DECODE ~ GHOST [Editing]

15| Reunited

It was a warm night in Brize Norton for once, the windows were steamed up from the outside as my room, once again, resembled the temperature of a mortuary. I didn't mind it, though, it would always be better than being slick with sweat and plastered against the bed sheets - like it was every night in Afghanistan going after Al-Qatala. I spent most of my time milling over whether or not I'd prefer a bullet to some sweaty-nightmare induced sleep.

I valued the little things, sleep being one of them, so not being able to sleep would always suck, no matter why.

And you're probably wondering where Simon is in all of this, well, since his phone call got cut off a week ago, I've not heard anything from him. No texts, no photos of the city he was in - if he was even there still - and nothing from Soap, either.

It didn't necessarily scare me or worry me, because that was part and parcel of what our lives were. There'd been months where I didn't call my family, when they were alive, and there were times I didn't hear from Milk or Grass or Dumb for days on end because they'd been sent somewhere too risky to make contact with others from. I wasn't not worried, because, to be honest, it was the first time since I met him that I'd not been in contact with him one way or another,

So, when a knock came from my front door at 0145hours, I couldn't hide the feeling of my stomach dropping to my feet.

I got up out of my bed, the cold air wrapped around the pyjama shirt I wore, the one Simon had let me take after finding out I'd been wearing the one Alejandro bought me. I pulled the army silkies down so that they were at a more reasonable length than bunched around my thighs.

The slippers by my door were cold when I put my feet into them and started to shuffle over to the front door of the living quarters. I saw a shape outside, but the next-to-no light prevented me from guessing anymore than what I had. Maybe it was Simon, he knew this was where I was staying, so maybe he'd decided to come and greet me.

I wasted no time in unlocking the door, my hands nervously twisted the handle and I swung it open to reveal Captain John Price. His eyes were contoured by dark rings, his hair pressed firmly to his head in his military officer's cap. And then I noticed the rest of his outfit.

He was wearing his best dress, his number one uniform, the thing soldiers wore when they returned from the Second World War, the thing that officers wore when they gave a death warning. I turned the same colour as the green attire, my stomach churning relentlessly whilst he stood before me, his hands folded between his back as he stood at ease.

"Spencer," he greeted, "I'm sorry for the late hour, but we need to talk."

I turned my head away from him just in time for my dinner to make a reappearance in the kitchen sink. If I had to guess, I knew he'd ask to come in, tell me to sit down and then rip the bandaid off and tell me Simon wouldn't be returning unless it would be in a coffin. I didn't want him to say it, I couldn't let him say it.

I dragged my sleeve along my quivering lips, "Where is he?" I asked as my voice failed me, the trembling of my throat caused the sound to crack as I made it, and I cringed.

John Price sighed, his hands were folding behind his back and I could tell because it was something he always did when he was nervous, "There's no easy way to explain it, Sergeant."

The rest of what he told me was a blur, what I do remember is dropping to my knees as a heart-wrenching sob ripped through me. It felt as though everything had just been torn apart from me, as though part of my heart had been thrown out onto the floor. I clawed at my chest whilst I heaved for air between sobs, "I need..." I cried, the hiccup bubbled in my throat and interrupted my speech, "to see...him." and it was true, I needed to see him, because the last time he'd seen me had been an argument, when I'd displaced all my anger onto him because he'd pulled me off my dead fiancé in a war zone.