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

Shadows of Doubt

The week before Christmas, you were called to the conference room.

You were sat in the kitchen, curled up by the windows, sipping a fresh mug of coffee early in the evening. The sun was setting, a flurry of cotton-soft snow settling on the frosty ground and tall evergreen trees surrounding the base. You were mesmerised, thoughtful, at peace.

You had finally told Sandman what had happened between you and your Lieutenant, and as he went silent on the other end of the call, you thought that signal had been lost. But then he had practically screamed, and you had talked for almost two hours, spilling details of each other's lives that you hadn't been able to tell each other through text.

Since you and your Lieutenant had come to terms with your feelings, a sense of calm had fallen over you - though, you supposed, it was more like acceptance of the situation. You cared for each other more than friends, wanted to be with each other, understood each other. And you found comfort in that. But the task force and your work came first.

And that was okay. You could live with that.

When the door creaked open, you turned in surprise, only to be met with the stern face of Ghost. As his brown eyes fell upon you, they softened ever-so-slightly, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest.

Except that feeling of calm, affection, light-heartedness quickly faded as he had rumbled his commanding voice, telling you that Laswell and Shepherd had an urgent update on the situation. You had abandoned your coffee, pulled your balaclava up, and followed his thundering stride to the familiar room.

As you and Ghost entered the conference room, you couldn't help but notice the somber atmosphere that hung in the air. The scent of bleach cut through, as though it had been recently cleaned. The other members of the task force were already seated around the table, their expressions serious - even Soap's.

Those were the first signs that there was something wrong.

The screen above the table was on, the light washing the room with a cold light. It was split in two, Laswell's stern face on one side, Shepherd's furrowed brows on the other.

You swallowed, heart rate picking up beneath your uniform. You and Ghost pulled out seats beside each other, sinking into the hard material as your stomach brutally twisted inside your abdomen, anxiety making your hands cold.

'It's good to see you all again,' Shepherd greeted, his voice ringing clearly into the tense room. 'I wish it could only be under better circumstances. We're here to deliver an update on the situation with the bioweapon.'

Your pulse thudded in time with the only thought running through your mind: Shit, shit, shit.

On the screen, Laswell leaned forward, her hands clasped beneath her chin, dark blue eyes cool and serious. 'Our intelligence have just confirmed that Makarov is deeply involved in a potential bioweapon threat. This goes beyond our previous operations. As we feared, this threatens the safety of the entire world.'

Ghost shifted in his seat beside you, those brown eyes hard, indecipherable.

Makarov.

You had heard that name before. Whispered in hallways, as though the name was too vile to say out loud. Stories of his ideologies, his ruthlessness, his massacres.

The developing bioweapon wasn't in the hands of amateurs. It wasn't in the hands of a small, unintelligent organisation. It was in the hands of known, and powerful, terrorist. One who had been sentenced to death before, and had escaped with his life.

Price leaned forward, concern etched across his features. His blue eyes were intense, dark, grievous. 'What do we know about Makarov's involvement and the bioweapon itself?'