to stay conscious while she asked Price what had happened, one hand lifting to his mask. A last vestige of strength surged through him as he reached up to grab her wrist. Her eyes snapped to his, questioning.

“No,” he croaked weakly. His grip on her wrist had already loosened, despite his panic, and he feared she would pull the mask off anyway. But she only looked at him for a moment before pulling a pen torch from her coat pocket and shining it in his eyes. He squinted, trying his best to follow the light as it moved.

“Alright, you don’t have a concussion,” she said. “You can keep the mask on.” Ghost’s hand fell back to his side as she produced a pair of trauma shears and sliced through his tactical vest and shirt. The chilly air on his bare skin made him shiver. He slipped in and out of consciousness as the stretcher was carried into a surgical room and he was lifted onto a table.

Something cold swiped along his chest and in the crook of his arm. He felt a pinch as an IV was inserted, then a light tingling throughout his body. Then an agonizing pain pierced his chest.

He blacked out.

When he woke up again, bright sunlight shone through the window. It was cracked open to let in a fresh, cool breeze, and he could hear birds chirping outside. A soft beeping drew his attention to a heart monitor near his headboard. The pretty medic was at it, making notes on her chart.

Without looking toward him, she said “Good to see you’re finally awake.” Now that he wasn’t fighting for his every thought, Ghost took a moment to study her while she worked. She had delicate features; high cheekbones, a pointed nose, and a small chin. A deep cupid’s bow accentuated her full, upturned lips. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair framed her pale face while the rest threatened to spill out of a massive bun at the back of her slender neck, and he could see in the light that freckles dusted the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. Pale, seafoam green eyes sparkled at him as she tilted her head, studying him back.

Bloody hell, he’d been caught staring.

He cleared his throat, preparing an apology, but she cut him off before he could start in.

“You took quite a beating. I pulled out a couple of bullets and got your lung reinflated, but you’ll need to take it easy for a few days. I’d prefer a couple of weeks, but Captain Price told me I’d be lucky to keep you at all once you woke up.” She smiled wryly at him. “I’m hoping you’ll work with me, here.”

As if hearing his name, a soft knock sounded at the door and Price stepped in. He smiled at Ghost from the doorway before turning to the medic. “How’s he doin’, doc?” he asked.

“Oh, he’ll be right as rain in no time. He just needs to take it easy for a while.” 

Price snorted, glancing toward Ghost. “Good luck with that,” he muttered. The medic giggled, an echoing wind chime sound in the otherwise cold room. Ghost rolled his eyes, half because it’s what he would have done in the first place, half to stop from laughing himself. As he did, his grin dropped and his hand darted up to his face, instantly relieved to feel the fabric of his balaclava still there.

The medic arched one slender brow and smirked. “Don’t worry, it hasn’t come off.”

Ghost looked to Price for confirmation, who nodded slowly. “You can trust her, Simon.”

He looked back to the medic again, blinking at her. “I don’t even know your name,” he finally said. The realization had taken him too long to come to. 

“I’m Cat,” she said cheerily. “Nice to meet you, Simon.”

Ordinarily, Ghost would have flinched. Only Price called him by name. Maybe it was because Price trusted her, maybe it was because he thought he might have some small amount of trust in her himself. Just a bit. He didn’t flinch. He sighed, feeling something almost like defeat sag his shoulders. Exhaustion.

“Nice to meet you, Cat,” he murmured.

She hummed in response, ushering Price toward the door. “You should get some sleep. If you need anything, just hit that call button.” She gestured to a small device on the bedside table as she checked his monitors one more time. “I’ll be back after I make some rounds, but hopefully you’ll be sound asleep by then.” She turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder at him. A smile spread across her pretty face when he held her gaze. “See you tomorrow, Simon.”

He slept peacefully that night for the first time in years. He decided when he woke up that it was from battle fatigue, not Cat’s presence in his room. She sat in a chair in the corner, curled up under a throw blanket, utterly engrossed in a book. For a long moment, Ghost just watched her. He couldn’t see what book she was reading- the back cover was facing him. The paperback spine was so worn that he couldn’t read the faint lettering on that, either.

“What’re you readin’?” he finally asked. His throat was hoarse, his voice even more gravelly than usual. Cat’s head snapped up and she beamed at him, scrambling out of the chair. She poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the countertop and moved toward him slowly. Giving him time to tell her to stop. 

“The Great Gatsby,” she answered, handing him the cup. Carefully, he raised himself onto his elbows, taking the cup as he scooted back toward the headboard.

“‘Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known,’” quoted Ghost. Cat’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as a smile spread across her face.

“You’ve read it?” she asked.

Ghost gulped the water she’d brought him, nodding as he gestured to her tattered copy. “Not as much as you, though.”

Cat looked toward the book with a fond smile. “It’s my favorite book,” she said softly. Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I could read you some, if you’d like.” Ghost blinked at her. After a moment of silence, she glanced back up, suddenly nervous. “O-or not, I’m sure you-”

“I’d like that,” he said. Her smile came back full force instantly. 

“Well before I do, how do you feel? All of your vitals are looking good, but are you in pain? Collapsed lungs are no joke. And, y’know, neither are bullets.”

Ghost rolled his shoulders carefully. His stitches tugged, his joints ached, and there was a dull burning sensation where his wounds were. “I’ll live,” he said gruffly. Cat snorted.

“That’s kinda the poiiiint,” she sing-songed, grinning at him. She dragged her chair up to the bedside, leaning back and crossing her feet near his at the foot of the bed. She read softly, deliberately, voice lilting over the words. Ghost thought that if this was what taking it easy looked like, he could possibly get used to it.

Four years ago

Ghost hissed as he peeled his gloves off, tender skin protesting at the friction. His hands and arms had been burned pulling men out of a crashed helicopter. 

“Half an hour and you’ll be with the medic,” rumbled Price as he passed by.

“I’m fine,” Ghost muttered back. Price stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly on his heel to stare.

“Half an hour,” he said deliberately, “and you’ll be with the medic.” Ghost stared for half a second before remembering himself, dropping his gaze, and mumbling a quiet acquiescence.

He didn’t need help like some of these men, but Price was unlikely to be swayed. Besides, there was nothing else for him to do when he got back to base. The mission had been quick and simple, a rescue for a downed bird. Price wouldn’t need him in the debrief and he’d only end up licking his wounds himself in the privacy of his own quarters. Besides, the base had a full medical team. The other soldiers would get medical care regardless of him. 

When their plane landed, he made his way to the infirmary. He watched as several men were carried in on stretchers and slunk to the back to wait in the corner of the room. He stood for what felt like both ages and only minutes, watching soldiers come and go. 

“Simon?” called a soft voice. He turned his head to see a petite woman with a mass of strawberry blonde hair. Cat.

“Cat,” he answered gruffly. She beamed at him, and even though she couldn’t see it, he smiled back. He was pleased to see her. After she’d treated his punctured lung some years ago, she’d come back to read to him every day of his recovery. He wasn’t sure if Price had specifically requested her presence, but he hadn’t been seen by any other medics during that stay.

It had settled his frayed nerves more than he’d ever admit.

Cat turned on her heel, motioning for him to follow her. He did. She’d treated various wounds and injuries since their initial meeting, and Simon had grown to trust her as Price did. She was competent and professional, gentle and compassionate. She seemed to know how much space he needed and she had never tried to insert herself into that space.

They reached a room, and Cat gestured for him to sit on the exam table while she shut the door behind him. He pulled off his hoodie as she slipped a pair of exam gloves onto her hands, back to him..

“So, Price tells me you’ve changed professions,” she said. Simon raised an eyebrow.

“He what?”

She turned to face him, eyes twinkling. “He says you’re a firefighter now.”

Simon scoffed at that. “That’s because the old man is losing his marbles.” Cat snickered.

She pulled a tray with various items across the room and stood directly in front of Ghost. He saw ointments, bandages, and several metal tools he didn’t like the look of.

He nodded toward the tray as she took one of his hands, lifting his arm to better look at it. “What’s all that?”

She glanced at the tray before turning her gaze back to his arm. “The tools? They’re for debridement, but I shouldn’t need them. They’re just standard in burn kits.”

Simon nodded, relieved. Cat cocked her head at him. “I… do kinda need you to take off your shirt. Well, preferably most of your clothes.”

He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, holding her gaze. She waited patiently as he stood, unbuckling his vest and pulling his shirt over his head. She busied herself with examining the tubes of ointment and opening the bandage packages as he untied his boots, removing those and his pants and sitting back on the edge of the exam table in his boxers and mask.

Simon cleared his throat, and Cat turned back to him, smiling gently. She murmured questions about his pain level as she examined the burns on his arms, smearing various burn ointments across them before wrapping them gently. She worked her way up his arms, across his chest, down his torso, and finally down his legs, periodically using ointment and wrapping patches of skin she deemed needed attention. When she was satisfied with her work, she strode across the room and washed her hands.

“You can get dressed now. You should be okay in the next week or two, just try to keep those covered.”

Simon blinked, standing to pull his clothes on. “That’s it, then?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Cat turned to look at him, gaze piercing. He knew what was coming. He knew he’d opened the door. Why, he would never know.

“Well,” she said softly. “I really should look at your face. Lots of your burns are thermal, and there could be more under that mask.” She continued when he stared blankly at her. “Thermal burns are basically like steam burns. There’s no actual contact with fire, but the skin heats up so much that it still causes damage.They can be painful.”

Simon sat again, looking toward the wall. His eyes snapped back when she said “It’s up to you.”

He studied her. He’d studied her a lot since he’d met her. She held his gaze, but not in challenge. He could see concern, built up from all the times she hadn’t asked him to take off the mask. She seemed nervous; she leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around herself. Her shoulders were hunched slightly and in that moment, she looked much smaller to Simon than he knew she really was. She was as nervous to ask him as he was to consider her request.

He weighed the choice in his mind, gauging how much he had come to trust this woman. Her eyes flickered anxiously over his hands, his chest, the bandages she couldn’t see now that he’d put his shirt back on. Anywhere but at his eyes. She hadn’t wanted to ask.

He looked down to his hands. “Alright,” he said softly. He said it so softly that for a moment, he thought she might not have heard him. He raised his head. When he caught Cat’s eye, she was watching him carefully. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Slowly, as though he were a scared animal she didn’t want to frighten, she placed her clipboard on the countertop and picked up a new pair of gloves.

She stepped toward the bed, pausing as she reached his side. With one hand, she tapped his knee. Simon froze for a moment, then parted his legs. Cat stepped between them, carefully raising her hands to the edges of the mask at Ghost’s throat. She glanced up at him, a final request, waiting for his tiny nod before touching the fabric.

Her fingers were feather light as she tugged up the fabric slowly, revealing his face centimeter by centimeter. Ghost held his breath, eyes unfocused somewhere near Cat’s elbow. She pulled off the last of the mask, laying it on his thigh lightly. Reverently. 

He met her eyes and felt stripped bare. More naked than he had been moments before without his clothes. She smiled at him, small and somehow relieved. Slowly, she reached up, turning his head in her hands. Her fingertips brushed against tender skin at his temple, then again at his jaw. She turned, opening another tube of ointment, and dabbed it onto where he assumed the skin was red. Simon’s eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched so tenderly, if he ever had been at all. He was overwhelmed with the abrupt desire for more of this gentleness. More of her.

Before he knew it, Cat withdrew her hands. He opened his eyes to watch her pull her gloves off before picking his mask back up. With as much care as one might handle a fine and delicate piece of art, she lifted the mask, rolling it carefully over his face. She leaned back just a bit, eyes soft. Simon instantly and viscerally missed her fingers on his cheeks.

“There you go,” she whispered. Then, before he could even gather his thoughts enough to thank her, she was gone.

Three months ago

Ghost breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. He had to remind himself to do it, lest he lose his cool. Soap’s shoulders weighed inordinately heavy in his arms. Gaz held the Sargeant’s feet as they hustled down the halls, trying to find a functional elevator. Daniela ran from door to door, mashing buttons furiously, swearing under her breath in Spanish Ghost wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.

He couldn’t believe he’d shot his subordinate. His friend.

“Take the shot, LT.”

“Soap, I can’t get a clear-”

“Take. The shot.”

“-I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it. What kind of sick, twisted-

“Aquí!” shouted Daniela. She’d found what seemed to be the only functional elevator in the building, and the 141 crammed into it. The tight space forced Ghost to hoist Soap further up, resting the younger man’s head on his shoulder. Daniela reached up, stroking his cheek and humming shakily. Ghost leaned back against the elevator wall, letting his eyes drift shut. He fought to keep a clear mind.

“He’ll be alright,” rumbled Price. Ghost’s eyes snapped open. The Captain was leaning heavily on the elevator wall, eyes boring into Ghost with an intensity he was much more used to giving than receiving.

Ghost didn’t answer him.

The rest of the trip passed in a blur. The exfil chopper landed and they loaded in, strapping Soap in as comfortably as they could. Daniela’s hands stayed on him the entire flight. She worked to stabilize him, alternately whispering prayers and curses. Price had stayed back to deal with Hassan’s body, but radioed a safehouse location to Gaz, who passed it to the pilot and graciously didn’t try to talk to Ghost. One look had told him all he’d needed to know.

When they landed on a hospital roof, Daniela held bandages against Soap’s chest as Ghost and Gaz carried him toward the door. Just before they reached it, it burst open and Ghost’s whole body sagged with relief. Cat. Her eyes met his and the two shared the briefest nonverbal conversation before she scanned his body, then Soap’s.

Cat took charge instantly, ushering her team forward to move him onto a stretcher, and the whole group rushed inside as Daniela nervously detailed to Cat what she had done to treat the wounds. Gaz was pulled to another room to be examined. Another medic motioned for Ghost, but he shook his head. He caught Daniela’s arm when she tried to follow Soap’s stretcher into the operating room. She tried to wrench out of his grip, but he had been expecting it and held her tightly. 

She screamed, fighting him as he lifted her bodily to carry her away from the door. She swore at him, kicking his shins and clawing at his arm, throwing her inadequate weight in every direction in an attempt to break free from his hold before realizing that she couldn’t. She sobbed brokenly in his arms. If Ghost hadn’t been numb from his own worry, listening to her whimpers and cries would have broken him, too. 

When she finally quieted, the two sat together in the hallway, backs to the wall, waiting on any word. Gaz joined them shortly after, wearing several bandages but otherwise looking no worse for wear. He sat across the hall, stretching his legs out to touch his boots to Daniela’s in solidarity. She sat curled into Ghost’s side, head resting on his shoulder, while he sat ramrod straight next to her. Gaz raised an eyebrow, shocked that she hadn’t been pushed away, and Ghost shrugged the shoulder her head didn’t rest on. 

He didn’t know how to comfort her, wouldn’t even begin to try- but he owed it to Johnny to allow her this. Especially since it was half his fault he was here in the first place.

It had been at least several hours when Gaz suggested that they find something to eat. His expression was nonplussed at the immediate “no” he received from Ghost and Daniela, even when he offered to wait outside the door, but he accepted it in stride and rose to his feet to find something himself.

He returned not long after, carrying chairs and followed by two nurses carrying steaming trays of food. Ghost gratefully moved to a chair and accepted the food, eating it robotically. If anyone had asked him later what he’d eaten, he wouldn’t have an answer for them.

The three were dozing in the hall when Price arrived, Ghost the only one to open his eyes when the Captain pulled up a chair of his own to join their silent vigil. They both nodded off, and everyone bolted upright when the door opened hours after his arrival. Cat walked through, offering quiet reassurances all around that their teammate would be fine. When her team rolled out the gurney, Daniela’s hand was on Soap’s before anyone could react. Ghost followed as their little convoy made its way down the hall into a recovery room, pulling a chair to the bedside for Daniela. She thanked him softly, laying her head on Soap’s hip and watching his face intently as she stroked his hand.

Cat touched Ghost’s elbow, bringing his attention to her upturned face. “Has anyone looked at you yet, Simon?”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “I’m alright.”

Cat’s brows came down worriedly. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He raised a hand to hers, squeezing lightly. Cat’s face relaxed just a bit. “I’ll let you look at me once he wakes up, how about that?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling up at him. “If that’s the best you’ll give me, I’ll have to take it,” she teased. Ghost relaxed, squeezing her hand before moving to the other side of the room to sit in a chair in the corner. He watched the sun and moon dance across the window, watched Daniela doze and wake, took another tray of food from Gaz, and then another later from Price.

He and Daniela hadn’t uttered a word to each other since walking into the room. It was over a full day later when Ghost gently rested a hand on her shoulder, waking her from her fitful slumber. “You should go sleep in a real bed,” he said gruffly. Daniela shook her head violently.

“No,” she said. “I’m not leaving him.” They both watched Soap’s chest rise and fall several times before Daniela spoke again. “You should take your own advice, Lieutenant.”

Ghost shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving him, either.” He turned to the window, staring out across the water. “It’s my fault he’s here in the first place.”

The scoff that Daniela uttered was enough to turn his head. She leaned forward, stroking Johnny’s cheek. Her eyes were glued to his face. “No. El idiota se lo hizo a si mismo,” she said softly. Her words weren’t particularly kind, but her tone was affectionate. “It’s not your fault.” 

Their eyes locked, sharing a moment of fear and regret for the man in the bed. Then Ghost nodded. “If I go shower, will you go when I come back?” Daniela had begun to shake her head. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes. You’ll feel better,” he pressed. She hesitated, then nodded.

The shower did wonders to help rejuvenate Ghost, and he was grateful for the clean clothes that had been left for him. Even though he’d been virtually unscathed in the mission, he felt filthy. Guilty, and disloyal. The hot water helped to wash some of that away. Some. His mind had raced, the last day or so, over every detail he could have used to protect his subordinate. Johnny had told him to take the shot, but damnit, he should have found another way. There was no other way. If he hadn’t, Johnny would have been thrown to his death and they might have lost Hassan, anyway.

When he got back to the room, he called Daniela’s name quietly from the doorway to wake her from her drowsing. Despite her agreement, he still had to pry her fingers from around Johnny’s to get her across the hall. Ten minutes later, she was back in the same chair, head back on his hip as she stroked his skin. 

Cat had been by several times to check on Johnny’s vitals, saying nothing to disturb the peace. She’d only looked over first Daniela, then Ghost, concern written across her features. She hadn’t tried to convince either of them to leave. The next time she came after they’d showered, though, she walked to Simon’s side, fidgeting with something behind her back. She glanced back to Daniela’s sleeping form, then looked at her feet.

“What is it, Cat?” Ghost asked softly.

“I, um, thought you might like something to read,” she stammered. She pulled a book from behind her back, holding it out to Ghost to take. He recognized the tattered paperback before he even saw the cover. The Great Gatsby. He took it from her outstretched hand, suppressing a shiver when their fingers brushed.

Something had changed between them the day she’d seen his face.

It was like she couldn’t bear to look at him any more if it wasn’t a medical conversation. Ghost felt ill at ease in her presence, nonsensically longing for physical hurts to match his injured soul, just to have her benevolent gaze and gentle touch again. He found himself mourning the easy banter they’d shared, her quiet presence being enough to quiet his mind. He was both cynically unsurprised and stupidly, deeply wounded by the shift in her demeanor around him. 

He broke from his rampant thoughts when she stroked a finger down the side of his hand, and he realized he hadn’t actually withdrawn it. He snatched the book toward his chest. “Yeah,” he started hoarsely. “Yeah, thank you. That’s nice.” He glanced up, meeting her stare briefly before dropping his eyes. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She lingered for a moment, and Ghost held his breath. She seemed to want to say something. He hoped she did. But she turned and walked away, murmuring a quiet goodnight from the door.

He sat for a long while, staring at the place she’d been, before opening her well-loved book reverently and beginning to read. Upon opening the worn pages, he was surprised to see notes scribbled in most of the margins. He felt as though he’d been brought to a secret, special place- reserved only for Cat’s deepest thoughts. He felt honored. He read by the moonlight, storya nd notes alike, wondering briefly if he was like Gatsby- craving the idea of Cat rather than who she really was. But he put that thought quickly aside, not truly believing it for even a moment.

He devoured the book, and around the time of Gatsby’s grand declaration of love, Soap stirred. Ghost sat bolt upright, watching closely. He barely dared to breathe. Then, Soap’s eyes opened slowly. 

“Johnny?” Ghost whispered.

Slowly, Johnny turned his head. As he did, Ghost rose to his feet from his chair, taking two quick steps to the bedside. Soap opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Ghost scrambled to pour a cup of water, then gently helped Soap lift his head to drink. He saw the younger man’s eyes settle on Daniela before swallowing several times to clear his throat. 

“What happened?” he finally asked.

Ghost’s gaze dropped to the floor, dreading this very question. “Do you want the short or long story?” he asked. His voice sounded exhausted to his own ears.

“How about the short one, for now?”

“I shot you,” said Ghost. He let that statement hang in the air before looking up to meet Soap’s eyes. “I shot you, Johnny. Because you told me to. Because you’re the best of us, and you’re clever.”

Soap nodded, eyes drifting shut, as though this was the answer he had expected. Ghost wondered if he’d really heard him.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “You’re lucky I’m such a good shot,” he grumbled. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to ease tension only he felt, or create tension on his friend’s behalf. He shouldn’t be so okay with this.

Soap chuckled softly, wincing as he did. “That I am,” he said. “Hassan?”

“I shot him, too. Twice, actually.”

“Through me the first time, eh LT?”

Ghost deadpanned. This wasn’t funny. But when Soap grinned at him, he softened. Good that he could find humor in even this.  “That’s right, Johnny.”

“Perfect shot, LT.” “You called it, Sargeant.”

“The best of us, huh LT?” Of course he’d heard that.

“Can it, Sergeant.”

For a moment, the two shared a companionable silence. Then, Ghost spoke so softly that he wondered if Soap would even hear him. Almost hoping he wouldn’t. “I almost didn’t take it.”

“The shot?” Of course he’d heard. Again. “Why not?”

“There was no shot,” Ghost exploded, throwing up his hands. His frustration was finally breaking the surface. He glanced at Daniela, lowering his voice as he continued. “He had you directly in front of him, and he would have thrown you out that window before I had time to move.” He had been scared for the first time in who knew how long. Soap’s calmness was making him angry, because he shouldn’t have been okay with this. He should have been angry. Ghost was supposed to take care of him, not shoot him.

Almost as though he could hear Ghost’s raging thoughts, Johnny let his eyes drift shut again. “You still got him, LT. I’ll call that a win.” Just like that, Ghost’s anger abated. Only weariness remained. “We got him, Johnny.”

“I’m starting to think you really have taken a shine to me, Simon.”

Ghost hung his head before looking back up. He most certainly had. Johnny had been one of only two people he’d let himself learn to trust in the last decade. “Maybe I have,” he relented. He turned, picking up his chair, and sat it right by the bed as quietly as he could. “That one has, for sure,” he said, nodding to Daniela.

Soap looked down at her. “How long have you both been here?”

“Since you got here,” Ghost mumbled. Soap’s head snapped back to him.

“And when was that?”

Ghost shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Four days, give or take.” Soap stared at him. Finally, he threw up his hands as irritation bubbled back to the surface. “You, Sergeant, should have died.”

He lifted one gloved hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “You have a field-treated gunshot wound to your right arm, which was in fact infected. Thank your lucky stars that Daniela saw through your idiocy.” Johnny, at least, had the decency to look sheepish at that. “A bruised bone in your hip. Three cracked ribs. A grade four concussion. Multiple hairline fractures in your legs. And a shredded left pec from a 50 caliber bullet. Might I add that last one only missed your heart by centimeters?” By some miracle.

Soap snorted. “Well, that explains a lot about how I feel. Hell, how I’ve been feeling.”

Ghost just shook his head, dumbfounded by Johnny’s casual reaction. Most men would have been in an uproar. Then again, Johnny wasn’t like most men. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Thought we lost ya. Again.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, LT.”

“Good,” grumbled Ghost. He looked toward Daniela. “I had to pry her off of you,” he said softly. 

Soap looked down at her again. There was a softness in the way he looked at her. Simon had only seen it a handful of times before- when Daniela looked at Johnny, when Price looked at Laswell, and when Cat looked at him. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Mhmm,” murmured Ghost. “Could hardly get her across the hall to shower.” He was tired all over again just remembering arguing with the feisty woman.

Soap let his eyes drift shut, looking exhausted. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Amsterdam. Laswell has friends here. We’re in a private hospital.”

“Price? And Gaz?”

“They’re trying to find a lead on Shepherd.”

Soap nodded sleepily. “She kissed me,” he murmured.

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Doctors say she saved your life with that.”

Soap hummed, cracking one eye open to peer at Ghost. He shrugged. 

“Something about the adrenaline helping to push off the shock.” It made sense to him, in a strange way. He wondered if Cat would ever kiss him like that, if she thought he was dying.

He banished the thought quickly as Soap hummed again, letting his eyes slide shut.

“Sleep, Johnny.”

He didn’t answer, and within moments, his breathing had evened out as he rested. Ghost waited for a while, watching the monitors beep steadily. Then he stood, stretching before he made his way to the door. He padded down the hallway to Cat’s office, then stopped outside her door. He rolled his shoulders, bracing himself, and then knocked.  

He’d barely lowered his hand when the door flew open, Cat looking anxiously up at him.

“Is he..?” she asked.

“He’s fine. He woke up for a few minutes, but he’s asleep again. All of his vitals looked good.”

Relief washed over her face. “Good, then we’ll let him sleep.” She stepped back, gesturing Simon in. “Now let me take a look at you.” He shuffled past her, sitting on the chair in front of her desk. On a wild impulse, he pulled his mask off and ran his hand through his mussed-up hair. Cat froze for a moment when she saw him. Then a wide smile broke over her face.

“Nice to see you again, Simon,” she said. He flushed.

Under his breath, he murmured “It’s nice to be seen.” He’d thought it when he pulled off his mask days ago, standing alongside Price and Johnny and Daniela and Kyle and Alejandro. He thought it again now as Cat stole glances over her shoulder at him while she donned gloves and gathered instruments.

She came around the desk, slowly moving between him and it, to perch on the edge between his knees. He spread his legs, leaning toward her, and let her check his pupils and inspect him for injuries. She ran her hands over his face, his arms, and his torso. Her soft words didn’t do enough to prepare him for the cold of her stethoscope on the skin of his chest as she reached under his shirt to listen to his heartbeat. 

He leaned involuntarily closer as she reached around his back to listen to his lungs, raising his arms to rest on the desk on either side of her thighs. He hadn’t realized he’d shut his eyes until Cat ran a gentle thumb along his cheek. He blinked up at her.

She looked angelic in the soft lamplight. Her hair seemed to halo around her head, and Simon belatedly realized that it was in a long braid over her shoulder instead of her usual copious bun. Her skin looked velvety and he longed to touch it. Her eyes roamed over his face as her thumb smeared the grease paint under his eye.

“How are you really, Simon?” she whispered.

“Tired,” he answered truthfully. He felt so exhausted from the past week that he wasn’t sure any amount of sleep could restore him. 

Cat studied him for a moment. Then she firmly pulled his head down to rest on the top of her thigh. She threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched gently at his scalp, reaching her other hand up to squeeze his shoulders. 

Simon nearly purred.

He shifted his arms so that they circled her waist, burying his face in the crook of her hip. Cat lifted her legs, crossing her ankles behind his back and pulling him closer.

For the first time he could remember, he felt at home. Comfortable, safe. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep. When he woke up, Cat was half folded over him. Her arms were around his shoulders and she was leaned forward, cheek resting against the top of his head. He didn’t want to wake her, but he was sure she couldn’t be comfortable. He disentangled himself as smoothly as he could, but as he lifted her arms, her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” she said sleepily.

“Hey yourself,” he answered. She reached up to scrub her eyes, wincing as she straightened out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Don’t be silly,” she yawned, leaning back and raising her hands above her head. “You need the rest.”

“So do you,” Simon retorted. Cat smiled lazily at him. He looked to the ground. “I should go check on Johnny.”

“I’ll come with you.” Cat reached behind her on the desk, then held out a small, black piece of fabric to him. His mask. 

He took it from her gratefully. Once he’d pulled it on, he extended a hand to help her off the desk. The short walk from Cat’s office to Johnny’s room gave Simon enough time to fully wake up, but he still wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him when he opened the door. 

Johnny had clearly woken up while they’d been gone. He half lay, half sat, propped up on one elbow as he held Daniela tightly to him. She straddled him, one hand bracing her as the other ran through his hair. Her mouth was on his collarbone, and his eyes were shut in bliss. Simon blinked and the image of himself in the same position with Cat seared itself into his eyelids and his brain before he could stop it.

He coughed sharply, to shake both the lovebirds and himself out of the haze they all seemed to be in, and looked to the ceiling. He could feel his face burning under his mask. Daniela sprang up, scrambling off the bed with one hand covering her mouth. Johnny’s head whipped toward the door.

Simon could hear Cat’s amusement as she quipped. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, Sergeant. My name’s Cat, I’m a friend of Kate’s. Mind if I take a look at you?”

Johnny must have given some indication that he didn’t mind, because Cat moved toward him while Daniela retreated to the corner of the room. Simon refused to lower his gaze from the walls. 

“Would you two-” started Cat.

Johnny cut her off. “They can stay. Nothing they haven’t seen already.”

Simon glanced at Johnny as Cat helped him out of his gown. He flinched internally at the mottled bruising, angry broken skin, and the two bandaged bullet wounds. He looked back toward the ceiling.

“So Cat,” asked Johnny. “How did you meet Laswell?”

“Oh, she and I met probably fifteen years ago. She was still on the field, back then. I was still in training, working in a field hospital. I patched her and John up after a rough mission. I guess she decided she liked me, because as soon as I graduated, she snapped me right up.” She turned to Simon, who had turned his gaze to her as she spoke, and smiled. “Good thing, too. I’ve fixed this one up more times than I can count, and Kate tells me he won’t let anyone else touch him.”

Simon looked away again, focusing on a scuffed tile halfway between the chair Daniela sat in and Johnny’s bed. He hadn’t expected her to know that.

“Oh, is that so?” teased Johnny. Simon shot him a warning glare. He didn’t like that tone. The younger man’s eyes twinkled with a mischief Simon hoped he was imagining, but knew he wasn’t.

“I trust her,” he muttered.

Cat beamed at him. She looked back to Johnny, smiling conspiratorially. “Quite the compliment, eh?”

“That it is,” he answered smugly. Simon held his stare, unamused. Johnny looked back toward Daniela, eyes softening. She smiled back at him. Then Cat smiled at Simon, and he thought she might have looked at him the same way Daniela had just looked at Johnny. He blushed even more. He was so absorbed in his own bashfulness that he missed most of what Cat said to Johnny.

“Alright, well I’ll be back tonight to check in with you again. Simon, would you walk me out?”

He saw Johnny’s head whip in his direction, but refused to look at him, holding Cat’s gaze instead. He nodded at her, holding the door for her on their way out.

“He’ll be fine,” she told him as they walked. Simon nodded, relieved. “It might take a month or so, but he’ll be back on the field in no time.”

“That’s good,” breathed Simon. He held her office door open, following her in.

“You need to sleep,” she said. “Why don’t you take my cot over there?”

Simon glanced at the cot in the corner of her office. “I don’t want to put you out,” he began, but Cat’s cheshire-cat grin stopped him in his tracks.

“Who said you’d be putting me out?”

Simon’s face flamed. He’d seen Johnny and Daniela in a too-small bed together twice now, and he’d by lying if he said it didn’t make him crave sharing his own space. He’d never wanted to be close to anyone before, but Cat was like a magnetic force to him. He wanted to be close to her, and after today’s display, he was having flashes of desires less innocent than simply being close to her.

“I- I don’t-” he stuttered. Cat took mercy on him, reaching out to lay a hand on his.

“I’m only kidding. Sleep for a while. I have some paperwork to fill out, and you need the rest much more than I do.”

He looked longingly at the cot again, and Cat took the opportunity to shove him toward it. Her determination was rather cute, really. He moved because she wanted him to, not from the force of her physical strength. But she got him to the edge of the cot, sat him down, and rested her hands on his shoulders. He looked up at her, hoping she would stay. But she only smiled, turning to walk toward her desk.

“Will you wake me up when you’re ready to sleep?” he called.

He sounded desperate to himself, but Cat gave no indication that she thought so when she said “Of course,” to him. He lay back, closing his eyes as his body tensed and then relaxed into the cot. He could faintly smell something like the ocean, and realized it was Cat’s pillow. Before he could overthink it, he turned his face, pulling his mask up over his nose, and breathed in. He drifted off not long after that.

Today

Ghost breathed deep, forcing himself not to panic even as he felt it bubbling through his stomach, searing up his throat. Even as his mind threatened to grow fuzzy from it.

A week ago, Price and Laswell had briefed the 141 on a new mission far behind enemy lines. It would be unsanctioned and unsupported. They’d have no backup if anything went wrong. It would be just the four of them- Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost- and one medic.

Cat.

Ghost had asked Price privately if it had to be her. Price kindly didn’t question his Lieutenant questioning orders, only assured him that it did have to be her. She was Laswell’s most skilled and trusted medic, and this mission called for the highest level of skill and trust.

She’d gravitated to him on the bird in, and he’d helped her secure her parachute and pack and tactical vest. She was to post up in an abandoned bunker two klicks from the site they were infiltrating. She was nervous, but not too nervous. She’d be alone, but she’d be safely away from the enemy. At least, that was the plan.

The plan didn’t pan out.

Somehow, the enemy soldiers knew they were coming. They were met at the gate of the facility by at least ten men, all of whom were quickly and quietly gunned down. Soap made good on his call sign, Gaz made good on his excessive target practice, Ghost made good on his hand to hand combat skills, and Price made good on his leadership skills. Within ninety seconds, all ten bodies were hidden and the 141 pushed silently forward. 

Ghost was grateful for the radio silence Price had called for on their way in. It meant he got a break from Soap’s incessant pestering and teasing about the way he acted around Cat.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, LT.”

“Had what, Sergeant?”

“Love.”

Ghost had scoffed. “Love? I acquiesced to taking a shine to you, but I wouldn’t call that love.”

“‘M not talkin’ about me, LT.”

“Who then?”

Soap’s face had been unimpressed.

All throughout Soap’s physical therapy and rehabilitation training, Ghost had listened to this. Any time Cat walked away, Soap would joke about Ghost hating to watch her go. Any time she passed them in the halls, Soap would get her attention, trying to set up awkward encounters for Ghost to wriggle out of. At one point, he got so far under Ghost’s skin that the Lieutenant said something he instantly regretted about Soap projecting his missing Daniela. The joking had stopped then, and Ghost had felt guilty. But the reprieve hadn’t lasted, so neither did his guilt.

He’d rebuffed his friend over and over, denying any feelings for Cat other than comfort.

“I trust her, Johnny, but I wouldn’t know love if it shot me in the face,” he’d huffed after a particularly long session of rebuttals.

He’d never seen Johnny look so unconvinced.

He’d have never told Johnny, but he was honestly confused about his feelings for Cat. He’d never loved anyone before, and he’d only been half joking when he’d told Johnny he wouldn’t know love if it shot him. Ever since she’d seen his face, the air had shifted when they were together. Ever since falling asleep in her lap, he craved her presence. Ever since watching Johnny with Daniela, his thoughts would race to imagine himself with Cat like that.

He’d dreamed about her, after that. Often. Mostly, the dreams were innocent. She’d read to him, they’d have picnics, or he’d just be in her office, spending time with her whenever he could.

Some dreams weren’t so innocent. Her hair spread out under her, cheeks flushed as she moaned his name. One hand on her mouth, one on her belly, holding her against him and keeping her quiet as they moved together in his cot with the rest of the 141 only meters away. He did his best not to think about those. It felt wrong, as though he were betraying her trust. He felt ashamed. He told himself it was just pent-up lust, manifested in her because he cared for her as a person. As a friend. It couldn’t be love.

Now, as he stood with his hands raised, kicking his gun away, he knew- deeper than anything he’d ever known, better than he knew himself- that he had been wrong.

He did love her. More than anyone he’d ever loved before.

He wondered- as tears streamed down her face to the gag in her mouth, as he put his hands on his head, as he was roughly shoved to his knees- whether he’d ever have come to the realization on his own. Probably not. 

The squad had known they were coming because Cat’s bunker hadn’t been abandoned. The enemy team had sought refuge there after a mission of their own gone wrong, found Cat, and dragged her back to this base to warn their fellow soldiers.

Ghost had breached the room he stood in now, ready to eliminate any target who showed his face.

Only one had. From behind Cat’s back. 

He held a gun to the side of her head, wrenching her back by her cuffed hands, and screamed at Ghost not to come any closer.

Four more men flooded the room, all guns on Cat.

“Drop your weapon,” snarled the first. 

He did.

“Hands on your head!” yelled another, while the first shouted for him to kick his gun away.

He did those things, too.

Cat shook her head violently back and forth, sobbing around the gag in her mouth. Blood dripped from her temple into her coral hair, and her normally pale skin was bone white. She shook in her captor’s grip. Whether it was from fear or pain, Ghost couldn’t tell. 

“Ghost, how copy?” came Soap’s whisper in his ear. “I can hear men, are you in that room?”

Ghost said nothing.

“Alright,” breathed Soap. “How many?”

Ghost turned his head almost imperceptibly. Then, as softly as he could, he clicked his tongue five times.

“Five?” said Soap. Ghost made no sound, hoping beyond hope that the Sergeant could put together a plan. He was quiet for almost too long, then “Cat?” Clever, Johnny. 

“Cat,” he said softly. “Are you injured?” She shook her head quickly. He breathed out a sigh of relief, even as the man behind him kicked his legs, pushing his shoulder to drive him to his knees. Another yelled and stepped closer, cocking his gun. Soap cursed quietly in Ghost’s ear. Cat wriggled, wide eyes still on him. His eyes hadn’t left hers since they’d met two minutes prior.

After another long silence, Gaz spoke in his ear. “Ghost, I’m in the building across. I have sights on the bastard who’s got her. When I fire, you go get her, alright?”

Ghost nodded a tiny nod.

“We’re right behind you, hermano,” came Soap’s low rasp. “We’ll get the other ones.”

“On my mark,” whispered Price. There was a beat, then two, then three.

Ghost breathed in.

“Mark.”

A loud crack rang out as glass exploded and the man who held Cat dropped. She spun to look at his body in shock, ducking instinctually. Ghost launched himself from his place on the floor, tucking her under him as he wrapped his arms around her head. Heavy fire rang behind him as Soap and Price burst into the room, taking advantage of the other soldiers’ surprise to put them down.

Cat whimpered, shaking, and Ghost tilted his head to be closer to his ear. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

By the time he got the words out, the gunfire had stopped.

“LT!” called Soap. He’d jogged the two steps forward, extending a hand to pull Ghost up. “Y’alright, sir?”

“Solid,” rumbled Ghost. He tucked his hands under Cat’s armpits, hauling her to her feet less gently than he’d have liked to. He reached for the gag, dragging it down and out of her mouth, and she gulped in the stale air.

“Simon,” she whimpered. He hauled her to his chest with one hand around her waist, the other stroking the back of her head.

“I’ve got you, Cat,” he whispered. Then, over his shoulder, “Price! Have you got keys?”

“I’ve got ‘em!” called Soap. He’d turned away the moment Ghost had pulled Cat forward, his small gesture of granting what little privacy he could. He’d made good use of the time, patting down the bodies of the fallen soldiers as he went. He tossed the tiny key to Ghost, who caught it deftly and spun Cat to release her hands from the cuffs. “Got the flash drive, too.”

Ghost glimpsed Soap handing the flash drive to Price as Cat rubbed at her wrists, still shaking. He still had a hand on her elbow and he wasn’t keen to let her go quite yet. He’d be damned if he let her out of his sights again, that was certain.

“Alright, move out! Gaz, how soon can you get to the rendezvous?”

“Three minutes, Captain.”

“Right, let’s go then.” Price and Soap raised guns to move out, and Ghost turned to Cat.

“C’mon, petal, let’s go.”

She nodded, but as she moved toward him, she lurched forward. Ghost’s hands flew to her shoulders to steady her as he looked her over frantically.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I am concussed,” she said softly. Her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed as she thought to herself. She looked up at him, and nodded. “I am concussed.”

Simon leaned down, wrapping one arm around her waist and one under her knees, and hefted her up. “Thought you said you weren’t injured,” he grumbled.

“Well I was a little too busy getting dragged away to think about it at first, and then they-”

Ghost glanced down at her as he rushed down the hall after his teammates. They were halfway down the staircase, carefully checking each landing and doorway. When he looked back to Cat, she was staring at him with an intensity he’d only seen a handful of times over the years.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” she whispered. She reached up, stroking her fingers across his cheek over the mask. Her eyes were watering, her bottom lip quivering, and her hair had long since abandoned the tight-wound bun she’d put it in before they flew in. Simon curled his arms up until he could touch his forehead to hers, allowing himself one brief moment to close his eyes and thank the powers that be that she was okay.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” he murmured back, moving quickly through the building again. Price had just breached the door at the ground floor and Soap made his way to an abandoned truck. Gaz jogged out of the building he’d positioned himself in, meeting Price and Soap as they popped the hood of an abandoned truck. “Never would’ve forgiven myself if anything happened to you.”

Cat’s voice was soft when she said “It wouldn’t have been your fault.”

Ghost only looked at her as he climbed into the chopper.

The flight back was filled with quiet chatter as Price assessed Cat’s concussion, Gaz filled in Laswell, and Soap watched Ghost watch Cat.

Ghost was just grateful the Sergeant kept his mouth shut.

Cat leaned heavily on Simon’s shoulder as they stepped off the chopper, but was able to walk on her own. Price dismissed him from their debrief and he walked her to the med bay to be checked over by a colleague, then back to her office, opening the door for her and helping to ease her into her chair.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” She grimaced even as she said it, reaching up to rub her temples. 

Simon froze, watching her. “I… I can go, if you want me to-”

“No! I mean, I didn’t mean it like that,” she stammered. She looked down to her hands, picking at her cuticles. “I just meant I’m sure you have more important things to do than babysit me.”

“I don’t.” Cat’s eyes flicked up in disbelief and he shrugged. He pulled a chair around from the front of her desk to sit facing her, taking her hands in his. He studied them as he struggled to choose his words. His palms dwarfed hers, fingers nearly fully looping her wrist to touch his thumbs where they stroked the backs of her hands. “There’s nothing more important to me than you. Not even the mission.”

The silence was tense enough to snap, like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. Like a tripwire about to set off a grenade. Simon’s heart pounded in his ears as he stubbornly refused to look up, keeping his eyes locked on his fingers. He had to get the words out before he buried them too deeply to ever be found again. 

“I make out like I think Johnny’s pretty daft most of the time, but he’s one of the most clever people I’ve ever met.” He paused, steeling himself. “He annoys me, but he knows how to read people. He’s been telling me for months that I’m in love with you, and it took today for me to realize he’s right.” Cat inhaled a sharp breath, but he still kept his gaze glued to their hands.

“It took being scared for the first time in…” He thought of Las Almas. He’d been scared then, too. But nothing like this. “I’ve never been afraid like I was today. Afraid that I could lose you without telling you that I love you. And that I’ve loved you for… probably years, now.”

Simon finally tore his gaze from their joined hands. Cat’s eyes shone with unshed tears that he reached up to wipe away. “I don’t expect you to feel the same way-”

“I do,” she cut him off. 

They stared at each other for a moment before Simon said “I think that’s your head injury talking.”

Cat’s head whipped back and forth as she shook it emphatically. “It’s not the concussion, Si.”

With that single syllable, Simon’s heart seemed to melt in his chest, seeping between his ribs and pooling in his stomach with a warmth he’d never felt before. He let his eyes drift shut as he pulled Cat’s hands up, laying them on his masked cheeks and leaning heavily into her touch. 

“I’ve known for a long time, too, but… I didn’t want to scare you off,” she admitted softly. He opened his eyes to find her watching him, eyes shining again. Her fingers twitched against the fabric of his balaclava. “I know you have a hard time trusting people.”

“I trust you.” The words came unbidden, instant. He’d never meant anything more. He leaned further against her hands, turning his face to nuzzle her palm. As her fingers fiddled with a loose string, he whispered “Take it off.”

She froze. Then, slowly, she ran her fingers down his cheeks, across his jaw, down his neck to lay against his collarbones over his hoodie. She grasped the zipper, waiting for him to protest, and tugged it down when he didn’t. She only lowered it enough to tuck her fingertips under the edge of the balaclava, pulling up gingerly.

She paused again when she reached his mouth, fabric bunched under his nose. Suddenly, Simon couldn’t help himself any longer. He leaned up, quickly closing the gap, and kissed her softly. She tugged the rest of the mask off, tossing it onto her desk and pulling him closer by his hoodie’s zipper and the back of his neck.

Their lips slid together, insistent and firm. Cat’s lips yielded when his tongue traced them, allowing him entrance. He groaned quietly as her grip on him tightened, pulling him nearly out of his chair. His hands ran from where they’d rested on her shoulders, down her sides to grip her waist, and he pulled her forward.

She let out a squeak of surprise, but spread her legs as he dragged her onto his lap, body flush against his. She gathered herself quickly, tilting his head up with her thumbs on his cheeks, and bent down to kiss him again. Simon squeezed her thighs as she kissed him feverishly, pressing him back until his head hung over the back of the chair. When she broke for air, Simon wrenched his head up to attach his lips to her neck, just under her jaw, sucking lightly. When his tongue ran over the flesh there, she keened, throwing her head back and holding him tightly in place by the back of his neck. All of those less than innocent dreams and thoughts came flooding to the surface.

His heart stuttered in his chest and he doubled down, desperate to hear that sound again. To drag it out of her. He sucked harder, tongue flat against her skin, and wrapped one arm around her waist tightly. He reached up with the other hand to grip the back of her neck and then leaned forward until Cat was nearly parallel with the floor, held up only by his hold on her. She clutched at his shoulders, gasping as his tongue laved the tender skin just under her jaw. No dream could ever compare to this.

When he leaned back again, pulling her up with him, she held his head and kissed him sloppily, sucking on his bottom lip. His breath caught in the back of his throat, and then she released him and took her turn at kissing his neck. When she licked the underside of his jaw, his hands fell to his sides, vision blurring around the edges. She took full advantage of his ragdoll state, pressing herself forward and squeezing her thighs around him as she sucked a spot that made his head spin. She reached up to his hoodie again, pulling down the zipper, and Simon came back to himself like he’d been hit by a truck.

He reached up, grabbing both of her wrists in one hand, and held her upright with his other as he leaned forward. Cat stared at him, wide-eyed and panting. Simon squeezed his eyes shut. The only sound in the room was their labored breathing.

“I’m sorry-” Cat began, but he shook his head to cut her off.

“No, I’m sorry.” Then he whispered “I can’t take any more from you than I already have.”

Cat wriggled a hand out of his grasp, stroking his cheek with her knuckles. “It’s not ‘taking’ if it’s freely given.”

A humorless chuckle escaped him. “Wouldn’t be freely given if you knew what you were getting yourself into with me. Who I am, what I’ve done.”

Cat pulled her other hand free and held his face. “Look at me,” she commanded. Simon opened his eyes, holding her gaze. “I know who you are, and I don’t care what you’ve done. I’ve loved you from a distance for years. And if you’ll let me, I want to love you from a little closer now.”

Simon searched her face for any sign of uncertainty, but there was none. His heart beat wildly as he reached up to stroke her cheek.

“And if I don’t come back one day?”

Cat’s eyes watered, but she still gave him a shaky smile. “‘‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’,” she quoted.

Simon let out a breathless chuckle. “‘Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?’”

Cat beamed down at him through her tears. “You know Alfred Lord Tennyson?”

Simon reached up to tuck a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “‘Course I do. I grew up 200 kilometers from where he lived.”

Cat hummed, turning her face to kiss the palm of his hand. Again, he wondered at the lovingness with which she touched him. He wondered at his killing hands, touching her with the same love. He leaned forward, laying his head on her chest and clutching her waist, and rocked them slowly. They stayed that way for a long time until Cat finally leaned back, taking his face in her hands again.

“Don’t shut me out, Simon.” Her stare was heavy, sincere. “Think you can do that?”

He leaned up, kissed her temple, and then rested his forehead against hers. He smirked slightly.