You could tell he was acting; his voice was mumbled, sounding strained with restraint.
Every fiber of Ghost's body screamed for him to do something. Anything to make you stay longer with him.
But he forced himself to remain still, holding himself in control, only his eyes moving to meet your own.
"Luckily, you just have a fever. Nothing too serious to worry about."
Your voice filtered through his ears as you looked at him.
You had heard the stories of Ghost.
He had come often to your infirmary.
"A fever? Fucking hell. I'm not supposed to get fevers."
A killer.
A solider.
A wild dog.
A feared man.
"Well, you have a fever. You're not invincible, you know."
And yet, a simple fever forced him to be bed ridden.
Forced to be under your care.
Not that he was complaining.
His eyes watched as you started to move away from him. Away from his bed. Away from his reach.
"Y/n, I don't- fuck. I don't want you to leave."
He couldn't hide it.
The words slipped out in a quiet whisper.
His mouth moving quicker than his head can properly process as he let the words slip.
You were a medic, the type of person he would usually want to keep away from his unit.
You were a necessity to the team, yes.
But he had his reasons as to why he had Price have you stay on base, why he didn't want you being on the field with them.
The last thing he wanted was the enemy capturing you and using you to lure his team into a trap.
The thought of you even getting a scratch sent him over the edge.
"I'm not leaving, Ghost. I just need to get you your medicine and some water."
"Why won't you look at me?"
"I am looking at you. Just a few seconds ago."
He had tried so hard to convince himself that he was strong and emotionless.
But the sight of you was a weakness he had never known until now.
"For fuck's sake, y/n. Look at me."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
"Simon, I am trying to do my job, okay?"
He knew you were right. He couldn't let himself become upset when you were simply doing your job.
He had to remember that this was just how you treated all patients, regardless of who they were, even him.
"Sorry, sorry. I just...fuck. You smell like strawberries."
His words were quiet, barely heard even by himself.
"Strawberries?" An odd observation.
"You smell like strawberries."
When you leaned in close, he noticed the scent again. And when he met your eyes, he saw that your cheeks had flushed slightly.
"That's...thank you, I guess?"
Were you just naturally rosy cheeked, or did you know he was head over heels?
And the thought scared him.
Him loving someone.
Him loving you.
He moved as though to get up, but you held him down. You knew he wasn't ready to stand on his own two feet yet.
"Sit still. I still have get you your medicine, so you have to stay."
With a smile, you adjusted the blanket so it laid over his chest. His eyes nearly glazed over at the sight of your long fingers touching his exposed skin. He forced himself to look away before the heat of his flush got any worse.
"Fine, fine."
Your eyes were so pretty.
Your fingers were so soft.
Your hair was so beautiful.
He couldn't help it.
You brought his mind to a place he'd never been before. A place filled with affection and concern.
"How did you even end up getting sick? We're in a desert."
Ghost practically enjoyed being injured or falling sick.
Gunshot wound.
Stabbing.
Broken leg.
Broken arm.
"How in the bloody hell am I supposed to know?"
Any injury or sickness that would send him to the infirmary, he would take it in a heartbeat. Anything to see you. Even if he didn't want to admit it to anyone, even to himself.
You made him weak, and he hated it. He was supposed to be strong, and in control, but with you, he felt out of control.
"Well you're the one who's sick with a fever. In a desert. A literal desert, Ghost."
Were you a witch?
A succubus?
Or were you just so beautiful, and such a kind woman that you captured his heart?
"And you're the bloody medic. You're supposed to know why I'm sick."
He had been around beautiful women before, but with you, it was different. With you, he was vulnerable.
He had slowly let down his guard around you more times already than he ever had with another living person.
"Touché."
Perhaps there was something demonic about you. But if that was the case, then his soul was already damned.
He only needed to take one more look at your eyes, or a touch of your fingertips, and he knew he would give anything to you if you asked him.
And that knowledge terrified him.
"You'll need a few weeks of bed rest. That means absolutely no training, no missions, and no drinking. And smoking. No smoking."
Your words slipped past his hearing. He noticed your lips more than your words. The softness of your smile as you spoke and the way they moved.
He wanted to trace those lips with his own.
But that would be a mistake, he told himself. No matter how much he wanted you, how much he liked you, he was a soldier and you were a medic.
Two separate worlds that were not meant to mix.
His gaze shifted to the small notebook in your hand. You were writing a list of orders for his bed rest. Orders Price would give him anyway.
"Any questions or concerns you have before I go?"
"Just one."
You seemed to be getting ready to leave, and he couldn't let you do that yet. He had to delay you.
He had already became addicted to your presence.
"Can I kiss you?"
He watched you carefully, and he knew he was being reckless, but he didn't care. At this point, he couldn't keep himself from being direct anymore.
He either got to kiss you, or he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life there and then.
Ghost felt his hands trembling despite his best efforts to remain still.
It was ridiculous, he thought.
He was a soldier, who could easily kill with his bare hands.
Yet you, a single woman, who held his fate in her hands had him shaking and nervous.
You stared at him in shock.
Your eyes widened.
Your face became even more red than before. Your pen slipped from your fingers, clattering onto the wooden floor.
You hadn't expected him to ask that.
"You want to...kiss me?"
He was glad he was already lying down on the cot when you answered. Otherwise he might have simply collapsed to the floor out of sheer shock. The fact that he even asked you was hard to comprehend.
"Forget it. I take it back."
He wanted to bury his head in the sheets and forget this whole conversation ever happened. If he thought he had embarrassed himself before, now he wanted to sink out of existence.
"No, no. I mean-yes, you can kiss me. I just didn't expect you to...ask."
"You're serious? Don't fuck with me, y/n."
"Oh for Christ sake, yes, Ghost."
It had never crossed his mind that you would accept. After all, he was a soldier who killed people for a living, and you were a medic who helped people.
The two of you didn't belong together.
He wouldn't be surprised if you were going to slap him for the mere suggestion of it. He didn't wait another second, and moved towards you.
But if you did slap him after this, then it would be worth it, he thought.
He could barely process the feel of your lips on his as they slowly met. He knew he wasn't supposed to like the gentle feel of them, not when he spent his life in the mud, blood, and dirt of the battlefield.
But God, it felt like the kiss was the sweetest rain after months spent wandering in the desert.
He could get drunk on your lips.
He would make a fool of himself just for you.
Your lips were just as soft as he'd imagined, and the smell of your hair was even more intoxicating when he was this close to you.
Your lips hovered over each other as you finally pulled away, your eyes flickering to his.
"You taste like cigarettes and stale coffee."
"That better not be a bloody complaint."
He chuckled at you as he watched your lips.
He thought they looked perfect.
Perfect for kissing.
Perfect for saying his name.
"You're so beautiful it hurts, y/n."
"And you're sick." You smiled at him as you gave him a quick peck on the lips. "You need to rest up and sleep."
"Sleep will be hard with your lips on my mind."
Just seeing you smile was enough to drive him over the edge.
He wanted to hold you, touch you, taste you again and again, because nothing else could make him feel like you did.
He was lost in this feeling, and he didn't want to find his way back ever again.
"Then maybe once you get better, when can do more than just kiss."
You innocently smiled at, your feet already making your way to the door to leave.
"So you better rest up, soldier."
"Are you giving me an order, medic?"
He couldn't help the grin on his face as he heard your words.
He couldn't wait to be better.
So he could kiss you again.
So he could hold you again.
So he could taste you again.
So that he could drown in your eyes and the sound of your voice.
He couldn't remember ever waiting for anything as much as this.
It was worth having a fever right now, he thought.
"Yes, I am. So got to sleep."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. I'll see you in the morning."
When you left, he tried to go to sleep.
He really tried.
But all he could think about were your lips, how you smelled like strawberries.
He wanted you to come back.
He wanted to kiss you again.
His thoughts were consumed with you. He tried to think of other things as he laid back down, tried to push you from his mind.
But at every given chance, he thought of your lips, your eyes, your voice.
He didn't sleep that night, and if he had, he would've dreamt of you.