Old Scars, New Wounds

Chapter Eight

TW: S*icide, violence

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Simon was starting to put the pieces together of whatever strange life Celeste Zhao had led before they met. But even then, he knew that whatever he had discovered was far from the complete picture. Even with what Price had told them, Simon still felt like there was a large piece of the puzzle missing. Only now, that piece would be even harder to find with the growing distance between the CIA agent and the rest of the group. 

Even with their conversation last night, although Simon seemed to understand Celeste more, he still felt like he knew nothing about her. And each revelation was another shock and another confusing part of an already jumbled story. She was an orphan? She had been engaged and her fiancé had died? Did the latter have something to do with Volkov? Did the former have something to do with why she always looked like she had the life beat out of her?

He had apologised to her, because he had truly meant it. He had been too harsh, too accusing, and mistrust would only get them killed. But he had also hoped it would extend some understanding. Understanding on her part that he was asking these questions for a reason. Understanding on his part that she was acting that way for a reason. But the more he learned about her, and the more he talked to her, the more he felt himself spinning round and round in unending knots, the web too elusive to escape and too dark to see. 

And above all, everything just felt too convenient for Simon. That all paths would lead back to Volkov. That Celeste had already experienced her fair share of the Russian. It was all just too coincidental. 

So as he sat in the briefing room, he didn't even realise that his eyes had automatically trained on Celeste for the entire meeting until Price had to call his name not once, not twice, but three times. 

"You okay, mate?" Soap muttered under his breath from beside him, and Simon took his head out of his ass for a second so he could recall what Price had said. 

Simon give a subtle nod before answering Price's question, which had been if Simon wouldn't mind leading a team to apprehend a suspected associate of Volkov's. 

"Wonderful," Price grunted back, clearly not pleased that one of his best operators was this distracted. "Gaz, Soap, Angel. You three are with him."

At the start of the briefing, the air had been rather tense, what with the events of the night before. But after some time, the one thing they realised they could all agree on was wanting to get this shit show over with as soon as possible, so they all gathered whatever ounces of professionalism they had and laid it out on the table. Even Viper, who usually had many things to say, was silent and remained glowering in his dark little corner.

However, as Simon's eyes focused back in on Celeste, again, he could tell that said tension had not quite left her shoulders yet. She wasn't shrinking in on herself anymore. In part, she just looked exhausted. But there was something else there, something that once again Simon couldn't decipher, and all the secrets were really starting to piss him off. 

"RILEY!"

Simon's head snapped up this time, and he noticed that most of the others had filed out of the room, save his new team and his annoyed captain now standing in front of him. With averted eyes, Simon realised that Celeste had finally looked back at him. 

"Yes sir?"

"Where is your head today?" Price demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. "I lost you for the entire briefing."

Simon played back the white noise Price had unknowingly generated and attempted to recall the details. 

"Not at all sir," Simon calmly replied. "I'm to lead those three to Belgium-"