Neighbour!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!reader
Reader getting hurt and Simon being her knight in shining military gear
A/N: @pixiu-palindrome this is the second ask you requested! And yes this is absolutely inspired by the fact that my dying fire alarm kept beeping last night and kept me awake...ALSO I barely edited this lol so plss let me know if you spot something like grammar or spelling or whatever!!
@nbdblogger @tigerchud
Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4
Part 5
Simon was awake at 2 o clock in the morning because he was getting ready to go on deployment. Base was an hour away and he was supposed to be there at 7am but he couldn't sleep in his apartment knowing that he had was just hours away from flying out to some wasteland, possibly for months. He was planning on getting there stupidly early and busying himself by running around base, helping Price with plans, paperwork, something like that.
You were awake at 2 o clock in the morning because the stupid fire alarm on your bedroom ceiling had a dying bettery and let out a loud shriek every two minutes. Right when you started to drift off, it would beep again and wake you up. The person living in the apartment right above you had hit his floor (your ceiling) with the handle of a sweeping brush at least four times already, each harder and more aggressive than the last.
You couldn't just not do anything about it. Not only could you not sleep but the beeping was keeping other people awake, too.
So, you got out of bed.
You could have gotten a sturdier chair from the kitchen. But it was late. You didn't care. You just wanted that contant beeping to shut the hell up. You're desk chair would do. The one that swivels, rolls, and can lean back completely flat.
Simon was passing the door to your apartment, on his way to the stairwell to leave the apartment building for the next few months. He hadn't told you. He didn't know if you would care. Maybe he would send you a text or something just before he got on the plane or helicopter or whatever mode of transportation Price and Laswell had chosen.
Thats when he heard a loud crash. Not a small crash like you dropped something or fell out of bed, but one of those sounds that makes your stomach drop because you just know someone got hurt.
Inside the apartment you were laying on the floor, ankle already starting to go purple and swell. You made the mistake of standing on your tip-toes for added height because you just couldn't reach. You lost your balance and put your hand on the back of the chair to try stabilize yourself. Of course that triggered the little mechanism to make the back lay down flat, completely knocking you off balance again. You tipped backwards, the wheels on the bottom of the chair did the rest. The chair rolled out from underneath you and tipped over with the force of the fall. The automatic reaction to try fall on your feet was your unltimate demise. You landed wrong on your left foot, twisted it or broke it or something like that, you weren't sure. You just knew that it hurt like hell.
Simon knocked on the door. No, he didn't. Actually, he banged on the door so hard you were surprised the thing didn't come off its hinges.
"Love?! You alrigh'?!"
You sat on your bedroom floor, biting you knuckles to stop yourself from crying or screaming, eyes shut tight. Your ankle felt hot and stiff, like your brain wouldn't let you move it even if you tried.
Simon called for you again, his voice heavy with worry. "Answer me! Are you okay?!" His banging on the door was so loud now that you're sure the whole building could hear it.
You obviously needed help. You were insanely lucky that Simon was passing by right as you fell but you still needed to unlock the door and let him in lest he break your door down.
So, gritting your teeth, you braced your hands on your bed and pulled yourself up, standing only on your right foot, your left slightly elevated off the ground. You couldn't bring yourself to call out for him. It was like your brain could only focus on the pain. You were sure no sound would come out if you tried to talk.
That's when you heard the much louder bangs on the door. Not knocks. Kicks. The door was weak enough as is. All it took was two kicks to have it fly open, hitting the wall, damaging the hinges and sending a huge split down the wood by the handle.
He was by your side in just a few seconds, calming down once he realized that your injuries were in fact not very serious or life threatening. Maybe he even felt a bit guilty about kicking down your door when it wasn't necessary at all. In his defense, you weren't responding to him. It was his military training that kicked in. No response equals get there quick.
A quick glance around the room told him enough. Chair on the floor, bed unmade, you in your pajamas, and a very timely beep from the fire alarm that he noticed you rolled your eyes at in annoyance despite your current predicament. He looked back at you, a scowl of pain on your face, foot completely elevated off the floor, skin rosy pink with embarrassment. With a gentle but firm grip on your arm he guided you to sit on the edge of your bed.
"I'm gonna take a look, alrigh'?" He got down on his knees and gently took your calf in his hand to extend your leg forwards. Your ankle was swollen and red in a way that you could just tell it would be purple in an hour.
Simon, with his free hand, squeezed your ankle with his thumb and forefinger with the utmost tenderness like he was holding a newborn. Then, a sigh, like he knew something you didn't, because he did.
"It's definitely sprained. Probably not broken but I can't really tell. We need to get you to a hospital, this won't heal on it's own." He stood up and looked down at you. You still hadn't said a word. He understood that it was from shock, most likely. "How bad does it hurt?"
Then, finally, your mouth opened and your voice sounded strained and forced but he knew that was normal. He had seen people recovering from shock not be able to speak for hours.
"I can't afford to go to the hospital."
"well that's no' what' I asked, is it?" A beat of silence. "How's your pain?"
You looked at him then. Military attire, combat boots, camo jacket with a name tag with 'SGT. Riley' plastered on it. He was leaving?
"Its okay. Hurts, but it could be worse. It feels hot." You chose not to mention his attire or the fact that if he hadn't come in here to check on you he would have just left without saying anything.
"yeah, that's jus' your blood rushing to your ankle. You got ice? Gotta bring down the swelling."
"There might be a bag of frozen peas or something in the freezer." Those frozen peas had probably been bought during a health kick where you swore you were going to lose weight but then promptly gave up after about a day.
He left then. You heard the sound of the freezer door opening and the drawers being pulled out, frozen pizzas pushed away in favour of vegetables for the first time ever no doubt.
He returned with that bag of peas wrapped up in a little cloth so the cold wouldn't feel so extreme on your skin and knelt down in front of you once more.
He took your ankle, just as gentle as before if not more so, and pressed the frozen peas to your skin. You winced a little at the sudden pressure and temperature chance. He noticed and mumbled out a little "sorry" just barely loud enough to be heard.
"We need to go to the hospital, love." He sounded guilty almost. Maybe he was just upset about the door or maybe it was the silent internal spiral of what might have happened to you had he left his apartment five minutes earlier instead of when he did. You would be here but alone and in pain with no way of getting to the hospital. Anyway, there was no use dwelling on that. He was here. That was all that mattered.
Once he was satisfied with the work the peas had done on your ankle he placed them on the floor and stood up just to sit down on your bed next to you.
"You can't walk, as much as you might want to. You alrigh' with me carrying you?"
A nod from you was really all he needed to stand up and put his arm under your knees and his other behind your back for support. Simon lifted you like you weighed the same as a pile of blankets or a stuffed animal. You would have been a blushing mess only the pain pulsating from your ankle was drawing your attention more than Simons strength.
You noticed your door as he carried you out of your apartment. It was destroyed enough that it wouldn't close. Not properly anyway. Still, you grabbed the broken doorknob as you passed it and tried to close it as best you could so it would maybe look closed enough that burglars wouldn't notice and rob you blind.
"Sorry 'bout that. I'll pay for it, love."
He carried you down the stairwell and out the front door of the building. It was cold outside. Much colder than your apartment. You were only wearing old shorts and a t-shirt as pajamas so the early morning breeze reached your bones almost immediately.
Simons truck blended in to the dark so well that you couldn't tell where it was until you were right beside it. He set you down on your feet gently, being careful to not let go until you had your balance on your non injured foot. He pulled off his jacket, his military jacket that you were almost certain he wasn't supposed to be giving to other people, and wrapped it around your shoulders before you could protest. When he turned he kept a protective hand on your arm and used his other to open the passenger side door of his truck.
You hobbled in, using both Simon and his truck for balance as you sat in the passenger seat then swung your legs inside. The door shut gently once you were inside and Simon went around the truck to hop in the driver seat.
The drive to the hospital was quiet. The type of quiet where you both knew there was something you had to address but neither of you were quite ready to talk about it yet. Until the silence became deafening and the tension was so thick it could be cut by a knife.
And you chose to break the silence.
"Were you really going to leave without saying anything?"
He didn't respond straight away. He didn't do anything actually. No sign that he had even heard you other than the way his grip subtly tightened on the wheel, knuckles going white, eyes glued to the road illuminated by his headlights.
Then, "Yeah. Thought it was just easier tha' way."
"Easier?" You almost scoffed, turning your body towards him. "Easier for who? Because it sure wouldn't have been easier for me, Simon. I would have woken up in the morning and texted you to no reply, then knocked on your door with no reply. I wouldn't have seen you in the hallways or stairwell, or the laundry room. You were perfectly fine with just leaving me confused and wondering what I had done to make you not want to say goodbye?"
He sighed and glanced towards you, silent for a while like he was thinking about what to say. His face showed no emotion. No guilt. But his eyes betrayed the sea of thoughts in his head.
"I- I don't know. I didn't think about it like that. I guess I thought you wouldn't care if I left. Most people don't."
Your heart softened at that. You had been upset with him for not thinking about you but he just figured that you wouldn't care if he was there or not...
"Maybe you should have asked me first instead of just assuming? I care, Simon." You reached over, softly putting your hand over his that was resting on the gear stick.
He looked over at you now, daring to tear his eyes away from the road just so he could see you.
"I'm sorry."
Simple words. Quiet and easy but they weighed heavily. You could both feel it.
"Well, I'm sorry for falling off a chair in the middle of the night and putting us in this situation in the first place." You laughed and he smiled. The tension was gone, replaced by something much sweeter that happily crowded the air between you for the rest of the drive to the hospital.
You were utterly grateful for Simons jacket when he helped you out of the car once he parked. It was even colder there, somehow. You also didn't want to be seen in your old t-shirt by anyone at the hospital.
The hospital was quiet as expected. Simon walked in, you in his arms. You were seen by a doctor almost immediately, unusually quick even with how quiet the waiting room was. You were even given a wheelchair so you didn't need to be carried everywhere. Maybe that had something to do with his military uniform, you assumed. It was odd how you felt sort of sad about not relying on him so much, even if he was pushing you in the wheelchair because it didn't have those big wheels with the handles on them.
After a brief examination from an older nurse who looked as though she had seen this exact injury many, many times before, she concluded that you had a partially torn ligament. She gave you an ankle brace, crutches, and a weeks worth of strong pain killers. It would take about six weeks to heal, and you would be on crutches for four of those weeks. At least you hadn't broken any bones.
You were in and out of the hospital in about 45 minutes. whether that was good luck, good timing, military privilege, or all three you couldn't tell. Either way you were grateful for it. You wanted to get back to bed.
You slept the entire car ride home. Your sleep was already interrupted earlier by the loud shrieking from your fire alarm, now this? you were exhausted.
When you woke up, it took you a minute to recognize where you were. Simons apartment. You must have been in his bedroom. Well, obviously, considering the bed you were in that you had no idea how you get there.
Simon was beside you, sitting on the side of the bed, gently shaking you awake.
"Sorry, love, it's just... I have to go. I've stayed here as long as I can. I'm gonna be late."
You suddenly shot up in the bed, eyes wide and much more awake than you had been all night. Your heart sank in your chest. You had completely forgotten about that. He was leaving.
"I think you should stay here. In my apartment. It's obviously not safe in yours without a door."
You didn't have time to think about the fact that he had just offered you to basically live in his home for the next however many weeks or months. Because he was leaving.
"You're leaving? Now? Right now?" Your voice was tired but panicked in a way he had never heard before.
"Yeah, pretty, I'm leaving now. I have to." His hand, rough but gentle and safe in a way that felt almost cruel because he was about take that feeling with him, landed on top of hours with a reassuring grip.
"When will you be back?" Your other hand landed on top of his, gripping much tighter, much more desperate, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. Not from the pain from your ankle but the fear of not knowing what would happen to him.
"I don't know. A few months at least. Probably four or five." He shrugged and looked down like he couldn't bare to say the words himself.
One tear slipped from your eye and down your cheek. You didn't even notice it was there until you tasted the salt on your lips when it reached them.
Your mind was overrun with thoughts. You wouldn't see him for months. that was if he didn't get himself killed over there wherever he was going. You might never see him again.
You didn't really think about it. It was like moving on instinct when you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, desperate and salty from tears and entirely unexpected from both of you.
His hand that wasn't currently trapped between yours reached up to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss, his thumb stroking the skin of your cheekbone, wiping away tears.
Neither of you said anything when you pulled away from each other. There were no words to describe these feelings anyway. No, speaking would ruin the moment. So you both stayed quiet. Even when he stood up and walked away. Even when the front door shut quietly. Even when you heard his truck engine start up. Even when he stayed there for a few minutes, sitting in his truck, not yet driving away like he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.
And for the first time in his entire life, when Simon left, he was leaving something important behind.
For the first time in his life, he had someone who was desperate for him to return home.
For the first time in his life, he wanted to return home.