Call of Duty Oneshots (Mostly Ghost)

Orchids & Daisies

You thought it was just blood at first, the way the crimson-streaked petals had plopped into your unsuspecting palms.

Pieces of a flower?

Confused, you stood there with only three words to come out of your mouth, "What the fuck?"

It looked to be from an orchid, maybe?

Thinking it might have been something else entirely, and you were actually going mentally insane from the lack of sleep, you threw it away, thinking nothing of it but an adverse effect.

But as the days rolled by, it happened again. And again. Each time bringing bigger chunks until eventually you coughed up a whole floret.

It was, in fact, an orchid.

You didn't mean to self-diagnose yourself, but what else could you have possibly done? Go to the infirmary and risk being discharged because you had flowers coming out of your throat?

The idea was laughable. Just as humorous as this whole situation.

The internet called it Hanahaki.

An illness born from unrequited love.

The orchids made sense once you discovered what was wrong. They were his favorite flowers, after all.

You saw the way he looked at Soap.

'Johnny'.

Having it being confirmed that he didn't love you in return in the form of a lethal floral arrangement was almost as amusing as everything else leading up to this. What had you done in a past life for karma to hate you so badly?

While your heart had long been given to him without his knowledge, his heart did not belong to you.

And now...

Now you had bouquets for lungs, and with every breath sprouted a new stem.

Cilia became roots, tissue into petals.

Your ribs now served as a vessel — an urn — while the blossoms it held flourished in your anguish.

People complimented you on your fragrance, and all you could do was thank them, for how could you tell them it was the stench of heartbreak?

You were a walking funeral. Only, it was decorated with his favorite flowers, not yours, to honor what had died.

When it became impossible to hide your affliction any longer, you agreed in taking on a mission that would result in you never returning. A solo mission in the bowels of a hostile-packed environment that would have the last people to see your face.

It was going to be either that or the illness that would bring Death to come find you with a scythe in hand and sympathy in his eyes, but you wanted to have some sort of say of how it would happen.

You wanted some semblance of control in your own death if love was the reason you died.

And so you went, hoping Ghost didn't notice the tears welling up along your waterline as you said goodbye, especially since you had kept him in the dark.

Courage evaded you in telling him that you were most likely not coming back, making him think that this was just a regular mission.

Unfortunately, your intuition was right, and you never returned back to base.

Thankfully, though, you had planned ahead of time for the inevitable with a note addressed to 'Simon' on the front of the envelope. Not Ghost, Simon. 

It read:

It's you. You were wondering who it was, right, forever ago? Who I had fallen in love with? And now I can tell you since I'm not coming back. Not only am I being sent out for a suicide mission, but I have this illness. You wouldn't believe me if I told you what it was, but I'm getting worse, and there's a 99% chance that you'll be receiving my dog tags instead of the usual warm smile you somehow manage to lure out of me.

I hope he makes you happy. I hope and pray, if there's a god that is, that he gives you everything you want and need, and you better not let me die in vain. Tell him, for my sake, okay? You deserve all the happiness in the world.

And with that, I can finally say it. I love you, and while I know you wouldn't be able to say it back, it feels good to know that you know now my feelings for you. Please don't be angry with me or resent me for my decisions. I just wanted you to be happy.

-Y/N

His hands trembled as he held both your dog tags and the letter that had been found when your office was cleaned out weeks after they found your body, lifeless with stalks of orchids from your mouth. How could something so beautiful grow from something so tragic?

The autopsy ruled that it had been the orchids that killed you. It killed you from the inside by turning your lungs into a completely different organism, your body into a greenhouse for something other than the tissue that kept you alive.

Hanahaki, an incredibly rare disease that was thought to be fiction. A fable.

And it was because of him.

Because you loved him.

And he couldn't love you in return.

He'd be damned if your funeral was nothing short of an honor to your sacrifice. Not a single damn orchid would be utilized, he made sure of it. Instead, there were daisies and sunflowers a plenty. Your favorites.

If he couldn't have shown you love while you were alive, he hoped you saw his attempts to show it to you after death.

Albeit, platonic, Simon prayed that if there was a God to hear him, that you heard his apologies.

Wherever you were.

He used your funeral as a means to convey his sorrow, and while it seemed maybe in bad taste in a way, he finally confessed his feelings.

A weight drifted off his shoulders when he did, the words tumbling off of his lips as easily as it was to love the other man, and somewhere, wherever you were...

You were able to find peace.