LT Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. Status: MIA.

For months, to a year, his status had never changed. Gone for months, the days had started to blur into a haze of worry and despair for you and the rest of the team. Nearly a year had passed before Simon was finally found, locked up in the enemy’s zone.

All the struggles, all the rescue missions you had taken part of, had been a risk and a sacrifice worth it for the sake of your fiancé.

And when he was finally safe and sound in the arms of the 141, the world seemed to fall into peace — yet he was barely recognizable: dark circles beneath his hollow eyes, pale, shocked. Malnourished and brainwashed. The doctors had explained his condition, the extent of this ‘trauma’; his memory, his real identity, they were all a blank blackboard. And he couldn’t even recognize you, the person he had committed to and asked for your hand in marriage.

Though it all weighed down, you never gave up, determined to piece him back together. The man you loved was alive, but the Simon you knew was gone.

The light on his desk casted a soft glow into the dark office, illuminating his tired features as he worked over another stack of reports, meant to integrate him back into the team. The soft creak of the door caught his attention, his gaze dropping on your figure as you stepped inside his office, just as the clock struck past midnight.

No words were needed to be spoken, just the tender touch of your hands cupping his masked face, the thumb caressing his cheek in a long lost habit he once loved — now a simple dull sensation. “Please, come back to me.” Your whisper could’ve broken down his walls a thousand of times, but you were speaking to an empty slate, as he tried to recall the familiarity.

His gaze softened for the briefest moment, his hand coming to grasp your wrist, firm but not unkind — only to lower your hand away from his face, a distant look on his unmasked eyes. “You should go to sleep, sergeant.”