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The gym was his safe space for nights like these. Late at night, no one was there. The military men needed their sleep. But unlike a ghost, Simon needed to sleep. It was always a plus when he could, but it seemed unlikely given the way his night was going already.
His muscles burned as he held weights in his hands, grunting at each move. The sound filled the gym. About an hour ago, he was getting the right weight. The agony in his mind never stopped. In combination with the lack of breaks, his energy was wearing off and he couldn’t do what he usually did.
Simon didn't want to be here either, but he needed to be. Those blinding lights, and the loud sound of the air conditioning kept him focused. Grounded. That’s what he needed. His mind was already fuzzy enough.
Fighting back regressing wasn’t an easy task, not when Captain Mactavish was right there. Letting him, urging him to fall into his arms. To cradle away the sadness and the pain. Life was a bitch, Simon knew that. With their recent mission, it was harder and harder to keep fighting back. He needed to regress but he couldn’t let himself. It felt like there was too much to do, even though all tasks could be paused if he needed a break.
Simon had started the day extra quiet, but then significantly more rough with their recruits. There were reprimands and shouting involved, and Ghost got a whack on the back of his masked head for being too rough. Given by no other than Captain Mactavish. Simon should know better, really. They were safe here, yet every bone in his body said to run each time the captain was so close. His eyes would soften and he’d relax in his presence, but Simon couldn’t have that. Being on edge constantly was a form of defense and protecting himself.
It was easier to rely on the captain, it always was. Less worries, less fears, more rest. But Simon didn’t want to keep pushing that burden onto Soap. His demons were his own, they were to haunt him at night, not the captain. His weakness would hurt them, he was sure of it. Even though Mactavish could easily take it, that didn’t mean Ghost wasn’t scared. Because thats all he was deeper down. Scared, about so many things, especially being alone. So he held the weakness close to the chest and went on his own.
It was only obvious that Captain Mactavish would find out why. With the detection skills of a black-footed cat hunting prey, it was only a matter of time. Simon could lie all day to someone he didn’t know, because they wouldn’t know his tells, but Mactavish knew. He knew all of Simon’s tells after being so close for so long. It was easier when Simon spoke up, obviously, but Simon had his reasons. Stupid or not, they were reasons.
The weights kept getting replaced for something smaller, lighter. He ended up hitting his fist against the wall from the frustration. His knuckle came back bloody, but he kept going. Simon never knew when to stop unless given an order to. And in this state, it wasn’t a guarantee he would even pause. He used his stresses as a fuel to keep going, though he was burning the candle at both ends. He couldn’t keep up at this rate. His arms burned, his hands ached. He had gotten too tired to use proper form, that would only exasperate the soreness.
A pained sound wracked through his body as his shoulders slumped forward. Simon pressed his forehead to the wall, as if it would help him. The fabric of the balaklava began to dampen around his eyes, the black fabric darkened with the wetness. Sweat clinging to the fabric.
“Fuck…” Simon forced out, staring at the ground under him as he tried to stabilize himself.
The feeling of eyes burned at the back of his head. Simon’s guard went up instantly. He used his arm to wipe his eyes, the burn in his arms only growing as the limbs were used.
Pushing himself back from the wall, he begun his weights again. This time standing with single hand ones. Breaths were punched from his lungs after each hit, followed by a grunt. It hurt, but he needed to keep going. There was a chance he’d be able to sleep as long as he worked himself to exhaustion.
The fuzzy feeling kept returning, stronger each time he pushed it back. Simon kept his head angled away from the mirrors near him. He knew how he looked. Bone tired, restless, frustrated. The perfect mix for impure regression, which was one of the reasons he kept going. A panic attack while little always ended up with him getting an injury, or a lot of tears.
Someone cleared their throat from behind him. It took a lot of pressure to not look. It was instinctual to look, but he didn’t want to.
“F- fuck off.” Simon hissed through gritted teeth, dropping the weights on the floor as it got to be too much.
“Ghost.” A scottish accent rumbled. Simon didn’t give him a response, but he stopped punching. His hands wearily rested at his sides. The captain was right there. If he could just drop the defenses…
“Simon.” Mactavish pressed once he was met with silence the first time. The captain stepped forward, walking until he was close behind Simon. An arms length away. It was far enough that Simon wouldn’t run, Mactavish had found out after months of trial and error.
“Sir…” Came Simon’s reply, his hands moving to brace against the punching bag. His eyes burned, glossy with tears ready to fall. Of course Mactavish would know where he was, that man seemed to know everything about him even if Simon hadn’t said anything.
“What’re ye doin’, Si?” The captain asked, a sigh to his tone.
Simon wanted to spill everything. To tell him how shit he was feeling, tell him about how he thought their mission would fail days ago, how he thought that if he just ignored it all the fuzziness in his head would go away. He kept his eyes away from him though. He didn’t spill his guts.
“Exercising, sir.” His lip quivered under the mask. Simon tried deep breaths. The sweat soaked shirt clung to his skin, which just added to the crushing feeling of being overwhelmed.
The gym was empty, aside from him and the captain. It seemed Mactavish paused to check.
“You’re done fer the night.” The captain decided, eyes glaring firmly at the back of Simon’s head. His words left no room for argument.
“I’m not. Sir.” Despite knowing it was a bad idea, Simon turned around. His blue eyes glossy with the same tears, his mask damp around the eyes. Still, he gave a fight. Even as he kept eyeing Mactavish’s arms, wishing they were around him instead. But no, he denied himself that relief.
The captain’s eyes softened as he scanned over Simon’s body. Every little thing told Johnny that Simon needed to rest, needed to let himself breathe. His boy, worked up too much.
“Simon, love, stop it and come here.” He addressed him gently, a sweet hum to his tone. Mactavish offered his hands.
The tears slipped from Simon’s eyes as he watched the captain. Fighting against it had already proved harder, and more painful. He needed to regress, it was easy to see in his tense body.
“No, no, I have-” Simon began. But he didn’t have to do anything. He worked out, he ate dinner, he did his paperwork. There was nothing more to accomplish.
“There’s nothin’ to do, come on, Si.” The hands beckoned him closer. Johnny’s gentle eyes were hard to ignore, the sweet tone. Sometimes it was hard for Simon to fathom the idea that no one wanted to care. But then there was Mactavish, pulling when he pushed.
Simon wanted to. Needed to. His eyes flickered between the hands he was offered and the Captain’s gaze. Except it wasn’t very captain-like, it was just John. There wasn’t work to do, nothing to stress about. It was just them. But Simon was still stressing over nonexistent problems.
“Simon.” John spoke, reeling him back in. It was so easy to just listen. He needed to just listen.
His hands reached out too, grabbing onto Mactavish with a timid hold. The smile he got in return was worth the bloodied hand and the exhaustion.
Gently, Simon was guided closer. Warm arms wrapped around him, and his head rested on his shoulder. Nothing like the chilled air of the gym. The touch was firm, adding the grounding pressure that Simon required. Deep breaths filled his lungs again, without the sparks of pain from the punching. He could feel that control fading, slowly. It was all fuzzy again, but it wasn't necessarily scary anymore.
“Let’s get you a bath… Ye need it.” John spoke, a hand softly cradling the back of Simon’s head.
“‘m not tha’ bad..” Simon grumbled into Johnny’s shirt. He was, in fact, that bad. His gray shirt practically drenched in sweat, his balaklava even more gross.
“Ye definitely are. Come on, I’ll help ye bathe, Si.” John told him, giving Simon a gentle poke in the ribs. As usual, even with Simon’s grumpy behavior, he was still playful with him.
Simon gave a small huff as a reply, but kept leaning on Mactavish. If it was a solid no, Simon would pull away. They had a system set up for nonverbal replies, Simon’s doing. It was mostly what Johnny had caught onto, rather than a discussion they had. Thankfully, Simon was easy to read. Both when he was big and little.
“Quit yer pouting.” Mactavish patted his back.
“Not pouting.” Simon was quick to insist, his arms tucked around Mactavish’s neck. He was definitely pouting, the mask hid it mostly, but that pouty lip would always be obvious.
“Ye are!” Johnny laughed. The sound filled the gym, bouncing off the walls and back to Simon’s ears. Simon’s shoulders dropped, a breath fanning against John’s shoulder through the icky mask.
“Mmmh…” Simon mumbled. A little sniffle came from him as his arms tightened their hold. The laugh still pleasantly rang in his ears.
He has ignored regressing so much, this wasn’t the first incident. Somehow, Mactavish always seemed to untie that knot in his chest. Over the years, Simon had been convinced that hiding it was better. Then there was Mactavish, encouraging him, and soothing him at every turn. After everything, Simon still felt the need to hide it. And when Johnny would help, the guilt sunk in.
“Oh, Ghostie…” John whispered. It clicked in his head almost immediately. In a few seconds, he had Simon lifted into his arms.
Simon didn’t return the words. Every movement of his arms hurt, but he held tighter. His legs also wrapped around Johnny’s backside now he was in his arms. With one hand, he yanked the gross mask off in order to draw a breath. His face pressed to Mactavish’s neck, soft sounds of distress rumbled in the brit’s chest.
“I know.. I know. Just let it out, Mo ghraidh…” Mactavish whispered.
Each word felt so loud to Simon, yet so very needed. He could relax. And that realization was stunning each time. Johnny had him, and Simon could always fall back on him for help. It just didn’t feel real.
“J-johnny…” Simon’s voice hoarsely muttered. No matter his size, he felt small in Mactavish’s arms. It didn’t help that regression was crashing down on him.
“It’s okay, bud…” The scot sighed, holding Simon tightly in his arms. Slowly, he shifted his weight side to side in a smooth swaying motion. A hand traced shapes on Simon’s back. Hearts, triangles, circles, squares. Anything, really.
The soft whimpers and cries continued for a few very long minutes. The sad sounds deeply upsetting the captain as he was trying to let his little one get all those icky tears out. Thankfully the gym remained empty except John and Simon. The tears came to a stop when Johnny began to softly hum to the boy. A gentle song, like a lullaby. One Simon had only ever heard from Mactavish, he assumed it was a scottish thing. Nevertheless, it helped. The subtle vibrations of John’s chest against Simon’s was beginning to settle him back down.
As the tears subsided, the ache in his hands and the stickiness of the sweaty clothes began to pester the little one more than before. Simon weakly pulled one of his hands down, where it clutched onto to Johnny’s shirt instead.
“My wee baby.. Let’s go to my room, eh?” Mactavish gave Simon the choice, one of his hands circling his back gently.
“Bath..” The little one responded, his head tucked perfectly into the side of Johnny’s neck. The little beard hairs doing more to calm him rather than stress him out further. It was warm there, nothing scary could get him now he was so safe in his carer’s arms.
“I wouldn’t let ye get in bed with all yer sweatiness.” Johnny hummed. A smile across his face as he looked down at Simon, his little one trusting him to take care of it all. To take away the big worries. Even though they were all tired and stressed, Mactavish would easily take Simon’s stress too if that meant they both got a night of sleep.
There was merely a nod in response. Simon’s other arm came to rest underneath himself, tucked under him like how a baby would. He was just a baby after all, a small little guy.
Simon soon felt the movements of John beginning to walk them to the captain’s quarters. The walk had been memorized in his head, each turn and even the pace Mactavish took. Slow and steady so the bounce of being carried didn’t hurt Simon. The movement of being carried had the little one relaxing further, absentmindedly chewing on his cheek as his eyes drifted shut.
They only walked for a few minutes, Simon so very close to falling asleep on Johnny’s shoulder. Then that was interrupted by him being set down on the bed. His eyes peered open, fighting against the light of the room before giving a little grumble. This wasn’t the bath, he noted. A whine followed his other noise of complaint.
“Hey, hey, mo chridhe,” Mactavish expected tears with how Simon was complaining, “we’ve just gotta grab clothes, okay? Then bathtime.” The carer explained, slowly for Simon to understand better.
The little one still huffed at him a little, blue eyes sparkling under the lights of the bedroom as he got view of the other cozy places in the room. He’d been there a thousand times before, but he spotted new things. A little panda bear plush was sat on John’s desk, a brown beanbag chair was near the dresser. Simon hadn’t seen any other captain’s room look actually inviting, but Johnny’s did. Mactavish went to the task at finding clothes, leaving Simon a soft smile before he went to the other side of the room.
“Bubba?” A very small voice spoke. Soft and timid. Simon’s eyes remained firmly planted on the new items he saw. The panda was more interesting though, perfect size for hugging.
John’s ears perked up at hearing the little one’s voice, especially so quiet. He turned, his gaze settling on Simon, who had begun pointing at the panda.
“After yer bath ye can have it.” Mactavish spoke, leaning down a little to Simon. A grin on his face that wrinkled the creases of his eyes. The answer seemed to satisfy Simon, who laid down in the bed instead of giving any kind of pout or fuss.
Simon did begin to glance to the bathroom door, however. The gross fabric of his sweaty shirt clung to him like glue. His hair stuck to his forehead and he was starting to get itchy. A combination that did not make him feel any better. A small whimper slipped from him as he tugged at the clothes sticking to his skin. For the time being, he had to wait, but it was growing more overwhelming by the second. His chest heaved with a forceful breath.
“Love?” Mactavish spoke as he looked at Simon. The distress clear on the little one’s face as he was fighting with his shirt, tugging, whimpering, twisting.
“Woah, hey, let me help… Bubba’s here to help.” It didn’t stop the distress, but it got Simon to stop moving. John was quick to get Simon’s shirt off and into the laundry basket by the bed.
“All better?” John asked gently, combing his hand through the sweaty hair on Simon’s head. The room was chilly, but god was that better than the shirt. Simon nodded in response.
From there, the bath was drawn and clothes for Simon were set aside on the bathroom counter. It was another small fight to get Simon out of his pants, but that was because it was also sticking to his skin and his boots were double knotted to perfection. That was the main problem. It did make Johnny wonder how Simon managed that with such a fuzzy head all day though.
Simon was in the bath as soon as he physically could be. The warm water perfectly washing over his weary legs and his lower belly. The bath crayons were near the faucet, his eyes catching them. A cheeky smile washed over his face. Tired or not, he loved coloring in the bath. Because then he could be distracted while Mactavish helped him wash.
The crayons were handed to him when John noticed him staring at the little toys, a familiar fondness in the carer’s eyes. Simon gave a toothy grin as he was handed the items, the scar at the left corner of his lips rising with the smile as well.
The bath was easy and smooth sailing. Simon made a huge art mess on the wall of the shower, while Johnny washed him off. There was a small hiccup when the showerhead was turned on, and Simon loudly protested that. They settled with a cup and using the water already in the bath to wash off the soap suds. Special care was given to the busted knuckle on Simon’s hand. But he was clean quickly, which left lots of time to play until the water was cold. Which Johnny happily let Simon do.
He didn’t last that long though. His eyes had started to close as he was playing, and John decided to go ahead and take his little one out of the bath. The last thing they needed was an extra injured baby. Simon had already achieved his fair shared of injuries from doing things he shouldn’t have been doing alone.
Drying off was a little more difficult than anticipated. Simon downright refused to sit still, trying to get away from the towel trying to dry his hair. A hair drier wasn’t an option either, because it scared him too. The loud sounds and the heat upset him greatly. It was far too chilly out for Simon to have wet hair all night, which is what Johnny tried to explain, but it fell on deaf ears. Simon just didn’t want his hair touched or dried. Or maybe he was scared of the towel on his head. Either way, it was grinding Mactavish’s gears.
Instead of fighting and upsetting the little one even more, John spoke gently to him and then moved on to drying his legs. There was still fussing, but there were no tears. And by the end, Simon was sleepy enough again. John leaned Simon onto his shoulder, and dried his hair with the little one against him.
It helped to be close, Simon realized. He could feel Johnny’s breathing as his hair was being dried. It wasn’t dark, it wasn’t scary, nothing was holding him still. It was just a towel, not a box, not a cell. He was in good care.
“Let’s get ye dressed…” Soap muttered, pressing a kiss against the now dried hair on Simon’s head. It was only slightly damp, because of how much water Simon’s hair held.
There wasn’t much of a fuss that time.
Dressing Simon was easy, because he got to be all warm again. For bedtime, Johnny got Simon into a diaper. After a very long discussion months ago, they had decided it would be best for Simon. There had been several instances where, while regressed, Simon accidentally wet himself in the night. From nightmares, night terrors, or just not getting the signals in time. Plus, it was an added comfort to feel smaller.
And the fact that Simon wasn’t complaining meant that he already felt smaller than usual. It was often a fight to get him to agree to wear them, even if he agreed that he needed it. Sometimes there would be tears, but not tonight.
Simon wearily blinked up at Johnny after he’d gotten fully dressed. Black hair falling into his face as the wavey curls situated themselves, his cheek once again being chewed, as visible by the little dimple on one of his cheeks.
“That’s it, mo ghraidh… My sleepy boy.” Mactavish sweetly whispered to Simon, a hand coming to rest on his cheek. His thumb gently caressed over one of his scars.
Simon’s mouth opened to speak, before he closed it again and simply leaned into John’s hand. Soft cooing sounds coming from him instead, sweet eyes peering up at his carer like he was his whole world. A soft kiss was pressed onto his forehead, Mactavish’s beard tickling the skin. Little giggles came from Simon, both from the kiss and the ticklish feeling.
“My little lad, lets get ye to bed.” Simon heard as he yawned, seeing his bubba’s face looking down at him with a grin. He was lifted back into Johnny’s arms, quickly pressing his head onto Soap’s shoulder with his nose nuzzling against the fabric of his shirt. His arms tucked back under himself again.
It didn’t seem to be a problem for Mactavish, carrying Simon was only difficult when he hadn’t done it in a while.
He was carried to the bed and was laid down there. Then Johnny was gone. Simon was quick to sit up to look for his caregiver, little whines and whimpers became present in the room. His eyes darted around.
There was Johnny, right by the desk where the panda plush was.
“I promised ye this, didn’t I, Si?” Soap asked softly, as he grabbed the panda and brought it back over to Simon. There was also a pacifier in his hand, held by the handle.
When Simon gasped and took the plush, Johnny slipped the pacifier into his mouth. No fuss, nor was there really a reaction at all. Simon simply suckled on the pacifier as he pulled the stuffed animal into his arms. The first thing he did was rub the plushie against his face, to feel the soft texture.
“Sweetheart, why don’t ye lay down to cuddle with yer new stuffie, hm?” John suggested, hands running through Simon’s freshly leaned hair. Johnny was lucky he had the chance to shower earlier before finding Simon at the gym, so the bed wouldn’t be dirty.
Simon scuffled with the blankets at that suggestion. Already a little cold from being out of the warm bath, a few small huffs were made as he tried to get under the blankets. They just wouldn’t cooperate.
It took only a few seconds to get Simon under the blankets once Johnny began to assist. The warmth enveloped him, and he cuddled up under the cozy blankets. Arms wrapped around the stuffed panda, but his eyes kept following Mactavish.
“I’ll be there in a minute, bubba’s gotta get in comfy clothes too, eh?” He said, as if he could read Simon’s mind.
It only took just a minute, the captain tripping over his own shoes trying to get back to Simon in bed. Soap settled on a plain t-shirt and just his boxers. He ran like a heater anyway. But Simon was always cold. The two mixed well in that way.
Just as promised, Johnny was quickly back to bed. All the lights turned out, except one in the corner of the room. A mini projector that put stars on the ceiling; Something Simon insisted they get. His arm was held out for Simon, who quickly cuddled up to him.
Little babbles filled the quiet space between them, nothing particularly intelligible, but that didn’t stop John from cooing at the cute little one.
Simon rested right against him, a leg over one of Johnny’s. Entangling them, but Johnny would never mind it. What his little one wants, he will get. And that seemed to be some sleepy cuddles. The babbles slowed to a stop as his eyes began to close. He’d blink them open, but they’d immediately try to close again.
A hand began to brush through the boy’s hair again, accompanied by gentle hums once again. The same song Johnny only ever hummed to him. It was special to Simon in that way. The stress melted off of him as his eyes completely shut.
“I love ye, Si… Goodnigh’.” Simon heard before he slipped into a peaceful darkness. After such a day, he was lucky to not immediately be thrust into a nightmare, but he wasn’t. He was safe, in a dreamland that reminded him of a field near where he grew up.
Flowers covered the ground, and in the middle was a picnic blanket with Johnny sat there waiting for him. It wouldn’t ever become a reality, but he could dream that maybe one day it would happen after all.