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

More Than Friends

You were avoiding your Lieutenant.

And you were almost certain he was avoiding you, too.

It wasn't intentional - or it hadn't been at first, anyway. The next day you had locked eyes with him as you were making your way to the medical bay for your shift. He was in uniform, balaclava covering his face, his limp less noticeable than before as he made his way through the base with an air of determination.

Your steps had only faltered a little at the sight of him, the memories of the night before flashing through your mind.

Your hands on his dogtags.

His hand on your cheek.

Your breaths mixing together in the small space of air between you.

Beneath the safety of your ribs, your heart was hammering - whether in nervousness, anticipation, or perhaps something else, you couldn't tell. But as Ghost continued stalking down the corridor, heading in the opposite direction from you, those feelings quickly died.

His gaze had been cold, empty, unfocused. As though he had seen straight through you to the scuffed walls behind. As though you weren't there.

As though you were nothing.

You felt your heart sink and shatter in that moment - and it was only then that you realised, that perhaps, it was him who had pieced it back together in the first place.

You were slow, inattentive, distracted during your shift, unable to control the whirring of your mind as you tried to figure out what had gone so wrong. You couldn't help yourself from wondering that you had misread the situation - and that Simon regretted how close the two of you had gotten, but couldn't face you for long enough to let you know. That he was disgusted by the idea of kissing you. That he had leaned in during a moment of vulnerability, with you as his healer.

And as the two of you continued that way, you could feel yourself shutting down over the next five days.

The rest of your team could tell there was something wrong - Gaz dropped by more regularly, always armed with a snack. Soap increased his gently bullying, trying to coax a reaction out of you. Price tried to talk to you, sharing stories from his past deployments. When that hadn't worked, he had changed tactics, encouraging you to share your growing knowledge on bioweapons. That had worked, partially, as you felt it was your duty to keep him informed - but even as you detailed your findings and the implications of them, your tone was flat, your eyes once more without their spark.

You didn't go to the kitchen once during that time, not even when the nightmares hunted you down in your room, gnashing their teeth and tearing you to shreds. Not even when the phantom pain in your leg got so bad it stopped you from moving, a scream silenced by the tightness of your throat. Not even when the noose choked you, your vision blacking out as you gasped for breath, salty tears burning against your eyelids.

And once again, you felt more fragile than resilient.

Late in the evening, as you were walking down the corridors towards your room after a long shift, a whistle and the shout of a Scotsman halted you in your tracks. 'Doc, get in here!'

You were exhausted, irritated, hollow, but your curiosity got the better of you. You followed the hearty call into an otherwise empty room. Inside, the atmosphere was far from empty, filled with the lively energy of your fellow comrades. Soap and Gaz were stationed around an improvised table, bearing various bottles of alcohol and a few recruits in a game of cards. The dim glow of a string of festive lights hanging across the room's perimeter cast a warm ambiance over the gathering.

Gaz waved you over. 'Bones, grab a bottle and join us! We've been saving a spot for you.'

You hesitated for a moment, casting a furtive glance around the room as if looking for a reason not to participate. But as you looked around, the low rumble of friendly conversation and laughter filling the room, you couldn't think of a good enough reason to leave. You friends were here, inviting you to join them.