The idea that Xaden regularly gets bombarded with Violet’s thoughts about wanting to climb him like a tree whilst he’s just trying to get through the day unscathed is actually so funny to me
Pairing: Simon Riley x f!oc
Summary: New targets require new solutions. Price builds a new task force and learns more than he expected about one of the candidates.
Warnings: MDNI 18+, Cannon typical Violence, medical inaccuracies, depictions of injuries & death, PTSD, Trauma, Slow Burn, fluff & angst, whump, mentions of being buried alive, panic attack,
Also on AO3
Words: 5.7k
A/N: y'kno, for all the ideas I had about this it really took a while to get back into the flow of it after posting. Time really flies when you get sucked into work and the hyperfocus decides to roll the dice every morning.
Series Masterlist
“So, Mutton Chops seems to be doin’ well.” Emily drawled, plopping onto Simon’s bed as the man wondered around the room to prep for the impending mission. “It’s the rainy season in Kastovia, by the way, should get your rain gear squared away.”
Simon grunted, eyes rolling dramatically as he dropped the duffle bag onto the bed next to her.
“Don’t you have reports to be filin’?”
“Nah, I’m off duty for the next couple days... Shippin’ back to the States for a couple weeks.” She shrugged, watching as Simon’s head snapped back towards her with a scowl already settling across his features. “Relax, Riley. It’s not an Op, just overseeing the next class for SERE. Wilison requested additional eyes on his newest Level C batch. Odds are I’ll be done after the second week.”
“I don’t like it-.”
“You don’t like a lot of things.”
“That’s beside the fuckin’ point.”
Emily’s lips pulled back into a lopsided grin, eyes crinkling while she watched the frown deepen further at her amusement.
“Agree to disagree, Riley.” She shrugged, “Think it’s the whole point. You’re biased as hell – even if you think it’s justified.”
Simon snorted; jacket lazily crumpled into a ball to be thrown at her before his attention turned back to the gear in the closet. Emily swatted the offending article out of the air with a chuckle, rolling her eyes at the man’s antics before her attention settled on him again. Makarov had been a target for years, and he’d developed a reputation that preceded him. He very rarely left much of his opponents behind during direct engagements, she’d helped recover teams that had gotten too close more than once early in her career…
But this was Simon.
“What could go wrong?” She watched as the glare turned towards her again, “Too soon?”
“Fuckin’ hell.”
“It’s SERE, Riley. If anyone should be mother hen-ing, it should be me.” She scoffed, “You’re the one runnin’ off after a Russian terrorist. I don’t even have to camp; I’ll be in the trailer with the Medics babysitting the cams.”
Simon grunted, meticulously packing the duffle bag with practiced ease. It wouldn’t have mattered if Laswell herself was accompanying Emily – he didn’t like it. The idea of her being so far from the safety of their home set his teeth on edge. He hadn’t even been fond of her role with the SAS, but at least that role didn’t require fieldwork.
“You’re brooding.” She deadpanned, throwing the balled up jacket at the back of his head. “Stop that. It's not like it’s an Op, it’s training.”
It was always a fight to regain consciousness. The violent conflict between the mind’s desire to remain in the numb abyss and the body’s fight or flight response. The only thing that rivaled the horrors of the waking world was the space between; the frozen state where the senses slowly settled back into place before the muscles remembered how to move.
The first thing to cut through the foggy thoughts was the dull beep of monitors and the quiet hiss of a ventilator. Voices masked by the blood slowly beginning to rush in her ears, muffling the quiet words traded near the foot of her bed. The sharp acidic scent of a sterile environment and the rough cotton of starch white sheets.
The mind was slower to wake. Accepting the information without processing it. Part of her still desperately clinging to the blissful silence of sleep, unwilling to face the cruelty that awaited her. But it wasn’t long until the memories began to rush to the surface. The smell of sweat and damp wood, the putrid rot of decay overshadowing the expensive cologne. Rough threats and venomous jeers spat between yellowed teeth. The feeling of falling before crashing into the wooden crate-.
The realization was violent.
Feral, cornered instincts pulled her into the waking world. There was an explosion of movement as bloodshot grey eyes snapped open. Her hand wrapping around the tube feeding the ventilator, ripping it from her throat before she threw herself from the bed. The sting of IVs being pulled from her skin didn’t register, her body tumbling over trays before her back connected with the wall in the corner of the room.
“Lieutenant Mason-!”
The room was too clean to be in Coahuila. For all of Roba’s tricks he’d never quite mastered the art of recreating a clean room. Whether by laziness or expectation that they’d be too beaten down to pick up the smaller details. Even with the tray having been toppled the room was almost immaculate, a handful of stressed looking nurses standing just out of arm’s reach. Their best attempts at soothing words passing their lips as they took a tentative step towards her.
“You’re gonna hurt-.”
It was a rookie mistake. Inexperienced hands reaching out towards her just to have her fingers curl around his thumb, wrenching it back so while her other hand connected with his sternum. The hand that had been around his pulling a pen from his jacket before he tumbled backwards.
Civilians.
If she’d been thinking clearer, she might’ve questioned it. Roba’s men weren’t bold enough to get so close without a sedative. Not after the first person had a pen embedded in their eye. The team in front of her was either new to the payroll or inexperienced with cornered Operators-.
“Sir – you cannot go in there-!”
She’d barely managed to haul herself up by the time the security guards had turned their attention back towards the door. Pen clutched in her hands – just as lethal as any knife under the correct circumstances. And she was growing desperate – panic rising in her throat when two men stepped towards her. Despite their scrubs they were bulkier than they should’ve been. Whether from the physical demands of working in a hospital or something worse, she couldn’t tell.
She adjusted her grip on the pen, shifting her weight to support herself on her good leg. She had no idea where she was – but she would be damned if she went back. She just needed to link up with Riley and they could work on getting back to the states. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to think through the blaring alarms and quickening beeps.
“Get outta the fuckin’ way!”
The mounting fear melted from her shoulders, grey eyes locking in on the familiar brunette as he shoved his way between the collection of people crowding around the door. There was no relief across his features, frustration and anger overshadowing all else as Simon closed the gap. She was quickly reminded of her injuries as her leg crumpled under her weight as she stepped towards him. A quiet hiss punched between her teeth as she crashed against his chest, a violent string of curses passing above her head as he lowered them to the ground.
Simon hadn’t looked any better than she’d felt. Bruised and cracked skin wrapped in bandages; tattered clothes replaced with the dull grey provided by the hospital. Her fingers twisted in his shirt; breath ragged but slowing as she pressed her forehead into his chest. The erratic tones had slowed down, a dull steady beep cutting through the muddled words and hushed voices behind Simon.
The memories started to come back slowly as Simon spoke, gruff assurances accented by bitter curses. The occasional glare shot over his shoulder when someone shifted their weight. She remembered crossing the border now. Stumbling out of the old truck Simon had managed to hotwire, hand raised as she choked out her credentials to the border patrol. She hadn’t remembered hitting the ground, but Simon was polite enough to enlighten her.
“Like a fuckin’ rock.” He grunted, “Shoulda waited.”
“Fuck off – Riley.”
Her words were hoarse. Suddenly all too aware of each ache and pain that flared to life after each breath. Her throat was raw from the ventilator, her arm burning from the IV. Her leg screamed, whether from a broken bone or ripped stitches she couldn’t tell. Dark spots danced across her vision, body sagging further into his chest.
“She’s crashing-.”
Simon hovered at the threshold of the kitchen; a deep frown carved into his features as he stared over at Emily’s frame. Perched at the kitchen island with her back to him, a hoodie that was several sizes too large hanging off her shoulders as she crouched over whatever she was reading. The exhaustion was evident in her slouched frame, fingers idly flexing against the back of her neck.
“It’s rude to stare, Riley.” She drawled blandly, arms moving to stretch across the counter like a cat.
“Wha’re you still doin’ up?”
“What are you still doin’ up?” She countered, turning to glance over her shoulder with a raised brow. “Isn’ it past your bedtime?”
“Just landed.” He grunted, dropping the duffel bag onto one of the barstools. “Rushed home to make sure you didn’t burn the kitchen down.”
“I’m not the one who lived off of MREs and TV Dinners, Riley.” She huffed, “Make that joke again and you’ll be cookin’ for yourself again.”
“The beef stew isn’t bad-.”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll throw the leftovers out before you’re done with your shower.”
“I showered at base.”
Emily paused, turning back towards him with an incredulous look. Simon was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest with most of his gear still in place. Skull balaclava still in place with faded black still staining the skin around his eyes. While he didn’t look like he’d been rolling around in a crime scene – he looked far from comfortable.
“Might’ve been born at night, Riley, but it wasn’t last night.” She huffed, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t shower on base, you rushed through whatever reports you had and took off. Bet Chops let you too.”
“You sure you don’t got a wiretap at the base?”
“Don’t need one,” She snorted, “I’m in your head, Riley… It’s roomy in here.”
“Fuck off.”
“You fuck off – and take a shower while you’re at it.”
Simon pushed off the wall with a scoff, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the stairs. Emily smirked in turn, shaking her head as her attention turned back to the reports and emails in front of her. It felt like she’d only been back for a few hours but there were already tasks piling up waiting for her – and a handful of meetings with different individuals from command. Undoubtedly for something that would make her job more complicated than it needed to be.
Huffing a quiet curse under her breath she closed the laptop and slid it further into the island. Her spine still ached from the less than graceful tumble out of bed, stretching her arms above her head she moved towards the fridge. Tradition usually demanded they make something together, but given they were both fighting competing jetlag she opted for to forgo it.
If she would’ve been able to sleep without smelling the hospital she’d have been in bed long before now.
She hadn’t been surprised by Simon’s reappearance in the kitchen – if there was one thing the military taught you early on it was time management. But she hadn’t expected him to crowd her space with a frown, dark eyes storming as he glared down at her. Any sarcastic quip she had prepared died on her tongue when his fingers brushed across her chin, gently moving her head with a scowl.
“The fuck is this-.”
She scrunched her nose, lips pulling into a subtle grimace. She’d forgotten about the bruise. A stray elbow from a panicking soldier waking up in the medic tent after a botched attempt to outrun one of the instructors. It had nearly knocked her unconscious – not that she would bring that up to the glowering brit towering over her.
“Who the fuck-.”
“Slow your roll, Cujo.” She sighed, hand resting at his wrist as she tried to break the grip. “Took a stray elbow to the-.”
She realized her mistake the moment the words left her lips. She felt the tension build beneath her fingers, muscles coiling at the perceived threat. Even if the threat wasn’t present in the moment. Her other hand moved to his shoulder, gently patting in what she’d hoped was a reassuring gesture. Simon was overprotective on a good day, but it seemed to get the best of him in the days immediately following a deployment.
“Why the fu-.”
“Hey – calm down, okay?” She cut him off, pulling his hand away from her chin so she could meet his glare directly. “It wasn’t an attack – it was some kid who took a tumble down a cliff. He woke up disoriented ‘n clocked me with an elbow. They got in his head during training, and he got a little flighty. Nothing else.”
He stared down at her for a few moments, anger still burning behind his eyes, lips pulled into the same thin scowl they always were when he was irritated. The scowl deepened when she jabbed at his ribs before slowly motioning for him to breathe. Knowing that it hadn’t been a direct attack didn’t ease his irritation – she shouldn’t have been in a position to be struck.
“What happened to stayin’ in the trailer?”
“Technically the infirmary was in a trailer.”
“That’s not funny-.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever claimed to be funny.” She countered, lips pulled into a smirk as she patted his shoulder, lightly shoving him back towards the island. “Now – you’re grumpy as hell. Maybe you should try eating.”
She stepped around him before he could argue, signaling the end of her participation in the discussion. Simon scoffed, eyes closing as he inhaled deeply through his nose. The bitter feelings still swirled between his ribs, images flashing behind his eyes of bruises and broken bones. He was beginning to wonder if he should’ve set up a protection detail. Emily’s track record for finding trouble seemed to grow each year, and it didn’t matter if she typically got herself out of it.
He was afraid of the days when she couldn’t.
What could go wrong?
“Stop brooding and eat, Riley.” Her words cut through his spiraling thoughts. “You glare at that cabinet any harder ‘n you’re gonna lite it on fire.”
“And the other file?”
Laswell’s brow arched, fingers tapping against the mug in front of her. The SAS files had made sense – Price had worked with them extensively across multiple operations. It was an easy leap that he’d pull the men he trusted most into his new task force. But Lieutenant Mason hadn’t been active for years, and only performed one joint mission with the SAS.
“They’re inactive.” Laswell began, eyes narrowing when Price didn’t look surprised. “Medically discharged in 2010… They’re not eligible to be pulled in for this.”
“They wouldn’t be on the docket for deployment. Want them to run Medical.” Price countered, “I know they have current contracts for training facilities.”
“You’ve met them…” She sighed after a pause, arms folded across her chest as she studied him closely. “You know more than you’re letting on.”
“Not much.”
The admission was accompanied by a quiet chuckle, dragging his hand down the side face. Price would’ve been lying if he claimed to know much more – he hadn’t been aware that the doctor had been discharged previously. Though he had suspected that they had military experience, there was no telling where it resided or what their MOS had been.
Though he had guesses.
“So… Can you get the file?”
Laswell scoffed at the polite smile, waving him off before she reached into her bag to pull the tablet free. Navigating through a series of screens before she flipped it back towards him and slid it across the table.
“Shepherd neglected to pull a copy; he did not believe that it would be worth the paperwork.” She admitted, “Lieutenant Emily Mason, Former PJ with the 48th Rescue Squadron of the Air Force’s 563rd Rescue Group.”
“Not an easy thing…”
Scrolling through the file didn’t offer much. The woman’s file was sparse compared to the rest of the Operators. Of the available reports it was clear to see that she had a promising career at the start – high scores across the board with nearly perfect Marksmanship qualifiers and ASVAB results. Any information about her deployments had been redacted down to the status, offering little insight into the parameters or specifics.
“13 successful deployments with high remarks from her superiors.” Laswell elaborated, “Records were sealed, but she participated in the attempted recovery of captured Delta Operators in Mexico.”
“Coahuila?” Price knew from the sharp look that he’d been right.
“The team was compromised after landing in country, Mason was one of two survivors -.” Her eyes narrowed again. “The other was a John Doe… Anything you’d like to share, John?”
“It was a lucky guess.”
“Right…”
“Was that her last Op?”
It was clear from the expression on her face that Laswell hadn’t believed him, but she looked tired enough to not want to push.
“No, she was given 6 months to recover and requalify, after passing a psyche eval she was cleared and sent out on another recovery Op.” Laswell trailed off for a moment, brows furrowing. “Intel was faulty, and they were ambushed by Cartel assets enroute.”
“Casualties?”
“Everyone but Mason.” Laswell confirmed, “Mason was MIA for three weeks before turning up at a hospital in Texas. Took the medical discharge that was offered by command following her recovery, record showed she moved to the UK shortly after with regular flights back to consult on SERE and SOCM courses… Beyond her ASVAB and Range scores, her career is… limited… What made you request the file, John? What are you not telling me?”
“She is one of the doctors on a SAS training post.” Price shrugged, pointedly ignoring the flat look Laswell sent his way. “She’s got high praise from her superiors… Surprised the General didn’t find her file worth collecting.”
“General Shepherd has… strong opinions, about the way in which Lieutenant Mason left.” She sighed slowly, fingers rubbing at her temples to alleviate the mounting headache. “He felt the Lieutenant could’ve done more instead of accepting the discharge.”
“You disagree?”
He hadn’t expected the sharp look. The telltale tight lipped frown Laswell only used when biting back her sharper comments. He knew then that Laswell had met the Lieutenant at one point during her career – might’ve even attempted to recruit her to SAD. There was a history there that the Station Chief hadn’t been forthcoming about, not that he had any room to speak. He was as certain as he could be without direct confirmation from the two involved.
Mason had crossed paths with Simon in Coahuila.
How much time they’d spent together in Roba’s facility was a mystery, but it was the only explanation that made any sense. Simon Riley had been reclusive before the mission to Coahuila, but he’d been downright aggressive following his recovery. There was little he shared about his life outside of mission reports and it had taken years for him to open up to Price about his family.
But he’d never mentioned Mason.
“I was there in Texas.” Laswell spoke up, drawing his attention back towards her. “Happened to be working on something in the area, got pulled in while we waited on her to regain consciousness… What they put her through… DoD wanted to expedite her return to duty, Brass thought that since it was a shorter time that it would be a quicker recovery… But Mason didn’t trust her team. So, she took the out.”
“Fuckin’ hell-.”
“She was on a plane a couple of weeks later.” She confirmed, “No primary residence on file, just a phone number. Tried recruiting her to SAD when we brought Keller on – but she wasn’t interested.”
Price had a guess as to why.
If Mason was anything like Simon – he didn’t think she’d ever willingly deploy with another team.
“What of the John Doe?” Her brows furrowed.
“Redacted beyond my clearance unless I wanted to raise alarms. Probably a foreign Operator that got caught in the crossfire.” There was a pause, brows pinching together. “They were separated according to the protection detail. John Doe got involved when Mason woke up disoriented and attacked an orderly… Didn’t calm down until he stepped in – they moved them to a joint room for a while before they were moved to separate facilities. It’s my understanding John Doe was returned to their superiors; Mason was moved to a facility near her uncle.”
Price nodded, lips pressed together as he took in all the details, gaze flickering back to the personnel file on the tablet. He was confident that he had most of the pieces now, was almost positive that John Doe had been Simon. The timelines matched up with his return to the UK, and he was confident that Mason’s re-appearance after the second ambush would line up with Simon’s leave request.
He couldn’t think of a better medical officer for the Task Force.
He’d just need to convince Ghost that she wouldn’t be deployed.
“What are you planning, John?” She interrupted his thoughts again, frown still painted across her lips. “Why this Medic? I can get you a list of highly decorated, battle tested SF Medics – Operators who wouldn’t need to be convinced to join up.”
“It’s need to know.” He deflected easily, “You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”
Emily hadn’t known what to expect when she’d received the request to travel to a new post. The facility wasn’t one she was familiar with, not that it was particularly surprising. She had denied transfer requests more than once – uninterested in expanding her career. But this was different, a request that that came with a favor owed to the one and only Station Chief. If her uncle hadn’t been so nosey she might’ve declined it anyway – but Frank had thought it sounded like too much fun.
“Ma’am -.” Grey eyes turned towards the young Corporal, brow arching as he shifted his feet. “They’re ready for you, if you’ll follow me-.”
The conference room was as bland as any other, grey walls with grey filing cabinets surrounding a large table. A projector at the front of the room with a conference phone in the middle of the table. There were only two people in the room, seated across from one another at one end of the table. Station Chief Laswell had been expected, she was the one who pulled the strings to convince her to attend the meeting.
She hadn’t been expecting to see Price again.
“Mason,” Laswell greeted with a polite smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Laswell.” She returned the greeting, taking one of the open seats across from the door. “I assume there’s a significant reason why you’re handing out favors…”
“There is.” A nod towards Price, “This is Captain Price, he’s heading up a new Task Force-.”
“Not interested.”
“You wouldn’t be deploying.” Laswell cut in quickly, gaze flickering to Price again with a knowing look.
“Uh huh…” Emily countered slowly, glancing between the two for a moment before she snorted. “I just patch the kids up when they get busted up in the field. I don’t participate in the selection process so I’m not sure what purpose a civilian contractor will serve.”
“I need a medic who won’t be intimidated by the Operators.” Price announced, offering what she was sure he thought was a convincing smile. “I think you’re the best for the job.”
“Uh huh, yeah…” She watched him for a moment, frown on her lips as she studied him closely. “And I’m sure your request for a new medic has absolutely nothing to do with your Lieutenant.”
It almost drew a smirk to her lips when Laswell shot him a glare. The sarcastic humor in her tone was unmistakable, but despite the light tone it didn’t hide the subtle edge to it. A lingering threat sat at the back of the former Lieutenant’s teeth as she watched them. Price realized then that Simon wasn’t the only one who wore a mask outside of their house. There was a caution and skepticism that lingered beneath the building tension across her shoulders.
“Ghost does have a knack for dodging our current medical team, if the mood strikes him.”
She already knew that. Because she had stitched his wounds more than once after he opted to shrug off medical attention after returning from more than one operation. It didn’t fully explain Price’s interest in her though. There were plenty of medical officers who were capable of building a rapport with Simon – especially when they were backed by the captain in front of her.
“I expect that you’re more than capable as his superior officer to ensure that he receives the necessary care without my involvement.” She countered blandly, “There’s no reason for me to leave my current post.”
The refusal surprised him. He’d assumed that the assurance she’d be kept on post would’ve been enough to sway her towards agreement. She was already working with the SAS in a similar capacity – it wouldn’t have been a leap to transfer to a different facility. Based on what Laswell had said, Price thought it would be an easy selling point. She clearly had a foundation of trust with Simon that went beyond what was shared with anyone else – if his thoughts about the exchange with the John Doe were correct.
It could’ve been a coincidence that she moved to the UK after her discharge and that he just happened to cross paths with her at Simon’s house. But it didn’t track with what he knew of Simon. Ghost was able to be Simon with her. And that meant something. Price couldn’t think of another person that had seen Simon in the last decade, most only faced the Ghost.
Then it clicked.
He almost let the laugh escape, sniffling the sound with a cough as he shifted in his seat, free hand reaching for his water. Laswell shot him another glance, feigning concern though the captain knew it was more incredulous than anything else. Price thought back to Simon returning from leave just to be corralled into the med bay – being released sooner than ever with confused and annoyed medics left behind.
She’d already been patching him up.
There was no desire to join the Task Force and accept the perceived risks that came with it because she was already patching Simon’s wounds when needed.
It was difficult to pick out the voices through the roaring in his ears. If it wasn’t for the ragged breaths forcing air through his mask Simon could have convinced himself he was submerged in water. The scent of blood and sweat was the first thing to register, the metallic tang heavy across his tongue as his mouth opened to force more air into his lungs.
Then it was the pain.
Pressure building across his chest until it felt like his ribs were creaking under the pressure.
“Lieutenant Riley!” A voice shouted, hands pressing down across his chest, “Lieutenant – you need to stay still-!”
The pressure increased until he could’ve sworn he could feel the hooks again. He tried to push the figure away, bloodshot eyes snapping open just to struggle to pick out faces amidst the blurred masses standing over him. He felt something encase his forearm, tightening until it was dug into bruised skin. They were restraining him –
The ringing in his ears increased.
“Lieutenant – Please calm down!”
His free hand connected with something solid, air brushed across the skin exposed by his mask. He couldn’t tell if his mask was still on fully – it was getting difficult to breathe through it. He could feel the moisture soaking into the material around his mouth until he felt like he was drowning. He couldn’t remember how he got there – they’d made it to the exfil without significant resistance.
It didn’t make sense.
“Riley!” Simon froze. “Breathe!”
He’d recognize that voice anywhere, a calm port no matter the storm. The scent of rosemary and mint filling his nose as they leaned over the gurney – or had he been moved to a bed? He blinked rapidly to try and clear the spots from his eyes. A hand settled across his collarbone, warmth bleeding through the layers as their thumb tapped lightly at the bone.
“The bird went down, Riley.” The voice continued; tone low enough that it forced him to focus on the words to be able to hear them. “You’re fine – so is the team. But you have got to fuckin’ breathe before you swallow that ridiculous mask.”
He wasn’t sure if his retaliating remark had actually left his lips before she turned back towards the other medics. Sharp biting corrections were directed towards the team surrounding them, countering any rebuffs with viper quick sarcasm. Her hand never left his collar. Thumb tapping the same repetitive beat before she turned back towards him again.
Under different circumstances he would’ve questioned her appearance in the infirmary. Might’ve asked how she knew he’d landed and what frequency her wiretap had been on. Maybe she really was in his head. Perhaps at some point over the years she’d cracked open his skull and made herself at home, carving a place for herself away from the aftermath of Coahuila.
It was the familiarity that allowed his mind to drift. Muscles uncoiling as the world began to shift into and out of focus around him. The voices of the other medics fell faded beneath the ringing in his ears, his hearing strained to hold onto the sound of her voice until it too faded. He lost the battle to keep his eyes on her blurred figure, leaving him only with the repetitive pattern beating across his collar bone.
“What in the actual fuck do you mean you know what you were doing?” Emily snapped, glare turned onto the grizzled doctor scowling down at her from the foot of Simon’s bed. “How have you been stationed at this post for 8 years and not grasped de-escalation procedures?”
“The Lieutenant was disoriented-.”
“You don’t say?” She bit back, “Price – how about you do something useful and get them out of here.”
“They’re on call-.”
“Don’t play coy with me, Captain.” She turned her glare towards him, scowl carved into her features. “You wanted me onboard? Fine. Get them out.”
Her attention turned back to Simon as Price reassigned the medical team. Quietly muttering under her breath as she removed the restraints before working on peeling back the gear. She didn’t adjust the mask until the door clicked shut, a glance tossed over her shoulder to confirm before she began rolling the material up.
A new laceration split the skin across his jaw, blood soaking into the fabric until it painted the skin around his mouth. The rest of him was fortunately blood free, with only a new kaleidoscope of bruises across his skin. He’d narrowly escaped broken ribs, though she was sure if it had been possible the bones themselves would’ve been black and blue.
By the time she’d cleaned the wounds and stitched the laceration across his jaw Price had returned. Slipping through the door with a nondescript balaclava held loosely in his hand and an unlit cigar between his teeth. Rolling her eyes she slid the blood soaked balaclava off Simon’s face, cleaning the skin again before gently pulling the clean fabric over his face.
Price watched with the knowing gaze of someone with too much experience, expression neutral until she turned back towards him with a flat look. Emily leaned back against the bed with her arms folded lazily across her chest, fingers idly tapping against her arm as she waited for him to open the discussion. They both knew he had more than one reason for having her paged from the helicopter, and Simon’s reaction after regaining consciousness was only part of it.
“You handled him well.”
“As you expected.”
While his expression didn’t change, there was a gleam in his eye. Price knew that Simon would have issues with Keyton and his team – the man was one of the more combative doctors with a temper. He knew that Emily would be a better fit to treat Simon’s wounds. He also suspected that her presence would smooth things over for Simon – though he underestimated how much of an impact her presence would have. He also wanted her to see the looming conflict Price had been trying to avoid by her placement on the team.
The fact she was his ICE contact just made it easier.
“I knew Keyton was on call, and that you would be the better option for Ghost.”
Emily’s retort was cut off by a hand settling at her elbow, drawing their attention to a pair of bloodshot brown eyes. Any relief that had been present before he’d lost consciousness was gone now, buried beneath confusion that quickly melted to a frustrated agitation. It was abundantly clear by the dark gleam in his eye that Price had not run her placement by Simon. And Ghost was rapidly drawing a similar conclusion.
“The fuck are you doing here?” He rasped bluntly, gaze unwavering.
“Good morning to you too, Riley. You have a good nap?”
“Price – what is-.” Ghost turned towards him, frustration building.
He never expected her to be contacted for something so minor-.
“Your Captain’s trying to recruit me to your fancy new club.” Emily cut them both off, shooting Price a look that was not unlike a cat preparing to knock over a vase. “Seems like you can’t play nice with your current medical team, so he wants me to transfer.”
From the look on the captain’s face – he hadn’t actually thought about what Simon’s reaction might’ve been. An exasperated scowl settling across his face when the Lieutenant’s glare turned towards him. Emily was the best choice for 141, and Price knew that. He just forgot to think about how the man would react to the carefully guarded secret being dragged out into the open.
Maybe he should’ve read Laswell in first.
Looking across the room at the tension building across the Lieutenant’s shoulders as he hauled himself up from the bed, Price realized he might have underestimated Simon’s attachment. He’d been so surprised by the reappearance of Simon at the house that he forgot entirely about Ghost. It hadn’t occurred to him what might happen if the old war dog was expected to share his one comfort.
i got my isbn today for the book. 8 months to go. my mom and i were talking about what the next steps are. i was eating trail mix, standing on one foot, phone tucked into my ear.
"yeah," i said. "the problem is that tumblr as a market is like, not something that can be studied." there's this weird wave of nostalgia and affection for this place that came up over me: how lovely we avoid consumerism. okay, it sucks as a creator. but also? keep stickin' it to 'em.
my mother made the sound at the back of her throat that i also make, the one that means i've got an idea. "you should figure out some kind of reward for presale amounts. maybe you give out poems or a mug or a signed book or something. would your followers like that?" my mother is sweet, and kind, and i have no idea how to explain on this website you can buy someone crabs.
i put more m&ms down the hatch. i had to speak through peanuts and almonds. "if it passes 25 thousand i will print the book out in its entirety and eat it live on camera."
"oh god. no, you don't have to do that." she was anguished. "just tell them that you'd love them to read it, and that they've inspired you to write. you got started on that site, and they helped you keep going. raquel, you love these people. the community? you talk all the time about the other writers and artists and whatever else. tell them that you're hoping for their support, they'll come through."
"no," i assured her. i discovered i had dropped an m&m, but an ant had already found it, so it belonged to him now. i will let his little life have a surprise blue treasure in it, too. "i'm gonna fuckin' eat the book."
i'm having some car trouble, and i called my mom. she's babysitting my dog.
for the record, i don't want fame. i want to rot in my best friend's yard and complain about the economy. i think all writers should be kept in a jar and fed a diet of scary lamps, foggy roads, and like, spooky leaves.
"i don't want to market it," i whine to my mother. "I want people to find it by tripping over it in a bog. i want it to be like, appearing in their backpacks at a moment of great need. backpack-based distribution system."
"not everyone has a backpack. some people have purses. totes." she makes a good point here. sorry to the purse and tote enjoyers.
i close my eyes. "it takes 5,000 copies to be on the new york times bestseller list." that is an insurmountable number. i am an internet poet. i am not a big celebrity, and i am very, very, very old for tiktok. i also didn't write anything actually fun, like dragon porn. (my bad. next book?)
while she's replying the text comes in, and there's something in my brain like bacon grease frying. when i was 7 this was a dream. when i was 17 this was a dream. this is real and happening, and it feels fake somehow.
i don't hear the rest of what she is saying. i am googling can i eat paper or will i actually die. (you can, to both. for the first time in my life i regret being cuban, as this prevents me from being a WASP.)
i read the text again: body's a bad monster hit #1 on amazon last night. a prospective agent once told me queer people talk a lot about supporting artists, but they don't actually buy anything. another one called it never putting money where their mouth is.
thats great! i will be putting my mouth where the money is. and i will be eating this fucking book.
The Star Wars Original Trilogy is peak fiction because they took a fairy tale and set it in space, then they gave the princess in distress a GUN. But even better they gave her a sharp tongue and the power of revolution. They made the “dragon” a depressed cyborg father with asthma who doesn’t understand his own emotions and does murders because of it. And they made the knight a blond Barbie boy who attempts to solve problems with the power of love like he’s Sailor Moon or something.
And then they said, “oh yeah they’re all related btw. All the galaxy’s problems are this one family’s fault. Hope this helps 😘”
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