Falling apart
Summary: you're so stressed you hurt a rookie.
Pairing: Ghost x reader.
Warnings/tags: minors DNI, fem!reader, no use of y/n, mental health struggles, mention of blood, hurt/comfort, English is not my first language.
You never yell. Never shout, never raise your voice when you're angry. That's what driving Ghost crazy, because in his line of work, shouting is a necessity. It’s the norm: speaking in raised tones, even during a casual conversation, and even when everyone’s hearing is perfectly fine.
Your silence made the whole team uneasy. The common room was quiet, so the rustle of cards in Johnny and Kyle’s hands sounded unacceptably loud to Simon. He shifted his gaze to Price, who had been reading the first page of a report for ten minutes straight.
"You’re a damn cheat, I’m not playing with you anymore!" Gaz threw his cards onto the table. "You’ve got extra cards up your sleeves!"
"Ma grandpa used tae say: dinnae know how tae milk a coo, then dinnae go yankin on her tit," Johnny smirked, though the smile quickly vanished from his face.
You sat in your corner armchair with your legs pulled up against your chest. The mug of tea in your hands lost it's steam long ago, yet you kept clutching the warm ceramic. It wasn't like you were being silent for attention or anything, and you certainly didn't want to ruin anyone else's mood. You even put on a brave face for Simon, pretending everything was "fine". Even though he was staring right at you, unblinking, his chin resting in his palm.
You looked up at the sound of your name. John set his papers aside and asked the quiet, simple question: "You alright, kid?"
What could you say? Admit that you hadn't slept, that your head was splitting, that you just wanted to fall asleep and wake up when it was all over? He’d just say, "That’s rough," or "Hang in there," or "Don't let it get you down." But what did you actually need? It felt better to just quietly drown in self-pity.
"Sure. Fine," you forced a smile and, under Ghost’s intense gaze, hugged yourself tighter in the corner of the chair.
...
"Help him walk! Yeah, keep him steady!"
Shouts echoed in the corridor, accompanied by the squeaking wheels of the gurney they were loading the injured man onto.
You sat on a bench against the wall in the empty gym, your head bowed. Ghost’s footsteps reverberated off the walls of the vast space. Droplets of blood had not yet dried on the sparring ring.
You flinched as you noticed him approaching, pulling your body inward even tighter. A small pool of blood had already gathered on the floor between your knees.
"Underrated your strength, huh?" Simon asked, his voice almost cheerful. "It happens."
He crouched down in front of you, a wad of wet gauze in his hand. Your battered nose squelched with every breath, and your body was still trembling slightly from the botched sparring match.
"Hey, eyes on me," he ordered. "Breathe through your mouth, luv".
"I didn't mean to hit that hard..." you mumbled wearily. "He was fighting dirty, I just..."
"I know, sweetheart," Simon said, gently dabbing under your nose. "Shit happens."
You weren't crying —you didn't even sob— yet tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing with the blood smeared across your face.
"Hurts a lot?" He frowned, his hand with the cloth hovering in the air.
"Fine," - sniff - "I can't stop it."
"Then let it be."
You gave a brief nod.
"Is he okay?"
"Who?" Simon folded the cloth so the stained side was tucked inside. "The rookie? Oh please, just a bruise."
You pressed your lips together so tightly it hurt.
"Oi, stop that."
"What—"
"Stop with this pullshit. Stop acting like you're a burden. Stop playing the hero. Stop hiding the fact that you're falling apart," Simon said, not looking at you as he wiped your cupid's bow with exaggerated concentration. "I only mean... don't shut me out, yeah?"
No longer holding back your tears, you nodded rapidly and reached out your arms to him. Ghost scooped you up, letting you dissolve into his strong embrace.
"We're going to get you checked out by a doctor, and once you stop blowing blood out of your nose, we're going to have a very long talk, deal?"
"Deal," you whispered, syncing your pained breathing to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
