'Dead on Arrival'

Three months latter, Month 4

Erin Tanili

Rogue

Some Hospital, Asia

As I sit on my gurney, I understand what needs to be done now: Get the hell out of dodge. Dodge, meaning the hospital. I carefully place my feet on the ground, putting most of my weight on my weak legs. The sudden change causes my knees to buckle slightly. Luckily I grab the gurney before I can collapse onto the ground. I slowly start regaining the work of my legs, starting down the hall. But I stop, noticing a metal tin sitting on the bottom of my gurney. Inside of it, sits some of my personals the docs had most likely taken off of me. I grab all I can place in my pocket before going on about my way. My side's pain has died down; only a numb tug is felt as I strain my side to continue my prowl. I slide through an open door, a locker room coming into focus. Nonchalantly, I start rooting around for clothes. It seems the only original pieces of clothing that was left on me was my shoes, pants and under garments. As much as the hospital gown is 'fashionable', it's not really good for blending in to a crowd. Eventually, I find a sleeveless black hoodie with two horizontal blue stripes across the front. I slip it on and zip it up haft way, flipping the hood onto my head.

Without a second glance, I stalk out of the room and into the bright day. I look up, shielding my eyes from the blinding morning sun. A frown plays on my lips as I survey my new surroundings. From what I can gather-which isn't much seeing as every sign is in some kind of Chinese kanji- is that I'm somewhere in Asia. Well that's just fucking brilliant. With a huff, I sit down on a bench. I grumble obscenities as I fumble out a cigarette from the packet that I had luckily grabbed from my personals tin set by the medical staff. But when I pat myself down for my lighter, I realize how quickly luck can displace its self. Well ain't this just a lovely start to the day. I'm somewhere in fucking Asia and I can't light up-Awesome. During my sarcastic thought monologue, a man joins me on the bench. I don't acknowledge him fully, as I'm cautious to whom this mysterious person is.

My eyes glance at him, "Hey, gotta light?" I ask, trying to sound innocently though it sounds down right pathetic to my ears.

The man smirks, producing a metal lighter fluidly from his pocket. "I do have one." He answers, flipping the top opening.

I smile, leaning forward and cupping the light around the butt of the cigarette. When it catches, I lean back and inhale the calming sensation of the tobacco as it absorbs into my lungs heavenly.

The man shakes his head as he snaps the lighter closed. "Those things will kill you, you now." He comments, a slight accent coming through in his words.

I shrug, not really in the mood to hear the man's preaching of the horrors of cigarettes. Why the hell do you have a lighter if you don't' smoke? Weirdo. Besides, smoking isn't the only bad thing I've done. I sigh, breathing out a smoky breath. "Please, I'm already dead." I state sharply, "To the world, that is. Not literally dead."

For a moment, the man is silent. My symbolic words take a few seconds to click in his mind. "What do you mean?" he asks finally, caution in his question.

"I mean I died. But I came back, but no one knows this. So I'm like a ghost, I can like do anything now." I explain dully, smiling satisfied with my last comment as I take a drag from the cigarette.

A smirk crosses the man's face, "I guess we're one in the same then." He remarks softly.

I blink, now looking over at him fully. His sharp green eyes stare deeply into mine. A familiar feeling sets in, as I question this feeling. I shake it off though, smiling kindly at him. "Yeah, I guess we are." I reply quietly. We sit there in silence for what seems like ages. Neither of us makes a comment or a move to leave. I know I have to be going after Makarov, but something keeps me here. Here on this bench with this baffling yet memorable man. I hold the rapidly deteriorating cigarette between my lips as I glance at the man. "You know, I didn't catch your name." I state, finally breaking the silence.

He shifts uncomfortably at this question. "I'd tell you some fake name. But seeing how we're both dead to the world there's no point lying to each other. My name's Simon Riley. Or you can call me Ghost-that's what I was call before I died." He replies nonchalantly.

My heart literally stops, my cigarette falling out of my now agape mouth. My eyes widen. G-Ghost? Slowly, I look at him as my mind finally pieces it all together: the piercing green eyes, the British accent, and the metaphors. "G-Ghost?" I choke out. The man, who'd I had wronged, the one I had truly loved, was here. Right next to me in flesh and blood.

Ghost looks at me befuddled slightly, as if I had just confessed I was Chuck Norris. "Yeah, that's my name." he answers slowly.

I shake my head, "No, No! I know you-Ghost it's me!" I cheer, ripping the hood off from my head, "its Erin!" There was a great pause as Ghost's gaze at me slowly morph into stark revelation.

"What-how can this be?" he stutters out, his eyes searching my eyes for an answer.

I smile haft heartily. "Our friendly neighborhood Leprechaun-and Price-saved me from the brink." I explain quietly as some people passed by. My eyes follow them as they continue about unaware of my weary eyes. I run a hand through my hair, looking away in shame of being so paranoid.

Ghost blinks, "Mactavish, Price? Where are they now?" he asks with a rush, avoiding the question of how I got to the 'brink.'

I sigh, "They're on their way to Moscow, to stop Vorshevsky from transferring money to Makarov. Also, to find out where he is." I reply flatly, glancing at him as I wait for him to ask the obvious question.

"Why didn't you tell them where he is?" Ghost asks, bitterness hiding in his calm voice.

I roll my eyes, laughing slightly. "Why do you assume I know?" I remark sourly.

Ghost shakes hi head, folding his arms across his chest. "He's your partner in crime, isn't he?" he said shortly. The pain of my betrayal sounds loudly from his words. It's like being burned by an iron: you learn not to trust the thing even when it's unplugged.

I sigh; my eyes soften as I look away. "It was at that point Ghost that I had become expendable-I was the moment I started with him. But I guess it did have some benefits." I remark off handily, thinking of all the Intel on Shepard's betrayal I had gotten.

Ghost's green eyes snap to me. "Let me guess, he let you sleep in his bed like a good dog." He snipes, venom dripping in his words.

I wince at his tone, my dark eyes glower at him with indifference. "You make me out to be such a bad person, Ghost. It really hurts me to hear you say such things. Just because I was stuck in a house with all guys doesn't mean I'd go sleeping around." I retort lightly, trying to brush off his brash words.

He scoffs, "Yeah, you're a fucking angel." He grumbles sarcastically.

I scoot over to him, tilting my head up to him. "I'm a fallen angel, so what? Everyone falls sometimes." I whisper, placing a hand on his leg delicately, "But that doesn't mean we can't pick ourselves up and start again."

Ghost looks at me, his eyes clouded with a mix of feelings from hate to heart ache. He glances away in distaste, his eyes falling on a police cruiser as it drives into the parking lot slowly. I follow his gaze, watching the cop step out from the car lazily. My hand squeezes Ghost's leg, feeling tension growing in me. Ghost brings his head close to mine, "No sudden movements. When he's gone, we'll leave for my hotel room-we have a lot to catch up on." He whispers into my ear.

I nod, not being able to pick out what emotion is held in his words. My forehead rests against his shoulder as a sudden wave of faintness hits me. Probably just the medication wearing off. If only I'd known better.

Author's note: I don't really like how the last paragraph came out. It just seems too rushed. *shrug* Ah well, one day when (if) I have time-I'll rewrite this story to make it better.

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