#Walking with a Ghost

[rocknrollflames]

Walking With a Ghost

- Tegan and Sara

[wearenotswans]

No matter which way you go.

No matter which way you stay.

You’re out of my mind, out of my mind.

[bringthebiggergun]

And old cover I found on a forgotten hard drive I recently found. As a long time fan of the ladies you can find an entire playlist of Covers I've done in the past here.

[teconkaals]

Walking With A Ghost 12

"I think I need a new tattoo." "Oh, really?" Johnny raised his head to look at him. "I've been thinking about it for a while and I think it's the right time." "Sounds good," he shifted his position so he could see him better. "Where were you thinking of doing it?" Simon moved his right arm and showed Johnny the inside of the wrist. "Would you design something for me?"

Another chapter in which Ghost and Soap get soft.

AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 12 - Routine

Fanfic Masterlist: Here

Next Chapter: Chapter 13 - Roadtrip

Previous Chapter: Chapter 11 - Rest

Wordcount: 5533

Rating: Mature

Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex

A/N: Hope you're well! Thanks for reading, it means a lot 💚

I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - 141 ROUTINE SOAP’S HOUSE, HEREFORD, UK DECEMBER 4, 2022, 14:45

Simon woke up with a start and fumbled for the knife he always had under his pillow. He felt naked not finding it, however, he relaxed when he remembered he was at Soap's house. Ghost took a deep breath and shifted a little on the bed, realizing that the space next to him was empty.

"Johnny?" he asked warily.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," he replied.

Simon frowned and sat up, groping in the dark until he found him. Soap was sitting on the bed, with his knees slightly bent, and Simon put a hand on his shoulder, sliding it down his back in a comforting gesture.

"All good?"

"Yeah. I was just going to drink some water, that's all."

He stood up and Ghost heard him walk to the bathroom; squinting as Johnny turned on the light and waited for him to return. When time seemed to drag on too long, Simon stood up and moved toward the closed door, gently knocking it a few times, waiting for a response.

"Johnny, you solid?" he asked when he didn’t answer.

"Yeah, don't worry. Physiological needs, you know," he chuckled. "Go back to bed."

However, Simon knew him too well to know that the laugh was fake. He opened the door and found Soap sitting on the floor, between the shower and the toilet, with his head leaning on the wall and his legs stretched out. Johnny looked at him for a moment before looking away and Simon hurried over to him. He crouched down, ignoring the tug of the stitches, and cupped his face in his hands, frowning when he saw that he was crying.

"Come here," Simon whispered and pulled him into a hug.

Johnny let himself go and rested his head on Ghost’s chest, wrapping his arms around his back. Simon kissed him on the hair and hugged him tightly when he noticed he was crying again. He felt his chest break at seeing Soap like that and felt helpless as he couldn't do anything but whisper to him to let it all out, that he wasn't alone. In that moment, he wondered how Johnny did it, how he knew what to say and what to do at all times, and Simon wished he could be a little more like him in that way so he could help him with the nightmares in the same way Johnny did with him.

"Thanks," Soap whispered suddenly, voice strangled and broken.

Simon kissed him on the temple and rubbed his back.

"Whenever you need me, you know," he paused. "Come on, I'll make you something hot."

Simon helped Soap up and guided him to the kitchen. He sat him in a chair and disappeared for a moment to grab a pair of sweatshirts. Johnny stared blankly as he dressed him and Simon frowned a little, worried. Finally sighed and faced the kitchen, opening the cabinets until he located what he was looking for. When the milk was hot, he poured in the chocolate and filled two mugs with it. He put one in front of Johnny and sat next to him.

"Want to talk about it?" he whispered kindly.

"Actually, I don't need to," Soap replied, looking at the table. "I mean… these are stressful situations, it's normal in our work."

Simon then understood what Johnny had dreamed about. He’d always thought that Soap had had some near-death experience, that his discomfort during the events of Chicago, and Las Almas, was due to feeling useless and overwhelmed by the situation. Apparently, he had made a mistake and scolded himself for not taking it into account.

"It's the first time that's happened to you, right?"

Johnny looked up and stared blankly at him.

"Being aware of how close you've come to dying," Soap nodded and Simon continued talking. "It's… a strange feeling. As if you've spent a wild card. Something that life will come to recover," he smiled. "Luckily, it doesn't work that way. You survived through a mix of skill and luck. Two things that are part of life and that we cannot separate from it."

Johnny looked at him and smiled kindly.

"I already knew that," he fixed his gaze on the table again. "I haven't dreamed about that."

Simon frowned. Now he was the one who didn't understand what was happening. If Soap hadn't had a nightmare about what happened during the search for Hassan, what had disturbed his sleep?

"So... with what?"

Soap was silent for a few moments.

"The gulag," he whispered. "I thought I would lose you, that you would die in my arms before the medevac came," Johnny said with a tired half smile. "Actually, I just needed to let go of the anxiety, and fear, that I've been building up since then. I haven't been able to until now," he looked at him and his smile widened. "I'm sorry I worried you."

Simon didn't answer. He still felt guilty for having caused that upset to Johnny, but he didn’t verbalize it because he remembered Amelia's words: he hadn’t been reckless, he hadn’t done anything wrong. On the other hand, knowing that it was so important to Soap to the point of having nightmares excited and terrified him in equal measure.

He didn't have the energy to deal with it, so he pushed it aside.

"How do you do it?" Simon asked her instead.

"With what?" Johnny frowned before raising his eyebrows in understanding. "Take out the anxiety? Well, I start crying. I guess?"

"No, not to let things get stuck."

Johnny shrugged and focused on the cup, wrapping his hands around it for warmth.

"I really don't know. There are... things that are beyond our control, things that we can't change no matter how hard we try, so I don't see the point in feeling bad because I can't do anything about it. If it has a solution, it’ll be fixed. Otherwise, why am I going to think about it? I’m not going to wallow in misery if I have made a mistake; I will learn from it and move on. Even when people die. I try to be better, think through decisions," he sighed. "It's... difficult, but not impossible. It also helps to get it out, talking about it with the people you know will listen to you."

Simon listened in silence and didn’t respond immediately. He valued Soap’s words and knew that, deep down, he was right. It was something as simple as that: learn from your mistakes so as not to repeat them again and talk about what makes you feel bad.

Talk to people who will listen to you.

"You do it? Verbalize what's troubling you, I mean."

"Sure," Johnny responded with a soft laugh. "I talk a lot with my sister Alex."

Simon nodded and focused his attention on the cup of chocolate in front of him. He looked up when he felt Soap's hand on his, stroking it gently before tangling his fingers with his.

"You know you can tell me whatever you want and whatever you need," he added in a whisper. "I'll listen to you when you're ready to talk."

Ghost took Soap's hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss Soap's knuckles.

"I know. It's just..." he sighed.

"You need time, I'm aware," Johnny rested his hand on Simon’s cheek and stroked his cheekbone with his thumb. "Don't be in a rush, although it may not seem like it, I am a patient person" he added with a soft laugh.

Simon blushed a little and Johnny sat up to kiss him on the lips. Then he glanced at the two cups still on the table, untouched.

"Did you make me hot chocolate?" he asked in a mocking tone.

"I thought it would help you feel better."

Johnny smiled and drank some. He frowned, surprised.

"Oi, it's really good! What did you add to it?"

"Vanilla," Simon replied, drinking from his cup.

Soap laughed.

"You don't have to drink it for me, I know you don't like sweet things."

Simon rolled his eyes.

"I like sweet things, but too much of them saturates me. I like ice cream, chocolate, cakes... you..." he added with a half smile.

Johnny choked and Simon sat up straight, worried, although he relaxed when he heard him laugh.

"Do you consider me a sweet person?" he asked with a raspy voice. "I think this is the first time someone has told me that. Well, my mother does, but she doesn't count."

Ghost drank again from his cup and took his time responding.

"You're a sweet person when you want to be. Besides," he smiled slyly, "with the amount of sugar you ingest throughout the day, I'm sure there's more glucose than oxygen running through your veins."

Soap laughed and moved his chair to sit next to him; leaning on Simon’s thigh and resting his head on his chest. Simon put his free arm around his shoulders, enjoying his presence. Johnny moved his head to gently kiss him on the chin and Simon returned the gesture with a kiss on the cheek. They drank the chocolate quietly, enjoying each other's silent company, until Simon spoke.

"I think I need a new tattoo."

"Oh, really?" Johnny raised his head to look at him.

"I've been thinking about it for a while and I think it's the right time."

"Sounds good," he shifted his position so he could see him better. "Where were you thinking of doing it?"

Simon moved his right arm and showed Johnny the inside of the wrist.

"Would you design something for me?"

Johnny opened his mouth and eyes, surprised.

"You... want me to..." he sighed. "You're sure?"

"Of course, why not?" He shrugged. "I like your style and I wouldn't mind wearing something of yours drawn on my skin."

Simon noticed Johnny blush and couldn't help but crack a half smile.

"Well... do you have something on your mind?" Soap whispered, looking down.

"Actually, no. I leave it to your choice."

"What? Simon, you can't let people choose something you'll wear on your skin for a lifetime," he laughed.

Ghost finished the chocolate in one gulp, unfazed.

"I tattoo the things I like," he replied. "I don't need them to make sense together and I know I'll like what you design."

"The things you like?" he repeated and raised Simon's left arm a little. "In that case, I’ve some questions about this."

Ghost looked at it and noticed that several memories were rushing to come out of the drawer where they were kept. He shoved them away and sighed.

"Let's just say that my adolescence wasn't the best."

He knew Johnny understood when he saw his expression.

"Okay, I'll think of something."

"Thank you," Ghost paused before continuing speaking. "How do you feel?"

"Much better," Johnny smiled. "Nothing that a shot of sugar won't fix."

Soap laughed and Simon smiled. He stood up, removed the cups, and scrubbed them in a moment. He then approached Johnny and kissed him on the forehead.

"Good, because it's time to go back to bed."

Soap's smile widened and he cocked his head.

"Say it again."

"Mmh?" He frowned, confused. "It’s time to go back to bed?"

“Yes, I like the way that sounded," he whispered.

Simon smiled slyly and leaned down to speak in Soap’s ear.

"Let's go back to bed," he whispered.

Johnny chuckled, shivering, and moved to bite his earlobe. Simon sighed.

"That voice of yours is going to kill me," he whispered while kissing him on the neck.

"Just my voice?" he asked, mockingly.

Soap rose to kiss him and rested his hands on Simon’s hips. Ghost put his arms around his waist, kissing Johnny back.

"You know you drive me crazy," he whispered against his lips.

"Good, because I think it's my turn to make you feel better."

Simon moved his hand towards Soap's pants and Johnny clung to him, grunting as soon as he reached into his underwear. Soap laughed and followed him into the bedroom and Simon undressed him, laying on top of him. He kissed Johnny and descended while leaving a trail of kisses all over his body. Soap arched, whispering a moan, and Simon smiled.

Johnny sighed and touched his shoulder gently.

"Don't push yourself too hard, okay?"

Simon looked up and frowned a little.

"I wouldn't want to have to explain to Emma that your wound opened by giving me a blowjob."

Ghost had a fit of laughter and had to sit up in bed. He held his belly and leaned back a little, groaning in pain as he felt the tug of the stitches. As it passed, Simon turned to Johnny and saw that he had sat down next to him, with his legs crossed and his arms over them. He was smiling with that smile of affection he only dedicated to him.

"Sorry, I…"

"What did you say? Did you say ‘sorry’?" Soap interrupted. "Don't even think about apologizing."

"I've ruined the moment."

"You haven't. On the contrary," Soap approached him and caressed his cheek. "Seeing you laugh like that is the best gift I could have."

Simon blushed and Johnny smiled a little more. He moved to retrieve his clothes and began to get dressed. Ghost frowned a little.

"You don’t want me to…?"

"Nah, I'm fine," Soap replied, putting on his shirt and moving a little closer to sitting astride him.. "I told you, hearing your laugh was so much better."

"I don't think it's that big of a deal," Simon muttered self-consciously.

Johnny kissed him on the lips and put one of his arms around his neck while, with his other hand, caressed the corner of Simon’s mouth, right on the side where he had the scar.

"It may not be for you," he whispered, "but I will treasure that memory."

Simon looked down and nodded. He placed his hands on Soap’s waist and rested his head on his neck. Ghost took a deep breath as Johnny began to stroke his hair.

"You know?" Johnny whispered in his ear.

Even though he couldn't see it, Simon could perceive that loving smile curling her lips.

"What?"

"You are also a very sweet person."

Simon pulled away abruptly and looked Johnny in the eyes. He returned a surprised look that quickly changed to a friendly one.

"I'm not sweet and you know it."

"Well, I just stated it," he laughed. "You don't perceive yourself that way, I know. You think you're a killing machine without feelings, but it's not true. Remember what I told you: you're like a crab, hard on the outside and soft on the inside," he stroked his cheek again. "And yeah, you could kill a person in a thousand ways but... when you are with me you are sweet and kind. None of my previous partners have treated me as lovingly as you."

Simon forced himself to swallow through the lump in his throat and looked at Johnny carefully, taking advantage of the fact that his attention was focused on one of the scars that he had on his chest. Simon saw melancholy in Soap’s eyes. How could it be that someone with as good a heart, as kind as Johnny, hadn’t been treated with affection? No matter how much he tried to understand it, the reason escaped him. Anyone should be grateful to be able to be with Johnny in the same way he was; in fact, Simon felt very lucky about it and was convinced that he had spent all the luck he had left in life.

"I'm sorry," Simon whispered as he hugged Soap.

Johnny took half a second to react and hugged him back.

"It's not your fault," he murmured, kissing his shoulder. "Look on the bright side, if it hadn't been like that, we wouldn't be hugging at five-thirty in the morning," he added with a soft chuckle.

Simon couldn't help it and snorted in amusement. Of course he’d seen the positive side of that whole situation. He sighed and tapped Soap on the hip a couple of times.

"You better get up, my legs are falling asleep."

Johnny pulled away and lay down on the bed; Simon followed suit and covered them both with the duvet. He looked at Soap as he moved to snuggle into his arms and, without a second's hesitation, took him close to him. Minutes later, Johnny was breathing deeply, peacefully asleep. Simon kissed his shoulder softly and took a deep breath. He would never have thought that he would enjoy the presence of another person so close to him so much, that he would feel so safe.

He rested his head on Johnny's hair and took a deep breath. Having him in his arms had become one of her favorite sleeping positions, as if hugging Soap would push away bad memories and thoughts, keeping nightmares away. As if it were an invisible cure for his insomnia and Simon felt lucky to have someone like Johnny in his life.

---

Living with Johnny was easier than Simon had expected. Although they had more physical contact than when they lived apart, it didn’t burden him. On the contrary, Johnny left him alone while he drew in the studio and Simon, who didn’t want to disturb him, sat reading in the living room armchair. Ghost loved paper books and Johnny had a lot of them, so it was easy to find him with his nose in the book, smelling the paper.

To his own surprise, he quickly got used to living together and to the routine, Simon had no problems adapting to Johnny's quirks and customs and Soap also quickly adapted to Simon's.

Johnny continued to go to work in Credenhill while Ghost stayed home, resting. Although he was recovering quickly from his injuries, there were still weeks before he could return. In any case, Simon was doing pretty well this time. On previous occasions he had forced himself to return to work as soon as possible, however, right now he was in no hurry. And it was something that felt strange to him.

"That's because you haven't done it in years," Amelia commented, sitting down next to him. "But it's okay to disconnect from time to time."

Simon kept his gaze on the soda in front of him. He had gone to see her like almost every day since he started living with Johnny temporarily; Simon had thought of visiting her to ask if she could lend him a guitar and Amelia had enthusiastically agreed. In fact, she had offered him one of the pub's soundproof rooms and Simon had taken the opportunity to practice again.

"I admit I missed it," he whispered, sipping some of his soda, resigned. Amelia had refused to give him anything with alcohol and he was dying for a whiskey.

"Oh really?" she asked, surprised. "Wow, I'm glad to hear that. I've really missed hearing you play and sing. If one day you'd like to play together, let me know."

Simon looked at her and smiled.

"Sure, I want to see how much you've improved since you started playing again."

Amelia made a vague gesture with her hand.

"Don't get excited, I've lost a lot of practice and there are still some movements that are difficult for me. Although I'm improving little by little."

"You sure are underestimating yourself," Simon made a sly expression and Amelia laughed.

"You're going to have to check it," she challenged before sighing. Amelia looked at her glass with disinterest and a kind expression. Her smile was one of appreciation, one that Simon had seen on a few occasions and always when she talked about Gary, Price or himself. "I'm happy."

Ghost looked at her for half a second and nodded.

"It makes sense. You're going to get married. And to a SAS captain no less."

She pushed him.

"You're an idiot. It's not just about that, it's about you too," Simon raised his eyebrows in surprise and she continued speaking. "You’ll never admit it, because before you would shoot yourself, but you are happy. For the first time in many years, you look happy."

Simon was silent and looked back at his soda. He watched the bubbles and ran his fingertip over the condensation covering the glass thoughtfully. He drank some and sighed.

"You're right," he whispered. "I'm happy. And that scares me."

Amelia placed a hand on his arm and gently traced circles on it. Simon moved his and placed it on top of hers.

"I understand, but this time everything will be fine," Amelia assured him.

"What if something happens to him?" Simon murmured, watching as she intertwined her fingers with his. "What if... what if he gets hurt and I'm not able to save him? What if because of me he…"

"Thinking about it won't help," Amelia interrupted gently. "Honey, the 'what ifs' are the devil's burden. He can break his neck while taking a shower. Or fall down the stairs because he's looking at his cell phone. Or he can get cancer and die. Life takes many turns and many things can happen, but they don't have to be bad," she sat up a little and kissed him on the cheek. "You deserve to be happy, Simon. And I think Soap is the right person."

Ghost looked her in the eyes. He knew she was right; that it was his insecurity that was really speaking, his fear of losing someone important to him again. To see how they suffered because of him. That Johnny ended up hurt by being with someone like him. Simon couldn't bear to see that light that emanated from Soap, one so strong that it was capable of illuminating the darkest corner of his soul, be extinguished; that smile full of joy cooled on his inert lips. Not only because of him, but on the battlefield.

Simon couldn't bear Johnny's death.

And being aware of that made him see how much he loved him, in every way. Simon had been repressing his feelings for Soap so much that he hadn't realized it before. Of how blind he had been, of how wrong he was to believe that it had been Johnny who had started the flirtation when it hadn't been.

"Sweetheart?"

He focused on Amelia. She had a worried expression on her face and, although she kept her hand on his arm, she had stopped tracing circles with her thumb.

"Sorry, I got distracted."

"I've seen it," she replied softly. "What was it this time?"

Ghost didn't respond immediately. He took his time to think and Amelia caressed him again.

"I've realized how much I love Johnny."

He said it so quietly that he wasn't sure Amelia had heard him. He knew she did when Simon saw the change in her expression, now friendly and inviting him to continue talking.

"I thought he was the one who approached first but... it wasn't like that."

She frowned a little.

"You told me that, a few months after you started working together, he had insisted on being your friend."

"That's not what I mean," he shook his head and leaned back in the chair. "I’m talking about the other approach. I started flirting after seeing his performance at the Sin Nombre's house."

Amelia blinked and opened her mouth a few times, trying to speak without success, until she burst out laughing.

"Honey, you don't know how to flirt. You just approach people and whisper in their ear if they want to sleep with you. And it's that sexy voice you have that does the rest."

"Do you also think I have a… sexy voice?"

She leaned over him a little.

"Look, if it hadn't been for John getting there before you and you being much younger than me, you would have had me in your bed on the first day. Your voice sounds almost like a purr when you want and it's incredibly effective."

Simon blushed and she laughed again.

"And I think Soap thinks the same," she added.

"I'm still surprised that he knew how to interpret my stupid comments as a way to flirt," he shook his head, surprised, and drank some more of his soda. "I didn't even realize, I wasn't aware that I had done it on purpose."

"Maybe you had other things to think about," Amelia shrugged. "It's something I noticed when we worked together. You set a specific goal on your list of priorities and the rest of the things take a backseat; it's not that you stop paying attention to them, you just go on automatic. And you do, and say, things without realizing it."

"Seriously?" Simon looked at her surprised. It was the first time someone had said something like that to him about himself.

"Sure. In the same way that your brain blocks pain when it releases adrenaline, it also takes care of things that aren't a priority but that you can't ignore. That's why you're so good at undercover missions and you're such a good lieutenant."

He snorted, dissatisfied, but didn't argue. Amelia seemed to understand because she changed the subject.

"Well, what are you going to get him for Christmas?"

"Excuse me?"

"Christmas is next week, honey," she laughed. "You'll have to give him something."

"We're not spending Christmas together, so I don't have to think about a gift."

Amelia raised her eyebrows, surprised.

"Why not? You have something better to do?"

"No, but Johnny is going to Scotland, like every year."

"Well, you can always go with him. Or maybe he'd prefer to stay with you this year, you're at his house and you're convalescing, so I doubt he'll want to leave you alone."

"I don't need help, Amelia."

She burst out laughing.

"I don't think you really know how relationships work, honey."

Simon was silent, evaluating his friend's words. That word again that he didn't know what to do with. A word that carried too much weight and that seemed more and more appropriate.

He looked down.

"So you think?" He asked. "That we have a relationship?"

"That's what it seems," she answered doubtfully. "Though I may have read too much between the lines, I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize. It's just… well. I'm not sure."

Amelia seemed to understand.

"Of course, you've never had a partner," she took a deep breath and raised the glass to his lips to drink. "Given my history, I'm not the best person to talk about it; what I can tell you is that a relationship is based on trust and communication. Telling the other person how you feel or if there’s something that bothers you or makes you uncomfortable, among other things," she shrugged. "Honestly, I think what you have between both of you is a good definition, even if you haven't given it a name. Which isn't necessary either, you know," Amelia hastened to add. "And it all depends on what each of you is looking for. If you haven't talked about it, you should."

Simon nodded and remained silent. He remembered what he had felt when Makarov stabbed him in the gulag, all those regrets about how he felt about Johnny, the words he hadn’t dared to say but had dared to write in a letter he carried in his vest pocket. Since he woke up in the military hospital, Simon had thought about it more times than he would admit; he had rethought whether they were really feelings that were born from the fear of dying or if they were real and, in the end, he had come to the conclusion that they were real. That he really loved Johnny, that he wanted to stay by his side for the rest of his days. And, from how he carried himself, he knew that he wanted to have him around too.

Simon ran his hand over his face and realized he had to gather his courage and sit down with him to talk about it. Clarify things.

And, for the first time in a long time, his stomach turned with anxiety.

"I should go," Simon commented as he finished the soda and stood up. "Johnny's about to leave and I haven't made dinner."

"Do you cook now?" Amelia scoffed.

Simon snorted.

"I feel guilty for living with him without contributing anything, so I started making dinner," he replied, putting on his balaclava. "I'm not as good at it as him, but he hasn't complained yet, so I assume it doesn't taste bad."

"You look like a married couple," Amelia laughed.

He blushed, though his mask hid it, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she told him.

"I'll be here."

He left Amelia's house, pulled up his hood as soon as he stepped outside, and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Simon had three-quarters of an hour of walking ahead and too much to think about. Things that he had to deal with that he didn't know how to approach. Ghost thought of a thousand ways to approach the subject and rejected them all. In the end, while he finished cooking, Simon decided to do what he always did: say things upfront, bluntly.

"That smells really good."

Simon turned sharply when he heard Johnny's voice. The Scot raised his eyebrows a little, surprised, but he didn't stop smiling.

"Did I startle you?" he asked, mockingly.

Ghost snorted and turned to move the pot off the stove. Soap walked over to him and placed a hand on his forehead.

"You don't have a fever, are you okay?"

Simon looked at him and Johnny's mocking expression slowly faded. He removed his hand and cocked his head.

"I'm sorry. It's the first time I've seen you startled."

"Don't apologize, I'm… a little distracted," he replied, moving to set the table.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Johnny probed gently, helping him.

Ghost was silent and placed the food on the table, put in the water and looked at the pitcher as he filled the glasses.

"I should, but I don't know how to approach it," he admitted at last.

Soap put a hand on his back and kissed Simon’s shoulder before taking one of the chairs.

"Don't pressure yourself. Do you want us to start dinner? Maybe it's easier for you this way. Besides, I have to tell you something."

Simon sat up and looked at him curiously.

"What is it?"

"The old man has given us a few days off, so I was thinking about spending Christmas with my family."

"That sounds good," Simon replied, picking at the peas on his plate.

"I believe so. I can't wait to see them," Johnny smiled. "It's been a year since I was home," he paused and looked at Simon. "Hey…" Ghost looked up, expectant. "Would you like to come with me? Don't feel obligated, okay? I mean, I'd like you to come with me but I also don't want you to say yes for me and be uncomfortable. My family is relatively large and noisy and maybe..."

"I'll go."

Soap stopped and looked at him carefully.

"Are… are you sure? You don't have to come, I can stay with you."

"You want me to come with you and I want to do it," Simon replied simply.

Johnny's huge smile lit up the kitchen.

"Oh, really?"

Ghost couldn't help but smile a little.

"Of course. It’ll be… weird," he looked down at his plate and moved the food around with his fork, "and it might be a little difficult, but I want to do it."

"Maybe not that weird," Johnny commented. "My family knows your existence, you know?" Simon looked at him instantly. "Nothing personal, don't worry. They know that you are someone important to me, that you don't like people very much and that you don't want to show your face."

"Won't they... have a problem with me wearing the mask?"

"Nah, my family is pretty tolerant," he waved his hand. "We can always have dinner alone in the kitchen."

Simon was silent and shook his head.

"I'm not going to separate you from your family at Christmas, Johnny."

"But... your face..."

"As long as there are no photos, everything will be fine," he interrupted.

Soap was silent and looked at him for several minutes until Simon looked up. Johnny smiled fondly and Ghost noticed him blushing a little.

"Thank you, Simon," he said softly. "It means a lot to me."

Ghost's heart twisted with pain from the love he felt for that idiot and he did the only thing he was able to do: smile. That lit up Soap's face, who chuckled and continued eating his dinner.

Despite having insisted that he wanted to do it, Simon was not entirely sure about that trip. There were many things that could awaken feelings and memories that he had kept locked away, but on the other hand, maybe a six-hour car trip was the perfect opportunity to talk to Johnny about a few things.

[morte-a-elle-meme]

Hey guys my obsession with Puss in Boots The Last wish made me make a thing

[brat-at-the-disco]

if you can't read the lights... | a mixed tape

Track 14 | Walking with a Ghost - Tegan and Sara

                  “I can definitely see the similarities,” Rachel told Niki after getting comfortable upstairs in the “second” living room of Daniel’s house. The floorplan was similar to her house but the staircase was on the opposite side of the front door, something that gave Rachel déjà vu upon entering the foyer. “It’s basically a fuckin’ mirror image.”

                  “Yes, well,” Daniel explained from his computer desk with his back turned to everyone else in the upstairs living room. To his right was a large entertainment center filled with a relatively normal-sized TV and an elaborate sound system. The TV was Daniel’s (so he claimed), but the sound system belonged his older sister Lizzie (a claim no one contested). “that’s probably because it is. Where do you live again?”

                  Rachel told him the street name.

                  “Ah, yes, okay. Yeah. The same company built your neighborhood and mine.”

                  Daniel’s way of talking  was a deliberate attempt at some sort of neutral accent. The effort was there, but the results were patchy at best. As Niki explained to Rachel during Algebra one day:

“His dad is a farmer, but his mum’s from England.”

                  “How is his dad being a farmer relevant?” was Rachel’s point of contention.

                  “Trust me, it is,” was the only answer Niki gave her.

                  She had no choice but to accept this.

Or forget it.

Either way, really.

                  Rachel’s house also had the same space Daniel and his sister used as a secondary living room, but it wasn’t decorated as such. Her parents used the space for the bulk of their pictures and tchotchkes from the various places they visited over the years on top of other random oddities and knickknacks that were usually gifted to them by their friends who took similar trips.

                  There wasn’t nearly as many empty Dr. Pepper cans strewn about all over the place either. None were on the floor but every flat service housed at least three to five cans. A pyramid of ten sat to the left of Daniel on his computer desk.

                  “Do you have like a caffeine addiction or what?” Rachel asked when she reached the top of the stairs after arriving.

                  “Please,” Daniel insisted in a flat, semi-Geordie accent. “I don’t have addictions. They’re beneath me.”

                  Rachel’s expression was quizzical, but before she could follow up it was Tyler who swooped in to explain, “Ignore him. He’s just like this. There’s no cure.”

                  “Okay.” Rachel cracked a smile. “Fair enough.”

                  Rachel took to the main couch, the one opposite the entertainment system. There was a second, slightly smaller couch “perfectly perpendicular” (quoth Daniel) to her right. And on her left was a small futon that was perpetually laid out as a bed because it “broke” (quoth Tyler). (“Ricky broke it,” Niki clarified.)

                  Niki sat down next to Rachel. Tyler spread himself out on the futon, lying flat on his back as he scrolled through TikTok on his phone.

                  Between the three of them, Daniel was notably the tallest (something Daniel would occasionally brag about Rachel learned) even if it was only by no more than two, two and a half inches at most. Tyler was only a couple of inches shorter than Daniel but a few taller than Niki. Rachel only had a couple of inches on Niki herself. Not something she usually paid too much attention to, but after Daniel pointed out the height difference(s) she couldn’t help but notice.

                  “Daniel has the largest forehead though,” Tyler told her, matter-of-factly before adding “By a fuckin’ mile” not so matter-of-factly.

                  “Yes, well, it is quite large – isn’t it?”

                  Rachel giggled. “You guys are dorks.”

                  “Hurtful!” Tyler shrugged while mindlessly scrolling through Tiktok on the futon.

                  “Hm. I’d argue the point,” Daniel managed. “But I am knee deep in a playthrough of Diablo.”

                  “What character are you?” Rachel asked. She leaned over to see his computer screen, but Daniel’s body was blocking most of the view. “Uh, necromancer I’m guessing?

                  Daniel paused the game and looked back at Rachel. “Niki didn’t mention you played Diablo, too. As in, also.”

                  “No,” Rachel giggled. “But my friend Joy does. She’s a necro-slut.”

                  “Oh gawd.” Tyler laughed. “That is entirely you, Daniel. The necro-slut.”

                  “Please,” Daniel returned his attention to his game. “I’m a necro-prude. I don’t shake my skeleton minions for just any hellspawn with a wandering eye. They have to earn it.”

                  “Does that mean you’re saving the golem for marriage?” Rachel teased.

                  “Yes, well, I’ll burn the that bridge when I come to it.”

                  “So does anyone wanna do anything or are we just gonna sit here and watch Dan play Diablo?” Tyler aggressively suggested.

                  “I’m down for whatever,” Rachel shrugged.

                  “Same, fam.” – Niki

                  “I don’t care,” was Daniel’s contribution.

                  “Cool,” Tyler closed his phone. He flinched as he sat up. “This futon fuckin’ suuuucks.”

                  “Too bad it’s still winter or we could go swimming,” Niki noted.

                  “Oh right,” Rachel nodded. “You mentioned Daniel having a pool.”

                  “Yes, well, it’s technically my parents’ pool.” Daniel retorted. “I never laid claim to it.”

                  “Daniel’s not a fan of having fun.” Tyler stretched his back until it popped.

                  “I have fun,” Daniel replied, defensibly. “I’m having fun right now.”

                  “Sorry,” Tyler stood up and stretched his arms one after the other. “Daniel’s not a fan of other people having fun.”

                  “I won’t argue with that,” Daniel admitted.

                  “Anyway,” Tyler continued. “I’d like to do something today. This is my last weekend before rehearsals start for the musical. My next two weekends are gonna nothing but work.”

                  “What part are you in the show?”

                  Tyler sighed. “I’m a chorus girl. Nothing special. The only freshman who got a leading role is Andrew.” Tyler sniffed. “That bitch.”

                  “I don’t think I know him,” Rachel shrugged.

                  “Lucky you.”  Tyler shook his head. “So, yeah. What’s everyone wanna do? Anything?”

                  “I don’t care what we do as long as I can smoke there or on the way,” Niki stipulated.

                  “Mofo Tofu has a patio.” – Rachel

                  “Ah shit yeah,” Niki sat up. “I could go for some nachos.”

                  “Eh. I can’t think of anything better,” Tyler shrugged. “Are you coming, Dan?”

                  Daniel made a noise in the back of his throat but didn’t say anything.

                  Tyler rolled his eyes. “I’m taking that as a ‘no’.”

                  “Fine, I’ll go get dressed,” Daniel groaned. He saved his game and turned off the monitor. “But you’re paying for my meal.”

                  “I’ll pay for exactly one drink.”

                  “Okay, fair,” Daniel relented, immediately. He yawned. “I suppose you lot want me to hurry up then?”

                  “That would be preferrable, yes,” Tyler replied with a nod. “You spoiled brat.”

                  Daniel shot Tyler a dirty look before turning and heading down the upstairs hallway that led to his bedroom.

                  “So if this house is just a mirror-flipped version of mine, is the downstairs bathroom at the back of staircase too?”

                  “Chyep.” “Yup”

                  Rachel giggled. “Okay, cool. I’ll meet you guys down stairs then.”

                  “Sounds like a plan,” Niki replied.

                  Tyler and Niki followed her down the stairs but continued to the foyer where they left their shoes.

                  “I can see what ya mean,” Tyler said after lacing up his white Adidas with ice blue stripes. “She’s a lot more social than Jason was though.”

                  “Yeah,” Niki agreed while putting on her maroon eS with white laces. “But Jason was social too.”

                  “Sure, but it took him a minute and change before he talked that comfortably around us – especially Daniel. I know he was more social with you.”

                  “Yeah. True.” Niki stood up. After a sharp exhale she said, “I miss him.”

                  “I know, buddy.” Tyler put his arm around Niki’s shoulders. “I know.”

[laurastudarus]

In chatting with Sara Quin of Tegan and Sara, it’s clear how much she loves talking about Shonda Rhimes’ incredible creative world. “Whenever people say, ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ or ‘Shonda Rhimes,’ I immediately see myself in a 15-passenger van traveling across the United States on tour,” Sara Quin recalls. “That’s where we had the first conversation.”

(via The Important Lesson That ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ Taught Tegan and Sara)

[starsm00n]

Is he a scary man covered in blood? Or is he my baby girl? Spot the difference

[croquiscat]

nnnnnnyes sure let's go with that

[kimjun]

girls are like “I want a boyfriend” but reject everyone because none of them are their comfort characters

[chibird]

Self love is not always easy. It can be challenging and not fun at the time, but your future self will thank you!

Chibird store | Positive pin club | Instagram

[teconkaals]

Walking With A Ghost 10

Not knowing what to answer, John remained silent. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that he understood even if he didn't share it, but the lump in his throat was too big to let him speak. Amelia shook her head, bit her lower lip, and put her hand up to her eyes. "I'd like to be alone," she asked. "Sure, yes. I'll come see you in…" "No," she cut off, her voice breaking. "You don't need to come back anymore."

Angst but with confort, I promise.

⚠ Sensitive content: Medical hospitalization, non-explicit suicide attempt, blood, torture mention.

AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 10 - Broken Heart

Fanfic Masterlist: Here

Next Chapter: Chapter 11 - Rest

Previous Chapter: Chapter 9 - Unforgiven

Wordcount: 8020

Rating: Mature

Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex

A/N: I'm sorry it took me so long to publish, life has been a bit difficult for me. I hope you are well and that you like it! In the next chapter we will return with Ghost and Soap. Take care of yourselves.

I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).

JOHN PRICE - SAS BROKEN HEART SAS CAMP, CREDENHILL, UK FEBRUARY 19, 2017, 07:25

The ringing of the phone woke John up. He reached out for it, rubbed his eyes to clear them, and squinted at the screen.

It was Emma.

He sat up abruptly and picked up, his heart pounding in his ears.

"How’s Amelia?" he whispered.

"Stable," she replied. "It has cost us a lot, but she’ll survive. And no, you can't come see her. She is in the recovery unit and it’ll still take her several hours to wake up. I’ll call you as soon as she does."

"Emma…"

"No," she cut off. "You can see Simon, if you want. He's conscious."

"I will."

John hung up the call and breathed deeply. Relief lifted its weight from his shoulders and he cried again, this time with happiness. Both Simon and Amelia were fine, they would survive, and that was what mattered at that moment. Price showered again and left his room, heading to the infirmary to ask for his Sergeant's room and advanced through the building until he located it. John knocked a few times and went in when Ghost gave him permission.

"Captain," he greeted.

Simon was lying on the gurney, with an IV connected to his arm and a bandage on his head. Despite being one of the privileged few to be able to see Ghost's face, John was surprised that such a young face had such a tired expression. He knew what Simon had been through and it hurt him that life seemed to give him no respite; first what happened to Roba and Ghost’s family and, then, the death of Roach and Rebel. Price sighed, trying not to think about it, and grabbed the chair that was in the room, moved it to the stretcher and sat on it.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Simon shrugged, though he could only move one of them.

"I'll survive. They say I’ve to stay under observation for a few days for the concussion on my head," he huffed. "I don't think it's necessary."

John couldn't help but smile.

"And the shoulder injury?"

"The bullet went in and out cleanly. It hasn't hit any tendons or bones, so I just have to let it heal."

"Glad to hear it."

"How… is Amelia?"

"She... almost didn't make it," John looked out the window. "But Emma told me that they’re able to stabilize her."

"Good thing," Simon whispered with relief.

"She's still unconscious from her sedation, so I haven't been able to see her. I'll let you know as soon as Emma gives me any new news."

"I appreciate it."

Silence fell in the room, a comfortable and familiar silence between them. Although they enjoyed talking, most of the time they kept each other silent company.

"You're not going to ask me what happened?"

Price looked at him and frowned a little.

"I wanted to wait for you to feel better."

"I'm better now."

The Captain raised an eyebrow and let the comment pass. He didn't agree with Simon, but he wasn't going to argue either. John took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms.

"Alright," he conceded. "Tell me what happened. Who was thrown down the cliff?"

"König."

Price stared at him, feeling his body tense.

"Was he the arms dealer?"

Simon nodded.

"Amelia and I followed him through the corridors," he looked down at his hands, which rested on the blanket that covered him. "He floored me down and shot me before facing her," he shook his head. "He knocked me out and I couldn't do anything to help her."

"Not your fault, Simon," Price replied, looking at him with a sad expression. It hurt him a lot to see him like that.

"When I regained consciousness, Amelia had been able to throw him over the cliff."

John was aware that Simon had avoided the comment again.

"You came out alive and did a good job."

"I'm sorry, but I disagree," Simon replied tartly. "Amelia’s near death and they haven't found König's body. I won't rest until she wakes up and he appears."

"Simon…"

"Don't bother," he interrupted. "Nothing you say will help me."

The Captain sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

"I'll tell Emma to send the psychologist on call."

"For what?" Simon growled. "I’m fine."

Price frowned and looked at him seriously.

"I don't think you're feeling well, son."

Ghost snorted.

"Do whatever you want. It’ll help me just like the last few times."

John took a deep breath, defeated. He had tried everything he could to get Simon to open up to a specialist; for him to tell them what Roba did to him, the loss of his family and his partners’ death so he could turn the page. However, it was becoming impossible for Price. Simon remained silent throughout the session, saying goodbye politely at the end and never returning. John once decided to send him on leave away from Credenhill, to see if it would help him, but it didn't. Ghost took advantage of it to go hunting in the forests of northern Norway and returned just as taciturn. It was at that moment that Price realized he wasn't going to get anything.

"Have you eaten?" he asked to change the subject.

"Not yet," Simon replied.

John stood up.

"I'll get you something."

"No need, I'm not hungry."

The Captain glanced at him and scratched the back of his neck. Although Simon was very good at hiding how he felt, Price had learned to read him and understood that he didn't need company.

"Would you prefer if I left you alone?"

Simon nodded wordlessly and Price sighed dejectedly. He put a hand on his shoulder in a supportive gesture and left the room. John left the infirmary, went to the cafeteria to get a coffee and locked himself in his office to review overdue reports. The attempt to distract himself worked quite well for a few days, resting only to eat with Simon and sleep. The Sergeant's injuries were slowly improving, although Emma had not yet discharged him because she was concerned about his mental health. She had also tried to get him to talk to the psychologist and he had recognized that he couldn't do anything with him. Both Price and Emma agreed with his suggestion about giving Simon medication, however, they were aware that he wouldn’t take it once he was discharged. Still, Price wasn't going to throw in the towel; he would keep looking for a way for Ghost to talk about his problems, with whoever it was, and try to move on. Unfortunately, during those days all he could think of was Amelia.

Emma had let him see her two days after the operation and John had never felt so heartbroken. Amelia looked awful, intubated and with several IVs connected to her arms, including one red with blood. She was covered in bruises and bandages, her left wrist was in a cast and her right leg was immobilized. Slowly, Price moved toward the stretcher and took off his hat, swallowing hard to suppress the urge to cry. He closed his eyes and took Amelia's good hand in his, brought it to his lips and kissed it.

"We had to remove her spleen and a kidney," Emma commented softly. "Her left wrist and right femur are broken, as well as some ribs that have pierced her lungs and liver. She also has a severe contusion to her head and several gunshot wounds."

"Fucking hell…" John whispered.

"It's a miracle she's still alive."

John turned to her.

"Is she... out of danger?"

"We think so," Emma acknowledged, looking at him carefully. "At the moment, she seems to be evolving favorably, but..." she sighed. "Her injuries are very, very serious, John. We're going to have to keep her under observation for quite some time."

He nodded and looked back at Amelia. If it weren't for all those instruments, and the sound of the heart monitor, she seemed to be sleeping. Just like the night before, in his arms.

Before you broke his heart.

Price closed his eyes and shoved the thought away. He turned around, put on his hat and, thanking Emma, left the room. He didn’t visit Amelia again until several days later, when they called him because she was going into surgery again. He waited five hours until the surgeon informed him what had happened; something about a sutured wound that had ruptured and caused internal bleeding, the truth is that he didn't dwell on the reason because he only cared to know how Amelia was doing. They let him in to see her for a few minutes and, although they told him that everything seemed to be in order, John saw Amelia much worse than the last time. Much paler. He tried to convince himself that it was his own mood that was preventing him from being positive and he approached her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and kissed her forehead.

John left the room and focused back on work, returning to the routine of reviewing reports, supervising new recruits and eating and dining with Simon. The Sergeant continued with the same attitude, eating just enough to stay healthy and speaking little. Even though he usually had things to talk about, Price didn't feel up to giving him more conversation.

When Emma called him again a few days later, he feared the worst. However, the doctor had good news.

"She's awake," she informed him. "We’ve done tests to check her neurological status and she’s fine. You can see her whenever you want."

As soon as John hung up, he forced himself to take a deep breath to calm his urge to cry. Price got up, putting on his hat, and headed toward the infirmary. He took out her cell phone again as soon as he entered and dialed Simon's number.

"Amelia's awake," he informed him.

Silence fell

"How... is she?" Simon’s usually grave voice sounded much lower and Price could sense a worried tone in it.

"Emma says that neurologically she's fine," he sighed. "The rest... only time will tell."

"I see."

"I'm in the building, on my way to see her, do you want me to pick you up?"

"No. I'll go later."

"Are you sure?"

Simon sighed.

"I need to get ready for it, Price."

John realized that he wasn't the only one who had a hard time seeing Amelia so broken. He felt like an idiot for forgetting.

"Of course. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."

"I will," he paused briefly. "Thank you, Price. For everything."

Simon hung up and John frowned, a little surprised by his words. Price had a little bad feeling because it was rare for Simon to say thank you for something; However, he forced himself to shake his head. He was sure it was due to both of their tiredness combined with the relief of knowing that Amelia was awake.

He sighed and stopped in front of the door to Amelia's room and his heart skipped a beat when he heard her voice on the other side, indicating that he could come in.

"John?" Amelia said when she saw him, raising her eyebrows in a gesture of surprise.

"Emma called me," he replied, closing the door behind him and moving toward the stretcher. There was a chair next to it and he sat on it. "How are you?"

Amelia snorted.

"Alive, that's what counts," she paused and looked away. When she spoke, she did so in a lower voice. "Emma told me I've almost died twice. It's… weird. As a doctor I'm not used to being on the other side, you know?" she added with a half smile.

Unable to help himself, Price took her hand and she looked at him.

"It's normal to be scared," he commented. "You need to talk about it?"

Amelia shook her head, watching as his thumb stroked the back of her hand.

"I've been mentally prepared to die on the battlefield for a long time. And after Gary... well, you learn to have perspective."

John nodded.

"Still, you can call me for whatever you need."

"Thank you," she paused. "How's Simon?"

"Stable. His injuries are lighter than yours. The bruise on his head has healed well and the wound on his shoulder is progressing..."

"I'm not talking about his physical injuries," Amelia interrupted him abruptly.

Price frowned and looked at her blankly.

"He's okay," he replied. "I spoke to him about ten minutes ago."

Amelia frowned as she looked at him, shocked.

"He hasn't told you," she whispered, stunned.

“What?”

"König forced him to watch while he tortured me," Amelia answered bluntly. "He made him see how he shot me, how he stabbed me and how he broke my bones."

John set his jaw but kept a neutral expression. He remained silent as Amelia continued speaking.

"König told Simon that he remembered him; that he remembered killing Gary and Rebel and that he would make him see how he took out another of his partners," she breathed deeply. "I don't even know how I did it, but I managed to get rid of König and his partner before... well, before the adrenaline wasn't enough to make me forget the pain."

"He… said he was knocked unconscious," Price managed to say, through the lump in his throat.

"And you believed him?" she hissed. "John: Simon is mentally devastated because he feels guilty about what happened to me. Right now, his mind is trying to break him as he tries to convince him that Gary and Rebel's deaths are also his fault."

Thank you, Price. For everything.

Simon's words echoed in his mind and John had a bad feeling. He took out his mobile and called him. Amelia frowned before understanding.

"You left him alone?!" she almost screamed. "John, what were you thinking?!"

After the sixth ring, he got up without saying anything and left the room in a hurry. The call was cut off due to lack of response and he tried again, running through the hallways and dodging people. John burst into Ghost's room and found the stretcher empty. He looked for him, gasping for breath, and went straight to the window when he saw it open. Price sighed with relief when he saw that Simon hadn't jumped and called him again. A phone rang in the bathroom and he headed there. He flung open the door and her heart sank as soon as he entered.

"Simon, no," he whispered, approaching the shower where Ghost stood motionless.

Desperate, he looked for a pulse in Simon’s neck and screamed for help. He sat up slightly to grab a towel and wet it before pressing down on Simon's arms. John knew he wouldn't get anything, that the cuts were deep, but he needed to try. Suddenly the room was full of people and they moved Ghost to the stretcher, quickly taking him to the operating room. Price waited, his heart pounding in his fist, until the surgeon came out to inform him.

"He's stable," he said wearily. "There doesn't appear to be any nerve or tendon damage, but we’ll have to wait to confirm."

"Thank goodness…"

The surgeon looked at him carefully for a few seconds.

"Captain, as a doctor I advise you to take a couple of days off. You look like you haven't slept in a month and I think you need to get proper rest."

Price nodded, distracted, and walked away to see Amelia. He had informed her of Simon's situation and, now that he was out of surgery, he preferred to speak with her in person. He entered the room after knocking and felt an iron fist strangling his heart when he saw her expression.

"How is him?" Amelia asked in a whisper, eyes red from crying.

"Stable," Price responded, running his hands over his face and approaching her. "They believe that there will be no motor consequences."

Amelia looked at the ceiling and blinked, nodding. John felt the urge to hug her, to tell her that everything would be okay, but he repressed it because he was aware that now was not the time for that.

"I want to stop," Amelia whispered suddenly, without looking at him.

Price frowned a little, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"The army, what else?" She raised her good hand and smiled bitterly. "I'm tired, John. Tired of suffering for nothing. Tired of seeing the people I love fall."

"Amy, don't you think…?"

"I'm not going to think about it anymore," she interrupted him, looking at him with a pained expression. "I’ve lost my brother. I almost lost Simon. And I was almost killed. I’ve had my spleen and a kidney removed and my dominant hand is broken. I’m not fit to be on the battlefield and I refuse to be locked in an office," Amelia looked away and snorted. "I don't want to know anything more about the army."

Not knowing what to answer, John remained silent. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that he understood even if he didn't share it, but the lump in his throat was too big to let him speak. Amelia shook her head, bit her lower lip, and put her hand up to her eyes.

"I'd like to be alone," she asked.

"Sure, yes. I'll come see you in…"

"No," she cut off, her voice breaking. "You don't need to come back anymore."

John almost stopped breathing when he heard her. He felt his heart break into a thousand pieces and it caused him a pain stronger than any wound he had received. He forced himself to take a deep breath to keep from collapsing right there and nodded even though he knew he wasn't looking at him. After opening his mouth a couple of times, he managed to find the words to respond.

"Alright," he murmured. "If… you need anything, you know where to find me. I'll always be available, Amy. Always."

She didn’t answer and Price left the room and the infirmary. He walked towards his room and sat on the bed, staring into space. Although he felt like crying, John was unable to do so and it made him angry. He needed to cry. He needed to let out everything he was feeling, however, his body seemed to be blocked. He closed his eyes and took out the phone.

It was a good time to listen to the surgeon and take a handful of days off.

JOHN PRICE - TF 141 AMELIA SAS CAMP, CREDENHILL, UK DECEMBER 3, 2022, 01:05

John woke up with a start, blinking and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He’d fallen asleep in his office chair, in front of the laptop, and took that as a sign to go to bed. He turned off the computer and lowered the lid. With a sigh, Price got up, put on his hat and left the office towards his room in the barracks. As one of the Captains, Price had the small privilege of having his own room. It had always been like that, to keep the commanders close in case of need. In the end, he used it when he worked too hard and he was too tired to drive to Hereford. Days like today; however, John didn’t want to go home.

Price opened his room’s door, carefully, and entered in silence. The small lamp on the table was on and covered with one of his hats to dim the light. He smiled fondly when he saw Amelia, who was sleeping soundly hugging his pillow, and leaned against the door to watch her.

She wanted to go home, but Price convinced her to stay there, in his room. Price knew Amelia would be exhausted because she, like him, hadn’t slept well for days. And he certainly wouldn't be the one to allow her to drive while sleep deprived. Luckily, Amelia was a sensible person who was aware of her limitations and that's why he easily got her to stay. Neither of them wanted her to fall asleep at the wheel.

On the other hand, convincing her to sleep in his bed, instead of on the couch, had been another story.

With a light sigh, John walked over to one of the closets, opened it, and pulled a blanket out of it. Careful not to wake her, he covered Amelia and she snuggled into the contact. She had lain down without covering up in the middle of December in an army barracks, Price would be surprised if she hadn't caught a cold. John tilted his head and caressed her face before grabbing another blanket for him and sitting on the couch. He took off his boots, lay down and covered himself, closing his eyes to try to get some sleep.

John woke up several hours later, with another blanket on top of his own and the bedside light off. He blinked, looking at the clock, and stretched himself, sighing with resignation as he saw the empty and well-made bed.

Of course she left without telling me, he thought bitterly. Why would she?

Price shook his head and gathered up the blankets, took a shower to clear his head and left the room in search of a strong coffee. As he left the cafeteria, he crossed paths with Amelia and they both looked at each other for a long moment, in silence, until John broke it.

"We need to talk."

She frowned and looked at him with concern.

"Is Simon okay?"

He sighed and nodded.

"He's fine. It's not about him."

Amelia's eyebrows parted a little in surprise and she took a deep breath.

"Okay... let's talk in your office?"

"Of course."

He let her lead the way and they walked until they reached the office building. Amelia entered first and Price closed the door carefully behind him.

"Okay, what's up?" she asked, crossing her arms and resting her hip on the table.

John looked at her and took a deep breath. Throughout all his years as a soldier, he had faced all kinds of situations, all kinds of decisions, and nothing made him as afraid and insecure as talking to Amelia.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out bluntly.

She frowned blankly.

"Why?"

“For what happened five years ago.”

Amelia opened her eyes and mouth, clearly surprised, but John hadn't finished speaking.

"I was an idiot and I got scared. I thought neither of us would be able to leave the army and I knew it was something very important to you, so I didn't want you to feel obligated to leave it either. I... I felt too young to form a family and I was afraid that the higher-ups would find out. Nothing would have happened to me but to you..." he sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter, in the end all of this are just excuses" he looked into her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Amelia. Truly."

She stared at him for a few long seconds before huffing and rubbing her hands over her face.

"You're an idiot," she remarked.

"Sorry?"

"You're forgiven. I know you, John, so I already knew all that," she looked at him with some sadness. "And that would’ve been solved if we had talked, but… sometimes things are beyond our control," she looked away. "Fear paralyzed you. Pain paralyzed me. We couldn't do much more."

Price felt his heart break when he heard Amelia. Life played with both to prevent them from speaking after what happened and made them wait five years so they could do so. John took a couple of steps towards her, watching her carefully. Although Amelia kept her arms crossed over her chest, her body posture had changed and he knew that she was now trying to protect herself. Price wanted to hug her, tell her that everything would be okay, but he held back. He didn't know if Amelia wanted any physical contact with him. In fact, he didn't know if she wanted any kind of contact.

"So, now what?"

Amelia looked up and frowned a little.

"What do you mean?"

"What… do you want me to do?"

She seemed to understand.

"I don't need you to do anything. Actually, I never did. I just… wanted an apology and I already got one."

John nodded, still, there was one more question he needed to ask.

"And... do you want me to keep staying out of your life?"

Amelia's expression softened.

"Of course not. Although it doesn’t seem like it, I’ve missed you."

Price's heart warmed when he heard it and caused a small spark of hope to light in his chest. Even after so many years, and despite all the difficulties they’d suffered, he was still in love with her. He came even closer to Amelia and dared to hug her. To her surprise, she returned the gesture.

"I've missed you too," he whispered and Amelia held him a little tighter.

"I'm sorry, John," she whispered, her voice strangled.

Price kissed her hair and held her for a long time, enjoying her presence again, the warmth of her body, until she pulled away with a sigh.

"I think I better go," Amelia whispered. "I promised Simon I'd stop by and… I need to think about a lot of things."

John let her go, feeling the emptiness of her presence, and nodded.

"Anything you need…"

"I'll call you, yeah," she interrupted with a smile. The same one that had stolen his heart so many years ago.

Price smiled at her and she left the room. Silence fell on him like a slab of concrete and he forced herself to get back to work. There would be no point in standing there feeling miserable, and it would do him good to distract himself.

John paused at lunchtime. He stretched out in the chair and looked at the ceiling to rest his eyes. He was considering visiting Simon to ask him about the results when his phone buzzed with a notification. He looked at it with a frown and the phone vibrated again, briefly illuminating the screen. Price took it and unlocked it to see what it was.

There were two messages from Amelia.

The first was a link to a location, a pub that was near her house and that they had gone to once, a long time ago. The second message was quite concise: "See you at seven." Price cocked her head and breathed deeply.

Although Amelia was a very important person to him, he felt torn again. Of course she would keep the appointment, however, she had to put peace between the two wolves that lived within him. One of them, he wanted to hold on to that little spark of hope; the other, he preferred to maintain a negative attitude. And, even though they had talked and fixed things, neither of them had made it clear if they still felt the same way about each other. John was clear about it, but he wouldn't put his hand in the fire for Amelia's feelings.

Although Amelia was a very important person to him, John felt divided again. Of course he would keep the appointment, however, he had to put peace between the two wolves that lived within him. One of them wanted to hold on to that little spark of hope; the other preferred to maintain a negative attitude. And, even though Amelia and he had talked and fixed things, neither of them had made it clear if they still felt the same way about each other. John was clear about it, but he wouldn't stake his life on Amelia's feelings.

Price shook his head and stood up. He stopped by the cafeteria to grab some food and headed towards Simon's room. The Lieutenant was eating and greeted him with a nod.

"I'm just in time," John commented, sitting in the chair next to the stretcher.

"You've always been very precise in making triumphant arrivals," Ghost replied.

Price burst out laughing and Simon looked at him curiously.

"I see you in a good mood."

"I am," John replied. "What have they told you about the results?"

Simon shrugged.

"They're all fine. My wounds are healing as they should, so I'll be discharged in a couple of days."

"I highly doubt Emma is going to clear you to work."

Ghost snorted, grumpily.

"They discharge me from this place, but I’ve to be off work for two months."

"I thought so."

Simon paused and glanced at the small table, where a bottle of water and a bunch of keys rested.

"Johnny wants me to stay with him. He even gave me a copy of the keys to his house."

Price raised his eyebrows in surprise, but quickly smiled.

"That's good news. It'll be good for you to be away from work so you won't be tempted to start early. You'll also be able to rest without any pressure. Plus, civilian life can be fun."

Simon looked at him and smirked.

"You haven't gone out to enjoy civilian life in years, Price."

He laughed.

"But I've lived it, son. Besides, Christmas is coming up; MacTavish might want you to come with him."

Simon snorted again.

"Christmas isn't for me. Also, Johnny’s probably going back to Scotland around that time."

John nodded without losing his smile.

"Maybe he won't do it alone."

He saw Simon frown a little before understanding what he was suggesting. Ghost cursed and shook his head.

"That's not my place."

"I think it's up to Soap to decide, don't you think?"

The Lieutenant took a deep breath and looked at him carefully.

"Amelia told me that you've finally talked."

Price smiled kindly at the radical change of subject. He knew Simon wouldn't dwell on it, but he was also aware that MacTavish wouldn't let Ghost spend Christmas alone. Of all the things that had happened in the last few months, that was the one that made him the most happy: that Simon seemed to be opening up to John. Maybe, with any luck, they would help each other.

"It's only taken us five years," he nodded.

"I still find it hard to believe that I had to give you the push."

John laughed.

"Ironic, yes, but grateful," he commented and paused before adding, more quietly. "She wants... to meet tonight."

"Don't screw up."

"Don't worry," Price smiled and stood up. "I’ve to supervise the training of the recruits, so I should be going."

"Why don't you send Garrick?"

"As silly as it may seem, it makes me feel young," John laughed. "It reminds me of when I discovered you. Or MacTavish."

"You're not as old as you think, Price," commented Simon.

"The years weigh more on someone like me," he placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder and pressed gently. "I see you tomorrow."

"Thanks for stopping by."

John grinned and left the room. He headed to the training ground and spent the rest of the day there, watching and correcting the recruits. It was true what he had told Simon, it made him feel younger. Since he was Captain, John barely had time for it and he missed it. Teaching them how to do things had always been something he really enjoyed. In general, he enjoyed teaching and was sure that he would have been a teacher if he had not entered the army.

Maybe that's not a bad idea either, he thought, leaving the camp after showering and heading towards the car. Retire and become a teacher.

Price began to laugh helplessly. He didn't see himself in a class full of kids willing to learn, but on the other hand, he wanted to try. Maybe be a physical education teacher, help his students exercise properly. Maybe he even taught them self-defense.

He parked the car and walked to the pub, still smiling and widening his smile when he saw Amelia waiting there, her hands in her jacket pockets. She turned around as soon as she spotted him and looked at him with genuine curiosity.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"I was thinking that, in another life, I’d have been a teacher."

She burst out laughing.

"Seriously?"

"Totally. In fact, I think I’d make an excellent physical education teacher."

Amelia chuckled again and nodded.

"That’s true, the typical strict but fun teacher."

"I'm not funny," Price huffed, cracking a half smile.

"You’re when you put your mind to it," she laughed and he followed suit.

John cocked his head as he realized she was wearing a beanie. One that looked very familiar.

"I think that's mine."

"It is," Amelia smiled mischievously. "Or it was because it's mine now," she chuckled and Price smiled. "Come on, let's go in. I'm hungry."

"And when you're not hungry?" he replied, following her inside.

Amelia nudged him gently and they both burst out laughing. They sat at a table, ordered something to eat and drink, and talked for three hours. They caught up properly and Price learned that, although Amelia was working at the university as a medical lecturer, she had acquired a pub that seemed to be doing quite well. He also discovered that neither had changed, that it was as if everything had resumed after that day in the hospital, as if nothing had happened.

"I've managed to play again," she smiled, finishing the dessert. "I'm not as good at it as I used to be, but it's something."

John looked at her with a mix between sadness and joy. He felt sorry for her because music was something very important to her, on the other hand, the fact that she had been able to play again was very good news.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Amelia nodded, distracted as she looked at her hand.

"Rehab was very hard," she murmured and picked up the glass to swirl the liquid inside. "I wanted to throw in the towel more times than I'll admit," she smiled and looked at him. "But, eh, in the end I managed to be left-handed again."

Unable to help it, Price smiled slyly.

"The world has felt a disturbance in the Force," he commented, sipping some of her whiskey.

"Hey!" Amelia tossed him the napkin and they both laughed. She took a deep breath and played with her glass again. "You know, sometimes I miss the army. The training, the raids, the conversations in the cafeteria... But then I think about everything else and it goes away," she finished the wine in one gulp. "Holding on to how we were at a specific time is a mistake I don't want to make. None of that will come back."

"It's a very wise stance."

"I've always been an intellectual. I'm a doctor, remember?"

Price laughed.

"How can I forget. Many of the scars I’ve are from your work."

"My suture’s perfect," she replied, drinking some water, "it's not my fault your wounds were always serious."

John smiled and looked at his glass of whiskey.

"The truth is, I owe you more than one."

"Totally agree."

They laughed and finished dinner. John insisted on paying and, after arguing a bit, Amelia finally relented. He took a deep breath as they left the pub and lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke and releasing it slowly.

"You should stop smoking," she chided gently, putting on her beanie.

"I’m trying. Actually, I smoke less than before," he admitted, watching the flame consume the cigarette, "but there are certain situations where I can't help it."

"That's called stress," Amelia pointed out with a half smile.

Price chuckled.

"It's possible."

A comfortable silence fell over them as the snow escaped from the sky. Amelia smiled and reached up to pick up a flake, putting it in her mouth, and John smiled. No, she certainly hadn't changed at all in all those years.

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

He almost whispered it, loud enough for her to hear. Amelia looked at him, surprised, and looked away, focusing on the street before them.

"No, there's no need," she replied and Price's heart broke a little. Then, she smiled and tilted her head. "But you may need someone to come with you. You've been drinking, maybe a doctor should supervise you."

He laughed and put out his cigarette in the ashtray next to the pub entrance.

"You're sure?"

Amelia shoved her hands into her jacket and took two steps forward before turning around to face him. She smiled and walked backwards.

"Of course. I'm a doctor, remember?" She burst out laughing. "Tell me, where did you park that relic of yours?"

"It's not a relic, it's a classic," he replied, walking behind her.

"It's older than you," Amelia laughed. "So it's a relic. You should buy a newer car. A safer one."

"I'll change it when I can't fix it.”

"Fix it? I'm sure there aren't even spare parts in the scrapyards," Amelia started to laugh and John smiled a little more. "Not even imports. The brand stopped making them in, dunno, seventeen hundred?"

"The first car is from the late eighteen hundred, smartass," he responded, stopping next to the vehicle and opening the passenger door. "My lady."

Amelia chuckled and got into the car. Price got behind the wheel and drove to his house, dodging what little traffic there was at that hour. He parked in the garage and, as they took the elevator up to his apartment, he felt the same insecurity as five years ago. The kind of doubts that a fifteen-year-old has about his first love. The two wolves stirred inside him again and he tried to convince them that this meant nothing, that the fact that Amelia had agreed to accompany him home did not mean that she wanted anything more.

We'll have a few more drinks, she'll sleep in the guest room and I'll take her home tomorrow, he thought. Nothing else.

He held back a sigh and opened the door, letting her enter first. Price closed the door and took off his jacket, leaving it on the coat rack. He was about to enter the kitchen when her voice caught his attention.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You still keep it!"

He followed her into the living room and saw Amelia go to one of the shelves to grab something. John smiled when he saw the stuffed quokka dressed as a soldier and touched its synthetic fur with his finger.

"Of course," he replied, "it's the first gift you ever gave me. 'You smile like a quokka,' you said."

"And you still do," Amelia smiled. "But… I thought you threw it away."

"Why would I? It's important to me. In fact, I keep everything you gave me," he added, looking at her.

Amelia opened her mouth slightly in surprise and smiled. She looked down, biting her lower lip, and looked closely at the stuffed animal.

"I keep them all too," she admitted softly.

"Actually, I thought so," John commented, reaching for the beanie she was still wearing and pulling it gently.

Amelia started to laugh.

"I think that's more of a theft."

"It is, yes," John tilted his head and smiled a little wider. "Now that I think about it, it's true that you’re a little thief. You've already stolen several things from me."

"Excuse me, but it's not theft if you let me take them," Amelia replied, reaching out to retrieve the beanie.

Price moved it out of her reach and looked at her fondly.

"You're right about that," he offered it to her and Amelia looked at him curiously. "I give it to you."

"But… it's your favorite," she said, picking it up without being entirely sure.

"That didn't stop you from taking it from me five years ago," he chuckled.

"It was to spite you," Amelia admitted.

"Are you implying my beanie isn't pretty enough to steal?"

Amelia looked at him indignantly and smiled slyly.

"What I'm saying, Captain Price, is that you’re a complete idiot."

John laughed and looked at her for a few seconds before focusing.

"Well, what do you want to drink?" he asked, walking into the kitchen. "I’ve whiskey, bourbon, vodka and beer," he opened the fridge to check if he had any cold ones. "Actually, I still have a brown ale left. I think that was your favorite, right?"

"It is, but I don't want to drink anything with alcohol."

John straightened and looked at her over the refrigerator door.

"But… you've only had one glass of wine," he commented, confused as he remembered her as someone with a good handle on alcohol.

She burst out laughing.

"I remind you that I’ve one kidney and that limits the amount of alcohol I can drink."

"Right, I’d forgotten," he smiled, a little embarrassed. He put the beer down and took a deep breath. "Well... I’ve water, if you want. Or would you prefer a glass of milk?" he added, mockingly.

Amelia rolled her eyes, still smiling, and closed the fridge door softly.

"It's amazing that you're still such an idiot."

"And you're a nonconformist," John replied. "You don't want anything I offer you."

She was silent and took a deep breath, looking at the magnets on the fridge.

"The truth’s that there’s something I fancy."

"Tell me, I'll go buy it."

Amelia looked at him and John's heart skipped a beat when he saw the love in her eyes.

"You," she replied briefly. "Unless you don't feel like it, in which case I think I'll accept that bottle of whiskey."

"Didn't you say you couldn't drink any more alcohol?" John asked, unable to contain himself.

"That I don't want to, not that I can't," Amelia pointed out and sighed. "A day is a day."

She turned around and walked toward the kitchen door. In that instant, John was aware that Amelia had interpreted his question as a refusal from her and he hurried after her. He swallowed and intercepted Amelia before she left the room, gently pushing her towards the wall.

"Where are you going?" he asked quietly.

"To get that bottle of whiskey," she whispered, smiling.

Price moved one hand to place it on her waist and leaned over her a little so he could speak into her ear.

"I don't think you need it."

"You're sure?" sighed Amelia, placing her hands on his abdomen. "I'm afraid I'll need proof, or I'll be forced to raid your minibar."

John smiled and kissed her below her ear, just at the edge of her lower jaw. Amelia pressed her hands a little more on his abdomen, sighing, and Price continued to her mouth, leaving soft kisses along the way. Amelia's bottom lip trembled as he brushed it with his, waited half a second, and kissed her. They both moaned and she opened her mouth to let him enter. Price kissed her again, pulling her to him, and Amelia clung to his neck.

"Bed… bedroom?" She managed to whisper in his ear, shuddering when John bit the base of her neck.

He grunted an affirmation and pulled away from her. Amelia smiled at him and took his hand, pulling him to the room. Unlike their first night together, they took it easy. Without fear of tomorrow, and without fear of anyone finding out, they enjoyed each other; they made each other laugh, caressed each other and moaned each other's names, trembling with pleasure. And, although John was dying to tell Amelia that he loved her, he held his tongue as looked back at her in her arms. He kissed her and Amelia turned her back on him to curl up in his lap. John pulled the covers over them and hugged her, kissed her shoulder and closed his eyes, feeling at peace.

John woke up early and, after watching Amelia sleep for a few long minutes, decided to get up and make breakfast. He knew she was a heavy sleeper and would take a little longer to wake up, so he took it easy.

"Are those pancakes I smell?"

He turned with the coffee pot in his hand and saw Amelia at the door, sniffing the air. John smiled.

"With banana, walnuts and chocolate syrup, the way you like them. It's a shame it's not strawberry season."

Amelia looked at him in surprise and sat at the table. John placed a cup of coffee in front of her and set the milk down next to her, returning to the stove to flip one of the pancakes.

"You… didn’t have to bother," she said quietly.

Price placed the last pancake on the plate and turned off the heat, pushing the pan aside before looking at her.

"You're right," he admitted. "I shouldn't be so nice to a person who tends to steal my clothes."

Amelia laughed and sipped some coffee.

"Sorry, it was the first thing I found. If you want the shirt back, go find mine."

John smiled and looked at her fondly.

"I don't think so. You look very sexy in it."

"Sweet-talker," she smiled a little more, blushing, and John was satisfied.

Price knew it was nonsense, a cliché like any other, but he couldn't help it: he liked women who, when they woke up, only wore his clothes. A sweatshirt, a shirt, a t-shirt. Any of them. And, for years, one of the things John dreamed about most was waking up next to Amelia and having her wear one of his clothes. Of course, John’s shirt was too big for her, but it left her legs exposed and boy did she have some pretty legs.

He poured coffee into a mug and leaned on the counter, watching as Amelia pulled out a couple of pancakes and poured banana, nuts, and syrup on them. He smiled contentedly as she closed her eyes, chewing the first bite of them, enjoying the flavors.

At that moment, John confirmed what he already suspected: that he would never love anyone like her. And he found himself thinking that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Amelia; to make her breakfast when he was home, to comfort her and laugh with her when she needed it and to love her every day.

"It's amazing how good your pancakes are," Amelia commented with her mouth full. "I've been trying different recipes for years and none of them are like yours. You're going to have to give me the recipe."

"Will you marry me?"

Amelia looked at him, stunned, her cheek bulging with food. She chewed and swallowed quickly, still in awe.

"What?" she whispered as she placed the cutlery on the table.

John put the cup down and walked over to the table. He rested his hands on it and leaned a little.

"Will you marry me?" He repeated in the same assured tone. Amelia opened her mouth, but she couldn't say anything. "It's okay if the answer is no," John added. "I'll survive."

Amelia looked at him for a couple more minutes before smiling and laughing softly. She bit her lower lip and crossed her arms on the table, leaning on it to push herself up and get closer to Price's face.

"I've been loving you for fourteen years," he whispered, still smiling, "how can I say no?"

John thought he would choke with happiness hearing her and he just smiled. He supported his weight on one hand to leave the other free so he could caress Amelia's cheek and kiss her. They both knew that it wouldn’t be an easy marriage, however, John was aware that Amelia would understand because she herself had been in the military and that took a weight off his shoulders.

Price kissed Amelia again and his chest burned for the love he felt, for being reciprocated. For the security that nothing would happen if someone found out, that they wouldn't have to hide it. And also for the feeling that, for the first time in years, everything was in order.

[radiance1]

"You fight against a god!" Said the eldritch, nearly undecipherable being that's body twinkled with stars that the JL/YJ (Your choice) had found themselves fighting against after having been sucked into a world not their own. "Do you truly believe yourselves capable of-"

A green sticky note appeared in front of the figure's... Face? They honestly didn't know, seeing as they couldn't tell where exactly this being began and ended.

"Oh- Oh uh." The figure said as its voice lost that booming, echoing quality as it started to shrink. "I gotta, like. Uh." Said the boy that took the being's place, sticky note in hand as he rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. "Sorry, can we, uh. Continue this later? I gotta walk my dog-"

A moment later, a loud bark broke the new atmosphere, and the child beamed. "Cujo!" He said, holding out his arms as the dog barreled into him. "Okay so I'll just, uh. I'll be right back, okay? Just stay there!" He said, before falling through a portal and leaving.

"So does this mean we technically won-"

[lilybug-02]

Still as clumsy as ever.

Bug Fact: Although the term “bug” has a scientific meaning, its common usage refers to any variety of small arthropods (such as beetles, spiders, or centipedes).

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Volume 2 Masterpost

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[idliketobeatree]

btw when you're being mean to aziraphale this is who you're being mean to. hope this helps

[musicchannel666mhz]

KADEBOSTANY - Walking with a Ghost