Ghost x Criminal Underground Data Broker Reader (GN) Pt 4/? It’s fun. Nobody stopped me, not even the gods. But they really tried this time. irl is still kicking my ass, but hey, Happy Honda Days! I managed to squeak in a little something to get this done, but again, no real editing if any has been done- sorry. After the 30th things should be a little more… normal? Hopefully.
Ghost x Criminal Underground Data Broker Reader (GN) Pt 3/?
It’s fun. Nobody stopped me, not even the gods.
(imma be 100 with you all tho. I’m getting my ass kicked irl and so I have done no editing, and this was more just fluffy fiiler-ish vibes? I just really wanted the conversation that took place to happen, okay? It was essential to the plot. I needed it.)
Masterlist
You hung up the phone with a satisfied smirk on your lips.
“Why are you like this?” Simon asked, catching you off guard.
“What?” Your smile vanished.
“How long do you reasonably suspect you’ll be able to weasel your way into getting what you want before one day, you can’t?”
You shrugged, “When you know what I kno–”
“Suppose one day what you know isn’t enough.” He snapped back, cutting you off.
“Then I’m right fucked, aren’t I?”
“Likely.” He took a sip of his drink, “Why do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“This.” He tipped his bottle towards your workroom. “Why?”
“I’m nosey and figured becoming an LA noir style PI would be too cliche.” you joked, he didn’t laugh, but you saw that faint grin.
“It’s certainly a reason. You could have gone Kate’s route.”
“I was born in this world, Simon. That isn’t something you just walk away from. You either embrace it and let it eat you away slowly or go down in flames before you have a chance to live.” A silence fell between the two of you, with a breath you whispered in a disgusted tone, “Forgive me, that I chose to live some sort of life before my early grave.”
“So, a bit of short term comfort over morals?”
“Is that really judgement coming from a man who commits war crimes on behalf of the same government that won’t clear his name and has him legally declared dead?” You barked back.
You bit your tongue on doing more than tip toe around the fact that that Simon was still the hanged man publicly for the murder of his entire family, something that the Euro suits could easily rectify, but haven’t. It was, likely, also a sore subject and while this was certainly the closest you two had come to anything resembling a fight, it didn’t need to turn into a global disaster.
“Just curious.” He shrugged, taking another sip.
“Well, go be curious about getting your toothbrush out of the washroom and grabbing my go bag so I can tear down my fortress.” You shooed him off, getting up yourself to stare at the monster of a task that laid before you. Breaking down your work station.
Which, surprisingly, only took about two hours to safely pack up what was needed and what could be left behind. You spent far less time packing your clothes and other personal effects that it really dawned on you how little you kept in the world, how so much of your life revolved around your work, around the SAS and the 141, around Simon.
“I want a puppy.” You announced, watching Simon’s head snap up from the kitchen and tilt before turning on you.
“You what?” he was studying you as if you’d just grown two heads and brows tightly knitted together.
“A puppy. We’re engaged, that’s what engaged people do. They get a ‘puppy for baby practice’ and then regret it once there is a baby, but I don’t see us having a baby anytime soon– unless?” You smirked, he shook his head with his brows furrowed even closer together. “Come on, I can get a black market baby today.”
“Bloody fucking hell, you can?”
“Yeah, they’re pretty cheap depending on–”
“No, stop.” He held up a hand, “I already know more than enough.”
“What if we did the hero version, you and your goon squad–”
“The 141.” He corrected, arms crossed and watched you carefully.
“That. You guys bust a black market baby ring and we take one home? Free baby!”
“Fuckin’ hell, what’s gotten into you?”
You didn’t want to admit just what had really messed with you; Him.
One day what you know won’t be enough, you can’t always blackmail someone into looking the other way or bribe your life away to skirt a prison sentence. Your entire life has revolved around this one thing, and the idea of it not being enough one day was terrifying.
What kind of life would you live if given another option? What kind of person would you really be if you could walk away?
What legacy, if any, would be left behind when your time was up?
You stared at Simon, still staring at you as if you’d lost your mind, and maybe you had. He was by the legal definition of the word considered dead and gone to the world, and his legacy was a lie built to hide the fuck ups of people beyond his reach. He deserved better. Did he care to have better because he knew the truth? No, but it bothered you.
He stood before you, alive and well, but tomorrow he could not and nobody but those who hide his reality know what he really did for them, for the people, for the world, and know his innocence.
It occurred to you then; if anything happened to Simon, you would expose everything to clear his name and absolutely lambast anyone who had a hand in his demise and hiding the truth away. No matter what the cost.
This thought made something deep in your chest ache as you stared into his warm eyes. They didn’t always look that way; they weren’t always so vibrant, relaxed, and alive as they were now. The way he looked at you made you feel more alive, relaxed, and vibrant. You hated it. It complicated too much.
“Nothing.” You lied, “Get me a damned puppy, or you’re coming home to a random baby one day.”
Simon sighed, “I’ll talk to Price.”
“That’s just a code for ‘No. not until you cause another international incident and we’re forced to’. It’s the Korstov situation all over again!” You huffed, sorting your luggage by the door.
“Are you comparing a puppy or stolen infant to a blender?”
“A juicer, Simon. Besides, is it really any different?”
“I–” he relented, “Suppose not. You didn’t have to take Roach hostage.” He grumbled, pulling on his backpack.
“That man made himself a hostage, I still don’t know how he got tied up in that utility closet.” It was actually impressive. You liked Roach.
Simon pulled on his mask, rolling his eyes and shoving you out the door. “Move before I start regretting this.”
The cold night air was unwelcomed as you hauled your essentials out of your flat and to the beaten down truck with a weather covering on the bed that Simon had to have scrapped off the set of some cheap horror flick. You loaded your bags in the back, Simon tossed his backpack into the back among your things and closed the tailgate.
So began what would be one of the weirdest road trips of your life.
Taglist:
@ironicadventures
@mazzyowl
@tessakate
@echo9821
@the-ari-archives
Ghost x Criminal Underground Data Broker Reader (GN) Pt 2/?
It was fun. Nobody stopped me; you all encouraged me, in fact.
Masterlist
Very very Minor NSFW due to mentioning sex and making Ghost blush.
You were genuinely shocked by the proposal, so there wasn’t much faking in your reaction.
“This is…” You looked between Simon and the ring, refusing to look up at the staff eagerly awaiting to hear your reply. The look in his eyes told you; ‘Please just say yes so we can move on from this shit’ and you obliged, “Oh, my love. Of course!” You threw yourself into him, putting your head in the way so the staff couldn’t see him speak as you gritted out “the fuck” as quietly as you could into his ear.
“Play along.” he whispered back, arms loose around your waist.
You laughed– Fine. I’ll play along. You pulled back from him, and he gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, for a man newly engaged, that didn’t seem befitting to the theme. You took his chin in your hand and pressed your lips firmly to his. The kiss was rigid and cold. You’d think neither of you had ever kissed someone before. He was tense, but softened once the shock wore away. His hold on you tightened as you both faded into your own world. The kiss began to feel real, too real, and it made you dizzy.
The clapping. Fucking clapping.
Right.
You both snapped away from each other, crudely reminded very, very suddenly, that you were in a very public place, with an audience, and you weren’t actually dating or engaged.
“Sorry. He gets carried away.” You apologised, a bashful smile on your lips as you settled yourself back in your seat. Simon did the same.
Ghost x Medic/Dr Reader (GN) 12/12 Finale NSFW MDNII never specified what hole gets penetrated down there (on purpose obvs), so choose your own adventure. Can easily be read standalone if you’re just wanting some smut. The red ‘You’ is when smut starts. HAVE FUN.
“Dove!” Simon shouted, barreling into the flat as if the devil was on his heels, snow following close behind him, invading the doorway and letting in the cold.
You were sitting by the window nook, sipping on tea and reading a new article on the links between cardiovascular disease and preeclampsia. You looked up and tilted your head. “Simon?”
“Your— everything’s fine?” He looked around the flat and released a breath.
“Why… wouldn’t it be?” You asked, brow raised, “And, close the door. It is beyond frigid out there.”
“Your text?” He said, his breathing slowly returning to normal as everything seemed to catch up to him, and he closed the door.
Ghost x Criminal Underground Data Broker Reader (GN) Pt 1/?
It was fun. Nobody stopped me.
Masterlist
“Visual on target.” Ghost said on comms, stalking behind the clueless target in front of him.
“Make it clean.” Laswell replied in his ear. They turned down an alley, not a camera or soul in sight. Alone. Maybe you weren’t as good as your dossier made you out to be, seeing as you hadn’t noticed you had a tail.
You had noticed. You just noticed too late, and the only option that didn’t compromise you in the long term was to isolate and not make a scene. You didn’t have a chance to turn. A thick arm encircled your waist, a pinch of pressure on your back, as a “Fuck.” managed to escape from your lips as you faded, and your body fell limp in the arms of the man behind you.
“Easy now.” A deep masculine voice whispered against the shell of your ear while the world went dark.
Ghost x Reader (GN) -SFW
Simon Riley’s nightmares will not be the death of him. But they do make for shit sleep. At least you’re there to help make it a little better.
cw: death, torture, abuse, blood, you know… Ghost’s whole sad childhood and torture thing.
A skull stared back at him, its unhinged jaw chattering up and down as it cackled at him. The laugh echoed, getting louder and louder until he wanted to scream. It sounded more and more like his father’s laughter the longer it continued on.
“Worthless.” The skull shouted in his father’s voice and there was a loud pop. Simon jumped, he looked behind him to see nothingness and turned back to the skull. It wasn’t there.
He was in a cell. Roba traipses back and forth in front of him on the other side of the bars, taunting Simon with the skull in his hands.
Simon tries to take a deep breath in and count to ten, but he can’t— this is a dream and he has no control in his dreams. He can’t look away, he can’t ignore Roba’s torments, and he can’t force himself to wake up. He was paralysed.
He tries and manages to squeeze his eyes shut and the pain that floods in as soon as he does snaps them back open. He’s back in the torture rooms, hanging by the hooks in his ribs again. It feels just as real as it did when he was there. He tries to cry out, but nothing comes out. This isn’t happening again, not really. It’s in his mind. He knows this, but fuck did it have to feel so goddamn real? The torture would continue long until he was so disfigured that some days he still didn’t recognise himself in the mirror.
The women Roba would try to use to try and break him, he could feel their hands on his chest and thighs as he continued to hang, Roba laughing and reminding him the pain could stop— he just had to give in.
He couldn’t give in. Even if he would drown in these horrors, he wouldn’t give in.
And as a result, from then on he rarely let anyone in. Not until Price, Gaz, Soap… You. It wasn’t much, but the whole lot of you were all he had now. Most days he still felt like a Ghost that never left that coffin. He still felt like he only let people in at a surface level. He didn’t want to drag them into these horrors.
“Simon.” Warm, radiant. You made things brighter.
“Make a choice, senor Riley.”
“Fuck off.” His voice was quiet.
Roba frowned.
“Simon, wake up.” Kind, delicate. You made things softer.
The women continued to tease him, he wanted to push them off of him. The years he spent avoiding any romantic or sexual connection or contact because every touch sent him here and made him want to vomit. Even now, he still struggles with intimacy. He bit his tongue. He could taste the blood in his mouth and tried to remind himself that this was over.
He shook his head and he was home, standing just off the steps from the front door.
He knew the next part of this nightmare. He knew what was coming and he couldn’t stop it.
“Simon! You’re not there. Wake up!” Passionate, brave. With you, he was stronger. “You need to wake up.”
How?
He started up the steps, straining with each step. His heart pounded against his chest, trying to escape before it gets ripped out once he’s on the other side of that door.
“Wake up, please. I need you to wake up.”
You needed him. If he couldn’t do it for himself. He needed to do it for you. He could try for you.
His mind locked in the scene as his hands reached for the doorknob, he wanted to wake up. He needed to wake up. To tell you he was OK, even if he wasn’t. He was drowning. He had to come up for air. He needed to wake up, if only to make sure you were ok.
He was in bed.
The room was dim from the bedside lamp, you were angled over him, eyes searching him for any signs. You were terrified; lips quivering, the hand on his chest was trembling, and you had tears in your eyes.
“I’m okay, dove.” Simon whispered, drawing a hand up to your cheek. He could taste blood in his mouth and his tongue burned like hell.
Your look was telling. By the sweat soaked sheets, the way his heart was pounding in his chest, the blood in his mouth, and his breathing laboured, he wasn’t lying his way out of this one.
He amended his earlier statement with, “I’m sorry.” but that wasn’t much better.
“You have nothing to apologise for.”
Simon could list hundreds of things he should apologise for, starting with the fact he failed to protect them, but he kept that to himself.
“Want me to make some tea? Get you some water?”
You were always far more understanding than he deserved. Never pushing too far, too fast, and letting things be if needed.
He sat up, shaking his head and shuffled off to the washroom. He needed to wash this off of himself.
Simon flicked the light on and, by mistake, glanced over to the mirror.
He didn’t recognise the man in the mirror.
Scars disfigured his face, his chest, his arms. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth and there were dark bags under his eyes. It was a wonder nobody looked at him and screamed ‘Monster!’ while running away.
He couldn’t find himself under the scars, he couldn’t find the young bright-eyed recruit who wanted to live a better life and make a change.
He stared at the mirror and a broken man stared back, a permanent jagged smile torn into his cheeks and he wanted to scream at the horror staring back at him.
Apparently, he did.
You were behind him at the doorway, you turned off the light, a glow light in hand. You ushered him to the shower, using the faint green glow of light to navigate. It was bright enough to move, but too dark to see the monster in the mirror. This was not the first time you’ve done this with him, and it would not be the last.
Simon tried to take a brief shower, the water set to a lukewarm. You changed the head to a more gentle stream and encouraged him to take a longer one, muttering something about how it was better for his scars. He could see the concern and did what would make you happier and stood under the stream for a few more minutes– it actually did feel quite nice.
You left. Giving him time to himself, giving him time to fall apart and he did. You both knew he would, there wasn’t a sense to fighting it.
He cried. For his mother. His brother and his sweet little family. For the child he once had been and the innocence that was stripped from him. For the young man he’d once been before Roba.
He may not have broken for Roba, but some days he was broken because of Roba.
Simon left the shower once he finally put his emotions in check, trying to lock them away for another nightmare another night.
You had changed the sheet with a fresh linen and he heard the whistling of the kettle in the kitchen.
While you referred to these as “little things”, they were the loudest to Simon.
Anyone could tell him they loved him and think they meant it. Anyone could say they were there for him.
You weren’t just anyone. You meant it, you were there, and you proved it in ways he didn’t know he needed.
He’d never be ‘okay’, he would likely always be this way no matter how much he fought to move forward. He would always struggle, no matter how much therapy and time was thrown at him— not all wounds heal. You understood that and accepted him as he was. Loved him as he was.
You came back in, two cups of tea in hand and a soft smile.
Fuck, if he didn’t love every piece of you for the glimmer of light you brought into his bleak world.
Ghost x Medic/Dr Reader 11/12
(honestly, I could end it here, but my brain hates ending on an odd number. So, there will be a part 12– maybe smut, iunno.)
After a bittersweet farewell festival with the locals and a long night of drinking and games in your tent that only earned three ‘shut the fuck up or I swear’ warnings from Halmar or Price, you met the day head-on and left the village that had been home for the last few weeks.
Alvarez and Soap, suspiciously, only brought one cot when they moved in for the night. Neither you nor Simon asked. You would later. You and Simon, expecting your guests to need the second one, had managed to share a single cot comfortably enough for the night.
Simon woke up first, and you woke up because he couldn’t settle once he was awake. You dragged him to go grab your morning breakfast and tea, leaving Alvarez and Soap to sleep in.
Despite how early you had started the day, it seemed others (Halmar and Price) were ahead of you already. Halmar had already set up the makeshift breakfast pit with the basics. You and Simon grabbed some tea, a small breakfast and departed for the med tent.
For the final day, you removed the stitches from Simon’s neck and the ones on his back, everyone scurrying around to get the last of the supplies and gear stored away. The tent was being taken down while you were finishing up. You stored your supplies in their appropriate bins and containers and got out of the way of those who were working on packing away the last of the camp and loading it up for transport.
Simon’s hands met your waist as you stared at the remains of where the camp once stood; now it was as if you had never been there. Anything that could mark that you had once called this place your temporary home, where you had saved numerous lives, where you fought for your life and the lives of others, where you made new friends, where you met someone who understood your heart– it was packed away and gone as if you were never there and your life hadn’t been changed here.
You smiled.
Life would go on. Hopefully, it will go back to normal for the people here. It was fair that your presence here was forgotten here so the people could move on and heal, to not be reminded of the trauma they suffered through.
Your head fell back to Simon’s chest as you stared at the emptiness that now occupied the camp.
“Wheels up in 5. You ready?” Simon asked, you looked up and saw Ghost.
“No.” You admit, this was always the hardest part. Saying goodbye. “But, that won’t change- let’s go.”
He tapped his forehead lightly against yours and, with a soft squeeze of your hips, turned. He walked away, expecting you to follow, and you would– after one last look and a soft ‘thank you’ whispered to the winds.
Halmar, Price, Simon, and you were the last to board the plane as you stole one last glance. It had been quite the adventure.
You and Alvarez buddied up on the flight to England, Simon and Soap both trying to argue why you and Alvarez should buddy up with them, respectively. You both said no and turned back to gossiping, clucking away like school girls, the entire flight as they pouted with each other across from you.
“So, one cot?” You whispered to Alvarez, who grinned with a small shrug. That told you everything you needed to know and more.
It wasn’t a lengthy flight, but it was long enough for you and Alvarez to cosy up together under a blanket while watching a cheesy movie and pass out.
Simon woke you both up as you were landing, “Rise and shine, bird.” His touch on your shoulder was gentle, and his tone soft. His mask was off, scars and all on full display– you were surprised, but seeing as most of the med team had likely passed out as you and Alvarez had been, it likely didn’t bother him too much.
“No thanks,” you grumbled, wrapping around Alvarez tighter. “We’re good.”
“We’re cosy, go away,” Alvarez grumbled. In all your years of working side-by-side with Alvarez, you’d learned one crucial thing in the first week of knowing him that’s never changed– he did not wake up well. ‘Fussy’ would be the most professional word to describe him in the morning or right after being woken. Bitchy and sassy would be the most accurate.
Soap knew this. Everyone on your team knew this. Simon was learning this. He’d been fortunate enough to miss Alvarez waking up the entire time so far.
“No.” Simon said, “Get up.”
“Vete a la verga.” Alvarez growled as he pulled you tighter to him and snuggled deeper into the blanket.
Simon leaned in close, his hand on you as his words rumbled into Alvarez’s ear, “Intentar otra vez.”
“Mierda…” Alvarez gulped. There was a soft hum of a laugh caught in Simon’s throat as he straightened up, his hand still on you.
“You never told me you knew Spanish.” You rubbed at your eyes, accepting that you were awake now. And somehow turned on?
“Hadn’t come up,” Simon said, settling back in his seat and pulling his mask back on.
“That’s hot.” Alvarez whispered in your ear, and you nodded in agreement as you heard the wheels deploy.
Both of you settled in your seats properly, and you looked over to see that Soap was sleeping upright in his seat next to Ghost with his arms folded over his chest. Ghost ribbed Soap awake, the operative woke with a jump, then grinned at Ghost, muttering a thanks to him.
Landing was smooth, and as soon as Dr. Halmar released you from his iron grip, you bolted for Ghost.
“Free?” he asked, Simon once again with just a plain face mask, having had enough time to clean up and change since landing– unlike you.
“Finally free. You have me for four weeks. Think you’ll be sick of me before then?”
“Doubtful,” he shrugged, “I’m hoping for a lot longer than four weeks.” he said, wrapping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you close as you two made way for his flat to begin a new adventure.
Ghost x Classical Musician Reader (GN)
Very soft. Very fluffy. And thank you again to everyone for 2.5k notes in a month– like whattt?! You’re all so amazing, honestly.
It was the ‘down’ season for your orchestra group, the one time of the year you all agreed ‘no big shows’ and ‘no long practices’. The agreement was for three months, but none of you could hold out that long. They typically lasted maybe a month before everyone got antsy and the practices went from short and casual, to intense shouting matches and arguing over ‘creative’ flairs that dragged on for hours.
Thankfully, the agreement to no big shows was still solid. That didn’t stop small groups of your misfits from breaking off to perform small shows, events, or just getting together to street busk for fun. You typically did small events and weddings, but recently you’d been shown the light and appeal of street busking.
You had gone with two others from your orchestra: a saxophone, a cello, and a harp. An odd but delightful combination, as you had all discovered when reworking older pieces to blend together with your choice instruments. While the classical world has yet to embrace the saxophone, street busking thrived with it, and as ‘professional’ noise makers, you catered to the audience.
While playing music without the restrictions a programme provided was thrilling and the three of you really let loose, the real thrill was in meeting people when you took to the streets to play whatever was in your heart.
After all, that’s how you met him.
It was a gorgeous autumn day; a gentle breeze, clouds spotted the sky, and everyone was walking as if they did not have a care in the world. It was a perfect day, really. The owner of the coffee shop was more than on board to have live music playing in front of his business (and for free), and so you all made yourselves at home. That was the first day he had heard your music, but he didn’t seek you out. No.
Each day, he got closer, but never within sight. It wasn’t until a week later, in the pouring rain, that he finally stopped before your little crew and let his presence be known.
He stood outside the crowd, watching from a distance with a cup from the coffee shop in hand that he sipped on while the three of you put on a show under a decrepit business awning and chatted with the audience that stuck around with umbrellas.
He didn’t say anything. He stayed for thirty minutes. You smiled at him and waved. Despite the hood and mask, you could tell he smiled back; he left, soaked to the bone, quickly after.
The next day, another rainy, cold day, he showed up again. The awning spared you from the rain, but it was killing the number of people you played for, as most didn’t stick around for long with the rain.
But this is what gave him his confidence to finally say something. He was polite, awkward, and funny. You saw a lot of pain in him that he was trying to hide from the world, and he shared the briefest glimpse of it.
You all chatted with him for some time, and names were exchanged; Simon. He said he was military, seeing as the SAS HQ was just a block away… You all could put together where he likely worked. He, of course, mentioned how he enjoyed the music. Then remarked on how it reminded him of his mother. The music continued on and off, just as the conversations did, until he saw himself off.
You didn’t see him again for months, but you didn’t stop thinking about him. Something in his eyes and the way he carried himself left a mark in the back of your mind. You looked for him anytime you went near the SAS, looked for him near the coffee shop you busked in front of during the off-season, but never managed to catch him.
The orchestra had a week off between shows, and you decided ‘fuck it’ and returned to the coffee shop. The owner, gushing about what a boon you had been to business prior, was more than happy to have you play again this week.
The first day, he wasn’t there.
Nor the second.
On the third, you could feel a tightness in your chest as every hour passed without catching sight of him.
On the fourth day, he wasn’t around. You wouldn’t see him; you likely missed your chance to know this man, a man who stood in the rain to watch you play music that reminded him of his late mother, who was awkward and kind and dedicated his life to protecting people. Your mind racing to the romanticised fantasies; two lovers that would never be, their paths crossed too briefly and never met again. You played weddings and classical music; you can’t be held liable for being a romantic.
The fifth day you played, fully accepting that he wouldn’t be there. And he wasn’t.
With a heavy heart, you pushed on to the sixth day. Today was different.
You found him sitting outside, across from the chalkboard sign that the cafe owner had put out, announcing there was live music and when you’d be playing. He was waiting with two cups on the table. He nearly tripped over himself standing up to greet you, gathering one of the cups and offering it to you with a careful smile.
“Sorry, I just got back. I’m glad I didn’t miss you.”
Ghost x Reader (GN) - Gently? NSFW Friends-with-benefits.
You and Simon Riley were far too busy for things like relationships, but you weren’t too busy for sex. Neither of you cared to constantly pick up strangers from bars for meaningless one-night stands, either.
You worked on base, and he was deployed out more than not; your options were limited, and you both seemed to complement each other in bed.
Ghost x Reader (Graves’ sister) 3/3?
Debating on either leaving this as the finish and you can imagine what you’d like to happen next, or doing 4 (scene with Ghost) and 5 (short Graves and his sister having a heart-to-heart scene)?
Price, ever the diplomat, continued to engage with you. Polite, jovial, only slightly invasive. You knew he was just trying to get a bead on you, trying to gather if you were on the up and up for one of his team. Especially considering the recent revelations.
Ghost muttered to him to back off, but Price persisted. You didn’t mind.
Nor did you mean to seem rude when it hit you; “Wait.” You turned and glared at your brother, who had been very quiet for some time now, then you turned to Simon, and back to your brother. “October.”
Phillip’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t say anything and kept his head down. “It fucking was, wasn’t it? That’s when both of you went silent!” Phillip didn’t look up, so you turned to Simon. He tried not to give away the truth, but he knew it was already too late for Phillip. Gaz and Soap with smug grins on their faces, and Price deciding that he’d stop questioning you so that they could watch Graves get ripped a new asshole.
“You missed my big event with pa to run off to Mexico, used the Geneva Conventions as a god’s damned checklist, and shot my boyfriend?”
“At him. I missed.” Poor choice of defence. You kicked your brother’s shin under the table, just as you did as children when you fought. Only, now you both kicked a lot harder. He visibly bit his tongue and winced. A part of you felt bad; you loved your brother dearly, and hurting him didn’t bring you any pleasure. But, also– what the fuck. “Dammit!” he shouted, glancing around and lowering his head and voice, “That fucking hurt!” he seethed, clenching his teeth.
“So did the bullet that went through my arm after you shot me, arsehole.” Soap snapped back.
“Sunshine, I was just following orders–” he said, raising his hands.
“That’s a shit excuse and you fuckin’ know it, Phillip. You left the military because you like to disobey orders and do whatever the fuck you want. Real fucking classic of you. So, miss me with your ‘following orders’ shit, that’s never been an issue of yours before.”
He huffed and sat back in his seat. He opened his mouth to speak, but Gaz spoke up first, “Is that why you were shooting civvies while hunting our boys down?”
Phillip pointed a finger at Gaz then back to you, before you snapped at him, “No! No!” he looked at you with wide, pleading eyes to hear him out, “I was doing my goddamn job, I was–” he glanced around to the other tables and lowered his voice, leaning in close to you, “hunting down a terrorist leader. I was protecting people!”
“And how, exactly, do you do that when you’re killing civilians?” Your volume matched his as you pressed the sole of your shoe against his offended leg, a silent warning that you wouldn’t follow through with, but he didn’t know that. None of the 141 said a word; they knew better. Price finished his drink, knowing their time here was coming to an end as Phillip put his foot in his mouth again.
“Sunshine, they were narcos. I did the world a favour.”
“That doesn’t give you any right to play judge, jury, and executioner with their lives, Phillip! Holy fuck, I shouldn’t have to explain this.” You were shaking, but your words were firm.
“I do what needs to be done to keep people safe. To keep you safe.”
Your heart broke. You reached across the table and slapped him hard across the face, tears already threatening to fall, “If it means killing innocent people, I don’t want or need your protection.” You were standing, but you didn’t remember when that happened. Simon had stood up, but you held your hand out to stop him from crossing to you. “Don’t you dare try to use me to validate your sins, Phillip.”
Phillip sat back, letting the sting radiate on his cheek, “That’s not what I meant–”
You leaned over the table, your glare burning into your brother, and lowered your voice, “Ma is going to be so fuckin’ pissed when I tell her what you did.”
“You think I’m still scared of that woman?” Phillip snarled as the red print started to form on his cheek. You grinned.
“Fuckin’ terrified.”
Nobody in the world scared him, or you, quite frankly, like your mother did. She was a wild country woman who’d served in the military most of her life and whom you’d seen on numerous occasions stare bulls down into submission. She was a woman of few words, a fiery temper, and little patience for shit. You both had faced life-and-death situations before without a sweat, but never your mother’s temper without feeling nauseous.
He leaned back in his chair, and you stood upright; you and Phillip crossed your arms in unison just as the maître d’ returned.
“I’m afraid this is the third time I’ve had to have this discussion, and now with you assaulting–”
“Yeah,” you nodded, “Yeah, understood. We get it. I’m so sorry.” You grabbed your purse.
“I’m afraid we’ve already called the local–”
“Not necessary. Just a little sibling spat, nothing the cops need to worry themselves over.” Phillip said, rising from his seat.
“I’ll sort them out.” Price announced, nodding to Simon, “You kids have enough to sort out tonight as is.”
Gaz and Soap exchanged a brief exchange that was missed by the others, but what you gathered was that they were going out for drinks. You wanted to join them, but you had a conversation that couldn’t wait for another day to attend to.
“Phillip is paying for both tables.” You announced, darting a glare at your brother, who reluctantly tossed you his wallet. You pulled out a card and passed it to the maître d’, “Charge him extra if you want.” Phillip shouted against the suggestion behind you as your grin widened. The maître d’ left as the 141, Phillip, and you filed out.
“You good, dove?” Simon whispered into your ear, his hand light against the small of your back as you navigated towards the entrance. You shook your head. “Want to watch Great British Bake Off and drink until we pass out?” You nodded your head, after the looming discussion, of course, “That’s my girl.”
Gaz and Soap shouted a teasing thanks towards Phillip for dinner and a show, the latter of which earned a warning from Simon but you brushed a hand on his chest and shushed him.
Phillip and Price stood at the maître d’ station, neither saying anything. Price had a grin on his face; he was stuffed, tipsy, and knew Graves had the rage of not one but two Southern women about to hit him full force (and likely a legal hearing in his imminent future). Phillip looked like a beaten puppy.
You passed them, grabbing Phillip’s hand and kissing his red cheek. You wanted to tell him, ‘I still love you’, ‘I’ll forgive you eventually’, ‘You’ll always be my big brother, even if you make me want to tear my hair out.’, but between your anger and stubbornness, you said nothing and hoped the small show of affection was enough to say what you couldn’t.
“Love ya’, sunshine.” he muttered to you as Simon collected you from him, his arm wrapped around your waist and led you towards the door.
The ride to the flat was long and quiet. Simon didn’t try to say anything, nor did you. The discussion you needed to have shouldn’t be had while on the drive home. You kept your hand on his thigh, thumb and fingers massaging into his leg.
Both of you took a deep breath as you pulled in, working up your courage for what came next.
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