Gloss and Salt | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

2

The band finally snaps and Ghost gets his hand on the Agent. Or rather, between her legs.

---

"You always been with the NSA Gloss?" Soap questions over his glass of some cheap amber liquid in a dimly lit common room in Camp Bondsteel.

"That's classified MacTavish." she answers with a small condescending smile.

Soap rolls his eyes at her and bickers at her about that's all she ever says to him. Which is true, but Ghost gets it. Not like he chats about himself with everybody over a cup of tea.

The cloud still hangs over her head, she's been nursing her beer over the last hour while Price and Gaz play a game of cards at a table next to them. Ghost has never prodded her for what's going on after the night she fell asleep on top of him.

They're back to the safety of the US Army camp after cleaning up in Serbia. Just another night and they can board the Osprey back to their main base. The mission went on without a hitch. A few nicks and scrapes, but they've all had worse before. Ghost's eyes catch on to the bandage on her cheek where a stray bullet broke her skin.The adrenaline within him has begun to subside, opening up space in his head for other things. His thumb presses against the side of his glass, pretending it's her cheek under his finger. Would there be tears? She would like it, he's sure of it. He knows how pain makes you feel when you're in her state.

The liquid in Ghost's glass sloshes as he shifts. Johnny is still pressing her for any kind of information while she absentmindedly types something on her OPSAT. If Ghost ever gets his hands on her, that thing is coming off, no inch of her skin's going to be covered.

"I mean, come on lass. You've got communication implants, wouldn't surprise me if yer chipped or some shit. That's some fuckin' spy shit if I ever heard, right Lt.?"

Ghost just shrugs. To be fair, he was a little taken aback the first time he witnessed what Johnny's describing right now. When she's not wearing regular comm equipment, all she does is press a specific spot on her neck to talk. A cochlear implant makes sure she receives from the other end. She explained the specifics of the technology before, but Ghost had tuned out by that point.

Price says something from the table about not getting involved with something he doesn't want to be a part of and Soap genuinely looks like a kicked puppy. She notices, her gaze softening.

"I was a Marine."

Soap's head snaps back to her, mouth ajar. Gaz swears under his breath, something about 20 quid going into the toilet, and throws his cards onto the table. Her brows knit together in confusion and go up just as quick as she realizes what they're talking about. Gaz was the first to make assumptions about what her career had looked like.

It was the first time she'd ever gone out into enemy territory alone, Ghost's eyes following her dark figure through a scope, while they all waited at the lookout spot.

"Making bets about me when I'm not around, real class act boys." she sighs and empties her beer.

"My money was on the Navy, you know?" Gaz tells her.

A laugh leaves her, the first one any of them have heard from her in a long time. Ghost likes it when she laughs, it's light and soft. More so likes it when she does it as she takes a life. He only heard it once, two days ago as she painted the wall with the brains of the head guy of the smuggling ring. Price had looked a little concerned but the corner of Ghost's mouth had curled up, it reminded him of himself. Something really heavy has to be weighing on her if Ghost sees some of him in her.

"I had the Army." Price chimes in and she lets out an exasperated huff.

"Those unorganized dickheads? Thanks, Price. Really appreciate it."