Home - COD Simon Ghost Riley X Female OC

Chapter 22

TW: SA, blood

MJ stayed there on the floor, face throbbing. Someone brought her more water. She laid there and imagined the cold, hard floor was the bed of a truck in the desert, under stars, where her blood didn't matter and a strong presence was at her side, and glad to be. He had taught her something about trust, that it didn't have to be earned to be given. It didn't have to go both ways to mean something. He questioned everything, even himself. Even her. But he had let her trust him fully, he hadn't pushed her away.

She thought of him only around strangling thoughts of the medic that had saved her. Really, Simon pulled her out of her chains but she had only survived because of Rossi. Because of all of them that had fed and clothed and entertained her. She had lost the chance to thank them properly and her heart was broken. She wallowed in it.

She waited until morning broke to pull herself up and drink something. No food. No surprise. Instead of laying back on the floor, she went and laid on the bed. She picked at the dried blood in her hair. They were probably waiting for the same thing the 141 was waiting for. Her sister. She wasn't sure what the plan for her was, really. Just lay here until the other woman was dead? It couldn't be that simple.

When she wasn't literally fighting for her life like she had been in the winter, boredom ate her from the inside out. She stared at the wall and counted knots in the warped wood. She scrounged around for things she could use to harm herself but all of them would take an amount of force and a power of will that she didn't think she had in her. She cried a little. Forced it out. But mostly she was just numb and tired.

She had hoped Simon wouldn't forget her in the long run but by the second night, she prayed he had forgotten her already. She knew she wasn't worth any of his anger or sadness. She knew there was too much evil present here for him to focus on her. They needed his strength elsewhere.

She needed it too, but she wasn't worthy of it. His depth was astonishing to her, and he walked around like no one could see it. Maybe they couldn't. Maybe that had been her curse alone. He had shown her these little kindnesses, sure. He had put his hands on her in the sweetest way, which she wished she could forget. But most importantly he had shown himself to her. Let her in. A little. Carefully. He had seen her pain and recognized it. He let her address it. And he didn't reach to fix it, he just sat with her in it.

They didn't know each other. Not really. Not at all, if time or context meant anything. That was the draw of it, she figured. A clean slate for both of them. No power play, no timeline. No masks. They had both seen past each other's so easily. That couldn't be for nothing. She knew he didn't believe in fate, but she wasn't sure she had anything else left to believe in at all.

Two more nights passed before Halcon entered again. He smiled at her like he had before. Like she owed him one back. She just stayed on her back on the bed and watched him. It dropped as quickly as he'd donned it.

"You know what, pajarito? Your little friends across the desert have ruined my day." MJ's ears perked up but she refused to move. "And it's about to ruin yours."

He came and sat beside her, running the back of his hand down her leg. She didn't give him the satisfaction of flinching. "Or," he raised his eyebrows as though he'd just had a great idea, "you could just accept your position now. All we'd need is a little proof."

"Proof?" She asked nonchalantly. "What proof?"

"We have an initiation ritual."

She rolled her eyes and looked away to keep him from seeing the fear in them. She knew what that could entail. She didn't need details.