Chapter Text
Ghost hated dealing with civilians. There was nothing worse than encountering them in the field. Crying, injured, terrified. It was bothersome trying to kill a hostile while having to be mindful of not hitting some poor fucker who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or trying to calm down some loudly sobbing woman so that she doesn’t give away his location. A giant man covered in weapons and blood with a skull mask instead of a face wasn’t the most comforting presence. Go figure.
But even though those people were hugely inconvenient, he couldn’t bring himself to hate them. Just the fact that he had to be in their presence. That couldn’t be said for the other type of civilian he encountered every so often in his line of work. The bureaucrats. The secretaries and receptionists. Every single member of supporting staff on base or at camp. All the people who willingly got involved in a war they had no business being involved in. He hated that they thought they could just be part of the army without actually putting in the fucking work. They were a burden. A liability on purpose.
Now was that completely fair of Ghost to say? Of course not. Most people’s first job of choice isn’t a cleaner on a super duper secret military base or a janitor in a war zone. A lot of them were spouses or family of troops and traveled with them all around the world so they had limited work offers. But Ghost wasn’t a fair man. He would like to think he was, in that edgy “I hate everyone equally” way, but he wasn’t. Deep down he was a petty, emotionally constipated person whose character growth got stunted at 18 when he joined the army and never looked back. The heaps of trauma also probably didn’t help. So when you were standing in front of him in the meeting room in a sleek, crisp white dress shirt and black slacks, he couldn’t help but scoff at the sight.
Apparently you were a translator. Or an interpreter. Apparently there’s a difference. Ghost couldn’t care less. All he could focus on as you politely and cheerfully explained your role to the team – because, yes, for some godforsaken reason you were supposed to start working with the 141 – was that he wanted to take you by your shoulders and shake some sense into you until you turned back around and walked your pretty ass back to whatever fancy school you came from.
Yes, you were an educated dumb little civilian. The worst kind. You knew how to speak and write like a hundred languages (Ghost didn’t look into your file to check for the precise number on principle) and you had too many degrees. And God, he could just smell the poshness on you. The way you were standing, your clothes, your perfect and proper manners. It was all pissing him off. But what was pissing him off most of all was the fact that you seemed completely unaffected by the death glare that he was sending your way. No survival instinct whatsoever.
What Ghost didn’t know was that while on the outside you were the perfect picture of nonchalant elegance and politeness, internally you were freaking the fuck out. Fortunately for you, you weren’t just a translator (and interpreter, because yes, there is a difference), you were also trained and educated in diplomacy and international relations. A true delight to have in class, according to your professors. And being a young, successful woman (and quite the pretty face) you were also used to dealing with a bunch of men looking at you like you were some kind of poor dumb animal. So you could do this. Even if the men were all huge, specially trained soldiers. “And even if they were all unfairly attractive,” said some small, depraved part of your mind. You wanted to smother it with a pillow.
So you put on a brave face and a winning smile as you shook hands with a tall, older gentleman with truly bizarre facial hair that had no business being that appealing.
“It’s truly an honor to meet you, mister Price. I’m looking forward to working with you and your team.“ You were good at this, platitudes and small talk.
“No mister ’round here, kid. Call me Captain. Or sir if you want.“ He returned your polite smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t want a civilian getting in his way no more than Ghost did. But he also didn’t want to be rude to this lovely and eager little thing.
“Of course, sir.” His hand was rough but his grip was gentle albeit firm. His deep voice was so pleasant, you didn’t even correct him calling you “kid”. He looked like the type to call you that earnestly, with no condescension or malice. Or maybe it was your daddy issues speaking. Who knows?
“These are the lads you will be working with,” said Price, gesturing to the rest of the team.
“Aye, lass. It’s nice to meet you. My name’s John MacTavish, but everyone calls me Soap,” said the man, Soap, closest to you. His Scottish accent was strong but again, just like with the captain’s mutton chops, unfairly charming. His haircut was an utter disaster though.
“It’s nice to meet you, Soap. Sir. Sorry, what would you like me to call you?” you said, stumbling over your words a bit, cursing internally. Get yourself together. You wouldn’t be
able to take him seriously if you had to call him Soap. What kind of a nickname was that??
“Just Soap, lass.“, he said with a laugh, patting your shoulder reassuringly. You were doomed.
“Alright then, Soap,” you smiled at him before shifting your attention to the young black man next to him. He was tall, because of course he was. Apparently trained soldiers from super mega secret task forces couldn’t be less than 5 ́10. He was probably the youngest one and had a pleasant smile and kind, warm eyes.
“Sergeant Garrick. But just call me Gaz, miss.“ His voice was as pleasant as his smile. He looked like a gentleman. And his nickname was more acceptable. A perfectly fine nickname for a perfectly fine young man. You shook his hand and this time your smile was more genuine. It was a miracle it didn’t die on your lips the second you turned to the last person in line.
It felt like you were looking at death itself, all the alarm bells and centuries of evolutionary survival instinct going off in your head. This man was dangerous. He was taller than the rest and seemed broader, stronger, as well. And he had no face. Well, of course he did have a face, said the logical part of you that wasn’t currently screaming at you to run, run as fast as you can. But for some reason he decided to cover it with a black balaclava with a hard shell of an upper half of a skull sewn on top. Was the skull real? No, shut up. Stop being so dramatic. In other circumstances you might have even found his mask funny. It was unbearably edgy. But right now you couldn’t. Because from under that mask, two dark eyes with a gaze as sharp and cold as steel watched you in disgust. You felt like the dumb small animal he obviously thought you were. For about five seconds before you reminded yourself you didn’t get this far to get rattled by some guy who apparently never left his emo phase. So you straightened out your back, held your head high and proud and met his stare with your own. The polite and demure smile all of a sudden felt like battle armor.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir. I’ll be yours and your team's interpreter. My name’s-”
“I don’t care, pet,” your little introduction was interrupted by a cold gruff voice. He had an accent. British like the rest (well apart from Soap), but rougher, more pronounced. Absentmindedly you wondered if he was from Manchester. Presentmindedly you didn’t give much of fuck.
“Pet?”, your tone was as cold as his. You would let the captain indulge in his little “kid” nickname, it seemed harmless and caring even. You weren’t stupid enough to think the man in front of you was anything but condescending. And you were too proud, too good, too fucking smart and hard-working to be condescended to buy this Hot Topic reject. All the fear transformed into cold, simmering rage when he had the audacity to smirk. Of course you couldn’t see it properly but you could tell from the way the cloth of his mask shifted. And from his voice. Smug motherfucker.
“Yes, pet. Got any problems with that?” Ghost had enough of your little pleasantries and smiles. And when he didn’t manage to make you shake and cry with fear, he’d settle for your anger instead. It suited you better anyway.
“Lieutenant.” The Captain’s curt warning interrupted their staring contest. His gaze was hard. Soap shot him a look as if to say: 'Cut it out.'
“I apologise for my Lieutenant’s behaviour, miss. But as you can probably tell nicknames and callsigns are a part of military culture. He didn’t mean anything wrong by it. He’s simply a bit rough around the edges,” Price looked at you with a warm smile and you reciprocated even though you knew he was lying through his teeth. “Isn’t that right, Ghost?” his eyes turned back to the masked man. Ghost. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, the emo phase theory was gaining more and more solid evidence.
“Price, this is ridiculous,” he hissed. “What the hell is she doing here? We don’t need some civvie getting in our way.” He was pissed. He couldn’t believe Price would allow something like that. He’d get you killed. He looked back at you. Some spoiled little princess prancing around, playing soldier. You had no idea what you were getting into. You made his blood boil.
“Ghost!” Price didn’t raise his voice at his soldiers often, didn’t need to. So Ghost knew he fucked up. “She’s here and she will stay. Orders from above. She will be our communications expert and you will treat her with respect. That’s final.” Price didn’t want you here. Ghost didn’t want you here. Hell, not even Soap or Gaz probably wanted you on the team. But you were here. And you weren’t planning on running away. You would do your job and you’d do it so well, you’d make Ghost grovel on his knees to apologise. At least that’s what you told yourself. You looked at Ghost, meeting his gaze unafraid. He huffed, cursed under his breath and walked away, making sure to slam the door on the way out.
“I’m sorry, lass.” Soap was sheepishly rubbing at his neck. “He can be a bit of a brute on first impression. He really is a good man, just... well, like Captain said. Rough around the edges.“ he sent you an apologetic smile. You would have never thought you’d be grateful for a man called 'Soap'.
“But maybe he was right about one thing. You should have a nickname.“ Gaz said. He was obviously trying to make you feel welcome and it warmed your heart. But also considering their track record with nicknames you were prepared to object. Your name was just fine, thank you very much.
“Yes! Great idea, Gaz.” Soap exclaimed excitedly and all of a sudden it was much harder to say no to two sets of puppy dog eyes. So with a heavy (internal) sigh and a polite (external) smile you accepted your fate. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad. It could even be a bonding experience! At least they were actually trying to get to know you. You decided to give in with cautious optimism to the delight of the two.
“Alright, you muppets.” Price said with a heavy sigh. He slapped his thighs and got up with a groan. “If you'll be dicking around with callsigns, at least be useful while you do it. Go show the young lady her room.” Though he tried to sound exasperated, there was an undeniable amusement and fondness in his voice.
He truly cared about his team. You've never seen him in action but you already knew he was a great leader. It was comforting, knowing you had someone like that watching over you.
“Yes, sir!” Soap gave Price a sloppy salute and linked his arm with yours. You stiffened for a second before quickly shaking it off, not wanting to show your discomfort. It was obviously a friendly gesture but it still made you uneasy.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, your momentary panic, though brief, didn't escape the notice of the three highly trained and highly observant soldiers. Soap quickly let go of your arm and took a step back. “Ah, I'm sorry.” He looked a bit embarrassed, but quickly hid it with a friendly grin. “I'm sure you’ll be able to keep up even now.”
Gaz rolled his eyes at him before turning to you and whispering (loudly): “Don't mind him, he's a bit overeager. Like a puppy. Think his mum dropped him on his head as a kid.”
“Oi! I'll have you know my ma is an angel!” Soap squawked indignantly. But didn't deny the puppy allegations.
“Get out of my office!” Price yelled, “You're gonna give me gray hairs.” He massaged his forehead.
You tried not to laugh at the display in front of you as the two soldiers hastily led you out of the room. But judging by the wink Gaz sent you, you weren’t successful.
As they led you through the maze of identical hallways and corridors (there's no way you wouldn’t get lost in the future), they kept up the conversation. Pointing out important places like the mess hall and rec room, telling you random stories and trivia about the base and lovingly insulting each other.
It was…Nice. They were nice. It felt comfortable. And you thought to yourself: yeah, this won't be so bad. You could deal with Mr. My Chemical Romance some other day. For now you knew you had at least two friendly and welcoming allies.
You would have been able to do it on your own. You were fully prepared to do so. You were used to not being the most popular with others. Your ambitious and frankly overachieving nature made sure of that. And even though you didn't plan on being more than friendly acquaintances with the guys, it felt good to be treated like this for once. Human.
“So, here we are.” Gaz stopped in front of an innocuous door and handed you a key. “Now. The callsign.”, the two looked at you grinning.
You hoped they'd forgotten about that…