Catching A Ghost | Simon 'GHOST' Riley

SIX

What the others hadn't realised, is that you'd finished your shower ages ago, and were now sitting at the bottom of the stairs in your shorts and hoodie. 

Hair still wet, you leant on your knees with the polaroid in hand, hidden in the shadows.

"He killed them?" Price said, standing again.

"Apparently, he'd been given orders to shoot on the building, and mistook (Y/N) telling Sergeant Stevens to go as permission to fire."

"That's fucking ridiculous, why the hell wasn't he investigated?"

"The orders were from Shepherd."

"Did you know about this?" Price said, now pointing a finger at Alex.

"What? N-no, she never said-"

Price cut him off, seething, "You're her best friend, how did you not know about this?"

"That's hardly fair, Captain."

"What else, Laswell? That video was half-done." Gaz questioned.

"That was four months ago. We sent her out on another intel collective, solo. She said she was okay, but we had back up waiting...it was too late."

Laswell reopened the laptop, hitting play once again. 

They watched as your bodycam caught your every move. You'd burst into a hideout, face masked, and completely unleashed all fury on the poor souls in the room. 

By the end, you were covered in blood, breathing heavily, silently sobbing for your dead comrades. 

You'd completely lost control and showed everyone exactly why you were known as the Reaper.

"She had a mandated two months' therapy, and that's when she and Graves called it off. He'd told her she should have been clearer, and it was her fault he missed the instruction."

Price rubbed his face, standing and walking into the kitchen. 

Poor Rudy was holding onto Alejandro, trying not to throw up at the gruesome sights on the screen. Alex was white as a sheet; he knew you were good. Hell, he'd seen you kill plenty of times before, but that...that was terrifying. 

Now the entire team knew your darkest secret, now they knew why you didn't want to be Reaper anymore.

The team was still dead silent, but once again, Ghost had clocked you. 

That man was never not on edge, and after seeing that, guilt ate him from the inside. 

He watched as you stared vacantly at the picture. 

It was like you were hollow, and he knew that feeling all too well.

"It was my fault." You said softly.

Your voice startled the room. 

Everyone turned to see you still sat, looking at the polaroid, and Price came rushing from the kitchen, crouching in front of you.

"I should have been better. I should have been clearer. It was my fault."

"Look at me, (Y/N), please," Price begged, resting his hands on your knees, "that was not your fault."

"But look what I did," you laughed bitterly, "killed my team, went psycho on another. I'm not safe."

"Is that why you've been so gruelling in trainin'? Trying to prove to yourself you can keep us safe?" he asked, and you nodded as the tears began falling. "Is that why you won't wear the mask in training?"