Ghost One Shots | FemReader

YOU'RE THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS

"No, no, no, no—"

The word tumbled over itself as it came out your mouth, but it fell on deaf ears. You looked between Ghost and Captain Price, your plea met with an uncomfortable stare as you prayed for any sign of mercy. You'd been caught. The enemy. The snake in the grass. Panic spread through your body like fire as the room around you began to shrink.He started rubbing his gloved fingertips against his thumb, his nervous tell. You knew Ghost better than anyone. His neck flexed as his gaze looked right through you. Please, please look at me. It's not like this. It's more— complicated. Look at me. Thoughts racing, begging. The two of them knew no better, you weren't an enemy, not truly. Just a leak, under threat.

"No I—"

"Enough."

His tone was stone cold. Emotion stripped. Guilt made you feel nauseous, begin to shake.

How could you do this to him? He had enough trust issues as it was already, and he let you in. That door slammed closed in an instant. Ragged sobs begin to chokehold you, but you swallow them; tears right now would only seem disingenuous.

"Simon..."

You feel your chest cave in as you whispered it out into the room. He didn't react. Didn't even flinch. Your eyebrows flexed in distress, the silence he left with the absence of his words was almost palpable.

"I need to go and make a phone call."

Price announced, looking over at you whilst ripping his gloves off before giving a soft nod to Ghost. The door handle cracks under his grip as he leaves. You continue observe Ghost, the man you cared for, who loved you, his eyes slowly moving back and forth as he thought. His gaze fall back on you, studying your face, eyes in shadow cast from the fluorescent lights overhead making his expression even more ominous. His world had been ripped away from him in two sentences.

He had been perched on the edge of your desk, fingers playing subtly with yours, locked in deep conversation, gazing at you, admiring you, before shifting away as Price had approached and beckoned the two of you into a small meeting room. Gut instinct screamed as he sat across from you, observing you after the first few words came out of Price's mouth, every movement, every expression, assessing if you were lying.

Now head tilted, face settling, detaching himself to keep emotions buried. He knew if he opened his mouth and began to speak, it was only going to make more of a mess of the situation. The panic inside you intensified.

"Look, it's not this simple. I had to— no, I—"

You click your tongue, hesitating over your choice of words. One step wrong and he was going to leave this room. The thought made your limbs numb. You know what happened months ago, he knew, they had you, captive, alone. It nearly broke you. You became a victim to your own desperation, begging one night; you would supply them intel. Valuable intel. But you could never tell the team when you returned. Living under that threat for months now, they worked a step ahead of the team because of you. Reminders lingered on the skin of your wrists, you anxiously rubbed them with your thumb.

"They told me... if I confessed, if I got caught they would— my family. You."

Silence. Then he spoke.

"I needed honesty."

Those three very true, very painful words hung in the air as your emotions bubble up uncontrollably. Warm tears hit the ground. You could've told him. He would've done anything for you. He would do anything for any of the team.

"Fucks sake. Did you not trust me?"

His usually gruff voice was laced with anguish. Once the words left his lips he became aware of the heat of the room, the sudden heat of his face. The mask giving some protection from the physical manifestations of his confused emotions. Fingers flexed, needing something to do to express some of the energy that was building up inside of him.

"Of course I trusted you, I trust you. I— "

You barely make it through the sentence between sobs. It felt pathetic. Of course you trusted him, nothing you could say could be more true. But despite the fact
you knew in your mind he could protect himself, they would probably never have gotten near him, the thought of losing him outweighed any rationality about his abilities that you possessed.

"You know I would've protected you."

He cleared his throat as he pushed the emotions back down again so that he could think about the situation clearly. He clenched his teeth together, hard, flexing the muscles in his jaw. The pain brought some clarity. He knew he was going to lose you. There would be a decision made and it would not be in your favour. A compromise this large would be unfathomable to anyone higher up, anyone who didn't have the time to take the context of what happened into account; and it was this context that meant nothing but everything all at the same time. You search for more words, no, any words to say, but your lips remain parted and nothing comes out.

"I don't know what else to tell you, it wasn't for long, I—"

"STOP."

He barked before standing up, looming over you, blocking the light overhead. His demeanour was intimidating and it felt harsh, but he had to compartmentalise the damage you had inflicted on the team to avoid them clashing with conflicting thoughts which understood why you had done it; to get back to your life, your job, your home, him.

"Do not implicate me in what you have done."

The raised voice makes you flinch, but it didn't cut deep, a mind already full of self loathing. Thoughts of regret, that you should have just surrendered to them, given up, let them have you. You could have been just another casualty. But you loved him, and he, you, it was a mutual unspoken understanding. Sobs subsided as you surveyed him, noticing every minor motion, shoulder relaxing, a slight step backwards, the shifting of weight from one leg to the other.

When you had returned home, he had helped look after you as someone who had been through it before, wrapping you up tightly as you wracked your body with cries of pain so profound he had to remind himself to breathe to stop from tearing up. The lump in his throat reappeared as he pieced the two sides of the narrative together, the new realisation that as he had sat there and held you, your cries were not because of recovery, but because you were still suffering, having to lie to him. To everyone. It was almost painful to restrain himself from reaching out to you, putting his duty over his emotions.

"I... I wish I could take it back."

The disappointment on his face reignited your tears, spilling down your cheeks, leaving a salty taste on your tongue as they seeped through your lips. You felt defeated. Exhausted. Wanting desperately to be left alone, but not wanting him to leave. Stuck to the chair, unable to move. And like closing the cover on a book after finishing the last page, his cold agreement felt final, a full stop.

"Me too."