Home For My Brainworms

Intro🐛

hi hi! I’m Claire, I’m 21 and I’m currently obsessed with call of duty. Blog contains 18+ content so be careful!

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Sideblog for reblogs is @clairelybored and sideblog for other fandom works is @clairelydreaming !!

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Fuck AI, all my homies hate AI

If you send a DM that just says hello I fear I will assume it’s spam and block you, so add what you want to say in the first message!

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It had been about a week since the nightmare incident. Despite that, Ghost was no more likely to speak to you in the light of day. It was fine, though, the others were friendly enough. Luckily you’d been able to confirm your suspicion that they were military—something called SAS at one point, then converted to a special task force called the 141.

You wanted to get them to expand on what they did, seeing as the SAS wasn’t a thing in the U.S., but it seemed it was just a whole lot of ‘CLASSIFIED.’ You’d assumed that maybe that would’ve ended—given the whole apocalypse thing—but they were still pretty tight-lipped. Some more than others.

Despite the midnight bonding, you’d barely been able to get a full conversation out of Ghost. When he did talk to you, it was mostly pragmatic. Open that door, flank over here, grab this. He wasn’t…unfriendly. Once you overheard him spewing some stupid joke to Soap, you knew he probably just didn’t trust you. Which, all things considered, is fair. You don’t really trust them either. But…you think you’d like to. The peek you got that night into who Ghost might actually be under that mask only motivated you further.

From what you’ve seen, from how they’ve treated you, you’d like to think they’re good people. But you’ve been wrong before. And that wasn’t a mistake you could make again. Even if they had been decent pre-apocalypse, something about all the rules going out the window turned people nasty. Most people revealed this quickly, only a few had the foresight to be deceptive, and you’d gotten close and personal with one of those. You weren’t interested in doing it again.

So…arms length for now. At least that’s what you told yourself you’d do, but the sergeants were actively putting holes in that plan. Either way, it was nice to not be alone anymore. You got to sleep more now that there were more ways to split watch (big bonus), and the conversation (with those who would humor you) wasn’t half bad. Soap was a funny guy and Kyle was warm. You trusted the captain’s judgement. So far he hadn’t made any decisions that led to terrible outcomes, and it seemed his team trusted him implicitly. Like you said, Ghost was a harder nut to crack, but even he wasn’t treating you poorly.

Like that one day you had needed to do a longer trek to not get stuck in bad weather and you’d barely been able to rest or drink or eat. He must’ve seen you swaying, and honestly he probably just hadn’t wanted to deal with you passing out, but he threw you a granola bar from his stash before you could ever complain of hunger. He didn’t acknowledge it and neither did you…you’re not sure he’d like being thanked. It reminded you of the way he was after taking your watch. He seems more like the ‘silent caretaker’ type. You hope in the future you could prove your usefulness and come to some sort of agreement with him. Only time would tell.

You’d made good progress. Almost out of the mountains. They’d told you that they were trying to get east, but not where exactly. Spewing the same ‘classified’ B.S., but you weren’t exactly in a position to press, so you just guided them to the best of your abilities.

You’d just hit the last town before the final stretch of highway out of the mountains, so you were stocking up before it was only wilderness.

The captain had commanded you split up to cover more ground, but close enough that you could all bail together if need be. You were starting to gather that he was a paranoid man, but given the state of the world, who wasn’t?

You and Soap were going around the back of an old grocery store to the docking stations. Price’s theory was maybe some of the trucks still had product. The rest of them were scattered checking the store itself.

You turn the corner to the back of the building to see a couple of semi-trucks, sides colored with food advertisements.

“Hm, guess he was right.” You say more to yourself than anything.

“He often is,” Soap smiles at you, taking the first steps to approach the trucks.

After the first week, you’d apparently proven you weren’t trying to kill them in their sleep, and they had graciously given you one of their handguns. You pulled it out now…just in case.

You both stopped in front of the first truck, angled and parked with the driver’s door open, like the driver had been attempting a deliver right when shit hit the fan and immediately got the hell out of dodge.

You jerk your head in the general direction of the tail end of the truck, “I’ll check the back. Check the glove compartment?”

“Aye.” He agrees, climbing into the front.

You make your way to the back, giving a quick glance under the truck just in case. You take in the big expanse of the cargo door, dirty from many trips with some smudges in the shape of hands, presumably from the driver closing the door. You put your ear to the metal…you hear nothing.

So, you grab the lever and turn the lock on the large door, grabbing the cloth strap to jerk it up and open. As soon as you do, you know it was a mistake.

The tell-tale grumble of the undead fills your ears as the door slams into its open position, revealing the trunk filled to the brim with hibernating undead—hibernating no more. Now they’re awake.

“Shit!” You can’t help the exclamation. Perhaps you’d gotten soft in the many months that had gone by without seeing one, but this sight was gnarly even by normal standards.

There were so many of them. You don’t even want to fathom how they all got in there, and how they stayed so quiet. Did someone figure out how to trap them all in here…or were they alive when they were shut in?

The mangled limbs overlap each other, getting tangled. You can’t help but think of a Rat King, some disturbing phenomenon you’d learned about pre-outbreak. The group certainly looked irreversibly entangled, and yet they were each snarling and grasping out, trying to reach you. And the smell…

One somehow breaks free from the mass of bodies, lunging out of the truck and for you.

It hasn’t even been a second since you made the mistake of opening the door, but Soap must’ve heard the snarls was in action with no hesitation. From seemingly nowhere, he appears and grabs you, pulling you away from the straggler, jamming his knife into its skull, and starts to run with his hand in yours. You know you shouldn’t, but you glance back. More are falling out of the truck, snarling and climbing over each other at the prospect of food. There’s way too many.

That gets you into gear. You start running with more fervor on your own, but Soap doesn’t drop your hand.

“Shit!” You think the fear has reduced your vocabulary.

“Keep running!” Soap offers.

“No shit!”

Soap reaches for his vest where his radio sits, a good find from a previous town. You only had two, but it worked for splitting up like this.

“Cap! Contact, we gotta go!” He doesn’t try to hide the urgency in his tone.

“How many?” Price’s voice crackles back over the radio.

“Too many—too fuckin’ many, cap. Haul ass, now!”

“Copy.”

You manage to scoff despite your desperate panting. You’re never not shocked at how he manages himself in crisis. He doesn’t even sound concerned…but that may just be because he hasn’t seen what you’re dealing with yet.

You and Soap are still sprinting wildly next to each other, the squelching foot falls of rotting flesh gaining close behind. In your peaceful winter you had maybe forced yourself to forget both how fast these fuckers are, and how the feeling of fear and adrenaline clouds your judgement. Because the moment a cop car comes into view, a very, very stupid thought fills your head.

You shake your head just a little, telling yourself the impulsive thought is resoundingly not the best solution to the problem. But then you and Soap round the corner to the front of the store, finding the others anxiously waiting, and their faces drop as they realize how utterly fucked you all are.

You’ve been moving on foot until now, and there’s so many behind you, and the undead don’t get tired.

You take a stuttered breath, glancing one last time behind you and back to the men who had helped you when they didn’t even know you…and you break off, ripping your hand from Soap’s and sprinting toward the stupid cop car.

You can’t even pinpoint who yells what because they are all yelling, various shouts and stops and declarations of idiocy. One stands out, definitely Ghost’s voice, “told ya at the first sign of danger—“

You’re going to choose to ignore that. Hopefully when everything goes according to plan, he’ll be proven wrong.

From the corner of your eye, you see Soap try to run after you, only to be pulled back by Ghost. They start to run in the correct direction, but there’s no way they’re outrunning the hoard.

This is so stupid. So stupid. What if the car doesn’t start? What if it’s out of gas? Your brain is going a million miles per hour thinking of all the things that could go wrong, but your legs are still moving. One thought prevailing: making sure everyone gets out of this alive.

Similarly to the truck, the driver’s door was left open, presumably mid-outbreak the cop left the car in a hurry and wasn’t lucky enough to return. You slide into the seat, stragglers who broke off from the main hoard hot on your heels. You have to stick a leg out and slam it into the chest of one to stop it from catching a ride, roughly closing the door behind you.

If there’s one thing Graves taught you, it’s that they’re attracted to sound. He’d performed something incredibly reckless like this before, and as much as you loathe to admit it, you’re trying to channel him right now.

If there was another thing Graves taught you, it was how to hot-wire a car.

You pull out your knife from the holster on your thigh, prying the steering column off. You spare a quick glance up to check on the others, who are successfully outpacing the hoard. For now.

You look back down, you need to do this fast. Identifying the right wires, you use the knife to strip them, twisting them together. You jump as the radio abruptly crackles to life, loud white noise filling the cab. You refocus, grabbing another wire and touching it to the twisted ones. The rumble of the engine trying to start fills the air for just a second before it stops.

Fuck, please.

You try again, sliding the wires against each other and hoping it’ll spark the engine to life. You spare a glance through the windshield, they’re getting further away, but they’re only barely managing to outpace the hoard.

The engine roars to life.

“Yes!” You can’t help the exclamation.

Your foot finds the break, hand ripping the gear into drive, and then you’re off like a bat out of hell, running over the stragglers that decided clawing at the hood of the car was their best bet for a meal.

You take off toward the main body of the herd, wanting to get close before you continue your stupidity.

When you make it to around the middle, you flick the sirens to life.

They drone weirdly at first, like the battery has gotten used to not powering anything, before the familiar whine of the cop siren is blaring fully.

You can see the shock on the team’s faces as they register your thought, but just as quickly they realize you’re doing this for them, and they’re back to sprinting full speed.

The hoard registers the noise and starts to stumble toward the car, arms outstretched like they can stop it. You push the pedal further, rolling down the window as much as you can without letting anything in, and yell out to them.

God you hope they can hear over the sounds. “Mile 14!”

It’s not a lot for them to go off of, but you had been looking at the map that morning and had noted that around mile marker 14 would be a good stopping point for the night. You just had to hope that they understood your meaning—and god—that they’d actually wait for you.

What if they don’t wait for you?

The thought suddenly slams into your mind as you send the car careening away, taking most of the hoard off onto a wild goose chase.

You look out the rear view and see that some had stuck with the guys, but it was few enough that they could deal with it. It had to be.

What if they never show up? What if they don’t make it to Mile 14 and you end up all alone again. You have the map, what if they can’t find their way? What if you just killed them?

You can’t think like that right now. Right now, you have a hoard of undead on your ass, a quarter tank of gas, and no plan. Right now you needed to worry about yourself and think of your next steps.

You’re face down in the dirt.

The smell of damp grass invades your senses. The rain had finally let up after almost 3 days of straight downpour.

It wasn’t something you should be focusing on right now. Not with a knee digging into your back and the barrel of a gun pointed at your head.

But you knew that if you refocused your gaze off the blades of grass and looked up you’d see—

Bang!

You jolt awake, trying to keep the scream inside.

It had been a while since you dreamt of that night. But it had also been a while since you had seen Graves. Of course it brought up memories.

You suck in a deep breath, hand coming up to cover your eyes briefly before pushing your stray hairs off your slick forehead. The last of the fire’s embers are dying, leaving only the coals glowing in the otherwise unpenetrated darkness.

The reflective flicker in his eyes is the only way you know he’s watching you. The mask obscures the rest of his face so heavily in the dark it’s like he isn’t there at all. You try to keep yourself from jumping. That guy is scary when he wants to be…which is basically always.

You stare at each other in the dark as you catch your breath. You think you can make out through the dark that his knees are up, forearms resting casually against them, gun close by as he watches for danger.

“Bad dreams?” He breaks the silence first.

You want to pretend he sounds patronizing but there’s really no inflection at all.

“Yes.” You elect to look at the stars instead of him, but you can still feel his stare on your cheek.

You think he’ll drop it there but he doesn’t. “Graves?”

You do flinch at that. Something about hearing his name spoken in the vulnerability of the night, wounds reopened from the nightmare—the memory. You don’t respond.

“What did he do?” He grunts out.

He must be bored because he never talks to you this much during the day. A sudden flare of irritation hits you.

“It’s none of your business.” You snap. You’ve been trying to get him to talk for days, but when it’s your suffering he’s suddenly Chatty Cathy? No thank you.

The silence is heavier than his prodding. You regret the outburst immediately. Your lungs empty all at once, a bone-deep tiredness replacing your indignation. This could be the olive branch you’ve been searching for.

“Lots of…” your eyes flicker back to what little of him you can see. You still can’t decide how much you want to say. “Lots of…bad shit.” It’s not a good answer but you don’t want to say what he did out loud, don’t want to have to talk about her.

You gulp, “I was praying I’d be thrown back to the undead rather than have to be with him for another second.” You’ll leave it at that and hope his imagination is sufficient for his curiosity.

He doesn’t speak for a while, you don’t think he will again, so you just take the time to calm down and try to make shapes in the stars. You were never very good with constellations.

He surprises you, as he seems to keep doing, by speaking again. “You’re with us now. Doesn’t matter how I feel about it, once Johnny’s attached there’s not much the rest of us can do.”

He’s comforting you. Or trying to, playing it off as a joke. You feel a little warmer at the acknowledgement of your growing friendship with the sergeants. It’s good to know you aren’t imagining it.

“If we ever run into him again, he’ll have to get through us.” He finishes.

Yeah…that’s exactly what you’re worried about.

Still, knowing that even if he barely tolerates you, he’d still try to protect you makes you feel better. You wouldn’t want to be on the other side of Ghost’s wrath. You can only hope if that day ever comes, he’s a match for Graves.

“Thank you.” It’s a whisper, one that’s too real.

“Anyway, it’s my shift,” you push yourself to sit, wanting to forget this train of thought. You reach for the gun he’s using for watch, “get some rest.”

“No.” He drags the gun back toward him, “you’ve still got a hour. I’ll wake you up.”

He stares, daring you to argue. Even though you’re fairly certain it’s your turn, you don’t have it in you to fight tonight.

“Okay.” You acquiesce, retracting your hold on the gun. You lay back down with his stare still burning your back.

You don’t wake up again until the sunlight streams into your eyes. Ghost doesn’t mention it.

You’re standing in the kitchen of your apartment, bag just put down after coming home, minding your own damn business.

At first you wonder if it’s maintenance, not that you had called them, and you’d never heard them knock that aggressively before, but then the pounding continues. The force behind it shakes the door, and suddenly your blood is pumping faster and your stomach drops and your breath is coming too quick. It had a level of implied violence you’d never been at the end of before. You have absolutely no idea who it could be or what they could want with you.

You stumble for a moment, body trying to make a decision before your mind has. You reach for your phone, wondering who the hell you call in this situation. Your leg steps back toward your room, wanting to lock yourself behind an additional door in case this one fails under the barrage, but then your mind starts working and you remember that seeing who is doing this is important.

So you creep over toward the door, hoping if you don’t make a sound they’ll think no one is home and go away. Looking through the peephole reveals a big man you’ve never seen before, looking left and right in exasperation, arm raising to resume the banging.

You’ve seen enough, you scramble back toward your room.

Your thumbs fumble on your phone screen. The apartment office? What could they do? The police? Is it serious enough for that? Without thinking you’re clicking your neighbors contact.

You know he’s not home right now, and you’ve never really talked all that much before, only ever exchanging numbers because of that one time your sink started flooding and he took pity on you and fixed it. You…just know that he’s military and big—bigger than the guy at your door—and you really have no way of knowing if this guy has bad intentions and what if he’s just an innocent guy and you call the cops on him? He’s the only person you know that you’re confident could deal with this, no matter what this is, even if contacting him is a long shot.

You don’t know what to say and your hands shake as you type out, “so sorry, please ignore this if you’re busy or whatever I just don’t know who to call. There’s a guy idk at my door and he won’t stop banging and I’m scared.”

Later, you’ll look back at the text and probably cringe at how pathetic you sound, but right now you think there’s too much adrenaline in your system and you can’t think straight.

You see the read receipt pop up under your text, and for a moment you think he won’t answer, but then suddenly your phone is vibrating in your hand from an incoming call from ‘Simon Neighbor’.

You pick up without thinking.

“I’m coming.”

“Okay…” the shake in your voice is against your will.

“Where are you?” His voice is gruff and you can hear shuffling on the other end like he’s moving as fast as he can.

“My room,” your voice starts to wobble and you don’t know why, eyes suddenly starting to tear up. As scared as you were, you’d been holding it together. For whatever reason, talking to him was suddenly making you break down.

“Has a lock?”

“Yes.”

“Stay there, sweetheart, I’ll be there soon. I’m gonna take care of it.”

“Okay.” It’s more a whimper than a real response.

He stays on the line, not saying anything, just listening to the banging and your heavy breathing, knuckles gripping the steering wheel at the sound of your fear. He makes it back to your place in really no time at all, tearing out of his car and to your apartment.

The next time you hear him is through the door.

“Hey!”

The banging stops. It’s silent for longer than it has been in a while. You might be imaging it, but you think you hear sounds of a scuffle. You take a step toward your bedroom door, hand reaching out for the handle until another knock on your door startles you away.

Except this time it’s a normal knock, polite and soft and nothing like the aggression from before.

“It’s Simon. He’s gone.”

That makes you open your door, moving toward the front door with vigor. You stop just short of opening it, taking a second to look through the peephole. His face on the other side makes your shoulders release and you open the door.

Something about seeing his face and knowing whatever was happening is over sets you off. “Sorry—“ tears start to fall down your face, “I don’t know why I’m crying—“

“‘S alright. You’re safe, he’s gone.” His stare is intense, like he wants to will your tears away. He hesitates for a moment, hand hovering awkwardly, before he plants it on your head, giving it a comforting pat. You ignore the split knuckles.

“Thank you,” you sniff, trying to laugh a little, “sorry, I still don’t know why my first thought was to call you…”

“‘M glad it was.”

The guys have some sort of obsession with watching you get ready.

You’re not normally getting too dolled up, with missions and what not, but sometimes on leave you like to indulge a little.

The first time was when you were sitting on the floor in front of Soap’s dinky full-body mirror that distorted things just a little, lining your lips, concentrated on not fucking it up. You looked behind you in the reflection to realize Johnny was staring intently at your machinations, leaning back in his desk chair to get a better view, to the point where the front two legs were coming off the ground.

“Johnny, be careful.” You chastised, worried he’d fall over.

The chair slams back down, “I am…” he moves to stand instead, plopping himself down directly behind you, legs out so you’re cradled against his chest.

You’re applying the lipgloss now. “What’re you doing…” you’re talking without moving your lips, muffling your speech a little.

His chin finds your shoulder, slotting in perfectly to keep looking at you. “Just lookin’, birdie.”

Your lips turn up, “want some?” You turn your head to look at him, faces incredibly close now.

His ears turn red and he nods just a little. You connect your lips in a soft kiss, humming a little at how he melts even more into you.

It’s a nice moment, calm and happy, until—

“Hen…hen it’s burnin’. Why is it burning—love help me-“ he’s wiping his lips furiously and waving his hands in front of his face like it’ll cool it off.

You’re giggling furiously, “it’s- it’s plumping—“

“What devilry are ya doin’ to yerself?!” He’s moving to stand, running out the door to the kitchen to start rubbing water on the lower half of his face.

You follow him out slower, giggling all the while.

The rest of the team is in the common area, brought to attention to the commotion.

Kyle hums when he sees you, coming up to wrap his arms around your waist, “don’t you look pretty.”

You smile, leaning in—

“Don’t fall for it, Kyle!” Johnny brings his face up from the water momentarily to save his comrade.

Simon looks up from his book, “plumping gloss, Johnny?” He nods solemnly, “oldest trick in the book, got me with that one months ago.”

Johnny finally emerges from the water, lips…red and puffy.

“Seems you’re lookin’ pretty too, Johnny.” Price chimes in, clearly teasing him.

They’re always….technically…open

I love hearing yall’s ideas and what you have to say so always feel free to dump them in my ask box

THE REAL QUESTION IS IF I’LL WRITE THEM

You roll your eyes in half-annoyance, half-affection, “we know, cap. We aren’t green anymore.” You talk low to not reveal the comm in your ear.

Your fancy shoes click against the marble of the entryway as you stick close to Simon, hand in his elbow. The image of a perfect couple.

He grunts, “yeah well, with the way you lot act sometimes…”

“Oh don’t lie, cap, we know we’re your most trusted lieutenants.” You’re joking around, but you’re still focused. Eyes taking in all the cameras, doors, and windows. You can tell Simon is doing the same.

“…yer my only lieutenants.”

“Exactly.” Simon butts into the conversation.

You reach a bottleneck: the doors that lead into the ballroom. You take the opportunity to scan the party-goers, hoping to get an early read on who’s making the exchange.

There’s a man whose right ankle is slightly bigger than his left under his dress pants. Perhaps a firearm? You tug Simon’s arm gently and he’s immediately looking to you. You feel a subtle tense of his muscles like he’s already prepared to fight.

You jerk your head just a little toward the man. “Ankle,” you whisper.

He turns his head back to the front like he was simply looking around curiously, “I see it.”

You finally get into the actual ballroom. This is where the real fun begins. At some point tonight, a rogue ambassador will exchange state secrets for money. It’s your job to stop the transaction. The only problem is this is a party to celebrate the hard work of the embassy, and you don’t know who the mole is. So basically you’re looking for a needle in a stack of needles.

You meander your way to the drink table, still profiling the crowd. Simon picks up a champagne glass and hands it to you before grabbing one of his own.

You raise an eyebrow, “drinking on the job, Simon?”

He gives you a side eye, “I’m not going down to a flute of champagne. Though if you can’t handle it, I can grab you a lemonade.”

“Funny.” Your face is deadpan. You take a sip.

You both stand there for a moment, taking in the room, until he grabs your flute and set them both down.

He pulls you in by the waist, torsos pressed to each other probably more tightly than necessary.

“What’re you doing?”

“Blending.” He guides you in the center of the room as a waltz begins.

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s a good way to scan the room. Pay attention.”

He takes the first step, guiding you in the dance, hand heavy on your hip. You can feel the calluses on his hand that’s in yours. He pays no further attention to you, though, rather he’s looking at the other patrons.

Admittedly…he’s a good leader. A good dancer. Which you hadn’t expected. You knew a basic waltz, sure, but you’d figured you wouldn’t be dancing tonight.

“So…you can dance?”

His eyes briefly flick to yours, “it’s tactical.”

That gets a small smile out of you, “tactical. Right.”

His voice lowers as he brings his mouth to your ear, “we are on a mission, are we not?” His breath is hot against your ear and you can’t stop the goosebumps that erupt on your neck at his low tone.

“We are.” You swallow thickly, allowing yourself to imagine that you weren’t for just a moment. A reality where he chose to be here with you.

“Point proven.”

You go to retort, but your train of thought is interrupted by the sight of two men in tux’s leaving the room and heading down a service corridor.

“Simon—“

“I see it.”

He gracefully ends your dance, starting for the edge of the room to follow the men.

Except you never get to the hallway. As soon as you make it off the dance floor, your world explodes in light and sound.

You vaguely feel your body move with the force of the blast, but then there’s a blinding pain and you stop thinking at all.

You don’t know how long it is until your mind returns to you. You try to peel your eyes open but there’s so much dust and someone is screaming and the lights are blinking and everything hurts—

Suddenly a familiar face (or three?) is in front of you.

You cough, trying to blink away the other Simon’s that cloud your vision…there’s only supposed to be one of those, you’re pretty sure.

He grabs your bicep, fingers digging into the skin as he pulls you to an upright position.

“There wasn’t supposed to be a bomb.” It’s the only thing you can think right now.

“Yeah, well, there was.” For once he looks distracted, eyes locked on your forehead. You’d expect him to be scanning for more threats right now.

He brings his thumb to your hairline, causing you to hiss and jerk back a little. His thumb comes back covered in blood.

He grabs one of the fancy cloth napkins that used to be on a table, pressing it to the gash as his other hand cups the back of your head.

“Ah-“ you grab his wrist, wanting to stop the pressure.

“Hey.” He stops you, “I need to stop the bleeding.”

“What we need is to find those guys.”

“I’ll find them.” He’s not meeting your eyes.

“We’ll find them.”

“You’re probably concussed—“

“You need backup.”

“What I need-“ he cuts himself off and takes a breath, volume lowering, “I need you in working order.” I need you safe, is what he wanted to say.

He taps his ear as a form of ending the conversation. “Cap? Captain, how copy.”

You scoff. If he thinks he can stop you from helping, he’s dead wrong.

Your comms are only met with static.

“Fuck.” His head drops. “Comms must be fried.”

“See. You do need me.”

He just glares at you.

You’re going to continue making your case when the building starts to shake again.

Immediatley Simon is on top of you, covering you from the raining debris with his body.

You let out a noise of distress. He’s completely forfeiting his own safety for you, but he must think you’re in pain or something because he squeezes you tighter under him, arm coming up to cover your head.

The door that was blocked by debris is blown open. Instantly you and Simon are both on alert. You prepare for the targets to come in guns blazing, but instead you’re met with the very welcome sight of the rest of your team.

“Oh thank god-“ you sigh, head falling back.

Price, Soap, and Gaz are all in full tactical gear, guns up and sweeping the room for any threat.

Simon stands and their guns are trained on him in an instant before they recognize who he is.

“Ghost!” Your captain takes long strides to reach him. “We heard the explosion then lost contact, sitrep.”

You let yourself relax a little as he explains what happened. At the mention of your injury, your two sergeants are poking their heads into your field of vision.

“You broken?” Gaz asks, brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m fine—“

“Probable concussion. I recommend exfil.” Simon cuts you off.

“Alright, I’ll call for a medic.” Your captain says immediately, not even waiting to hear you out.

You try to protest but it seems like the whole team is in agreement.

“We’ll take it from here, bonnie, ya needn’t worry.” Soap goes to pat your head but then thinks better of it and just gives you a thumbs up.

Price starts directing them on sweeping the building.

“Where do you want me, cap.” Simon asks.

“You’re on exfil with flight risk over there.” He jerks his head in your direction.

“Hah.” You can’t help it slipping out. Karma.

Simon glares at you briefly before trying to argue.

“Ah! I won’t hear it. You were in an explosion too. We got it taken care of, Simon.” And then he’s off to find the bombers.

You hum in satisfaction, “looks like we’re both benched, Riley.”

“Don’t start.” He sits back down next to you.

He’s trying to sound mad, but with how tightly he’s pressing his thigh to yours, you suspect he might be glad to stick with you.

It was a Saturday and you felt a little bad for going out. It was one of those rare occasions where the boys had time off. But it was your friend‘s birthday and they had insisted it was fine that you went, and admittedly you were having a great time.

You were maybe a few too many drinks in, but you were always very responsible. So you drank some water and went to the bathroom before your group stumbled outside to switch bars. Despite your efforts, you were unbalanced and giggly and couldn’t feel the cold at all.

Your friends were chatting, split into groups of two or three to hold each other as you started to walk to the next destination. You’re only temporarily taken out of your revelry at your phone buzzing.

“Hope you’re having a good time, bug.” It read.

Your smile widened. Ugh. You love Kyle. You tuck your phone into your arm so your hands are free to grab your friend, excited to continue your conversation and talk about how much you love your partners. What you don’t notice, however, is that you accidentally sent him your location with no explanation.

Kyle wasn’t necessarily expecting a response, he knew you’d be busy dancing probably. So his heart did drop at the message containing a pin for your location.

He stood immediately, startling Johnny whose head was on his lap.

“Huh—“

“Up, we’re going.” He said in a tone that Johnny knew meant business, so he didn’t question further, just got up and got ready for whatever was next.

Were they beating someone up? Did they get called in for an emergency mission? He didn’t know, he just scrambled to put his boots on.

Kyle moves with purpose to the kitchen where John is leaning his hip on the countertop, beer in hand, keeping Simon company as he makes a grilled cheese.

John sees his expression and stands to attention. Kyle flips his phone to show the text, and John is immediatley in business mode too.

“Simon, keys.” John starts toward to safe where they keep their more…dangerous tools.

Simon saw their faces and was also put into action mode despite not knowing what the situation was. He spares a final sad glance at his sandwich before going to get the car keys.

Before anymore words are exchanged, they’re all piled into the car, more armed than probably necessary. But where you were involved, John wasn’t willing to take any chances.

Simon’s driving with Kyle in shotgun, directing him to the pin you sent. Every member of the 141 would ride without context if one of them asked (and they just did), but now knowing it was for you brought tensions up even higher. Simon doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but the idea that you needed help wasn’t a situation he liked to imagine. He gripped the wheel harder, foot pressing the pedal to the floor, and just hoped they were there on time.

You were having so much fun.

This new bar had more people in it, and the DJ was better, and their drinks poured heavier. You were jumping around with your friends, trying not to spill too much of your drink as you did.

That is until you hear the guy behind you exclaim “hey man!” and then you’re being flipped around by hands on your shoulders.

It’s Kyle!

“Kyllleeee!!” You throw your arms up, heart clenching. Your boyfriend is here! How much better could this night get?

He steps closer to you, alarm falling off his face and into relief, revealing the rest of your partners behind him. The night could get better!

“Hiiii, baby!” You wave to Johnny, stepping into Kyle to hug him.

You frown suddenly. “You guys weren’t invited. You should know better than to come to a birthday party uninvited that’s rude—“ you stumble over your shoe, but Kyle steadies you.

“Honey, you sent us your location with no context.” John still looks concerned, looking around the bar like some threat will jump out.

You pout. “No I didn’t.”

Kyle shows you his phone. You have to concentrate harder than you’d like to in order to decipher what you’re looking at. You see your contact, him telling you to have fun, and then a pin to your location.

Your mouth opens, you bring your cup up and sip.

“Okay,” Kyle mumbles, grabbing it from you.

You frown but let him take it, “hmmmm, I guess I did. Oopsies!”

A guy stumbles into you, but Kyle has a secure grip on your hips. It doesn’t stop Simon from saddling up behind you. One intimidating step toward the guy and he’s scurrying away.

“Siii, don’t scare people awayyy,” your head flops back to look at him upside down which makes you giggle.

“He hit you.” He says it like he should now have the right to kill him. He gets close to you, also grabbing your waist, so now you’re sandwiched between two of your favorite guys.

You hum contentedly until you remember that they aren’t supposed to be here.

“Hey!” You push away from them both, “no boyfriends allowed at the bar tonight!”

John shakes his head affectionately, “heard, sweetheart. Sorry…we got worried you were in trouble.”

The sound of multiple friends going “awwww” resonates from behind you.

“Don’t encourage them!” You say over your shoulder to your friends, happy to see that they aren’t upset with you. “They’re way too protective to begin with.” You say quieter, meant only for the four of them. You complain, but you like it. Knowing they would be that ready to defend you if you needed it.

Still, you feel a little bad that they came all the way out here, “sorry for scaring you…” your lip juts out, hand grabbing for John’s forearm even though you’re supposed to be getting them out of here.

“‘S alright, hen. Ya didn’t mean ta.” Johnny pecks your temple. “We’ll get outta your hair.”

They start to walk out, Kyle handing you your drink back.

“Wait!” You stop them, “…thanks for coming when you thought I needed you.” You smile bashfully.

The first time you kissed in front of him, his emotions roared up in a way he couldn’t distinguish. For some god-forsaken reason, he started imagining what it might be like to be the one kissing Johnny. Immediatley he shrunk back from even the thought. Men…can’t be with other men…right?

At least that’s what his dad said. One time when he was young, they walked past two men holding hands and his father had called them disgusting. Turned to Simon and said, “son…take note. That’s unholy. You’re a man and you can only be with a woman, thats the way things were intended, hear?”

Now. It’s been a long time since he listened to anything his father said. He was a bad man, he knows this now. But he can’t help but let his father’s voice wiggle its way into his head…talking about how even the fact that he imagined himself in that situation makes him a sinner.

He abruptly stands up, accidentally knocking his chair to the floor. The slam of it into the ground startles the two of you, pulling you out of your moment and looking at Simon in confusion. But he’s already halfway out the door.

What’s worse is when he’s leaving, he imagines kissing you too. So what, he’s a gay home-wrecker now? Just liking men that way wasn’t enough? He needs to break you up too? What kind of guy can’t just be happy for his two friends?

But that’s not right either because he doesn’t want you to break up…he doesn’t want to kiss just one of you.

He thinks he’s jealous…he just can’t figure out of who? Maybe…both? Is that possible? That he would want to be with both of you?

That just sends him sliding further. He remembers his father’s voice again. “Matrimony is between one man and one woman.”

Even if gender wasn’t an issue, wanting both of you would be. He has to be some perverted gay freak, he thinks, and he should stay far, far away from the two of you.

The two of you are concerned. No one wants their friend to run away in disgust when they kiss…especially not if you want said friend to join you in kissing.

You and Johnny have always been the more expressive two, and that’s how you ended up together. When you joined the team, you instantly clicked with him. And even though Simon was a tougher nut to crack, Johnny is best friends with him, and so with time, you got to know him too.

When you realized you had feelings for both of them you felt guilty. Both because you were afraid of ruining your friendship, and because you didn’t know how they would feel about you loving them both. But one drunken conversation later, and you and Johnny realized you were on the same page.

He let you know that Simon maybe wasn’t up to speed on his own feelings. That his background wasn’t the most progressive, that he could barely express normal feelings let alone ones as unknown to him as these. Not that either of you knew if he did like you back, he wasn’t exactly an open book.

But you and Johnny weren’t idiots…you’d seen the way he looked at you both when he thought you weren’t looking. You were fairly certain he was at least attracted to you both.

Johnny figured you could be together in the mean time and let it be known you were okay with not being monogamous, in hopes that Simon would eventually understand both of your desires.

But what just happened did not spell great things for that ever occurring. Was…he really that upset that you were together? He had never had a problem with other non-traditional couples, talking about how it was none of his business and he didn’t care what people chose to do with their lives. But he seemed really upset to see you together.

After that it felt like he started avoiding you. Whenever you and Johnny would come into the rec room, he would conveniently have some meeting. Or when you sat down at the mess hall, suddenly he was full and left without finishing his food. It started to interfere with your actual friendship. And at that point, you and Johnny no longer cared about confessing your feelings to him, you just wanted your friend back. Something had to give.

So you cornered him. Yes, cornered, you were ashamed to admit but with how he had been running away recently it was the only choice.

You had been able to add a fake meeting to his calendar and make it look like it was from Price, and when he got in the room…well you locked the door.

Simon looks up at the click of the lock, finding himself alone in the room with only the two of you…not like the meeting he was promised. Fuck, this is exactly what he had been avoiding. Being alone with you both. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to control whatever was happening with him if he was alone with you two.

“Simon,” you start, taking a step forward.

“What’s this then.” He interjects. Being abrasive is safe.

“Si, you’ve been avoiding us.” Johnny cuts to the chase, his voice downtrodden.

Against Simon’s wishes, his heart squeezes. He…wasn’t trying to hurt you. That’s actually exactly what he was trying to avoid. He wasn’t normal about these kinds of things. He thinks maybe he’s too far gone now, too messed up to ever be with someone. Let alone two someones.

“I…haven’t.” It’s a weak lie and everyone in the room knows it.

You give him a pointed look. “We know you have. We…don’t necessarily know why but we have a few ideas.” You share a glance with Johnny. “We just miss you, Simon. We miss our friend. Whatever it is…even if it’s our relationship, we’ll stop if it gets you back.”

He can tell you’re being serious. You’d break off what is clearly making you both very happy, simply for his sake.

“No.” He panics, taking a step forward. “I don’t want that. You’re happy.”

“But you’re not.” Johnny says back.

He shakes his head, “that shouldn’t matter. You’re the only ones that matter.” He means it. Everything he has done since he met both of you has been for you. It was like his whole axis shifted, suddenly whatever motivated him before seemed inconsequential. Every mission, every decision, he was making with you both in mind.

Your brows furrow, shaking your head as you scoff. You look…sad? “That’s not true, Simon, don’t say stuff like that.” You seem genuinely offended on his behalf…about something he said about himself.

Which just confuses him because he knows he cares about you both and he knows you care about each other. And sure, you make him feel cared for too (how else would these stupid feelings have formed), but he has to assume it’s not…real. You’ve seen him on the field. You’ve seen his records, you’ve seen what he’s done. Who would ever…love…him after that.

“It is true. It doesn’t matter what my problem is—it’s stupid and I’ll fix it just—just give me some time to sort myself out and I’ll be good, I promise. I promise.” He’s panicking now. You can’t figure it out because then you both would definitely be disgusted with him and he’d lose you which can’t happen.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you take a step forward, obviously feeling his panic. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to tell us but…you know you can, right? Obviously there’s something bothering you. We’d never judge you for what you have to say, Simon.” Your hands are up placatingly, like you want to comfort him with a touch, so he jerks back. If you touch him he’ll probably give in.

But you just look sadder at that. Your lips purse, eyes glossier than before, letting out a barely audible “sorry”. And now he just feels like a bigger asshole.

“Just—it’s not you, I promise.” He doesn’t want you to cry, especially not because of him, “it’s my own stupid problem.” He avoiding both of your eyes.

“It’s not stupid if it’s you, Simon. We want to help.” Johnny jumps in. “…please.” His voice breaks.

It’s Simon’s last straw. Clearly, he’s still hurting the both of you which is the very last thing he wants to do. So if he has to tell you his sins, he’d gladly confess if it means sparing you both…even if you hate him for it.

“I-“ he swallows past the knot in his throat, no way he’s allowing himself to break right now. “I have…feelings. For someone.” (Someones, he tells himself).

Both of you deflate. You share a glance with Johnny, somehow trying to convey that if this is what Simon wants you’re going to support him. Even if you wish it was you and Johnny he had feelings for.

So you smile, a fake sad smile that Simon sees right through, and say, “that’s good, Simon. You deserve to be happy too.”

“It’s not that easy—I’m. What I’m trying to say is…I can’t…be with them.” He’s beating around the bush. He knows he’s beating around the bush but how do you come out and say you’re in love with your two best friends who are in a relationship.

“Why not?” Johnny intervenes.

He shrugs, shaking his head, and finally gives in. “Because you’re dating each other.”

Well. It was fun while it lasted. Having people who cared about him. But now they know how much of a freak he is, but this always happens anyway, so who was he to expect any different?

You start giggling. His head snaps up. Seriously? He knew it wouldn’t go over well, but you’d never been cruel before.

“Simon!” You exclaim, closing the distance faster than he can protest and cradling his face in your hands, “we love you too.”

Oh.