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Simon & MJ #1 - Part 2

Mariana knew Soap slept, and she let the quiet sound of his breathing comfort her. Simon was strong, so fucking strong, he'd carried her when she was nearly dead like she weighed nothing. He carried her many times. But his physical strength wasn't what had drawn her that night, or any other. It was his eyes and his strong voice and his presence. Standing, sitting, or lying. All along, every time he had saved her or held her or made her laugh, it was his heart and mind she was drawn to.

But he was just a man. She'd had to remind him of that. She'd had to remind herself. That he was flesh and bone and brain matter and he was far from indestructible.

When they'd agreed to stay together and that he would keep working with the 141, MJ had spent hours researching. Things. Anything her too-realistic mind could come up with. Her natural curiosity made it impossible for her to not know, and her anxiety created a desperate need to be prepared for any possible situation. So she knew how this was going to work.

He'd been shot, his back was broken. If they'd stopped the bleeding, then septic shock was the big issue. Then the back injury could be addressed. The military would pay his bills, for now. If he had to leave, he'd get his pension and his insurance. And if he died....

She wasn't his wife so she wasn't sure. It was never quite clear, she'd never asked, and she'd never found it in herself to dig too deep. It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

He was going to live. They were probably going to be there for a while, unless moving him to London was a possibility. Maybe for his back, but for the rest they would likely keep him.

Chin in her hand, her big, green eyes were crying again. Price came back from wherever he'd been and she didn't have the strength to try and hide it. He picked up a box of tissues and handed it to her, sitting across from Soap.

"Everything will be taken care of, Mariana. I want to make sure you only have to worry about him."

She nodded. She had questions, but no voice to ask them with. Simon had been cursed with a horrid father. An unimaginable childhood. He'd lost every bit of family he'd known. But what he'd managed to find, what his talent and heart and endurance had led him to, was so much more than that. She was lucky to even witness it, let alone feel its warmth.

They settled into more silence. More waiting. Soap woke at some point and left to get them all coffee. He'd just returned when the doctor came back, saying Simon had been moved into a room and offering to lead Mariana through the great, wooden door behind him. She looked at the men surrounding her. Soap sipped his coffee with soft eyes and Price nodded to her. So, she got up and she went.

The doctor stood outside the door and motioned for her to enter.

"Nurses will be in and out."

MJ nodded. "Thank you."

She pushed the door open and went in.

His shoulders and torso were bare, wrapped in various bandages and covered in a blanket up to his chest. That surprised her. She wanted him to be warm, and wrapped in something comfortable. He didn't look comfortable, he looked pale and worn and hurt. Machines beeped around him, telling her his heart was beating, and a tube was down his throat, telling her that he was breathing.

It was a mirror image, flipped, from the American base in Mexico where he had sat and hoped she woke up. Maybe it was karma, maybe it was destiny, that she had to experience the same thing now. She wondered if it hurt him the way it hurt her. It probably did, knowing his heart.

She approached, so she could see his face. Bruises littered one side, darkening the skin around his eye. But he looked relaxed. Peaceful. She hoped he was at peace in his mind. Resting.