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

Riding Shotgun

Ghost's POV

The sound of a door slamming shut startled Ghost awake.

He pushed himself off the wall, fingers automatically reaching for his gun. His heart hammered in his chest and his eyes flew open from the force of the adrenaline

He didn't remember falling asleep. After everything that happened yesterday, he didn't think it would be possible. He thought he would be able to stay awake, at least until Soap had taken time to rest and recover from his ordeal - but his body had betrayed him, and at some point, he must have succumbed to his exhaustion. And from the way Ghost's back ached as he crept out of the room and towards the stairs, he had been asleep for at least a couple of hours.

He internally berated himself. Reckless.

The floorboards creaked beneath his boots as he descended the staircase. The low murmur of voices reached his ears, prompting him to tighten his grip on the stock of his weapon. As he reached the base of steps, a broad figure with that damn mohawk stood with his back facing Ghost. His posture was relaxed, though he was holding his injured shoulder with one hand. From his own experience, Ghost knew the pain from such a wound would last a while.

Two men stood in front of Soap. They were dripping wet, bruised, bloody, and looking fierce. And all too familiar.

Price and Gaz.

Ghost's grip relaxed on his weapon as he walked up to stand beside Soap.

'Sergeant MacTavish,' Price greeted, clapping the younger man on his uninjured shoulder. There was a faint smile on his face despite the seriousness in his eyes. Ghost had always been good at observing others, but it didn't take a lot of scrutiny to realise the emotion that was dragging the Captain's stern demeanour down - it was relief.

The Scotsman returned the gesture with a taut smile. Ghost watched, noting the stiff movement, and made a mental note. Though Soap looked miles better than he had the day before - colour had returned to his cheeks, and the lines of exhaustion across his face were not as visible - he was still in a world of pain. 'Good to see you, Captain.'

Gaz lifted his head, as though he was looking around for something. In doing so, he made eye contact with Ghost. His gaze was troubled, a spark of anger igniting his dark eyes in a way that made him seem older, but there was relief mixed in, too. 'Ghost,' he acknowledged.

Ghost gave a curt nod. 'Garrick. Price.'

Soap was looking between the two men, his brows furrowed. It seemed as though the reality of the situation was just dawning on him - that they were no longer back on base, greeting each other as they normally would. 'How'd you know?'

Gaz shared a look with Price. 'Laswell.'

'Soon as Shepherd went dark, she called us,' Price explained.

Laswell. Still solid as a rock.

Gaz was still looking around, a frown etched on his face. 'Where's Bones?'

Ghost knew that question was coming, and yet, he was still unprepared for the reaction his body and mind had just from hearing your name. His calculating thoughts ground to a halt and a sudden wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. Visions of your face flashed through his mind.

It took all his strength just to stay upright.

Soap cleared his throat, but his voice was still hoarse. 'She's gone.'

The crease between Gaz's furrowed brows deepened, his dark brown eyes narrowing. 'Gone? What do you mean, gone?'

Soap hesitated again before responding, his eyes flicking to Ghost. Though the balaclava carefully masked the tightness of his jaw and the way his breaths were coming in shallow intakes, Ghost knew the agony in his eyes was unmistakeable. 'She's dead.'