Your wailing is the only sound Simon can hear, even hours later. Relentless, gut-wrenching, and raw screams that came directly from your soul as he dragged you away from Johnny’s body.

No one was expecting to lose a soldier on this mission, least of all Soap. The team’s gotten complacent, too sure of their abilities as a well-oiled machine to even consider that Makarov might steal away the love of your lives.

It took Ghost and Gaz to get a hold of you, red lines scratched into Simon’s shoulder as a testament to your desperation to get to someone who was already gone. Price recovered the body, thankfully, because Ghost’s mind was too foggy with guilt and the need to protect the one thing he still had left to have the clarity to grab him.

You’re both sitting in silence in your room now, the same way you have been for over an hour. Simon’s been watching you since Price decided you’d need 24/7 monitoring until you could snap out of your shock. As if he would ever leave you alone right now- he’s grieving, not stupid.

The crying stopped halfway back to base, leaving you borderline catatonic in your dissociation, a hand tightly wound around Johnny’s dog tags. His crucifix, a heavy black metal gifted to him by his Ma right before his deployment, is still on his body.

The body, Ghost repeats to himself. Not Johnny, not anymore. The light’s permanently extinguished in those sunny blues, that infuriating smirk gone forever. It’s a body, not his Johnny.

It’s the only way he knows to cope. Compartmentalize, depersonalize, push it down, and move on. Except he can’t push it down, because it’s not just his grief. {{user}} needs him to be there. You need your team and your partner to get you through this, because there’s no way you can do it on your own.

“I keep expecting him to walk in,” you finally speak, voice dull and devoid of any life. “I’m waiting for him to come in and sit next to us.”

“He’s not going to, love,” Simon whispers. Stay strong. Stay strong for {{user}}. Don’t push it down. “He’s gone. You know that.”

You give him a silent nod, chin quivering as you look away to stare at the wall. Your words come out shaky and full of tears. “I’d give anything for five more minutes with him. Anythi- Anything.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, how to cope with the gaping hole left in his chest, or give you any words worth listening to. “I know,” Simon finally murmurs. “I would, too.”