𝕮𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆 𝕲𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙 | Simon 'GHOST' Riley

𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞

Another week went by without a word from Laswell.

Another week stuck in the safe house in Amsterdam, doing absolutely nothing to help. 

It was driving you crazy.

You'd managed to get your hands on an old laptop after haggling a man in the market, and had been using it to make your own notes, doing your own recon from your connections across other teams.

With the permission of Laswell, of course.

Glancing at the tiny clock on the screen, you saw it was 3am. You were sat cross-legged on the stool at the kitchen island, a cup of tea clasped between your fingers.

The computer pinged, signalling yet another dead end from your most recent lead. Shepherd was completely gone, and there was no finding him.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you placed the mug down, head dropping in your hands.

"Ya gotta stop, (Y/N)."

Slowly, you looked in the direction of the voice, to see Ghost leaning against the doorframe, eyes dark under his balaclava. You smiled softly, hand rubbing the back of your neck.

"I just wanna help...I need to do something, anything. I'm losing my mind, Simon."

"Ya not helpin' anyone getting frustrated and staying up all night searchin'."

"But Shepherd and Makarov-"

"But nothing." he cut you off.

You watched with tired eyes as he walked over to you, pushing the lid of the laptop closed. You opened your mouth to protest, only for him to give you a stern side eye. 

"Don't fuckin' argue with me, Price, you're cut off."

"Simon." you purred out his name, giving him your best pleading face.

"Carry on sayin' my name like that and ya won't be able think straight, let alone walk." he growled, plucking you from the chair.

You yelped, a giggle following as he carried you to the living room, dropping you onto the sofa. He sat down beside you, a hand resting on your thigh as your legs draped over his lap.

"What's going on? You're not sleeping again."

You shoved your face into the pillows of the sofa, ashamed.

It's true.

Despite spending almost every night in bed together, you weren't sleeping again. Whether it be from nightmares, or worrying, or- 

"I miss them." you whispered, "Ale, Rudy, Kate, Alex...I miss them and I want them all back."

"You know we'll be able to speak to them once Laswell clears this next lead."

"It's been weeks, Ghost. I need to know they're okay. I can't lose another team."

Simon felt his heart lurch, you looked so sad and so tired, and he was completely useless at helping. One of the things he'd opened up to you about was his non-existent skill in comforting people.

It made him feel like the shittest boyfriend on the planet.

That's another new thing.

Boyfriend.

A term he'd never thought he'd go by, yet here he was, a week into a proper relationship with the most beautiful, perfect, badass woman he'd ever met.

"So, what exactly are you guys?" Soap asked, mouth full of a sandwich that you'd made him.

After the interruption you'd endured the morning before, where there was nothing in the world that could have covered up what was going on, Soap and Gaz had bombarded you both with millions of questions.