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luna-andra · 1 year ago

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The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 1: Smoke Signals

Summary:

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley retired from the forces; Task Force 141 was decommissioned once they completed their last mission. Take down Shepherd. Everyone on the team stayed in touch, as well as the other comrades they met along the way. Los Vaqueros. KorTac. And many others. Shadow Company - what remained of it - slipped under the shadows and scattered themselves into the wind. Riley made the decision not to return back to Manchester. He was only less than 30 minutes away on the outskirts in Disley. Soap had put in a good word for Ghost with a local mechanic shop, and having nothing else but military experience and some basic mechanic skills he accepted it.

It was a quiet life, at least that’s what he thought. He started recognizing signs that he was being followed, watched. Maybe it was just the PTSD making him believe it. Until it got so much worse when he became acquainted with his neighbor miles down the old dirt path road, he realized that he would never be free from his past life.

CONTENT WARNING: Violence, eventual smut, MDNI (18+), slow burn, fluff, mentions of mental health

***Chapter 2 is already published on AO3, link in bio!***

He could see the smoke rising from down the street as he was piling into his work truck. “The hell..?” No one should be coming down this road, no one else but him and the farmer neighbor. The chance of some lone driver coming this way was slim to none; they were a mile down from the next main road, and this road ended in a dead end at that. Curiosity got the best of him. Ghost climbed into the cabin of the truck and turned the key into the ignition. His truck rolled down his driveway and he took a right in the direction of the smoke.

Immediately he spotted the farmer’s truck, stalled out in the direction of going down to their house. He reached for his skull balaclava and slipped it over his face, concealing himself naturally. He pulled up right behind the truck and cut the engine, leaving the cabin to approach the truck. Gravel crunched beneath his heavy feet as he took in a grounding inhale, his fist flexed beside him.

The hood was popped open. Ghost could hear the hissing of the engine, followed with aggravated curses coming from what sounded like a woman. He could see her little frame aggravated at her vehicle failing her. “Ma’am, do you need help?”

Her head peered over from the side of the hood. She squinted at first and her brows furrowed in confusion, followed by her honey brown eyes widening in caution.

Ghost put up his hands, realizing how menacing he must fucking look. She couldn’t have been taller than five foot three while he towered at six foot two. His stature could easily overpower hers. Can’t be more than 58 kilos. “I’m your neighbor, I saw your accidental smoke signal from up the road.” He pointed behind him in the direction of his house.

Her shoulders relaxed, but her eyes remained cold and hard as he neared closer to her. Or at least tried to look that way. “Yeah, my truck stalled out on me and started smoking up. Just my fucking luck,” she snarled as she kicked the passenger side tire with her small foot.

“Easy there, gonna fracture that foot.” Ghost immediately noticed that she had an American accent. What’s an American doing out in rural UK? “Let me take a look at it. I got my tools in my truck.”

She blew out a frustrated exhale as she ran a hand through her short brown hair. “Thank you, neighbor..”

“It’s Ghost-” he couldn’t stop himself from finishing his introduction. Still calling himself by his call sign after all of this time. “Simon, I mean.” His true name coming from his own mouth felt unfamiliar, like he hadn’t been Simon in a long time.

She raised an eyebrow at him, amusement kindling in her eyes. “Is Ghost a nickname you go by?”

“Something like that,” He muttered. “Be right back.” Ghost trudged back to his own truck to grab his gloves and tool bag. Fuckin’ hell… sound like a stupid sod. He slammed the door of his cabin and made his way back, watching her lean up against the truck as her chestnut hair blew in the gentle breeze. He took in every detail of her; from the way her red and black plaid shirt was coming untucked at her faded jeans, to how her fingers tapped against her thigh like she was suppressing her irritation at this inconvenience. There was a definition in her arms if you looked hard enough, you could catch her flex the muscle she had. Realizing it was probably creepy, he shook his head and returned his attention to her truck.

“I’m Andra, by the way,” she uttered insecurely.

Ghost peered up to her and nodded. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He got to work trying to diagnose what the issue at hand was, gloving up his calloused hands. She stepped around where she was propped up against the truck to watch Ghost work, eyes peeking up to his masked face every now and then. A silence loomed over them for a moment. He’s used to people talking his ear off, but she was as quiet as a mouse. She's likely still apprehensive with meeting Ghost this way, and he didn’t blame her. “What brought an American to the countryside of the UK, Andra?”

Andra crossed her arms over her chest as she shifted on the balls of her feet. “A couple of different things, honestly.” There was a miniscule southern drawl in the inflection of her voice. Ghost would have easily missed it if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Name one,” he asked gruffly, still concentrating on finding the problem.

Her hair wisped around as she looked away, down the dead end street. “I wanted a new start. Threw a dart at a map and this is where I landed.”

He chuckled to himself, not believing her for one second. No one wanted to come live in Disley, there was nothing out here. “Must have poor aim.” He paused before considering his next question, but he went for it anyway. “Just you?”

“Just me.”

The tone in her voice didn’t reflect any kind of sadness, or anger for that matter. She just stated it with conviction.

After a thorough look, he stood up straight and rested a hand on the lid of the hood. “It’s a transmission issue.”

Andra groaned and threw her head back. “Just what I needed.”

Ghost pushed the hood shut and pulled his gloves off. “I can tow it to my shop and we can see what we can do about it. We can do some kind of payment plan-”

“No, it’s okay I can pay outright,” Andra protested. “I’m not worried about the cost, I just worry about how long it’s gonna be in the shop for.”

He tapped his fingers on the hood. “I can give you a more accurate time frame and quote when I take it there.”

Andra nodded, clapping her hands together. “Alright, let’s get her in the shop.” Ghost reached down to grab his tool bag and she smiled at him. “Thank you for coming to my aid. You didn’t have to stop to help me.”

Ghost didn’t say anything else, just gave her a terse nod and returned to his truck.

----

Andra felt confined in the large cabin of Ghost’s - Simon’s? - truck. The drive there was filled with silence. He allowed her to ride with him on the way, and she couldn’t help but think that this is how her murder mystery, unsolved case would begin. A hunking, bulky masked man pretending to assist a tiny American woman, whilst towing her own vehicle. He could easily get rid of her truck, take it to a chop shop and make her disappear. No one would care about an immigrant being found.

Andra tried to shake those thoughts away. He truly appeared to be genuine about his intentions. It was probably good business for his mechanic shop, too. Ghost insisted on driving her back, or at least paying for the taxi or Uber for the way back, but she wouldn’t let him. He had helped plenty enough, moreso helped when they had only just met.

“Where in the states are you from?” Ghost’s brassy British voice broke the uncomfortable silence, keeping his eyes on the road with one hand on the wheel, the other arm resting on the windowsill of the door. His biceps bulged out from the short-sleeved black shirt he wore. The arm closest to her, gripping the wheel, was littered with tattoos. She was too nervous to take a closer look at what they were, to her it was monochrome art littering his tanned skin.

“South, from Texas,” Andra responded truthfully.

He took a quick glance at her inquisitively before returning his focus on the road and let out a heavy exhale. "Texas is nice..." he muttered a response.

Andra was surprised, turning to look at him. "You've been to the states?" Her eyes roamed to the tattoos on his arm once again, noticing what looked like could be military insignia patches. "Wait, you're prior military, aren't you?"

Ghost stiffened, realizing that he gave himself away. "I was in special forces, SAS. Crossed the border into Texas on a mission."

Andra had to keep her jaw from dropping in disbelief. It was making sense now, though, and she laughed softly before looking back to the road ahead of them, now seeing civilization greeting them. "So Ghost was your call sign?"

He side eyed her with furrowed brows. "Are you a veteran?"

She relaxed further into her seat, feeling comfortable enough to open up more to him. "Half of my family is prior military; father, granddad, several uncles, a brother. I'm a little more versed than the average civilian, involuntarily."

He hummed in acknowledgement. Silence fell over them once again. Andra was inclined to find out more about her mysterious neighbor. “Did you grow up here in Disley?”

He took a second to answer her back. “Manchester,” Ghost responded. “Couldn’t stand being in the city, I enjoy the quiet.”

Andra smiled, “I agree.” her hands flittered with the edge of her shirt. “Was there anything you enjoyed while you were in Texas?” She felt like an idiot trying to draw out the conversation from him.

“Not particularly. It’s hot as hell there.”

She cracked up at his response. “You’re not wrong. That’s the one thing I do not miss from there. So much cooler here in the Summer. I do miss having a/c, though.”

He laughed, the rich sound vibrated through her. “That is one thing you Americans do have that we don’t.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I bet you’ve been to so many places.”

An agreeing rumble came from his throat. “Lost count.”

Ghost was short when it came to small talk, but Andra didn’t mind. Her concern of going missing was put on the back burner in the recesses of her mind. It never ceased to amaze her that the saying “small world” rings true no matter how many times it has occurred in her life. She couldn’t refrain from her growing curiosity.

But her curiosity would have to lead her to revealing more than she may be comfortable with.

----

Andra sat in the waiting area while Ghost unloaded her truck and pulled it into the shop. He had to explain to everyone else what the hold-up was about, but they shrugged indifferently.

“That’s fine,” Rus said as he turned his head to peer at him. “Just don’t take anything other than financial compensation for her work, you hear?”

Ghost glared at him with disgust when Rus chuckled. He was well aware of how vile some of the mechanics could be in his shop, but it never crossed his mind to entertain similar behavior.

Soap approached Ghost as he wiped his hands with an oily rag. “Who’s the pretty thing that came in with you?”

Ghost was growing irrationally irritated with everyone making comments about Andra, and Soap was no exception to his wrath. His eyes darkened as he silently assaulted him with a venomous glare. “No one.”

“C’mon, Ghost.” Soap followed him to the back of the shop, “You’re not the kind of guy to be picking up random lasses, and I can count on one hand how many have gone wit’ ye anywhere voluntarily. ‘Course they were sloshed at the tim-”

“Johnny.” He growled his last warning.

“Alright,” he dropped the subject and returned to work mode, assisting Ghost with the lift. “Is this her truck?”

“Yeah.”

Ghost kept a watchful eye on her, taking note on how she brushed the hem of her shirt with her small hands. Her eyes scanned inside the shop, examining everyone’s face. When she found him, he looked back down at the diagnostics terminal, and he avoided her gaze for the rest of the time until he absolutely had to approach her.

There was a persistent thought in the back of his mind he kept revolving back around to. Why is an American woman from Texas here? It had to be the wildest coincidence known to man, right? There were times where Ghost would get the sense that he was being followed. Watched. When he went out to the pub with Johnny, while he worked sometime. Even when the two of them would go on hunting trips, where no one else should know of their location. He couldn’t shake the notion that there were watchful eyes beyond the high ground.

It bothered her how easily she trusted him. Accepting help from a neighbor you know is one thing, but from a complete stranger? And why was said stranger so eager to help her in the first place? Ghost’s neck tensed up, he rolled his head as he could feel a headache blooming in his temples.

Soap always told him that he was being paranoid, and he was probably right. If there was something afoot, he could count on him to detect if something was off.

----

Andra had already hailed for a cab, it would be a little while before they could arrive to take her home. She didn’t mind the delay; she was still waiting for Ghost to give her the ETA and the quote on the repair. She sat in the lobby patiently, inspecting her nails as her leg bobbed, crossed over the other. I should’ve grabbed my book from the truck, she regretted.

Andra had scrolled through her social media and grew bored of that easily. All she was seeing was updates from old friends back home. She didn’t want to be reminded how far away she was from old connections and family. It made her homesick, a notion she refused to acknowledge.

The door to the main workshop swung open, and Ghost walked through. She stood up from her chair as he walked up to her. “I’m sorry for making you wait, I am looking for a supplier to send us the parts sooner than what I have been getting.”

“How long are we talking?” Andra asked nervously.

“Two months.” He answered.

She exhaled in defeat, running a hand through her hair and it fell back in place. “That’s gonna put me in a super tight spot, I won’t be able to sell at the farmer’s market.”

Ghost shifted from one foot to another, looking down at her. “I’m not finished going through our list of suppliers, so I will let you know if anyone can send parts in sooner. In the meantime,” he handed out a plain business card to her. “I put my personal cell number on the back so you can call later or tomorrow for an update.”

Andra took the card and looked down at it before glancing back up to his implicit eyes. “Thanks, Ghost. You really saved me today.”

He nodded. “Do you have any belongings you need to get from your truck?”

“Oh yes,” she remembered. “I just wanted to get my book from inside. It’s sitting on the passenger seat up front.”

Ghost insisted on retrieving it for her. He opened the passenger door and found the well loved book laying there, looking back up to him. He made note of the title and the author; it sounded like a mystery-horror type of read. Ghost wiped his hand off on his work pants to avoid staining the cover and pulled it out before closing the door. He went back to the lobby and handed the book to her. “Get home safe,” he cleared off as he turned away from her and returned to the shop.

Andra turned over the business card, studying his scratchy handwriting. It was legible enough for her to make out the numbers, and she smirked as he scribbled ‘Ghost’ below.

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mutant-what-not · 2 years ago

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JOSEPH "NIN-NIN" REINHARDT (1912 - 1982)

"If anyone was born in someone else's shadow it was Joseph Reinhardt. Brother to Django Reinhardt he selflessly played a rhythm guitarist's role for his more famous brother, even though he was a great guitarist and composer himself.

"Joseph could be found accompanying his brother in cafes and in the bal-musette halls on either guitar or banjo and soon progressed to play with Louis Volas's Palm beach Orchestra. By 1933 he was popular and was found playing in various groups playing hot jazz. He even filled in for his brother on several occasions when Django failed to show up. By 1934 he was a full time guitarist in Le Quintette du Hotclub de France alongside his brother. Other roles including being Django's guitar carrier and spare string keeper, this eventually got the better of him and he decided to quit in 1937.

"After his departure from the Quintette he worked with Aime Barelli's big band and Alex Combelle's Jazz de Paris and recorded his first solo recordings with various groups, Gus Viseur "Swing 42", Hubert Rostaing"L'oeil Noir", Alex Combelle "If I had You". In 1943 he formed his own group recording with violinist Claude Laurence (alias Andre Hodeir).

"In 1947 he was to be found playing electric guitar with Stephane Grappelli's Hot Four. Django followed his brother in the same year and started playing electric guitar with less positive results.

Joseph apparently still lived the nomadic existence of his forebears and enjoyed nature at first hand, he showed this love for nature in various paintings of caravan scenes, campfires, horses etc..

"After his brothers death in 1953 Joseph laid down the guitar and did not start playing again until 1957, at this point he attempted to finish Django's unfinished Messe Gitane. In 1958 he appeared in the documentary "Django Reinhardt" which led to his appearance in a short film Paris Blues (1961). At this time he formed his own quintette and recorded two LP's.

"The 60's was quite an active period for Joseph, recording with his own string quintet and at the "Blue Jazz Museum" with his regular accompanists of the period, Dingo Adel and Jacques Montagene (Hot Club Records - "Live in Paris 1966"). He appeared at several concerts, performed in various Paris nightclubs occasionally with Babik Reinhardt and even visited the UK, playing and recording with Diz Disley. By the 1970's, however, his public performances had reduced although he did appear at the Samois Festival. For almost all his post-Hot Club Quintet work, Joseph Reinhardt used a very odd looking guitar that he made himself which, surprisingly, had a nice acoustic tone although it was frequently amplified.

"His early solo playing was considerably less flamboyant than Django and he subsequently developed a modern jazz style reminiscent of his brother's '47/48 electric work. He was above all else, a lyrical performer capable of producing some quite haunting compositions.

"Nin-Nin died on 24th February, 1982 and was buried beside Django at Samois perhaps, thereby, publicly condemned to remain in the shadow of his illustrious brother for eternity or, perhaps, ensured a posthumous recognition that he otherwise could not have expect."

Article and photo with great thanks to Mark Heller!

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