Chapter Text
The cold has settled into your bones, and created icicles on your eyelashes. This is the kind of cold that comforts the sleeping, or the dead, and you may find yourself as the latter here soon. The wind has only exacerbated the chill in your body, and yet you can’t even shiver. The man in front of you is too observant, and he’s not in a good mood, and so he will definitely call you out on any signs of weakness.
You tighten your jaw to stop the chattering in your teeth, and hold your gun close to your chest. You have long since ran out of ammo, but it’s something to ground you. You squint your eyes in an attempt to see through the heaves of snowfall, the man in front of you stops.
“Keep up, we’re almost there.” Ghost turns his head to look at you through his peripherals,
“Don’t slow down now.”
You can only bring yourself to nod.
You both continue walking in the snow, the larger man in front of you is surprisingly silent as he glides through the snow that’s deep enough to reach your knees. You, on the other hand, enjoy the soft crunch underneath your boots. Ghost holds his fist up next to his head, you stop. He raises his weapon, looks through the scope, and takes a silent shot. A man falls out of a tree.
Ghost continues walking, calmly stepping over the body. You walk behind, trying not to look too closely at the blood staining the crisp snow. Maybe the cold would keep him intact enough for his family to hold an open-casket funeral, if he had one. That’s the only semblance of care you hold for him, your job doesn’t really allow for such trivial feelings like remorse or guilt. Or even, God forbid, sadness for a fallen enemy.
Your gun did a lot of talking. And you didn't want to stop and think about what that entailed.
-
Your cheeks feel stiff with cold, and you’re sure if you take your gloves off too rough your fingers would fall off. The snow on your boots and jeans started to melt onto the cabin's floor, slowly thawing you out. Ghost squatted next to a small potbelly stove, poking and prodding at the embers inside, attempting to make a fire out of waterlogged wood. Neither of you exchanged words, but the aggressive nature of Ghost’s jabs at the coals said enough. The mission went to shit, like it always seems to do. Then, he’s going to blame you for the failure. And then you’re going to argue, and then Price saves both your asses, and then the next mission comes. And the cycle continues. Except, Price hasn’t talked to either of you on your comms yet, not even static. They’re waterproof, so they’re not broken, so only time will tell when you get a good enough signal. With snow like this, it could be a few days.
Task Force 141 was separated during their latest mission in northern Europe, it was an attempt to break apart a continent-wide drug smuggling ring that ran from western Russia to France, and you all failed. They got the jump on you guys, and now you’re stuck fighting Russians in the winter. Isn’t there a lesson against that?
You stare at your hands in your lap, and wonder about frostbite. You think back to the time in Freshman year Biology, when your teacher showed pictures of frostbitten hands and toes, the skin peeling off, and the muscles turned necrotic. You suddenly feel pins and needles in your feet, and wonder if you can even walk.
You look up at Ghost, he’s staring intently into a small fire now. The logs must not have been too wet.
“Thank you.” You say in a small attempt to break the tension, but attempting to douse Ghosts’ anger was like throwing a water balloon into a pit of lava.
Ghost throws the fireplace poke next to the stove, and looks up at you. He stares for just a moment (he seems to have a problem with that), and stands up as if to intimidate you. This is usually where the arguing begins. But, in a moment of weakness, the man in front of you says,
“You’re welcome. And while you’re warming up, don’t get the fucking floor wet.” The words sound like venom.
“Yes sir.” you mock a salute to him, as he walks to the window leading outside.
Ghost holds his weapon to his chest, and stares out the window.
“You know, we would have been warm at home by now if you hadn't-"
There he fucking goes. The cycle continues.
“If I hadn’t what? Done my job? I took the shot, like the captain told me to, Lieutenant.” You spat.
“And you missed!” Ghost turns from the window and looks in your direction, “What good is doing your job if you’re absolute shite at it!”
“Oh boo hoo, are you just mad that he gave me the job of sniper instead of you? You scared that the captain will replace you?” You stand now, on unsteady feet, the pins and needles intensify.
“Replace? Yeah, like the captain would even think about replacing me with the likes of you. He was testing you, private, to see if you were any good, and you failed. Be grateful if you even have a place on this team when we get back to base. If we even get back.” Ghost spat.
Ouch. you weren’t hurt by the idea that you weren’t good enough (you have already run those thoughts over a thousand times), it was more so the look of disappointment in Captain Price’s eyes when he saw you next. And the idea that you wouldn’t make it home to see that look of disappointment.
You knew you were in the wrong, you did miss that shot, but goddammit you were not going to admit it to this smug motherfucker.
Ghost took your silence as a win for him. He sat down on a stool next to the window, placed his gun in his lap, and continued looking outside.
You sat back down on the floor, and took off your gloves, shoes, and wet socks. Your hands were swollen, and your feet must have fallen asleep. With the items in your hands, you unsteadily crawled towards the stove.
You set the socks flat on the floor in front of you, and your boots next to them, and the gloves last. All in a neat pile.
You were so close to the fire you could feel the heat singing your eyelashes. The heat felt nice.
“If you sit any closer I’ll have to carry you home in a jar.”
You looked back at Ghost, standing next to the window.
His vacant eyes scoping the world outside, and his trigger finger ready to pull.
You scooted away from the fire.