#anyway theres some angst in this. somewhat. but i think they will make peace next chapter ;)))))

[silkenwinger]

i'm just a station on your way

simon "ghost" riley x reader - a cupid/psyche retelling of sorts

part one - part two - part three -

Your first instinct is to duck. A predator is in sight and it’s in your best interest to hide. But it’s impossible to move.

He’s exactly as you envisioned him. Long face, slightlest gaunt look in him. A strong nose, only just straighter than you expected. His eyes look unguarded, deprived of the black-eye paint you’re used to see them accompanied by. And the expression on his face is neutral, like he doesn’t know what is going to happen either. He has a scar going from his upper lip to the middle of his left cheek, faded and pale. You look at him for an amount of time you’re not sure of, mesmerized by how… ordinary he looks. Which is not to say he’s ugly, quite the opposite in fact. But you’ve been building up this reveal as something life changing, while he just looks like a (hot) dude. No hideous creature was hidden under the skull mask, but a mere man.

You’ve thought a lot of things about this man through the years you’ve known him and of him, many of which turned to be true, some false. Yet it’s never felt enough: an everlasting riddle you haven’t solved even after sleeping with him.

As the seconds pass and you keep looking at him, he does the same to you. His long blond eyelashes blink once, twice in quick succession. You abruptly realise you might be making a mistake when you lack the courage to speak and he doesn’t either, and you just raise to your full height. You’d definitely be making it worse by saying something, right? 

You turn and almost rush to his toilet.

Inside, you turn the light on and grab that sink for dear life. Your face looks drained of colour in the small mirror, as if you’ve just discovered you’re out of ammo in the middle of a full house. Three healthy inhales and exhales. Mindfullness. But also, your mind screams at you, you fucked around and found out. 

When you open the bathroom’s door, the light is still on and Simon is nowhere to be seen.

It’s the beginning of the end.

You’ve fucked up before in your life. Previous fuck-ups have included you or others getting hurt. It’s the unfortunate result of wanting to play war as a job. As your responsabilities grew with your career advancing, the weight of failure got even worse, a literal stone pressing down on your chest some nights. You started going to therapy for the things you’d seen and done, meditating, being glad for what you have and you’ve had. And yet. You can’t believe yourself. You’ve gone and fucked up one of the few things that brought you joy everyday. You were always looking forward to those hours with Ghost, whether they were in the dark or not. And the knowledge that you’ve broken that delicate balance, that miraculous and unlikely rapport build and shared in secret but not necessarily hidden, is enough to make you want to scream until your head falls off.

All because of your insecurities. No, that is not all. You wanted to see him. You wanted to dig into him, you wanted to be the one who knew him best. It’s selfishness at the base of it all, a gap in yourself you’ve tried to fill using him.

After you exited the bathroom to find the room empty, you had redressed with tears in your eyes and gone back to your own quarters. You’d wanted to leave and fast, wounded by his disappearance. Later, as you tossed and turned in your bed, you connected your initial flight to his, and lamented how alike you two could be.

The day after you go through the motions almost heartbroken. You can’t find Ghost anywhere, and you don’t even know what you can say to him anyway. Later, you realise he must have been deployed, and then it is said as much during the briefing.

“A word if you will,” says Price, arms crossed while you were already half way through the door. You stop immediately and wait until everyone is gone from the room.

You raise your eyes to your captain, and wait for him to speak. He tells you to sit down.

“There’s a special task for you,” he affirms, tone serious as ever.

“Remember Karatsev, the member of the Inner Circle? He was spotted near a probable hideout in Georgia. I want you and Gaz to sneak in and preferably capture him, but additional intel regarding Makarov in his place wouldn’t hurt.”

“Understood, Captain. Is the rest of 141…”

“Need to know basis, Sergeant. But don’t worry. He’s got it.” He’s staring at you with that benevolent, almost patronizing look on his face, half smile under his chops, like he’s saying he can read you to your bones. Fuck off. Maybe you care about what Soap is doing.

You prepare for your mission with a muted sort of enthusiasm. You and Gaz go over the entrance and exit routes, best equipment for the climate, and refresh on hand to hand confrontations. All the while you think of Ghost. You think of him while you have breakfast, while you clean your gun, while you talk to Gaz, while you lay in bed. You do have his number, but you know it for yourself he probably has no connection anyway. And even if you contacted him, what could you tell him? “Hey man, sorry I ran after I saw your face. Sorry I saw your face actually, should have stayed in the dark forever.” Or, more genuinely, more miserably, “I didn’t want to hurt you. It was wrong of me to do that. Please don’t leave me alone and don’t go where I cannot follow.”

You storm the Ultranationalists’ hideout and find no Karatsev and barely any trace of him. A link brings you to another empty house– an endless rabbit chase that has you and Gaz scratching your heads and looking around like idiots. At least you get tons of time to think about what you’re going to say to Ghost when you see him again. You sleep in the humvees and eat rations and try to contact Price as much as you can between jumping from place to place, until you finally have a semi solid lead back to the border with Urzikstan.

“Chances of him being there?” you sigh to Gaz, while unloading from the heavier gear for the day. 

“They are low,” he replies while he fixes his cot, “but we have to leave no stone unturned.”

You stay in silence for about two minutes and then say the first thing that comes to your mind. Which has been the same for about a week and a half.

“Do you think Ghost is back?”

Gaz looks at you, the definition of a poker face. He finishes settling down in the cot in front of you and then turns back to face you.

“Didn’t he tell you about his assignment before going?” His voice is soft and nonjudging. You have somewhat resigned yourself to the fact that everyone knows you’ve got something going on, but it remains a sore spot. 

You fiddle with your glove’s latch and look down at it.

“No, we didn’t really talk.” Gaz nods, understanding marking his expression. He has the slightest eyebags and a growing stubble, marks of a mission that is taking longer than supposed.

“Don’t worry. I don’t know a tougher soldier. And we’ll be back soon enough to check.”

Next morning you break into the Ultranationalists’ hideout and miraculously find Karatsev before he grabbed what money he had on and ran for the hills again. Movements, dodges and hits come easily– you’re fighting at your most pure form, one fueled by anger. Gaz finishes gagging Karatsev and you stand outside waiting for Nikolai to pick you up, dry air pitching at your skin.

“Price will be happy,” says your teammate, and you nod, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

When you land, most of the unit is there to help pick up Karatsev and check on you two. From the helo’s windows, you spot a tall, dark figure, and your blood soars in both fear and excitement. He’s safe. He’s made it back…

Price is indeed very happy. He pats your shoulders, an affectionate motion that makes you smile a little bit, his two good soldiers. Karatsev is grabbed away: your superiors will interrogate him, in due time. Like a compass points north, your gaze searches Ghost.

He’s wearing sunglasses over his mask. What an overkill. And you can’t tell if he’s looking at you. Before you can act, he’s already moving towards the base’s entrance. You trail behind, Gaz at your side.

“Can we expect a response?”

“Likely. Karatsev does not hold much power anymore, but he’s still associated with their trades. They either want him dead or will try to get him back.”

“I’d like to see them try!” bristles Soap, and the lower tone of Ghost’s voice cuts through the air as you make your way inside.

“You probably will, Johnny.”

You look at the interrogation through the video feed. God, but does Soap need to get better at this. The Lieutenant is a natural, though. Laswell asks you additional questions regarding the hideouts, but you regrettably tell her the only valuable info was Karatsev himself. He starts talking when Ghost takes out the lighter, and you find out another arms deal in the underground of Tbilisi. Great. Just peachy. However, it’s a signal in the right direction. The more pressure you manage to put onto the Ultranationalists, the easier it will be for them to kind of take themselves out on their own. But you will need to effectively crush them to the ground first.

The rest of 141 trickles in the room, cleaned from blood, in order to debrief. You’ve done your mission regarding international terrorism: now comes private life. You try to slither as close to Ghost as possible. If he sees you he makes no motion to acknowledge you. But you’re ready for this. If Simon is offended for what you’ve done, he isn’t completely in the wrong. You will need to grovel, and you aren’t above it. 

All through the debrief you jiggle your leg. You’ve unfortunately got a bit of an issue with it, but it’s also the residual energy and adrenaline that come with the immediate aftermath of a mission. It gets to the point where Soap, who notoriously tends to do it as well, tells you to cut it. Still, no reaction from Ghost. You discover that the parallel mission involving him and Soap only confirmed the findings from Karatsev’s interrogation, and it’s decided you will intervene as soon as possible. Which means tomorrow. When it’s finally time to end the meeting, you immediately stand up and turn to Ghost.

“We need to talk,” you whisper to him, hoping that he will heed your request. You imagine he levels you a look of his from behind the sunglasses.

“We ship out in 8 hours. Go get some sleep.” You almost roll your eyes before remembering you’re still in public, so you just flatten your lips.

“I’m not tired yet. Listen, I just wanted to say-”

“Not here and not now,” he almost growls, and you take a step back. It’s worse than previously thought. He’s going back to being full time hostile, zero time friendly. You’re too hyper in the moment to get too discouraged, but had this been a week ago, you’d probably be crying by now. No matter. You will fix this. What matters is that Ghost is here now and will be with you on the task and after. 

As you leave the room, battle lost but war waging, you vaguely hear Soap say something in the typical tone he uses for Ghost.