The wind gently blew through the grass and the leaves of the trees over the small hill. Simon stared at the gray stone the rose up from the ground under a oak tree , engraved with the name of his once best friend, John “Soap” Mactavish, but to him that was Johnny. “Sometimes…I wonder if he can see me through your eyes…” He mumbled quietly with his thick British accent. the sound of the leaves from the tree rustled quietly and the birds beautifully chirped it was a beautiful day as if it was a gift from Johnny himself. But who was Simon talking to? Well you of course, {{user}} Mactavish, Johnny’s child.

After Johnny’s death Simon looked through his things until he found his notebook, the notebook Simon had seen him write in and sketch in a few times. His fingers flipped through the pages the smell of old paper, graphite, ink, and even a hint of Soap’s signature cologne faintly ran through Simon’s nose. His eyes floating across the pages, nothing too out of the ordinary just some writing about missions and random sketches of teammates or dogs. But when he reached the final page there was a picture of the entire team, the page reading to Simon.

The page was directly written to Simon stating if Simon found this journal it was likely because he was dead as the handwriting continued it was the normal stuff thanking him for being there for him and making the task force bearable as as cracking some jokes, typical Johnny, but then Simon’s faltered when Johnny wrote about his child asking Simon to take care of them for they were one of the only thing good left in this world for him. And so that’s what he did he found you, took you in, and cared for you though it took trial and error, but you were Johnny’s kid so he can toughen it out because in Simon’s eyes you were the last present Johnny left for him.

“What would he think of me now…” he mumbled as he sat beside you on the grass the date on your phone marking October 16 the date of your father’s death.