see you when the wrath comes | ch. 36 - simon
↣ pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader (OC) ↣ genre: rivals to lovers, dramedy, hurt/comfort, smut, slowburn, idiots to lovers ↣ rating: +18 ↣ word count: 2.2k ↣ chapter warnings & tags: ANGST. SO MUCH ANGST HERE. minor character deaths, near-death experiences, near-drowning, CPR, (mild) blood and depictions of injuries ↣ playlist: motion picture soundtrack - radiohead // through the eyes of a child - aurora // the kill (bury me) - thirty seconds to mars // bring me to life - evanescence previous // masterlist // next
↳ falling, falling, falling, falling.
It’s not like the movies — Motion Picture Soundtrack, Radiohead
You were falling.
Falling. Falling. Falling. Falling.
Down. Down. Down. Down.
You couldn’t see a thing. You couldn’t breathe. You heard screaming, maybe from you, maybe someone else’s, as the bird plummeted into the raging waves of the Black Sea.
This was the end.
There was no escaping this.
You stayed strapped to your seat, shaken violently when the chopper hit the water hard, the straps digging into your uniform.
Everything went white. Then blue. Then black.
You couldn’t move.
Darkness.
Then cold water, hitting your skin, droplets spraying on your mouth.
Saltwater.
It jolted you awake, the water almost up to your chest. Smoke, ash, and salt overcharged your nostrils, leaving almost no room for oxygen. Still, you tried your best to breathe. Your brain kicked into assessment mode out of inertia. Scanned your immediate surroundings.
Part of the chopper’s fuselage was broken, almost ripped apart. Weak light came through—the sky was a deep gray, and the wind kept hitting whatever bits of the chopper jutted out of the increasingly violent waters. It was only a matter of time before the storm hit and took you with it.
The cockpit.
You looked to your right. Only the broken half of a helmet floated, the rest was already underwater. You didn’t want to know what became of the pilot.
Now your gaze turned left. There was nothing. The missile had blown it away. The pieces that remained afloat creating a derelict graveyard of metal.
You swallowed thickly, but found your throat dry. The straps of your seat held you down as your body quickly sunk with the rest of the fuselage, the water soon reaching your chin. If you didn’t break free in time, you’d be brought down with the debris. Every nerve ending screamed in agony, your ears still ringing from the explosion, blood dripping down your forehead from the nasty cut you sported.
Soon you realised you were alone. The pilot was gone. The other soldiers were gone, too. Deep underwater.
Simon was gone, too.
Fuck.
Panic set in. Your hands sprung to action—shaky and nimble, fumbling with the harness a few times until you hit the buckle. When you did, you plunged into the icy depths, weighted down by your tac vest. The chopper was sinking. Simon wasn’t here. Where the fuck was he?
“Simon!” You yelled, fear creeping in.
No response.
Only thunder.
“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself, swimming out of the wreckage. Maybe he managed to swim out, too. Maybe he ditched everyone and was already halfway to the shore.
You looked around as the sky grew darker and darker, snuffing out the setting sun, just as the water ran colder. You hoped that somebody would resurface. The pilot. The soldiers. Simon. Anyone. You waited one, two seconds. Nothing. Nobody came up for air.
A chill went down your spine, and you kept kicking just to keep yourself warm. Thankfully, you were close enough to the shore to swim over without issue, but that didn’t mean you’d survive if you made it back to the island.
You squinted toward the rocky shore. No signs of life. Only smoke trails and dead bodies near the docks.
No trace of Simon.
“SIMON!” You yelled louder, hoping that, by some miracle, he’d appear right next to you, and you could go back to ignoring each other.
But there was no response.
Your heart quickened. This couldn’t be. You couldn’t be the only survivor. You couldn’t.
“SIMON!” You yelled for the third time, but when no answer came, you cursed to yourself. “No, no, no, no.”
You dove underwater, ignoring the sting on your forehead. You shuddered, struggling to keep your eyes open. It was easier in pools, with regulated temperatures and crystal clear waters. Not here. Not in the wild. Not without light.
It was like a graveyard.
From what little you could see, debris and bodies alike floated around the dark expanse, slowly sinking. You didn’t know how deep the water went, but it had to be at least enough to swallow an entire military helicopter and then some. Enough to drown.
You kept looking for signs of him, holding in the air until it burned your lungs—you didn’t care. You needed to find him, even if it killed you.
Where are you where are you where are you where are you where are you where are you—
He had to be here. Alive. Floating. Something. He had to be. You had to find him.
You swam up to the surface for air and then dove back down, not stopping for a second. Salt stung your eyes. Muscles burning from exertion. The current pulled at your clothes, your hair, but you pushed with all your might, diving deeper and deeper. Shapes floated in the gloom. Arms. Legs. A glint of something metallic. Bodies. Your soldiers. You had no time to think about them. They were gone. Simon hot to be somewhere.
You didn’t have time to think that he might’ve been dead. For that, you had to find him first.
You spun in place, heartbeat hammering in your ears. Down here, the world was silent. Muffled. Dark. Whatever light crept in through the clouds dissipated at the surface. Time was running out. Your chest ached.
But then—
A flash of white. Hard bone. A skull.
Simon.
He was sinking like a stone, arms limp at his sides, face hidden behind the mask. No movement. No bubbles. No sign of breath.
No no no please please please—
You kicked harder, slicing through the water until you got a hold of him, wrenching him by the tac vest. He was so fucking heavy. A monolith. A mammoth. But you pulled anyway. Your lungs screamed for air. Your arms burned. You didn’t care.
He’s gone. He’s dead. You killed him.
When you broke the surface, it was already raining. You gasped for air, coughed a little, chest still aching, then prodded Simon’s neck, checking for a pulse. You couldn't feel anything through the goddamned mask, so you slipped them in, careful not to let him go, and prodded the skin, looking for a pulsepoint.
Nothing.
You whimpered, shaky and panicking. Not now, not now, please, please, no.
“Simon,” you shook him in horror. “S-Simon, please.”
You killed him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whispered, glancing around and finding the final piece of the chopper sinking completely. A crack of lightning gave way to thunder, and then the rain got heavier.
Get to the shore NOW.
Your instincts kicked in. You pulled Simon along—the shore wasn’t that far away, and if you swam fast enough, you’d be able to administer CPR in no time. You couldn’t let him slip away. Not after the things you said. Not after telling him you couldn’t want him.
This is what you get. Don’t you see? This is your fate.
No. No. It couldn’t be.
So you swam with all your might, kicking and pulling and swallowing saltwater, making sure Simon’s head remained over the surface.
Please be awake. Please don’t die. Please, please, please.
You prayed to every deity you knew of. Pleaded to keep that man next to you for just a bit longer. This couldn’t be how it ended. You wouldn’t survive this if he didn’t.
The waves got bigger. More violent. They urged you to swim harder. Faster. You allowed them to push you out, to give you the boost needed.
“Come on, come on,” you grunted, spitting out saltwater, left arm strained from pulling Simon’s vest. The shore was just several metres away, rocky and uneven, but firm nonetheless. Firm and dry.
Your heart hammered in your ears. Bullets whizzed around as you bled out from your thigh, face pale. Weakly, you heard him scream for you. Call your name. Panicked. His voice got drowned by the boom of grenades.
No. No. No. Not now.
You kept pushing yourself harder, tears blurring your vision. Please stay alive for me.
“Stay with me, please,” you murmured, on the verge of tears, your voice cracking. The shore was so close now. Your feet planted on the seabed. You stood weakly, but kept dragging Simon, not once letting him go, adrenaline coursing through your body.
“Stay with me, Micky,” George said soothingly after reaching you, kneeling on the ground, assessing the wound. He’d stayed behind. For you, he did. He always did. He always stayed behind for his men. That’s just how he was. Selfless. Sacrificial. “We’ll get you out of here.”
More bullets whirled past. In the distance, the others had resumed fighting the captors. You’d almost managed to make a clean escape with the hostages. Almost. It was your fault for getting caught in the crossfire.
“G-George,” you said weakly, clothes wet from the pool of your own blood. The sun beamed down on your overheated body, almost cooking you. “You should’ve left.”
“I’m never leaving you, alright, love?” He said firmly, warmth radiating from his emerald green eyes. His decision was final, and there was no other way of countering it. You knew it from his tone. He was headstrong like that. “I’d rescue you from the pits of hell if I had to.”
If Simon seemed heavy in the water, in dry land he was ten times heavier. You struggled dragging him to shore far enough that water wouldn’t reach his head, but you managed. By the grace of whatever higher being was out there, you managed.
Your hands trembled.
He still wasn’t responding.
Killer. Killer. Killer. Killer.
You killed him.
You quickly kneeled, tiny rocks digging into your uniform, and checked his pulse once again. No breath. No sound. No twitch of the fingers. He just lay there, heavy and limp, his mask still clinging to his face like a cruel joke.
Nononononononononononononononononononononononono—
This couldn’t be happening.
Killer.
He couldn’t be dead.
You fucking killed him.
He couldn’t be fucking dead.
“S-Simon,” your voice broke once more, ragged breathing preventing you from saying anything else. Scalding hot tears ran down your cheeks.
George lied next to you, eyes never leaving yours as he bled out of the many bullet-riddled holes in his body. He never stopped looking at you. Not for one minute.
“Love,” he whispered faintly, calling to you, but you were too weak to even utter a response, crying in horror as the light was snuffed out of him. It was the last thing he said.
Killer. Killer. Killer.
You acted on impulse. Instinct. Inertia.
Between sobs, your shaking hands took off his tac vest, then tore off his mask, tossing it somewhere in the sand. His face was pale. Too pale. You pressed your ear to his mouth. Nothing.
Your stomach dropped. The world shifted around you.
“No,” you gasped again, a lump forming on your throat. You were hyperventilating—on the verge of a panic attack. “Don’t you fucking do this to me.”
Tears burned your eyes as you pressed your mouth to his, pushing air to his lungs with desperation. You drew back, scrambling to find the correct rhythm for chets compressions. One, two, three—press, press, press.
“Please,” you sobbed, voice ragged. “Please don’t go.”
Your hands slipped. Your rhythm faltered. You choked on a breath and had to start again.
This is futile, your conscience said. He’s gone. You killed him.
George’s lifeless eyes stared at you.
“Please,” you cried, pressing again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven— “Please don’t leave me. Please. Please wake up, Simon.”
Your chest heaved. Your hands felt numb. The rain mixed with your tears as you bent down again, another breath forced into his lungs.
Guilt racked through you. All the things left unsaid. All the wrong things you did say. You rejected him. Tore down what never was. You strung him along and left him there in that ramp. You denied yourself until the very last minute.
Weak. Killer. You don’t deserve love. You’re cursed.
“Don’t leave me,” you begged through a sob, compressions frantic now. “Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me—”
“Wake up.”
Your voice broke into a scream.
“WAKE UP!”
More compressions. Your palms ached. Your arms burned. Your heart was shattering beneath your ribs.
“WAKE THE FUCK UP!”
Simon jolted awake.
He caughed, sharp and wet, as he convulsed beneath your palms. You gasped, scrambling to help him onto his side as he vomited seawater, sputtering and choking. His entire body shook from the force of it. And yet, you held him with whatever strength you still had, relief coursing through you as tears streamed down your face.
He was breathing.
He was alive.
A choked sob left your mouth, and you finally broke down, hand bracing the back of his neck. When he was done, he turned to you, eyes fluttering open, bleary and unfocused, until they finally found yours.
For the first time in your life, you saw past the mask, past the soldier. You saw Simon, the man.
It wrecked you. Salt-streaked, rain-drenched, crying like a child.
He didn’t say anything. He only stared. Eyes softening. Glassy.
Without thinking, you lunged for each other. Your arms wrapped around him. His arms came up slowly, weakly, but holding you just as tightly. He hid his face on the crook of your neck while you cried, breathing you in, finally feeling his skin on yours.
As the rain poured on you, Simon also broke into sobs.
crossposted on AO3.
taglist: @joufrance @callsign-denmark @lostintro @readingthingy @maskfan25 @theonottsblog @ficcharsimp @defronix @sarcasticwalrus0 @nina-from-317 @w0ede @jamesrifftapes @simons-missus @ofthesouthernislesjohn @dumbledoom @kittykatgorl @lolo1821 @aikojwhpa @konigsm @alastors-staff @kammachem @invisibiliadei
lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!
