#reader knows simon

Over the course of one afternoon your entire life changed, and kept changing.

Simon got hurt.

Bad.

Raphaela told you.

You went shopping for things you would need to care for Simon as he recovered from his injuries—whatever they were. Researching about Manchester and its foods. That was a rabbit hole you had fun going down. Pain meds can be harsh on the stomach.

She recommended getting your paramedic stuff in order, replacing anything you might need, just in case.

The fire house you volunteered at always had extra, so you talked to the Fire Chief and explained the situation. The Fire Chief agreed to your request unless major incidents occurred. You agreed,

Simon needed you. You were gonna make sure you would do your best.

Once Simon came home, you met Taskforce 141.

Captain John Price. Could be anyone’s dad. He’s sweet and kind. He’s stern, gives orders, and expects to be followed. He loves cigars and fishing from what his clothes told you. His brown eyes have seen a lot. His salt and pepper brown hair is very telling of his stress tolerance. His mustache gives away his age but well taken care of. He also is the one who gives you just enough details to appease your worries as to what happened to Simon and to make sure you are able to take care of him. He also briefly advised what happened to Simon while in ICU.

Saw Johnny again—Sergeant John MacTavish. He was ever the flirt. Turning your face red throughout the afternoon. Raphaela had to come to your rescue a few times so he’d stop. You liked the attention. The man had such amazing blue eyes that capture you and a fucking war-hawk, as he called it. He made you laugh a lot. He explained what happened to Simon too.

Sergeant Kyle Garrick was lean, pretty, confident, and very well put together. He’s excellent at reading a room, and saved you a few times from the flirting Scotsman. He came and helped you with Simon. While you two got Simon settled, he explained what happened, too, in much more detail than the others.

Simon.

Simon—whose head was wrapped up, heavily bruised face bare, and had a moderate concussion aka Traumatic Brain Injury. Whose left eye was swollen shut, and so purple, it was black. The swelling and bruising spread down the left side of his face. So much bruising. It made you internally cringe at the sight, knowing from experience how much that hurt and took to recover from.

He was wobbly from the pain medication the hospital gave him. You had him get set up on the couch in a sitting position on the ends closest to the front door, so he could go to his room or the bathroom easier. Thankfully, the couch—on both ends— has built-in recliners. He’s in military blue sweats, matching hospital socks, and a military blue zip-up hoodie with a plain white t-shirt underneath.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to do anything. It was unexpected to see him being around so many people without a mask—even if it is his squad or friends, at least initially.

To you, it was strange and made you wonder if he was okay without it. The problem was he wasn’t talking.

Once dinner was done cooking and Ralph was making bowls for everyone, handling the meal. You went into Simon’s room and looked around his drawers until you found where he stashed his balaclavas. He had an entire drawer full. Feeling the material, you felt for the stretchiest one and walked back to him. You work on stretching it out further around the left side.

When Johnny sees what you’re doing, he stopped talking and watched you.

You are so focused on making sure Simon was cared for and protected properly, you don’t notice being stared at.

Simon was awake and alert. He was silently watching everyone, just like at the party, and confused by Soap’s reaction.

Your gut told you right now he needed his mask, his armor. You don’t know why but your gut never led you wrong in your life. You stood in front of him. His head shifts slightly, looking up at you.

You work the balaclava into a roll of sorts before squatting down in front of him with a small smile. “Hey,” you quietly greeted

He whispered, “Y’alright?” You smiled widely at him and nodded.

Johnny smacked Kyle before pointing. Simon hadn’t spoken a word since before the incident. He’s only grunted. Price watched you. Ever curious how you’ve ensnared his silent, hypervigilant, and brooding Lieutenant.

You showed Simon the rolled up mask. He glanced at it, face unreadable, then back to you and grunted with a slight nod. Standing up, you walked to his side and slowly began to roll the balaclava down, trying to gently apply the compression. “Should help the swelling and pain, too,” you quietly informed him.

Rolling it down the back of his head easily, the front was a bit challenging as you slowly walked around, mindful of his left leg. Made certain the balaclava sat correctly on his face. Once it was fully covered, you made sure it spread out correctly down his neck and tucked it under his shirt. You felt him begin to relax under hands.

Bent over, hands resting on your thighs. Meeting his one opened eye and grinned. “There’s my Simon,” you quietly exhaled, eyes bright and smiling soft. “I’m glad you’re home. I missed ya.” You cup his uninjured cheek, slightly rubbing it. He unconsciously leaned into your touch. He seemed to be giving a small smile from the way his one good eye wrinkles and cheek shifts up.

“You’re gonna be ok. You got me. I’m a very good caretaker if I may say so myself,” you boasted, trying to be a bit silly at the end.

“It’s true,” Ralph piped in. “Took care of me and Wolf when we got Covid..like three times.”

The taskforce looked at the two with raised eyebrows. Raphaela shrugged. “Eat up, boys.” She and Wolf dug into dinner. The taskforce returned to the dinner table and chatter started up again.

“I’ll be right back,” you made sure he knew and slipped your hand from his face. He watched you leave. His cheek felt cold. Wondering what you were doing. He craved to set you in his lap and hold you against him. He hated how weak he knew he was right now.

You returned with two bowls and a big water cup with a straw. He noted that one bowl had silverware. You set the bowls on the coffee table and the drink on the end table next to his right hand. He had difficulty leaning forward to see the inside of both bowls. One was obviously what everyone else was eating but the other seemed empty.

This was the bowl you picked up and held up so he could see. It appeared to be cut up bread with some kind of spread on it. “Marmite on toast,” you informed. “I read up on sick day foods Mancs prefer. It’s ok if you don’t.” Simon’s one good eye widened, peering at you. You motion with your chin the drink. “That’s flat ginger ale with lemon and honey tea and a few splashes of whisky. Proper sick day brew.” You spoke as if proper and his chest warmed at your dedication. He didn’t deserve you, deserve your care.

Oh, how he wanted to hold you against him!

Ralph choked on her food. Looked up wide eyed at you.

“You holdin’ out on me, Lucy,” she gasped, funny sounding like a bad 1940s gangster impersonation.

You glared at the woman and quirked a brow. “It’s fer the sick, Ethel. Go buoy yer own,” you demanded through gritted teeth with no heat before sticking out your tongue at her. She snorted and giggled before returning to her conversation.

Wolf and the three men at the table exchanged looks. Wolf, of course, silently explained this was normal behavior between you two. The three military men accepted this silent communication and kept eating. Simon just observed and noted it.

“Before I was rudely interrupted.” You look at Simon with a soft smile. “So, I looked up Manc’s favorite sick day foods online, and then watched way too many YouTube videos by people who sound a lot like you. I learned what marmite is and how to make proper beans on toast. I even learned American options to make a proper English breakfast.”

Listening to you speak, and seeing your wide grin—very proud of yourself—about what you did for him, confused the man. “Why?” His voice was deep and hoarse questioned.

Tilting your head to one side, your brow furrowed and frowning. “What do you mean ‘why’?” After a couple of seconds, you explain in a serious tone, “You’re hurt, Simon. One of the best ways to heal, other than medicine, is to be home with people you love and who love you, and taken care of so you don’t have to heal alone. You need a lot of rest, sleep, and care. That’s why.”

Suddenly returned to the previous topic, “Oh! Also, with Manc favorite foods, especially comfort foods. I got the tomato soup brand that was recommended by a few of those YouTubers with the cheese too. I made sure to get white bread for the toast. You Mancs are weird. White bread? Ew.”

Simon huffed a laugh but tensed up at the pain on his left side, right hand immediately pressing on his left side ribs. You waited until he relaxed again before doing or saying anything else

He slowly allowed himself to relax and leaned back into the seat. His chest warmed and ached at what you’d done just to make him feel better. He took your free hand in his, raised it to his covered mouth, and kissed the top of it. You shyly looked down and turn so red that your freckles can be easily seen.

He leans forward and says, “Vank ya, luvie.”

You giggle and squeeze his hand with a shake of your head. “You’re welcome but you didn’t need to say that…or do that. I want you to feel better, sweetie.” You shrug. “What better way than foods your mom would make when you’re sick as a kid?”

Everyone but Wolf and you tensed at your words. The taskforce waited to see how Ghost reacted, unsure if you knew or not about any of his past.

Simon forced himself to relax at those words, knowing you don’t know. It was so touching how you wanted to remind him of good things. “She did,” he hoarsely agreed. “She’d, uh,” he began as he worked to remember bits and pieces. “She made me an’ me brover marmi’e-n-toast an’ tea when sick.” He nodded. “Safe, birdie.”

“Glad I could help. Eat up. I gotta go blow up the comfy air mattress,” you advised and kissed his unscathed cheek.

Once everyone left, it was just Simon and you, lying on a pillow topped king sized air mattress with super soft sheets and comfy pillows. You helped wipe Simon down in a pseudo bath, just to make him feel a bit cleaner. You left him alone to do his man parts and finish set up the bed.

Right now, you two were watching Blue Planet II—a documentary you noticed Simon would have on in the background. He sat, eyes on the screen with his back against the couch. The couch acting like a headboard of sorts. With you pressed into his right side, holding his hand, and your head on his thigh.

You had a notebook and his discharge papers folding up next to you on the floor. You made a plan of action with alarms on your cell and all the medicine and wound care stuff sent home with him right next to you with a trash can and a box of nylon gloves. You even have your paramedic bag and equipment, just in case.

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