Revival | Ghost x Reader

Location

Ghost's POV

Word count: 1.3k

The helo hadn't even touched the ground before I jumped from it, my knees aching as my feet smashed against the asphalt ten feet below. My lips were twisted up into a snarl beneath my mask, my patience running incredibly thin. The gun shook in my hand from the force of my grip around the stock if it, believing if I dug my fingers into it's metal casing hard enough, it would be enough to keep me from launching the weapon into the nearest building.

Vladimir Makarov. The name tasted bitter on my tongue.

The slimy bastard escaped from the fuckin' gulag before we even had a chance to intercept him. Fucking figures. To make matters incredibly worse, Emma's over-american accent chirped incessantly the entire bloody flight back to base. 

It took every fiber in my being not to grab her by the helmet on top of her thick skull and fling her ass off the chopper. 

It was almost like she couldn't give a bloody fuck that Makarov was currently on the loose, wrecking havoc in his path. Bombing buildings, killing innocents, and leaving a wake of death and destruction behind him and his Russian PMC's. But fuckin' sure, Emma, let's talk about the goddamned fucking weather.

Her never-ending questions and thoughts droned on and on. I wasn't sure what type of asset of hers gave her the red carpet into our squad seeing how her strongest suit was annoying the absolute shite out of everyone. Price said there were strings pulled for her up the chain in command. Let's pull our own strings, Price. I wanted to say. And get her the fuck out of here.

My heart ached for Y/n. 

Storming up to the weapons chamber, I threw my rifle in the direction of the rows filled with other guns, letting my own clatter to the ground as I took off again. There was supposed to be a debrief. Debrief for bloody what? Our epic fuck-up? No thanks, I'll goddamn pass on that attendance. 

Muttering curses under my breath, my eyes flitted over to the direction of the building I was supposed to be on my merry way to. Narrowing my gaze, I watched as Emma was the first to approach the door before Soap, who I might add had a knack for being early, and even Price. Strange. But she was fucking strange herself. She glanced around before slamming the door shut behind her. 

What a bloody weirdo.

Deciding to not lose anymore brain cells I already had by staring at her, my sights returned forward. Gravel crunched under my boots as I swiftly walked over to the common area, the idea of cracking a cold one sounded fuckin' amazing right now. A slight breeze from the AC tickled my exposed arms as I entered the room. Not bothering anyone a glance, I made a bee-line to the  off-white fridge.

My jaw clenched as I opened it, a sticky note taking place of where my beers should've been. Peeling the yellow slip from the glass beneath it, my eyes quickly scanned over the scribbles. 

"Sorry LT. Got kinda thirsty. Your favorite Sergeant, Soap ♡Ü."

Shoving the note in my tactical vest, I slammed the fridge door closed with a bitter look hidden beneath my balaclava before stomping over to the couch. The plushness of it was long gone from years of use, a deep sag prominent on each dull brown cushion. Stains, that I'd probably be repulsed if told how they got there, adorned most of the fabric. "A couch is a couch," I muttered as I crashed down on top of it.

A small sigh escaped my slightly parted lips as I stared aimlessly in front of me. Soldiers clamors and boisterous laughs surrounded where I sat as I dropped my head into my hands. Pulling my scarred lip between my teeth, my fingers dug back into my tactical vest and fished out a pair of dog tags. We'd taken them from Y/n when we resuscitated her, not sure why. When she never noticed their absence, I decided to hold onto them until she did.

The metal glinted underneath the harsh florescent lighting as I turned it over in my gloved hand, the chain loosely hanging off my palm. My eyes began to burn the longer I stared at her name inscribed into the tag, "Y/n Y/l/n." God, even her name was fuckin' beautiful. She was beautiful. And I failed her. My fingers tightly wrapped around the metal, my clenched fist shaking. 

Choking down the lump building in the base of my throat, I shoved the tags back into my vest, securing the pocket with its velcro. Looking back down into my lap, I tried my best to somehow get my mind off her. 

That effort flew out of the window as two pairs of rapid footsteps stormed toward the common room, filtering through my eardrums. Probably some new recruits chasing each other around the compound like idiots. 

My head snapped up as my eyes narrowed in annoyance. Whipping my neck in the direction of the two people who had managed to piss me off, the harsh words bubbling in my throat died on my tongue. 

Gaz and Soap were wide-eyed as they locked their gaze's onto mine. Jesus fuckin' Christ was the damn debrief that fucking important? "LT," Soap called out to me loudly as if I wasn't sitting less than five bloody feet in front of him. Gaz quickly caught up to Soap as they hurriedly stood before me, panting and out of breath. 

"Get to the Captain's office," Soap managed to say through gasps, "Now."

Smiles made their way to to both Soap and Gaz's lips as they stared at me after glancing at each other for a short moment. My heart leaped into my throat as I jumped off the couch. A whirlwind of emotions swirled within me, my pupils dilating as anticipation filled my tired eyes. 

It had to be her. 

Turning on my heel, my boots smashed against the grass and gravel outside of the common area, bringing me impossibly fast to Price's office, Soap and Gaz nipping at my heels like hound dogs. 

Bursting through the door, my eyes zeroed in on Price. My breath came out in short spurts in a subtle attempt to appease the raging fluttering sensation wracking my insides. Price tapped the end of his cigar with a grin pulling at his lips, "She's a fighter." My knees grew weaker as small tremors spread across my body, betraying my nervousness, knowing exactly who he was referring to. "I know she is," I agreed breathlessly, a hidden smile taking control of my mouth, the feeling of it almost foreign. 

Gaz and Soap barged inside of the small office quickly afterwards, their eyes darting between where Price sat and I stood. The atmosphere became draped in a thick blanket in a palpable mixture of both excitement and unease. 

"She's alive," Price stated as he promptly stood up, snuffing his cigar into the crystal ashtray on his wooden desk. I hadn't even noticed Emma standing in the corner, an unreadable expression on her face. 

Not when my world began to spin. Not when I was told Y/n was alive, that my girl was fuckin' alive. 

"Get suited up," Price chuckled, looking between the four of us, "And let's go fuckin' get her."

Not even hell itself could keep me from doing exactly that.

That I'm damn fuckin' sure of.