Chapter Text
“Man, I could really go for a massage right about now,” Pidge moaned out as she stretched on the couch, her arms extending above her head, her feet prodding into John’s side.
His groan was deep and dramatic as he rolled his eyes but still dutifully stood.
Bouncing with excitement, she rolled on the couch until she was face down on the cushions, her back straight up and ready for John’s hands.
“It’s been six months, dove. How many more massages are you trying to milk out of me?” he borderline whined before raising an eyebrow at her and lightly pinching her shoulder. “Shirt off, Pidge, you know the drill.”
She turned her head so she could look at him with a smile, overjoyed to see him return her smile just at the sight of hers.
Truthfully, John had already more than made up for his disappearance, and she had a feeling he knew it too. He had asked his captain to allow him phone time while on missions, even gifted her a burner phone in an extra effort to keep her safe while he was away. And then he had more than loved on her when he returned, cooking for her, giving her adoring touches and as many compliments he could fit in. In the beginning, he had never complained at her insane and selfish requests, only doing so when he noticed she was enjoying the halfhearted tortured look on his face and he knew she was only doing it to mess with him and nothing more. He had begun to talk back about them but Pidge didn’t mind. She had missed his spit fire attitude.
One thing that she refused to relinquish however, were his legendary massages that she had discovered on a whim one evening. It had led to many other discoveries but the massage specifically was one she found herself repeating often. And despite his whining, she knew he secretly liked it, liked doing something with his hands especially if it involved her skin.
She arched up off the couch just enough to pull her top off, reveling in the way his eyes took in the revealed flesh of her body. Even months later, he still managed to look at her like she was crafted by God’s hands just for him.
As she settled back down, John seated himself on her upper thighs and faced her back, his hands quick to be all over her. It was funny, Pidge always thought. His hands were rough – softer since dating her – but she never minded. His calluses and cut skin had become so recognizable to her that she had come to find comfort in their tough exterior, because she always knew it was him.
He dug his thumbs into the meat of her shoulder and began to work the muscles there, wringing out her knots and stress from her life.
She let her moans purr out of her throat as he worked, practically melting into the couch under his hands. She’d never get over how large they felt when they held her. Allowing her to enjoy herself, he kept his mouth shut, a soft smile on his lips as he gazed down at her.
Eventually, he did have to remind, “Cannae do this for long, dove. Remember we have dinner at six with everyone.”
A particularly loud whine escaped her at the mention of it. Not that she wasn’t excited for the dinner, she had loved getting to know John’s family in the snowy mountains on their little holiday, but being in a small cozy cabin with John, with just the heat of the fireplace to keep them warm, it was a bubble she was remiss to leave.
He tsked at the unspoken complaint, well aware of what it meant. “Och, none of tha’. It’s just a dinner and then we’re free after that. I’ll even give you a massage when we get back if it gets you up and ready.”
“No, no,” she drew out, her arm falling off the couch so she could wave her hand in dismissal. “I’m so excited for the family dinner. Morven and Laire are so sweet and funny and your mom has been so accepting. I just,” another moan slipped out and her words slurred, “‘M so comfy.”
John’s chuckle vibrated in her ears before he was raising up to stand on his knees and his hands vanished from her back.
“So I’m hearin’ if I stop makin’ you comfy you’ll move faster then?”
With a defiant huff, she rotated to rest her back on the couch so she could stare up at John with a pout on her lips, her exposed chest thankfully kept warm by the nearby fire.
“But what if I ask you really nicely to keep going?” she asked with the flutter of her eyelashes and watched his eyes darken.
“Oh lass,” he hummed out, a deep and tempting sound, before he was lowering himself so he could place a tender kiss on her lips. “You ask me that and I’ll never stop,” he said in a way that crossed between a threat and a promise.
A hand of his came up to hold the side of her face, the other elbow resting beside her form to support his weight as he deepened the kiss, his lips meshing with hers as she let herself fall into it. He only broke to kiss down her face to reach her neck where he placed numerous open mouth kisses and love bites, one after the other until he was trailing down her chest. Against her soft skin, he grew more impatient, nipping and sucking harder until love bites bloomed across her body.
Each placement of his lips elicited small gasps from her, her back arching to prolong the contact of his lips, teeth, and tongue. He huffed out a laugh at her desperation before pulling back once more, leaving Pidge to stare up longingly at him.
He, however, couldn’t remove his eyes from her chest she noticed. He was staring at the marks he had left before his eyes jumped up to hers and a smirk tugged at his lips.
“Hope you’ve got a top to cover those up,” he released her face to tap at the different love bites speckling her skin.
She could only roll her eyes and place a hand on his arm to shove him off the couch that he willingly accepted with a laugh. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side and gave her shoulders a good roll, already feeling looser from the short session.
“Considering I wasn’t planning on wearing a plunging neckline to see your family, I think I’ll manage. Bastard,” she muttered under her breath but still just loud enough for him to hear.
In response he dipped down quickly to steal a peck before moving to their shared bedroom in the cabin.
“Give me a fashion show then,” he called out as she heard the rustling of suitcases. “As the man in the relationship, I get a say in what you wear after all.”
The tease got the reaction he wanted, her releasing a loud groan and a loud, “Shut up, John. Or I’ll put a muzzle on you.”
His laughter filtered through the cabin, warming it more than any fire could.
“I’ll try anything once.”
…
John was practically buzzing behind her while Pidge worked to unlock the door to their cabin. She couldn’t say what specifically had set him off, perhaps knowing his kiss marks were under her shirt or the way she had run her hands through his hair at dinner or maybe the hand on his thigh when his sister had made her laugh particularly hard.
Or perhaps he had just gotten lost in his mind. He had a habit of doing that, she had noticed. His eyes would grow distant every now and he’d grow hushed. As of yet, he hadn’t revealed where he went when he became lost, and sometimes it had Pidge worried, left to wonder if she was at the center of those swirling thoughts. But he’d always smile at her once pulled from them with that bright, effervescent smile of his – and sometimes some excitement – and her anxieties would melt away.
He had been surprisingly quiet as they had walked back from dinner, hand in hand, and enjoyed the view of the setting sun sparkling off the crisp white snow. It had cast the world in a beautiful, vibrant coral that had taken her breath away.
John had never taken it in. Instead, his eyes were on her the entire time. She had tried her best not to feed into whatever he was brewing, eyes anywhere but on him, but he had practically melted a hole in the side of her head.
By the time she had the keys twisting the lock and pushing the door open, she was turning to ask him what was storming in that mind of his and she was cut off by his lips on hers.
Her thoughts immediately filled with him, any questions fleeing her mind in place of her needing to grip the front of his shirt so she could pull him down towards her, desperate for more.
Vaguely she could hear John shutting the door to block the cold, mildly grateful for it because she unbuttoned his shirt the second it snapped shut, eager to get her hands on the meat of his muscles.
A deep chuckle rumbled in John’s throat at her deft hands, their kiss breaking as grins over took their lips and laughs left them. With the flick of his arms, John was ripping his shirt off, exposing his bare skin to Pidge’s nimble fingers that were eager to trace the contours of his chest and stomach, practically mewing in the kiss at the feeling of his warm skin and dimpled scars.
How differently she could touch him now that he was hers.
Following her lead, John’s hands wormed their way under her shirt so he could pull it up and over her head, only breaking the kiss when absolutely necessary and then he was immediately diving back in. His large hands were gripping at her waist as he maneuvered them against the nearest wall, a gasp leaving her when her back struck it.
Ever the opportunist, John’s tongue pushed past her lips immediately, tangling with her as their breathing grew labored, like their desire was filling their lungs and drowning them.
John then moved to her neck, the man unable to go a moment without his lips on her skin, his teeth running back over the hickies he had left only a few hours earlier. While he ravaged the subtle skin of her clavicle, his hands swept downward, hastily unzipping her jeans and practically using brute force to shove them down her legs.
With a laugh, Pidge threw her head back, exposing more skin for John’s open mouth kissed while she tried her best to step out of her pants. One of her hands drifted up to run through his hair, his beautiful full, rich locks cut into that stupid mohawk that she wouldn’t change for the world.
“Can I ask what got you this riled up?” she asked, her voice already more ruined than she had expected.
His answer was a harsh bite against her shoulder causing her to squeak out a gasp and shove against his chest with his free hand. With a huff of a laugh, he was quick to grip her wrist and deflect her hand around his shoulder. Then his hand dropped and while she kissed at the pulse point in his neck, she could hear the rattling of his belt buckle.
His voice was breathless when he growled out, “I’m this riled up around you all of the time, dove.” And then to her surprise, he dropped to his knees, breaking the kiss against his neck, and his index finger slipped through the legs of her underwear. “I’m just finally actin’ on it when I want,” he finished, his voice hitting a low baritone as he dragged her panties down her legs, hoisting one over his shoulder in the process.
Her breath hitched in her throat at the look that had overtaken his face as he stared up at her from between her legs. His eyes were practically black, pupils blown with desire. His kiss swollen lips were beautiful and full, the perfect compliment to his flushed cheeks and tousled hair that she eagerly threaded her fingers through. His eyelids closing at the touch, those dark lashes of his like a butterfly against his cheeks.
When they opened again, there was a hunger there, and eager to sate it, he pushed forward, just enough to drag his tongue through her folds, drawing a light gasp from between Pidge’s lips.
John moaned at the sound, barely pulling away when he whispered against her, “Taste like a goddamn dream.”
And then he was diving right back in, like a man who needed to taste her to breathe. He kept it slow at first, continuing to run his tongue along her, drawing out more and more of those little noises, each one driving him more and more insane. He upped his pace, his tongue dipping inside and her hands were there at the back of his head to push him against her, push him deep in the way she knew he loved.
When he pulled back, he let a finger replace his tongue, working her open and curling against her deep, already deftly finding that spongy spot inside her with practiced accuracy.
“ John ,” she whined out, pitching up at the end when he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, sending lightning bolts of pleasure through her veins. Her knee wobbled from the feeling, growing weak and threatening to give out. John brought his free hand forward to hold her thigh in place, his grip bruising as he kept her up so he could continue his assault.
He consumed her like that for what felt like forever, lips and tongue teasing her bundle of nerves while his fingers massaged inside her, increasing in their speed and intensity until she was a whining mess, tears spilling over her cheeks as her vision blurred.
When she felt the familiar coil building inside, her muscles tensing, legs shaking, she tried her best to tug him away from her by his hair, choking out a weak, “Wait John. ‘M close.”
She then watched him shake his head, spurred on by her yanking, and doubled his efforts, lips sucking strongly against her clit with his fingers working in tandem.
Her orgasm hit her like a punch to the gut, stealing her breath and forcing her whole body to convulse. As the waves of euphoria pulsed through her, radiating out from her core, she struggled to pull air into her lungs, her lip bitten and bruised as she attempted to keep her moans in check.
John let her ride it out, his lips pulling away so only his fingers remained to encourage her through her pleasure, his eyes trained on her blissed out expression while he supported her entirely now, her leg given out and trembling.
Only when she patted the back of his head did he relent, his hand helping to slowly roll her leg off from his shoulder so he could stand, still perched between her legs. His hips always settled there so perfectly.
His large hands rubbed at the meat of her legs as he took one of her thighs and stretched it upwards towards her belly, enabling him to press his hardness against her core.
Like two pieces of machinery working in perfect harmony, her still shaking hands made their way down to open his jeans and drag down his briefs while his lips were on her neck once more, marking her skin in every accessible spot she revealed to him. The breath he released against her when she finally gripped him sent her body into overdrive, her skin sensitive to him in every which way.
Once she freed him from his briefs, he was quick to push forward, aiding her in lining up him up with her waiting cunt, his head just brushing against her and making them both gasp out a trembling exhale.
Before he fully pushed in, he broke away from her neck so he could stare down at her face, his nose knocking against hers as he gazed into her eyes with an intensity she wasn’t sure she had ever seen in a lover before. There was blazing lust yet also such an intense, passionate love that she couldn’t help but stretch upward to connect their lips, desperate to have that adoration flow into her.
John threw himself into the kiss, his hips surging forward at the same time as he rutted into her, filling her so soundly she mewed into the kiss.
Nothing made her feel better than the way the noises she made always seemed to rile John up, his cock twitched inside her and his lips breaking away from hers so his teeth could clamp down on the soft skin of her shoulder.
A sharp hiss forced itself from her lungs and his canines dug in, an irritated, “Cunt,” following as she tugged at his hair, his head easily falling back to reveal a ravenous grin.
His chuckle was deep, so scratchy that she felt it in her chest. Miraculously, his voice grew even deeper as his mouth fell open and he let a low groan out as he slowly pulled out, watching her eyes grow hazy before focussing as he thrust back in.
And then he only grew more desperate, his pumps picking up in pace and intensity, so much so that her lone supporting leg buckled. He was quick to catch her, his stable arms slipping under her with ease, still allowing her to fully rest herself on his cock before he gripped her by the back of her thighs and hoisted her back up.
He pressed her into the wall just enough so he could go back to pistoning inside her, his arms helping to bounce her, impaling her deep and rough so that she was gasping for air.
Her arms clawed at his back as he continuously pressed deep inside, little squeaks leaving her with every hard thrust, both of which had John angling his hips to slam into the bundle of nerves inside her to hear and feel ever more.
He wanted more, of everything, of her. He always did.
With the possessive grip of his hands, she was sure he would leave bruises in his wake, eager to replace them the next morning every time he saw his handy work. His lips were back on her neck, kissing back up to her ear so his grunts and groans were crystal clear in her ears.
The bastard knew she liked it and had never shied away from being loud.
With the combination of his pounding hips and obvious pleasure, Pidge felt that familiar coil begin to build once more like a wave receding right before a tsunami.
She struggled to keep her breathing under control and her body relaxed under the anticipation of the building starburst inside her.
And John immediately noticed, his teeth tugging on her ear before grunting out, “Touch yourself, princess. I need you to come again for me.”
He gave her no time to respond, audibly at least, as he sealed her lips with his, a messy open mouth kiss consuming her whole and swallowing her moans.
Pidge didn’t need to be asked twice, her fingers swiftly finding her way to her clit, not even rubbing but just resting there, allowing John’s movements to bump against her hand, providing her with the sweetest of friction needed.
Leaning into the mounting spring in her gut, she let the waves roll through her, her body taut, mirroring his stiffening muscles and more erratic thrusts. It was all she could do to unscramble her thoughts to push out a mangled, “Inside. Come inside me, John,” before stars erupted in her vision, her back arching off the walls.
It wasn’t a sharp explosion of pleasure like the first, instead it consumed her, a feeling that gnawed at her from the inside out until she felt raw and, somehow, new. When her vision cleared, her tremors dying down, she could just hear the beginnings of John’s orgasm crash into him, surely spurred on by her clamping down around him during her own.
She thanked whatever god was out there that she got to watch him come undone, those beautiful blue eyes turned black, obscured by heavy lids as he fought to keep his gaze on her. His face scrunched up into a near snarl, a borderline growl in her ear as he filled her and stilled, cumming with choked grunts.
He allowed himself a few staggered thrusts to work himself through his climax, his eyelids finally falling as his head dropped, his pants brushing across the skin of her collarbone while he rested his head in the crook of her neck.
Retracting her fingers from his back, she brought them back to his hair to thread her fingers though the sweaty locks, her entire body feeling like putty as he held her there.
Eventually, his breathing calmed enough for him to let out an exhausted chuckle, interrupted by a peck against her skin.
A hum was all she could give to acknowledge it, sure something obnoxious was coming her way.
“Bet you thought I couldn’t hold you up,” he said smugly, refusing to leave the comfort of her embrace.
She hoped he could feel her rolling her eyes.
“A little pathetic to fish for a compliment like that, John,” she responded, cringing a bit at the way her sweat was starting to cool and send a chill across her skin. “But how about you use those big strong arms of yours to carry me to the bathroom and I’ll show you a good time.”
As expected, he immediately perked up at the notion, a renewed excitement in his eyes and gleeful grin as he made a point to not remove himself from her as he skipped to the bathroom.
She giggled the whole way.
…
The day had stretched on for far too long for Pidge’s liking. Despite it being a relatively cheery day, with the sun shining and the pigeons nesting on her patio to bask in warm rays, she found herself on edge. She was approaching the longest she had ever gone with John not contacting her since… well since he had left for months.
He had been so good at staying in touch since then and if not, communicating that he would be away and would reach out as soon as he could.
It had taken a bit but she trusted him. Even now, after not hearing from him for two months, it felt wrong, not in an abandoned way, but more so that her anxiety around John’s safety was at an all time high.
It scared her how much she trusted him and scared her even more what that meant for what he was actively going through.
As she sat tucked in on the couch, slathered in blankets and pillows, her phone rang. Plucking it off the couch arm, she gazed blandly at the screen, already knowing it wasn’t John – she had to change the sound of his call tone to prevent herself from going crazy.
The number ran across the screen, unknown by her phone. With the increased spam calls she had been receiving recently, she suppressed the tug in her gut and returned her phone to its spot on the cushions, deciding it was best to ignore it and not dwell on unhealthy ‘what-if’s.
The ringing eventually died down as she let out a sigh, only for it to be caught in her throat once it immediately started up again. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs.
Picking it up once more, the same unknown number glared up at her and the twist in her gut returned, this time stretching up into her chest.
She answered.
“Hello?” her voice was quiet, unsure of who this could be.
“Is this Pidge?” came an alarmingly British voice over the phone, gruff and to the point.
The weight in her chest grew heavy, like a demon was sitting on her, forcing the air from her lungs.
“Is John okay?” she was asking before she could spiral further, needing the answer more than she needed to breathe.
“He is. One second dear,” the man over the phone requested, the sound of rustling paper heard in the background. “Bastard gave me a script to follow,” he mumbled out, seemling to himself, before he continued, his voice growing monotonous as he read aloud, “Hello Pidge. This is John Price, Captain of the 141. At the request of Soap, I am following the ‘Pidge Protocol,’ a set of guidelines put in place should Pidge not be contacted for more than three weeks after the end of an operation. Step one of the protocol is to immediately inform Pidge using the attached number that John is okay, should he be okay.”
Pidge didn’t mean to cut him off but she couldn’t stop herself from slipping in, “I feel like you could’ve been a bit quicker with that one.”
Thankfully, Price didn’t seem to mind the sass, a huff leaving him before he continued, “Step two is to let her know what has caused the delay in contact.” Price cleared his throat, a slight hum shooting across the line as he mulled his explanation over. Pidge tried her best to patiently wait, her knee bouncing aggressively as she sat hunched over on the couch. A beat passed and then he was saying, “We were on a deep op to try and catch a bad guy – you know what he does. This bad guy happened to be a really bad guy and we… well, we failed. And Soap took the brunt of it. He’s okay but we didn’t know that for a good long while. Didn’t want to get your hopes up so we decided to wait until we knew for sure.”
Much to Pidge’s displeasure, a ringing had started in her ears, high and constant, as she strained to cling onto Price’s words.
Everything was okay.
He was telling her everything was okay but somehow it didn’t feel like that. Not in this moment, hearing this news.
It felt terrifying.
Pidge was rising from the couch, chucking the blankets off of her lap so she could storm through her apartment like a whirlwind, collecting the essentials into a ‘go-bag’ she had made and Becks had then made fun of her for.
Shoving toiletries into it, bottles and tubes rattling as they clanged together, she growled into the phone, “Could you just cut to the chase and tell me where he is? Is it a hospital near me or is it wherever you guys fuck off to for months?”
An almost laugh could be heard from the other end.
“I’m going to send you an address. It’s not a hospital. It’s where he’s being kept for the time being. Shouldn’t be too far from you. Be sure to tell everyone you can your name so you’re let in. You have clearance.”
Rolling her eyes at the man’s vague directions – because of course they would be – her phone was already pinging with the mentioned address.
With a quick snag of her keys, she was out the door, hardly focussing on the phone conversation any longer.
“Anything else I need to know? Tell me now because otherwise I’m hanging up.”
Pidge could hear Price smack something on his end – a table maybe, based on the hollow sound – as she rushed down the stairs, already unlocking her car.
“Just know that he’s okay. No matter what he looks like. All good to hang up now, darling.”
Turns out she didn’t have to. Price immediately disconnected the call once he was done, leaving her to stare at the address on her phone while she hopped into her car. Inputting the address into her mapping app, it showed a location thirty minutes away with not much civilization around it. Pidge guessed maybe a safehouse of sorts.
Or at least she hoped.
Regardless, she jammed the keys in her ignition and revved the car to life, barely letting it breathe before she was spinning out of the parking lot.
The further she drove the more and more concerned she became. Not about John, she was confident they wouldn’t tell her he was okay if he really wasn’t, but more so about this new location they had carted him off to. It was getting increasingly dense with large trees and little buildings, her confidence that it was a safehouse was dwindling and she was beginning to think that maybe they had just dumped him in the middle of nowhere.
After driving to soft, peppy tunes – Pidge’s attempt at staying sane – for what felt like much longer than thirty minutes, her GPS gave a soft ping that she had arrived. A hum of discontent grumbled in her throat when she still only saw trees, trees, and more trees, until thankfully, there was a small break.
Too small for what she normally would comfortably drive down.
Had she confirmed that it was actually John’s captain that she had spoken?
Deciding to fuck it, she turned and pulled down the drive way, breathing out a sigh of relief when she saw a little house at the end of the drive way with a small, crisp, green yard nestled before it.
It was old, evident by the worn paint and brick walls, but sweet in its quaintness. It was a short two stories, humble in its build, as if fearing taking up too much space.
Seeing it was like a balm over her nerves, soothing her as she came to a stop right in front of the door and cutting the engine.
She took a deep breath before opening the door and hopping out, leaving her bag for later when she had a better grip on the situation. Shutting the door, she held her head high and marched up to the house, efficiently rapping her knuckle against the old wooden door.
Seconds passed of her hearing absolutely nothing and then there was a muffled voice.
“Name?”
Her huffed left her before she stated her name loud and articulate to the stranger on the other side.
“Who?”
Annoyance became more prominent in her tone when the realization hit her.
“Pidge?” she practically growled out, because of course John would only use the damned nickname around others.
The lock was immediately undone, the door swinging open to reveal a much more casually dressed man than she had anticipated. He was sporting simple jeans and a T-shirt, although Pidge didn’t miss the under arm and hip holsters he sported, each with their own respective handgun.
She was honestly a bit surprised to not see Gaz or Ghost being his babysitter, although she supposed they still had missions to run, lives to save.
The new babysitter did not seem surprised to see the irritated woman standing before him, merely stepping out of her way with an unbothered expression and a curt nod.
Making no move to leave his position near the door, he briefed her, “He’s in the bedroom back there sleeping, last I checked. You have permission to discharge me if you choose to do so.”
Odd way of saying that , she thought, only giving him a curt nod before she was wandering into the house.
It was open, a kitchen bleeding into a living room with a small dining table to the side. There were two doors towards the back of the space that she could only guess were a bedroom and a bathroom.
Chancing the first door, she confirmed it was a tiny bathroom.
Closing it, she opened the second door and a small bedroom was slowly revealed to her, made even smaller by the collection of medical equipment that surrounded the bed.
But of course her eyes didn’t focus on the fancy whatcha-ma-call-its, they zeroed in on the body lying prone in the bed, blue eyes wide open and staring her down from where he rested against copious amounts of pillows.
She froze where she stood eyes wide as she took him in, her hands curling into fists to stop herself from slapping them over her mouth in shock. There was a bandage wrapped around his forehead, additional gauze padded just around his temple. From behind the gauze bloomed a horrible, angry bruise, purple, green, and blue in its cosmic design.
“You-,” she cut herself off, too many thoughts circling in her head the words kept getting replaced with more and more questions.
John gave her a small, tired smile before he spoke, his voice deep and dry, like he hadn’t spoken in some time, “Hey, Dove. Promise it’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Not as-!” she started, her feet finally moving, carrying her to his side where her fist raised above him.
He laughed at the action, much to her relief and her annoyance, some more life seeping into his voice when he begged jokingly, “You wouldn’t hit a wounded soldier, would you?”
Her balled up hand shook, her eyes darting around his body to check for any other wounds when she ground out, “I really fucking want to. Why shouldn’t I? This idiot has the audacity to tell me it’s not that bad when he was shot in the fucking head.” She settled for relaxing her hand and lightly smacking it against his chest when it looked like the head wound was his only injury, no bite behind the hit. She perched on the side of the bed, the onslaught of emotions causing her eyes to well up with tears, unsure what the leading cause of them could be. Sorrow, frustration, fear, relief. It was anyone’s game.
“I appreciate the restraint,” he teased lightly, quietly as he stared up at her and watched, allowing her time to work through everything.
Pidge ignored the tease, choosing instead to smack him one more time for good measure, frustration pulling ahead and driving her thoughts.
“How dare you let yourself get shot in the fucking head,” she simmered out, eyebrows furrowing and the image of him growing blurred. Another smack. “Didn’t you stop to think about how much this would worry me, you bitch.”
Her words lost their edge, wobbling as she struggled to contain her cracked words.
“Funny you say that. When the poor bastard had the gun to my head, all I could think about was you,” he huffed out like it was a funny joke, but all it did was fill her head with imagery she had desperately been fighting back.
It broke her, the idea of John being gunned down, killed if luck hadn’t been on his side. The dam finally broke, her tears pooling and spilling over her cheeks as she choked back a sob.
“Och, none of that,” John cooed, reaching up a hand to cup the back of her neck and tug her close, tucking her head into his shoulder while she sniffled.
“I know. I’m sorry,” she whined out, slipping a hand up between them so she could wipe at her eyes, her voice still weak and trembling. “You’re the one who was shot in the fucking head and here I am crying.”
She felt his laugh more than heard it, her body bobbing with his chuckles. “I get it. I get it. Now can you please stop telling me that I was shot in my fuckin’ heid? Trust me I know.”
Giving a small nod, she pulled back just enough to where she could see his bandage again, her hands tenderly tilting his chin so she could see just how far back the bruising went.
“How are you? What’s even- What’s the recovery process for getting sho-,” she clamped her mouth shut before correcting, “For getting hurt like this?”
His hum was lazy, patient as he turned his head back so their eyes could lock. She huffed out a laugh at his beard, longer than his usual five-O-clock-shadow and scruffy. Perhaps he had become too exhausted for the upkeep.
Shrugging, he nodded his head in the direction of his injury, his eyes growing pensive as he recalled the words of his doctor that she was sure had been given to him several times over the past few days.
“Doc said the worst is passed,” he began, his touch finding its way to her waist and tugging her even closer, just shy of being on his lap. She could feel a tremble to his fingers that wasn’t there before. “Where I’m at now, they said to expect cognitive issues, like memory loss and, for me,” he held up one of his hands, spreading his fingers wide to put their shaking on display, “dexterity. Worse in my left hand. So doc gave me a bunch of at home exercises to try and improve both. Other than that I have routine check ups to make sure I stay okay.”
Her sigh dusted against his lashes, some tension leaving her with her breath. He was okay. John was okay. Somehow.
“You’re one lucky bastard, John MacTavish.” Her forehead lightly bumped against his, her eyes closing as she let herself bask in her relief.
“You have no idea, dove,” came his answer, spoken with a level of gratitude that felt directed at her.
She made sure to give him a quick peck before she was sitting back up fully now, allowing herself to finally assess the whole situation.
Letting her questions fly, she asked, “So that guy that let me in. Is he here to protect you? From, like, the guy that did this to you? Did you guys get him?”
His eyes squinted for a split second, as if needing to focus in on her demands, and clearing his throat. “Uhm, no, not here to protect me. We didn’t get the bad guy but he thinks I’m dead so the team isn’t concerned with my safety so long as I’m not flauntin’ myself anywhere.”
A few owlish blinks later and Pidge finished processing his answers. She turned around in her seat to stare out the bedroom door, the guard not in her line of sight but she had no doubt he was still standing there stock-still near the door where she had left him.
Looking back to John, she pursed her lips before nudging out, “He, uh- he told me I could discharge him? Do I have some special grade clearance or something no one told me about?”
His laugh seemed to catch even John by surprise, a short huff of a laugh that he shot his hand up to muffle as he looked to the window, his fingers scrubbing at his cheeks.
“Just involving me,” he muttered, a shocking pink overtaking his cheeks and ears before his hand fell and he looked back to her, eyes determined and bright. “Was hoping I’d lead into it better than that gommy stealin’ my thunder but I-,” another grunt while his fingers scratched lightly around his gauze, “I have to lay low so I’m stuck here but I’m still… I’m still not fully operational.” He didn’t appear confident with that descriptor but he shrugged it off. “So I was hoping maybe-.”
Pidge was interjecting before he could finish his sentence.
“Do you want me to help you? Is that what that guy is here for too? God, that must be so uncomfortable.”
He was laughing again, this time with a flicker of his usual cheer and energy. “Christ, Pidge. Will you let me get a word in?” he teased but there was a light to his eyes that was shining with adoration and love.
She only crossed her arms, a faux glare on her face as she nudged her head towards him, willing him to continue.
His chuckles died with a long exhale as he looked at her, or studied her even, based on how his eyes jumped around her form. It was like he was trying to memorize every detail, every line that made up her being.
He licked his lips before saying, “I was going to ask ye to take care of me. I know it’s asking a lot, you’ve got a life unlike me. But there’s no one I trust more to get me than you.”
Biting back a smile, she shrugged and mumbled out a quick, “Well, and your mom and sisters,” when he leveled her with a light glare she tacked on, “but point taken. And of course I will. I wish you had asked me sooner. Can I go tell that guy to fuck off now?”
John was nodding encouragingly at the question and she wondered what the poor guy had been subjected to at the hands of the caretaker for him to be so ready to kick him out.
Her chuckle was quiet, really just an exhale as she saluted and stood to do just that but John caught her hand as she turned. Stilling at the touch, she looked down at him to see John gazing up at her like she hung the moon and the stars.
It scared her a bit. John was rarely the sentimental type.
With a slight tilt of her head, she asked out a meek, “Everything okay?”
His nod was much more contained this time, reverent even.
“Just something I need to say before I chicken out,” he began after a heavy swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing.
Pidge sat back down with an uncomfortable laugh, hoping to trick the anxiety building back up in her gut.
“I’ve never known you to chicken out on anything,” she noted before correcting, “More than once at least.”
He clicked his tone, looking mildly hurt but his bitten back smile was hard to miss. “Shush.” Another calming breath. “I was just thinking, with the whole ‘life flashing before my eyes thing,’ I’m away from you so much, Pidge.” She nodded, not entirely sure where this was heading, especially after taking past behavior into account. He continued despite her obvious nerves. “I hate it. I fuckin’ hate it so much, Pidge, you have no idea. And now I’ve been thinking, how much do I miss out on even when I am home? I see you every waking moment that I can but it still doesn’t feel like enough. Not when we go back to two different beds at the end of every night.”
Oh.
He had to look away, his eyes dipping to the patterned bed sheet. “So I was thinking-.”
“Never a good sign,” Pidge couldn’t help but interject, only laughing fuller and louder at his annoyed expression.
“Steamin’ Jesus.” He ran a hand down his face, his chuckle one of amazement and astonishment. “Let a lad talk!” After he yelled, she bit her lip, finally ready to hear what was left, what she finally knew as coming. His eyes flicked between hers, making sure she was done before laying his offer on the table. “So I was thinking, you should move in with me. Doesn’ have to be the current apartment, or this house, although it’s ours if we want it. But Christ, I don’t even care where we end up. I just want to be with you, Pidge. At the end of the day, all things said and done, blood on my hands and all, I just want to come home to you.”
Her eyes were furiously blinking to hold back the tears, a few escaping as she regarded him, his heart on his sleeve as it always was, those sincere and honest eyes of his laying into her.
Her answer was ‘yes,’ obviously, but somehow, in this moment, that word felt too simple. But all other words felt just as weak, none truly capable of capturing the emotions she held for the man before her.
So instead, she leaned forward and pressed a longing kiss on his lips. It was slow, the way the moon revolves the earth, persistent and eternal. He kissed her back just the same, his lips sealing across hers, the deal, their contract signed in a vow with no words.
When they broke, they stayed close, breathing each other's air like it was essential to their survival.
And then she nudged his nose with hers, a smile as bright as the sun spreading across her lips before she said, “Definitely not this house.”
John laughed, pulling Pidge into his orbit all over again.