Call of Duty Oneshots (Mostly Ghost)

betwixt.

We have a home. Finally.

After years of wear and tear on our bodies, mentally and physically, we can finally just breathe. It's a surreal feeling, to be able to breathe without restrictive adrenaline and bulletproof vests that would hopefully catch any stray bullets.

With our skin showcasing how much we've been through as if we're a breathing textbook for trauma, there is no need to worry if our flesh will be collecting more scars unless it's by accident – like a paper cut or a slip of a knife while chopping onions.

Just like how we don't have to fret over ensuring our gear is in perfect shape, that skull mask of his hasn't seen the light of day in months, almost a year. Collecting dust somewhere in the back of our closet, Ghost is forced into a life of retirement so Simon can live.

And that's what we do. We live.

Tucked away, secluded in the middle of nowhere, we've made a sanctuary surrounded by dense woods and the song of goldfinches blending with the ravine that runs close by. No gunpowder fills our nostrils, it's only pine and a hint of dirt.

Instead of the familiar faces of run-down soldiers every day, we interact with the civilians who help us feel more at ease each time we go into town. Their kind faces and warm pleasantries welcome us every time we step foot in each shop.

The barista who sneaks in an extra shot of espresso with a devious wink knows our order by heart by now.

The shopkeeper of the cute, little boutique who knows what clothing will be more comfortable when I continuously have to go back for bigger clothing.

We know almost everyone we pass by, and they watch with a gleam in their eye as they witness the swell of my abdomen become bigger and bigger with every visit we make. Whether it's for a doctor's appointment or to grab groceries, their smiles widen when they notice how much change my body has gone through since the last time.

"Are you sure it's just one in there?"

"My, my, look at you! How far along now?"

"How much longer you got?"

It slightly annoys Simon as he just wants to grab the necessities and go back home, and I make the conversations last longer just to be a pest, answering the same questions even if we've just seen the same person a week prior. But he sees my happiness, and he's in no real hurry to leave. He just hates small talk.

Long ago he accepted his black cat of a personality fell for a golden retriever like myself, and he finds ways to distract himself when my big mouth won't shut up.

He's also accepted that there is no quick trip to somewhere in town. Grocery trips end up buying more than what we had written down, and my back aches by the end from standing too long.

Even the mail carrier, whom I meet every late afternoon serves the post with chit-chat and gossip, probably gives himself an extra five minutes just because I simply don't know how to put a sock in it.

With the usual effects of pregnancy like exhaustion and odd cravings, come the headaches and nightmares. My hips pang when I do anything strenuous, and I wake up in a cold sweat from dreams in which I'm back in the field, covered in blood and a lifeless body cradled in my arms.

I can deal with the constant feeling of my bladder never being relieved or needing a body pillow to fall asleep, it's those damn nightmares I can't shake as easily when my hormones are so out of whack.

Sometimes it's a random recruit or Johnny or even my unborn child I hold, but most of the time...

Most of the time it's Simon that I gently rock back and forth, whispering into his ear even when I know he can't hear me. Scarlet soaks the both of us, and I have to be dragged away so I don't join him in the realm he's just entered.