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You are the light of his life, which is no easy feat with a man who lived his whole life obscured by darkness before he met you, his antithesis. It’s an unusual dynamic, and people do not fail to tell you that. You pay them no mind. They don’t know Simon like you do.
They don’t know the way his cold demeanour melts away for you and only you.
They don’t know the fond looks sent your way by the members of his task force - a father’s pride from his captain, a look of warmth from Gaz, a look of admiration one might see on the face of a younger sibling from Soap. They know your boy, even if they only know him by the persona he puts on, and they know you are so good for him.
Captain Price sat you down in his office one day. You were bringing in a piece of Simon’s uniform that he accidentally left behind in his time off-base between deployments, and the man said he needed to talk to you.
He poured you a cup of tea, grimacing at the four packets of sugar you poured into it, before the uneasy look melted into a genuine grin as he saw a smile paint your face after the first sip. It had been a long time since the Captain saw a smile reach somebody’s eyes so easily.
“He’s a good man, our Simon. But he’s been lonely for years. Closes himself off,” the Captain’s voice was gruff as he shared his thoughts.
All you could do was nod empathetically, a gentle head tilt as you maintained eye contact with the man across from you.
“Haven’t seen the man relax like he did when you touched him, not for years. You put that hand on his shoulder and it looked like years of tension evaporated.”
A soft smile was sent his way. He mirrored it, though it was lost in the moustache masking his top lip.
“You’ve been good to him. Good for him,” he closed off his thoughts. “He’s subtle about it, but I think that in all the time I’ve known him, he’s the closest to happy he’s ever been.”
And if Price thought your smile was something special before, he had no idea what was coming, as your smile seemed to fill his dim, lamp-lit office with beams of sunlight.
The smile never left, even as you hung around base for just a little longer than you were needed, chatting with his teammates and watching your boy in his element. He wasn’t the same as he was with just you, but that only served to make you feel even more special, his softness reserved for you, never bleeding into his training.
You knew that he may not be close to you for much longer, seeing the intensity he brought into his training regime, so you stayed in the doorway, allowing yourself to linger. You pretended to be surprised when he came home to you two days later, sharing the news of his impending deployment.
He hates leaving you alone, he has since the beginning, but there’s no way to protect his lovey without fighting against the evil of the world, so he left, promising to return as soon as he could.
Nearly a month of your life was spent feeling empty. No trace of Simon to take away the empty space in your heart, home, and bed. You were left to your own devices, filling the void with the pictures and videos you’ve kept of Simon.
Weeks later, when Simon was finally back in your home after the mission, you brought him to the couch, straddling his lap and running your hands over the tense muscle in his shoulders, lips never separating. If you could have your way in this world, your sweet boy would never be tense again.
He laughed through the kiss at your eager hands searching for every knot in his muscles before pulling your hands away, a reassuring look on his face.
“I’m okay, lovey, I promise.”
The pout adorning your face after having your hands pulled off his shoulders didn’t last long. Not when he was speaking to you in such a calm, sweet voice - a voice you always miss so terribly whenever he’s on deployment, pulling up the little videos you’d taken of your time together so you could hear his voice and pretend he was really there speaking to you.
But there’s no point in dwelling on the longing, not when he’s here, alive and breathing. His hands are a grounding pressure against your waist, a firm touch, but not squeezing, never squeezing. He may be a killer, but he would never even think about hurting you.
“Jus’ wanna spend the evening with my girl,” he speaks softly, face pressed against yours, his unshaven cheek brushing your soft skin. “You don’t need to take care of me, you do that enough. Jus’ let me hold you, the rest can come later, yeah?”
You nod, his beard scratching you in a way you can’t get enough of. He’s a man who knows what he wants, gentle instruction keeping you in your place, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s nice, not having to worry when Simon is here, and so easy to let yourself go. You know you can fall back on him, he won’t let you drift away, his strong hold on you keeps you grounded.
So you let go, face buried into the space between his neck and shoulder, soft noises and even softer breathing as you let everything go, trusting Simon to keep you where you need to be. He places a gentle kiss into your hair and breathes in the lavender of your shampoo.
“Fuck, doll. I missed you,” he whispers, a rare sense of vulnerability in his tone.
“I missed you too, Si,” you say, pulling yourself away from his neck to look him in the eyes, cradling his face in your hands. “Was the mission that bad?”
“Fuckin’ stupid is what it was,” he grunts. “Had to join forces with some bloody Americans, only for them to fuck us over the first chance they got. Screwed up the whole mission.”
You don’t speak, only giving him a reassuring hum and gentle touches along his face, encouraging him to keep talking.
“Price said they’d be our allies, I shouldn’t have listened. Should’ve been like Sgt. Garrick, the kid didn’t trust them from the beginning. Wanted to put a bullet in that asshole commander’s head by the end of it all.”
You frown, the tiniest downturn of your lips, but it doesn’t slip past Simon’s radar, nothing ever does.
“Fuck. M’ sorry, lovey. Didn’t mean to lose m’self there.”
He hates tainting your innocent worldview with the trauma of his work stories. You’re his sweet girl, he never wants to expose you to the horrors of the world, never wants you to be desensitized.
You cry about everything, every tragedy you hear about, even just the closing of little family-run shops. Your empathy cut deep for him, to the point of him cancelling your cable so you couldn’t watch the news, unable to let himself sit there and watch his lovey cry.
Of course, no matter how tight the tension in the air gets, you always know how to break it, always a breath of fresh air in Simon’s life.
“Come on, Si,” you whisper. “Go for a walk with me? I’ve missed our walks together.”
He doesn’t speak, but you know his answer.
With a quick nod, he lifts you off of his lap so he can stand up and you see him reaching for his jacket and his knife before pulling his balaclava over his head.
You quickly follow in his footsteps, donning one of his old sweaters he left behind for you and a pair of boots.
You’re certain you look like a mess, but Simon is looking at you like you hung the stars.
Perhaps it’s possessiveness from seeing you in his clothes, or maybe a sense of domestic bliss. You may never know, but you are certain you’ll never tire of the man’s adoring gaze.
Finally, your lover breaks the silence.
“God, you’re just swimming in that jumper, aren’t ya, lovey?”
You flush bright red, a shy smile on your face as you stare at your feet.
“It reminds me of you,” you confess quietly. “When you’re gone, I wear anything of yours I can get my hands on.”
“That’s my girl.”
Fuck, you melt his heart.
He’s certain you’re going to drive him crazy one of these days.
When you link your hand with his, you feel his rapid pulse, and give a reassuring squeeze, falsely mistaking his adoration for nerves as you use your free hand to open the door.
The moment you step outside, the world seems brighter than ever before. You suppose you got used to a colourless world without Simon there beside you.
It’s almost funny, the way you’ve got a man all too familiar with darkness and death wrapped around your little finger. He makes your world brighter, but you? You bring his world to life.
Slowly, you stroll through the streets of your small town, before you make it to your favourite field.
Before you came along, to Simon, this field was nothing special. Grass and dirt and flowers.
And then you went on your first walk together. He remembers it fondly.
It took a lot of coaxing to get the military man outside when you first started dating, walking around out in the open worried him. If anyone tried to hurt him, he knew he could hold his own, but you couldn’t. You were far too precious for him to risk being harmed.
Just to get him walking around your neighbourhood with you, you had to compromise, letting him wear his full tactical getup, carrying a pistol on his hip, more of a guard dog than a boyfriend.
So of course, when you stopped suddenly, back facing him and asked for him to get out his knife? The man had never gone into a defensive position faster in his life, in his entire military career. He was terrified you were hurt.
“Not like that, silly,” you giggled. “Look at the wildflowers! I need to cut some to put in a vase at home, all my flowers right now are going droopy.”
“Christ, love. You scared me,” he grunted.
You looked guilty, but the look never lasted long, abandoned in favour of doe eyes and fluttering eyelashes.
“Sorry, Si,” a pout to join the wide eyes. “Can I use your knife now? I promise I’ll be quick!”
“No.”
“Please? I just want to get a few flowers,” your pout deepened.
“It’s a hunting knife, lovey, cuts through bone. You’ll hurt yourself. Show me the flowers you want and I’ll cut them for ya.”
God, that man could never fail to make you swoon.
You smiled, bouncing on your toes as you ran over to the patch of flowers, pointing out each and every flower you wanted to bring home.
He sat there patiently, gradually snipping the stems of yarrow and daisies that caught your eye before you pulled him towards a bright yellow patch of arnica.
You explained each flower to him, delighting in your little bouquet of early-summer blooms.
And if you managed to convince the stubborn Lieutenant to help you carry some of them on your walk back home, batting your eyelashes and telling him your hands are “just too small, you’d be much better at keeping them all together without crushing the stems” - that can stay between the two of you.
Now, nearly three years later, you don’t even have to ask for his knife. He knows the flowers you like, knows how to cut them without damaging them, even knows to leave enough behind to keep the pollinators happy.
And so, when you walk towards a cluster of daffodils on the roadside, he’s right beside you, already bending down to cut them free for you.
Now, satisfied with your little bouquet, you walk back to your home, never letting go of his hand.
You leave your muddy boots on the mat outside your door and step inside, and making a beeline for the glass vase under the kitchen sink. Immediately, you fill it with water and arrange your daffodils, placing them on the table.
“There,” you smile. “Now the house is a little brighter! A little bit of sunshine inside the house.”
He disagrees, though he’d never voice it - couldn’t bear to snuff out your joy. His sunshine can’t be contained in a vase, rays of sun contained in her bright smile and soft eyes, not the petals of a yellow and orange roadside arrangement.
He can’t dwell on these thoughts for long, however. Not when his phone is ringing, whatever humiliating ringtone Soap chose to put into Simon’s phone when he wasn’t looking. He complains every time, but never made the effort to change it.
You look the other way when the corners of his mouth turn up softly at the familiar sound.
He leaves the room to take the call, and you take the opportunity to tend to the old flowers from another vase, dumping the water and setting the vase onto the counter to clean, taking the droopy stems out to the garden to put in the compost pile.
It’s as you’re scrubbing the vase in the sink that Simon returns, gentle contemplation on his face.
“Everything alright with Soap?” you ask politely.
“Yeah, lovey. Everything’s alright. He called to let me know all the paperwork for the mission has been finished, wanted to go out for a few drinks tonight,” he smiles hesitantly.
“You can go out for drinks with your boys, Si,” you grin. “I can spend another night at home by myself, I’m a big girl.”
“He invited you, actually,” the man explains. “Said Gaz is dying for some civilian gossip. I wouldn’t go if you weren’t coming.”
You pause for a moment.
Before Simon, you’d never go out to drink. You stopped enjoying it by the age of twenty, when you realized men will never stop looking at you like you’re something to eat.
Even with Simon in your life, in the early stage of your time together, it was never your scene.
You’ve had your share of hands lingering where a strangers hands should never linger, had enough men expecting you to blow them with nothing in return, enough men assuming you’re just dying to feel their hands on your tits and waist.
But now?
Now, you have Simon, a man who would stop at nothing to protect his lovey.
Wouldn’t even give you a chance to try to protect yourself if some creep came up to you, to be honest.
If the fucker didn’t retreat at the sight of the 6’4 tank walking towards them, surely he would at the sight and sound of your man racking the slide of his pistol.
And if he still didn’t leave you alone, Simon supposes he could trust you with his boys for just a moment, his Sergeants and Captain shielding you as he takes the man outside to ensure he will never bother you again.
And if he took you home to finger you open with the man’s blood still lingering on his hands, that’s a secret you’d take to your grave.
He promised to protect you, and Simon always keeps his promises.
You can be soft, show off as much as you want to show off, and no one will hurt you - not when you’ve got a whole team of soldiers to fight for you the moment some creeps hands linger for just a moment too long, led into battle by your bloodthirsty lieutenant.
So you change into your party dress, showing just a bit more skin than you’d ever show on your own, and fall into your rightful place at your boyfriend’s side, knowing you’re safe in his care.
Ever since the moment you fell in love with a ghost, you’re not scared of the dark anymore. He’s always watching, standing quietly in the shadows until you need him.
You don’t bother yourself with silly thoughts about the irony of feeling your safest with a killer, you just let yourself be watched, knowing for once, you’re safe. He’ll make sure of it.