Boo! | Simon 'Ghost' Riley

8) Secret

We joined our superiors by the bar. The TV was broadcasting news about last night's event. When I walked passed him, Chris gave me a pat on the shoulder.

I sat at the furthest end of the bar, next to Simon. Chris, Laswell, and Price had just got their own drinks served. Simon, John, and Kyle placed their orders. I asked for iced water in a whiskey glass.

Everything went quite casually, starting with Price commenting on the CIA regarding the news. Chris was used to that. They cheered on something. The three next to me and myself just got our drinks served.

At some point, Laswell stood up out of nowhere and that caught our attention.

"It's not. They're working with someone new," was what I first heard.

"Who?" Price asked.

Laswell slid a photograph. Price took it and looked at it. His face changed.

"We don't know his name," Laswell said.

"He's not new," Price stated.

Price started passing over the photograph. Chris looked like he recognised it. When I looked at it, however, I had no idea who it was.

Everyone started paying close attention, huddling over.

"Who is he?" Laswell asked.

"Makarov," Price named.

There was a long silence. The bosses started talking about it.

Simon looked at me.

"We're talking about this and you're still here," Simon quietly said to me. "What's that mean?"

Just then, lifted his glass.

"Alright, before we move on to that, let's have a toast," Price said. "First, to you lads and lasses, good job well done."

We drank to that.

"To Caelith for the killing blow," Laswell said.

I deployed a bittersweet smile, but not drinking to that, simply lifting my glass.

There were a few toasts after that. It got pretty serious and by the end of it, everyone looked very tired.

"I'm paying tribute to Captain Price's good cigar," I said, lifting my glass.

"Aye," Simon supported.

A little bit of laughter were there.

From there, everyone was left to their own accord.

Simon looked at me again.

"So, what's next for you?" Simon asked.

"Hell if I know," I answered. "You?"

"This Makarov prick, likely," Simon answered.

"You'll do great," I assured. "As long as you don't get dead."

"I've been dead before," Simon sighed. "I've been buried and crawled my way back up."

"Sweet metaphor," I commented.

"It's not a metaphor," Simon said.

I looked at him. Simon looked back at me seriously.

"I would've given you a hug, but we're in public and people are watching," I said.

"I'd like that," Simon said. "Maybe soon."

I could not help the bashful smile on my face.

"If I tell him, do you think I'll get promoted?" I questioned.