Red Rooms I Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

49. Army humour

It’s midnight when your phone rang.

Your eyes squinting in the darkness, you move your hand on your nightstand to grab it and check who’s calling.

Unknown number. Simon? It’s been 2 weeks since he last called.

“Hello?” you say quietly into the phone, still half asleep.

“Lass? It’s Soap.” The familiar scottish accent broke through the phone.

John? Why the fuck-

“Got your number out Ghost’s emergency contacts. Look…”

No no no no

You sat upright by now, clammering onto the phone, biting your finger nervously.

“Where are you?” the only thing you could manage to say.

•••

You reach the military hospital at 2am.

You looked completely undone. Hair in a messy bun, grey sweatsuit on and a huge belted coat. You couldn’t care less. You run up to the reception and pant, nearly shouting at the personnel behind it.

“I- I am here for S-Simon…I…Simon...Uhm…A lieutenant?” you say as you try to collect your breath. You don't even know his last name.

The staff behind the counter sharing some confused looks.

You shake your head hastily and get your phone out, calling Soap.

“I’m here, John…At reception…can you come pick me up?” you ask, and before you know, he stood there already. Looking beat up.

He walks over to you and says something to the staff, taking you by your hand and leading you upstairs and through a bunch of corridors. This hospital was the biggest one you’ve ever seen. You didn’t even know you had a military hospital in town.

“It’s pretty rough, sweets. He’s knocked out from the medication. He’ll have another surgery in a few hours.”

You felt like crying.

“But will he…Be okay?” you whisper, too scared of his answer to raise your tone.

He just holds your hand as you two walk and reach room 704.

You froze when entering.

Ghost was lying on the bed and it looked gruesome.

His usual massive body frail and pale.

He wore a hospital gown and you could see all kinds of different cables and IV’s coming out from underneath it.

Even now, his face was covered. His usual balaclava replaced by bandages.

Soap was right. It did look rough.

The room was empty and bright, you entered it with quiet steps and carefully put your bag down. You came closer to him and checked the monitor next to his bed which detects his heart rate.

“Sounds steady…” the Scot mutters behind you, slowly closing the door.

You had tears in your eyes, your hand slowly moving to his arm and holding onto it. You took in every detail of his skin. The veins, the arm hair, his tattoo. His skin felt warm under your touch, at least one familiar thing.