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

Double Crossed: Part One

Shadows danced across your face and skull balaclava as your eyes flicked over your team members - soldiers with unfamiliar faces, lined with heavy frowns. Even Sandman's expression was unwavering, his thick brows pulled tight, his dimples nowhere to be seen.

As the chopper blades cut through the air, your mind mulled over the events of the past few days.

'We've isolated potential hotspots and are currently working on enhancing our surveillance. My Shadows are monitoring any suspicious activities.'

Graves' Company was nothing if not efficient, meticulous, focused. They had not only successfully identified the location of the bioweapon, but the location of Makarov and his ultranationalist associates. The mission had developed so suddenly and so urgently when activity had increased in an industrial complex, long abandoned and now in ruins. Trucks and storage equipment, metal carriers protected by guns and observant eyes, were moving fast.

And if intelligence was right, this would be your last opportunity to secure the bioweapon before devastation erupted.

The mission was to drop into an old industrial complex where the was bioweapon located and secure it. The largest building, your target location, was guarded by swarms of armed hostiles, many of whom had been tied to Makarov and his ultranationalist regime. Stealth was of the upmost importance - the perimeters had to be cleared soundlessly, swiftly, smoothly. If the alarm was raised, the bioweapon could be transported early, or even released in an attempt to stop you from seizing it.

You chewed your lip absentmindedly beneath your balaclava, trying to settle the nervous butterflies in your stomach. And despite the urgency of the task ahead, a stray part of your mind wandered, meandering against your will to a certain skull-faced man. You couldn't help but be reminded of the last time you were on a chopper for a mission, how he had picked up on your anxiety.

His arm had brushed yours as he dipped his head. 'Why are chemists so good at solving problems?' His voice had been a rumble close to your ear, loud enough so that you could hear, quiet enough so that no-one else could.

The rapid firing of your tormented neurons had ceased.

As did every single thought in your head.

You had flicked your eyes to meet his, the mask of neutrality you normally maintained across your features faltering as you softly replied, 'why?'

Those dark eyes never left yours. 'They have all the solutions.'

And just as you had done then, you sucked in a deep breath, and tried to run through a grounding technique. Except each time you tried to count the number of Shadows sat across from you in the chopper, tried to focus on the feel of the belts strapping you in, tried to focus on the sound of crackling radios and static, you could see his brown eyes boring down on you, flickering with emotion.

It was futile.

'Promise me that, no matter what happens, you'll get out alive. Promise you'll try to come back to me. Promise to try your damnedest.'

Those words were like a whisper caressing you, filling you with dangerous hope, the rawness in that brown gaze unlike anything you had ever seen before. You knew that you wouldn't be able to silence that side of your mind on the mission until you had guaranteed a way for him to know your feelings, to know that even if you broke your promise to him, that he would always have a home in your heart. And so, taking inspiration from his journals, you spent the remainder of the chopper ride writing on a piece of torn paper, the words a rushed scribble as you poured out your soul.

When you were finished, you folded the paper into a neat square, and slipped it into the pocket of your tactical vest closest to your heart. And though it was the lightest thing you carried on your body, the weight of the meaning held within was comparable to that of a hand grenade.