A Nurse and Their Ghost | Simon Riley "Ghost" x Reader

chapter 2

"How much longer am I stuck here?" Ghost inquires, his attention momentarily shifting back to the book when you don't immediately reply.

"You've got another 10 minutes with your leg up. After that, I'll decide if we're diving into the world of clotting creams," you say, setting the tube onto the nearby cart. Your gaze lingers on Ghost, absorbing himself in the literature. Teasingly, you venture, "Frequent reader?"

A soft sigh escapes Ghost, tinged with his ever-present undertone of frustration. Yet, your question intrigues him. "Do I look like a regular reader to you?" His tone, a mix of amusement and annoyance, surprisingly teases you back.

A brief glance your way, and then back to the open pages. "Occasionally, I delve into a book or two."

Your chuckle cuts through the silence. "Honestly, I half expected those books to come flying back at me. You don't exactly strike me as the reading type."

Ghost retorts, "Lucky you then. While I might not be gracious, I'm not entirely graceless either." He pauses, reading a passage before adding, "Unless they were romance. You didn't hand me any sappy love stories, did you?" The playful edge to his voice gives away his jest, but he still looks at you, feigning severity.

Laughing, you reply, "The romances are stashed away in my office. Figured they weren't quite your cup of tea." Slipping on a pair of sterile gloves, you tease, "Or maybe they are?" You glance at Ghost, the jesting undertone of your conversation surprisingly pleasant.

Raising an eyebrow, Ghost's demeanor shifts from mildly annoyed to intrigued. "You've read them?" He glances at the cover, genuinely curious. "Why keep them?"

Perhaps, in this small exchange, Ghost is glimpsing a facet of you previously veiled. With gloves in place, you cautiously probe the bandaged wound, assessing for any further blood seepage.

"Reality, especially in our line of work, seldom offers romance" your voice softens as you feel a dampness under the bandage, signaling unclotted blood. "Reading lets me escape, even if just for a while." A candid admission.

A hint of a smile touches Ghost's eyes, a stark departure from his customary gruffness. It's faint, but it warms the atmosphere.

He seems more at ease, the tense set of his shoulders relaxing slightly. Looking back down, he thumb flips through the book's pages, pausing, torn between delving deeper into the conversation or retreating into his habitual reticence.

You hum softly, the tranquility of the moment evident as you gingerly approach the gauze. With care, you begin to peel it away, revealing the meticulously stitched wound. "You remind me so much of someone I crossed paths with during my field medic days," you mused, a little taken aback by your own openness. "Tough shell, but a hint of softness beneath it all," you add with a gentle smile, cleansing the residual blood from Ghost's wound.

Ghost remains motionless, absorbing your every move and word. Your comparison clearly catches him off guard. After a short pause, he ventures, "Who are they?"

You pause momentarily, a tinge of sadness in your gaze. "Gone," you reply succinctly, reaching for the clotting cream. Pointing at the book in Ghost's grasp, you add, "He owned that one. I always nudged him to let me borrow it. Eventually, he did." Your voice fades, "I never had the chance to return it."

Ghost stays silent for a moment, the weight of your words settling. He then casts a glance at the book, holding it a tad tighter. When he finally speaks, his voice has softened, "What happened to him?"

Taking a deep breath, you choose your words carefully, surprised that Ghost hasn't interjected with his usual brusqueness. "Our unit was deployed on what turned out to be a dire mission. Communication lines were down; extraction was impossible. He took a fatal shot meant for me. Nothing I could've done," your voice wavers slightly, "I was the damn medic and I was the only one who walked out."

Ghost's strong exterior falters. His eyes squeeze shut, as if pushing away a haunting memory. "I'm..." he begins but struggles to find the words. After a few deep breaths, he finally locks eyes with you again. "Tell me his name."

You refocus on the wound, taking a piece of gauze and a swab of clotting cream, grateful for the distraction. "Michael," you murmur, tenderly applying the cream to Ghost's wound. "His name was Michael."

Ghost remains still, absorbing the name. After a beat, he ventures, "Were you two... together?"

Your chuckle breaks the somber mood. "No, god no. Forming connections in our field is perilous, and severing them... even more so." You continue to administer the cream with care.

Ghost seems somewhat relieved by your answer. But as you mention the complexities of forming bonds in such a line of work, he grows contemplative.

"Attachment is dangerous." He states as if it's a concrete fact.

"Yeah, an unfortunate casualty of the job," you admit, wrapping up the wound. Setting the forceps aside, you contemplate for a moment the many sacrifices of your profession.

"You know what, Ghost? You're actually not that unpleasant to talk to." You state a bit bluntly.

Ghost rolls his eyes at your bluntness, but the hard look on his face slowly melts away. He seems... pleased. You can see the faintest of smiles forming on his lips. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself. He takes a breath, looking down at his bandaged leg for a moment.

"What makes vou say that?" He finally asks, turning to look at you.

"Well, for one, you actually seem engaged in our conversation," you say, focusing on the final steps of bandaging his leg. "Whenever I touch on my old team or Michael, the usual response I get is fleeting sympathy. It's almost scripted – a brief 'I'm sorry' followed by an awkward silence. And then when that's over they feel like they've done their part."

Ghost takes a moment to absorb your words, reflecting on their weight. He seems to grasp the meaning behind them; many offer fleeting condolences, but few genuinely care to understand or dive deeper. "They feel like they've done their part," he murmurs, echoing your sentiment, a hint of contemplation in his voice. His face hardens back to its usual expressionless state, but he seems to be looking at you with newfound curiosity.

Having completed the necessary treatment for Ghost's leg, you stretch out your tired limbs, suppressing a yawn. Keeping Ghost's leg elevated would still be beneficial. But as you recline in your chair, a realization strikes you – the tough exterior Ghost projected upon entering the med bay was starkly different from the man you were now conversing with.