Howl [COD Simon Ghost Riley & John Soap Mactavish AU]

Epilogue

Simon sat in the shade of a few trees, the quiet blue sky above him. He'd been sitting there for some time. He'd lost track. His legs were stretched out and crossed casually. It was the most comfortable place he had been. Besides the little house outside Glasgow, this felt like home to him.

A gravestone sat leisurely in front of him, as if he and whoever lay beneath it were having a nice afternoon picnic in the warm weather. It was weathered, it had been there a while, but the words were clear. The name carved in marble as well as his heart. It was pretty and strong like the man it belonged to.

He visited this place as often as possible, spending his free time in the company of someone he loved, even if he could no longer hear their voice.

It was a part of the curse, to watch the people he attached himself to fulfil their human destiny of aging and dying. He'd fought with Soap about it quite a bit, Soap saying he was like a pet for him to keep in that window of his life and Simon fighting to learn to love him like they would die in the same season.

He had decided so early that it was worth it. In Germany, before they set off to end the Coalition, he'd known he'd make whatever time they had count. It counted. They had been, so far, the best years of his life.

They'd succeeded together, alongside Price and Laswell, in seeking the Coalition's hub and taking them out from their foundation. Truthfully, the Coalition had never succeeded in their goal beyond Simon and they had killed a sickening number of family-less soldiers in attempting to recreate it. Simon sat, still the only one of his kind.

The only one that got to feel love like this in multiple lifetimes. His loneliness had died in the tunnel where he'd held Soap skin to skin and it had yet to rise again. He was lucky.

He studied the gray marker before him for what must have been the millionth time. He had run his hands over it so many times, he could have read it without his eyes.

Beloved

"It's a beautiful day." He said quietly, to himself and to whoever else was listening.

"It is, isn't it?" Soap dropped down onto the blanket beside him.

He had a bottle of wine in his hands. They'd left it in the car by mistake and he'd run to grab it. Simon took it and opened it, pouring it into the glass Soap held out for him.

The man smiled, looking at the same grave Simon had been studying.

Beloved

Gary Roach Sanderson

1916 – 1946

Simon just kept studying Soap. He was older, his back and knees ached, little flecks of gray showed in his hair, the mohawk of his wild twenties and thirties long gone. His blue eyes were just as blindingly bright, but wrinkles surrounded them, deepened by that constant smile.

He was the luckiest half-man alive, to have that smile, let alone the heart behind it.

Soap had kept his promise to remember Roach with him. To keep him from slipping into nothing. And through all the dark nights and close calls, Roach had never visited Simon again. He was finally at rest, and Simon had finally found the one to steal back his loneliness and bury it, too.

They weren't retired. Not technically. Price had promoted Soap as he'd promised, and Simon hid dutifully behind the mask, not daring to reveal his lack of aging. But they didn't haunt the night together anymore. Simon often worked with Price on strategy, and Soap still went to train recruits on a regular basis. They were like family. It kept them in a routine, kept giving them purpose.

After they finally got some free time, they'd found a place to live together. Terrifying, for both of them, but it had become so beautiful. One night they lay awake in bed talking, and Soap asked Simon if he knew where Roach's body was.

The question was so hard on him. Of course he knew where it was. He'd never forget the look and smell and feel of the earth where he laid him. Even now, nearly a century later. He was afraid that revealing that he held it so close to his soul would make Soap jealous. It hadn't.

"Good." He'd said. "You'll be buried next to me, but we should get a plot for him too. Move him up here somewhere. Get him a proper marker."

Simon had almost said no. He didn't even want to go near the place where he'd put what was left of Gary in the ground. It was crude, they'd be digging for his bones. He couldn't see that.

Soap had caught the hitch in his breath and taken his hand. "We won't do it ourselves, Si. I know people. All I need is for you to pick the spot and the stone."

So he had. Simple and sturdy, like the man Gary Sanderson had been. Soap kept his promise, handing over the coordinates Simon had given him and letting someone else he trusted do the dirty work.

Soap's family had been glad to see him settle down with someone. In spite of his strange, unchanging looks, they seemed to trust him as blindly as Soap had. He would always marvel at that. It always challenged his ideas of his horrific portrayal or his ruined soul.

He'd lived a long time, he'd had a lot of sweet years with the man beside him. He knew, not without some sorrow, that they had only a short time left. He hoped for Soap it seemed long, but he knew how it would feel to his ancient heart.

"We should marry." He mused.

Soap looked over at him and frowned first, then laughed. "What?"

"I mean it." He pointed his drink at Gary's headstone. "Him and I wouldn't have been able to, legally, and I shouldn't miss my chance this time."

Soap shook his head. "Simon Riley, the serial husband."

Simon chuckled, looking down at his hands. "I thought there would be no one after him, until I met you. But I'm sure this time. You're it."

Soap took a long drink of his wine. He nodded. "Alright then. Name the time and place."

"I'll think about it." Simon leaned back on his hands. "It has to be perfect."

"I'm gonna take your name then. So you're not the last."

"No, I'll be taking yours, so it can live forever."

Soap nodded. "Bold. But unlikely."

Simon glanced at him again. He wasn't afraid of losing him anymore. He wasn't afraid of losing at all. Sad, sorrowful, but aware that it made it all more beautiful in the end. It wasn't really a loss, just a separation. A surrender.

"I love you, Soap."

Soap laid his hand over Simon's where it rested on their old quilt. "I love you, too."