⚠️⚠️ MW3 SPOILERS ⚠️⚠️ PROCEED WITH CAUTION! ⚠️⚠️
The hospital room was a stark island in a sea of activity, a place of forced stillness where Simon lay in contemplation, adrift in his own sea of introspection.
His body, a living testament to the day's violence, was a map of bruises and bandages, each one a landmark of his survival.
The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was a metronome to his thoughts, a reminder of life's persistence.
Lying there, his mind cycled through the gritty details of the mission, replaying the moment when the world exploded into noise and fire.
Simon dissected each second, searching for a sign he might have missed, a decision he could have made differently.
The sterile scent of the hospital mingled with the phantom smells of gunpowder and earth, a sensory echo that made his stomach clench with a soldier's regret.
With each pulse of ache from his wounds, guilt washed over him in waves.
He had been meant to protect, to serve, to come back unscathed. Instead, his injury had summoned the specter of fear and grief into your life once more.
The thought of you receiving the news, the image of your face creased with worry, was a blade twisting in his gut.
As Simon lay in the quietude of his hospital bed, the steady beeps of the monitor a metronome to his thoughts, he found himself grappling with the decision that had brought him here — the decision to retire.
The fabric of his soldier's identity was woven with threads of duty and danger, but now, those threads were fraying, unraveling in the face of a newfound vulnerability.
The prospect of leaving the military, of shedding the skin of the soldier, was a complex one.
It was not the fear of missing the adrenaline or the camaraderie that haunted him; it was the terror that gripped him at the thought of putting you through the torturous ordeal of loss once more.
The pain that had etched itself into your being with Johnny's passing was not a pain he could willingly risk invoking again.
Lying there, reflecting on the mission, a chilling realization crept in — had he grown too comfortable in the shadow of danger?
There was a routine to the chaos, a familiarity in the rush that came with each deployment.
But this time, comfort had led to complacency, and complacency had nearly cost him everything.
The fine line he had walked between life and death had never seemed so thin, and the thought left him cold.
He had danced with fate, and the dance had almost ended in a way that would have irreparably shattered the world he was so desperate to come home to — your world.
The terror of that closeness, the brush with a finality that he was all too ready to leave behind, settled like a stone in his chest.
It was a sign, a final nudge towards the life that awaited him beyond the uniform, a life with you.
As he lay there, waiting for the warmth of your hand in his, Simon knew that every breath was a promise to the future, a future where the only battles he'd face would be the ones worth fighting for — a quiet life, a safe home, and a heart shared with you, unthreatened by the specter of war.
Yet beneath the layers of self-reproach, there was a quiet, immutable sense of gratitude.
Gratitude that his breath still fogged the glass, that his heart still beat strong and sure — a percussion of defiance against the whisper of mortality that had come so close.
Perhaps it was Johnny's spirit, that old camaraderie that refused to fade, which had shepherded him through the smoke and fire, back to the living, back to you.
In the silence of the room, his gaze often drifted to the empty chair beside his bed, an aching space where he pictured you sitting, imagining you talking, laughing, grounding him.
He held onto those visions, the sound of your voice in his memory a balm to the sterility of his surroundings.
He was adrift in his musings when the subtle change in air pressure announced the door's opening.
The soft click and swing of the door seemed to occur in slow motion, each movement amplified in the quiet room.
As the door widened, the ambient light from the hallway spilled into the dimness of Simon's room, heralding your arrival.
There was a momentary silhouette framed in the doorway, a still snapshot of you pausing at the threshold — a moment that to Simon felt like the turn of a page in a long-awaited chapter.
As you stepped into the room, the space seemed to contract and expand all at once, the walls drawing closer with intimacy, the ceiling soaring with a breath of relief.
Your presence was a tangible shift in the atmosphere, a disruption to the solitude that had been Simon's sole companion since his arrival back on home soil.
Your eyes quickly found his, locking onto the man who had occupied your thoughts and prayers, the man whose safety you had silently implored the universe to ensure.
In that gaze, there was a tumult of emotions — relief, fear, love, and a profound thankfulness that shimmered like a mirage in a desert of sterile uncertainty.
The emotions that had been held at bay, the tears and words, now found their moment.
As you moved closer, the distance between you and Simon seemed to close not just the physical space but also the chasms of experience and fear that the incident had carved between you.
With each step you took into the room, the weight of what could have been lost pressed down, and the gratitude for what was still held surged forth in a silent, shared understanding.
Your hand reached out, almost with a will of its own, and found Simon's.
His skin was warm to the touch, a living contrast to the cold dread that had taken residence in your heart since the call.
The contact was electric, a current that connected you both back to the reality of this room, this moment.
As your fingers intertwined with his, the dam broke.
The tears that you had held back — tears of worry, of imagined loss, of the stark terror at the thought of reliving a past heartbreak — cascaded down your cheeks without restraint.
They were a silent river of relief and fear, each one a word in the language of the heart that no tongue could speak.
Simon's hand squeezed yours, a gentle reassurance in its pressure.
His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a soothing motion that spoke volumes.
Here was the man you had feared losing, holding on, his grip a lifeline in the swirling emotional waters that threatened to pull you under.
As your grip tightened around Simon's hand, the floodgates opened, and your voice, trembling with the strain of pent-up fears and relief, broke the silence of the room.
"Simon, I... when I saw Price's name on my phone, I thought..." Your voice trailed off, choked by the intensity of the memories that cascaded through you.
