As Grim as the Reaper | PREQUEL Simon 'GHOST' Riley

NINETEEN

It had been a few weeks since that fateful night.

You'd been granted that time on leave once Internal Affairs got involved. They wanted you to mourn, to recover. It was obvious you were struggling, and you needed rest.

But you refused. 

You were strong.

You were absolutely fine.

The mask stayed on, constantly now. Even in meetings, training, walking to and from your car. It kept you hidden, kept you safe. The only place you didn't wear it was at home, where you spent your time staring blankly, barely sleeping, screaming yourself awake in the middle of the night.

You'd suffered nightmares since joining the force, but even before the 'accident', they'd been getting progressively worse. You and Graves always blamed it on wedding planning stress; as you could have imagined, planning a wedding with a job like yours was nearly impossible at times. 

But he was always there to hold your hand through it.

Now, the nightmares were worse than they'd ever been. Showing you that moment over, and over, and over.

Your world was crumbling around you, and Graves didn't have a clue what the fuck to do. He begged you to take time off, get help, but you didn't want to hear it. The more he opened his mouth, the more you fought, the more you blamed him.

Internal Affairs, as expected, had shoved the whole thing under the rug, telling the families it was all just an accident. Accidents happen in this line of work after all, people die.

No.

Big.

Deal.

Everyone wanted to move on, so much so, no one outside of the unit was to tell anyone else about it. But not you, how could you possibly move on? 

Echo 6 was your team, your family, your responsibility. Stevens was an older brother to you, he was your John in the US. Emily was the sister you never had. Javier Trace...the annoying little brother everyone wished they didn't have, but the love you felt for them was beyond any other. And Orlando - the cocky, ego-fuelled, arsehole friend that you can't help but cherish.

They were yours, and now they were gone.

"You shouldn't be here, sweetie." Laswell spoke as she sat down next to you.

You'd been hiding away in the back of the conference room after training, praying that no one bothered you.

"It's my job, ma."

She sighed, frustrated, but chose against arguing with you. "Where's Graves?"

"Don't know. Don't care."

"You do care, he's your fiancé."

You turned to her this time, eyes glassy, "Yeah, and he's hiding something from me. Coming home late, leaving early, meetings with Shepherd at all hours. He either knows more than he's letting on about what happened or he's shagging someone else."

You said the latter with a bitter laugh. He wouldn't cheat, would he?

Not when you've both been through so much. Not when you're getting married in less than a year. Not when you're the most vulnerable you'd ever been in your life. Not when you needed him more than anything right now.

Surely?

No, not your Phillip.

"(Y/N), you know that's not true. You two love each other every much."