Misheard (Simon Riley Imagine)
The cabin was silent except for the crackling fireplace and the wind dragging tree branches across the roof.
Hours earlier, the mission had nearly gone catastrophically wrong.
Y/N had taken a round through her side while covering Soap’s advance. The bullet had passed cleanly enough that Price and Ghost had managed to remove it inside the safehouse with the team’s medical supplies. It hadn’t been pretty. There had been blood, shaking hands despite years of experience, and more than one moment where everyone thought they might lose her.
Now she was confined to one of the upstairs bedrooms, wrapped in blankets with fresh stitches stretching across her ribs. The painkillers had finally let her sleep.
She woke with a dry throat that burned.
It took her a moment to remember where she was.
The unfamiliar wooden ceiling.
The moonlight creeping through the curtains.
The ache that shot through her side as she breathed.
Slowly, she pushed herself upright, biting her lip as the movement tugged at her stitches.
Every step downstairs felt like someone dragging a knife through her side.
She held the railing with one hand and pressed the other against her bandages, trying to stay quiet.
Light flickered from the living room.
She hadn’t meant to listen.
But as she reached the last few steps, Ghost’s unmistakable voice drifted through the hallway.
Soap leaned back in his chair.
“We’ve got to think about the team first.”
“I don’t like leaving people behind.”
Soap rubbed a hand over his face.
“But if it comes to that…”
Then Ghost spoke in the same calm, emotionless voice that always hid everything.
“We’ve only known her a few weeks.”
“We’ll make the call when the time comes.”
Y/N didn’t hear the rest.
Her ears rang too loudly.
They’re talking about me.
If another mission goes wrong… they’ll leave me.
She was the newest member.
Everything they’d done for her suddenly felt… obligatory.
Because soldiers didn’t leave wounded teammates to die.
The thought hit like another bullet.
Without making a sound, she turned around.
Every step upstairs hurt more than before.
She shut her bedroom door carefully.
The tiny click echoed through the room.
Then she slid down against it.
Her breathing became shaky.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“They regret bringing me…”
She buried her face in her knees.
The room felt impossibly empty.
She’d finally thought she’d found somewhere she belonged.
People she’d started trusting.
She’d misunderstood everything. She eventually forced herself toward the bed.
The movement pulled painfully at her side. She ignored it.
She curled onto the mattress, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her shoulders trembled. Every shaky breath tightened her abdomen.
The fresh stitches strained.
One sharp sob escaped before she could stop it.
Pain exploded through her side.
Warmth spread beneath the bandages.
She looked down. Dark crimson slowly seeped through the white gauze. Her stomach dropped.
The movement only made it worse. Another stitch gave way. Blood began soaking into the sheets. Not fast enough to pour. But steadily. Relentlessly.
She pressed trembling fingers over the wound.
It hurt. Everything hurt. Her side. Her chest. Her heart.
Tears blurred her vision until she couldn’t tell where the blood ended and the blankets began.
She whispered it to no one.
Her hand weakened. The pressure eased. Blood continued to stain the mattress beneath her.
Downstairs, laughter briefly drifted up from the living room. Ghost had apparently said something dry enough for Soap to laugh despite himself. The sound broke her heart.
She cried harder, convinced they were already moving on without her.
And none of them noticed that, only one floor above, the newest member of Task Force 141 lay alone in the darkness—bleeding silently into the bed, believing the people downstairs had already decided she wasn’t worth saving anymore.
The room grew colder. Or maybe it was just her. Y/N couldn’t tell anymore.
She kept one trembling hand pressed against her side, but her fingers were slick with blood now. Every time she tried to push harder, they slipped.
She whispered the words to herself. She wasn’t sure whether she’d actually spoken them aloud.
The mattress beneath her had become damp and warm. Her vision blurred at the edges.
She blinked, trying to focus on the moonlight spilling through the window.
Just… wait until morning. She didn’t want to bother them. If they already thought she was a liability… If they already regretted bringing her onto the team… Then waking them because she’d made her own stitches tear open felt unbearable.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
But she couldn’t even remember how she’d intended to.
Downstairs, the conversation had finally died down. Price stretched with a groan.
“We should get some sleep.”
Soap stood, carrying empty mugs toward the kitchen. Gaz yawned.
Ghost hadn’t moved much during the entire conversation. His eyes drifted toward the staircase. Something tugged at him. A feeling he couldn’t explain.
Price gave him a small nod before disappearing upstairs with Soap and Gaz.
Silence settled over the cabin once again.
Ghost stared into the dying fire. Something wasn’t right. He replayed the evening in his head. The operation. Removing the bullet. Checking her bandages. She’d been exhausted. She should’ve slept through the night. He frowned. The unease wouldn’t leave.
With a quiet sigh, he climbed the stairs.
Ghost passed Soap’s room.
Then he stopped outside Y/N’s door.
There was a faint metallic scent in the air. His military instincts sharpened instantly.
His hand closed around the doorknob.
He knocked once. Nothing. A little louder.
Now the unease became alarm.
One solid kick. The old lock splintered apart. The door slammed inward.
For one horrifying second…
He thought the bed was simply covered with dark blankets.
Blood. Far too much of it. The sheets beneath her were soaked crimson. Y/N lay curled onto her side, one pale hand still weakly covering the ruined bandages.
Her skin looked almost grey. Her lips had lost their color. Her eyes were only half-open. Unfocused.
Ghost crossed the room in two strides.
He dropped to his knees beside the bed.
Only a tiny, exhausted sound escaped her throat.
He carefully pulled her hand away from her side.
Several stitches had torn open.
Fresh blood welled from the wound.
He immediately pressed both hands firmly over the injury.
Enough to stop the bleeding.
Her voice was barely audible.
She frowned as if forming words required enormous effort.
Her words dissolved into confused mumbling.
She wasn’t making sense anymore.
He leaned toward the bedroom door and shouted with a voice that echoed through the entire cabin.
Footsteps thundered instantly.
Another pair of feet hit the floor.
Within seconds, all three burst into the room.
Soap’s face drained of color.
“There was no bleeding when I checked her…”
Gaz was already opening the trauma bag.
Ghost never lifted his hands from her wound.
His gloves were completely red now.
Price was beside him in an instant.
He looked down at the barely conscious woman.
Her eyes were drifting shut again.
Her eyes opened for only a second.
She looked directly at him.
There was such quiet surprise in her voice that it made something twist painfully in his chest.
A tiny, almost disbelieving smile flickered across her lips before her eyes rolled back.
Soap immediately checked her pulse.
Gaz handed over fresh dressings while Price took over applying pressure so Ghost could help stabilize her.
As Ghost moved, he noticed something lying on the pillow beside her head. A damp patch. Not blood. Tears. Far too many to have come from pain alone.
His gaze lingered on them for only a heartbeat before he looked back at her pale face. Something else had happened tonight. Something had broken her long before her stitches had.
Price worked quickly, his movements calm despite the urgency.
“Gaz, keep pressure on that dressing.”
Ghost barely heard the orders.
He knelt beside the bed, one gloved hand supporting Y/N’s shoulder while the other steadied her wrist.
Her pulse was still there.
Every few seconds her eyelids fluttered, but she couldn’t seem to keep them open.
Price inspected the wound with a grim expression.
“The stitches have opened in three places.”
He glanced at the blood-soaked sheets.
“She shouldn’t have been moving around.”
The next few minutes blurred together. Fresh disinfectant. New sutures. Clean bandages wrapped tightly around her side.
She stirred once when the needle passed through her skin.
A tiny whimper escaped her lips.
Ghost instinctively reached for her hand.
She didn’t seem to hear him.
When Price finally tied off the last stitch, he leaned back with a weary sigh.
“The bleeding’s stopped.”
Price checked her pulse again.
Gaz quietly gathered the bloodied bandages into a bag.
Soap stripped the ruined sheets from the mattress, his usual humor nowhere to be found.
After several minutes, Y/N stirred.
She blinked slowly at the wooden ceiling.
She turned slightly before immediately gasping in pain.
He was still sitting beside the bed.
Arms resting on his knees.
“You lost a fair bit of blood.”
Soap let out an exasperated breath.
“Would you stop apologizing?”
Y/N stared at the blanket.
Ghost noticed it immediately.
The way her fingers tightened around the fabric.
Soap crouched beside the bed.
“You didn’t just decide to reopen your stitches for fun.”
A weak smile almost appeared.
Her breathing became uneven.
Ghost watched tears begin to gather again.
Then, so quietly they almost missed it—
“When… I came for water.”
Soap exchanged a confused look with Gaz.
Y/N kept staring at the blanket.
She struggled to breathe evenly.
“…that if I slowed the team down…”
She continued before anyone could interrupt.
“…that you’ve only known me a few weeks.”
“…that you’d make the call when the time came.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“I didn’t want to be more trouble.”
Price rubbed a hand over his face.
“That’s… not what we meant.”
Price pulled a chair closer and sat down.
“We weren’t talking about leaving you.”
“We were discussing a contingency plan.”
“The mission we’ve been assigned may involve civilians trapped in the area.”
“If the extraction helicopter reaches maximum weight…”
“…someone might have to stay behind long enough to secure the landing zone.”
Price looked her directly in the eyes.
“We were arguing about which one of us would stay.”
Y/N’s face went completely still.
“When I said you weren’t ready…”
His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it.
“I meant you shouldn’t be the one staying behind.”
“You’ve only been with us a few weeks.”
“You’ve earned the right to come home.“
“I wasn’t questioning whether you belonged.”
Ghost shook his head once.
“I was saying you haven’t had enough time with us yet.”
Soap gave a small, sad smile.
“We’ve all made that choice before.”
“We weren’t about to let the newest member make it.”
Not because of blood loss this time.
She covered her face with trembling hands.
His answer came immediately.
She started crying in earnest now, shoulders shaking despite the pain in her side.
“I thought… you regretted taking me…”
Soap gently rested a hand on the edge of the bed.
“We spent an hour digging a bullet out of you.”
Gaz gave her a tired smile.
“Ghost nearly bit my head off because I reached for the wrong forceps.”
Even Price smiled faintly.
“You think we’d do all that because we felt obligated?”
“If we didn’t want you here…”
He looked directly at her.
But somehow they carried more weight than a long speech ever could.
For the first time since she’d woken in the middle of the night, the tightness in her chest eased.
The embarrassment remained.
But the certainty that she’d been unwanted…
That finally began to fade.
Ghost stood and pulled a blanket higher over her shoulders.
“Next time you’re thirsty,” he said in his usual dry tone, “wake one of us.”
A tiny, watery laugh escaped her.
“I didn’t want to bother anyone.”
“You reopening your stitches was a much bigger inconvenience.”
To everyone’s relief—including Ghost’s—she did again, the sound weak but genuine. It was a far better sound than the silence that had filled the room only minutes before.
