COD One Shot Collection

You Hate Each Other, But You Get Injured

I often make up angst or hurt/comfort scenarios in my head, but I never write them down because I'm afraid that I can't convey the emotions properly. So I'm trying this now for the first time!

This has 15.000+ words by the way... uhhh yes, I got carried away again.

Disclaimer: I know close to nothing about the military, especially as a non-American. Also, due to having no access to the needed hardware, I have never played COD myself. If you find factual errors, please absolutely educate me! Just be nice about it.

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Glaring eyes shooting daggers at each other. Annoyed snarls whenever you walked past him in the hallways. Sometimes even giving each other an unnecessary nudge with the shoulder. Scoffs at the mention of either person's name.

Him belittling you when you made a mistake and you pissing him off on purpose in return. Practically pulling at his nerves to get a reaction out of him.

He never granted you any favourable words, but you didn't do that for him either.

It was just how you and Ghost were. You didn't know when you started hating each other, but it wasn't long after you were transferred to the 141 from your previous unit.

It had become clear very quickly that he was generally very distanced and didn't get attached easily, at least not further than one would care for their teammates.

And that was fine for you. His decision.

But right from the start, he never gave you a chance to prove yourself, although you were very good at what you did.

No chance either to form any kind of connection with him, not even a work one.

You didn't expect him to be overjoyed with your company, because he just wasn't like that, but it seemed as if he didn't even tolerate your presence, let alone your comradeship.

At first, you attempted warming up to him.

When that didn't work, you just found it annoying and tried accepting it.

Then, when you realised how much harsher he was with you than with anyone else, and how his dislike towards you seemed to seep from every disdaining look he sent you, you couldn't take it lightly anymore or pretend that you didn't care.

It was infuriating.

You didn't do anything wrong, but he still somehow hated you, and you hated him out of frustration, spite, and lack of alternative, because nothing you tried to get on his good side had ever worked.

He was cold, stubborn, cocky, and harsh.

You felt like you were at a point of no return. If someone would ask you why you hated your lieutenant, you couldn't give them a straight answer. The lines between reasoning and blind feelings were blurred.

At some point, when you felt really low, you thought that you were the problem. Along the lines of "generally unlikable as a person", but you got along perfectly fine with anyone else.

Price, your captain, had high hopes in you and you were friends with some of the lower ranks and most of the Sergeants on the base, your team members Soap and Gaz especially.

You had asked them what on earth Ghost's problem was, but they weren't sure either. At some point, they avoided the topic entirely, so you stopped asking, worrying about annoying them.

You couldn't shake off the feeling that they knew something, but you couldn't prove it.

It was frustrating really.

"(y/n), you listening?", Soap asked, distracting you from your thoughts.

Of course, the meeting. As important as usual, and you weren't listening, gnawing the inside of your cheek while working on your thousandths attempt to decipher Ghost's behaviour, and now you missed a good chunk of info.

You just didn't want to accept it.

"Sorry", you whispered back, "but of course you'll give me a quick briefing at dinner."

A small grin tugged at the corners of your lips, and Soap rolled his eyes at you jokingly.

"You'd be dead without me", he huffed amusedly, his Scottish accent heavy.

Price cleared his throat, obviously to divert Soap's and your attention back to him, and you felt slightly embarrassed at being caught.

Ghost sat a few feet away from you, but you could feel his eyes boring into your back. You wouldn't put it past him that your little misstep amused him and confirmed every bias he had towards you.

He always pretended you where lazy, weak-minded, and lacking respect.

You diverted your attention back to Price, pushing the thoughts of Ghost aside like letting light fall through a curtained window.

"The mission next week is to gather critical, life or death critical may I add, intel about the target group. It's crucial information that we need to adequately prepare the following missions in order to take them down. I will explain how", Price said while rummaging around on the desk in front of him.

He pulled three photos from a folder and pinned them on the board on the wall.

As expected, three different, but all grimly looking men in black, expensive suits.

"Our main targets. Each of these men play a critical role in our target group's structure and hierarchy. While they are dangerous, this is just about sneaking in, gaining info, and sneaking out. As soon as it gets too hot, our mole leaves."

Everyone nodded.

"This'll be a mission they call 141 for because others won't do it."

General agreement filled the room.

"Our biggest advantage is that these men feel safe in their big estate. The security there is conveniently lax, as the careful work that was done in preparation to this mission showed us. Starting with not nearly enough security cams and no armed guards", he added.

"Who's sneaking in?", Gaz asked.

"I would like to give this task to (y/l/n)", Price now said, and your eyes widened.

You were proud because he had suggested you for this, but this was such a big responsibility for someone with less experience in the processes of task force 141 than your comrades.

"Is that okay for you, Sergeant?"

You hesitated before slowly opening your mouth, wanting to express concern.

"I—"

"She's not the right choice", a deep voice interrupted you, and you rolled your eyes. Ghost.

You turned around to stare at him, as menacingly as possible. He just narrowed his eyes in return and if someone had lighted a match in the room, it would have exploded.

"I will definitely do it, thank you for the opportunity, Captain", you said out of spite without thinking straight, voice firm and confident.

The secureness in your voice was a façade. The only reason you immediately accepted was to annoy Ghost.

And now you wanted to beat yourself up for always doing everything just for (rather against) Ghost. Ghost here, Ghost there, Ghost everywhere.

You hated how you still wanted to prove him wrong after realising again and again that it was futile, and how his opinion had such a big influence on your reality.

He was on your mind all the time, like a small splinter under your skin that you couldn't get out.

"This will backfire...", Ghost murmured so only you and Soap could hear.

The latter let out a small huff and prayed that both of you would at some point pull yourselves together, before the unwarranted negativity did too much irreversible damage.

For now, you and Ghost worked fine together on missions — because you were forced to. The sense of importance of the team's lives prevented you from spiralling further down.

But for how long would that work out?

You ignored Ghost's comment and gnawed on the inside of your cheek.

If you were honest, doing this mission alone scared you a little. In your previous units, working alone had been strictly forbidden.

"Sergeant (y/l/n), in recent trainings you've shown impeccable skill in technical and general problem solving, strength, stealth and strategic action. I trust you to bring good results", Price said before dismissing the team.

They scurried away and the captain approached you on your way out. He waited until everyone was gone from the room.

"Come to my office in a few minutes. We'll go over the details."

"Of course, Sir", you nodded.

Price smiled at you and turned to leave the room, but after a few steps he swung around.

"Oh, and bring Ghost."

You tried your best to not let your face falter in annoyance at the mention of his name and the fact that you had to call him into Price's office.

"Uh— yes, but I thought this was a one man mission, Sir?"

He raised his brows and put one of his hands on your shoulder, looking into your eyes with a hint of worry.

"(y/n), come on, this is not a suicide mission. I'm not sending you out there on your own."

Reassuring on one hand but going on a mission with Ghost alone was close to enough reason to jump off the barrack's roof.

"Yes, of course not, Sir", you said hushed.

"Just because you go in on your own, that doesn't mean you won't have back up. You and two men, Ghost and Soap. I know both of you work well with him."

So at least I won't be alone with Ghost, you thought, makes it more bearable.

"Should I call Soap into your office too?", you asked, but Price shook his head.

"No, I'll talk to him about it later. I want to speak to you and Ghost first."

"Of course, I'll fetch him", you nodded.

You hid your disdain behind a smile and excused yourself to find the skull faced pest.

"Kind of stupid of me to think I would to this alone alone", you scoffed quietly after Price was gone.

With heavy steps, you walked down the long hallway before you turned around the corner and immediately crashed into a hard surface. Only that it wasn't a surface, it was Ghost's broad chest.

When looking up, your eyes met his, darkened with the usual hardness that he had reserved especially for you.

"Watch where you're going", he growled.

That's a job for two people!

"Oh sorry, Sir. I didn't know you were the hallway patrol. Was I going too fast?", you replied in a mocking voice.

"You're so fucking annoying."

"Right back at you", you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Kid", he spat.

He brushed past you and left you standing, and you let him, before you remembered the misfortune of having to drag him into Price's office.

"Hey!", you called out, following him. Of course he didn't turn around.

You caught up to him and tried to keep a steady pace next to him, always taking two steps when he took one.

"Hello, earth to skull face? I'm talking to you."

No response.

"Oh, I get it. I have to speak slower."

He frowned in irritation and took a deep breath, eyes glued to the wall at the end of the hallway.

"I aaam taaalking to—"

Suddenly, he swung around and grabbed your shoulders, slightly pushing you towards the wall. His grip was harsh, but it didn't hurt. You were just startled.

"Do you ever know when to shut up?", he snarled, and his eyes bored into yours, gaze darkening while you rolled them at him.

"Yes, actually. I would have loved to stop talking to you after telling you that Price wants to see us in his office."

"Then just say so, fucking hell."

He released you from his grip and turned around the corner towards the Captain's office without sparing you a second glance.

"I was heading there anyways, to tell him what a stupid idea this is", he boomed, speaking into the empty hallway.

You scoffed. Part of you wanted to protest, tell him that he was wrong about you, but you didn't see the point in doing so.

In uncomfortable silence, you walked alongside him until you reached Price's office door. You took the opportunity and knocked first, entering the door without holding it open for Ghost when Price asked you to come in.

"Ghost, (y/n). Perfect. Sit down", Price sighed.

Both of you sat down in the chairs in front of Price's desk, and Ghost wasted no time to start complaining, not even giving your superior a chance to speak.

"Captain, right of the bat, I still don't think this is a good idea."

You rolled your eyes.

In any other unit this would get you a warning, you idiot!, you thought and secretly wished that Price would tell him off, like some misbehaving toddler.

"If you keep rolling your eyes they will get stuck in the back of your head, watch it", Ghost snarled at you.

Not even in front of your Captain either of you could keep it together.

"Alright, let's focus, okay? Ghost, I understand your concern, but I think you're underestimating (y/n). Let's discuss that later."

Serves you right, you thought, but you had to admit being surprised by Price's calm answer and his relaxed demeanour. It was as if he wasn't even phased by your kindergarten behaviour.

Knowing how childish you two behaved but not being able to stop was agitating.

Ghost bit the inside of his cheek to supress a snarky comment, and Price spread out a map on the desk before explaining the plan of action, without further addressing Ghost's complaints.

You just knew that it was brooding inside of Ghost's guts, you could practically feel a fiery warmth spreading around him, with smoke clouding his masked face.

You stared him down a little too long, while his eyes were fixated on Price's desk. He seemed to look right through it, not at it.

"Eyes here, (y/n)", your Captain said in his calm voice, and you turned your head quickly.

"Sorry, Sir."

His hands moved around on a map.

"This is a plan of the estate and the surrounding area. In, snoop around, out. Nothing more. Do not confront anyone, only defend yourself if necessary."

Ghost scoffed, and you took a deep breath to gain the strength to ignore him.

"Let's move onto the details", Price added and started explaining more intricate information.

It sounded relatively easy in theory.

You would sneak into the target's hideout at dawn, a big estate in the countryside. Armed, but not too heavily, so you could focus on stealthily making your way through the rooms.

Your back up would wait somewhere in the surrounding area.

You would be on the comms with your back up the entire time but speaking had to be limited to only the absolute necessities. Just because the place wasn't that well protected, that didn't mean you couldn't still get caught.

Every ten minutes, you would have to knock on something very lightly, to let your backup know you were safe.

The only real problem was that the backup had to wait far away, but nothing the task force 141 couldn't handle.

"You need a third man. It'll be Soap", Price said, more to Ghost than to you because you already knew, "he already knows the proceedings. You two are just here because I wanted to talk to you specifically. To know if there will be any problems."

He observed both of you through his lashes.

It wasn't a question, and you and Ghost both knew what he was hinting at.

"No, Sir", you promised, almost in exact unison with Ghost.

Finally, an agreement between the two of you. Professionality and integrity over personal disagreements.

After you went over the details together with Price, he dismissed you from his office and you left him and Ghost behind with a lingering feeling of curiosity, and strange excitement for the mission.

An excitement that lasted over the course of the following week and turned into a type of nervousness that you couldn't confess to anyone about.

The plan had been explained and spoken about amongst the team members excruciatingly often, and every little detail was set, tasks had been given out to you, your back up Ghost and Soap, and the members staying in the base for eventual support when things went south.

The day of the mission came around quicker than you anticipated.

You had one last, unofficial team meeting where all of you exchanged good luck wishes and various handshakes, before you, Ghost, and Soap got into a beige Jeep.

The men were in their typical full on tactical gear, while you almost felt naked without your usual equipment.

Fewer holsters and pockets around your thighs and on your bulletproof vest, less and smaller weapons, and your most important support for the evening, your radio, and your watch.

The car ride was quiet, you sat in the backseat pondering. You didn't even bicker with Ghost.

The setup was on the trickier side. You couldn't drive the car up to the spot where they would wait for you because the terrain didn't allow it.

Neither were Ghost and Soap allowed to enter the estate grounds, which were gigantic, so you had to park the car in a hidden spot, meaning you would walk in the direction of the estate while they had to walk to their hideout.

"Worst case is that you get found out, (y/n). Ghost and I will need about twenty minutes to reach you, plus the time it might take you actually get into the house. Be careful and don't you dare to not come back in one piece", Soap said while pulling you into half a hug.

You sent a smile his way when he released you before Ghost caught your attention.

"Look at your watch every ten minutes and give us the sign. Sharp. Don't blow it, (y/l/n)", Ghost commanded flatly.

"Won't do", you answered equally flatly and checked your equipment one last time.

He said nothing else. No 'good luck', no 'stay safe', no 'you got it'.

With a comforting pat on the back and no further reaction from Ghost, Soap sent you off into the trees lining the border of the estate grounds.

As soon as you dipped into the woods, the excitement about the mission and the unwavering feeling of professionalism washed over you.

With purposely placed steps, you made your way towards the house, guarded by thick trees and leaves.

You reached a fence after roughly fifteen minutes, just like your team had estimated.

"I'm at the fence", you lowly said into the radio.

A little static noise, then Soap's distinctive voice.
''Good.''

You knew the strategically most suitable place to get in, one gap under the fence where you squeezed through with a little bit of effort, on to the window in the basement that wasn't fully visible on any of their security cams.

Squatting in front of the window, you tapped against the frame with your finger, holding the radio close.

That was your first signal, resembling a blowing whistle before a football game started. An official sign that the mission got serious.

As expected, there was no reply from your back up.

Knowing what to do, you started working on cracking the window's lock with a lockpick. Not really your field of expertise, but nothing you couldn't handle.

Ghost had taught you how to use one. It had initially been Soap's task, but he bestowed it to the lieutenant because he was stuck in the infirmary at the time.

He had made you pick locks all day, literally hunting for the smallest mistake you made and punishing you with even more lockpicking.

He would grab your wrists to put them in the right position, pushing you around by your hips, as if the position of your body had anything to do with how your hands worked.

You thought it was stupid back then, but now you had to admit that it came in handy.

The lock made a faint clicking sound, and you carefully turned the handle.

Success.

You pushed it open just a smidge, to see if it would creak. When it didn't, you widened the gap so you could glide through it, looking around and down to check where your feet would land.

The distance between window and floor was manageable, and there were no obstructions below.

You dropped down and connected to the floor with a quiet thud, rolling your feet from toe to heel.

This is too easy, you thought, feeling a slight fear lingering in the back of your brain. Although you weren't too alarmed so far, you decided it would be best to pay attention to your instincts and to stay vigilant.

With quick, but thorough eyes, you scanned the dimly lit cellar room. Nothing in here seemed to be of value, but you still lifted some boxes just in case.

You send a glance at your watch. Just in time for the next signal.

Your fingers tapped lightly on the wooden box close to your radio. Again, no response, and although you knew that it was part of the plan, not hearing back from your comrades felt very unusual.

Carefully, you placed each item you touched back to where it belonged before you decided that nothing in the room contributed to the mission's goal.

Would the door leading outside creak?

You turned the knob with precision, and luckily there was no noise. With one eye, you peaked through the gap into the hallway.

You took a deep breath and then held it, so you could focus on every little noise you might otherwise miss.

Observing eyes and perked ears working together, trying to make distinctions between non-threatening noises and man-made ones, like the wind rustling the leaves outside versus the footsteps from above.

A flight of stairs at the end of the hallway seemed to be the only way up. There were definitely people in heavy boots up there, but their steps faded away slowly.

When they were out of earshot, you squeezed through the door and gently closed it behind you.

Your own steps were like feathers dropping to the ground in comparison to the others in the house when you moved along the hallway, pressed close to the wall. A very particular movement, which felt out of place without a rifle in your hands.

While you waited at the foot of the stairs for the right moment to go through the second door, Ghost shifted around in his position under the trees.

Their radio was clutched in his gloved hand, while Soap held a pair of binoculars to his eyes. He grumbled lowly because despite the high-quality equipment, he couldn't nearly see enough.

Ghost shifted again, and Soap turned towards him. He watched him with raised brows and an amused smile on his face.

"Nervous, Lieutenant?"

The other man dragged out the time before he answered.

"Just uncomfortable. Gettin' stiff", he mumbled.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night", Soap commented, before tending to the binoculars again.

With his back turned to Ghost, he couldn't see how his eyes flickered back and forth at the radio, and how his chest seemed to rise when he heard the familiar tapping through the speaker.

You stood in the middle of a big office now, in front of a desk full of papers. Surely, if you wanted information, you would find them somewhere in here.

One of your personal goals was to make it look like you were never here after you had left, so you put great effort into lifting every piece of paper on its own.

Every time you found something remotely interesting, you took out a small camera you carried in your vest pocket and snapped a picture of it.

You hadn't caught the big fish yet, but what you gathered so far was better than nothing and at least a little bit helpful.

Coordinates, names, strings of unrelated words that could be codes, articles...

You did all this while meticulously paying attention to your surroundings. No creak or clatter went unnoticed.

That was until you found what you had hoped for; a long list of names, birth dates and places, and occupations of each member of the target group, alphabetically sorted.

Your eyes widened and you immediately took out the camera. The shutter made the faintest click, and you were so blinded by your success that you noticed the approaching footsteps too late.

"Shit", you mouthed.

Three men, heavy boots. Fast pace. Probably the targets. Now you heard their voices too.

They were coming closer.

Hide. Hide. Hide!

Your brain practically screamed at you, ringing in your ears. The sense of fear you felt earlier heightened, and without thinking twice, you slipped under the large wooden desk, pushing your body into the furthest corner you could find.

The tables had turned now, the luck you had at the start of your mission faded away like smoke.

You hoped that the men would just walk past the office, but they didn't. For a short moment, they stopped in front of the door.

It was now or never.

With trembling fingers, you removed the SD card from your camera, before replacing it with the spare that you always carried with it.

You had to keep the card with the information safe at any cost!

As quickly as possible, you took one of your few weapons, a knife, and placed the blade right above the rubber sole.

You pushed the tip into the thick material with force, and deep enough so the SD card couldn't fall out. It didn't go in as easy as you expected, but after a few seconds that felt like hours, you had the feeling that the little card was nestled safely in the sole of your boot.

When you were finished, you released a breath that you didn't realise you'd been holding and went back into your position just in time.

"Let's discuss these matters inside", one of the men said, his voice muffled by the thick wood.

With that, your fear was confirmed, and the door opened.

They immediately stopped their conversation. You couldn't see them, but the gut feeling you had was excruciating.

You didn't move a single muscle, and even breathing felt like a negligence. A natural action that otherwise preserved your life seemed to turn into something so detrimental.

"Someone was here", one of the other men stated.

It slowly dawned you, the mistake you had made replaying in your spinning head. A small voice in your brain cursed you out for forgetting your personal goal in the eyes of fear.

You put the piece of paper in the wrong place.

Breath shallow, you suppressed a frustrated huff.

Calm down, you've been in situations like this before.

You told yourself that over and over again. But something was different this time, an etching feeling all over you.

You were alone.

Technically, you could take three men in a fight, but right now you couldn't see enough to assess the situation. The wooden desk was blocking your view.

Next problem, your lack of weapons. No idea what they carried.

Your hand-to-hand combat skills were great, but so were theirs.

In your thoughts, you summarised every little information you had on the situation.

You had one gun. One magazine.

One knife.

Your hands and legs.

Three against one.

Unfamiliar environment.

Not enough knowledge of the room's layout.

No knowledge of how heavily they were armed.

If you jumped from under the desk, you could use the element of surprise to your advantage.

Charge at each of them with a precise blow of your fist or stab them in a vital body part.

Or you could take out at least one of them with the gun and hurt another.

But where were they? None of them made a single sound, they kept still so you couldn't navigate yourself.

Your breathing was so shallow that you were afraid it would just stop on its own. It would be the easiest way out, but then all would be over.

You wanted to peek through the tiny slit at the bottom of the desk, where its walls almost touched the floor, but they would probably see how the lighting and the shadows changed.

These men weren't stupid.

If one of them would just fucking move.

Scenes from your training in your early military days replayed in your head.

Never shoot blindly. Don't attack people you can't see.

In training, everything was easier said than done in real life. At some point, they would find you under this desk. It was just a matter of who would give in first.

Suddenly, one of the men moved and your focus switched back to the situation at hand.

You could hear the shuffling of his feet on the polished floor. He came around the exact corner of the desk your back was pressed into, slowly but surely.

Carefully, you pulled your Beretta from the holster on your thigh and placed it between your fingers, the cold metal immediately sitting in the right position as a stark contrast to your warm hands.

The familiar weight of the weapon gave you a strange sense of comfort and confidence. It was enhancing the urge to defend yourself.

This was your daily bread, combat was your sport, you could handle this.

You took a deep breath as quietly as you managed and used the sound of his feet on the floor to cover up the slight clicking of the safety lever of your gun being pulled back.

Instinctively, your eyes shot to the side when the sound of his steps shifted from your left ear to your right.

He was almost around the desk.

Before he could reach the opening, you shut off your brain to concentrate, ready to move at any given moment.

From your squatting position, you leaned back onto your right hand for support, the gun safely placed in your left.

Your ears focused on the slight shuffle in his movements, like a hunter waiting to attack its prey.

With force, you pushed your entire body out from under the desk and used your hips to roll to the left, aiming the muzzle at the man as soon as your eyes spotted him.

Before you fired, you caught your body with your ribcage and shoulder to steady yourself on the hard floor.

You immediately saw that he held a gun too, aiming right at your forehead.

What a beginner's mistake, you thought.

Hitting the smallest part of a moving target was doable, but not the best idea in heated combat. With the hope that you assessed the situation correctly, you gained enough confidence to send a sly smirk his way.

"Here—", he shouted, but before he could even think about finishing the sentence or shooting at you, your left index finger pulled the trigger.

It felt like time slowed down when the bullet penetrated his dress shirt and skin before it punctured his lungs.

Right where you wanted to.

The adrenaline rush kicked in instantly, your eyes darting around the room to find the remaining two opponents.

They were both to your right, and with one controlled movement, you jumped to your feet.

If you acted quickly, you could take out at least one more and then charge at the last man with your knife.

They didn't dare running to their wounded, soon dying comrade and you finally felt like you could gain the upper hand, when a blunt crash suddenly diverted your attention from the targets.

Unfortunately, the door to the office swung open, revealing a fourth and fifth man in the frame. Armed guards.

No no no no no no.

Four angry men charged at you from all sides, leaving you unable to make a move. Anything you did would result in a lack of protection in another direction.

Your eyes stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, as they approached you with rifles aimed at your chest and back.

The gun was still reassuringly heavy in your hands, pointed at the man you had planned to shoot.

I'm dead if I do that.

The man you aimed at cocked his head to the side and smirked.

At this moment, you swore to yourself that you wouldn't speak a word to them.

One of the guards approached you, rifle still at the ready. Your breathing hitched, but your eyes didn't falter.

He ripped the radio off your vest and slammed it to the ground without making a sound or saying a word. The bits and pieces remained on the floor as a sad little reminder that you were now cut off from your team.

"Drop it, sweetheart."

Obviously, the smirking man hinted at your gun.

Defenceless as you were, your last option was to gather more intel and store it in your brain until necessary.

You promised yourself that your team would come to get you, and that you just had to hold out. Price would be proud of you for gaining information and keeping it safe, and Ghost... oh yes, Ghost wouldn't think you were useless anymore.

With watchful eyes, you glanced at each of the men.

The one who talked seemed to be the boss. Not the actual boss of the group, he was to rash and cocky for that, but definitely someone who had a lot to say. A right hand maybe?

The other one almost looked too normal to be here, but there was something sinister in his eyes that you couldn't decipher yet.

The armed guards were simply that, a cliché of the personal bodyguard. Big, broad, and evil looking, relying more on their weapons than on their brain.

Neither of these people seemed to care for the man who was bleeding out below their feet, gurgling on his own blood as his lungs fought for air they would never get.

The boss didn't even spare him a sympathetic glance.

Your eyes bored into his as you let the safety lever snap back, before dropping the gun to the floor. It landed with a loud thud.

"Good", he said lowly, "now we can go talk."

You let out a small whimper as the guards took a step closer to you to grab you by your shoulders, their big fingers clawing into your flesh.

"Hold her tight, she's a feisty one", the boss chuckled from behind you, as you were almost carried out of the room, then down the hallway.

While they roughly pushed you along with them, your eyes fell onto a big grandfather clock in the corner.

Of course, the time!

Another ten minutes had just passed, and you didn't give the signal.

Meanwhile in the forest, Ghost immediately felt nervousness wash over him when he checked his watch, only to realise that they hadn't heard from you in time.

"It's been ten minutes", he mumbled, and Soap turned towards him.

"Relax, she's not gonna be that sharp", the Scot replied.

Ghost breathed out audibly.

"Any second now."

Soap tried to sound reassuring, but he also felt a tinge of worry that made his stomach turn. There was no way you would forget about the signal, right?

Another thirty seconds passed with no contact.

"Something's not right", Soap finally whispered.

"Fuck this", Ghost pressed out through gritted teeth and jumped up from the log he had been sitting on, "we're moving."

Soap quickly gathered their equipment and caught up with the Lieutenant.

"Plan of action?"

"We're storming the place with the car", Ghost suggested, his voice sharp.

The weight of their gear seemed to pull them down, but neither of them slowed down their pace on the way to the spot where the Jeep was waiting for their return, hidden between bushes.

"Give me the keys, Johnny."

"Nuh-uh", Soap scoffed and pulled open the driver's door, jumping in the seat before Ghost could protest.

The engine revved, and as soon as Ghost closed his door, Soap sped off.

He was glad that Ghost could put the indifference he felt towards you aside in times of need, because personal problems didn't matter when a team member was in danger.

But then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed how unusual the normally rather stoic Lieutenant acted.

He clutched the base of his shotgun, and even through the thick gloves, Soap could see how his fists alternated between clenching and relaxing.

His whole body seemed to tense up more and more by the minute, and his gaze was fixated straight ahead, the mask being moved slightly by his flexing jaw.

Soap didn't want to be caught looking, but he still spotted how Ghost's hand moved up to his face to rub his jaw before it dropped down into his lap, and then it slowly dawned him.

He and Gaz had this certain theory for a long time, and he now found it to be confirmed.

"Pick up the pace, will ya?", Ghost suddenly snapped at him.

"I'm going as fast as this stupid dirt road allows us to without killing us", Soap sighed in response.

The masked man started fidgeting with the radio. His mind was wandering who knows where, and he forgot to let the others at the base know what happened.

"Ghost to base."

He sounded stressed, speaking through his teeth.

The radio crackled and Gaz's voice came from the other side.
"Copy."

"We lost contact to (y/n). We're going in."

The radio crackled once more, and Gaz ordered them to call for back up if needed.

It didn't matter to Ghost. He didn't need back up, technically he wouldn't even need Soap. Right now, he felt strong enough to tear down the whole estate and everyone in it with his bare hands.

"Pedal to the metal, Soap."

He didn't have the heart to admit how worried he was. Or how guilty he felt for pushing you into accepting with his comment during the meeting.

"What on God's green earth do you think I'm doing!?", the Scot answered annoyedly.

The conversation in Price's office replayed in Ghost's head, after you had left.

"I know how you feel about this, Simon."

"Good. She's not the right choice for this mission."

"Should I be more precise? I know how you feel about her."

Followed by a brief silence.

"That's not it", he had tried to deny.

"Have some trust in her. She's gonna be fine."

The problem was that right now, you weren't fine.

They had started asking you questions after tying you to a chair in a tiled room with no windows and barely any light.

Precisely, the smirking man was asking the questions, and the other one punished you for your silence.

The sinister look in his eyes from earlier now made sense. He was the specialist for the dirty work, while the other stood further away from you.

"Ugh, now I have blood on my shirt", the boss had said after an especially nasty first blow to your jaw, followed by the metallic taste of blood lingering on your tongue.

The questions were predictable.

Who are you? Who are you associated with? What were you doing here? Did you find what you were looking for?

You swore that you wouldn't speak, and you followed the self-implied command. If the situation wasn't so dire, you would have found it amusing how little they knew, and how frustrated the boss was getting. He tried hiding it, but his frown gave him away.

However, the pain all over your body kept the glee about his unsuspectingness at bay.

Kicks and punches were skilfully carried out, hitting your ribcage from time to time, but mostly your face. Every time he asked you a question.

You knew that silence was your best gambit. You would be beaten either way, and the other options were lying or telling the truth.

Only that he would decide what was true. You couldn't win.

He closed the gap between you with a few strides, his hand grabbing a fistful of your hair to pull your head back harshly.

"Listen sweetheart, I don't care for how long you'll give us the silent treatment, my friend here can beat you until your face is unrecognisable and every fibre of your body hurts like hell. Give him ten minutes and you will beg him to kill you."

His breath fanned your bruised face and burned on your skin. With a push, he released your hair and stepped back into his position.

When your head fell down, you caught a glimpse of your body.

Although your shirt was black, you could see fresh, wet blood staining the fabric. They had removed your vest and the little gear you had carried and tossed it into a corner.

The zip ties they used to tie you to the chair cut into your wrists, but at this point you were so numb that you couldn't even feel your skin breaking open.

"Let's take another look at this thing here, shall we?"

He pulled your camera from his back pocket and let it dangle in front of your face on his finger, as if he wanted to hypnotise you for easier access to the information locked away behind your forehead.

"It's empty", he said matter-of-factly.

You lowered your head. Of course it was empty, since the actual SD card was hidden in your boot. You didn't answer.

"You deleted the pictures, didn't you?"

Good, you thought, keep thinking that.

Scared of your eyes betraying you, you kept your head down, gaze fixated on your lap.

He sighed dramatically, and with a commanding flick of his hand, another heavy blow connected to the side of your face.

The stinging pain was immeasurable, the ringing in your ear contributing to your suffering. You let out a whiny moan, followed by blood dripping from your mouth.

"I don't know if you understand the gravity of your little... situation", he whispered into your ear, "but you're here on your own. All alone like a stray puppy. I can and will do whatever I want with you before I get rid of you."

He slapped your cheek, and you groaned in pain. It felt like your jaw was broken.

"Whoever sent you here doesn't want you anymore", he chuckled lightly.

You tried your best to hold back tears forming in the corner of your eyes, because deep inside you knew that he just wanted to work you up.

But a small part of you, hidden in the far back of your brain, told you that he could be right. What if nobody came?

You couldn't possibly know that Soap forced the Jeep down the dirty road in lightspeed, while Ghost held onto the dashboard, equally scared as impressed by the Sergeant's driving skills.

You remembered that Soap had said that they would need twenty minutes plus to get to your position, but you had immediately lost all sense of time in this torture chamber.

What if you'd been in here more than twenty minutes?

Slight panic overcame you after the adrenaline of the last punch ebbed down. You tried steadying your breathing, unsuccessfully.

A piercing pain in your lungs overtook your body when you couldn't suppress the sobs anymore. It just happened once or twice, then you got it under control.

The man still noticed, and he snickered at your state.

"Hit further up next. Get her eyes", he commanded the gorilla next to him.

Then he took your burning jaw in his hand, an act that was sickeningly gentle in comparison to the punches.

"What a shame that we have to ruin this pretty face", he mumbled.

The other man lunged out far and within seconds, his fist was at your temple with so much force that you could swear that you heard your skull crack.

An agonising wail echoed through the room, and you barely recognised it as your own voice. Your lids fluttered as you tried hard not to pass out, head spinning like you just experienced ten carousel rides in a row.

Soap, please.

A sob got caught in your throat. The man that hit you showed no signs of getting tired. Quite the opposite, it was as if he couldn't get enough.

Instead of crying, a guttural moan escaped your bloodied lips.

The boss hummed amusedly, and just as he wanted to say something, a distanced shot broke the silence in the estate.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt an odd satisfaction when you lifted your head slightly, seeing a puzzled look on the men's faces.

"Take care of that", he said directed at the armed guards, and they nodded before leaving the room, locking the door behind them.

"Care to tell me who's picking you up?"

He sucked at pretending to not be agitated.

You didn't even look at him, keeping your vow to stay silent.

"Of course not", he growled, voice raising at the end, and for the first time tonight, he took it upon himself to punch you.

His fist landed in your stomach, and you coughed violently.

You were as surprised as the men when the shaking of your body turned from coughing to chuckling, as much as the pain allowed you to.

It was as if someone else was taking control of you, a puppet connected to an unseen higher force with strings.

His sudden change simply exposed the fact that he was nervous. As much as he tried to, there was no way he could conceal it any longer.

"You felt safer when you thought I was alone, right?"

He snapped his head at the sound of your hoarse voice, his eyes darkening.

''How many are there?'', he spat through gritted teeth, another question aimed at you.

You stayed silent, instead focusing on the noises in the hallway.

Doors were slammed open with force and a few more shots ripped through the air. With each one, your heart skipped a beat.

They were coming closer.

Now that your survival mode slowly switched off in anticipation of getting rescued, the pain got even worse. It was unbearable, but you had to stay awake.

I have to tell Soap that I did it.

I have the intel.

With an annoyed scoff from the boss, both of the men grabbed their guns, aiming at the entryway.

You tried holding your head up despite the aching in your upper body, watching the room in front of you intently.

A locked door this thick wouldn't give in easily, and you wondered how they would get in.

Never mind.

Without warning, a deafening crashing sound filled the air, and the door flew out of its hinges.

Soap and Ghost barged into the room, and you gasped at the sight of them. It felt like you could breathe again, the air in your lungs as sharp as paper cuts.

Never had you been so happy to see a mohawk and a skull face.

Without hesitation, Soap fired a round of bullets into your attacker's chest, practically tearing him apart. His lifeless body hit the ground with a thud, but his boss wasn't as lucky.

It all happened too quickly for him to react, but who could blame him with his opponents being the menaces that Ghost and Soap were in the field.

A gunshot was fired from left to right, and your mouth widened in shock despite your broken jaw, when you saw how the bullet hit Ghost's chest.

Although you knew that his meticulously placed tactical gear wouldn't even budge, you held your breath in suspense.

And an unusual type of worry.

Ghost just stood in front of the man, no reaction at all. His dark eyes pierced into his through the black holes in his mask, and it wouldn't take much more for him to break out into cold sweat.

Despite your eyes feeling heavy, you forced yourself to watch how Ghost suddenly charged at the guy to disarm him with a simple, but precise movement of his hand, the other wrapping tightly around his throat.

He tried holding onto it, but the gun dropped and slid across the room. It was far out of reach.

The fact that Ghost had been shot did the opposite of what the man intended, only making him angrier instead of slowing him down.

A bone snapped — the man's arm — and he groaned in pain as Ghost forced him to the ground, all that without making a single sound, deserving of his callsign.

When Soap saw the other opponent secured, he lowered his rifle and looked at you.

"Soap", you pressed out with a weak voice, the letters being swallowed by small sobs. He immediately ran towards you.

Ghost kneeled on the man's back, boring his knee into his spine with purpose, and his heart seemed to fall into his stomach when he heard you calling out for Soap instead of him. He couldn't blame you. You hated him after all, and he had started it.

Soap squatted down next to you, putting his rifle aside.

"I have it, I have—", you mumbled.

"What do you have love?", he asked, brows raised in concern.

"Intel", you pressed out, "it's in my... my shoe..."

Breathing was hard, your aching ribcage seemingly puncturing your lungs.

"You can tell us at home, okay?", he suggested gently.

"I didn't... fuck up, did I?", you now sobbed, the rough movement sending waves of pain through your body.

Soap shook his head assertively.

Ghost watched you, wishing he could get the chance of being as gentle with you as Soap was.

He wanted to rip you out of this chair, to hold your face like Soap did, but he knew that you neither wanted nor needed him right now.

You needed comfort.

"Who... the fuck... are you...?", it came from under Ghost's knees. His head snapped back to look at the ground, staring at the men with unnaturally wide eyes.

Instead of answering, he got up to force the man onto his back, slamming his whole body into the ground with so much strength that it nearly shook the room.

Something cracked, and the man let out a long, agonising cry. Ghost must have broken or at least sprained his spine.

Meanwhile, Soap held your face to look at you, carefully turning your head from left to right.

"How bad?", you whispered, and he sent you a smile.

"You have looked better."

If your face and chest didn't hurt this badly, you would have laughed instead of cried.

Suddenly, another three gunshots echoed through the room, and you flinched, but when you looked at the spot it came from, there was just Ghost, towering above a wailing man.

He shot into the arm that wasn't broken and into both of his thighs with a shotgun, now leaving him completely unable to defend himself.

Ghost's chest heaved up and down, possibly in anger or just from the heat of the moment, but then he suddenly stopped.

Menacingly slowly, he pulled a knife from one of his pockets and kneeled back on the man's stomach, before ripping off his shirt to expose his bare chest.

"Who we are?", he growled, his British accent heavy.

Your eyes widened (as much as the recent swelling allowed it) and you felt the urge to throw up when you saw how Ghost forced the tip of the blade over the man's skin with surgical precision.

He was surprisingly calm while he pushed the knife deeper into the heaving chest, ripping fragile skin apart.

His hands followed a certain pattern, and after a few seconds you figured it out.

Soap chuckled, shook his head in disbelief and then shrugged, before turning back to you.

"Let's get these off, yeah?", he said gently, hinting at the zip ties.

For a brief moment, he had your attention and you nodded almost unnoticeably.

While he cut through the plastic, finally freeing your wrists and ankles, you looked back at Ghost, who now stood above the man. Your gaze flickered downwards.

On his chest, there were thick lines of blood, almost blending into each other. It wasn't just random cuts. Upside down so he could read it himself; a number.

141

You looked back at Ghost, and for the first time in a while, you didn't expect a snarky comment from him. Indeed, he said nothing.

He just pushed the barrel of his shotgun into the man's mouth with so much force that teeth broke. He choked on the muzzle and tried using his broken arm to get it out, but Ghost's grip was unwavering.

He was merely a whimpering heap of flesh now, begging with his eyes for Ghost to spare him. It was futile.

One of his boots pressed into the man's throat before he pulled the trigger, and the splattering sound of brain matter mixed with the loud blow of the shot.

Like in a trance, he remained in this position, pushing his boot further into the limp body below his feet.

"Let's get her out of here, Ghost", Soap said, pulling the Lieutenant from his blood lusting state.

His head snapped to the side to look at you, his heart tugging violently in his chest at your sight. Light-hearted memories of your usual self ghosted around in his head, and the rage in his chest was inconsolable.

Soap was about to lift you from the chair, but Ghost stepped between you and him.

"You're driving."

All the adrenaline had left your body by now, waves of pain drowning you and clouding your mind.

Despite your absent state, you still noticed that it was Ghost picking you up, something you didn't expect at all.

You were almost sure that he would just throw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but he made great effort to lift you as gently as possible, even urging your legs to wrap around his waist.

You were too tired and hurt to argue, so you clung to him like he was water in a desert.

His big arms circled around you, like a warm blanket. He held you close, but not too close to squeeze your aching chest. The side of your face that wasn't as beaten as the other rested on his shoulder. He even stroked a strand of hair out of the wounds on your cheek.

You flinched at the burning sensation. He took a deep breath at your reaction, you could feel his chest mound under yours.

"I'm sorry", he whispered so softly that only you could hear.

You thought he meant messing with your wound, but what he actually wanted to express was how much he regretted having pushed you into this situation with his constant nagging and sabotaging.

All the negativity he threw at you had led up to this moment.

It's my fault, you wanted to prove me wrong, so you accepted, was what he actually wanted to tell you, but he couldn't get it out.

It was never his fault. The thought hadn't even crossed your mind, no matter how much he agitated you.

And frankly, right now, none of this mattered anyways.

Him holding you was fascinating in a sense. The way he did it held more meaning than any of his hurting words.

The pain overwhelmed you, finally knocking you out. Your body went limp in the safety of Ghost's arms, and his grip on you tightened as if he was scared that you would slip away from him forever.

- - - - - - -

Rays of sunshine and birds chirping woke you up two days later.

After Ghost and Soap had given you as much first aid as possible in the car, they had immediately taken you to the infirmary.

The pain killers did their job, lulling you into a state of deep relaxation and tiredness.

Your lids fluttered open, and it took you a minute to get used to the brightly lit room. A nurse stood above you and smiled.

"Hey, how are you feeling?", he asked, and you thought about an answer for some time.

Your wrists were securely wrapped in white bandages, and you could feel the same bandages on your jaw when you gently touched your face.

"Given the circumstances... I'm alright", you said truthfully.

"You have a broken rib, it will take up to three months to fully heal. The broken jaw will take about six weeks", he explained, "and your shoulder is contused. The rest is just", he added, lifting his hands to put the word just in quotation marks, "surface wounds. Nasty ones, but they'll be gone in a short time."

A nod was the only answer you could give him. Now that you slowly woke up from your long, numbing sleep, the pain returned slightly.

"I'll tell Captain Price that you're awake."

Another nod, then you slowly rested your head against the soft pillows as the nurse left you alone with your thoughts.

There was something else bubbling inside of you besides physical pain. Nervousness.

Strictly speaking, you failed the mission. Sure, you had the intel, but the plan was to sneak in without being found, captured, and beaten.

Now a handful of the target group's men were dead, and Ghost had even left a business card behind for them to find. The way he mangled that guy was like a declaration of war, and you wondered why he did that anyways.

First and foremost, you were afraid of Price's reaction.

Not even a minute later, interrupting your self-loathing, Soap and Gaz barged into the room, Price following them in his usual calm demeanour.

"Tapadh leat Dia", Soap said while approaching your bed, Gaz close behind. You immediately recognised the language as Scottish, but you had no idea what it meant.

"Good to see you back", Price smiled, joining the Sergeants next to your bed.

You felt a lump in your throat, relieved that you weren't immediately scolded. Speaking hurt, but you still wanted to get it off your chest.

"Captain, I'm sorry for messing up, I—"

Price interrupted you with a shaking head.

"(y/n), we have everything we were looking for. Together with previously collected information we can work with other units to take the entire group down."

You swallowed harshly, and he put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"I told them to check your shoes, but they didn't find anything at first. Told me I was nuts", Soap grumbled.

"Hiding the SD card in your sole was a genius move!", Gaz cheered.

A chuckle threatened to escape your mouth, but you supressed it for the pain's sake. Laughing felt like breaking your rib over and over again.

"Thank you for being here, guys."

You felt overwhelmingly relieved, firstly because nobody was disappointed in you — at least nobody in this room — and also because you contributed greatly to the success of the following missions.

Random thoughts of Ghost crossed your mind. You felt the sudden urge to speak to him, maybe because of the faint memories of him apologising to you and the way he held you? You were unsure if it had been your imagination.

"Where's Ghost?", you whispered.

"Now that you mention it...", Gaz trailed off, sending a playful glance in Soap's direction.

"Yeah, weird... He was sitting next to your bed the last two days after all", the Scot finished Gaz's sentence.

You raised your brows at them, and Price shook his head.

"Oh God, you bloody kids. I'll leave you alone", he said, patting your leg, "don't stress yourself, get well soon and definitely call me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Captain."

You waited until he had left the room before turning to Soap and Gaz, frowning.

"What the fuck is going on? Spill it, or I'll kill you."

"In your state?!", Soap exclaimed, and you supressed the urge to launch at him.

"No, he was actually here", Gaz said truthfully.

You drew your brows together. Obviously, you couldn't remember anything that happened while you were knocked out.

The nurse was busy a few metres away, and you looked at him inquisitively. Now that you practically begged him to confirm your teammate's story, he felt compelled to speak.

"Lieutenant Riley? Yes, he was here. I had to kick him out at some point because he refused to eat or sleep."

You didn't even know what to say to that.

"Told ya", Soap shrugged.

You started fidgeting with your fingers. An unfamiliar feeling spread in your abdomen, a cocktail of wariness and warmth, with a hint of regret.

The idea that you needed to talk to him crossed your mind.

It crossed Ghost's mind too.

That's why he jumped up from his office chair, barging out of the room and pulling the door shut behind him.

He dreaded seeing your reaction, he was sure that you didn't want him in the infirmary. But he had to talk to you to clear things up.

The turmoil in his heart, mind, and limbs when he realised you were in danger had been impactful. Eye opening even.

He couldn't keep treating you the way he did.

With heavy steps he made his way to the infirmary, and with every inch he passed he grew more hesitant.

He halted in front of the door for a few seconds, listening to your hoarse voice speaking to Soap and Gaz.

It reminded him of the first thought he had when they finally found you. A part of his soul had been ripped out upon seeing your usual self being shut away behind your bruised face.

Slowly, he moved through the door and leaned onto the metal frame, the coldness of the material against his skin grounding him.

You spotted him standing there before his eyes found yours, and you stopped talking.

"Right, Gaz, I'm hungry", Soap suddenly said and patted your leg, like Price did earlier.

Gaz immediately was in on it, and they both said their goodbyes before leaving the room, patting Ghost's chest in the process.

The nurse followed them with his eyes before he left the room with a sigh.

Ghost looked casual, only a balaclava instead of his mask, a black shirt, and jeans. It was a rare sight.

He came closer to your bed once you were alone with him, and you wondered what he would say, if he even would open his mouth.

"May I?", he mumbled then, pointing at the edge of the bed, and you nodded.

You didn't speak first. Dropping a snarky comment didn't seem right either, for the first time in months you wanted to have an actual conversation with him.

Although you didn't know where to start.

The mattress dented when he sat down. He had never been this close physically without there being a reason to, like training or rescue, apparently. Now his hips brushed your leg, only a hospital blanket between your bodies.

His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and you looked at him curiously, waiting for him to take the word.

"You did a good job. I'm proud of you", was all he said before pausing again.

"Thank you."

You sounded level-headed, but your heart skipped a beat at his approval. Despite being captured and slightly altering the mission's course with that, he finally found friendly words for you, and you had to admit that you were extremely surprised.

"What changed your mind?", you asked quietly.

"Kinda always thought that."

You raised your brows, "Oh really."

From your reaction he could tell that you didn't believe him. He couldn't blame you. His habit of deeply burying affection under spiteful comments and harsh treatment wasn't ideal, but otherwise he wouldn't be able to deal with his feelings, feelings he shouldn't have and would never allow himself to have.

He relaxed his arms, giving you the impression that he got more comfortable with you.

"This is my fault", he stated, vaguely pointing at your face.

"Not really", you immediately shot out. Now it was your turn to cross your arms, although you reconsidered when they brushed past your ribcage.

"Would you have agreed to do the mission if I hadn't complained?", he asked.

"I was nervous but yes, I would have done it either way", you answered truthfully.

He didn't say anything, so you kept talking, your thoughts faster than your words.

"It still pissed me off, though. If you kinda always thought I did a good job, why did you say that? Why did you say any of the stuff you said?"

He swallowed visibly, and his eyes darted around the room, but he didn't answer. His silence annoyed you.

"Why am I always your punching bag?"

You raised your voice, ignoring the pain burning in your broken jaw. Ghost noticed your shift from past to present tense, a hint of shame taunting him for making you feel that way.

"Missions, training, at fucking lunchtime! Every damn time you treat me like I'm..."

You gestured with your hands, lost for words to describe how agitated you felt by his past behaviour.

"I treated you unfairly", Ghost mumbled into his mask.

"Unfairly is an understatement, but at least you can acknowledge that you did something wrong."

"I treated you unfairly because I was worried."

You huffed, shaking your head slightly.

Finally, you managed to give him a piece of your mind. The words practically erupted out of your mouth.

"It's natural to worry about your teammates, but what you did was so... so excessive", you burst out, voice growing frustrated, "are you not worried about Soap? And Gaz and Price? Personally, I am worried about all of you, even you, every time we're in the field. Have you ever talked to them like you talked to me?"

"No."

Your hands dropped to your lap in defeat.

"I know I'm not innocent, but I just didn't know how to handle it. It feels like you have a personal problem with me."

"It's the opposite", he said quickly, finally looking into your eyes.

You were stunned and urged him to keep talking by staring at him with raised brows.

"I pushed you more than the others. It was important for me to...," he started, his eyes flickering away from yours for just a second before he pointed at your face, "to bring the best out in you so something like this doesn't happen to you."

You shook your head.

"That doesn't make sense. This is part of my job. It can happen to any soldier."

He took a deep breath, his eyes softening when he scanned your features.

"You're not any soldier, (y/n)."

Your gaze moved away from his face, not knowing where to let it linger. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed with confusion and dread of what he would say next.

"Ghost, please. I don't understand what you want from me."

You flinched a little when he took your hand in his, yours looking ridiculously small in comparison.

"I worry more about you than the others, and it's not because I think you're weaker than them", his thumb started rubbing circles over your bandaged wrists carefully, "I worry more about you than I'm supposed to."

Your heartbeat picked up.

"Can you be any vaguer...", you commented carefully, your eyes avoiding his.

"Look at me."

His voice was soft, and driven by professional habit, you listened, and your now glassy eyes seemed to look straight through him.

"I am harsher with you because I want you to excel, and I want you to be safe. I let my... feelings... get in the way."

"Feelings?", you inquired, and he scoffed, "it seems that word was really hard to say for you."

"You're so fucking annoying", he said, but you could swear that a smirk was tugging at his lips.

You were in disbelief. It was as if you were levitating, unsure what to feel, unsure if you could trust him. His past treatment of you and the way he held your hands now didn't add up.

"Since the day we met you drive me fucking insane, you know that?", he added, and your eyes scanned his for signs of dishonesty.

"I just don't get it, sorry...", you whispered.

"I didn't know how to handle it. I just suck at it."

"So you verbally abuse me instead?"

You were half joking, but you still didn't get why it had been so hard for him to just be decently nice to you.

"That was horrible of me to do. I thought it would be easier for me if I just suppressed my feelings and then I was frustrated. It was easier to hate you. I'm sorry for taking it out on you."

You intently watched his hands playing with yours. It felt good. Comforting and warm. It was a small action, but it made it easier for you to believe him.

"Almost losing you was a wake-up call."

When you looked back up at him, his eyes softened again. Was this the first time he looked at you like this, or had he done it before? In fleeting moments where he felt like nobody was watching?

In your mind, you flicked through memories, trying to remember any small moments in which you might have noticed affection in his actions.

Was it the way he moved you around during training, seeking physical contact? Or how he let you repeat anything over and over again after everyone else had left, to spend more time with you? When he only had his eyes on you during missions, had it not been to wait for mistakes but to make sure you're safe?

"So you really don't think I'm useless? You don't hate me?"

"Never did", he answered immediately, voice merely a whisper.

"I need to process that."

He nodded, "I understand. Do you hate me?"

You hesitated. Then you shook your head instinctively, without knowing why exactly.

"I just think you're fucking annoying", you said, a small smile adorning your bruised face.

His hands let go off yours and he propped his body up on his fists, caging you in. Carefully, he leaned in closer, before pressing a tender kiss on your temple through the fabric of his mask.

You could feel your heart breaking out of your ribcage, beating violently in your throat.

It was the only soft type of physical affection he could bring himself to do, for the moment.

Softness wasn't foreign to him, but over the last years he locked this side of him away. But now, he was willing to make up for every nasty comment and every day on which his rash behaviour had caused you suffering.

"You know where to find me", he whispered into your ear.

With that, he left you alone in the infirmary to give you time and space to think.

Your gaze was fixated on the ceiling after you carefully leaned back into the mattress, searching in every crevice of your brain for signs that Ghost had liked you in the past.

It didn't take you long to decide that you wanted a fresh start with him.

You did just that.

A fresh start, catching up on trivial things that suffered during your earlier relationship.

It had begun with you desperately waiting in the infirmary for him to show up.

In vain.

But it was fine, you had told him that you needed time to process, and he granted you that. Despite knowing and appreciating that he waited for you, you were the littlest bit scared that he would change his mind.

Maybe he would sit in his office and regret opening up to you. Obviously, it had been hard for him doing that.

You couldn't know that it was the opposite.

Ghost fiddled with the pen in his fingers while filling out a mission report, turning his office chair around aimlessly.

It was the report about your intel mission, and he was thinking hard about which words he would choose to describe what had happened.

He wanted to concentrate, he really did, but his mind always wandered back to you. Your perfectly sculpted face, whether it was bruised or not, your voice, no matter if you spoke softly or yelled at someone (him), or how you talked to yourself when you thought nobody was nearby.

He took the cup of tea that was next to the report before it went cold, bringing the mug to his lips.

"Fuck", he shot out when the liquid didn't go where it was supposed to.

He forgot to lift his mask before drinking, that's how deep he was in his thoughts about you.

Relieved that nobody saw that, he checked the report for stains and was glad to not find any. What he wasn't glad about was that you ghosted around in his mind, haunting him.

He had promised to give you time, but he was desperately waiting for you to reach out.

You were sitting in your bed in the infirmary hoping for the same.

It was like the two of you played ping-pong with the responsibility of talking to the other first, him thinking that you needed more time and you thinking that he might have regrets.

It was one of the nurses in the infirmary giving you the push you needed, without her even noticing.

You had to spend a lot of time in there, despite your body healing well. A broken rib and jaw were no child's play.

There was one nurse who you got along with the easiest. She was about your age and always managed to cheer you up when the pain flared up again.

"Do you know who was here last night?", she asked one day, and you looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"Lieutenant Riley!"

Her voice was almost ecstatic.

"Oh, I see...", you said slowly, your heart skipping a beat.

Your jaw was better, but not well enough to smile widely, although you really felt like it.

"He sat by your bed and just watched you... Lucky you", she chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess", you smiled.

It was such a new, strange feeling to think and talk about Ghost this way, as someone you wanted to be here with you.

"He looked at you with so much adoration, it was so sweet!"

Oh, if she knew how much Ghost wanted to hide that last night.

"You could tell?", you inquired.

She rolled her eyes playfully, "well, it's really all you can see of his face."

Fair.

She went off to prepare your meds, and you grabbed your phone from the nightstand.

You quickly found what you were looking for and stared at the contact card with the name "Ghost" and a thumbs down behind it.

You huffed and deleted the unnecessary emoji.

"Do it, you coward", you mumbled to yourself, before tapping the little speech bubble.

Wasting no time and not too many thoughts, you typed and then sent the message immediately.

Hey, it's kinda boring here.
Care to join me?

"Care to join me? Really?"

You stared at the screen and quickly locked it when the status changed to delivered, before unlocking it again to watch how Ghost typed a reply.

You locked it again because you didn't want him to think you were lurking.

A minute later, there was still no reply, and you gave yourself a mental slap in the face. Of course he changed his mind.

Just that he didn't.

His steps echoed through the empty hallways towards the infirmary.

The reply was already typed in when he decided to just leave it be, because he wanted to see you either way. There had been no need to text you.

When he finally stood in the doorframe of the infirmary with his arms crossed, he watched you fidgeting with your phone, an annoyed expression on your face.

He tilted his head and just let his gaze linger on your face until you noticed him.

"Oh", was all you said.

You wondered if it was a habit of him to just wait in the doorframe until someone invited him in.

His arms dropped and he walked towards your bed, pointing to the edge of the mattress like he had done a few days ago.

"May I?"

"Please."

He sat down and you noticed that he was closer than last time. His wide frame was taking up all the space in your view, but you didn't complain.

You glanced at the nurse quickly, and she raised her brows, giving you a thumbs up.

She excused herself because she apparently wanted to fetch something from the storage, and then you were alone with Ghost again.

You allowed yourself to take in the sight of him, unlike last time when you didn't really dare to do so.

His muscly chest and biceps were hugged by a tight, black shirt and he wasn't wearing jeans, but beige cargos.

A smirk tugged at Ghost's lips when he caught you staring, and he shifted around and flexed his arms slightly.

"Show off", you chuckled, and his smirk grew wider, stretching the painted skull on his mask, "I'm just not used to seeing you without gear", you added.

That was mostly a lie, and Ghost probably knew, but you would never admit that.

"Of course."

"I hope I didn't disturb you doing anything important."

"No", he answered immediately, and then he wanted to add 'You're more important anyways', but that was too personal for now.

God, you didn't know how to start a conversation with him at all.

"I forgot my tea though", he then said, and you let out a laugh.

A stinging pain in your ribcage reminded you that you shouldn't do that, and you contorted your face. Ghost looked at you with a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Sorry, I will tone down the humour."

You chuckled (that didn't hurt) and shook your head, "don't, actually. I like this side of you."

He looked down, then up at you again, not really knowing how to handle the compliment.

"Let's have a fresh start", you suggested instead of making him force out an answer.

Hearing that from you felt good, an unfamiliar type of warmth spreading inside his chest.

"Tell me about yourself, (y/n)", he said gently.

The request came from the bottom of his heart. He wanted to know things about you that weren't in your records, he wanted to know if the assumptions he had of you were true, and how you saw yourself.

He was aware that you would maybe ask him the same question at some point, but he still had some time to come up with an adequate answer, one that would satisfy your curiosity without exposing what he kept locked away.

His secrets brought you into this position in the first place, the roughness in his heart causing all types of problems for him and the people around him.

Not anymore, he had decided after his tormenting fantasies showed him your lifeless body when he and Soap realised you were in danger, replaying in front of his eyes over and over during the seemingly endless car ride to the estate.

"Mh, what do you want to know?"

He shook his head, "nothing in particular. Whatever you feel comfortable telling me."

You pondered for a few seconds, searching for a fun little story or anything interesting really.

"What if you find it stupid?", you scoffed.

"Don't. Nothing you tell me about yourself could ever be stupid."

He sounded stern and gentle at the same time, urging you to answer, but not forcing you to.

"It's a little hard getting rid of that thought after all that happened, you know?", you said carefully.

His gaze softened when he remembered that, yes of course, he didn't exactly make you feel comfortable in your skin in the past.

Like last time, he took your hands in his, a gesture that was still so unusual to both of you.

"I understand. But I really want to get to know you."

You gnawed on your lip.

"Okay", was all you said before the words started flowing out of your mouth.

You didn't tell him anything too personal, but small things. A little about your childhood, your family, your first dog, how you fell off a tree in school, everything that seemed suitable.

Your reason for going to the army, your career choices in general, how you went up the ladder.

How autumn was your favourite season and how much you loved trying different foods.

He intently listened to every word you said, and you didn't even notice how insanely soft his eyes were getting at seeing you talk so freely to him.

It was the rawest and realest kind of intimacy for him, you trusting him and gifting him your stories, details about your life and your thoughts.

It was the first step towards healing your relationship, and he was more than ready for that. Seeing how you finally opened up to him was emitting warmth in him like nothing else did.

He spent the next three hours glued to your lips, until the nurse shooed him out of the room because you needed to rest.

After he left, you felt foggy. Not from the pain in your jaw, although it grew more prominent with all the talking, but from confusion.

It was the good kind, the one that made your stomach feel like a flower field full of butterflies and your head like a soft cloud in a summers breeze.

"You really are lucky", the nurse smiled as she basically forced your head into the pillow before you fell asleep from the meds.

This was last week. The first time you really had a conversation, although it had just been you rambling about anything Ghost might find interesting... or not, you could just guess.

Since then, he came by more often, whenever work allowed him. Soap, Price, Gaz, and a few others popped in as well, but mostly Ghost.

You knew that some of your colleagues started talking, but that didn't alarm you in the slightest. There was unspoken approval in your closest circle about you and Ghost finally starting to get along, whatever rat tail would follow.

They went on missions without you, and it always left you feeling useless in a sense, because you wanted to help them and get back to the field quickly.

After every mission, Ghost would immediately come to find you in your usual spot. It wasn't like you could leave anyways.

He spent as much time in the infirmary as he was allowed to, and you talked for hours.

Mostly you, rarely him, and sometimes there was silence while you laid in bed as he played with your hands.

It was three weeks after his first appearance in the infirmary that you returned the gesture. You didn't even think about it, it just came naturally when you started talking.

He sat down, you smiled at him as another funny childhood story came to your mind, and then you took one of his hands in both of yours.

You were negatively surprised when he flinched and pulled his hand away, thinking that you had overstepped a line or made him uncomfortable, a small part of your brain even told you that his previous touch was just a cover up for – well, you didn't know, but for something.

But he quickly made a point by returning his hand so you could take it.

"Sorry...", he said, "I'm not used to that."

At this point you could only guess what he meant by that, and it shattered your heart into tiny pieces.

He never talked much about himself, only giving hints. You knew that he was born in Manchester, which shouldn't be news to you, but it never really came up before due to your strained relationship.

He briefly mentioned that he had no family left after they were murdered, by whom, why and how he didn't tell, and you had been too afraid to ask.

He never spoke about anything else in particular, but the dark shadow looming over his eyes when he attempted to tell you about himself were sign enough, they made him look dreary, and mostly hurt.

There was a sting in your heart anytime he tried. He pretended to be ready, wrapping himself in the feigned security of the past being long gone, but then he opened his mouth and couldn't speak.

He couldn't, and you could practically feel his eyes screaming at you for help, so you always changed the topic.

It worked, and you couldn't even fathom how thankful he was because of that.

So yes, Ghost didn't talk about his past, but you could still tell that life hadn't been easy on him. That's why him flinching and pulling away made sense after he apologised, and it destroyed you to think that affection was hard for him.

You also felt guilty for not knowing anything about him, although realistically you knew that it wasn't your fault.

The happier it made you that his hand sneaked back into yours that evening.

"The nurses say I can leave the infirmary in a week. I'm not supposed to be in bed all day because of my rib", you told him while your fingers intertwined with each other.

"When exactly?", he asked softly.

"I don't know, maybe Monday?"

He acknowledged your answer with a nod and a squeeze of your hands.

"I'll be there."

Next Monday came around quicker than anticipated and unfortunately, he wasn't there because the team had been sent on a mission the day prior.

There was a new variety of worry ghosting around in the back of your mind, although you worried about all of them equally.

Usually there was a deep sense of trust laced with the worry, since you knew how good your team was and how rarely they failed, but this trust was overshadowed by something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

It hit you the hardest when your mind wandered to Ghost.

The feeling was making you jumpy, not being able to fully relax. Your hands were basically glued to your phone in hopes of someone giving you updates.

The nurse tried explaining you how you should treat your broken bones, especially your rib, but you only listened with half an ear.

"Apply ice pack... twenty minutes per hour... these narcotics three times a day... slow deep breathing exercise every two hours... lots of walking."

A snapping clipboard pulled you back to reality, relieving your spinning head for a moment.

"Alright, then you're free to leave", the nurse said, stashing your medical file in a folder.

"Thank you all for taking such good care of me", you smiled at him.

"Of course. Did you get everything I just told you?", he asked with raised brows, and you nodded dutifully.

"Take care and let us know if you're experiencing any pain that's out of the ordinary."

"Will do", you said, standing up slowly before taking a few steps, like a toddler learning to walk.

The nurse made sure to keep an eye on you on the way to the door, so he could send you off without fearing you would fall.

Walking felt extremely odd, like something was out of place in your body, but you managed.

"Okay, I'm not supposed to be in bed all day, but what do I do now?", you pondered with yourself as you strolled down the hallway.

You decided to go for a little walk, conveniently leading you past Ghost's office.

"It's gonna be locked I bet", you whispered before carefully pushing the handle.

You raised your brows when the door opened with ease. Well, nobody in their right mind would dare to sneak into the Lieutenant's office anyways, but a little voice in your head told you that he would make an exemption for you.

After all, you weren't in here to snoop around (your latest mission had been enough) but to wait for him, never having been this eager to see him.

You carefully sat down in the big armchair in the corner. There was a small table next to it, with a framed picture on top. Only one.

It was the 141 and Los Vaqueros, and you remembered the day it was taken. Each of the members had a copy, yours was on the desk in your room.

Reminiscing, you took the photo to have a closer look.

You stood in front of Ghost, him towering over you, your head leaning onto Soap's arm and his hand on your shoulder. All smiling brightly after a successful mission.

After looking at the picture for a minute, you squinted because something didn't seem accurate. Soap wouldn't wear two different gloves, right?

You had looked at the scenery countless times, but you had never really focused on Ghost standing behind you.

Now you saw, and a smile hushed over your face.

It was his hand on your shoulder, on a picture from a time when he supposedly hated your guts.

You had no idea why he had placed his hand there, but it was a small sign that confirmed how his intention to mend your relationship was sincere.

Because apparently, he actually never hated you.

Still smiling, you put the photo down and pulled your phone from your pocket.

The chat with Ghost was relatively empty, and you attempted to type an eager sounding message twice before you just settled for the most basic one you could come up with.

I'm waiting for you in your office.

Sorry, it was unlocked.

You didn't expect an immediate reply because he was in the field after all, so you were surprised when the status changed from delivered to read after about thirty seconds.

And then he was typing...

How unfortunate,
I'm on the way to the infirmary.

I was released from the comfy

prison about half an hour ago.

I know, but I gotta stay here.

Your eyes widened as you quickly typed the next message.

?????

I was shot.

"Holy fucking shit", you gasped, and you could swear your rib broke in several other places when you shot up from the chair, almost sprinting out of the office.

The initial shock ebbed down because he clearly was able to text, so he wasn't in danger. Still, your pace was quick on the way back to the infirmary.

Your chest hurt a little when you stepped through the door, anxiously staring at the nurse working on Ghost's bloodied biceps before you slowly came closer.

His head turned to face you and he raised his brows.

"Worried?"

You shook your head in disbelief.

"Come here", he said and held his healthy arm out.

Hesitantly, you sat down on the stretcher, your thigh touching his.

"Do you have enough room to work?", you asked the nurse, and he nodded.

"You two are becoming regulars", he commented while pulling tiny pieces of Ghost's shirt out of the wound with tweezers.

"You were shot", you stated blankly, paying no attention to the nurse.

"I'm fine", he said softly, and his arm snaked around your waist.

It was a simple action, but still reassuring.

"You are, the bullet neither hit nerves nor bones. Soft tissue damage at most."

Both of you took a deep breath, Ghost because he wouldn't miss more missions than he could handle, and you because Ghost wasn't severely hurt.

You watched intently how the nurse cleaned and patched up the wound, and Ghost didn't even flinch when the torn edges of skin and flesh were stitched together.

You just knew that he had refused any type of anaesthesia and the fact that he was here instead of on an operating table meant that it really wasn't as bad as you initially thought.

Luckily.

"Where are the others?", you asked to combat the silence while the nurse wrapped bandages around Ghost's arm.

"I kicked them out, I only have one hand that can be held anyways."

You chuckled from his light-hearted answer, and he chimed in.

"I was actually worried, you know", you whispered then.

"It can happen to any soldier, remember?"

His face turned towards yours, closer than ever before, and you swallowed.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the nurse interrupted you with a hushed voice.

"Alright! Bandages are set. I'll be back in ten minutes, it would be lovely if Lieutenant Riley was in his bed by then to rest his arm for the night, and Sergeant (y/l/n) out of the infirmary."

With that, he rushed out of the room – being shooed out of his own workplace – leaving you and Ghost alone.

"Ghost...", you started, and he shifted on the stretcher, facing you with his body.

"Simon to you", was all he said, his eyes trying to find yours while you looked away in slight embarrassment.

Another proof of his sincerity. His actual name, and you had permission to use it.

No, he wanted you to use it.

"Are you sure?", you asked carefully, now daring to look him in the eyes.

He propped up one of his legs, so it was situated behind your back, and your bodies moved even closer together.

"Yes."

A simple, yet weighty answer.

"Okay. Simon...", you started, the name sounding so pretty rolling of your lips in his ears, "what if you're not any soldier to me either?"

He pushed his body forwards, and his hand drew circles on your waist.

"Of course I'm not, we're team mates", he grinned under his balaclava, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

Careful not to put further damage on your ribcage, he pulled you in by your hip as if you were a feather.

"I know, love."

Your face reddened and your eyes flickered away when he called you that. He gently cupped your chin with one hand and turned your face towards his, doing nothing other than taking in the sight of you.

"God. Come here", he whispered softly, pulling you closer.

With a swift movement of his other hand, he lifted the balaclava so just his mouth was exposed.

Your body froze, partly in anticipation and partly in confusion at why he suddenly revealed half of his face, but it became clear when he closed the little remaining distance between your faces.

Very suddenly, his warm lips touched yours, neediness motivating his movements.

You let out a gasp which was drowned by the kiss, your eyes fluttering shut automatically.

It didn't feel like you expected it to feel.

A fire was igniting in your chest, but the good kind; a cosy, flickering flame in the midst of winter, which lulled you in and calmed you down.

It was soft, warm and made your heartbeat pick up rapidly. Everything fell into place suddenly, all the pent-up frustration that had been building up for months vanished in seconds, as if you had written it down on a piece of paper which was now burning in the flames.

His breath gently brushed your cheeks and when your hands lightly touched his chest, you could feel him crumble beneath you, his insecurities and uneasiness taking shape and practically seeping through your fingers.

He let out a breath he had been holding and pulled you so close that you could swear you were under his skin.

In a sense you were. He could feel your gentle and comforting warmth flowing through each of his veins, and he couldn't fathom how, after all of his behaviour, you could let yourself melt into his arms so carefree.

Your essence rinsed him clean of dread from the inside, that's what kissing you felt like for him.

The kiss was heavenly, his lips pushing against yours in perfect rhythm, neither too soft nor too harsh.

Both of his hands cupped your face gingerly as he deepened the kiss, thumbs brushing over your skin and bodies close together.

It felt like it was over too quickly when he pulled away, still holding your face carefully as if it was a fragile porcelain vase.

Your eyes fluttered open and found his, a thousand unspoken words between them.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips and back before he caved in and kissed you again.

Despite your aching rib, you pushed your chest into his and let your hands roam, ghosting up to his neck and halting at the back of his head so you could play with his now slightly exposed hair.

He hummed into the kiss, sending vibrations down your throat.

It was an even shorter kiss this time, at least it felt too short, and when he pulled away it was as if you were hit by cold air.

You rested your forehead against his, and he shook his head in disbelief.

"What's wrong?", you asked.

"Nothing", he whispered, and shook his head again, "absolutely nothing."