that despite the endless shit he's been handed, from his childhood marred by violence, his time kept by the cartel, the betrayal by Shepherd, he lived to see the simple act of aging.

MacTavish turns his head inwards to press a kiss to the side of his head, "It suits you."

John knows that he isn't upset about his hair being marked by time, quite the opposite. It's easy to see the awe in the man's tearful eyes, the way he's almost disbelieving that he got to live long enough to see the changes;

guiding him to look into the mirror with him.

"'m going grey" He whispers, and sure enough, in the centre of his forehead is a small cluster of silver hairs- barely anything compared to the grey that has overtaken MacTavish's mohawk, but it is definitely there.

It's not long into their retirement that John catches Riley staring at himself in the mirror, a towel around his waist and he walks up behind him to place his hands on Riley's hips, nose buried in his neck.

"You okay?"

And Riley nods, lifting his hand up to cups MacTavish's cheek,

They settle into domesticity with surprising ease, taking to lazy days spent lounging in bed, sometimes they'll go for a run together, but for the most part, they exist in each other's company- Ma MacTavish says it won't be long before they turn into hermits, and they're both okay with that.

each other next to the last picture she had gotten of the pair- she remembers the way John had held Simon close as they both grumbled about the camera in their faces, together just as their tombstones were.

humour in the fact her John had given Simon their last name so that they could return home together if something like this were to happen, a failsafe so that the man was not buried alone and forgotten.

But she was without her sons in a way no mother should be, two sets of dog tags hanging besides

and perhaps he would have Simon next to him, where he belonged.

And in a way he they were together, she guessed.

Because when she opened the door to a sullen man with mutton chops, holding a small box, she knew that her boys would not be returning from this war.

She wished that she could find

fought and lost their lives, and she foolishly held out hope that John would return home to her, where he belonged.

The day the doorbell wrong, and her spaniel ran to it barking as he always did, she still held that hope- that maybe she would open the door and see John's grumpy self in the door way

only hope that it would not spread north, that she would be alive for when he returned.

And then everything seemed to return as close to normal as it could.

And yet there was no sign of her son, the messages went unread and then later, not received. The television spoke of brave soldiers who

his mother know when he would be unable to answer the phone for a while.

Then silence stretched on and his sisters had begun to ask if she had heard from him. Fiona had even mentioned that their Simon had not been answering her messages also.

With the news of the London attack, she could

And then he would read them out loud at the front of the class, as they were expected to, while he tries to ignore the snickers of the other children and the concerned looks from his teacher as if they knew it was an elaborate lie.

the park, or simply how their parents had read them a story for bed. Simon didn't have that, and so the bear never left his rucksack, hidden safe under his books and crumpled up homework, only to come out on Monday morning where he would sit outside his school and make up stories about his weekend.

He doesn't like that he's expected to describe his weekend, knows that he can't describe anything that would likely happen, and even when he's left in relative peace, he knows he doesn't do anything worth describing anyway.
He's seen his classmate's entries, read the stories of the beach or fair or-

Riley needing and seeking out violence is so important to me, because he understands that, it's safe in a backwards way, he knows how to navigate violence over affection and I like to think he tries to get Mac to hit him or shout at him because it's what he knows- if that makes sense

Riley who still tucks himself in at night, still cried silently, still has moments when he has to scrub at his bedsheets, but now he has MacTavish to hold him, reassure him with the gentle hands he deserved.

knows that no one would could come even if he did cry, didn't want any one to, not really.

Riley who was was soft and gentle despite it all, finally joining the army, because it was an option or to get away from it all he doesn't know, only for the violence against him to never stop.

Riley who's learnt to tuck himself in, trying to remember how his Mum did it before she became withdrawn- back when she would cry and plead for his dad to lay off him but now seemed to zone it out, flinch at the way he would cry-

secretly thankful that at least this time he hadn't wet himself, was tired of the terrified scrubbing of his sheets and trousers that he would have to do otherwise only to still have his dad smack him around.