The Crow & The Ghost: A Dystopian AU Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Chapter Twenty: A Storm is Coming

"The fuck you mean she doesn't have my number?" You hear Keegan's voice through Riley's phone as the two of you walk down the street, your strides long and hurried as you move towards Headquarters.
"Does it matter right now, Russ?" Riley asks, his voice rough with irritation. "Can you meet us in the armory?"
"Of course I goddamned can." Keegan says, and you hear Riley tsk as he brings the phone away from his ear.
"Bastard hung up on me."
You keep walking, keeping your face forward. So many things are running through your mind, it feels like your walking through a storm of your own making.
Twenty people dead. Thirteen made. The Undead organizing a hold up to cannibalize people in a safe space—downtown was the safest area to be. Kieran's voice close to breaking. A dead Private. Another injured. Dana Bosh deserting the scene. Meara fucking O'Sullivan.
Meara fucking O'Sullivan.
Riley keeps his body close to yours, walking only inches behind you, and its a miracle that your feet don't get tripped up together. You aren't paying attention to the choreography of it, so he must be.
When you reach Headquarters, you stalk over to the staff elevator, punching in the number for the armory's floor.
"Is Kieran in your office?" Riley asks as you both step inside.
You turn to face the doors as they slide shut. You see your face in the reflection of the doors, and you look haunted, angry. You can see Riley standing behind you, his gaze directed at the back of your head.
"I don't know," You snap, the words coming out like an insult. Riley raises his eyes to meet yours in the elevator reflection. The elevator dings with each floor you pass. He places a hand on your back, a steady force calming the storm in your mind.
"Calm down, little Crow." Riley says, not unkindly.
The softness in his voice, the words coming out of his mouth, when people are dead, when Kieran could be breaking down right now—
The storm in your mind becomes a tornado, uncontrollable and volatile.
Before he can blink, you whip around and bring your hand up to his throat, gripping it tightly as the skin between your index finger and thumb jabs into his airway, making him cough for air. His hand flies up to yours and he grips it, but doesn't move your hand away.
"Don't tell me to calm down," You seethe, pressing your fingers into the side of his neck. "When people are dead."
His eyes bore into yours, and he snakes his hand around your body, putting his hand on your back again as his breaths become shallow, as your hand digs into his throat.
"If you make me pass out," His breath is ragged as he speaks. "I'll fall on top of you—and when this elevator opens—you'll look really fucking stupid—stuck underneath me."
You take your hand away a few inches from his neck and then smack him across the face, not too hard to really hurt him, but hard enough for his head to loll to one side. You point your index finger in his face as he moves his head to face you again, his hooded eyes unreadable.
"Stop making fucking jokes," You hiss, and your voice is close to breaking. "Don't tell me to calm down. Don't make light of this right now. We're walking into a fucking disaster. And people are dead."
The elevator dings as it comes to a stop.
You give him a final glare before turning around just as the doors open, you immediately walk forwards, Riley's presence close behind you.
"I'm only trying to help clear your mind—"
"Stop helping," You snap. "This is my investigation and its my fucking fault it's been taken to this point without anyone stopping it."
You feel Riley grip your wrist, yanking you to turn around and face him. The hallway to the armory has many turns, and this current straight that the two of you are in is empty. You look up at him, trying your hardest not to backhand him again.
"This is not just your investigation," Riley says, his voice hard and urgent, as if he knows that he has to speak quickly before you cut him off again. "I've been in it just as much as you. And General Moorehouse and Keegan have all the same information. The responsibility is not just yours to hold. Many people, including myself, have failed."
Your breath is hard, your shoulders rising and falling as you glare at Riley in silence. The sudden onset of stress that you're feeling—the shock, the humiliation—is all coming together to create this fury you can't seem to control. Riley hasn't done anything to deserve the brunt of it, and yet he's taking it, weathering your storm and even trying to tame it, to make you understand that it's not all your fault.
But it is my fault, everything is fucking my fault, if Riley hadn't stolen my heart and made everything clouded, if he hadn't stolen my judgement and my time and my focus, then I wouldn't have let this become what it is, people wouldn't have died, I could have at least been there to try and stop it, if I wasn't so fucking stupid—
Riley takes your face in his hands.
"Look at me, little Crow," He says softly.
You look at his dark, sunken eyes. They look like they're glowing under the shadow of his mask.
"I should have at least been there," You whisper.
Riley runs his thumbs along your cheeks. "You weren't scheduled, Crow. You weren't supposed to be here. There is nothing you could have done to have stopped this."
You close your eyes and keep them closed. "It's my fault. I should have stopped her when I had the chance."
"And when have you honestly had the chance, Crow?" Riley asks. "Moorehouse told you not to speak to her, remember?"
You don't say anything, you just stand there, letting Riley hold your head aloft, and keep your eyes closed. You let your breathing slow.
"You are so afraid of failure," Riley whispers. You can feel his breath, and you know he's leaned closer to you. "That you bear the brunt of it for everyone else."
"Yes," You breathe, letting your shoulders sag. You open your eyes and see Riley's are only inches from yours. "Is that so wrong?"
"Yes, darling," Riley replies. His eyes search yours. Whatever he finds in your gaze, it seems to be enough. "Let me carry your misery."
He drops his hands and resumes walking towards the armory, his back straight and his gait quick, confident. It's as if he hadn't just taken the time to reassure you in the middle of a hallway, as if you hadn't just smacked him across the face, as if he hadn't been begging to be your little wife only a half hour ago.
You can see it in the way he's moving—he's not the man in your apartment anymore. He's not even the man you just had a few seconds ago. He's made a choice, and he's melted into the version of him that the entire Defense sees day in and day out: Lieutenant Riley. That's who he is right now.
Right now, he's Ghost.
You jog to catch up to him. "Did I just activate scary guard dog privileges?"
"I thought we weren't making jokes?" Riley's voice is hard, serious. He moves with his whole body, even his shoulders bob forward and back with each step. His whole body is honed for one purpose now, his muscles rippling as he goes.
You frown. "Fair."
You reach the doors to the armory, and Riley pulls one open with his massive arm, stepping aside to let you in first.
Keegan is already there, fastening weapons to a black vest that's already secured on his muscular body. He looks up when you come in, his luminous blue eyes not missing a thing. You nod at him as you walk towards him.
"Sergeant Russ," You say, coming to a stop just before him. You clasp your hands behind your back and keep your feet shoulder width apart, distributing your weight evenly between them.
If it's Lieutenant Crow he wants, that's who he'll get.
Keegan nods back, his fingers absently working on a clip. He looks you up and down, and you keep your face impassive, though the look is long and rakes your entire figure.
Riley is silent behind you.
"Crow," Keegan finally says, his voice hoarse, like he hasn't spoken since you last saw him. He meets your eyes and finds only anger there, a low-boiling rage that you've seen in his own gaze many times now. He meets it in stride. "Welcome back."
You look away and scan the armory, seeing a lot of people you only know in passing or hardly recognize. You see some people putting their things away, keeping busy, while others are just sitting on benches or leaning against tables, talking quietly or staring silently at nothing. You see some people with their faces in their hands or in their arms, hunched over while their bodies shake silently. It's a group of people stuck in the aftermath of something horrible, and each person is painting a different picture.
You can't think about it.
"Is this everyone who responded to the incident?"
Keegan looks over his shoulder, shrugs. "To be honest, I don't know. I hadn't even known this shit was happening until Riley called."
Your eyes snap to his face, which is shrouded in his skull mask. "Where were you?"
Keegan's eyes snap back to yours. He inclines his head towards you. "At home, off duty." He says the words with clear irritation—he doesn't appreciate the accusation in your voice. "Just like you, Lieutenant."
You chew the inside of your bottom lip and unclasp your hands, brushing past Keegan without another word to find a vest of your own. You pick a dark green one and slip into it, shimmying your personal holster down closer to your hips so you have easy access to your own gun in case you need it. Then you head to the weapons wall and start picking random shit—whatever looks good.
It doesn't matter. You don't need anything special to beat the shit out of a fucking zombie. Don't need anything special to kill one, either.
After Meara's actions, you might just decide to use your hands.
Gone was the girl who sat next to you in class. Gone was the girl who loved purple, and Romeo & Juliet, and asked for reminders about the homework. Gone was the girl you thought could have been really beautiful when she grew up. She had been gone for awhile—you knew that. You knew it as soon as you learned she was Undead, and you learned it again each time you had seen her in Red Rider. But to know she had killed Maria Mortissmo, had killed some ancient relic of an Undead in cold blood just to orchestrate this violence, to put the city in fear, to put her family and friends that were still human in fear—
No, she wasn't the Meara you knew. You weren't the Crow that she knew, either. But even if you were a failure today, you still weren't a fucking monster like her.
You didn't know her motives still. You didn't know how she got access to power like this. You didn't know how she infiltrated the Defense.
It didn't fucking matter. You were going to find her, get your answers from her, and then make her pay for every innocent life she took tonight.
You glance over to where you left Keegan and see him and Riley are standing close to each other, Keegan looking up at Riley as they speak in low tones. You have no idea what they could be saying, and you don't really want to know—especially if it's about you. You have a feeling it's absolutely about you... and both of their new roles in this investigation.
Riley's eyes flick to yours, and when he catches that you're looking back at him, he straightens his posture and shifts from one leg to the other before looking back at Keegan, crossing his arms. Keegan shakes his head and leans on to one leg, putting a hand on his hip as if in challenge. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as the macho-ness of it all.
Scary guard dog privileges indeed.
"Lieutenant Crow?" A voice says from the other side of you. You turn and see a Private you don't recognize, their face pale and their eyes haunted.
"Yes?" You reply, keeping your voice low as you turn your body to face them completely. "Everything all right, Private?"
The Private's eyes dart to the floor. You fight the urge to wince. What a stupid question to ask, when blood is staining their uniform.
You hold a hand out before they can respond. "I'm sorry," You say. "That was the worst question I could have asked. Are you all right, Private?"
The Private gives you a sheepish look, wringing their hands together. "I don't think so, truth be told."
You sigh. "I don't blame you." You fight the urge to cross your arms. "I'm sorry you had to see that. But thank you for responding. And for staying."
You weren't even sure how many survivors there were. Everything seemed so chaotic that you didn't even get a debrief, didn't even get any context. And you weren't going to get anything, not until many hours later when the situation had been settled more. But you didn't have many hours to spare. Meara O'Sullivan was moving, and so would you. It's what Moorehouse would want—and expect.
"That's actually what I wanted to speak with you about," The Private says. They look incredibly nervous. This gives you a feeling of dread in your stomach, though you have no idea what the soldier is going to say.
"Private?" You prompt.
"I'm not telling you this to get anyone in trouble," The Private starts, and it's then that you realize how young this person truly looks. Their eyes are wide and sad and scared, and their lips are chapped, and their hair is mildly greasy. They're just a kid in a big, bloody uniform, and they're looking at you with genuine fear in their eyes.
They've just seen a massacre, but they're more worried about tattling on someone.
They're just a kid, and they've seen too much.
"You won't," You say, though you can't guarantee that. "Whatever it is, it's better that you just tell me. Especially since you're here now."
The Private nods. "Right." They look away, and the skin on their hands flashes white every time they grip their fingers while they wring their hands, their grip too rough. "It's just... someone abandoned the mission, Lieutenant."
You don't give away that you already know this. "Is that right?"
The Private winces, like you've yelled at them, though your voice has stayed as low as it has the entire conversation. "Dana Bosh left the scene." They say.
You nod slowly, as if taking in this information for the first time. "Did she tell anyone why?"
The Private shrugs. "I couldn't tell you. She didn't say anything to me, and I had been standing next to her. We both..." The Private's eyes widens, like they've realized their mistake.
"Out with it," You urge.
The Private squeezes their eyes shut, as if bracing for impact as they say: "We both were scared. We both stood near the back."
You nod again, unsurprised. "It was an overwhelming and unprecedented situation, Private. Is this your mandatory year with us?"
The Private opens their eyes and looks at you, a small surprise evident on their face. They had clearly been expecting you to reprimand them, and loudly. "Yes," They reply, their voice small.
You give them a sad smile. "The Defense is not for everybody, and that's okay. You didn't leave your fellow soldiers hanging, and sometimes that can be enough."
It wasn't enough. Them being a coward and gluing themselves to the wall while people were shot or cannibalized wasn't nearly fucking enough. But this person wasn't going to stay in the Defense after their year was up. They were going to look back on their time here with a feeling of waste and of horror.
And while they may have behaved cowardly—they had stayed in the room. They had stayed on scene.
You hadn't even been present.
"Thank you, Lieutenant." The Private says. They look you in the eye. "That wasn't the only thing."
You raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
The Private looks away again—any confidence they had mustered just a second ago already gone. "Dana had left... she had left around the same Captain Corr had realized the newly Undead people had fled, and so had most of the Undead that attacked."
You freeze. This was new information.
The Private sees how you've stiffened, and fear ignites in their eyes. "I'm not trying to accuse Dana of anything," They said hurriedly, holding their hands up in front of them as if trying to stop you from coming any closer, though you hadn't moved an inch. "Dana is a good person."
You narrow your eyes. "Why do you feel the need to say that?"
The Private's eyes go wild with nerves. "I—I—I don't—"
You take a step forward, fisting the Private's shirt in your hand. You pull your hand inwards so the Private lurches closer to you. "If you know something incriminating about Private Bosh," You say with a deadly quiet. "I'd recommend you share it with me right now. It could mean life or death for people in this city, Private."
"She's gone a lot," The Private mumbles, speaking so quickly you have to lean in even more to make sure you catch every word. "She disappears during shifts or doesn't show up for them, she always gets away with it because of her mom. No one says anything because she's General Moorehouse's daughter—I don't think the General even knows. A lot of us cover for her because we all try to be in this together and don't want anyone to get in trouble. But we all risked our lives tonight, and she got to run away when she didn't feel like being around it anymore, and it's not fair, Lieutenant." The Private looks you in the eye now, their gaze welling with tears. "I just wanted someone to know. It's not fair."
You stare at the Private for another second before you let their shirt go. They take a step back and wipe their eyes.
"What's your name?" You ask.
"Wren Lavoie." The Private replies. "You can tell Dana what I said." They look right at you. "I'm saying what everyone else is thinking."
You swallow roughly, trying to think of how to respond.
You feel a hand on your back.
Wren looks up at the figure behind you, their eyes wide again.
"Thank you, Private Lavoie." Riley's deep voice sounds so at odds with the near-squeaking Private. "I ask that you find rest, now. We'll take care of it from here."
"We'll take your concerns into serious consideration." Keegan adds, his voice coming from beside Riley's.
"Th—thank you." Private Lavoie says before retreating, not daring to look back at any of you.
You take a step forward once the Private is gone, and Riley's hand falls away as you turn around to face both men.
"How much of that did you hear?" You ask, your gaze darting between them.
You see that Riley now has a black vest on, weapons strapped to damned near every inch of him—his arms, his thighs. He has a black harness on his hips and thighs that makes you think indecent thoughts for the context of the moment. You look away from the harness quickly. A large gun is strapped across his torso, resting on his back. And he wears a new mask now, one you haven't seen before: the top of it still looks like a skull, though it's bone white and made of a harder material, the cut out around his eyes angled to make him look perpetually furious. A black cloth is secured tightly around the bottom half of his face.
He looks downright terrifying, if you're being honest. He stands before you like violence incarnate, like a wraith that lives only to rip out your throat, like a phantom that you only see before it's too late, like a poltergeist haunting your waking nightmares.
Like a ghost in the night.
"Enough." Keegan replies.
"That Bosh girl needs to be found and questioned." Riley says.
You nod, crossing your arms. "No kidding. Though I doubt she's nothing more than a spoiled brat. It would be consistent with the other interactions I've had with her."
Keegan tilts his head at this. "What's that?"
"Dana Bosh? The Private who left the scene?" You clarify. "She's not very driven, nor very intuitive to what we do here. And she seems more petulant every time I interact with her."
Keegan's eyes narrow. "We're talking about General Moorehouse's stepdaughter?"
"Yes," You say slowly, your own eyes narrowing. "Why do you sound so confused?"
"Because that's not the Dana Bosh that I know," Keegan replies, his voice inquisitive. "General Moorehouse's daughter has always been very enthusiastic about the Defense."
"What?" You and Riley say at the same time.
Keegan glances between both of you, his blue eyes actually allowing you to see how confused he is. "I've known the girl for years, seen her around a lot since she's Moorehouse's kid. Amelia practically raised her. She's been bred to be a soldier, and she's damned good at it. Amelia would let her come to target practice with us sometimes, with the Sergeants. Great shot, that kid. And like a sponge for information. She picked up everything so quick. It was fun to have a kid interested in what we do."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" You ask, incredulous. "Every time I'm with her she's clueless. And freezes up at the slightest threat! She practically let Kieran and I get attacked by a stray drunk Undead a few weeks ago, and now her peers are saying she's disappearing and skipping out on shit!"
Keegan tilts his head even farther, like a dog that's trying to understand a command it's never heard before. "I haven't been around her at all since she actually joined up, actually." He looks down, as if thinking hard on something. "I didn't think she needed any special attention from the Sergeants."
You and Riley share a glance.
Your head is going in a million fucking directions, and none of them are leading you to any answers.
Why was Dana disappearing? And why would she lie? She omitted being Moorehouse's stepdaughter, which you can understand. But to act stupid—and worse, to not act at all in the face of danger? Especially if she had been groomed since childhood to be able to do otherwise? Why would she do such a thing?
You remember how she behaved the last time you saw her in your office, after Riley had been removed from the case.
A snake in the grass, you had thought.
And you think about that time she barged into your office, asking about her schedule, being insistent that she would be gone over the weekend on some vacation and wouldn't be available at all. Why had she come to you with that, especially if her mother was in charge of everything?
Your mind was spinning, but all of this shit about Dana was distracting you from the real problem: the Undead and Meara O'Sullivan.
Dana's bizarre, conniving behavior could wait. The Undead wreaking havoc on the city was far more important.
You turn away from them both and take a few steps, finding the weapon you're looking for. You take a big firearm, the one just as big as Riley's, off of the wall and strap it across your torso, the reassuring weight of it on your back.
I've been without you for too long, my friend. I won't forget about you again.
"The Private can wait," You say to Riley and Keegan. "We have a queen bee to find. We have a fucking case to solve."
"And were you planning on doing this without me?" A familiar voice says from behind you. You turn and see Kieran, still in full gear, his eyes red and his face blotchy. But he stands tall, blood splattered across his handsome face.
Your face cracks into a cry and you run the short distance to Kieran and throw your arms around your friend. He hugs you back, tightly, digging his head into your shoulder.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't with you," You whisper into his ear, putting your hand on the back of his head and holding him close to you. "I'm so sorry, Kieran. I'm you're partner, and I wasn't with you."
"It's okay," Kieran replies, his voice thick and breaking. He's more shaken than you've ever seen him.
But this is the most shaken the city's ever been, isn't it?
It didn't matter. He was alone—he was without you. You had even forgotten to find him when you arrived at Headquarters.
Kieran had been your partner for so many years. And in the span of two weeks, Riley had taken his place and Kieran had let it happen as graciously as he could, and you hadn't even thought twice about it.
You should have. You fucking should have.
And now Kieran had seen the unthinkable, and had seen it alone, had watched people die and be eaten alive and had been responsible for how to respond while you were being fucked and kissed and loved in the comfort of your apartment. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
All today had done was cause heartbreak—and open your eyes to all the ways you were failing. You had failed at conducting the investigation properly. You had failed at setting boundaries with Riley. You had failed the city. You had failed your best friend.
Your biggest fear had happened—you had failed. But you were alive. You were surviving. It hurt, but you could breathe. You now only had one choice: to fix it.
You had made it right with Riley. Now it was time to make it right with everything else.
"It's not okay," You whisper back. You stroke his curly hair. "But I won't fail you again, Kieran. Not for anything."
Kieran pulls back to look at you, his eyes stained red and painted desperate. "Don't abandon me, Crow."
You look at him with such anguish, using your thumbs to wipe his tears as they fall. Riley might love you, but no one will ever love you like this. Like a friend. Like a soulmate. "I'm so sorry that I have, Kieran. And I have."
Kieran closes his eyes and fat tears fall onto your thumbs, running down your wrists and arms, soaking your shirt. He nods. "You have."
It breaks your heart.
You bring his face down to yours and press your forehead to his. "There's nothing I can say right now to make this right. Just let me prove myself to you, Kieran. Let me prove how much your friendship means to me."
"All right," Kieran breathes. "All right. Later. But let me come with you now. That woman has things to answer for from me, too."
"Yes." You say, because there's nothing else to say.
Kieran wraps you in a hug, and you stay there for a few moments as Kieran slows his crying. Then you feel his nose run across your shoulder, and you flinch away involuntarily. "Did you just wipe your snot on me?"
You look up at Kieran and he's smiling, wiping his nose again with his own sleeve. "It's the least you deserve, you bitch."
You bite your lip and try not to smile as you glare at him. "Rat bastard."
"You always know just what I want to hear, Crow girl," A Scottish voice says from behind Kieran. Soap steps up into view, a playful smile on his face. He puts a hand on Kieran's shoulder, and Kieran looks down at the floor, using the back of his hand to wipe roughly at his eyes.
Soap has full gear on, his dark eyes glittering with the promise of violence.
You look over your shoulder to glance at Riley. He shrugs. "I need to have at least one person on my side when you all start shitting on me somewhere along the way tonight."
"I can't promise I won't join them, Ghost," Soap says.
Riley tsks, crossing his arms. "You wouldn't dare."
Soap says nothing. When you look back at him, you see him smiling at Riley, like he only has eyes for him—and you see in his gaze the same love that you have for Kieran.
A soulmate.
"If we want to find this bitch," Keegan interjects, all of his confusion about Dana Bosh now having retreated back into the deep depths of his unreadable eyes, swallowed by his icy blue tide. "We should go now."
"What's the plan, exactly?" Kieran asks.
Soap hands him a piece of cloth that he pulled from his pocket. "First, put a mask on." He takes another piece of cloth out of his pocket and puts it on his own head, adjusting it until only his eyes are visible. Kieran follows suit, and both of them are now wearing the same skull ski masks that Riley has had you wear in the past.
Soap fishes for another one in his pocket and holds it out to you, but you shake your head. Meara's already seen your face. She'll need to see it again.
"Second," Riley says, throwing something small over your head to be caught by Soap. "Put the eye black on."
"And third," You add as Kieran and Soap dip their fingers into the tin. All the men look at you when you speak, and you meet eyes with each one of them. "Let me do the talking."
"We'll be your eyes and ears," Kieran says, and you can hear a smile in his voice.
"And guns." Adds Soap, the grin in his voice crystal clear.
And it's in that moment that you get an idea. You fight to hide your smile as you aim yourself towards a part of the armory you rarely go to, not saying a word to any of the men about where you've just walked off to or why. You open a drawer, and then another, and then another, searching for just one thing. You see several bags of treats, then several hard brushes, then boxes of small plastic bags, before you finally open a drawer filled with various earth tones of the thing you're looking for, hundreds of them stored in one place since they get lost or snapped or chewed on so often. You share a wicked smile with yourself as you take a black one out of the drawer, scrunching it up in your hand as you walk back to the men.
You had never had use for the Defense's military hounds—until this moment.
You pass Keegan and glide up to Riley, bringing your hands to his neck, going on your tiptoes to reach him. He bends down a little, obliging you, though it's clear he has no fucking idea what you're doing. He stares at you but you don't meet his gaze. You bring the thing around his neck, circling it like a necklace. You fasten the clip with a small pop and then use the adjuster to tighten it so it fits snugly around his neck. The black, thick fabric looks incredible against his pale skin, sucking in all the light.
You take your hands away, letting them drop to your sides as you step back, admiring your work.
The collar fits on Riley's throat perfectly, like it was meant to be there all along.
My perfect little bitch.
"And guard dogs." You finish.
Riley's dark, hooded eyes become positively feral.

*End of Chapter Twenty*