I Feel It In My Bones (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Stitching It All Together

The next morning, you went downstairs to tend to Soap and Sandman's injuries.

You had woken up early that morning to find Simon still asleep, with his large arm wrapped around your waist and his face pressed against your shoulder blade.

You couldn't help but steal a moment to admire his expression. The lines of tension that usually etched his face were smoothed away, leaving behind an unusually soft scene of the man you loved. You took a moment to relish in his peace, and a small smile tugged at your lips as you traced a gentle finger along the curve of his jawline before reluctantly slipping away.

A dull throb at the base of your skull and a glance at the clock as you ventured downstairs told you that you had slept for no less than eighteen hours.

When you entered the living room, the scene before you brought another small smile to your lips. The room exuded a rustic charm with its worn-down wooden walls and creaky floorboards. Ample sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting warm rays that danced across the room, illuminating the space with a soft, golden glow. Two well-loved sofas and an armchair surrounded a sturdy wooden coffee table, their faded upholstery bearing hues of deep reds, greens, and blues that added a touch of coziness to the room. Paintings of vague landscapes adorned the walls, reminding you of home.

And there, in a mess of limbs and snores on the green sofa, lay Soap, Gaz, and Sandman. Soap's head lolled to one side, his trademark mohawk flattened against the armrest, while Gaz's usually stern expression softened in sleep. Sandman, sprawled out in the middle, looked more relaxed than you had seen him in days, his features slack in slumber.

You gently nudged each of them awake at the shoulder. Soap stirred first, blinking sleepily as he registered your presence. 'Morning, Doc,' he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. Sandman and Gaz soon followed, stirring awake with groans and displeased grunts.

When Price appeared, him and Gaz busied themselves with in another room with a map and drawing pins, and you told Soap and Sandman your that you wanted to check their injuries. You inspected the medkit splayed out on the coffee table as the two men prepared themselves, taking trips to the downstairs toilet and returning with fresh breaths and brighter eyes.

When you were satisfied with the contents of the kit, you turned to fine Soap sat upright on the red sofa. He was shirtless, revealing a stained bandaged bicep where he had been shot. Sandman had relaxed in the armchair opposite. In place of the Shadow Uniform he had been wearing the day before, he had changed into a pair of loose fitting trousers and a forest green hoodie that reminded you of the pine trees back at your old base.

While you knew that Sandman could easily monitor himself, it brought you more peace to do the examinations yourself, to make sure there were no signs of infection, no more blood loss, and that the stitches were keeping in place. It reminded you of your place in the world, in this unit.

You were the medic.

You mended what was injured and broken - and with everything seemingly out of your control, you needed to feel like you could still do that, even now. And something told you that your teammates knew that, too, when they complied without complaint.

You worked on Soap's arm first, kneeling beside him on the sofa. With gentle fingers, you peeled back the dressing to reveal the injury beneath. The skin around the wound was slightly swollen and discoloured, but there were no immediate signs of infection.

The Scotsman winced as you prodded the area, but for once, he kept his mouth shut. You carefully inspected the bullet entry point, and began the process of cleaning the wound swabbing away dried blood and debris with antiseptic solution. From the stitches and the careful bandaging, it was evident that the wound had already been cared for, but you didn't want to run the risk of infection since his arm had bled again.