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He doesn’t have to say anything for Simon to know that Johnny loves him. He doesn’t have to say those three words, just once glance and Simon sees the love that he has for him. He sees the respect as his Lieutenant, he sees the respect and care for him as a friend and he sees the unabashed love for both Simon and Ghost in his eyes.
They’d never need words or overt actions of love for one another. They’d never need words for their love.
Their love was not a raging forest fire fueled by gasoline. It was a slow and gentle campfire. It would continue crackling and burning on until it was nothing but embers.
They lived dangerous lives— lives that left them not knowing if they’d live to see the next day.
That just made them appreciate one another more.
When Simon couldn’t sleep when figures of his past danced behind his eyes each time closed them, Johnny would just hold him. He’d never say a word, just holding Simon against his body, gently kissing scarred skin, humming a quiet song.
The gentle scratch of Johnny’s facial hair, the softness of his lips, the warmth of his body made the figures slow and fade.
Simon knew he wouldn’t forget his past, nor be able to run from it. There wasn’t enough ground on the earth for him to run on.
But Johnny made him want to be better.
Johnny embraced his problems, embraced his past and never ran.
Johnny loved him. He loved all that Simon was and ever would be, he loved the dark and the light.
He loved the controlled ice and violent flames.
He loved Simon and Ghost.
It was alarming to Simon that Johnny loved him unconditionally, loved him without shame. Even without the overt shows of love, without grand schemes with roses and chocolates, rather the smallest touch on the small of his back or a gentle bump of their shoulders left Simon was bursting with love.
Bursting wasn’t the word.
No, rather his love was overflowing.
His love for Johnny wasn’t violent— it wasn’t bursting, it was overflowing, like a river turning into a waterfall dropping into a lake. It would never be violent.
His love for Johnny was a love that made him feel alive, truly alive.
Simon was afraid at first— petrified to love the Sergeant.
Johnny was everything he wasn’t and Simon swore to himself he couldn’t spare a second for love when in a war zone.
Even when he was in between tours, he couldn’t spare a second for love because he knew the minute he loved someone else, the risk of the flames that burned his skin would scorch the ones he loved.
It would kill him to see Johnny scorched by his flames.
But Johnny— oh, Johnny.
He would run into the flames for Simon.
He’d let the flames engulf him and burn him into ash just to love Simon for a second.
John MacTavish would give everything he had just to love Simon Riley for a moment.
That is what terrified Simon.
He couldn’t imagine Johnny sacrificing everything for him. To live without Johnny would have to be some kind of cruel joke.
Realistically, Simon knew they’d die.
They had a career where men died young. They learned to be wary of older men. They were seasoned soldiers, but they had also learned how to survive in a profession where men died young. So he accepted they’d die young.
But there was still part of him that wished and wanted.
That part of him wished and wanted for the two of them to settle down in the countryside.
They’d have a small country house, a small town nearby. They’d have a dog, a German Shepard and maybe a cat.
It would be quiet— it would be just them for a while.
They’d talked about kids and left that idea to be discussed.
Simon wasn’t sure if he wanted kids— part of him did. He wanted to have a kid or two and love them unconditionally. He wanted to give them the childhood he never had, give them the life he never did.
Safe.
Johnny said he’d want kids, he wanted them to have loving parents who would give them the world and then some. But he’d be okay to not have them, just to have Simon in his life.
They agreed they’d talk about it later.
But there it was again.
That sacrifice for him; Johnny giving up something he’d want to stay with Simon.
It wasn’t something as big as his life but it was a part of his future.
They agreed to live in the now. They agreed to live in the moment because they knew they’d never see their future together. Deep down they knew they’d die torn apart by their careers.
The scariest part was how Johnny held his hands.
Johnny would run his fingers over Simon’s hands— slow and meticulous. He was calculated and would carefully lock their fingers together.
Their hands were both rough and scarred. Calluses left their hands worn and scars told their past, cuts deep into the flesh that scarred leaving damaged tissue.
No matter how bloodstained Simon’s hands were, Johnny would be holding them.
He’d never be able to wipe them clean, never be able to stop seeing red that coated his hands.
The blood coagulated over time, staining his skin, a staunch reminder of his sins, of his past.
But Johnny? His hands were bloody too.
He wasn’t a saint next to Simon.
Nor was he a sinner.
Johnny held his bloodied hands, just holding them without a second thought.
But for Johnny’s blood to be on his hands would leave him bleeding out.
The blood of his family was stained deep into his skin, no matter how much scrubbing he’d do, the water would never run clear.
If Johnny’s blood joined them, he’d be unable to live with himself.
He knew he’d continue on. He would honor Johnny’s memory, carrying his dog tags. He’d make sure everyone knew of Sergeant MacTavish, a brilliant Demolitions Expert.
The love of his life.
But that would be silent. Simon could never say out loud that Johnny was the love of his life, it would feel like he was tempting the world to take him away.
So he’d whisper quietly to Johnny how much he loved him. How he adored his mohawk that he’d grown out just a bit.
The scars that bit into his eyebrow and chin, other scars that decorated his body, allowing Simon to ask about each one.
He was able to kiss his scars, making Johnny laugh when his lips ran across the sensitive skin of his ribs and hips.
How he adored his eyes, so full of love and adoration. Simon was incredibly observant. He knew when people were staring.
Johnny stared at him like he was the moon and the brilliant stars. Even with how Simon stuck to the shadows, how he stuck to himself, Johnny would always see him.
He’d see Ghost always, but unlike anyone else, he would see Simon too. Simon would never need to be in the light for Johnny to see his shine. He’d look at Simon like he was a diamond reflecting rays of light.
No matter how badly Simon would want to hide behind his mask to protect people from becoming him, Johnny would see straight through the mask. He could read Simon, even if he was a book with ink stained pages obscuring words.
To Johnny, Simon wasn’t his past that was scratched out with thick black marker. Simon was just that— Simon.
Not Lieutenant Riley. Not Ghost. Not death. Not a faceless man with a redacted past.
He was just Simon Riley.
The love of Johnny’s life.