When Soap had first suggested it, Ghost had laughed. Not a cruel sound but short and sharp enough to mean 'no chance in hell'.
"Come on, LT," Johnny had grinned, boots propped up on the mess hall table during a moment of brief respite between the two. "You've got weeks o' leave saved up, heard Cap say so mahself. Come spend Christmas in Scotland with the MacTavish's. Ma's been beggin' meh tah bring home the 'tall 'n' broodin'' man in the photos ah send back home. She'll fatten yeh up right, Da will most likely pour yeh enough whiskey tah knock out a Moose. You'll love it."
"Not my thing, Johnny" Simon had refused, shaking his head.
"Nae your thing?" John had scoffed, brow furrowing into a soft frown as he sat up straighter. "Yeh don't even have ah thing outside o' missions 'n' miserable cups o' coffee... yeh need people, mate. Family."
That single word - family - felt worse then any blow the Lieutenant had ever taken. Mostly because the irritating Scotsman he called a best friend was right. He was practically married to his job; no time for anything else. Not that family was an issue for Simon... he had learnt long ago how to make it on his own.
Despite muttering something about staying on base, about not wanting to intrude, Johnny wouldn't let the issue go. For a month straight, Soap had nagged, teased and reasoned until eventually the Sargent just bought the train tickets for the both of them with his own money.
"Too late to back out nah, sir" he'd said with a grin, handing Ghost his ticket.
And so, when the train finally wound its way into the snow-covered highlands, Simon Riley found himself staring out at fields of white; wondering how he'd allowed himself to be talked into this in the first place.
The MacTavish house was a beacon of warmth, nestled amongst the frozen hills. Chimney pouring out smoke, windows spilling golden light which illuminated the heavy blanket of snow covering the land.
Stepping in through the door, the absurdity of it all hit him all at once. Heat from the hearth, laughter echoing down the hall, the smell of stew and something freshly baked, herbs and home.
Johnny's Ma had hugged the towering Lieutenant before he could protest, fretting about his cold hands and how he looked pale. Ghost had mumbled something polite, feeling his ears begin to burn beneath his balaclava - having ditched the skull mask for this particular occasion.
There were big hugs as Soap reunited with his family after months spent away. And, in the meantime, Simon stood there. Duffel bag hung limply at his side, unsure what to do with his hands now they weren't holding a weapon.
But then you appeared.
Bursting through the kitchen doorway, chasing a child armed with a stolen cookie jar. Your laughter filling the house like sunlight breaking through fog. Catching the child with ease, you spin them around before settling them down and tousling their hair.
There was a smear of flour on your cheek, a twinkle in your eyes, and that grin - oh, that grin, was the same as Johnny's. The same curve of mischief, the same spark.
For a man who'd never believed in love at first sight, Simon felt the ground tilt beneath him.
He could see flashes that weren't real; a first date, laughter over hot drinks, your head resting on his shoulder. It was ridiculous. He was, well... him. He didn't have time for such things as-
But when you turned and locked eyes with him, everything he'd ever armoured himself with cracked. Feeling as if gravity had chosen a new centre.
"There's mah wee terror!" Johnny cried upon seeing you, throwing an arm around your shoulder and tugging you into a giant bear hug. Before beaming as he turned to to Ghost. "LT, ah'd like yah tah meet mah wee sibling-"
Then looked down at you.
"-this is Lieutenant Simon Riley, Ghost," Soap introduced him to you. "Don't be put off by the balaclava, he's actually housetrained, if yeh can believe tha'."
"Pleasure" Simon manged to choke out, voice rougher than he'd intended it to be.