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quizzyisdone · 2 years ago

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It Will Come Back Part III | Fem! Reader x Ghost

Chapter Title: Spillways Word Count: 3.5k Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader Synopsis: After Ghost left you in the dead of night feeling torn and hurt, Soap comes to check up on you on the orders of the man you least expect. However, it comes to the Captain's attention that Ghost had taken the fall for you and he begins to suspect something even more has taken place. Warnings: Mentions of Ghost's past (see link), strong language, mentions of physical assault to the reader, canon-typical violence, Ghost is mean sometimes

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Masterlist

** Title inspired by Spillways by Ghost

You keep a casket buried deep within You try to mask it, but fall back in sin You want to shake it off, but you are stuck inside

When stripped of rags of skin and spine Human decay, Corpus dei Terminally dispelled

Thirty minutes had passed as you sat on the floor in complete shock, the impact from when Ghost pushed you aching even worse than the wound he had so gently tended just a little while ago. The sudden transition from that heated passion to complete rage left you confused, hurt, and most of all, ashamed. Ashamed that you were so inappropriate with your superior, that you would even consider the possibility of something more intimate with him. But most of all, he'd most likely never speak to you again after this.

Sobs racked from your body as you shook on the floor and without any regard that someone might hear you, you practically wailed, for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. After everything that had happened tonight, screwing up the mission, Ghost taking the fall for you, bringing you close for but a moment and then him leaving you on the floor like this.

You were hardly an emotional person, but everything hit you at once. Failure, disgust, fear, and a sort of righteous anger boiled within you as you tried to get yourself off the bathroom floor. You were shaking, the events happening so quickly you’d felt as though you’d been left with whiplash.

Looking in the mirror, your eyes were red, puffy, looking absolutely pathetic as you sniffled. Wiping your face of tears, you stripped, opting to go to bed naked, too tired to change into anything else or to even shower. Modesty in case of emergency was hardly something you were concerned about at the moment.

Climbing into bed, even though you were no longer sobbing or shaking, tears still continued to stream down. You tucked the blanket up to your chin, wondering why he’d do such a thing as exhaustion began to overcome you and you succumbed to sleep.

Sunlight gleamed through the small slot they called a window, irritatingly casting a bright glow onto just your eyes as you grumbled. The captain was right, you did have one hell of a headache. You turned over in hopes of catching more sleep. You didn’t want to face today. No. Not after last night.

Your hopes were crushed in one fell swoop as a soft knock could be heard on the door.

“Y/N, you in there?” A low, but soft Scottish accent said from behind the door. Soap.

“Go away, MacTavish.” You groaned, but he ignored your request, quietly opening and closing the door, a far cry from what Ghost’s slamming and screaming last night. He found you with half your face buried into the blanket, your eyes puffy and your cheeks still red. Pity that agitated you creeped onto his face. He knew you cried yourself to sleep.

Embarrassing.

“Hey.” He gave a weak smile. “What’s wrong?”

“Go away, I’m naked.” You rasped, the veil of sleep still ingrained in your voice. He chuckled as a slight blush rose onto his cheeks and he averted his eyes almost immediately.

“Put a fuckin’ shirt on then, dude.” Soap giggled, like a little schoolboy as he tossed you a random shirt he found on the floor to you. “I won’t look.”

You grumbled in acknowledgement as he turned away and you haphazardly sat up and put the t-shirt on for modesty’s sake.

“You’re good.”

He turned to face you again, and the blush had gone away but that pity from earlier still lingered, frustratingly so.

“So, we’ll try this again.” Soap sighed. “What's wrong?”

“Don’t wanna talk ‘bout it. Just a rough op.” You grumbled, almost incoherently, and he chuckled as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving you a friendly squeeze on your knee from under the covers.

“I heard, but ye don’t have to talk ‘bout it.” Soap knew better than to push and you were thankful for that, knowing that Price or Gaz would’ve kept badgering at you until you finally told them. But something in his eyes clued you into the fact that he knew it was something far more than a failed mission. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You replied dismissively, hoping to end this conversation as soon as possible. He accepted your answer, although the shake of his head indicated that he knew you were not alright. But anyone with half a brain could see that.

“Mkay. Ghost wanted me to check on you. He heard you last night.” He said so nonchalantly as you did a double take.

“W-Wh-” You stuttered. “Why would he want to check on me?” Hostility entered your tone as you glared at Soap, absolute venom dripping from your voice in reference to Ghost. “And why wouldn’t he do it himself?”

“Yer part of his team?” He raised an eyebrow, knowing better than to reciprocate the sudden shift in energy that you gave him. “ ‘Course he would. But these things aren’t really his strong suit, you know that.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that it irked you, as if it was obvious that Ghost cared about anyone or even himself for that matter.

Seeing the disbelief on your face, he reassured you. “Man’s not a sociopath.”

“Contrary to popular belief.” You chuckled cruelly to yourself. Immediately, however, you felt regret at such a harsh statement. It was, even in your heightened emotional state, an unfair, unworthy, and dishonest assessment of Ghost.

“Let me put it this way,” Soap rolled his eyes, glaring at you like you were full of shit, clearly annoyed at your harsh characterization of the lieutenant. “LT cares ‘bout you enough to save yer arse.”

“So? Price ordered him to rescue me at the safehouse.”

“He would’ve saved you no matter what Price said.” His tone was serious and curt, a far cry from the loud, wise-cracking soldier he was. The kindness from before was gone. “ But Price didn’t order him to take the blame for your fuck up.”

“How the-?” You started, but he quickly cut you off. His patience had quickly waned at your impudence towards his friend, but he remained calm.

“I’ve known him personally for a good bit of time,” He started, sighing as he rubbed his forehead. “And by reputation far, far longer than you have. I don’t know exactly what happened, but it’s not like Ghost to violently murder a VIP out of anger. He’s not that emotional, especially not on your behalf. But it is like you to do that.”

You stayed silent, chewing on your bottom lip, too stunned to really say anything else. You hadn’t pegged Soap to be such an astute observer of character, but it was scary how accurate he was. He was right, it was not at all like Ghost to do that. He was always professional with a mission first mindset, whereas you were highly emotional, sometimes to the detriment of the mission.

“I don’t know what happened, but just pull it together, mkay?” Soap pursed his lips, his lost patience from before had returned as he saw your contemplative, pained expression. His resolve to be angry at you dissipated when he saw the hurt in your eyes. He knew it was something deeper.

“Analysts used the map to find a lead, so it doesn’t matter what happened anyway. So maybe you didn’t cock it up that bad.” He teased as he punched your arm, and you gave him a sheepish smile, skirting around the actual issue. He stood up, taking a deep breath as he walked to your door. “Price wants us for a debrief in a few hours so put yer pants on and get something to eat with us.”

“Can’t wait to fuck this one up too.” You chuckled dry as Soap shook his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes.

“You won’t.” He said reassuringly, his head peeped around from the corner, before he disappeared. He had shut your door much more gently than Ghost had the night prior.

When Soap had left, you managed to get yourself out of bed. As you trudged your body to the sink, your thoughts wandered back to last night as you felt a sharp pain in your lower back. Looking backwards in the mirror, you stripped the shirt from earlier, only to find a large, black and purple bruise formed on the site of impact where Ghost had thrown you like a ragdoll.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” You muttered as your hand gingerly grazed over the affected area. Your head was throbbing with every sharp breath you took.

Getting ready was a surreal, mundane blur. One of you hardly cared to remember.

As you made your way into the mess hall, you became acutely aware of the stares of fellow 141 members passing by you in the cramped hallway, glancing their heads toward you in either confusion or sympathy and quickly turning away to go about their business. A blush rose to your cheeks as you avoided their stares.

Everyone heard you crying last night.

You made your way to your normal spot with Gaz, Soap, and unfortunately, the man himself, Ghost, already seated at the table. As per usual, the masked man was sat tucked in between the corner at the far reaches of the room, with Gaz sat across from him and Soap one seat down from him.

He caught your lingering gaze while you were walking towards the table, but unusually yet unsurprisingly, he immediately stared down towards his tray, which was only occupied with a mere dry yeast roll, a bottle of water, and a cup of fruit. Normally, Ghost’s plate would be filled to the brim to sustain his large, imposing figure.

You sat at the table, nodding and muttering a small hello to only Soap and Gaz.

“You need to eat, sergeant. Go get something.” Ghost muttered after some time of awkward silence, rather hypocritically too -- as if his own plate wasn’t meager in terms of sustenance.

“Not hungry.” You mumbled and you could almost feel his eyes rolling. Why the fuck does he care anyway?

“Hey.” Gaz smiled softly towards you, lightly jabbing your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just some bad dreams last night.” You lied while Ghost stole a judgemental glance that you almost didn’t catch. “Kept me up.”

“That bad, huh?” Gaz chuckled.

“Yeah, we do some fucked up things. You’re telling me that shit doesn’t haunt you?” You raised your eyebrows, ardently avoiding the gaze of Ghost as silence ensued. The tension was thick, and with Ghost seemingly about to lose it any moment, either man was too afraid to answer truthfully, and Soap too uneasy to comment on what he knew. “Well?”

“It shouldn’t.” Ghost said harshly, staring at nothing in particular. “You’re a soldier. You get the job done right and you don’t think too hard about it.”

Surprised at his interjection, you finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes. His gaze was set harshly towards you, his brows furrowed and as he gripped his pathetic yeast roll for dear life.

“Fuck off.” You spat. Ghost thought for a moment, before slamming his fists down onto the table, looking at you with that same pitiless, inhumane stare and using strength not unlike the type he used to shove you into a wall last night as you flinched.

“Bloody hell, you need to get it together.” He shook his head and his voice was low but nonetheless imperious as was so typical of the man. “Keep it professional.”

“You first.” You did not lower your voice as he did, instead raising it. You cocked one eyebrow as you stared back defiantly. If Ghost was shocked at your brash statement which implicated both of your indiscretions from the night prior, he didn’t show it. Instead, with a grunt, he abruptly rose from the table, the force of it pushing it backwards and into both you and Gaz.

Soap and Gaz remained stunned for a moment, with Soap’s mouth slightly agape and you feigned disinterest at the encounter. Looking over next to you, you noticed what would’ve been a comical expression on Soap’s were it not for the present situation.

You huffed in annoyance. “Close your mouth, MacTavish. You’ll attract bugs.” While you played cool with your demeanour, your shaky tone gave away your rising anger and annoyance.

“What the fuck happened between you two?” Gaz asked, the look of bewilderment almost equal to that of Soap’s.

“N-nothing.” You stuttered. “Leave it at that.”

“Obviously it was something if you’re screaming and he’s pushing tables.” He argued. “We’re a fucking team and you two can’t be acting like this. So what the fuck happened?” His bewilderment had turned into exasperation that bordered on outright indignation.

“Stop acting like you’re the boss, Garrick. You don’t need to know-”

“Gaz isn’t.” An authoritative, deep cockney accent interrupted you. You turned around, knowing already who it was behind you as you felt your stomach drop. Price. “But I am. So you best tell me what the hell is going on between the two of you.”

You went quiet for a moment, and as you opened your mouth to speak, he interrupted you again.

“The truth, sergeant. Don’t lie to me.”

You sighed. “I killed the VIP. Not Ghost.”

Price closed his eyes, attempting to compose himself and mask the disappointment that was already oh so obvious to you.

“And he took the blame for you.” You felt your stomach churn as you could practically see the cogs turning in his head as Price carefully chose his next words. “So he’s bitter.”

“Are you angry or disappointed?” You mumbled, taking great care to avoid looking at him.

“Both.” He said curtly, you almost wish he would’ve said just disappointed. That you could handle, but not his ire.

“That makes two of us.” That same feeling of shame began to rear its ugly head. You know you fucked up, and now so does your commander, the man who you looked up to.

“I punished your teammate for something you did.” He said lowly, careful to keep his voice composed. “It should.”

Price let an awkward, tense silence fill the air. You glanced around the room, luckily the outburst didn’t seem to attract any attention, but the embarrassment from being reprimanded from the captain in front of Gaz and Soap was a feeling that would never leave you.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you off this op or take you off the taskforce for breach of conduct.” Price crossed his arms, rubbing his forehead.

“Why don’t you?”

“We still need you. But you’re on thin fucking ice, sergeant. You understand?” His brow furrowed, almost as if he was hurt by your actions. You nodded. “Debrief in two hours and mission’s in three. I don’t want to see your face until then.”

“Yes, sir.” You rose from the table, heading back to your quarters.

“One more thing, sergeant.”

“Yes, sir?” You turned around to face Price, ignoring the stares of Soap and Gaz whose cheeks were flushed with secondhand embarrassment.

“Anything else you need to tell me?” His critical eyes burned into you as you thought of fessing up to both you and Ghost’s indiscretions of the night previous, the true reason for the sudden shift in the dynamic between the two of you.

“No, sir.” You answered, electing to not to be dishonourably discharged for fraternization today.

His normally warm, kind blue eyes turned into an icy stare, as if he knew there was something more. Price opted not to push any further, however, much to your relief.

“Fine. Dismissed.”

When you finally made it back to your quarters, you slumped onto your bed, fighting the urge to scream, cry, or do anything that was otherwise emotional. You had to get a reign in on your feelings.

You laughed a little to yourself, wondering how the hell you even ended up in this situation in the first place, how in the ever living fuck could Ghost, after months of barely acknowledging your existence and you returning the favor, could end up with this histrionic shift in dynamic over the course of just a few days.

You shook the thought from your mind, attempting to clear your head to prepare yourself for the briefing. It’d no doubt be awkward, but you trusted your team not to make any scene of it. Mostly everyone, at least. You took off your shirt, leaving you clad in nothing but a bra and some pants, going to turn on the shower.

As soon as you turned on the shower, you heard a knock on the door. You grumbled, no one could leave you the fuck alone anymore. You strided to the door, your footsteps loud and unmistakably frustrated with the constant interruption of your precious alone time. You cracked open the door and poked your head through, finding yourself facing straight at a large figure donned in tactical gear. You looked up to find Ghost’s signature skull masks and dead eyes staring at you.

“What?” In spite of yourself, you were mindful to watch your tone and keep a straight face -- anything to betray how you truly felt, if only for the sake of tracking down Makarov.

Ghost didn’t answer, instead barging his way through the room and shutting the door harshly behind him. You almost lost your composure again at such a simple, callous disregard for privacy.

“LT what the fuck?” You said, covering your midriff, if to preserve some sense of the propriety between the two of you.

“Calm down, it’s not like I’ve never seen that part of you before.” He said so nonchalantly, ignoring your half naked form.

“Before or after you threw me into a fucking bathroom sink?” You spat back. You turned your back to him while he went to sit down on the bed opposite of yours. You rummaged through the multitude of clothes scattered on the floor in hopes of finding a clean shirt. “What the hell do you want, Ghost?” You asked, irritation creeping into your tone.

“To make things better between us.” He said simply. “For the mission.”

“You screamed, pushed me, screamed at me again this morning and then shoved a table. Now you want to apologize?” You scoffed. “Jesus Christ, your mood swings are giving me whiplash.”

“Fuck me,” He muttered, just loud enough so you could hear it. “I’m sorry, is that what you want me to say?” He said, this time louder, a tone just below yelling. You didn’t say anything in response, your back still turned to him.

“The bruise on your back.” Ghost said simply, his voice lowering. He shifted to lean forward, glaring at the grotesque, hideous purplish black markings he could only assume that he was responsible for inflicting. His gloved hand ghosted over the bruises, and the acute awareness of his palm overcame you. “Did I do that?”

You turned around, backing away from his touch and preparing yourself for yet another argument with the lieutenant, but you were caught off guard when you saw the look in his eyes had softened into that of what could be mistaken for pity or even remorse.

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He mumbled. For once he seemed at a loss for words. “I didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

“Well, you did. Hurt like a motherfucker.” You sat on the bed, his figure directly across from yours. The anger and hurt had almost dissipated in the moment. An unusual feeling of calm came into the room and you almost relaxed, as if you weren’t bearing the marks of his ire on your back. “Why’d you do that to me?” You sighed, pouting like a child.

Ghost thought for a moment. “Remember when you lost your shit last night? You did it because he hurt you, made you feel helpless, yeah?”

Gingerly, you nodded.

“That’s why I did that.” He took a keen interest in his hands, fiddling with the material on his gloves, almost nervously. Now it appeared that instead of Ghost or LT, he was simply Simon, at least in the moment. The mystique that had built his reputation faded and left behind just a simple man, not some paranormal super soldier who seemed capable of the impossible.

“But I didn’t hurt you or make you feel-” You began to ramble, but Ghost was sure to put a quick stop to it.

“No. You didn’t. But someone else did. A long time ago.”

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault, sergeant.” He said gruffly, his authoritative tone returning. The man Simon was gone, and thus returned the persona of Ghost. “It was a long time ago. I don’t like talking about it. It goes without saying that this stays between us, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smiled weakly. “I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I mean it.” His eyes burnt once more into you. You swallowed, nodding in understanding at the implications of what he just said.

He hurt you because someone had irrevocably and violently assaulted him before.

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