Gloss and Salt | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

12

"Your case will be submitted to the Joint Chiefs. A hearing is set in two weeks. You're suspended from service until then. I'm sorry."

She should've seen it coming. It doesn't make it sting less. Richardson's voice carries an undercurrent of somber, veiled by the rigid professionalism she always puts forward. There's no place for personal relationships in the NSA, not even with the woman that was responsible for keeping her alive for most of her career.

The line goes dead, leaving her standing in Ghost's bedroom with heavy legs. She's supposed to carry the satellite phone with her at all times, in case the NSA tries to reach her. The day that's behind her almost made her forget that her livelihood is hanging on a thin silk string. It was all so easy up until now.

Boarding the plane, falling asleep in his car, waking up in his bed. Washing dishes alongside him was exciting, even though she's always fucking hated washing dishes. Now she has to go back out there and tell him that she's too incompetent to do her job.

The hearing is probably a formality. Fucking up on the second time she's on probation in five years will surely put her out of the race. She's never met any of her colleagues, only ever read about them on paper. One of them has to pick up her slack now. It feels sickening.

Familiar anger rises within her. It emerges out of the heavy sadness, clawing its way through her until she vibrates. A set jaw makes it hard to bite out the words when she sets foot into the living room again. "Got suspended." is all she manages.

Ghost is still sitting by the fireside, sharp steel spread out before him. Hard eyes turn soft with a twist of his head. He doesn't stop polishing the knife in his hand, he's done it so many times, he doesn't need to look at what he's doing. Only when she doesn't move from her spot in the doorway does he put the rag and knife down on the floor.

The anger flares higher as embarrassment fans it. His look is knowing. Like he's stripping away her layers, revealing her insides that are twisting. She feels like throwing up when he speaks.

"For what?"

His voice edges on impassive. This is one of the moments she wishes he would show a little more of himself on the outside. Or maybe he really doesn't care. It's hard to tell sometimes with Ghost.

She swallows around a bunch of words. Yes, for what exactly? Disobeying direct orders? Circumventing rules of engagement? A combination of missteps in the last two years that ended up with her being handed over to the 141 when Laswell came knocking? The memory of her shattered tableware strewn around her kitchen after she had gotten the call for reassignment is clear as day to her. Now she feels sorry for all the plates and cups she had to replace, seeing as being reassigned took her on one of the most exciting rides of her life.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Not because she doesn't know how to explain it all to him, or because she's not sure she can keep tears at bay if she tells him that she'd been alongside him as a punishment that turned into so much more. She really doesn't want to. Keep the little bubble she and Ghost have been in for the last 24 hours intact a little longer.

Thankfully, he doesn't prod. Just motions her over to sit back down next to him. Every step feels lined with led, heavy feet thud over the floor. "See, you want to hold it like this." he casually says as he holds up the whetstone and glides a blade over it.

Her eyes can't seem to catch onto the demonstration before her. The grinding noise of steel over the stone is agitating to a point where it hurts. Instead they focus on his blonde head of hair. A soft shade of warm golden hues, shaved at the sides from when she last saw him. He looks younger like this, the hairstyle almost too playful for the type of person she came to know him as. A scar on his scalp just over his ear breaks up the neatly trimmed hair, but on what part of his body doesn't this man have scars.