Broken Masks
Word count: 1.8k
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You were everything Ghost wasn't, everything he needed.
You were happy, kind, and understanding. Almost too understanding at times.
You were everything to him, and yet a whisper in the back of his mind told him that you’d never feel the same.
You and Ghost were assigned a mission together. It was simple, really; it should’ve gone off without a hitch. Go to a masquerade ball, find the files, get out.
Your black heels click against the smooth pavement, announcing your arrival; your posture demands respect.
Ghost silently comes up behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist as if you were his.
Your eyes darted around, taking in your environment with analytical precision. All conversations muffle; the chirping crickets become background noise.
You’re surrounded by dense woods; guards stand taut against every exit and corner, and cameras blink in your peripheral.
Noted.
The stone building is rocky and easy to grab onto.
Your eyes dart to the window where files should be stored.
‘If it comes down to it, I can scale the walls and meet Ghost out here.’
A nudge jolts you out of your mind; you look up to see Ghost staring down at you. “You’re thinking too much.”
“I’m simply ensuring our survival." You state firmly; the cold cadence in your voice causes his eyebrows to furrow in worry.
He always hated when you shut your emotions out. You were only like this during assignments.
He also can’t help but drink in the way the moonlight touches your skin like a gentle caress. Your black dress is shimmering in the light of lanterns stationed near the grand building.
He clears his throat and looks ahead, adjusting his tie.
“If this were any tighter, I’d be dead from asphyxiation.”
The sigh that escapes your mouth makes him grin, at least you show some kind of emotions, "Let me—” Interrupting his gait, you stop in front of him and adjust the tie at his collar, your shoulders relaxing at the proximity. “Can’t have you dying on me now, can I?” He chokes back a chuckle at your retort, “That would be unfortuna—” His eyes lock eye level with yours; he hadn't even noticed you’d gotten so… close.
His face flares hot, thankfully covered by his balaclava.
“I- uh—“ He gently pushes you away. “The—uh... the sooner we get the files, the sooner we can get out.”
Right.
Your posture tightens again.
"Let's go.”
The both of you resumed your walk, taking the act of a cold aristocratic couple.
A sudden cool rushes against your skin as you walk into the building, sending goosebumps down your arms.
Ghost takes subtle notice and wordlessly strips his tailcoat off and drapes it over your shoulders.
A warmth takes root in your chest, but you’re quick to smother it before it can be questioned any further.
A familiar man takes notice of the two of you.
Him
Hassan Zyani
Known for his affiliations with terrorist groups.
He makes his way through the crowd of people, smiling at you.
Your heart beats faster, the way he smiles—it's... not right.
But you're instantly yanked back from your thoughts when Ghost begins taking the conversation by leash.
“Well, what might we owe the pleasure of this fine evening?”
Zyani only chuckles, and it screams of privilege.
He grabs your hand tightly, his eyes radiating intention as he slowly lowers himself to his knuckles.
And you play along.
You bat your eyelashes as if communicating an affair in front of what is believed to be your husband.
“Couldn’t help but introduce myself to a fine specimen such as yourself.”
Ghost’s hands tighten around your waist, but you don’t put much thought into the way his nails dig into your hip.
“Well,” your words come out smooth as butter, “I must say the same. It’s hard to find such a gentleman in such high positions as yourself.”
He releases your hand and puffs out his chest as if making room for his growing ego, and you smile.
This may be easier than I th— no. Don’t get lazy now.
“Oh—how rude of me. I’ve yet to tell you my name. Hassan.” He extends his hands and takes yours in a handshake.
‘Do not crush his hand. Be delicate—’ your voice echoes in a mantra.
“And your name is?” He leans closer, as if Ghost isn’t right next to you.
“O-oh! My name is—” But Ghost cuts you off with a barely suppressed snarl. "That... wouldn’t really be your business. Would it?”
Zyani’s eyes flare at the challenge. “And you’re her… partner for the evening. I assume?”
He pulls you to his side. “Her boyfriend, actually.” Your eyes flare in barely suppressed surprise.
‘And what is with the strange tone?! No—no time for questions now. Get in. And get the fuck out… then I can berate him.’
Hassan stares at you, taking note of your reaction, and a slow smile creeps back onto his face. “Well then. I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t mind if I showed you my watch collection in my room?”
You force a smile on your face and squeeze Ghost’s wrist, silently warning him to shut up and stop measuring dicks.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” You slip from his side and walk besides Zyani, his hand slowly creeping to the small of your back, forcing you to reject the shudder that threatens to consume you.
He leads you to his office—where the files reside.
The world suddenly goes silent as the door clicks like an omen.
Ghost stares after the two of you, his fist clenching, his nails digging crescent moons into his palm.
‘This feels wrong,' he can’t help but think; blood rushes in his ears and his heart thumps in his throat.
“What the hell? I shouldn’t be panicking; she can handle hers—“
Click. Bang.
The loud noise choruses through the halls like an army of a hundred angry angels blowing on their war trumpets.
He suddenly feels weak on his feet; he stumbles forward as he tries to connect reality to the present.
That wasn’t her, right? It wasn’t…
But it was… the gunshot came from the office you’d just walked into.
And he let you.
He suddenly gains control over his movement and dashes towards the door, stumbling over himself and skidding as he slams into the door.
“LET ME IN!!” He bellows, silence filling the building; party guests have already scrambled out.
The door finally gives away with one last slam of his body. He stumbles into the room and chokes back a guttural cry.
You lay on the ground, slumped against a wall. Your face contorted in agony as you try to stanch the wound.
Zyani holds a gun to your head, chuckling as you bleed out on his carpet.
“Did you truly think I was so arrogant that I wouldn’t notice the gun strap at your ankle?” He cocks the gun and slams the butt of it against your head; exploding pain radiates through your skull.
“This game was fun, really, and I would’ve loved to play more if it weren’t for the time restraint I’m on,” he gives you a sickly sweet smile, “I hope you understand.”
No—
Nononono NO!
Ghost’s heart slams against his ribs like a frantic bird in a cage.
His hands tremble as he reaches for his gun, faster than a lightning bolt, and aims it directly at the man’s head.
And without hesitation he shoots.
The man crumbles, and Ghost yanks him away from your weak form.
His knees slam against the carpet floor, ignoring the shooting pain as he presses his hands against the wound in his stomach.
“F-fuck, lassie!” He whispers, grabbing his radios and screaming orders, “EVAC! Soldier down!”
“It’s going to be okay…” you whisper, groaning as you adjust yourself. "Tis just a scratch.”
He can’t believe you’re making jokes right now. “A fuckin’ scratch doesn’t look like bleeding out!”
He carefully gathers you in his arms. “I can’t lose you! Not right now! Not—not when—“ He forces himself to keep the words he desperately wants to say down. ‘Not when I haven’t told you how much I love you.’
“Just stay alive!”
He picks you from the ground, careful to not jostle you.
Your pained gasping shatters his heart.
He pushes out of the building, the midnight warmth enveloping your skin. Fireflies dance without a care for the cruel actions of humans.
A bone-deep exhaustion slowly pulls you under. “Don’t close your eyes!!”
Your mouth opens to say something—but nothing comes out, your eyes fluttering shut.
“NO!” He practically roars, silencing the creatures of the night, he yanks his radio out, “We’re three klicks from Evac point! Meet us in the middle; she’s in and out!”
And suddenly your world goes dark.
——
Beep…Beep…Beep…
Your eyes open, lights blinding as you adjust to your surroundings.
You slowly sit up and muffle a cry as you bend over your aching wound.
“Shit.” You whisper, your eyes dart around the white expanse of the room.
Curtains, the monitor, the bustling noise outside your room, and the pungent smell of anti-septic.
You’re in a hospital.
You let out a slow sigh, careful to not strain your stomach.
A weight presses down against your thigh; you look down…
And there’s Ghost, without his mask.
His blue eyes hidden behind his eyelids… his blonde hair mussed from days without care.
Laying his head across your lap.
A familiar gait outside of the room catches your attention, uneven but loud.
Soap
And sure enough, the Mohawked Scot shows up, holding two cups of steaming coffee.
One of which must’ve been for Ghost.
His eyebrows jumps to his hairline, “Well.. shit.” He murmurs, navigating around the blond’s sleeping body and pulling up an extra seat, careful not to make noise to wake him up.
“How’re you feeling, lassy? Gave us quite a scare..."
“I’m… I’ll be okay… just—how long has Ghost been waiting here?”
Soap's face turns solemn as he looks down at the man. "... Since you’ve been admitted, really. He won’t even leave for a shower.”
You’re almost too scared to ask..." And—how long ago was I admitted?”
He sighs; he knew you’d be asking questions the moment you woke up. It wasn’t in your nature not to.
“About—two weeks ago, you suffered… a lot of blood loss.”
Damn.
Ghost stirs, bringing both of your attentions back to him.
“I’ll just—leave y’all to talk. Take it easy, lass. Don’t strain yourself.” You give a nod to acknowledge him, but he knows you probably won’t take his advice.
He leaves the room just as Ghost’s eyes flutter open, pinning you down with a stare of disbelief.
“Y-you’re…”
"Yeah... I’m awake.” You smile softly—a smile he thought he’d never see again.
He sits up, his palms finding your face before bringing you into a kiss. Pouring all of his pent-up emotions into it, his right hand reaches to cradle the back of your head, slowly laying you down.
And you reciprocate.
He pulls away, his eyes shining. “I thought—I—… fuck it…”
He presses his forehead against yours. “I fucking love you… and I can’t risk another day without telling you.”
The breath is stolen from your lungs, and the monitor mimics that; his eyes flare with his panic.
“I’m—fine... I just…”
You stare into the most beautiful pair of eyes.
“I love you too.”