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bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus · 10 months

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Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!Reader fic)

Act One, Chapter Six: Reluctant Admittance

Omg! Who is this?! I'm back and I'm bringing home the bacon! Exams are over and I have about of month of aimless wandering so… yeah :D. I'm currently in the process of decompressing and the effects of stress are finally manifesting after being dormant during exam season... yay.

I hope you all enjoy! I'm trying to get back into the groove so apologies for the lack of eventfulness. I'm also going to apologise for the fact that I very much got into my feelings writing this so brace yourselves.

We all know English is my mortal enemy (despite being my first language) so sorry for grammatical mishaps, I did do me best but things do slip under the radar.

Warnings: Heavy discussions surrounding trauma (particularly surrounding men- I know! I'm sorry!), heightened emotions, threats of violence and strong language.

You were staring at her like she had three heads. It was a tough decision to make: whether to push to continue this conversation or let Laswell be. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you rifled through the various outcomes you had predicted to the different things you could say. You hoped you could be sensitive enough to allow her to open up. She was the only one who understood what you had gone through and vice versa, and you prayed to find something else out of that other than the comradery that came with mutual suffering.

She looked right back at you, knowing full well you wanted to say something, the words dancing on the tip of your tongue, itching to be spoken but chained down by your desperate need to interact correctly. Sighing, she folded her arms and waited for whatever you had cocked and ready to fire her way.

“Kate,” you began, nervously fiddling with your fingers, praying you had rehearsed this enough times in your head for you not to falter over your words, “have you ever wanted closure? To just, maybe, talk it through with someone?”

Her face softened. She hadn’t expected that… Laswell had anticipated a lecture, a cliche roundabout diatribe which overstayed its welcome, a bout of preaching that was just the other person’s way of saying ‘get over it’. Sometimes things in your head are too heavy for others to handle, too sensitive, they can gross your mates out, and years of that had made Laswell feel like a freak, made her feel disgusting. Occasionally, she’d wondered if what she had gone through had ‘built character’, made her strong, and was the reason for her competence. She had cherry-picked what she liked about her time in the Foundation, the skills it had given her, and had repressed the rest. See enough people pale, enough people grimace, enough people stare at you with their mouths hung open, unsure of what to say, and it makes you feel awfully discouraged to be an open book. If Price knew what she had gone through as a teen, she was afraid he might see her no longer as a colleague but as something else. Something weak.

She drew in a sharp breath at the thought.

Men had an awful tendency to want to save, to protect, and seldom listen. Yes, it was a sweeping generalisation, but it was for her own protection. She was genuinely afraid things could change between them. All of them, in fact. 141, most people in her life, were best kept at a friendly but reasonably far distance.

Closure had been off the table for a while now.

“Y/N, these things are… difficult to navigate. Right now, it’s all fresh to you. You’re currently running about, hoping anyone, anyone, might hear you out, sit down, and listen to all your pains. You’re craving hope, praying that some guy out there can put your faith back into them…” She let out a shaky sigh. “No one out there ever sat down and listened to me. What we’ve been through is horrific, too much for people to bear. If you find that someone, I’ll be amazed and immensely happy for you but… let’s be realistic, Y/N. We’ll never get closure.”

She put her arm around you and drew you close to her, walking you both back to your beds. Mild anger bubbled away inside you, her infantilising, drab words leaving behind a sour aftertaste.

“We keep practical, and we keep vigilant. Remember that.”

“I get where you’re coming from, Kate.” You turned to face her. “But I don’t entirely agree with you. You and I both know that we’d kill for a confidante, and you could have one! You could have several if you wanted to! I bet you haven’t even tried having a conversation with these guys about your past.”

She sighed and shook her head, removing her arm from you, as you both entered the murky dark of the barracks.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Y/N.”

“Good night, Kate.”

With a slight pout and furrowed brow, you watched her make her way to her bed and fall into it, completely shattered.

***

You idly prodded at your porridge with your spoon as you did your best to avoid Laswell’s eyes. Soap and Ghost had taken you hostage, placing you firmly between the two of them, across from the CIA Station Chief, with the hopes that you’d start opening your mouth and agreeing with them and that would then lead to Laswell opening up. However, at the end of the day, it was two ordinary men up against an experienced lamia, and what they hadn’t quite caught onto yet was Laswell barraging your mind with messages of strong encouragement to keep quiet. It was extremely tiring, but Laswell thought it was the right thing to do and that was sufficient justification to keep going.

You swallowed hard, continuing to move your food around your bowl, watching blueberries you had once buried under the slop of oatmeal and milk resurface and sit atop their stodgy sea. The silence was so loud, your brain unable to think coherent thoughts as the buzz of underlying aggression filled your skull with apprehensive static. No one was explicitly angry, and that irked you. There was a conversation sitting here that was dying to be had, all someone at this godforsaken table had to do was spit a few words out and get the ball rolling.

Eventually, you found yourself glancing at Price, hoping that maybe the captain could put his authority to good use. The old man wasn’t an idiot, he knew something had happened last night which had yielded breakfast’s… painfully awkward results. Gaz could tell too, but, seeing as yesterday had been a bit rocky, decided it was best to not fan the already hot embers and bring about flames. Price brought his thermos to his lips, eyes narrowing as he watched Soap bore holes into Laswell’s skull. She was returning the favour, of course, sternly looking at the Scotsman, her lip turning upwards at the sight of him bringing you closer to his side.

Ghost was there too and was most certainly a presence that wasn’t overlooked. One could tell that he was positively fuming under that mask, taking a large bite out of his apple as he continued to try and out-stare Kate. The echo of his crunch reverberated throughout the canteen. Despite the backdrop of friendly chatter and clattering cutlery, any sound that came from 141’s table seemed to be thrice the expected volume. Perhaps it was the silence amplifying noise’s presence when she’d occasionally grace the group, or perhaps it was because they were exaggerating the volume of their actions to prove a petty point. Either way, Laswell was not going to go down. Period. She was going to ensure they’d stop their little investigation before it had even started. They didn’t need to know anything about her, bar that she was on their side and that was that. Anyways, it was not like she knew much about them! Especially Ghost. There was a double standard here. He could go about his business being all mysterious and alluring but as soon as he found out that there may be more to her than meets the eye… he felt betrayed like he was Caesar on the Ides of March, and Laswell’s newfound information was nothing but a poorly concealed dagger in his eyes.

“Right.” Price suddenly broke the silence, setting his thermos on the table. “What happened?”

No one spoke a word.

He chewed on his lip, taking a deep breath through his nose.

He looked at Soap.

“MacTavish, speak.”

Soap looked at Kate with a sneer.

“Laswell may be able to provide more information than meself.”

“Fine.” Price nodded, swivelling around to face the woman sitting beside him. “Kate, what happened?”

She shrugged.

“Ghost’s usually the most reliable reporter.”

Price muttered an exasperated curse under his breath, before turning to meet Ghost’s menacing glare.

“Lieutenant, you’re up. Tell me what happened.”

“I left halfway through; I think you should redirect your inquiry back to Laswell.”

Price grumbled to himself, stroking his mutton chops as he slowly looked back at Kate. Her lips were tightly sealed. The silence returned and Price allowed for it as he briefly contemplated on what to do. He could feel Gaz staring at him, awaiting his response to all this as he took a loud slurp of his tea.

“Okay,” the captain announced, “I’m not having any of this. Someone here is going to tell me exactly what is going on and that someone is…”

Like a turret spinning around to select its target, Price’s gaze shifted from Soap, to Laswell, to Ghost and then to you.

“Y/N, why are Soap, Ghost and Laswell eyeing each other like they’re in a Mexican standoff?”

You gulped, looking at all three of them for help on what to do next. Soap sighed and kept his eyes on the floor while Kate was shaking her head, hoping you would keep quiet.

And then, there was Ghost.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to make eye contact with him, knowing full well that he was staring into your soul. He cast a dark shadow over you, his company hovering ominously above as he, whether consciously or not, taunted you with his intimidating presence.

Oh, what do I do?

You chewed on your lip, covering your nervous gesture with your hand as you looked at Price for some form of encouragement.

The urge to spill the beans was building inside you, like a rising scream, making its way up your throat. From a logical perspective, it seemed like the right thing to do, for the benefit of everyone, seeing as 141 needed to be as together as possible in order to remain under the radar and you needed to not surround yourself with bloodthirsty lunatics coming for each other’s throats… for once.

You sighed, setting your spoon down, not even bothering to give it a parting gaze as it sunk into your porridge.

“Basically,” you began, much to Laswell’s chagrin, “Ghost and Soap found some of my, uh, things and it told them some stuff about myself that I wasn’t quite ready to share. It also told some stuff about Kate, here, that she also isn’t quite ready to… share.”

“But it is stuff we need to know,” Ghost added, folding his arms.

“Kate,” Price turned to her, softening his voice a little, “should you and I have a private chat over a cuppa?”

“It’s nothing, John.” She moved away from him.

Price looked at both Ghost and Soap.

“Did you boys have a scrap with just her or also Y/N about whatever happened last night?”

Ghost and Soap exchanged looks before Soap volunteered to speak for the both of them.

“We didn’t have a scrap, sir, we-”

“Was this just between you and Kate?” Price’s voice was harsh, and it took both Soap and Ghost aback.

Was… was he scolding them?

“Pretty much, sir.”

“Okay.” Price nodded to himself. “Suppose this gives me all the more reason to iron whatever the fuck happened last night out.”

That announcement was met with tense silence. Great. Just great. The captain was frustrated by everyone’s reluctance to cooperate, but he couldn’t deny that he was also surprised… particularly surprised by Kate. This was out of character for her, to be stubborn, slightly petty and begrudging: undeniably soldier-like. He turned to face her.

“Kate, if this is something serious enough to make my boys distrust you, we need to hear it. I can’t be having any infighting, especially given our situation.”

Was it that serious? You pondered on that question as you watched Price attempt to have a conversation with her. What had Kate said last night about them… about Soap and Ghost’s reactions?

“They’re just upset that I’m not satiating their curiosity. Anything and everything about me is ‘need-to-know’. And right now, they don’t need to know.”

Regaling her life’s story to them would be indulging them… and that was the last thing an ex-lamia would want to do, indulge them, especially men.

You understood that anger, the resistance burning away in her eyes: she was trying to cover an old wound that had just reopened.

They wouldn’t understand. How could they?

But you could.

“Kate,” you suddenly said, “I can tell them who I am. You don’t have to.”

Her face softened. “No, you don’t have to. I know you don’t want to. Y/N-”

You smiled.

“Kate. I… I can do it. I want to. If it’ll ease the tension, I’m happy to be an open book. I don’t want my baggage to jeopardise your pack- I mean, group.”

You could tell she disagreed with your diplomatic approach, because, though you had dressed up this action to be something which you were doing on your own terms… in reality, it wasn’t. It didn’t matter to you; however, this was what your life had been, this was pretty much all you had known. You had been bought and bred to be everything and anything the Foundation wanted.

She’d let you off this time, seeing as it was clear you were still shaking off your shackles.

Price was… pleasantly surprised to say the least. He gestured for you to begin.

Your heart was beating away in your chest at a rate of knots. All eyes were on you. How would you begin? How detailed should you go?

This could be your chance to prove to Kate that conversation about this worked. You could already feel, despite your slightly unsteady nerves, a part of that weight pressing down on you was being lifted. You weren’t some desperate little child, running around for someone to be your therapist like she had suggested you were last night. You were just brave enough to do something Kate was still working up the courage to commit.

You exhaled quietly and then opened your mouth to speak.

“I’m from a place that I can’t exactly disclose… Ugh! Fuck it! I’m from the Foundation. It’s a private facility that houses mercenaries and hires out soldiers like me. I’m what you would call a ‘lamia’. Lamias are an all-female class of soldiers. I have been in the Red Room programme for… over a decade. I’m equipped with the latest standard hepta-plate armour that enables me to stay indefinitely camouflaged… when in working condition.”

You chuckled nervously as you beheld a crowd of blank faces.

Oh no… They looked like they were expecting more. What else could you say?!

“My blood-source is from the… Kraus line. And, um… Oh! I’m the most recent model of lamia.”

You smiled, hoping that would be sufficient information. Soon, however, that proud grin on your face would fade as the faces before you looked either confused, horrified or simply both.

“Model?” Soap raised an eyebrow. “That makes you sound awfully like a machine.”

He pointed his spoon at you with curiosity.

“Err…” Your voice got a little shaky. “Well, that’s what I am. I don’t really… I guess I could say I’m the latest version?”

You could tell that wasn’t the response he wanted.

Price exhaled through his nose, the air whistling a little out of his nostrils.

“Y/N, you’re an escapee from this ‘Foundation’. Are the people there after you?”

“Most likely.”

“Will they be after us, too?”

“No,” was your blunt reply, “You’re regular military folks, they could care less about you provided you stay out of their way. But I can’t guarantee that which is why I’m not staying here for too long.”

It stung a little but, to Price, in a weird way, that was music to his ears. If the Foundation was feeling like it, like they didn’t give a shit about him and his boys and did not bother them, he could live with that. Although, something felt off about the way you had spoken, like you were an android, reciting a sales pitch to get a customer to buy you. He couldn’t deny the fact that didn’t sit well with him.

“So,” Gaz tilted his head to one side, “I’m guessing you’ve been at the Foundation since you were a kid?”

“Yep, ever since I was a kid.”

“Have you been… a soldier since you were a kid?” Ghost sounded uncharacteristically tender like he was almost reluctant to ask this question.

You nodded.

A shudder ran through him.

“I’ve been hired out since I was about… I want to say fifteen?”

That shudder ran through him again and looped back.

You smiled weakly, a little unnerved by the way he gawked at you.

“I’m assuming Laswell was in a similar position to you, now,” Soap remarked, hoping you’d confirm his assumption.

You looked over to Kate. She had a desperate plea written all over her face for you to neither confirm nor deny. Your eyes returned to Soap, who was clearly expecting some form of response.

“Err…” Your lip wibbled a little. “I… mean… You know what? I don’t know if Kate’s story is exactly the same as mine and I’m not going to speak for her. She can… she doesn’t have to… Um… She’s a good person and she’s on your side! Yeah! I…”

You were floundering! You were floundering big time!

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

“I don’t think it’s right for me to say.”

They all watched with puzzled expressions as you shrunk away a little. It was like speaking about a taboo at the family dinner table, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak for her, lest you’d vomit.

Soap shrugged.

“You mentioned lamias being only female,” Ghost muttered, before turning to look at you again, “Are there any male soldiers?”

Murmurings of approval from the group suggested that this was apparently an astute question. To you, however, it made you incredibly sick to your stomach for some reason.

“Oh God!” you blurted out, warranting a few chuckles from 141.

You smiled with them, finding some form of relief in the way they had taken that as a joke. Soon, although, curious silence would return and the burden of having to answer that question had wrapped its fingers around your head; beginning to slowly crush your skull, the pressure building with every passing second you left that question unanswered.

“Yes, there are male soldiers… Um…”

For some reason, you found tears pricking your eyes.

One rolled down your cheek.

You chuckled nervously, wiping it away. However, more trickled down. It was strange. You weren’t exactly feeling anything that was strong enough to bring about tears. And yet, here you were… embarrassing yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You did your best to keep smiling, catching as many tears as you could and swiping them away.

What’s wrong with me?

“Y/N,” Laswell began, reaching from across the table, “you don’t have to say any-”

“Kate, I’m-”

In the blink of an eye, Laswell got up and promptly whisked you away and out of there. Ghost watched your figure shrinking into the distance before you vanished round a corner.

Kate sighed and muttered to herself, shoulders slumping.

You were just like her. A tragic, shattered reflection which, if pieced together, would form her portrait. Every lamia was the same in that regard: the same story, the same stupid story. Enduring the same stupid things, doing all they could to avoid them, but still somehow, being unfortunate enough to end up hurt.

Price’s face screamed concern.

Soap looked over to Ghost, who just stared blankly at the table, feeling immensely guilty.

He had been selfish. Before she had left, he had caught Kate’s eye briefly and quickly avoided her gaze. What if she had been through something similar? He should have known better. He had thrown a pathetic temper tantrum, rolling around in his own trust issues when there was clearly something bigger going on here.

Eventually, everyone had left the breakfast table, the awkward silence growing too much. Everyone but Ghost. He sat there with his head in his hands. He had been there for a while, scolding himself for being an idiot.

“Simon.”

Ghost looked up to see MacTavish was back. He took a seat beside him.

“You alright?”

The lieutenant remained silent, shaking his head, sighing into his hands.

“Simon, you didn’t know. We all didn’t know. Gaz is proper beating himself up about this in the barracks.”

Once more, silence.

Soap bit down on his lip, peering around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Simon’s masked face through his hands.

“Mate, we’ve all been there. Asked the wrong question. It was just a mistake. I’ve done the same with you.”

“I know, Soap. I know.”

MacTavish moved to place a hand on Ghost’s hunched back.

“Have you seen Y/N? Are they okay?” Riley shyly asked, his voice muffled a little by his hands.

Soap shrugged. “I don’t know. I heard crying but…”

Ghost let out a heavy sigh, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Simon! It’s okay! I’m sure they’ll be fine. They probably know you didn’t mean anything by it. I heard Kate having a long convo with Price and it sounded fairly casual. We haven’t done anything bad. Just then or last night.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

Soap laughed.

“That’s a first!”

Ghost turned to him, batting the man away playfully. However, that melancholy feeling returned promptly.

MacTavish sighed quietly.

“I’m gonna go and check up on Gaz. See you in the barracks in a bit?”

“Yeah.” Ghost nodded, “See ya.”

***

“23, you can’t even balance the camera properly!” 72 chuckled, folding her arms as she watched the younger lamia attempt to precariously sit her trusty camcorder on a makeshift tripod of twigs.

“Trust me! It’ll work! Plus, if I make this throw, I’ll have a record…” 23 looked about before lowering her voice to a whisper. “… 89 said that she can keep the SD card safe from them.”

“You serious?”

She nodded, feeling rather smug. However, 72’s face grew dark, a gnawing doubt creeping in.

“What if you get caught?”

23’s smile was quick to fade. She looked to the ground.

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

72 shook her head. “You and I are so lucky we’re not in Unit 4. This shit wouldn’t fly. At all.”

“I count my lucky stars every day.”

“You better be.”

72 sighed to herself, flicking a couple of braids over her shoulder. 23 chewed on her lip as she returned her attention back to her camera set up, quickly jumping to steady the camera as it began to wobble again.

The older lamia caught the eye of Phillip as he was grabbing a blood canister from a duffel bag. They acknowledged each other and the large distance between them. After a few moments of slightly uncomfortable silence, 72 took her leave, crawling back into her tent.

Under the cover of her shelter, she let out a shaky sigh. The girl had forgotten that there was a monster under there, a ravenous, destructive monster. A monster which had almost taken off her younger colleague’s leg.

Phillip felt around for the dip in his mask and slotted the canister in place. Immediately, sweet, sweet vaporous placidity filled his lungs. The man had begun to get a little antsy and knew it wasn’t wise to face Valeria with a hair-trigger temper. He didn’t need to be killing their asset, after all.

He didn’t need to be confronted with a botched job. Not after this second chance. Graves rose from his knelt position on the ground and marched up to Valeria.

“So,” he began, kneeling before her, “any ideas on how we’re going to infect our target?”

“Well, if I’m administering this through a bite, I need to get close and I also need the virus if you want me to-”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He looked down to the ground, shuddering.

“What?” Valeria asked.

“Why’d you have to… you know? I didn’t get that when they made me… this.”

She giggled to herself.

“My dear,” Valeria spoke with a condescending tone, “the Foundation clearly wants this man to turn quickly. I’ve seen it all before. My blood, combined with the filth running through your veins will… ensure their victory.”

Phillip nodded to himself, feeling absolutely revolted inside. And so, he was quick to change the topic to his initial intention for this conversation.

“Didn’t you mention that the Vaqueros are aware of you breaking out of jail?”

Valeria grinned. Her jailbreak was incredible. It was always exhilarating, to be the one with the power. Unlike now.

That had been beautifully done, well planned and really allowed her to have some fun. She had even managed to use those gifts from the Foundation, stopping a poor guard’s heart with her mind, though it did take a lot out of her. As Valeria reminisced, she realised something: lamias were extremely powerful. A mind was at the mercy of her. Think the right thought and someone could be seeing their throat closing up, their own body betraying them, pledging allegiance to her.

She could bend him to her will.

As Valeria looked at him, at that blank mask whose polished surface beheld her reflection, she saw herself pale. That damn uniform made every single one of them look exactly the same. If she looked hard enough, through the layers of armour, she could perhaps make out his face and those eyes.

Had they changed colour yet?

Had they lost their humanity? Lined with black? Had his irises expanded, leaving only slivers of sclera?

Was he fantasising about tearing out her throat right now?

Valeria’s lips thinned into a resigned grin.

No. She wouldn’t be able to get into his head. It was too risky. Press on the wrong part of the brain, induce the wrong impulse and she would find herself torn apart by a very angry wolf.

That was the problem with Arcadian Sons. They were always, somehow stronger.

Fuck you.

“Do you think you’d be up to… provoking them?”

“How so?” Valeria raised an eyebrow.

“We know 141 are obviously hiding out with the Mexican Special Forces. Get Alejandro to put you where you can reach Ghost.”

She couldn’t help but sigh.

“So, you want me to get captured?”

“We’ll get you back out, don’t you-”

SLAM!

A knife went flying and lodged itself in the bark, merely centimetres away from Valeria’s face. They both halted in their tracks, staring at the weapon, shivers of shock taking their time to subside.

Following the course it had taken with his eyes, Phillip’s gaze landed on the figure of 23. Her hand was over her face.

Shit!

Phillip sighed and got up. He reached for the knife, pulled it out of the bark with disturbing ease and then began to make his way to the girl.

23’s eyes grew wider and wider, her heart in her mouth. She wanted to run but was petrified in place. Phillip grew nearer and nearer, his armoured body looking bigger and more intimidating than ever. That knife was in a sure grip, and she watched, breaths growing shallow, as it swung in time with his stride. She shrunk away under his shadow, scrunching her eyes shut. The girl raised her arms in a helpless flinch.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t aiming for you or the asset, I swear! I-”

“Here.”

Huh?

She looked up at him, confused.

He groaned at the sight of her looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Begrudgingly, Phillip took her hand and placed the knife in it.

“Don’t do that again. Go back in the tent, please.”

His voice was incredibly stern.

She nodded, taking the knife and dashing to grab her camera.

“23!”

The lamia froze, slowly turning around at the sound of his voice.

“Those aren’t made for throwin’. You gotta be an expert in order to get those to land where you want ‘em.”

She nodded.

“Go in the tent. I’ll call you and 72 out when I need y’all and when the boys are back.”

Holy shit.

Valeria watched him walk back towards her, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

What was his ploy?

***

You sighed, staring at the bowl of porridge you had left behind from breakfast. Sitting on the doorstep, the view of the woods just beyond the base directly in front of you, you took a spoonful of your food and tipped it back into the bowl. Tired eyes watched the viscous mixture of milk, oatmeal, newly added honey, and berries drip back into its container. You never thought it’d be so exhausting having to comfort someone, it made you feel guilty how fatiguing it had been to ease Laswell’s tears.

It hadn’t even been an hour since breakfast, but it had felt like aeons had gone by.

You didn’t even bother to acknowledge who had come down to sit beside you.

“Hey,” Ghost greeted, awkwardly placing his hands in his lap, hoping you’d notice that.

He did his best to make himself as small as possible, slouching a little on his perch on the concrete step. You smiled politely before bringing a spoonful of porridge to your mouth, hopeful that your stuffed face would give him a reason not to talk to you. It wasn’t that you were angry with him or anything, it was just that you weren’t really in the mood for conversation. You felt a little delicate right now and knew that you’d very well be crying again like you did yesterday. Shame sloshed around inside your skull. It was stupid to cry. You weren’t a little kid anymore.

Adults don’t cry. Lamias don’t cry.

You kept your eyes ahead, staring into the abyss of wood and leaves, wondering if the howling you had heard last night was anything to be worried about.

Ghost looked over at you before sighing to himself.

Then, he decided to just bite the bullet, put the words into his mouth and speak.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He began, consciously trying not to sound as gruff as he usually would. “I should’ve seen you were getting uncomfortable and not pressed further.”

Shyly, he looked over to see what you made of his apology.

“It’s okay,” you said, still staring ahead, “It’s not that I was reluctant to answer, I just… I don’t know.”

Ghost nodded, studying you closely. You looked tired, very, very tired, as if you had never experienced a proper rest before. He dreaded to know what you had gone through. However, he also could tell you wanted to say something and get the words out properly, on your own terms.

“Do you…” He did his best to be as tentative as possible. “Do you want to talk about something?”

You nodded.

“I feel like I should talk about stuff. Kate thinks it’s useless, and I think maybe even embarrassing, but it’s not embarrassing, is it? Opening up about past baggage?”

“No,” Ghost replied, “I mean, when it comes to my past, I find it difficult myself, but that’s because I struggle with, um… articulating how I feel about it.”

“Maybe Kate’s the same…” You speculated, scratching your chin in thought.

“Could be. Could not be.” Ghost shrugged. “Everyone’s different.”

You set your bowl aside and leaned forward, cupping your face in your hands.

“I just feel like Kate’s the only person I can talk to, but now it’s like she doesn’t want to talk to me about lamia stuff, about the Foundation.”

Ghost understood the pain you were feeling. Everyone needs that one person to vent to and he had that in Soap and maybe… maybe you could have that in him?

Worth a try.

Yes, you wouldn’t be here for very long, but he knew it would help you big time regardless. He wasn’t a monster and sure, he may be a little cold and stoic at times but if Ghost would want something to be remembered by it was that, despite it all, he was kind. He was good at his fucking job, he was efficient and he was a good man.

“You could talk to me if you like. I know I already offered before but I’m serious, you can talk to me.”

“What if you don’t get it? What if it’s too heavy for you?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You sighed, drawing your knees up to under your chin.

“Some parts I may not understand. But I think you’ll find; I may be able to relate to quite a few things.”

You tilted your head to one side.

“Really?”

“We’re both humans, after all. There’s got to be something we both can understand about one another.”

Human.

‘Human’ made you sound like you and Ghost were alike, were one in the same kind. It was weird. You had always been taught that there were men and everyone else. The default and the other.‘Human’ was a word that was advertised as an umbrella term but was really only reserved to describe a select few; and you had been told time and time again, either outright or from what you learned and what you read, be it through diagrams in biology textbooks, language, literature and more. Proper humans, studied humans, humans who could be understood and cared for were not who your kind were.

A shy smile crept onto your face and you watched Ghost’s eyes crease, suggesting he too was smiling under that balaclava.

#bloodhound fic #cod mw22 #cod mwii fic #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #cod mw2 werewolf au #ghost mw2 #phillip graves cod #simon ghost riley is my little comfort man #my little comfort skull man... who kills people... for a living.#um anyways

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