Old Scars, New Wounds

Chapter Nine

Celeste made her way outside, rounded the corner of the house, and threw up into the dead, snow-coated shrubs. 

Hot tears threatened to leak out of her eyes, but she had only bought herself a couple of seconds before Ghost would be out here, demanding answers. Patting some life back into her cold cheeks, she inhaled sharply, shaking her head. History was repeating itself and Celeste stood either helpless or enabling to its course. Either way, she was guilty. She grabbed some clean snow and swallowed it down, grimacing at the cold but needing the bite it brought. She needed to get it together. Had to get it together. But she made herself so sick sometimes. 

She yanked the balaclava back down, neutralising any remaining tell in her expression. She couldn't let any of them know a thing, and could never let any of them in. Which was why she really needed to get it together when it came to Simon, because she knew foolishly that not only did she want to know him, but she wanted him to know her. 

And that hadn't worked out well last time. 

Hearing the voices get closer, she stepped out from the side, kicking snow over the vomit and rounding the corner just as Ghost stepped out of the house. When he saw her, he damn near grabbed her by the collar. 

"What was that?" his gruff voice demanded, and although it was hard to take him seriously in such a silly mask, she knew that it wouldn't stop him from killing her. And he seemed to really be contemplating that. "What was that, Angel?"

She shook her head, afraid if she opened her mouth she would just vomit again. This whole thing made her so sick. All of it. The pit of loneliness in her chest swelled painfully, and the cold dug into her skin to emphasise the point. Celeste felt uncomfortable in her own body, and even more isolated because she knew she would never be able to tell them why. 

"We have the information we need," she finally managed to choke out, carefully avoiding eye contact with Ghost. "We'll take it back. It's promising."

"Dropping a body isn't exactly covert," Soap spoke, and she tried not to flinch at the unusually harsh tone laced with his speech. "How did you two know each other?"

Celeste's eye twitched from the freezing breeze moving past her face. That moment, when she had taken her balaclava off in the house, had been an impulsive decision, one that she hadn't -pre-created an excuse for. But sometimes, the best excuse was reality. 

"That's classified," she swallowed down, knowing that none of them would be happy with that answer. Especially not the Lieutenant before her. "Sorry."

She could feel Ghost grow angry, and she focused on the snowfall so she wouldn't just tell him everything right there. 

"Chopper's coming back," Gaz announced quietly, breaking the silence as he read the time on his watch. "We ought to make for the rendezvous point now."

They stood stiffly still, waiting for Ghost's confirmation to move out. But he was busy staring Celeste down, as if it would provide him any more answers to the no doubt thousands of questions in his head. 

But finally, he let out a small sigh that escaped the confinements of his balaclava, and gestured for them to move out. Celeste elected to keep her distance, trudging through the snow a couple of feet behind the others to avoid any more awkward questions. She knew they all had so many, and it killed her that she couldn't answer any of them. She really wanted to. 

Because no matter how she acted or what she said, she really did want friends. 

~

"Suicide?" Price questioned after they had showered, ate, and debriefed in the smaller room, away from any other ears or eyes. "So he's dead?"