I Feel It In My Bones (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Make Him Weep

The next day, you sought out soap. It didn't take you long; he was in the first place you looked—the mess hall, early in the morning. He and Gaz were seated near the end of a long table with a group of other soldiers, deeply engrossed in conversation, with trays piled with breakfast foods. You approached with the intention of interrupting their discussion but ended up hovering, not quite sure how to break into a heated debate over the best-tasting shape of pasta. Gaz was the first to notice you, quickly cutting off his thoughts on fusilli. 'Bones!'

He was visibly less tense than he had been the day before, a culinary discussion clearly enough to distract from a potential bioweapon.

You nodded in greeting, shifting on your feet as several sets of eyes turned to you. Gaz patted the empty seat beside him, the one closest to the edge of the table and opposite Soap—an invitation.

You slid into the seat and instantly regretted it as Soap turned to you. 'What's your opinion on tagliatelle, Doc?'

You blinked slowly.

It's too early for this.

'Penne for your thoughts?' Gaz quipped, earning a few chuckles down the table.

I should've stayed in bed.

You weren't exactly sure what answer Soap was looking for, but you quickly told him your favourite pasta shape and the reasons for it. It seemed satisfactory enough when he nodded and started sharing more of his opinions. 'I feel like spaghetti is overrated,' he continued. But apparently, that was controversial, and the conversation sparked up again. Noticing your lack of tray and food, Gaz picked up a soft bun from his pile and offered it to you.

The gesture was kind, but you shook your head, subtly pointing at your balaclava. It was one thing to have it down while you sipped coffee in the dark with your lieutenant. It was a completely different situation when you were under the bright lighting of the mess hall, surrounded by the buzzing of soldiers and officers as they scoffed their breakfast before carrying out their daily duties.

As your fingers ran under the fabric of your balaclava at your neckline, your thoughts took you away from the table and into your mind.

You imagined that most people thought you hid your face because you were scarred. In the military, that would make sense. Except that wasn't the truth.

Your expressions were too easily readable. Without the balaclava, you felt open and exposed. It served as a protective layer, a barrier between yourself and the world.

It kept people from looking.

It kept people from seeing.

It kept you safe.

Gaz quickly dropped the bun and shot you an apologetic smile. 'What's on the schedule today, Bones?' He asked.

'That's what I came here to ask Soap about,' you replied, making eye contact with the blue-eyed man opposite.

'Unarmed close-quarter combat,' Soap mumbled through a mouthful of food, a crumb dropping from his mouth. Your lips quirked upwards at the mess he was making. 'I'll finish up here soon. You know where the gym hall is?'

'I'll find it,' you said, a current of amusement in your tone.

Soap nodded, wiping his chin with a piece of tissue. 'Meet me there in an hour, lass.'

'Beat his ass, Bones,' Gaz grinned.

'Aye, when she does, I'll send her after you next,' Soap shot back.

You left the pair to their bickering and grabbed a bottle of water and an apple on your way out.

***