Domestic

Chapter 9

Simon walked out, motioning for Soap to stay seated and leaving him with his loud, overlapping thoughts. He wanted to stay. Or, at the very least, take Simon with him wherever he ran to next. But he knew it would put him in danger. Marcus might hesitate to go too far with Soap, if he could believe there was any love left in him at all, but he would have no qualms about harming the blond soldier that had picked him up like a knight in a shining black sedan. He wouldn't be surprised if Marcus had been watching them. He wouldn't be surprised if Marcus had followed them.

His chest tightened. He wouldn't be surprised if every horrible thing he had been trying to prevent came crashing down on top of him. And he wasn't far enough away from Simon to protect him from the fallout.

He stood, hearing Simon on his way back. He handed Soap an aspirin, a glass of water, and a folded, clean t-shirt.

"Thank you."

"I'll wash your bloody one, if you'd like." Simon looked him over, still watching for signs of concussion. "I don't think you should sleep for a while, but the couch will have to do. I don't have a bed in the other room yet."

"I can't stay, Simon." Soap was almost surprised at the words. They were so against what he wanted in that moment, he thought he'd told himself not to say them.

"You're safe here." Simon assured him. His face was soft and wide open. Soap thought he'd seen him before, seen him at all. He hadn't.

"It's not about that." Soap shook his head. "I know that."

"Then give me one good reason."

"Alright." Soap straightened, leveling his gaze at Simon. "If he shows up here, and he hurts you, I will never forgive myself. I'd never recover from that."

Simon stepped closer to him, forcing that gaze upward. "If I let you leave, and he hurt you, again, I'd never recover from that."

"No." Soap shook his head, feeling desperate. "No. I don't want to be your burden. I shouldn't have called you, I shouldn't have pulled you into this."

Simon didn't budge. "You called me because you knew I'd come. That I could help you. I intend to remind you that that's what you deserve. Not a bat to the face."

"But—"

"No, Soap. You're staying. I have absolutely no worries about Marcus showing up here. If he did, I wouldn't hesitate to protect you, do you believe that?"

Soap still looked defiant, but he cradled his broken hand in the other. "Yeah. You'll kill him."

"I hope it wouldn't come to that." He backed toward the kitchen, shaking his head. "I don't want that, you know that. I'll call the doorman, tell him not to let him in. Is he tracking you?"

Soap swallowed, his stomach dropping painfully and bouncing back up into his throat. "I don't know. What if he is, Simon? What are you actually going to do if he comes here?"

"I'm not going to open the door. And I'm going to stand in front of you if he gets in anyway. I swear to god, John, he's not getting to you tonight unless it's through me." He shook his head once, like he would shake off the thought itself. "Has he called you?"

Soap didn't even look at his phone. His hands, bloody and broken, hung by his sides. "I don't deserve that."

"I don't care." Simon turned and went into the kitchen. "I assume you haven't eaten."

"No." Soap had thousands of words fighting for dominance at the back of his throat.

He wondered if he ought to just leave. He was done with Marcus, he knew that. The look on the man's face when Soap had rolled over to escape him was something he didn't recognize. Something he never wanted to see again. But staying seemed too easy. Too good.