Daisy | Simon Riley

|5|

Drew was glad when she didn't see Fox—or hear from his superiors—after that morning's PT. Not that she was avoiding him or the situation, she just felt her blood pressure wouldn't handle a surprise interaction well.

And thankfully, she wouldn't have to deal with him until the day after the next, so her focus could stay on her work in the intelligence department.

It was familiar; looking for clues within intercepted transmissions, public ads, media—all things she did while stationed in Jordan, although this was on a much larger scale. A global scale.

She'd been assigned to the trafficking case, as well as to do research into the terrorist group that had brought her to the 141 in the first place. They were both high priority, meaning unlike her co-workers who had case loads upwards of ten files, she only needed to focus on them.

That also meant she had a team who worked with her, sending her possible leads which she would analyze for their relevance. Having a team like that; where she was their supervisor, not just a fellow researcher, was unfamiliar. She was used to smaller operations, where research teams were maybe half a dozen strong, all of whom worked together.

But she was part of a bigger chain now.

To manage the work, she split her time between the two; mornings for trafficking, afternoons for terrorists. Such happy topics to fill her days with.

Thankfully, the intensity of her work was broken up by meals with the team. Soap and Gaz—and sometimes Price if he had time—pulled her from the detached protective shells she'd build, giving her a break from nihilistic thoughts and realities.

And Ghost would be there too.

Offering his usual jabs before falling into slightly more pleasant conversation with the others. It was a strange thing to see; him interacting, joking even, rather than him just brooding silently as he had during her first days on base.

She wondered what she'd done to make him dislike her so much—or really, what the others had done to make him dislike them less. They didn't seem to hold back sarcastic comments or teasing remarks, but for some reason when they came from them his responses were much less serious.

A frustrating mystery that she decided to ignore.

Or tried to.

As she sat at the dining table for dinner that day, she hadn't noticed herself staring—glaring—at the other Lieutenant, trying to figure it out.

He'd seemed unimpressed by her when they met. Maybe it was her age, having what? A decade less experience than him. But she'd earned her rank through hard work; both before and during her military career.

He must have read her file before she arrived, so he had to have seen that.

The thought passed in her mind that maybe it was because she was a woman—and a visually unthreatening one at that—but for some reason, she felt he wasn't so shallow. Wasn't so dick-brained. He respected other women officers, had warned her about sexism within the ranks, had done nothing to make her believe his attitude was because of her gender.

"Have I got somethin' on my face?" he growled.

"Just trying to decide if you sprout horns at night," she responded, resting her chin on her hand for emphasis.

"Funny, Now stop starin'."

She dragged her eyes away, stabbing a carrot before biting it off.

"So, Daisy, how's work been treating you? You gettin' close to finding something for us?" Soap asked obviously trying to cut the tension.