Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Phillip Graves was as much of an enigma as the rest of the men in Shadow Company.

He could be many things when asked: Confident and self-assured, charismatic and dependable, disciplined and cutthroat, remorseless … as cold and calculated as a well-trained attack dog, or as warm and inviting as a long-time friend. All these personas existed within the commander, ready to be switched on in a single order. A chameleon, true to his craft. He’s grown accustomed to making himself whoever the world needed him to be. Anything that gets the job done.  

There was never any mistaking where Graves' thoughts lie, as more than often he'd just admit to them out loud. He accepts that others believe him to be an open book -- easy to read, with little complexity or depth beyond being a good soldier. Being lighthearted and obedient to the right people has worked wonders for him in the past, so he's mastered this façade and uses it well to his advantage. Proudly too.

But for a man so unafraid to be himself, Graves could be surprisingly secretive. 

As his second in command, you've seen firsthand the many personas your commander wore, including ones he's worn for you. Most of his tricks and plays you recognized by now, even as you've yet to understand them. Though as of late you’ve watched these many faces of his waver into something unfamiliar. They chip away slowly, each time you surrender yourself to his needs, taking your place beside him in the black of night, when no one's around to see. There, he's created a new façade, for your eyes only.

One that only made things complicated.

When you first began spending your nights together, it was more of a means to an end. It had been months since either of you had the pleasure of someone else's full attention, and lately, you were starting to notice. Shadow Company had grown more acclaimed and busy this past year, making dating pretty impossible. And after a while, anyone starts to look like a good lay if they're not ugly. Unfortunately, it didn't leave you with many options, until you'd caught the starved eye of your very own commander. 

You’d hardly been a part of Shadow Company for a month before you’d picked up on Graves' interest in you. He was surprisingly subtle with his flirting, if not predictable. It was the way his eyes lingered on you in quiet moments, his expression turned soft as his lips curved into a charming smile whenever you'd catch him. He could always spot you in a crowded room, always noticing when you were away for too long. He laughed just a little too hard at your jokes and always looked your way first after sharing one himself.

Before long, you found yourself beginning to watch him back. 

It was the little details you noticed first. The small cuts on his face from past firefights, how glossy and full of life his blue eyes looked in direct sunlight. Its rays would make a halo over his dirty blond hair, each strand looking clean enough to run your fingers through. He once caught you looking at him lick his lips, something he did often. When your eyes lifted from his mouth to see your superior officer looking dead at you, it shot a bolt of lightning through you. But you didn't look away, perhaps wanting him to see you looking. Taunting him.

Graves didn't say anything at first when he saw you ogling, but you knew he'd made a mental note of it just from the way he smirked afterward. "See something you like?"

"I see you, Commander," you'd said, hoping your glib nature would cover up the embarrassment you felt from getting caught. But Graves was like a shark in the water, and you'd just given him a taste of your blood.

"I see you too, Songbird." 

It seems all he needed was that clue that you were interested in him, because it wasn't soon after this when he decided to make his move.

You and the Commander had just finished prepping your mission brief for the other Shadow Company members. By now it was getting late in the night, as the building you two were in was a small facility only authorized personnel could enter. You occupied one of the empty rooms converted into an office space for all the pencil pushers to work out of. They’d all clocked out for the day though, leaving you two alone; and the tension in the air between you had just reached a boiling point.

You stood up from one of the tables in the room, preparing to slip into your coat and call it a night, until you watched the Commander approach you suddenly. You assumed he was getting ready to leave as well, until you noticed his come-hither nature.

“So, you got any plans tonight?”

And just like that, the game was on. You knew right away where this would go and it had your heart already skipping a beat. But you didn't want to jump to conclusions, nor did you want to rush this either. The thrill of the pursuit provided you with a nice little rush.

Wicked as you were, you began to smile.

“Why?” you ask. “Did you have something in mind?”

“I can think of a few things,” he said, behaving purposefully coy, in hopes of getting a rile out of you. He always did enjoy your banter and had no problem doing a little teasing himself when presented with the opportunity.

“Is that right?” you say flirtatiously. “Will I like those “things”, Commander?”

Graves smirks, raising an eyebrow at your comment. Hearing his title roll from your tongue so provocatively brought a sudden twinkle to his eyes. At this point, he didn’t need to guess where your mind was, which only made him more bold.

He chuckles under his breath, taking a few small steps closer, until he’s only an arm's length away. His next play.

He wasn't the tallest man you met but he still managed to tower over you by a few inches, the light from the room casting a shadow over him. This close you could smell the aftershave and cologne he’d used this morning, watching the way his eyes took in every detail of you, pupils dilating, black over-compassing the deep blue of his irises. He leans against the wall and unconsciously licks his lips again.

It was like a switch flipped in him.

“You will.”

You scoff, laughing under your breath at his boldness. You were wondering when he would be. Still, you wanted to poke at him a little more, see how long you could keep him waiting, if not to see if he was being for real. “Cocky as always.”

“Would you like me some other way then?”

You play on his words from earlier. “I can think of a few ways.”

“And what might those ways be, Songbird?”

"You're a smart boy," you hum. "I think you can figure them out. My lips are sealed, otherwise."

Graves steps even closer. He lifts a hand and pushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle and surprisingly warm, gliding against you like feathers, his fingers trailing across your jawline and resting beneath your chin. Goosebumps formed where he touched, and you could tell from the doe-eyed look he had that it was doing something to him too, seeing you like this. He takes his hand beneath your chin and lifts your head, forcing you to lock eyes.

"And if I order you to say them?"

His voice was now much lower than before. Sultry. You could feel it in the air he was ready to come in closer, simply waiting for an opportunity to do so that felt right.

Butterflies shot through you like a thick swarm; you didn’t want to let on that his words had you like putty in his hands, though you feared your little lip quiver may have given it away. You instead look down at his lips again, your gaze sullied. You began thinking of all the ways you could close this space between you two and put an end to the tension. The thrill of it all had your adrenaline spiking in all the right ways, simply waiting to see where things go from this point. "Then I won’t listen," you purr.

"Insubordination is rather punishable," he said.

"So is fraternization."

"I can keep a secret." Graves brought his thumb to your lip, lightly running it across, as his eyes lowered to your mouth. He nearly says in a whisper, "Tell me what you’re thinking."

"Let me show you."

His lips slowly come down to yours, kissing you gently. When you pressed your lips back against his, he exhaled pleasurably, tongue grazing your bottom lip. He moves his hand from your chin and curls it to the back of your neck, holding you in place and continuing to tease you with short, velvety pecks. His lips danced against yours with the skill of a seasoned player, clearly experienced in his craft, but it wasn’t until he felt your hands glide against his hips and tug him closer that his kisses grew insatiable. 

His grip on the back of your neck tightened, lips pressing harder against yours, feverishly. When the sudden aggression brings a low moan from you, it only makes him push harder, his other hand grabbing the small of your back and roughly pressing himself against you.

His weight causes you to shift backward until he has your back pressed against a wall. Unknowingly, your arm bumps against a nearby filing cabinet on the way there, knocking over a few papers that now littered the floor. Mere background noise to Graves, who only continues, his arms planted on other sides of the wall around you, as his lips trailed down your neck. His kisses reach your collarbone, the sensitive sensation causing you to gasp out a moan. “Graves!”

Hearing his name be moaned out sends him on a personal mission to hear you say it more. He takes his hands and slowly runs them down your body, feeling every bit of you he can through your uniform, before resting them on your thighs. In one swift motion, he then lifts you, taking your legs and straddling them around his waist, as he keeps your back against the wall. He presses himself to you and breathes heavily, rejoining his mouth with yours.

By now you could feel him through his pants, and you pushed yourself against him in response, the grinding motion bringing quiet moans from both of you. That’s when you two suddenly hear footsteps.

At the drop of a hat, you two freeze, going completely silent. The footsteps come from outside the room -- someone walking by in the hallway. A janitor maybe? God forbid it was anyone in the company. You held your breaths for only about a minute, listening to the steps pass by the room until you couldn’t hear them any longer.

The two of you let out a shared sigh, before looking back at one another. Graves had you still pinned to the wall, your legs tucked in his arms. He can’t help but chuckle. 

“This probably ain’t the best place for this, darlin'," he spoke. "As much as I want to keep going."

“I don’t know,” you joke. “I like the vibe. It’s very risqué.”

Graves smiles at you. And then, he pauses for a moment. Suddenly his eyes can’t seem to pick a spot he wants to look at on your face. You see something in him change, gears turning in his mind. Thinking of what he might say to you now. Hiding away his vulnerabilities. It makes your own mind begin to ponder.

“See something you like?” you ask him.

“I see you.”

Graves leaned in and kissed you another time, softly. Like you’d been lovers your whole lives. That’s when you realized how truly dangerous your commander could be; for a minute there, you started daydreaming about what tomorrow could bring you both. You wanted to fall for his pretty words. But then you remembered where you were, and who you were with.

This was a game. A mutual distraction. As things stand, thinking that this could be anything else beyond a good lay was purely a fantasy. You almost just lost yourself in it.

And so it goes.

"Your place or mine?”

Chapter Text

Two Months Later
…

Boundaries. You reminded yourself time and time again. Boundaries. The lifeline between you and your commander; the start of every meeting and the end of every unneeded feeling.

There would be no kissing outside of the bedroom, and PDA was strictly forbidden. You couldn’t make a habit of spending the night, and the pillow talk needed to be cut down by a good 50 notches, you reckoned. Beyond your needs in the bedroom, the bare minimum was expected. You two weren’t dating, you were fucking. He wasn’t your boyfriend, he was your commander. You weren’t meant to think about the future, nor did you two need to talk about it, because what you two were doing should have been temporary from the start.

This was just sex. And if it starts to feel like something else, something you can’t handle, then you need to end it. Otherwise, he'll do it for you. It's what you both agreed to. And at least with rules, you could still work as a team. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if the Commander of Shadow Company and his second in command were playing favoritism with each other on the battlefield. You still had jobs to do, and you wouldn’t forgive yourself if either of your careers were ruined because of this. Thus, the boundaries were needed, as was the secrecy. It suits you two just fine either way.

Boundaries were everything. Without them, this would have stopped after the third night, and with them, the sky was the limit. They were fun to push, and fun to fantasize about breaking. And yet, they were the root of all your current anxieties, and the shadow that loomed over you on your most recent nights. You feared what it would mean if these boundaries were to break.

A sharp, sensual gasp leaves your lips as you hug your arms around Graves’ bare torso. Your naked legs wrap around him like a sloth clinging to a tree, pulling the man deeper into you. It makes him bite your neck, just barely keeping in that sudden moan that wanted to surface. You always found it cute how much he tried to hide them.

You feel a hand snake up from your hip suddenly. It brushes over your skin like a cartographer mapping out every detail of you, stopping just at the base of your neck, where his fingers amply wrap around. He then squeezes roughly, catching your breath with his thumb. As the air hitches in your throat, it sends a rush through you; a wave of ecstasy striking like a match in your body, as soft moans begin bubbling involuntarily out of you.

Feeling how responsive you are to his touch brings him to lift his head from where he’d had it buried in the crook of your neck, his face now hovering inches above yours. Each time he moved against you his breath would shake, his grip tightening around your neck, while his other arm embraced you. And his stamina surely still stands the test of time, as it always seemed to. 

His body was so much warmer than yours too, his muscles flexing against you and tensing up with desire. It makes tears well up at the corners of your eyes, the sensations he released crashing out of you like storm-riddled waves, twisted and violent, finding your sweet spots with such ease. You saw yourself growing more addicted to his touch each time.

You cry out a proper moan now. It makes Graves’ nose brush against yours. “I love your moan," he says.

Love. It echoes in your head for a moment. He always used the word so casually.

“Come here,” you ordered, using your hand to push his head back down to yours. He did so without argument, proceeding to devour your mouth with his, leaving you with passionately sloppy kisses; drunk with lust.

It wasn’t often you had sex in the missionary position. It felt too intimate at times, seeing each other so exposed. Or at least that’s how it felt for you... every now and again. Graves never let slip where his mind was though. Not in a way that was easy to see. 

You feel Graves pull his mouth from yours again, keeping himself close enough for your lips to brush one another as you both pant, damn near out of breath. Low moans escape from him to you this close. He says with a shaky whisper, “I can't get enough of you, baby."

You do your best not to take his words to heart.

You take your hands and cup the sides of his face, tangling your fingers in his hair, and bringing a pause to Graves' talking. His eyes lock on yours, lost in his own thoughts just as you were, and you can't help but study them, curiously, wondering what you might find in his gaze. If the eyes were a window into the soul, then Graves' were rose-colored -- it was easy to get lost in all the pretty shades of red flags.

You've all but grown used to the routine you've created. At times your nights together were quick and unceremonious; a small way for the two of you to shed yourselves from your respective roles. Other times, it was long and greedy, starved for the touch of another human. Mostly your time together was transactional -- no matter how sweet Graves’ words could sound in your ear. He was having fun, and so were you.

You only wished he’d keep the sweet nothings to himself. Why say them if he didn't mean them anyway?

You’d only repeat his honeyed words to him, like a mirror, your promises just as empty. And he’d listen to you say them, taking some sort of joy from it, smiling like he wanted to believe you too. Perhaps he was merely a flirt, or maybe he derived enjoyment from pretending to mean his words. His empty flattery proved difficult to shut out, all the same.

His movements grow more rapid; you can tell he’s close. As a way to do your part in pleasing him, you moan more, wrapping yourself around him. That gets him good. You feel his body shake as he lets out a sharp moan, his weight crashing onto you. Out of breath. Finished. His heart racing against yours. Graves then rolls off from on top of you in a huff, as you both take a few seconds to yourselves.

The ceiling above your head was a cold, off-white, as the warm orange glow from the lamps at your bedposts kept away the creeping night. The hotel room you stayed at was shabby and cheap, the lint-littered covers you pulled over yourself smelling of old detergent. This room welcomed loneliness. It barely was a step up from either of your current living spaces back on base.

You watch the dust above your head glint in the lamplight. It stirred restlessly, quickly disappearing in the dim streams of light, each replaced by a new spec. A minuscule thing to concern yourself with, but one which made you feel incredibly small.

Your heart thumped in your ears, as you suddenly grew aware of the way your chest would rise and fall as you breathed. You kept waiting to hear Graves sit up and dress himself like he usually did afterward. Lately, it’s been quicker than not. You waited and waited, your eyes glued to the ceiling. Instead, you hear him sigh. Odd.

You tilt your head slightly, peeking over at your commander, whose eyes bounced around methodically above him, expression a mix between wistful and low. The lamplights outline the profile of his face like a low spotlight.

Something was wrong.

You don’t know what came over you -- some selfish, innocent impulse -- but you roll over and begin to comb your fingers through his hair, your nails gliding softly against the crown of his head, as you rest your chin on your other arm. He closes his eyes, and in a surprisingly intimate manner, nuzzles his head more into your hand. There you felt 48 hours of stress shed from his shoulders just from how he sighed to himself. It brings a giggle from you. “That bad, huh?”

Graves cracks a smile and finally looks at you. "Oh It was just the worst,” he says sarcastically.

In moments like these, you found it easy to imagine how things could be if either of you allowed yourselves to be vulnerable. Graves was kind when he wanted to be, and tender without having to be told. Once the uniforms were removed, the only part of the Shadows that remained in you two were the ones you both knew well enough to keep buried deep. He never pried, and neither did you. And each night spent together you watched him give himself to you completely, as you did the same for him. His full, undivided attention for a solid hour or two. Who knew how precious that could be?

Yet there was something behind his eyes you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Though you stew on it for a good minute first, you work up the courage to bring yourself to ask him.

“What are you thinking about?”

Graves pauses. It wasn’t often you two talked after you were finished. Not about anything that mattered. “Oh, you know,” he sighs. “Tomorrow.”

“Ah.” You needn’t be reminded.

The investigation.

Since the assassination of Ghorbrani, Laswell and General Shepherd have worked together to monitor rising tensions within the area; retaliation of some sort was to be expected after all. Recent intel suggests something troubling, however -- a sudden uptick in AQ activity.

They’re said to have been gathering at a few key locations, and may even be sitting on a stockpile of weapons. Who supplied this to them is currently unknown. Whatever the case may be, if your enemies are trading weapons, then they’re planning to use them. And it was your job to stop it. Thus, you and the rest of Shadow Company were providing aid on the mission.

General Shepherd deemed it necessary, given your history. Or so that’s how it looks on the surface. In reality, you knew the real reason why Shepherd wanted the Shadows on the job, and it wasn’t just because of your skills as a unit.

Operation Black Bag. A mission gone wrong, with stakes that could not afford such failure. The missiles being transferred that night had been meant for your allies fighting the Russians; yes it was off-the-books, but it had been to help; for all the good that brought. The whole mission was a disaster, your brothers executed in an ambush by rival contractors the Ultranationalists had hired. Once the dust had settled and the Shadows had been slain, there was no sight of the missiles, which were now loose in hostile territory. To say you shit the bed would be putting it lightly.

And now two weeks later, Al-Qatala are suddenly more armed than before and have started organizing something. That can’t be a coincidence.

"Any idea what they'll have us doing?" you ask.

"More than likely they'll split us up into smaller teams," he said. "Spread us around, have us look into different things all at once. Shepherd's not too keen on making this longer than it needs to be."

"Yet there’s something else.”

Graves didn’t reply.

He avoids your eyes, staring at the ceiling where the dust glides across the tiny light beams. And you can’t help but sympathize with his silence, even as it creates a storm of emotions in you. You could only imagine how he was feeling right now.

You’ve watched the world close in on Graves these past two weeks, its toll becoming more prevalent each passing day. Shadow Company was his investment, his life, his pride, and his joy. And soon he might lose everything. The fact that one botched mission could mean the end of all the grueling years he’s spent getting to where he is today nearly drove him to a dark place. That’s when he seemed to come to you the most lately.

If word got out about your secret operation, it wouldn’t be a good look for your company... Scratch that. It would be professional suicide.

This new assignment could be a chance to fix that mistake; a chance to find those missiles and take them out of circulation. If there is a connection between AQ and the stolen weapons, the best thing they can do right now is be ahead of things and take control of the situation. They do that, then they can bury their involvement and reap the benefits of a job well done. Everything was riding on these next few missions. 

"Phillip," you continue to comb through his hair, feeling him melt in your palm. This brings his eyes back to you. "I think we’ve reached a point where we can be honest with each other, no? If only a little. What's wrong?"

You hadn’t expected him to answer. You wouldn’t have held it against him if he didn’t want to either. You see him rack over a few thoughts though, before his mouth opens. "This is all just a real shitty situation," he started. "If I'd been more prepared for an ambush, or maybe just sent more men with them, then we wouldn't be in this fucking mess."

"You did all you could to make sure things went right," you say. "There was nothing more you could do."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't enough."

"Hey.” You rest your hand on his arm, lightly squeezing reassuringly, as your thumb rubs soft circles on his skin. For a moment you wanted to stop playing around, no longer caring if it made you appear more invested than you should be. “Don't think like that," you continue. "We have a chance to fix this, and I'm right here with you, every step of the way, yeah? I'll make sure we get through this."

He sighs again and reaches over to grab hold of your hand, his fingers curling between your own. He brings your hand close enough to where he can plant delicate kisses against your wrist, feeling his breath tickle your sensitive skin. "You're a sweetheart, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat at his compliment.

You crawl over and rest your head on your commander’s chest, wrapping yourself around him like a weighted blanket. His arms wrapped back over you, beginning to trace little lines in your back, the room growing comfortably silent. Eventually, his heartbeat steadied. Over time his body relaxed, his breathing softly growing even. He may have fallen asleep, but you couldn’t be sure. You only focused on the sensation of the man beneath you, experiencing every second you could with him.

Your tired eyes kept looking at that off-white wall. You didn't want the night to end. Maybe Graves felt that way as well. He hasn't left yet either. You wanted to ask, and yet you didn’t want to know. You only take what you can from this. Perhaps this could be enough  -- no defined lines, no clear destination… no true feelings explicitly declared. You let your bodies speak for you, and let his words lull you into a comfy state of delusion, just as much as your own words did to him.

You didn’t want to ask him how he felt. You didn’t want his answer to ruin things. Nothing you two said or did needs to mean anything. If it did, then consider yourselves lucky to have had that. Tomorrow's mission is what matters most now.

What you currently have going is enough. 

You wanted it to be enough.

Chapter Text

Waking up the next morning to an empty bed was the reality check you didn’t know you needed. 

Your eyes slowly opened to a dark room, sunlight from the early morning just barely peeking through the thick, hotel curtains. The first thing your hands touched beside you were the cold sheets, and instantly you knew Graves had left.

You admit, it stung a little.

Who's to say when it was when he'd gone; guessing from how you were sprawled on the bed it must have been over an hour ago. Typical.

It wasn’t unusual for this to happen; it was a part of the rules after all. The unusual thing had been him staying the night to begin with. He’s surely corrected this lapse in formality by skipping out without waking you. A conscious decision. Well-played too.

Knowing him, he probably just figured you could use the extra sleep, seeing you’re as busy as he is these days. You’re just glad he left when he did though. Had you woke up and he’d still been in this bed with you, you might have just messed things up for the both of you and caught something.

This is why you don’t daydream much about him anymore. The reality is far more unsatisfying. So rather than sit and stew on all the idle fantasies you’d cooked in your head from last night, you do the next best thing you can do.

You move on.

The hours spent between leaving the hotel and preparing for work passed by in a monotonous blurb, as you spend the entire day anxiously awaiting your next mission. It was an antsy feeling you had, the kind when you have a project due at the end of the day and it’s the morning of. Though you were glad to have something else to think about again; being busy was the best cure to unwanted feelings.

In a few creeping hours, you robotically go through your responsibilities for the day, before everything eventually leads you to the prologue of your assignment -- the briefing.

The briefing room was prepped and dimly lit, as you and a few others in Shadow Company sat about at one of the long tables in the room. Graves stood at the front end, his attention focused on preparing himself to give today’s briefing.

With nothing but a short few minutes to burn, you aimlessly watch the clock tick on the wall, lightly drumming a beat into the table with the palms of your hands. There’s idle chatter from the other Shadows in your left ear, as uninterested to include you as you were to join. You sway your head daintily, humming a tune. Getting your mind right. Readying yourself for new faces. 

Just then, your attention was pulled by the sound of someone opening the briefing room door. What you did not expect to see was the large figure of a man who suddenly came into view. His silhouette loomed in the doorway like a great abyss, merely peaking in. Observing. Your eyes travel up to take a better look at his face, only you don’t find a face at all, but a skull mask, and dark, tired eyes which fell dead on yours.

His gaze bore into you like a sharp blade, slicing clean through. It takes your breath away. 

You lose yourself there for a second, until a familiar voice begins speaking in the background.

“Ghost!” Graves looks to the lieutenant and smiles, opening his arms out in a welcoming manner.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost’s eyes linger on you still, his gaze now settling into something more discontented. Almost like he was unimpressed. He finally looks over at the commander, instantly dissociating. “Graves.”

"I was just thinking it's been too long since we last worked together," Graves said. His voice was as cool and calculated as it often was. “I hope you don’t mind the company, Lieutenant."

“Not at all.” Ghost made his way into the room like a looming giant, casting shadows as he passed by. He took a seat at one of the tables near the other end of the room, chairs lengths apart from the rest of you. “Has anyone else been by?”

“Nope,” you join in. "You’re the early one."

His eyes drop to yours again. He doesn’t speak. 

You couldn’t tell if he was merely acknowledging your presence or somehow disgusted with you suddenly talking. To be frank, it starts to urk you.

Why is he staring? Did he have something to say? Immediately your mind began running through multiple motives. You start getting flashbacks from basic training again; how the men would stare at you like you didn’t belong, hoping to scare you out of the field. Of course their stares only pushed you harder. The memories light a sudden fire in you, that sparks in your eyes clear enough for the lieutenant to see.

You never did like when people stared at you. 

So you stare back, expression just as unbothered as his. You lean forward on the table with your elbows, resting your chin in your hand as you reciprocate his complacent gaze, making it a point that you saw him too.

He didn't care though, he only kept staring. Two could play this game, and right now you and Ghost were unknowingly having a very silent, and very awkward staring contest.

Ghost. So this was him. You had to admit, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. You’ve heard others in Shadow Company talk about him like he were the Grim Reaper -- which makes sense now, given the skull mask. The man was practically a walking legend, and even now you can see it. He was big, he was stoic, and he had an aura around him that screamed he could kill you in 50 different ways and make it look like an accident. 

He also had a staring problem.

What’s this guy's deal anyway? You've met your fair share of men who lacked social cues or awareness, but this guy’s tactlessness takes the cake for sure. He was shameless. A bizarre one to be certain, and stubborn as all hell too, because he just won’t look away. But you won’t either, the whole ordeal challenging you at this point. It had even grown entertaining. You can't help but let out a teasing smile, your expression warming.

"Don't blink," you joke. "Or I win."

You don’t see Ghost’s lips move -- not with the mask and everything -- but you certainly hear his gruff voice speak.

"Duly noted."

That brings a little smile out of you. It almost makes you giggle. The longer you stare at each other, the funnier it seems that you two were doing this. A refreshing interaction to have with someone new, beyond its strange nature. Or maybe you were just getting carried away again. 

Thirty seconds pass by. 

Then another thirty seconds. 

It might have been two minutes now. 

Ghost broke your train of thought when he spoke again. His voice was so deep it boomed in this small room like a bass boosted speaker in your ears. Though his words would only be heard by the subject he’d directed them to.

“You’re a barmy one, aren't you.”

Barmy? Barmy? The guy sitting in the corner in a homemade mask is calling you "barmy". You couldn't believe this. It was both the most British thing you'd ever heard, as well as being incredibly ironic. Though something told you he’d just said the first thing that came to mind at that moment. 

Apparently you're barmy.

Before you can come up with a witty remark, the briefing room door opens again. 

This time, a stockier man walks in. You can't help but immediately notice the small Mohawk he had going. A walking haircut disaster on anyone else, though he wears it surprisingly well. He practically barges into the room, taking in the sight of everyone inside. The whole atmosphere shifts with his arrival, becoming something more… casual.

He stops on you for a moment -- seeing you're the only one he hasn't met yet -- before looking back at Ghost and grinning. "Looks like I found the party." His Scottish accent was very attention grabbing.

You wondered if you'd been staring too long, because the man meets your gaze again, though unlike Ghost -- who's looks could turn you to brittle stone -- this man's eyes were far more warm and inviting to look into. Less battle torn, but not inexperienced either. A really pretty shade of blue too. You’d happily keep looking at those if you could. But his eyes turn over to Graves instead. 

"We're finally working a mission together," he nods to the Commander, as you watch the Scott take a seat a chair or so away from you, just in-between you and Ghost. "It'll be good having the company."

"Likewise," Graves nods back. “I’m sure my men are just as eager to be in the fight this time around.”

"I see they're not all men.” He gave you a half smile -- a pure observation. And with his comment, all eyes from the other soldiers now fell on you. 

"We don't discriminate in Shadow Company," Graves said. "If we did, I wouldn't have found such a great second in command."

"Damn straight," you say, not able to help but smile at the compliment. You knew Graves meant it.

"But I almost forgot," Graves continued. "This is my Lieutenant, Songbi-"

"Canary," you cut in, giving Graves a playful glare. "My callsign is Canary. The Commander just gets a little overzealous with the nicknames."

“Apologies,” Graves chuckled. “Been callin’ her that for so long I almost forgot.” 

It’s true. He’d coined that pet name early on into your recruitment. “Everytime I hear you, you’re like my little songbird,” he’d said. It stuck after that. And you let it.

Though his slip-up warms you, you keep it on the down low, not wanting the others to notice anything between you two. This was 141 after all, the men on the outs who you'll have to keep a close eye on for the time being.

"Canary," the Scottish man says to himself. "A pretty name for a pretty lady."

That piques your wolfish curiosity. For a moment you thought the Sergeant might have been flirting with you. Or maybe you're just not used to hearing kind words from the other soldiers without it having an innuendo. Rather ballsy either way, seeing as the two of you were practically surrounded by your superiors. Though you could respect the bravery, or rather his lack of social assessment. You felt a bit ballsy yourself in fact.

"Well aren't you a gentleman," you coo back. "And who might you be?"

"They call me Soap."

"Soap?" You smile quizzically. "Cute."

"It's easy to remember," Soap grins.

"I’ll be sure not to forget it then."

"Alright," Graves voice cuts in between you two. You nearly forgot he was there. Beneath the undertones of his authoritative tone, he almost sounded a bit testy. “I think we’re good to begin today’s briefing, yeah?”

“Rog’, Commander,” Ghost speaks for everyone.

You and Soap share a smile with each other again, something warm, friendly. Recognition for the interaction.

The 141 boys are quite the group of characters indeed. You looked forward to working with them. Though it would be wise to keep your distance until after the mission’s over. Who’s to say how long this will last. 

Still it was nice to feel human from time to time, and for words to mean what they mean for a change. You’d forgotten what that was like.

"OK." Graves speaks to the room. He shuts the lights off and powers up a projector screen, as he goes over slides containing your battle plans. 

"Now, as you've heard, there's been a recent uptick in AQ activity," he said. "We've reason to believe they may be smuggling weapons at a disclosed location. However, thanks to the intel our boys in the 141 found on their last op, Laswell was able to uncover two primary locations believed to be posing as some sort of HQ or smuggling site for 'em. There's a team investigating Location Alpha as we speak, which leads us into our objective."

Graves presses on with the slideshow, running by satellite pictures of a compound tucked away in the woods. "Location Bravo looks to be a military compound bordering Turkey. Our target is this.” The Commander points to a large building within the compound. "Site Delta. We've picked up heavy power surges in the area and it sees the highest amount of AQ traffic, giving us reason to believe they've got their hands not only on weapons, but tech as well. Tech we can use.

"Now our mission's simple. We infiltrate Site Delta and extract any intel we can on who's smuggling weapons to AQ, or even just who's at the top of this new uptick. We'll split into two teams: Team Yankee and Team Zulu."

Graves presses next on the slideshow, and you see the teams already listed above. You stare anxiously once you see where you're placed. Oh brother.

"Team Yankee will consist of myself, Soap, and a few of my men. We'll create a distraction near the front of the compound to divert AQ's attention. Once that pops off, Team Zulu, Canary and Ghost, will infiltrate the base from the east entrance and enter into the site. From there you’re to gather any and everything we can use to stop whatever they're cooking up before it makes it to the god damn oven."

"We got permission to go in guns blazing, sir?" One Shadow asks.

"Negative," says Graves. "We do NOT have jurisdiction here. In fact, General Shepherd has explicitly instructed that this be a covert operation. No witnesses, no fuck ups. We get in and we get out. Understood?"

Collectively, you all say. "Yes sir."

Graves smiles. "That's what I like to hear. Now if there's no questions, let's get ourselves fully stocked and loaded. We'll meet at the hangar at 22:00. Dismissed."

You remain in your seat for a moment, watching the others prepare to leave the room. Really, you were still digesting the briefing. 

You and Ghost. That was a hard picture to imagine. You'd been hoping to work on this one with Graves, seeing he was your commander and the person you were closest with here. It'll definitely be a new change.

You look back over at the lieutenant, who hasn't left his little corner yet either. He quickly notices you.

You smile. "Looks like we're going to be battle buddies."

"Seems that way," he said. He doesn't sound too excited. For some reason, his lack of interest only pushes you to try harder. If you two were about to be a team, you may as well try and get along with each other. Regardless of your true motives.

"Don't worry," you wink. "I'll keep you safe out there, lieutenant"

Ghost sighs heavily. You can see in his eyes how done he is with the conversation. You watch him stand with an unbridled exhale and head towards the exit. Once he leaves, you look across the room, noticing Graves breaking down all his briefing material. You two were the only ones left around. 

"Tough crowd," you joke.

"He warms up after a while," said Graves.

He has to be bullshitting. That man didn't seem warm to anyone. 

"How long did it take for you?"

"I'll have to get back to you on that one, Songbird."

Your point stands.

Graves closes his laptop and sighs to himself. The man’s got a laundry list of things to think about at the moment, and whether or not he wanted it, you were one of those thoughts. He makes it look so natural, but you could tell he was lingering in the room a little longer than he needed to. You were too.

Naturally, he begins speaking.  

“Odds are if this mission goes well, Shepherd’ll assign you with 141 for the rest of this.”

You take a second to register that.

“What? You mean I won’t be with you guys on this one?”

“You will, just not side-by-side. Not to start.” Graves walks around the table now so that he can stand a few feet away from you. While he kept his distance, you could tell he was trying to be genuine when he spoke. “It’s just to cover our bases; make sure we have a man on the inside in case they give us any reason to terminate this little arrangement. Wouldn’t want them poking around where they don’t need to be. You know how it goes.”

That you do. Graves often had you doing the groundwork when it came to anything covert or reconnescience related -- anything he was too busy to take part of himself -- which in this case would probably be both. Of course you didn’t mind being the workhorse for Shadow Company. You were proud of the talents you brought to your team, and thus any chance you had to play, you did so eagerly. Deep down you knew that’s what Graves really liked about you too.

Yet, despite how much you enjoyed your craft, you didn’t enjoy having to play against your own allies. It felt a bit off.

Graves only continued to speak. His mind's been set on this for days now. “The way I see it, we keep ‘em in the dark, then we won’t have to bury ‘em later. Everyone wins. And on the flip, if you get wind that they’re doing a little too much, you tell me and we take care of things as we always do.”

There was something considerably cold about his words, even as he attempted to reassure you. A very matter-of-fact way to look at this, given the complexities. It was callous even. Graves always could cut his feelings off when he needed to, that much was clear from this morning. It's the biggest reason why you don't want to get too close. 

Sometimes you wished you saw the world as plainly as he did. It seemed so much more simple.

You let your eyes drop from his, and perhaps that gave away too much of your feelings. Graves took a few steps closer to you and lowered his guard. He felt the need to. After all, he's always playing. Always doing what feels necessary. Just like any other job, only that job was now you. It left you feeling incredibly vulnerable suddenly. 

You take a small step back, letting him know you'd like your space for now. He respects this, though you know your actions did not go unnoticed.

"This is nothing new, Songbird," he said. "The only difference here is where the target is this time."

“Should I play nice then?”

“Make friends. Keep them comfortable,” he said. “They’re with us now, but it’s on a short leash. The less they know about what’s really going on, the better."

"Any advice?"

"Kill 'em with kindness,” he smiled. “That's your specialty, after all."

"True enough," you say. "It worked on you."

You manage to make Graves stop and think there for a second. Your comment clearly caught him off guard, and he wasn’t quite sure how to react to it yet. You hadn’t meant for it to sound so… passive aggressive either. But if it did, perhaps his reaction was more telling than your words.

He runs a thousand sentences through his mind before speaking again.

"Just remember why we're doing this. That should make things easier."

Except it didn’t. Easy would be just being assigned to the mission, without the ulterior motive of having to keep an eye on your fuck up.

Here’s hoping that what you and Ghost pull from their terminals isn’t the receipts to your missing missiles. Missiles he and the rest of the Task Force weren’t even aware were missing. You’ll have to be on your best behavior. And while you were aware of the more charming parts to your personality, you weren’t exactly a politician.

Things would certainly be arduous. 

"I'll try and not let you down then."

“You’ll do great, darlin’,” he said.

Hmm, you'll believe that when you see it. Maybe once this is over, you'll go back to doing what you've been doing with your commander, but until then you knew the game between you had to come to a short pause.

You simply half smile at the man's words and gesture towards the door.

"Let's get this over with shall we."

Chapter Text

The treeline disappears into the dark horizon, its foreground blending seamlessly with the star-painted sky. The sound of the helo's propellers whip violently above ground, as a sea of black trees stretch below. It speeds by like an ocean of dark wood and dirt. Endless. The moon looks larger this far into the East, even halved; uncharacteristically beautiful, given current events.

Helicopters rumble like dragons in the quiet air. Your helo tore through the night sky, roaring along with the twisting winds. You sit inside, strapped in with the other six men on this mission with you. Each sat silently, dressed completely in dark greys and blacks, clutching their rifles close to their chest.

A red bulb illuminates the interior. Reality feels far gone with its presence.

Your eyes jump back and forth between your boots and the metal ceiling above you, tapping your finger on your knee impatiently. The way the seats were arranged, you were sandwiched between two men, while three more sat adjacent to you. And as luck would have it, your new "battle buddy" sat directly in front of you, with legs so long they nearly met yours. Every time your eyes pass by, you’d see him looking straight in your direction. Whether that was because he had limited options to look somewhere else, or was merely choosing to look at you, was a question for the ages. 

At this point, you’ve just grown used to it.

"Approaching the LZ in five."

Right. You take a deep breath and straighten up in your seat. In a few short minutes you needed to flip the switch and go into survival mode, as things would soon become a matter of life or death. Your new charge for the next couple of hours. You were happy with only having to worry about not dying. It was surprisingly less stressful than having to think about everything else.

“Alright, we’re gettin’ close now,” Graves speaks to the group. He’d been notably quiet the entire flight. “Team Zulu, you’re out first. Once you offload, find a spot near the target location and sit tight ‘til you’ve got the signal from us to infiltrate the compound. You shouldn’t face any resistance on your route there, but if you do run into trouble, do what you must. Just leave no witnesses. That clear?”

“Clear,” Ghost says.

“Crystal, Commander,” you say.

“I’ll buy us all drinks once this is over,” Graves says. “Now, let’s get this done, yeah?”

You all let out an affirming cheer.

The helicopter sways left and right, pushing everyone deeper into their seats. You start to whistle a tune to yourself. A little song. You found it therapeutic to think of music before a mission; it helps you to focus your mind. You made sure not to be obnoxiously loud, using the rumble of the helo to mostly cover it. Concentrating on the rhythm of your jingle. Despite the noise, it seemed those next to you could still pick out the melody.

"What song is that?" Soap asked you suddenly. You'd almost forgot he was seated beside you, were it not for the fact you'd feel his large frame brush against you each time the helo took a sharp turn. Unintentionally bumping arms and thighs. Each time he did, you felt him awkwardly readjust himself, deliberately pretending that it hadn't happened. It was rather adorable. 

You turn to answer him, raising your voice over the loud roaring.

"It’s The Smiths."

"The what?" he asks again. 

You yell louder. "The Smiths!"

"The Smiths?"

"Yeah," you say. "Have you heard of them?"

"No."

"Really?" You sound pleasantly surprised. "I'll have to show you them after this."

Soap lifts a fist up for you to dap. "Deal."

You smile and dap him back.

You liked Soap, so far at least. He seemed to be the only man here open to conversing, besides Graves. Though even your commander didn’t talk much once the missions were underway. Not as much as Soap did. He seemed down for a good conversation regardless of the occasion, and that’s something you could see you had a lot in common. Thanked God you weren’t alone anymore.

Good thing the lights in here were red too. You didn't have an answer if any of them asked you why you'd started blushing after the Sergeant smiled at you. Though that hint of red left your cheeks when you’d caught Graves looking. 

The commander seemed less than interested in your conversation with the Task Force member, hiding it behind an empty expression. Though his eyes told on him. You give the man a reassuring smile, which only seems to make him look away, before you look down at your own lap.

Why did it feel weird all of a sudden to see him looking?

Soap suddenly looks to his lieutenant, who'd been silently listening in on your conversation from across the helo. He looks to the Sergeant with sunken eyes, already prepping for whatever it was the man had to say. 

"You ever heard of the Smiths, L.T.?"

"Who hasn't."

You can't help but gasp. "I'm surprised you listen to music, Ghost."

"I enjoy a good tune from time to time," he said plainly.

This was news. Yet, at the same time you could see it.

Did he seem like someone who'd derive enjoyment from the more peaceful things life had to offer? Something told you he'd probably fancy something simple like window shopping, or day napping. Something in total contrast to his frightening nature. The mind wanders.

"Any songs in particular?"

"Quite a few."

"Like?"

"A lot."

Smartass. You could be too.

"I've never heard of them before," you say sarcastically. “Are they new?”

"A real up and comer," he says back, his sarcasm dry and deadpan.

"Fine, be that way," you say. "I'll get it out of you some day."

"Don't hold your breath."

"Don't tempt me, lieutenant."

Oh he knew how to push your buttons. He talked in circles, keeping you on the outs purposefully. Blatantly. It made it hard to get a read on him. Though you had plenty of time to work on things. You were a patient girl, and the man was like a big, beautiful jigsaw puzzle.

You suddenly hear whistling next to you. A familiar song. You look over and to your amusement, you see Soap has started to whistle himself now. You can't help but feel a girlish excitement bubble in you from the thought of him joining in.

You take a guess.

"Pink Floyd?"

Soap stops and grins. "Right you are."

You grin proudly.

"Now you see why I call her Songbird," Graves cuts in. You look at him to see a warm look in his eyes. Uncharacteristic, but welcome, all the same. A smile that you always loved to see on him. No matter the interactions, there wasn't a moment you weren’t aware of his presence. You reciprocate the smile.

"Approaching the LZ.”

The helicopter lands in a small open patch within the middle of the woods, the grass swishing wildly against the wind of the propellers. The doors to the helo are let down, providing a ramp to the outside world. You see the trees surrounding you like soaring black walls. An unsettling feeling washes over you.

“Alright Team Zulu, you’re up!” Graves calls.

You stand, hugging your rifle to your chest as you make your way down the short aisle, Ghost following close behind. As you make your way off, you hear Graves call to the lieutenant suddenly.

“Keep her safe for me, will you?”

His words turn your attention back to him. Perhaps too obvious of a gesture, though when you look you find him already gazing your way, expression weighted with genuine solicitude. You haven’t seen that look before, yet deep down you shared it. That similar pang in each other’s stomachs. Uncertainty.

Ghost answers Graves, gruffly; you're not sure if he’s picked up on the undertones or if he’s simply just answering a question he’d been asked by his superior.

“She’s in good hands, Commander.”

Hearing Ghost say so was more comforting than you would have thought. Still, It felt strange not working alongside Graves.

“I’m a big girl, Commander,” you say to him. “There's nothing you need to worry about. Plus, you’ve got me all excited for those drinks later.”

“The offer still stands, Songbird.”

You give the commander a parting wave and step off the helo.

You two tread the tall grass, the wind from the propellers blowing loose bits from your bunned hair out in a swirl. Once Ghost steps off next to you, you switch on your night vision goggles. That green tint hits your vision, and you’re made well aware of the deep woods which stretch around you. The tall trees box you in like an empty room. You feel the helicopter pick itself up from the ground, riding away until it could no longer be heard. Its roaring noises were replaced by a heavy silence -- wind needling through the branches, owls hoo -- the natural ambience is restored.

This is where your mission truly begins.

“Let’s move.” Ghost signaled for you to follow him, as you traversed deeper into the woods. 

Without your night vision, it would be pitch black. Though even with them, the darkness of the woods still felt rather intimidating, to say the least. Neither one of you spoke a word, listening for whatever sounds you could hear on your route to the facility. So far the woods appeared empty, though that did little to comfort you. You kept your rifle tight in your hands, finger hovering over the trigger. Your breathing was tight and focused, your eyes wired on your surroundings. Even without any shooting, the adrenaline you felt right now was like nothing you could really describe or feel anywhere else.

You walked further in now. The destination didn’t seem any closer than it did three minutes ago, though right now the passage of time felt all but imaginary. You watch Ghost lead you forward, taking long steps so quiet that you’re sure you’d lose him out here if you didn’t keep him in your sights. The man really was a Ghost. He never looks back at you either, keeping his eyes forward, and gun ready to fire if needed. 

He was in his zone; there’d be no breaking him from that.

Not until he breaks it himself.

“Watch for cougars,” Ghost warned casually. The first thing he’s said to you since you’ve started walking. A wonderful new thing you needed to think about while you were out here. “They’re known to stalk," he says.

You say so sarcastically, “Thanks for the tip."

“It’s what I’m here for,” Ghost quipped.

“Oh,” you tease. "I thought they only had you out here for eye candy.”

"In this case it’s both.”

It’s the fact that he says the things with such a lack of expression that really speaks to you.

The trees begin to part way, until you two approach a tall cliffside overlooking a few more miles of woods. Centered in the middle was a large compound, completely fenced with three separate gates. The lights from the buildings below shine like a beacon in the dark. Once near the edge, you both use the scopes on your rifles to take a closer look at what you’re dealing with on the ground level.

Two guards watch the East gate into the compound. No patrols, no heavy vehicles. Scarce amounts of men walk the perimeter, though the few that do are well armed. Those closer to the buildings don’t linger, either quickly exiting or entering the buildings. Eventually your scope stops on a one story building towards the center of the compound. Composed with concrete, it has all sorts of wires and power boxes littering the walls, including a small satellite dish stuck out atop the roof.

“I’ve got eyes on Site Delta,” you say to Ghost.

Ghost keeps his eyes on the compound, reaching for his comms. “Shadow-1 this is Ghost. How copy?”

“This is Shadow-1, I read you,” Graves says over the mics.

“We’ve reached the East end of the compound, we're standing by on a nearby cliffside. Got a pretty good view of the place.”

“How’s it looking?” the commander asks.

“They’re down to a skeleton crew,” the lieutenant answers. “Any more men are inside the buildings.”

“Copy that, L.T. We’re about four clicks from our dropoff area. Stand-by for now ‘til we give word for you to move in. Expect a signal in fifteen minutes sharp.”

“The signal better be loud,” you joke into the mic. You couldn’t help it.

“You know how I like it, Songbird.”

You most certainly did.

“Rog’,” the lieutenant cuts in. “Out here.”

The comms shut off, and the silence is brought to the forefront once more. The two of you take post on the ridge of the cliffside, lying beside a long rock which made for good cover. Ghost took position next to you, though he kept a notable amount of space between you two. Both your rifles rest on the rock, continuing to keep watch on the compound below.

You observed the compound curiously, taking multiple mental notes. The longer you watch the place, the more you start to think there might not be anything down there. Too few guards. Even this late at night.  Unless they were really good at keeping a low profile, it just didn’t make sense to have so little men guarding the place if they had anything worth a damn in there. 

“What do you think we’ll find down there?” you ask.

Ghost takes a second to respond. “Intel.”

You’re not sure what you expected.

"Intel on what though."

"That's what we're here to find out," he said bluntly. "Have you forgotten the briefing already?"

At this point he was being this way on purpose. You don't reply. Only for a second. Before another question pulls out of you. It’s a dumb question, but you’ve got time to burn, and you found the lieutenant fun to poke at.

“You think we’re alone out here?” 

“Do you always ask so many questions?”

“Do you always not answer them?”

“Only yours.”

“So that one you answer.”

“You catch on quick.”

You pout to yourself, thankful that he was too busy looking through his scope to see you acting rather childishly. It's become instinctive. 

Sometimes it felt all you could be was playful and teasing. You've seen the power in playing the flirt. In that role, there's control. Any other and you risked being walked all over, taken advantage of, or simply ignored. You wouldn’t be here if you were meek, and no one recognized you outside of your delicately crafted façade. Playing the extravert meant others grew used to you this way. 

And when people get comfortable, they make mistakes. Pieces slip out. 

SNAP!

A twig somewhere a few yards into the surrounding woods breaks. You and Ghost both instinctively turn to the source of the sound, aiming your rifles. Neither speak, becoming one with your environment, as you both listen closely. Leaves blow in the wind, distant sounds from the compound behind you continue. The seconds creep by and not another sound is heard.

“We may have found an answer to one of your questions, lieutenant,” Ghost said suddenly.

“Let’s hope it’s not a cougar,” you say.

“Agreed.”

Some levity returned between you. You lower your rifle, turning your attention back to the compound once you’ve deducted that nothing is coming. You don’t look, but you hear Ghost do the same, listening to his rifle settle against the cold rock, as he sighs to himself.

It isn't until you take a glance up when you notice the sky once more. You’re taken away by it. From the cliffside, the stars shine at their brightest, visible without all the tall tree branches obstructing your view. The tiny white specks above you shine like spilt glitter. The air is cool this high above, clear, sifting through your lungs as smooth as a cold glass of water.

You look above yourself in awe. Who’s to say when you’ll see something like this again.

“It’s quite beautiful out tonight,” you say.

“Good for a walk.”

"Mm," you sigh. “You like going on walks, lieutenant?”

Ghost is quiet. 

Maybe you do ask a lot of questions. Embarrassment washes over you suddenly, and you let your mind run for a second, as you let the first thought that surfaces leave your mouth. “I'm sorry.”

More seconds of silence pass, and you’re prepared to brush this under the rug. But then you hear Ghost speak.

“Walks can be nice. On occasion.”

You’re not sure why he replied to you. Maybe he felt bad. But he did answer your question this time. You look over to him, seeing his profile, white mask glinting in the moonlight. He’s as still as a statue and as cold as winter, but you knew if you spoke now he was indeed listening.

That was a good sign.

“Canary, this is Shadow-1, do you copy?”

Right on cue.

“Shadow-1, this is Canary. I read you.”

“We’ve landed at the LZ. Preparing to launch the signal. Be ready.”

“Copy that.”

You two look through your scopes back down at the compound, waiting for this supposed signal. They’d only said it would be a distraction in the briefing room, though you were reluctant to see what that distraction would be.

"Time to prove your worth."

Ghost's voice came out of nowhere. You look over to him, seeing the man continuing to keep his eyes forward, acting like he hadn't just said that to you. You make sure to scoff loud enough for him to hear.

"Try and keep up, lieutenant."

"Should be easy enough."

This guy.

"You don't like me much, do you Ghost?"

"I don't dislike you."

So he was feeling your banter. You can't help but smirk to yourself, when you’re eyes are suddenly pulled away by a distant flash.

BOOM!

Right then, you see a small explosion near the front of the compound.

The signal.

Chapter Text

Moments Earlier
...

“I’m a big girl, Commander,” you say to him. “There's nothing you need to worry about. Plus, you’ve got me all excited for those drinks later.”

Graves watches you wave to him from outside the helo, smiling as you often did. He looks to you until the helo doors close shut, and that heavy motion of the aircraft lifts him back into the air. Everything is red again, and the metal walls rumble. The thought of you lingered.

“Do you think those two’ll get along?”

Soap’s voice pulls Graves' focus back over to the Sergeant. The 141 soldier sat adjacent to him -- beside the other members of Shadow Company.

He had that placid look on his face again, as if this were a road trip. If Graves didn’t know the man, he’d almost mistake Soap for a rookie, with his whole star-eyed look and happy-go-lucky attitude. A part of him wondered if it was an act; though, it couldn’t be. The man was merely a chatty sort, just personable with those he worked with. And it’s not to say Graves doesn’t like the man. Soap seemed like a good guy, but good men make for righteous enemies in times of moral ambiguity.

“That woman could make friends with the devil himself, if they ever met,” Graves says.

Soap chuckles. “You two seem close.”

Oh? Graves thought to himself. That raises an eyebrow. 

Well shit, it seems Soap wasn’t as dense as he'd thought. One look and the commander could tell Soap’s comment had no real merit to it. Comments like that could be dangerous however, so Graves acts accordingly. Amiable.

“Songbird’s one of my best,” he tells him.

There was no point in hiding that he was close with you; he’ll gladly set that straight too. It wasn’t like he had to go into detail about your… intimate activities. Knowing when to tell the truth and when to lie was a valuable skill to have in this field, and he’s learned the hard way enough times to know that surface level truths make for the best cover.

Anything more is need-to-know.

“She’s been with the company for a while now,” Graves continues. “I wouldn’t trade her for anyone.”

“I like her,” Soap admits. “She seems like a good person.”

Graves can’t help but chuckle at that. The way you interacted with 141 earlier, it was as though you’ve been acquainted with them for years now. He had told you before the mission that killing with kindness was your specialty, though seeing your work firsthand now was rather impressive. Your charms surely were a foe to be reckoned with. He had to admit it. 

And you thought Graves was the chameleon; indeed, it takes one to know one.

'It worked on you.'

You had said that to him earlier. Is that what this is? He hadn’t quite known what to say when he first heard it. Frankly, he doesn’t know now why he keeps thinking about it, why it seems to matter.

“Yeah,” his voice trails. “She's somethin’ alright.”

…

Graves set the last of the C-4 onto the side of one of the trees. Once the bomb was secure, he regrouped with Soap, who’d just placed a few in the area as well. The rest of Shadow Company kept watch in the treelines, making sure things don’t pop off too early. With luck, the noise here will create enough commotion for you and Ghost to slip in unnoticed.

If not though, well, he had plenty more C-4, and these woods were plenty large.

Graves turned to Soap, checking with him a final time before turning on his comms.

“Canary, this is Shadow-1 do you copy?”

“Shadow-1, this Canary. I read you.”

Hearing your voice never failed to relieve him.

“We’ve landed at the LZ. Preparing to launch the signal. Be ready.”

“Copy that.”

Graves signals for the group to head back deeper into the woods, so not to get caught in the blast. They take cover within the trees, using the night to their advantage. With the detonator gripped firmly in his hand, the commander speaks to the group.

“Alright boys, let’s get this done,” he says. “Detonating in three, two, one…”

The explosion was quick and sharp, spanning a few yards and knocking down a few trees. A small fire began to stoke, nothing that would pose a threat to the larger parts of the woods, but certainly noticeable in the pitch black. 

The sound of panicking AQ forces erupted in the distance. Just as planned.

“OK, time to hustle,” Graves ordered. “Let’s move out!”

The flames grew in the treeline, embers cracking into the sky like the neighboring stars, as the smell of burning wood began to cloud the air.

So ends the easy part of the mission.

…

A bomb.

The signal was a bomb. Figures.

“Well you wanted it loud,” Ghost said.

Indeed you did say that. Though, something tells you Graves would have done that regardless as to whether or not you asked for it. “Leave it to the commander to make a show out of things,” you comment.

“Time to move. Songbird, on me.”

Canary. You correct him in your head. You'd need to talk to Graves about it later; you didn’t need 141 calling you his pet names now.

You make your way to the edge of the cliffside, as you both equip your harnesses and prepare to scale down. Once the rope was secure, you take the plunge off the ledge, and let gravity do its work. The moon bobs above your head as you glide down, looming over you like a giant's eye.

Trained hands hold onto the rope, legs kicking off the rigid rock of the cliffside. The journey to the surface is mostly done in silence, both you and Ghost no longer thinking of anything other than the task at hand. You move robotically, on the same page with one another without having to say a word. 

When you’ve reached the bottom, you both take cover in the nearby bushes, just a few yards away from the east entrance. This close, you see two guards still posted by the gate, shifting about nervously as they watch their comrades run about the compound, shouting orders and trying to assess the situation.

A gruff grumble comes from your right. Ghost mumbles to himself, thinking out loud. “If we kill ‘em it’ll tip off the others, even if we hide the bodies.”

“Why not sneak in then?”

Ghost looks over to you. “I’m up for that.”

“I thought you’d be,” you say. “Any suggestions?”

“Let’s not overcomplicate this.”

Ghost ducks down and grabs a nearby rock. Immediately you knew where he was going with this. You two get low and weave through the trees and bushes, getting as close to the east gate as you could while being concealed. 

The walls around the compound were tall; well set-up, but nowhere near as secure as an ordinary base. Once the guards were distracted, you'd need to round the corner as soon as you walked through the gate. Ghost lifts the rock high above his head and chucks it across the way. The rock goes high enough above the guards heads to not be seen by them, as it collides against the wall to the right of them.

The moment they take their eyes away, Ghost and you rush through the gate, staying to the edge of the walls as you curve and make your way inside the compound. 

The whole time you moved, you knowingly observed the lieutenant, seeing how he worked. The man moved like a predator, all his movements premeditated down to the last step. He was fast too. Thoughts stayed in his mind for a matter of seconds before he's found a way to implement them into action, almost always flawlessly. Surely from years of practice.

In some ways he reminded you of Graves.

You both move from the gate, running in between two small buildings, as the night provides you cover. Most of the buildings looked to be abandoned stores and offices converted into a small outpost of sorts. From how scarce the personnel is here, it's clear this spot wasn't meant to be one of their normal hubs. They've got something specific going on here. 

All you needed to do now was locate Site Delta.

Ghost leaned into you, his voice so low and gruff you had to lean in yourself to hear him speak. 

"Stick to the walls."

You nod.

Ghost keeps close to you, making sure that you're right behind him, without ever having to look back. It was almost like a sixth sense. And you instinctively stay near him as well, not wanting to lose him in the chaos.

Your bodies trace the walls of these buildings, pausing abruptly when a group of soldiers ran by. You'd practically bumped into Ghost, had he not put his arm out to stop you. He kept his arm extended, almost as though to shield you with his own body. Rather chivalrous of him. But he made no comment on it. No fuss. He only does what's instinctive.

The soldiers scattered about the base like chickens with their heads cut off. It's safe to say that that explosion had them spiraling. Whether or not that was a good thing though, you weren't sure. Once they'd cleared up, you and Ghost move on.

You reach the corner of another wall, peaking over the edge with the lieutenant. Your eyes land on a small, one story building composed of concrete. The one with all the wires and satellite dishes sticking out of it. Site Delta.

"Shadow-1," Ghost spoke. "We're in the compound. Got visual on the site."

"Copy that," Graves said. "Make it quick. AQ is just reaching the blast area now. We've set more charges in the perimeter but I'd say y'all've got 20 minutes before they return."

"Rog'. Preparing to breach the site now."

You both cross over to Site Delta, pressing your backs to its walls as you slowly made your way around. There are no windows, no signs, just empty gray walls, before you eventually come across a door. A locked door. But penetrable.

"We'll need something to pry it open with," he said. 

You quickly observe the lock. It was a heftier one, but not anything high end. The right pair of hands could get that open, and you were just the person for the job.

"I got this."

You kneel in front of it, digging in your hair as you retrieve a bobby pin. You take your knife from its holster and begin fumbling around with the lock. In the meantime, you feel Ghost watching over you, keeping an eye on the perimeter.

You begin hearing shouts in the distance. A group of soldiers from the sound of it.

"We need to get in fast," Ghost states.

"I'm working on it," you say. And right on time, you hear the lock finally click open, the door slowly opening. "There!"

Ghost's large arm reaches over your head to take the door in his hand, as he holds it open for you. He says nothing, but looks down at you, waiting for you to enter.

You look up at him rather silly. "Lady's first, right?"

"Get inside, woman."

The monotone of his words never failed to bring a laugh out of you, though you kept quiet as you entered the site.

The place was not large at all. The interior was as gray as the exterior, as fluorescent lights buzz overhead obnoxiously. You remove your night vision goggles once inside, though it was still dimly lit. The place was set up almost like some sort of underground bunker -- complete with dingy furniture, shelves, all the works. And the room was clearly lived in too, if the smelt meant anything. You half expected to see someone inside. But the place was vacant, both of humans, and of any terminals.

"This can't be all that's in here," you say. 

Ghost immediately begins looking through the room, shoving furniture about and making quick checks at the front entrance. "Look for hidden doors," he said. "We've got fifteen minutes to find where those wires are leading, or the mission's a bust."

You join him in redecorating the room, checking for all the obvious places a hidden door could be. It wasn't underneath the rug. Nor was it behind any of the beds. As you come across a large, empty bookshelf, you feel a small breeze hit you, causing you to pause.

Upon further examination, the shelf seemed out of place, unnatural looking, having no books on it. As you step closer, you hear the faint sound of a machine humming. Running computers maybe?

"Ghost," you wave for him. "Come check this out."

The lieutenant approaches, staring at the bookshelf as curious as you were a moment ago. He wastes no time in shoving it to the side. You would have asked if he needed help, but he did so with ease, his large frame not only for show it seems.

You also just noticed how nice his arms looked when he took hold of the bookshelf. His grip was firm and unmoving, a lot like his personality.

It appears your intuition was correct, because behind the shelf was indeed a hidden door. You push it open, seeing a short stairwell leading down into a dark basement, where lights pool out from the end of the corridor. Ominous, but exactly what you’ve been looking for.

"Nice work," Ghost says.

"I live to serve," you respond.

"Good," he says. "Take point. I'll cover."

You lead the way in, keeping your gun lifted and ready to fire at the first thing that moved in front of it. Each step you take on your descent down grows colder, the wooden floorboards just barely creaking. Ghost stays close, his gun pointed over your shoulder, as he listens with you.

As you draw near the bottom, it opens into another room, only this time it's full of what you expected to see. Crates on crates of guns, and computer terminals, the room littered with a variety of cables and wires. Some kind of database from the looks of it, if not some place they were using for communications as well..

What you did not see was the butt of a rifle that came crashing into the side of your skull seconds later. 

The end of the weapon ripples against the left side of your head, causing you to lose your footing and fall to the ground. You black out for a split second, unconsciously doing what you can to catch yourself on the ground. When you came to, you saw the culprit responsible -- an AQ soldier who must have heard you two breaching in.

You see the barrel of his rifle take aim at you.

You feel for your own gun, only to see it had slid away from you when you'd fallen.

Fuck.

Just then, you watch Ghost barge into the basement like a large beast. You’re not sure when the lieutenant pulled his knife out, though there was no mistaking it when he drove the blade into the AQ soldier’s throat. Barbarically. The AQ soldier looked as though he hadn’t even processed what had happened to him yet; he never stood a chance.

Ghost grabs hold of the man, keeping his blade lodged in his neck, as blood pools over his glove-covered hands, dripping onto the floor. The lieutenant drags the AQ soldier’s body and throws him on the other side of the crates, regardless of whether or not the man was actually dead yet. But as his body fell to the ground, he didn’t stand back up.

That takes care of that then; it even hides the body.

“Clear,” Ghost calls out.

Once the immediate danger is gone, your head promptly sends a sharp throbbing pain above your left brow where you’d been hit. You reach up to touch the injured area, only to feel a cool, wet substance stain your fingers. You bring your hand in front of you and see the blood. It begins to pool lightly, getting caught in your eyebrow.

“You alright?” Ghost asks.

Your brain certainly did not appreciate being rocked in your skull like it had, but you still felt put together, given the circumstances. You bring yourself back to your feet and roughly wipe the blood from your brow, unintentionally smearing it. “I’ve had hangovers worse than this,” you joke.

“Be more careful next time,” Ghost chided.

Fair enough.

You rush over to the terminal, taking a good look at everything you had going on here. Yeah, you could work with this. This wasn’t anything you haven’t seen before. You quickly pull off your pack and begin retrieving everything you need to scan through their systems and store it for later. 

As you get to work, Ghost stands guard by the entrance. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You press a few keys on the keyboard and observe a few things pop up on the screen -- advanced firewalls their systems have to counter data breaches. Easy enough to bypass. In a matter of minutes you were scanning through all their files and data banks; soon there wouldn’t be a megabyte amount of encrypted files you haven’t downloaded.

Work like this was delicate though. It required absolute precision. One wrong move could lock you out and blow your cover. Though you were confident in your abilities. 

In a way you had Graves to thank for that. The man knew his way around a network like he’d been bred for it. You couldn't ask for a better teacher.

“Baby,” you say. “I’m a tech guru with this shit.” 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Ghost comments. 

“Graves,” you say into your comms. “I’m breaching their network now. Should have a full scan of everything in four minutes.”

“Atta girl!” 

You admit, his praise gave you butterflies. You don’t feel ashamed smiling to yourself, though you nearly miss what he’s saying, with your heart beating in your ears and all.

“We’re making our way to the rendezvous point. I’ll set off one more diversion; that should keep them away long enough for your escape.”

“Copy that, Commander.”

“We’ll see you at the rendezvous point. Just holler if you need me. Graves, out.”

More blood trickles from your cut now, pooling straight into the creases of your eye. You lift your hand and continue to rub the blood away, trying not to let it take your attention from what your doing. But rubbing only seems to make the blood come out more profusely.

“Shit,” you swear to yourself. 

“What is it?” Ghost asks. He lingers near the doorway, your back turned to him.

“It’s nothing,” you say.

You hear Ghost’s footsteps approach, as you feel his large presence stop just within your bloodied peripheral. Towering over you. If his eyes were hands, he would have explored your entire form with them. You find it difficult to meet his gaze, so you opt for the screen in front of you instead.

“You’ve any bandages?” he asked.

“In my pack,” you say.

“You should handle that then.”

“My hands are sort of busy right now,” you say. “Unless you want to do it.”

You meant it more to be a smartass than a serious proposal. Sure the blood was in your eye and it was annoying the shit out of you, but it wasn’t world ending. However, you suddenly hear him unzipping your pack, his crude hands digging inside earnestly.

He called your bluff.

“I was only kidding,” you tell him. “Though I appreciate the gesture.”

“You’ll want both your eyes, lieutenant,” he said.

Ghost stands awkwardly at your side, awaiting your official approval before moving in to clean your wound. You half expected him to just do it with no regard, seeing as he's the practical one between you two. But he halts, not wanting to overstep. You take note of that.

“I’m not stopping you," you say.

Ghost kneels down so that he’s leveled to your height, while your head remains turned to the computer screen, your hands glued to the keyboard. You feel him take hold of your chin, propping your head up a bit. His touch is reserved, these small movements the most cautious you've seen him all night, which said a lot. He takes the alcohol soaked gauze and begins to clean your wound.

You flinched at the sting, settling into his hand as he continued to work. He was efficient, making sure not to take too long. He pressed the gauze gently against your cheek, as he cleans the blood from you. Once he’d finished, he grabs a bandage and rips it open, laying it over your cut.

You two don’t speak the entire interaction.

What went on in his mind, you wondered. He must find you a pretty lousy soldier, getting taken down like that. And now he's having tend to you because you bleed easy. You admit, it made you feel a little pathetic.

You think out loud to yourself, having meant it for your ears as much as his. “I’m not normally this inept.”

You feel Ghost take his thumb and smooth out the bandage over your cut. Though it hurt, his attempts to make sure you were secure felt incredibly genuine. He truly was a man of subtlety.

“Nobody’s perfect, Songbird,” he said.

“It’s Canary.”

He pauses.

“I rest my case.”

Ghost steps away from you once he’s finished, taking his rifle back in his hand and returning to the door. You have a moment with yourself in the meantime, the disillusionment settling in. You hadn’t planned on being a burden tonight. Yet strangely enough, Ghost’s words seemed to help, if only a little.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

Ghost is quiet for a moment, before you hear him say casually, “I told the commander I’d get you back in one piece.”

“Well you know I couldn’t make that easy for you,” you joke.

“Evidently not.”

You laugh under your breath.

The device you’d stuck into the terminal makes an affirming beep, letting you know that the scans were complete. You couldn’t wait to get out of here.

“It’s done,” you tell Ghost. “Let’s head out.”

…

The moon had nearly gone, as the sky became a soft, dark shade of orange and blue, the stars seldom remaining. The trees are lulled by the rising dusk, birds breaking the silence of the woods with their scarce melodies. The further you and Ghost traverse up this hill, the more the chirping drowns out the distant commotion from the compound behind you.

Sneaking out was relatively easy, thanks to the second set of bombs Graves detonated. Even if they find the body, they’ll have no clue of knowing of your involvement. The mission was a success, so long as Laswell’s able to get anything out of this data you swiped.

Of course, she’ll get this after you’ve taken a look for yourself. You didn’t need Laswell finding anything she didn’t need to know.

The stress you felt was undefinable. Your head was fucking killing you.

“How much further from the rendezvous point?” you ask.

“About a mile.”

You could make that.

You stay a few feet behind Ghost, practically following the man’s shadow as he led you forward. After your mission today, you felt good about working with him, even as you were disappointed in your own performance.

You kept thinking about that small moment you two had.

The throbbing in your head just did not seem to want to end. You were practically fantasizing downing a bottle of painkillers; you couldn’t wait to crash back into bed as well. You just needed this mile to hurry up so you could get back on the helo and get out of here.

You bring your eyes back to the rear side of Ghost again. The man was surely task-focused, you’ll give him that. Just from how laboriously he moved, you imagined he could probably go another day or two out here with nothing but his pack alone. Some men were just built different.

“You know,” you speak suddenly. “I think I know what music you like.”

“What then?” he asks, in a mood to be humored it seems.

“Folk music,” you say.

“Is that right?”

“Mhm,” you nod to yourself. “You seem like someone who likes a soothing voice with a soft guitar.”

“That does sound nice.”

“Am I right then?”

“Negative.”

You can’t help but blow raspberries to yourself. You were sure you had him pegged there for a second. You look down to your feet and think to yourself for a moment. “Would you tell me the truth if I was?”

“No.”

“I think you would”

“I don’t.”

You chuckle to yourself and continue to follow him through the woods. You honestly felt like you could go back-and-forth with him all day, if you didn’t feel so much like the gnat in his ear when you did it. If he were easier to read, you’d feel more confident in your behavior. But if anything, you’ve felt you’ve been more bare to him tonight than he ever let slip to you.

“Is there a reason you keep asking so many questions?”

His words catches you off guard. It also gives you more information than you believe he realized. Perfect. You could lie and say something stupid for your answer; deflect his question like he liked doing with yours, or tell him you had no reason for it.

You settle for something more honest.

“I just wanted to get to know you.”

Ghost grows quiet. Your words seems to be ones he did not expect to hear either; it’s the first time you’ve seen him somewhat at a loss. You imagine others were more interested in talking at him or about him, than talking to want to know him. It isn’t every day someone really takes interest in him, and it shows. Though he does not let the surprise last for very long.

“You're very strange.” Before you could reply to his comment, he starts to speak into his comms again. He probably did so on purpose. “Shadow-1, we’re approaching the rendezvous point. Check your fire.”

“Rog’,” Graves says. “We’ll be on the lookout.”

Ghost looks back at you for the first time since you’ve re-entered the woods. Though it's still fairly dark, you can find his black gaze from a mile away. “I’m not someone you’d want to know,” he said.

“And why is that?” you ask.

“People who do tend to regret it.”

“I’m not most people.”

“I knew there was some reason I said I didn’t dislike you,” he said.

Ghost stops walking suddenly, putting an arm out to stop you behind him. A tendency, it seems. You peek over his shoulder to see what’s brought him to a halt, noticing the helo parked in the distance, along with the rest of your team.

You see Graves and Soap sitting against the helicopter, weapons still at the ready, though they seemed to have the area locked down tight. Upon seeing you two in the distance, you watch both the Sergeant and the Commander wave and make their way to you.

Ah Graves. You hadn’t realized how much you missed him until you saw that charming smile of his grow on his face. He had to have been thinking of you too, from the way he took such strides towards you. Like you’d been apart for years.

“There you two are,” Graves spoke. “How’d it go?”

“I got everything we needed,” you say to him. “We get this to Laswell and it’ll be a job well done.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” the commander cheers. He looks behind you at Ghost, who’s gone back to keeping his distance from you two. “My lieutenant wasn’t too much trouble was she?” Graves asked.

You wouldn’t blame Ghost for being honest if he was. You didn’t feel like you did much at all this mission, beyond tag alongside the lieutenant and put yourself in harm’s way. You awaited the man’s answer, looking back at him yourself to see if you could get a clue.

What you were met with were a pair of dark eyes looking into yours. Though they were the same eyes as before, they were different as well. Ghost looks to the commander when he speaks.

“You’ve got a good one, Commander.”

You don’t hide your smile. You imagined Ghost was smiling underneath his mask as well. Something told you he was. For a moment you looked at one another and felt validated in his eyes. Words couldn’t begin to describe how gratuitous this felt. It made time stand still.

Graves eyes look to you. He then looks at Ghost, before returning back to you with a more crooked smile this time. He even raises an eyebrow and stands up straight. “I sure know how to pick ‘em,” he comments. And suddenly you’re reminded of everything again. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Graves continues. “I owe you all some drinks now.”

Graves makes his way back to the helo, though you and Ghost linger momentarily. It had only been a few hours tonight that you worked alongside the lieutenant, yet you felt closer now. You felt you could trust him. And you wanted to know what kept him standing here with you, because you were beginning to read him more. He didn’t seem like one to linger, not unless something drove him to do so. Was it you who did?

“Will I see you for drinks later?” you ask him.

“You buyin’ too?” he asks.

“If it means I’ll see you tonight.”

“I might take you up on that then.”

Your lips curve bashfully, eyes still set on Ghost’s, who had not looked from you once since starting again. If the others noticed you two standing by the helo, they did not seem to comment. Or rather you two didn’t care.

You didn't.

“Good.”

Chapter Text

That data you pulled from Site Delta had no discernable ties to Black Bag, or anything involving the missing missiles. It was mostly a laundry list of names and places AQ had involved themselves with -- old conversations with high profile targets, locations for illegal arms dealing, and other hideouts spread across Eastern Europe. Nothing no one didn't already expect to find.

Once Laswell’s able to sift through the threats that matter and the ones that don't, you're sure both Shadow Company and 141 will be sent out again to handle it. With any luck, one of these names would get you closer to finding out where those missiles were taken, preferably before the others learn about them.

Regardless, your last mission was a job well done. You saw no better way to celebrate than going out drinking!

Graves picked the location -- some sports bar he randomly found on Google that wasn't too far away. All bars begin to feel the same when you've visited as many as you have before, so it matters not to you where you're drinking. The company was everything. If you all didn't go out now, none of you would any time soon. And as tired as you all were after today, you knew how important it was to enjoy the little moments of peace you could share with each other.

It's what you love most about your job.

By now the others had stopped back home (most likely at a barrack) to freshen up before heading back out. Your barrack room door opens with a resounding creek, as though this small room long awaited your return for ages. It invites you in with that mundane and stilted air, welcoming you home with a cold embrace.

You take an eye full of the rushed set up you’d put together in your room. Whenever Shadow Company had you on assignment, you were usually placed in spare barracks on base, such as now. Temporary living quarters. You traveled frequently when working, so you never brought too much with you. Only the essentials. That never stopped you from trying to make your space feel like a home though.

You decorated each available flat surface in your room with tiny knick-knacks and various memorabilia, as purple fairy lights decorate the lining of your window. Your bed was still tightly made from before, your mountain of pillows resting against the bed frame. You used to be shy about others seeing your room, though now you cared little for their opinions. It's not like it was often that others saw your place to begin with.

You shed away the face you’d been wearing outside. It’s been so long you’ve almost forgotten what a lightening sensation it was to finally let go of that façade you’ve created.

Now in the safety of your own space -- for be it a hastily decorated, tiny, and dreary room -- you face the unfamiliar presence of yourself for the first time in what feels like days. You tear away from your extroverted layer and let your more reclusive self breathe again. No more games, no more having to be a step ahead. No more hiding behind your walls.

In here, there's only you.

You take in a deep breath and let out a heavy exhale, before a soft smile paints your lips. God, it feels good to be away. 

You let the faucet run in the bathroom, using two fingers to gauge the temperature, as you slowly space out into the foreground. The water grows warmer each passing second, weaving over you like fine silk. You watch it bounce against the white ceramic of the sink, swirling down into a drain. Your eyes register this, though your mind is as far off as the rushing water swirling through that tiny, black hole. 

Your exhausted eyes then drudge up to a stranger in the reflection before you.

You.

You fixate on the little things -- the bags you’ve begun to form from the inconsistent work hours, same going for the few pounds you’ve shed these past few weeks as well. That new, little scar above your left eyebrow was in good company with the other little ones you’ve accumulated from years of physical labor. Normally when your face rested into its natural state it didn’t look so… hollow.

Sometimes it was hard to recognize yourself in the mirror. It felt almost like an out of body experience, having your eyes meet this face you see. These eyes, these lips, your worn expression.

You’ve gotten so used to playing a character, that you sometimes forget what the rest of your life is outside of your role. This.

Being alone in a room.

But what was this? What was anything? What were you?

Who were you?

The usual intrusive thoughts plague your mind, as they have since you were of adolescence -- when will someone finally fall in love with you for a change? What are you going to do if this job doesn’t pan out? Who would you have to be tomorrow? 

You cup your hands in the sink and create a small pool of water in your palms, lightly splashing it over your face. 

It gets harder each day not falling into these negative headspaces. You could spend all night in your head, driving yourself insane, before a new thought passes by and suddenly it has become the new object of your attention. So goes the cycle, though really it no longer distracts from things like it used to.

You bring more water to your face, rubbing your hands against you, as you hold yourself for a moment. You attempt to pep yourself up for tonight, running by all the nice things that could happen later. There were a number of possibilities, in fact.

All would bring some long awaited levity.

You don’t hear the knocking on your door until you turn the sink off. You weren't expecting any visitors. You step back into your room after drying off your face, making your leisurely way over to the front entrance, as you pull the door open. It's almost pathetic how happy it made you to see the Commander standing on the other side.

Graves’ expression lit up the second he could see you, his face beaming with amusement. He’s dressed out of his uniform now, opting for a more casual jeans and button-down look. A mix of something comfy yet deliberately put together. From his fragrance, you see he’s managed to squeeze in a quick shower as well.

The man was certainly ready for a good night out. You haven’t even gotten out of your own uniform yet.

You rest daintily in the doorway, your smile inviting. “Commander,” you coo. “Visiting me for a change."

Graves licks his lips with a chuckle, as he tells you, "You're a hard woman to stay away from."

"I know," you tease. "I'm quite the catch."

"I'm glad you're aware," he says playfully. "Mind if I come in?"

“Is that wise?” you ask cooly. “Someone might see.”

“We’ll have a lot of explaining to do then."

There was something about how Graves used his words -- how natural he could be so sly and yet beguiling. You knew he liked to play with his vocabulary, even as he never hid behind it. He understood the craft of wordplay, and enjoyed doing so when it was presented. 

And oh how it had a way of pulling you in.

You don’t respond, merely smirking at your commander as you step aside, leaving the door open. He steps in, using his back to close the door behind himself. The whole time, you're laser focused on each other, devouring one another with your gaze.

The door hadn’t even clicked shut before he’d taken a few swift steps towards you; his entire being encompassing you. Though to your surprise, rather than come in for a kiss or something a little more straightforward, he extends his arms out, and wraps you into a warm embrace.

Graves arms envelop your small frame, your face pressing into the crook of his neck. His scent takes over your senses, and he holds you like a snug hoodie. A proper hug. Small gestures of affection were never really his style. It's not what you expected from him, so you can’t help but gasp a little.

"You did one hell of a job today baby," he said. "One hell of a job!"

So that's what this is about. Work.

"You say that like there was ever any doubt," you joke. 

"No," he pulls away from the hug, keeping his hands on your shoulders. He wanted to look at you when saying this. "There’s never a doubt in my mind when it comes to you, Y/N."

You'd beg to differ.

Graves only continues speaking, caught up in his own words to really notice anything.

"Our odds at fixing this just went up tenfold," he said. "If we stay on top of things, we'll be home free before you know it. Then we can be done with this bullshit, and get back to how things were."

One thing you've begun to notice about Graves is how often he speaks at you. It wasn't on purpose. He was a passionate man, when it was something he found worth putting the time into. Which in that case, Graves would move mountains if they were in his way. 

And it's not that what he's talking about is unimportant either. What goes on with your missions right now effects you just as much as it does him, and you feel no shame in admitting you care even more about it simply because it means a lot to your commander.

Him wanting to talk to you about it should feel flattering. And yet…

"Just a few more steps then," you say.

"Just a few more.”

And suddenly, it's as though all that optimism he'd built up over the last couple minutes got pushed away somewhere. Replaced by something more… biting. You’re reminded how close you still are to him, his hands resting on your arms.

"That was quite a show you put on back there with the Task Force."

"Oh?"

It's not every day he makes comments like that one.

"You shoulda seen 'em," he boasts. "You’ll have 'em wrapped around your finger in no time with that performance. You nearly had me convinced you were 141. You even had Ghost praising you; that's some serious dedication, Songbird."

"Killing with kindness is my specialty, right?" You tease.

He adjusts his hold on your arms as he looks off for a second, laughing under his breath. Indeed, you knew these past couple of hours must have given him something to think about. He's not this tight-lipped otherwise.

“I must admit,” he says. “Watching you out there made me…”

“Jealous?”

Graves raises an eyebrow and smirks. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“It might make me giggle,” you say. “Only a little.”

In one suave motion, his hand sneaks up to the left side of your face, taking hold of your head in his hand rather dominantly. He didn't think twice about it; it interrupts your train of thought, causing your breath to catch in your throat. That only amuses him, as his eyes look down at your lips hungrily.

When he came in close like this, it was difficult not to let the sheer dominance of his nature swallow you completely. Like a magnet, you were pulled in violently.

“Well," he said coolly. "I like it better when you’re with me.”

There’s a lot to unpack from that. In fact you’re almost unsure of what to say, let alone how to feel about it. A part of you felt like a schoolgirl being told their crush liked them back. It also felt rather possessive, for someone who seemed only interested in keeping things casual. 

And yet, there was this small part of you that wanted his words to mean something for once.

“I’m always with you, Phillip.”

He doesn’t reply to you; he avoids it. Thinking. He never has anything to say in these moments, and his silence only made you feel rather foolish for wanting to see more in this.

Graves’ eyes lift to the cut above your brow, lingering. His lips began to purse, and for a moment you think he might frown. He doesn’t, catching himself and relaxing his features into a more neutral expression.

He takes his hand and gently rubs his thumb over the closed wound, feeling all its rough ridges from where it's scabbed over. His palm grazes your cheek; they’re both warm and callus, shaped by years of constant use. You don’t flinch at his touch, keeping your eyes on him, trying to know what he might be thinking right now.

If this is how he treats girls he fucks, you wondered how he was with someone he actually wanted. These small gestures were what confused you so much about your commander; you’ve never met a man so OK with riding the middle of things like Graves liked to.

Perhaps it was a power play you should incorporate in your own works, because the control his gentle ways had over you were astounding.

But why come see you if he did not want you? Why bother with this? If it’s just to pass the time while you two are forced to work together, he should learn not to blur these lines so much. Instead of making a mess neither of you were ready to fix. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” you tell him.

“Good,” his hand falls from your face, resting it against your shoulder again. Though he continues to look at your wound, keeping up this nonchalant attitude he hid behind. “Seems I can’t trust Ghost to keep you safe after all.”

It may have been a joke, though the undertones in his voice suggested some truth in his words. You felt your previous team mate was owed some credit though.

"He saved me, actually," you say. “I’d be dead if he hadn’t been there.”

You could tell Graves hadn’t expected you to say that. He may have thought you’d agree with him and begin ripping a new one into the lieutenant. But that’s not how you felt about Ghost. Not after working with him. He seemed a good man, and one you didn’t want to see get burned by the drama you and Graves were unintentionally involving him into.

As closed off and unamused Ghost was, at least he didn’t hide that he was secretive.

You're sure it made no difference to your commander, regardless. There was never any controlling the way he'd feel about things.

“Well,” Graves says. “I’d’ve killed him if he came back without you.”

You scoff; what a drastic statement to make. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Graves really was jealous.

“Would it be that easy?” you poke at him. “Last I checked, he has a whole foot over you.”

"He does not," Graves chuckles. “Besides, it's not the size of the man that matters. Everyone knows skill and a will to win are an unmatched duo.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

“Among other things,” he retorts.

“Will I ever know?”

Graves takes hold of your hips, pulling you to him again.

“I’m an open book, darlin’.”

You laugh and cross your arms. “And I’m an actress.”

“I’d come watch you in a heartbeat.”

A single hand takes you by the throat -- his grasp is gentle, though firm enough so that you were aware of his sudden hold on you. You’re all but powerless when he brings his lips down to yours, all senses now absorbed by the man in front of you.

Despite everything, he kissed you sweetly, making sure that each one he left was long enough for the sensation of him to settle in. A reminder of his well-trained ways of intimacy.

His hand loosens on your neck now. He slowly curves it up to the side of your face, as you feel his fingers graze your ear, his thumb resting gently at the corner of your jawline. He slowly brings his thumb to your bottom lip, grazing it gently in between kisses. He tugs lightly, opening your mouth enough for him to deepen the kiss, before retaking hold of your face once his tongue found its way inside.

Unconsciously you reciprocate his warm gestures, resting your hands on either side of his neck and stepping up on your tiptoes to match him. He kisses you like he hadn't seen you for awhile, even though it’d only been maybe an hour since. Like a man on a mission, he keeps hold of you so that you could not slip from him. He feels you melt in his hands, and carries on with his work.

This was a fondness you’ve never gotten from Graves before, catching you off guard to the point of nearly making you weary. You rest your hand against his chest and pull away, smiling. You felt it was time you were the one to keep things straight for a change.

“We shouldn’t keep the others waiting” you giggle. “Unless you’re tryin’ to fuck right now.”

Graves straightens up. It almost seemed like he wasn’t sure what brought that on either. But never one to be caught off guard for too long (at least noticeably), he has a rebuttal.

“Right,” he says. “Can’t get too carried away. As much as I would love to show you how happy I am with your work today.”

“Buy a girl a drink first,” you tease.

“Yes ma’am.”

Graves steals another kiss from you -- a quick peck on the lips -- as he makes his way over to the exit. “Try and have some fun tonight,” he says. “You earned it.”

“Will do Commander,” you wave.

The door closes, and just like that, you’re back in an empty room. Only now it didn’t feel so refreshing to be here.

You could really use a drink right about now.

Chapter Text

It’s raining cats and dogs outside by the time you finish getting ready for tonight.

You stopped in the exit to your barracks, your surroundings opening into a wide lot of empty vehicles. The street lights lit the area dimly, struggling and twitching against the night sky, like oddly shaped stars. The rain's coming down so heavy that it drowns out everything else, as the air sits, bitingly cold. It brings an instant shiver out of you the moment a light breeze grazes your flushed cheeks.

You dig in your pants in search of car keys, taking all the warmth you could from within your pocket. Once you’ve touched the small, jangly object, you pull your keys out, pointing it into the parking lot. Each press of the unlock button, you skim for a pair of flashing headlights.

No such luck yet.

You grumble to yourself, knowing you’d have to traverse into the rain if you wanted to find where you parked. You pull the hood of your jacket up, hug your arms, and with a small huff, step out into the impending monsoon, continuing to search for your car.

At this point you were fashionably late to the function. No big deal. You always did enjoy seeing who was waiting for you at a get-together. It helps you know who cares and who doesn't.

And had Graves not come over, you would have been on time.

After he'd left, you took a very cold shower -- which had less to do with him leaving you with a lot of unresolved “tension”, and more to do with the fact that the base only had so much hot water to spare. You’d been looking forward to that steamy shower all night too, but you made the cold one work. It's better than none.

Once out, you threw together whatever clothes you could find that grabbed your eye. As much as you liked dressing to impress when allowed, you settled for something less flamboyant. After all it’s a sport’s bar. You’re with coworkers, it’s cold and you’re tired. You’re happy just to make it; and a crazy outfit wouldn't stop you from having a good time.

You settled for the simple neutral colored sweater and puffy raincoat look. It's certainly more for comfort and warmth than to stand out, though you did your part in keeping yourself looking aesthetically pleasing still. Professions aside, it’s been too long since you’ve been able to dress up for something. 

Really you're just glad you decided to pack this with you, because it's fucking freezing outside right now.

Rainwater smacks against your face like sharp, little icicles, the cold air gnawing at your bare knuckles -- even as you attempted to turtle into your jacket. You cut through the parking lot, sticking your keys out in front of you and impatiently tapping the unlock button. At this point, you just hoped you could get to your car before you’ve taken a second shower.

If you were fast, your outfit wouldn’t be completely ruined either.

You round another row of cars, your hands now shaking from the cold. You tap, and tap and tap. And tap some more. Until eventually, finally, you see a pair of headlights snap on. Your car. You let out a brief sigh of relief.

“You’ve gotta be jokin’!”

A familiar, gruff British voice shouts out in the near distance, loud enough to hear over the rain. It's followed by an outburst of cuss words and the heavy sound of metal being dented. Glass shatters on the pavement, and something skids.

You walk towards the source of the noise, the rain continuously coming down hard. To your surprise, you find Ghost of all people, leaning over the open hood of a beat-up truck in frustration. You would have expected him to be at the bar with the others by now, though it didn’t take a genius to figure out why he’s still here.

At his feet sits a bent and shattered side view mirror. Ghost looms over his vehicle, dressed in a hoodie and some sweatpants. A madman in this weather. He's unphased by the rain despite everything, even as he was completely soaked. Who’s to say how long he’s even been standing out here for.

His hood blocks his peripherals, and with the loud sound of the rainfall, he hasn’t noticed you approaching yet. You keep your distance for a moment, watching him closely. He fumbles with the innards of his truck, angrily yanking and jerking at things, all while cussing up a storm to himself.

After a few more seconds, he snaps again.

“Fuck!” He slams the hood down harshly, it makes you jump a little.

You’re not sure if you accidently let out a little gasp, or if he really did have a sixth sense, because the second you jolt, his head whips back, eyes locking right on yours. He’s still wearing a mask, even beneath the hoodie.

There's a string of emotions that wash over the man like a tidal wave. Bewilderment turned to shame, before falling way into its usual tiresome look.

“Fuckin' hell,” he says. “You been there this whole time?”

“No,” you reply. “I was just walking by when I heard you. Why, did I scare you?”

“No,” he sighs, a little too out of it to be witty with you. “Nothin’ like that. Just didn’t hear you.”

“That’s quite the compliment coming from you.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

Ghost’s posture relaxes, and you see him shift back into his normal, stoic demeanor. He half faces you, leaning a hand on his truck as he thinks quietly. Unsure of what to do with himself. You awkwardly do the same a few feet away, the two of you just standing out alone in the middle of the rain.

Deciding to make the first move, you approach him, stopping a short steps away. He looks at you sparingly.

“Car problems?” you ask.

“It that obvious?" he says dryly.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Damned if I know," he looks back at the truck in a rather broodingly fashion. "I'm no mechanic."

The rainwater drips from his hood, his clothing completely damp. If you thought the rain water was coming down before, it was dumping the whole ocean on you now. At this point, you were both soaked and freezing. Ghost did a better job at hiding being cold than you did, as you shivered and struggled to keep your teeth from chattering.

And then suddenly, Ghost starts walking back towards the barracks. You stare his way, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Takin’ my rain check,” he says.

What? “You’re not coming?”

You follow him like a lost, uninvited puppy. He makes no indication that he cares whether you’re following him or not, though you wouldn't have listened to him regardless. He keeps walking away, hands in his pockets and back turned towards you.

“I’m drenched and have no transportation,” he states.

A bit flustered, you run through everything you could say that’d maybe convince him to change his mind.

“You could come with me.”

Ghost pauses, and turns to you. Though his tone is doubtful and unconvinced, he says, “Come with you?”

“Yeah,” you say. “We’re both going to the same place anyway. Plus I’ve got towels, if you need to dry off. My room’s right on the first floor. Down the hall.”

You watch Ghost genuinely think about it for a moment. He leaves you in suspense, just sort of frozen. Had you not started to visibly shake from the cold, who's to say how much longer he would have stayed there, silently thinking.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It’s no big deal, really,” you try harder to convince him. At this point, you've been standing out here for too long for this to wind up being all for nothing. And deep down, you did want Ghost to come out with you all. He can't skip out on your first night out together as a team. “I insist.”

“Why?”

“I still owe you a drink.”

Ghost looks as though he wants to say no at first, but then you see it in his eyes. He can tell you’re a persistent and stubborn woman. He weighs his options, choosing between what would require the least amount of work from him. There were two he saw: hear you keep pestering him to go out, or just agree. 

He looks back out at the parking lot, watching the rain pouring down in the streetlights. His eyes stop on his truck, and he sighs.

“I take my whiskey on the rocks.”

You smile and shake your fist girlishly in victory. “Anything for my battle buddy.”

“On second thought…”

“Ah,” you walk back towards the barrack, ushering for the lieutenant to follow. “Too late, no taksies backsies! You’re coming out tonight.”

…

You open your barrack room door, and watch as your new traveling companion reluctantly remains in the entryway. You paid no mind to Ghost lingering about, more focused on grabbing those towels for you two to use. Your clothes were starting to feel uncomfortable, and you didn’t have anything else you wanted to change into.

You walk over to your dresser, pulling out one of the drawers as you sift through for a suitable towel. 

“You play?”

Ghost’s voice makes you blink. You turn and see that the man has somehow made his way over from the doorway to the small desk in your room. He peers down a small gap between the desk and the wall, where you had a guitar tucked away, gathering dust. It was a rather impulsive purchase when you’d gotten the thing. You’re made aware of its existence again.

Though it makes you a bit shy, you do your best to keep up your cavalier attitude.

“Not very well.”

Ghost lingers by your desk, looking over the rest of the things you had. Papers litter the hard surface, some were notes, others bored drawings and sketches. On the wall of your desk, you have a few pictures pinned up as well. Most were of you and groups of people at various events. His eyes settle on the picture of you with Shadow Company.

A group photo, though you stand alongside your commander proudly. A big smile paints your face.

“I never could play myself,” Ghost randomly says. “Never had the hands for it.”

“I only learned a little while ago,” you grab two towels from the dresser. “Though, I wish I’d tried sooner. I could play for hours if I had the time.”

Strumming your thumbs to some smooth, wired strings did sound soothing right now. Your hands often ached to play, your ears just as eager to listen to something melodic. It brings a happy sigh from you just to daydream of it. Maybe when you got home you’d play again.

You stop a few short feet short of Ghost, presenting to him a towel. In the meantime, you check him out deftly. You always forget how good a man can look in just a pair of fitted sweatpants and a simple hoodie; it really brought out how in shape he was, even without seeing the full picture of him underneath.

The man really was a giant too. You had to crane your neck up just to look him in his (masked) face. He had more than a foot over you, and dark eyes, etched with years of old, troubled stories. You steal a glance any time you can. They're rather alluring.

He takes a second too long to grab the towel from your hand before you make a comment.

“Are you waiting for me to dry you off or something?”

“Would you?” he asks sarcastically.

“I’d have to grow a few inches first,” you chuckle. “If you want it done right”

For the first time since you’ve met the man, you watch his eyes look you up and down. Really look you up and down. It takes every fiber of your being not to start blushing or make a face.

“You look easy enough to pick up,” he comments.

You honestly cannot tell if he’s flirting or making a simple observation. It makes you tongue-tied however, and you have to shake your head out of the funk to get your composure back. Damn, you’re getting sloppy.

“And you look easy enough to climb on,” you mock, handing him the towel. “Now take this. We’re already late.”

“They’ll live.”

You leave the lieutenant with a charming smile, before turning your back to him, drying yourself off. You feel his eyes on you like a chill, giving you goosebumps without even having to be near you. With Ghost unable to see your face, you silently let out all those fluttery emotions you had bubbling in you.

The man's certainly not shy, you'll give him that.

You're both quiet as you dry yourselves off, only having the low sounds of your breathing and the movements of your towels to provide you company. You take a quick glance at the clock on your nightstand. 8:37 P.M. You’re sure by now your absence was being noticed. Once you two felt good to go, it shouldn’t take you very long to get there. You’ll even speed if you’ve gotta.

“You think they’re drunk already?” you ask, keeping your back to the man still.

“Soap is, probably.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” you laugh. “Are you planning on getting trashed tonight, lieutenant?”

“One drink will do.”

You finish drying, turning to face Ghost as you approach him, reaching out and taking the towel from his hands. You didn’t notice he wasn’t wearing gloves until you felt your fingers graze his ice cold skin. The accidental touch makes him recoil, that translating into him tensing up a bit, his hand lightly jolting at the touch.

You play it off like you didn’t notice his sudden hesitancy. 

“We'll see," you tease. "I might have to change that.”

“You can try.”

"You know I like a challenge, Ghost."

"Good. Should keep things interesting then."

Your eyes meet his, and his meet yours. You’re standing awfully close, given the height difference. It had your mind starting to rotate. But this time Ghost breaks it off, his eyes looking to the night stand. Your clock.

That reminds you. “We should get going.”

…

Ghost wasn’t so hard to figure out, the longer you’re around him. Understandably, he seems the type you learn more about less by asking and more by watching. It’s there you’re able to pick up the little things, and the minute details that can easily be glossed over.

The hardest part would just be piecing it all together.

You drum your hands to your steering wheel and sing along to the radio music, bobbing your head to the beat of the song.

The rain water hits the outside of your car, rolling over the metal soothingly as you drive down a dark road. You pass by the street lights, getting caught at all the red lights and simply vibing along with the night. Especially now that you weren’t soaking wet. You only had a few more minutes before you’d finally arrive at the bar.

You glance over at Ghost, who sits silently in your passenger’s seat. He manspreads as much as your car would allow it, the man just sort of sitting back in his seat, watching the windshield wipers go to work. Every now and then when you’d look over at him you'd see him already looking, recognizing you with a content expression or shrug.

The song comes to an end on the radio, a series of ads beginning to play. The lack of music in the background brings your focus back to the company in the car. Since entering, he’s been rather quiet. It’s to be expected, though it didn’t make things feel any less awkward. You listen to the patter of the rain, humming to yourself.

Your mind goes back and forth between the rain and the radio. Nights like these -- where the only thing you needed to worry about was where you wanted to go next -- were enough to take away from the rest of your going-ons in life.

“What made you join Shadow Company?”

As usual, Ghost’s questions come out of nowhere.

You stop tapping your hands against your steering wheel now, looking over at him as you try and process his question. How long has it been since you’ve even thought about when you joined the Shadows? It almost feels like a century ago.

“Oh you know,” you say. “The usual reasons one becomes a merc -- money, nepotism, lack of other options. The whole shabang. I’m sure you get it.”

“Which reason is yours?”

“Why?” you raise an eyebrow at him. He has to be asking you this for some specific reason. “You tryin’ to get to know me or something?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he said rather coldly. 

“Damn,” you tease. “I thought we had something nice going here too.”

"Don't be daft," he says. “You’re a bit of an unknown is all.”

“And that’s your only reason for asking?”

He doesn’t answer.

You come to another red light.

You sigh to yourself and look away from him, watching the rain hit your rose-tinted windshield. You knew this conversation was inevitable.

From the get you pegged Ghost as being the cautious sort; the world's made him this way. For all he knows, you’re a spy sent to lure him away someplace. Though the fact that he’s in the car with you would suggest that he’s not completely threatened by you. Still you’d be foolish to think he wasn’t wary.

In some sad way, he was right to be suspicious of you.

“To be honest with you, I didn’t need much of a reason to join when I did," you admit. "I’ve never really had much going for me before. So when I got recruited, I just made sure to make a good first impression. And now, here I am. It’s quite boring, really.”

The car falls into this uncomfortable silence, and you avoid his eyes, tapping your finger against the steering wheel unconsciously. Thinking back on your life before the Shadows was... foreign to say the least. If your life were to be divided into chapters, that portion was definitely one you liked to skip over.

"This definitely wasn't my first choice," you continue. "If that wasn't already obvious. I don't come off as much of a soldier."

"Looks can be deceiving."

"A wise statement, Ghost," you can't help but tease. "You're quite the intellect."

"I have my moments."

You find the courage to look his way again. He’s sitting beside you, only a shoulder-length away. Yet when you meet his gaze, you feel something. There's an understanding which grows between you. It's slow and easy to miss, but it is growing. He had a pair of eyes that could see you for who you really were. A woman. A human.

And it felt wholesome.

“What brought you here?”

Ghost looks ahead of himself, watching the windshield wipers again. He thinks back, flipping through his own pages in life, trying to find the right way to phrase everything.

“I couldn’t put it all in words.”

You get what he means. He seemed a man torn and weathered by the world around him, despite his age. But you don't get his kind of reputation and live an ordinary life. Men like him were made this way, not born. Words wouldn't do him justice.

"Sounds ominous," you smile.

“That’s one way to put it.”

You don’t notice the light’s turned green already until you hear the music come back on, soft indie acoustics easing in with the rain around you. You smile to yourself and continue driving. 

“Well," you say. "If you ever find the time, I’d love to listen.”

He watches the streetlights pass by. It's easier than looking at you. “So you say now.”

“I’m liking you so far.”

“You don’t know me.”

No, you don’t know him. But you were starting to.

Ghost made for surprisingly good company. Sure he was aloof and a deflective smartass, but that only made him more enduring. At least to you.

It’s something you could definitely get used to.

“I know enough.”

Chapter Text

Graves was a different man during his time in the military. Long ago. You saw him once in a few old photos -- all innocent and naïve, with bright blue eyes shimmering like sunlight on waves. His smile beamed just as brightly. A young and cocky idealist. 

Others would say he had too many dreams above his stature back then, the goals and expectations of himself bordering the unattainable. His passion for his work often went misconstrued by his peers however, though he never let it dissuade him from what he believed. You should feel passionate about what you do for a living, he’s always thought; if work is something that has to be done, then why not give it your all?

He valued the discipline those times had taught him, and has since taken away much from what he’s learned back then. When Graves served, it brought him closer to that man he always pictured himself being. A man worthy of respect.

Every morning when he'd wake and tie the boots to his uniform, he'd do so gleefully. There was a skip to his step when he'd see his peers during morning formations. The others would complain about the overtime and the constant movement, but Graves could never relate. He lived for this routine.

But days passed into weeks, before becoming months, then years even. What was once a welcome routine soured into endless, frustrating monotony. His peers stopped seeing eye to eye with him at some point. Graves discredited their opinions long before they reached that conclusion however. And while the jobs never changed, the people did, as did their problems.

The easy solutions to assignments stopped being just "easy", and suddenly what was once a black and white world full of good and evil had now become this bleak grey, all rigid and horrid, full of dark complexities and hidden truths. He saw how ugly the world really was. Only the need to make a decision never ceased. 

Graves quickly learned that in the military, the right choice wasn't often the best. It was usually only procedure, and someone had to do it. So he became a tool, an instrument for the system. Handcrafted and bought like the tool he was, his handlers used and abused him. And Graves welcomed it.

Graves understood the value of having to play dirty to win. People who are scum will always be scum, regardless of anyone's morals. A lot of times the only way it can be combated is if you’re willing to stoop down to their depraved levels.

But if it meant the world could be safe and bad people were taken care of (how they ought to be), then Graves would be the first to rummage through the filth and muck to lead the way.

He’ll shoulder the heavy weight of his actions when all is said and done, just as men do.

After he'd gotten all he could out of his time in the service, Graves took parts of himself he believed to be useful and built Shadow Company from the ground up. In some sense, it was his way of avoiding the bullshit half of the military that no one seemed to talk about. Despite his gripes however, he wouldn't have anyone mistake that for disdain. Graves was as patriotic as they came these days.

Graves had to admit though, working as a mercenary did feel like more of a step up than from his time serving.

He could keep the discipline, the routine, the mannerisms and even the style, only now he had some agency over himself. Sure once a contract was bought, he was at the will of his employer. But even so, the caliber of the work itself made it worth it in the end every time. Usually. Really the acclaim his company received after every contract was more addicting than anything Graves’ has ever felt before. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for the Shadows.

In a few short years, he’d managed to build up a reputation for himself, and pretty soon, the Shadows became his new badge of honor.

But when you love your profession as much as Graves did, you slowly witness it become this ungrateful, selfish thing. It takes every part of your life, and leaves little for others to bear witness to.

After a few months, work and home had become synonymous. Social calls were for managing his working relationships, and free time was meant for resting up for the next day’s work. He had his hobbies of course, things he liked to do when when he could find the time, though these days it was few and far between. When he was busy he was able to push it to the back of his mind, keeping things straight for himself.

If he let his guard down once, lost the bigger picture, or did not keep himself involved in even the most miniscule ongoings, things just wouldn’t be able to function. It’s what he fears, at least.

He needed that stability. He needed the agency. If he could just keep at it, he could really have something going here that actually means something.

But then you came along, and suddenly it was a chore to work again.

“You’re name’s not really Phil’ Graves, right?”

That was the first thing you’d ever asked him; you two hadn’t even been properly introduced yet, not beyond having read through each other’s files. The way you had asked him though -- your tone as playfully sarcastic as he’s come to know it for -- it was like you already knew him.

Of course, when he’d told you he was in fact named “Phil” Graves, you giggled. It was the softest thing he’d ever heard, let alone from another mercenary. But he remembers it, clear as day. Your laugh which first pulled him in.

You never did fit in with the others. Most couldn’t be bothered being themselves in the company, beyond what position they held, but you wouldn’t let anyone put you in a box. You were you, and you would never stop being you. No amount of death or bloodshed could take away your kindness, always giving so much of yourself to those in your life, with little regard to how it benefited you.

And above all, you were as passionate as he ever was. It’s what he admired most. 

You could play and lie and fuck, and he found comfort knowing all of his bullshit hadn’t deterred you from him. Not yet at least.

The world could crumble around you and you would still manage to extend a hand to him, if only hoping to be who he wanted you to be. And like the greedy, foolish dreamer he never stopped being, he found himself drawn to your world. You had him on cloud nine some nights.

But the longer his head hovered above your skyline, the more his feet longed for solid ground again.

It wasn’t like Graves to be infatuated. Not over a woman. If past failed relationships taught him much, it’s that love is a fleeting, superficial thing. It is as selfish and demanding as a job could ever be. Love right now would mean having to juggle his personal feelings with his role as a leader, and Graves didn’t need to be told why that was a bad idea.

If love could not stand against the devotion he held for his work, then he’s convinced himself that love didn’t need to be a priority. Only duty. 

Yet every day he’s known you, he’s found that state of mind to be challenged. You pull the rug from under him time and time again. And he always hated being caught off guard. 

Getting caught off guard means he’s gotten carried away and lost focus. It’s underestimating the situation and being left to scramble. With the threat of his own blunders just over the horizon, he could not afford such carelessness.

He wishes he'd noticed how out of sight things have really gotten. He only now knew it was a problem when he saw you enter the bar with another man, and all his other thoughts from before were suddenly torn asunder.

You stepped into the bar, the warm lights coating you after being wrapped by the rainy nightshade just behind you. Rainwater dripped from your nose, your cheeks flushed from the cold, your eyes exploring the room curiously. Almost in awe of the atmosphere. 

A smile forms.

Soft jukebox music played in the background, mixed with the rest of the busy chatter from the other patrons. Graves spotted you from across the room the moment you’d entered; he always had a good sense for whenever you were around. You haven’t found him yet, but you searched.  He sat at the bar, a few empty bottles already gathering in front of him. Almost all the seats at the bar were taken by Soap and other Shadow Company members who decided to come out tonight.

You haven’t changed any since the last time he saw you, only now you weren’t alone, apparently.

From the same doorway, Graves watched a dark figure emerge from the shadows, mere steps from you. Ghost. He halted behind you, following your lead as you continued to skim the bar for the others. It’s then your eyes locked on his. Your smile began to dip, and Graves knew right away. He just knew.

This would be a long night.

“There you two are!”

Soap spoke awkwardly loud from across the bar, already buzzed from the looks of it. The others turned your way, smiling and waving for the two of you to come over. Graves smiles with them, though the only thing you see are his eyes which have not left you. 

You seat yourselves at the bar, taking a spot next to Graves and the rest of your company near the curved corner, as Ghost and Soap, ever the outliers, sat at the edge with you.

“Was wonderin’ where you two were,” Graves comments, making sure to keep his tone casual. However, when he looks at you, you catch the chafed glint in his eyes. “I thought you didn’t wanna be late.”

Your gaze cools. That is what you told him earlier, when you had him leave your room. Seems funny you didn’t have time for that, but you did for the lieutenant. 

You rest your elbows on the bar table, as you cocked your head at him rather mockingly. “Yeah, Ghost’s car wouldn’t start so I offered him a ride,” you take your eyes from Graves, looking over to Ghost instead. He sits like a stiff log next to Soap, his shoulders slouched like he’d already been out for too long. “Now he’s my DD.”

“I didn't say this,” Ghost cut in.

“Hey, you still need a ride home, right?” you remind him.

“Not in particular.”

“I’m not about to let you walk back in this weather, Ghost.”

“I don’t recall having a second mother.”

“I don’t recall having a smartass son.”

You and Ghost give each other some sort of a look. The lieutenant’s seconds away from rolling his eyes, as you smile coyly. You couldn’t seem to keep your attention off him, and though Ghost kept his distance in the seat beside you, he hadn’t taken his eyes off you since he’s arrived either.

From the sidelines, Graves observes this shift in behavior between you two; this was nothing like it was earlier, and it had only been a few hours.

“You two’re really takin’ a shine to each other,” Soap comments suddenly. Graves was glad he wasn’t the only one who's notice. The commander had warned him about her uncanny ability to befriend anyone.

“He’s alright I guess,” you shrug. “A bit broody.”

Ghost sighs to himself. “I’m still waiting for that drink you promised.”

Drinks would be perfect right about now.

Rounds after rounds are served before the clock even hits midnight. Most of everyone (apart from Ghost) were bordering on slurring their words, if they weren’t completely shitfaced already. The more liquor passed through their systems the chattier the lot of you were too.

The spirits were high, and the music hadn’t let you down yet. Separate conversations splintered between all of you, each as lively as the one next to them.

Soap got along surprisingly well with everyone. He bounced between stories with the other Shadows, the men poking fun with him and talking about straight, drunken nonsense. His words slur so much when he speaks that it’s hard to grab most of what he’s saying through that thick accent of his. Ghost seems to understand his word vomit, only just, translating what he can rather unenthusiastically.

Ghost had one drink and one drink only for the longest time tonight. He did a lot more listening than talking, but everyone there got the sense that he was enjoying himself, despite not letting that off. You certainly were.

You made your rounds with everyone, having enough drinks in you to have a lightweight blacked out. You sang along to songs, Soap drunkenly joining in every now and then. Your words grew more blunt and playful by the passing hours, all your conversations tongue-in-cheek, completely jovial and innocent. Your laugh illuminated the room, and your smile was contagious around all the men.

You were truly a free spirit.

This was a well needed change in scenery for everyone. Graves only wished he could enjoy the night like everyone else was.

“Has anyone ever told you, you stare a lot?”

Your voice coos to the right side of him. From his peripheral, he sees you turned towards Ghost again, your back to the commander. As it had been for most of the night.

Ghost thumbed at his half finished glass of bourbon, having just ordered his second drink for the night. “Once or twice.”

“Well, at least your eyes are pretty.”

“Now you’re havin’ a laugh.”

“Oh I’m a riot, baby,” you smirk. “I'm serious though. Your eyes are very expressive.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Please do.”

Graves hadn’t spent most of the night eavesdropping, believe it or not. He actually did want to have a good time, and the rest of the Shadows were more than enough company for him.

He shared his buzzed jokes and rambled about various stories with the rest of you all, when the topics came up. He raced the others see who could finish their drinks faster, and hyped his men up about their performances from earlier. He wasn't about to come off like he was letting something as small as this keep him from enjoying himself.

But when those conversations ended and your voice elevated over everything else, there wasn’t much he could do but listen. And listen he did. 

Ghost holds that famous long stare of his on you. Despite only having two drinks, as the hours passed he had grown more comfortable in his seat, slouching over casually as he spoke to you. Had he not had a mask on, he may have even been smiling. The glib tone in his voice suggested as much. “You enjoy playin’ the flirt?”

“Is that what’s going on here?” you rest your chin in your hand. “Are we flirting?”

Seeing you tonight felt like meeting you for the first time all over again. Only this time it wasn’t about him.

But that’s what you do, isn’t it? Tease and poke. You play with your food before you devour it. Graves would admire your mastery of whittling your way into other’s worlds so efficiently. Though all it did now was have him feeling territorial.

The alcohol was really starting to get to Graves now, fogging his head. Perhaps too much. It had his mind shaking.

Watching you flirt and bond openly with another man had him going in a tizzy. And the worst part of it all was how he had to pretend he didn’t give a shit about this.

It’s wrong how territorial he felt right now. He knew it deep down too, because he found these small urges to put his arm around you, pull you in, whisper something to you, let them know to back off. And It didn’t make sense that you had him feeling this way; the arrangement you had with him was clear enough.

Yet he sat here, tapping a finger against his empty glass, doing the best acting he’s ever mustered from himself to not look like he was ready to make a scene.

This is exactly what he didn't want to happen, with you and him both.

Graves eyes scan the rest of the bar, looking to take his mind off of you. It was well pass the time to remind himself that you didn’t owe him anything. Sure you were sleeping together, and he couldn’t get enough of you, but that’s all it was. Nothing else. Right?

Who was he if he couldn’t handle having a friends with benefits relationship and keep his feelings out of it? This isn’t anything new. He tells himself what he’s feeling right now is just a sign that he’s gotten too deep into this. So in turn, he didn’t owe you anything either.

There’s a woman across the bar. She's got long, blond hair and obnoxiously red lipstick on. Whenever Graves lifted his eyes he’d catch her looking his way, her gaze traveling up and down the available view of his upper body. He kept locking eyes with her, until she’d bashfully look away, waiting for him to come in and say something first.

Quiet, shy women were never much his style, personally. When Graves wanted to play games, he wanted his opponents to be able to keep up with him; mousy women tended to find it a bit of a turn off. But the alcohol had him looking her direction anyway, his expression turned subtly flirtatious. It was a simple lick of the lips and an low eyebrow raise he did a second later that had that woman looking around the room like she didn’t see him.

“Get a room you two,” Soap chimes in, finally lifting his head up from his arms after having been laying there for a solid fifteen minutes now. He directs this at Ghost and you. You’d think the man was done drinking for the night, but the following action he takes after speaking involved picking up his glass and taking another large swig.

Ghost only glares at Soap, before standing and walking off for a moment. It’s not until he’s gone when you finally look back at Graves. He sits to himself, head ducked down somewhat. You take your fist and casually nudge the commander, smiling.

“Someone’s really enjoying themselves,” the words come out of Graves mouth almost involuntarily. But its the only thing he thinks about right now.

“You told me to have fun earlier,” you say. “I figured I’d take your advice for a change.”

He couldn’t help but get the feeling you were being petty right now. Though he couldn’t understand why.

“About time,” he jokes.

“What about you?” you ask. “Are you having a good time?”

No.

“I’m living the dream right now.”

You two stop talking. He sees your eyes move back and forth between him and the background, some word or sentence sitting at the tip of her tongue, which you hold in. You haven’t given each other much attention tonight, both of you dividing it with the others. On normal days, it was natural to do so. That way they could keep their little rendezvous in private. It often left you two only able to steal small glances or share little words. 

When Graves could take those moments with you, they were enough to make him forget about everything else. If only for a few fleeting seconds.

Your eyes were a conundrum. He could see everything in them -- all your emotions, what piqued your interest, what truly moved them -- and yet still not see a thing behind them at all. The more he looked, the more a picture painted itself in his mind as to what you were thinking. It’s a picture he’s spent a long time trying to see more of, and a view he could get lost in for hours to come.

He wanted to say something really stupid and inappropriate right now. Something wrong.

Instead of doing that however, he picks his hand up and pushes a stray hair behind your ear. He doesn’t say anything when he does it, and neither do you. No words were needed. The gesture was small and simple enough.

Once his hand rested back on the bar, he sees you reach out to him. Your hand gently rests over his, soft and dainty fingers curling over his as you gave him an assuring squeeze. No amount of training or discipline could keep him from reciprocating your hold.

But your eyes shift from his all of a sudden, looking at someone behind him. You take your hand from him. Graves didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He only had to see your eyes twinkle to know the Lieutenant was rounding the corner, reseating at the bar. 

Graves knew that look like it was the back of his hand. It’s the way you first used to look at him, like he had been someone worth knowing. Only this was just him on the outside looking in this time.

His next course of actions had been drunkenly decided at this point.

Graves eyes look back across the bar. To no one’s surprise, the blond from earlier was still eyeing him, her drink held up to her face as she let her eyes do more of the talking.

So began his attempts to pull away from you. Maybe then he would get you out of his mind. For both of your sakes, he hoped he could.

Chapter Text

You’ve always been distant, in a rather peculiar way. 

An ex once described you as being a home on a far away hill. Like ones in old paintings -- nice to look at, nice to notice, but not something you’d ever actually see yourself in. Perfectly a part of the background. It comes naturally to you.

Blending in, and fitting into the mold is all you knew of life; it extends beyond the battlefield and guides you even through your domestic world. You've unknowingly practiced this skill at a young age, having been more a quiet observer amongst your friends than the center of attention. Not so shy as you were just more interested in listening. Your eyes and ears were always the most curious.

You soon blossomed more socially the older you grew.

You smiled when others smiled, and made yourself a shoulder to lean on when needed. When people were quiet, you liked to talk for them, and when they talked a lot, you made sure to nod and listen. Reading your own actions was just as important as being able to read the actions of others.

You’ve always had a knack for mirroring your counterparts, and your line of work has only further conditioned this behavior. As the only woman in the Shadow Company, it was pivotal you learned how to fit in and not stand out in a way that didn't benefit you.

The walls you built around yourself were by design, placed in careful order and painted a pretty color. You made sure they were nice to look at, all decorated with neat shingles and high windows. When the sun rises and it's time to show yourself off, your walls are presentable, and easy on the eyes, as not to challenge or draw the wrong type of attention. Distinctive and balanced. It invited its onlookers even as its doors remained locked, curtains shut tight, with an otherwise fragile interior.

Where your other comrades only had to worry about their roles as soldiers or gunmen, you had the pleasure of being a woman on top of that. What they had to prove to be here, you had to do twice over, and the title came with hidden precautions.

Others couldn't look at you like a doormat, but you couldn't come off as too much to deal with either. The first thing you take note of in rooms are its surroundings, its exits, then its occupants. You run scenarios through your mind as much as possible before you're put in them.

It was an exhausting act to juggle, but if you didn’t, you wouldn’t survive. And so long as you keep your guard up, and play this part, you can do with it what you see fit.

Your own gilded cage.

Making a game out of it at least made it fun sometimes. It helps. The more you played for the sport of it, the less intimidating it all became.

Your peers are easier to read than they like to let on, though it’s not to say you necessarily get them. You can simply recognize it. They liked to conceptualize you, placing their ideas on your empty canvas, before they’ve found some way to fit you into their world. Whatever way they pictured you to be in it.

When you’re around, they put up an act, sometimes conscious, other times merely by condition. Their choice of words are all deliberate, tailored for your ears and bound to change the moment you walk away. You’ve heard rooms grow quiet when you’ve joined them, ignored the passing comments, swatted away the occasional asshole.

How they behaved towards you was to be expected, even as it took many years for you to learn what to look out for. The tiny gestures give them away though. How they posture themselves, how they move, where their eyes linger, if they themselves linger -- it all tells a story for you to read.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about reading others, it’s that people, especially men, are as predictable, impulsive, and simple as you’d grown to know them for. Regardless of the action, or the expression, or even the words, men all had a way of doing the same thing -- putting on some act to cover up who they are inside.

Poets and writers always made men's actions seem more grand and deeper than they often were, and you've fallen victim to letting these make-believe fantasies and ideals carry you away at times. But at the end of the day, you've learned that men's actions should often be taken for what they are on the surface. Even impulsive acts are never an accident, but rather a gut reaction.

Though you always were an optimist.

For a while now, you saw Graves as the exception to this. If your walls were shut to the world, your commander was the wrecking ball you longed for. For a time. But tonight, you remembered that Graves was still a man. A man as impulsive and predictable as any other you’ve come to know.

So when you see Graves saunter across the bar towards another woman, you know his actions, though on the surface rooted by petty jealousy, were not being done simply to get a rise out of you. This was his way of letting you know that a line had been drawn. 

This was a formality.

Suddenly, it’s like every fear you didn’t know you had became a reality.

You see Graves stop at the opposite end of the bar, music and background chatter drowning out his voice, though you watch the words leave his smiling lips flirtatiously. He leans against the bar counter, leaving a small space between himself and the woman.

She’s blond, curvy where she needed to be, and coming from a lot of money from the looks of her jewelry and poised demeanor. She practically had a halo-like glow to her, as her big, green eyes glistened in the room light. She was nothing like you at all.

The woman sips her drink like she doesn’t enjoy the taste, but does so anyway. Her eyes dance over the commander intriguingly, smiling like she’d expected him to come over this whole night. She uses a hand to flip her bone-straight hair over her shoulder, and say something back to him. This makes Graves grab a seat.

He waves for the bartender and points towards the woman, as a drink is then prepared. Their hands meet in a casually handshake, which lingers a second beyond your preference before the commander takes his hand away from her. She speaks again, and he laughs.

And then, he had the gall to look across the bar at you. 

Though no words were spoken, a novel’s worth of dialogue had been shared between your locked gazes.

So, this is how he wants it? Rather than take things a step further with you, he'd rather keep things just as they've been -- impersonal. What better way to remind you than by flirting with another woman right in front of you.

You’re not entirely sure what you expected, really. You’ve played this scenario in your head countless times before; you knew there was a good chance you wouldn’t be where he stopped. Why would you be? It’s not like he should have been your stop either. You two were not together, so you had no right to feel any way about his actions, nor he with yours. This was simply the agreement. 

Yet somewhere deep down, it still managed to disappoint you.

Only one thing runs through your drunken mind at that moment. You found it better to be displayed to him in action. You smile, take your hand and give him a single thumbs up from across the bar. You even mockingly give him a wink.

And of course the smug bastard winks back, before suavely turning his attention back over to the woman next to him. Pretty soon, it’s like you weren’t even there.

Right, you thought. Message received.

…

You spend the remainder of your night drinking more than you should have, and flirting twice as more than that. You do everything in your inebriated power to distract yourself from being aware that you are, in fact, single. Though the drunker you get, the worse the night seems to get. 

“You know, I used to play in a band back when I was in high school.”

You trace your finger over the rim of your glass, unenthusiastically resting your chin on your hand, as you listen to the man sitting next to you drone on. Jeremy, Shadow 2-0. He was always doing a lot.

When you first met, you had him pegged for someone who didn’t get a lot of attention as a child. He liked giving you a hard time when you officially joined the Shadows, despite you holding the higher rank. The many joys of sexism.

You couldn’t count how many times he’s tried to get in your pants. It didn’t take him long to notice you were alone and moderately drunk. In a dimly lit room with no other options, you guess Jeremy wasn’t that bad looking of a guy. If you’re into that sort of thing. You’re not really.

“Oh yeah?” you say blandly.

“Yeah,” he uses his hand to slick his hair back, revealing a growing pit stain in his button up. “I was the bassist.”

“Do you still play?” You ask, more to be polite than out of genuine curiosity. You’re sure he’ll find some reason to keep talking regardless of what you say.

“...Not really. Kind of grew out of it, you know?”

“Oh, well…” Your voice trails off, as does your mind. You begin to zone out again, and before long his chatter becomes a better part of the rest of the noise around you.

You’re not really sure what time it is right now. Maybe close to midnight. The bar’s still fairly packed, but the only one’s from your party still around at this point were men on a mission to get laid.

Soap was knocked out in the seat next to you; one of the other members in Shadow Company (was his name Tyler?) said they could drive him home, so he was a nonissue at this point. You’re not sure where Ghost walked off to either, but you guessed he hadn’t left yet. Though you'll give it another hour before you might think otherwise.

If you have to spend another ten minutes next to Jeremy, you’d be ready to call it a night whether or not you find the lieutenant.

And no matter how hard you tried, your gaze just kept going back across the bar.

Graves spent all night next to that woman. Their conversation didn’t even look like it was fun, beyond your commander’s clear enjoyment of putting on acts for people. You watch him smile, and laugh, take his hand and graze a finger over her, look her into her eyes and pause. Completely mesmerizing the woman. Leave it to you to always fall for the court jesters.

How many other women has he been with while you two were sleeping together? You both weren't exclusive to one another, so for all you know you were always just a stand-in for him. Wasn't he for you? He clearly should have been. 

Was it unfair of you to feel this way? Yeah you flirt and play too, but you can admit it's never escalated to anything physical. You never felt a need for anyone else in that way. Yet you can see Graves didn’t feel the same. He touches that woman as he pleases, whispers in her ear all cool like and leaves her wanting more of him for later. A classic move on his part.

“Yo Canary,” you hear Jeremy’s voice in your ear again.

You turn to the man, seeing he’s come in a lot closer than where you last remembered him sitting. You feel his arm snake over your shoulder, his sweaty palms resting firmly on you as he makes sure to keep his half finished glass gripped in his other hand. Though you’re obviously not comfortable, you don’t do anything to swat him away.

You know you could if you needed to.

“You wanna get out of here?”

You give him a funny look. You can’t help not to, given the amount of alcohol coursing through your body. “What?”

“You wanna get out of here?” he repeats, leaning in more. His breath is like a repellent. “You’re staying on base right? I’m in the barracks too.”

That was an unnerving thought. Well aware of the man’s intentions, you couldn’t think of a less appealing thing. Sex in general suddenly felt unappealing overall.

“I think I’m good, thanks.”

“What?” you can already hear his tone begin to shift into something more whiny and impatient. He slurs his words a bit when he says them. “Come on. I promise you’ll have fun. I’m a good time, I swear it!”

“Mmm,” you begin to tease. “Keep whining, it’s so attractive.”

He takes his arm from you and starts to get defensive. “You mocking me now?”

“I’m just saying-” 

“What, I’m not a high enough rank for you or somethin’?”

You raise an eyebrow at his comment. Though this behavior was predictable seeing as you must have bruised his ego, that jab did not go over your head. One look in his glassy, drunk eyes and you knew that comment was coming from a place within. A thought he’s no doubt had sober. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not like it’s a secret you’d rather fuck your way up the ranks than mess around with the rest of us down here. I bet that’s how you even got your spot in the first place-”

You take his drink and throw what little remains of it in his face, watching the little half-melted bits of ice bounce from his pointy nose rather comically.

Every eye in the room that’s conscious fall on you like a spotlight. If the music wasn't coming from a jukebox, you're sure you would have heard a record scratch.

You didn't need to look over to know Graves was staring too. You didn’t care. As far as you’re concerned, the night is over. You gather what little you brought with yourself, bury the anger you felt deep inside, stood up tall and merely strolled your way out the bar.

You never look back either.

You waited until the door closed behind you for your expression to finally break. The rain’s died down, becoming more of a cold mist, making the air crisp to breathe in. The parking lot was cramped and empty, most of its patrons all inside, as the music only faintly thrums through the walls.

You take a couple steps forward, until you’ve stepped into the wet darkness, putting your hands on top of your head as you take a deep breath to yourself. You could walk still, though your vision felt glazed over. If you laid your head down for too long you were doomed to waking up and it being light out. And your chest hurt.

The same thought races through your mind on repeat -- Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

It’s not like it’s a secret you’d rather fuck your way up the ranks than mess around with the rest of us down here.

"A, B, C, D…" you whisper the alphabet to yourself, trying to calm your mind. What did you have to cry for anyway?

Don't give these people any more of a reason to think you don't belong here or that you can't cut it. You've heard worse, and his words aren't true. Though it wasn't about what he said, not really; Jeremy's comment pissed you off sure, but they were merely a breaking point for everything else you were feeling.

You put yourself in this spot after all; this is what you agreed to. And you know what, it’s good things went down like this. Now you know for a fact that you were getting things mixed up with Graves; you’ll be able to act more accordingly from here on out.

This didn’t have to be a bad thing. If you keep trying to tell yourself this, it might actually keep the tears in.

Because honestly, you just felt like shit. 

"...H, I, J, K…"

You forget how little things make sense when you’re drunk. Emotions you normally could rationalize or at least keep in check were becoming nigh impossible to even catch already spilling out of you before you've even realized.

And to think you even wanted to go out drinking this whole time. What a fool you are.

You'd never have a future with Graves, you see that now. At the end of the day, he'll always want a woman that isn't a part of his world, someone who couldn't see all the different sides of him and get scared off. You've seen too much of him as it is, what made you think he'd actually let you see more? Why did you even want to at all?

Because maybe you did like him more than you ought to.

"...Q, R, S, T, U… Fuck!"

"Haven’t heard that version before."

A deep, raspy voice which spoke from behind you causes you to jump in shock. When you turn, to both your pleasant surprise and dismay, you see that it's Ghost.

He stands a little off from the front entrance to the bar, back pressed against the wall and arms crossed. Knowing your luck, he's been there the whole time, silently watching you have a meltdown. Fantastic.

You sigh to yourself, straightening up a bit. How little you could manage. Frankly, you didn’t really give too much of a damn anymore how you might be coming off. Sober you can deal with it tomorrow.

And though you haven’t known Ghost for too long, he didn’t strike you as someone who’d care either way. It’s not like you knew each other well.

“I love a good freestyle,” you joke, sucking your nose in a little.

“I take it you’re having a bit of a night?”

You open your mouth to speak, though words don’t come out. It’s like a wave of everything just fell on your shoulders, zapping any bit of energy you thought you still had. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself. You put your hands on your hips and look off into the parking lot again. Perhaps you’d find an answer for him there.

“I’m just really drunk right now.”

From the way he stared, you could tell he wasn’t sure what your problem was exactly. He dances around the topic of asking, just sort of going off of whatever you decide to share. Lord knows this must be rather awkward. It was for you.

“That’s what you wanted, right?” he asked.

That’s what you wanted...  Yeah, it is. You wanted to get drunk. You wanted to have fun. You wanted to spend another night with your commander, and keep thinking that maybe you meant something special to him.

“I don’t know what I want anymore…”

“Need a ride home?”

“I’d like that.”

…

Ghost opened the passenger’s door for you when you reached your car. You awkwardly feel for your seat before climbing into it, struggling to pull the seat belt over yourself without clumsily using both your hands. Ghost didn’t wait, shutting your door and making his way over to your driver’s seat, as he started the car up.

“What went on back there?” he asks.

“I threw a drink in some asshole's face.”

“Guessin’ they deserved it.”

“Yeah…” you say. “But I feel stupid now.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know…” you turn your head from him, looking out your window into the parking lot. In the distance near the bar, you see some of the other Shadows come out, probably calling it a night themselves. You don’t see Graves. Even now, you’re still looking. “...Guess I just got my hopes up again.”

Ghost doesn't reply, though he follows your gaze to the entrance of the bar, watching your peers joke and laugh without you. He doesn't say it, but he knows what you mean.

The drive back is mostly silent, as usual. Ghost didn’t bother with the radio, leaving only the sounds of passing cars and rolling wheels to bid by your spinning mind, which drove you mad in your seat.

You’re not sure what it was that bothered you really. Was it that his silence was hard to read, so you couldn’t help but fear that it could mean anything? Or was it that you cared about it in the first place? He was driving you home right now. Not that it meant anything; you both were staying in the same barracks and you’d drove him to begin with. Isn’t the issue here that you read into things too much?

Goddamn could you not wait to be sober again.

You haven't looked away from your window, pressing your forehead against the cool glass. It helps you feel real. Somewhat. You breath fogs the glass lightly, vanishing at each soft inhale, as the streetlights swish by in rainy blobs. You don’t even hear yourself when you speak. “...I’m sorry.”

“What’re you on about?”

Of course he’d ask, as if it weren’t obvious. Here he was, a soldier just trying to have a night out with his coworkers, and here you were. Some girl he’s just met that he now had to drive home and listen to. 

“Just…” you begin to speak with your hands. “I’m sorry. For this. For being too much… I know I can be rather grating and loud… and annoying. I don’t mean to be…”

You’re not sure what you’re trying to articulate to him right now; everything’s just sort of coming out like word vomit. The more you talked the more embarrassed you felt, but in some odd way it did also feel relieving. It had been on your mind long before you two had even met.

“Is that what you think?” he asked. His tone's more playful than you would have expected it to be.

“Sometimes.”

“I think you’re just drunk.”

“Yeah…” He’s not wrong. You are drunk. But tonight still happened. You feel your lip begin to quiver and you clear your throat to cover it. “I just really wanted to have a good night.”

Ghost grows quiet, leaving you with your thoughts for a moment. 

There was a lot you wanted to do for yourself after this. It’s time you really put yourself first for a change. While you did value your empathy, you knew it was crucial that you keep your emotions in check. You could save this for home. You’re here to do a job, and if that’s how Graves wants it to be, then that’s how it’ll be. And when this job is done, you can move on for good. Lessons learned.

“Canary.” Ghost begins to speak again. It brings you back into reality.

“Ghost.” You reply in a similar tone.

“What’s red and bad for your teeth?”

Are your ears deceiving you right now, or was Ghost trying to tell you a joke? Always easily amused, you finally look over at the lieutenant. He kept his eyes on the road, one hand on your bedazzled steering wheel and the other rested against his side of the door. A real hulk of a man sitting in your driver’s seat. You find it safe to smile, and humor him. “What?”

“A brick.”

That was the dumbest joke you’ve ever heard. 

It's his attempt which makes you burst out laughing in your seat, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth daintily as you sarcastically shook your head in disappointment. When you glance at him you see he hasn’t budged at all since sharing, acting as though what he said were just common knowledge. It only made his joke funnier to you.

“You’re the most unserious man I’ve ever met.”

“I’m completely serious,” he states. “What do you do if a gang of clowns ever attacks you?”

You await his answer with bated breath.

“Go for the juggler.”

You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. Quickly, you start to wrack over every dumbass joke you’ve ever heard told to you. “How about this one,” you chime in.

“Shoot.”

“What do you call a dog with no legs?”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter what you call him, he won’t come anyway.”

Ghost doesn’t laugh. But the small pause he takes is enough of one for you. “Nice.”

Chapter Text

You talk a lot. 

The chatty ones usually got on Ghost's nerves, as it was mostly empty bluster and nonsense. Especially in regards to him. The man can only hear the same kinds of questions for so long.

People always want to know the most surface level things about Ghost -- why he wears his masks, why he’s so quiet, what crawled up his ass and died? He used to have a few creative responses for that, but after a while he’s grown less inspired to do so. 

Only you never asked the normal questions he was used to hearing about. Not really. Those thoughts never seemed to occur to you. You didn’t seem to care. 

Your questions were little ones. Ones he wasn’t used to thinking about, let alone sharing. They reminded him of the kinds of things a civilian would ask. Innocent. Not like how the other soldiers spoke at all.

And when you speak to him, you weren’t talking to his rank or reputation; you don't let that front of his distract you. You speak directly to him. The man behind his mask. A shadow of himself that you act as though you see clear as day.

And it didn’t seem to matter how many questions he dodged, or how blunt and aloof he behaved. You just continued to be there, asking away. Seemingly for no reason. Though Ghost was not naïve nor fool enough to believe this could just be a whim for you. He’s not an idiot, and neither are you.

You pick your words carefully. It might take you a second or two to come up with a response -- whenever it isn’t just on the fly -- but your words are not often spoken without some thought to them. Even your most honest moments only seem to be a small piece to an otherwise elaborate puzzle.

It unnerved Ghost the way he caught himself picking you apart. How he had begun to do so without even noticing. You and Soap both could talk a dog off a meat truck if given the opportunity, he’s come to learn. It should annoy him how casual you two were with him. It should.

It’s only made Ghost realize how long it’s been since there’ve been people around to feel this way about.

There was a passing thought he had, as he watched you in the passenger’s seat of the car. Some deep seeded memory which bubbled in his mind. Old and covered in dust. It’s there only for a brief second, but just long enough to nag at the man for the rest of the drive back to the barracks.

If only he could put his finger on it.

“I’ve got another!” 

You clap your hands in excitement, as a sloppy smile grows on your face. You must’ve had the entire bar after he’d stepped out for a smoke, judging from how drunk you still were. Ghost hadn’t even been that long; he thought so at least. 

Despite your enthusiasm to share another joke, for some odd reason you don’t speak until he gives you a response. Ghost almost didn’t, had he not noticed after glancing over. The way you were just waiting there like some lost, playful puppy had him reeling a bit. You even batted your eyelashes at him. 

You were just the strangest thing. 

“Well, don't get shy now,” he says.

“Why don’t dinosaurs talk?”

“Why?”

“Because they’re dead.” You laugh at your own joke. 

Seems you’re a dork as well.

Your laughter had an enticing pull to it though. Like a warm, open door, it beckons a look-see. 

Ghost wouldn’t admit it -- he hardly believes it himself -- but he likes the way your voice sounds. Don't ask him why though; he's been racking over that question all evening. Your voice just seems to draw him in rather subliminally, as though you were slowly putting a spell on him. 

You weren’t afraid to laugh or talk when no one asked, seemingly living life by the breeze. Only when he looked in your eyes, Ghost saw something else in them, behind the optimism and confidence. Something familiar. And it absolutely drives the man mad trying to figure out what that look could be.

You drum your hands on your lap bashfully, looking out your window again. "Not my best joke."

“We can’t both be funny,” he says.

“Gee thanks.”

The car falls into a sudden silence after your comment. Ghost finds a place in it, spacing out with his driving. Eventually he goes into auto-pilot, the passing of each streetlight blending with the next. 

You didn’t look like you wanted to cry anymore, which must be a good sign. Ghost watched you fight to hide it since you left the bar; a real battle with yourself from the looks of it. He’s not sure what brought these tears out, but he had a few ideas. If you wouldn’t mention it though, then he wouldn’t either. 

He never did enjoy watching others cry, especially those who don't deserve to. He can't help but feel a little uncomfortable around it too, never being quite good in these kinds of situations. But somehow, he's managed to help you, if not serve as a viable distraction. 

You awkwardly hum to yourself, shuffling in your seat a bit. The silence must bother you from how you squirm about and play with strands of your hair. Modestly. Ghost couldn't quite understand what it was that made you so awkward around him.

At first, he assumed you were just intimidated by his appearance, like most are. His looks alone have done enough wonders keeping the riffraff away thus far. Yet here you sit beside him. You’ve sat beside him all night. Looking at him as openly as any other man.

When Ghost saw you didn't care about his looks, he then thought it was his attitude which made you so strange with him. But you come back around even then, with that same little smile.

You just seemed to be OK with him.

It’s difficult for Ghost to pinpoint what it was about you which turned his attention so easily. He wouldn’t normally give anyone a second thought outside of their working relationship. He saw no need to. It’s not like people didn’t come and go in his life, enough to where it’s gotten easy to not bother and keep everything at proper distance. 

Yet with you around, Ghost felt different. He almost couldn’t help himself.

The fact that you even convinced him to come out tonight was something to be noted. It had just been that look on your face when you offered to drive him. All rain-soaked and chattery teeth, trying to keep up some front that you could endure the wet, cold conditions with him. You stuck around to the bitter end of it, like you really wanted him to be there tonight.

You had looked so excited when he finally agreed to, too.

“I don’t know how you can drive around with no music on,” you suddenly comment. 

Ghost watches you lean over and turn the radio up, as some commercial sounding pop music begins to play. You frown in a similar fashion to how he felt hearing it be turned on. Your fingers then flip through the stations daintily, twisting and pressing all sorts of knobs and buttons like a sound coordinator. A playful smile grows suddenly, as your eyes search his again.

“Any preferences?”

Clever girl. Ghost hasn’t forgotten how much you’ve seemed interested in knowing what he likes to listen to. At this point, he figured he’d keep the game going. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Damn,” you pout. “I thought that would work.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

What was it this reminds him of? Was this a memory? An old feeling? It stirs a storm in Ghost, something fierce. Like a song in the back of his mind he couldn’t remember the lyrics to. There’s a melody there, but it's all mixed up and far away. It grates at him.

Don't get used to this, he tells himself. Don't start now.

Ghost watches ahead, eyeing every pedestrian and car that passes by his headlights. Dissecting his own thoughts. Trying to get this damn nagging feeling to either show itself or bugger off. When he tries to think more deeply of it, somehow his mind always manages to come wandering back to you.

Suddenly, he has a clear picture in his mind of you again. Just as you are, just as he’s seen you thus far. Canary: The way your eyes bounce about, how your lips move when you talk or smile, the small cut above your brow from your last mission, that just doesn't seem to concern you in the slightest. 

Every hour he'd find something new to see, piecing in this puzzle of you in his head.

You change the station to something softer -- some acoustic song that blends nicely with the rest of the noise around him. Ghost finds it easier to concentrate. When he looks over at you, you’ve settled a bit, perhaps a little more nauseous in the face, but settled. Seems the music was all you needed.

You sing beneath your breath to the song on the radio. You're drunk enough to do it, but not so much to do so loudly, as you try and blend in with the singer’s voice, almost to hide it from him. Ghost picks up on your tune however. Your voice is distinctive.

He quietly listens to you sing for the rest of the drive home. 

He almost forgets the radio is even on.

…

Ghost parks the car in the barrack parking lot. Without much thought, he steps out and makes his way around to open the door for you. By the time he’s done all of this, you haven’t even unbuckled your seatbelt yet. This makes him rather impatiently lean over and unbuckle it for you.

As he leans in to do so, he feels the warmth radiating from your body, along with your eyes, which sit on him like the beating sun. Your breath catches in your throat, as you move your arms out of the way so he can help you.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you joke.

Ghost doesn’t reply (though he rolls his eyes), merely watching as you swayed in your feet once you stepped out, seconds away from wobbling over drunkenly. He takes hold of your arm before you can tip over however. You then stubbornly -- and feebly -- shake him off you, straightening yourself up.

“I got this,” you casually assure him.

“We’ll see.”

You two walk back to the barracks together, no words to say. Only for a moment. 

“Mmm,” you begin to hum beside him.

“What?”

“The moon’s out,” you say.

Ghost looks up above himself. Indeed, the moon is out. You really are just some stray puppy he’s accidentally picked up, aren’t you? 

Feels like it’s been raining all night before now; only a few hours ago was he swimming in a pool of rain trying to fix his damn truck. He’d probably just be up in his room right about now if you hadn’t convinced him to come out tonight.

Now the moon hangs above your heads, as full and far away as the night before, the stars peeking out between the dark clouds that were just beginning to break apart. When his eyes drop back down to you however, he almost makes a double take. 

The view above only seems to pale in comparison.

Your head is cocked back, observing the sky above you with a drunken, childlike wonder. Your cheeks and nose are flushed from the cold, and the moon truly seems to fascinate you. You smile to yourself, big eyes skimming the clouds. Moonlight shines off your skin like a soft, luminescent glow; making you appear almost otherworldly. It’s enough to make a man lose track of his own thoughts. 

That distant, unfamiliar feeling nagged at him some more.

“Observant as always, Canary.” 

Ghost retook your arm when he saw you slip up one of the steps to the barracks entrance. You grab hold of him instinctively, your slender fingers gripping to the fabric of his hoodie. Your hands can barely fit around his bicep, your grip a lot more secure and gentle than he would have expected. It almost makes him not mind that you’re holding onto him so closely.

He hesitates to remove his hand from your arm once you've reached the top of the steps, debating whether or not you’ll need the help. You make the decision for Ghost, gently prying yourself from his grip.

“It’s Y/N,” you say. “Call me Y/N.”

You look up at Ghost, who looks down at you, standing only about a foot away. He smells your perfume, even in the cold air, watching your breath fog above you towards the night sky. It makes the man tense up.

Y/N . He plays it back in his mind. Fitting.

“I’ll think about it.”

The place is quiet; by now you’re sure it’s nearly one in the morning. The soldier they had on CQ was passed out in his chair, though he would not have cared that you two were arriving so late regardless. You managed to make it to your door without needing any more help from Ghost however. Only just.

You clumsily dig into your pocket for your keys, before they jump from your fingers and clatter onto the floor. You then start to bend over to retrieve them, only to overestimate your stability and wobble forward. Ghost catches your arm just in time, hoisting you back up to your feet, as he picks your keys up for you.

The whole motion of this makes you suddenly nauseous, your stomach stirring and slurring and threatening to bubble in your throat at any moment. You begin to taste that acidic taste in your mouth, as you're now focusing on swallowing it down.

“Which key?” Ghost asks. You turn to him and point to a golden, round key. He unceremoniously unlocks and opens the door for you, though he doesn’t go away just yet. “You straight from here?”

“Yeah, yeah…” You begin to nod, but suddenly your legs start to buckle. You make a worried expression like you were about to be sick. Without saying anything, Ghost invites himself inside and ushers you to the bathroom. He swiftly lowers you to your toilet, lifting the seat for you as he seats himself at the edge of the tub beside you.

You didn’t need much else of an excuse to start letting out everything you’d had to drink tonight. You hug the toilet bowl in your arms, letting the sound of your own retching echo in your ears as you groan after every outburst.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost comments. He instinctively pats your back, roughly, trying to help you out. “Have a few less in the future next time, yeah?”

You respond with a resounding groan, lifting a hand to give him a thumbs up, before letting more of yourself go. He’s sure you’ll feel less drunk once you’re done. It should help.

Ghost stops patting your back at some point, though his hand lingers. Unconsciously. When he finally notices the way the warmth of your back makes his hand tingle, he removes it, resting them back in his lap and looking off into the room.

This bathroom is dark, as the whites of the walls made the room feel cold. There comes this moment after midnight where the silence surrounding you feels just a little more trance-like, as though your consciousness teetered between thoughts and reality. Ghost experienced this the longer he sat by you.

He’s been here before, hasn’t he? Back home, long ago. With someone else. Back before… 

Old names with dead faces, long buried someplace deep in him slowly began to surface. Faces he’d rather not think of.

Is that the feeling which nags at him? 

What was it about you which felt so… forgotten…

…And why did it unsettled him so much?

Ghost stands up from the tub. He’s let this go on long enough.

“I should go.”

You look up at him from the toilet bowl. Your eyes are more sullen now. “Oh,” you say it with such disappointment, before clearing your throat and looking away. “OK. I understand. I uh… I’m sorry for tonight…”

“Enough already,” he says. “Weren’t like you forced me to be here.”

“True,” you stand yourself up from off the floor. “Less I forget I had to bribe you earlier to even come out at all…”

"Exactly."

You quickly make your way over to the sink to make use of your toothbrush. As you did so, Ghost remained in the bathroom with you, looming a few feet away.

He hasn’t gotten used to looking down to see you yet. He keeps forgetting how tiny you are. At least compared to himself.

Your appearance and physique alone were rather opposite to what he was used to. Had you two not worked together he would never have thought you were a soldier, let alone a mercenary. He supposes not everyone has that look. You certainly didn’t need it to be here either.

From where Ghost stands behind you, watching you brush your teeth, he sees the way your spine curves. How your legs extend to the floor, as well as their shape. You give your back to him rather vulnerably. What has he done to garner such trust?

When you finish, you look up to see Ghost still lingering by. Despite stating he’d be leaving, he hasn’t gotten around to it yet. 

You grow quiet, trying to make sense of him through his mask again. Searching endlessly. Your expression drops, and your eyes glint with melancholy. As though you’d just made a foul discovery in him. 

Ghost hides it, but it catches him off guard to see the shift in your demeanor. Because that’s a look he’s more familiar with. Did you finally see something you didn’t like in him? Have you finally come to your senses?

And why did he suddenly care to know?

Ghost knows the smart thing to do would be to leave it. But that other part of himself, the part which nags at him even now, had a different idea. One which felt more natural to do.

“Have I got somethin’ on my face?” A joke.

It’s the sound your voice makes when you giggle which has him feeling like a fool. It shouldn’t have moved him like it did.

“No,” you say. “Just taking in the view.”

“Must be a nice one.”

“It is."

Ghost nearly chuckles.

You're a flirt. He’s met his fair share before, but none quite as consistent as you. You've casually flirted with him since you two met, as you have with everyone he’s seen thus far; meaning he’s no one special. Though you’re a natural at making your words feel good. 

“You play too much, Canary,” warned Ghost.

“I thought I told you to call me Y/N,” you tease back. Though your voice is still a little slurred and playful, you're being serious. “Have you forgotten already?”

“No,” he says. “I haven’t forgotten.”

The room grows still, and for a moment it feels as though time no longer exists -- the two of you stuck in some midnight plane of existence. 

You observe him as intensely as he does you. The more you two stare, the more he's about to pick a new detail out from you to think about. Another qualm.

You have kind eyes.

When Ghost met you, that’s the first thing that caught his attention. How your eyes are so full of life and wonder. Gentle. Inviting. Human. And completely wrapped up in him. 

You want to see him. You want to know him. Your kindness is like a hidden syringe, embedded in his veins somewhere before now, slowly injecting him. You pull the feelings from his chasm of a mind so easily. 

Your kindness infuriates him. 

Something else nags stills.

Ghost eyes shift to the mirror behind you. He sees a giant shadow. Himself. He could take one step closer to you and watch that “kindness” you've built for him crumble like the weak foundation it was based on. Witness all your hard work fall to ruin. Just as he’s willfully done before to countless others. 

Since when has he been deserving of such kindness anyway? Who gave you that notion? What a cruelty it was, how easy it creeps up on him so uninvitedly. If only you knew what you toyed with. You wouldn’t bother with the likes of him if you did, he’s decided.

If only you truly saw.

“Are you tired, lieutenant?"

Ghost pauses. Your big eyes gaze up at him, genuinely curious to hear his answer. Had you not said another word, he may have stood there all night. 

At first his mind hears the word "tired" and takes it personally. Yes he was tired. He’s been tired his whole fucking life. But then he realized what you meant by tired, and quickly settled down.

"Not necessarily," he says. Truth be told, he felt wide awake. He knows he probably wouldn’t have gotten any sleep tonight as it was. The nightmares have gotten bad again, worse than normal lately, though he hasn’t shared that with anyone. The last thing he wants is another evaluation. "Why?"

You grow shy suddenly. Words hang in your mouth but you hesitate to let them out. And Ghost holds his breath, waiting to hear you speak.

"Do you have to go so soon?" 

He was afraid of this happening. Ghost had an inkling that you would ask him to stay. Would he have the strength to tell you no? He needed to. He shouldn’t even be thinking in any other way to begin with.

“It’s for the best,” he says robotically.

“Why?”

Bloody hell. “It just is,” he says, a little more irritated now. “Why ask?”

“I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Don't do this. Ghost can’t help but cross his arms, hugging them to his chest as he huffed to himself. "Weren’t you havin' a shit night a second ago?"

"I'm not anymore."

"I won’t make it much better."

You laugh now. "I'd beg to differ."

You just don't know when to quit, do you? You're so careless with how you speak to Ghost, not taking a moment to think of how much your words coaxed something dark in him. Something buried. It screams for you to leave it.

Ghost never lets off that your words have any effect on him. He’s mastered his poker face. The mask helps. “You give me too much credit.”

“You say that like you don't deserve it.”

“I don't," he takes a step closer to you now, towering over you. Subtly warning you.  "Don’t act as though you know me. I already told you, you don't.”

He's right. You don't know him. No one knows him, or the hardships he's had to face, the people he's failed and lost… all the sacrifices he's had to make of himself just to survive. You only know a shell of himself. A mask.

The only ones who knew Ghost are dead ones; he didn't need more faces to join that crowd. He didn't need more fuel for the fire.

But you’re so Goddamn stubborn. You remain leaning against the sink, your gaze unwavering from his, arms crossed. Why do you look at him with such ease, even now?

“I don’t care,” you say. 

You push yourself from the sink, approaching him closer, until you're only about a foot away again. Ghost doesn’t flinch. He makes no movement at all, merely keeping you in his sights. The air in the room starts to grow heavier.

Somehow you still smell of perfume and cold rain. It slowly takes over his senses, like some sort of pheromone.

“You should care,” he says.

“I wish I could know you more,” you continue, your smile only growing brighter. You’ve truly convinced yourself now. "You're quite the character."

Ghost finally breaks his gaze from you, looking off to the side. “There’s nothin’ about me worth knowin’.”

“That’s simply not true,” you tell him. “I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ghost tells himself. You think you do, but you don’t.

Whatever it was you were trying to do -- this getting to know him, trying to read him, or bond with him -- it needed to stop. It wasn’t necessary, and it wouldn’t do either of you any favors in the future going down this path.

He’s not just some book you can read through and understand, even if you two had a sit down and went through it word by word. Page by page. Trauma by trauma. What you see of him is some idea you’ve created, a bubble needing to be burst.

He begins again. Don't get comfortable.

“And what is it you know?” he challenges you harshly.

To his shock and dismay, you bring your hand up and begin going over a list with him.

“I know you care a lot more than you let on," you say. "I also know you’re funny. You’re good at what you do, and I know that you’re smart.”

You pause and start to think more about the man in front of you, gathering up everything you’ve managed to put together in such a short amount of time. In this silence, Ghost longs for you to stop.

End this while it was fun. 

You then say, “I know that you were my favorite part about tonight.”

The man stands there, processing all your words. Is that what you think of him? “You’re still drunk.”

"You’re avoiding my eyes,” you taunt.

He's had enough of this.

As if to protest your words, Ghost rips his gaze back to you, and you see a fire burn in his dark eyes, piercing straight through you. They tell you to get back. If he could scare you away with one look, he’d let it be and forget this exchange ever happened. 

But you’ve seen all sorts of eyes in your lifetime, and Ghost’s did anything but scare you.

You’re unmoved by his cold gaze. Unflinching as you had been when he’d first met you. Trying to find some home for him in your mind even now. It makes Ghost frown beneath his mask.

But even now, you still find some reason to smile at him. Ghost sees himself wrapped in your irises, absorbed by his presence, happy to have his eye again. "That's better."

Ghost's cold gaze wavers. He doesn't know what to say.

You stand so close to him now, if either of you extended your arms you could brush one another. There’s nothing he'd want more than to see how you might feel in his arms. How easily he could hold you. Touch you. He feels a few more starved heartbeats away from acting out on these impulses.

Ghost can only wonder what runs through your mind right now.

That nagging feeling just won’t go away.

Would he have to beg you to leave this where it is?

"I can't stay,” Ghost says again, quieter this time, his voice so low it sings in this empty room.

You hear Ghost's words, and really take in the emotions in his eyes this time. Your expression softens and you give the man a reassuring smile. You push no further. 

Your acceptance shames him.

You say to him, "OK."

Somehow it doesn’t make him feel any better.

Ghost walks you out of your bathroom, shutting the lights off and closing the door for you, as the man watches you make your way over to the front entrance. The fairy lights you have decorating your window make the lighting a deep shade of purple, only offset by the streetlights that peaked from your curtains. It makes your room feel like a figment of his imagination at first.

Ghost pauses at your door, turning to face you a final time. You keep some distance from him.

“Hey um… before you go.” You take another step closer; each time you’ve stood by him you’ve found some way to be nearer. “I just wanted to say thank you. You didn’t have to come out with us tonight, or drive me home and deal with my bullshit, but you did, and… I really do appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

You show him too much kindness. You stand there, looking up at him, with your sweet words and sweet scent. Standing so close to him. Too close.

“Well I am,” you say. “Tonight wasn’t really what I wanted, but... I mean it when I say you definitely were the highlight.”

You present your hand out, inviting him to shake it. “I hope you have a good night, lieutenant.”

Ghost looks down at your hand, feeling his heart catch in his chest. After some thought, he decides to return the handshake. His large hand engulfs yours, and though the coldness of his skin is so sharp it sends goosebumps up your arm, your hand remains in his.

"Likewise," Ghost says.

Seconds pass, and your hands remain together. Touching you, touching him. You're as warm as your personality, your touch soft and delicate in his, as your thumb gently brushes his battered knuckles and rough skin, ignoring all its imperfections.

Do you have to go so soon ?

When you start to pull your hand away, Ghost's grip tightens, keeping your hand in his. The dumbest thing he could possibly have done. You bring your eyes to his, your expression caught off guard, and he sees it in you finally -- that want to not be alone. The want to be closer. The longing to be near someone real.

It's the nagging, familiar feeling in your eyes he's seen all along. A shared want to be human for a moment.

You use the grip he has on your hand as an excuse to pull yourself near. Your other arm extends towards him, weaving beneath his arm and around his waist. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes. With your ear to him, you listen to his heart race, and settle more against him. An innocent embrace. 

Suddenly you felt as a giant, and he so meager.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think your touch frightened him, from how reserved he behaved. But you hug him like you’ve wanted to this whole time, smelling the outside on him, feeling the dry rain against your skin. 

Ghost hasn't hugged you back yet, becoming somewhat of a passive observer, soaking in every sensation. How long has it been since someone touched him so gently? Since he's allowed someone to? 

And how long has he been unknowingly waiting for someone to? 

Ghost is stiff in your hold, fighting this flexing urge he had to instinctively pull away from you. Each second passes and the touch of your arms settles him, his body finally relaxing against yours. Before long, his arms wrap over your small figure, pressing you deeper into his chest. Like a child clutching a blanket.

Your arms adjust around him, making Ghost feel ashamed by how soothing you felt to hold. These actions feel so foreign.

The man's hold tightens, his chin slowly resting at the crown of your head. He can feel you exhale, the air leaving your body as your face buries itself beneath his arm. Even with both your clothes on, he can feel so much of you pressed against him. Your heat feels like a flame in the dark; long has he spent on this lonely trek freezing.

What more has he been missing?

Your fingers start to clutch at his back tightly, a small whimper leaving your lips, muffled between his arm and chest. Ghost had begun to squeeze you. He doesn’t let go until he feels you squirm a little. Once he realizes however, it immediately embarrasses him.

That shouldn’t have brought that out of him. He should not have allowed himself to do that. He takes a step back, eyes looking between you and the wall behind you. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s scolding his own actions. Damning them. Because now he found himself already missing it.

“Couldn’t breathe there for a second,” you laugh, your voice cutting into his thoughts so effortlessly. Ghost blinks, and in that instance he sees you again. You were absolutely beaming. “That was like a bear hug.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Ghost says to himself. You just happened to be the only other person in the room to hear it too.

You take no mind to his words, chuckling at them in fact. “It’ll be our little secret, lieutenant.”

Simon. He felt himself about to tell you. His name is Simon, the man you speak to. The one you’ve been trying to see all night. Not that you even asked for his name; you never did ask for much from him.

Ghost steps into the empty hallway, feeling all the atmosphere and energy from your room shed off like a dead layer of skin. It won’t take very long for him to adjust back into his old habits, as they do die hard. Though he had a few more things to think about now. Great…

“Oh and Ghost!” you call to him from your doorway. Ghost turns, seeing your head peeking out from your room. “Don't be a stranger.”

Your door shuts, and yet he lingers in the hall a moment longer. Thinking. His head sags in defeat and he finally pries himself away.

Chapter Text

Four Days Later...

You pause right before the entrance to Graves’ office, preparing yourself for the moment you’ve been dreading all day -- actually seeing your Commander face-to-face. Alone. With any luck, this interaction would be simple and to-the-point, as he is with the others in the company. But something tells you this will be anything but easy. When is it ever easy with Graves?

Four days. That's how many days it's been since you and Graves have been avoiding each other.

After you sobered up from that hectic night of drinking with the team, you had hoped those sloppy feelings you had for him had gone away with the coming dawn. You were banking on it. But sadly, a shitty night's sleep and a wicked morning hangover couldn't stop you from missing him, nor stop the growing bitterness you felt each day you did not speak.

He’s stopped coming to see you at night altogether now; you haven't even been alone in a room since then. You respected his choices however, and took the hint professionally. It's how he must want things, because since then, you two have not spoken about anything that wasn’t work related.

Guess you know now to be careful for what you wish for.

The hallway you'd traversed through grew emptier by the passing seconds, the evening slowly encroaching over the base. You couldn't wait to clock off for the day and change out of your uniform; there was a nice shower and some tea you'd bought at the corner store already waiting for you in your room. Something told you you'll need it after this meeting.

You wait as long as you can before finally lifting a hand to knock on Graves' door; it takes him less time to invite you in, his authoritative voice calling to you through the door for you to enter.

Inside his office, you find Graves sitting at his desk near the back of the room, tucked away in some corner. He's the only one still here, his desk surrounded by a swarm of paperwork and files, as he ferociously pecked away at his keyboard. He's in uniform as well, having loosened his collar and rolled his sleeves up to below his elbows. You didn't have to be near him to see the exhaustion displayed in his posture.

That's something you both have in common.

Shadow Company has been on stand-by since their last mission, which only meant you've been doing a lot of nothing lately. If you were home, you would love the short vacation. But you're not. You're here. And you were sick of this base four days ago, and sick of being in your room. 

Even the Task Force got sent out to run more ops, having already been gone for two days now. And damn, have they left their mark on you, because when you found out they left, it actually made you a little upset. You were just beginning to enjoy having them around, though something tells you this won't be the last you see of them. You hope not.

Every so often, when you'd had your fill of reminiscing your past nights with the Commander, your mind would wander back to your night with Ghost. And all that had transpired. You found yourself looking back at it rather fondly, your actions having been innocent that night, and unfiltered, unlike how you often behaved with the others.

You hadn't been able to say goodbye to Ghost before they sent him back out either. You just woke one morning and he was gone.

It's left you with only your colleagues to converse with in the meantime, which was fine on its own. You’re sociable enough to where most of everyone got along with you. Then again, you've just never been very close with many of them. Conversations only went so far before you were preferring your solitude once more, longing for some sort of escape.

You remain near the doorway, almost hesitant to approach Graves. His blue eyes meet yours from across the room and stay locked on. He puts a pause to his work.

"Songbird," his features softened and he waves you over. "Good, you made it."

As you expected, Graves was just going to carry on like he hasn't been avoiding you for nearly a week now. It almost makes you want to laugh. Here you've spent days trying to shake off that night and he sits here, probably having already forgotten about the whole thing. Work always did outweigh everything else. Even you. As far as you can tell, what you two had before was nothing but drama to him.

You approach Graves' desk, grabbing a chair and sliding it over, before taking a seat across from him. At some point during this, he'd gone back to typing on his computer, determined to finish whatever it was he had been doing.

Seems already forever ago since you've sat somewhere so near him. He's got a light stubble coming in now. You keep looking at the way the setting sunlight from the window behind him encapsulates his figure, backlighting his ears and giving them that fleshy, pink color. It makes you notice the little cut on his left ear, extending from the scar on his cheek. You hadn't seen it until now.

Of course, you can never stare at Graves for long before he's begun to do the same. You’re not sure when he had started to. You two are beyond the point of feeling shy about catching each other looking.

"Sir," you finally speak. "You wanted to meet with me?"

“You’re in charge of tomorrow’s briefing, at 0600 sharp,” Graves says “We’ve got new orders. Finally; could be big.”

“Like ‘missile’ big?” you ask.

“If only." Graves slides over a file to you. You pick it up, beginning to skim over the contents inside.

Looks as though your next assignment has you grabbing some high profile target -- a man going under the alias Onyx. Apparently, he has ties with whoever has been supplying AQ with weapons and intel. A small outfit is gathered off the coast of Greece, and Onyx has already been spotted in the area.

You continue to listen to Graves speak.

"The mark’s got info that could benefit us, only Laswell can’t send 141 to nab him. Jurisdiction bullshit, as usual. So they’re sendin’ us to grab ‘em instead. Shepherd doesn’t want 141 on this shit regardless, so it works out.”

It makes sense to you. If this guy's got info, it only figures that your company hear it first, before Laswell. Just in case this Onyx guy knows more than needed about everything going on.

You listen to Graves go over the mission details for a good while, watching the sky grow dark in the window behind him. The job was nothing new. With any luck, you can finally put a name to AQ's new lifeline.

"We'll get a small team put together for this," Graves says. "This job doesn't have to be quiet, but it's best we don't alert the entire damn east side of Europe that shit's poppin’ off."

You continue to skim the files, seeing who Graves and Shepherd have selected to go on this mission with you tomorrow. You frown when you come across Shadow-2. Jeremy. 

You haven’t seen much of him at all since you threw that drink in his face, though word clearly traveled fast in the company. For the first two days, it felt like that was all anyone who wasn’t at the bar with you wanted to ask about. Though you’re not sure what’s worse, the questions or whatever nonsense they were repeating to you that Jeremy cooked up to cover his ass.

You were entirely over it at this point; not that it made you excited to have to now work with him so soon.

You shut the files, passing them back over to Graves. It seems he’s finally finished with everything he needed to go over with you. It only took the rest of your evening. Now you have your room to enjoy alone, for one more night.

You stretch in your seat and yawn, lifting your hands over your head like a cat. “Well, tomorrow sounds fun.”

“Yeah, just make sure you rest up,” Graves leaned back into his seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m not tryin’ to make any more mistakes.”

“I’m right there with you, Commander.”

You prepare to sit up from your chair so that you can exit his office. As you do so, Graves remains in his seat, staring at his desktop in silence. He doesn’t type or click anything, merely sitting in some sort of mental space. You’re sure he’s probably got a lot more to do before he can call it a night.

However, Graves speaks to you suddenly.

“You know,” he starts. “I saw what happened with you and Jeremy the other night. ‘bout that whole drink thing…”

You knew this conversation was coming sooner or later. You find it hard to look at Graves, but you do anyway. His gaze is more benign than you would have taken it for, seeing as it took him four days to even check in on you about it. You figured if he actually cared about you, he would have seen you sooner.

But he’s made his choice.

“It’s water under the bridge, Commander,” you say.

“Yeah, well,” he licks his lips and brings his hands together over his desk. “I had a little chat with him after you left.”

You blink. “What?”

Graves gives you a funny look, that he masks behind an amused eyebrow raise. “He knows better than to say some shit like that in the future. It won’t happen again.”

Is that why you haven’t seen Jeremy around lately? God knows what Graves may have said to him, let alone done. Truthfully, the man should be lucky he’s even still a part of the Company. However, Graves’ actions do little to please you.

“That was uncalled for, Graves,” you say.

The commander scoffs, laughing under his breath as he looks off in disbelief. “It was completely called for,” he argues.

“They already think I’m ‘sleeping my way up the ranks’,” you say. “If they see you taking my side like this, I’ll never shake the allegations.”

“You're welcome.”

That strikes a nerve in you. Graves has this smug expression on his face all of a sudden, the kind of expression a man who doesn’t see anything wrong with his actions would make. Of course he doesn’t. This is your commander in front of you; all he knows is confidence and self-conviction. As well as his own ego.

You’re not proud of yourself in the next moments to come, but a sudden, petty emotion springs from your being without warning. Motivated by the feelings you truly felt.

“I’m surprised you even saw,” you comment. “You looked so caught up with that woman the other night, I figured you hadn’t noticed. Which reminds me, have you always liked blonds, sir?”

Graves knew right away how you were really feeling, and in turn, he’s now decided to reflect that energy back to you just as snidely. He straightens up in his seat some more, keeping that cocky expression on his face, sucking through his teeth rather mockingly.

“I’m not picky.”

At this point, this has now become a game of who’s going to break character first.

“I can see that,” you make sure not to look away from his eyes. Not to give him any reason to believe you were being shy. You keep a teasing tone. “You have good taste, at least. Very consistent. I see you really like to aim out of your league.”

Graves laughs. “You're one to talk, sweetheart,” he says. “Feels like I’m startin’ to see a pattern here with you. You usually go for coworkers?”

It seems he’s really come to play now.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” you say.

“Right, you just take what you can get, yeah?”

“Whatever scraps I can find, sir. ”

"Does that include Ghost?"

That raises an eyebrow. You give your commander a condescending smirk. So that's what this is about? "I'm not picky."

Graves sits up and starts to speak, but then cuts himself off. You were prepared for his words to be biting, even downright harsh. Lord knows when it was time to get gritty, your commander could be the grittiest of them all. But he doesn't do any of that. Not now, at least. Graves sighs and sinks into his seat. Defeated. “What are we doin’ right now?”

It makes you sit and think, bringing gravity back to you. “Being stupid.”

You two look like a pair of fools, bickering in his office, like some sort of expiring couple. Only you were never a couple to begin with, which only makes this seem twice as pitiful.

You recoil into your own seat, afraid to look away from him and miss something important in his conflicted gaze. You watch a wall begin to chip in the commander, the burnout beginning to set in.

He asks you, “Should we stop?”

You knew what the answer should be. What it needed to be. But something stopped you from reaching that conclusion. The feeling in you that made your stomach turn just thinking about having to say it out loud. 

“Is that what you want?” you ask.

"What I want isn't important right now," he says.

"Shouldn't it matter what you want?"

"I'm not about to debate with you on this.”

Your words only seem to irritate him now. Graves lets his voice grow stern with you, speaking to you as your commanding officer. Though he couldn’t get the feelings in his gaze to match what his gut reaction tried to play out of him. “I mean, fuck, what do you want?"

All your thoughts from these past four days culminate into the next words you speak to him. If you didn’t say them now, you might not give yourself the chance to in the future. He's not the only one in this affair, and his words only challenge you to speak up. You were not content with leaving things so unknown and tense.

"You haven't talked to me in almost a week, and yet you're out here in my business, with my drama fighting my fights for me like you actually give a shit,” you argue. “You come see me all these nights and whisper all this shit in my ear, and then go and try and fuck some other girl right in front of me. I just want to know what you’re thinking, Phillip. If you're trying to pull away, why are you making it so fucking awful for me?"

"I think it’s time we take a step back and get our fucking priorities straight then.”

The air in the room falls on you like a sack of bowling balls. 

You watch the man before you grow as cold as a blizzard, eyes never leaving yours once. Physically, you can feel him putting up the walls between you. Desperate to maintain this front of professionalism and authority over you. It had spent a long time crumbling down before now. 

You're unflinching in your seat, knowing better than to show how much his words upset you. He further attempts to put the nail on the coffin with his next few lines. It figures he’d twist the knife a little, on top of it.

"Look," Graves continues. "We’ve got more important shit to deal with right now, and I'm not about to go back and forth with you about this. You're a good time, sure. But let’s not act like this is gonna go anywhere. This was just to keep us occupied; that was the arrangement, Canary.”

Graves knows just the right words to say to hurt you, and they do their job adequately.

You all but hear your heart thump painfully in your ears after the words leave his mouth, threatening to claw its way up through your throat in heartbreak. You unknowingly gulp. You see him do the same, and it sends a flash of hot emotions through you. What then angers you afterwards, are his eyes, and that fucking look he had in them.

Because deep down in them, you see it -- how much it hurt him to look at you this way. And like that, you knew his words were bullshit. Yet another play for him, and merely what he wants to believe, not the reality, and you fucking know it. Because whether or not he can admit it, you know him.

“You’re such a fucking liar.”

How was it he didn’t tire of these games you two played? He looks as sick of them as you did, and yet he persists. Why can’t he just be honest with you? Why was he so adamant on acting as though there couldn’t be more between you two?

You stand from your chair, ready to leave now. You weren’t about to make yourself look any more the fool trying to beg him to come back to you. You have at least some respect for yourself. No longer do you wish to torture yourself alongside him. There’s plenty for you to worry about as is.

As you make your way to the exit, you hear him stand up from his desk. Though you don’t turn to face him. You can’t bring yourself to.

“That night we went out,” he calls out to you. “It made me realize something.”

You pause in your step, your head ducked down a bit. Waiting to hear what he has to say. You hear Graves stop just a few feet away from you, keeping his distance when he speaks. You subconsciously hold your breath.

“You’re all I think about, Y/N, and it’s making me fucking insane.”

You’re wary to react to his words, being so used to him playing games with you that it makes you afraid to trust him. You're thankful your back is turned to him. You did not wish for him to see your expression twisted with such melancholy.

When you refuse to turn, Graves only goes on, taking a step closer. You feel his eyes on your back. 

“I just keep thinking, if we could have met someplace else, or if we hadn’t gotten into all this mess with Black Bag then maybe we could-” His voice cracks, and he immediately clears his throat, pausing. 

“When I’m with you, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be," he says. "But then I see you out there with the others and I just… I lose myself. I can’t work like this. I can’t do my job and have you in my mind at the same time. Not with everything going on. Not with my entire future on the line here. You mean more to me than you should, and you have no idea how much this eats away at me. But I have to put my foot down.”

So even now, he’s made his choice. You can’t blame him for how he feels though, now understanding it in some way. You're only glad he’s finally said it at least. A moment of honesty.

You feel glued to the ground before you, afraid to take the door out of your sights and turn to your commander. You bite the inside of your cheek so that you do not let tears threaten to spill from you. You could save them for your room -- the final time you’d want to cry for him.

"Then I need you to stay away from me, please,” you say as plainly as you can muster. “I’m your second in command, and I’ll continue to do my part. But everything else… I thought I could handle this but I… I’ve gotten mixed up. I need to remember I didn't come here for this."

Graves takes a moment to speak again.

"That makes two of us, darlin’."

"I'll see you at tomorrow's briefing then, Commander."

His footsteps sound like an approaching storm behind you, and you feel his hand slide over your upper arm, taking hold of you. Preventing you from leaving. His hold sends your soul soaring. You could have dropped dead right there.

"Y/N…"

The commander turns you around, and finally you see him again, and his wavering, blue eyes. You begin to crumble. “Phillip, please…”

His next movements come almost like a blur to you. Graves pulls you to him, taking your face into his rough hands and capturing your mouth in his. And you allow him to effortlessly, your hands tracing over his bare forearms as you hold onto him. He does the same, his fingers weaving behind your hair, as he kisses you passionately.

It makes you feel weak how easily you let him toy with your emotions, and how much you don’t put up a fight in these instances. His words cut sharper than any blade, but his touch only mends the pain away.

Graves pulls you back in as figuratively as he does so physically, bringing you with him until he’s found your chair from before. He uses his hands to feel for the object, keeping his other hand tangled in your hair and his lips continuously dancing with yours.

Once he’s felt for the chair and has it in his hand, Graves pulls you down with him, taking a seat and setting you perfectly onto his lap, as you straddle him with your legs. Before he continues to let himself get carried away, you take your hand and place it on his chest, pushing him back. 

Graves looks up at you with such glitter and desire. Hungry. Real. It has your body vibrating, lusting for his touch.

Let’s not act like this is gonna go anywhere. That’s what he told you a few minutes ago. You’re just a good time, is that right? He can’t allow himself to be with you. Yet he sits beneath you, eyes wrapped in yours feverishly. How about a final good one then? For old time’s sake.

“I can’t stand you,” you whisper to him.

His hands quickly search for a suitable place to rest, sliding up your thighs until he’s placed them against your ass, taking an aggressive handful. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

Graves rocks lightly beneath you, grinding gruffly between your legs, springing a light moan from your lips. This makes Graves smirk. “C’mon Songbird,” he teases. “How ‘bout you sing me somethin’.” 

His hands slide up and take hold of your hips firmly, continuing to press you harder against himself in grinding motions, getting a good feel of your body beneath your clothing. You hum at the movement. 

You buck your hips against him, abiding your commander's request, as you move your body in synchronized rhythm. Your mouth hovers over his lips, denying him a kiss. Graves lets you tease him, his mind too wrapped up in how well you move to push. 

His shaky breath feathers you, the tip of his nose faintly grazing your own. You feel him get harder each time you come down on him, using him like a toy to get yourself off with. Graves enjoys when you use him, loving to watch the way your body rolls so naturally against his own, and how much you know what you want from him. It keeps him grounded in this moment.

Graves pries his hand from your hip and brings it back between your thighs, slipping one beneath your pants, and letting his fingers glide over your panties. He makes quick work finding your sweet spot. You're already damp, as his warm fingers begin to move in a smooth cadence. 

You bury your head into the crook of his neck, using his shoulder to muffle your moans. Feeling the rising and falling of his breathing pressed to your chest. He laughs to himself, feeling you shake so pleasurably at his touch.

“That’s right, sing for me, baby,” he whispers in your ear. And sing you do. You sing the whole opera for him. One last sweet song to hear before you leave this room tonight.

Not wanting him to feel so powerful, you turn into his neck, taking your teeth and sinking them into the crook of his skin beneath his jawline. After each nibble, you leave a kiss, trailing them up and down his neck until you've reached his cut ear. You leave delicate kisses, outlining the shell of his ear with your lips and tongue slowly. 

Graves groans, reflexively grinding against you. The strong sensations from both your love bites and your heat bring a small, tattered moan from his lips. Now you giggle.

"How about a duet, Commander?" you purr into the side of his neck.

Graves laughs, and without announcing it, slips his fingers beneath your panties, continuing with his precise motions. The change in temperature between his skin and yours makes you gasp out. He takes his other hand and grabs the back of your neck, pulling your head back so he could look you in your eyes. He licks his lips and smiles. “Let’s harmonize, then.”

His fingers move more rapidly. With his grip on the back of your neck so firm, you can’t help but sit on top of him, subject to all his whims. You take your hands and move them under the belt to his uniform, quickly slipping your hand beneath his pants and finding him, already hard as a rock. 

Your touch elicits a shiver from him. He's warm in your grasp; your one hand not large enough to take all of him, though the one hand is all you can spare. You return the favor he gives you, taking hold of him and teasingly going to work with your wrist, watching his lips begin to part. When Graves moans, never one to do so alone, he slips a finger in you, watching you moan with him.

Before long, you two sing beautifully to each other, your moans searing its sound in your minds.

With as much lust and ferocity as his actions can exude, he takes your head and brings it forth, devouring your mouth with his. He kisses as though you were the air his lungs suffocate for. And you reciprocate them, desperately, as though afraid he or you would turn to dust if you so much as stopped for a moment. 

You both pant between your kisses, your tongues hungering for the taste of each other. Graves' hands finally part ways from you, if only to begin undoing your uniform. He fumbles with your buttons, impatiently tugging at your clothes the moment they grow loose.

He knows he can’t fully undress you in his office, though he comes as close as he can, parting your top from you and leaving your breast bare for his perusal. He can’t help himself from burying his face in your chest, taking hold of your breast in his hands as his mouth engulfs your nipple, his warm breath and saliva painting goosebumps on your skin.

You hug your hands over his head, continuing to grind against him as you comb your fingers through his hair. If you kept moving yourself like this, with his mouth and tongue moving and nipping as precisely as it does against your nipples, you’d come before he’s even put himself inside you.

You tug at his pants. Graves takes the hint and starts to lower them for you, watching as you join him. You steady yourself over your commander, watching him take and position himself in the seat beneath you. Ready for you to give yourself to him fully.

You come down on him slowly, feeling every bit of him against your tight, soaked walls, adjusting for his length. Graves doesn’t let another second go by before he grabs hold of your waist again, roughly thrusting himself deeper in you. The jolt of it sends a shock wave of pleasure shooting up your body.

Graves moves clean and sharp, sending thunderbolts of pleasure through you each time he brings you smacking back down onto him. You fight to keep the moans from pooling out of you so loudly, but they bubble in your throat at your resistance. 

When you look down at Graves, you see him watching you. Enjoying the sight of you bouncing over him, trembling at his every movement. Doing what he can to keep some modicum of composure, not to let off how completely absorbed in you he was.

You grab onto his shoulders, using his muscular body as something to hold, as you sway your hips back and forth, keeping up with his rhythm. As you move faster, you feel Graves' hands wrap around you, his fingers digging into your back, needing you. Any time he opens his mouth to moan or licks his lips, you tug at his hair, angling his head back so you could kiss him more deeply.

His eyes meet yours, and through the euphoria and sexual bliss, his dilated gaze spins a story to you. They beckon a question, the same question your eyes ask of him. Who else is going to make you feel this good? Who else knows you better? Who else will bother? Will you always be here? Why can’t you stop?

A flood of emotions, both bubbling out of you from the sheer overwhelming sensations he's sending your body in, as well as emotions that haven't subsided from moments ago, teeter in your chest. Burning you from the inside, the fires stoking the more you look at him. You moan almost at a whisper. Your lip quivers. “You make me feel so stupid.”

You feared the man beneath you in a way you could not describe; if only the world truly knew how tightly his hold over you was, and how agonizing it was for you to be aware of it. You know that after this, after all that’s been said, you two only play on borrowed time.

Graves cups your cheek in his hand, moving slowly, lovingly. The change in tempo makes your walls quake against him. He puts some thought into his next words to you.

“Come be stupid with me then,” he says. “I'll keep you company.”

You’re unsure why, but his words bring tears to your eyes. A mix between pleasure and pain. Graves doesn’t comment on it, nor does he stop. He keeps his hand against your cheek and gently rests your head back against him as he holds you, pressing deep inside you, longingly, embracing you.

And you cling to him, letting his uniform dry the incoming tears.

Chapter Text

Graves meant it when he said he wishes he’d met you at some other time in his life. In some other place far away from here, that didn’t require him to be so cold, and play such a heartless role. 

Then you could see the good parts of him, instead of all the bad you’ve come to know him for.

“So this is it then?” You stand a few feet from Graves now, sliding your top back over your head. He hasn't seen anything beyond your back for the past five minutes now; too busy with fixing yourself to look presentable for the others outside his office. Graves stood a few feet away, doing the same, listening to you speak. “We’re done now?”

Your question comes out of the blue somewhat, seeing as you haven’t spoken a single word to him since you two finished. And not since you’d broken down in his arms either. 

Graves’ has never seen you cry before.

It's all he can bring himself to think about right now. You may not be in his arms anymore, but the solemn sensation of you shaking against his body remained ingrained in him, almost as though you’ve emptied all your sorrow into him instead.

It had unsettled the man when he first realized your tears weren’t from pleasure, nor just for show. You hid them as best you could, embarrassed to have even let yourself appear so vulnerable to your commander, as you’d buried your face in his chest, hoping he wouldn’t notice it growing damp from your tears. 

But how could Graves not notice?

Graves had thought about stopping when he’d caught you crying; sex would be the last thing on his mind if he were you. But anytime he’d so much as attempt to let go and allow you to remove yourself from him, you’d only cling tighter, almost fearful to part.

You continued to ride him elegantly, almost swan-like, despite your sudden pang of sorrow. Graves would have been locked in a trance, were he not so concerned.

And selfishly, when you did not leave him in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hold you regardless. Graves couldn’t think of anything more to do, other than embrace you, letting his fingers trail soothingly up and down your spine, as he placed light kisses against your neck.

His lips had traveled up to your ear, his other hand still cupped to your cheek, as he slowly guided your face to him, trailing along your jawline. Your tears were wet against his nose, mixing with his kisses; and you kept your eyes closed, as though the sight of him would make things worse. 

Graves kissed your cheek, letting his thumb brush the tears away, before his lips found yours again. There you sink into his kiss, allowing him to take up more spaces of your mind. Your lips remained locked until you two had both finished with each other. By then the memory of your mouth had been seared deep.

It took having to let you go again for an epiphany to finally hit him.

If that night at the bar made him realize that you truly haunt the deepest recesses of his mind, then tonight has only shown Graves the absolute worst case of that realization. That at some point, he had fallen in love with you, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

So this is it then?

Graves stews on your question, letting the seconds drag on almost purposefully. You still haven’t looked at him, even as you finished buttoning up your uniform. He needn’t see your face to know what you’re thinking; how you were waiting to hear him answer you.

He sighs to himself, moving back over to his desk, where a stack of papers and emails still sit waiting for his attention. He wants to take back his words, he wants to keep things going. In a perfect world things would, yet he’s already let the ship sail out too far. Going back now would only make you two look even more foolish.

“We’re done.”

You turn to look at him, taciturn and drained. Your lips grow tight. His words seem to do little for you, and Graves can’t really blame you for that.

There's no further comments, not even on the tears you previously shed. At some point between then and now, you must have had a conversation with yourself, and come to a similar conclusion. Because he's never seen your eyes so walled off before.

“OK.”

And then you walk out of his office, without so much as a goodbye.

Graves hopes you got the reaction you wanted from him, because watching you go in such a way crushed him like no other heartbreak ever has before.

He waits for the door to shut before sinking into his chair. Graves buries his face in his hands and simply breathes, trying not to think about the moment he was currently living. In this empty office, now silent and cold, the commander sits to himself, thinking. Caught up in another idle thought.

Indeed, he truly wishes he could have met you someplace else. Where things were normal, and the weight of his responsibilities didn’t weigh on his shoulders so heavily. He found himself that night, daydreaming of what a life like that could have been like.

Perhaps Graves could have met you back home.

He’d come upon you one day, sitting outside, maybe in front of your house or on the concrete step to your apartment complex. Some little elm tree would stretch over you, its colored leaves casting soft shadows amidst a sunny day, and the sky would be as blue and clear as a clean pool of water.

You’d sit there, probably playing that guitar you liked to hide in your room, giving all who passed by a warm smile and subtle nod on their way onward. And then your eyes would find his along the way, and that’s all you two would need. 

Graves would come in suavely, always having a way with his words when needed. Of course, his cocky demeanor wouldn’t charm you so easily. You’d most likely tease him, poke at him playfully just for the silly banter. Finding him rather corny. 

But when he’d ask you for a coffee later, you wouldn’t say no.

When he finally walks away, something would pull at Graves to look back. And he’d find your eyes already watching him; the same thought crossing your mind as well.

You wouldn’t look away when your eyes met. You’d only smile and wave goodbye, and Graves would return the gesture. And as he finally walked away, he would feel himself fall in love with you all over again. The right way this time.

Graves always imagined he’d make a fine partner for someone, in another life. A life in which love could stand above duty. He’s never been much of a hopeless romantic, though he knows he can come close to it; if he ever were to meet someone who truly draws that out of him. 

As the days continue to pass Graves by, he finds that life to be but a far-off reality, as things only seem to become less than loving as time passes. Though lately, he’s caught himself thinking of it more so, from time to time.

He thought of a love strong enough to take him away from his work. That kind of love would have Graves fly to the moon and back for them, if they so desired it.

He would want his lover showered with gifts and extravagance; anything at all. You would only need to say the word, and Graves would have it there for you before it even crossed your mind as a thought or longing. He’d swaddle you with furs and jewels and gifts, proud to show you off to the world and proud to have you along his side.

The world was ugly and unfair; you didn’t have to tell Graves that for him to know it. Yet still he has seen some beautiful things too.

He’s always had this fleeting desire to share that beauty with someone, living life to its absolute fullest. If only to see how your lips moved when you smiled, or hear the melodic pitch of your laughter, getting lost in the wonder and joy that twinkles in your eyes, and what words of yours he could etch into his mind next.

There’s so many wonderful things which could have come from a life like that. One not strife with so much death and misery. Graves truly wishes he had met you someplace else.

But instead, he’s met you here.

...~o~O~0~O~o~...
The Following Day
...~o~O~0~O~o~...

“Any visual on our target, Canary?”

You continue peering through your binoculars at a tall, rundown apartment buildings across from you, skimming the street level for a red Sedan to park nearby.

You occupy an empty, upper floor apartment room adjacent to your target location, using the window to scout for Onyx. You and Graves had a small squad from Shadow Company camped out in the room with you. With the high ground advantage, you had a good view of the city below.

The streets of Kavala are tightly compacted, the narrow roads littered with various parked vehicles, bicycles, and trash cans. It almost stretched out like long, maze-like alleyways, easy to lose someone in if they so much as rounded a corner, as the cobblestone streets grew more empty with the setting sun.

Had you not been here on a mission, you would have found this place beautiful, history and culture engraved in all its architecture. Their people seemed happy and carefree, not a concern in the world for many of them, beyond their own personal qualms.

If only they knew of what lurked in their dark corners.

You sit posted with your elbows resting against the window frame. With the sun getting lower, the room grew dark around you, all the lights having been shut off so as to not tip off anyone of your current location. With night approaching, you'll be able to use it as cover, once you head out.

You Shadows always did work better in the dark.

It helps that you’re all clad head to toe in black tactical armor, the entire squad dawning black balaclavas and goggles. Even Graves was completely covered for this one. Wouldn’t want to be too identifiable. The patches you wore were message enough for those need-to-know.

“No eyes on them yet, Commander,” you say.

You feel a shift in the air to your left, Graves’ presence shading over you as he peeked out the window himself.

He stares off for a moment, completely silent. It makes you uncomfortable not knowing what he may be thinking right now. Graves was already a hard man to read as is, and a liar to boot. Adding a mask into the mix was a deadly combination.

You hear Graves grumble a little. “He sure is taking his sweet ass time.”

“Could be traffic,” you joke.

“Yeah, well that ‘traffic’ better pick up soon. I can’t stand wearin’ this fuckin’ thing,” he whined.

“What?” you ask. “The mask?”

“Yeah,” Graves said. “I’ve got too much hair for this; I’m losin’ it right now. I don’t know how Ghost can do it…”

You roll your eyes and giggle. You disagreed with him personally; you thought he looked rather alluring with the mask. It kind of suited him. “You’re such a diva, Graves.”

“That’s Commander to you, lieutenant,” he teases.

You tease back. “Yes Commander.”

Graves pushes away from the window, turning back to the rest of the team in the room. You keep your gaze through your binoculars, having been tasked to do so. 

It seems you both have found it rather easy to go back to being "just" coworkers. Merely pretending everything before now didn’t exist. Not that either of you had much choice.

Still, you found it was much easier to ignore these tiny urges to check him out when he wasn’t right beside you, talking to you like how he does. All magnetic and so on.

“I’m gonna get in contact with the General about our status,” Graves informs everyone. “Y’all just holler if you need me, but keep it down. We don’t need everyone on the floor knowin’ we’re in here. Oh, and Canary’s in charge!”

“Hooray.” You say sarcastically.

You hear a door shut, guessing that Graves went into the other room to speak with Shepherd. A lot of the others in the company weren’t aware of all the details regarding Black Bag; some weren’t even aware of it at all.

The less people who know about it, the less likely that it'd get out. In a way, your men are a lot safer believing this is just a snatch and grab job for some AQ asshole. It's not like it would be a complete lie either.

The Commander must also be in another room, because Jeremy was immediately on his shit again, the second Graves was out of earshot.

“Ah, Canary,” you hear Jeremy start to coo behind you mockingly. You don’t bother turning to face him, he’s probably got some smug expression beneath his mask anyway. Like he has all week now. “Not 'Songbird' anymore, L/N?”

You roll your eyes to yourself. Of course he’s not over the whole drink thing. You could have sworn Graves said he had a chat with him. Seems that was only good for about a week.

Jeremy’s not as easily frightened by being reprimanded as you’d thought, when given a week to cower and lie about it at least. You choose to ignore him though. It’s not like he was worth the effort of crafting a sentence for. You’re on watch right now as is.

“What,” he starts to huff behind you. “Touchy topic?”

“Would you give it a rest, Adams,” another member of your team starts to speak. Shadow 3-1, Percy. He sits a few feet from you by the other window, thumbing a spare clip in his hands, before looking up at Jeremy.

Though you’re all masked, making it impossible to tell what expressions everyone was making, you could tell he was as annoyed with Shadow 2-0 as you were. “That whole drink thing was nearly a fuckin’ week ago. Canary got you down that bad, man?”

You hold in a giggle at his comment. “Careful Percy, his ego bruises easily.”

"That much is obvious," Percy replies. The two of you chuckle to yourselves. 

You've always gotten along with Percy, personally. He often liked to de-escalate tensions, both with his work and his associates. He could be to himself at times; truth be told, you didn't know him very well, beyond the fact that he was from someplace North of Chicago and he had a steady aim with a sniper rifle. He was also tall as shit too.

But Percy never gave you a hard time about anything, and would actually converse with you when you'd strike the conversation. So that made him OK in your book.

Jeremy laughs to himself suddenly. "Yeah, right," he says. "'Cause you're just some great catch, right Canary?"

"And don't forget it, boo." You blow a little kiss to yourself, loud enough for him to hear.

This sets Jeremy off. "You know what-"

"Yo," Percy cuts in between you two. "Didn't the commander just fucking say to keep it down?"

You don't say anything. Jeremy doesn't either. However, he does see the finger you give him casually, never taking your eyes from your binoculars. You hear him grumble to himself and shuffle off, taking that as a small victory.

Right on cue, you suddenly catch glimpse of a red Sedan driving down the road -- the only red car you've seen since you've posted up. It veers off to the side of the road, before parking at the entrance to the apartments across from you.

You wait before confirming, watching as all four doors to the vehicle open, a small group of darkly attired men slowly pouring out.  Their hands are tucked in their pockets and coats cautiously. They look around, speaking few words, before the driver steps out of the car. He wears a black tracksuit and gold chain, his hair buzzed, with a long bullet graze scar cutting across the right side of his head.

Onyx.

"I've got visual on our target," you say to the others in the room. Percy posts himself at the window beside you, using his scope to keep an eye on the men below. "Someone go grab the commander."

As you hear the door behind you open, awaiting for Graves to approach, you continue to watch Onyx and his men linger by the car. You're reminded of the files you read.

There wasn't much to know, beyond the fact that he used to work with Ghorbrani, and has a lot of ties with Russia. The man's day job seemed to be arms dealing. Why that had extended to AQ, as well as what that could mean, is what your team is here to find out. And who better to send, than the group needing to know these connections the most.

Graves approaches your window again, and without asking, he takes the binoculars from your hands. You almost make a joke, but you bite your tongue.

"About damn time," Graves comments, peeking down at the target through your binoculars. When Onyx and his men head inside the apartments, the commander passes them back, turning to face the rest of the team again. 

“Alright Shadows, let’s get this show on the road,” Graves starts. “We’ll split into teams of two. Alpha Team -- Baxter, Weaver -- you’re with me. We’ll provide cover from here and watch for trouble, while Bravo Team -- Canary, Adams, and Percy -- infiltrate the building and nab our target.

“Now we’re here for Onyx, and Onyx only. You get in there and you bag ‘em; anyone else is considered nonessential. We’ve got execute authority, so if you gotta drop someone, just keep it quiet. Once you’ve apprehended the target, radio back and we’ll go from there. That clear?”

The entire team responds with some form of a “Yep-Yep!”

Though you can’t see Graves’ face beneath the mask, you just know he’s smiling at everyone, guessing from the little happy shuffle he makes in his step. “Let’s earn those paychecks, boys!”

“Hell yeah, Commander!” Jeremy cheers. “I’m already lookin’ at gettin’ a new Camaro.”

“I love to hear it,” Graves daps fist with Shadow 2-0, before pointing at you suddenly. “Canary, you’re team lead.”

“Oh boy,” Jeremy comments.

“Ah, don’t be like that Adams,” you tease. “I’d offer to buy you a drink after this, but… you seem like you can’t handle your liquor.”

“Why don’t you shut up L/N-”

“Alright, knock it off,” Graves cuts it. “We’ve got shit to do. Now let’s get movin’.”

You nod at the commander and watch the members of your team begin to enter the hallway. However, when you go to exit with them, you’re stopped suddenly by Graves' arm, extending out before you.

You look up at him confused, peaking back into the room at the others. They didn’t seem to pay any mind to you two at the doorway, giving you both a few short seconds of privacy.

Graves brings his arm down, but leans in a little closer. Thank God you had a mask on, because the proximity made you blush a little.

You have to admit, there was an aura around him which felt different with a mask on. Something more dangerous and enigmatic. Graves always looked good in uniform, but something about his face being concealed made the man feel so much more alluring. An infinite guessing game with him, it was.

“Keep me posted, yeah?” he said, his voice low so only you could hear him. “Radio in at the first sign of trouble, and we’ll be down there in a flash.”

“Worried, Commander?”

“I’ll be less worried once this is done.”

He pauses, and for a moment you thought he was done speaking. However, he didn’t budge, his head somewhat pointed at you and to the side. Like he wasn’t trying to meet your eyes. 

“I…” he takes a second to think of his sentence. “Just stay safe.”

You can’t help but start to lean on your leg casually, placing your hands on your hips. If he could see you, he’d know you were smirking at him. As you should. Aren’t you two done? You lift a hand and gently pat the commander on the chest, giving him a light shrug. “Glad to see you still care, Commander.”

As you go to pull your hand away, Graves stops you, taking your gloved hand into his, as he squeezes it affirmingly. Your eyes dropped to your locked grip, feeling your heart beat.

“I care about all of you.”

Though you knew he meant that, you also knew what he meant by that. It seems some things never changed, even as you two tried to make it so.

You squeeze his hand back, before slipping it out and giving him a thumbs up, stepping out the doorway. “I’d hope so, Commander.”

You feel his eyes on you until the door shuts, and the rest of your mission lie before you.

Chapter Text

Death.

That’s what runs through your enemies minds when they see your coat of arms -- the Rook insignia of Shadow Company -- the certainty that the end has come.

The Shadows were nothing more than a frightful whisper in the night to those unfortunate enough to be on the wrong side of things. The rumored name their enemies traded after discovering yet another bloodbath left out for display.

It takes a special type of depravity to earn a title like that one; the kind of rep' that runs your blood cold. Under Phillip Graves' command, they were the hideous embodiment of the big, dark shadow in your closet. Boogeymen within the PMC ring. Beastly, merciless, and unforgiving.

Death.

Tonight, you would be the bringer of that destined death, as your target remains oblivious to the impending doom heading his way now.

"...Three, two, one. Execute!"

A small charge blows the handle off a large, metal door, breaking it from its hinges, as it sways open with an eerie creak. The noise attracts the attention of a barking dog in the distance; none from any humans however, nor passing vehicles.

You, Percy and Jeremy stand in a cramped alleyway between two neighboring apartment complexes. The lack of street lamps and available moonlight peaking over the tall, stone buildings, made the alley near pitch black in the night.

This part of Kavala wasn't as populated as the other tourists-filled spots in the city, allowing for you and your men to move in the night with little fear of attracting attention and tipping off your target. With any luck, you could be in and out with Onyx in a matter of minutes.

You flip your night vision goggles on, a hazy green hue overtaking your senses, as you take a peek into the room you'd just broken and entering into -- the back stairwell to the apartments.

Whoever runs this place didn't bother having any of the lights running in this part. You weren't likely to run into anyone this way, at least. Not without you having the upper hand.

"Shadow-1, this is Canary," you say in your comms. "We've breached the building. Entering now. How copy?"

"Good copy," Graves radios in. "Onyx's room is on the fourth floor, room 213. Radio in once you're done. If you run into any "problems", go ahead and dump 'em. Just keep it quiet, yeah?"

"Roger that, Commander. Out here."

Jeremy begins to mutter beneath his breath, "Of course he's on the fourth floor."

The man stands at the foot of the stairwell, using his rifle's scope to look up ahead. He hasn't had much to say to you since you parted from the rest of the team. It's probably the quietest you've ever heard him, which was fine by you.

"You could use the exercise," you poke at him with a whisper, moving past Shadow 2-0 to start making your way up. "Let's move."

Percy follows close behind, silently covering you, as Jeremy follows with a huff.

The stairwell was a tight squeeze, given how far up it stretches, people leaving loose laundry to dry, and their belongings scattered about. You move up quietly, listening for every possible noise.

Dim lights from the small door windows beam in like thin rays, cutting through the dark, as you advance up another set of steps. You hear the faint noises of TVs and chatter echoing from other rooms down their respective halls, unaware of your team creeping by. Indeed, this building was actively being lived in.

The sounds grow less lively as you ascend the steps, before they're replaced by the creaking of the stairwell, and your increasing pulse.

The stairwell eerily blocks out the sounds of the world outside itself, leaving you with the muted steps of your boots against the hard floor, and your low breathing.

The heavy burden of your task at hand grew more prominent.

The adrenaline rises slowly. It made your heart ring in your ears, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up beneath your mask and clothing. You'd only remember the presence of yourself when you would unconsciously swallow.

You reach the fourth floor, removing your night vision so you could peek through the door window.

Taking a small gander of the hallway, you check for signs of roaming residents. This floor seemed to house more empty rooms than the ones below it, with little to no traffic; a deliberate choice by your target no doubt, and one Onyx would soon regret.

The coast looked clear enough.

You turn to your team and give them a small nod, before opening the door and piling into the hallway. As quick as you can, you begin skimming the room numbers, keeping your rifles lowered and your heads on the swivel.

209... 210 ... 211 ... 212...

Room 213. The last room down the hall.

The three of you huddle around the door, your backs pressed against the wall, and your ears locked in. There's laughter erupting from inside, along with some blaring rap music, too unidentifiable from where you stand to make any of it out.

With how loud it was, there was no way Onyx, nor his men, would hear your team closing in. The chatter grew more rambunctious, multiple men's voices picking up through the walls now.

Your team all share glances with one another, running by the next plan of action with a single lock of the gaze. You recall what was discussed in your briefing hours ago, and prepare yourself.

You lift your hand up and silently begin to count down from five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Percy shoots the door handle, his silencer making the shot a "Plink!" noise, as the door lightly swung ajar. The moment it opens, Jeremy lifts his boot and kicks it in, raising his rifle and rushing into the apartment. You and Percy follow suit, your guns aimed and ready, fingers hovering over the trigger.

In a few short seconds, you take in your surroundings: One exit, a single, curtainless window across from you, a kitchen to your left -- divided by an island counter, and a hallway to your right going towards the bedrooms.

It smelt of cigarettes and dust. The apartment was small and overstuffed with tacky, old furniture and décor. Immediately, you shift your sights to the occupants of the apartment. Your target.

A group of five men sat at a round dining room table off to the left of the entrance and living room. You immediately identify Onyx by his black tracksuit and gold chain, sitting at the table's center. The man's a lot more lanky up close, scrawny even. Though his brown eyes carried the look of a seasoned killer.

They're heads all snapped to the sound of the door crashing open, startled gazes quickly twisting with rage. They reach for their pistols on the table, ready to draw, only they're a few seconds too short.

Jeremy shoots the first shot, riddling one of the guards with bullets and planting him permanently in his seat. The flash from his gunfire lights the room at each pop, as Percy joins in shortly after, taking care of the man next to him who tried to reach for his gun. 

You shoot the last two men with swift precision, making a clean shot through both their skulls back to back, and leaving Onyx as the last man at the table.

"Ahhh!!"

There's an intense scream that comes from the kitchen to your left.

Instinctively, you turn both your body and rifle to the sound, prepared to shoot down this unknown assailant. However, you freeze at the sight of the culprit, your hands locking in place. You see a woman.

Her brown hair is long and curly, her makeup as put together as what she wore. She stands in the kitchen, staring at all the dead bodies, with her hands clasped tightly over her mouth in fear, the tears already streaming down her face.

Suddenly, you come face to face with your own humanity, having switched that part off the moment you stepped through the door. Only you hadn't noticed until now.

The woman screams again, and this time it attracts the attention of the others on your team. Jeremy's in particular.

Shadow 2-0 whips his rifle towards the woman's direction, and without much thought at all, pulls the trigger.

POP!

You watch the bullet slice over the woman's shoulder, just barely missing the major part of her arm, as her blood splatters against the white refrigerator behind her like a paintball pellet.

The woman cries out, grabbing at her arm hysterically. She begins to cower over in fear, suddenly attempting to grab at something near her knees, just below where you couldn't see over the kitchen counter.

You hear tiny footsteps begin to bolt, and to your absolute horror, you see the small shadow of someone bolt from around the counter.

A child.

The kid weaves through you and your team, making a beeline for the hallway, as the woman screams in Russian for him to come back. This sends Onyx in a tizzy.

With no regard for his own safety, the man stands from his seat and attempts to chase after the child, only to be stopped by a bullet to the calf from Jeremy.

Onyx crashes to the floor, only barely catching himself from face-planting onto the ground. Percy takes this opportunity to apprehend Onyx. He drops his knee down onto the man's back until it digs in his spine, swinging his fists down at him a few times before grabbing hold of both his arms.

Amidst the chaos, Jeremy turns his attention back to the belligerent woman, who was seconds away from going completely off the deep end.

"Hey!" Jeremy raises his rifle, threatening to swing it down on her, as though that would help things. "Quit your screamin'!"

She ignores him, crying more, and using her good arm to shield herself from him. It's very likely the poor woman didn't speak English.

The woman's sobbing pleas only seem to further erupt Onyx into a fit of rage. He squirms beneath Percy's knee, cursing and yelling in Russian, making a loud scene.

You step over to Jeremy, attempting to salvage what little Russian you did know to try and get the woman to calm herself. For her sake, she needed to; others in your company would not be as patient.

"Quiet," you tell her. "You need to be quiet."

The woman hears you, but struggles to manage her blubbering, just barely being able to keep from hyperventilating. You couldn't blame her either; Jeremy made this situation more difficult right from the jump. Not that you expected any less from him. Shadow 2-0 was as brutish and uncaring as mercenaries came, the kind of man who shouldn't be in this line of work, and yet thrived in it.

You quickly step back over to the entrance, peaking outside to make sure the commotion hadn't attracted any attention. The hallways remained as empty as you had left them, surprisingly enough. With the music inside still blaring like it was, most of this ordeal was probably drowned out and ignored by the neighbors. Hopefully.

You make sure to shut what remains of the front door behind you on your way back in.

"Shadow-1, we've apprehended the target," you call in. "Awaiting orders."

Radio silence.

You tap your foot impatiently, guessing at what it was that kept your commander from replying. Shepherd, most likely. He's been going out of his way to hound and micromanage you and your Company as of late, almost as though he did not trust you. Which was insulting, given what you knew of him.

After everything the Shadows have done already, trust felt more than owed.

"I told you to keep it down!" Jeremy yells at the woman.

"Screamin' at her's not gonna help any," you say.

Percy cuts in now. "She's probably cryin' for her fuckin' kid."

"Why don't you go get it then, Canary?" Jeremy turns his frustrations to you. "Since you're just standing there."

You would argue, though you couldn't find it in you to do that right now. Your mind felt a bit scattered suddenly.

"Copy that, Canary." Graves' voice brings you back into perspective. "Run into any trouble in there?"

You begin to take in more of the details around the apartment, catching the occasional child's toy on the ground, and family picture on the wall. Onyx's wife and child. The woman and that kid. It makes sense that he'd live with his family, though it's not what you anticipated on barging into when you came here. You hadn't put much thought into that at all, actually.

"Negative, Commander. No issues from us. But..." you're a bit hesitant to mention it to him, knowing what would come of this family if Graves knew. You eventually decide to speak however, some subliminal sense of duty pushing you to. "There are civilians in here, sir."

"Sounds nonessential," Graves says.

Nonessential. Just what you wanted to hear. You sigh in relief. However, it is short-lived.

"They look like they might be his wife and kid, sir," Jeremy radios in. A game changing piece of information in this event. One which quickly sank your heart at your Commander's sudden silence on the other end.

"They still breathin'?" he asks plainly. Quite a question to have on his mind, though it does not surprise you in the least.

"Yes, sir," you say. "Though, the wife's been wounded."

There's another long pause from Graves. You begin to think he may be relaying this back to Shepherd as you speak, seeing as the assignment was entirely dependent on what the General saw fit.

"Tie 'em up and meet us out back," said Graves. "Bring the whole family with ya while you're at it, and make it snappy. Shadow-1 out."

The comms shut off, and the silence which follows feels deafening.

Percy hoists Onyx up aggressively, as he quickly zip-ties the man's hands behind his back, placing a black sack over his head. The whole time, Shadow 3-1 made sure to keep the barrel of his rifle pressed to his back, reminding him not to try anything.

"I said on your fucking feet!"

You hear Jeremy yell at the woman again. He yanks at her wounded arm until she's standing, the poor lady crying out in pain from her injury. Not that he cared for her condition, just that he could quickly have her subdued and blindfolded.

"I'll go look for the kid," you decide.

You venture down the dark hallway, peering into each room you pass, trying to keep your mind at ease.

Any time you pause for even a short second, you feel your lungs shake in your chest. It was as though they were filling with some sort of fluid, drowning you from the inside out. It made it hard to swallow.

That kid is in here somewhere. Confused. Terrified. Your black silhouettes seared into their little eyes. To this child you search for, you were the boogeyman of the night. The shadowy figure come to haunt their dreams for the rest of their life. Death.

Suddenly it didn't feel as prestigious holding such a title.

You've widowed and orphaned your fair share of families; you're more than aware of that. In this line of work, you're so aware of that, in fact, that you no longer thought about it. The families involved were very much out of sight and out of mind. That's what made the job so doable, because it's easier to shoot bad men when that's all you see them for.

Coming face to face with that reality had you more shaken up than you'd wished. You thought you'd be more prepared for something like this to happen, it was bound to. Yet your hands won't stop shaking.

A few cynical lines of encouragement pop in to your head, as you try to rationalize things and put them into some kind of digestible perspective. It's all you really can do.

Bad people have families too, this is obvious. You have a job to do and a home to keep safe. Had the roles been flipped, you'd be shown the same treatment, if not worse. And you don't deserve to feel any type of way about this. You're the one holding the gun.

And it's not like you're doing this because any of you want to either.

So long as AQ is around and those missiles remain on the loose, your life is gone. You'd know no peace until this situation is resolved. Black Bag left you with no other option. If you want your life back, then this is what must be done.

That's what you keep telling yourself.

You reach the last room at the end of the hall, a child's bedroom. It's not the most lavishly decorated, but you could tell that whoever set it up put a lot of care into making it a suitable space for their kid.

You look around, checking the obvious hiding spots: the closet first, then behind the door. You then check underneath the bed. You admit, you jumped a little when you actually saw the kid hiding there.

The child is tiny, no older than maybe six or seven, with large eyes struck with fear from the sight of you. They don't scream however, too terrified to. Perhaps hoping you would not see them if they remained still.

With your mask on, you looked about as shadowy and hostile as the rest of your team. However, you keep your distance from the kid, looking back to see if the others could see you.

Not a soul stands in the doorway behind you.

It doesn't take you long to decide your next move.

You turn to the child, and simply bring your finger to your masked lips. "Shh."

You tell them to be quiet, praying they stay put, and wishing they had not been here to see this happen. It breaks your heart to see the child's eyes on you like this, and for you to be so helpless at remedying the pain you've caused.

"Shh," you tell them. "Stay."

The kid doesn't budge, though you get the sense they understand you.

You stand and slowly leave the room, shutting the door behind you. With any luck, the others wouldn't come to look themselves. You're sure you'll get chewed out for this, but you were prepared for it. It was needless to involve the man's family in this.

You re-emerge from the hallway, finding Percy and Jeremy standing by in the living room with the target and his wife. They're both apprehended, bags over their heads and arms tied tightly behind their backs. It appears they'd been yelled at enough times to remain quiet, for now. Though the woman still sobs quietly.

"You find the kid?" Jeremy asks abruptly.

Quickly, you run with the best argument you can come up with at the spur of the moment.

"They're hiding around here somewhere," you say. "But we've gotta move. Just make do with what we got."

"Stay here and I'll go look for the little fucker," Jeremy volunteers. "Since you can't do it."

"That's not necessary," you say.

"It ain't like this place is big," he retorts.

"We move out," you put more bass into your voice, standing up tall. What you were not about to do was debate with Shadow 2-0 on whether or not he can personally acknowledge you as his superior. You didn't need his acknowledgement, you are his superior. "That's an order."

Jeremy stands there for a moment, neither speaking nor moving. Almost attempting to intimidate you, seeing if you'd break composure before he did.

You matched his energy however, neither speaking nor moving yourself. Waiting to see if he'd openly disobey a direct order from you.

"We ain't got all night," you cut in. "Now let's move."

Jeremy grabs hold of the collar of the woman's shirt and starts bringing her around to the entrance. "Yup-yup."

Percy follows Jeremy out of the room, bringing Onyx with him, and leaving you in the apartment alone. Your eyes linger down the end of the hall, where that child's door remains shut.

You wondered how long they would wait before they open that door again.

...

You drive a ways out of Kavala, until your surroundings become a deep abyss, the only other vehicles on the road being miles away from where you are. When you've reached a small patch of woods, Graves has the van veer off road. You drive until the woods submerge you, parking off to the right someplace more open.

This far away, you and your company were granted with complete solitude, where no one would be able to hear the impending screaming and crying to come.

You all exit the vehicle in near unison, Jeremy pulling Onyx out from the back of the van. He struggles to stand properly, his leg having been bleeding from the bullet wound on his calf since you left the apartments.

Jeremy merely drags Onyx, bringing the man out in front of the van's headlights. He then throws him against a tree, watching his back slam into the hardwood sharply.

He pulls the sack from Onyx's head and his eyes squint from the bright lights. With his vision still adjusting, Graves and his company appeared as shadows in the black of night.

Graves makes his way over to the arms dealer, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He observes as the man works himself up again, standing to his feet.

"What is this?" Onyx snarls. "You're American, right? Military? You can't do this to me!"

"Who said anything about us being military?" Graves says.

"If you're not military, then who?" Onyx demanded.

"How 'bout I ask the questions from here," Graves gets close to the man, clapping his hands together. "Alright?"

Onyx spits at the commander. "Fuck you, you dog!"

You slowly brace yourself for the inevitable now, remaining some distance from the scene, away from the headlights, within the dark. Graves always liked to give off this cavalier attitude to start things off, but you knew it only hid a man who held incredibly little patience for bullshit. 

Graves wipes the spit from himself and shakes his head, smacking his lips together disappointedly. He then proceeds to bring his fist down fast, his gloved knuckles colliding hard against the man's nose.

The man's head whips to the side violently. The sheer force causes him to lose his footing, as he crashes to the ground, only to then be brought back up to his feet by Shadow 2-0.

"Now," Graves says. "I've got a few questions, and you've got two options. You tell me what I want to hear, or I put the fear of God in you and then you tell me what I want to hear."

Onyx doesn't reply, his nose beginning to drip with blood. Graves takes his silence as an invitation to continue speaking.

"You did business with Ghorbrani, once upon a time," Graves says. "As one of his dealers. One of many, that is. Only he's kicked the bucket, and you're still trading with someone who's got ties with Ghorbrani's old friends. Someone I'm interested in gettin' to know."

Onyx really takes in Graves' question, and chuckles. "I see now," he says. "You're not military but you're with America. You contractors then? Mercenaries?"

"All you need to know is that I want the name of the man you're trading with. The asshole threatening my country. I've got good intel saying you know 'em. So you're gonna tell me."

"You'll see him soon enough," Onyx taunts. "As will your shit stain of a country, dog."

Graves' eyes travel down to the bullet hole in Onyx's calf, which has been steadily bleeding this entire time. The commander looks around at the rest of your team. "Who shot him?"

"I did, sir," Percy answers for himself.

Graves kneels down by it, Jeremy keeping his gun trained on Onyx so that he doesn't attempt to kick and fight his way out of this. The arms dealer helplessly looks down at the commander, fearful of what may come next. You share the sentiment.

"Good on you." Graves takes the tip of his index finger and sticks it into Onyx's bullet wound. The man jolts and squirms and yelps in pain, but Jeremy grabs hold of his arm, keeping him standing in his tight grip.

Onyx's cries echo throughout the woods. It makes you nauseous listening to it.

"Give me a name," Graves tells him.

Onyx can barely talk through the searing pain shooting up his leg "...I'm a dead man either way."

"That might be true," says Graves. "But I'd say you've still got about an hour left in you. Tell me what I want to hear. Who's supplying AQ?"

Onyx doesn't speak.

Graves gives him maybe five seconds before he's pushed his finger uncomfortably far into his wound again. A pained scream gurgles from Onyx's throat, filling the entire area with his mangled voice.

The Commander continues this vicious cycle of asking Onyx the same few questions, and causing him some variation of pain when he wouldn't answer.

Who have you been working with in AQ? Another finger in the wound. Who's trying to replace Ghorbrani? A small series of fists, boots, and knees rumble against Onyx's head and chest. A nose breaks, some ribs crack. His blood begins to stain the ground around him. Give me a name.

In the midst of this brutality, Onyx does let slip a few short answers, but nothing that wasn't obvious or too useful. Someone was trying to replace Ghorbrani, some new, wannabe despot. Whoever they are, that's who's been working with Russia and arming AQ. If they can get a name, that would already be enough for them to take back to Shepherd and Laswell.

Barely a half hour passes before Onyx looks like a pale comparison of himself. His face is littered with various lumps and discolored bruises, his eyes so swollen it was a wonder he could still see, let alone be conscious. If Graves keeps things up like this, there wouldn't be much of him left to work with.

Graves seemed to comment a lot about the way you work as of late, yet you've almost forgotten what it was like to watch him at work, in his prime element. The real him; and how second nature his cruelty could appear.

It comes as a cold reminder.

Graves eventually grew bored of picking at the man's open wounds or beating him, opting for Onyx's fingers instead. He starts with the pinky first, then the ring finger, and then his middle, taking each one and bending it back with a resounding snap. A sharp noise in these quiet woods, one which made you cringe at each break.

You could not understand how unphased and far removed Graves could be with another human. Yet, you know what must run through his mind right now -- the same thoughts you've been trying to remind yourself of all night. You have no choice. Only you see Graves now, and you know those words you've been trying to convince yourself of believing were true in his mind. He had no doubt about it.

To Graves, this is just what needed to be done. To Graves, this man deserved this. And to Graves, it was just another loose end. When that's all he sees you as, it no longer mattered what else you once were. That is simply what you will always be to him.

SNAP!

Another finger gets folded and crunched, sending Onyx into a screaming, rocking fit.

"We've still got plenty o' fingers to go here, bud'," Graves says. He leans in close to Onyx, until his face is only about an inch or so from him, masked and black goggles reflecting back to the man his tattered state. "Give. Me. A. Name."

Onyx's eyes dip, falling to the patch on Graves' arm. He has a realization to himself suddenly. "...That insignia... I recognize it from somewhere... the Rook piece, with the Ace of Spades... I've seen it before..."

"Is that right?" Graves backs away, allowing for him to keep speaking.

"...Back in Al Mazrah."

You see Graves freeze.

"...Konni never put a face to the bodies, but it was your company right? A month or so ago... Yeah, the Shadow Company... That's what those patches said on those corpses..."

The woods around you grow bone chillingly cold suddenly, as the silence screams at you. Onyx picks up on the sudden change in Grave's posture, taking this moment to breathe.

The others stand around silently, unsure of what it was Onyx was referencing, and exchanging small glances. You look to your Commander, who only looks back at you. You can’t see his eyes, but you know exactly what he's thinking.

Black Bag.

This changes everything.

Graves takes a step away from the man, though he doesn't turn his view from him. He reaches up and turns his comms on. "Gold Eagle Actual," he says. "You pick all that up?"

"I did..." Shepherd replies. "Find out what else he knows, get that name from him, and bury him some place deep."

"Copy that, Actual."

Onyx laughs more to himself. "Ah, so that was you from that night... I should thank you. AQ wouldn't be what it is now without your help."

"Shadow 2-0," Graves looks back towards the van. "Go 'head and bring the missus out for me, will ya?"

You watch Onyx's expression waver and drop, beginning to regret the last few things he had said now.

Jeremy drags the woman out to where everyone is standing, throwing her to the ground in front of Graves. She falls chest first, her hands still tied to her back and a sack no longer over her head. She shivers and cries there, feebly waiting.

Onyx begins to speak Russian to his wife, his voice broken and frantic; though you're not fluent in the language, you pick up a few small phrases. Attempts to comfort her.

The woman's voice sobs at Onyx, her words broken by her tears. She isn't allowed to finish before Graves' has grabbed a handful of her brown hair. He grabs her hair tightly and hoists her up to her feet, as she yelps in pain.

This makes Onyx jump up from his spot, mustering that last bit of strength he had in him. It's only cut down by Percy, who sends his foot into the back of Onyx's injured leg. The man falls back down to his knees.

"Leave her out of this!" Onyx demands.

"Or what?" Graves taunts. "I seem to recall my men not being given the same mercy back in Al Mazrah. Ain't that right? You know about it after all."

He pulls the woman closer, watching the way her mascara stains her cheeks, her knees buckling beneath her. She'd tumble over had he not had such a tight grip in her hair. She grits her teeth to mask the pain.

"Meeting you is about to be the worst decision she's made in her entire life," Graves states. "You think on that the next time you call me dog, you fucking scum. You brought this on yourself. Now give me a fucking name!"

Onyx shares a look with his wife, his expression sinking. You can see in him somewhere, he wants to speak up, if not just for the sake of his wife. But the powers above, whoever it was he worked with, the fear of their retribution was enough to keep him silent, even now.

Graves sighs, and brings the woman over so he could whisper in her ear. "Get on your knees for me, honey."

He uses his boot to press into the back of her leg, bringing her down to her knees as he  nonchalantly continues to grip a handful of her hair like a loose rope. His hold on her keeps the woman's head up and her eyes forward. He didn't want her to miss that frightened look on her husband's face.

"There you go," Graves coos. "Good girl." 

And then, he pulled out his pistol, as he placed the barrel right at the back of the woman's skull. She feels the harsh coolness of the barrel, and begins to cry and pray silently in front of her husband.

Graves begins to count down. "Ten. Nine."

Onyx starts to argue with Graves as he counts down, unable to move or do anything without Percy seating him right back in his spot.

"Eight. Seven. Six."

The woman's sobbing grows louder the lower the countdown gets. At this point, you've memorized all the pitches her frantic voice could create, as for that twisted look on her face.

"FIVE. FOUR."

Onyx has turned to pleading with Graves now, but you knew that wouldn't work. There would be no begging with your Commander. He's told Onyx already what it is he wants, his wife is expendable.

"THREE. TWO-"

"Ghorbrani's second in command!" Onyx shouts out. "One of his former colleagues. They lead the charge."

"Their name."

"Hassan Zyani..."

Graves lowers the gun from the woman's head and immediately radios into Shepherd. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he quipped. "Gold Eagle Actual, we've got a name. Ghorbrani's second in command, a Hassan Zyani. How copy?"

"Copy, Graves. Good hit,” Shepherd praises him. You watch Graves’ shoulders slack with relief, as though he’d been waiting to hear Shepherd say that to him. Which he most definitely had been. 

“I'll have Laswell look into this Hassan and see what she can find out about him,” the General continues. “He'll join the list of other names we've collected, but we'll keep a sharp eye on him ourselves. Sounds like he might be our next stop on the hunt."

"And hopefully the last," Graves says.

"Finish up there, we'll go over the next move when you get back. Nice work. Gold Eagle out."

"Rog'," Graves says. "It was a pleasure, as always, Gold Eagle. Shadow-1 out."

Graves shuts his comms off, and turns back to Onyx, who continues to kneel on the ground. "I told you what you wanted," Onyx says. "So where does-"

The commander cuts Onyx off with a bullet to the back of his wife's skull, as her body drops to the ground. Dead. You hear Onyx scream unlike anything he's let out the entire night.

Graves responds to this by putting a bullet in Onyx shortly after, shooting two more into his lifeless body as it slumped over, just for good measure.

And just like that, your mission was done.

"Whoo," Graves sighs. "Guy was really startin' to get on my fuckin' nerves."

"Him and his dumbass wife," Jeremy chimes in.

They all laugh, only you can't really bring yourself to join in. You're too focused on the two dead bodies lying a few feet from you, their lifeless forms lit by the headlights.

"Well, let's wrap this up here and get goin'," Graves says. "Canary, why don't you help Percy with this."

The sound of your callsign reminds you that you stood amongst these men at this moment. You stood there the entire time.

"Yes, sir."

You make your way over to the bodies, Percy grabbing hold of Onyx as you go for his wife. You take hold of her limp arms, trying not to look at her face too much. Though your eyes unintentionally drop to them from time to time.

Each time they did, you thought about her kid at home. Were they still hiding under that bed, you thought to yourself. Waiting and wondering. Wondering and waiting.

"Do you know what he was talking about?" Percy asks you suddenly. "About Al Mazrah? Was that a job or somethin'?"

You and Percy find a small lake, where you throw the bodies into it. If anyone finds them, it wouldn't matter at that point what was done about it. They would just be another death in the underbelly of some hidden crime ring drama, and your company but another whisper in the night. One more loose end taken care of.

"Ask Graves," you say.

"Yeah, 'cause I'll get an answer from him about it," Percy says sarcastically, before walking off. You watch the bodies submerge in the water, before they vanish deep into the black, liquid abyss below. Gone forever.

You thought of the kid once more. Scared under their bed. Thankful, despite other painful things stirring in you.

It would have been worse, had it not been you here. Both a blessing and a curse.

Chapter Text

You watch another plane fly overhead, the cry of its engine peeling by amidst an early evening sky. It cuts through cream colored clouds, before submerging into the setting sun, as the world above you grows a fading shade of blue and peach.

The air cools, the birds chirp, cars drive along busy roads, and you sit beneath a tree beside the brick walls of your new barracks, strumming away at your guitar.

The plane eventually vanishes into the horizon, along with its rumbling. A heavy sigh leaves you. It was only a few hours ago when you'd stepped off a plane yourself. Though it wasn't for a flight home, were you so lucky. Your job has only just begun, from the looks of things.

You've got new orders, only this time they come straight from the General himself.

The details regarding your abrupt relocation had been scarce, even before Graves had you stuffed on the next flight back to the states. However vague the details are, the reasons were made clear to you from the jump -- your files had been pulled, and you were finally being placed with the Task Force.

You would be the mole after all.

Shepherd felt it necessary to have you moved, given your recent work in Turkey and Kavala. Of course, it also helps that Graves' gave him a strong recommendation on top of things. You're not sure what that may have been however. You haven't felt particularly noteworthy recently. 

Though whatever Graves said, the General saw some truth to it and moved you. Right on time too. You've felt as though you've started to wear out your welcome with Shadow Company as of late. And time away from your Commander would no doubt do you both some good.

The tips of your fingers grew raw from the past hour you spent plucking at your guitar strings. Your knuckles felt tight and your hands had become numb, but the discomfort was manageable. With luck, it would make for a faint enough distraction. It's much more manageable than the emotional pain that tugs at you beneath the surface.

You were cleared for combat before you flew out here. The news wouldn't have surprised you, had it not felt like a lie. Sure you're good to go on paper, but something was wrong with you. You could feel it.

You haven't felt like yourself since that night in Kavala.

Beyond the guilt you felt, you knew something had been off in you for days now. There were things you've found yourself doing, experiences you've noticed and felt, that you've never had to deal with prior.

An impending sense of dread hung heavy in your gut lately. It exhausts you all day, and keeps you wired through the night. In the quiet moments, you have these sudden urges to cry. You have to convince yourself to get out of bed most mornings. You'd go the whole day and forget to put a meal in you if you weren't paying attention.

And you were alone in your feelings.

The others in Shadow Company showed little to no remorse about the events that occurred that night, and that was even before they'd gotten paid for the job. Keeping things impersonal seemed to be the company motto.

Once the cash had rolled out, it was as though that op had never happened. No one brought it up, and no one had a second thought about it. Graves included. They were ready to take their blood money and ready to add more to the pile.

You didn't share the sentiment.

That night felt as surreal as a nightmare, only you've been trapped in some sort of sleep paralysis with it lingering; unable to move or wake yourself, and unable to shed away the emotions that had coursed through you in those brief moments.

All the noises, the chaos, their faces -- Whenever you think back on it, your throat tightens. Your blood runs cold. God forbid you space out when these thoughts came, lest your back in that dark hallway, looking for that scared little kid again.

You start to play another song, watching leaves from the tree gently fall around you. They dot the grass you sit on alongside the barracks. The other soldiers didn't use this back entrance often, giving you a little privacy (not that you needed it). The ones who'd pass by didn't have much to say, though their eyes always followed the music.

Despite the turmoil you face, you smile and nod at the soldiers, sparring a comment when a comment was spared. You'd nod a farewell and you'd let your own music drown their walking away.

And when they're gone, you let the swell of sorrow boil in you quietly. You close your eyes and sing to yourself, letting the lyrics match your strumming, and the melody keep your throat from burning so much.

No, nothing's wrong with me, you tell yourself. Nothing is wrong.

It saddens you to think of this, just as much as it scares you knowing that this might be the new normal for you. That this was out of your control now. If only you'd hadn't noticed the change in you.

You get a groove going with your song now, it pulls the lyrics from you with little effort. You keep your eyes closed as you sing. There's not much around you looking at anyway.

...

Ghost awoke in a tiny bedroom, lit by dim sunlight and old dust, the world around him completely still. His slumber had been a dreamless one; nothing but black and silence, just as he liked it. And for a moment, his room made him feel almost deaf.

It was damn near cathartic.

He lies on his back in bed for a while longer, this nap having been an unplanned one. As the man does so, he takes this time to breathe and be with himself. Attempting to meditate, in some sense of the word.

His therapist keeps recommending he give it a try, or something of that sort at least, if Ghost remembers it right. Their advice went in one ear and out the other sometimes, depending on the kind of day he was having.

Still, Ghost was somewhat receptive if not a bit apprehensive to their words. Some meditation would probably do him some good, despite not having the faintest idea of how to go about it. Lord knows it's been far too long since he's spent some time with his own thoughts.

Missions take top priority in his mind, making it difficult to think or notice much else outside of what needs to be done and bad men who need to be handled. He prefers it this way. Though many have warned him time and time again that all missions have their end eventually. When that comes, what would sate his troubled mind then?

How much longer could he avoid himself?

His dark eyes lingered above, stuck on some singular crack he's found over his head. It's tiny and sad looking on the cold white of the ceiling. Uninspired, much like Ghost is in this moment. He sighs to himself, feeling the minutes tick by monotonously.

Letting his mind run blank in the silence proved easy enough to do. Seeing where that blank space takes him would be his true hurdle. Once he allows himself too, the details paint themselves more clearly in his head.

AQ. Russians. Former Cartel men. Mother. Tommy. Joseph...

The dead were always the first to come to his mind, some recent, others years old. None which stick with Ghost any longer than the last. And none that didn't leave the usual crater in his chest afterwards. How else would he remind himself of the heart thumping in him?

Once he sifts through the surface level rot in his mind, it slowly brings him back to the living memories. He finds himself thinking of his team for a short while after, their expressions and figures all mostly indistinguishable from the next. Apart from a few outliers.

Soap came to mind first in that regard. Johnny.

Ghost wasn't sure what Soap found so interesting about him. It wasn't like the lieutenant was easy to talk to, nor fun to be around, he always thought so at least. Not in comparison to the Sergeant.

Truth be told, Ghost knew surprisingly little of Soap outside of work, beyond the fact that he could talk enough for the both of them. They've been running ops for awhile now though, long enough to where Ghost has grown used to the Sergeant's joyful demeanor. At this point, he couldn't picture him any other way.

Soap's go-getter personality matched well with his skill, the charisma was just an added bonus. That kind of authenticity was rare to find these days. A rarity Ghost has only seen been matched by one other carefree spirit. One that seems to cross his mind even more so, any time he had a second too long to himself.

Looking up at the ceiling, the memories play in his mind like a movie. A starry night with a full moon, cold air and wet rain water. Kind eyes and a sweet smile. Warm arms which gently take him in, as a soft sensation presses to his chest. A few short seconds from a night nearly a month past. You.

That night with you refuses to leave him be, no matter how much he pretends it didn't mean anything to him. It'd be better if that were the case. But he couldn't have a moment to himself without his drifting back to you. Back to your warm embrace.

Suddenly, Ghost wasn't so interested in meditating anymore, fearful to linger in the memory of you for too long and catch himself reminiscing again. He's gone this long without having to deal with emotions like that, there was no chance in hell he'd put himself through it now.

The man quickly throws on a black hoodie and readjust the skull balaclava he'd had on, as he looks upon a half-finished pack of cigarettes sitting on his nightstand, calling to him.

Ghost's penchant for smoking would give him well enough of an excuse to leave his room for a bit. So alas, his small addiction willed him out into the barrack hallways.

It only took about thirty seconds before that one decision changed the course of the rest of his day. He starts down the empty hall, still trying to familiarize himself with the place, until he hears something behind him...

"L.T.?"

Ghost paused, recognizing that Scottish accent from anywhere. Soap.

He doesn't bother turning to face the man, he's matched the mohawk to the voice by the time he's made his way over and stepped into his line of vision. 

Soap's face lights up at the sight of the Lieutenant, a boyish grin coming out of him. "Looks like I caught you right on time."

The Lieutenant lets his eyes lazily fall on the Sergeant. Guessing from the faint scent of sweat and workout attire, Ghost could infer that Soap most likely left from the gym not too long ago.

"So you were looking then?" Ghost asks almost teasingly.

He continues walking down the hallway before Soap has had time to respond. Which didn't matter much, as the Sergeant only followed Ghost along the way now. As he suspected he would. Very rarely did Soap leave him be when around.

Ghost could have told him to go if he wished to. Though he hadn't.

"No," Soap says. "I just happened by. Not to disappoint you, sir."

"Too late for that," Ghost quipped.

Soap chuckles, bashfully looking ahead of himself. He clears his throat. "Where're ya off to then?"

"I'm just havin' a smoke."

"Tsk. Tsk," Soap smacks his lips jokingly. "Those things'll kill you, L.T."

"Somethin' has to."

There's an awkward pause between the two men. For some reason it catches Ghost off guard, and for a second he thinks Soap might have been reading a bit too into his joke.

The Sergeant jokingly cringes to himself though, signaling to Ghost that there were no boundaries crossed. Good. Though it was peculiar of the Lieutenant to care about something like that to begin with. "Very edgy of you," says Soap.

"Look, Johnny," Ghost starts. "I just woke not but fifteen minutes ago. If you're gonna follow me, I need you at five, mate."

"Ah," Soap begins to tease. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, then L.T.? Bet it's 'cause you slept with that thing on your face."

"Maybe so." Ghost says unenthusiastically.

This brings a low rumble of a laugh out of Soap, who shakes his head at the lieutenant's comment. Ghost never fully turns his attention back to the Sergeant as he speaks, though his glancing over grows more frequent.

"Is it comfy?" Soap asks.

"Like an extra pillow for my face, Soap."

"Could I try one on, sir?"

"No."

"Afraid I might wear it better than you?"

"I don't share."

Soap laughs again, the base of his voice booming in Ghost's ear. Reminding him that he just woke up.

"You're a funny man, L.T.," Soap laughs.

"Who says I'm being funny?"

"I'd say so, sir."

"Fuckin' hell. A five, Johnny," Ghost rolls his eyes. "This here is a strong seven you're givin' me."

Soap blows raspberries. "A seven?" The man's accent was really starting to come out. "I'm at a solid six right now, at least. You know me better than that, Ghost."

"If it isn't five, it's not what I asked for."

Ghost and Soap round another corner in the barrack hallway, as they now approach the back exit to the building. The man's lips were twitching for a cigarette now, already tasting the nicotine on his tongue.

Some fresh air would do him some good too, even if he had to share it with some rather lively company. Ghost could handle it being only Soap however, being a team for this long now.

"You hear that?"

The sound of Soap's voice cutting in brings Ghost to a halt just near the exit, and just in range for him to hear the distant strumming of a guitar. The music was faint through the doors, though the soft melody picked up rather soothingly.

What caught Ghost's attention most was the sound of a woman's voice singing along to the acoustics. A voice which was soft and angelic, not perfect but with enough personality to it to be its own. It's a voice he could recognize, and one he's only heard recently in his memories.

There was no way, he thought.

"I think someone's playing music out there," Soap comments. Ghost doesn't notice him open the door until the sunlight washes over him; a cold, late summer wind breezing by, as the sounds of blissful music blankets over him.

He and Soap step out of the barracks onto the back concrete, steps of the building, facing an emptier end of the parking lots away from the main road, fenced away. There were a few trees and patches of grass decorating this part of the outer building, though the leaves were proving to be an impending nuisance in the coming autumn.

As the leaves blew in the evening sky, Ghost watches them hover about, until they fell at the patch of grass you sat at, a small ways from the exit. There his eyes found you once again, and a breath forgets to leave him.

For a moment there, he thought he might have been in his room, still dreaming.

You sit beneath a tree, your legs crossed and a guitar laid over your lap, as you look off into the distance with your eyes shut, singing to yourself some song which you knew intimately. In your voice, Ghost hears the struggle in you to keep your tone from breaking down.

The orange glow of the sun feathers your skin warmly, your hair lush in the lighting. Your head sways peaceful to the music, with not a care in the world to who walked by. A rather fitting setting for the Canary. A setting which had Ghost completely stopped.

The last time he saw you, you were drunk and spilling all your guts out to him in your bathroom, damn near literally. And the last time you saw him, he was struggling to function properly from just a simple hug. Now you're here fully, ready to play the game again, and he still hasn't gotten over that damn hug.

Ghost thought that burying the memory would snuff the feelings out. That's what he's used to doing. That's what usually works too.

Yet seeing you again now... Why? What are you doing here?

Ghost runs a few thoughts in his mind, and then it all clicks. The new recruit.

When Ghost and Soap had been given their new orders and sent out here, they’d already been let known that they’d be receiving a new recruit for the remainder of the assignment. He should have known that it wouldn’t actually be someone new.

"Canary?" Soap calls to you from where they stand on the steps. You open your eyes and halt your playing, and the first thing your gaze falls on are the black eyes of Ghost's looking back at you.

And like that, you coax a dying flame in him anew.

He watches your eyes widen, only lightly, before a pleasing smile shows, which only grew as you turned your attention over to the Sergeant. Soap is the first to make his way down the steps towards you. He makes strides like you'd been friends for years.

Ghost lingers by the exit, keeping a distance. Taking everything as it comes by him. He leans against the railing by the steps, watching cars drive by, and listening to you and Soap speak.

"It's good to see you guys again." You stand from where you sit, resting your guitar against the tree behind you. "I was just starting to miss you too."

"The feeling's mutual," Soap says. "What's got you out here?"

"New orders from Shepherd."

"You don't say," Soap smiles. "You the new recruit then?"

"I might just be," you smile.

Your eyes drift from Soap to where Ghost stands, your expression turning playful. You begin to wave and call over to him. From a distance, you were just all glitters and sunshine it seems. "Looks like we're going to be battle buddies again Ghost!"

Ghost stays quiet, watching as you turn your attention back to Soap. The whole time you two talk, Ghost debates with himself on how he wants to feel right now. What should he be feeling?

Why not go over there? Some voice nags at him in his head. You know you want to.

Ghost exhales. He remains by the exit.

A small part of him resented the way he couldn't quite bring himself to walk over to you and Soap and join in; instead of being so standoffish like he always was. It's not every day people wanted to actually talk to him. But staying away was conditioned in the man. And he knows he wouldn't add much to the conversation regardless.

He never knows what to say.

So instead he watches you, reminded of all the little details that have grown hazier since your brief departure. The liveliness of your speech and how you move your hands when you talk was entertaining enough to observe. And your voice. He remembers liking the sound, but hearing it again really had him tuned in all of a sudden.

Its pitch sings to him like a lullaby almost.

Ghost watches you laugh at something Soap says to you, seeing the way he suavely rests an arm against the tree as he talks. Your eyes look Soap up and down, before you say something sly. Commenting on his gym attire from the looks of things. It makes Soap start to flex his large arms jokingly. Striking various poses which make you laugh rather boyishly. You give the man a playful shove and you both laugh.

Ghost wonders if you two even notice how flirtatious your actions come off at times, watching the way you maneuver around each other. Something tells the Lieutenant that Soap wasn't as aware as he seemed, though you never know. And as for your intent... Well, that was a question for the ages.

Whether intentional or not, you seem to play into it rather easily, words leaving your lips like cool poetry, tongue and teeth moving swiftly with your sentences. 

Every now and again you look Ghost's way. When you see him already looking, you don't react in the slightest. Merely meeting his gaze before going about yourself as you were. You'd even wave a little every now and then, as though to let him know you saw him too, and that he could join in if he wished. Never forgetting him, even as he wasn't near. A gesture made from kindness.

It really is you, isn't it?

Before long, you've made the decision for yourself to come see him. You pick your guitar up and make your way back over to the exit where he stands, as Soap follows behind.

You stop at the bottom of the steps though, resting against the end of the railing, as some coy smile paints your lips. Your gaze softens, and Ghost can't help but to soften along with it, even as his cold composure never breaks.

Soap speaks again suddenly, moving his way around Ghost and reopening the building door. "I'll come knockin' once I'm done," he says.

Ghost realizes he missed a whole conversation between you two after all.

You wave goodbye and Soap re-enters the barracks. And before Ghost has realized it, he's now outside alone with you. How did that happen? 

The air closes in around you both like you're back in that room again. Ghost stands at the top of the stairs, only about four steps down from where you stood at the base still. Now that you were closer, it was harder to avoid how heavy your gaze felt on him suddenly.

"Ghost," you greet him.

"Y/N."

The sound of your name gruffly leaving his masked lips brings a sheepish smile to you. It excites you even. "You remembered."

Ghost relaxes more in his stance, slipping his hands into his pockets now. He hasn't stop thinking of your name since you told it to him, though he wishes that weren't the case. "How've you been?" he asked. "Managing to stay in one piece?"

"Physically," you say rather nonchalantly.

"Not mental?"

Ghost meant for his comment to be casual, however he sees his words pull something out of you. A glint of something dark, something tired, and something worn. Sadness. A look he's held before. It makes him wonder what you've gotten into since the last time you've spoken. In this line of work, he imagines it had been rather unpleasant.

It's a quick flash of grief Ghost felt did not suit you. A look that seems to weigh on you, just barely being held down by your trained smile.

"I could be better," you shrug. "But I'm still here."

"Which is good, yeah?" Ghost says. "That you're still here."

"Is it?" you say sarcastically, though your voice feels drained of its normal passion.

Ghost merely shrugs. "I'd say so."

You look off for a second, and Ghost remembers the little pauses you take to think of your words again. How carefully open you are with him. You do what you know best, and you begin to tease. "Did you miss me, lieutenant?"

Did you miss me? Did he? It's hard to notice when you missed someone until they're in your face again to remind you of the absence.

"I haven't forgotten you."

"I haven't forgotten you either."

You finally manage to break his gaze from you, the man choosing to look somewhere off into the parking lot. Now it was Ghost's turn to think of his next words to you. Your careful nature is seemingly contagious.

"I trust your activities since the last we spoke have been of the sober sort." He decides to keep things surface level again. Ghost was too dazed from a good nap to be going through all of this right now.

"Painfully so, lieutenant," you finally move up the steps, stopping beside him with your guitar in your hands still. "Speaking of 'sober activities', Soap and I were gonna grab a coffee in a few, if you'd like to come."

Ghost raises an eyebrow at your comment, though you can't see it beneath his mask, beyond the rising of his own eyes. So that's what was discussed. Soap asked you out on a bloody date. The cheeky bastard works fast, he'll give him that.

"Am I third-wheelin' then?" he asks.

"Never, Ghost." You begin to strum a little tune on your guitar, as though to add a little jingle to your words like some sort of minstrel. "Soap might be, if he's not careful."

"Don't let 'em hear that," Ghost jokes. "Might break the lad's heart."

You laugh to yourself. It's bubbly and light, and pulls Ghost wide awake from his tired self. "I can't have that," you say. "He's such a sweety."

Soap's a "sweety"? It almost makes Ghost laugh, though in a lot of ways he agreed with you there. It's just not how he'd word it personally. "A real charmer, that one."

"Are you comin' then?" you ask. "I'd love to catch up, especially since we're about to be a team, from the looks of things."

"I wouldn't mind havin' a tea."

"It's a date then," you strum another melody at the end of your sentence, and start to fake a British accent, rather poorly too. "Until we meet again, lieutenant. This humble bard need ready herself for the night."

"She needs more practice with the accent," he jabs. "Bloody atrocious, that was."

Your gaze sullies suddenly, as you take a few steps closer to Ghost. He leans back against the railing of the steps, crossing his arms and looking down at you as you come near. With his sleeves somewhat rolled up, he watches you take an eyeful of his tatted arm, before looking up and down the rest of him. 

Your gaze had grown rather forward since the last you've spoken, it seems. Rather tantalizing, lulling the man in tactfully. He'd taken your flirting before as drunken banter. But you're not drunk anymore, are you.

"Perhaps you'll show me a few pointers later then," you say. "You're here to give me tips and be eye candy, as I recall."

Ghost is at a loss for words there for a second. 

He'll admit, at times your lines came too fast to him. You were always ready with a quick quip, and it left little time for him to really analyze your words and craft a proper response that wasn't mere gut reaction. Not without giving away that he was indeed trying to read into your words. But if Ghost wasn't careful, he risked speaking a bit too candidly for his own liking.

You wouldn't catch him so easily.

"Don't be greedy now," he says. "I'm for the whole team."

"I can share," you say.

"Is that right?"

"That's right."

Ghost hadn't noticed himself leaning in until he heard another plane fly overhead. By then, you'd been leaning in as well, the two of you only kept apart by the guitar in your arms and the distance in height between your faces. It must have been darker in your room than he remembered, because in the sunlight, where he could really see all of you this close, you were absolutely stunning.

If you weren't careful, you might just make him start to misbehave.

Alas, you seemed to enjoy playing the tease. You play one final melody on your guitar, giggling to yourself and stepping towards the exit. "I'll see you later, lieutenant."

Ghost watches you leave, taking both your music and atmosphere with you. After a few moments pass and he's alone, he finally takes that cigarette out he'd been dying to smoke this whole time. Though as he curls the bottom of his mask up and places it between his lips, his heart still patters rather rapidly in his chest.

Perhaps you'll show me a few pointers later then. Later... 

Chapter Text

Soap was the first to arrive at the café that night.

He lingered about on the sidewalk alongside the city street, having walked here alone. The café hadn't been as far away as he'd thought originally, and the walk itself wasn't anything some headphones and music couldn't make breezy. Though as the late summer night grow colder, the longer he stands around waiting for you and Ghost to arrive.

Hopefully he hasn't been stood up again. It seems to happen a lot these days. Everyone has their excuses whenever it happens too. It usually went along the lines of "I'm too tired" or "something came up". Whatever worked for the moment.

Soap never held it against his team when the plans would fall through though. People all have lives of their own; he understands that better than many give him credit for. And tomorrow's always there, it wasn't like he'd be away from the team for long. Not when he's worked as hard as he did just to be a part of it.

Still, he'd been hoping tonight wouldn't be another dud. He was really looking forward to actually having a second chance to talk with you.

The last time he had the opportunity to get to know you, he'd gotten black out drunk instead; Soap was still kicking himself in the ass for that one. But he didn't plan on making that same mistake again. No, this time he's ready.

Another cold breeze wisp the back of his neck, raising goosebumps on his skin. He hugs his arms together and lets out a shivery sigh, as he leans against one of the streetlights, his eyes diverting back and forth between the passing cars and those who'd walk by him on the sidewalk. All while the minutes crawl, the city ambience rumbling around him. It wasn't that late at night, yet the city bustled with life.

Laughter and boisterous voices erupt suddenly. The café doors swing open again, with its familiar bell chiming above. It allows for the interior's warmth to wash over the Sergeant, the smell of freshly made coffee and baked goods blowing out just before the door shuts. It sings to the man, who now desperately looks around himself for any sign of his companions.

The sound of distant car horns and aggressive chatter pull at his attention once more. He can't help but sigh to himself in marvel, swearing beneath his breath. "Shite..."

It's all very big, this city he's found himself in; his hometown in Scotland felt small in comparison. 

There was just so much here -- it was big and loud and dirty and busy, just like some old backdrop in a movie. With his half of the Task Force on stand-by at their current base, he was already mapping out places he wanted to visit, assuming there's enough time to venture before getting sent out again. He hopes so.

It's not often Soap finds himself in the States, but the atmosphere never ceases to enamor him. The others would say that's rather easy to do though, given the Sergeant's attention span and spontaneous nature outside of combat, which in that case Soap would have to agree.

He always was an easy man to please.

"Soap?"

That soothing, familiar voice of yours turns his head without hesitation, as he catches you walking towards him down the sidewalk. And as easily pleased and enamored Soap always found himself, you watch the stars shine in his eyes the moment they finally set sight on you.

You cleaned yourself up since the last time he saw you a few hours ago, having done your hair and put on something more suitable for the café setting. You decided to forgo your makeup for tonight as well. Your face sat rather worn, making the natural look of you that much more comfortable to be around, your eyes inviting him forward.

Soap had to keep himself from gawking.

He greets you, "There she is!"

You jokingly strut your way over and hold your arms out to present yourself. Soap must have taken the gesture as you trying to initiate a hug, in which he needed little convincing to reciprocate. A large smile grows on his face and two giant steps later he's in front of you, his arms wrapping around like a heated blanket.

The hug made you jolt at first, catching you off guard. The first thing you register is his scent, not a cologne or shampoo, but not bad either. It's very... him. Easy to take in. Before long you've let the warmth of his large arms and frame lull you into him, taking the cold night air away with his touch. 

You wrap your arms around him and hug back, laughing into his shoulder. "Aw," you start to tease. "I wasn't gone that long."

Soap lets you go, though he remains close. "You certainly got dolled up," he comments, taking the opportunity to take a better look at you beneath the streetlight.

"Oh you know," you shrug at his comment, your tone sarcastic. "I couldn't resist. You'll quickly learn I secretly crave being the center of attention."

Soap lets out a sharp exhale at your joke, chuckling to himself. He then almost hesitates before speaking again, "Well, you look lovely tonight."

You cock your head in amusement, your eyes growing pleasantly wide. "Why thank you."

Despite his sudden shyness, Soap certainly makes sure to look at you like he isn't. Having this natural gumption about him. He gives you a charming smile. "You're welcome."

You look Soap up and down and start to lean on your leg, as you cross your arms. "Hm," you say. "Gym attire still?"

Oh yeah. His outfit. He'd changed before coming here, sort of. Sure the man was still in his gym clothes, but Soap figured a hoodie would be enough, the black pullover he'd found fitting somewhat snug on him. However the longer he waits, the more he wishes he'd gone ahead and put something else on.

"Hey," Soap merely shrugs. "It's cozy."

You giggle. "I imagine."

The two of you enter into the café side by side, quickly skimming for a place to sit as you shared idle chatter together.

The café was a small, quaint little spot, some mix between a coffee shop and a bar, with dark wood flooring and interior. Soft music plays in the background, just barely humming over the crowd. And the smell, it had Soap's stomach grumbling the moment he took his first step in.

You find a table somewhere off near a corner of the main area, beside a misty window and candle lights, with just enough chairs for your impending party. For now however, it would only seat you two.

You and Soap sit across from each other. You don't notice the lack of legroom beneath the table until you feel yourself accidently bump against the man. Your ankle rubs against his leg, brushing faintly before you both awkwardly shift yourselves into place, pretending to ignore it. Though you both give each other a goofy look after.

"This place is quite adorable," Soap comments suddenly.

"Right?" You smile. "It looked nice on Google and didn't have completely shitty reviews, so I figured we could give it a try."

Soap chuckles to himself, looking around more and really taking in the scenery. The place is done up nicely with its candles and stringed lighting carefully placed, the plants and decorations giving the space a very cozy vibe.

It's just the two of you right now, tucked away at some candlelit table only a few feet apart. Alone.

"Feels romantic."

Your eyes widen a little, but you don't appear flustered. In fact, the comment only seems to further intrigue you. The small reaction is enough to bring a playful smile out of Soap. "Ya know," he teases. "If you wanted to ask me out on a date, you could have just said so."

You smile and scoff.

"Too much?" Soap asks.

"Mm." You give him a sultry look, humming to yourself and leaving the man in suspense. He starts to lean in curiously, his smile never leaving, and his gaze never faltering. Soap's piqued expression tickles you. "It's cute how you look at me like that."

Ah, he thinks to himself. That doesn't quite answer his question, but it definitely tells him something. Something he finds himself also intrigued by.

"It's cute how it makes you smile."

Now he's gone and made you blush, the image getting a little rise out of Soap, who takes that as a small victory.

"Any word on Ghost?" you ask him suddenly.

Oh right. Soap had to remember this was indeed not a date. He shakes his head, "He said he'd be here though."

"Oh well," you wave your hand jokingly. "I'm sure we can handle ourselves in the meantime. Keep each other company."

Soap smiles innocently. "Aye."

The conversation between you went peacefully. Flowingly even. It seems this chatty side came to you when work wasn't the topic of discussion.

You talked a lot about whatever caught your mind, sometimes it was an old story, other times it was just an opinion about a TV show you'd watched. But you talked. And Soap listened happily, having fun hearing all the ways you used your words and expressed what was on your mind. And when he talked, you gave him the same amount of eager attention.

You were a lot more chatty than he'd originally thought you were; which was saying a lot, as you were already pretty talkative. Soap's watched you speak in riddles with Ghost in the past, but with him, you seemed more interested in just being yourself.

And honestly, he was just getting lost in you in general. 

The entire aura you had was addicting to interact with. Your eyes bounced around animated-like when you talked about something you were more passionate about. You licked your lip a lot when listening to him, and always nodded, letting him know in smallest of gestures that you were indeed invested.

As the minutes fly by, Soap thinks to himself. This is really nice.

Had Ghost not finally arrived, Soap's sure he would have talked to you all night like this.

Ghost stepped into the café, turning a few heads his way just from his presence alone. As usual, he opted for something dark and comfortable to wear for the occasion. And as usual, he wore his skull balaclava.

The minute Ghost enters your peripheral, your face gleams with excitement, as you struggle to bottle up a cocky smirk. It was a lot different than how you had looked at Soap when you saw him. It piques his curiosity. Naturally, this doesn't intimidate the Sergeant one bit. He didn't get here being uncompetitive after all.

"You're late, lieutenant," you say to him.

Ghost looms over the table for a moment, growing more comfortable in the spot you two had chosen, as it wasn't as close to everyone in the building. "I had business to attend to," he says cryptically.

"Business?" Soap raises an eyebrow. "This late? What sort of business?"

"That's need-to-know, Sergeant."

...

Once Ghost was seated, Soap watched your attention shift slowly from him to the lieutenant, your jokes and jabs leaning towards Ghost now more so by every comment. Though you do what you can to share the attention, as did Soap, all while Ghost sat passively by, giving his same tired responses to the both of you.

After some time, the conversation starts to flow naturally between you three. Once a few kinks were worked out. You and Soap do most of the talking for Ghost, who had been more than happy with listening and responding as prompted. While his demeanor said otherwise, somewhere in him he was happy his aloofness hadn't seemed to rub either of you the wrong way.

Eventually you two somehow "convince" Ghost to go and order the drinks for all of you, giving him a chance to break away from all the extraverted energy exuding in the air. He practically jumps at the opportunity, leaving you alone with the Sergeant again. Just as Soap had unknowingly been hoping for too. 

You didn't last long with his smiling and eyeing you before you were doing the same.

"So, do you always go by your callsigns outside of work, or can I use your real name as well?" You lean forward on the coffee table with intrigue, your chin rested in your palm, as a smirk pulls at your lips. "Before I start making up pet names that is."

"Pet names?" Soap lets out a sharp laugh, the flicker of the fancy candlelights twinkling in his light blue eyes. He then grows sly, resting his arms on the table across from you. He leans in a little. "What kind of pet names?"

You bite your lip a little and look over his shoulder at the other patrons. "Only the most fitting kind," you say coyly.

"Too shy to share now, are we?" Soap asks.

"Maybe I'd rather just say your name instead."

The thought of you letting his real name roll from the tip of your tongue seems to bubble something hot inside the Scotsman, which manifests itself into a shy little laugh. For such a naturally talented, and deadly man, he could be rather bashful.

"If you want to say my name, you only have to ask me," he says, his voice low and gravelly now. "Nicely, of course."

"Soap." In the nicest voice you can muster, you ask, "Can I call you by your name?"

"Why yes you may."

"John, right?" you ask. "That's the name on your files, if I remember correctly."

There's a spark in his blue eyes after you say it, almost like he's been waiting to hear what it sounded like in your voice, wrapped in the allure of your words.

"Aye," he smiles. "That's right."

"Jooohhn," you sound his name out a little more, letting it familiarize itself in your mouth. It makes the air get caught in his throat. You smirk. "I guess you look like a John."

"What gave it away?"

"Mmm," you place a finger to your lip and think to yourself, letting your eyes look him up and down. He watches you detail the veins in his forearm, the bulk of his arms, the shape of his stubbled jaw and the red blush that formed at the corners of his ears. "Your body."

"My body?"

"Yeah," you confirm. "Your body. I'd say you're built like a "John". Big arms, big smile, strong, a little stocky -- I'd say that's very "John" like of you."

Soap laughs again. He laughs a lot, you've found. It was rather infectious; you could hardly stop yourself from reciprocating it. Nor did you want to.

"Don't forget handsome," he adds in.

"Right," you say. "Also smart."

"And charming," he smirks.

"And overconfident," you tease.

"That's not a bad thing."

"I agree," your gaze lowers a little. "I do like my men a bit cocky."

"Oh?" Soap leans on his arms now. He hasn't taken his eyes from you since you've started this conversation. "I'm yours so soon then?"

You rest your chin back on your hand and lean forward some more, playfully being seductive. "Is that a bad thing, John?"

You see the blush begin to pool into the man's cheeks, as he lets out a shy chuckle. However, despite the blushing, he grins, never breaking eye contact. "I wouldn't complain."

Your hands both rest on the table, only a few inches away from one another. You're not exactly sure what convinces you to do it -- maybe knowing that he was the only man around you that would allow for it -- you extend a finger and gently let it graze the edge of his palm, stealing a warm touch. A simple, gentle poke.

Soap's jaw tenses at the sensation, though not because he didn't like it. His eyes drop down, watching your hand move stealthy. Your finger retreats as quickly as it had reach out to him. You look off into the room again, purposefully acting as though you hadn't noticed your hands touch.

You don't see his smile, but you do feel his hand gently graze yours a few seconds later, lingering. They're quite warm, both firm and gentle all at once. Your hand subliminally chases his skin at the slightest motion, and before long the tips of your fingers hover over his again.

"Is this the part where you tell me your name now?" he asks. "As much as I like Canary."

That's when Ghost decides to come back with those drinks. You both quickly straighten up, attempting to bring back your more casual demeanor. 

"I may have spooked the barista," Ghost says, before taking a seat and passing you both your orders.

Soap's goldfish attention span carries his gaze from you to the lieutenant. Sarcastically, he goes, "I wonder why."

"You'd think she saw a ghost," the lieutenant quipped. Ghost takes a look at the both of you, seeing the coy expression on your faces and the blush on both your cheeks. It raises a brow from him, beneath his mask. "Am I interrupting?"

"Canary was just about to tell me her name," Soap looks back over at you, not letting you get off the hook just yet.

"Ah," Ghost says.

"You're not curious L.T.?"

"...I already told him actually," you laugh awkwardly. 

Soap gasps. "You did?"

"It was a little bit ago actually," you say.

"And ye didn't tell me?" His Scottish accent swirled the words of from his lips, as you could hear the heartbreak in his voice. "Can I know too then?"

"I don't know," you tease. "Maybe I might keep it a secret now. Keep you guessing."

"Wha'?" He scoffs.

"It takes a little more than asking me nicely to get my name, Sergeant. Though I appreciate you telling me yours."

"You're a cruel lady, Canary."

"Tell you what," you get a mischievous look on your face suddenly, one that pauses Soap patiently. "I'll tell you my name," you bring your eyes to Ghost, who sits quietly at the table with his drink (which was already half gone despite having just seated himself). "If Ghost tells me his name first."

"His name wasn't in the same files?" Soap asks.

You shake your head. Most of Ghost's files were blacked out and classified, though his reputation proceeds him clearly. Meanwhile, Soap's files couldn't be any more of a stark difference in comparison. 

The man's files read like a novel of high praises and decorations. A 22 Regiment member at only 18 years old, with some of the highest scores on record, and the youngest to ever pass the selection into the SAS too. There are whole pages spent going into detail on everything he specialized in; he might joke around about his callsign, but even the name Soap carries some weight to it.

You really felt lucky he even cared to know your name at all.

Soap looks over at Ghost pleadingly, though he already knows what to expect. Ghost keeps his eyes closed nonchalantly, holding his drink close to his chest.

He pouts at his superior. "L.T.?"

"You're on your own, Johnny."

Soap bows his head in defeat as you laugh, standing from the table with your drink. You excuse yourself for the moment, leaving the men to themselves.

As you walk away, Soap watches you go, his eyes dropping from the back of your head to the lower half of your body. He sees the bounce in your step and the sway of your hips move before you vanish behind the crowd of other patrons.

"Don't stare too long Johnny," Ghost's voice cuts in suddenly. Soap nearly jumps when he looks back over and sees Ghost staring dead at him. The shock on Soap's face only makes Ghost shake his head disapprovingly. "Might burn a hole in 'er back."

The Sergeant smiles to himself. "I can't help it," he says. "I mean shite... What a bonnie, aye?"

Ghost gives Soap a deadpan stare. "A what?"

"Oh," Soap clears his throat. "She's cute."

Cute? Cute ? From the way Soap's whole demeanor lit up the moment he saw her, Ghost could have guessed as much. However, he hadn't expected the Sergeant's words to make Ghost feel so... odd about it. Mulling over it in fact.

Ghost looks across the café, watching you approach the halls to the restrooms, just out of range of the men's conversation. He imagines this would be a little awkward if you heard them talking.

"Keep your head on straight, Sergeant," Ghost states. "We aren't off work just yet."

"Aye, I know sir," Soap sighs. "But this is nice too, no? Havin' a break every now and again."

"You shouldn't drop your guard so easily," Ghost chides. "Especially around strangers."

"She's not that much of a stranger," said Soap.

"No," Ghost's eyes unconsciously roam the room, droopy with exhaustion. Indeed you didn't feel quite like a stranger, least of all to Ghost. "But she's not us."

"I guess you're right..." Soap is quiet for a moment, and then a thought passes his head. He pouts at the lieutenant all grumpy like. "Though that's funny comin' from ye, seein' you clearly had a chat when no one was around."

Ghost groans to himself, taking his eyes away from the Sergeant. He hadn't mentioned anything about that night with you to anyone, having just kept the whole event locked away in his mind. It's been a struggle enough just doing that.

"I just drove her home the one time," Ghost sighs. "No need to work yourself up, mate."

"Right, from that other night," Soap reminisces. "I was out for damn near most of it. Though I heard there was a fight."

"Don't ask me about it," Ghost says. "She didn't say much, and I didn't ask for an elaboration."

"Or maybe you're just hiding all the juicy bits," Soap starts to poke.

"No one likes a gossip, Johnny."

"Fair enough," Soap sighs.

"I find her being here odd," Ghost comments suddenly. "Why transfer her here with us? Why now?"

"It is a bit strange..." Soap admits. "I'm sure it's not anything she can help. Orders and all."

"Good orders, or bad ones?"

"I doubt they're bad," Soap sighs. He then gets this quizzical look about him, as he nudges at the lieutenant suddenly. "You think they sent her to spy on us?"

Ghost's eyes search for you in the café again, still finding you standing off to yourself near the back. Frozen. It's rather peculiar now, it makes the lieutenant's brow furrow.

"My gut's tellin' me somethin's off."

"Your gut says that a lot," Soap jokes.

"It's kept me alive this long."

"And alone."

Ghost pauses at Soap's comment, the words sticking to him. He opens his mouth to say the first thought that comes to his mind, how being alone suits him just fine. But then he pauses, letting that sentence sink back down into his throat. Pretty soon too many seconds have crawled by, and instead Ghost settles for silence instead.

Soap comments no further, giving Ghost enough time to look over and see you still standing where he last saw you. Frozen still.

This time Ghost excuses himself, as he makes his way towards you, if not just to make sure you were doing OK.

By the time Ghost nears, he finds you standing off a ways in the café, just teetering at the start of some small, narrow corridor towards the building's restroom and backrooms. The lights are off in the hall, the glow of the main seating area cutting off sharply against the archway of the hall. The corridor stretches endlessly into its own darkness.

You stare deep into the hallway, frozen, eyes wide, and contrite. Your drink is clasped so tightly in your hands that the plastic bends unnaturally in your shaky grip. And the other patrons glide by, chatting idly, ignoring you, the world continuing on all around, as the store's music drowned out the sounds of your heavy breathing.

A fear of some sort has overtaken you. Ghost almost thought that fear had manifested itself into someone standing down at the end of the hall; the two of you deadlocked in a glare. He keeps his distance when he approaches you, not to have his presence disturb you just yet. Wanting to see what it was you saw.

Ghost looms a few feet away, the shadow of his large figure barely meeting your peripherals. Your back stays turned to him, completely unaware of his large figure behind you. He feels the tension riveting from you the closer he inches forward.

He looks down this hall that's captured your gaze, expecting to see the face of the stranger that's stopped you so abruptly. Yet when his dark irises trail along to where your gaze stops, he's met with the cold ending of an empty hallway. Not a soul in sight.

And yet you stand here, peering in. Afraid. No longer here in this moment.

Immediately, he recognizes what it is that is happening.

Ghost rest his hand on your shoulder, carefully. A small nudge that should knock you out of this trance this hallway has taken you down. Something tells him, you'd appreciate the distraction and a change of scenery. However, the man's touch against your arms does anything but calmly bring you back.

The minute his cool fingers glide against the fabric of your clothed covered shoulder, his touch sends a thunderbolt through you. Your entire body tenses and you yelp, your drink falling from your hands and crashing onto the tiled flooring, spilling everywhere.

Ghost takes a step back, feeling the eyes of the other patrons looking your way. Their stares seem to bother you most of all.

"Shit," you look around, searching for anything you could use to clean the mess you'd suddenly created. "I'm sorry..."

Eventually one of the workers walks from around the counter with a mop and a bucket, their trained smiles already ushering both you and Ghost away from the spill so they could clean the mess. The store settled back to itself rather quickly, allowing for you to not feel as trapped in by everyone and everything.

You can't seem to lift your gaze from the floor, ashamed by your sudden behavior. You spare Ghost no words, and the man can't seem to find words suitable enough to spare to you in return. All you're left with is the unspoken tension and familiar darkness swirling about.

Your head sags, and you speak nearly at a whisper now. "...I need to get out of here."

Before Ghost can reply, you zip past him in a shameful flurry, making a beeline for the exit. You run into Soap on your way out. However, his joyous smile and matching words did little to stop you from walking out the door.

Chapter Text

The cold night air wisps over you, as you stand a ways off from the café. Your phone's clasped in your hands so tightly that you couldn't tell if they were shaking from that or the cool breeze itself. Though your mind races too much for you to care about it.

Your breathing has settled down more since your sudden departure from inside; it's the only thing you've felt able to control anymore. With that calmed, it provides you a moment to yourself to ease your racing mind, which was still processing what had happened.

Now that you were away, frankly, you couldn't even believe it.

For a moment there, you thought you were back in Kavala, inside that apartment again. You could still hear the shouts from Onyx, along with the cries from his wife, and your own team shouting orders out over the chaos. Every negative emotion that coursed through you in that moment came flooding back like a busted dam, its crashing waves constraining you, leaving you frozen.

You've been having nightmares about it lately, sure. Shitty sleep was always something you've been prone to, though you'd hoped for these dreams to just be some sort of phase, like everything else. Instead they've only manifested into what happened tonight -- something worse, something new to you completely.

And you hardly recognize yourself anymore.

Unsure of what to do, you open up your contact list and begin to scroll, until your eyes settle on a name that kept popping back into your mind all night -- Phillip.

You haven't heard from Graves since you transferred over. Not that you blame him; you haven't exactly made any attempts to reach out to him either. The way you two left things off certainly left a lot to be desired.

Yet despite everything, you weren't sure who else to talk to anymore; you'd gotten used to having him around to bend his ear about things. And you may not be sleeping together anymore, but you liked to believe some modicum of care between you two still existed. It did for you, at least.

You dial your commander's number in almost instinctively. And as you expected, you listened to the other end ring, and ring, and ring.

And ring.

Until you're finally greeted by the answering machine.

"Please leave a message after the tone."

Your phone lets out a resounding beep, and you hesitate to speak, letting the seconds you had to leave a message dwindle by. Debating whether or not this was even a good idea from the start.

Who's to say Graves even wanted to talk to you anymore? And who's to say you would have even been honest with him about tonight at all, had he gone around and actually answered your call.

"Hey uh..." You hug your arms together, keeping your phone pressed between your cheek and shoulder, as your back leaned against the café wall. Light gray clouds were beginning to break in the night sky above, the moonlight casting over the city streets, as the passing cars fly by. With the sky opening up, you see an array of stars not yet drowned out by the city's pollution. Your eyes bounce between them, thinking of your words in their glow.

"It's Y/N," you finally start. "I know it's been a little while... and it's pretty late, but I was just calling to see if you were up and maybe wanted to talk for a bit. I'm sure you're all doing fine without me there now, but... I was just hoping... well, I... I miss-"

Beep!

The message ends before you can finish that thought. A small part of you wishes you hadn't started it at all.

You slip your phone back in your pocket, before wrapping your arms around yourself again. The café doors open next to you, having been doing so on occasion since you'd stepped out. You paid no mind to it now, much like you had been doing already. However...

"Canary?"

...You hadn't expected Soap to be the one to emerge from the café next. You didn't look forward to having to explain yourself to your new teammate about your little episode. You were really hoping they wouldn't follow you out to begin with.

However, you should have known Soap never would have let someone in his team storm out like that without saying something. That's just not the kind of guy he is.

Soap approaches you, though he halts when he sees his sudden appearance cause you to recoil. So instead, the Sergeant settles with standing some feet away, wearing a patient smile.

"Are you OK?" he asked. His voice was much softer than you've heard it before. Almost worried. Like a child afraid to offend you. Soap showed you genuine concern, and hearing it in his voice only made you feel all the more embarrassed.

"Yeah, I'm just peachy, Soap. I-..." you shuffle about a bit in your stance, trying to straighten yourself out and keep things short. "I'm probably just going to walk back home actually..."

Bringing yourself to actually look over at the man felt a tireless battle to win. The passing cars feel far easier to gaze at, though it mattered not where you looked, the lump in your throat just wouldn't rid itself.

Two nights. Two nights in a row now that someone in the Task Force has seen you so unprofessional and out of sorts. And twice has it happened now where one of them has felt obligated to check in on you after. Concerned for you even. Pitying you.

Humiliated didn't even begin to describe what you felt right now.

"I'm sorry..." you voice is damn near a raspy whisper. You let out a defeated chuckle. "This is all just really stupid, honestly. I'm just... being stupid."

Soap chuckles. "No you're not."

You almost say something mean to him, more of a guarded reflex than anything with meaning. However, you bite your tongue, knowing he didn't deserve to be the conduit to your flurry of emotions. Soap wasn't trying to overstep by any means, it wouldn't make sense to be upset that he's concerned for your wellbeing.

So you say nothing instead. That's always been easy enough to do.

You're quiet for a notable while, not sure as to how to reply to him. It's not every day you feel this way; For all the Task Force knows though, this is just who you are. Great...

Only this wasn't you. Not at all. You've never been this sad all the time before. Never been someone to dissociate into a bad memory and relive the negative moments. And you would never enjoy having the others take pity on you, nor see you struggle not to cry. This was never you, until now, and the same fears start to circle in your mind. Fears you've recently developed.

Was this the slow decline of yourself that you were too late to stop?

Soap's voice came unexpectedly over the background noise and your own screaming thoughts.

"If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you were OK. Or if you needed anything, or..."

His words begin to trail when he notices the sudden sorrow strike your face. It breaks your heart to hear him say that for some reason, as guilt suddenly consumes you. Guilt for all your inabilities beside your comrades. Guilt for feeling this way. It tugs tears from you, which you quickly wipe away, before turning your face from Soap altogether.

This in turn only made the Scotsman begin to panic, who was now raising his hands up defensively and bumbling over his words. "Ah!" Soap gasps. "I didn't mean-"

"I'm sorry," you clear your throat and aggressively wipe your tears away now. "Just ignore me, I'm being a drama queen... I'm sorry..."

Soap laughs to himself suddenly, respectfully so. "You don't have to say sorry, ya dafty."

You suck your nose in. "But I am..." 

"You're daft?" Soap teases now.

"No," You turn your head to him, wide-eyed with tears still brimming at the corners, your lips pouting childishly. You pick up on the Sergeant's quizzical nature the moment your eyes meet again. "I was sorry..."

"Well..." Soap thinks for a second, though it's not a long one. "I forgive you."

You smack your lips together, almost as though you had expected him to say something like that. Which you did. Of course he would. And of course it only made you feel more emotional. Though this time you've figured out how to bottle it in, keeping quiet.

"Well hey," Soap announces, an idea having come to the man, guessing by the way his stormy eyes and cheeky smile suddenly lit up. "How 'bout we walk back home together, then."

He's persistent, you'll give him that. The more he pushes, the more you feel yourself closer to succumbing to him. As much as you'd like to believe you'd rather be alone right now, you both knew that wasn't true. In fact, it couldn't be further from the truth.

Soap seems to have a better read on you than you'd thought.

"What about Ghost?" you ask. Lord knows what he must be thinking right now, sitting by himself inside, waiting. It was Ghost who saw the whole thing in the first place too. You doubted he wanted to be anywhere near you, honestly.

Soap chuckles however. "He'll come too, of course," he says. "Not to disappoint you. I know you'd rather me all to yourself, but alas, we'll just have to save the one-on-one for another night."

And then he winks at you.

You let out a little laugh beneath your breath, covering your mouth with your hand daintily. It warms Soap to see it; seeing your smile had been his goal the minute he stepped outside and saw you still here. And he always was a natural at lifting up moods.

"You don't have to do that," you say, still allowing the man to step back if he wished.

"I want to," he says. The certainty behind his words makes your heart unknowingly skip a beat.

"Are you sure?" you ask him one more time. "If you two want to enjoy the night still, please do. I'm a responsible adult, I think I can make it back safely."

"Eh, don't worry about it," his smile softens. "The night wouldn't feel the same without you anyway."

Eventually, you allow yourself to really look at Soap. He's kept his distance this entire time, not wanting to approach where he had not yet been invited. His hands sit casually in his pockets, and he waits obediently.

You two stand in a neutral silence, gazes matched with one another. His eyes are hearty and magnetic, compared to your tired and guarded stare.

"Well, then," you sigh. "OK."

Soap's smile grows. "OK?"

"OK," you reaffirm, laughing this time. Yes, you thought. This is OK.

Soap laughs victoriously, only then to spread his arms out and finally start closing the distance between you too, happily. "Now come here."

Before you've any time to protest, Soap's wrapped you in a large hug, holding you tightly in his arms. It's so strong it makes you take a step back and grunt dorkishly, but you reciprocate it, laughing into his shoulder. He rubs his hand over your back comfortingly, his joyous chuckle vibrating against you. "Cheer up now," he says. "You'll be alright."

You place your head against his chest, letting your ear sink into him, as you follow along to the steady rhythm of his heart beat. It races within him. Had he been nervous?

"OK."

...

The barracks were maybe a short ways away now, another five or ten minutes to this nightly stroll before it was officially over. Ghost had been counting every minute of it too.

The sidewalk begins to narrow again, Ghost taking his natural space in the back of the trio, as you and Soap stand beside one another, lost in the little world you two had created in the past hour.

Now that he was away from the city and walking down less populated roads, the night around them began to still. The sound of vehicles grew more distant and outside chatter was replaced with their own boots and shoes against the pavement. With it so late, many of the house's lights were off, the neighborhoods having left your group alone for the remainder of the night.

It left Ghost with nothing else to listen to besides you two.

The first thing Soap did when he re-emerged from the café with Ghost, was hand you a new drink. Exactly what you'd ordered before. "Since the last one spilled," he'd said.

Your eyes lit up like diamonds as you took the drink from his hand, taking a sip and letting out a jokingly pleasurable moan. You almost looked like you were going to cry too. But you smile, and thank him profusely.

Johnny had you pretty much reeled in after that.

For how prepared the Sergeant had been for the sudden detour, Ghost would think Soap almost planned the night out for this to happen. Though he knew that wasn't true. Soap wasn't that methodical. Everything he's done tonight -- coming to check on you, buying you a drink, walking you home -- That had all been Johnny's own doing.

Watching you two was like watching two puzzle pieces come together. All night you've been gabbing on with each other, going back and forth and every which way with your conversations. If Soap were to turn to Ghost and reveal that you were in fact some woman from his past who knew him personally, he may have actually believed it.

And while you two had made attempts to include Ghost in the conversation, the lieutenant eventually fell silent after a short while. It wasn't out of a sudden shyness or defeat however, but rather he felt best with just not talking. Eventually, your conversation drifted your minds away from him, and he was given a moment to himself.

He would make no complaints of this of course. There was a lot he had on his mind in the meantime. Specifically about you.

After you stormed out of the café, Ghost hadn't expected to see you again for the rest of the night. He wouldn't have blamed you either, though he couldn't stop thinking about what that could have been about. He's seen fear in many people's eyes before, but never in yours. While the fear itself looked familiar enough to him, it looked foreign on you.

And it had unsettled him, mostly due to his own inaction. It was very unlike him to just stand to the side like that, he thought. Yet at that moment, he hadn't been sure of quite what to say or do. He felt that way a lot around you.

Which was his problem exactly.

With your eyes away from him, Ghost felt more ready to study you, finally pinning down all these thoughts he had surrounding you. He began thinking he was onto something too.

As a silent observer, Ghost watched the way you interacted with Soap, and how easily you found a way to make him so comfortable with you in a matter of hours. You smile and you laugh, your eyes linger when given the opportunity, you talk, and then you listen. Observing. Adapting.

You let your kind nature lull those around you into a state of comfort, and use that to get close. Ghost knew this performance well enough now, because it's exactly how you had been with him. He didn't need to see it a third time to have it down. 

Your performance was truly something too, because Ghost was seeing sides of Johnny he had been too afraid to delve deeper into himself.

Granted, Ghost learns something new about Soap every day, mostly involuntarily. They've been on a team a few months shy of a whole year now, and while the lieutenant feels that realistically he's spent an equal amount of time with everyone in the Task Force, somehow or another, Ghost found himself assigned with Soap more often than not.

And what he learned about Johnny every day was that the man was truly unafraid of himself, both in perception and within. Soap didn't struggle with deep inner turmoil, there were no demons he need bury deep. None that Ghost could see in him.

Johnny was just human in every way that Ghost struggled to be.

So the minute you had managed to pull Soap in with that natural allure of yours, it's no surprise the man let that be known as well. Soap wears his emotions on his sleeve.

Ghost hadn't even asked him how the conversation went with you once he'd come back into the café. He only need see the way he barged through the doors, his smile gleaming and his step skipped, for Ghost to know the conversation went well. What had got to the lieutenant about that however, was how he knew exactly what it was Johnny was feeling too.

Desire.

Exactly as he had felt before.

Only unlike Ghost, who had been unable to allow himself to enjoy that feeling you provide so carelessly, Soap seemed more than willing the dive in head first. He hadn't a fear in the world about it.

Thus Simon has watched Soap do everything Ghost couldn't do the night before -- actually allow himself the chance to be vulnerable. As if to punish for it, now he can see for himself where that road would have taken him, had he actually stayed with you that night, instead of leaving like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs.

Suddenly, it had twisted his insides to think about. Had it been that easy all along? To let someone in...

Never has a woman haunted his mind like this before.

It hadn't taken much longer for these thoughts of his to grow into suspicion and distrust, however. There was no way you could be real. That these feelings you draw from them so easily are real.

Laswell gets a lead on a possible new hit, and suddenly they place you on the team. Someone who's only worked one other mission with them before. And someone interested in getting close to them personally. Seemingly for no reason. Someone who's good at it too.

It couldn't be a coincidence someone like you has come along. It never is.

You come across a small park on your walk back, passing by a large water fountain, which draws both you and Soap's attention suddenly. The lights from inside the fountain make the clear water look a pretty teal color, revealing all the loose change dropped into the water by other who'd passed by before.

It's around this point that you finished your drink. The minute your eyes went to look for a garbage can, Soap was already on it, having confiscated the empty cup for you and wandering off with it to the nearest available garbage can, that was a short walk deeper into the park.

"Want us to follow you?" you asked.

"Nah, just wait here," Soap said. "I won't be long."

And like that, he had walked off, leaving you and Ghost alone by the fountain.

You lean over the fountain ledge, staring down into the water, as its glow shimmers off your skin in the night. You hadn't turned to look at Ghost yet, not since Soap has left. You hadn't really looked at him much at all since you left the café.

Your back was still turned to him when you spoke suddenly. "Care to make a wish?"

Ghost stayed a few feet behind you, his arms crossed in front of him as he stared into the water from a distance. "I've no need," he said plainly.

"Really?" he can hear your smile in your voice. "There's nothing you wish for?"

Ghost toys with that question in his mind for a moment. He's never been one to make wishes, never wanting to bank good fortune and material gain on something so unguaranteed. Wishes often were just empty words meant to disappoint you later. He learned that at a young age. "Do you have many wishes?" he asks instead.

"Some," you say. "Mostly small things."

"Like what?"

You turn to Ghost for the first time all night, and you smile playfully. "If I told you, then it wouldn't come true."

Ghost watches you dig in your pocket, before retrieving a quarter. You stare at the coin for a short while, thumbing it between your fingers as you thought to yourself innocently. You look back to the fountain once a wish has finally come to you.

The coin flicks from your thumb, and you both watch the quarter twirl into the water, before sinking all the way to the bottom. You watch it the whole way down. For some reason, Ghost sees your expression fall again. Sadly.

It's something he's picked up about you, how sad you are. And he knows it's not an act, because you cover it up any chance you can get. Your sorrow is the one part of you that conflicts him the most. If everything's an act -- your kindness, your words, your smile, your eyes -- then your tears have been the one true thing Ghost has consistently seen of you, and the reason for his hesitancy to trust you. Because Goddamn you, your sorrow beckons him too.

"You made your wish then?" Ghost asked.

"I did," you nod, though had Ghost not been looking your way he may have missed it.

"Think it'll come true?" he asked.

"No," you admit. You then laugh to yourself, a memory having popped into your mind suddenly. "It's funny though. When I was a kid, I used to make wishes all the time. I'd stay up until the clock hit 11:11 to make a wish, and every night I'd look out my window hoping to finally see a shooting star, like in the movies. When that didn't happen, I just used the airplanes instead."

Ghost imagined the kind of childhood you must have had, which had you making wishes all the time. What life you lived before now. You had told him once that this line of work hadn't been your first choice. If that truly is the case, he can't imagine how you even manage to keep your sanity in this field.

Is that why you cry so much? He wondered.

"I used to get so upset when my wishes wouldn't come true," you continue. "I wanted them to be real so bad. But they never were."

"Yet you still make wishes now," Ghost says.

"I can't help myself," you sigh. "I mean, there's always a chance, right?"

"Blind hope can be dangerous."

"Hope is never a bad thing, not to me," you say. "If I couldn't hope then... what would be the point?"

Your head turns when you hear Soap making his way back over. The fact that he was out of breath with his hands on his hips meant he'd tried to reach that trash can as fast as he could. It makes you giggle and tease the man when you see him, and Soap only plays into your giddy nature, acting as nonchalantly as he'd been all night.

And Ghost watched from the sidelines, this time trying to picture a world where he could be more like you two. A world where he wasn't so taciturn. Where when you touched him he did not flinch, and when you called to him he did not push back. Maybe watching could be enough, but he knows the minute you both go, it wouldn't suffice.

So he'll take what he can now.

Ghost digs in his pocket, finding an old penny that wasn't going to be of use to anyone. He waits to see you two not looking his way before flicking the penny into the fountain himself, watching it fall in.

He guesses he had one wish after all.

Maybe he could be wrong about you. He only wishes...

...

You stop at your doorway, punching in the number keys to your door code slowly. The whole time you do so, Soap's presence can be felt a few feet behind you, waiting innocently, as though to make sure you make it inside safely. Him being here did bring you comfort. It also made this hallway feel incredibly small.

The walk back had been only about thirty minutes, though the time blew by rather fast with how much of it you spent talking. You could tell Ghost had probably been exhausted by it, because he couldn't have made a faster beeline to his room the second you all finally reached the barracks. Which for once, was OK with you.

The lock on your door beeps, the latch whining unlocked. You turn to face Soap, finding the man standing off rather shyly. It's when your eyes finally meet his again that his smile raises.

In the hallway lighting, all his little details appeared more clearly. You like the way the Sergeant wears his joy on his face, letting it lift him upright and perk his ears with them, bringing a twinkle to his cloudy blue eyes. His emotions easy to read. It's what made talking to him feel so easy, without even having known him for long. It makes you think to yourself what a breath of fresh air John is.

It also gnawed at your mind what other sides of him there were you've yet to see. What bits you could pull out next, and what old bits he could pull out of you as well. The thought was as intriguing as it also put your head through a twister you've yet to be familiar with.

A man who has no guessing games to play. A man who is who he is, which happens to be everything you needed tonight.

"Thank you," you say casually, giving the man a welcoming smile. Though Soap's own does more to pull you in this time. "For walking back with me."

Soap blows raspberries and shrugs, trying to act more nonchalant than his eyes could match with. "I'd never pass up the chance to have a midnight stroll with such a lovely woman."

Maybe it was late at night, or maybe you felt comfortable enough to do so; you don't hide your blushing, nor the delicate giggle bubbling from your throat soon after.

"You flatter me," you say.

Soap looks to you charmingly. "I'm trying."

"You're so good at it too; it makes me feel bad," you say. "I haven't paid you much flattery tonight myself."

"The night's not over yet," Soap says.

Your eyes grow wolfish, his words taking a double meaning to you. "Indeed, it isn't."

"Go on then," he says, his voice a lot lower than before. Seductive even. It comes to you in a wave, rushing through your body and sending a chill down your spine. You have to keep yourself from swallowing. Soap only intensifies the chills running through you by licking his lips and smirking to himself. "Say something nice about me."

"Now," you cross your arms, taking a step forward so you were standing right in front of the Sergeant. "A lady shouldn't reveal her secrets so freely."

Soap only seems to straighten up, giving himself more height over you as his smile becomes something more sly. "Even if I ask nicely?"

"I already said before, it takes a lot more than asking me nicely to get to know me."

"What does it take then?" he asks you.

"Something more… wicked. Filthy."

"That’s not very ladylike of you, Canary."

"I'm only ladylike when the need arises," you tease. "What about you John? Are you always a gentleman?"

"Usually," he admits. "I can be anything you ask me."

Soap's eyes take a small shift, turning more from its innocent appearance to something a bit more cocky. There wasn't a doubt in his tone, nor a lie spoken in his words. He'd rather his bravado be known. And damn did you like the introduction to it.

You unknowingly drop your eyes to his lips, observing how his mouth sits, as your tongue glides over your own provocatively. "Anything?"

His lips sit slightly pursed, as though more thoughts sat at the tip of his tongue. The flow of his steady breathing brushes the tip of your nose, blue eyes glazed with a growing lust you have yet to see in the Sergeant. "Anything."

“Well the night’s not over yet now, is it?”

“Aye, it isn’t.”

Now his eyes have dropped to your lips, watching how your tongue lightly glides over yours. It's got the man heating up, his cheeks beginning to blush unabashedly. You're not even sure that he notices himself leaning closer. You didn't notice yourself until you could feel his breath feather over your recently dampened lips.

Suddenly you’re damn near on your toes, his nose a few inches from yours, and his mouth the closest it’s ever been to your own. You were already guessing what they might feel like against yours. You imagined they'd be soft, warm, experienced.

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny," you hum. "What a flirt you are."

"I imagine I'm in good company."

"You be careful," you lift a hand to pluck a stray piece of hair peeking from his shoulder. An excuse to touch him, however faintly. "Games like that might get you in trouble."

This time Soap takes the chance to touch you, lifting his hand up to capture yours before it can retreat back to your side. "I like trouble," he says. "That's what makes the job fun, no?"

His hand is warm, and not nearly as coarse as you would have guessed. His hold is both tender and secure, lingering for a few seconds, all the while you two breathe in each other’s air, your eyes never having strayed from one another’s.

All there was left to do now was take one step closer; take your other hand and wrap it over his neck, pull him in for a change. Seems all night that Soap’s been the one bringing you in slowly, sneakily. Unlike Graves, who had pursued you like the wolf he was, Soap’s pursuit had been like that of a fox -- clever and playful. It crept up on you without even noticing, and done so innocently. It begged a sweeter side of you that you’ve forgotten had been capable.

Suddenly, it didn’t feel so hard being vulnerable. At least for right now. For tonight.

He only needed to come a little closer now. Take his hand and cup it against your face, bring you forth to him and take you.

“Ooooooo~”

A few soldiers down the hall start to whistle and cheer at you, walking by and clapping. You and Soap take a step back and awkwardly, waving the other soldiers away as they start throwing comments your way, clearly having pre-gamed before heading to whatever outing they were walking to.

“Get it, girl!” one of the female soldiers in the group cheered.

“Get a room!” another laughed.

“This is my room!” you say.

The group cheers for you on their way out; you and Soap can’t help but laugh with one another, the atmosphere having shifted into this awkward in-between now. Damn. Way to kill the mood. Despite the interruption, your heart still thumped in your chest with excitement. You still kind of wanted to kiss him.

Your phone starts to buzz in your pocket suddenly. A phone call. Graves maybe?

You bring your eyes back up to Soap, prepared to give your final farewells for the night, as much as you had been ready for it to possibly be something else.

“So-”

Soap’s hands clasped both sides of your face, his lips crashing down onto yours. The sheer power of it sends you both back pressed flush against your bedroom door. It takes you a second to catch up.

You feel his body press against you, his heart racing next to yours. You gasp into his mouth, the air feeling as though it had completely left you, before you've let your hands instinctively go up to wrap around his neck.

He kisses you like he’d spent a lot of time thinking about all the ways he could go about it. Making sure that his lips part from you just right, before coming back in velvety-like, gradually escalating. He follows your pace, feels for your moves, and adapts to your whims. He truly respected the craft of liplocking; you surely took advantage of that fact too.

Kissing him made you feel drunk. The way he moved made your knees weak, your hands almost unable to concentrate on doing anything beyond holding onto him. That was less of a problem for Soap it seems, who’s hands had gracelessly slid their way down your body to your ass, each cheek cupped perfectly in his palms. He squeezes greedily, pressing you against him roughly. Immediately, you feel the man through his gym shorts, and may God be your witness, you had to keep from gasping again. The man was surely a showoff by nature as well.

Even with his suave motions, Soap still felt as innocently enraptured by you as he had been before. It excited you to toy with it, see how much that innocence could be corrupted. Your tongue dips into his mouth, wrestling with his, as you feel him groan. That hand on your ass grips tighter in response, sending a shockwave straight through your core.

His taste is sweet on your lips, intoxicating to lick. Before long your lips and tongue dance together, your chests rising with adrenaline. The sloppier your tongue clashes against his, the sloppier he mirrors the energy. It was messy and it was voracious. And it was a wonder you two hadn’t swallowed each other yet.

Soap’s hands grow more adventurous, one traveling to the front of you. It snakes up your shirt and manages to slide beneath your bra, his entire hand palming your breast. The coolness of his hand against your skin causes you to shiver, which only sends a throbbing sensation down himself, one you feel against your leg. His fingers glide over your nipple, beginning to pinch and tug at them gently. You moan in his mouth and the cheeky bastard laughs against your lips. In turn, you bite his lip, giving it a little nip.

“Ow,” he laughs, and it makes you giggle. Soap responds to this by diving in towards your neck, nipping at the groove of your skin and catching your breath. It sends a tidal wave through you, as you feel his teeth sink deeper in, biting down just hard enough to leave a faint mark in your skin.

You gasp out passionately, and laugh. “Ow.”

Soap pull’s back, keeping his hands over your shoulders, only a breath or so away from you. His smile somehow looks even brighter than you’ve ever seen it before. It made butterflies flutter in you shyly. You felt like a girl again, back when crushes and small moments like this could feel like the whole world to you.

He seems as starry-eyed as you, from how his eyes detail you endlessly, pupils dilating at every new discovery. Soap may have worked some sort of magic on you, but you’ve put a spell on him too, as you did so often. Only now… maybe it didn’t feel as pretend this time.

“Earth to Canary.”

You blink and see Soap still looking down at you, waiting obediently. You smile. “I read you.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Just…” You think to yourself, somewhat pondering a response, and somewhat getting hung on his eyes again. It baffled you the way it caught you, every time. In a way, it’s the reason for the words that teeter on your tongue. “You scare me.”

Soap raises an eyebrow and chuckles. “I do?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Why?”

Because you really liked this. You really liked him and you barely know him. You knew the real reason why the entire time. And yet… “You just do.”

Your phone begins to buzz in your pocket again, finally taking your eyes away from Soap. You pull your cell out, only to see it was a text message. From Graves. A cold chill ran through you, almost turning you nauseous.

You must have been making a face, because Soap's expression was beginning to turn more perplexed.

You sigh, sliding the phone back into your pocket, but keeping your gaze away from Soap as well. You felt almost too guilty to now.

“I hope we don’t regret this John,” you say.

“I’d’ve only regretted not taking this chance with you.”

Soap lowers his head to capture your lips in another kiss. A gentle one that took its time to enjoy itself, as his hands cupped around your face again, his thumb caressing your cheek. You raise your hand and rest it over his, your frail fingers entangling between his. Holding him still.

If you let this go on, you knew this would escalate. A part of you is already craving it, but that text message notification hovers in the back of your mind.

You take your hand and press it against Soap's chest, feeling his heartbeat against your fingers. It thuds almost rapidly, as though he were anxious kissing you. He didn't let it translate in his actions, but his heart was clearly spinning.

You take your other hand and open your bedroom door, before finally pushing Soap away, giving him a doe-eyed look. Meanwhile he looks down at you hungrily, your hand on his chest being the only thing keeping him away from you.

"Can I come in?" he asks rather boyishly.

You smirk. "It wouldn't be very ladylike of me," you tease. "Plus, I have to give you some reason to come back."

"I don't need a reason," he says.

"Well good," you smile. "Then I'll be seeing you, John."

"And you, Canary."

You thought about telling him your name. You almost did. But him not knowing felt innocent enough of a game you both could play together. One that brought no harm, and one with no ulterior motive. It's the kind of game you could only play with a man like John.

You shut the door slowly, looking to Soap until you could look no longer. The minute the door clicked shut and the lock re-buzzed, you took a few tired steps over to your bed and plopped down face first into your pillows.

And after a few more seconds went by, you pulled your phone out and began reading the text Graves had sent you. You held your breath as you read the message to yourself. Conflicted.

Chapter Text

ONE MONTH AGO
…

"Say cheese!"

Before Graves had any time to react, you whipped around on the trail with your polaroid camera, quickly snapping a picture, and temporarily blinding the poor man with your flash. A sharp groan leaves his lips in response. Though Graves warms up quickly, upon seeing you eagerly shake the film between your fingers the minute it spits out.

The birds chirping sing along to Graves’ boots shuffling against the fallen twigs, the pebbles, and loose dirt kicking at his feet. As you both wait for the film to develop, the afternoon sun hovers above, peaking through the Evergreens and inviting a warm, gentle breeze along the path.

There hasn’t been another hiker in sight for a good mile now, not since you two cut down this way on the trail. From the state of the pathway -- all rocky and dirt covered, with some fallen trees and other debris obscuring the way here and there -- you've clearly taken him off the main route, heading somewhere deeper into the woods. 

Had Graves not enjoyed your company (and the outdoors in general), he may have questioned where you were taking him. But at least the secludedness meant if he suddenly decided to take you by the arm and rid you of that cute little outfit you had on, he could do so without interruption.

The thought's already crossed his mind at least a few times now.

You continue to shake the picture in your hand, the film not developing any faster than when you’d first started three minutes ago. Though watching you try so hard had become rather amusing.

You'd been snapping pictures since the hike began, taking quick ones of just about anything that seemed to capture your eye. Which was surprisingly an easy thing to do. If the trees had the slightest abnormality, or the sunlight cut through the leaves like a thread just the smallest bit, you were there with your camera already out, bringing the hike to an abrupt halt every time.

Graves started teasing you about it by the third time you ran off the trail with an excited "Ooo!", followed by the faint sound of another shutter snap. But he really only teased you because he found it cute. Had you not been his second in command, he would have thought you'd never been outside a day in your life.

"Don't wave it too much now," Graves cautions, his southern drawl coming out a lot more clearly in the empty air. "You might ruin it."

“Oh,” you look back at him with a quizzical look in your eyes. “So you know photography now?”

“Enough to know you don’t shake ‘em like that if you want it to dry right,” he says. “Smartass.”

Graves can tell you want to continue going back and forth with him, which he would have happily obliged you, but the words must not come fast enough, because you don’t say anything else afterward. You only wave the picture a little more slowly, springing a smug chuckle from Graves in response.

“That’s what I thought,” he taunts, knowing it'll rile you up. Which it does. He keeps that cocky look on his face even when your eyes dart back to him shortly after.

“Don’t get me started now,” you warn jokingly. “Might come in your office one of these days and see your desk all fucked up again.”

Graves groans to himself, thinking back to that day you were referencing. You’d hardly been with the Shadows for a month before the others already managed to rope you in on the little pranks they liked to pull on him -- misplacing all his pens, trying (and failing) to jumpscare him in his office; little things that were never anything more than a small, innocent disruption in the day. 

The last wise idea you had was to place a single book underneath one of the legs of his desk. Nothing major, only it made his entire workstation wobble irritatingly so. Graves went almost the entire day getting pissed off at his desk before he found the damn thing wedged there. He didn’t even have to ask who did it either.

“You do somethin’ like that again and I’ll make an example out of you in front of the entire company,” he jokes, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Would you spank me?” you flirt.

“Honey, it’d be more than that.”

“Mm,” You giggle now. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Graves chuckles to himself, a calmness having washed over him. It makes the sun feel as though it's glowing against his fair, weathered skin, the air lighter in his lungs. 

He's happy he decided to come out today.

It's almost as though fate had willed this so. Or rather a series of coincidences and sudden whims. Coincidence number one had been the surprise couple of days off he found himself with suddenly. 

It wasn't often Graves had breaks between assignments, none that were long enough to actually do anything with. This was all by choice too; the man had practically married his career at this point in his life, seeing as no one else seemed to be stepping up to the plate. He’d thought about catching up on more work once he’d spotted the gap in his calendar. However, against his better judgment, the mini vacation didn't sound too bad right now. So he took it.

Of course, the break wasn’t long enough for him to book a flight home, which only meant he’d be staying in some hotel room staring at a mountain of paperwork for the next couple of days. A monotonous nightmare that even a workaholic like him couldn't work up the excitement to tackle. However, work was beginning to look like his only option; the others in the company were either out of town or up to their own devices. 

Except for you. Coincidence number two.

You had been in the same predicament as Graves, with nothing but an empty hotel room and no one to go out with. And ever the like-minded woman Graves’ has found you to be, you weren’t looking forward to spending the next couple of days inside your room either. So it had been you who’d first suggested the hike to him; because as luck would have it, you actually seemed to enjoy the man’s company.

But despite your own enthusiasm, Graves had been reluctant to go at first.

It’s not often he’s spent so much time with you alone before. Not outside of work. Nor outside however long you chose to stick around at night, whenever you both could squeeze into each other’s busy schedules for a quick fix that is. Assuming Graves stuck around after, it was a gamble if you'd ever do the same.

It’s a routine that stuck like glue. So well that neither of you could really move any further out of it than what you’ve stuck yourselves to already. Never budging, and never telling. Just being. So the thought of doing this, something as casual as hiking, it made him… wary.

About a month has passed since you’ve begun sneaking off with Graves. Something he regrets less each passing night. A typical day went along the lines of you sticking around well after a briefing, which would turn into you two getting a coffee, and ending with a good old fashion fuck session back at his place. Your place. Wherever your hearts willed you.

Everything else continued as usual otherwise, Graves remaining your commander, and you his chatty second in command. But seldom have there been moments of true vulnerability between you two, he’s noticed. None that you wouldn’t cover up with a lie, and none he couldn’t bury behind a smile. So what you two were doing out here today, spending time outside of work together alone, with no intention beyond where the trail takes you, it had been an unusual occurrence, to say the least.

Most of the others Graves’ has had friends-with-benefit relationships with were very loose with the “friend” part of the benefits. His work schedule often soured things after a while, in which most of these relationships gave way after a few short months. Eventually, it became easier to just show up for a quick fuck and leave. So much so that it’s just what Graves expects at this point. It breaks fewer hearts that way.

He couldn’t imagine spending any real time with anyone from before, however. Nothing like this.

Maybe a small part of him did want to actually take a day off and forget about all the ongoings of his working life. An even smaller part of him has thought about what a day would look like with you when you didn't need to act as his subordinate, and he your superior. What would that be, he wondered.

"Aw," you smack your lips rather disappointedly suddenly, as Graves raises an eyebrow. "You blinked."

You turn on your heel to show Graves the photo, walking backward on the trail now. And sure enough, he did indeed blink.

It wasn't a flattering kind of blink either. His expression was more a one eye closed, the other eye sort of halfway closed, kind of "blink". His mouth was even moving like he had been trying to say something to you before you'd unexpectedly sprung a photo on him. It makes Graves almost chuckle.

"Well, Goddamn," he teases. "You really ain’t a photographer, huh? Don't quit your day job, sweetheart."

You scoff offendedly, taking another look at the picture for yourself. "I can't perfect my skills if the talent can't stand still and smile right," you retort.

"Hey, don't turn this around on me," Graves puts his hands up in defense. "You're the one who took it."

You're quiet suddenly, thinking to yourself. It gives Graves a moment to take a mental picture of his current view of you. Seeing the way the sunlight blankets around you, your hair not done up in any special way, though suiting you just right. 

You're definitely more toned out now than when he'd first signed you into the company, the skin he could see of you having new marks and tiny scars, some faded, some fresh. You surely had stories for those he'd only need to ask you about to know. Yet he kept his curiosity to himself.

Graves tells himself it's because he wants to respect the terms you two have made for each other, as to why he doesn't pry and attempt to know you more. Rather than it being because he could see himself falling down a rabbit hole if he’s not too careful.

"Hm," you finally hum. "The more I look at it, the more I kind of like it."

Graves laughs to himself a bit, readjusting his hands on the straps of his pack. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," you say. "It feels very... You." 

Eventually, you turn and look at Graves again, a delighted smile on your face, as the sunlight dances in your eyes, bringing the man to a short pause in thought. "I'm keeping it,” you say.

"You don't want a better one?" Graves asks amusedly.

"No."

"It looks like I'm about to sneeze in it."

"Exactly," you say. "It doesn't get more authentic than that."

Graves takes a few quick steps ahead now, until he's standing side-by-side with you, his bare arms in the short-sleeved shirt he wore grazing against your own bare skin. It brought a soft tingle up his arm, feeling the sudden warmth.

You don't turn to look at him as he approaches, however, ignoring your commander for the trail ahead of you instead. In this case, Graves invites himself to speak. "I should get one too then," he says, grabbing the camera from out of your hands suddenly, springing a childish gasp from you.

"Hey-"

You pause, coming to a dead halt in front of the man, as your eyes turn curiously toward the surrounding woods. Listening. At first, Graves thought it might be an animal, and it made him tense up, your camera still clutched in his rough hands. However, the twinkle in your eyes suggests that whatever caught your attention was anything but a threat or animal.

"You hear that?" You ask him.

"No," he says. "Hear what-"

You don't wait for him to finish that thought before you've made a beeline for the trees suddenly, excitedly laughing to yourself.

"Hey, wait," Graves calls out to you. "Where're ya goin'? Songbird?"

When he sees you've already made some distance from where you’ve abandoned him, making it clear that you weren't going to wait, the man reluctantly follows, pushing through bushes and branches on his way. He steps over fallen logs and large, stray rocks, one hand guiding him through the woods, the other still holding your camera.

As the trees open up and he draws near where you dashed away, Graves finally hears what it was that beckoned you over. The sound of rushing water.

The trees dissipate, the soil turning to rock and stone, revealing a large pond of water isolated by the woods, as the late afternoon sun sits clear in its azure sky, beating down openly. A small waterfall pours from a low, rocky cliffside, gushing into the pond and flooding the air with the sound of its crashing waves. Graves finds himself taken aback by the scenery, before his blue eyes find you once more.

You stand at the foot of the water, staring off in awe, as your eyes attempt to take in the view, your back to Graves. Against the rushing water, you look radiant. Perfectly placed. He's not sure what comes over him, but Graves raises your camera and snaps a picture, without your knowledge.

However, you turn to face him before he can see how the photo came out.

"Look!" You shout over the falls, your smile so big that it seemed to light up your entire face. The happiness emits from you all the way across to him, as a smile pulls at his lips.

Graves takes a spot standing next to you over the water. It's not as shallow as he'd thought, maybe a few feet deep, and nearly clear enough to see straight through to the bottom. His reflection stares back at him, the sunlight creating a halo of light over his blond hair. His face the most relaxed he’s seen in a long time.

Had he not seen you start to remove your pack in his peripheral, Graves may have kept peering in at himself. He looks to find you suddenly stripping yourself of your clothing, having made way with your shirt and revealing the white tank top you had beneath it. 

You look at him wolfishly, feeling his eyes on you now. "Care to join me?"

He feels the air catch in his throat suddenly, bringing him to clear it and lick his lips. The way he sees your eyes watch him do it too -- your brow having twitched a little at the sight -- it brings a side out of him that elicits a shiver from you the moment you catch it yourself.

Graves looks above, seeing the sun has only gotten lower now. "You think there’s time?"

"We've got nothin' but time." You've stripped down to your underwear now, Graves seeing the way your torso stretches as your arms extended above your head, yawning loudly. He doesn't even try to hide the fact that he was now staring.

A burst of energy courses through you, and you jump into the water, creating a large splash that just barely misses him. Your head reemerges from the water, your hair now completely soaked and your face gleaming. 

The shimmer of the sun-sprinkled water chases your arms and legs, weaving elegantly against the light current. As though you're a mermaid. You wave for him to join you. “The water feels great!” you shout out. It makes the water look all the more alluring. But Graves stands at the edge, watching you float leisurely by, wondering what takes him so long to join you. The disciplined side of him keeps him still. But he wants to.

You only continue to taunt him. "Come on," you say. "Enjoy your day off. Take a break. Unwind with me a little, Phillip."

Phillip . It's not often you address him by his first name, not even in the bedroom. Graves thought hearing you say it would be jarring. However, it was anything but.

"I am unwinding," he protests.

"Then why are you way over there still?"

Graves opens his mouth, but pauses when he can't think of a proper rebuttal. The smug look you get after only makes the man begin to pout. But he stays by the edge of the water, not budging.

"If you don't get in here right now I'll drown myself," you say dramatically.

Graves scoffs. "What?"

You resubmerge yourself into the water, completely vanishing. Graves doesn't take the bait at first, though he does begin to set his pack to the side. He watches a little while longer, his amusement whittling away by the second.

"You know this is silly, right?" he taunts. You don't respond.

A few more seconds speed by, and now Graves has stripped himself of his shoes, peaking back up to see if you’ve yet come to your senses. Still, he saw no sign of you. He'd curse himself later for involving himself with yet another stubborn woman.

"You're really gonna drown yourself over this?" he calls out to you again. Now he's starting to see little bubbles come out of the water.

Graves peels his shirt off and wiggles out of his pants, having spent an embarrassingly long time fumbling with his belt at first. The moment his clothes left him and a brisk wind painted his skin with goosebumps, the man leaped into the water, diving into a liquid world of dark blue and turquoise.

The sun twinkles above, the water so clean he could see you clear across from him. Your hand's plugged over your nose, your hair floating around you like a cloud of smoke. When your eyes lock with his, the laugh that bubbles in your throat threatens to drown you right on the spot, as you both reemerge together.

“You did it!” you cheer. "I'm so proud of you."

"What the hell was that?" Graves asks, not trying to sound as worried as he admittedly had become. He takes his hand and pushes his hair off his face, giving you a good view of how the water bounces off his blue eyes with the shimmering of the sunlight. Like spilled glitter.

"I always knew you liked damsels in distress," you tease.

"Oh ha ha," Graves unintentionally splashes water at you.

You giggle, splashing water back at him, only you use it as a distraction to swim closer. 

He feels your hands wrap over his shoulders, your fingers gliding over every scar and groove of his muscles, as you take hold of him. Instinctively, his hands lace over your hips, his thumbs finding their comfortable place at your side. He finds himself swimming back with you in his grasp, until his back meets the cold stone behind him.

With nowhere else to swim to, your chest presses against his, Graves' hands curving up the small of your back, as your nails comb the sides of his hair, pulling his face to you. Your wet lips finally meet, and your mouths settle quickly, lips molding together.

Your kiss is sweet, intoxicating with the sound of the falls behind you. His stubble tickles the skin around your chin, parting your lips with a small groan, as Graves lets his tongue slide along yours, stealing a taste. He brings his hand to the back of your neck so he can keep your lips where he wants them, his nose bumping your own, and the kiss deepening.

When your lips finally part, Graves brings his hand down just to the nape, using it to crane your head back, as he bares your neck to him. Teeth graze over your sensitive skin, taking subtle nips, before searing kisses into you, trailing down subliminally.

Your hands hold his head gently, a feathery moan escaping you. It makes him sink into your touch, letting it guide his lips down to your collarbone. Your fingers tangle in his wet hair, nails gliding against his skull at the sensation. You've never felt so delicate in his grasp before. 

However, you start to pull away suddenly, having to use both of your hands firmly on his chest to pry him off, watching as his eyes catch yours right away. The sudden departure raises an eyebrow.

“Everything OK?” he asks.

Your eyes search his briefly, water still dripping from your lashes. You rest your hands around the back of his neck, using him as a solid structure to float on in the water. If Graves stared at you any longer he might just say screw it and resume where things left off.

Though he waits to hear from you first, wondering what may have stopped you.

“I just…” you pause, taking a moment to swallow before speaking again. “This isn't too much, right?”

That isn't the question Graves thought you were going to ask. 

"No," he chuckles at you, fingers lacing over your wrist, holding you gently. "Why're you askin'?"

"I don't know," your eyes look off to the waterfall now. Somberly. You struggle to meet his eyes, looking anywhere but at his own gaze. It's not often you got so shy around him; it was such a sudden change that it nearly flusters him as well. Somehow Graves knows you're not going to tell him what it is you're truly thinking. You rarely do. Still, he waits eagerly for your response.

"This just doesn't feel real sometimes."

And yet again you say something he did not expect.

Graves wants to ask you what you mean by that, though in a lot of ways, he already knew. He's felt the same way. And it's started to twist him up a bit. Because this isn't real, not in any way that'll end well between you two.

It shouldn't be real.

"Does it need to be?" Graves asks you. 

There's an answer to his question that sits at the tip of your tongue, one you almost actually say to him. But that answer is instead replaced by your lips finding his again, your hand taking his face softly. He wonders for a second what it may have been you wanted to say, for you to have come in as sweetly as you did. It shut his eyes and brought him back to you once again.

Right where he wants to be.

You pull away and give the man another devilish look, before dunking back beneath the water. At first, Graves thought you were going to make him look for you again, until he saw your bra float up. And then your panties. Soon followed by your bare body swimming up against him, your face coming out of the water and quickly finding his lips again.

Only this time, Graves is the next one to dive into the water. His eyes find your naked body hovering angelically in front of him. You don't know what he's got in store until you've felt him take hold of your torso, his mouth meeting your breast.

His teeth ghost over your nipples, leaving you shivering when his lips finally cup over them, kissing and sucking aptly. He stays under there longer than you would have given him credit for; it makes you lonely above the surface, feeling his mouth explore your breast, and his fingers needing into the skin of your back. He's caught off guard when you suddenly dive into the water after him, finding his mouth again.

Graves sinks into your playful kisses, stealing the air from your lips, his arms wrapping around you. He rotates you in the water, your back pressing against the rock wall that kept the water pond bottled in. Once he's felt your back touch the solid surface, he lowers himself, until your thighs are wrapped around his blond head and your legs are draped over his shoulders. 

He hoists you up, bringing you back above the water and sitting you on the stony ground, remaining in the water in front of you. This way, you sat with only your legs in the water from the knee down, dangling over the man's broad shoulders. His lips plant feathery kisses along the inside of your thighs, his finger digging in roughly, making your body shiver. Until eventually the warmth of his mouth has found your center.

Graves runs his tongue across your clit, having spent more than enough time learning just how you liked to have it played with. What pace gets you off the fastest. What ways his tongue could flick and suck to have you shaking in his palms. Your commander always had a natural talent for using his mouth, both physically and verbally. 

He keeps your legs open, fingers sinking into your skin hard each time his tongue made you jolt, or whenever your thighs would tighten around him involuntarily. You do it again and this time he uses his hands to pry them apart. "Keep 'em open baby," is all he tells you, before returning to his work.

Graves goes on for so long that it leaves your entire body feeling damn near numb with arousal. Had you not been near the falls, the woods would have echoed with your cries and whimpers. You had to lean over and start tugging at his hair, pleading for him to quit his toying already. "I need you," you moan.

Graves pulls you back into the water, his eyes so drunk with you in them that you could see yourself in his irises. All swaddled up tightly in his black and blue world. "As you command."

You bring your lips back to him, only you do so slowly this time. As though to savor it. Graves can't help but mirror you, wanting to give to you everything you were giving back to him right now and then some.

Your arms wrap around his neck, your legs hugging his waist, as he kept one hand placed firmly on your bottom, the other holding onto the rocky pond ledge so that the water didn't carry you two away. He brings himself to you, using his hand to glide himself against your sensitive core, rubbing softly before he's finally slipped himself in.

Your arms tighten around his neck once he starts to get a good rhythm going. Feeling the way your body contracts and squeezes at each smooth thrust of his hips. When you moan, it only makes him move with more dedication and precision. "That's right," his teases come out almost like airy moans. "That's my little songbird."

Graves eyes meet yours and stay there, your lips but a breath away. He takes his hand and cups it over your face, before slowly coming in, taking you with another kiss. One that he had wanted to be as gentle as you. When your mouth chases his after parting ways, he surrenders to you, finding this more sufficient than anything else he could have said to you at that moment.

This just doesn't feel real sometimes.

Does he feel real enough for you, even now? He wonders. When you're with him like this, and it's only him, is it enough? If Graves made this feel any more real would that be OK? Instead of teetering at the brink like this. Do you want this to be real?

The sun has begun to set when you two finally part from one another.

Graves pulled himself up from out of the pond, quickly throwing his pants back on, expecting you to do the same. Only you swim about in the water still, merely floating along the empty pond by your lonesome.

"You plan on staying in there forever, Songbird?" he teases.

"Maybe," you say playfully.

Graves approaches his pack, seeing your camera still sitting there. The picture he'd taken of you earlier finally developed. He picks it up from beside the camera, looking at the image and feeling his heart flutter in him.

You stand at the edge of the water, the falls crashing to your right and your back turned to the camera, as rays of sunlight silk over you. Graves looks at the picture longer than he planned to, smiling to himself.

But then his eyes land on his phone beside his pack, and his smile drops. He had three missed calls from General Shepherd.

The man gets sent into a small panic, as you watch him frantically dial the number back in, immediately getting into a phone call with his boss. He paces back and forth listening to the General, his face slowly lowering the longer he's on the phone. There's some nodding and OKs from the commander, who looks down at his phone solemnly, even for a few short moments after the call ends.

It gives you a bad feeling.

"You good?" You call from the water, not yet having climbed out to redress yourself.

Graves opens his mouth, prepared to speak to you with his usual cavalier attitude. However, when he takes a look at you again, he can't help but think of how nice it would have been if he had just stayed over there with you.

Something crosses his mind, turning his gaze bittersweet.

"Looks like this little vacay just got cut short," Graves finally breaks the news. "Shepherd's got us flyin' back to Al Mazrah tomorrow night."

"Mm," you say sarcastically. "Always loved that place." You swim over to the ledge again, resting your arms on the stone so you could get a better look at your commander. "This mean we have to head back then?"

"I'm afraid so, darlin'."

You turn your gaze to the waterfall again, thinking. Watching it mist in the setting sun. "What if we don't?"

"Don't what?"

"Leave," you say. "Can't we just stay a while longer?"

Graves watches your eyes grow wide with excitement just over the possibility that he might say yes. The man's never felt so tempted before. He almost feels his knees wobble, legs ready to walk their merry way back to you. But he knows he can't do that. He tells himself so. Hadn't he been waiting for more work?

"Another day, sweet pea."

You don't say anything to him, but he does see your gaze falter, a sigh leaving your lips. He tries to act as though your reaction didn't phase him like it did. Though he's found it harder to look at you suddenly.

This can wait until he comes back, he reminds himself. If you'll have him, then he'll have you too. Once he starts to believe the words, Graves can't help but get this smug look on his face instead, hiding away sudden unease. Forever the performer.

"Like you said," Graves smiles. "We've got nothin' but time, darlin'."

After all, he thought, there's always tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Something changed in Graves the day he came back from Al Mazrah. A darkness stirred in him in ways you've never seen before, clouding his eyes and turning them cold. It was such a stark difference from the Graves you've come to know this past year, you nearly felt you've come face-to-face with a stranger again.

Graves didn't want to talk about what happened when he got back. There were a million other things that called for his attention before his plane could even touch back down to HQ, and he saw no point in dwelling. Yet anyone who knew about Black Bag in the company knew the severity of the situation. Nothing would be the same again after everything that had happened.

But even so, Graves kept up this front, stepping off the plane by himself and having nothing but his own company to face alone. He wouldn't let himself waver once in front of his men. Keeping on as though he had everything under control.

As usual, he busied himself with what needed to be done next, letting his work keep him too distracted to stop and take a look at everything else going on in his life, continuing with business as usual. He'd spend his nights with you when he could spare the time; business as usual. And he never spoke a word of his troubles, which weighed on him more so by the passing days. Business as usual.

Looking back, maybe he just didn't want to worry anyone, or rather he did not want to worry himself. And had you no care, you may have taken this act of his at face value. Only you did care. Too much in fact, because you hadn't been aware of just how much it was you did until now.

This stormy night had been another long one. There were mountains of phone calls and paperwork that seemed to endlessly take precedence over anything else. You'd volunteered to do the bulk of it, seeing as your Commander already had a lot on his plate. But even as you hammered out a good chunk of all the tedious tasks for him, judging from how Graves hasn't left his office since this morning, you knew it'd be another late night of working until the sunrises before he could finally step out.

Seeing him this busy had been more jarring than you thought. Graves was always busy sure, but this? He'd work himself into an early grave before he'd ever come close to finishing everything.

So you meant to bring him a coffee that night, as a small gesture of kindness. You may not be able to knock him out of this funk he's found himself in suddenly, but you could be there for him in little ways.

However, you pause just outside his office door, upon hearing the sound of angry voices erupting from inside. Deep and dominant, attempting to talk over one another, before one finally speaks clearly enough for you to hear from the other side.

General Shepherd's.

"In case you've forgotten, you and your men are still under contract, commander."

You froze in place, a cold chill running down your spine suddenly. The General was here. You had a feeling Shepherd would want to meet with Graves about what happened; you'd hoped the conversation would be a cordial one. However, from the man's tone, you knew what he was saying had been anything but.

The General only continues to go on his rant, his voice damn near rumbling the door from its hinges. It's a good thing most of everyone had gone home for the night already. "This is just as much your fuck up as it is mine," Shepherd argues. "Now we can either fix this together, or you can go down with it. Your choice."

"That's what we're callin' this then?" You hear Grave speak now. "My choice?"

"It's an easy one, if you ask me," Shepherd calms more, his tone growing more patronizing by the second. "Do the right thing here, son. Having those missiles on the loose like this does no good for no one. It's bad for me, and it's especially bad for you and yours. Something like this can ruin a man's career for the rest of his life. I know that's not what you want."

Your stomach turns listening to the General speak. Of course he was going to frame this in a way that made things out to be more on the Shadows than himself. Never mind the fact that he gave the order and set all this up, to begin with. But despite the griminess of this, there wasn't anything Graves could do about it. You knew that, and he did too.

Graves had made his choice when he signed the dotted line and brought you all here.

You begin resting your ear against the door, straining to better hear them. To your dismay, it's only Shepherd who seems adamant to continue trying to weasel his way into your commander's mind.

"Now this can still be worth your while, if we get things done right this time," Shepherd coaxes. "Is that something your Shadows can do still? Or have I bet on the wrong horse?"

There's a small pause, but eventually, through the silence, you hear Graves' defeated voice say dully, "...It'll get done, sir. Count on it."

"Good," Shepherd says. "That's what I want to hear from you. That this'll get done. And that we won't have any more mistakes on your part. We can't have another repeat of what happened back there."

"There won't be, sir."

"Your men wouldn't want to see you cowering with your tail tucked between your legs after a single fuck-up, Graves," Shepherd says. "Now you get this done, and I'll make this worth your while. It's about time the Shadows made a real name for themselves, wouldn't you agree?"

You have to stop yourself from scoffing at the General's comment. The Shadows have made a name for themselves. A pretty well-established name too, one that's gone years growing on its own without the help of some washed-up general a little too power-hungry for his own good. Graves didn't need his help to get places; surely he wasn't buying this.

Was he?

You get so lost in thought that you nearly miss the heavy footsteps approaching the door suddenly. Too fast for you to be able to move before it's swung open, revealing you to the room like a surprise present. The next thing you know, you're standing face to face with a very caught-off-guard General looking down at you from the entryway.

As always he's outfitted himself in his dress uniform, his chest brandished with enough tin pieces of decoration to make a metal detector burst in flames. From the few times you've spoken with the General in the past, he's never seemed very impressed by your presence. That hasn't seemed to change much even now.

You look up at Shepherd awkwardly, before standing at attention and greeting him properly. Like him or not, he was still technically your boss's boss. Though you do continue to hold the coffee you'd brought for Graves in your hand, rather nonchalantly. "Good evening, sir," you say.

Shepherd looks you up and down, particularly fixated on the coffee. You could just tell he had a comment on his mind that might urk you if you heard it. Though he keeps it to himself, as do you keep your expressions in check, watching his lips get tight, his crow's feet intensifying.

The only thing that concerned you was the weight of Graves' gaze from behind him. Some mix between being happy to see you, and being too tired to want to deal with that fact.

"Shadow," he greets back. "We missed you back in Al Mazrah."

Unfortunately, you couldn't say the same. Had you been there you may not have returned. Your eyes can't help but drift into the room behind Shepherd, catching Graves slumping back over to his desk. You try not to stare for too long. "I wish I could have been there to help, sir."

"We'll find a use for you yet," he comments. "Excuse me."

You don't put up a fight letting Shepherd leave. The General walks around you, as you wait in the doorway for him to disappear behind one of the walls to the hall, before finally inviting yourself into your commander's office.

Graves sits at his desk, his hands placed solemnly over his head and elbows resting exhaustedly on his desk. He waits for you to shut the door behind you before he finally lets out that heavy sigh he'd kept in this whole time. "That man is going to be the death of me one of these days," he comments to himself.

You stop in front of Graves' desk, watching him remain still even as you draw near. "Let's hope not," you say casually. "We still need you, sir."

Graves appears less than amused than usual tonight. "You shouldn't keep poppin' by like this," he warns. "People notice that kind of shit."

You pause for a moment. You haven't forgotten about the secrecy of your relationship with your commander, given your roles. The fact that he felt the need to remind you only raised suspicion. Had something changed?

"I just thought you could use a little pick-me-up, nothing more."

You make your way over to his desk, placing the coffee down in front of him. You'd done so rather strategically, setting it close enough to see the man unable to resist inhaling its scent. You can't help but smile at the way he stares at the drink for a while, before finally caving in and sinking back into his seat, grabbing hold of the coffee.

"How kind of you, Songbird." Graves takes a sip, letting the warmth of it wash through him. He licks his lips and lets out a light groan. "It's perfect."

"What kind of second-in-command would I be if I didn't know what coffee you prefer?"

You see Graves finally take a moment to himself, closing his eyes to enjoy the coffee you'd brought. It felt good to see him not hunched over his desk for a change. The man seemed prone to forgetting to take moments to himself lately, needing the reminder more often than not.

Frankly, you're not sure who else would care for your commander, had you not been here. It didn't seem like he really had anyone else, the longer you've been around him. No one was waiting for him at home, no one wondering where he could be or how he was. No one other than you, and you weren't even supposed to.

You instinctively take your seat at the empty corner of Graves' desk, just a foot or so to his right. The moment you do, you feel his eyes on you, a witty remark already brewing in the air, telling you that his desk was not a chair. He'd say it every time you came by and did it, yet it never stopped you. Nor did he ever push enough for his warnings to mean anything.

Graves made no such comments on it tonight.

"You know me too well," he says.

Your mouth parts, ready to say something a little too sweet to him before you catch hold of that sentence suddenly, that excited glint in your eyes dimming ever so lightly. You're thankful he hadn't been looking at you when you did it; you hadn't meant to. Because you'd suddenly thought to yourself, would it be such a bad thing to know him too well?

You instead watch Graves' eyes drift off to one of the windows, watching the way the rain smacked against it. Lost in thought. It was a peculiar sight, seeing him this way; not very often was he a man who'd got lost in his own mind.

As his attention shortly drifted from you, your eyes dropped down to his desk, catching a glimpse at some of the paperwork he had scattered about. One file in particular catches your eye almost immediately. The file of a Shadow Company member, Erikson. One of the many who'd died that night of the operation.

A rock feels as though it's formed at the pit of your stomach, being reminded of the people your company lost recently. You could only imagine what Graves must have felt in comparison. He always had been personal with his men, knowing each and every one of you by name, and even remembering the little things you told him. Above all, you knew that so long as you served in his company that you would be someone to care for.

It's what made what happened in Al Mazrah all the more personal for him.

Yet Shepherd couldn't care less about the condition of Shadow Company or its leadership. The job always came before the people's well-being, and if a job well done meant Shepherd could stamp his name on it afterward, then he'd damn you all if need be.

You decide to finally speak. "How're you holding up?"

"I've been better, that's for sure," he admits. "But I've just gotta get caught up on the rest of this before we can get to fixin' things."

"Fixing?" You ask.

Graves pauses. He hadn't meant for you to read into his words, having spoken a bit more candidly than he might have realized. Still, it never took him long to find what words to say next.

"I got us into this," he says. "I'm doin' what I can to make sure we can get out."

You frown, seeing that Shepherd's words must have cut deeper than you'd hoped. "We all chose to be here," you say. "Don't blame yourself."

"As your commander, I find that a little hard not to do," he sighs, suddenly breaking his gaze away, almost shamefully. "I really might have fucked us with this one."

"Is it that bad?" You ask, though you know the answer already. General Shepherd had put your company in a real predicament.

"Bad would be an understatement," Graves says. "This is a fucking shitstorm. But if we keep at it, we can brush this off. I just need to figure out where we need to be next. After I get this done..."

Graves' rambling slowly leads him back to the paperwork on his desk, as he begins skimming files again, reaching over for his pen. You've lost count of how many days you've seen him in this exact position. Only his face grows more worn each day. It saddened you to see.

"Well," you push off from his desk suddenly, sauntering your way over to the commander instead. Graves sees that flirtatious look in your eyes and he has to keep from making a face. Though he does start to smile. "Why don't you take a small break and relax for a little," you say.

"Trust me, I want to," he sighs. "But I've really got work to do, Songbird."

"I understand." You get on your knees in front of Graves now, your eyes looking up at him provocatively. " Just sit back then. Let me take some of that stress away."

You rest your hands on the top of Graves' thighs, sliding them towards the insides, and watching the man sink back into his seat, his blue eyes peering down at yours with lust. You gently push his legs apart so you can take a better position between them. Once seated, one of your hands makes its gentle way to his crotch, your fingers finding a hardening Graves beneath the fabric, as a tattered huff exhales from his nose. It makes you smirk.

"Fuck," he says under his breath. "You really kill me sometimes, you know that?"

"Shh, relax," you whisper. You thumb him through his uniform, teasing him with your touch as your spare hand made its way to his buckle. Doing the only thing in your power you knew could make the man happy for a short while. The only thing he's seemed responsive to thus far. "Let me take care of you."

That's all you really wanted to do -- take care of him. This man you've found yourself slowly growing more invested in, each day you spend together. You enjoyed making his nights easier, you enjoyed being that distraction. You wanted him to finally start letting you into his world. Everything you wanted from him, you want to give.

You stroke him slowly, your fingers having found the shape of him through his pants, getting a good feel for him. As your hand rubs up and down against him, Graves cocks his head back in his chair, his chest rising and falling the longer you touch him.

There's nothing he wanted more than to let you continue; he wanted to feel you finally get that buckle undone and spring him free from his uniform. Picturing how warm and wet your mouth would be the minute you let your lips wrap around him, your tongue tracing love letters on his skin like you do every night. Just picturing it had him twitching with lust in your palms.

Yet any time his eyes would open back up, and he could no longer just imagine that it was only you here that mattered, he'd only remember that he's in his office. And then he remembered everything else that rests on his shoulders right now. You included.

You pause when Graves suddenly lifts a hand, gently cupping your cheek. His hands are rough and callous, yet you can't help but snuggle against it. The expression you make seems to draw in a longing gaze from him. Though his other hand reaches for the one you have touching him, his fingers stopping you in your tracks.

"Another night, darlin'," he says.

For a moment you had thought of protesting, though when you took a good look at him, that urge had given way. You see a man who wants to work. A man on a mission. A man too afraid to take a minute to himself when there was a job to do. How could you compete with that?

You accept defeat, making a gentle sigh. For a moment you felt embarrassed by how forward you'd been, given the rejection. However, at the very least it didn't seem as though Graves had the attention span to really pay any mind to it. His mind was in a million other places.

"I'm sorry," you say awkwardly, beginning to sit up from between his legs. However, Graves takes hold of your arm, keeping you near, at least for the moment.

"I'm sorry," he says instead. "I wish... well..." Graves' voice trails, his eyes getting lost in yours, too guarded to read and yet too bittersweet to look away from. "Give me some time. I'll make this right."

"Hey we've got nothin' but time still, right?" You smile, leaning forward so that you could taste the coffee on his lips. Graves doesn't stop you as you come in, letting your lips find his and wrap him into a slow, tender kiss. When you move to pull away, he only keeps his hand on your arm, leaning forward to chase your lips again. Wanting to stay this way with you for the rest of the night.

Had an email notification not dinged so loudly on his computer, he may have almost forgotten where he was.

Graves pulls away from you, his eyes instinctively traveling over to his desktop to see who may have emailed him. You couldn't help but chuckle at the desperation in his eyes as he did it, finally standing up away from him.

You make your way back to the exit, prepared to leave. However, you can't stop thinking about Graves' face, or the exhaustion in his words. How he wished for you not to care for him.

"Graves," you stop right before the door, looking back at him reassuringly. He looks up at you from his computer, waiting patiently. "Don't kill yourself working too hard," you say to him.

"I can't make any promises, Songbird."

No, he couldn't make any promises. None to you, and none that his job did not outweigh. All his promises have been left for his real passion in life. As you two agreed. Only now that things have only gotten worse at work, perhaps you were starting to regret having agreed to such terms so recklessly.

Graves doesn't say anything else after that, though his face does soften up. It's enough for you to part from him with a smile. A smile that only wavers the moment it can no longer see him.

Chapter Text

There are many parts of life that Ghost has grown used to.

He's used to waking up every morning and having nothing but his work to look forward to. That familiar solitude waiting for him at the end of every shift was as much a part of his life as anything else.

He's used to his usual streak of bad luck too. It wouldn’t be a regular day for the man if some inconveniences and setbacks weren’t sprinkled in here and there. Dealing with bad luck was a hidden talent of Ghost that life had a funny way of testing. He’s been on edge waiting to see what’s in store for him next.

He's used to doing little things to occupy his free time, which has lately been a lot of journaling and late-night jogging. It helps to have something to preoccupy himself with, rather than turning to the bottle for comfort; yet another qualm inherited to him by his father. Ghost would never allow himself to succumb to such vices as easily as his old man had though. That’s a cautionary tale the lieutenant didn’t need to live through a second time.

He's used to dealing with strangers and all their odd comments and tantalizing stares. When you're as mountainous in appearance and intimidating to talk to as he is, you learn to grow thick skin and not take things so personally. And by now he’s grown used to keeping people at a distance. 

At the start, it had been deliberate, knowing he was in no place to be thinking of building relationships with anyone outside of his team. And even that was with the bare minimum effort. 

Everyone must have just finally gotten the memo. Almost everyone. Eventually, Ghost got so good at keeping people away that he hardly had to try anymore. They just stopped approaching him. Stopped asking him personal questions. Stopped trying. 

He's used to that feeling he gets when he sees couples in public. That twinge which knots at the pit of his gut and wrinkles his nose beneath his mask. As someone known to stare, PDA was definitely a head-turner for the lieutenant, and rather nauseating to look at. That's how he'd put it. 

What many would take for disdain, however, was really only a faint longing for something he's only ever been a passive observer to. Love. He isn't used to that feeling, though he is used to being the one always on the outside of it. Any other kind of love has only ever been taken from him all too soon. Always out of his hands, and always just out of reach. That's a lot more familiar to him.

But that feeling would come, and then it would pass, because it's what Ghost is used to. Moving. Working. Surviving.

Living.

It's safe to say Ghost can handle a few contrivances throughout his day. However, today seemed especially adamant on testing his patience, in all new ways he never thought of before. Both petty, pointless, and far too sweet.

Even his dreams had been out to get him this morning, which did not surprise him, as bad dreams stuck to him like a bad habit. Still, it didn't make them any less welcome. And looking back, it may have been best to have taken the dreams as a heads-up for the kind of day he was in for.

Ghost didn't remember passing out the night before, only that he had entered his room later than he should have, leaving you and Soap to yourselves. While he wouldn't say the night was terrible, it left him with more to think about than he'd wanted when deciding to tag along. 

That would be the case, as his mind would tell him so the moment he finally managed to pass out.

Contrary to popular belief, Ghost could be a surprisingly creative thinker. He's always been very imaginative, even as a boy. Had he a better childhood, perhaps it could have taken him places. But life's never had much in store for him it seems, so his creative talents felt best suited to his nightmares instead.

It had been a simple dream, a near recap of the night before. 

You've left the cafe in a fluster of emotions, soon to be followed by Soap. Ghost remained inside, standing off in the distance as he watched you both run off. Waiting.

The cafe would grow emptier as the minutes crawled by endlessly. The music would slowly fade, and the ambiance would die out. The lights would grow so dim that it made the building feel cold, and before long not a soul lingered around Ghost, who was now alone. Still waiting.

It wasn't until he heard the sounds of you both screaming that Ghost finally sprung from his spot and out the cafe doors.

Outside had been no different. All the traffic and crowds had all but vanished, a dense fog settling across the city streets that even the streetlights struggled to break through. And it was quiet.

Ghost quickly found you standing off a ways from the cafe, your back turned to him, and Soap nowhere in sight. 

In the waking world, Ghost was a man who modeled himself on control and discipline. He could not afford to be someone who let his emotions get the better of him, especially if his behaviors in his dreams were a reflection of who that man would be. 

In his dreams, where all that structure and discipline he's built around himself could no longer follow, lie a man untamed by demons and darker whims he felt powerless to take control over.

He demanded to know where Soap had gone. When you couldn’t answer him, he felt a violent urge take over. As though some demon suddenly possessed him. Ghost lunges towards you, his large hands over-compassing the small frame of your neck with ease, as he pins you to the cafe walls behind you, his dark eyes seething.

You look up at him, stricken with fear as your frail hands pull at him, gasping in shock as you whimper in his grasp. You plead to him, trying to reason with him, even now. 

Your words would only fall on deaf ears, as Ghost's grip tightened around your neck, the muscles in your throat bending to his grasp. His body moved with a mind of its own, blacking out everything else. Waiting to see in your eyes the fears he's harbored for you. Wanting to hear you curse him. Wanting you to affirm to him what he only waits for you to realize in reality. That he’s no good.

But even so, you hold no resentment in your gaze, nor pity. Your hands release from his wrist, slowly trailing up, until he's felt your warm touch rest against the sides of his face. Gently caressing him.

"Ghost..."

Ghost isn't sure when it was that his grip had loosened on your neck after that, only that his hands began to tremble soon after. You take a step closer, your hands still holding him, as his jawline all but sinks into your palms. All the while, Ghost's hands linger around your neck, having grown accustomed to its shape.

Your thumb gently rubs against his cheek, soothing his tense body. "Isn't this what you want?"

"I..." Ghost's head dips, no longer able to look you in your eyes. It shamed him to admit that he did want this. To be touched, to be held, to be taken in and for that not to go away. Not so soon at least. He didn’t want to need those things, to long for them. He’s gotten this far in life without them now, he knows he can keep it up. And yet… “...You're not gettin' in my head. I won't let you. I can't…"

"You can..." You lift yourself up on your tip-toes, the crown on your head just barely meeting his forehead, your eyes locked on his. "...I already am."

Despite your persistence, Ghost somehow manages to keep himself from succumbing to your urges, though it takes everything in him to. He needn't act out on these whims, even in his dreams.

However, your tenacity was a foe unmatched even as a figment of his darker imagination.

Your hands stop just at the end of his mask, and you begin to tug. The sensation is as if you’d begun to pull Ghost’s soul from him. He wishes it would have woken him, but the night’s hold was heavy.

You stop pulling his mask up just shy of the bridge of his nose, revealing the light stubble that painted the lower half of his face, alongside the light purse of his lips. With your hands still lightly gripping the side of his mask, you bring him down to you. 

You press your lips to him, and Ghost' powerless to contain himself, kisses you back, feeling a wave of ecstasy wash through him. Ghost grips your neck tightly again, catching the air in your throat as you gasp into his mouth. His lips overpower your own, his sheer size having you pressed harshly against the wall. 

Ghost only parts from your mouth for the smallest moment, only to come back in again, his hands using your neck to crane your head so that he could hold you in place. Keep you with him. Wanting nothing more than to feel you... only he is unable to.

Your neck in his grasp, your lips against his, your breath that fogged the air around him -- he couldn't feel a thing. Ghost had only the faintest idea of what that sensation could feel like, having felt it so long ago now. And yet he craved it. Yearning it. Because even his dreams could not replicate that smallest of feelings you once gave him.

But before he can truly ascend onto cloud 9, a sharp pain enters his abdomen, breaking through his sternum and piercing straight into his heart. The one thing he could feel. His lips part from yours, and his eyes drag down to where you had stabbed him. 

Ghost stumbles back, his body convulsing with pain as the blood began to pool from his chest and mouth. All the while he can hear your insane laughter filling his ears, a twisted glint to your gaze, before he's finally pulled himself out of his sleep and into a panicked wake.

Once he realized he was no longer dreaming, the stiff cold air of his room finally calmed him, Ghost wasn't sure what he found most embarrassing about what just happened, however -- The fact that he had that dream at all, or the fact that only seconds later, he’s noticed the throbbing hard-on he’d gotten from it.

Ghost groans to himself and sinks his head back against his pillow. “Fuckin’ hell…”

He would have left himself alone, had the arousal not been so painfully uncomfortable to leave be. Weakly succumbing, Ghost brings a hand down to himself to finish the job, sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of his sweatpants to take hold. 

He makes quick work with his urges, moving his hand at a fast pace as he kept his eyes closed, trying to picture something to help get it done quicker.

With no one else who really came to mind, Ghost couldn't help but think back to you. How your lips moved over him in his dream, how his hands fit perfectly around your neck, and how your own hands felt like chains around him. 

He escalates the scenario in his mind, picturing you ridding yourself of your clothes. Your body bare for his perusal. Ghost thinks about you climbing over him now, your legs straddling him to the bed and his hands tightly holding onto your hips. The sweet moans you'd make with him in you would haunt him for the rest of his life, as he’s watching your body vibrate with pleasure, your gaze wanting him evermore.

Ghost buries his face into his pillow just as he climaxes, that uncontrollable lust he felt quickly being replaced by guilt and shame. 

The way you had Ghost so wound up, you'd think he were a virgin. Though that wasn't true; it had been well over three years since Ghost has actually laid with another person, and even then that last time had just been transactional. Some stranger at a bar back home he didn't mind expelling some of himself into for the night. It hadn't meant anything. 

Intimacy hasn't meant anything to him for a long time now.

Yet the way you plagued his mind would have him thinking he's never known the meaning of lust and intimacy before, until now. Like he’s been missing out or something. 

While Ghost has dreamed of you before, never has it been so... graphic. Certainly nothing like this. And for a moment, it worried the man. He's used to his typical nightmares, and knows how to combat those by now. But how was he supposed to tackle this one? What even was this?

Ghost had given up trying to find the purpose of that dream the minute it grew easier to settle for the obvious answer, the one that pained him to admit: Perhaps he did have a crush on you after all. 

He finds you attractive, clearly. But a crush? It felt so beneath him, being unable to stop something as silly as that from forming. Still, this stupid little crush has somehow caused him more inner turmoil than any of the recent ops he’s last run, and it was mighty embarrassing.

It's safe to say, having to see you later today would feel more awkward than Ghost would have liked. Especially since it would technically be your first official day on the team. But he hadn't planned on treating you any differently than anyone else, and a single dream wasn't going to change that now.

That was the plan at least.

…

"You know Halloween ain't 'til the end of the month, right?"

Ghost stood in front of the register at one of the corner stores within walking distance from the barracks. The only one open this early in the morning.

The lieutenant damn near towered over the counter space, tired eyes watching unenthusiastically as the cashier  -- some scrawny little woman who looked like she'd seen a few street fights in her day -- scanned and bagged his box of tea. She's been giving Ghost the side-eye since she stepped in, shadowing him in every aisle. 

Ghost didn't blame her much, seeing as he's shown up in a hoodie and a ski mask. But honestly, the man really did just want to pick up some tea. While this had not been his first choice for tea, Ghost has come to learn how little Americans really care for the drink.

Had Ghost been back home, or not stationed here, he'd have forgone the mask and just gone later in the day. However, seeing as that wasn't the case, going early in the morning to pick up some tea at least meant he wouldn't bump into too many wide-eyed pedestrians ready to gawk at him for wearing a bloody mask. 

Ghost still could not tell for the life of him what fascinated people so much about it. It's only a mask. Though this is coming from a man who also, very often, forgets his sheer size and presence. The mask was only the cherry on top, really. Perhaps in their shoes, he'd do the same.

But even so, unprovoked comments from strangers were the lieutenant’s bread and butter. 

"Just bein' festive, Luv."

Ghost hands the woman cash for the tea, watching her take her time counting it. "And you went with that?" she asks, rather mockingly too.

"Weren't much to choose from, I'm afraid," Ghost says dryly.

The cashier hands Ghost his bag and gives him a learned smile. "Well, hey, you've got time." And then she waves him goodbye. 

Ghost merely catalogs this as yet another awkward interaction he's had with the locals since being stationed here.

The awkward occasion before this one had been with some other woman two days ago. Poor thing just popping by her nearest gas station for a drink, when Ghost all but gave her a stroke. The last thing she expected to bump into when she hastily opened the gas station doors was this ugly mug. She screamed so loud that Ghost was sure the entire block heard her. 

It's safe to say nothing has been quite as awkward as that. Who knew Americans could be so jumpy?

Ghost's walk back to his room had been a sunny one, on a sidewalk busier than this Wednesday morning called for. The air, once warm for the summer, was finally beginning to cool, as early signs of fall showed themselves in the tree's leaves.

As Ghost drew near his building, he passed by a floral shop that someone recently set up at the park. He'd taken a gander or two at the flowers his first time walking past them earlier.

Whoever set it up made sure to have the most vibrant flower arrangements decorating the area. Baskets sat displayed both high and low, filled to the brim with a rainbow of different petals and plants. It grabbed a lot of attention from the bystanders, people stopping to look or even buy a bouquet for their significant other. At times it was like watching a movie.

The last time Ghost bought flowers it had been for his mother. She always liked her lavenders and tulips, and Ghost always enjoyed the smile on her face when he'd show up to her home with them. He nearly sighs out loud just thinking back to that time. It feels so long ago now.

Ghost wouldn't say he had a Green Thumb, though he did always enjoy planting new flowers every Spring with his mother. Whenever she'd find the time to and his old man was away on another one of his benders long enough.

He remembers enjoying how colorful their front lawn would look when they finished, compared to the rest of the gray they lived around in Manchester. Everything around him when he was younger always felt so sad and lifeless, it was nice to just be with himself and the Earth, giving back to it in a peaceful way for a change.

A small part of him thought of buying some flowers for his room, just to lighten the place up some. But then he thought, what would be the point of that? Buying flowers for his room just so when it was late at night he could look at them and be sad all over again. Always the self-destructive sort he was.

A woman approached the shop suddenly, dressed in a white sundress and a light straw hat. She pauses when she sees the sunflowers, nearly matching her in height, as her hair wisps gently in the breeze. 

For a split second, Ghost thought that may have been you; she was your spitting image. It caught the man off guard so much that a cold chill shivered down his spine. Had the little details not tipped him off that it wasn’t you, Ghost would have thought you were stalking him. But it seems you only did so in his mind; anything else was more on him than you, he begrudgingly knew that much.

Ghost watched the woman longer than he should have, seeing her speak to the vendors with such vigor and excitement. She’d take another eyeful of all the flowers, and find herself in another state of awe before she was back on her tangent once more. She feels the petals, smells their scent, then smiles. And when her eyes turn back for only a split second, she sees Ghost standing a few feet away… and then she frowns.

Ghost stares back coldly, wanting to send her gaze away from him. Though when she does look away, it only makes the man feel rather silly. What, had he expected her to smile when she saw him? She's not you, he thought. No one was like you, and that's what made this so damn annoying to deal with.

The faint illusion of you was shattered once the woman’s husband stepped into view. Some short, skinny man who looked nothing like Ghost at all. He curved around her, his arm wrapping around her waist, as she looked up at him with a warm smile. The kind of look a woman gave to someone she loved. Ghost has seen it from others enough times to recognize it.

"Watch out!"

Ghost's head snaps over to the sound of someone shouting at him on the sidewalk. When he looks over, he sees a man on his bike, recklessly speeding straight toward him. 

With quick reflexes he's had time to fine-tune, Ghost quickly sidesteps the cyclist. However, it's not fast enough to keep the cyclist's handlebar from clipping his arm a little, knocking the box of tea out of Ghost's hands and into a large, growing puddle on the side of the road.

Once Ghost sees his tea completely submerged in the murky water, the man prepares himself for the worst-case scenario. He just stands over it for a moment, not even phased by the sheer luck of it all. When he kneels down to retrieve it, of course, the sealant wrapped around it was punctured, letting all the water get into each and every tea bag inside its box.

Though on the outside Ghost was calm and composed, there was a little man inside his brain, completely raging out about not having his tea right now.

Ghost stands to his feet and sighs, already knowing he wouldn't have time to go back and get more before this morning's briefing. He knew he should have just stayed in bed that morning.

He looks back off to the floral shop, for no particular reason. That woman in the sundress had gone by now, taking a basket of trimmed sunflowers with her. 

Ghost couldn't help thinking about you one last time.

…

Ghost was surprised to find Soap already waiting in the briefing room this morning, though the man looked as though he were seconds away from passing out dead in his seat. He sits hunched over his arms, dressed in his fatigues, though he's removed his coat and rolled the sleeves to his shirt up, his arms naturally flexing beneath the fabric. His eyes light up the minute he sees the lieutenant, though it's quickly followed by a short yawn.

"Mornin' L.T." he greets.

"MacTavish." Ghost takes a seat a few chairs from Soap, settling into his seat with a sigh. "You're up early."

"Aye," Soap rubs his hands over his face, attempting to further wake himself. "I'm as shocked as you, L.T."

"Were you two up long after I left?" asks Ghost. He'd been wondering that this morning more than he cared to admit. What was it you two could have been up to last night, all alone with nothing to do? Ghost wanted to imagine it had been nothing. 

To his dismay, he hadn't been prepared for Soap's answer.

"No, but..." Soap grins to himself, looking off into the room. Recalling the night before, and letting his cheeks begin to blush. Johnny didn't have to finish that sentence, Ghost already knew. "Man, what a woman..."

"Good grief, Johnny," bemoans Ghost. Good grief was right. He knew Soap had been into you as well, and you both make it more than obvious that you enjoyed flirting. It figures sparks would fly the minute you two could find the time to be alone together. 

Ghost wasn't happy to hear the news, regardless.

But before he can finish that thought, the door opens, and in comes both you and Kate Laswell.

Both 141 men haven't seen Laswell in a while, not in person at least. She's been busy running ops on the other side of the globe with their Captain Price. Soap's been moaning and groaning about getting back to working as a full team again; Ghost hadn't really cared either way. Just as long as there was something to do. And when you see Laswell in person, you know that time was nigh.

Both Ghost and Soap stand at attention before being dismissed by Laswell. She both liked and appreciated the professionalism from her boys in the Task Force, though she never had a problem with being casual with those she worked with for long enough.

Once Laswell was at the front of the room with you, she began with the point of this whole meeting -- to formally announce your transfer to the team.

Beyond that, Soap seemed too busy looking at you to really give a damn about much of anything else at the moment. Ghost could pass that off as normal behavior by the Sergeant. However, it's when Ghost looks over at you when it urks him. Because you're giving Soap the same googly eyes back, only your much more sly about it. Just not sly enough for the lieutenant.

"I know introductions aren't really necessary this time around," Laswell mentions. "But I figured we shouldn't skip the formalities. Commander Graves and his Shadow Company were kind enough to spare their second-in-command to help assist with our investigation. With her expertise in reconnaissance and data retrieval, and her background knowledge on the investigation already, both General Shepherd and I felt she'd be a valuable asset to the team."

"Well, well," Soap begins to quip. "Movin' up in the world, aye Canary?"

"It's the only way to go," you joke back, which in turn makes you both chuckle bashfully. 

It only took a few more seconds of awkward eye contact to pass before Ghost knew that something was up. It wasn’t just some little thing last night between you, he knew. It was something he no doubt would rather have not noticed.

"For now you'll be on standby," Laswell comments. "We have a few more preparations to make before your next assignment, but it should be soon. In the meantime, we've set up training courses and team-building exercises to keep you all fresh for when we need you. Today's should be fun if I'm not mistaken."

"Aw sweet," Soap whoops dorkishly. "Are ye joinin' us then, Kate?"

Laswell smiles to herself, already preparing to leave the meeting. "I, unfortunately, have a flight to catch in the next hour," she says. "I'm assisting Shepherd with another lead. Along with Commander Graves, funny enough."

Laswell looks to you now, but to Ghost's surprise, you don't appear all that happy to be hearing your commander's name be mentioned. Not like you usually have been in the past. You instead roll your eyes jokingly, some thought irritating you for a moment before you've buried it.

"Good luck," you tell her. 

Ghost can't help but wonder what you could mean by that. The last time he saw you two, you both seemed rather close to one another. Though you seem pretty close to Soap now as well; perhaps that's just how you are with people. It piques his interest nonetheless.

Laswell adjourns the meeting soon after giving you all more details about what's been planned for you today. While today's training was dressed up as a way to keep you all from getting rusty, Ghost knew there was more to this than meets the eye.

When getting transferred, you've just essentially jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. The Task Force has you beneath a magnifying glass right now, ready to watch your every move and place it side-by-side with their own. A mix of friendly competition, and equal parts a deadly game.

Because you were transferred here for a reason, Ghost thought. If you can't keep up even in the courses, the abnormality of your arrival surely wouldn't benefit from it.

You must know this, because something felt a bit off about you this morning. Like there was a lot on your mind suddenly and it was wearing you down.

You let out a sigh once Kate has left, letting your hands fall back to your sides as you try and mentally pep yourself up for the courses. You didn't look all that thrilled.

"So, marksmanship trainin', eh?" Soap starts speaking first. "I'm lookin' forward to seein' what you got, lil' bird."

You scoff. "Little bird?"

"Oi, if you won't tell me your name, then I've gotta call you somethin' else then, don't I?"

You laugh at his comment, though only softly. Admittedly, "Little bird" felt rather close to "Songbird", a nickname you're sure Graves has dumped by now. You'd much prefer something new anyway. And it did help that the Scotsman's accent made the words sweet like candy for your ears when he said it. "Fair enough."

"So are you a good shot?" the Sergeant asks.

"I'd say so," you brag.

"We'll see soon enough, won't we?" Ghost finally speaks.

Your eyes fall on his, and while he can see a fire light up in them suddenly, he can also see that flame being dulled by something else. Something that had you look more worn than you probably were aware of.

"I can feel the pressure already," you say sarcastically.

"Aw, I'm sure you'll do fine," says Soap.

You look down at your feet almost shyly. But then you catch yourself, smirking and looking back up at the two men. Putting on an act, no doubt.

"I bet you I'll get the top score today," you boast.

This makes Soap sit up in his seat now, laughing to himself charmingly. "Oh is that right?"

"Damn straight." You begin to make your way to the exit, settled with preparing yourself for the course. "I'll see you boys on the course." 

You leave them with a wink, and Ghost catches Soap smiling like a moron.

Ghost gives Soap a few seconds to re-gather his wits about him before speaking. "Bloody hell, Johnny," he says. "'Have you gone mad?"

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"You and her," Ghost gestures with his fingers. When Soap tries to play dumb momentarily, it only seems to further tick the lieutenant off. "Didn’t I just get through with tellin’ you last night to keep your head on straight, Sergeant?”

"Oi, relax mate," Soap puts his hands up defensively. He quickly chuckles to alleviate any tension between the two men. "Nothin' major's goin' on. We're just… oh, I don't know. We're just havin’ fun while we can."

"We have a job to do, MacTavish," Ghost scolds.

"You know it's OK to lighten up and live a lil', yeah, L.T.?"

Ghost doesn't respond to the Sergeant's comment immediately, only because he began to ponder them. Lightin' up and live a little? He thought. Lightin' up and live a little…

"That is what I'm doing," Ghost says. He knows he doesn't sound all that convincing, but he wasn't about to elaborate further; he hoped it was enough to take the topic off himself. Soap always had a knack for doing that.

Soap chuckles at Ghost's comment, shaking his head at him. "Sure it is, mate."

Ghost rolls his eyes and stands from his seat. "Just don't let this get in the way of things, yeah?"

"We’re grown. I know what I‘m doin’."

"So you say now."

Nothing major going on. Even hearing that seemed to strike a hidden nerve in Ghost he hadn't felt before. So something did happen last night after he left. Of course it did. This was Johnny we were talking about here. The man could win just about anyone over if given the chance. It's why Ghost hasn't allowed him many opportunities to. But it seems in doing so with both Soap and you, it's only seemed to bring you two together instead.

Why didn't that feel like a good thing to Ghost?

…

Apparently, time no longer has any real meaning. Not in any way that you've found to be helpful. Because it seems you can spend half a year in bed with someone -- giving them everything, always being there -- and in a matter of seconds, watch all that time not mean a damn thing anymore.

I can't deal with this right now.

That's what Graves decided to text you last night after hearing your distraught voicemail. He can't deal with this right now. With you. 

It was almost embarrassing how gut-wrenching it had felt to read that, even as you'd thought you'd been prepared for it. Though before long that hurt turned to bitterness, as you slowly grew disgusted with your previous feelings.

You spend nearly a year with the man and that’s how he chooses to respond to you in a time of need. Talk about ripping off the band-aid. Alas, your commander was always just a step ahead of you all along, both in mind and feeling. 

“Over” really does mean over. 

But did it have to mean losing him completely? You felt it didn't have to be this way, but maybe it was selfish of you to have thought he'd want anything to do with you once you both cut romantic ties. After all, at the end of the day, you're only his subordinate.

Well then fine. If that's how Graves wants it, then that's how he'll get it. You felt ready enough to get back to focusing on yourself anyway. And from the way Ghost has been hounding you over this "training" course, you could use the work.

"You're off your mark!" Ghost's voice comes booming over the intercoms inside the course, though at this point you couldn't really tell him apart from your own inner thoughts. Beyond that iconic gruffness Ghost's voice possessed. At this point, you'd about heard enough of it.

This was meant to be a simple marksmanship course. Same shit, different day. The base had a whole thing set up for the team, the course being inside a large, sanctioned-off building. By now the rest of the team has gone; to no one's surprise, Ghost scored the highest, with Soap being a rather close second. 

That's only left you with the boulder size responsibility of having to prove your worth to the team by beating at least one of their scores. Easier said than done, as this was now your fourth attempt running through now.

You needed to score above the Sharpshooter level. Everyone else on the Task Force could do it, and you knew you could too. Yet every time you rounded the bend and the clocks were stopped, Ghost had the same result to share with you time and time again. "Sharpshooter."

And like that, you were asking to run the course again, reloading your rifle and waiting for Ghost to buzz you in for another go. Even he was starting to side-eye your performance.

On a different day, you may have breezed through this. It's not like you're not a good shot in your own right, and you've always been competitive. However, you hadn't realized how much of a funk you were in until now, and it was really taking a toll on your speed.

You wouldn't give up so readily, however.

You knew this was silly. You knew you didn't have to prove to anyone what skills you had. You were transferred here for a reason and anyone who had something to say about that could argue with the wall about it. But it meant something to you to tell yourself that you could do this. Because you know you can. And if Ghost is OK with continuing to supervise you, then you're OK with running the course for a fifth time.

You reach the course exit nearly out of breath, stray strands of hair now escaping your bun and sticking to the sweat of your cheeks. You lower your rifle and slouch over in exhaustion. That has to be it. "What did I get?"

Ghost steps over to you from where he's been monitoring your progress, having multiple cameras set up towards the lobby area just outside the course. His eyes lazily dip down to his clipboard, before sluggishly returning to you again.

"Sharpshooter."

You groan to yourself, annoyed, as you stepped over to the lieutenant so you could review your results. As you expected, you're only four seconds shy of Soap's top score. You haven't been able to get any closer than that.

"You keep hesitatin' when you pull the trigger," Ghost chided suddenly. "Think less with your feelings, more with your gut. Otherwise, you keep this up and it'll get you killed one of these days. I mean they teach that in basic, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you jab, which clearly does not humor the lieutenant in the slightest. Though nothing seemed to humor him much today. In fact, he's seemed almost annoyed with you. Not that you know what it is you might have done. You had more pressing issues to deal with as is.

"I'm not talkin' for my own benefit here," Ghost remarks. "What good is havin' you with us if you can't keep up? This needs work."

"I get it, Ghost, I do," you straighten up, trying not to take his words to heart. 

"Then start acting like you do," he said.

You know that in some way he just wanted to be sure you were ready for what you've gotten yourself into. He didn't want you holding them back, and you shared the sentiment. Even now, he's only run one mission with you in the past, and you'd say your performance then was less than satisfactory that night also.

However, the lieutenant's harping could be rather grating. And he had no problem with continuing, however long you continued to stand in front of him.

"You'd 'ave been dead already, had I not been there on our last op," he says suddenly, a fact you needn't any reminding of. It's part of the reason why you haven't just called it a day yet. "Hesitation, Canary. That's your problem. Fix it."

"Yes sir," you nod.

"Now," Ghost ushers for you to get back to it. "Show me what all this fuss is over you Shadows. I'm still waiting to see for myself."

"In due time, Lieutenant," you say.

"Clock’s tickin'."

You rush back over to the course entrance, waiting at the doorway with your rifle hugged to your chest for Ghost to buzz you in. As you prepare yourself, you don't notice Soap entering the building only seconds later. Before he'd had time to say anything though, Ghost buzzed the door open, as you rushed into the course, the timer beginning.

By now you had most of the course memorized: Around this corner is a narrow corridor with six rooms on either side. Each room is filled with a mix of targets and civilians made out of metal posts that swing up once you've entered the room. The objective at this point was simple enough -- clear out all hostiles as fast as possible with as few casualties as possible.

As far as you're concerned, your precision more than matches Ghost's and Soap's, and if they couldn't see that at this point then they were deliberately giving you a hard time. When you shoot, you don't miss. It's something you've prided yourself on. However, your speed seemed to be more of a crutch than you'd noticed.

From the monitors outside the course, Ghost and Soap watch as you swiftly infiltrate the first two rooms, taking out the first couple of targets in a matter of seconds.

Soap watches intently, not having had the chance to really see you run the course yet. He has to keep himself from grinning; watching you was damn impressive. "How many times has she gone now?" he asks.

"Four. Excluding this one," Ghost answers.

"Steamin’ Jesus," Soap huffs. "How's she scorin'?"

"Just two seconds shy of Expert," Ghost says. "She's nearly got you beat, Johnny."

"Wow, OK," Soap says rather proudly. "She's passed then technically, no?"

"That's right," says Ghost. "She's runnin' this by her own request. Says she can beat one of our scores."

"And she might beat mine?" Soap whines, though Ghost can't tell if it's out of competition or genuine adoration. Though the man's next comment would leave little to the imagination. "Woof. What a woman."

"She's got it down, mostly." Ghost continues to monitor the cams, seeing you reach the final two rooms of the corridor. "Apart from this one bit ‘ere..."

Ghost watches you enter the room, your rifle raised and ready to fire. The targets spring up as displayed: two hostiles and a civilian woman. The hostile cutouts appear as cliche as possible, dressed in dark tactical gear and expressing themselves rather angrily. The woman was rather comical as well, drawn out to look as though she were screaming and crying.

You reach this room and it takes you a good three seconds to fire, and soon after your performance from this room to the next slows down drastically. Just as it has done the last four times.

Ghost presses down on the intercoms again. "Pick it up, Canary," he barks out. "You tellin' me you got in with that aim?"

"A bit harsh, eh L.T.?" Soap comments.

"Some tough love never hurts," Ghost retorts.

You barge back through the course exit once more, reapproaching the lieutenant as you eagerly await your score.

Ghost reviews everything, and looks back at you plainly. "Sharpshooter."

"Fuck!" You throw your head back in defeat, groaning to yourself loudly.

"Fuckin' hell, Canary," Ghost crosses his large arms over his chest, cocking his head at you rather disappointedly. "We haven't got all day. Maybe it's time to call it quits-"

"No," you immediately protest. "I can do this, I know I can..."

Despite the vigor in your voice, your eyes betray you when they fall from the lieutenant's. You didn't want the doubt to start settling in, but it had been a tough battle for it not to. Both Soap and Ghost scored Expert with ease, and here you are now struggling to even make it that far. Even if you get it now, what good would it do?

Having sensed the sudden change in your demeanor, Ghost sighs to himself suddenly, relaxing his posture. "Don't doubt yourself then," he starts. "You've got the right idea; you can do this. I'll be here 'til you do, lieutenant."

Don't doubt yourself. You can do this. I'll be here 'til you do… You want to believe Ghost when he says that. Don't doubt yourself. You're here now, aren't you?

Ghost can see in your eyes that he's said just what you needed to hear, and a small smile forms. You can't see it, but the softness of his gaze made you like to believe it so.

You give the lieutenant an affirming nod, before rushing back over to your starting position, waiting for him to buzz you in for a sixth time.  You should have stopped being embarrassed about it three tries ago honestly.

Ghost calls to you suddenly. "Canary."

You look back at him.

"Remember," he said. "Don't hesitate. You can do this."

"You've got this, Canary!" Soap cheers you on from the sidelines. You wondered if they both could hear your heart skip a beat. You give them a final nod, before turning back to the obstacle, and seeing the lieutenant buzz you in.

Ghost watches you from the monitors, seeing you move unlike any way you have before. You sweep each room with ease, being stopped by nothing and quickly making your way to the next like a shadow in the night. Your performance is so beautiful, neither men can even bring themselves to make a comment on it. They were too busy watching.

"There she goes," Ghost says under his breath, not even aware that he had begun to. Though you can't see Ghost, you can feel him cheering you on from the other side of the wall.

You reach that final room that's been tripping you up this whole time, watching as the cutouts pop up. You remember not to hesitate, and really allow your mind to let go of itself and your finger to move over the trigger naturally. You pull the trigger and drop your targets, and move out in a flash, finishing the last room with ease and making a dash to the course exit.

You barge through the doors for your sixth and hopefully final time, eagerly waiting for Ghost to give you your score, turning the safety to your rifle and placing it on the rack with the rest of them. This had to be it. You could feel it.

Ghost goes over the score, and even he can't hide how impressed he is. You just scored higher than he did.

"Expert."

You let out the girliest squeal imaginable, and it damn near startles both men, as your arms shoot above your head with excitement. You did it. You did it! Not only did you do it, but you beat both Soap and Ghost's scores on top of it. Even though it took you damn near half the day, you didn't care, because you did it.

And then you do something you probably shouldn't have.

Being a habitual hugger in most instances that called for it, your first instinct was to hug someone. Soap wasn't immediately by you, however, Ghost was. And you weren't really thinking when you leaped over to him joyously, your small arms barely managing to wrap around his large frame, as you pulled him in for a hug.

Immediately you feel the lieutenant's body tense up, the man feeling like a statue to hold as a small gasp escapes his lips. Suddenly the man forgot everything he was previously thinking. 

It's a good thing he could keep himself together, however, because had you truly surprised him, he may have accidentally pushed you away from him. Or worse. If only out of instinct. And if you knew the kind of morning he'd had, you might have thought twice about coming in so casually.

Still, your arms felt as good to be wrapped in as they had that night nearly a month ago. You squeeze him as tightly as you can, your face buried in his chest and your smile lying against him. Warm and true. Just like he remembered it.

Just as he's thought of wrapping his arms around you and finally returning the hug, you let go of him, noticing how stiff he is no doubt. His cold and guarded behavior doesn't dampen your mood, as you look up at him and smile. He gets lost in the way your eyes glisten with joy, not wanting to break from its hold just yet.

But alas, Soap has come in before Ghost can say anything further. You see the Sergeant approach you with a huge smile on his face, his arms already out for you to jump into. Which you happily obliged. 

You practically bolt to him, feeling him completely envelop you, as you nuzzle your head into his chest, smiling into him, squealing. Soap reciprocates your hug tenfold, embracing you so tightly it nearly takes the air from your lungs. But there was no better sensation than the feeling he gave while having you in his arms. He could take the oxygen from your lips as he wishes.

"I knew you could do it!" Soap boasted, his voice vibrating inside your chest. Had Ghost not begun to speak, you would have nearly forgotten he was there. Only momentarily.

"Alright," he says rather gruffly. "That'll do, you two."

You and Soap pull yourselves away from each other, awkwardly straightening yourselves up before looking back over at Ghost. He seems more interested in looking at you than Soap, however. His eyes peered into you like daggers suddenly, and it nearly sucked the excitement straight from you.

Have you overstepped?

"I say we celebrate with some drinks, aye?" Soap says suddenly, doing his best to alleviate the sudden tension that had grown between you and Ghost, as even he noticed it now. It nearly works.

"I need at least 48 hours between my nights out I'm afraid," you laugh. 

Soap shrugs. "Eh, suit yourselves then. I'll see if the others want to."

"No rest for the wicked, right Johnny?" Ghost quips.

"Right you are, L.T." Soap clicks his tongue.

The two of you watch as Soap exits the building, leaving you two alone. Suddenly the room felt empty of all its oxygen and incredibly small.

Ghost looked down at you like he had something to say but wouldn't. It's how he's been looking at you all day. You tried your best to not let it get to you, but you couldn't help but worry that last night may have rubbed him the wrong way.

Quickly, you think back on what it was that you may have done to suddenly to provoke him.

"Hey," you turn to Ghost, meeting his eyes bravely, though you admit his gaze felt more chilling than usual. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable just now. I didn't mean-"

"Just keep things professional, alright?" Ghost scolds. "You’d do good rememberin' that, lieutenant."

Right, you understand where the man's coming from. You're here to do a job, not mess around with them. Though they do make that a challenge not to do.

"Right," you nod, looking down at your feet rather defeatedly. "I'm sorry."

You weren't used to feeling this presence from Ghost. Like the sight of you suddenly brought him some sort of displeasure. You've heard stories of that famous, disinterested gaze of his, and how being next to him could make you feel puny in more ways than one. Maybe your were just hoping you'd been a special case with him. What were you thinking anyway?

But then Ghost goes and does something that makes you think maybe you aren't stupid for thinking you're something special. You hear Ghost sigh, and to your sudden surprise, you feel his hand rest firmly on the top of your head, as he began to pat you like a dog.

"Good job today, Canary."

When your eyes meet his again, you smile. And oh, how quickly are you reminded of what it was that kept you so interested in wanting to get close to the lieutenant. These small, little moments he scarcely let out.

You remember how encapsulating his eyes were, holding many years of experiences and stories that only he could tell. Every time you caught them, you couldn't help but wonder what could be going on behind that mask of his. What could be on the mind of a man like him?

Would you ever know?

"I had a good coach," you smile.

"Don't take 'em for granted," Ghost says dryly.

"I won't," you smile. "Thank you. Really. You were just the motivation I needed, it seems. Thank you."

Ghost leaving you with his approval was enough to drown out any other negative feelings you felt a moment ago. At least for now, which was enough.

Despite the mask, from how his jaw shifted momentarily, you could tell he was about to say something to you. Though he decides not to. You'll spend all night wondering what it was he wanted to say, instead of what he opted for instead.

"Don't mention it."

…

Inevitably, the day comes to yet another end. 

After leaving the course, Ghost made sure not to be anywhere near you, needing the chance to recuperate with himself badly. He was beginning to learn how incredibly difficult it would be to block you out of his mind. 

If you weren't such a treat to talk to at times, he's sure he would have no troubles whatsoever with keeping you at distance. But it seems if you're given even the smallest chance to talk to him, the man couldn't help but cave in and be nice back to you.

So he would need to go to plan B now if he wished to squash this little crush and get back to working with you professionally -- avoiding you.

At the very least, Ghost knew he could escape you once the night came, and there was no better distraction than the man's own hobbies. 

Ghost waited until it was well past a reasonable hour to be out, before changing into some gym attire (mask included) and heading out for his nightly jog. The one thing he'd actually had left to look forward to today.

Ghost arrived at an open track just 3 miles or so from the barracks, the field shrouded behind trees and shrubbery, as the clouds began to break and divide amongst a cool, night sky. No one else seemed to be around, a part from the occasional vehicle driving by. It almost excited the man to finally have a place to run that was all to himself.

Most people would be in bed at this hour, however, Ghost liked to use these hours to run errands and work out, seeing as it was the best way to avoid the crowd. He'd scouted out the area around the base the moment he got the name of where he was moving to. 

So you can imagine Ghost's shock and utter dismay when he arrived at the track field and saw that not only was he not alone, but you had been there as well.

Wonderful.

Ghost looks up to the sky for a moment, like a camera was looking down at him, with some distant audience laughing at him. Certainly, the universe was having a go at him. He was prepared to turn back around for the night, or even find another place to do his run. However, you see him in the distance before he can escape.

"Ghost?" 

You call to him, jogging over to where the man stands a little ways off from the track. You were changed into some tracksuit which fit you like a model on the cover of a magazine. Ghost looks you up and down, and then quickly hopes you hadn't just noticed that. 

From the sweat that painted your brow, you'd already been out here for a while. Out of breath, you begin to tease the lieutenant. "Can't stay away, huh? You followin' me now?"

"Not in the slightest," Ghost responds. "I wasn't expecting any company."

"Oh, well... surprise," you grin at him.  "I’ve only got three more laps if you want to be alone.”

Ghost could work with that.

“I’ll work around you," he said. "Don’t worry about it.”

...

You swear you were going to leave Ghost alone on the track.

You were coming up on your last lap now; Ghost had gone ahead and started his way around, sporting his usual hoodie and sweatpants get-up. It made him look like a hulking, shadowy mass on the track, calmly jogging his way along by. Paying no mind to you.

When he'd run by you, he'd make no acknowledgement of your presence, his mind fully focused on jogging. After he'd passed you a third time when you'd not even finished your second lap around, your impulses got the better of you.

Playfully, you wait for Ghost to run by you again before picking up your own speed. Though it's dark, and Ghost, as usual, is wearing a mask, the look on his eyes when he glanced over and saw you jogging side-by-side with him couldn't be more bemusing. 

Ghost doesn't say anything though, merely rolling his eyes as he turns his focus back to the track ahead of him. And then, the bastard actually started to run a little faster. Just fast enough to not be next to you anymore.

Asshole. You pout to yourself, before it's turned to a cheeky smirk. You wouldn't be done just yet.

You pick up your speed now, matching with the lieutenant's again until you're running alongside him once more. When the lieutenant looks over at you again, you smile sarcastically and wave at him.

Ghost runs ahead of you again. But he wouldn't get away from you that easily.

You catch up to Ghost again. And he runs away again. You keep picking up the speed, and every time you've matched it Ghost goes faster. Pretty soon, you both are practically bolting down the track after each other.

You start laughing to yourself, Ghost's stubbornness to let you jog beside him growing borderline comedic to you at this point. Of course you felt equally childish chasing after him, but it also made you feel kind of happy too. It was childish and it was sweet, and you were just having fun.

"Give it up already!" Ghost huffs out suddenly. His tone would lead you to believe he's annoyed, but it's so out of breath you find it goofy.

You laugh out loud. "You first!"

You're just about to be at Ghost's side again, when the universe suddenly feels the need to make you eat your own words. Your foot catches onto the ground wrong, as the tip of your toe trips you, causing you to topple over at top speed. 

You yelp.

The suddenness of it causes Ghost to turn and look your way, as he sees you about to fall. Instinctively, he turns, ready to catch you, just as you subconsciously reach out to grab hold of him. As a result, you both go crashing onto the ground.

Ghost falls onto his back, his head bouncing off the ground with a heavy thud. Meanwhile, you fall on top of the man, who right now feels more akin to a pile of bricks than anything remotely comfortable. As you crash onto him, you feel your weight shoot all the air out of his lungs, as you both fall down with a heavy oof.

"Fuckin' hell, that hurt!" Ghost groans, shooting a hand to the back of his throbbing head. 

You adjust yourself on top of him, trying to catch your own breath. "Are you OK?"

"It's nothin'," Ghost says.

"I'm sorry…"

Ghost pauses, lifting his head up slightly so that his eyes could meet yours. You watch the way his mud-color eyes twinkle in the night, observing how the dark of his irises took in every bit of you. It was hard to look away from.

"Like I said, it's nothin', Luv." 

Ghost rests his head back on the ground with a sigh, staring up at the starry sky above instead. The whole time you remain in place on top of him, feeling the rising and falling of his chest beneath you, as it carried your tiny frame with it. 

Had his hands not still been firmly clasped over your arms, you would have removed yourself from being on top of him. You're not even sure he's noticed himself still holding you.

"You're a stubborn bloody woman,” he comments suddenly.

"I almost had you, though," you tease.

"No."

"You're a lot slower than I remember, Ghost."

"You're a lot clumsier than I remember, Canary."

"Good thing I have you here to catch me then,” you giggle. “Helps you stay on your feet, lieutenant."

"They didn't mention that bein’ part of the job."

"It's under the same section that says not to hesitate."

"I'm surprised you read it then," Ghost teases.

"Oh fuck you."

You laugh and jokingly nudge at him, but almost pause when you feel something suddenly. For the first time since you've known the man, you feel his chest bubble in a light chuckle. He actually chuckled. Of course it's barely audible, and only last for about a second. But he did. And suddenly your heart was racing.

"Does this make me a winner then?" he sarcastically asks.

"For now anyway."

You laugh at his joke, subconsciously resting your head back down on his chest as you did.  In the meantime, Ghost was doing everything in his power right now not to focus on the fact that your body was shifting and moving and vibrating on top of him, your whole being so close to him that he felt he could go to sleep right here.

Though Ghost doesn't speak, you can feel his heartbeat begin to pick up in his chest as well. It makes you pause, you can't lie.

You notice his eyes have been locked on yours for a rather long time now since you’ve looked back at him. Well over a minute. His gaze is softer than anything you’ve seen before, and he’s lost in you from the looks of things. Lost in your eyes, lost by your touch, not even fully aware of just how long you’ve been on top of him, your heart thumping with his.

His hand gently trails up your arm, and it freezes you in place, your breath catching in your lungs. Wondering if you should stand or speak before something happened. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious as to what it was Ghost might be planning. Surely he wouldn’t do anything drastic, would he? No, not Ghost. Not the man who prided himself off on his discipline and formality.

Suddenly you’re noticing just how close you are to him too; you’re on top of the man for crying out loud. A position you never thought in a million years you’d be in, let alone today. And his eyes looked so much prettier up close, when they weren’t glinted with their usual tired disdain. No, the look he gave you was now something more… delicate. As delicate as his hands were against you.

Ghost’s voice is so faint you almost miss him speak to you. “Y/N…” 

You didn’t think he’d do anything, however, his hand keeps sliding up your arm, and it's making goosebumps dance down your skin like a ballroom dance. His fingers trace up to your neck, as cold as they were gentle, and you feel as though you’re seconds away from fainting. What is he doing? What in the world is going on right now?

"Ghost..?”

It’s as though the sound of your voice brought him back to the reality of what he was doing, because the second you speak, his hand pauses. His eyes grow wide, before a fire starts to burn behind them, and he takes his hand away from you, shifting himself up instead.

You take the hint, finally climbing off of him as you both fixed yourself, an awkward silence having now fallen in the air. You weren’t sure if you should comment on it. If that was an accident then… that’s what it was, right? Still, accident or not, your heartrate had doubled since that moment, and it hasn’t ceased to stop yet.

You look over at Ghost, wondering what the man might be thinking right now. His hood has fallen off, giving you a better view of his masked-covered head. He stands there, looking off into the field bashfully. Perhaps waiting for you to speak as well. His sudden shyness is not lost upon you.

Habitually, you say to him, “I’m sorry.”

Ghost shakes his head, roughly slipping his hands into his pockets as he shuffled around a bit in his stance. “Don’t be...” he says. “You know, you say that a lot.”

“I can’t help it,” you admit.

“Why?”

You’re unsure where it comes from, but you start to speak more from your heart than from anywhere tactical. “...I just really want you to like me.”

“I fail to see how that matters,” Ghost argues.

“Can’t we be friends?”

“Wha’, like you and Johnny?”

That one catches you off guard.

Of course, he suspected something. That only explains why he had been acting so awkward and cold with you all day. More than he normally was that is. Still, knowing that he knew you and Soap had something going on didn't make that news any better to hear.

“It can be anything you want it to be,” you tell him. “There’s nothing wrong with having people in your life, Ghost.”

He almost looked irritated with your answer. But you knew where that kind of irritation stemmed from. He was as mad at himself as he wanted to be at you. Mad enough to leave in fact, as right after, the man’s turned heel and started walking away from you.

Ghost wouldn't let you in close. He wouldn't allow it. Not you, not Soap, not anyone. He saw it as doing you all a favor, really. Neither of you wouldn't want anything to do with a man like him if you knew any better. Bad things always seem to come his way, one way or another. It's best not to mix others up in that.

You watch him go, ready to let him leave. But not really wanting him to go so soon.

"Where are you going?" you ask him.

"Away,” he says. 

Away. You were beginning to see a pattern.

"You don’t have to,” you call out suddenly.

Ghost stops in his tracks, his back still facing you, and his head cocked back to look up at the night sky. You continue speaking, determined to get to the bottom of this. You might as well, before you’re out in the field and it gets in the way of things.

“I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you” you say. “I also know we haven’t known each other for very long either but… I would never hurt you, Ghost. I hope you know that.”

Ghost looks to you with a doubtful gaze. "Even if it weren't your choice to make?"

You nod. "Even so."

Ghost shakes his head disappointedly, chuckling to himself even. It finally manages to urk you. “Ghost-”

“Look,” he cuts in. “Just stay away from me, alright? I can't make that same promise to you."

"Why can't you?" you press.

"Canary, I'm telling you to leave me the fuck alone if you know what's good for you,” Ghost growls out.

You don’t listen, even going as far as to take a few steps closer to him. You pause when you see him take a step back however, not wanting to further overstep his boundaries.

"If that choice was out of your hands as well,” you ask again. “Would you hurt me?"

"I' don’t want to find out…” Ghost admits.

You stand a few feet from the lieutenant, taking his words in and letting them marinate in your mind. While even now Ghost remained as guarded and closed off as he could be, what he said to you was probably the most honest thing he’s ever said to you -- That he isn’t sure what he’d do if he was forced to hurt you. If you ever gave him a reason to.

In due time, you feared that question would really be answered. You didn’t look forward to that day, should it come.

"Let's hope we don't then, lieutenant,” you say.

Ghost nods. “I will.”

Ghost turns to leave again, and this time you don’t stop him. You remain where you are, reminding yourself to not forget what brought you here.

You hadn’t wanted Ghost’s words to make you sad after hearing them, but they did. His words made you sad, because with it came fear. If Ghost or Soap were to ever hear of Shadow Company’s criminal operations with the General, it would surely be the end to any feelings you've built up over the past month. They'd probably never want you around again. And that’s if you even survived the encounter.

You're not so sure what point it was that you stopped pretending. That you kept talking and wanting to be around 141, not because it was your mission to stay close, but because you wanted to. You wanted their approval. And it upset you, just as much as it kept you going all these weeks.

But how much have you let the lines blur between yourself and work lately? Where was it that your lies ended and your true self began? It was pivotal that 141 liked you, but that hadn't been the only reason why you'd gotten so drawn in by them.

You hadn’t realized how deep into things you’d been until now, because at this point, them finding out the truth would be more than a problem. It would be a complete betrayal of their trust.

No, if you wanted to make it out of here with your life and relationships in tact, the Task Force couldn’t find out about Al Mazrah.

You couldn’t allow it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

What does it mean to be ready for the inevitable? You've pondered that a lot lately, though it sparks in your mind more so once the trucks have parked and your team has offloaded onto an airstrip swirling with chaos and urgency.

Helicopters raged above you, convoys and other armored vehicles driving to their designated areas, ready to ship you all into battle. All the while, the night sky sits plainly above you. An empty sea of black set fit to remind you of the uncertainty which lies ahead of you.

In five minutes you would be heading out.

By now air support has most likely already started bombing the AQ bordering your LZ, meaning the firefight starts the second your flight touches the ground. The rest of the details involving your mission came to you as hectic as the night had already been. Comm chatter blistered on every channel, new information getting spoon-fed to you by every half-hour mark.

There had been no time for any other thoughts, in fear of missing something crucial. But one detail had been an especially hard pill to swallow, all things considered.

They're splitting everyone into two teams, both tasked with sweeping separate areas for Hassan. Once each building has been neutralized, the teams will regroup, with Hassan either dead or alive in your custody.

A sound strategy as any you've heard before, though you would have preferred to stay placed on the same team as 141, had you any say.

Instead, you were to lead Team Alpha in there stead, as Ghost and Soap lead Team Bravo.

Your placement had been deliberate, to say the least. Shepherd always had a way of pulling the strings to his advantage in the background, and you had just become his latest puppet.

Your real briefing came to you via a quick, virtual meeting, having had to wait for the others to break off and start loading up their gear before you could slip off somewhere secluded to meet. From there, you'd gotten the video up and prepared yourself to be greeted by your two-faced general.

But instead of some old, bald man appearing before you on your screen, you had been greeted by a pair of steel blue eyes, sharp, and consumed in all sorts of stress and business.

Your commander.

It took your breath away to see him again, still with his authoritative look and short, blond hair he's spent the last few minutes combing his fingers through, you're sure. Even through the screen, you could have sworn you might have seen the light come back in his eyes. Then, you're reminded of how you two left things off, and the radio silence that had fallen soon after.

He hadn't changed a bit, you'd say.

You frown, not wanting to reward the man with any expression beyond mild irreverence, even as he smiled at you like nothing changed. You knew a mask when you saw one, and frankly, it was getting old.

You have more important things to worry yourself to death over.

"You're lookin' good," he compliments.

You pause, taking another second to look over your commander again. What you can see is the small joy he feels, having caught you doing so. But before you've allowed him to speak, you've made his mind up for him.

"The briefing? Commander?"

Graves cleared his throat, straightening himself up on the other end. He hadn't expected to still be so taken aback seeing you after what felt like over a month now. "Right then," he begins. "Your mission..."

Graves did his best to give you the highlighted version of whatever it was Shepherd told him about your orders. While the clarifications had made things more clear, it didn't make tonight any easier.

With you separated from 141, the General's hopes had been for you to investigate what you can about the missiles and  "take care" of Hassan. With no suspicion or incident. It only figures that regardless of what the AQ General knew about his missiles, Shepherd would want him dead. And if he wanted him dead, then that's just what you had to do. 

Anything to put an end to this.

"Get this done, and we're one step closer to being home free," he feels the need to remind you again. Only lately you've wondered what that even means anymore. It didn't help that trapped sensation you'd been unable to shake all night.

"I've heard that before," you roll your eyes.

"Don't make it any less true," he says. And then he pauses, hesitant from the looks. Silent. You knew what often came after that. 

"Are you... Have you been doin' alright?"

His question doesn't come as a surprise to you, however, you admit you're unsure how to answer him. You wish he had asked you weeks ago.

But he hadn't.

"I'm fine."

Graves opens his mouth to say more, however, something stops him. Perhaps the look he sees in your eyes, or the lack thereof. He knows bridges have been damaged between you two, if not burned. He's not an idiot. He's also only human.

"Don't get yourself killed, OK?"

Though it made you feel rather pathetic, his words felt more riveting than you had wanted them to be. And you had missed it.

"No promises, Commander." You wink.

...

Chapter Text