Broken // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Broken Part 17

Get up.
Smoke.
Cardio.
Smoke.
Breakfast.
Smoke.
Shooting range.
Smoke.
Sparring.
Smoke.
Lunch.
Smoke.
Shooting Range.
Smoke.
Briefings.
Smoke.
Paperwork.
Smoke.
Shooting Range.
Smoke.
Try to sleep.
Smoke.
Try to sleep.
Smoke.
Try to sleep.
Smoke.
Sleep.
Get up.

It became his new routine after he was forced to leave your side at the hospital. They told him it would've been better for you, to approach them as soon as you were ready. One after another, an appointment with your therapist following sharp to discuss the conversations and memories that might've come up.

Price told him about your conversation just a few hours after he came back, cautiously avoiding the fact that you didn't ask much about him rather than Soap and Gaz.

But it was Ghost he was talking to. He wasn't stupid. He knew it. Or at least he assumed it.

At least when Soap told him that you were coming back right before he picked you up and you didn't want to see him till that day.

Did he count the minutes, when Soap left to know when you'd be back? Maybe.
Was it his intention to see you, when stepped outside to take a smoke? Possible.
Did he change his mind the second his door pushed the handle down and he heard the truck stopping? Definitely.
Was his heart beating rapidly, when he stood at the shack to smoke and wait until you were inside? Certainly.

Was he secretly hoping that you remembered him and just needed time?

On good days, he did. Those days where he managed to keep his mind just as busy as his body. But those days were rare and overshadowed by the thoughts of you screaming at him, desperately trying to get out of his grasp when all he did was trying to save you.

It gnawed at him. Not only the thoughts of you, but also the fact that you managed to invade his thoughts at all. That he could tell when you've been in a room before, because his nose recognized the soft smell of your perfume mixed with your shampoo that still lingered in the air around him. And that he stood there, breathing it in not once, not twice but at least three times before he moved on.

That he stood there, at the shack, hoping to hear some footsteps behind him that would take him out of his thoughts which were mostly circling around you, how he wished that he gave you the chance to talk things out before you've been taken away from them.

And that's why he found himself there, after two weeks of silence, late at night, standing in front of your room, hands clenching into fists over and over again as he hesitated to knock. Contemplating whether it was worth finding the truth after he had built those walls up again as fast as you made them crumble.

The conflict inside of him almost tore him apart. The urge to see you and to know if you're alright standing against his habits and principles, keeping everyone at least an arms length away. For his own sake and theirs. Yours.

His head shot up from the handle the second he saw it being pushed down, but not from his side of the door. He froze, unsure of what to do as the door slowly opened up and you almost bumped into the chest that was suddenly right in front of you.

"Lieutenant." He didn't realize how much he missed your voice until he finally heard it again, although it was just a faint whisper. And the walls started to crumble again.

"Y/N... Sergeant."

It was a minute of silence when your eyes met, maybe even two, but it was deafening, heavy, with his own heartbeat louder than his breathing. Or was it yours?

"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be here. I..."

It wasn't like him, getting nervous just because someone looked at him with their eyes darting between his. And yet, as he stood there in front of you, he didn't know what to say.

Just be professional, Simon.

"I just wanted to know if you're alright or if you need anything."

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Hmm."

The silence returned again like nothing changed. He knew you had a reason to open the door the same way you knew he had a reason stand right in front of it when you opened it. But neither of you addressed the topic.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

"I guess not. Good night, Sergeant."

Before you could even respond he turned around and walked away, left you there in the doorway with your eyes following him as he took the corner to the exit.

"Good night, Simon."