COD One Shots [COD - MW]

Ghost X Reader: You save Ghost when he is taken by the enemy

Price's voice droned on as your eyes focused solely on Ghost's name, pictured clearly on the large screen behind the Captain.

An eerie quiet around the briefing room. Even Soap kept still, his fingers anxiously fiddling with the pen he held.

Gaz had his arms crossed, a stoic look resting on his features.

Ghost's name, clear on the screen. No picture. Never a picture.

A ringing in your ear, piercing through Price's voice, mind flashing back to last week's mission.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, teetering on the edge of oblivion, the bvllet in your side aching something dreadful as Ghost knelt over you.

His strong arms hoisting you up from the floor, blood seeping into his gear.

Lights flashed past your fluttering eyelids, red, a blaring alarm. The ground shaking as heavy gunfire exploded down the hall behind you.

You locked your jaw and focused your eyes on the table in front of you, remembering how carefully he handed you over to Soap.

"Get her out, Johnny. Go!"

Soap did as he was told, only looking back once. Right when the enemy overtook Ghost, ceasing fire, and the metal doors closed.

You'd spent the last few days in the med-bay, only just fit enough to walk. Price hadn't broken the news until just now, knowing how tormented you'd be.

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, forcing your mind to focus on Price.

"My best guess is he's still in there, bein' held for questioning."

Questioning.

Everyone in this room knew what that truly meant. Ghost wasn't held in a dimly lit room, two Russians shining a light in his face as they asked who he worked for.

Ghost was being tortured.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "So, what now?"

Price's eyes found yours. A pause. Loaded. Everyone knew what came next.

"Now we get him back."

//

Your legs burned from strain as you sat crouched, Soap beside you, Price's voice clear over the comms.

<<Hold your position. Do not engage until I give the signal>>

You tapped your fingers on the mag of your rifle impatiently, every second passing by with Ghost inside feeling like it lasted for a year.

Soap glanced beside him, then down to your anxious tapping. The hardened look in his eyes softened, one of his hands moving to rest on your knee.

"He'll be alright, lass."

You met his gaze. "We both know he won't be."

Soap took a breath. Not breaking eye contact as your words hung in the air. He knew you were right.

"He'll be alive."

A low, humorless chuckle was your reply. "He better be."

As you looked away, you missed Soap's worried glance. He knew what Ghost meant to you, and he saw how much this killed you inside.

He also knew just how vicious you could be.

An unease settled over him, one spurred on by the hazed look in your eyes. A fiery rage, feral.