My throat bobs and my chest tightens as I say, "We need to talk about what?"
I've no idea what he's going to say, but the somber tone and lack of eye contact are a warning sign that whatever he's going to say, it won't be good.
Simon takes a deep breath and says, "Price and Laswell assigned me to a mission one week ago." His eyes dart—laced with concern—to me as he finishes that sentence.
A heavyweight within me threatens to buckle my knees and slam me into the ground.
"What...what kind of mission?" I stammer from my nerves and avert my gaze downward, trying not to overreact.
"A lengthy one," he sighs deeply. "I can't go over all the details. Covert mission."
"I'm assuming I'm not allowed to join..." My eyes now pierce his. I try to keep my tone even as I say, "Considering the administrative leave."
"Correct," he deadpans.
I shake my head slowly, trying to fathom what I just heard, and ask, "When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow."
"Bullshit," I hiss. "It hasn't even been a whole hour since we buried Soap."
"Duties aren't waived by mourning," Simon says coldly, sounding more like Ghost than Simon. "I'm going."
Biting my tongue from the harsh words I'd like to lash out—an exercise in restraint—I instead say, "And who else is going on this mission?"
"Only Laswell." The iciness in Simon's eyes dims a bit. "The fewer operators the better, for this mission, at least."
The vague details are alarmingly suspicious.
"A week ago, Simon?" I scoff, clearly offended. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"It would have given you more opportunities to convince me to stay." His throat bobs and his fists clench against the mattress of the bed.
We stay in silence for a few moments. My eyes are piercing the ground and I can feel Simon's eyes are piercing me.
"Breanna?" he asks cautiously, breaking the silence, as he waits for my reply.
"A lengthy one," I repeat his earlier words, deadpan.
"What?" Simon sketches a brow in confusion.
"You said this mission is 'a lengthy one'. How long is 'lengthy'?" I look at him with despondency in my eyes.
Simon's eyes show something similar to mine. "I can't say." He shakes his head. "I'm not sure."
I wrap my arms around myself and my silence is answer enough for Ghost as he says, "You asked me what my plans were after Makarov. If I'd go on another mission. You said that if I'm going on another mission...then I am," he says defensively, his words as sharp as a blade. "I'm assuming you would honor and respect that."
"We've only been back two weeks," I raise my tone, throwing my arms up. "What's so important that you have to leave now? Can't someone else go with Laswell? Why you?"
"Because it's my job; and my duty," Simon says sternly and with pride, "Because-"
I cut him off.
"And if I asked you to stay? If I make an attempt, if only once, to convince you to stay?" A carefully crafted, and dangerous, question.
"Don't ask me to pick between you or the mission." Anger ripples through his tone.
"Why?" I scoff. "Because you'll choose the mission?"
But I don't need him to answer that. I already know what he's going to say.
"Yes," he says hesitantly. "And it's not because I don't love you." He stands from my bed and takes a few steps towards me, trying to close not only the physical gap.
I take a few steps back.
"This is it, right? This life." My voice trembles and my vision begins to blur as tears form in my eyes. "You plan to die doing this dance, don't you?"
"It's all I've ever known, love," Simon says earnestly, and somberly. "It's what I'm made for."
He truly believes that.
I shake my head and hold his gaze as the tears fall from my cheeks. "No one is made for this," I growl. "You have a choice. You always have a choice."
"And I've made mine," he says with the utmost conviction.
"What if I make a different choice?" My heart is racing in my chest. "What if I decide this isn't the life I want?"
"Then that would be the best choice you've ever made." His eyes soften and fill with empathy.
"But you wouldn't join me." Not really a question, considering I know his answer.
"You deserve to be happy. To live a happy and stable life," Simon deflects.
"And you don't?" I ask with my voice threatening rage.
Silence.
"Please don't go." I begin to sob helplessly. "Please."
Without saying a word, Simon begins moving, now standing directly in front of me, and wraps his arms around me, embracing me in a hug.
His way of saying, I'm sorry but I'm going and there's nothing you can do about it.
What did I expect? I've spent my time with him naively believing that Simon and Ghost could somehow be two different people.
But Simon Riley is Ghost and Ghost is Simon Riley. He's been Ghost long before me and will continue to be him long after.
If I want to be with Simon this is the sacrifice. If I want to be with Simon then I need to let go of the false hope of a "normal" life. If I want to be with Simon then I have to be content with sharing him, sharing him with this world—his world: war, gunfire, bloodshed, brutality, death.
Simon breaks our embrace, grabs my chin, and looks into my eyes deeply. The shift in his facial expression tells me he can tell exactly how I'm feeling, almost as if he can read my thoughts.
"I love you, truly," he says softly, his throat bobbing.
I know this to be true. But I also know he can't let go of this lifestyle, not even for love.
"I love you, too," I whisper.
"I understand..." His jaw clenches. "If this means you need to remove yourself...from me. If this means you can no longer be-"
I cut him off once again.
"I've already decided." My jaw clenches and it takes everything in me to stay upright and balanced.
Simon looks at me with anticipation; and unsettling fear.
"I've already decided that I want to be with you, Simon. I love you." I smile sadly. "More than I've ever loved anyone. No one has ever loved me as you have," I say vulnerable, sniffling. "I couldn't fathom the idea of not being with you. I'll be with you as long as you'll have me," I say adamantly.
"I will always have you." He presses a kiss on my temple. "Always."