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

Show Me Your Scars

You led Ghost to a private room, quickly and quietly letting the medical officer in charge know that you would be seeing to your Lieutenant's injuries alone as the task force's medic.

The room was dimly lit, and the soft hum of the overhead fluorescent lights mixed with the steady patter of rain on the windows. The rain was slowly intensifying, turning into a torrential downpour. The walls, painted in sterile white, seemed to close in around you. After firmly closing the door behind you, you and your Lieutenant found yourselves in dim, moody seclusion.

Agitation thrummed through your veins. You had missed him, had worn his hoodie in the privacy of your room while he was away, had sheepishly tried to catch his scent to ease your longing. You had sat in the kitchen at night, watching the stars through the window, quietly contemplating if he was staring up at them at the same time as you.

You weren't sure exactly what your reunion would look like - but standing in front of him, under his hardened gaze and his tone so coarse it grazed your unevenly beating heart, was not what you had been prepared for. Despite yourself, his behaviour had raised your guard, and melted your mixed emotions into a defence mechanism you were all-too familiar with: anger.

Ghost was tense in front of you, standing beside the examination bed rather than on it. A trail of blood had followed him into the room, mixing with the rain water that dripped from his form. He was watching you, assessing you, those dark eyes almost pained.

'Sit,' you ordered. 'And take off your boots.'

Ghost complied, sinking down onto the bed. He shrugged off the black hood, the wet material falling behind him, and silently removed the gear protecting his body. His long legs easily reached the ground, but the process of bending down to unlace and peel off the hefty boots on his feet elicited a strained grunt, the motion exacerbating his injured leg. As you opened a drawer in a metal cabinet beside the bed and pulled on a pair of vinyl gloves, Ghost pulled off the blood-stained mask he wore, revealing the face of Simon.

Though still feeling confused, agitated, and strangely disappointed, you found yourself momentarily captivated as you stole a glance at him from your peripheral vision. And fuck, he was just as beautiful as you remembered - windswept dark hair and haunting brown eyes even more striking when they contrasted with his pale skin and eyeblack. His expression was grim, his mouth pulled into a firm line.

Before he could catch you watching, you returned your attention to the drawer, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic, cotton, and a sterile bandage.

His eyes followed you as you knelt in front of him. With a steady, carefully neutral tone, you requested him to show you where he was injured. His head loomed dangerously close to yours as he bent down once more, tugging at the hem of his combat pants, pulling the rugged material up until it tightened just below his knee to show you his lower leg.

The lights flickered. There was a large gash running parallel to his tibia. It was deep and irritated, most likely from him walking. You poured some of the antiseptic onto the cotton, the sharp smell flooding your nose. 'This is going to hurt.'

With a steady hand, you carefully disinfected the deep gash. The sting of the antiseptic was evident in the way his jaw clenched and his breath hissed through his teeth. Despite the discomfort, he remained still, unflinching.

The tension in the room seemed to thicken as you worked, the intensity of his hard gaze was mirrored in your own as you focused, making sure there were no remnants of debris in the red of his flesh. Once you were finished cleaning out the wound, you wrapped a sterile bandage snugly around it, and flitted your eyes up to meet his momentarily. 'I've covered it for now, but it'll need some stitches.'