Drew was glad when she didn't see Fox—or hear from his superiors—after that morning's PT. Not that she was avoiding him or the situation, she just felt her blood pressure wouldn't handle a surprise interaction well.
And thankfully, she wouldn't have to deal with him until the day after the next, so her focus could stay on her work in the intelligence department.
It was familiar; looking for clues within intercepted transmissions, public ads, media—all things she did while stationed in Jordan, although this was on a much larger scale. A global scale.
She'd been assigned to the trafficking case, as well as to do research into the terrorist group that had brought her to the 141 in the first place. They were both high priority, meaning unlike her co-workers who had case loads upwards of ten files, she only needed to focus on them.
That also meant she had a team who worked with her, sending her possible leads which she would analyze for their relevance. Having a team like that; where she was their supervisor, not just a fellow researcher, was unfamiliar. She was used to smaller operations, where research teams were maybe half a dozen strong, all of whom worked together.
But she was part of a bigger chain now.
To manage the work, she split her time between the two; mornings for trafficking, afternoons for terrorists. Such happy topics to fill her days with.
Thankfully, the intensity of her work was broken up by meals with the team. Soap and Gaz—and sometimes Price if he had time—pulled her from the detached protective shells she'd build, giving her a break from nihilistic thoughts and realities.
And Ghost would be there too.
Offering his usual jabs before falling into slightly more pleasant conversation with the others. It was a strange thing to see; him interacting, joking even, rather than him just brooding silently as he had during her first days on base.
She wondered what she'd done to make him dislike her so much—or really, what the others had done to make him dislike them less. They didn't seem to hold back sarcastic comments or teasing remarks, but for some reason when they came from them his responses were much less serious.
A frustrating mystery that she decided to ignore.
Or tried to.
As she sat at the dining table for dinner that day, she hadn't noticed herself staring—glaring—at the other Lieutenant, trying to figure it out.
He'd seemed unimpressed by her when they met. Maybe it was her age, having what? A decade less experience than him. But she'd earned her rank through hard work; both before and during her military career.
He must have read her file before she arrived, so he had to have seen that.
The thought passed in her mind that maybe it was because she was a woman—and a visually unthreatening one at that—but for some reason, she felt he wasn't so shallow. Wasn't so dick-brained. He respected other women officers, had warned her about sexism within the ranks, had done nothing to make her believe his attitude was because of her gender.
"Have I got somethin' on my face?" he growled.
"Just trying to decide if you sprout horns at night," she responded, resting her chin on her hand for emphasis.
"Funny, Now stop starin'."
She dragged her eyes away, stabbing a carrot before biting it off.
"So, Daisy, how's work been treating you? You gettin' close to finding something for us?" Soap asked obviously trying to cut the tension.
"Right now it's a lot of possibilities. The team has been good at pulling threads, but it's difficult to manifest them into leads. I think we're getting close, at least on two fronts. Hopefully the next few days will give us the information we need."
"Well good work. We'll be lighting fires beneath their ass in no time."
"Hopefully," she mumbled, mind drifting to the work she'd done earlier in the day. Her research on the trafficking ring.
Unfortunately, they'd received confirmation that the ring was active, however they had too little information to act. Nothing on locations, nothing on leaders.
It drove her mad, drove her to scanning through transcripts and ciphered messages until she had to force herself to blink. She was glad she had two cases to focus on because it gave her a break from the frustration.
From the thoughts of violence that people were certainly going through. From the thought that she knew and couldn't do anything about it. From the guilt, because what if she wasn't looking hard enough? What if she'd missed something? She was never good at noticing things, so maybe there was something and she hadn't—
Something knocked against her foot and she blinked, letting the world come into focus again.
She sunk into her chair slightly, realizing she'd been staring at Ghost again. But unlike how she usually responded to his gaze, in that moment she felt vulnerable, her self-pity acting to momentarily strip her of all confidence.
She waited uneasily for his comment, for his warning to stop staring, maybe even for him to have read her mind and confirm that she'd been too dazed to pick up on important details of the case.
But he didn't say anything.
He simply watched her a moment, without a doubt noting her lack of backbone, before looking back to the others.
She blinked again, confused.
Had he kicked her by accident?
Was this some psychological warfare?
Would he say something later?
She didn't know, and he didn't give her any clues. So she mirrored him, falling back into the conversation beside her.
It worked enough to distract her, and then as they moved to one of the common rooms, she found herself weaving herself into the conversation. Challenging Gaz to a round of cards. Then beating him.
Then losing.
By the time she'd retired to her room, she was eager to change into comfortable clothes and to give her hair a break from their daily confines.
Her wind down routine seemed to drag, so when she finally laid down in bed, she thought she'd fall asleep quickly. But wrong she was. Those stupid, guilt-ridden thoughts returned, burrowing into her shoulders like a tick.
She had half a mind to march across the campus to her office—to check if she'd missed something in her hours of work, but she knew that was non-sense. She needed to give her mind a rest, that it needed sleep. Annoyingly though, that fact didn't stop the thoughts.
With a glance at the clock, she pushed up from her bed, switching her slippers for a pair of sneakers, then tugging a jacket over her hoodie.
It was late, but a military base was never quiet. Voices, whether from people or tv's, pushed their way through closed doors. A tired looking private greeted her. The junior officer's common room was still occupied.
When she reached the ground level, she pushed out a back exit to a garden alcove that offered a false sense of nature within the cityscape that was the base. Although calling it a garden was unfitting; a few benches, trees, and bushes were the extent of the landscaping. It was more like a non-cemented rec area—but semantics aside, she just wanted a quiet spot to sit.
To try and empty her brain before attempting sleep again.
It was nearly silent; too cold for crickets any longer—or crowds of people—and birds had long gone to sleep. The occasional car drove past off in the distance, but overall, it was quiet. She pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her forehead on them as she shut her eyes.
As if her mind was just waiting for the moment to strike, her thoughts bubbled up. About how lucky she was to be somewhere quiet. And safe. To have the ability to walk somewhere to find a peaceful moment. To have her freedom.
She let out a frustrated groan, burying her face in her legs.
Stupid fucking brain.
Stupid because she couldn't stop the fixation. Stupid because maybe she was missing something.
It was habit for her to get over-attached to her cases, but never had she been working with so little where she had no choice but to sit back and do nothing.
Her training to become a special op had included torture training—but they never prepared her for that kind of torture; where she was helpless to do anything.
Stupid fucking brain.
The door behind her opened and her ears perked. A quiet shuffling and then the sound of a lighter flicking told her what she needed to know; someone had come out for a puff.
With that established, her mind returned to its previous turmoil.
She needed to find a way to deal with her emotions. She couldn't continue stressing over things so out of her control.
"It's out of my control," she whispered to herself, as if needing to hear the words aloud to believe them. "I'm not missing details."
That one, she wasn't quite convinced of.
"I'm not missing details," she repeated, words lost to the fabric of her sweatpants.
She hadn't felt unsure of herself in quite a while—but something about that case was getting to her. The severity maybe, the consequences of not responding fast enough. It irked her. And the fact that she felt so unconfident made it worse.
She was capable, she was good at her work, but if she wasn't...
She couldn't afford not to be.
Her hands ran through her hair before she pulled her head up, eyes scanning the darkened lawn. "I'm not missing details."
"Not missing details about what?"
"Jesus—" she gasped, head craning behind her to find Ghost standing a few feet back, half a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Smoke spilled from his lips as he smirked, "Scare ya?"
"Fuck off," she muttered before standing and stalking past the bench. She wasn't in the mood for him or his attitude. Especially with her heart thumping in her chest the way it was.
"Not missing details about what?" he repeated.
"Doesn't matter," she bit as she passed him.
"Seems important if you're bloody talking to yourself about it." In the reflection of the door, she saw him turn to face her. "That what had you all pale-faced earlier?"
She froze, letting out an annoyed breath. "It's just work shit," she answered, thinking back to him nudging her foot at dinner. Because now that she knew he'd noticed her discomfort, she really didn't understand why he didn't say anything. It was the perfect time to taunt her.
He took a drag off the cigarette. "Somethin' about the terrorists? You need help doing background?"
It almost sounded like he was offering, except for that haughty undertone that coated his words.
It burned in her belly and she turned to face him. "No."
"No, what?"
"It's not about the terrorists, and I don't need help."
His eyes narrowed as he approached her. "What's it about then?"
As he got near, the scent of cigarette carried on the breeze to her. She hated how much she liked the smell, unable to distance herself from the comforting nostalgia of it. And how it made her fingers itch to snatch one up.
"I've got another file that I'm working on, and there's not much to go off of."
"And what? Your ego bruised because you can't figure out the puzzle?" he prodded.
"My ego has nothing to do with it," she stated pointedly, "it's because people are at risk and there's not enough information to help them."
Some of the pointed tension released from his face as he nodded. "Shitty reality of the job."
"One I'm not putting up with."
"Wouldn't expect anything less," he quipped.
Words supportive yet tone mocking.
It made her want to lash out, but she didn't have the energy.
So she rolled her eyes. "I'll get it figured out and deal with the sons of bitches," she muttered lowly before turning.
"You know it's not your job to burn the world down," he commented roughly.
She turned again, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "Excuse me for giving a shit."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Then what did you mean."
"You're obviously getting' real worked up over the case. You came here to give support on the terrorists, not lose sleep over some intelligence job," he critiqued gruffly, but before she could respond, he was continuing. "If you take responsibility for every shitty thing in the world, you won't last long."
Despite the advice being solid, she couldn't stand how he condescended to her. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? See me get reassigned."
"As much as your insubordinate ass annoys me, you'll be useful for the mission."
"Glad to be of service," she growled sarcastically. "So if it makes a difference, I'll take my insubordinate ass and leave you to your brooding contemplation."
He shook his head in frustration, taking a long drag from the cigarette as she turned and pulled the door.
She'd just felt the warmth of the building hit her when his voice called out again.
"Don't take on the burdens of the world, Daisy."
She let the door slap shut behind her, wishing it would block out the torrent in her mind as well.