The Ghost of You - Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

UNSETTLED

You're lightly shaken awake, coming to consciousness and immediately being attacked by a pounding headache. You rolled over in bed and faced up, instantaneously shielding your eyes from the light above with a prolonged groan. You managed to peek from behind your arm and see Mactavish standing beside your bed, waiting for you to come to your senses. "What?" You grimaced, a hoarse coating in your throat from the hangover. "We've got some work to do, come on and don't leave us waiting." Soap coaxed, throwing the covers off of you that you managed to wrap yourself up in after you fell asleep. You felt the cold, dense air hit your skin and you whined. "I'm up, I'm up!" You huffed, sitting up in the bed and holding your head in your hands.

Soap left your bedside and retracted to his side of the barracks, bending down to a mini fridge and fetching a bottle of water for you. He tossed it on the bed in front of you, and you looked up to the soldier. "Thanks, Soap." You thanked sheepishly, breaking the seal of the bottle and practically chugging it. "No problem, I assume you had a few more drinks with Ghost last night, eh? Warming up to him?" He asked, sitting on the edge of your bed and tying his boots against the frame. You stopped drinking, resealing the bottle and holding it in your lap. "As if, why do you think I had to drink?" You responded, throwing your legs over the side of the bed and standing up.

He laughed, leaning back on the mattress and catching himself with his arms extended behind him. "Fair enough, he can be an asshole sometimes, especially when it comes to losing. You seem to be on his level, you give him more of a challenge than the rest of us can give." He explained, watching you walk to your dresser and rummage through the drawers. You found numerous pairs of uniforms laid in the drawers and you picked one out, checking its sizing. Frowning, you turned back to Soap. "It's more than that, Soap. He doesn't want me here; He told me himself." You sighed, Mactavish rising from the bed and walking towards the door. "Who cares what he thinks? Prove to him you're a valuable asset and he'll get used to you eventually." He encouraged with a smile, opening the door.

You bobbed your head, laying out the uniform on your bed so you could shower and dress. "You're right..." You admitted, and Soap agreed. "Usually always am. When you're done getting ready, join us in the meeting room to the right of the lounge. I'll save you a cup of coffee." He promised, walking out and shutting the door behind him. You watched him walk out and went behind him to lock the door. Even though you agreed with him, you still had your doubts about Ghost. It was easy for someone who's known him as long as Soap has to say he's as easy going as he leads on. You didn't have that luxury of waiting for him to warm up to you like Mactavish did. You didn't have over twenty years to ask his favorite color or to even ask his name.

—

You journeyed to the end of the hall, seeing the meeting room door propped open and the strong smell of dark roast wafting through the hallway. Upon entering the meeting room, you saw Ghost, Gaz, and Soap sitting down along a U-shaped table. Soap had left you an open seat, sitting you right between him and Ghost. Fucking hell, Johnny. You approached the glazed, mahogany table and took your seat between the two soldiers. Soap scooted a cup of coffee over to you, and you took it graciously. "Thank you." You acknowledged, taking the warm mug in your hands and bringing it to your lips.

"Don't mention it." You felt eyes on you, and you swiveled in your seat to side-eye the culprit. Ghost was looking at you as you sipped the coffee but averted away once you caught him. You raised your brow, setting the mug back down on the table. "Is there-" Price walked through the door with a folder in hand and an urgency in his step, interrupting your question to Ghost. "Good morning, 141." The captain greeted, placing the tan folder on the stand in the middle of the crescent table. "Good morning, Captain." The group said in unison, aiming their attention to the front. Price's playful demeanor was lost, replaced by a stressed and irrational look. You leaned forward on the desk, clasping your hands together to show your participation.