Chapter Text
14 October 2013
Hereford, UK
Stirling Lines, Headquarters of the SAS
Briefing Room 3
...
"Alright, boys, settle down." Commander Reyes's voice cut through the murmurs like lightning, effectively silencing the whole room. The TV screen shone through the dim room an oppressive blue light, and in its centre stood Commander Elena Reyes, a Navy SEAL liaison attached to the Joint Special Operations Command.
Roach had already been quite anxious about this whole rushed meeting. It was never good when the brass moved this fast. This didn’t bode well at all. His eyes searched the room for his mate, but Ghost still hadn’t arrived. Buck, to his left, elbowed him to the side, shooting him a meaningful look. Roach huffed and rolled his eyes before training his gaze at the TV to his right.
It was a tense few months after Rook's death and Ozone's newest status: Unfit for duty was a deliberate punch to the gut. He's been relocated to god-knows-where, out of Hereford, away from the TF141. They called it an unsuitable environment and unfit for his recovery.
The team was giving Ghost a cold shoulder, their gazes filled with hatred any time Ghost even breathed in their direction... It was hard to watch. Ghost wasn't even trying to break the ice; no, he let it happen. And MacTavish too was reluctant to do anything about this issue. It infuriated Roach, infuriated him to the point of having an argument with Diver.
Both Diver and Roach had been called over to MacTavish's office with the means to resolve their differences. They said their parts but didn't come to a conclusion either one could accept. Roach stood by the fact Ghost couldn't do anything for Rook. Roach didn't have any idea how he'd comfort Ozone in the situation—to him, Ghost wasn't the one to blame. Diver had a different idea; she blamed Ghost for not helping Rook, for letting him die. She blamed him for the whole botched mission even though the intel was incorrect. The whole of 141 was ambushed that day, and it was a miracle they got to escape...
"This is a need-to-know mission. You'll be joining a DEVGRU team led by Senior Chief Petty Officer Eversson. Captain MacTavish, you've already been acquainted with him, as I've heard?"
"That is correct, Commander Reyes." MacTavish nodded.
No emotion crossed her features as she watched Captain MacTavish closely before she continued, "Our intel suggests heavy artillery will be moving through the Red Sea on three carrier ships, MV Tai An Kou, which will all be loaded in the port of Djibouti." She gave a pregnant pause, flicking through all available satellite images of the three cargo ships as well as the port of Djibouti. "We need to infiltrate and seize the command of those ships. The artillery cannot, under any circumstance, make it to Yemen's waters." Another image flashed on the screen showing a map with highlighted ship routes.
"You will be divided into three teams, each divided into two groups. Senior Chief Petty Officer Eversson will be leading the first group. Captain MacTavish, you will lead the second, and Lieutenant Sandman..."
"Present, Ma'am," Sandman replied, his hard gaze fixed on the screen at the back of the briefing room.
"You'll be leading the third group. Captain MacTavish had already received information about this and had divided you accordingly." Commander Reyes sighed. Then raised her eyes from her notes.
"It's important you manage to intercept and stop the shipments before they reach Bab el-Mandeb Strait. Once you're there... There's no guarantee you or your team will safely leave the ship at all." She paused, clasped her hands, and roved her eyes over the men and women in the briefing room.
"Be prepared for retaliation; these men will be hired mercenaries. We do not know for sure whether the whole crew is on board with the terrorists." She continued, her eyes once again glued to her notes.
The video flickered, her face disappearing and reappearing as she waited for the line to settle once more. "All soldiers are authorised to shoot on sight, but the captain and crew are to be detained and brought to the deck."
"Lieutenant Sandman and Captain MacTavish," she addressed the two, looking at them before once more taking a look at her notes, "your teams will meet Senior Chief Petty Officer Eversson's Navy SEALs aboard the USS Mason—an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer—moored in Massawa, Eritrea. You’ll be flown in under cover of darkness. Be ready to move at twenty-two hundred hours."
Commander Reyes closed her notebook with a sharp snap. “If you have no questions..." She waited for half a beat. "Move to your designated extraction points. Final orders will be transmitted via an encrypted channel. Dismissed.”
The screen flickered and went dark. Roach exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing into a fist. The room was silent except for the hum of the air conditioning. This was it.
"So, Sanderson", the alpha, SO4 Lewis, to Roach's right, snickered. The rumbling of the engine filled the entire car. They were headed to the northern coast of the Red Sea—Port Massawa.
The 141 was picked up by 2 SO1 soldiers of the Navy SEALs, each of whom would be leading their team of SEALs in MacTavish's and Sandman's groups. It was a large operation from the get-go; SEALs never operated in small groups. The 141 divided into groups to file into the Humvees waiting for them, followed by some returning SEALs to board the USS Mason.
"Heard your mate's kind of a nutjob," SO1 Ross said. Snickers followed the soldier's statement. Roach refused to give them any attention, turning his head just slightly to avoid seeing Ross from his peripheral vision altogether. "He's not here, right? Got benched, didn't he? " SO3 Powell asked. When even this didn't get any attention, the soldier sighed. "Tch, and they say that Omegas are easy; bet if he were here, you'd be spread out like—"
"Watch your tongue, Powell," Scarecrow growled.
"Woah, easy there," another soldier from the Navy SEALs snickered. "He ain't yours anyway."
"You shut—"
"I can stand up for myself, Scarecrow," Roach interrupted. Scarecrow shot him an incredulous look before he rolled his eyes and waved a hand, muttering a quick, "Whatever, man."
"So he does speak!" The alpha, Powell, sung out.
Roach levelled Powell with a heavy stare. "And I'd advise you," Roach scanned the alphas sitting around him before looking ahead of himself once more, "to shut your traps, or your faces will be unrecognisable to your own mothers," Roach hissed. As the conversation inside the truck turned to other matters, Roach's thoughts circled back to the matter of Ghost.
It wasn't unusual for Ghost to go "MIA" on base; MacTavish always knew where the lieutenant was, and when Ghost was deployed, Roach was the first of the 141 (after his captain) to be informed of such status. But... Was Ghost informed about him being deployed? Had he nothing to say to it? Didn't he think about joining them? Was it because of the team's stance?
Roach worried at his bottom lip. He was sure he'd shown Ghost he was on his side, that nothing changed between them. But now on the last seat on the right side of the Humvee, where Ghost usually sat as their overseeing officer, sat Sandman. The difference was almost uncanny.
"Stop staring, Sanderson; you're giving me the heebie-jeebies," Sandman growled. Scarecrow guffawed loudly, choking on his spit the next second. Roach slid his gaze from Sandman to Scarecrow, then wordlessly trained his eyes somewhere between his feet.
Their camaraderie felt strained. Roach overheard their discussions of his codependency on Ghost several times, and he showed them he heard every single time. He enjoyed when they startled and watched him walk in, how their conversation seized, and how suddenly their eyes filled with guilt. Some sick part of Roach really, really fucking liked that.
Now, however, there was a widening pit in his stomach when he thought about Ghost and his missing place besides Roach. He was worried how this mission would go, and something inside him was telling him that Ghost should havebeen here.
The reality was, Ghost wasn't here, and wherever he was, it was better than besides Roach.
Roar of the engine filled Roach's ears. The wind was blowing against them, splashing them with water. Clear night sky greeted them, with the moon shining like a beacon. Their comms crackled to life.
"You've been briefed on this; team Razor will secure the main deck, while team Scythe takes the engineering room, gathers the crew and leads them to their bunks." Sandman said, his voice echoing to each member on the USMI Riverine assault boat.
"Remember, there's approximately eighty-five confirmed crew members, unarmed. We'll have to be quick and efficient. There's no space for mistakes." Sandman clicked his night vision on, turning forward once more.
Roach tried to steady his wildly beating heart. Tightening the grip on his rifle, he too clicked on his night vision.
The boat anchored to the side of the cargo ship. Two Navy SEALs aimed their grapnel guns; a whizz sounded, then clangs metal on metal. The two soldiers yanked on the rope, checking its stability, before attaching a rope ascender.
Sandman's hand shot up, fingers curled into a fist before unfurling rapidly—a sharp, slicing motion forward.
Roach was the third on the deck. Crouching low, he trained his gun ahead—keeping watch for the right flank. Several beats later the whole team was on board.
The sea felt calm on such a large boat...
Out of nowhere, five consecutive muffled booms resonated through the navigation bridge.
Everyone, alongside the detained captain, exchanged bewildered looks. "What was that?" SO4 Lewis asked. Roach exchanged one tense look with Sandman. The lieutenant pressed down on his comms. "Razor 5-1 to Scythe 6-2, we've heard a detonation go off. What's your status?"
Silence.
"Razor 5-1 to Scythe 6-2, what's your status?" Sandman tried once more.
Roach shot a look towards Buck, who nodded, and then the omega's eyes met Sandman's. There was only tense acceptance in Sandman's features. "We'll find them," Roach said, before he turned on his heel and rushed out of the main deck with Buck hot on his heels. The Navy SEAL shouted, but they were long gone before he could do anything about them going off alone.
"This is not good," Buck huffed as Roach took the stairs three at a time. He hit his shoulder twice in the cramped hallway of the cargo ship. "Explosions are never good!" Roach shouted behind his shoulder at Buck, shouldering open heavy iron doors. They creaked as they opened.
Their boots thudded against the grate floors. The boat rolled* on the violent waves, and paired with the tremors from the detonations, it was impossible to not get a strap snatched on small wheels or ram into pipes. While Roach had training for these missions, it wasn't common for the 141 to be called to help by the SEALs.
His comms crackled to life. "Sandman to Roach, what's your status?" Roach panted, "Going bellow to deck zero-one. No sight of hostiles," he huffed. "No sight of ours either."
The answer came quick and clear: "Noted, Roach. Keep your eyes sharp. We might have a mole. Or this whole shit was rigged to blow up anyways."
Roach hoped that wasn't the case.
"Sandman to Roach, how copy?"
"Clear, Sandman, send traffic," Roach replied. As the ship tilted, his hand shot out, slamming against the wall for balance as he ran down the tilting hallway. The ship was sinking, and they still haven't found the rest of their team. There was no news from Buck either, which deeply unsettled the omega. The beta medic was older by 5 years than Roach, but the image of his family, waiting for him at home—
"Gotta evac the ship—" the comms suddenly crackled, cutting off Sandman's speech. "Shit, Sandman?" Roach hissed under his breath. His shoulder struck the wall, his hand slipped from under him, and pain erupted like fireworks. Pushing himself up, he reached for the comms once more, stumbling towards the closed door.
"Sandman?" He tried again, but only crackling followed his call. "Fuck! "Shit, not now—" Roach skidded to a full stop when he saw the rising water beneath him. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Roach grumbled loudly; there was no time to wait. He had to reach the end of the corridor to get to the level team Scythe was on.
He rushed down the tight corridors and descended the stairs, heading for the engineering room.
Roach hauled the sealed door open. The water steadily rose, now up to Roach's ankles.
He staggered over the sill, eyes landing on a Navy SEAL lying face down in the water—unmoving. His breath hitched, ready to run over and help the soldier—who could as well have been long dead.
He heard a "Stop!" in heavily accented English, followed by harsh breathing. Roach paused, breathing steadily; he looked over his shoulder. "Throw away your guns or he dies." The mercenary stood in a dim corner, his gun pressed to the temple of a second SEAL. The soldier was swaying on his feet; blood trickled from a temple. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, like he was fighting to stay conscious. He blinked slowly at Roach before his eyes slid to the man lying face down in the rising water.
"Hurry up," the mercenary snarled, teeth glinting in the emergency lights lining the halls.
"Let him go," Roach said, while slowly taking off his rifle. "No. He's coming with me," the mercenary growled.
"You want to get stuck somewhere with a concussed soldier?" Roach asked. He moved painfully slow, gauging the mercenary's reaction.
"He's my ticket to safe harbor," the mercenary said.
Water surged from the adjoining room suddenly in a great wave, making both the mercenary and the SEAL stumble. Roach wobbled on his feet before dropping his rifle; it clanged against the metal ground, the sound echoing through the cramped space. Then he lunged.
The soldier in the mercenary's arms twisted away just as Roach snatched the gun—
Bang!
The shot echoed through the room. Roach wrenched the gun out of the mercenary's grip, throwing it somewhere into the corner. He was immediately met with a fist into the face. The mercenary advanced in the same way Roach retreated. Faintly, the omega heard the other soldier scrambling towards the other, still lying with his face in the seawater.
A knife glinted in the light before the mercenary lunged. The merc slashed horizontally at Roach. The omega twisted his torso away, the blade grazing his ribs. Roach yelped, pressing with his free hand into the shallow wound. Setting his jaw, he side-stepped and drove an elbow into the mercenary's ribs. The mercenary staggered back, slipping over something in the water.
Roach didn't get a full breath in before the mercenary came at him again, knife swinging right for the omega's throat.
Roach ducked, and then as he was coming back up, he kicked the merc into his stomach, right after he retreated swiftly away, just as the other swung with his knife behind him, where Roach stood not even a second ago. "That all you got?" The omega mocked, grinning behind his mask.
"Hah! Sweet-smelling bitch." The mercenary snarled. Changing his hold on the knife, he advanced at Roach like a bull seeing a red flag. "I'm going to have so much fun pinning you down—" he sliced the air "—and gutting you up!"
Roach punched him in the face, then shoved him against a wall. "In your fucking dreams!" The omega snarled, taking hold of his own knife. "Two can play this game," Roach chuckled.
The mercenary came at him with a roar. Roach met half of the man's attacks and avoided the other. The water was still rising.
'Hurry up, Bug.'
The two clashed as if both were mere gladiators in an arena. The mercenary swung his arm in a downward stroke, which Roach pushed aside with his forearm, the mercenary's blade missing his eye by a fraction of a hair's width.
Roach felt a leg hook behind his, and then he was falling. He let himself fall, and as his back connected with a splash with the ground, he rolled over his shoulder and landed on his knees. Both men were breathing hard. Sweat pooled in his lower back. Roach had an urge to check the Navy SEAL but knew better.
The mercenary smiled, teeth unnaturally sharp and bloody. He twirled the handle of the knife between his fingers. Roach had to act fast. He had to incapacitate the merc.
They came at each other again, with brutal precision. Suddenly the merc pivoted, driving the blade towards the omega's stomach. Roach had barely enough time to twist away in time. He felt as the cold steel grazed his front, slicing through fabric and skin. Blood welled, mixing with the seawater.
He gasped, stumbling back. It was an involuntary sound, one that made him flush in shame, when he saw the hungry glint in the other man's eyes.
But it wasn't the hungry glint he was used to seeing...
Roach stepped forward, then to the side to evade the attack. He used up the merc's momentum and grabbed the merc’s wrist, wrenching it hard; bone snapped under his fingers, and the knife clattered to the deck.
The mercenary snarled, driving a knee into Roach’s injured side. Roach grunted, doubling over; using the moment to his advantage, he rammed his shoulder into the mercenary's gut and slammed him against the bulkhead.
The merc beat down on Roach's head with his hands. Stars exploded in the omega's vision. He staggered, his knife grazing the side of the wall on which the merc was pinned to. Water rushed higher, now knee-high. The merc dove for the knife, but Roach, in a split-second decision, slammed it past the merc's hands into his gut.
The roar of agony would haunt Roach until the end of his days.
They grappled, both slipping in the rising water, muscles straining. Roach managed to get the merc in a headlock, but the attacker drove an elbow into his wounded side. Roach cried out, his vision blurring, but he held on, tightening his arms until the merc collapsed, unconscious.
Roach gasped, clutching his side, blood mixing with the freezing water. He staggered to his feet, water now slightly above his knees, and turned to the soldier. “You good?” he barked, voice strained, every word a struggle.
The SEAL nodded weakly, but his eyes were still unfocused. “I—I think so. He’s—he’s dead, right?” he muttered, gesturing towards the unmoving soldier.
Roach didn’t answer.
The water continued its rapid rise. "Stand up," Roach said, reaching for his handgun. He trained it at the unconscious merc, lying on his back in the water, and shot.
Roach hauled the barely conscious soldier through the rapidly rising water. "Move your fucking feet!" The omega snarled, frustrated at the situation he had got himself into—it was something Ghost would laugh at him for.
The sudden tilt of the ship made him scramble to hold onto something as the water pushed against him, flushing him away from their only way out—the staircase.
From the corner of his eye, Roach glimpsed a dark trickle of something floating on top of the water.
His breath hitched.
Oil.
His grip on the soldier’s collar tightened reflexively, knuckles turning white. A single spark, or a loose wire, separated them from violent death. The ship was suddenly a ticking time bomb, and they were knee-deep in its catalyst. Torn between his survival instinct and training, he frantically looked around.
Water flooded from the bottom, sides and now even the stairs Roach had descended when he searched for the remaining Navy SEALs. Now, with the water churning from all openings, rising to his stomach, he knew his gut was once again right.
He blinked through the fuzziness, through the water splashing into his eyes, inspecting the only way up. "You've gotta climb, soldier," Roach screamed over the gushing stream of salt water.
If they didn't move fast, they were as good as dead. A water tomb. How fancy.
Oh, what would he give to have Ghost here with him?
Driver's words cut through his brain like a knife severing the only rope holding him above the ravine. "Don't think we haven't noticed how codependent you became to Ghost these past few months! You're not a soldier capable of working alone! Ghost this, Ghost that—it's always Ghost and us as collateral!" Roach stared at her then, face whitewashed and shocked to the core. The pang he felt inside his chest was something he had never felt before. It left him winded. But Diver's words stuck with him until now. Made him hate himself a bit more just because he was thinking of his mate.
Ghost was an operator, just like Roach was, and Ghost wouldn't appear on this ship out of thin air. He wasn't a Wraith, like everyone thought. Ghost was just a man with too many mental scars... But Roach liked him anyway.
'Was it wrong to rely on one's partner?'
Setting his jaw, he tightened the grip on the soldier's collar, pushing him in front of him. "I should think about renaming myself to fucking Sisyphus," Roach muttered under his breath.
The water beat down at the pair. Their combat shoes slipped on the grated stairs. Pushing them down towards their sure death. "C'mon, you wanna see your family, don't you?" Roach heaved the soldier up two stairs. His muscles burned with exertion, and his lungs refused to cooperate and draw a deep breath. The thundering of his heartbeat echoed in his ears—accompanied by the deadly creaking of the ship's hull, filling with water.
A sudden rumble, then an ear-popping screech, sounded from above them. On the catwalk Roach watched, horrified, as the staircase towards Deck 2 bent out of shape, the hallway of Deck 3 bending downward. The nuts holding the staircase popped, one by one, echoing like gun fire. Roach breathed in forceful puffs.
"Find...a scuttle..." the soldier mumbled.
He was leaning with his whole body weight against the omega. "What the hell are you talkin' about?" Roach asked, bewildered. His arms and legs were trembling under the strain of holding up another body. Roach adjusted his hold on the soldier before taking off on the cat-walk's wet surface.
Grinding of metal and the dull roar of water filling the room below them spiked the fear roiling inside Roach. He needed out. The green emergency lights flickered. Then the buzzing stopped, and the two soldiers were cast in impenetrable darkness.
A pipe popped loose somewhere to Roach's right, emitting a plume of hot steam, scorching the omega's exposed neck. Roach yelped, stumbling forward; he fell to his knees just as the other soldier's weight slipped from his shoulder.
Roach reached out, blindly, towards the other soldier—his eyes didn't have time to adjust to the lack of light—and he caught the other by the wrist. There was a splash of water, then a spark of light from exposed wiring, illuminating the room briefly and stretching the shadows over the metal walls. The soldier's groan was lost to the hiss of the steam behind them.
"C'mon! Help me out a little—"
"I can't make out up or down—"
"We'll die if you don't cooperate!" Roach roared, pulling with all his might, hauling the dangling soldier back on the catwalk.
"I'm gonna be sick," the soldier whimpered. "There's no time for you to be sick, soldier," Roach said. The soldier dry-heaved, just as Roach grabbed him by his middle and dragged them forward towards a distant bulkhead and a ladder.
The catwalk ended at a ladder bolted to the bulkhead. Deck 3’s open cargo hold lay beyond—if the ladder held.
"Okay, you go first—"
"It's Toby, Toby Jones."
"Okay, Toby, you go first." Roach pushed the soldier in front of him. "Left leg, put the left leg on the first step—"
"My world's spinning, sir—"
"That's—okay, here—"
The omega leant down, placing Jones' left leg on the first step. "Now, grab the sides."
"There you go. Next leg—" Roach huffed. "Higher."
Roach pushed up, helping Jones to reach the hatch. "Twist it, we need to get out of here!" The omega screamed as the water started lapping up at the catwalk. In slow motion, Jones twisted the handle.
Click.
The hatch groaned open.
"C'mon! Move your fucking legs! Left, right, left, right! What do they teach you in basic?!" Desperation filled Roach's voice.
He shoved Jones through, then crawled after him, the ladder groaning under their combined weight. The cargo hold loomed ahead, dark and vast, the air thick with steam and the acrid tang of smoke.
The water rose behind them like a tide, swallowing the catwalk whole.
Roach’s breath came in ragged gasps as he turned to face the descending darkness. “Move!”
"Jump!" Roach shouted, pushing the soldier (whose name he still couldn't remember) towards the railing. The deck was wet with rain; it was a downpour hailing at them as the wind whirled around them. "We'll drown—"
"You won't drown for fuck's sake—"
Roach pulled the soldier's foot up, shoving him over the deck. A shout came, then a blast pushed Roach against the railing. The omega breathed in, then dove into water after the soldier. Squeezing his eyes shut, he met the cold waves with a splash.
The crackling staccato of rain hitting the surface dulled with a deafening, churning roar of waves smashing against the hull of the sinking ship. It swallowed him whole, turning him over and over, before he made it to the surface. Gasping, he looked around the waves for a safe boat—his team—for the soldier he pushed over the deck...
The waves pushed him towards the ship, but he couldn't see the searchlight of the safe boat anywhere—
He stamped down his rising panic, kicking hard; he looked around, searching for a chem light on the soldier's vest—Roach's vest. The waves crested over his head, splashing him continuously. The fire of the ship illuminated the close waters, but Roach didn't see the distinct green light.
Roach blinked through the onslaught of rain and waves. Treading through the water was near impossible, but he had to find the soldier. The sea dipped, and as Roach came up, he saw him, floating like a dead weight in the darkness.
He grabbed the soldier's arm, hauling him close. The man blinked at him before his eyes fell shut. "It's so fucking cold," the soldier muttered. Roach gasped—a half laugh, half sob. "It's alright." He pulled the soldier against his chest, wrapping one arm around his chest to keep him stable. "You'll be fine; we'll make it."
He kept the soldier's head tilted back. "Talk to me. No, don't fall asleep." Roach cracked the chem light, its green hue shining brightly. Now, Roach could breathe a little easier. They had to get further away from the ship and wait for the lifeboat to find them.
"Never imagined that a mission... could go that bad," the soldier ground through his teeth as Roach paddled backwards, away from the ship. "It's not as bad as what you can go through in the SAS," Roach replied. The soldier gave a weak chuckle. "Like what, getting a torn ligament?" Roach huffed, spluttered through the oncoming wave cusping over their heads, then said, "Something like that."
His thoughts had once again wandered to his lieutenant—not Sandman, no, to Ghost. He wondered if he felt the thrumming of Roach's heart. If he felt the agitating crawl of adrenaline not his own through the bond.
The air was heavy with the burning oil; the sounds of explosions going off inside the ship reverberated through them even so far out.
In a flash of white light, Roach saw the search boat. He jerked, unclasping the chem light from the soldier, and waved it around frantically. A painful twinge ran through his shoulder. "What...'re you doing?" The barely conscious soldier muttered questioningly.
"Stay awake, we're going to be out of the water soon—"
Engine roaring, the search boat made for them, cutting through the turbulent sea with brutal ease. The searchlight glared at them oppressively; Roach had to close his eyes before he felt hands tugging him up on the deck. He landed there like a fish, with a roll and a splat. He stayed there, on all fours, breathing heavily and trembling like a wet dog—from exhaustion and relief.
A medic slapped a mylar blanket over him, and he nearly laughed—he wanted to kiss the deck beneath him.
The rain was still falling when the medic dragged him into the cabin, the pitter patter echoing even over the roar of the engine. "C'mon soldier... Gotta warm you up, take off your shoes—"
Everything was a blur of light and shadow around Roach. He complied with every order, but his body barely responded. All he wanted was a hot cup of tea, biscuits, and a warm blanket.
Sandman found Roach in the medbay, nursing a cup of coffee, looking ghastly pale.
“Jesus Christ, you look like shit,” he said, his voice rough.
“Thanks,” Roach sighed, eyes fixed on the floor.
Sandman folded his arms, exhaling sharply. “Look, Roach… if this is about the mission—”
“The mission was a total clusterfuck, Sandman,” Roach cut in.
“Sir,” Sandman added, voice low.
A tense silence hung between them. Then Sandman said, “I’m your superior officer now.”
"As if I don't know that," Roach grit out, still refusing to meet Sandman's eyes.
"Then act like it," Sandman growled.
"Look, sir—" The mocking tone Roach used was somehow better than the look he shot towards Sandman. "The mission went tits up; we lost a lot of soldiers, the ship's crew, and the whole fucking ship went up in flames—"
“So it’s my fault?” Sandman’s voice was incredulous.
Roach stared, the furrow of his brows deepening. The colour hadn't yet returned to his lips—they were purple like a corpse's. Sandman trained his eyes on Roach's hairline and pushed on. “I know what you're thinking. If Ghost was here, none of this would’ve happened, huh?” Roach remained silent, his lips pressed tightly together.
Sandman felt a painful twinge in his chest. "You're fucking unbelievable..." He laughed, bitter and strained. “And I, the dumb ass, stood up for you with the codependency issue.”
Roach blinked, caught off guard.
"Why do you think Ghost's not here? Because the team pushed back—said you two were too damn codependent." Sandman shook his head. "And here I was, a newly fucking pinned lieutenant, standing up for you, saying that—" He looked away
Roach stared at him, heart thudding like a pair of drums. "What—what are you talking about?"
Sandman paused, his voice dropping. “Maybe... Maybe I was the one wrong. Maybe the team was right.” And the next second, he was out, the doors to the medbay closing shut with a whoosh. Leaving Roach sitting there, trembling... Not with cold, but with fear what would happen when they got back to Hereford.