Summary: Ghost has been there. He's always been there, watching over you like a second shadow, concerned for your sanity and safety, and you're worried it's taking a toll on him. You're desperate to understand how he sees you, eager to figure out if he views you the way you view him.
Warning: Minor jealousy, mentions of mental struggles. Smut, obvi. edging, oral(giving), slight deepthroating, slight dom!reader, slight sub!Ghost, switch!Ghost, shower sex, overstimulation.
- - -
The utter irony of not being able to fully rest the moment you finally got a chance to after so long. It reminded you of early mornings where you dreaded waking up to go to school, desperately eager to reach the weekend to sleep in, only for you to rise just as early as the sun and never achieve that moment of pure rest.
You were only able to get a somewhat full night's rest when Ghost left, yet every day after that for the past seven days, you were left waking up painfully early, despite your persistent urge to sleep in. You'd close your eyes in attempt of a short nap, only to fail and give up with disgruntled disappointment.
It's felt longer than a week since he had left, leaving you all this time to rest and contemplate on everything that's happened. Your mind was constantly occupied between Ghost's choice words and the loss over your latest mission. You didn't even care if it was deemed a success by officials, the emotions you felt after constantly proved you completely otherwise.
For the first two mornings you've remained in bed, barely containing the appetite to eat breakfast, just mindlessly keeping your dog tags clutched in your right hand in your solitude. While constantly brushing your thumb over his description, it occurred to you how you've never really seen him wear dog tags before. Maybe he just wasn't a fan, or maybe he didn't like how they felt.
Like hell if you even knew he wore them, especially with all the gear and layers of clothing he adorns on a daily basis. Even with every layer off, they still weren't visibly seen. You know that, you would've remembered otherwise.
At the very least, you were well aware now that he was wearing them from now on, at least you hoped so.
It was times like these you really lived up to your codename. The semi-masked Sergeant, the only female of the special task force being seen in a certain area on base, only to be gone almost in the blink of an eye by recruits who weren't familiar to you. Walking out on the track on late evenings until your ankle couldn't bare it, rarely in the mess hall during lunch or dinner, keeping to yourself in the shooting range when your ankle and side wound weren't as sore to allow you to shift various positions, wearing a tight, adjustable ankle brace so you could walk somewhat properly, thin enough to wear so you could keep your boot on.
You had a reputation to keep up with after all, you weren't going to stop just because you couldn't walk that great, despite the pain it gave you. At least it wasn't a torn ligament, otherwise you would've been left suffering a lot longer.
On the third day in the early evening, Price himself requested you in his office. You eventually made your way there to find him doing paperwork at his desk, looking up towards you once he cleared you to come in. "You needed to see me, sir?"
He gestured his hand over across from him. On the other side of his desk was a cup of coffee and one of your favorite snacks, with a chair scooted closer so you could be comfortable. "Sit. Office is too quiet, needed someone talkative to fix that."
You walked over to the desk, slowly picking up the mug of coffee. Just the fragrance of it sent you back to your nights sitting beside her, recalling how much sugar packets she had put in by accident while distracted by your banter, only for it to become a temporary tradition.
"Don't like it black?" Price spoke up, ripping you from the tendrils of the memory. "Got some bourbon if you wanna spice it up."
Smiling a bit, you sat down in your seat and took a slow sip, tasting just a hint of sugar. "That's against the rules, Captain."
"Hmm," He smirked just a bit, eyes occupied on uniform words on paper. "Not in my office."
What started over a simple cup of coffee and an hour of chatter lead to the next few evenings spent in his office, making you become an unofficial companion while he sorted reports and filed paperwork. He ended up being right in the end, your talkative nature peeking through as you two spoke of life and silly misadventures, which he was more than glad to share just to laugh at the twisted expressions on your face.
He even showed you what your official file looked like after a long discussion on why he named the task force it's given name. Looking at the printed photo on the first page had you feeling strange: It was you of course, a bit younger and a lot more wide eyed to the world, holding too many high hopes over promises you wish could've come true. You read over your name, your given expertise, and your summarized paragraphs of what you've accomplished to get where you were now.
It was so odd seeing your face without your given scar, a small, constant reminder to not be so hard on the woman you once were for your own personal sake. You worked so hard to get here, you owed her that much to keep on going.
As the clock reached a quarter past five on Sunday, you asked Price what reports he was working on this time to break the momentary silence. He tilts his head and was prepared to answer, only to repeat the words he just read while running his pen along the sentence, almost forgetting what you asked.
"Oh, Drug bust. Bloody muppets smuggling bombs alongside some of the usual substances."
"Ah." You leaned your head back, looking towards the ceiling fan for the hundredth time. "I think they might remove my stitches on Monday."
"That good- "
"But I was wondering if there was an upcoming briefing perhaps, maybe a mission out on-"
"No," His tone grew quite firm instantly. "That's out of the question."
Sitting up, you frowned at the man, despite him either not meeting your gaze, or not caring to.
"No offense John, but what good am I if I'm stuck here doing nothing?" You gestured your hands up, setting them down on your lap with a small groan. "It barely hurts now, I can still hold a gun."
"Yet can you run when things get intense? I can tell it's you comin' down the hall from all the shuffling since day one." He tapped his pen against the desk, gesturing towards your leg.
"The greatest thing you can do right now is takin' care of yourself, I can't have you running around at risk for more injuries, otherwise I'll never hear the end of it from the others." He'd glance up at you every now and then, making sure to keep that fair amount of eye contact so you were aware he was listening.
"Why the others?"
"They're worried, believe it or not," Price sat forward after closing a file, setting his elbows on the table. "Just like I am."
You tilted your head, keeping your folded arms settled over your lap, crossing your legs in your seat.
"No no, don't look at me like that. You're here now but before, you've kept to yourself, you barely eat. Space is important, I understand that, but too much of it can do more harm than good."
"At least I'm here now." You reached to your coffee cup, taking a sip of the lukewarm, lightly sweetened beverage. "That's usually what matters." You stared down at your half empty cup, your coffee revealing to you your own reflection from the abyss at the bottom of the mug.
"You know, Ghost," You look up at Price once he mentions his name. "Simon asks of you a lot," he states, folding his hands together in front of him on the table.
"Quite often in fact. Regardless of how little he speaks beyond official orders, he speaks of you regardless."
"Okay. Why're you telling me this?" You ask, feeling your heart jolt a little at the sudden mention of him.
"Because he cares for you, again, just like we do. The world knows Ghost, but I know Simon. Don't know exactly what he thinks, but maybe he sees a part of himself in you. It's been like that since... well, since a few months back." He stands, picking up his stack of finished files before proceeding towards the nearest filing cabinets. "Anyway, if you need someone more professional to talk to, I can getcha someone. Or one of the men can provide, you know I'm always available, sure Simon is as well."
For a moment or two, you suspected Price to bring up knowing about whatever was going on between the two of you, but now, you were left even more confused than before. What did he mean when he said Simon saw something in you? What an odd statement.
"Price, what's his story?" His hands seemed to slow from your sudden question, peering over his shoulder a little.
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm curious." Was all you could say at first, though your curiosity was beyond piqued. "What did you mean he saw something in me? Like, past wise?"
"Honestly kid, His story is... not a good one, and it's not mine to share."
Again. That was the second time someone rejected telling you more about Simon Riley, the man who put his darkened spirit first as a coverup before himself. It got you wondering, ever since your capture and rescue, obviously he acted different towards you. He wouldn't really have cared for your well being after that... unless he went through something similar.
Or worse.
The realization dawned on you when you gulped down the rest of your coffee. It made you want to see Simon now more than ever, but you weren't really sure when he was coming back. All you had to do was wait.
"Look, John, I really appreciate it," You rose from your seat, taking your coffee cup with you as you got the urge to change the subject. "Really, I do, but I'll be okay. I'm sure you're well aware that in this line of work, we just... just."
You tried to find a way to say it better without sounding so cruel. Have casualties, lose people? It happens all the time? There wasn't really any way of saying it respectfully.
Price was well aware of this, closing the filing drawer shut before turning to you with a slightly somber look in his eyes, telling you he knew exactly what you meant.
"I'm not telling you this only as a captain, but as a friend, Y/n. Don't keep it bottled, or else it'll just get worse."
You nodded, turning towards the direction to leave. You stopped once you saw an apple sitting abandoned by the right-hand side of his desk, something left over from his late lunch perhaps.
"You gonna eat that?" You gesture to his apple.
Price extends his hand out. "By all means."
"Thanks." Smiling, you reached over and swiped it for yourself.
"Hope you don't plan on fillin' up with just that, go eat, go rest. No more talks of jobs until next week. At the very least."
"Yes, Captain."
Your feet led you back towards the shooting range, once again working on your prized skills that have kept others alive under your watch. A major part of being a sniper is to remain extremely focused, the slightest drift of the mind in the heat of the moment could ruin anything and everything. You had to constantly remind yourself that, your storming thoughts making each pause between every bullet fired grow a bit longer than the last.
You were heavily occupied on Ghost, your mind rushing with possibilities on what could've happened to him in his past. A part of you wanted to ask, but you were worried over prodding old wounds.
Why did you really wanna know so badly? You bit your lip in thought over pondering that question, finally reaching over towards your neglected apple, bringing it closer to your mouth.
"Don't think you're allowed to have food out here," You turned your head to see Kyle approaching, seeing you smile a bit before tossing him the apple, watching him catch it in his right hand.
"Whatcha doing all the way out here, kid?"
"Just needed to clear my head," You gestured towards your rifle. "The usual."
"Ah," He looked down at the apple then towards your targets, seeing minimal clouds cover the soft, pastel skies that announced the beginning of the setting sun. "How're you holdin' up?"
"I'm fine." You shrugged.
"Fine as in, no, or yes?"
"Fine as in decent. Little better than yesterday."
After setting everything away and calling it a day, Kyle invited you to go take a walk with him out on the track. While most people were occupied with dinner in the mess hall, it gave the two of you a nice, semi-quiet ambience to talk privately. It was a slow walk, especially with your healing ankle, but he matched your pace for your sake. He let you talk about anything and everything you wanted, encouraging you to get your mind flowing. In retort to this, you pushed him to tell some stories of his past occupation, watching him smile with one hand shoved into his pocket while retelling the funniest memories he could recall from the top of his head.
That's how it was between the two of you for a good twenty minutes or so, unaware of the game you absentmindedly created with the apple, passing the fruit back and forth when it was the other's turn to speak.
Eventually, you brought up the topic of your old group of friends. Your friends were different, mischievous, and kind; The kind to shove their heads out from the back of music blaring cars to feel the wind though their hair, the ones who would all walk home with you through the late hours of the night to make sure you got home safe. As much as you missed them, they were also blunt risk takers, dragging along a much younger you, who had never tasted the strong, bitter excitement on your tongue from getting away with something wrong.
That got you into retelling an old story one of your friends assumably shared, clutching the apple in your left hand as you did so. You told Kyle the story how it was told to you; your friends, half of them under the influence of alcohol, started some sort of fight outside a music blaring bar.
Somehow, one of your friends managed to get their hands on a rusted scrap metal pipe from the nearest dumpster, climbing herself over on the hood of a sleek, expensive looking car. Screaming further towards the owner of said vehicle, who had been shouting at her to get off, watched as she proceeded to bash the windshield in on the driver's side, screaming with each hit.
"How in hell did they not get arrested??" His shocked expression made you smile big, almost snorting in disbelief.
"Beats me, I should've been there to see it. Just this girl in a silver sequin dress, six-inch heels standing over the hood." You spoke in past tense, giving him another shrug. "Turns out that guy was a drill Seargent I think. The memory's kinda fuzzy."
"Did he tell her to enlist after she got out of prison?"
"Oh, they never got caught."
Come to think of it, your memory was more fuzzier than you realized. You could only imagine how sore your feet would've been in such heels while running from the cops. Were you wearing heels that night? Was it you who did that?
"What happened to your friends?"
"We grew apart after a while." You smiled somberly, coming to a stop in your walk. "I enlisted when I realized that I could be better than what I was getting dragged into. I'm still close with one or two of them, but everyone just moved on."
The faint buzzing of propellers had your voice lowering towards the end of your sentence, both heads shifting towards the skies, seeing large black aircrafts coming from the direction of the sun.
"Think that's Ghost?" Your thoughts morphed into a softly spoken question without you realizing it, getting Kyle's attention.
"Maybe." He looked to the expression on your face, finally turning your gaze away when the concentrated rays from the setting sun started making your eyes water.
"So, tell it to me straight. Did something happen between you two a while back?" His question had you looking at him with utter surprise after wiping away your tears. Did something happen, how? What kind of answer was he looking for?
"Why, did you want something to happen? Is there some secret bet?" You asked, bringing your hand up to wipe your other eye. "Is John in on it?"
"It wouldn't be fun if I told you there was."
"Will you split the money if I tell you the truth?"
"How much?"
"Fifty fifty, obviously."
"No." Kyle frowned.
"Then no." You smiled, watching him huff and smirk. Gesturing his head towards the direction of the landing zone, the two of you proceeded in that direction, still matching your pace despite their now being a bit of an encouraging spring in your step.
"So... I didn't hear a no back there. That mean you like him?"
You stopped, glaring at him as he stopped two steps ahead of you. Your sudden silence made his brows raise a bit, watching for any subtle change in your demeanor; A deflate in your shoulders, a subtle nod, something, but no. Nothing.
"Oi, There's the shinin' Bonnie lass I know!" Soap's voice came to you a little by surprise, walking towards the both of you. Seeing him come closer made you notice how much his hair had grown since you last saw him, remembering him wearing a helmet the night you came back. "Good to see you're still livin' and all."
"Damn John, you need to cut your hair! I didn't know it was curly."
"Aye, that's what I hate 'bout it." Running his hand along his grown out mohawk, feeling the wavy strands through his fingertips. "The hell you two doin' out here?"
"Watching the troops come back."
"Agh, speak of the devil," Soap looks overhead, seeing a few more aircrafts coming overhead to land. "Think that's Ghost up in there?"
The three of you walked the rest of the way towards the site, hearing multiple loud engines whirring down as they officially settled, large doors opening to reveal the return of the troops.
Despite the far distance, it was almost impossible to miss the tall British man walk down the ramp onto solid ground, still wearing the same outfit you last saw him wearing the night he left.
It was almost like he knew you were staring at him as he turned his head towards the familiar three-person group that made their way onto the landing zone, his footsteps coming to a stop.
You've been walking around, that's the second thought he had in his head, the first one being pure surprise that you were out here. Were you waiting for him this entire time? You were as beautiful as you were stubborn.
With the setting sun blaring against the back of his head, he could almost make out every detail of your face, the reflection of the sun illuminating every strand of hair on your head, causing your squinting eyes to glow gold. He would've expected to find you resting in bed, but it made sense for you not to stay still for too long. It slightly warmed his heart to know your familiar face was the first one he saw once he landed. It was more than enough to momentarily forget the ache in his joints, the burn in his fingers when he clenched them, and the sting of his minor wounds.
Staring at him started bringing some interesting thoughts to mind, being fueled by the energetic excitement you felt deep inside your chest.
Who exactly was staring at you right now? Was it Ghost? Or Simon?
Which one exactly switched your tags that night?
You're not really sure where those sudden thoughts came from, but they began to worry you as they lingered, all while hearing John and Kyle talk to each other beside you. Looking away from Ghost, you tried listening into their conversation, but it did little to soothe the bubbling anxiety in your chest, or was it butterflies?
"Mirage!"
"Fuck's sake, what??" Your sharply retorted by Soap calling your name rather loudly.
"Christ, what's goin' on in that head of yours?"
"I think she's hungry," Gaz states, still holding the apple you didn't eat. "Tried eatin' her dinner out at the range."
"Oh no, don't tell me that was gonna be your dinner," The way Soap looked at you shocked had you shrugging. "I ate earlier, I'm fine."
"What's Price gonna say when a member of his team isn't eating? Can't have that can we? C'mon."
"I got the apple from Price-" Your words cut off when Soap grabbed ahold of your forearm, proceeding to tug you off towards the direction of the mess hall.
"John, I'm fine! Let me go!" A small laugh came from you as you shuffled along, slightly wincing from the crooked steps you took. You called his name again, trying to tug your arm harder from him, trying to peel his fingers off with your other hand. Starting to laugh along with you, he pulled you closer to grab your other arm, keeping both your wrists secured with one hand to distract you just enough to wrap an arm around your shoulders, putting you in a minor headlock.
"Grab 'er by the legs, Gaz! The lady's gotta eat!" Gaz, of course, didn't touch you, but that didn't stop a few chuckles from leaving him at the sight of Soap's other arm wrapping over your lower torso, trying to get a good grip on you.
"John!!" You screamed out within a fit of giggles, tackling against his grip. "Let go! This isn't fair!" You tried reaching over your head to grab at his, feeling him lean back out of reach. Going back to his arms, tugging on it as hard as you could to free his hold on your neck, only to wrap that same arm around your torso in an attempt to raise you off your feet, leaving you a flailing mess in his hands, laughing so hard your lungs started to burn.
"Let me go, asshole!" Trying to kick at his legs was out of the question, trying to keep as much good balance as possible on your good leg so you wouldn't hurt the other.
Twisting your body around as best as you could, you managed to slip an arm around his neck, locking around him tightly enough to shift most of your weight to stagger him back, almost causing him to lose his footing. The entire time, Kyle and John's laughter filled your ears, joining in tandem with yours as you contemplated knocking him on his ass to the pavement.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" A sharp, booming voice broke through all your laughter, everyone's attention focusing towards the tall, quickly approaching Lieutenant.
"We're havin' a little sparrin' match, Sir. An' she's losing!" He squeezed you harder, making your cries dissolve into further laughter.
"Fucks sake, Soap! Her damn stitches could rip with how you're handlin' her! Put her down, now!!" Soap's arms grew stiff, quickly releasing you once you got your proper footing, muttering a quick apology to you before taking a step back.
"You should know better, Sergeant!" Ghost took a step closer towards him, his voice growing loud and booming through the background noises. "Wrestling out in the middle of the damn landin' zone like this! Don't put your fucking hands on her again!"
"Ghost!" His sharp rise in tone had you immediately worried for Soap's sake. "It's fine! He was just-"
"And you!" He looked towards you, watching your mouth close instantly. "Inside, now!"
"Ghost- "
"Now, Sergeant!"
Every ounce of hysterical amusement drained from your body in an instant, your lingering smile replaced by a deep frown. Turning away from him, you gave a quick glance towards Gaz and Soap while slipping your mask back over your mouth before walking off, trying your hardest to keep your walk as normal as possible, with minimal limping in case they were watching. You hated to admit that you felt a bit of a sting from your stitches, that, and you put a little too much pressure on your ankle while wrestling out of Soap's grip.
It wasn't like that was the first time you've had those silly interactions with him, and it definitely wasn't the first time Ghost carelessly witnessed such interactions occur.
You've arm wrestled Soap on occasion, got put in a headlock multiple times, and even lost your fair share of sparring matches during training, but that didn't mean you didn't have your own wins against him too. You knew how to fight, it wasn't like he hurt you on purpose.
You weren't really sure if you should be mad at Ghost's concern over your well-being, despite the fact that it had you feeling like a small child being sent upstairs.
"The hell was that bastard puttin' his hands on you for?? He should fucking know better than to touch you like that." His footsteps were quite loud when he came into your room unannounced, shutting the door behind him before approaching your bed, keeping fair distance between you two with his balled fists remaining by his sides.
This was your last night staying in this room before officially moving back to the barracks, so you figured you'd get ready now before the big day. That's where you were, kneeling in front of the end table to clear its drawers, putting what you could into as little boxes as possible.
"Lieut-Ghost." His words broke you from your thoughts, having you take your thumbnail out of your mouth before you chewed the hell out of it while you had gotten distracted. "It wasn't that bad-"
"For Christ's sake, did you check yourself? If there was even a single drop of blood on those damn bandages- "
"Simon."
You watched Ghost go quiet as you rose from the ground, seeing your firmed expression. He stared at you; his darkened eyes narrowed with annoyance behind that mask. It wasn't that big of a deal, and while understanding his concerns, maybe he was a little overreacting.
"He didn't do anything wrong; it was a little mindless fun. He wanted me to go get something to eat and it was barely seconds away from becoming a sparring match." You shrugged in the middle of your words, seeing him shake his head in disapproval.
"Hey, it wasn't like I couldn't beat him-"
"Your expertise is in being a bloody sniper, not in close combat."
"Close combat- Everyone is trained in close combat, Simon! That's not the point, it's not a huge deal!" You walked around the edge of the bed to approach him, slimming down the distance.
"It's a huge deal when his arms are over you trying to hoist you over his shoulder like a sack." Not once did Ghost raise his voice, but that growing sharp bite in his tone did just the trick to make his point. "You're hurt, an' he put his hands on you-"
"But I'm fine." You gently insisted, watching him go quiet again.
Deep concern was pretty obvious by now, that, and maybe a tinge of jealousy. Not wanting to spark him up any further, you stepped closer, giving him a small smile before reaching up to caress the muted ivory surface of his painted mask.
A fine layer of dust coated the skin of your fingertips, his uniform smelling of dirt, sweat, and war. His eyes looked more bloodshot than you last remembered, the grease paint doing a magnificent job in hiding his exhausted skin. Regardless, you brushed your thumb along the outline of his nose ridge, slightly making contact with his covered nose.
"I don't trust that bloody bastard." Ghost muttered, watching the edge of your lip curl.
"Don't be so harsh. Soap will grow on you, I know it."
"That's unlikely."
"Okay," You tilted your head in thought, seeing the reasonability you could take. "Then it won't happen again. Next time I see him, you'll have the pleasure of watching me drop him on his ass, alright?"
An obvious joke, but you hoped it would settle him down a bit.
He reaches up to hold your wrist, motioning to wrap his fingers around before stopping, lowering his hand instantly, eyes glancing off towards the side.
"What?" You looked to his hand while lowering yours, noticing his still tense shoulders.
"What happened? What's wrong?" You grew more concerned, watching his eyes narrow with tense thought, shielded brows furrowed.
You reached over to grab his hand, feeling the damp material in your fingertips. He tensed with your touch, yanking his hand out of your grip instantly, catching you completely off guard.
"Simon," you try again, trying to make out what you could from his gaze. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He stated, looking away from your face, glancing off towards the other side of the room.
"Do you need to go see the medics?"
"I'll be fine, kid."
His tone changed, that sharp bite growing narrower and colder, sounding like an irritated instructor when he spoke to new recruits. Something was definitely wrong, a small part of you curious if it was the jealousy talking. You stood there in awkward silence, not really sure what to ask of him.
To your surprise, he broke the silence first, eager to change the subject. "What have you been up to in here?"
"Oh, um." You looked over your shoulder, gesturing towards the semi clutter you had in your room. "Moving out of here tomorrow. The past week I've been visiting Price in his office, talked about possibly getting back out on the field once-"
"Chriiist," Ghost almost rolled his eyes, turning his head off to the other side. "What?"
"You don't know when to stop doing things you aren't supposed to do!" His voice raised a bit, catching you more off guard than ever before. "What part in your mind do you not understand when it comes to resting and healing yourself? Now you want to throw yourself back out there to get injured again??"
"Excuse me??" You raised your voice now, gesturing towards your chest. "Last I checked, I'm on the same damn team as you! What fucking good am I when I'm sitting here not doing my damn job?!"
"You're to stay on this damn base and recover, Mirage! Those are your orders from me and Price!"
"That's why I was talking about it with Price! You don't think I can be careful? Do you trust me enough to be careful??"
Ghost doesn't respond, simply blinking at your choice words, glaring off again towards anywhere else but your gaze. He knew if he opened his mouth and said anything further, this would take a nasty route.
You noticed this change, lowering your hand from your stinging chest.
The silence pressed on, the man refusing to give you a proper answer. It was right there that a toxic anxiety began bubbling deep in your stomach, thinking of all the words he could've said in response to you. Your mind stayed to betray you once a plausible answer formed in your mind.
"You don't trust me, do you?" It was a slow, softly spoken question you didn't want to ask, but you needed to know.
His eyes slightly widened at this accusation as they reconnected with yours, opening his mouth to dismay that it wasn't what he intended you to think, but he paused.
Ghost didn't give you any answer, his widened eyes slowly relaxing, feeling his throat clench from words he couldn't get himself to say. His gaze further sank, the defeated expression he gave you delivered that dreadful answer you didn't want to hear.
Oh.
Long, cold silence, pierced the air like a frost tipped sewing needle to your heart, working against the heated emotions you felt in your head, a bitter tang souring the back of your throat as your heartbeat filled your ears.
You're surprised, shocked, all of the above. You two were partners, right? Yet, after all this time, he didn't trust you enough to be careful. He probably didn't even trust you even with your own life.
That wasn't what he wanted you to think, but that's all you could feel at the moment.
Lowering your gaze, you looked over towards the mess you were trying to fix before he arrived. Approaching it, you slowly kneeled to resume where you left off, distancing yourself from the spirit in the room.
He called your name, watching your frantic hands work to clean up everything, picking up items and carelessly shoving them into an opened box by your feet, no longer caring for organization.
"Y/n." Ghost called for you again, watching you firmly throw down an item you held before turning to look at him, a firm glare in your eyes.
You watched him approach the plain, emptied dresser across from the edge of your bed, setting down something small and red he kept hidden in his other hand the entire time he spoke with you.
"Eat something." His voice slightly softened, stepping back to reveal the olive branch he presented, your small, forgotten red apple.
From all the walking you've done, it left your ankle incredibly sore, your hidden brace helping you enough to keep you standing as you rose from the ground, using the edge of the bed as support.
Limping past Ghost, he was left to watch you swipe the apple from the dresser, only to firmly toss it in the garbage on your way out the door. Regardless of if it was your room for that final night, you needed space from what had occurred in it.
You were as stubborn as you were beautiful, Ghost could always give you that.
Once again, you were almost back where you had started, wanting to distance yourself from everyone and everything.
Soap found you wandering outside the barracks when the possibility of heading all the way back to the shooting range made you cringe, sitting down to give your ankle some rest. He sat beside you and handed you a wrapped sandwich, insisting you at least take a single bite to settle his concerns.
You did so with a small smile, chewing through bread and sweet jam after asking him how he was feeling with what happened earlier.
"Oh, that. Totally would've won if you weren't recoverin' still."
"Before that jackass, with Ghost." You couldn't help but laugh a bit.
"I think he likes ya, honestly." He chuckles, resting his elbow on his propped-up knee. "Wanted to apologize though, kinda forgot you had stitches."
"It's not your fault," You shook your head, thinking over what he had said prior with a franticly beating heart. "What makes you think he likes me?"
"I don't know, could tell if he had a face I could stare at." He shrugs, looking up at the skies. "Think he likes ya' as in he cares for ya. He talks about you a lot, was bringin' you up when you were out with Price, hopin' you didn't add another scar to the collection."
You almost snorted, rolling your eyes after taking another bite. So, Price was right, he did talk about you in general. It would've been a nice thought if the events earlier hadn't occurred.
You two liked each other, It was more than evident now. However, down the road in your past, you learned that trust and love were very different things yet worked in tandem together perfectly. You could love someone with all your heart, yet never trust them with any little thing ever again. You could trust someone with your life, but never once think of them with pure romantic intentions.
As much as you loved being near him, being with him, speaking with him and all of the above, you wanted him to trust you as you did him.
The only question you had left in your mind was if he really did. At all.
Your feelings for him were true, you submitted to the reality that you may have loved him as much as you trust him. Regardless of if it felt too soon or not, the dog tags hidden under your shirt said otherwise.
Not once did you take into consideration just how complicated your "situationship" became. What if something were to happen again, one of your lives being taken too soon, leaving the other suffering in such gut-wrenching guilt? What if one day one of you were to wake up and realize that there's no way it could go on. What if that becomes too much? You dreaded the putrid reality of it.
Losing someone you cared for was agonizing, gut wrenching, painful. The idea of losing someone you loved could've brought much worse, shooting worlds of molten pain through your bloodstream with an infected needle, destroying every nerve in your brain until you felt nothing but their absence, destroying your sanity. You couldn't imagine losing him.
Was that why he couldn't trust you? Was he afraid?
You couldn't blame him if you were completely honest. The things you've done in the past most likely still weighed down heavily on his shoulders, but you believed you did each thing for good reason. Did he understand that? Or was it too mixed in with the rest of his traumatic memories you were desperate to learn about?
You got through with half of your sandwich before handing the rest back to Soap, who only pushed it back into your hands insisting you to take at least one more bite. He rose from the ground, holding out said sandwich while offering his other hand.
"One more bite an' I'll help ya off the ground."
"Smooth, Mactavish." You took the sandwich and took a large bite, glaring at his stupid smirk while clutching hold of his extended hand.
Eventually, you found yourself heading back towards your room, closing the door behind you and turning on the light.
Your boxes remained where they were, either on the floor or on the billed, each one filled with clothes and other things. Your tired eyes glanced over towards your dresser, once again spotting the illusive red apple sitting on top of it.
The red skin glistened with beads of water, signaling that he washed it for you. While there wasn't really a need to since your garbage can was empty, it was still a pleasant gesture regardless.
Pushing aside one of your heavy boxes, you laid back in your bed, taking a firm bite from the crisp fruit, sucking on the escaping juices, chewing slowly while your mind drifted away, staring blankly up at your ceiling.
All those thoughts prior had you wonder just how stressed Simon truly was, using Ghost as a cover to push on through it. He never showed the signs, but it's not like you could tell behind all that he wore.
It was another thought that stuck with you until the late evening, realizing the wrongs, your wrongs, of the loud words shared between you both.
You found yourself heading down hallways you've rarely traveled down before. Curfew wasn't until a few hours, so you figured now would be an opportune time to pay Ghost a visit.
You knocked on his door, hoping your knocks were firm enough to hear. His door was the last one at the very end of an empty hallway, an oddly fitting location for the natural introvert he was.
There was no answer for quite a while, having you slightly concerned as you knocked again, wondering if he wasn't in his room or simply didn't want to answer.
Your mind pondered over that second reason before the sound of a door opening on the other side was heard, a faint sound of running water filling the muffled air.
"Who's there?" His voice was heard close to the door, putting two and two together as you realized he was taking a shower.
"It's me." You spoke up, feeling your nerves start to take control over your thoughts. "I can come back later; I didn't know you were busy."
He didn't answer, leaving you question if he even heard you.
A small click broke the uneasy silence, the knob twisting to allow the door to open on its own. He didn't open it any further, hearing the running shower muffle once more when the bathroom door closed.
You pushed the door slowly, seeing more of his room as you walked inside. You weren't expecting to see his space so neat, free of clutter thrown in any direction on the ground or over his bed, the only source of warm light being from a lamp on his desk.
You walked in after closing the door behind you, glancing around at the small beige walls of his bedroom. The most clutter filled area was a desk of sorts shoved in the far-left corner, housing a nest of various papers and other unknown documents stacked on top of a stack of old, weathered journals beside a grey cup filled with old wooden pencils and mechanical pens.
Upon closer inspection, you stared down at the various bundles of dark colored cloth and thick black twine, nesting beside a small, familiar looking metal container stained with white paint on the rim. You recognized this little paint can, remembering when Ghost pressed it into your hands after you offered to help him with his mask. He handed you his unfinished one at the time, watching your focused glare as you painted thin lines along the fabric, your pinky stained white for the entire day after that.
The sound of the shower was silenced as he turned off the water, yet you hadn't fully noticed yet as you examined an odd dent in the wall by his lamp, covered up with a crude, off-white paste. Close to that patch was another, running your fingers along the surface to feel the sandy texture. There were multiple holes along this wall alone, each bigger than the size of his fist, the patchwork looking too dry to be recent.
Was Simon a victim to fits of violent rage? You didn't expect him to be, yet again, this was his own private room. He could do whatever he wanted in here. Looking over towards the next wall, you spotted more crudely covered up holes, each one matching around his height.
You would've looked around further towards the rest of the walls to view how many more various bandaged gashes there were if the bathroom door hadn't opened, turning around to see the tall man step out.