a drag path (etched in the surface)

by dreamy_mia

Summary:

After getting captured and tortured by a terrorist, you struggle with your healing journey—physically and mentally. Somehow, in those months, you and Ghost became closer. However, when you manage to get cleared for field duty, troubles arise in the midst of this newly formed friendship (which may or may not be slight trauma bonding).

Wednesday, October 4th, 2023

20:38

Western Russia

The first thing your eyes met when they opened was darkness. Complete, utter darkness.

After a few initial moments of confusion, your body finally attuned to your senses.

The room you were in had no windows, and no light was on, leaving you in the dark, unable to see where you were.

Your memories slowly came back to you as your head throbbed painfully.

The last thing you remembered was the sharp thud of the butt of a rifle slamming into your head, making you lose consciousness.

You also vaguely recalled someone calling your name in panic, but you couldn’t remember who. One of your teammates, for sure.

The thought made a new wave of panic roll over you, struggling against your restraints. Was anyone else captured? Soap? Gaz? Ghost?

You were lying on what felt like a very thin and old mattress, and as you moved your hands, you felt the familiar metal of handcuffs biting into your wrists, and heard a chain rattling through the quiet of the cell.

Your head throbbed painfully, probably from being knocked out by that rifle.

You narrowed your eyes to see better, but the cell was cloaked in darkness. Not even a hint of light could be seen.

You stayed hours like that, trying to find out where you were, and attempting to get out of the handcuffs and chains.

After a while, the exhaustion took over, and your eyes shut.

 

Wednesday, October 11th, 2023

18:43

Western Russia

It had been a week since you were taken.

No one had come to interrogate you.

The only time someone came into the room, they kept the lights off, threw you a hard loaf of bread, and gave you a glass of water. Metal, of course, so you wouldn’t use the glass to hurt someone or somehow get out of the restraints.

You were starting to grow restless, hands and legs twitching from the inertia.

The lack of food and the near dehydration made you feel very weak, constantly on the brink of passing out.

Even chewing on the usual hard loaf of bread made your headache worse.

God, you couldn’t wait for your team to find you. Even if you knew exactly how capable they were, finding someone whom terrorists had taken wasn’t easy—they knew exactly how to not be found.

You were probably in an abandoned gulag in the middle of nowhere, up in the Russian mountains.

Still, that small flicker of hope was the only thing keeping you alive at this point.

You suddenly felt very tired, the abrupt fatigue making you lie your head down on the mattress and close your eyes.

Please find me.

 

Thursday, October 12th, 2023

06:17

Western Russia

Your head was pounding.

You woke from your slumber, feeling like your head weighed a ton. Had they put something in the bread or the water?

You weren’t on a thin mattress anymore, and your arms weren’t handcuffed to a chain. You were sitting in a chair, limbs tied with zip-ties this time, you realised as you felt the plastic dig into your wrists and your ankles.

You had definitely been drugged. They wouldn’t have been able to move you without waking you up. Your sleep—if it could even be called that—was so light that even your own breathing could wake you up. Suddenly, you heard the faint sound of footsteps nearing, making your thoughts halt sharply, and your back straighten in preparation. A heavy door creaked open as a light flickered on, making you squint behind the burlap; the small gaps in the fabric let the light into your eyes.

The door slammed shut, and suddenly the material was pulled off your face, leaving your eyes to adjust to the light as you blinked rapidly.

You quickly scanned your surroundings as your sight returned. There were three men in the room with you: the dark, cold, gloomy room, the walls stained with old blood.

One of your captors walked up to you with a taunting smile. Their leader, probably. His face was vaguely familiar to you, probably from one of your team’s numerous reports and briefings.

“Who do we have here?” he asked, his smile widening.

You could detect a heavy Russian accent in the man’s voice. Made sense, considering you were in the middle of a capture-or-kill mission in search of a highly wanted Russian terrorist before you were knocked out and captured.

Your mouth remained shut, refusing to say a single word.

“Hm, a stubborn one,” the man noted after your prolonged silence. “Makes it more fun, no?” he nodded to one of his henchmen, who then abruptly punched you, the hit making your left cheek throb.

“You see, I can be a very patient man. However, when it comes to snitches, my patience somehow disappears very fast. And considering you work for the British government,” he said, nodding to the flag on your uniform, “I would like to know exactly how your government knows of my very secret property. Not many people know of it, only those I am certain I can trust. So, I want you to tell me who broke my trust. I take betrayal very seriously.”

The Russian clicked his tongue when you remained silent again, ignoring his questions. He signalled to his men once more, and you braced yourself as they landed hit after hit on you, pain blossoming from every inch of your skin.

After several minutes, he raised his hand to stop them. Blood pooled in your mouth as you tasted the metallic tang of it on your taste buds, staining your teeth red.

“I’m losing patience, young lady. You don’t want to see me angry, do you?” he said, bending down to line up his face with yours. You clenched your jaw, silently declining to answer yet again.

He raised his hand, backhanding you himself, your head being thrown to the side. His hand then gripped your hair, tugging your head backwards to meet his gaze. “Answer me, сука!” he yelled, rage deepening his voice.

You spit your blood in his face, making him close his eyes. “я не отвечаю ни перед кем.” I answer to no one.

He chuckled, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the blood and spit from his cheek. “Ah, вы говорите по-русски. впечатляющий.” You speak Russian. Impressive.

His amused expression quickly faded as he grabbed a handful of your hair again and painfully pulled your head back. “Don’t you ever disrespect me like that again.”

He was handed a knife by one of his men, and placed the cold blade against your neck. “I don’t take lack of respect from anyone, much less a woman,” the man said with a sneer, looking you up and down. “Women don’t belong in the military anyway. Leave the fighting to the men, милая.”

The condescension in his voice made shivers of anger crawl up your spine, your hands struggling against your restraints as they itched to wrap around his neck.

“Maybe I should leave a mark on this pretty face. As punishment. And as a reminder, of course.” His threat was accompanied by a wide grin, inching the knife closer to your face as your eyes glared into his. “What do you think, дорогая?”

“пошел ты,” you bit back with a sneer of your own. Fuck you.

He raised his hand, the steel of the knife glinting in the light as it sliced down towards your face, the cut stinging. Pain pounded from your wound, starting in the middle of your left cheek and ending in your upper lip, blood pouring into your mouth again and dripping out as you let out a yelp of agony.

“That’s better, don’t you think? That way you’ll remember to stay in your place,” he said with a smirk. You growled at him as rage bubbled up inside you, making you see red as his smirk widened. “Хватит на сегодня, ребята,” he said to his men, who stepped away from you and opened the metal door for him. That’s enough for today, boys. Before turning to leave, he bent down to your height again, his disgustingly wicked grin inches from your face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, милая.”

The zip-ties dug harder into your wrists and ankles as you struggled against them, wanting to punch that infuriating smirk off his face. He laughed at your futile attempts before stepping into the hallway, leaving you shrouded in darkness, biting cold, and utter silence once again as the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered off, and the heavy metal door shut.

 

Friday, October 13th, 2023

06:00

Western Russia

You were roused from your restless, extremely uncomfortable sleep by the click of a lock opening and the familiar creak of your cell door. The light flickered on, making you squint at the discomfort in your bloodshot eyes.

The same smirking man from last night walked in, flanked by the same lackeys whose knuckles were still bruised and bloodied from their repeated punches to your body.

“Доброе утро, солнце,” he said with a wide grin, amusement flaring in his eyes at the sight of your darkening bruises and fresh cut. Good morning, sunshine.

“I wonder if you’ll be more talkative today,” he wondered out loud, halting as he reached you. “It would be in your best interest to answer my questions, of course, but I think you already know that, don’t you?”

Silence echoed in the gloomy cell as you kept your mouth firmly shut.

The man waited a few beats before humming in disapproval, signalling to his henchmen.

You looked them up and down, quickly examining them before your eyes remained glued to the tools in their hands.

A handful of seemingly rusted nails, a hammer, a cloth, and a jug full of water.

Fuck.

The Russian chuckled at your reaction, apparently enjoying himself.

“What do you think? I came up with a few ideas after our last… meeting, to see if these could get you to talk,” he said with an egotistically proud smile.

“You could always speak now, and I won't put you through this,” he said, his voice gentle, as if he were giving you a great gift from the kindness of his heart.

You remained quiet, jaw clenching as you stared into his eyes, wrath flaming to life in your gaze.

“Well, alright, if this is how you want to do this, then…” he turned to his men and nodded. “начать.” Begin.

He stepped away and leaned back against the opposite wall, grinning as the other two stalked towards you, tools in hand. You stared them down, refusing to show even an inkling of fear.

The one holding the cloth and jug placed his objects on the floor, deciding to use them later. His colleague handed him the rusted nails before clutching the hammer, his knuckles white around the handle.

A nail was held up against your thigh as you felt the tip press harshly into your skin through the fabric of your clothes. The hammer was held up, and you braced yourself as it came barreling down, the nail piercing a few inches through your skin.

Excruciating pain shot through your leg, making you yell in agony as they continued, the second hit of the hammer making the iron of the nail fully embedded into the skin and muscle of your thigh.

Before you could even take a full breath of air into your lungs, identical pain burst through your other thigh as they hammered another nail into it.

Your vision blurred, and little white spots danced before you as your head drooped from side to side. The pain was blooming through your veins, blood dampening the fabric of your uniform.

With much effort, you glanced down and saw that they had probably missed the femoral artery by only a few inches; otherwise, the blood loss would’ve been ten times more consequential.

At their leader’s signal, the two henchmen put down their instruments of torture before drawing out knives from their pockets.

You flinched, despite your best efforts to hide your fear, but they just sliced through the zip-ties holding your ankles flush to the chair legs.

“I figured I could offer you the kindness of untying your legs, since they won’t be of much use to you at the moment. See? I can be merciful. If you just answered my questions, солнышко, this would be a lot easier for you,” he said with a mockingly soft voice.

Despite the persistent, painful throbbing in your thighs, you still attempted to stretch your legs to see how bad the damage was.

You didn’t even get halfway through unfolding your knee before the pain multiplied at the movement, your wounds screaming at you. A yelp of pain left your cut and charred lips, your eyes watering.

“I told you they wouldn’t be of use. Now, have you quit the stubborn, loyal soldier act to finally tell me what I want to know?” he asked, his patience thinning by the second as you didn’t even attempt to utter a single word.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, his jaw clenching as anger burned in his eyes. “I’ll ask you one last time. Who. is. your. informant?” the man asked, his voice impatiently sharp.

“I don’t answer to terrorist pieces of shit like you,” you said through gritted teeth.

The man let out an angered growl before kicking your chair to the ground, taking you with it. Your breath was blown out of your lungs as your back hit the cold, hard floor.

Then, one of his lackeys put the cloth over your face, and you took a few deep breaths in anticipation.

The first wave of ice-cold water hit the cloth, and you thrashed to get away, but your efforts were in vain as strong hands held your shoulders down.

You felt the horrid burn as water rushed up your nose, but you still tried to keep your lips tightly pressed together to avoid letting any more in.

However, you had to breathe eventually, and the water wasn’t stopping.

After a few more moments, your mouth opened of its own accord to get some oxygen into your system, but it was only met with more icy liquid rushing down your throat.

You started to cough against the fabric, the feeling of drowning unbearable.

The cloth was abruptly ripped off your face, letting you drag in a breath of air before coughing up water, nearly heaving.

“So? I’m waiting,” the Russian said, his brows lifted in waiting as he towered above you.

You hacked a few more coughs before clearing your throat. He perked up in interest as you looked up at him from the floor.

“Иди на хуй,” you said, your voice hoarse from the burn in your throat and the continuous coughing afterwards. Go fuck yourself.

His face contorted in anger before he threw the sopping cloth back on your face, ordering his men to waterboard you again.

You tried to focus on anything but the burning in your lungs as the water kept washing over you, drowning you. They relented when you started violently coughing again, nearly choking on the water gurgling up and down your throat.

They waterboarded you over and over again for hours. It was always the same: the leader asking you to tell him what you knew, you refusing by staying silent or telling him to fuck off in his native language—which earned you a slightly more violent round—and his lackeys waterboarding you again and again and again.

As night fell—an assumption as good as any, since there weren’t any windows in your cell—your exhaustion quickly took over, even as you still felt a burning sensation with each breath.

Your body was tired. Your mind was too, but it tended to keep running around in circles even when all you needed and wanted was sleep, even if it was restless.

As your mind wandered, you couldn’t help but think about how to get out of here. And if that was even possible. How much more could you take? Your capture has just passed the 24-hour mark, if you had correctly kept track, and you were already drained. You just wanted to go home. Home on base with your teammates or home alone in your apartment, it didn’t matter.

If it were one of your teammates locked up here, they probably would’ve fought back and escaped. But not you. You were too weak. A burden. To everyone. Your team, your bosses, hell, even your country.

The word echoed through your mind, rattling your brain for what felt like hours before sleep dragged you away into a restless slumber.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

 

*******

 

Friday, October 13th, 2023

23:57

Eastern Ukraine

Weak.

That’s how Ghost felt as he sat with the members of his task force in the briefing room. Price was talking to Laswell through his computer, but Ghost wasn’t listening.

You were all he could think about.

Were you even alive? It had been precisely 28 hours since you had been taken, and they hadn’t found a single trace that could lead them to you.

You could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, your body riddled with bruises and cuts, your eyes glazed over as a result of the bullet resting between them.

The unprompted image that popped up in his tormented mind made him shut his eyes, but he quickly opened them again as it only made it more vivid.

No. You had to be alive. You were strong. Perseverant. So stubborn it had been a pain in the ass for Ghost most of the time in these few years he’d known you.

Now, he missed that slight pang of annoyance he felt whenever you teased him, especially when you were taking the piss with Johnny on your side.

If someone told him in the first few months that he knew you, that he’d be missing your annoying jokes, your irked eye-rolls when he deadpanned a half-assed response, your overall loud presence—even though it was quiet at first—, he’d call them mad and check them into a psych hospital.

He never believed that he could be missing you.

But he was. And this world, as unfair and sad and dark and shitty as it gets, was a better place with you in it.

“I know where they’re keeping her,” Laswell suddenly said, her voice echoing through the speakers and effectively silencing his thoughts with the swiftness of a knife.

Ghost’s head snapped up, and his gloved fists clenched on the table.

“Where?” he managed to grit out, his anger bubbling up inside him. He—they were going to get you back. Alive.

 

*******

 

Saturday, October 14th, 2023

06:49

Western Russia

Towering over you with golden brass knuckles on his fist, the man opened his mouth to speak again as he bent down to your height, but he was interrupted by the blare of alarms.

“какого хрена?” he said in confusion. What the fuck?

To you, those blaring alarms sounded like church bells. Are they here? Had they finally come for you?

Adrenaline rushed over you, and you took the opportunity to slam your head against the Russian, making him groan in pain as he staggered back.

Your other two captors quickly stepped towards you to restrain you, and despite the painfully sharp protest from your wounded thighs—nails free now, they had just ripped them out of you barely two minutes after having woken you up—, you slammed your foot into the gut of the one on your left before kicking the other in the groin.

You rocked back in your chair, hoping to grab the knife lying to your left to cut yourself free of the zip-ties digging into your wrists.

Before you could reach for it, the man on your left got up and put his hands on your shoulders to restrain you.

You used the closeness to your advantage, digging your teeth into his jugular, making him yelp loudly in pain. You ripped out a chunk of his skin, spitting it to the ground as you push him off you, reaching for the knife again. You felt the cold hilt of the blade in your hands and quickly sliced through the zip-ties.

Just as you cut yourself free, the one you kneed in the groin ran towards you, and you jabbed the knife into his stomach, twisting it into his skin. You yanked it out before stabbing him again and again, this time in the chest, aiming for his heart.

The gunfire echoing outside the room dulled beneath the roaring in your ears, adrenaline rushing through you in record time with a single objective.

Revenge.

The word echoed in your head as you got up, letting your victim slump to the ground, his blood spreading across the dark grey floor.

The knife glimmered in your hand as you stepped closer to the man who sliced your face, the man who instructed the other two to drown you again and again, the man who’d made your face bruise and bleed even more with his expensive-looking brass knuckles.

Fear shone in his eyes as he spotted the blade in your hand and the blood of his lackeys splattered all over you, as your eyes stayed locked onto his with blood thirst glistening in them. He clutched his brass knuckles as if they could stop you from killing him, from getting your revenge.

“нет, пожалуйста, не надо,” he pleaded, crawling closer to the wall in a futile attempt to escape you. No, please don’t.

He was a fool to think you would show mercy. You saw the knife he used to cut you on the first day, lying next to your foot. An idea popped into your head, and you tilted your head as a smile bloomed on your face, making the cut on it sting and warp awkwardly.

The last man standing—or sitting, in his case—trembled at the sight, afraid of what was awaiting him. You reached down and grabbed the second knife, now having one in each hand.

You finally reached him, and your smile disappeared before you stabbed both blades into his thighs, close to where his lackeys hammered nails into you, but you were an expert. You aimed for the femoral arteries.

You yanked out the knives, making blood spurt from his wounds, splattering your face as he screamed in agony.

You threw one to the side before yanking his head up by his hair, just like he did to you. You quickly sliced the knife into his face, giving him a cut nearly identical to yours.

“That’s better, don’t you think? That way you’ll remember to stay in your place,” you said with a mocking smirk, echoing his exact words.

You also discarded the second knife before pushing him on his back, straddling him as your hands wrapped around his neck, wanting to feel the life leave his body.

Revenge. Revenge. Revenge.

The word repeated itself in your head, your focus honing in on this, and only this. Killing him with your bare hands for what he did to you.

Even as you witnessed the light leave his eyes, you didn’t let go, not for a moment.

Even as you heard the door slam open, someone was calling out your name as they saw you slouched over the bloodied man, hands wrapped firmly around his neck.

Even as you felt a hand on your shoulder, it took you a moment to look up and meet the eyes of a skull. Ghost.

He was saying something; you could tell as much by the slight movement of his mask and the distant sound of his voice in your ears.

Your hands still squeezed the long-since-gone life of the man, your knuckles white.

You heard your name through the roaring in your ears, making your strength falter.

Ghost was kneeling next to you, a warm, large hand tightening on your shoulders as you blinked, clearing your vision. He was here.

“You’re here,” you said quietly, still not quite believing it.

Maybe you had passed out from the pain, the repeated torture being too much for your body to handle. Maybe he wasn’t here, and this was all just a blissful dream in the middle of a real-life nightmare.

“I’m here. You’re safe.” But his voice sounded so real, his touch so warm and reassuring on your skin.

His hand slid down your arm, wrapping around your own, still pressing against the neck of the man who tortured you. “You’re safe, you can let go,” he said, urging you to release your hold on the dead man.

You reluctantly loosened your grip, slowly retracting your hands from him. “That’s it, c’mon,” Ghost said as he helped you stand up, your knees wobbling from the pain as your adrenaline crashed, leaving you wincing at the agony screaming from what felt like every muscle in your body.

“Can you walk?” he asked you tentatively, scrutinising every single wound on your body.

“I… I’m not sure,” you said hesitantly, making Ghost’s jaw clench as his anger rose again at the sight of your blood staining your uniform from the two small but deep holes in your thighs.

He helped you slowly walk out of the room, limping as you left behind the space that would haunt your nightmares.

 

 

A dozen minutes later, you were all sitting in the evac plane, the silence deafening as the medic you’d previously seen around base a few times checked your wounds, paying special attention to the cut on your face and the twin holes in your thighs.

She smiled at you, pity shining in her eyes. You attempted to smile back, but it turned into a wince as pain burst from your wounds. Fuck.

Soap and Gaz had both dozed off almost as soon as they sat down, finally able to sleep after getting you back. They had each pulled you into a tight hug when their eyes landed on you, wobbling as you struggled to walk, even with Ghost’s arms holding you.

You were so relieved to see them again. Your thoughts often drifted to your teammates at night, when the exhaustion and the pain dragged you to sleep. You thought you might never see them again.

The dimmed night sky and the loud hum of the plane engine made for a pleasant sleep ambience, you assumed as you looked at their sleep-softened expressions.

Not that you planned on getting some sleep anytime soon. You already dreaded the nightmares that would plague your dreams, turning your blissful nights into restless ones.

 

*******

 

Ghost was sitting next to you, keeping an eye on you at all times, taking note of every wince and hiss of pain that left your lips.

He was glad you had killed each of those men who dared to lay their hands on you. Proud, even.

But the look in your eyes as he found you, hovering over that dead body, hands still firmly grasping its neck…

It was complete, utter anger. Rage.

He had never seen that much fury in you, not in the few years of knowing you. And now… now, you just looked empty. Numb. Your eyes stared into the void, the occasional twinge of pain from the medic’s actions making your face twist into an expression of agony before shifting back to a desensitised look.

His knee nudged yours, urging you to look at him.

You did, your cold gaze meeting his concerned one for a few seconds before looking away again.

He frowned under his mask and nudged your arm this time, beckoning your attention to him again.

"Y'alright?" he asked, his voice seemingly casual even though there was a slight twinge of worry.

"M'fine," you replied in a detached manner.

The medic finished checking your wounds and hastily bandaged some of them before putting her equipment away and instructing you to visit the infirmary as soon as you landed on base.

You nodded at her words, quietly thanking her for her work as she smiled politely at you before walking a few steps away to sit on a farther seat, giving you some privacy.

His analysing eyes stay locked onto you even as you avert your gaze once again. Silence fills the space—or lack thereof, judging by your thighs and arms pressing together at each slight jolt the plane hit—between you for a few moments before Ghost broke it.

"You did well back there," he said in a quiet voice. Your brows slightly furrowed at the words, and his gaze tracked the movement.

You stayed silent for a few beats before a ghost of a smile appeared on your lips, some dried blood still sticking to them. "Eh, not really my best performance, I'd say."

His eyes crinkled behind his mask as a small smile lifted his lips, and a—Was that a chuckle that just escaped his lips?—breezed past them.

"Are you sure you're—" Ghost's near-question was interrupted by the pilot’s voice announcing that you'd be landing at base in less than a minute.

Ghost gritted his jaw in annoyance as your eyes turned towards his. "Am I sure I'm what?" you asked, furrowing your brow.

"Okay," he said, eyes locking onto yours and not leaving.

"As I said, I'm fine," you said with insistence.

He was about to open his mouth to ask again, but the sudden jolt when the plane touched down stopped him.

As everyone progressively left the plane, they found Price waiting for them on the tarmac.

"Glad to have you back, Sergeant," he greeted you, nodding with a small smile and what seemed like relief on his face.

"Glad to be back, Captain," you said with an equally small smile.

"Soap, Gaz, Ghost, we'll meet in five for the debrief," he ordered his men, before turning to leave.

"I can come too," you perked up, despite your exhaustion.

"No," everyone said simultaneously.

Your brows furrowed as you looked around at all of them, crossing your arms and fighting back a wince from the twinge of pain in your ribs. "Why not?"

"Because you need to rest, and the medic said you had to go to the infirmary as soon as we landed," Ghost said, his gaze and tone unyielding.

"But I can rest later. Besides, I was the one who was... taken, so you need my intel too," you argued stubbornly.

Your four teammates seemed prepared to refuse again, especially Ghost, but you didn't back down.

"Please. I need to get this out of my system as soon as possible so I don't have to think about it again. At least, not for a bit," you said, gaze dropping to your feet.

The men met each other's eyes, silently deciding what to do. A few beats later, Ghost sighed. "Fine."

You raised your head. "Thank you.”

"But, you will go to the infirmary as soon as the debrief is over. And then, you will do everything the doctors and nurses say and rest. Understood?" he ordered.

"Yes, Lieutenant," you nodded, a grateful gleam in your eyes.

 

 

After a visit to the infirmary, where the medic discharged you for at least 3 months and advised you—more like ordered you—to take it easy, both physically and mentally, you walked back to your room, eager for a warm shower and a night’s sleep in your bed.

As you left your room with your toiletries and a change of clothes, you opened the door to find Ghost standing there.

“Uh… hi,” you said, surprised.

“Y’alright?” he asked. “What did the medics say?”

You let out a chuckle. “Well, I'm not dead, so let's go with fine?”

Ghost visibly bristled at the word “dead”, but you quickly changed the subject, not wanting to talk about what happened.

“I'm off-duty for at least three months. Said it might be more or less, depending on how I'll heal. I'm supposed to be “taking it easy” for now. Gonna bore myself to death.”

“But, everything's alright? No infections or anything like that?” he asked, almost sounding concerned.

“No, no, nothing like that. Got lucky, apparently,” you said softly, looking away.

Ghost remained quiet, gaze locked onto you.

The silence made you antsy, so you changed the subject once again.

“I'm gonna go shower,” you said as you pointed in the general direction of the locker rooms. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Good night, Sergeant.”

“Good night, Lieutenant,” you replied with a small smile before walking away towards the communal showers.

You froze when you heard your name. In Ghost’s voice. Your real name.

You slowly turned around, clearing your throat. “Yes?”

Ghost remained silent, unmoving, for a moment, mask shifting as he opened and closed his mouth.

He sighed, relenting, before saying, “Take care of yourself. Get some rest. You need it. And listen to the medics.”

“You’re one to talk, sir,” you teased as he remained silently serious. “But, yes, I will. No need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

He nodded once again before walking away. “Night, Sarge.”

“Night, sir.”

 

 

 

A few weeks go by, filled with pain, frustration, and most importantly, boredom.

Even if Price agreed—after a lot of insistence on your part—to let you handle the paperwork to keep you in the loop, boredom was a constant companion these days.

You yearned to be back in the field, but both the medic and the on-site psychologist affirmed that you were not ready to return to active duty.

Despite your stubbornness rearing its head, you knew deep down they were right.

You still couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep, nightmares plaguing you relentlessly, making you wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and in a cold sweat.

Your thighs still protested at nearly any given moment if you didn’t walk a certain way.

The deep cut on your face had healed quickly, but not prettily.

The gash eventually turned a pinkish hue, only slightly paler than your skin tone, and the scar was now raised and jagged.

It went from the top of your cheekbone, just below your eye, to the corner of your mouth.

You eventually decided to wear a bandana to cover the bottom half of your face.

If you could barely get yourself to look in the mirror and see all those memories staring right back at you, why would others need to see it?

Everyone had noticed the change, obviously, but no one said a word.

Ghost stared at you for a moment the first time you wore it to a team meeting, but aside from a furtive clench of his fists and his heavy gaze on you, he didn’t share his opinion.

Ever since that day, you two have become closer.

Not that you acted like strangers before, but it was more of a professional bond between you, filled only with respect and, at most, a slight sense of companionship.

But now… he was friendly—at least, by his standards.

Having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with you.

Accompanying you to your regular checkups, physical rehabilitation, and therapy appointments.

Making sure you went to every one of them.

Helping you train late at night, when the only sounds reverberating through the gym were your slight grunts of pain and his hushed advice.

It felt nice. To have someone who pushed you through this godawful healing journey.

You weren't sure you would have made it through on your own if you were being honest.

Spending more time with Ghost also meant you had gotten the chance to see other sides of him.

Underneath his cold exterior, you could tell he cared deeply for his teammates.

Especially Soap. The two teased each other relentlessly, reminding you of two brothers.

Their jabs often made you laugh, sometimes almost making you forget what you had gone through just a few weeks ago.

Your therapist called it deflecting, but you preferred to think of it as pleasant distractions. Entertainment, too.

The more time you spent with Ghost, the more you realised that you two had more in common than you thought, and that went beyond trivial things like your similar music tastes.

You didn't talk about your scars or your masks, but a certain understanding could be felt between you two.

You sometimes caught him staring at your scars, especially at the beginning of your shared training at the gym, when he hadn't yet gotten used to seeing you in shorts, or when the cuts from the zip-ties were still visible on your wrists and ankles.

You couldn't say you hadn't done the same.

His skin was littered with scars, ranging from large to small, from old to relatively new, from properly healed to jagged-edged.

They didn’t put you off. At all. You felt a sort of recognition in your chest as you looked at his scars.

Like seeing an old friend. Or looking in a mirror.

You wondered if he felt the same when looking at yours.

 

 

 

Finally. Fucking finally.

You practically skipped around base with how happy you were, your right hand clutching the official paper authorising you to return to field duty.

After four long months, the doctors ultimately decided you were ready to return.

You felt your pulse quicken as the idea of getting back into the field flashed through your mind. You got your blood running with training, and all of that, but nothing came close to the adrenaline of a mission.

You spotted your team in the corridor near the training grounds and nearly ran to them to give them the good news.

“They let you come back, Bonnie?” Soap guessed at the sight of your smiling eyes.

You nodded enthusiastically before flashing them the paper. “I’m back.”

Johnny patted you on the arm, grinning widely, before Kyle pulled you into a tight hug.

“Glad to have you back, doll.”

“Admit it, you guys missed me.”

“That we did, Sergeant,” Price said, arms crossed, sporting a grin of his own. “You sure you’re ready?”

“I’m sure.”

At his silence, you curiously looked over at Ghost. To your surprise, he didn’t seem all that happy. “Lieutenant?”

“Show me that,” he nodded towards the stamped paper in your hand.

You frowned in confusion but handed it to him anyway. His eyes flickered over the document, brows furrowing.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

“Dr Noble signed off on this?” Ghost asked.

“Yes, sir. She hesitated a bit at first, when the PT gave me the all-clear on his end, said she wasn’t sure I was ‘psychologically prepared to face major high-risk situations again’, something along those lines, but she agrees I'm ready now.”

You may or may not have omitted the fact that you still can’t look at yourself in the mirror properly, but she doesn’t really need to know that.

It’s not like you have any time to beat yourself up about the scar when you’re on a mission.

And you might have forgotten to mention that you still wake up soaked in tears every once in a while. Must’ve slipped your mind.

None of it matters now. You’re back.

Ghost remained quiet, gaze flicking between your half-covered face and the paper in his hands.

An awkward silence stretched between your team before Johnny broke it. “Real happy to have you back on the field with us. Missed ya out there,” he said with a grin, placing a warm hand on your shoulder.

You smiled back and patted his arm. “Thanks, Johnny.”

“Alright, enough chitchatting, Kate’s gonna be waiting for us for the briefing,” Price said.

As you started walking toward the briefing room, following your teammates, you felt a strong hand yanking you aside.

Before you could even blink, you were in an empty conference room, and Ghost was locking the door and closing the blinds.

“What are you doing?” you asked, confused.

He took a deep, slow breath, back still turned to you.

“You’re not ready to be back on the field.”

The words reverberated through you, and you frowned indignantly.

“Yes, I am. The doctors all signed off on it,” you countered.

“Well, the doctors are fucking idiots then,” he snapped as he turned around sharply, slamming the note on the table.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“You wanna know what the fuck’s my problem? It’s that you aren’t ready.”

“Yes, I am. I’m fine,” you insisted.

“No, you’re not,” he said, shaking his head.

“How the hell would you know?”

Ghost took a deep breath, stepping closer to you. “If you’re fine, then why the hell do you wear that mask?”

You scoffed with a bitter smile. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re hiding. Besides, you think I don’t hear you waking up screaming in the middle of the night? Sure, it happens less often than a few months ago, but you’re not back to where you used to be. You’re not ready to be back.”

“The mask is none of your business. And yeah, I have nightmares every once in a while. Who doesn’t in this place?” you argued.

“It’s not the same,” he said firmly.

“How is it not the same? Everyone has fucking night–”

“Because you’re being a fucking hypocrite,” Ghost interrupted, voice slightly raised.

"Excuse me?" you replied, taken aback.

"I said, you're being a fucking hypocrite," he growled, voice quieter now.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t act stupid. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he shot back. You stayed silent.

“That night. ‘They don’t have any power over you.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

You tensed as his words made the memory rush back.

 

 

Several months earlier...

 

 

As you were walking around the base in the middle of the night to clear your thoughts, you spotted a silhouette sitting on a weapons crate, tendrils of smoke rising from the burning cigarette in his fingers. You'd recognise that shadow anywhere.

As you neared closer, you noticed he wasn't wearing his mask.

"Mind if I join you?" you said, announcing your presence, not sure if you were allowed to see his face.

Surprisingly, or rather, unsurprisingly, Ghost didn't even startle at the sound of your voice. He gestured to the other weapons crate next to his, and you sat down.

Even though it was the middle of the night, the full moon made his face roughly visible, illuminated and shadowed by the moonlight.

You wanted to memorise his face, grab the opportunity while it was right next to you, but you fought the urge.

"How did you know I was here? I was being quiet," you asked, softly tapping your foot on the ground.

"I always know when you're around," Ghost replied nonchalantly, taking another drag from his cigarette. His words made you softly inhale, stomach fluttering.

"How?" you asked in a quiet tone.

"I recognised your footsteps," he simply answered, looking towards you out of the corner of his eye.

"How did you know they were mine?" you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

"Don't worry about it," he said with a shrug. Your sigh made the smell of nicotine waft into your nostrils, and you turned to Ghost before nodding to his cigarette.

"Can I have one of those?"

"I don't share," he said with a gruff tone.

"Oh, really? Never? Why am I not surprised?" you said with raised brows.

He glared at you, and you held back a smile.

"What, you don't trust me?” You crossed your arms, licking your lips. His eyes followed the path of your tongue, and butterflies roamed through your body.

"Not yet," he said, his voice low.

"Yet?" You raised a brow, biting your lower lip to hide your grin.

"Yet. Maybe you'll get lucky," he said with a final glance towards you before crushing his cigarette under his boot and slipping the mask back on, shielding his face from your curious eyes.

"Hm. Maybe I will," you replied, letting a small smile break through.

As he started walking away, your words came out in a rush. “You know they don't have any power over you, right?”

Ghost turned around slowly. “What?” he asked, confused.

“Your…” you hesitated now that his eyes were locked onto you, but you took a deep breath and kept going. “Your scars.”

Ghost visibly stiffened at the word, his posture becoming defensive, as he rebuilt the walls he had very slightly let down during your conversation.

He stayed silent, and you somehow managed to continue your point. “Unless you give them power, they can't dictate your life. Yes, they'll always be a part of you, but they only tell a story. They don't define who you are. Unless you let them.”

Ghost stood there and stared at you for a few more moments, his intense gaze scrutinising your face before he slowly turned back around and started walking away.

But not without saying, “Good night, Sergeant,” over his shoulder.

“Good night.”

 

 

You faltered for a bit before crossing your arms defensively. “You're one to talk about hiding behind masks, Ghost. If you're allowed to do it, why can't I?” you went on.

“It's not the same,” he repeated, shaking his head and looking away.

“Why the hell not? We both got them from torture, didn't we?” you said, raising your voice even more.

His face snapped towards you. “Don't,” he warned, eyes alight with anger.

“Or what?” you said, not backing away from his raging gaze.

“Just don’t,” he replied, his gaze stone cold.

You both remained silent, those blazing eyes staring into yours, fists clenched, almost shaking with rage.

“You were the one who told me not to worry about you. So I did. Because I thought I could trust you, but clearly, I can't,” he said, voice quietly cold.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me; no one does. I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can.”

You scoffed at his response, shaking your head.

“Putting you back in the field this soon is a mistake. You’re not ready,” he said, his tone final.

“Who the hell are you to tell me if I'm ready or not?”

“I’m your superior,” Ghost said pointedly.

You scoffed, licking your teeth. “Pulling rank now, are we?” you asked, your voice a bit quieter, but still angered. He remained quiet.

“Screw this,” you scoffed after a moment, taking a step back and about to turn away and leave, when a rough hand grabbed your wrist tightly, almost painfully.

You attempted to shake it off, back turned to him, but he yanked, pulling you so close your chests brushed with each inhale.

His eyes burned into yours, flickering from one to the other as if searching for something.

Ghost slowly raised his hand, fingers brushing your mask. You flinched, pulling back slightly.

He stilled. But when you didn’t pull back again, his fingers slipped under the mask and slowly pulled it down, showing your face.

You swallowed nervously. It had been the first time you had let anyone else see your face since you left the hospital.

You looked away, avoiding his piercing gaze.

His fingers turned your face towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You shouldn’t feel the need to hide,” he whispered.

“Before all this,” you gestured to your scars, “I might’ve agreed with you.”

Ghost remained silent, and you averted your eyes once again as you felt his gaze burning through you.

“Those days… they… changed me. I don't even fucking recognise myself anymore,” you said, frustration making your voice shake.

“I don't want to feel like this. I feel like I’m just… letting him win. He did this on purpose.” You pointed to the scar on your face. “He said that he should 'leave a mark on this pretty face as punishment and as a reminder.’ Guess he got what he wanted.”

Even through the mask, you could see Ghost’s jaw clench at your words, his fists straining against his gloves.

“It is a reminder,” he said quietly after a few moments of silence.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“It's a reminder that you lived. And that he’s gone. You won. Not him.”

You mulled over his words, hands fidgeting unconsciously.

“Didn't peg you for a poet, Ghost,” you said with a teasing tone.

“Always with the attitude,” he said, shaking his head.

You let out a chuckle. Your eyes met for a moment, silence filling the empty room.

Ghost cleared his throat and looked away. “We should join them, the briefing’s bound to start soon.”

“Uh, yeah, right,” you said, also clearing your throat at the sudden awkwardness between you two.

 

 

The briefing led the team to a high-risk mission in Urzikstan. Due to the mission’s urgency, you hadn’t had much recon to rely on, which was part of why it went as horribly as it did.

There had been many casualties within the two teams, and the remaining survivors had split up to different safe houses in the area.

You, Ghost, and Soap had managed to reach one of the safe houses a few kilometres away.

The adrenaline rushing through your veins suppressed the pain from the bullet wound on your side, but once you crossed the threshold of the discreet house, the pain seemed to hit you all at once.

You groaned while you clutched your side, and Ghost, who had been almost constantly keeping an eye on you since you got injured, quickly helped you stand.

“Y’alright?”

“I'm fine, it’s just a graze,” you said through clenched teeth.

“We need to get you bandaged up,” Ghost said.

Soap, who had been checking out the place, came back to the living room. “There's only one bedroom here.”

Great.

“I'll take the couch,” he said, before nearly throwing himself on it, already shutting his eyes with his arm thrown over his face.

You and Ghost headed down the hallway and opened the bedroom door. Thankfully, there were two twin beds a few inches apart.

“Ah, that's too bad, I was about to offer to sleep on the floor,” you said playfully.

Ghost scoffed. “In other circumstances, I might've let you.”

“Thought you were a gentleman,” you raised a brow as you sat down on one of the beds, the movement pulling at your wound. You grunted softly and stretched your neck.

“Something like that,” he said before setting his equipment down next to the other bed.

“C’mon,” Ghost led you to the bathroom, and you grunted as you sat on the closed toilet seat while he grabbed his medkit.

You slowly lifted your shirt to gauge the damage, the tissue sticking to your skin from the blood.

Ghost silently stepped closer to you, antiseptic and gauze in hand to clean your wound. He also handed you two pills before filling up the plastic cup by the sink with some water.

“Here. Painkillers and antibiotics.” You thanked him before swallowing the pills with a mouthful of water.

“This is gonna sting,” he warned as he kneeled in front of you.

“Go ahead,” you nodded before clenching your jaw in preparation.

The sting of the antiseptic made you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, and you pressed your lips together to hold back another grunt of pain.

Ghost gently dabbed at your wound before grabbing some bandages and carefully placing them over it. 

“Thank you,” you said.

He grunted in response. Your brows furrowed. Why did he seem so tense? Well, Ghost wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine, but he seemed overly… irritated.

His shoulders were tense, his jaw was clenched, his brows were furrowed, and he kept taking deep breaths as if to calm himself.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said gruffly, putting the bandages back in the medkit.

“Yeah, right. Don't bullshit me,” you scoffed.

“Just… you should be more fucking careful.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. You could have died. If that bullet had been just a few inches to the left, you'd be dead in a minute,” Ghost said.

“Yeah, but it wasn't. You're acting like you haven't been shot before, too.”

“It's not the same,” he replied, glancing away with his jaw clenched.

“How?” you asked, confused at his overreaction. He stayed silent.

“Why do you even care? It's not like it's the first time I’ve been shot. What could be different this time?”

“Because just a few months ago, you were being tortured in a fucking cell.”

You flinched at the roughness of his voice as a wave of memories hit you like a freight train.

You swallowed and looked away, fidgeting with your hands. “Doesn't change anything. I'm still a part of this team.”

“You are… but you've become way too fucking reckless,” Ghost said coldly.

“What the hell are you talking about? You're acting as if I jumped in front of the fucking bullet.”

“You almost did. I saw it. And I'm not talking about the fucking gunshot.” Ghost stepped closer, finger pointing accusingly at you. “Before you got shot. On the helipad. You picked up a fucking grenade and tossed it back. Anyone else in your position would've run for cover— hell, we all did! But you just had to play the fucking hero.”

“It was just instinct! I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of this,” you said.

“Don't bullshit me. You're being reckless with your life.”

“I’m not!” you argued, raising your voice in defence.

Ghost shook his head. “I knew you weren't ready.”

“That is not your call to make.”

“Yes, it fucking is. I'm your Lieutenant, and Price isn't here. Which means you're my fucking responsibility.”

“So what, am I a burden to you now? To the whole team? Is that what you see me as?” you asked, your voice bitter.

“If you keep playing with the line between life and death like a fucking tightrope, then, yeah. You're a burden.”

Those three words hit you painfully in the chest. Burden.

You licked your teeth and nodded slowly, head tilting down. “Right.”

The uncomfortable silence stretched between you for several moments.

“Do you mind? I need to change,” you broke the silence, your voice cold, and nodded towards the door.

Ghost quietly left the room, leaving you alone with the torment in your brain, making your head pound.

You got up, face pinching at the discomfort of the bandage pulling at the skin around your wound.

Your gaze met your own in the mirror, your face pale. You pulled your mask down, the bandana hanging around your neck.

The jarring sight of the pinkish scar marring your face almost made you flinch, but you had started to get used to the feeling. Defeat. Knowing there was nothing you could do to change the past.

You sighed and opened the tap, splashing your face with cold water.

Burden. The word echoed in your ears. Was that really what you had become? Useless? Just a dead weight for your team to carry around?

You shook your thoughts away and carefully changed out of your blood-soaked clothes, wincing as the movement made pain blossom in your side again.

A sigh escaped your lips as you gathered your ruined clothes and your mask. You didn’t really feel like facing Ghost again, but you terribly needed sleep.

You opened the bathroom door and noticed that Ghost wasn’t in the bedroom. You heard his and Soap’s voices coming from the living room. They were probably deciding what your plan was from here on out.

You sat on the bed after you had put your things away, wincing again as you tucked yourself under the cold sheets. At least the bed was almost cosy.

You stared at the ceiling, taking slow, deep breaths to keep the throbbing pain at bay.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door creaked open as Ghost walked back in.

Your eyes locked, and you looked away almost instantly, your slight argument from earlier flashing in your head.

“I’m taking first watch. Soap will take my spot in a couple of hours, so you can rest through the night,” he said.

You nodded in acknowledgement before laying your head back down on the pillow, sighing as you tried to fall asleep.

After a few moments of rummaging quietly through his things, Ghost’s heavy footsteps echoed through the room as he stepped back towards the doorway.

He paused, and the only sound in the room was your breathing.

“Good night,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Thanks,” you replied. The door shut, and the room was quiet once again.

 

*******

 

A slow tendril of smoke escaped Ghost’s mouth as he exhaled, a burning cigarette in hand.

He checked his watch, sighing in exhaustion.

It was almost time for Soap to switch with him for second watch.

There hadn't been a single movement since Ghost had sat on the front porch of the house, but the three of you couldn't afford to be uncautious.

You were still in proximity of an active war zone, and someone could have followed you, for all you know.

You were presumably still sleeping, so Ghost would have to be careful when coming back inside the safe house.

Ghost had been thinking about your argument in a continuous loop, replaying it over and over like a broken record.

He shouldn't have called you a burden.

Technically, it was true. But he had no place making you feel even more like shit.

He knew what it felt like to be on medical leave for months on end, without having anything productive to do besides rest and taking it easy.

It made you feel useless.

And he had just probably made you feel even worse.

Fucking idiot.

He crushed the cigarette butt under his boot right as the front door creaked open, Soap’s heavy boots making the old wooden porch creak.

Soap yawned rather loudly, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, I’m up. You can go.”

“Don’t fall asleep out here,” Ghost said with a grunt as he got up from the porch stairs.

“You know I wouldn’t,” Soap said with another yawn as he sat down.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Ghost said as he opened the front door.

“Sleep tight,” Soap said, grinning.

Ghost grunted and shut the door behind him. He walked down the hallway towards the bedroom the two of you were sharing, and quietly opened the door once he reached it.

You were sound asleep beneath the covers, and only your head peeked out.

He could hear your slow, deep breaths as he stepped closer, towards his own bed. He tried to make as little noise as possible as he headed to the bathroom to shower.

As he undressed, Ghost averted his gaze from the mirror, avoiding his own reflection like the plague.

He stepped into the shower, the water hitting his sore muscles, making him sigh.

He was fucking exhausted. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept through a full night. He could get a couple of hours of rest, at best. And most of the time, those few hours were spent reliving horrible memories that haunted his nightmares.

The only time Ghost put his mental walls down was when he slept, which explained the nightmares. His memories could creep back in without resistance, reminding him of every single thing he had done wrong, every horrible thing he had seen, every person he had lost.

It made him avoid sleeping at times. It was why he always offered to take first watch while on a mission. That, and also because he never really trusted anyone. Not fully.

He pushed the thoughts of his past into the back of his mind, keeping them at bay for now.

He shut off the water, dried himself, put on a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, and then went into the bedroom.

He glanced at you again as he stopped by the foot of his bed. Your eyes were shut, and your face was relaxed from sleep.

Your mask was on the nightstand, allowing him to look at your scarred cheek. He had to squint to see it in the moonlit room. He had rarely seen it lately, as you were almost always wearing that bandana.

The cut was pink and jagged, starting under the outer corner of your eye and finishing just above your upper lip.

The thought of Baranov cutting into you like that made him sick. He was glad you had killed the motherfucker. He would have done it himself anyway if you hadn’t gotten the chance to.

Ghost sighed as he slipped under the cold sheets, resting his head against the pillow. Usually, he would take his own mask off to sleep, but he didn’t want to risk letting you see his scarred face.

Kind of hypocritical of him, considering the conversation you two had when you were cleared for the field.

He had called you a hypocrite for hiding behind your mask after you had told him his scars didn’t define who he was, as if he wasn’t doing the same now.

Fucking idiot, he thought to himself.

The two of you had gotten closer over the past few months as he helped you through your healing process. He didn’t know why he had felt the need to be by your side as you recovered, but he did.

And now he had just ruined it all, like the fucking asshole he was.

 

 

Ghost had, surprisingly, been asleep for a couple of hours before being woken up by choked sobs and fitful murmurs.

What the hell?

He could also hear rustling bedsheets, which made him sit up and glance towards you.

Sure enough, you were tossing and turning, fists clenched, face scrunched in pain, cheeks tear-soaked.

You were mumbling something under your breath, not loud enough for him to hear.

You were having a nightmare—a bad one. Ghost got out of bed and quietly stepped closer to you.

Once he reached the foot of your bed, he could hear what you were whispering over and over again.

No, please don’t.

His heart clenched. He wondered where your mind went as he stared at you, unsure what to do.

A few moments later, he decided to call your name to wake you up. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, Ghost placed a hand on your arm, making your eyes open suddenly with a gasp.

You instinctively reached under your pillow, pulling out a combat knife and placing it under Ghost’s jaw so fast he barely had time to put a hand on your wrist to prevent you from actually slashing his throat.

“Easy,” he said. “You’re safe.”

Your chest rose rapidly as you tried to get oxygen back into your lungs. Your brows furrowed, and your eyes searched his before sighing in relief as you finally realised who was standing in front of you.

After a few deep breaths, you glanced back down at your knife held up to Ghost’s throat, and your eyes widened.

“Fuck, sorry,” you said before putting the knife on the nightstand.

Ghost kept his eyes on you as you put your face in your hands for a few seconds before wiping away the tears.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said, shaking your head.

“You don’t seem fine,” Ghost said, raising a brow, even though you couldn’t see it under his mask.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Just a stupid nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?” Ghost asked as he sat down on his bed, facing you.

He didn’t know why he offered, considering he never talked about his own feelings or thoughts. He just felt like maybe you needed to share yours.

You scoffed. “Since when have you been the ‘talking-about-your-feelings’ type?”

Right.

“Just thought you might like to take your mind off it by talking about it.”

“Have you been speaking to my therapist? You sound just like her,” you said with an ironic smile.

“I’m serious. Do you want to talk about it?” Ghost said in a more serious tone.

You sighed and looked down at your legs, one of which was bouncing.

“Just… give me a moment,” you said before getting up and heading towards the bathroom.

Ghost stared at the door even after it shut, quietly waiting for you to return.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and you stepped out and sat on your bed.

Silence filled the room as he waited for you to say something, not wanting to push you more than he already had.

Just as he was about to give up and try to go back to sleep, you started talking.

“I was um, dreaming about when I was… taken,” you said quietly, taking a quick inhale as if you couldn’t get your lungs to fill up properly. Your voice was slightly shaky, and you rubbed your throat as if it felt suddenly tight.

He knew the feeling.

“I was back in that godforsaken cell, and somehow I knew exactly what he was going to do to me, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it—to stop him. And the worst part is that I wasn’t even tied up this time. I was just… frozen in place. Powerless. Useless. A burden.”

You avoided his eyes when you said that last word. Fuck. He never should’ve called you that.

“Every time I think I’ve gotten past it, something just throws me right back into it. It’s like part of me is still in that cell,” you said, eyes shining with unshed tears. Your lower lip was trembling, like you were fighting to keep your emotions at bay.

“And I can’t even take comfort in knowing that he’s dead, because there are other assholes just like him that are still out there. At this very moment, someone is probably going through what I did. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“It’s part of why I was in such a rush to be cleared for the field. Because at least doing my job means that some of those men are put behind bars or six feet under. It means that I’m preventing people from going through shit like that, or doing justice for the people who already did.”

You stayed quiet for a few seconds.

Ghost silently watched you; how you fidgeted with your hands, how you rubbed the sides of your neck, how you played with your necklace, how you chewed on your lower lip.

Right when he was about to break the silence, you did.

“And I guess that does make me reckless. So, you were right to doubt if I’m ready to be back. It’s your responsibility as a superior officer, and I apologise for questioning that,” you said, sounding like a fucking HR rulebook.

“You don’t have to apologise. I shouldn’t have said that,” Ghost said.

“Yes, you should’ve. I deserved it,” you insisted, shaking your head.

“But I could’ve been less of an asshole about it.”

“I won’t deny that,” you said with a small smile.

Ghost felt his own mouth tip up into a smile.

He thought about the mask concealing his face from you, which made him pay more attention to the absence of yours.

He glanced at the pink scar on your cheek, his chest throbbing at the thought of someone doing that to you.

He thought about how helpless you must have felt in that cell, not knowing when the team was coming to help you.

Or maybe you hadn’t felt helpless. Maybe you felt hopeless. Maybe you had accepted the fact that no one was coming to save you, and that you were going to die in that cell.

Ghost couldn’t even begin to imagine how relieved you must have felt when you heard the alarms and the gunshots. When you saw him enter the room.

Well, actually, he could. It had probably been similar to what he was feeling in that moment when he laid eyes on your bruised and bleeding body, only ten times greater.

Ghost was yanked out of his thoughts as you cleared your throat and turned your head away from him, hiding your scarred cheek from his view.

Shit. He had been pointedly staring at your scar for a few moments while he was zoned out into his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry, erm, I wasn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you said dismissively. “I know it’s not pretty to look at. Kinda the point, I guess.”

Ghost hesitated. His mouth opened and closed as he wasn’t sure of what to say to that.

In response to the awkward silence, you reached for your mask that was lying on the nightstand.

Ghost stopped you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

You flinched, and he immediately regretted touching you like that. He let go of your wrist.

“Sorry.”

You shook your head in response. "It's okay."

“You… you don’t need to hide. Not with me,” he said.

He was more than used to seeing scars; every time he looked in the mirror, he was reminded of his own past.

But if he expected you to be comfortable showing your scars to him, maybe he should show you his.

He reached for his mask.

“You don't… have to do that,” you said. “If you don't want to.”

“I want to.”

Your eyes searched his and found that he was being truthful.

Ghost took a breath before lifting the mask off his face, letting you see it properly for the first time as the moonlight streamed through the window.

Your gaze wandered as you drank him in, with all his scars and imperfections.

He painted a mental picture of what you were seeing.

His exhausted eyes, his straight nose with a small bump from the numerous fights he had gotten into at home and at school in his youth, his full upper lip bisected by a scar that ran from his eye to his mouth, much like yours, only bigger.

“And you think you're not pretty to look at,” Ghost said, breaking the silence that had formed as you two stared at each other.

“Am I still dreaming, or did you just call me pretty?” you said sceptically.

“Indirectly.”

You hummed in response and absentmindedly licked your lips. Ghost’s eyes followed the movement.

“You gonna tell me where you got those, or did you just take your mask off to prove a point?”

Ghost forced his gaze back up to your eyes. “That's a lot of stories to tell.”

“I’ve got time,” you said, pointedly crossing your legs beneath you as if you were at a campfire hearing an urban legend.

Ghost chuckled and cleared his throat before beginning to tell you about his troubled youth, his joining of the military, his past in Mexico and Ukraine, where he was also captured and tortured.

You listened intently, sometimes asking questions, but mostly absorbing what he was saying.

You smiled as he told you about his younger brother, Tommy, and his nephew, Joseph. You furrowed your eyebrows in anger at the tales of his father and the men whose hands left the scars on his skin.

He kept it mostly detached, but he also wanted to shed some light on why he was the way he was, because he felt you deserved it after the way he treated you.

He also wanted to let you see that you weren't alone in your suffering. He couldn't explain why, but he felt a pull, an obligation to make you happy.

Every time you chuckled at one of his jabs at Soap or smiled at one of his so-called “dad” jokes, he felt a pang of pride in his chest.

He had felt his heart squeeze painfully the few times he saw you cry or in pain. He felt the need to protect you, to keep you safe, even though he knew you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.

He was, in a way, extending an olive branch to you by letting his walls down a bit, showing you sides of him that very few people got to see.

When he was done, the two of you stayed quiet for a moment.

You broke the silence first. “Thank you for telling me all of that.”

He shrugged in response, unsure of what to say.

You remained silent again for a beat, chewing on your lower lip as you glanced at your legs.

“I don't think I’ve ever told you guys what happened to me,” you said quietly.

“What?”

“I mean, I've told the doctors, my PT, my therapist, but… I haven't told you. Or anyone on the team, for that matter.”

Ghost didn't say anything. You were right. He could have read the report on your capture, but he chose not to out of respect for you and your privacy.

“Do you… want to tell me?” Ghost asked.

You shrugged.

“You don't have to. You don't need to feel obligated to tell me just because I told you about my past.”

“That's not what this is about. I mean, kind of, but I'm not feeling any sort of obligation. I just… want to.”

“Okay,” Ghost said, which made him feel like a fucking idiot. Okay. Jesus.

“Okay,” you repeated, letting out a deep sigh.

You started telling him about how you woke up tied up in a cold, dark cell. How they barely fed you or gave you water. How Baranov relentlessly interrogated you and had you tortured when you refused to answer his questions.

The thought of you being starved, beaten, and tortured made his stomach flip, and his fists clenched as he felt the anger run through his blood.

As you finished speaking, a deafening silence filled the room, making you lower your head and avoid his gaze.

“Kinda hard to wrap my head around the fact that it was only a few days. Not even a week. God, how pathetic is that? How could just a few days change me so much? Sometimes, I feel like I don’t even recognise myself anymore. And he just had to leave evidence of it on my fucking face. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore.”

His heart clenched painfully as a silent tear slid down your cheek.

Before you could wipe it away on your own, something pushed him to stand, sit beside you on your bed, and wipe that lonely tear away.

Your shaky inhale echoed through the room. Instead of pulling away once his thumb had swiped off the tear, his hand cupped your face as your eyes locked.

Both of you stayed silent as his finger gently stroked your scarred cheek, feeling the jagged skin along your scar.

Ghost glanced down at your lips, slightly parted as you took short, shallow breaths.

He didn’t know whether he was the one who leaned in or you, but his mouth was now only inches from yours.

You closed the gap between you and kissed him.

What. The. Fuck.

He stayed frozen in shock as your soft lips touched his.

As he was about to snap out of it, you pulled away and stood up rather abruptly.

You ran a hand through your hair and shut your eyes, your brows furrowed.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, I–”

“No, it was completely inappropriate of me. God, you just opened up about something very sensitive and personal–”

“So did you.”

“–and I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have… kissed you, oh my god. What the hell did I…”

As you kept rambling, Ghost had gotten up and stepped closer to you, until you were both only inches apart again.

“What… what are you doing?” you asked, your chest rising rapidly with panic.

“Will you just shut up for once?” Ghost said.

Your brows furrowed in indignation, and you opened your mouth to probably scold him for telling you to shut up.

But before you could do that, Ghost put both hands on the sides of your neck and pulled you into him, meeting your lips in a hard kiss.

 

*******

 

What. The. Fuck.

You wondered if you were still dreaming as Ghost pulled you in for a rough kiss, his lips somehow incredibly soft.

You didn’t know what had gotten into you when you leaned in and kissed him first.

He was just so close, and his eyes were so full of emotion, the most you had seen from him in all those years of knowing him.

The moment you realised what you were doing, you had pulled away. Your brain had spiralled into overthinking all of the consequences of what you had just done—kissing your superior. Fraternising. You could lose your job. So could he.

And somehow, as Ghost kissed you, you couldn’t be bothered to think about the consequences.

The only thing you could focus on was him.

His calloused hands on your skin, his soft lips on yours, his intoxicating scent.

You gasped as one of his hands slid down to your waist, and Ghost took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

The kiss deepened, and you slid a tentative hand into his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He groaned into your mouth, and you could swear you had never been more turned on in your life.

You clenched your thighs together and kissed him with more fervour, meeting his urgency.

You rested your other hand on his bicep as he started moving you backwards towards his bed until your thighs hit the side of the mattress, and he lay you down on it without interrupting the kiss.

Ghost pulled away, making you let out a sigh of complaint, which you quickly swallowed as he began kissing down your jaw and neck.

“Ghost, we shouldn’t…” You trailed off as your breathing grew heavier, Ghost’s mouth finding a sensitive spot in your neck before he pulled away and looked you in the eyes.

“Simon,” he said, slightly out of breath.

“What?” you asked, your mind too unravelled by the kiss to understand much of anything right now.

“Call me Simon,” he said, his gaze heavy.

You knew that was his name, as you had seen it on numerous briefings and reports, but you had never said it or even heard it aloud. Even Johnny called him Ghost, at least in front of you.

“Okay,” you replied, gaze wandering over his face before Ghost—Simon kissed you again with just as much fervour as before.

You kissed him back passionately, your nails raking his scalp, making him groan into your mouth.

Simon began kissing down your chest, and he looked up at you as his hand went to the straps of your top. “Is this okay?” You were nodding your head before he even asked the question.

He slid the straps of your top down, exposing your already peaked nipples. You weren’t wearing a bra, considering it would uncomfortably graze your wound while you slept.

Simon kissed your sternum before pulling away just a little, licking your lips as he looked at you. “Beautiful,” he said, sounding more like he was talking to himself rather than to you.

He started kissing and licking your chest, making you let out little whimpers and moans, your head thrown back against the mattress.

Your hand pulled slightly at his hair as the other clutched the sheets, your grip tight as you tried to stay quiet, as you remembered through the haze of your arousal that Johnny was sleeping in the living room and could hear you at any moment.

“Simon…” you moaned, making him bite your nipple softly in approval.

After a few more seconds, Simon started making his way down your stomach, only stopping to fully remove your top before continuing to lavish you in open-mouthed kisses and licks.

As he reached the waistband of your shorts, he looked up at you for permission once again. You nodded, allowing him to pull them down, leaving you in just your underwear.

Simon pulled you to the end of the bed as he sank onto his knees, head between your thighs, arms wrapped around them to hold you steady.

Your chest rose rapidly in anticipation as you felt his breath on your clothed pussy, his mouth remaining only inches from it.

“Don’t be a tease,” you whined, getting quickly impatient.

Simon grinned, making you notice the dimples on his cheeks. God, he was handsome.

Finally, he tilted his head down, placing hot, wet kisses over your underwear, making you squirm, your thighs threatening to close.

Simon’s grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your inner thighs, promising to leave bruises for you to discover in the morning.

After deciding he had teased you enough, or growing too impatient himself, Simon pulled your underwear down, throwing it somewhere in the room.

His mouth quickly returned to where it was, and his hot tongue finally met your already soaking pussy.

You let out a rather loud moan, making your eyes widen, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand that was gripping the bedsheets.

Simon looked up at you disapprovingly, and he grabbed your hand, pinning your arm to your side as his fingers entwined with yours. “I wanna hear you.”

“But… what about Johnny? He could hear us,” you whispered.

“I don’t care,” Simon simply said before diving back between your thighs, effectively shutting you up as he licked your clit. “You taste so fucking good, love.”

“Oh, God, yes, right there,” you moaned.

Simon slowly rubbed a finger against your entrance before sliding it in to the knuckle while he licked your clit relentlessly. He added a second finger, curling them up into that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Fuck, Simon, that feels so good.”

“Yeah, that’s it, keep moaning my name, just like that,” he said against your pussy.

Soon, your thighs were shaking, and your fingers were pulling harder at his hair and clutching his hand tightly. “Please don’t stop, Simon, I’m so close.”

“Yeah? You gonna come for me? You gonna make me proud?” His words only drove you closer to the edge, and before you knew it, you were coming.

“Thaaat’s it, good girl.” Simon talked you through your orgasm, drawing it out as he pushed his fingers slowly in and out, softly kissing your clit as you came down from your high.

He let you catch your breath for a moment, taking his fingers out of you and putting them on your lips, encouraging you to open your mouth. You did, licking his fingers clean, your tongue swirling around them. “Yeah, taste yourself on my fingers.”

Simon kissed you, his tongue meeting yours hurriedly, like he was desperate to get a taste of you again.

You wrapped your thighs around his waist, and he took the opportunity to place you in the middle of the bed, his weight bearing down on you.

You led your hand down his chest, feeling his rippling muscles underneath his shirt. You pulled at it, and Simon got the message as he quickly pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side to join the rest of your discarded clothes before resuming your heated kiss.

Your hands explored his muscled body, from his chest to his arms, his back, his stomach. As you reached the waistband of his joggers, you pulled away from the kiss. “I wanna taste you,” you said, licking your lips in anticipation.

Simon groaned at your words, kissing you passionately as his grip on your waist tightened. “Next time,” he said in between kisses, making you frown. “As much as I would enjoy that, I wanna be inside you right now.”

“Fine, I’ll take it,” you accepted.

“Yeah, you will,” Simon said with a smug smirk.

You scoffed at his self-assured tone before raising a brow, glancing at his joggers. “Why are you still wearing those?”

Simon chuckled and pulled away, standing up to take his joggers and boxers off in one go. Your mouth watered at the sight of his hard cock. It was bigger than you expected.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased, smirking as he made his way on top of you again.

“Very much so,” you said, pulling him back down for a kiss before he suddenly flipped you over, making you gasp unexpectedly.

His hands gripped your hips as you kneeled on the bed, chest against the mattress, hands clutching the pillow beneath you.

You felt his cock tease your pussy, the tip slightly sinking in. Before you knew it, Simon started pushing in, making you gasp as your breathing quickened.

He pushed all the way in, stretching you more than anyone ever had before. “Fuck, you feel so good around my cock, love.” Simon began pulling in and out, hands holding on tightly to your hips as he fucked you slowly.

“You’re so big,” you moaned as he thrust back in hard.

He started speeding up, going harder as your moans and his grunts echoed in the room.

“Harder,” you pleaded, and Simon did exactly what you said, making the bed shake with every thrust of his hips.

You started feeling your second climax build up already, moaning into the pillow as Simon fucked you.

Suddenly, Simon put a hand around your neck and squeezed as he pulled you up, your back meeting his chest. His mouth was close to your ear as he held you close, thrusting up into you, your hips grinding to meet his thrusts.

“That’s it, you’re so fucking good, love,” he moaned into your ear, making you clench onto him even tighter. “You gonna come for me again?”

You nodded vigorously, broken moans leaving your lips as he picked up speed. “I’m so close.”

What pushed you over the edge once again was Simon’s fingers reaching your clit, rubbing and pinching as you met his thrusts. “Yeah, come all over my cock, love. Make a mess.”

Your hand reached for his neck, nails digging into his skin as you came around him.

As soon as you started breathing somewhat normally again, Simon flipped you over onto your back, and you whimpered as you felt his cock leave your pussy, though not for long as he quickly thrust back in, making you wrap your thighs around him.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his back, probably leaving marks as he fucked you even harder than before.

“I want to see your face when I come inside you,” Simon said, making you moan at the thought of him finishing inside of you. “Yeah, you want that, don’t you, love?”

“Fuck, yes, Simon, don’t stop.”

Simon kissed you fervently as he thrust harder, faster. You felt he was getting close, his grunts turning into soft whimpers as his eyes closed, his forehead touching yours.

“Fuuuuuck, that’s it, you’re perfect, love,” he whispered, breathing quickening as his thrusts became slightly sloppier. “I’m gonna…”

“Come inside me, Si,” you whispered, hands clutching his shoulders tighter.

Your words made him thrust once more, keeping his cock pressed up into you as he came, groaning your name.

As you both caught your breath, Simon pushed your hair behind your ear before he kissed you softly, his lips gentle against yours.

After a few moments, he rolled off you and lay down on your bed, pulling you half on top of him, head resting on his chest, legs entwined. Your eyes closed of their own volition, your breathing deepening as you started to feel the exhaustion from the mission, the pain from your wound, and… well, you know.

“I tired you out that much?” Simon said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Fuck you,” you said.

“You already beat me to that,” he replied, making you slap his chest playfully. Simon chuckled, his hand running up and down your body gently.

“You think Johnny heard us?” you asked, breaking the silence after several moments.

“Guess we’ll find out in the morning,” Simon grunted. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you replied, but fell asleep a few seconds after.

 

*******

 

You stepped out of your bedroom, heading towards the kitchen for breakfast. Shortly after, Simon trailed behind you, his hand on your lower back as you reached for the kettle in the safe house’s cupboard.

Johnny stepped into the kitchen, stopping short at the doorway at the sight of you two, his face splitting into a wide grin.

“Fucking hell,” Simon said, already knowing what that shit-eating grin meant from Johnny.

“You two slept well, I take it? Wasn’t too much of a hassle for ye to share a room, eh?” Johnny asked, holding back laughter.

You both ignored him, not wanting to feed the fire. But you should have expected that he’d keep going.

“Matter of fact, I bet you two slept like babies. ‘Cause I didn’t hear a peep over here, not a single sound coming from that bed—”

“Shut it, MacTavish,” you and Simon said simultaneously, making Johnny cackle loudly.

Notes:

i've literally been working on this on and off for the past YEAR, which is crazy
i hope you enjoyed reading thoooo, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <333