Chamber of Reflection - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC

Chapter Three: Strict Routines?

Sure enough, there she was, in the thick of it all. Sweat skated down Smoke's back, a spreading map of perspiration darkening her navy fitness jacket. Salty droplets flowed down her face like soft summer rain as she rocked back and forth, hopping as her fists wailed on the punching bag. Her eyes were like fire in water, if one could envision such a thing. A sea of flames, scorching the waves and devouring the shore. There was a glint in those eyes. Let me take some punches, she screamed, throw your best ones at me. Knock me down to the ground and keep them coming. I'll learn how to heal from them, after all, that's what real champions do, right?

"Steamin' Jesus!" Soap whistled. "Look at 'er go!"

Cobra cracked a smirk at that. "We have a strict routine back in Russia. Training begins at 04:00 hours and finishes at 06:00 when we share breakfast. We repeat this at the same time in the evening."

Ghost glanced over at the clock on the wall. 06:37.

"You're tellin' me that she's been at this for two hours already?" His words came out gruff.

"If she is as wise as I hope, then most certainly."

"You must have a lot of unhappy soldiers then, mate," Soap commented. "Whole base must be a pack of zombies, trainin' that bloody early."

"Just her." He sputtered out. "I mean, just her and my team. This is my routine for my squad."

Price's eyebrows were knitted together tightly, lips quirking downwards. He didn't like the sound of that, at all. Every soldier had their limits and four hours of training a day would push even the strongest of his men to their limits. It just seemed a bit unnecessary. Judging by the punches she was dishing out on the poor old punching bag, calculated hard strikes that sent it rattling— Price was sure it had to be beyond strenuous on her body. He'd be bloody knackered by the end of it.

Soap turned to Ghost and elbowed his side. "Reckon she's givin' you a run for your money, aye L.T.?"

Ghost's eyes trailed over to the woman. Smoke looked like her brain was at war with her body. It was as though the punching bag before her wasn't just an object but rather, a person. All her anger rushing through her veins channelled into her fists, knuckles smacking against the old leather bag. Her flat eyebrows were furrowed deeply, pearly-white teeth sinking into her lips. Even in the dingy, fading light of the gym, they looked full and glossy.

Ghost cleared his throat before he spoke. "Hardly."

At that moment, Cobra decided to make their presence known, slamming the door wide open. Smoke's eyes snapped over to him, wide and alert. She shuffled back. She froze and her body turned rigid like she was in some sort of danger, not standing in the middle of a maximum-security military base. Ghost knew that look in her eyes, he knew it very well. The way she eyed her ex-captain was the same way he would stare down an enemy. Smoke was ready to pounce, fight or flight kicking in the very second she laid eyes on him.

"Cobra." She greeted.

He eyed her up and down. "Training hard, Lenkova?"

"Yes, sir."

"Not hard enough if you're still standing."

Price chose to step in, followed closely behind by the rest of his men. Soap wrinkled his nose, the stench of grungy pads and sweat-soaked uniforms was almost enough to knock him out cold. Smoke let out a little breath, a sigh of relief, once they entered her gaze.

"Captain Price, good morning." She breathed out with her lips quirked upwards.

"Mornin' to you too, Smoke. Gave us a right scare, you did." He chuckled.