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The fact that it was going to rain was not surprising, it was, after all, the very nature of the Shetland Islands. The fact that he knew it without even opening the curtain to look through the window was not surprising either, what with the old injury in his knee that never seemed to get back to a hundred and had faithfully served as a very precise barometer for many years now. What was surprising though, and has never ceased to astonish him was that he, Simon Ghost Riley, managed to reach the noble old age, hitting ninety five just two weeks prior. An amazing gift, truly. While he sat in the well loved armchair in the corner of the kitchen, that had been painstakingly tiled, painted and renovated so many years ago by the hands that were much better trained to destroy than to build, he let his thoughts pleasantly wander into exactly sixty years back.
„I did something stupid, LT...” MacTavish said with an unusually sheepish face under his trademark silly mohawk.
„And how is that news, Johnny?” Simon deadpanned, somehow not concerned. His sergeant had a knack of getting himself into trouble, however he also possessed an uncanny ability to dig himself out of them. By himself. Mainly. Sometimes with a need of his superior's aid. Surprisingly, that thought was more warming than irritating. His sergeant. His. Huh. Who would have thought.
„Ye may be angry, Simon” - oh, if he was a Simon that means Johnny was truly preoccupied „But I bought a house in Scotland.” The second part felt absolutely surreal, Johnny could have easily stated that he decided to forego his military career to join a circus in Eastern Europe. Well, considering his stunts Simon had no doubt the guy would be a hit. A house?
„Care to elaborate?” Simon was trying to thread carefully in the presence of a madman.
„Aye, so, there is this Facebook group that shows cheap old houses . I follow, it's calming, I like imagining the houses after the renovations and whatnot. So last month, when ye were still on that solo recon with no contact, I saw a post about a cottage north of the Shetland Islands. It cost next to nothing, but surely needs a lot of work. I thought it could be a nice project fer the leaves, but didn't think much of it. It stayed in my head though so when I had a couple of days off and I travelled to see my parents I kinda made a trip up north to check it out. I didn't plan to buy it, Si, I promise, I just wanted to take a look. When I saw it though... It was so cosy and calming and lonely. It didn't even put a dent in my savings that much, seeing that I don't really spend on anything while on base. I don't know what possessed me, I just wanted to secure it you know? Maybe I will renovate it a bit and then sell. I dunno. Will see.” Johnny was pouring words in his regular manner, a stream of consciousness, his general mode of communication. Simon needed a stopover to digest that overflow of information.
„You're trying to tell me you bought a literal property because you thought it was feeling lonely? Only you Johnny...” Simon was exasperated, albeit with a tiny, healthy spark of curiosity. It's not an everyday grocery shopping. „Wanna show us that lonely beauty?”
MacTavish seemed to be waiting just for that. He had his tablet ready, it was only now that Simon noticed. He was actually rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like an excited kindergartener wanting to show off his recent masterpiece. Again, his regular means of communication. One would have thought that he wanted to present the images of his newest signature explosion. Intriguing.
„Take a look, sir” - the folder was already open, pictures in the ready.
Simon took it and started to flip through the photos. The cottage was... it was freaking great. A cosy, outdated little house with great proportions and a solid roof. It was in need of a total renovation, just as Johnny had said, but even in it's shabby condition it was apparent that the place had great bones. Good size rooms and large windows. No mold on the walls or the ceilings. Some ancient appliances in the kitchen and what seemed a fully functional bathroom. A large fireplace, just waiting to be restored and used again. Hell, Ghost could enumerate at least five safehouses which had worse conditions than this off the top of his head. Nicely surprised, he pushed through the pictures until he saw the surroundings. He almost stopped blaming Johnny for his adventurous investment outburst. Not too close to the other houses, overlooking some sort of a lake, with acres of strawy grass and large bushes to the left and a typical stone dyke in front, separating the land from a narrow road. There were even bloody sheep just to the right of the plot, what with it being Shetland Island, renown for its wool production. Simon was, for the lack of a better word, absolutely charmed.
„You know, Johnny, it isn't half bad” he said cautiously. „Do you even know anything about renovations though? I thought you specialized in the opposite direction?”
„Actually” - Johnny seemed suspiciously smug „I thought maybe ye could give me a tip or two”.
Simon's tinkering with wood and metal was not a secret, some beautifully carved knife handles in his possession and one, famously, presented to Johnny on his birthday after the Chicago thing a few years back.
„I specialize in much smaller forms” Simon stated, carefully „But I think that with the youtube tutorials we could manage not to get ourselves electrocuted too fast”.
Johnny smirked at the „we”. The little shit knew exactly what he was doing buying that thing. He knew Simon's interest in making stuff. He quietly hoped that by disguising it by the plea of renovation support he will manage to spend some more time with his adored LT outside of base. His cunning plan was long term. Very long, lifetime long if he would have his way.
The relationship they had was casual at best, with nothing binding them to civilian life. Johnny knew, however, that whatever he wanted to have included Simon. He just needed to provide the soil for this wild little stubborn plant they had growing between them to take root and flourish. He might have taken that a bit too literally with the soil part, but the thought of Simon in a paint stained t-shirt, enjoying connecting the cables and building things, his mind occupied with tinkering with wooden planks and walks to the lake and plumbing puzzles instead the ever present, lingering dread of their job – oh that was something Johnny would cherish. He had a very very good gut feeling about this whole thing.
„Aye, I was thinking we could go and see together on our next longer leave. Price said we would each have to take at least three weeks off out of base by the end of the summer. What say ye, LT? Wanna trip to Scotland?”
Simon smiled, holding a warm mug in his knotted fingers. Many times has he thanked himself for a simple yes that followed. The yes, that led them to a long and boring journey by plane and rented car and ferry, and after nearly a day of travel to the front door of the place, that was to become what it was today, a safe haven. Heck, it was not even a door back then, just a board of plywood haphazardly fastened to the small wooden porch with a spiky roof. He remembered the lump in his throat when they went through it.
He let his thoughts wander once again, to the makeshift bed they made from their opened sleeping bags on the least destroyed floor and the slow, tired fucking that followed that night. Nothing particular was said, Johnny probably to smart to spook him with any declaration. For all it was worth they were two close friends from work, with an occasional tumble in the sheets, who decided to spend their leave together working on a renovation. Friends, who would put their lives in line for each other. Completely normal. Nothing that would make Simon too uncomfortable with. And they just drifted.
From the first trip for supplies, through the satisfactory days of sanding, painting, plumbing, wiring and all those calming activities that brought simple satisfaction and completion. Through the walks in the setting sun along the shore of the lake, seemingly discussing plans for the next day actions, but changing the meaning of the words about the bolts and hammers into the „I care” and „I want you here” and „I want to be here with you”. To the simple breakfasts and dinners cooked on a tourist gas bottle cooker, which tasted so good after the whole day of work. To the wandering hands at night, pushing into each other with quiet desperation but also, with ever growing sureness. They just drifted together into that domesticity and simple joy of normalcy.
It seemingly didn't change anything. They returned to the base after the leave and continued as before. Only Johnny seemed just a tad more careful with his explosives and Simon a bit more concentrated on the exfils. Nothing major, it was just they seemed to realize that there was something more outside the service. It continued slowly over the next couple of months, until after their next leave (furnishing and decorating, many long evenings spent on assembling furniture, and then testing their sturdiness with late night activities, no hurry) Johnny decided that in one of the extension rooms he would want an art studio. „The other one” - he said mindlessly „would be really good fer some woodworking stuff. The lighting is good there”. He didn't even have to lay it all out.
It didn't take long before the talks of retiring from the force started. What seemed like a literal nightmare before, suddenly was a... feasible option. Johnny went first. One boom too many, the loss of quite a percent of his hearing was what tipped the scale. There was somewhere to go. It wasn't scary anymore. After him gone Simon found himself finishing things. Tying loose ends. Leaving stuff in order. When he was in medical after what he would have before called a slight scratch to the leg (next to that bloody knee again) the text from Johnny didn't even surprise him. „Are ye ready to come home?” He was. He was actually good to go.
There was no fanfare, and no drama. He was not irreplaceable, as no-one ever is in monstrous conglomerates of armies or corporations. The journey to the Shetlands was as uneventful, with just a carry bag, his meager belongings already sent in a packet. Johnny met him in Glasgow and their life truly started.
A good life – Simon thought, sipping his now slightly lukewarm tea.
It was a good life that they didn't deserve – he stopped himself from elaborating on that thought, a Pavlovian response in him nearly expecting a smack in the head, even though Johnny was gone for over a year already. It was a good passing, Simon thought. An easy one, in their bed, a stroke, typical for anyone his age. Under the picture they had hanged together many years ago and purchased on one of the car trips on the islands. Simon was surprisingly calm when he got up that day and found Johnny unmoving. They were separating, yes, but just for a moment. Simon could do a moment. He was a patient man. The funeral was a quiet affair, Johnny's sister and his nephew driving from Glasgow. Gaz came with his wife, him a retired general, who would have thought. Price long time gone already. It was good, and quiet. The neighbours came with some homemade dishes, Simon put out some pictures from their travels, an album of Johnny's printed works. „Landscapes of the Shetlands” - his watercolours surprisingly delicate, coming from his large calloused hands. A point of pride for both of them, though Simon still remembered how awkward they felt on the show of Johnny's works, both in sports jackets and with glasses of cheap wine in hands. Good memory. So many of them, good ones.
Simon put his mug down on the little table that they brought on the ferry from a garage sale on the next island. He dozed off a little, grey morning light seeping through the half covered windows. He still slept when a familiar voice sounded with a youthful strength in his ear. „Are ye ready to come home, LT?” Johnny was standing before him, young as the day they met, with that silly mohawk that he had given up somewhere in his early fifties. The most beautiful man Simon had ever known. „Saved you a seat, sir.” He smiled, reaching out his hand. Simon took it and stood up with a vigour of new youth. The clouded light reflected in his blonde hair, somehow rid of the gray strands. The knee didn't bother him no more. He smiled a really good smile, undisturbed by the scar that had been a part of him from before he had even known Johnny. He was, again, good to go.