Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mornings on base are always hectic. Even before the sun had started to rise were soldiers rushing around getting ready for the day. The atmospheric sound of shuffling feet and quiet conversations was familiar and almost calming to the members of 141 as they walked into the meeting room, all flowing in one by one.

The first one to arrive was Price, who arrived an hour earlier than everyone else to prepare for the meeting. He ran his fingers over yellow folders with your name written on them, placing them in the center of the table for the members to take.

The second to arrive was Gaz, who greeted Price with a quiet ‘Hey capt.’ before placing a coffee in front of him and taking his seat. He sits on Price’s right, who is sitting at the front of the table next to the projector. Gaz grabs a folder from the pile, yawning as he opens it. He’s never been much of a morning person, but duty calls for it.

”Late night?” Price asks.

”Early morning.”

Price chuckles, taking a sip from his coffee.

Ghost is the third to arrive, greeting the other two men with a nod and taking his place on the other side of Price. He grabs a folder and skims through the pages.

“A lot of redacted information.” He mumbles, although skeptical he’s not one to talk about redacted information in personal files.

“Where’s Soap?” Gaz asks, looking up from the file. Ghost shrugs.

”Probably forgot there was a meeting.”

”Did he not read the email?”

”I don’t think he knows he has an email.”

Soap rushes in, breathing out a ’mornin’ as he takes his seat next to Ghost. He grabs Ghost’s file from his hands and looks over the first page. Ghost shoots him a glare before grabbing the last folder from the pile.

“You’re late,” he comments.

”I’m five minutes early.”

”You were the last to arrive, therefore, you’re late.”

Soap huffs, but before he has the chance to argue back Price clears his throat and stands up.

“Laswell and the recruit will be here soon so I’ll keep this short.” He flips his file to the first page, your name falls from his lips. Unfamiliar and reserved, somewhat annoyed. When Laswell came to him with your file a week ago he immediately said no to a new member. Yet after looking over your file and hours of convincing on Laswell’s part he finally agreed to give you a shot. “Enlisted at seventeen, joined Unit Alpha Five at twenty-three. Worked with them up until last year.”

”Unit Alpha Five?” Gaz asked.

”North American worked with them in Hong Kong a while back. Good team.” Ghost quipped in, Price nodded in agreement.

”Why did they leave?” Soap skims through the file, Ghost takes it and flips the page before pointing to a section. Soap visibly deflates as he reads the page, “Oh.”

”Unit Alpha Five was ambushed in Panama, everyone killed except for him.” What the file had graciously redacted was the fact that you had been kidnapped and tortured for one and a half months. Rescued only by chance. A week longer and they would’ve found you dead and decomposing into the dirt and bricks of your cell. “Took a year off and is ready to get back into action. Passed psych and physical. Top of his class. Even had offers by Graves to join the Shadow Company.”

Though impressive, mentions of Graves makes the room grow cold for a moment. A thorn in the task force’s back.

”How do you feel about him, Captain?” Gaz looked up from the file, uncertainty in his eyes. As much as the file made it look like you were okay to be back on the field, anyone with half a brain would know that couldn’t possibly be the case. Price signed, looking at your file again with his head low.

”I’m doing Laswell a favor with this. But I trust her. If she thinks he’ll be a good addition to the team, I’m willing to give it a shot.” If anything, he’s looking forward to your test week to end and telling Laswell that it didn’t work out. The feeling was shared throughout the room. They worked best together, with no additional members to screw up the dynamic they had created. When Laswell first brought the idea up to Price it was a small comment. Something that he had brushed off without a second thought. But he found that late at night while writing reports on missions that were near misses, it was doubt that started to fester.

An extra pair of hands to help the team. Which was also an extra problem.

There was a mission in which Soap and Gaz had been injured. Ghost had to carry both Sargents to exfil while all Price could do was wait. Wait and hope that they’d make it back alive. An extra pair of hands would’ve been helpful, he thought later that night. So eventually he agreed.

The knock at the door wakes Price from his thoughts.

He clears his throat, “come in.”

The other members stand up as Laswell enters the room, bag on her shoulder and file under her arm. She pokes her head out the door for a second, muttering for you to stay outside for a second before closing the door behind her. She nods her head towards Price in greeting before setting her stuff on the couch on the far wall and taking her place at the head of the table, opening up the file in her hands.

“Morning, gentlemen. Sorry for the tardiness, had to make a quick stop on the way here.”

“Not a problem, Kate.” Price takes a sip from his coffee. “Is he out there?”

”Yeah, hoped to answer any questions before bringing him in.”

“Great because I have a few,” Soap interjects, he lifts the file. “No photo?”

”At his request.” She answers.

”American?”

”Mexican American.”

”Took a year off?”

”You would too if you saw what he saw.”

—-

Your fingers fidget with the military-issued phone Laswell had given you. It’s black and plain. For a second you consider if you could download any games on it but after scrolling through it you find that it doesn’t have an app store. You sigh, tapping your foot on the ground impatiently as you wait for Laswell to call you in to meet the team. You fix your black mask, wipe down your hoodie from any lint, and check that your shoes are tied. Anyone walking by would’ve thought you were waiting outside the principal’s office after getting caught with a pack of cigarettes.

You were nervous as shit.

Anyone in your position would be. You haven’t been on the field in a year. You aren’t the same person you were a year ago. Hell, you look nothing like you did a year ago.

But that’s what torture does to someone. You hide it. You hide it the best you can. But a mask and a hoodie only go so far. There’s a look in your eyes that nobody mentions. Your stare has hardened, the bright rookie shine long gone. Your eyebrows furrowed almost permanently.

Part of you wishes you had been discharged. That they had sent you back to that old apartment where everything is covered in dust and nothing feels like home. But you know you probably wouldn’t have lasted a week. This is your purpose, your will to live. A job that keeps you busy and makes you feel important.

The squeak of the door wakes you from your thoughts. You look up to Laswell who peaks her head through the door.

“You can come in now.”

You nod your head, picking up your duffle bag filled with your stuff from the ground you head in. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you crossed the threshold. The meeting room is plain and slightly too cold. There’s a large oval table in the middle of the room surrounded by typical black office chairs. Although there’s much room for the four men to sit spread out across the room, they sit close together. It reminds you of your old team, grabbing chairs and tables from the mess hall so nobody would eat alone. Always together. Nobody left behind.

You felt left behind. Or maybe you left them.

Four pairs of eyes stare at you. You can identify each one from the files Laswell had given you on the plane ride over.

On your far left, Soap. He has the same look in his eyes as he did in his photo. It’s a determined look, a bit mischievous. He’s fidgeting with the papers from your file. You can’t help but laugh internally at his Mohawk. It can’t possibly be regulation. He’s the shortest of the bunch, you know that from his files, but in person he’s absolutely built. Before your eyes continue to scan the 141, you can’t help but notice that he has nice eyes and a scar on his chin.

Next to him is who you assume to be Ghost. There was no photo but you couldn’t complain, you didn’t have one either. He’s sitting back, right ankle over his left knee. He stares at you through the skull mask, which you find to be more intimidating than ridiculous. You can’t read his face or lack thereof. He’s taller and a bit wider than Soap. Maybe a year ago you would’ve been downright scared of him, but now you find yourself curious. Nobody wears a mask like that without some issues. You would know.

Then there’s the Captain, John Price who is standing. Looking at his facial hair and floppy hat you can’t help but wonder if being the 141 keeps these men from following military regulations because it simply can’t be allowed in the handbook. Then again who’s going to enforce rules on them? Price carries an aura of maturity and leadership that reminds you of one of your old superiors from your time at Alpha Five. Fuck, you wish you were with Alpha Five.

Your eyes finally land on the man on your far right, Gaz. His eyes are kind and a pretty shade of brown that in the sunlight would shine gold. He sits straight in his chair, one hand in his lap and the other on the table. From his file, he’s a bit taller than Soap but also a bit leaner. You could probably beat him in a fight, you decide. In the next few days that would be put to the test. Not like you would actually want to fight him, maybe just pin him down.

You catch yourself before your thoughts begin to wander.

You feel a chill run up your spine as you look back, eyes never wavering. You refuse to look weak. You’re shorter than them, you don’t have the same muscle mass as they do. But you’ve worked hard, and you’re smart.

“… code name ‘Cazador.’ Formally from Unit Alpha Five.” You catch the end of Laswell’s introduction. You look towards her, waving your arm. Her eyes go from the four men to you, and she nods. You unlock your phone and open up the text-to-speech app that they had graciously given you. You can’t see it but everyone except Laswell has a confused look in their eyes. Gaz looks up to Price for answers but he’s equally confused.

”I don’t go by Cazador anymore.” The robotic voice answers for you. Laswell nods in understanding.

”He doesn’t speak?” Ghost asks, he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

“Temporary mutism, scheduled for vocal surgery next month. Would’ve waited but I want him on the next mission.” Laswell explains. You watch as doubt washes over everyone’s face. You haven’t been able to speak since you lost your team. Vocal cord paralysis. That’s what the doctors told you. A combination of trauma and physical injury.

“Laswell…” Price begins, defeat in his voice and his head falling between his shoulders.

”You have to trust me on this, John. He’s good at his job. One week, see how it works out. If it doesn’t, you don’t have to see him again.” Laswell puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes lightly, trying to reassure you. But you didn’t need reassurance, you know you’re a huge leap of faith. If you were in Price’s position you would’ve sent yourself home.

“How are we supposed to communicate on the field?” Soap asks. You feel like a dog as they talk about you like you can’t answer. Laswell gives you a look that signals you to open up your duffel bag and pull out a couple of black devices. They’re small, each the size of your palm. They each have eight labeled buttons. You place them on the table except for one that has a lanyard on it. You press one of the buttons.

”Affirmative.”

You press another.

“Negative.”

Another.

”Fuck off.”

That one makes Soap crack a smile.

“They connect to comms?” Price asks, still skeptical.

”Affirmative.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples.

“Alright, rookie. One week.” He lifts one finger up, “If you mess up I won't hesitate to send you back to the States.” You nod and sign ‘thank you’ in ASL. You catch a glimpse of recognition from Ghost.

”Is your ASL good?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

‘Good enough,’ you sign. Soap gives Ghost a look.

”You know American Sign Language, L.T.?” Ghost shrugs.

”An old teammate of mine was mute. Picked some up from him.”

“Why didn’t you mention it?” Gaz asks.

”Didn’t ask.” He quips as he leans forward to put his attention on you. Your shoulders tense. “Why did you drop your old call sign?”

’It was given to me while with Alpha Five. I rather leave it in the past.’ You sign. ‘I also don’t want to hear you butcher a Spanish word every day.’

Ghost huffs in amusement, “Fair.” Soap almost pouts as he looks between you two, wishing to understand the conversation. But before he can open his mouth, Laswell speaks up.

“I’m confident that’ll work out. I’d stay and chat but I have a plane to catch and another meeting to attend to.” She pays your back, “if you need anything or if they give you trouble, email or text me. I’ll see you in a week.” You nod. Laswell bids farewell to the 141 and gives Price one final look before leaving.

“Soap, show the rookie to his room. Meet up at the field at 1000.” Price orders, which is followed by a couple of ‘yes sir’s. You collect your things and everyone parts ways, Price and Gaz leaving one way while Ghost leaves another. Leaving you to the scot.

He grins as he leads you around the base. “You should know how everything works around here. Not much different from any other base. We usually stay off base while off missions but since you’re staying with us we’ll stick around if you need anything.” You nod as you follow beside him. “You’re lucky, 141 gets its own little private area on base. Your own room with your own bathroom. There’s a common room and a kitchen too. Although ye have to head to the main area for the gym, shooting range, and mess hall.”

‘We didn’t have as many privileges in Alpha Five.’ You type on your text-to-speech.

“We’re the queen’s favorites.” He jokes, “If we stop a couple more terrorists we might get our own vending machine.”

You eventually make it to a secluded area on base. You pass many rooms that are either empty or filled to the brim with storage. Although the sound of recruits running drills can still be heard outside it’s not as loud as it was in the main area. You stop by two double doors.

“This is the common room, we usually spend afternoons in here before heading to bed,” Soap explains, opening the door to let you peek in. It's different from the typical common room you’re used to. Back on base in America, the common rooms felt more like office break rooms, here it looked much homier. The lights weren’t cold but warm white. On the left corner of the furthest wall is a kitchenette with a small white fridge that’s covered in sticky notes. On the left side of the room is a table and four chairs, an unfinished game of cards is left on the table. On the right are two couches, an armchair, and a coffee table with a soft-looking rug underneath. They’re facing towards a fairly large flatscreen on a TV stand. The small cubicles on the stand are filled with DVDs and an old gaming console. On the back right corner of the wall are shelves filled with books, board games, and puzzles. You’re tempted to look over the books to find anything good to read.

‘Looks cozy.’

“Glad ye like it. You’re welcome to anything in the common room at any time unless it’s labeled. Ghost and the captain get pissy if anyone touches their tea. Fuckin’ Brits.” Soap rolls his eyes playfully. You can’t help but laugh, shoulders shaking silently. “Rooms are this way, down the hall and to the right.” You follow behind him, his eyes looking towards you as though he wants to ask you something. You almost don’t catch it.

‘What is it?’

“What?”

You roll your eyes.

‘You want to ask something. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.’

Insecurity washes over his face for a second, he stops in front of a door.

“It’s not my place to ask, especially considering Ghost does the same. But why do you wear that mask?” You study his eyes for a second, searching for any hint of mockery or insincerity. After a moment, you look down and type on your phone.

‘You read my file.’

“A lot of information was redacted.”

‘Then you understand that it’s classified information.’

He isn’t satisfied with that answer but doesn’t push the subject any further. Instead, he turns to the door.

“This is your room, your identification opens the door. Sometimes the lock gets fucked so you have to get L.T. to use the key.”

‘Why can’t I just get the key?’

“I don’t want to point fingers but someone lost their key too many times and Price decided Ghost was the most responsible.” He elbows you playfully before mouthing ‘Gaz.’ You smile, the only indicator of Soap being the scrunch up of your cheeks to your eyes. You take your identification and press it to the door. The lock beeps and the light shrines from red to green, unlocking the door.

Your room isn’t small but it also isn’t anything special. On the far wall is a window that looks out onto an empty part of base. You can’t help to be grateful for the window. Part of you was terrified of finding yourself in another windowless room where the passage of time blurred. Tied down to a metal chair or strapped down in a hospital bed.

On the far corner of the left wall is a wooden desk and chair. A small desk lamp sits on the desk. On the opposite side of the room is your bed, a boring standard military bed with green scratchy sheets and two pillows. On the closest wall on the left is a small loveseat, and on the right side the door to the bathroom and a wooden dresser. The walls are light gray and plain, and the floor is linoleum. It’s a shitty room but it feels familiar, in your mind you’ve already started planning things to change.

“You’re room 55. L.T. is 53, I’m 54. Gaz is across from you on 65 and Price is down the hall at room 70. Although you have your own bathroom there are also showers down the opposite hallway. Sometimes the water in the rooms doesn't run hot. Hard to get lost though, since everything is labeled.” He explains, leaning against the doorframe. You place your duffle bag on your bed and unzip it to pull out the small black device with the lanyard. You place it around your neck and check for your phone in your pocket. Soap watches you with curious eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. “Price wants us on the field by 10, you got some time to spare. Still have time to head to the mess hall for breakfast if you want to come?”

‘I don’t eat breakfast. Makes me nauseous.’ You type out. ‘But thanks.’

He nods, pulling himself off the door. “Then I’ll leave you to unpack. See you on the field, rookie.”

You give one nod back before Soap closes the door and leaves. You sigh and sit on the bed, finally having a moment to relax.

All your belongings fit in your duffel bag, some old large black bag you had lying around when you first got recruited to join Alpha Five. You have other stuff, from before everything happened in your apartment in the States but it no longer feels like your things. The moment you arrived from the hospital you felt like you were intruding on a stranger’s space. You found a home with Alpha Five. You found a home in running drills with your teammates and late nights in the barracks where you laughed about nothing. And that apartment was never a home. Not when you were kicked out after you came out to your parents and not when Laswell told you to go home and rest.

My home is gone, you thought. But you would never tell her that, you couldn’t, your vocal cords are fucked and you were too exhausted from surviving for so long. The gashes and slices lay across your flesh as a reminder and mockery. Sometimes it still aches, especially in late nights when the air is just as cold and the room is just as dark. But the large scar that spreads across on side of your mouth, up your cheekbone, and into your hairline never stops hurting. A thick chunk of flesh gone, revealing teeth and gum.

You quickly stand up, avoiding falling into the memories of the past year. But as you zip open your bag and start putting your clothes in the dresser you can’t help but correct yourself, technically in about one and a half weeks it would be the anniversary of your kidnapping and the death of your team. It’s late November although you don’t remember the date, you have avoided calendars and avoided counting days. Some psychiatrist who visited you at the hospital during your recovery has suggested it. Frankly, it was the only thing the psychiatrist told you that you had listened to. He had also told you to visit him once a week, to get medicated and to pick up a hobby. You rolled your eyes after he left.

After you’re semi-satisfied with the locations of all your belongings you check your phone. There was about an hour before you had to meet up with the 141 boys on the field. Trading your combat boots for trainers you head out to warm up.

You spot Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sitting in the mess hall chatting as you pass by. Gaz spots you from a distance and waves his arm to signal you to come over. You shake your head and signal towards the double doors that lead outside. There’s a bit of disappointment in his eyes but nods his head, turning back to the others to resume their conversation.

They all seemed nice, although hesitant to have you join the team. But you understand that it isn’t easy to have someone new join a team and have them disrupt the flow of things. Especially as some fucked up kid who can’t talk. You feel more like an obstacle that they have to overcome than a teammate that’s supposed to make things easier.

You push past the double doors into the cold November air. The breeze bites at your fingers and the exposed skin around your eyes. You stretch for a bit before you kick your feet up and start jogging behind a group of recruits. It had become a routine since you were discharged from the hospital, trying to get back to the state you were in before everything happened. Somewhere deep inside it wasn’t just about physical recovery, but psychological. Maybe a couple of laps around the base would somehow fix your brain.

Maybe a couple of missions would relieve you from the grief.

Chapter Text

“So what do you think?”

Price looks back towards Soap as they walk down the hall towards the field. He gives him a confused look.

“What do I think about what?”

“The rookie.” Soap opens the double doors for Price as they step outside. Price sighs in thought.

“Don’t know yet. That’s what we’re on our way to figure out.” 

Gaz and Ghost are already on the field, talking about some game they saw a couple of days ago. The conversation quickly ends as they watch Price and Soap approach. 

“Where’s the rookie?” Price asks, already feeling a bit disinclined towards you. Ghost points towards something in the distance. Lo and behold there you were, running across the field. 

“Was the first to arrive, thought I’d have him warm up.” Ghost replies. He cups his hands around his mouth before yelling, “You’re almost done, soldier!” You look worn out, but your pace never wavers as you approach the final stretch and reach the team. Once finishing your last lap your hands fall to your knees and you try to catch your breath. You give Price a small salute in greeting. Your breaths are heavy and the closest thing any of the men have to your actual voice. Cold, wet air fills your lungs with every breath, it hurts. After a couple of moments, you finally gain some semblance of control of your breathing and you stand up straight.

“You good, solider?” Price asks, and you nod. “Good. Today it’ll be fairly easy for you men,” he turns to Soap, Ghost, and Gaz. “We’ll be putting our new recruit through some tests. Endurance, accuracy, hand to hand, and a simulation.” He looks towards you, eyes stern. “See if you meet the 141 standards.”

Your eyes never leave his. You make sure Price knows you won’t back down. You give him a simple nod and he continues.

“Alright. First order of the day, is the course. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost will be competing to beat their best time. Rookie, you’ll be competing to beat them.”

Oh fuck off, is all you can think. Running laps around the field for Ghost had already tired you out on top of your morning jog, but a full obstacle course? Your bad ankle throbs in pain, but you push the idea of pain away. If you weren’t aiming to make a good impression on Price you would’ve argued. You argued all the time with your old captain. Of course, it was because that was just the kind of relationship you had with him. He trusted you to speak up if things felt off, to trust your instinct. But he was still your superior officer and you weren’t always so respectful.

The four of you make your way to the starting line. Price stands on the sidelines, he pulls a whistle from his pocket. 

“Ready?” He asks, but your eyes go wide with realization. You quickly pull your bulky phone (your saving grace and only way to efficiently communicate with those assholes) and the communication device around your neck and drop them on the grass. Luckily both devices are built like bricks and won’t break or crack with a small tumble. You’re more scared of losing them. Soap snickers at you from your left, but you pay him no mind. Instead, you get yourself in position with the rest of the team.

The whistle blows and your feet start moving before your brain can register what’s happening. Four pairs of feet thump against the ground until reaching a stretch of monkey bars. You silently curse as you grip the bars, swinging from one bar to the other. The sound of the other men are drowned out by the pounding in your ears. You had gotten injured your first year with Alpha Five, two bullet wounds in your right shoulder and you could start to feel the ache in your shoulder as you reached the end of the bars. Swinging down, you fall into the sand and continue your trek to the next obstacle. 

Ghost is a couple of steps in front of you. Soap and Gaz are only a few steps behind you. You reach a tall brick wall with a rope hanging down. You grip the rope and make a mental note to get yourself some gloves and bandages for the blisters and wounds that are sure to appear on your hands after this. It felt like cheating the way Ghost is able to climb over the wall in swift strides, you’re shorter than him. But with burning palms and an aching shoulder, you manage to climb up.

The height of the wall is more threatening than it should be, but you shake off any childish thoughts as you jump off and roll to absorb the impact. You quickly get up and jog through slippery gravel. Gaz is catching up and Soap isn’t much further behind. Ghost is still in front, and at this point, he’s the least of your worries. In front of you, you spot a tunnel. You curse at yourself as you kneel down and begin to crawl into the small tunnel, the light on the other side being your only guide. 

At this point, you’re much more tired than you had expected to be. You try to control your breathing through your mask as you crawl out the other side of the tunnel. The ache spreads to your chest, and you can feel yourself slow down. Gaz manages to catch up and Soap is only a few steps behind. 

You step onto the next obstacle, a balancing bridge. You spread your arms to the side, trying to keep balance as the bridge inclines around five or six feet into the air. As you reach the apex of the bridge you can hear a loud thud from beside you followed by a loud cackle. 

“Fuck off, Soap!” Gaz exclaims as he gets up from the ground and tries the bridge again, losing precious time. You almost fall towards the end of the bridge but manage to readjust yourself. You jump from lowering platforms until you’re only two or three feet off the ground and on the next obstacle, stepping stones. 

You step from side to side on short stone platforms which at this point feels like it spreads miles across. Part of you wishes you hadn’t worn a hoodie. The sweat becomes unbearable as the fabric begins to stick to you.

You’re almost done, you tell yourself as you reach the second to last obstacle, the net wall. You grab onto the rope net and pull yourself up, carefully placing your feet in the correct holes. In basic training you had almost snapped your ankle after missing the net, you had no plan to make it happen now. Soap has surpassed you, already up the other side of the net wall while you and Gaz are still in the middle of the net. Making it to the top you immediately drop down without second thought, running on pure adrenaline hoping that you can at least beat one of the 141 members. 

You jog up to the last obstacle, and you’re thankful it’s one you have done a million times before: the tire run. You eye Soap in front of you, there’s still a chance to catch up. You kick your knees high as you step from one tire to the next. 

“Almost there, rookie! Doing better than I thought ye would!” Soap calls out in front of you. You don’t know if he’s playing psychological games or if he’s being genuine with you. He looks back towards you with a crooked and tired smile. Oh god, is he cute? 

You almost trip over your feet but quickly catch yourself. The small mistake costs you a few feet in distance between yourself and Soap. Gaz is right on your heels. You quickly reach the end of the tire run and go into a sprint where Ghost and Price are waiting. 

Your entire body is on fire. You’re not built like you were a year ago, yet you’re moving as if you were. For a moment, you’re not the rookie with the 141. You’re El Cazador from Alpha Five. Ghost can see the shift in your eyes from the finish line. He cocks his head to the side as you catch up to Soap, crossing the line at the exact same time. Gaz is only two steps behind. You fall into the yellowing grass with a thud, breaths heavy.

“McTavish, you beat your best time by ten whole seconds. Garrick, you’re short by three. Maybe learn some balance and you won’t keep falling out of helicopters.” Price reports. Soap drops on his knees beside you and pumps his fist in the air in victory. 

Gaz groans, leaning against Soap. “Low blow, sir.”

“And well job, rookie. A year off didn’t slow you down.” 

You give him a thumbs up, your chest rising and falling in heavy tired breaths. You were too tired to bask in your first ‘well job’ on the team. Ghost watches you for a second, observing how your body naturally moves. He saw that change in your eyes at the final sprint to the finish line. A curious glint in his eyes, hoping to figure you out. 

He had figured Soap and Gaz out the second he met them. They wore their hearts on their sleeves. But you, your face is covered and you don’t speak. He has no idea what you’re thinking. You stand like a statue while Price gives orders. You don’t look away when your superiors glare deep into your eyes, yet you obey orders without question. A problem with authority but motivation to please. Ghost doesn’t know what to make of you. Maybe it’s too early to decide, he thinks.

After a few moments, Ghost grabs you by the collar of your hoodie and pulls you up. Your eyes widen in panic, your heartbeat quickens as you’re pulled to your feet. He picks you up like he’s scruffing a cat. 

“Alright, that’s enough lying around. You too, McTavish.” Soap groans and he stands up, pushing Gaz off of him. 

“We’ll be heading to the shooting range, let’s go.” Price announces, and begins walking. You feel around your pockets and groan internally. You shoot your arms up and wave them around. Gaz and Soap are already moving but you catch Ghost’s attention. 

‘I left my stuff at the starting line.’ You sign. 

“Catch up,” he says before turning and following the others. For a moment you’re surprised he wouldn’t wait for you, or any of them. But you quickly push those thoughts away, you’re in the military for fucks sake. You’re not their friend, you’re a (maybe soon-to-be) coworker. 

With heavy feet, you jog back to the starting line which thankfully wasn’t very far since the course looped around a bit. Picking up your phone and your communication device you wipe them from any grass dew. You put your communicator around your neck and your phone in your pocket as you jog back to the team. 

As you catch up you can see Soap teasing Gaz over his loss in time, putting his head in an arm lock which Gaz tries to pull himself out of. Ghost reprimands them half-heartedly as they walk behind Price. 

They’re close, anyone with half a brain could see that they weren’t just coworkers, not even just a team. Friends, maybe family? You didn’t know. 

Soap eventually lets Gaz go, who gives him a punch on the shoulder. Soap dramatically tumbles to the side and holds his arm. Price just rolls his eyes. You huff in amusement.  

You and the team eventually reach the shooting range. It’s larger than the one back in the States, you note. There’s an outdoor section and from what you catch on a sign you pass by an indoor section. Price leads you into an armory and picks up a sniper rifle and a handgun. He loads both and hands them to you. You grip them tightly, making sure to have them pointing towards the floor at all times. It would be a shame to accidentally shoot someone during your job interview.

You walk up to a booth, studying the targets that stand at various distances. You put both guns down on a small table on the side. Your confidence with obstacle courses didn’t extend with guns. You were good, but many were better. 

“How good is your shot, rookie?” Gaz asks, sitting on a bench on the back wall. Soap and Ghost stand behind you at your left and Price at your immediate right. You turn back to look at Gaz as you pull your phone from your pocket.

‘Does the job,’ you type before placing your phone down and picking up the handgun. You feel the familiar weight in your hands, it’s a model you’ve handled before. 

“Let's start easy, eh?” Price starts, he nods over to the closest three targets. “A, B and C.” You take the safety off the gun and in quick succession shoot at the targets. Bullseye.

“D, E, and F.” 

The next three targets are a bit further away, but you still manage to hit the center of each target. 

“C, G, F.” 

The change in pattern almost throws you off but you shoot at each target in order. Your eye twitches at the G target, where your bullet didn’t hit exactly in the center.

“Switch to sniper.” 

Without hesitation, you put the safety back on the handgun and switch it out for the sniper. You set it up quickly and efficiently, which Price takes note of.

“Red.” He says. You look through the scope, eye scanning the vast field for the red target in the distance. Once spotting it you set up your shot, rolling your shoulders, taking a deep breath, and shooting.

You hit the mark. Soap lets out a low whistle. 

“Not bad.” He comments. 

Before you can turn towards Soap Price calls out, “Black.”

Once again, you look through the scope to find the black target. It takes you a moment too long and Price huffs.

“You’ll let the target get away at this rate in a real-life scenario, Corp-.” You take the shot before Price finishes his sentence. He grabs a pair of binoculars from the wall and looks out into the field. “Good, but you’re too slow. One more, white.” 

You scan the field once more, the white target is the furthest out of all of them. You’re starting to sweat, your shoulder hurts like hell and the scar across your face starts to tingle and your ankle throbs. You set up your shot, taking into account wind, air resistance, and how nervous you are you take one last deep breath and shoot. 

You’re off by a couple of inches from the center. Price looks out and hums in thought. 

“That’s enough.” 

Your head drops between your shoulders in disappointment. Fuck.

——-

Lunchtime eventually arrives. You go through the line, picking up anything that looks remotely appetizing. Fuck British people and they’re hate for seasoning. After getting your food you begin walking out of the mess hall to find a place you can take your mask off. A voice calls out to you from afar. You look over to Soap, Gaz, and Ghost sitting at a table near a window. Gaz is waving you over. You shake your head, not wishing to have a scar show and tell on day one of meeting these guys. Gaz opens his mouth to call something out but Ghsot places his hand on his shoulder and leans in to say something. He nods and instead waves you ‘bye.’ 

You decide to walk to the 141 common room. Setting down your food on the wooden table you take your mask off, combing your fingers through your hair. You grimace at the length of it. It had gotten much longer since everything happened. Getting haircuts isn’t easy if you hide your face all the time. Not to mention your lack of skill with clippers and scissors. You had always had someone cut it for you. You pull your hood up to hide your hair and begin to eat in silence. 

It’s not as bad as it looks, you think, eating a spoonful of Mac and cheese. Although, it’s hard to fuck up Mac and cheese. You try not to think how sad it is to eat alone in some corner of base. But it’s not like you haven’t been eating alone for the past year. You ate alone in the cell they kept you in, alone in the hospital room, alone in your dusty apartment, and now alone here. You wish it was a peaceful feeling, to get away from all the noise and people. You’re introverted, but your old team made sure you felt like you belonged. 

Lunch eventually ends, you put on your mask, walk back to the mess hall to drop off your tray, and head to the gym for the hand-to-hand test. As much as you put on a brave face, you dread it more than anything. Everyone on 141 was taller and stronger than you. Your muscle mass is still getting there through months of training but these men haven’t stopped a day in their lives. 

You push through the doors and spot Gaz and Soap doing stretches on some mats. Price is looking at something on a clipboard nearby. You look around for Ghost but don’t spot him in the gym. What you spot instead are curious eyes that linger on you around the gym. It’s quick glances and whispers. 

“Is that the new 141 recruit?”

“Heard he’s from Alpha Five.”

“I thought everyone on Alpha Five died?”

“Don’t pay attention to them,” a voice says from behind you. You turn, looking up to stoic eyes and a skull mask. “Does you no good.”

‘Would rather not have rumors spread,’ you sign, in reality, you wish that nothing true was spread. You could care less about shitty lies. Ghost shrugs and walks towards the rest of the team. You realize that he traded his own hoodie with the 141 insignia for a black long-sleeve compression shirt. You can’t help but stare at his back and you follow him.

Hand-to-hand is a fucking nightmare.

First up was Soap, who seemed to enjoy dancing around you in the spar circle. He reminded you of a dog, or maybe a hyena with that Mohawk. He walks around you like you’re prey. The intense look in his eyes both scares and excites you. Every punch he throws you dodge, every punch you throw he blocks. After playing around with his food for a bit he rushes you and tackles you to the ground. He grabs your arm and bends it behind you at an uncomfortable angle, his other hand grabbing you by the base of your neck. His knee digging into the base of your spine. Silent groans escape your lips as you struggle, pain shooting through your shoulder. 

“C’mon, soldier! Get him off!” Price barks at you. But you can’t move, Soap’s entire body weight is on you. If you weren’t wearing a mask everyone would be able to see the bright blush that spreads across your face (though you don’t know if its from exertion or embarrassment). After struggling for a few more seconds you sigh and tap out. Soap lets you go immediately and backs up. 

You get up to your knees and look over your shoulder towards Price who wears a neutral yet displeased look. 

Things go a bit better with Gaz. You manage to pin him down, but with pure strength he manages to flip you over and pin you on the mat. You’re in a similar position as your previous match with Soap except his grip on your arm isn’t as brutal. He’s going easy on you. His grip slips and you manage to escape his grasp. You twist around and push him down onto his stomach. Straddling him you grab both his wrists and twist them behind his back into an tight position. You only give him enough freedom of movement to tap out, which he does. Letting go of his arms you climb off him. Gaz massages his wrists as he gets up.

“Not your day, Sargent?” Ghost quips, “might just have to just replace you with the rookie.” 

You carefully watch Gaz’s reaction as he leaves the mat. He’s faking disappointment. He let you pin him. 

Did he fall off the balance bridge on purpose? 

You’re sore after sparring against Ghost. Everything aches in a familiar way you haven’t felt since before everything. It’s nostalgic in a way. 

Price is merciful and doesn’t make you spar against him. But the mercy is short-lived as you’re taken to the other side of base for your last test: the simulation.

“Clear the building as quickly and efficiently as possible. The average time is fifty two seconds, but the 141 record is twenty four.” Price explains, he can’t see it but behind him Soap wears a proud grin and elbows Ghost playfully. “Light above the door turns on, timer starts.” You nod to let him know you understand, simulations are something you’ve done many times before. Price gives you one last nod and leaves you at the entrance of the makeshift building. The rest of the team follows behind him and heads towards the control room. 

“Is it too soon to ask you again, Captain?” Soap asks, looking over the monitors reflecting the camera feed from inside the simulation room. 

“What do you mean?” 

“This morning, I asked you what you thought about the rookie.” 

Price thinks for a second before answering, his eyes never leaving the monitor displaying feed from your current position. 

“Disciplined. Hard worker. Skilled.”

“But?”

“Troubled. Young. Reserved.” 

Soap can’t help but agree. They all know you’re troubled, they could see it in your file and the moment you walked into the meeting room. But before Soap can say anything Price presses a button on the control panel and the light above you flashes on. 

You rush in, weaving through doorways and hallways, shooting down every wooden panel hostile you see. Price can’t help but be impressed by how easily you are locked into the mindset. Ghost assumes that if he looked into your eyes right now he would see that same look you had during the obstacle course. 

Gaz and Soap can’t help but feel giddy at the idea of you joining the team. Their initial hesitation dissolves to nothing as you go room by room. You’re swift and calculated, every movement done with purpose. You don’t hesitate.

You cross the exit at twenty-eight seconds. 

“Good lad,” Price mumbles, better than he had expected. 

——-

After dinner (which you ate alone) you head to your room and decide to test out the shower. To your surprise, the bathroom is very clean, especially for a military base. Warm water runs down your hair and across your tired body. You sigh as you rest your head against the tiled wall. The stress and tension of the day almost wash away with the sweat and grime. 

You can’t help but think back to Gaz falling off the balance bridge and letting you pin him down during hand-to-hand. It doesn’t make sense in your mind. How does he benefit from making you look good? 

You only get out once the water starts to run cold, you dry off, and put on some comfortable clothes. You lay down in your bed, making a mental note that if they keep you you should go out and buy softer bedding and maybe a nice blanket. That’s the one part you miss about being off duty for a year, soft blankets. The bed back at your apartment is too soft so you usually end up sleeping on the floor wrapped up in a blanket. 

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You didn’t even know it could do that, assuming it was basically just a brick the military gave you to communicate and knock people out with. You unlock it, swiping to see if you got a message.

Soap added Rookie to the chat!

You roll your eyes as you read the name of the group chat, No Price Allowed . Bubbles appear at the bottom of your screen. But you text first.

You: How did you get this number?

Soap: laswell :)

Of course. She’s probably the most eager to have you join 141 no matter what the cost is. She would want you to get to know the team and get on their good side. Her motivations behind getting you into the 141 are unclear to you. They seem to do just fine as a four-man team.

Gaz: We’re in the common room if you’d like to join. Just thought it would be easier to get to know our new teammate like this. An even playing field, you know?

You: I’m not your teammate. Got a whole week before that’s determined.

Soap: then consider this part of your job interview

Soap: so tell me, rookie

You: ?

Soap: what do you sound like?

You feel like you’re on some dating app having bad digital foreplay but decide to entertain them.

You: Like Ghost but tougher.

Soap: thought so

Gaz: You two are basically twins. Separated at birth?

Ghost: Too short to be related.

You glare at the message indignantly.

You: I was for the most part raised in America. You do the math. 

Gaz: For the most part?

You: Spent summers in Mexico.

Soap: you got family?

You: mother and younger sister. No contact.

Gaz: Can I ask why that is?

You: Parents weren’t fond of my career choice.

A half-truth. They were reluctant to have their little girl carry around guns and fight alongside men. But they were also against the idea of their little girl not being a girl. 

Soap: i get it my mom cried when i told her i enlisted

No tears were shed for you. Just screams and pointed fingers. 

Gaz: How are you liking England?

You scoff at the question.

You: hate it here.

Soap: homesick?

You: Nope. Just not a fan of England. Shit food.

Gaz: Hey now! We got some good stuff!

You: it’s all beige and looks cold.

Soap: :(

Gaz: :(

Ghost: :(

Ghost: That wasn’t me. McTavish took my phone. 

If your vocal cords weren’t fucked anyone passing down the hall would’ve been able to hear you cackling. Your shoulders shake with laughter. 

You: If the captain doesn’t send me back to America by the end of the week I may let you prove me wrong. Doubt it though, all Europe eats like they’re still at war. 

You: I mean, what the hell is black pudding? It’s not even pudding,

You end up having a lighthearted yet heated argument with Gaz and Soap over different types of foods, including Latin American and American foods. The back and forth goes on for an hour until Ghost (who had said nothing the entire time) decides that he can only take so much back-and-forth bickering and changes the subject. 

Ghost: So why did you take a year off?

(Soap, who is sitting next to Ghost in the common room, shoots him a look. Way to ruin the mood.)

You: why do you want to know?

Ghost: redacted from your file at your request. If you’re going to be part of the team, would rather not have any doubts about who you are.

You: you think I’m some sort of traitor?

Ghost: no. But your file mentions Graves and the shadow company wanting to recruit you. We had some trouble with Graves not that long ago.

You: I didn’t redact that information. Some higher-ups did. And I said no to graves. 

Ghost: Why? Shadow Company pays well.

You: None of your concern. 

You: Why do you walk around in a mask?

Ghost: why do you?

You: exactly. 

You: I'm heading to bed. 

You: Night.

You go to close the messaging app when another message appears, this time from a separate chat.

Gaz: You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to. Ghost is just,, cautious. He means no harm. Please don’t take it to heart. See you tomorrow.

You almost don’t respond but you need to know.

You: Why did you fall off the balance bridge and why did you let me pin you down?

Gaz’s typing bubbles dance at the bottom of your screen for a long time. You stare at them, waiting. Eventually, he responds.

Gaz: Had a bad day. Wasn’t at the top of my game.

You: I’m not stupid, Sargent. 

You: Why did you let me win?

Another long moment of typing.

Gaz: I think you’d be a good addition to the 141. 

You don’t respond. 

Chapter Text

“Cazador! C’mon man! It’s not that bad!” 

“They gave me like twenty stitches! Oh fuck, it’s gonna scar.” 

“It’ll be worse if you keep talking. Quit moving your jaw!”

You rush into the barracks’ bathroom, Diaz, your teammate following behind you. You basically fling yourself to the sink mirror and examine the large stitched gash that runs from your jaw to your middle cheek. Diaz rolls his eyes as you dramatically examine the stitch work done by some poor tired medic. 

It was Saturday, you and your teammates had gone out for drinks. The night was mostly a blur of colorful lights, cheap perfume, and overly expensive drinks. It was all going great until you bumped into the wrong crowd. Some group of bigoted assholes who tried to convince you a night with them would make you ‘a girl again.’ It started with harsh words and eventually led to fists connecting to guts and one broken bottle slicing your jaw. 

“You think the scar will get me guys?” You ask, gently grazing your fingertips across the wound. 

“A cool scar and a badass story? Totally.”

——-

You study the scars on your face, neck, and arms for a moment before putting on a hoodie and a mask. Sometimes you hope that one day you’ll wake up and they’d all be gone. Maybe your team would be back. Maybe everything could go back to the way it was.

But unfortunately for you, it doesn’t work that way. 

Instead, you exit your room making sure to have your communication device, your phone and your identification. As you open your door your eyes lock with Gaz who is also exiting his room. 

“Rookie, I-“ he starts. You’re mad at him, infuriated even. You want to yell at him, you want to tell him how he had no right to manipulate your tests like that. No matter how good it makes you look. How obtaining this job with guarantee that you won’t have to go back to that old lonely apartment. His actions make you feel weak. Less than. Like someone who needs a handout. You are tired of handouts. “Please, I’m sorry.”

You step forward, your eyes daggers. Gaz takes a step back toward his room. You take a step forward, he takes a step back until you’re both in his room. You close the door behind him. Gaz’s room is neat, as any soldier’s room should be. A bit bare, probably because he has a flat off base. You glare at him as you pull out your phone and start typing. 

‘You had no right to manipulate my tests like that. If I get into the task force it should be because I earned it. Not because you want it to happen.’ You type out, and instead of having the robotic voice repeat the message you flash Gaz on your phone. His eyes scan the screen for a moment.

“I’m truly sorry. But we all saw your potential. Outside of my bullshit. Price saw it too.” He explains. You stare at him for a moment longer, making sure he’s being completely genuine before backing off. 

As much as you two wanted to continue the conversation (as much meaning none), there’s a knock on the door. Whoever is on the other side doesn’t wait for Gaz to answer before turning the knob.

“Aye, Kyle. Have you seen my-“ Soap’s eyes dart between you and Gaz. A mischievous smile spreads around his face, you roll your eyes. “What’s going on here?” 

“What? Can’t two guys just have a chat?” 

“Nobody should be having ‘a chat’ so early in the morning. Especially behind closed doors,” he teases.

You walk past Soap, pushing his forehead away from you. 

“If you need someone to keep your bed warm I’d gladly-.”

‘Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off.’ You press the button on the communicator so fast you’re almost scared you’re going to break it. Blood rushes to your cheeks in a deep blush as you close the door behind you. You don’t like that you consider it for more than a second. Soap with his stupid Mohawk, and stupid boyish grin, and stupid Scottish accent, and stupid muscles, and…

What a fucking dickhead. 

——-

Not long after you finish your morning jog you receive a message from Price asking you to bring your communicators to his office. You sit in the leather chair across from him, placing the devices on his desk. He scratches his beard as he looks over them.

“I hope you understand why I’m skeptical of having you on the field.” And on this team, but he doesn’t say that. “If you get separated or are put in a position where you can’t convey a message, it puts all of us, including the mission in danger.” 

You nod in understanding. 

‘There’s a constant threat of danger and I’ve seen it first hand. I don’t want to put any of your men in danger for the sake of saving my ass. Rest assured I can take care of myself, Captain.” You type out. Price nods, sitting back in his chair. Your answer is reassuring. Both of you know that if something happened you wouldn’t be top priority and that you need to work harder than anyone else in the task force. 

“I called you in because I want to see how these-“ he jesters towards the devices, “-work. I’m assuming there’s a system?” 

‘Each device functions for different missions and situations,’ you explain. ‘They can be connected to comms so others can hear just like if I were talking.’

Pointing towards the device with a blue piece of tape on it you type out, ‘evacuations.’ Then you point towards another with red tape, ‘status reports.’ Then towards the one with white tape, ‘overwatch.’ 

Price rubs his beard as he watches you, “what about hostage situations?” 

Your eyes flicker up to him. You study his expression, trying to figure out why he asked for hostage situations specifically. But the reason is very clear.

“Temporary mutism, scheduled for vocal surgery next month. Would’ve waited but I want him on the next mission.” Laswell had said. Her voice rings in your mind. You were being recruited for this. 

With two fingers you push the device with pink tape on it towards Price. He picks it up and presses each button one by one, listening to each call out. After testing each one he puts it back on the table. You wait patiently as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits back.

“I’m not sure how this will work on the field. It’s risky and honestly, it’s stupid.”

Laswell shouldn’t have sent a half-broken soldier. You look down at your hands, picking at the skin near your nails. You know what he wants to say. He shouldn’t be so nice about it. He should just say what everyone is thinking.

You’re not meant to be on the field.

“But…”

You look towards Price.

“I’m willing to test this out. I’ll send a message out to the team to meet up. See how this works in practice. Dismissed.” Price gives you a tight-lipped smile and sends you on your way. You pick up your things and exit his office, heading to your room. Just as you’re entering your phone buzzes.

Price has added Rookie to the chat!

Price: Meet up at South A building in 30. 

The name of this group chat is simple: 141.

——-

The South A building was further than you had expected. It was a large base, and basically a town. You had been tempted to hitch a ride from a military Jeep passing by but the idea of having people know about you more than just a passing face (or lack thereof) made your skin crawl. 

South A building was part of a training center. The few people that were around were suited up like they were ready to be deployed into the middle of a war. You would have believed it if it wasn’t for the splash of colorful paint that lingered on soldiers' gear. 

“Was wondering where you were. C’mon gear up, the boys are waiting.” Price comes over to you and pats you back. You tense at the feeling of his strong hand. You try not to think about it as he leads you to pick up some gear. You get the bare essentials, making room on your tactical vest for your communication devices. You hook them up to the radio, making sure that the wires that connect the devices to each other won’t disconnect or interfere with anything. 

You haven’t worn military gear in a year. As you put everything on you can feel the comfortable weight of your vest, your elbow and knee guards, the tactical belt, the thigh holster, and even your helmet. As you walk out to meet up with the team you adjust your gloves, a sense of gender euphoria rushing over you. You can feel it, you look cool as hell.

Soap lets out a low whistle as he spots you, “You clean up well, Rookie.” 

‘Thanks, you don’t.’ You sign, which earns a chuckle from Ghost. Soap looks at him confused but Ghost just shakes his head in dismissal. In reality, they all looked pretty hot in their gear. They looked bigger and tougher. Could probably throw you around like they did during hand-to-hand. Only this time you wouldn’t mind.

“Alright, today will be simple. We’ll be working on fieldwork with our Rookie here. This is mainly about communication. I expect to see some mess-ups, but I know you boys know how to adapt.” Price’s voice is loud and authoritative. It shakes your nerves, you know they’re counting on you to show them that this can work. 

Teams were separated into two: hostiles, who were Ghost and Price versus friendlies, who were Soap, Gaz, and you.

Your goal was to navigate through makeshift buildings to locate the hostage, eliminate hostiles and rescue said hostage. Once eliminated you can notify your team you’re down but nothing else. Seems simple enough, you tell yourself. 

After the first fifteen minutes of searching Soap decides to split off on his own to cover more ground. Gaz stays with you, clearing another makeshift two-story building. 

“See anything, Soap?” Gaz called into comms.

“Nothing in the next two buildings on the west side. Anything on the East?”

“Negative, continuing north.”

“Copy that.”

Gaz gives you a single nod to move on to the next building. You follow him back down the stairs and continue the search. Only after a couple of minutes of clearing buildings and reporting back to one another does Gaz start to fidget. 

“You know, it would be cool if you taught me some ASL. It has to suck only being able to talk to L.T. without your phone.” He clears the first floor before signaling you to follow him. You clear the second floor. There’s a ladder that leads to the roof that you decide to take for a better view of the area. Once the coast looks clear you pull your phone from your pocket and lay on the roof in hopes no Price or Ghost can see you from up here.

‘Would be useless,’ you type. ‘Either I’m gone by the end of the week or I’ll be able to speak in a month.’ You keep your eyes on a building northwest of you, catching a glimpse of a black figure. Gaz doesn’t say anything, biting his tongue. You press a button on a device strapped to your chest.

‘Movement spotted. North. East.’

“Copy that. I’ll check it out.” Soap calls through. 

“We’ll be right behind you, mate.” Gaz comms, he looks towards you. “Let's go.”

You don’t know why Gaz has such a fixation on making you a part of the team. You have shown to be an average special ops soldier. With problems, difficulty talking to people, and more difficulty trusting people. Yet here he was, by your side, doing a practice run for a hostage situation. Falling off balance bridges and letting you pin him down. 

You can’t decide how you feel. About anything, really. You can’t decide how you feel about his pretty eyes or his kind demeanor. About Soap’s teasing and lopsided grin. About Price’s hesitance to accept you or Ghost’s mistrustfulness. 

You feel like they blame you for being here. But you’re in the same boat as them. Being shoved into the unknown for a job that will probably kill you before retirement. Hell, probably won’t even make it past the next three years.

“Hostile and hostage spotted. Ghost is nowhere to be seen.” Soap comms in. His deep voice in a whisper sends shivers down your spine. “Watch your six.”

You tap Gaz on the shoulder to get his attention. He turns to look at you. You point towards yourself then point towards the right, signally to split up. He reluctantly agrees. 

You make your way northwest, hoping to get close enough to plan a strategy without being spotted by either Price or the lurking Ghost. You can see Soap sneaking through the third floor of one of the taller buildings on your left. 

“I can see you, Rookie. Careful, Price spotted one building over. The hostage has to be nearby. And L.T. is probably closer.” 

‘Copy.’

“Can you see anything from up there, Rooks?” Gaz asks in a hushed tone. From your vantage point, you spot him getting closer to Price’s location. Then, from a window you see him. You duck behind a wall before Price can spot you.

‘Affirmative. Hostile spotted.’ 

“Any sign of the hostage?” 

You move to another window, peaking carefully towards the window you spotted Price in. His back is turned. 

‘Stand by. Relocating.’

You move down to the second floor. And there, bright as day, you spot your hostage. A large brown teddy bear. You can’t help but roll your eyes. 

‘Affirmative. Hostage spotted. Hostile spotted.”

Before you can hear Soap and Gaz confirm over the comms you spot a large figure entering the room. You quickly hide behind a large wooden crate. For a man built like a tank, his footsteps are quiet as he roams the floor. There’s a popping sound in the distance, not far from your current location.

“Fuck, I’m down.” Soap reports. 

A few more pops. 

“Contact!” Gaz calls in, Price has spotted them. “Rookie! Get to the hostage, now!” 

If it were only that simple. You can see Ghost’s shadow by your feet as he lurks through the room. For a moment you’re not on base in a training facility. The smell of burning flesh fills your nostrils. The sound of comms becomes background noise to fire and panicked breaths. 

“I’m down,” Gaz calls in. Ghost is getting closer, you can almost feel his presence looming over you. He isn’t your teammate at the moment, he’s one of them. 

You jump from behind the crate, rushing towards the exit. He shoots towards you but misses. Blue paint splatters against the wall. You turn on your heel, landing a shot in his chest and another on his mask. 

He groans, calling into his mic. “I’m down.” He wipes the pink paint from his mask with his sleeve. You don’t give Ghost a second glance before sneaking out towards the building where Price and the hostage are located. You scan the building, locating a metal ladder that goes to the rooftop. Slinging your paintball rifle on your back you grip the metal rails and start to climb up. You can feel the cold metal through your gloves.

Your mind is rushing, overthinking but at the same time blank, with only one objective in mind. 

Once reaching the rooftop you swing your rifle back into your hands. With careful, quiet footsteps you descend. The third floor is windowless and dark, only the light from the next floor down illuminating part of the room. You don’t like it, it feels like you’re back in the hole they shoved you in. Quietly, you peak down towards the second floor. There you can see the hostage on the back wall, hostile pacing around the room. He didn’t look anything like the captain of the 141. Who was he? Is he with them? 

Once the hostile walked away from you you sprung into action, shooting two in the back of his head. He let out a surprised sound and turned around to face you. Why wasn’t he dead? Why is he still walking? You shoot him again in the torso. He’s saying something, what is he saying? 

He calls out your name. You see him. You see Captain Price. 

“You alright, kid?” He asks, concern in his eyes. He walks towards you. You back away. There’s the sound of footsteps walking up the stairs. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost, all covered in splatters of colorful paint. Soap looks at you with a wide smile.

“Good job, Rookie! Bet the Capt. didn’t see ye comin’ did he?” He approaches you with arms open, he’s too fast. Your heartbeat quickens and you take another step back. His smile turns to a confused look, lowering his arms he takes a step back. “Rookie? Hey, you need a moment?”

You nod, pushing past everyone and walking out of the makeshift building. The mask on your face feels suffocating. Sweat builds up on your brow and you can feel the world spinning. The sun is too bright and every noise is too loud. Your feet feel heavy as you try to walk away to a secluded area, anywhere where no one can see you. You just need to take your mask off, just for a second. 

You walk up to a chain link fence near a patch of grass that leads out into some forest. You hadn’t realized there was a forest so close by. You can’t even check if the coast is clear before you feel bile making its way up your throat. At the last second, you manage to lift your mask up, retching silently into the grass. The acid burns your throat, eyes tearing up. 

After eliminating Ghost, everything feels like a long-lost memory that you’re slowly recollecting. It felt so real, the feeling of being back there. Back in that day when everything went to shit. When everyone died and you couldn’t do anything. Wandering halls, static in your ear. Sweaty palms gripping your rifle as you searched for your team. The smell of burning flesh. You can’t hear anything over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. 

Your legs give in and you fall onto the grass. You take one glove off and use it to wipe your mouth. The grass is cold and wet under your touch. It snaps you back to reality. Footsteps catch your attention and you quickly pull your mask back up. 

It’s Ghost. He sits a few feet away, back against the fence. He hands you a water bottle, which you take with a shaky hand. You turn away and lift your mask up again to take a sip before pulling your mask back down and turning back to face him. He rests his elbows on his knees, looking up towards the clouds that slowly pass over. After a moment he looks over to you.

‘I don’t know what happened.’ You sign, ‘One moment I was here, the next moment I’m in Panama.’

“Where it happened?” He asks, you nod. Your hands fidget with the fabric of your remaining glove. 

‘I didn’t feel like myself. I mean, I was myself just not me- I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.’ The two of you sit in silence for a moment before Ghost speaks again.

“Sometimes… it’s hard to come back from that mindset. Being in the field, I don’t feel like myself. At least not the person I am out of the field. Your brain is trying to keep you safe, putting you in the mindset that helped you survive before.” 

‘How do you get out of it?’ 

He shrugs, picking at the grass. He doesn’t want to get too personal with you. He doesn’t know you and you don’t know him. But he’s seen that look in your eyes before. In friends, in teammates, and in the mirror.

“I have those muppets to help me out, I suppose. Been with them for a while now. They know when I need to be left alone and when I need someone to reach out.” 

‘My support system is gone. It’s just me.’ 

“Doesn’t have to be that way, mate. Johnny and Kyle like to have you around. I doubt they’ll let Price send you back to America by the end of the week. Now-“ he puts his hands on his knees and pulls himself up with a groan. You can’t help but snicker, such an old man move. “-better hurry up and clean up. We have a meeting after lunch.” 

He offers his hand. You take it, taking a quick inhale as he pulls you up effortlessly. You freeze as his hand gets close to your face. He takes the bit of hair peaking from under your mask and pushes it back under. He lets out a huff in amusement.

“Your hair isn’t up to code.”

You roll your eyes, ‘They let Soap walk around like that.’

Ghost stares at you for a moment in confusion before recreating the sign you did for Soap. An S that goes up in a Mohawk shape. “What is that?”

You finger spell S-O-A-P. 

Ghost lets out a loud laugh. It’s terrifying to see such a scary-looking man laugh. You want to make him laugh again. 

Chapter Text

 After lunch, you joined the 141 for a meeting to assess what worked and what could improve when using your communication devices on the field. There were a few suggestions in new callouts that could be added and ones that could be changed. 

You feel much better by dinner. Your heart finally stopped trying to jump out your throat and your hands stopped shaking. Nobody brings it up, maybe Ghost had told them something while you ate lunch alone or after you left the meeting room but you’re not completely sure. Part of you feels relieved of the idea of Ghost being the one to explain what happened. You were never good at talking about stuff , especially not now. 

You find yourself hanging around the 141 boys outside of mandatory training and meetings. Always at a safe distance, of course. Getting attached to them would only make it hurt more when they inevitably die. You don’t have the strength to lose another team.

You also found yourself creating a routine. In the mornings while everyone was at breakfast you would jog around base. Soap and Gaz made a habit of counting the number of laps you did as they spotted you through a window in the mess hall. After that, you would meet up with the team for a meeting of the things that needed to be covered that day. After whatever training Price had ordered for the day was done, you headed to the mess hall to pick up lunch that you would eat in the common room. 

By the fourth day, you found yourself eating on the couch and watching whatever was on TV. Nobody ever came in during lunch, either eating in the mess hall or in their office, so the coast was clear to eat without your mask. After lunch, you followed Gaz, Soap, and Ghost to do whatever they planned on doing for the rest of the day. That being aim training, working out, or sparing, probably a combination of all three. 

It became a comfortable routine. Something to look forward to. 

After dinner, the 141 boys would make their way to the common room. Sometimes everyone would be there, but it wasn’t rare for Price to leave after a couple of minutes to do some paperwork or for Ghost to go to his room for some peace and quiet. But without fail, Soap and Gaz would always be there, either watching something on the TV or playing some old video game. You had been reluctant to join in but found that just sitting in the same room for a bit helps with the always-aching feeling that permeates your being. It’s a pain that runs deep in your bones, through every scar and burn, and every silent moment. 

“You’re cheating! There’s no way, McTavish!” Gaz throws his controller onto the couch in a rage. He crosses his arms indignantly as Soap only shoots him a playful smile.

“How am I cheating? Looks like you’re just bad, mate.” He teases back. They had been going round after round in some old fighting game you don’t recognize, with Soap having won the majority of the matches. He grabs some chips from the bowl placed between them on the coffee table. You sit in the recliner that Price usually sits in. It smells just like him. Soap turns to you. “Ye want to go some rounds, lad? Bet ye can’t be worse than Kyle.” 

Gaz offers his controller which you hesitantly take. These last few days have consisted of working with Soap, but you haven’t had the misfortune of working against him. 

Soap picks the same character he’s been playing all night. A tough-looking soldier character with black streaks across his face. He’s carrying two large machine guns on his back. 

You fiddle around with the character selector, looking at each character for the coolest-looking one, having no idea what strategy there was for the game, if there was one. You eventually decide on an evil mage lady wearing a purple cloak and creepy shadow hands coming out her back. 

“Good choice,” Gaz comments, eating some chips. “Her special move is pretty cool.” As if you know how to do her special movie. Games like these always have some insane button combo you have to hit in two seconds to do any cool moves. You’ll just stick to blocking, jumping, and hitting. Maybe some crouching if you’re feeling extra adventurous.

After confirming your selected character the match begins. It makes absolutely no sense to you. While Soap moves around with purpose around the screen you just smash buttons and pray that it does something. Gaz cheers you on as you land hit after hit, using brute strength and dumb luck to get Soap at half health. 

Then, like some sort of miracle, you hit the right buttons in the right order and your character goes into a special move. 

“Oh, c’mon!” Soap exclaims, throwing his arms in the air as your character takes her shadow hands and grabs Soap’s character’s limbs before ripping them off. Gaz is laughing his ass off in joy, you can’t help but laugh at his reaction as well as Soap’s. The screen is covered in over-the-top blood and the match ends, returning to the character select screen.

Gaz jumps out of his seat, knocking some of the chips out of the bowl in the process. He rushes over to you and picks you up into a twirling hug. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding on to dear life. Blood rushes to your face, a bright crimson color as you kick your feet and pray he puts you down. 

“The chosen one! Soap has been dethroned!” Gaz exclaims, finally putting you down. You sway back and forth a bit in dizziness. You fall into your seat to avoid falling face-first on the coffee table in front of you. 

“Beginners luck! Lad didn’t know what he was doing!” 

“Yet he beat you!” Gaz laughs, but quickly his laughing abruptly stops and his eyes go wide. He turns back to you on the recliner. “Rookie- I’m sorry I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that-“

You shake your hands dismissively, trying to reassure him it’s alright. His eyes were wide, and anxious like a puppy that tore into the sofa. You never thought you’d ever see such a look on a grown man. 

But you hate touch. Especially after the torture and after the hospital. Getting poked and prodded, sliced, and stabbed tends to do that to people, including you. You almost broke a nurse’s hand while she tried to take some blood samples. Tried to stab a doctor with his own pen when he got too close. It took you months to finally shake hands or stand near anyone for long periods of time. But Gaz’s hug wasn’t completely awful. It didn’t feel like a threat. 

And for a second, before he apologized, you felt normal. You felt like all the scars had washed away. Like nothing ever happened. But that ache always comes back, doesn’t it? The smile behind your mask is awkward and tight. Meant to reassure, but not genuine (not like he could see it anyway). 

You soon after go to turn in for the night, trying not to think of Gaz’s warm body against yours.

On day six of your stay with the 141, you are awoken by Ghost (at a way too early hour) who through the door tells you to get dressed and to dress warm. The sun wasn’t up yet and from the dark clouds dancing their way overhead, it was going to rain soon. 

You love rain, the sound of it pattering on rooftops, and the calming smell that lingers. It reminds you of hopping around in puddles and streams as a kid in Mexico when your parents would ship you off for the summer. You try not to linger on your parents much. Especially when it rains.

Ghost knocks on your door again after ten minutes, you open it, dressed in a rain jacket and boots. You traded your normal cotton mask for something waterproof that won’t waterboard you in the soon-to-be pouring rain. 

‘Where are we going?’ You sign.

“Captain decided the weather is perfect for rucking.” 

Oh, fuck off. 

When you got to the gate, Price, Soap and Gaz were already waiting for the both of you. Price justified the ruck by explaining that the 141 should stay sharp and always be prepared to travel shitty terrain. Of course, they’re all British freaks (and one Scot) that are used to the shitty weather. When is it not raining in England? Price hands you a heavy prepacked backpack that weighs you down before heading up the trail.

After fifteen minutes of jogging up the forest trail, it begins to rain significantly. For the sake of you and the few times you almost eat shit while stumbling over uneven terrain, Price takes pity and switches to walking. It was for the most part quite aside from the sound of rain and rustling footsteps. Until Soap spoke up.

“Hey Rookie, I have a question,” he turns behind to look at you, careful not to trip over a tree root. You nod your head once to signal him to continue. “Can you make any sounds? Or are you really completely silent?”

“He’s not a bloody mime, Johnny.” Ghost butts in, which makes Gaz scoff. Soap ignores him and looks over to you. You think for a moment, you certainly could make noises, just not anything that involved your vocal cords. You put two fingers up.

“Two sounds?” Soap asks, and you nod in confirmation. First, you make a popping noise with your mouth. It almost stops everyone in their tracks as you create what can only be described as cute bubble noises. Ghost lets out an amused huff. Soap breaks into a wide smile and chuckles. “And the second one?”

For the second noise, you pull the fabric of the mask away from your mouth and let out a whistle. The sound rings through the forest and cuts through the sound of rain. 

“That one may actually be useful,” Price comments from the front of the line. A warm feeling bubbles up into your chest, you can’t pinpoint what it is.

After a couple of intervals of jogging and walking the rain starts to really pick up. The ground beneath you becomes slippery mud. If you were to stand in the mud for a couple of seconds you’d get stuck. The cold air starts to seep into your bones, fingers, and toes going numb no matter how hard you exert yourself. The backpack is not helping in the slightest as you try to gracefully travel through the path. Your bad ankle begins to throb.

“Almost there, Rookie.” Ghost mumbles, you almost don’t hear it over the battering rain thumping through your skull. You shoot him a look, knowing he’s teasing you. 

Eventually, you circle around and eventually reach the base gate you left from. From what you assumed the sun had risen and the base was starting to bustle to life. The rain shows no sign of stopping any time soon. 

You remove your backpack and hand it to Price before heading in to change into something that wasn’t completely soaked. As you enter your room your phone buzzes from your pocket. Thank goodness for military-issued phones and their indestructible cases, no amount of water or bullets could break that thing. 

Group chat: No Price Allowed

Soap: Rooookiieee

You: What do you want?

Soap: Do you plan on jogging during breakfast or do you want to join us in the mess hall?

You: no thanks, too loud in there

You: and not hungry 

Soap: would you hang out with us if we eat in the common room?

You: why do you want me to hang out with you guys?

Gaz: You don’t have to if you don’t want to. No pressure.

Ghost: leave him alone, Johnny.

Soap: just thought since you already did your morning jog with us, you wouldn’t have anything to do until breakfast was over 

You're skeptical. Soap hasn’t given you any reason to mistrust his intentions but he certainly felt like the type to have hidden intentions. Innocent or not. But he was right, you had no real tasks aside from following the 141 boys around for whatever they wanted you to do to prove yourself. You sigh, one more day, and you will either be on a plane back to the States or setting up permanently here.

They all seemed to like you… you think. 

Gaz has been the most evident. Working to make you look good on your first day. From what you have seen, he’s restrained himself from helping you more than needed. Through the past couple of days, he also invited you to hang out with the team outside of training and respected your decision you when declined. He even asked to learn ASL (which would be useless as a British citizen) just to be able to talk to you more comfortably.

Soap is a handful. He teases and jokes yet is always respectful of your personal boundaries. Whenever he asks to hang out he’s insistent and annoying but he has good intentions. He wants to include you, and show you that you belong in the team by any means necessary. He includes you in conversations and gives you a chance to communicate. He added you to a group chat on the first day.

Ghost isn’t as evident. Like you, he’s reserved. He’s not mean or rude, just quiet and observant. You find that you can sit in the same room with him and never make a sound and it’s never awkward or weird. If anything, it’s nice being able to have company but not have to interact with them. You don’t talk with him often, but when you do, he watches you intently as you sign. He tries his best to watch your eyes and figure out your facial expressions through the mask to understand what you mean. He sat with you during an episode and never pities you. He doesn’t treat you differently no matter your trauma and you’re extremely grateful for that. You have a sense he has his own problems, and on a subconscious level, it draws you to him. 

Price… is a special case. Ghost is distant but Price is simply unavailable. You don’t ask to have any sort of friendly connection with him. He’s your boss, not really someone to shoot the shit with. He’s around during training because he has to be, leaves to do paperwork or whatever being a captain of an elite task force entails, and if you’re lucky he’s around in the afternoon in the common room. Your conversations with Price have been almost all completely professional. But on a very rare occasion, he banters with you or asks you noninvasive questions like: how do you like your tea? Or: have you been to Russia before? You hate to admit it, but he reminds you of a dad.

After a moment mulling it over, you text back.

You: see you in the common room.

——-

After changing into something dry and warm you head to the common room where you’re surprised to see everyone already there, including Price and Ghost. They’re all sitting at the table, Gaz and Soap are eating while Ghost and Price are drinking tea and coffee respectively. They’re all dressed much more casually than you had expected, opting for hoodies and sweatshirts instead of their typical compression shirts and fatigues. There’s an empty chair in between Soap and Ghost that you slide into.

“We should go out to celebrate before Laswell sends us off on another mission,” Gaz comments and he takes a bite of his scrambled eggs. You shoot him a confused look. “Y’know, to celebrate you joining the 141!” If you were drinking something you would’ve spit it out in shock. You tap Ghost once on the shoulder and sign.

“He says: that’s not official, is it?” Ghost translates, he lifts up his mask just enough to take a sip of tea. You look away and look towards Price for an answer. 

“No comment.” 

“Which is basically a yes.” Soap quips.

“Rookie has shown to be up to 141 standards, has done well in all tests given, and has shown to work well with us. I don’t see why we have to beat around the bush, Captain.” Gaz says, waving his fork around with emphasis. You feel a warm feeling bubbling up in your chest by the praise. He’s right, you have worked hard and you have given Price no reason to think you wouldn’t do well in the field.

“Listen, I’ll be straight with all of you,”  Price looks directly at you. “You’re completely right, Kyle. Rookie has been exceptional and exceeded my expectations. Hell, I didn’t think you’d get past the second day. But,” he emphasizes with a short pause, “I want you to understand that this task force is more than just a task force. The 141 is not a group of coworkers who at the end of the day clock out and head home. We are a family, on and off the field. And it’s difficult to have an addiction member when frankly, we know very little about you. The only red flag that you have presented us was your file. Redacted to all hell.”

You stare at him, neither of your gazes faltering. Eventually, you have to drop your gaze towards your phone.

‘What do you want to know?’ You type. 

“Last mission, Panama, what went wrong?” He asks, the air turning thick with tension. Gaz and Soap have stopped eating.

‘Bad information, ambush.’

“Yet you made it out.”

‘I was on overwatch. Lost communication with everyone. Went down to check it out, and everyone was dead. An explosion went off.’

“Then what?”

Your knuckles turn white as you grip your phone tight. You’re sure everyone at the table can hear your heart beating in your chest. With shaky hands you type.

‘I was captured.’

Chapter Text

“Dove, do you copy?”

Silence.

“Diaz, do you copy?”

Silence.

“Sol, me copias?”

Silence. 

“If anyone can hear me, Cazador leaving post. Heading in. Report when you can.”

Silence. 

You sigh, picking up your sniper rifle. Your boots echo as you head down the fire escape towards the facility. You switch through radio channels, searching for any sign of your teammates. A chill runs up your spine, instincts telling you to hurry up. Maybe the connection was just bad, maybe a jammer in the warehouse was set up to block radio signals. 

“Entering building. If anyone can hear me, report status.” 

Silence.

Your breath stills as you enter the facility. The metal door creaks as it closes behind you. Your eyes scan the area, flashlight on your helmet helps you see through dark corners. It’s eerily silent. You take your handgun from your thigh holster and proceed.

With careful steps you walk towards the hallway on the right, and you try to remember the plan from the briefing that morning. You hadn’t paid the closest attention since your job was just to stay outside on sniper. 

It was suppose to be an easy misson.

You check every room in the hall. All empty aside from abandoned furniture, cobwebs, and dust. You can’t hear anything aside from your heart beating in your ears, your palms are sweaty and your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. 

“Does anyone copy?” You whisper into your mic. Then, you hear it. It’s your own voice. Someone is near.

You ignore the last few rooms and head straight towards the last room down the hall. You push on the double doors, they’re uncharacteristically heavy. Something is behind them. You grunt as you use your full body to push the door. There’s a thump behind the door, whatever was holding it closed toppled over.

As you push through an indistinguishable smell wafts up your nose, it churns in your stomach. It smelled raw and of iron. For a brief moment you’re reminded of your cousin’s farm. The last time they would see you again. The floor under your foot is wet and slightly sticky. It's dark, your flashlight is your only savior. There are lumps of something on the floor, you scan the room at eye level before looking down. 

Blood.

So much fucking blood.

You remember the meat harvesting season. 

You take in a sharp inhale as you back up in a panic but slip. You feel the cooling blood seeping into your clothing and onto your skin. You drop your gun as you slip in the red. Eyes wide in panic as you look around you. You grab behind you in leverage, it’s warm and soft. You turn, wide eyes staring back at you. Dove is lying there, her fair skin turned into a sickly gray, and her once warm brown eyes now bloodshot and dull. She’s covered in blood. Everyone is covered in blood. You can’t concentrate, you can’t identify wounds or who’s alive. You can’t call it in, your voice caught in your throat. 

What the fuck do you do? How many people can you carry? 

Before you can decide on anything, your fate is decided for you.

You’re thrown back by a large burst of fire, the explosion deafening as you hit the floor. 

The smoke fills your lungs, you can’t breathe. You have to get out. Contact someone, anyone. Tell them something went wrong. You drag yourself through blood and fire, your head dizzy and your eyes blurred. The roaring of flames and the smell of burning flesh fills your senses. Everything hurts yet at the same time you’re completely numb. 

Then, from the smoke you see something. A figure emerging— a savior? You almost don’t believe your eyes. Maybe, you were already dead and this was an Angel sent to get you. Maybe it was Diaz or your captain. Someone smarter and stronger than you. Someone you can trust to save you. 

You reach out, finding yourself in the grasp of satan. 

——-

Day 1

You never considered yourself a religious person. You’re Latino, of course religion ran deep in your culture but once you reached a certain age you stopped praying. At least traditionally you did.

When you wake up your head is pounding out of your skull. Your mouth is dry, and your throat is scratchy. Pain is the only thing you can register. Your back and shoulders are stiff, arms bent back and tied with rope. Your legs are tied onto what you can guess is the legs of a metal chair. There’s a bag over your head. 

Everything rushes back to you. Like waking up from a nightmare it all feels so surreal. The radio silence, the dusty rooms, the heavy door, the blood. The fire.

You wiggle around in your restraints, but they’re tightly tied around your limbs. The rope digs into your wrists, rubbing them raw. 

Then, you register that you feel lighter. You must’ve been stripped of your gear. The fabric on your body feels familiar, they didn’t strip you down completely. Which you couldn’t be more thankful for. 

The thumping of boots tears you away from your thoughts. Then, the creaking of a door. The footsteps draw closer, you can almost feel them. 

Suddenly, the bag is ripped from your head. The light above blinds you. You jerk your head down to shield your eyes, but a hand grips your hair harshly and pulls your face up.

“American military dog, eh? Sniffing around in places he shouldn’t be.” His voice is rough and deep with an accent you can’t place. Something Eastern European. You squint, trying to adjust your eyes to the light. You don’t say anything. “You’re special operations?”

You stay quiet. The hand in your hair tightens. 

“I don’t expect you to talk right now. It would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?” Your eyes adjust to the light and you can see him. An older man with dirty blonde slicked-back hair. The bottom half of his face is covered up by a cloth mask. He’s wearing a black dress shirt and slacks like he just came from a dinner party. His hand moves from your hair and grips your jaw, moving your head from side to side to examine you.

“Pretty for a man. It’s a shame, I have a few friends that would happily pay for something like you.”

You spit at his face, which earns you a slap that sends your head to the side. Your cheek burns but not enough to do any actual damage. 

“Disgusting mutt,” he wipes his face with his sleeve, eyes hardening as he pulls your face back up to face him. “You’re lucky I won’t do anything to you today. Was called last minute. Heard that a group of American military mutts was digging around. Had to get rid of them.”

His lips curl into a smile as he watches your expression change. You can’t hide it. They killed everyone.

“Now I have a bit of homework for you. I want you to think really long and hard about your little mission. And when I come back you will tell me everything I need to know. Because if you don’t-“ he slaps you again. “-I’ll have to keep you around til you’re begging me to kill you.”

Day 3

Nobody comes in for a couple of days. The only constant telling you that time is passing is the dripping water from the corner of the room. 

It’s, frankly, a shithole. Brick walls with exposed piping, the floor is cement and looks to have been cleaned from what you could guess to be blood, piss, and feces. At least they were nice enough to not let you rot in someone else’s filth. Still, the floor is stained and dirty, covered in dirt and dust. There are no windows, the only light being the overhead light that hangs above your head.

You’re thirsty. Your body doesn’t allow you to sleep for more than a couple minutes at a time, always alert. You shift around occasionally in the chair, hoping to relieve the pain and stiffness in your joints. You’re starting to fall in and out of consciousness. 

Then, footsteps. They’re not his, these are much softer. Voices behind the door talk for a moment. A man’s voice and a woman’s. After some back and forth, the door opens. A man in a black military uniform walks in, rifle in hand. Behind him a smaller woman in a large coat. She’s holding a jug. 

She says something in a language you don’t understand. With careful steps, she walks over and offers the contents of the jug. Water. You use all your strength to lift your head up to accept the water. She carefully pours it into your mouth. 

You almost forget to breathe as you drink. You don’t know when you’ll be able to drink water again.

“Enough.” The soldier by the door barks. The woman takes the jug away and backs away, her eyes glued to the floor. The soldier opens the door and pokes her with his rifle as he leads her out. Leaving you alone once again.

You’re not alone for long, after half an hour you hear a familiar pair of boots making their way to your cell. Just like last time, he walks in. This time with a rolling cart with several items on it.

“I hope you did your homework,” he rolls the cart next to you on your right. You catch a glimpse of metal before he grabs your hair and pulls you to face him. You let out a groan as pain shoots through your scalp. 

“Tell me, American, do you work for the American government? Or were you picked up by a private military company?” His breath is hot on your face, you scrunch up your nose as you try to get away from him. “Your dog tags say Alpha Five, my people didn’t find much on your little unit.” 

“That’s kind of the point.” You laugh weakly. The grip on your hair tightens before he slaps you. 

“You think you’re funny, eh?” You can’t help but shrug. 

“Tell me…” he calls you by your name. It sends a shiver up your spine, “… why were you sneaking around in that facility?” 

You don’t say anything. After a few moments, he lets go of your hair and walks over to the cart. You watch as his fingers glide over the instruments laid out. He finally decides on a medical scalpel. 

“Should we start counting the days you’re here? Might make it easier.” He walks around you, hand gliding over the helm of your shirt. “On your back should work, enough space to get to know each other, eh?” 

He grabs the back of your head and pulls you forward, there’s not much space since your arms are tied to the back of the chair but he manages. The small blade slices the top of your shirt, exposing your top back to the cold air. 

“You’ve been here, three days, yes?” He asks, not waiting for an answer before he starts slicing into your flesh. You tense, unable to register the first tally mark. You begin to thrash around, hoping to get away from the blade. A groan escapes your lips as he continues on the second tally, “It’ll hurt more if you move. It’ll be uglier too.” 

He pushes deeper on the third tally. You tug on your restraints, rubbing your wrists raw. Warm blood trickles down your back, collecting in your torn shirt. Once he’s done, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard was it?” He places the blade on the tray, it shines with crimson red. “I know you can handle more, yes?”

Day 7

The routine continues for the next couple of days. He comes in, slices a tally in your back, interrogates you and when you don’t answer, he punishes you. Occasionally, the woman comes by with food and water.

On the seventh day, when you’re unconscious, someone unties you from the chair and lays you down on the mat in the corner of the room. They put a heavy metal chain around your neck that’s attached to the far wall. 

You jolt awake as icy cold water hits you. Two soldiers you haven’t seen before stand above you. One holds a rifle while the other holds a now empty bucket. You back up into the corner, afraid of what they plan to do to you. 

The door behind them opens, and the woman from before enters with clothes in her hand. The soldier pokes her with the gun, pushing her towards you. You look up at her, as she gets closer. She’s much more afraid of you than you are of her.

She says something you don’t understand. She gestures at your wet clothes, before gesturing to the clothes in her hand. You shake your head, you can’t let them know. It’ll be much worse if they know.

She speaks again, insistent.

“Only if they turn around,” you nod towards the soldiers. They don’t move. Either they don’t know English or refuse to listen to you. The woman steps closer and kneels down, tugging at your blood and grime-stained shirt. You grab her arm, trying to push her away. She gasps in fear and the soldier points his gun at you. He barks something in a warning.

You let her go and put your hands up. Your eyes jerk between her and the soldier. The soldier who splashed you with water walks towards you, he grabs the chain around your neck and unlocks it. The soldier with the gun yells something at you but you don’t understand. Your best guess, he’s telling you not to try him.

The woman grabs your shirt with shaky hands and lifts it over your head. You do your best to hide it, hunching over. She takes a cloth that lays on top of the clothing pile and starts to clean you off. You watch as the cloth turns brownish-red with dried blood. She’s careful around your wounds. You can’t help but stare at her, scanning every cut and bruise. 

She eventually gets to your chest. She sees the scars. You can see her trying to process what they are, and what kind of wound would make that type of scar. Then it hits her, her eyes look up towards yours. You give her a pleading look, hoping she doesn’t say anything.

She looks back towards the soldiers before looking back at you. She hands you the new shirt. It’s a bit big on you, and the fabric scratchy. She also hands you a pair of old pants, better than nothing. You turn around, take off your dirty old pants, and put on the clean pair. 

She takes your wet clothes and backs away. One soldier locks the chain around your neck. They leave.

Day 8

The next day, the man walks in with his cart as always. 

“I think I’ve been very nice to you these past few days. I have let you have all your fingers and all your teeth. Even had someone bring you some new clothes. For the best, you started to stink.” 

You stay quiet, backed up against the stone wall. The man paces around the room.

“I should’ve known you were hiding something from me, eh? My mercy only goes so far.” 

He stops in front of you and kneels down. 

“You’re not a man, are you?” He whispers. Your eyes go wide, you look up at him. A wide grin spreads across his face. 

Day 15

Everything fucking hurts. You can’t walk, at least not with help. At some point. He’s no longer asking questions. He’s enjoying watching you scream and cry. You’re a toy. Nothing else. 

The woman comes in once in a while with food and water. A couple of times you have resorted to drinking the dripping water from the ceiling when she doesn’t arrive. You never know when they’ll be nice enough to give you any food.

It’s never anything pleasant. Always old bread or some sort of canned food. Sometimes the woman slides in some sort of pills. Either antibiotic or something to kill you. Either way, you don’t take them. Not because you’re scared they’ll kill you, but because you’re scared they won’t.

Day 22

You try to attack the guard. He got too close. You snap your teeth like a rabid dog, tearing flesh from his exposed neck. You only made it two feet out the door before they grabbed you and shoved you back inside. 

They give you a broken ankle, among other things. It’s swollen and blotchy. You can’t put any pressure on it. The woman comes by and wraps it up. You try talking to her, but she doesn’t know any language you speak. 

The slices on your back throb, probably infected. You can’t lay on your back. There’s a deep slice over your left brow, you hope the woman comes by with some water to clean it up. You can’t see through the blood. It's hard to sleep.

Day 28

You don’t know how much longer you can scream and cry. Your throat feels like sandpaper, but these days it’s hard to know when something hurts. It all blends together. The man no longer tells you how many days it’s been, he simply does his tally and continues on with the routine.

You know it’s late December, maybe early January. The cell is cold, much colder than Panama. There’s not much sound outside the dripping water and occasional footsteps outside. While knocked out they probably shipped you off. Canada? Russia? Somewhere cold. That woman is always wearing a coat.

Eventually, the dripping water freezes over. You no longer acknowledge the passage of time. 

Day 34

His patience is starting to run thin. This is no longer as fun as it was before. As he organizes his tools he mumbles to himself. Something about slicing off limbs. None of the tools on his cart are big enough to slice off an arm or a leg. Doubt you’d survive that. It would be a waste to just kill you off like that. You become a dog he gets to kick whenever he likes. 

He settles on slicing into your face. From the mouth, up your cheekbone, and into your hairline over your ear. It’s the deepest he’s gone. The metal scraps through the cheekbone and teeth. You scream and pray for mercy, trying to escape his grasp. He scolds you in a condescending tone. You almost drown in your own blood as it bleeds into your mutilated mouth. 

Day 39

You don’t remember what happened. You can no longer scream. No voice to protest his violence. You can’t eat. It hurts to eat. It hurts to do anything. 

Although the pain isn’t as bad anymore your ankle is completely fucked. You don’t try to escape. It’s no use. You can’t drag yourself out of the cell. You’re too weak. You’ve lost weight, your hair grown out and your skin stained. You don’t know your name anymore. You don’t know why you’re here. Why does he keep you here?

Day 42

You hear talking outside. They’re planning on getting rid of you. You’re no longer of use to them. You don’t offer anything to them anymore. You never gave them any information on your team or anyone involved. You are no longer enjoyable to poke and prod at, now that they can’t hear you scream and cry. And they doubt anyone will use resources to find you. There’s no one left who would look for you. 

You hope they kill you. Hope that this all finally ends. Who will you be if someone does find you? Your mother hasn’t talked to you in years. The family you’ve made in Alpha Five are all dead. How do you go back to the barracks? Everyone’s stuff is still there. Or maybe their relatives claimed their stuff. Maybe someone else is already in their beds. Some new recruits with bright eyes and the naivety that lets them believe they can change the world. 

What about your stuff? Is it in a box? Ready to be thrown away when they decide to mark you down as dead? Maybe you’re already dead. Maybe the funeral has already passed and your mother was given a folded American flag. She wouldn’t know what to do with it. Maybe put it in a drawer somewhere to collect dust, occasionally catching a glimpse of it while she looks for measuring tape or scissors.

Your sister will cry. You haven't seen her in years but she loves you so much. She would send letters before your mother caught her. She would write about her school life and what she had been getting up to. What new movies she had watched or a funny anecdote from her friends. Just small things that meant the world to her. Reading her letters made basic training bearable. It made the night you killed your first hostile not as hard. And you know it would make this entire situation so much easier. 

It makes it harder when you think about her hearing the news. You imagine her curled up in her bed, hugging a stuffed bear you gave her the week you left. Your mom would be rubbing her back and telling her it’ll be okay. Your sister was always her favorite. You know your mother wouldn’t be harsh with her like she was with you. She’ll let her cry and they’ll sleep together holding each other like your mother never held you. Maybe, when you are dead, she’ll regret the day she didn't.

Day 43

No one comes by today. Maybe they’re just going to leave you to die. You manage to find a sharp nail between a crevice in the far wall, you almost don't reach it. It takes a couple of tries but you manage to slice in a tally mark on your back. 

Day 44

There's talking outside again. They’re moving things. Possibly crates with drugs or weapons. You don’t know anymore, the mission that got you in this situation in the first place has long been forgotten. Why were you in that facility? Why did you decide to be a soldier? Why did you run away?

Day 45

There’s yelling from the outside of the door. It echoes through the halls like thunder. Then, comes the all-too-familiar sound of gunshots. It wakes you from your sleep, it’s all you can do most days. Your body works to conserve energy and keep you breathing as long as it can. But now, you’re more alert than ever. The gunshots ring through your skull, they get closer and closer. The sound of creaky metal tells you that they’re going through the hall, opening each cell one by one. You can almost hear a familiar ‘clear’ each time they open a door.

Then, they get to your cell.

They open the door, a group of five soldiers with flashlights attached to rifles shining in your eyes. You can’t make out the uniform. They're all in black, covered except for their eyes.

“Holy shit is that—“ the one in the front mumbles before turning to his radio, “Delta 4-1 to Alpha  0-1.” His radio clicks before a voice comes in from the other side.

“Alpha 0-1 to Delta 4-1, copy. What did you find?” 

“It’s the kid from Alpha Five. Requesting medical, he’s in tough shape. Holy fuck.” He almost can’t stand the sight of you. He’s worked with you before, on a small mission in Bolivia where you shared barracks with another team. What was the name of that team again? 

“Affirmative. Extract hostage, medical will be waiting outside.” 

They exchange a few more words before signing off. The man, Delta 4-1 takes a step toward you. You flinch, backing away. 

He pauses, “What they do to you, kid? C’mon, we have to get you out of here. Back home.”

Home? You don’t have a home anymore. 

He realizes you don’t plan on going anywhere nor do you trust them. He pulls his mask down, revealing the rest of his face. The first thing you notice is his dark mustache and the scar across his lip. He didn’t have that scar when you met him. What’s his name?

“Can you walk?” He asks, but his question is answered when his eyes fall to your ankle. It's an ugly color and bent wrong.  “Let me help you. We’re here to help.” He turns to his team, “Someone get bolt cutters, get that thing off his neck.” 

A woman dressed in a similar fashion walks up, large bolt cutters in hand. You flinch, closing your eyes as she draws near. The heavy sound of chains fills your ears, then the heavyweight is removed. You open your eyes, she’s looking at you with sadness you have never seen before. It's a look you’ve only expressed towards victims. Is that what you are now?

“Can my teammate help you?” She asks, nodding towards Delta 4-1. You look back at him, then nod. He slowly walks over, tossing his rifle over his shoulder. 

“Can you put your hands around my shoulders?” He asks. You nod again, he leans down and allows you to wrap your arms around him. The metal and plastic of his gear is cold to the touch, contrasting the warmth of his body. You haven’t felt that warmth in a while. He grabs onto your legs and pulls you up.

“Hostage secured, extracting.” He calls into the radio, before turning to his team. “Evans, come with me. Rest of you, clear the rest of the hall.” His team confirms in unison, you, Delta 4-1 and the soldier with the bolt cutters go left while the rest of the team goes right. 

You shove your face into the fabric of his jacket, the lights blindingly bright. Your skin rises in goosebumps as the cold winter air hits it. Fuck, it must be mid-January by now. 

Delta 4-1 carries you out of the facility in a fast jog. He calls something into his radio as he reaches the double doors that lead outside. There’s talking, so much talking. Murmurs and whispers.

“Is that Cazador?”

“Holy fuck I thought that kid was dead.”

“Look at his back.”

“Is he really what remains of Alpha Five?”

Your grip tightens, it’s all too overwhelming. Delta 4-1 leads you towards a large carrier vehicle away from the nearby soldiers. They ask you questions. What you remember, who did you see, how long you were in there, what happened? You couldn’t answer them. No sound came from your throat. 

The medic gives you a change of clothes, a warm jacket, and a thin blanket. She gives you water with electrolytes and steps out for a moment. She talks with Delta 4-1, concern laced in every word. You don’t have enough energy to listen in, nor do you want to. You know they’re talking about you.

“…we’ll finish clearing the building. Transport him back to base…” 

——-

From one cell to another, you’re stuck in a white hospital room with cold white lights. All your wounds have been treated, your ankle has been examined and your mouth wound stitched up. There’s an old rerun playing on the TV, something you saw with your sister when you were little. 

The nurse comes in once in a while to check vitals, she always gives you a sad smile before she leaves. It pisses you off how careful they are around you. You’re a soldier from Alpha Five. You’ve jumped out of moving vehicles, escaped cartel members, been shot at, and stabbed many times. Yet here you are, being treated like one small thing will set you off into a crying mess. You haven’t cried since you were rescued. It’s all numbing. 

The nurse came by with a tray of food earlier, chicken stock, oatmeal, and jello cups. Your body can’t handle much right now. You try to eat but your body is still on high alert, afraid of any near dangers which makes you unable to eat anything. 

There’s a knock at the door and a woman with blonde bangs walks in. You’ve seen her before, she’s worked with your unit before. What’s her name? Katie? Kathy? 

“Hello, my name is Kate Laswell, CIA. We’ve met before, in Hong Kong.” She closes the door behind her, a paper bag in her hand. “I know this isn’t the best time, but I know you have some questions. I do too. So I hope you don’t mind.”

You nod once. She sits in the visitor's chair beside your hospital bed. 

“Do you know how long you’ve been gone?”

You nod your head. How could you forget? Those days have been marked in your skin forever.

“You’ll be here for a while while you recover. There are some extensive injuries that need to be treated as well as infection and some… psychological issues. I’ve seen what this kind of stuff does to soldiers. You’re one of the best, but I understand if you wish you to be honorably discharged from service. But in the meantime, is there anyone I can contact to notify them of your status? Let them know you’re okay?”

You shake your head, everyone is gone.

“Then I hope you don’t get sick of me so soon because I’ll be coming by once in a while to check up on you. I’ll be setting up services to help you get through this. After being discharged from here I can get you an office job. And if you decide to come back to service I can find you a position in a new unit. If that’s alright?” 

You nod.

Chapter Text

“Captured?” Price repeats. The air in the room stills, Gaz is fidgeting with his fork.

“Capt. we shouldn’t-“ Gaz starts, he doesn’t like that Price is pushing you. 

‘Forty-five days. A compound in Lithuania.’ 

You look at Ghost, who had interrogated you the first day. You stare into his unreadable eyes, his shoulders tense and arms crossed over his chest. He never looks away.

“Rookie-“ Soap’s eyes reflect a certain pity and guilt that you’ve seen far too many times by now.

‘Don’t feel bad for me. I’m here because I’m not letting it affect me.’ You type. ‘If you don’t have any more questions for me Captain, I would rather not talk about it. You can bring it up to Laswell.’

The rest of breakfast is much quieter. Everyone has more questions, including Ghost who seemed the most hesitant to talk about your past. But nobody asks anything. They’ve already stepped the line and don’t wish to make it worse. 

You can’t read Price. He has not shown much regret in bringing it up. If anything he seems to be much more relaxed. You guess you understand somewhat. They’ve been betrayed before. A gap in your file made you look very suspicious, including your past job offers from Graves. What you were grateful for was that Price shows no sign of pitying you. He doesn’t look at you like the nurses did. But you are human, and you wish he wasn’t a dick about it. Maybe in a couple of years after nearly escaping death would you decide to tell them everything. But that story isn’t something you want to recount. 

The team decides to take the rest of the day off as a chill day. Despite that, Soap and Ghost head to the gym while Price goes off to his office for a video conference. Gaz decides to keep you company as you move to the couch to watch something. You can feel his eyes lingering on the side of your skull. You want to turn and glare at him but decide against it. Better to show that it isn’t a big deal. You flip through channels for a bit before eventually landing on some nature documentary about marine life. Jellyfish dance across the screen as a soothing voice describes their life spans. 

Sitting with Gaz isn’t like sitting with Ghost. When you sit with Ghost you’re not expected to make conversation or interact with him. You can just sit and do your own thing. But with Gaz, there’s a looming feeling of words waiting to be spoken. A bomb to go off. His high morals and wish to make things right bother you. You rather never have to confront anyone or anything. If you sit in silence, no one gets hurt.

“What’s your favorite type of cake?” He breaks the silence, though you expected an apology or an excuse. You turn to him, before looking up in thought. You grab your phone.

‘Chocolate.’ You type. He hums in thought.

“Really? I take you more of a Funfetti type of guy.” He teases. You roll your eyes playfully.

‘You seem like a carrot cake type of guy.’ 

He dramatically puts his hand over his heart, “That’s cold, rookie.” Your shoulders shake as you laugh silently, Gaz’s lips turn into a smile. His teeth are white and straight, maybe had braces as a kid. And his lips are full and a pretty dark pink color. 

‘Why do you ask?’ 

“Thinking about getting you a cake to celebrate you joining us. I’d bake something but the oven doesn’t work half the time.” 

‘You bake?’ You ask. Gaz nods, turning back to the TV as the documentary starts a section on sharks.

“Learned from my mum, she makes a really good pineapple upside-down cake. On leave, we can go back to my hometown and she can make one-.” A dark blush rises to his cheeks when he realizes what he implied. “I mean- you probably have someone to go on leave. But- I mean- the guys and I usually spend leave together.”

‘I have an apartment in the States, but I’m planning on selling it. Maybe rent something close to base.’ You shrug, ‘No reason to stay over there.’ There’s a sad look in his eyes.

“No family?”

You shake your head. ‘Dad’s been dead for a while now. Don’t talk to my mom and my sister isn’t allowed to talk to me.’’

He’s quiet for a moment, unsure what to say. 

“You know, um,” he starts quietly, he leans over a bit. “John… doesn’t really have anyone. Johnny doesn’t have the best relationship with his parents. And Simon… well you know, he’s Simon.” He scratches the back of his head nervously. “What I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone. And you don’t have to go through anything alone. I mean- we don’t have to have sleepovers and go to therapy together. But, if you just need a distraction or someone to tell you you’re being stupid, you got us. We’re a team.”

There’s a feeling in your chest that you can’t describe. It’s nauseating. It’s confusing. You don’t like it. Gaz is kind, he’s good. He’s willing to put his teammates first and he’s willing to reach out, even when it feels like the hardest thing in the world. You hate him so much. Yet, you can’t stop staring at his big brown eyes with adoration.

You sign ‘thank you.’

—

After the documentary ended you found yourself lying on the couch on your side, your feet tucked up so Gaz could sit on the far end. He pulled a large soft blanket from a large storage box that you hadn’t noticed before. It was much warmer than the one in your room. You debate whether you should steal it.

You give Gaz reigns on the TV, he pops in a movie you haven’t seen before. But the murmuring of the TV and the soft sounds of rain lull you to sleep before you get a grasp on the plot. 

Gaz can’t help but pay attention to your soft snores and rhythmic breathing. How your eyes look much softer asleep than when you’re awake. Your stare is often cold and tense, always professional. But now, here, you look like you’ve never seen violence. Part of him wishes he could take off your mask and see the rest of your face. He wants to know what it’s like to know you. But for now, he’ll settle in watching you in your most vulnerable state, asleep. 

Soap and Ghost eventually come back from the gym, damp from the locker room showers. They pause at the door when they see you sleeping on the couch and Gaz with his hand under his chin as he starts to fall asleep as well. They quietly walk in, Ghost heads directly to the fridge in search of an electrolyte drink. 

Soap quietly walks over to the couch, his hand running across Gaz’s shoulders. Gaz wakes from his slow descent to sleep and gently takes Soap’s hand in his. He kisses the back of it. Soap leans down to place a kiss on his forehead before whispering in his ear.

“You’ve managed to bore the Rookie to sleep. Good job, mate,” he teases, Gaz bats his hand at him in playful annoyance.

“At least he decided to hang around me, he avoids you like the plague,” Gaz retorts in a whisper. Soap gasps dramatically.

“That’s not true!” He grabs onto Gaz’s ear and tugs it lightly. Ghost takes a seat on the recliner which is closest to you. He watches as you start to wake from Gaz and Soap’s bickering. He can see your nose crinkle as your breathing changes. You squint, blocking the light from the TV with your hand. You groan silently and sit up, a bit of hair poking from the bottom of your mask. Something about it captures Ghost’s attention. He wants to grab it.

“Sorry to wake ye, lad. Gaz is being a dickhead.” Soap says. “You like me more than him, right?” You do a double-take as you process the question. You turn to Ghost to sign.

“He doesn’t like either of you.” Ghost translates, “I’m obviously the favorite.”

“Why would you be the favorite?” Gaz exclaims indignantly, Ghost shrugs.

“Because I mind my business.” 

You shoot Ghost with a glare that could kill a man. You all know that's not true.

‘You were the first bastard to ask me about my year off, my relations with the Shadow Company, and why I wear a mask. On the first day!’ You sign harshly. 

“Technically you asked me about the mask first,” he quips. You throw your hands up in defeat. “I… should apologize for that, though. I’m sorry for being a dickhead. You’re a good kid.”

‘Thanks. But I’m not a kid.’

“Still a corporal, though.”

‘That kind of promotion gets postponed when you’re presumed dead for two months.’

“Aye, it would be nice to be included in the conversation!” Soap interrupts and Gaz nods in agreement. You can’t help but laugh, they remind you of Thing 1 and Thing 2. Ghost rolls his eyes and reluctantly relays what you have said.

Gaz nudges at Soap with his elbow, “Rookie still on track to beat you for the youngest person to be promoted to Sargent. I’m down to put a good word in with Laswell and make it happen just to spite you.” Soap pouts.

You never cared to be promoted. Sure, the pay increase and the bonus were great but the rank meant nothing to you. Your superiors on Alpha Five didn’t treat you differently because you were a lower rank, they treated you no different from anyone else on the team. You see that same sentiment in 141, they’re family here. Still, you’re hesitant when it comes to talking to Price. 

“You think Price would mind if we stole his car and headed into town? Sucks to be cooped up all day.” You zone back into the conversation, Soap throws himself over Gaz. You understand the sentiment. Being in the military trains you to always be doing something, doing nothing makes everyone feel useless and anxious.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we borrowed his car.” Gaz groans, using all his strength to push Soap off him and onto the floor. He turns to you, “What do you say, Rookie? Town is pretty nice. And I’m sure there’s things you need to buy. Y’know since you’re basically unofficially officially a member of the team and will have to stick with us for a long while.”

He’s right. You’re curious about the town and are in desperate need of soap that doesn’t dry out your skin and softer blankets. So you agree. After a text to Price and a quick change into civilian clothing, you head into town.

The drive into town is nice. The thumping of the rain on the car is calming. After a small argument, Gaz ends up driving with Soap in the passenger seat who is fidgeting with the radio in search of any good music. Eventually, he lands on a song that you think you’ve heard before. You sit in the back with Ghost. It’s amusing to see such a large, intimidating man be shunned to the back seat like a child. It’s also odd to see so much more of his face, trading a balaclava for a black surgical mask and a black baseball cap. Blond hair peaks from under the cap, it looks soft. There’s some reminisce of black grease paint around his brown eyes. There’s a few light scars littered around his visible skin. The most noticeable one is a pink jagged scar across the top of his nose that’s just barely peeking out. He notices you staring.

“Knife fight,” he says simply. “Kept the knife after I gutted the fucker.” 

Jesus, and you thought you were troubled.

“That’s nothing compared to this-“ Soap from the front seat lifts up his shirt to reveal a gnarly scar. “-shrapnel. Was in surgery for hours while they tried to get every bit of metal out of me.” 

“Had to drag the muppet three miles to exfil,” Ghost shakes his head, “I oughta kill you myself for that scare.” 

Soap waves his hand dismissively, “takes more than that to kill me.” 

“If I wasn’t driving I’d show you, Rooks. Shoulder got scraped across the ground while I was hanging from a helicopter. It looked bloody disgusting.” Gaz comments, eyeing you through the rearview mirror. “You got any cool scars?” 

You think for a second, figuring out what non-torture-related scar was the coolest. You nod, pulling your left leg up to the center console and pulling your pant leg up revealing a large scar that wraps around your calf. Soap hisses as he examines the scar. 

“What the hell caused that?” Ghost asks, tilting his head.

‘Escaping some cartel members in Brazil. They sent their dogs after me and one of them got me while I was jumping a fence. Got a shit ton of shots afterwards.’ You type. Soap’s face lights up in a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

“That’s bloody horrible!” He laughs. You were always told it was a great story to tell at parties.

“Got something similar,” Ghost rolls up his hoodie sleeve, revealing a similar but smaller scar on his left arm. “Not as bad, though. K-9 unit got me, thought I was a hostile.” You’re eyes light up at that and quickly type out on your phone.

‘Happened to me too! My unit and I worked with Shadow Company on a mission and they grazed my shoulder! My captain practically ripped him a new one!’ 

“That makes two of us,” Soap smiles, patting his shoulder, “got shot by Shadows in Mexico.” When you look at him with a confused look he only says, “Long story.”

Eventually, you make it to town by lunchtime, the rain has calmed down to a soft drizzle but based on your weather app (that the military so graciously let you have) it would pick up in a couple of hours. You follow the boys as Soap talks about a bistro he had been wanting to try but due to 141 business, he hadn’t had the chance to try it. So you all agree to go, although a bit reluctant to eat in public. You debate how you would work around hiding your face while eating as you walk down the street. Although it was raining, it didn’t stop the locals from going out and enjoying the day. It reminded you of the times you would take your sister to the park to jump in puddles and look for worms.

Ghost holds the door as you enter the bistro. You sign in relief as you feel the warm air hit you, finally free from the cold air you’ve been subjected to since this morning. It’s a cute place, small with warm lighting. The walls are covered in plants, books, and framed paintings. You and the other three large military men look out of place in such a cozy restaurant. 

You’re guided by the waitress to a table in the back of the restaurant. You visibly relax as you sit down. There’s no one near you and your group. The waitress hands everyone a menu, takes drink orders, and leaves. 

You look over the menu, unable to decide. As much as the sandwich on the menu looks appetizing you can’t run the risk of revealing the gash on your mouth. Instead, you settle for a chicken noodle soup. Spoons are much easier when you’re hiding your face. You don’t notice your leg bouncing anxiously until Ghost ‘accidentally’ brushes his knee to yours. You sign an apology and look down towards the silverware in front of you, only kinda listening to the conversation between Gaz and Soap. Probably about a football game or something that happened on base. Drinks come by after a couple of minutes. You point towards the item you want and Ghost orders for you. 

“Kinda feel bad leaving the Captain back at base,” Gaz confesses, swirling his straw in his cup. “He’s been working all week.”

“Duties of being a captain,” Ghost shrugs. “Especially with a new member, high-ups have been real annoying lately.” 

‘What about me?’ You ask.

“Not necessarily about you. But with the introduction of the possibility of a new member to the task force plans get shifted. Adding us to new missions we couldn’t previously do and whatnot. Higher-ups busting balls and barking orders at us before we even know what’s going on.” He explains dryly. Sometimes you forget that Ghost is a lieutenant. Maybe it’s the mask that makes him look more like a scary omen than a superior officer.

“Aye, we’re off base and out of uniform. No boring work talk,” Soap says. Ghost rolls his eyes. “I’m sure Capt. would rather have us off base instead of bothering him.”

“You’re the one bothering him,” Gaz mumbles. 

Food arrives quickly after. Your stomach rumbles as the waitress places the warm soup in front of you. As everyone else is busy with their own food you lift your mask just enough to get a spoonful under. You could cry, after a week of shitty mess hall food, this is heaven-sent. You could walk into the kitchen right now and kiss the cook square on the lips. 

Lunch goes well. Light conversation flows through the table as you eat. There’s a certain feeling in your stomach that you can’t describe when you catch the three of them purposely looking away when you grab your mask to shove some soup into your mouth. It's nice to know they aren’t trying to sneak a peak. You doubt they would try to violate more personal boundaries. 

When the bill comes you practically jump over the table to get the check but Ghost snatches it before you can. He says something about ‘making more money as a lieutenant than you do as a corporal’ as he puts his card in the booklet. You’re surprised he even has a debit card, he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to go to the bank or go to the DVLA. Does he have a license? You doubt it considering Gaz and Soap didn’t let him anywhere near the car keys. After everything is paid for you head out, the rain starting to pick up again.

—

“Don’t get that brand, it’s absolute rubbish.” Gaz comments. You’re all standing in the coffee and tea aisle of a store with a stupid name you can’t try to remember. You lean against the cart, watching as Soap and Gaz argue over coffee brands. Ghost slips past them and grabs a couple of boxes of tea, all different types. 

“You drink tea?” He asks, dropping the boxes in the cart. You shrug.

‘Occasionally.’ You sign. 

“Any favorites?”

‘Black and herbal teas are nice.’ 

He hums, walking back to the shelf and grabbing a few more types. Gaz and Soap finally decide on getting both coffee brands they had argued about for the last five minutes. You continue walking through the aisles, occasionally getting weird glances from people as you walk by. You pull up your hood and lower your head as you man the cart towards the snacks, Soap leading the way. 

“You don’t want anything?” Ghost asks. You look over the wall of snacks. He watches your eyes scan the assortment of boxes and bags. Your eyes land on a bag of biscuits (cookies if you’re normal). His eyes follow your line of sight and fall onto the bag. Without a word, he grabs two bags and puts them in the cart. You raise your hands to argue but he turns away, getting his own snacks.

You fidget with your sleeve as you continue on. Each person gets something for themselves as well as stuff they know Price to like. You’re reluctant to grab anything, but after Ghost asks you if you want a pack of energy drinks you had been eyeing, you give in. 

As Ghost and Gaz stay back to pay for everything and take it to the car, you head out with Soap to a store across the street. You grab a comforter, a blanket, some new clothes, and some essentials like body wash and deodorant. Soap follows you around with the cart, not saying much as you look over some hair clippers, deciding it’s probably time to shave a year's worth of hair. You eventually decide on a fairly cheap one.

“How much hair ye got under that mask, aye?” He asks, squinting his eyes as though through some miracle he would gain powers to see through your mask. Seeing no harm in it, you lift your mask far enough up your neck to pull a long strand of hair at the base of your skull. “If ye want I can help you with your hair.”

‘Fat chance,’ you sign, even though he doesn’t understand. But the look you give him translates just fine. He puts his hands up defensively.

“I’m just saying, L.T. almost scalped me last time I let him near my clippers. I cut his hair all the time. I am very trustworthy when it comes to mask-wearing folk.”

You shoot him a surprised yet confused look. Ghost has shown him his face? You can’t imagine showing Soap your face. He seems like the type to tell everyone what you look like after getting a peak. But yet again, Ghost isn’t one to trust too easily you think. Soap tells you to think about it before continuing on.

After getting everything, Soap helps you carry the bags to the car. Gaz and Ghost sit in the car, listening to something on the radio. 

“We should hurry back, it looks like the rain is really picking up,” Gaz thumps his fingers on the steering wheel nervously as you and Soap get into the car. You all agree, any more time in town and it’ll be impossible to see through the rain. The rain taps on the car like insistent fingers as the car pulls out and into the road. Luckily the road to base is fairly empty. Gaz seems a bit tense driving in dangerous conditions but Soap makes conversation to ease his mind. It’s odd to see a spec ops soldier who has been in life-and-death situations so stressed about wet pavement. 

It isn’t until the warm car air hits you that you realize that you’re soaked. Your mask clings uncomfortably to your skin and you curse yourself for not wearing the waterproof one from the ruck. Your hoodie is cold, but you decide to deal with it. If you had worn a long sleeve underneath you would’ve taken it off. But unfortunately, you decided on an old band t-shirt that you had ripped the sleeves off. 

The scars you wear on your skin are ugly. You thought that the second you got them until the second they healed. There was no cool story behind them. The scars littered all over your body weren’t from jumping a fence, or a knife fight, or jumping out of a moving vehicle. They were made by one man who wanted to see you scream and cry. Who wanted to see how far you can push the human body until it breaks. How far you can push and pull the skin, tear muscle, and rip sanity. At some point, you had realized, it was never about getting information. It was pure, unadulterated evil.

Ghost watches as you shiver from your seat, pulling at your hoodie sleeves. He knows the kind of inner turmoil that is tearing your brain apart. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know how to say anything. Instead, he turns to face the passing trees as they near the base. 

He hopes that some comforting words will come to mind. Some sort of reassurance that would let you know that you don’t have to suffer alone. And that whatever is under that mask and hoodie is something that can be loved just as his team loves him with all his fucked up shit.

As they pass the front gate his voice gets caught in his throat. Instead, he stays quiet. Maybe tomorrow he’ll try again.

—

You were called into Price’s office after dinner. He sat in his office, papers, and files scattered across his desk. He holds a pen between his lips and he looks at something on his computer. His eyes are strained and tired from looking at the monitor all day. You don’t think he left the office all day except to get something to eat. He looks up to you as you sit down, a tight smile on his face. He addressed you by name.

“I wanted to talk about a few things. If you don’t mind.” He starts, grabbing a small stack of papers from the far corner of his desk. “First, I want to apologize for my behavior this week. I’ve been… distant. Haven’t engaged with the team outside of training and have not worked with you. If anything I have been working against you. But you have only proved to me that you're a valuable asset to our team.

I was so focused on protecting my team and being a captain to them that I forgot to be a captain to you. I’ve been a bad leader and I hope you can forgive me. Especially after this morning. It was completely unacceptable for me to ask you such questions, especially in front of everyone. I’m sorry.”

He places the small stack of paper in front of you. It’s the contract that signs you to the 141. Your eyes blow wide with shock. Even if you could speak you wouldn’t know what to say.

“Normally, I would have a conversation with the rest of my men before doing something like this. But it seems they have already accepted you as part of the team. All that’s left is that you accept us.”

Chapter Text

When you went to bed you found yourself having a hard time falling asleep. Who wouldn’t? You just signed your contract making you an official member of Task Force 141. It was nerve-wracking as hell. It was a commitment you hadn’t really processed until now. You were contractually obligated to work with those four men for the next five years… at least. Would you make it to five years? Hell, you didn’t think you’d make it to twenty. Yet here you are, barely making it in the world years later. Working as a member of the 141 meant so many things it made your head spin. One question stood out above all the rest.

Would you have to come out to them?

It’s not something you were ever good at. Your parents didn’t take it well. Alpha Five had been so welcoming and supportive of you, even putting in money to get you top surgery a year into your contract with them. Yet coming out to the 141 was terrifying. This past week you’ve grown to enjoy their company (although you would never admit that) and ruining the camaraderie you have built was the last thing you wanted to do. But you know it’s something they will have to learn about eventually. But for now, it felt too soon.

As much as you wanted to lay in your bed and overthink everything you closed your eyes and tried your best to fall asleep. You had a briefing with Laswell in the morning for your first mission.

Your stomach churned at the thought. You’ll officially be back on the field soon. Would you be able to stay focused? Would you stay you? Or would you become something haunted?

—

The rain clouds still lingered in the morning, though it didn’t stop recruits from starting their day running drills. Price has sent a message early in the morning about a meeting with Laswell. So that’s where you were headed. When you arrive at the meeting room Price is already there. You get a feeling of deja vu as you walk in. Price looks up from the laptop he had been typing on.

“Mornin’ Rookie.” He says, his voice still rough from waking up early. You lift your hand in greeting as you take a seat. It doesn’t take long for Gaz to walk in with two coffees in hand. He places it next to Price and takes his seat next to him. Price greets him quietly and takes a sip of the coffee.

“You think Soap will be late again, sir?” Gaz asks with a grin. Price huffs in amusement.

“I’ll put him on patrol duty for the rest of the year if he is.” You don’t think Price is joking. But through some miracle Soap walks in after a few minutes followed by Ghost. They sit in their usual spots with Soap next to you and Ghost next to him on the other side of Price. There’s not much to do while you wait for Laswell aside from making small talk. Gaz is looking over Price’s shoulder to see what he’s doing on the laptop while Soap scrolls on his phone. It’s a bulky thing just like yours, made to withstand anything. Ghost sits quietly with his arms crossed, occasionally glancing over at the clock or Soap’s phone. 

There’s a familiar knock at the door. For a moment, you think back at the hospital when Laswell introduced herself to you. 

Lawsell walks in, all heads turning towards her as she says a quick, “Good Morning.” She places her bag on the table and pulls out a laptop and a pile of yellow folders. She slides the folders to the center of the table and plugs her laptop into the projector.

“How did it go? I should ask before anything,” she asks, eyes on Price. 

“Went well, Laswell. You were right.” He says simply. A smile spreads across her face.

“Of course, it went well, I know my men and how they work. It’s sad you had so little trust in me,” she jokes dryly. “I'm assuming you’re ready to sign?” She asks you, but Price answers for you.

“Already taken care of. Signed last night.” 

That makes Gaz and Soap jump out of their seats in surprise, cheering as if their team won the championship. Even Ghost’s always stoic expression falters, not expecting it to be done so soon. They all turn to you as if expecting some sort of answer to an unknown question, you just shrug. 

“Perfect, then we can start with the briefing, then.”

The mission wasn’t anything you haven’t done before. It was actually relieving to see that it seemed fairly simple. Collect intel on the location of hostages, then retrieve hostages. 

Laswell explains that the hostages consisted of women and children of rich families. The group behind it, which was known as La Red, looked to extort them for insane amounts of money from their families. The problem was that there was a very high chance that the group would take the money and either sell the hostage or straight up send them back to their families in a box. 

To gather intel you’ll be infiltrating a La Red base in central Mexico. Which made you light up behind the mask. Being in Mexico again, with other Latinos, with Mexican food and culture was something you craved since you ran away. The summers you spent in Mexico were the best, especially considering you didn’t have to be anywhere near your parents. You knew you were there for serious business, but you couldn’t help it. Being in Europe increased the homesickness tenfold.

Laswell continues to explain the plan and what to expect. Which includes staying in a Mexican special forces base. She mentions having support from a team over there who also had business with La Red. Soap and Ghost seem fairly happy to be meeting old friends, whoever they are. 

“You’re leaving tonight. Read up on your files and pack up. It’ll be a long flight.”

—

After the meeting, you head straight to your room to pack. Your hands are sweaty both from excitement and anxiousness. It would be unfortunate if you messed up your first official mission with the 141. Any anxious or excited thoughts in your mind get swept away when you open your door and see a box on your desk. You approach it with careful steps, hoping it isn’t something dangerous. You sigh in relief when you read the sticky note on top of the box.

From K. Laswell.

Found this in a storage room back in the States by chance. Thought you’d want it back.

With curious eyes and equally curious fingers, you lift the lid. You almost don’t believe it. You rustle through the stuff, touching everything to make sure it’s real. 

Inside there are some old patches you were meant to sew onto your gear but never had the chance to. One of the patches is the insignia for Alpha Five, a two-headed dog with a spiked color with ‘Alpha 5’ written on it. There’s also a Mexican flag patch and a few that your teammates had made. You’re eyes tear up as you hold the insignia patch, but you wipe any tears before they can fall. You sniffle as you place the patches to the side, making a mental note to sow them on something. 

As you continue to look through the box you find an old journal you never managed to keep. The leather is basically new except for the large scratch on the cover from a knife from someone fucking around in the barracks. Inside there are a few entries you made in your first month in your old unit. It’s simply short passages that don’t hold much value. Just anxiety and excitement of being part of such an important team.

There’s a bit more junk inside, stuff like souvenirs from missions, a couple of CDs, and a book. But what really catches your eye is two MP3 players. One is pink with a sparkly rubber case and the other is black with a black rubber case. You snort, remembering the shitty joke bit you had. The pink MP3 player was specifically for any alternative music while the black one was for Latin songs. Luckily there’s a charger inside the box for the MP3 players as well as a set of old earbuds. You try turning both of them on, and to your surprise, they’re both at almost complete battery and working. 

You smile, something to make the plane ride more bearable.  

—

After packing you find that you have a couple hours to spare before you head out. So when Soap invites you to work out at the gym you decide to tag along. You never liked gyms, especially before your transition. Too many eyes and too much testosterone make you feel out of place. You would feel like an imposter and the facade could be destroyed in a second. But when you go to the gym with your new teammates, you feel like you belong. That nobody won’t look at you odd because Soap or Gaz or Ghost is beside you. You’re 141 now. After warming up with some stretches and a jog you wrap your hands and head to the punch bag. 

There are eyes everywhere. You can feel some burning at the back of your skull as you swing some punches. The sound of the shaking chain that holds up the punching bag and the deep thuds of your fists can’t drown out the sound of mumbling.

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice calls behind you. You ignore it, hoping that they’re not talking to you. “Hey,” he says again, this time tapping on your shoulder. You flinch, jerking your body away as you turn to face him. The stranger is a bit younger than you, and probably a lower rank. He’s taller so you have to look up at him. He raises his hands up defensively as you glare at him. “You’re the new 141 guy, right?” 

You nod, fidgeting with the wraps on your hand. You unwrap and rewrap the Velcro.

“Huh, so what do you do in the task force? You know, since they all seem fit to be spec ops. You look like a kid compared to them, right?” He jokes, turning back to a group of soldiers who are watching. You don’t find it funny. “C’mon! Learn to take a joke.”

You brush him off, turning back to the punching bag and hoping he would just leave. 

“Why do you wear that mask? You all fucked up under there?” He continues to prod. He walks around so you can see him through your peripheral vision. His hand lingers on your waist. “Or are you a girl? That would make sense. Since you’re smaller than them. Hiding that you’re a girl so they accept you as part of the te-.”

Before you can register what happened, he’s on the ground holding his jaw and your fist hurts. A couple of his friends run up to help him up. A fairly large soldier stares you down, he’s waiting for you to give him a reason to attack you. But before you can raise your fist Soap runs through and puts space between you and the group. 

“Aye, what’s going on?” He asks, raising his hands between you and the group. You’re pissed, glaring down at the fucker that talked to you.

“Fucker punched me!” He groans, blood spilling from his mouth and onto the floor. “Think he broke my jaw.”

“You’re fine, someone take him to medic.” Soap turns to you, eyes full of concern. “Rookie, what happened?” You don’t have your phone so you just shrug. You flex your hand, the pain shooting through your knuckles. 

With the help of one of his friends, the soldier stands up. He spits at you, blood hitting the floor beneath your shoes.

“Faggot, need help from your boyfriend...” He mumbles as he walks away, hand on his jaw. 

Soap shoots him a look before grabbing you by your hoodie sleeve and pulling you toward the locker rooms. He basically throws you onto the bench. He pulls his own phone from his pocket and hands it to you.

“What the fuck happened?” He questions, looming over you. His brows furrow as he watches you type on his phone.

‘He was being an asshole.’ You type. You lift the phone up to face him. 

“In what way, lad? Because I can’t have a subordinate just punching recruits for looking at him weird.” His arms cross over his chest, waiting for a response.

‘He was doubting my place in the team.’

‘He called me a girl.’

“Why the fuck does it matter what he thinks? Especially some stupid teasing? You’ve been in the military long enough, you should know how to handle bullies. And not by attacking them.” 

You’ve never seen Soap act like this. The entire week you’ve been here you’ve seen him be whiny, and childish, and flirty, and helpful. But you have never seen him act like a superior officer before. It makes your eyes well up with tears.

‘He grabbed me. I defended myself.’ You hand Soap his phone back and look down at the floor. Your foot is tapping on the concrete floor anxiously. Soap signs, sitting down on the bench opposite of you. He rubs his temples in frustration.

“Listen- I’ll take care of it. If he files anything I’ll tell ‘em what you said. I’ll also tell them what he called you.” He’s looking at you, but you can’t look up at him. Your mask has always hidden your face and your emotions. But right now you feel like Soap can see all of you. You sniffle, unwrapping the hand you punched the recruit with. Flexing your fingers, you examine your hand. There are a few scars on your hand, some from work and others from last year. Soap calls your name, and you can’t help but look up at him. His eyes soften when he sees your tearful ones.

“You alright?” He asks softly, he reaches his hand out. Fuck, you didn’t want to cry in front of him. Or any of them. Ever. Yet here you are, wiping tears from your eyes. He grabs the sleeve of your still-wrapped hand and pulls it towards him. He slowly unwraps your hand, as though he’s giving you enough time to pull back away from him. But you don’t. All you can do is nod.

After that, Soap walks with you back to the rooms. You can’t help but notice the bullet scars he mentioned yesterday. With the gym tank, you can see all the smaller scars on his arms. Jesus, he looks like he can crush your skull with those arms. 

“Do you ever get hot in that hoodie?” He asks as he follows you to your room. You nod then shrug. You’ve gotten used to it at this point. You don’t really think about it since transferring over to the 141. Europe is cold as hell. You unlock your door with a beep, but Soap stops you.

“Hold on for a minute I got something for you.” He says, rushing to his own room. You stand by your door, tapping your foot anxiously as you wait. You can hear some quiet Scottish cursing from his room. Then, he reappears holding something. He hands it to you with a shy smile. 

“We were going to get you a cake and everything but that won’t be able to happen til we get back from the mission. But I wanted to get ahead of everyone else and get you something.” You grab the folded-up black fabric from his hands. You unfold it to see it’s a zip-up hoodie. On the left sleeve is the 141 insignia patch and on the right sleeve is the Mexican and American flag patches. You can’t help but smile as you run your fingers across the patches. The fabric is soft and light.

“Welcome to the 141, Rookie.”

You tear up a bit. Fuck, second time today.  You wipe a tear away with the back of your hand. You sign a ‘thank you.’ 

“Glad you like it. I, uh, got some packing to do still so I’ll go do that before L.T. gets on my ass about it.” His cheeks grow pink. You can’t help but smile as he gets flustered at his own actions. He raises his hand as if he were to pat you on the shoulder but quickly puts his hand down. You’ve seen him pat Ghost and Gaz on the shoulder, a sign of camaraderie. He’s unsure if he can touch you. The thought of him touching you doesn’t bother you. So you pat his shoulder and give him a thumbs up to let him know he's allowed to. The pink of his cheeks turns brighter. “Really? You don’t mind?”

You shake your head and puff out your chest. The action makes him laugh. He gently pats your shoulder twice. He wouldn’t admit it but getting the chance to touch you, even for a second, makes him feel like he’s won the lottery. Something about knowing that only he has been given the privilege makes his heart beat a little too fast. He can’t wait to brag to Ghost later. 

After Soap heads to his own room, you finally enter yours. The hoodie Soap gave you smells like him. He smells like clean laundry, pine, and a sweet spice smell you can’t identify. You can’t help but pull the fabric up to your nose and breathe it in. It’s a comforting smell. 

But the thought hits you. Are you attracted to Soap? He’s certainly attractive, you won’t deny him that. But him ? You spend a week with the guy and you’re already getting a sickly feeling in your stomach? This is ridiculous. You don’t want to even consider the possibility of a crush. Dating in your line of work isn’t something you do. Or at least you don’t do it successfully. There’s always the risk of death. Not to mention that if it doesn’t work out and you break up what are you going to do? Leave the team? You don’t just leave a spec ops task force. 

Even if you do entertain the idea of being interested in him, would he even accept you? Would he ever want to be with a guy? A trans guy for that matter? Would he accept you for all the fucked up shit that keeps you up at night? The scars that you wear shamefully on your body? 

You take off your hoodie. The feeling of cold air hitting your skin sends a shiver up your spine. You also take off your fatigue shirt and switch it for a soft old white band shirt. The band logo on the front is so faded you almost can’t see what band it is. You put on the zip-up, trying to ignore how much you like the feeling of it on your body. Your face heats up at the thought.

You do not like Soap, you tell yourself. But you’re not so sure.

Chapter Text

The plane ride sucks. It’s a small private military plane with enough seats for eight people. But the sheer size of the 141 men makes it feel like there’s only space for four. Laswell sits on the left side of the first row with two seats to herself, her bag in the open seat as she works on something on her laptop. Price is on the other side of the first row, he’s looking over the files for the mission. Soap and Gaz are sleeping in the back rows, both taking up two seats each. Ghost sits in the middle left seat, he rests his chin on his elbow while he looks out the small oval window. You don’t know if he’s looking at the stars or sleeping. And finally, you sit in the middle row on the right side. You’re glad you brought your MP3 players, deciding to listen to some music from the pink one. The music is low enough that you can hear Price whisper questions and thoughts about the mission to Laswell but not enough to hear Gaz’s soft snoring behind you. 

You can feel a large mass move to sit beside you. You turn, catching Ghost’s hesitant eyes.

“What are you listening to?” He whispers, leaning a bit toward you. You slip your earbud out from under your mask and hand it to Ghost. He pulls the earbud under his mask. You carefully watch his reaction. You’re playing a nu-metal song, an old one that you picked up from a high school friend who spent his weekends going to basement shows and underage drinking. When you came out to him he offered to cut your hair short for you and give you some of his clothes. You never knew what happened to him after you left. 

“Not bad, what about the other one?” He asks, nodding his head toward the black MP3 player peeking out of your pocket. You crack a smile, imagining what Ghost would think of Latin music. You swap players and hit play. It opens with a trumpet, followed by soft playing by the rest of the band. A woman sings softly about unrequited unconditional love. It’s a soft cumbia that your mom would often play in the early mornings while she did chores around the house. Ghost doesn’t say anything, instead, his head bobs ever so slightly to the song. 

“What's the song about?” He asks. You sign along with the song, translating the lyrics for him. He watches you intently and hums in understanding. “It’s nice.”

The two of you sit there for a while, listening to song after song. Eventually, the soft singing begins to lull you to sleep. Your head falls to Ghost’s shoulder as you fall asleep.

Ghost tenses as he feels your head on his shoulder. He doesn’t know if it’s because you’re touching him or because he’s touching you. He carefully pulls the earbud out of his ear and places it on your lap. He concentrates on the pattern of your breathing until he relaxes. You snore softly on inhales, he notes. 

When Soap wakes up he finds the both of you asleep on one another. It’s one of the few moments where Ghost looks at peace. Though, it took him forever to gain enough trust with Ghost to let him fall asleep on him. He assumes that Ghost finds it easier to hang around you because you know what it’s like. Soap knows about it, everything that happened with Ghost. He’s sat with him after shitty nightmares, been there when it’s hard for him to ‘come back’ after missions, and supported him when all he needed was someone to look out for him, even when he won’t admit it. They all look out for him, it’s the relationship that has blossomed in 141. It’s beyond a friendship, but they wouldn’t put a name on it. No matter the amount of stolen kisses or late nights. It just happened naturally and nobody says anything. Maybe it’s because they’re military men, hardened soldiers who aren’t supposed to talk about feelings. Maybe it’s just awkward to put a label on something so simple yet complicated.

You wake up when you feel the plane start to descend. Ghost is gone, back to his seat talking to Soap about something. It’s something about their last time in Mexico. How they hope it isn’t a shit show like last time. You don’t know much about it aside from the major stuff. It’s weird to think about Graves, having worked alongside the Shadow Company before and only for him to be a traitor and well, gone. In a different universe, you would’ve been working for him. 

As the plane lands you can’t help but be grateful for the dry Mexican months. Being in Mexico during the wet months would’ve actually killed you. Being in a mask and hoodie does not work with the humid summers. Out the window, you can see two men waiting for the team on the tarmac. As you grab your bags and walk out of the plane, they walk over.

“Ghost! Soap! Compadres! How are you?” The taller man barks out as he walks closer. You can’t help but notice his sharp tiger smile. Good lord. He greets Gaz, Price, and Laswell before his eyes fall on you. “You must be the new recruit, eh?” His eyes fall to the hoodie you’re wearing, the one Soap gave you. He notices the flags on your sleeve. “Eres Mexicano?” He becomes visibly confused when you pull your phone out and type.

“Temporarily mute, no need to worry. He’s a good soldier,” Price says. You try to ignore it but it makes you smile under the mask. 

‘Mis papas son de mexico, yo creci en los estados.’ You type.

“Ah, eso no importa. Eres Mexicano.” His voice is deep and rough, similar yet different from Ghost’s. There is familiarity in him. It relaxes you in a way you hadn’t felt before. It feels like home. “I’m Alejandro,” he gestures towards the other man, “this is my right hand, Rudy.” You greet them and give them your name. 

The group follows Alejandro and Rudy around base, it's much smaller than the one the 141 stays at. Soldiers roam the base, some wearing a Vaqueros insignia. It's a much cooler name than 141 or Alpha Five. 

“There’s limited space so you’ll have to share rooms,” Rudy says, leading you towards the rooms. Laswell and Price had already left for their private rooms since they were higher in command. You wanted to curse at Price as he smugly left. Now you were stuck between deciding who to room with. Honestly, you rather sleep outside than share a room with any of them.

“Who do you want to stay with, Rookie?” Gaz asks. You tense as everyone turns to you.

‘None of you.’ you sign, Ghost huffs. 

“If you want you can sleep outside, just hope a snake doesn’t slither into your boot,” he jokes, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. You wouldn’t worry about snakes at this time of year. Maybe coyotes or small rodents. 

You sigh, taking a moment to figure out who the lesser evil is. Gaz is friendly and accommodating but to a bothersome amount. You already know he’ll go far to be the best roommate and in the end, it’ll make you feel bad.

Soap is… Soap. With what happened back at base you can’t imagine sleeping in the same room as him. Yet, you find yourself comfortable around him. He’s good company and considering that Ghost hasn’t put his head in a wall makes you believe that he would respect the privacy you need. 

And then there is Ghost. A distorted mirror image of yourself. You know he won’t bother you with conversation and even if he did you wouldn’t mind. It's easy to sign to him instead of typing out what you want to say. Not to mention it would feel easier to deal with the whole mask situation with him. At the same time, you’ve never had to deal with someone else who hides their face. Would he even feel comfortable around you like that?

‘Whatever,’ you sign in the end.

Ghost sighs, “Rookie with-.”

“I’ll go with Rookie,” Soap interrupts, Ghost nods and without another word, everyone heads to their rooms. 

The room is a bit bigger than your room back at base. There are two beds in either corner of the room and not much else. Two small plain desks and two small dressers that double as nightstands with lamps. The fact that there’s no window makes your skin itch. 

You put your bag at the foot of the bed and flop down onto the mattress. At least the mattress isn’t horrible and lumpy. You can hear Soap beside you messing around with something in his bag. 

“You don’t have to worry about me peeking or whatever. Just whistle or something to let me know you need me to look away, okay?” He says sitting down on his bed. You look at him and give him a thumbs up. “I won’t make a big deal of it, you know. None of us would.”

You narrow your eyes at him. But he’s being completely serious.

‘Just don’t shit your pants if you accidentally see my arms or something,’ you type. He almost looks offended.

“I’ve seen the inside of a guy’s skull before, I’m not shiting my pants over something like your arms, lad.” 

‘You haven’t seen my arms. Or any of me for that matter.’ 

“Wish you would allow me the privilege, mate.” He mumbles. 

‘I haven’t been an official member of the 141 for twenty-four hours and you already want to see me naked?” You joke. Soap laughs, but your eyes fall on his bright red ears as he turns away to busy himself with his own phone.

“You’ve bound to see any of us naked.” 

‘Rather postpone that as long as possible.’

“Oh please, lad. We’re all men here. It’s not like you haven’t seen another man’s dick during your time at basic training. The communal showers are hell.” 

You turn to face the wall, your cheeks warm to a bright pink. ‘I don’t want to see anyone naked.’

“Why? Afraid you’ll like what you see?” He teases. The pink of your cheeks turns to red, you grab the single pillow on your bed and throw it at him. You know it hits him when you hear an ‘oomf’ from Soap.

“Aye! No need to be embarrassed, lad. It’s alright if you like men. No one on the 141 is exactly straight themselves.” The casualness of Soap’s tone makes you believe that you hear him wrong. Maybe your ears are still stuffed from the elevation change. Did you hear that right? You sit up on your bed and stare at Soap intently. He’s casually on his phone, his arm under his head and his leg crossed over the other.

‘Don’t fuck with me.’ 

“What? I’m not! Hard to be straight in the military. Captain and Simon would never admit to it, though. Big tough guys, those two.” You want to walk over to him and beat his ass for how casually he’s talking about this. “Just don’t tell them I said anything.”

‘You’re ridiculous.’

—

You and the team are called in for a meeting with Alejandro, Rudy, and a few other Vaqueros. The realization that you’re actually back on the field and with a team starts to sink in as Alejandro explains the layout of the building. This is a stealth mission. Retrieve information pertaining to the location of the hostages. You’re teamed up with Ghost to get in and out as quickly and quietly as possible. If anyone from La Red gets word that something happened at one of their locations they will most likely move the hostages before you get a chance to find them. You can feel a bit of sweat on your brow as Ghost confirms the plan with you.

You wish you hadn’t had such a big lunch as you draw closer to the site. You couldn’t help yourself to the Mexican base food, it was much better than the stuff back in the UK. You could feel everything wanting to come back up as Ghost parks the hummer. God who let thought it was okay for him to drive? You hope that the three miles you have to walk will calm your nerves.

“Nervous?” He asks, checking his tac vest. You nod, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Good, use that.”

The rest of the team has their own tasks. Soap is somewhere in the tree line on overwatch. Gaz, Price, and a few vaqueros are on standby in case anything goes wrong. Laswell, of course, on command. But for the most part, it’ll be just you and Ghost in there.

“Bravo 0-7 and Bravo 0-8 moving,” Ghost calls into comms. 

“Copy, 0-7. Report back when you reach the target location.” Laswell calls in. 

“Copy.”

The sun had set, darkness washing over the forest. You had to watch your step as you traversed behind Ghost. It’s a fairly quiet trek until a Scottish voice comes in.

“Hey, L.T.?” Soap calls in, a bit staticky.

“What?” Ghost sighs.

“What do you call a soldier that likes to paint?”

“What?”

“An art-illery master.” You can hear the smile in his voice. Ghost huffs.

“Awful.”

“Thank you, I try.” 

After a few more minutes of silent walking, Ghost radios in.

“What do you get when you drop a piano on an army officer?”

“What?”

“A flat major.”

You hope you accidentally trip over a rock and hit your head so hard you can forget everything. God, you don’t think you can’t deal with another bad joke. 

After a long, emotionally painful (thanks to Ghost and Soap) trek through the Mexican forest, you finally reach a clearing. It’s fairly dark, only guards walking around with flashlights on their rifles. Seems like they don’t want people to know they’re here. Unfortunately, you do. 

“We’ve reached the target location,” Ghost calls in. “What do you see 7-1?” 

“Three armed circling perimeter. Four armed, one at each door. One armed on the rooftop.” Soap calls out. You count each hostile as you see them, confirming his report. “West side will be your best shot but you need to be quick.”

“Copy, moving in.” 

You follow Ghost’s quick steps, running low to the ground with quiet steps. Sneaking towards the west side of the large fence, you kept an eye on the rotation of guards. You and Ghost hide behind a truck as a guard walks by. You count how long it takes for an opening to occur. You pat Ghost on his back and he turns to face you.

‘We have ten seconds to get in,’ you sign. He nods and gestures to you to take the lead with a single head jerk. You crawl in front of him, watching the guards from behind the truck. Then, you move. You run towards the fence, signaling Ghost to cut the fence. Seven seconds. With fence cutters at the ready, he quickly makes an opening large enough for you to crawl in. Four seconds. You crawl under and sprint towards the building, taking cover behind a large AC unit. Ghost doesn’t have enough time, and takes the last couple seconds to take cover again. 

The rotation continues. Ghost sneaks back over and widens the gap enough for him to crawl through. Though large, he makes no sound as he moves. He hides with you. 

“The guard on south west entrance is alone. Either distract him long enough or take him out.” Soap calls out. For a second you wonder what it’s like to be up in the tree line instead of being down here. Your hands are sweaty and you can feel your heart in your throat. It never gets easier.

Ghost continues to sneak through the shadows with you on his tail. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it moment as Ghost with no hesitation runs up to the guard and twists his neck. He drags the guard over to a large trash bin on the side of the building. You’re a bit confused. You were told to avoid leaving any evidence. But you guess that they have more trust in Ghost leaving the place clean than you. 

You move over towards the entrance and grab the handle. You look towards Ghost for a ‘go ahead’ before opening the door. He walks in, gun at the ready as he checks the area. He signals you that it’s clear and you enter behind him. 

He gives you a single head nod as you continue with the plan. You split up, Ghost taking the bottom and basement floor while you take floors two and three. The inside of the building is surprisingly empty. You try not to think about it too much. Ghost is just a call away. There’s no need to freak out. This won’t be like last time. You. Are. Fine.

You head up the stairwell towards the second floor while Ghost clears the first. It seems that the building was meant to be a very small hospital for nearby villages but was left unfinished. It was being used as a safe house or compound by a local member of La Red. But there’s nothing of note. There’s nothing in each room. What the hell are they doing here? 

“Floor one clear.”

‘Copy. Two. Clear.’ You call in. 

As you approach the third floor you can hear the sounds of heavy boots. You curse to yourself as you watch him walk down the hall and away from you. You have to be quick and quiet about this. A guard being up here meant there’s something worth protecting. 

You enter the first room on your right. Noticeably, there are signs of people being here. It seems like a shitty break room, but nothing of value. You carefully head to the next room and the next and the next. Always keeping an open ear for the footsteps of the guard. 

Then, you reach the jackpot. A computer.

You take a USB out from your vest, something Laswell gave you during the briefing. Just plug it in and it’ll do the rest, she had said. So you plug it in. The lit screen flashes colors before opening something up. You have no idea what it’s doing but you’re not here to question Laswell or her technology she generously let you borrow. 

“Basement floor clear. You find anything, Rookie?”

You press the button on your vest, ‘Affirmative.’

“Good, hurry up, and let's get out of here.”

You nervously tap your fingers on the desk as the program the USB is running does its thing. When the program shuts down you quickly pull the USB from the computer and head towards the door. 

“Ese pendejo se fue de su puesto?” The voice on the other side of the door says he clicks his tongue. “Bien, voy para allá en un momento.” The doorknob jingles and you rush to press yourself against the wall on his blind spot. Oh god, why is he coming in?

The door opens, the guard walks in and heads towards the desk. You crouch in the shadows and stay as still as possible. It’s too dark for him to notice you. The guard opens the drawer of the desk and pulls a cigar out. Something expensive that the boss will probably notice to be missing later. He mutters something about not being paid enough and lights it. 

C’mon, c’mon, get out of here, you groan internally. You can feel your heartbeat in your skull. He begins to walk towards the door and you know you’re screwed. He goes to pull his gun out when he spots you but you quickly tackle him. You do your best to pull his gun away and press the right button on your vest. 

‘Contact.’

You straddle him, grabbing his arm to prevent him from pulling his gun out. He manages to remove it from its holster but it drops to the ground. He swings at you, hitting you straight in the face. The blow knocks you over, pulsing pain as you feel the warm wetness of blood soaking into your mask. He takes the opportunity to get on top of you, and ignoring his gun he goes to choke you. His hands tighten around your throat as you thrash around, kicking your feet under him. You reach for your knife on the side of your vest but he uses his knee to pin your hand to the ground. You use your free hand to swing at him but only manage soft blows that don’t deter him. Your vision becomes blurry and the mixture of blood in your mouth and the hands on your windpipe make it hard to breathe. When you think that it’s over, you feel the grip around your throat lighten. There’s a warm feeling on your face. Blood. Not your blood. He topples over, knife right in his skull.

“Jesus, Rooke!” Ghost rushes towards your side. You wheeze as he helps you sit up. “You alright?” There’s nothing much you can do but nod. The guard is still alive, twitching. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. I’ll take care of the body. C’mon up.” He pulls you up by your vest. If you weren’t dizzy you would’ve retaliated against it. He leads you down the stairs towards the first floor, it’s still hard to breathe. It’s like you’re being waterboarded with your own blood. He brings you to a storage closet and leaves you there as he takes care of the body. You can hear him shuffling around and updating the rest of the team on the current status. 

You take a moment to sit down on the tile and lift the mask away from your face. The fabric is completely soaked, metallic taste overwhelms your mouth. You can feel a buzzing feeling in the back of your head. Adrenaline still coursing through your veins preventing you from actually feeling the throbbing pain. The bleeding slows down to almost nothing by the time Ghost is back. He leads you back around from where the two of you came from and heads into the trees. Once far enough, Ghost updates the team on the status. Laswell gives you a ‘good work, see you back at base’ and leaves you to your devices once again. You don’t remember if you heard from Soap or anyone else after that. Your throat is sore and you can barely breathe. You can’t walk three miles like this. So you pat Ghost on the shoulder.

‘I need to take my mask off. Just continue walking and don’t look towards me.’ You sign.

“Not a problem.” 

Once he turns around you waste no second to unclip your helmet and remove your mask. You use the fabric to wipe your face. You spit the blood that’s collected in your mouth on the ground. Grimacing at the feeling of the drying blood on your face. You eventually reach the area where the hummer is. 

“Is that you, Rookie?” Soap calls in. With one hand you cover your face and in the other, you press the ‘fuck off’ button on your communicator. He laughs through comms, “I’m not looking! Too dark to see anything. See ye back at base. Can't wait to get some shut-eye.” You roll your eyes. All he did was sit somewhere and look through a scope. 

Ghost doesn’t turn around when you get to the hummer. He gets into the driver's side and looks forward, waiting for you to get in. Your mask is disgusting and you don’t want to put it on again. Ghost unzips a pocket from his vest and pulls out an extra black mask with a skull print. He throws it towards you. He makes a grunt noise signaling you to hurry up. You quickly put it on and get in the passenger side. 

It smells like him. It’s almost overwhelming how much of him you can smell. Gun powder, earthy, and a natural scent you can’t describe other than being purely Ghost. It’s nice. 

“You alright?” He asks again as you head back to base. Back at the compound, he asked it to make sure you were still working. Now, he asks because he wants to know the damage. 

‘Maybe a broken nose. Throat hurts like hell.’ You report. ‘I’m fine.’

He nods, “Good.”

—

“What am I looking at, right now?” Gaz asks when you and Ghost walk into the debrief. Soap laughs when he sees you wearing a skull mask, you look like a little version of Ghost. You flip him off as you sit down. Your face hurts.

“The thing of nightmares! Two Ghosts!” Soap cackles. You want to jump over the table and strangle him as your cheeks burn red. Laswell lets out a small laugh as she types something on her laptop. Price, Alejandro and Rudy walk in right after to your relief.

The debrief goes by in a flash, you give Laswell the USB and head out to go shower. Your night has finally come while Laswell’s has only started. She and a team will have to go through everything to find what they need. Which can take five minutes or five days. But you don’t have five days, every day you don’t find those hostages is another day you don’t know what’s happening to them. Another night when their families can’t sleep and you can’t relax.

Unfortunately, you don’t have a joint bathroom in the room you’re sharing with Soap so you have to head out to the communal showers. You’re dying to get the tacky dry blood off your face. You need to examine the damage. You can hear water running as you enter the showers, someone inside. You groan, sitting down on a bench and hoping that they won’t take too long. 

The mission almost went to shit. You got attacked and if it wasn’t for Ghost you would’ve died. The realization doesn’t hit you until now. Your hands shake as you run them over your face, careful with the bruising and probably broken nose. It feels like those hands are back around your throat, keeping you from breathing. You squeeze your eyes closed, concentrating on your breathing. 

Someone calls your name. Then you feel the warmth of someone near you. They call your name again. You look up.

“Estas bien? C’mon, deep breaths,” Alejandro is kneeling beside you, his hand on your shoulder. You follow his breaths, trying to match them. “Bien, just breathe.” 

He’s only dressed in sweatpants, still wet from the shower. His hair slicked back but drying into loose curls. His eyes, though concerned, are naturally dark and intense. Someone who knows how to command attention in any room. Right now, he has your complete attention. 

“Can I take your mask off? Te miras un poco pálido,” he asks. You don’t know him, you don’t trust him and you should say no. But your shaky hands move on their own, slowly rolling back the skull mask. His hands take over yours, removing it completely. His eyes wander but he doesn’t say anything about it. His warm hands rest on your face, grounding you to reality. 

Then, you react. Like a computer resetting to factory mode, you push his hands away and pull your hood over your face. 

‘Don’t look at me. Don’t touch me.’ You sign, but Alejandro doesn’t understand. His head tilts to the side, trying to read you. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone? Let you clean up?” He asks. You nod once, hunching away from him. God, why did you let him do that? Why did your walls come down so easily? Why did you melt into his hands at the first sign of affection?

“We… um, mis vaqueros y yo vamos a celebrar la llegada de 141. Te invito. Podemos hablar- I mean, if you’d like you’re invited.” 

You nod again and wave him off. Only after his footsteps disappear into the locker rooms and out into the hall do you get up. Everyone else is probably already either going to bed or joining in on the get-together. 

Quickly you undress and head into the showers. The water runs a bloody brown as you wash your face and neck. Luckily, after feeling around your nose you assess that it’s not broken. 

You keep thinking back to what happened. And you try to tell yourself you were in a vulnerable state and weren’t thinking correctly. 

You sigh, dry off, and get dressed. You put on the same skull mask Ghost lent you. Wonder if he’ll want it back. You hope not. It’s soft and comforting. 

Even though it’s been a rough mission and very late into the night, you head towards the group of Vaqueros sitting outside in the cold Mexican night. You spot Alejandro talking with Soap and you head over. Hoping to escape from death for a little while longer.

Chapter Text

You don’t know what happened. Or how it happened.

Technically, you do. A dangerous concoction of kind touches, the desperate need to relinquish control and high-proof alcohol.

You had joined in on the late-night get-together. You’re all sitting around a bonfire on storage boxes, soaking in the heat of the flames under the cold December night. The 141 boys and Los Vaqueros were exchanging words, teaching each other curse words in their own respective languages and ones they learned from missions in other countries. You’re listening to Gaz tell a story from his time in basic training when Alejandro takes a seat beside you and hands you a beer. ‘For the cold’ he had said. His shoulder is touching yours, radiating heat warmer than the bonfire. His leg bumps on yours but you don’t move away. 

You talk with him for a while, huddled close and he reads the words on your phone. He asks about your family, your time with Alpha Five, and your recent experience joining 141. After two or three beers you two separate from the group, unnoticed by anyone. He asks about your past, and you’re vague about it. He doesn’t pry but he connects the dots. He teases you, remarking that you’re too handsome to hide behind the mask. You no longer know if the heat on your cheeks is from the alcohol or the whispers in your ear. His hand touches your cheek, a buzz filling your brain. Your hand slips under your mask, pulling it up and the next thing you know, your lips are on his. It’s gentle at first, experimental. Neither of you know if this is something that should be happening. 

And now here you are, in his quarters. It’s much nicer than the rooms you’re currently staying in, but he is a higher rank than anyone on the team so you have no room to protest. 

Your mask is somewhere on the floor by now, your zip-up hoodie off your shoulders, and your shirt pulled up your stomach. The lights are off at your request, he doesn’t mind. His lips leave yours and travel down your neck, licking and sucking at the tender flesh. Your breath hitches as he nips at your throat. He leads you onto the bed, his knee between your legs. He leans over you, engulfing you in his larger frame. He supports his weight with his left arm so as not to crush you while his right hand roams your stomach and up your chest. You tense, eyes wide when you realize that you haven’t told him. How do you tell him?

His hand pauses, his lips stop and he looks at you confused. 

“I didn’t know that you- I mean, it’s alright. Eso no me importa. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” His voice is low and rough. He whispers the last part in your ear like he’s telling you a secret. You grab his face and crush his lips to yours, his tiger tooth smile spreads across his face with a new fire. His knee draws up to your crotch and for the first time tonight, you realize how hard you are. It’s embarrassing to feel how soaked you are. You can’t help but roll your hips, feeling his own hardness against yours. He lets out a shaky breath, which entices you to continue. Your eyes flutter as you feel soft pleasure burst through your veins.

“Wish I could hear all those pretty little noises,” with one hand he unbuttons your pants. His hand then slips under your briefs. His fingers find your t-dick, gently stroking it. He grins at you, watching your reactions behind hooded eyes. “Good boy, so sensitive, huh?” You nod your head, hips moving involuntarily. When his fingers move down towards your slit you hide your face behind your arm. His fingers pause. 

“Mira me. Don’t stop looking at me,” it takes you a second to remove your arm from your eyes. When you do, he smiles, resuming his movements over your wet opening. “Maldito…” he groans, sinking a finger inside. You hold onto his shirt, letting out a long breath as he slowly starts to pump a finger. “Can I take your pants off?” He asks, you almost don't hear it over the buzz in your brain but you manage to nod. He pulls away from you, standing over you with one knee between your legs and his other foot on the floor. He grabs your pants and pulls them over your hips and tosses them on the floor. You expect him to come back toward you, but instead, he kneels down. He grabs your hips and pulls you to the edge of the bed. 

You can feel his hot breath on your cunt. He spreads you open and carefully thumbs at your dick. “Que hermoso,” he mutters before his mouth envelops you, his fingers pumping into you. You moan (though silent), hands gripping his hair involuntarily. The action eggs him on, licking and sucking harder than before, fingers curling upward. His hand gripping your thigh prevents you from closing them, the pressure in your stomach building. “C’mon, buen chico. Come for me,” he moans into you. The grip on his hair tightens as you fly over the edge, hot white flashing over your eyes. Only when you flinch at his touch does he stop. He climbs up and kisses you in between heavy breaths, you can taste yourself on his lips. Your hands wander towards the edge of his pants but he grabs your wrist.

“Are you sure? It’s not too much?” He asks, looking into your eyes. You are hesitant but nod. He doesn’t accept that answer and pulls your hands away and pins them over your head. But you need your hands to communicate, so he lets them go when you pull against his grasp. Your phone is too far away right now so you signal instead. You grab his hand and pull it between your thighs in a stroking motion. He groans, head hanging low as he understands what you want. “On your side.” 

You flip onto your side, facing away from him. He shuffles around, removing his pants and trunks before lying down. He kisses your hair, slipping an arm under and around you to press you against his chest. His other hand guides himself through your wet folds, collecting the slick on his cock. Once he’s gathered enough he wraps his other hand around you and over your chest, hand spread over your collar. He thrusts his hips experimentally, his soft moans in your ear making you tighten your thighs around him. “Asi, just like that. You’re being so good, such a good boy.”

 His dick slides over your dick, and you can feel yourself getting hard again. He finds a rhythm that makes you hold onto him for dear life, you won’t last long but neither will he. He pressed his face into your neck, kissing and sucking on the skin. Your hands find a place intertwined with his as he pants sweet words into your ear. The sensation is too much, making your dick twitch. His hips begin to stutter as he draws near, you want to tell him to come. 

“So good. Wish I could keep you here. Use you when I want. You’d like that, no? Te gustaria, lo se.” That sends you over the edge, holding on tightly to him as you come for a second time. His breath hitches and he’s not far behind, warm, sticky cum covering your thighs. The two of you lay there, holding on to one another like you’ll float away if you don’t. He kisses your hair in between tired breaths. But eventually, he slips away into the half bathroom, returning with a wet cloth. He carefully cleans you up before cleaning himself. 

As much as you wish you could bask in the afterglow it’s not a good idea to stick around much longer. With shaky legs, you stand up and collect your clothes from the ground. You pull up your briefs and pants, then adjust your shirt and zip up your hoodie. You find your phone still in your pocket. There are a few text messages from Soap and Gaz asking where you went. You don’t bother responding, considering they’re probably asleep by now.

‘I should go.’ You type. He gives you a soft smile as he picks up his own clothes. 

“En tanta prisa?” 

‘Would rather not have anyone see me do the walk of shame.’

That makes him laugh, “guess so.” He picks up your mask from the floor and hands it to you. “Entonces buenas noches. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You walk as quietly as you can through base. It’s more nerve-racking than obtaining the information from that compound. Quietly you turn the handle to your shared room. You tiptoe to your bed, remove your shoes, put your phone on the nightstand, and climb in. Soap is snoring softly from the other side of the room to your relief. No witnesses.

—

“Where were ye last night?” Soap finally asks after a quiet morning. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, tying your shoelaces. He’s pulling his shirt on, hair still messy and wet from an early shower. You give him a confused look, which makes him roll his eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You could’ve answered our messages.”

‘I was hanging out with some Vaqueros.’ You shrug, ‘Making friends.’

“You don’t make friends, lad.”

‘How do you know that?’ 

“Because-“ he looks around the room in search of his jacket. “-You just don’t make friends, lad.” He finds his jacket on the floor near the foot of his bed. He dusts it off and swings it on. 

‘You don’t know me.’ You argue, he just scoffs.

“You’re shit at hand to hand, you’re insecure, traumatized with PTSD but this is the military, we all got PTSD. You’re introverted but like to be included, have family issues, problems with figuring out your place in the world. You can’t eat breakfast because it makes you sick and you work twice as hard as anyone else. You like strawberry biscuits, black tea with three sugars, and a splash of milk.” He walks over to you, forcing you to look up from your seated position. He leans down, “I think I know you plenty.”

‘Fuck off,’ says the robotic voice from the communicator as you shove him away. You stand, glaring at him. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know anything that matters. Before you can say anything there’s a knock at the door. You both turn as it opens, Gaz pokes his head in.

“Laswell wants to see us.”

—

You, Gaz, and Soap are the first to arrive at the meeting room. Soap and Gaz find seats first, next to each other while you sit as far away from them as possible. It's an uncomfortable silence. Gaz tries to make small talk with Soap but he only gives him short dry responses. 

Ghost arrives soon after. He takes a seat next to you with a cup of coffee in hand but he barely touches it, much preferring to have tea. It only takes him one look around the room to see that something is off.

“What happened?” He asks, eyeing Soap specifically. He shrugs, finding a spot on the floor very interesting. His eyes shift to Gaz who shrugs. Then, to you. He noticed that there’s something strange about you, but he can’t pinpoint it. His eyes narrow. 

Then, Alejandro comes in. 

You tense, feeling your cheeks heat up as you remember what happened. Alejandro greets everyone as he finds his seat, his hand brushing against your shoulders and back as he walks by. Ghost noticed it, raising his eyebrow with curiosity. You act like you’re reading an important email on your phone to avoid anyone’s gaze, including Alejandro’s.

The meeting starts when Laswell and Rudy arrive. It’s a short one, Laswell explains that there’s a high probability they found the location of the hostages and have sent out a team to recon the area and confirm the information. If it’s true, then you and the team will more than likely be out to extract them by tomorrow. You’re a bit surprised how fast the mission has passed, you’re almost on a plane back to Europe with freezing temperatures and rainy weather. But come to think of it, it’ll probably be snowing by the time you get back.

You dread the idea a bit. You have been trying your best to avoid thinking about the upcoming date, and being in snowy weather won't exactly distract you from the memories. In a few days, it’ll be the anniversary of your kidnapping. You don’t know how you’ll deal with forty-five days of constant reminders. You fear your brain will send you back, telling you exactly what happened each day. 

Price is gone on the recon mission with some Vaqueros and other Mexican soldiers. Leaving you and the rest of the team to twiddle your thumbs around base as you wait for his return. You find yourself sitting with Soap, Gaz, and Ghost in the mess hall during lunch, even though you have refused to acknowledge Soap. 

Ghost watches the two of you like a hawk. You can feel his eyes burning into the side of your head and you know Soap feels it too. Gaz gives Ghost a concerned look but doesn’t say anything. You move your food around on your tray, hoping for time to move faster so you can save some hostages and forget any of this happened. Never see Alejandro again and never have to address your absence. 

But you speak (or think) too soon. Alejandro walks over to your table and places a tangerine on your tray. You look up and he grins with those stupid tiger teeth you can never get over. 

“It would be a crime to have you home in Mexico and not eat the fruit here. Están en temporada.” He hovers over you for a second, you can spell the sweet citrus smell on his hands. You sign a thank you. The buzzing in your ears prevents you from hearing the short conversation he has with the rest of the table before he leaves. Your face feels hot, and your entire body refuses to relax. With a shaky hand, you grab the tangerine, and with your thumb, you gently poke into the skin and peel it away. You slip a piece under your mask. The fruit is juicy and sweet and tastes like home. 

Ghost waits for Alejandro to get out of earshot before asking, “Did you shag him?”

The entire table erupts into chaos. Soap shoots his drink out his nose, while you cough up the tangerine slice. Gaz bursts out laughing which causes a couple of people to give you all weird looks. Ghost keeps his eyes on you, waiting for a response. But your silence is enough. 

“Didn’t know you swung that way. Didn’t expect Alejandro to either.” He says like it’s a normal, everyday conversation to have. 

“You can’t be serious- I mean-“ Gaz says between breathy laughs, but when you don’t object he pauses. “You can’t be serious!” He exclaims, for a moment you feel like you’re in school again. You hunch over, hoping that the floor will open up and swallow you whole.

“How the hell did you figure that out?” Soap asks, still trying to wrap his head around a loser like you with a guy like him.  

Ghost shrugs, “been in the military long enough to know when someone has sex with a superior.” 

‘We didn’t have sex! We just-‘ you sign but stop yourself before you explain too much. It doesn’t stop Ghost from giving you a knowing look.

“Gave each other drunk hand jobs?” He asks. Even Gaz and Soap look embarrassed as they absorb half a conversation. You shake your head, wishing he would shut up. “You got back to your room late, must’ve been more than a hand job,” he comments before lifting his mask up just enough to take a sip of water. You want to stab him with his own throwing knife.

“Did you go back to his room?” Gaz asks, though a bit quieter than Ghost had been. You give him a ‘not you too’ look. Instead of backing off Gaz leans closer, “Did you take off your mask?” 

Soap stands abruptly, his chair falls in a loud bang that brings Gaz’s bothersome questions to a halt. You can’t identify the look on his face, but he looks like he’s trying to find the right words. 

“Johnny?” Ghost starts. 

“I have to go,” he grumbles before storming off, leaving behind a wave of questions. 

“What the fuck is his deal?”

—

He hates how he feels. The seething jealousy that creeps into his skin and absorbs into the marrow of his bones makes him feel sick. You are an adult. You don’t owe him anything, Soap understands that. If you want to go kiss every Vaquero on base you can do that. But you getting close enough to Alejandro and have you taken off your mask? Fuck, it ruins him. Los Vaqueros isn’t your team, the 141 is. 

He doesn’t understand why he feels this way. Simon, Kyle, and John are easy to love. It comes naturally. But you? You’re stoic, hard to read, awkward, and introverted. You don’t communicate unless someone talks to you first. You don’t share much about your family or your life before the military. You’re a pain in the ass sometimes. 

Yet, he can’t help but want to talk to you. See your face scrunch up behind your mask when he makes a bad joke. He likes how you can sit with Ghost in comfortable silence and help Gaz clean the common room with such domesticity. Hell, he likes how your eyes harden into soldier mode when you talk to Price, always wanting to please.

Do you like to please?

He can’t help it. His mind wanders and he imagines you with Alejandro. Did you kiss him or did he kiss you first? Did you wait til you got to his room to take off your mask? Did he undress you? Was your face blushing warm as your hands roamed his body? Did you lean into his touch?

“…are there any questions?” 

Soap’s eyes focus back into reality. Price came back a couple of hours earlier and confirmed the hostages’ location. The team would leave early tomorrow and hopefully be back on a plane home the next day. When nobody responds Laswell nods and dismisses everyone.

You don’t see Soap until you head to your shared room for the night. He’s sitting back on his bed scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t look up at you when you enter. You try to signal him to look at you but he ignores you. Rolling your eyes you rummage through your bag for a change of clothes. Fuck, you had hoped to have a room to yourself so you packed mostly short sleeve sleep shirts. Maybe you can steal a shirt from someone else? You decide against it, rather not have the team think you fucked another superior officer. And you rather die than give Soap the satisfaction of wearing the zip-up he gave you.

Instead, you turn to soap and whistle. He slowly glances up from his phone with an annoyed but curious look. You wait for a second for him to get the hint. When he doesn’t you signal him to turn around. He rolls his eyes but complies, lying on his side facing the wall.

You quickly change into the short sleeve, which’s a soft blue with screen printed logo from a local band from your hometown. You don’t think they ever made it big though. 

‘You can turn around but don’t stare.’ The robotic voice reads on your phone. He returns to laying on his back, he does a double take when he sees you. You ignore the urge to turn and see his expression, eyes blown wide with a hundred questions flashing through his mind. 

He can’t help it, he stares. Hard. He half expects you to give him the harshest glare you can muster, but you’re too busy trying to find a good song on your MP3 player. 

He can identify most of them as blade scars, he’s been in the military long enough to know it. Some are light, thin scars while others are grooved and thick. Some are straight while others curve in unnatural, purposeful ways. His eyes wander to the scars around your wrists from restraints. He wants to say something. Some sort of reassurance. But he knows you wouldn’t want it to be a big deal. Rather ignore it and move past it. 

It breaks his heart.

The buzz of his phone sucks him back into reality.

Private message: Rookie to Soap

Rookie: Fuck off.

He huffs, rolling his eyes. 

Chapter Text

The water keeps dripping, splashing into a small puddle in the crevices of the stone. The buzzing of the fluorescent does nothing to soothe your mind. It’s cold, not cold enough to freeze your fingers off but cold enough that it prevents you from sleeping. There’s no escape to any of it.

The familiar creaking of the metal door sends a shiver up your spine. The man enters like he always does. He calls you a name. A name you haven’t heard in years. You feel ten again. Sitting outside in the dark cold, small fingers gripping your sleeves as you sniffle and cry. Do the crickets enjoy your cries? Your parents never did. Why else would you be outside? They can’t stand you. It was never your fault. Your parents loved each other and they wanted a child. But from the second you were born, you were simply not the child they wanted. Some unexplainable, omnipotent force decided that your mother would just not want you. That’s why when your younger sister was born, she was loved with twice as much love. 

He calls that name again. Your father called you that name.

How many days has it been?

How many days have you been locked in this cell?

How long has it been since your father died?

You’re lying in a hospital bed staring at the ceiling above you. Thinking about how many people have been there before. How many went home with their families and how many saw their last days here? Your face is itchy. You’re covered in stitches and bandages. You requested that they shave your head when they were going to stitch up the gash on your face. Your hair was matted and dirty, no use in trying to save any of it. 

Your father died while you were hospitalized. You didn’t know until after you were discharged when you got back to that old apartment and found letter after letter from people who were practically strangers to you telling you how much they were sorry about your loss. Not a single one was from your mother. 

He calls you that name again.

When you don’t answer or look up he walks over to you. He grips your hair and pulls your head up, his eyes locked on yours.

“I was told you attacked one of my men, yes? Tried to escape?” He tutts at you with a patronizing tone. You cry as you’re thrown back into the stone wall, scratching your elbow. He towers over you, “I cannot have that, maža mergaitė. But I want to be fair.”

He steps away. His steps are like gunshots in open air. You catch a glimpse of metal in his hand. 

“Tell me, should I break your left or your right ankle?”

Weak sobs escape your mouth as you protest, shaking your head as he steps closer to you. 

“Dealer’s choice, then? Alright.” 

He lifts the crowbar over his head.

—

“Rookie! Jesus- Rookie! C’mon, wake up!” 

You shake awake, kicking back to the furthest wall as you panic. You can’t breathe, your entire body trembling as you look around your surroundings. 

“You’re safe, you’re on a Mexican military base.” It takes you too long to register the voice. It’s hard to think, entire body on high alert. “Look at me, rookie. It’s me, Soap.” 

Soap?

You see him. Blue eyes with eyebrows pinched with concern. Messy brown Mohawk. He’s kneeling over your bed, hands up to show that he’s not a danger. 

“Breath with me, yeah? C’mon deep breaths.” 

You can feel the sweat on your brow, your skin prickled with goosebumps. But you follow his breaths. Shaky at first, but as you continue to breathe your body calms. It’s disorienting. You can’t help but scan the room a couple of times, just to make sure he isn’t here. 

Soap extends his hand, “Look at me, rookie. Don’t go anywhere.” 

It’s hard not to. Your brain wants to make sense of your reaction in relation to your surroundings. It’s less confusing. You give someone a fishing pole and they imagine a fish. In hopes of staying grounded, you take his hand, squeezing tightly. He grips your hand with a comforting tightness. It’s not painful, it’s simply present.

He holds your hand until you calm down. You sit with your knees up to your chin, tucked tightly into yourself except for your outstretched hand. Soap stays kneeling on the floor, his arms on the mattress, his head lying to the side.

—

You don’t speak about it in the morning. Not when you sit together during breakfast or when you’re putting on your gear or when you attend the morning brief and especially not when you load up into the humvees for the long ride down south towards the hostages’ location.

You sit in the back with Soap while Gaz and Price sit up front. Ghost is in another Humvee with Laswell, Alejandro, and Rudy. To calm your nerves you put your earbuds in and play something on your pink MP3 player. It’s some shitty nu metal trap rap bullshit that you can’t help but to love. It’s just so loud and messy that it leaves no room for thinking which is exactly what you need. Even though you were able to go back to sleep after your nightmare you still feel tired, the rocking of the Humvee lulling you to sleep. 

Soap can hear the song playing in your earbuds, it confuses him how you can fall asleep with that blasting in your ears. He watches you from his peripheral. There’s a strand of hair poking out of your mask, it takes him everything in his power to not reach over and tuck it. 

Price stares through the rearview mirror. He watches how Soap tightens his lips together, fighting off the urge to say something. Though Price has been too busy trying to stop a criminal organization from selling or killing off innocent women and children to know what’s been going on with his team he still knows something is up.

“You plan to stay in town for Christmas, Soap?” He asks instead. It was barely December but in this line of work, time flies. “Or are you spending leave in Scotland?”

“What, Captain? Trying to get rid of me?” Soap grins, “Simon would probably get lonely without me in the flat.”

“He can always stay with us,” Gaz comments. 

They could never get enough of each other. Even after spending weeks in dingy safe houses and years on base. They had decided to move in together, Simon with Soap and Gaz with Price. It wasn’t set in stone, though. It’s common for all of them to sleep in one flat, usually Price and Gaz’s. Sometimes they switched around, Gaz staying with Ghost and Soap staying with Price. 

Leave wasn’t necessarily something they always spent together. Gaz likes to visit family and Price likes to go off to a cabin somewhere for some much-needed alone time. Though Soap and Ghost usually stay at their flat. That’s how it all started. A series of long nights full of nightmares with cold beds and tired bones. ‘Why don’t you stay with me?’ Soap had asked. Hesitantly, Ghost agreed. But that quickly turned into a permanent thing where after a couple weeks of sharing soft sheets Ghost decided to finally unpack his bag into the guest (now his room) room dresser and put his toothbrush in the bathroom next to Soap’s. 

Price moving in with Gaz happened in a similar yet different way. Price doesn’t have much family outside of distant relatives. He rarely took leave simply because he had nowhere to go. And when he did buy the cabin he found it was too quiet. He would wake up in cold sweats confused. One day the topic of leave was brought up when Price said he would just stay on base since he had nowhere to go, Gaz offered the guest room in his place. Price accepted, but told himself that it would only be temporary. Then after a night of too many drinks and hot touches, the rest became history. 

“And let you three have all the fun? Fuck no.” Soap laughs.

“Could always ask Rookie to join you,” Gaz shrugs, he sends Soap a knowing look.

 Price raises his eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Shut your mouth, Garrick.”

“What? You’re going to deny it? You look like you can’t decide if you want to stab him or suck him off. You should’ve seen him yesterday, sir. Stormed off after Simon figured out that Rookie had fucked Vargas.”

Soap covers his face in shame, hiding behind the back seat so Price can’t see him.

“It was a moment of weakness,” he mumbles.

“Rookie shagged Alejandro?” Price huffs in amusement. “Didn’t think of him as the type.”

‘Can we refrain from gossiping in professional settings?’ The robotic voice from your phone startles everyone in the car. ‘I don’t understand why my sex life is so interesting to you people.’

“Hey now, it’s unprofessional to talk about your sex life on the job but it’s also unprofessional to fuck superiors on the job,” Gaz says through a smart-ass grin, his eyes full of amusement. You roll your eyes. When will they let it go? 

‘We were both drunk and he isn’t an annoying dickhead like the rest of you.’ You almost forget that you’re in the presence of your captain so you quickly type out, ‘Sorry, Captain.’ 

Price chuckles, “No, you’re right. They’re a bunch of muppets.”

Before the conversation can continue whatever odd path it is prone to take, a voice calls in through the radio. You remove your earbuds and put your earpiece in. 

“Reaching target location soon.”

—

You rush down the halls with your team consisting of Alejandro, Rudy, Gaz (you swear you saw Soap’s eye twitch during the brief when Laswell assigned teams), and a few other Vaqueros. You could feel an itch at the back of your mind. A sort of deja vu of a moment that doesn’t exist. You’ve never seen these halls before. Nor have you raided a large facility like this before. But as you follow behind Alejandro, in the back of your mind you have already taken this route. The guards around this facility are plain and black, with no distinct style that connects them to any group. 

While Ghost, Soap, and Price were on “arrest any La Red affiliates” duty, your team was on “save hostages” duty. There’s a constant feeling of nervous dread in your stomach telling you that you won’t find them. Maybe they’re already dead… or worse. 

“Floor clear. Heading down.” Alejandro calls in as you head down toward the basement floor. There are a few armed guards that you quickly take down. The second you get a good look at the room you get the sense that this is the place you would keep hostages in. The walls are concrete and imposing. The floor is covered in dirt, grime, and now blood. It’s a long corridor with heavy metal doors lining the walls. They look like prison cells.

Alejandro signals to Rudy to open one of the metal doors. Rudy nods, stepping towards the door. He unlocks the metal mechanism on the front before swinging it open. Alejandro quickly pulls his rifle towards the room and he checks it. There’s a sound you can’t identify inside. Alejandro lowers his gun and leans into his radio.

“Hostages found.” He calls in.

The extraction process is always heartbreaking. Cell door by cell door. Rudy and Gaz translate for the hostages as they explain that you’re there to rescue them. They’re faces fall in relief, some start crying, others stay stoic. You wish you could reassure them in some way. Tell them that it’ll be okay now. But all you can do is put your weapon down and offer them a hand. 

You get to the last cell at the end of the hall. You open it while Gaz checks. He keeps his rifle up, the flashlight attached lighting up the dark room. There are two women inside. They don’t speak English, Spanish, or any language that Gaz knows. He puts down his rifle to show that he’s not a danger to them, signaling for them to follow him out. 

But just as they start to walk the first woman starts to cry and yell something. Neither of you can understand her. The woman behind her doesn’t say anything, she watches as the first woman gestures towards her. Then she makes a signal that’s hard to miss. She has a gun. 

The second woman pulls out her own handgun and aims it at Gaz, but before she can pull the trigger you pull yours faster. The first woman jumps away, crying up against the wall. The second woman falls, a bullet between her eyes. Gaz signals to the first woman to follow him, with shaky hands she takes his and he leads her out with the group. 

You stay back, looking at the woman on the floor with wide eyes. You almost forget to breathe as you watch the blood pour from her head. When does deja vu stop being deja vu? It might be now, as you walk over to the woman. 

You know her. Or at least you know her as well as two captives know each other. She’s wearing a plain green sweater. Last time you had seen her she wore a large winter jacket and gave you food in your cell. 

The last time you saw this woman was a year ago.

“Rookie?” Gaz calls in, peeking his head into the cell. “We gotta go.”

You don’t hear him. All you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears and the distant sound of that man. Why was she here? Why are any of these women here? You thought… 

“Rookie?” Gaz walks closer, he lightly tugs on your hoodie. In a quick motion, you turn around and point your gun at him, eyes wide and scared. Gaz pulls his hands up, taking a step back. “Rook, put the gun down.” 

You don’t hear him. You don’t see him.

But then he calls your name. 

Your eyes flicker up, catching his own. You slowly lower your rifle before offering it to him. He hesitates before accepting it. 

“We have to go.”

The ride back is quiet. You don’t look at anyone, keeping your head lowered. Gaz continues to glance toward you as Alejandro and Rudy talk about something in the front seats. You don’t care to listen. You can’t. Not when she was in there. Not when you killed her. 

If that woman was there, does that mean he’s out there? 

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. The hairs on your arms and neck prickle up. You tighten your hands into fists in the hope of grounding yourself. Why was she there? Alejandro asks you something but you don’t hear it. He looks at you with concern through the rearview mirror. Why was she there? You wish nothing more than to take off your mask and throw up. Why was she there? Soap calls in through the radio, but you don’t hear him. You think he’s trying to celebrate by the tone of his voice. But Gaz doesn’t respond. Instead, he keeps a close eye on you. Why was she there?

—

The second you arrive at base you jump out the Humvee. You find Ghost and drag him to the debriefing room where you find Laswell already waiting. She looks startled as you walk in with Ghost following behind. 

“What’s going on?” She asks, looking between the two of you. You give Ghost a tap on the shoulder and sign something to him. He sighs, looking between you and Laswell before nodding. She waits for a response as you sign.

“He says: why was she there?” Ghost translates, and Laswell only returns a confused look.

“Who was where?”

“The woman from a year ago. She was working for them.” 

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you mean. The woman?” Laswell rubs the bridge of her nose, trying to relax the migraine that was sure to come.

“You said that the people behind my capture were taken care of. Then why was she in a…” Ghost watches your signs carefully. “Why was she in a La Red facility?” 

You glare at Laswell, watching her stoic expression as she tries to come up with an answer.

“When you were rescued you were a broken man. I believed it was best to keep you in the dark about some things.” Laswell’s eyes shift from Ghost to you. She watches how you shift anxiously on your feet and your hands shake as you sign. You still are a broken man. 

“Is he dead? Was he arrested?” 

Laswell sighs, “Alekna wasn’t captured during the raid last year. He was also not found today. We are led to believe all top dog Red members have gone into hiding. No idea when they’re going to resurface.” 

You can feel your heart drop and bile threatening to surface up your esophagus. He’s out there? 

“Alekna is not your current mission. He has been assigned to an international team. The team that saved you, actually. Dallas and his team have been working hard to dismantle La Red. You can trust them. Let me remind you that you’re here to save hostages in connection to La Red’s human trafficking ring. Nothing else. If you do work to take down Alekna it’ll be under my call.”

You sign something, and Ghost hesitates.

“Transfer me. Let me take him down.”

Laswell shakes her head, “you know I can’t do that.” 

‘Let me put a bullet in that bastard’s head.’ Ghost doesn’t translate, but Laswell understands what you want to say.

“Alekna is not your job. Saving those hostages was. But now that the job is done you will go back to base, and wait for the next mission. La Red related or saving a cat out of a tree. Do I make myself clear?” Laswell commands. You’ve never heard her raise her voice before. You feel like you’re ten again, being scolded by your mother for fighting some kid during recess. Your throat closes up and your hands ball into tight fists at your sides. “Do I make myself clear, Corporal?”

You nod.

You don’t go to the debrief. Instead, you head directly to a bathroom to throw up. You kneel in front of the toilet, heaving and retching into the bowl. Your eyes well up with tears and your hands shake as you hold back your mask and hair. Your heart beats in your chest like a war drum, threatening to jump out of your ribcage. The world feels too big yet too small around you. The lights feel too bright yet too dim. 

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, footsteps echo through the stalls as someone walks in. You tense.

“Hey, you alright?” Confusion overtakes the panic from your body. It’s not Ghost, or Soap, or Gaz. Hell, it’s not Alejandro.

It’s Price.

“Rookie? Knock on the wall twice if you’re alive.” You scoff but knock on the wall twice. He sighs in relief. “Good. Good…” he clears his throat, “Listen, I-. I understand what it’s like to have your hands tied behind your back and not be able to do anything. And I know it’s hard to have to rely on the fucked up system to get justice. It’s part of the job. You have no idea how many times I’ve seen bastards walk free with blood on their hands. And as your Captain, I think it's appropriate for me to be the one saying this. But we’ll find that son of a bitch and the rest of La Red. You can count on us.”

You flush the toilet from your panic and fear. Taking off your mask you use it to wipe your tears and mouth. You shove it into your back pocket. When you unlock the stall you find Price leaning against the sinks. His eyes soften as he studies your face. As much as you try to be a soldier, all he can see now is a kid. A scared, traumatized kid with glassy tear-filled eyes. You bite your lip as you try to hold back any more tears. Price opens his arms, and you fall right into them. You finally break in front of him and sob into his shirt. He wraps you with his arms, one hand rubbing your back while the other holds your head.

“It’s alright, sunshine.” He mutters into your hair, “You’re 141 now. Your fight is our fight.”

—

After your panic attack daddy issue special in the bathroom you somehow manage to sneak back to your room without a mask. You may be at your lowest point but you rather get tortured again than wear a mask covered in vomit and tears. Fortunately, you packed multiple, including a soft cotton mask that you rarely wore. It's comfortable and breathable, something you only wear to sleep. But the bruises on your face and neck have darkened to a violent black and purple. Not to mention that the man who tortured you is still out there. Sometimes you deserve to be comfortable. 

Price excused you from the debrief and allowed you to spend the rest of the afternoon doing whatever you wanted. As much as you want to escape into town to get a taste of home before you leave, your stomach continues to churn so you end up curling up into a ball on your bed. You miss dinner, which concerns Ghost and Soap. But Gaz and Price reassure them that you just need some time alone. Of course, Gaz has to bring up that you pulled your gun on him before handing it over, not trusting yourself with it. He mentions how you stood so still looking at that woman. You looked like you had seen a ghost. Then, Ghost gave his two cents explaining with vague detail what happened with Laswell. Slowly, everyone gets on the same page. 

After dinner, Soap brings you something to eat. A caldo de pollo that makes you feel homesick. You never miss home. Living in that house with your parents was never a home. You find that home was the life you lived before. When you would take your little sister to get ice cream after she did well on a test. When you would crash on friends’ couches in high school because your parents locked you out. When you played pranks on your superior officers while in basic training. When you had Alpha Five by your side.

You eat the soup, as much as your anxious stomach can handle. 

By the time night comes, you can’t sleep. You're too anxious. Feeling like there’s a bomb under you at all times and at any moment it will go off. There's always a bomb under your bed, isn't there? As Soap softly snores, you sneak out. You don’t know where to go, so you wander until your feet decide to stop. You end up outside sitting on a storage crate, looking up at the stars. The surrounding towns don’t carry much light pollution so the stars shine twice as bright. 

You don’t know what you’re looking for as you stare up. Maybe a shooting star so you can wish this all to end? Maybe an alien spaceship to take you away? Some sort of sign that it’ll all work out? 

The sound of boots on gravel wakes you from your thoughts, you jerk your head towards the sound. Your body relaxes when you see Ghost walking over from the shadows. He’s half-lit in the moonlight. If you had been anyone else you would’ve been scared of the monster of a man walking towards you. But his presence is a relief at a time like this.

He sits down beside you on the crate. He doesn’t say anything for a while. He just stares up at the stars with you. But eventually, he speaks.

“You alright?” He asks, looking down at you. You shrug.

‘I’m fine. Just scared.’ You confess, he hums.

“Most people wouldn’t say they’re fine if they’re scared.” 

‘Most people don’t survive forty-five days scared.’

He stays quiet for a moment, unsure what to say. 

‘You don’t have to comfort me.’ You sign, ‘if that’s what you're trying to do.’

“You’re not alone in this.”

You roll your eyes, ‘Not sure how any of you are supposed to help.’

“Would help if you let us in.”

You scoff, ‘Fuck off. Sounds like something Soap would say.’

“He did. Told me that years ago.”

You jump off the crate, ‘I'm sure that worked out for you. But I would rather not tell people everything.’

“You don’t have to tell us everything. Just- enough to know when we fuck up. When we need to give you a hand.”

‘I’m going to bed. Night, Lieutenant.’ You don’t give him a chance as you walk away. Why are they so nosy? So interested in knowing everything about you? You’d think Ghost would be the one to understand.

But he does understand. He understands you’re going down a path where you seclude and alienate yourself. You try to hold on to your fleeting dignity like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. You want to feel like everything is okay so nobody looks at you with concerned expressions. You want them to know that you’re not broken so they don’t look at you with such pity. 

A kicked, starving dog. 

Chapter Text

Alejandro gives you his number and says, “Reach me anytime. If you ever want to come back, call me. I’d love to show you Las Almas.” 

Gaz teases you as you enter the plane, face burning bright red. But for the most part, the plane ride back is quiet. Ghost doesn’t bother you, remaining on his side of the aisle. Gaz and Soap chat a bit but you don’t communicate much. You were exhausted, the combination of anxious thoughts, heavy emotions, and a sleepless night was taking a toll on your body. The fabric of your mask isn’t comfortable, a constant reminder of everything. 

The trip over feels much faster. You don’t waste time hopping off the plane and walking off the tarmac and into your room. Once inside you throw your bag on your desk, slip off your mask, and plop down into your bed. You groan, running your hands through your hair. It’s too long. You know you look like a mess. Dark eye bags, darker bruises on your face and neck, and messy hair. You’d joke you look like you’ve been through the trenches, but it isn’t too far off. You reluctantly get up and head to your bathroom. 

You rummage around in your sink drawer for the clippers you bought. When you find them you plug them into the outlet and turn them on. The loud buzzing startles you and you quickly turn them off. After a second of reconsidering, you turn them on again. You hesitate, inching the clippers closer to your hair. But you chicken out at the last second and place them down on the counter. 

You’re ridiculous, you think to yourself. You’ve killed more people than you care to count. You’ve suffered through torture, dog attacks, bullet wounds, basic training bullying, and a test week with the 141. Yet you can’t find the courage to pull your clippers against your head and shave it all off. You won’t admit it, but you’re a bit vain. Maybe it’s part of why you started wearing the mask. 

The knock on your door startles you. You quickly put on a mask and open the door. Soap stands on the other side. 

“You’re cutting your hair, lad?” He grins, leaning his arm on top of the door frame. You don’t know if you want to knock that grin off his face or pounce on him. Possibly both. 

‘Can you do it?’ You type out. 

“What? Cut your hair?” His grin turns into a toothy smile, you roll your eyes and start closing the door, “Wait! Wait- I’ll help.”

You eye him, making sure he’s being genuine before letting him in. You slip the top half of your mask off, leaving you in a half mask. You also take off your hoodie. Soap can’t help but run his hands through your hair. You swat him away.

“Aye! Simmer down, need to see what I’m working with here…” His hands in your hair feel nice. You subconsciously close your eyes as he plays with your hair. Only to be awoken when he asks, “Do you want something specific?” You shake your head and shrug.

“Free reign then. Don’t worry, I won’t give you a Mohawk. That’s McTavish exclusive.” He jokes. You want to argue that his hair is stupid but you keep your hands to your side. He sits you on the toilet and looks through your drawer. He pulls out a pair of scissors that came with the clipper set and starts cutting. He hums and mumbles to himself as he cuts. His tongue sticks out of his mouth in concentration. 

The thought that you don’t know what he’s doing back there makes you anxious. The anxiety multiplies tenfold when you hear the loud buzzing of the clippers. You stay as still as possible. At one point, your mask gets in the way of cutting the hair at the base of your head. You reluctantly take it off and hold the fabric up to cover your face.

He eventually makes you turn around. The lightness of your head feels refreshing. Like you’ve taken a heavy burden off of yourself. He snips around the front. Your ears redden as he looks at you carefully. 

“Simon has the same one,” he says softly. You give him a confused look. He draws a line from the top of his brow and down his cheek. “The scar. Exactly the same position.” He smiles softly. He’s trying to reassure you that you don’t need to cover your face, you don’t know if it’s working. 

You reach out for your phone on the counter, he hands it to you. 

‘How’d he get it?’ You ask, Soap’s face falls a bit.

“He… doesn’t like to talk about it. It’s one of those, you know?” 

The question feels much more rhetorical than anything. Of course, you know. 

“Do you want to see? Tell me what you think.” You stand up, brushing the hair off your shoulders and shirt. Soap steps back so you can stand in front of the mirror. You can feel his eyes on the bruises on your neck but doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing he could possibly say. Its a risk of the job. 

You turn your head as you examine your hair. It’s a bit shorter than your teammate would cut it. But it’s nice. You run your hand through the strands and through the back. 

“You like it?”

Without your full mask Soap can see your eyes crinkle in a smile he can’t quite see. But he knows it’s there.  

“Good lad. I told ye I was good.” He ruffles your hair, “Better clean up, then.” 

After helping sweep up the hair Soap leaves to do his duties. You take a quick shower and change into some clean fatigues. You can’t stop running your hands through your hair. It's soft and feels light. Euphoric. It makes you think back to the first time you had your hair truly cut short. 

It had been during basic training. Your hair was still long and people still called you by your deadname. You had fought tooth and nail to have your gender changed on all military files. When the higher-ups finally gave in, you and your friends celebrated by cutting your hair. You sometimes wonder what happened to those friends. Maybe they got transferred to office jobs or met an unkind fate. Perhaps they just went home. 

By lunchtime, you head to the mess hall to grab something to eat. Part of you doesn’t know if you can stomach anything. It feels weird to walk around in a half-mask. You feel sort of naked. 

After collecting some mildly appetizing-looking food you head to the common room. All four men are already there, chatting and eating. It’s amusing how Price, Ghost, and Gaz do a double take as you walk in. You sit down between Soap and Price.

“Gaz had bet that you’d be bald,” Ghost comments, you shoot Gaz a look. He raises his hands in defense.

“To be fair, I said that about Ghost too!” He tries to defend himself, but Ghost gives him a look that could’ve killed Gaz right on the spot. 

Soap runs his hand through the hair at the crown of your head. You tense but quickly relax to his touch. Fuck, you feel like a dog. But not in a bad way. When his hand lingers for too long you swat him away. 

You listen to the team talk while you eat. For the most part, it’s about base duties and where the next mission will probably be. Price comments on the possibility of it being in Russia. You groan internally. You’ve been to Russia once and it was hell. Getting stuck in Russia in December was the last thing you wanted. Gaz and Soap share the same sentiment when their heads drop. 

“Leave is going to feel like heaven,” Soap says.

“Unless we get stuck in the snow waiting for exfil for three weeks,” Gaz mumbles as he takes a bite out of his sandwich. There’s a collective groan throughout the table.

“If you jinx it Garrick, I’m shoving my boot up your arse,” Ghost threatens, pointing a finger at Gaz as a warning. 

‘We have leave?’ You ask, looking around for an answer.

“Mhm, two weeks.” Price says, “You have somewhere to go, Rookie?”

You think for a moment, Price watches as your expression saddens. He likes that he can see more of your face now. He feels like he can understand you more as your brows furrow or your eyes crinkle.

‘I have a place in the States. But I was planning on selling it and getting something near.’ You explain. 

“You have that appointment with the surgeon coming up.” Price states. You had almost forgotten about it. Price must’ve checked with Laswell about that.

‘I should be back by the end of leave, I think. First week of January?’

Price makes a mental note of that and nods. 

“Then we should celebrate,” Soap places his hand on the back of your chair. “Please, Captain? Think we owe Rookie a 141-style celebration for not just getting into the team. But also surviving his first mission.” Gaz and Ghost nod in agreement. 

Barely, you think. 

“Alright,” Price says simply. “If you get your paperwork done by eight, we’ll celebrate.” 

Soap groans but agrees. 

—

You’ve never seen Soap so focused. You don’t know what type of paperwork he’s been forced to do but if you hadn’t known better you’d think he was doing rocket science on those files. You watch him from the common room couch as a movie plays quietly on the TV. 

Your phone buzzes.

Private message: Price to Rookie

Price: Is he still at it?

Rookie: Yes, sir. Didn’t know he knew how to sit still for so long.

Price: Alcohol is a strong motivator.

You snicker to yourself. Soap could probably learn to fly if it meant he would be getting drunk. But through some miracle, Soap pulls through at exactly 7:50. He slams his hands down on the table in triumph and bolts out of the common rooms with files in hand. 

It doesn’t take more than two minutes for your phone to buzz.

Group chat: 141

Price: outside in 10.

—

The December cold was starting to get to you. As you and the team walked down the street towards the bar you could feel the cold biting your ears. Gaz does a little dance to fight off the cold as he walks beside you. Price and Ghost leading the way with Soap in the back. 

“Should’ve brought a thicker jacket,” Gaz mumbles, you nod in agreement. Luckily the bar isn’t far from where Price parked the car.

There’s a collective sigh of relief as you feel the warm air from inside the bar. You wouldn’t say it’s busy, but there’s a good amount of people inside. Both civilians and soldiers. Price and Ghost lead the group to a booth in the back corner. Soap is giddy as he taps his hands on the table as he slides in. You sit between Ghost and Soap, Price on Ghost’s other side. 

“What do you want, Rookie?” Gaz asks, standing in front of the table. You shrug, not really having a preference for drinks. “I’ll get you something good.” He says before walking off. It seems he already has everyone else’s drinks memorized. You watch as Gaz walks towards the bar, he smiles kindly towards the bartender.

“So, Rookie,” Soap starts, his arm resting behind you. “Do you have any good bar stories?” You can feel the heat radiating off of him, it makes it hard to think.

‘Got in a bar fight while with Alpha Five. Got sliced with a broken bottle and had to get stitches.’ You shrug as you type. 

Soap laughs, “you? A bar fight? I don’t believe you.” 

You pull out your hand, he looks confused for a second before hesitantly placing his in yours. You slip his fingers under your mask to the thick scar over your jaw. His fingers feel hot against your skin. His ears turn pink and his eyes widen as he feels the scar. 

“First round!” Gaz announces. Soap quickly slips his hand away and clears his throat, his eyes concentrating on the amber liquid in front of him. Gaz places a glass bottle in front of you. You spin the bottle around, reading the label. He got you a fruity drink. You give him a look but he only gives you a cheeky smile in return. “It’s good.” 

You hate to admit it but he’s right. It’s delicious, and its alcohol content should be illegal.

Conversation flows naturally after a couple of drinks, but your typing starts to get sloppy after your third bottle so you end up restoring to Ghost to translate what you’re saying. Soap doesn’t seem any better, after a couple of drinks he has lost all sense of personal boundaries. His hand has found home in your hair again, occasionally stroking your hair or downright gripping it. 

Gaz and Price are too invested in their conversation to notice. But Ghost’s eyes continue to flash towards you every time Soap’s grip tightens before releasing. You want to elbow him in the stomach but the feeling of his hand in your hair in combination with the alcohol in your system prevents you from protesting. On a particularly hard grab, you slide your hand up his back grab his Mohawk from the base of his neck, and yank. Soap holds in a groan and you smack him away. 

You don’t see it, but it takes Soap everything in his power not to jump on you. Ghost huffs as he glances at Soap’s enthralled expression. His hands flex as he tries to keep his hands to himself.

You’re not far off either, squeezing your thighs together and gripping your glass bottle. Your skin feels warm, and you don’t know if it was Soap or the alcohol that caused it. 

By the time you finish your next drink (you’ve lost count), you’re text-to-speech and signs make no sense. You blabber on and on about something but Ghost can’t make out any of it. 

“What’s he going on about, Simon?” Price asks. Ghost shrugs, narrowing his eyes as he tries to decipher your signs. 

“Not the faintest clue,” he mumbles, taking another sip of his drink. “Should probably get going before we have to drag those three down the block.” Price agrees and goes off to pay the tab. Ghost keeps an eye on you as you sign something to Soap. Then, for a split moment, you make perfect sense. He grabs your hands, preventing you from signing anything else. “Keep talking like that and we’re gonna have to do something about it,” he whispers in your ear. You smile drunkenly behind your mask and rip your hands away. 

Luckily Price comes back quickly and the group makes its way outside. You don’t feel the cold with so much alcohol in your system. You also don’t feel the curb as you trip on it. Ghost catches you, pulling you from your hoodie. Gaz and Soap snicker at you, but it’s not like they’re walking straight either.

Once in the car, Ghost, who’s barely drunk at all, decides to drive. Price takes his place as passenger, while Soap sits between you and Gaz. It doesn’t take long for Price and Gaz to fall asleep against the windows. Soap can’t help but continue to touch your hair, his other hand falling against your thigh. You lean over to him, getting the sudden urge to bite him. You lift your mask enough to bite his neck. The grip on your hair tightens as he hisses, leaning his head back. Soap’s eyes fall on Ghost, who’s watching from the rearview mirror. Soap throws him a lousy grin.

“Behave,” Ghost warns, loud enough for both of you to hear, but not to wake Price and Gaz up. You lick the bite before pulling your mask back down and backing off. Soap reluctantly pulls his hands away.

The rest of the ride to base is quiet. You feel nauseous a couple of times, you’d honestly be better at staying away from potholes drunk than Ghost does not drunk. After Price wakes up he doesn’t head straight to bed, instead heading to his office. Gaz heads straight to his room without a word, half asleep when his head hits his pillow. Soap holds onto your hoodie sleeve, walking towards your room, but Ghost grabs him from the nape of his neck and directs him to his room.

“Would rather you two deal with this when you’re sober,” he says before practically shoving Soap inside his room. Ghost waits for you to open your door, not wanting you to hop on Soap the second he’s gone. “Drink some water.” He says as you enter your room. You give him a salute before closing your door. 

You sigh, leaning against your door. You rip off your mask and throw it onto your bed. You run your hands across your face, feeling the hot blush that stains it. Your bruised nose still hurts a fuck ton. You can’t stop thinking about the feeling of Soap’s fingers caressing your scar, the feeling of his throat under your teeth, his flesh under your tongue, his hand in your hair, and the grip on your thigh. It’s all too much yet not enough. You wish you could rip into his flesh, find comfort in his warmth, and crawl into his ribcage. You don’t know if the feeling is purely carnal. When you close your eyes you can see his soft blue ones locking in with yours. The smell of his shampoo and the alcohol on his breath. 

Your mind buzzes with a comfortable warmth. And all you can do is hope that you forget about everything by tomorrow.

Chapter Text

You remember everything.

You remember every single touch. His hand in your hair and your teeth on his throat. It’s like your tongue is still on the mark. God, you hope you didn’t leave a mark. Gaz will never let you hear the end of it if there’s a giant bite mark on Soap’s throat. 

Your hangover isn’t as bad as it could be. Maybe it’s because you’re young, maybe it’s because you’ve been through worse. The warm shower feels like heaven on your aching, stressed muscles. You wish you could stay under the water until lunchtime. 

After changing into some clean fatigues (you make a mental note that you have to do laundry) you head out to the field to do your morning jog. You spot Gaz, Soap, and Ghost in the mess hall. From this angle, you can’t see if there’s a mark on Soap. You try not to stare too hard as you pass by, but for a split second, you lock eyes with Soap. Everything that happened last night flashes through your mind and your face turns red. You try to act like you didn’t see him as you cross the double doors.

As you jog through the field you debate what to do today. You’re not really given any jobs like running drills with recruits or paperwork. You’re sure they’re waiting for you to be able to speak before throwing you into boring military work. But you need some sort of distraction, both from what happened the night before and the fact that the fucker that tortured you is still out there. You stumble a bit as the thought crosses your mind. Your ankle hurts. 

You can’t do anything right now. As far as you know the bastard is hiding on some small island that’s never been marked on a map before. You’re sure that Laswell isn’t telling you everything for your sake. That woman you killed was there, that means he has to be close by.

—

As hard as you try to avoid Soap, you’re bound to cross paths with him during lunch. When you see him in the common room you turn your heel before the group can see you. But unfortunately for you, Gaz spots you and calls you over. You sigh, taking a seat furthest from Soap. You avoid his eyes, instead your eyes fall to the big bite mark on his neck. As embarrassing as it is, it looks good. In any other scenario, you would’ve been proud of it.

“We have a meeting after lunch,” Gaz comments before eating a spoonful of mashed potatoes. If you could groan dramatically you would. “It’s either for a mission or a sexual misconduct seminar.” Your head jerks up, and Gaz gives you an ‘I know’ smile. 

“Garrick, I’m going to shove my boot up your arse,” Soap threatens, his own face bright pink. 

Gaz shrugs, “Might have to keep the alcohol away from you, Rookie. I’m starting to see a pattern.” Ghost laughs a little too hard at that. You almost throw your spoon at him. But you rather not have another assault report on your ass. You kick Gaz under the table, he muffles a groan behind a bite of his food. That’ll do.

The rest of lunch goes on relatively quiet aside from a bit of conversation. Ghost and Gaz steal glances from both you and Soap occasionally, as if asking ‘When are they going to talk about it?’ But you never do. If anything, the two of you act like the other doesn’t exist. 

After lunch the four of you head to the meeting room where Laswell and Price are already waiting. As you go to take your seat, Ghost grabs you by the hood of your hoodie and pulls you away. He steals your seat, leaving you to the only open chair- next to Soap. You shoot him a glare as you reluctantly sit next to Soap. You cross your arms over your chest. The action makes Ghost huff in amusement.

“Afternoon, gentlemen. Glad to see everyone in one piece… mostly.” Laswell glances at Soap before continuing. You could die right there and then you would. “A member of La Red has resurfaced. Sokolov. He’s been spotted at a club in Amsterdam. Apparently, word of mouth that the facility in south Mexico was raided didn’t reach him. Or he doesn’t care.”

Your stomach churns as you look over the information on the projector. If any of the hostages were to get sold around, he’d be the one to oversee it.

“I have connections in that club. All I need is for one of you to go undercover and extract him without any of his men noticing.” 

Soap laughs, “This club is in the red light district. You expect one of us to get all pretty for him?” 

Laswell’s face doesn’t falter, “Yes. It’s fairly simple.” You scoff at that, “one of Sokolov’s men comes into the club on Friday to choose the man or woman who will… attend to Sokolov Saturday night.” 

Great, the human trafficker is bisexual. Another win for representation. 

“Who’s it going to be?” Gaz asks, eyes scanning the room. Everyone’s eyes fall on you. You almost jump out of your seat, you point at yourself in indignation.

‘Why me?’ You sign with large gestures. Ghost doesn’t need to translate, everyone knows what you’re saying.

“You’re the bonnie of the group,” Soap mumbles. 

‘I’m not whatever that is!’ You retort; but compared to the other four men in the task force… the choice is too clear.  

“It’s not like any of us can do it,” Ghost shrugs. “You fit the profile pretty well.” He slides you a file that’s been lying on the table, he opens it to a page filled with photos of Sokolov with… escorts. You sigh, he’s right. Out of everyone you’re closest to his type. The thought makes your hands sweaty.

‘Do I have a choice?’ You sign, Ghost translates.

“Not really, no.” Laswell shrugs. “You’ve done similar work with Alpha Five.” 

‘I wasn’t like this,’ you signal towards yourself as Ghost translates. 

“How do we know that Rookie’s past with La Red won’t compromise him?” Price asks. “They probably know what he looks like.”

“Few mentions of him in their records from what we gathered. Besides, masks aren’t exactly something out of the ordinary in those types of places.” Laswell answers, and then she turns to you. “I’ll send you everything you need to know. You leave Thursday morning.” 

———

Laswell gets you the files you need by dinner. You sit on the common room couch, files open on the coffee table. Your eyes scan and study every piece of information you are given. Laswell didn’t say it directly, but you know this is essentially a solo mission. You’ll be in Amsterdam on Thursday but the rest of the team won’t get there until Saturday. 

You’re more nervous than you care to admit. You’ve never worked on a mission without a team. Even when you did undercover work, there was always at least someone else there with you.

The main plan was simple: get Sokolov into a private room, sedate him, and take him through the back into a van where the team is waiting. 

What concerned you was actually getting picked to be his escort for the night. It’s completely out of your control. If Sokolov’s right hand picks someone else then the entire plan goes tits up and it’s all fucked. 

Though you're anxious to work on a solo mission, you’re also relieved that the team won’t see you dressed in some kinky outfit and sitting on some Russian guy’s lap. Another reason to be anxious, this isn’t just any club, it’s a kink club in the biggest red lights district in the world. 

In any other scenario, it would’ve sounded fun. You’re not unfamiliar with those types of places.

Your first introduction to BDSM and kinks was in high school. Like most people, you scroll too far or get too curious and you find something out about yourself. It’s not something you talk about, considering it’s not the easiest thing to bring up. 

The thought reminds you of what happened with Soap. And as if some omnipresent force had been listening to your thoughts, the common room door opens and Soap walks in. He pauses when he sees you on the couch, the light of the TV flashing on your face as you focus on the files in front of you. He makes sure to walk a little bit louder than usual to make his presence known. You look up when you hear the sound of him rummaging through the fridge. His hair is still wet from showering. You turn away when his eyes meet yours. You wish you could hide in the cushions. He grabs an apple juice bottle and approaches the couch. 

He hesitates before saying, “Can we talk?” In a quiet voice. You rather not. You rather lock yourself in your room than confront whatever this is. Whatever complicated situation you’ve placed yourself in not just with Soap, but with everyone else in the team. Price ought to suspend you for this. Or maybe he’d suspend Soap, he is a superior after all. But you’re an adult, it's better to rip the bandaid right now before anything gets worse. You can’t deal with La Red and whatever this is at the same time. It gives you no chance to rest your mind from constant turmoil. If it isn’t sexual repression it’s trauma. Same difference. 

You slide over, making room for Soap. He takes a seat, his mouth opens but quickly closes. 

“I… know that the feeling isn’t one-sided. Maybe it is, I don’t know we all do stupid shit when we’re drunk. Fuck, I don’t know how to say it. It was easier with Simon.” He groans, dropping his head into his hands. You reach across the coffee table for your phone.

‘We don’t have to talk about it’ You type. 

“We both know not talking about it will make things harder than they need to be. I’m attracted to you. I- I was jealous when you were with Alejandro. And I know that you feel a similar way.” He stares at you with wide puppy eyes, you can’t stand it.

‘I haven’t even been here for two weeks yet.’

“It’s not like you’re leaving any time soon. You’re stuck with us for a while, lad. Plenty of time to learn everything about you.” 

You don’t say anything, instead, you try to focus on the files on the coffee table. There are some things you rather keep a secret.

‘Fuck off.’ You pull your knees up to your chest, closing yourself off. 

“I know you like it when I grab your hair when I tug on it.” He leans over, his voice low as if he was hiding from someone. Your face burns, but you don’t object. Maybe it’s because you’re extremely touch-starved that you like it when he caresses your hair. Maybe some deeper, underlying issues that you rather not address. It’s always that, isn't it? It all circles back.

Soap’s hand reaches out, slowly he slips it through your hair. It’s like he’s petting a stray dog. You don’t even notice you’re leaning into his hand until you hear him huff. But you don’t back away, instead you move towards him. 

“You’re like a feral puppy, lad. Biting and nipping until you get affection. Even then you like to bite.” He moves both hands into your hair and you’ve never felt more like a dog before. “Good pup, this is what you need, eh? Been so stressed, all you need is someone to take care of you.” 

He’s not wrong, that’s what makes it more embarrassing. That you like this more than anything. You want this more than you care to admit. You shouldn’t like it, you’ve never entertained the idea. What kind of fucked up childhood trauma creates this? How long do you scroll on strange kink websites until you develop an interest in this sort of thing? 

“We can take care of you…” 

Your eyes open so fast you could’ve gotten whiplash. You back off. You automatically miss his touch.

‘We?’ You type. ‘What do you mean we?’

“I- there’s a few things I should explain.” He scratches his chin nervously, right below his scar. “You know how it is in the military. In the 141 we trust each other with our lives and you know… things happen.” He rambles on. Your brain shuts down before rebooting. 

‘You’re all dating?’ You ask. 

“I wouldn’t say dating… we don’t put a label on it. It’s more like an open relationship, I suppose.” 

‘Are they okay with this?’ Your fingers fidget with the case on your phone. The pads of your fingers feel the texture of heavy-duty material.

“Of course lad! You saw how Kyle was teasin’, not to mention Simon’s starin’ from the car. John doesn’t mind, if anything he’s glad to take a break from my antics,” Soap’s cheeks warm as he recalls a conversation he had with Price not long before coming over to talk to you. “Are you okay with this?”

Are you? There’s so much you haven’t discussed. So much you haven’t confessed. But maybe you’re taking this too seriously. Thinking of this situation as a fully committed relationship. It’s not. It’s military men who can’t afford to have relationships outside of work finding comfort within each other. And you’re a soldier with no one left who yearns yet is terrified of comfort. You’re a dog who bites at any hand that comes near you. You don’t know if they approach you to kick you or feed you, so you bark. Of course, a muzzle has been put on you. You can’t bark. So you bite.

Do you want this? Do you want to leave the streets and enter a warm home? Be fed and washed and cared for? Will they still want you when they see what being a stray has done to you? When they pet your fur in a certain way that triggers something in you and you bite, will they forgive you? 

But they’re strays, too. Aren’t they? They bark and bite when they’re scared. They’ve been left on the street to starve. They know what it’s like to forget yourself. Though, strays like Gaz and Price hide it better than others. They wouldn’t wrap a chain around your neck and tie you to a fence post in the rain. They wouldn’t kick you to the street just to avoid looking at you. Maybe, just maybe, they are willing to bleed while you lick the blood from your teeth. 

Are you okay with this?

‘I suppose.’ 

—

The next day, things change. Nothing changed drastically, but it felt like a shift in the wind. You were given the day off from normal duties since you’d leave the next day for Amsterdam. A nice break before the entire weight of the La Red operation falls on your shoulders. 

The biggest, yet most expected change comes when you’re sitting on the couch reading over the profiles of Sokolov’s men. The TV is on to some random channel broadcasting an old movie you’ve seen many times before. It’s background noise as you read about Angelo, Sokolov’s right-hand man. 

Soap walks in after spending all morning yelling at recruits. He heads straight for the couch and topples on top of you. His weight pulls you down and he shuffles around until you're both comfortable. You sigh, reaching for the file you were reading, but he grabs your hand and puts it in his hair. His head lays on your chest, legs tangled. 

The conversation from last night unleashed a monster. Soap doesn’t take things slow, he’s intense and needy. The second you give him an okay, he’s all over you. 

You sigh, a bit annoyed you can’t study up on your mission. He’s not the one getting sent in like a piece of meat. But you can’t deny that his slow breaths don’t relax your nerves a bit. You assume he needs this too. 

‘Get off,’ you sign anyway, though he can’t see it. ‘I’m busy.’ 

“I don’t know what you’re saying, lad but whatever it is I’m saying no.” He muffles into your chest. “It’s bloody freezing outside and you’re warm.” You wiggle around, hoping to at least grab your phone from the coffee table to scold him. 

“You bothering the Rookie, Soap?” Ghost grumbles as he walks in, making his way to the coffee maker. 

“He’s like a space heater,” he mumbles, trying to sink deeper into your chest. “And he likes it.”

“You’re crushing him,” Ghost pours himself a cup of coffee, the smell fills the air. It’s nice. 

“He bit me, this is a bit of payback.”

‘You liked it when I bit you.’ 

Ghost huffs in amusement, taking a seat on the recliner. Soap sits up, looking at you.

“What’d you say, lad?” Soap narrows his eyes before turning to Ghost for a translation. Ghost takes a sip of his coffee instead. You decide to entertain him. You point towards Soap, he nods, then you draw a smile across his face, he nods again, you point at yourself, followed by a clawed biting motion, and lastly one more point towards Soap. 

He gets the idea.

You watch as he decides what to do. His eyes calculating his next move. Of course, he chooses violence.

He leans down and lifts up your mask just enough to bite you in the crook of your neck. You gasp, gripping his shirt as the pain shoots through your nerves. It’s sharp and quick but simmers into a pleasant feeling as he softens his bite. He mimics what you did, licking the teeth indents in your skin. The warm wet feeling travels down. You take hold of his hair and pull him away. A moan escapes his lips as he’s pulled back, eyes fluttering shut.  

He sits in between your legs, a noticeable bulge in his pants. You bring your leg up and place it on his chest before pushing him down towards the other end of the couch. 

‘It’s too early for any of this.’ You sign before sitting up and returning to your files. Soap pouts, and he slides back towards you. You roll your eyes as he rests his head on your shoulder, reading the files. 

“I think you’re over-studying, lad.” His hands slide under your hoodie, and you tense as you feel the cold of his fingertips over your shirt. “You just have to be a cute little pet for him. I’m sure you know how to do that, yeah?” 

“Johnny,” Ghost warns, Soap’s fingers stop moving. Your body relaxes as his hands slip away, only his head remaining on your shoulder which you don’t mind. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to be a horny mutt? It’s not even lunch yet.” 

“Negative, L.T.” 

“Go take a cold shower.” 

“Would rather deal with it a different way,” he whispers into your ear. You glare at him, pushing him off. 

‘Go fuck a pillow.’ You sign. Ghost translates with a hint of amusement in his tone. 

“Sometimes I’m not sure those translations are accurate, L.T. Are you sure he didn’t offer to help me out?” 

You elbow him in the stomach.

Chapter Text

The anniversary of the day you were captured is coming up, two days to be exact. 

That’s the first thought that floods your mind as you wake up early. Your bag is already packed, not like you have much for what’s hopefully a three, maybe four-day trip. You join the team for one more early briefing before Gaz and Soap drive you to the airport. Technically, Gaz is the one driving you. Soap decides to join because he wants to get out of the morning ruck and wants to tease you one last time before you’re gone. You try to remind him you’ll see him in less than three days, but he only whines that it’s far too many days. That the team has grown used to you being around. Who will watch TV with him? (You say Gaz will.) Whose hair will he tug and whose neck will he bite? (Probably Ghost.) Who will he bother? (Price will be in his office.) Gaz jokes that this is more of a vacation than a mission. And he’s right, you’ve spent two weeks with the 141, and not a single day have you been given a day off from seeing their ugly mugs (they’re far from ugly, but you would never boost any of their egos).

The plane ride is short. Before you know it you’re in the Netherlands and in a cab on your way to the hotel Laswell got for you. She made sure to have everything planned out. From the cab, you will take around the city to the shampoo bottle in your room. You’re given a name, a new identity. If anyone asks questions, you are given a couple of preset answers on your phone. 

The hotel room is small. It’s nothing special. A double bed, a small TV and a bathroom. On the bed, is a black duffle bag, but you already know what’s inside. Weapons. If anything happens you aren’t left defenseless. You sit on the bed. For a moment, you feel like you're back in the States in that old apartment. Where nothing feels like it belongs to you and everything is cold. 

The plan for Thursday is essentially to act like a tourist and later that afternoon before the club opens meet with Laswell’s connection. You’ll be working there for the next couple of days, getting a hang of the routine so you’re ready for Saturday when the real show begins.

Before you head out to check out the city you make sure to text the team.

Group chat: 141

Rookie: Arrived

Price: Good to hear. See you Saturday.

Soap: do you miss us?

Rookie: no

Soap: :( 

Rookie: I’ve been gone for less than three hours. You’ll live.

—

They all make fun of Soap for the first couple of hours until it hits them too. It’s odd not having you on base. Even Price feels it’s strange not having you around. 

Ghost feels it first when he finds himself alone in the common room looking over his own files for the mission. He’s grown so comfortable sitting in silence with you that returning to sitting alone makes him feel… lonely. He misses translating things for you when you won’t bother pulling out your phone. The way you glare at Gaz and Soap when they say something stupid.

Gaz feels it during lunch when he makes sure to leave a seat open between himself and Soap for you. He does a double-take of his own actions when he realizes that you won’t be there for lunch. It’s not like you’ve made yourself incredibly known. You sit quietly, eat your lunch, and listen to whatever the team is talking about, occasionally making a comment or a correction. 

Price feels it after dinner when everyone is winding down and deciding what to do for the rest of the evening. There’s no insistent teasing from Soap and Gaz. No robotic text-to-speech voice telling them off. He misses the way you’re so professional with him, always standing a little bit straighter when he walks into a room. Thinking about it makes him chuckle to himself. 

Group chat: 141

Gaz: Rookieeee

Rookie: Yeah?

Gaz: doing anything fun?

Rookie: had lunch in a nice cafe, walked around. Preparing to go to the club.

Soap: send pics

Rookie: ???

Rookie: of what? My lunch? Or me getting ready for the club? 

Soap: both

Rookie: Two superiors in this group chat and nobody is doing anything about the harassment I’m facing.

Gaz: Technically you are a tourist. You should be taking photos.

Rookie: I have! Just not the type Soap wants.

Price: I’d file the report but it doesn’t look good for me to have two members of my task force getting up to trouble.

Gaz: What do you mean, sir?

Rookie: …

Ghost: Rookie punched a recruit before our mission in Mexico.

Price: says here you almost broke his jaw.

Rookie: in my defense

Rookie: he deserved it.

Rookie: Anyway, I’ll update you all later. Have to get to my first day of work. 

You send a picture of yourself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you’re in a large black winter coat, face tucked underneath a soft blue scarf. Your phone buzzes multiple times but you just shove it in your pocket and head out.

You take a short cab ride to the red lights district. It’s fairly empty since the sun is still out. You pull out a piece of paper from your pocket with the address of the club. It’s a hole-in-the-wall type of place, where there’s no large neon sign inviting you in. Simply a black door on red bricks. You knock and take a step back. 

A tall man wearing all black leather and a pup mask opens the door. He raises his eyebrow as he expects you to say what your business is. You pull your phone from your pocket and press one of the prerecorded options.

‘I’m here to see Kaleb.’ The voice says for you, the man looks you up and down before letting you in. 

The club is beautiful. Dark wood furniture accented with gold. The floor is tiled in a glittery dark, bloody red. The walls are a similar dark wood to the furniture, decorated with hanging red cloth. There's a large circular stage that sits in the middle of the room. When you look up, an intricate painting in the style of the Sistine Chapel depicts all sorts of sexual scenes. 

The large man takes you into a hall lined with private rooms. The end of the hall separates into two smaller halls, based on the signs the left hall leads to the second floor while the right hall leads to the dressers and storage. 

You follow him as he turns right. Once reaching the purple door at the end of the hall he knocks twice before opening it. He gestures for you to enter first and you comply. Inside, the dressing room is lined with vanities and racks of clothing, wigs, and gear. There are a couple of couches covered in different colors and textures of fabric. You avoid making eye contact with the posters that cover the walls. 

A tall woman stands near the racks of clothing, measuring a short girl with curly blonde hair. You’re startled when the tall man huffs out a bark. The woman turns around and you get a good look at her. Her hair is dyed a dark red and worn in a half up half down style. She wears a black dress shirt and black slacks, the club insignia on her red tie. She must be in her late forties, maybe early fifties, but she looks good for her age. Her eyes crinkle as she smiles widely at you, extending her arms for a hug as she walks towards you.

“You must be Kate’s boy!” She says and she pulls you into a tight hug. You’re taken aback by her American accent, assuming she’d speak with a German or Dutch accent. “You met my puppy, Marcos. I’m Kaleb, dear.” 

You give Marcos a small nod in acknowledgment. Kaleb cocks her head to the side as you open your phone and start typing. 

“Oh, how could I forget? You’re mute, dear? Don’t worry, I was friends with a group of deaf drag queens when I was a teen.” You sigh in relief, putting your phone away. Kaleb motions Marcos to sit on one of the couches, which he obediently does. You introduce yourself to Kaleb.

‘Did Laswell tell you everything?’ You ask. 

“She told me what I needed to know. Don’t worry, you are in good hands,” she says with a smile. She looks you over, “but first I need you to take all that off. Marcos, take his coat.” Marcos stands up and walks over. He pulls at the sleeve of your coat, and you reluctantly hand it over as well as your scarf. You still have your mask, a fairly thick black wool sweater, an undershirt, jeans, and leather combat boots on. “C’mon, don’t be shy. I’ve seen all types of bodies. Nothing surprises me anymore.” 

‘I rather keep my clothes on.’ You sign, nervously looking around. The girl Kaleb had been measuring is gone. Kaleb gives you a look that you can only describe as motherly. You don’t remember the last time you’ve seen that kind of look.

She puts her hands on her hips, “I promise it’ll be quick. Just need to get your measurements. It’s just us three here. If you want I can send Marcos out.” 

‘No, it’s not that. It’s just that… I don’t have a pretty past.’

She scoffs but there’s no malice under it, “None of us have pretty pasts. I was kicked out of my home as a teenager for being queer. Was homeless, did some not-so-fun things until Marcos found me. Now look at me.” She gestures towards herself, she’s beautiful and confident. “Everyone has demons, dear. And I’m not one to judge.” 

You grab at your sleeve, eyes darting around as you decide. You don’t have a choice, this is your job. So you pull your sweater over your head, as well as your undershirt. You kick off your boots and pants.

And finally, your mask. Marcos takes your stuff. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Kaleb’s gaze doesn’t linger on you for too long, she pulls a tape measure from her pocket and starts measuring you. You hold your arms out for her to measure. She writes some numbers down in a small notebook she pulls from her pocket.

“When did you get top surgery?” She asks, measuring your torso.

‘Couple years ago,’ you sign. 

She hums, “Scars healed nicely. Good nipple placement, too.” Your face goes red as she examines your least traumatic scars. “Sorry, dear, part of the job.” 

‘What are we going to do about…’ you gesture towards your facial and body scars. She gestures dismissively.

“People are into all sorts of things. If anyone asks we can say you’re into scarification or are a heavy masochist. If it makes you uncomfortable, then we can put you in all leather, maybe latex. Sokolov would probably like that. Oh!” She clasps her hands together excitedly, “You’d make an adorable pup! Isn’t that right Marcos?” 

Marcos barks in agreement. 

“A muzzle and some ears would do you good. Don’t want to hide that face too much…” Kaleb mumbles to herself as she finishes measuring your legs. She hops up and smiles at you. “What do you think?” But your expression tells her everything she needs to know. “Thought about it before?”

‘Not to that extreme.’ You sign, suddenly feeling way too naked.

“Well, we can dress you up and decide from there,” she walks over to the vanity and writes something down on a piece of paper. She hands it over to Marcos, “Send someone out for this, pup.” She ruffles Marcos’ hair before sending him out. 

With a quick turn of her heels, she turns back to you, “You can get dressed. I need you to fill out some stuff then I can show you how things work around here until we get you your stuff.”

After getting dressed you do just that. You fill out a couple forms, including a kink form describing your ‘yes’ and ‘no’s. You pray that this information never gets to Kate or anyone else.

Afterwards, Kaleb walks you through operations and you meet the employees of the club. She explains that your first night will simply be watching how everything works and how to act. You’ll be shadowing Ruby, a dom as her sub for the night. 

Ruby is intimidating. The first thing you notice about her is her vibrant red lipstick and her stoic demeanor. Her hair is long and black, tied up into a ponytail with bangs framing her face. She isn’t tall but makes up for it in her black heels. She wears a dress shirt and slacks similar to Kaleb’s. Except she doesn’t wear a tie, instead opting for wearing her dress shirt semi-open, revealing an intricate snake tattoo that wraps up her torso and up to her neck. She looks at you with intense eyes that make you nervous. It’s ridiculous to think that you have a kill count but can’t look her in the eyes.

Although intimidating, you find that Rudy is nice. You share kink forms with her and negotiate boundaries. She’s understanding and you gain confidence that she won’t do anything you won’t like. Although her first language is French and you’re unable to speak, you manage to work everything out. 

Eventually, Kaleb approaches you with a large black shopping bag. Her smile makes you nervous. She leads you back into the dressing rooms and helps you into the leather. It’s surprisingly comfortable, the leather is soft and flexible. It feels no different than wearing your military gear with all the straps and buckles. The boots are your favorite part, not that different from your typical military boots aside from the added straps and paw prints on the bottoms. You roll your ankle, testing how well the boots would work if you had to run. 

Your face turns red when you see the mask and ears. The dog muzzle isn’t a full hood like Marcos’, only shaped to cover the bottom half of your face. It’s secured to your face by soft leather straps. You’re given floppy puppy ears on top of your head. 

“You look lovely, dear!” Kaleb says with a big smile, she walks around you examining the leather. “Makes me want to keep you myself.” She jokes as she tugs on your dog ears playfully. “But how do you feel?”

‘Like a show dog,’ you sign, there’s a feeling in your chest that you can’t describe. ‘I’m not used to this sort of thing.’

“You’ll get used to it, don’t worry, dear.” Kaleb reassures, “Now c’mon we have some work to do.”

Ruby gives you a collar with the club insignia, it fits comfortably around your neck. The rest of the night, although a bit overwhelming, goes smoothly. You spend most of the night next to Ruby in one of the VIP areas, she has you kneeling on the ground with her hand in your hair. You can't help but think of Soap. You watch patrons and employees alike as they interact and simply exist in the ecosystem. You pay especially close attention to subs, watching how they interact with others. By the end of the night (Or technically early morning), you feel like a natural with this whole thing. 

Eventually, you head back to the dressing rooms, change back into your normal clothes, say goodbye to Kaleb, Marcos, and Rudy, and head back to your hotel room. Of course, making a quick stop by an open food stand for something to eat. 

When you get to your room you drop onto the bed with a sigh. You decide to notify the team of your day.

Group chat: 141

[six unread messages]

Rookie: Just got back. Everything went well.

Ghost: Good to hear. 

Rookie: Still awake?

Ghost: Insomnia 

Ghost: Made any friends?

Rookie: wasn’t my first day of kindergarten 

Ghost: could’ve fooled me

Rookie: very funny 

Rookie: There’s this tall guy that reminds me of you

Ghost: yeah?

Rookie: yeah, wears a dog mask and only responds in barks. The resemblance is uncanny.

Ghost: …

Ghost: You should head to bed.

Rookie: YOU should head to bed

Rookie: sir

Rookie: okay night 

Ghost: Good night, corporal.

———

When you wake up in the early afternoon, your phone is filled with new messages. Price sent you a greeting and a thank you which made you snicker at how formal he is. Gaz and Soap send you a million questions and messages about how it’s boring without you around. You send them a shrug emoji, get dressed, and head out for breakfast. 

You make sure to take some more photos to send to the group chat since the team seems to enjoy it, at least Soap and Gaz do. You wonder what Soap’s reaction would be if he saw you in the club gear. But instead, you send a picture of the red lights district you took on your way to the hotel last night. 

Group chat: 141

Soap: We should spend leave in Amsterdam 

Price: rather not

Rookie: L.T. would fit in just fine 

Gaz: looks cool! Excited to see ya again, Rookie :)

Rookie: You act like I’ve been gone a month 

Soap: feels like it 

Rookie: I don’t know how you’ll survive leave, then

Soap: ? What do you mean?

Rookie: Laswell is sending me to a specialized surgeon, after this mission I won’t be back till January 

Soap: NOOO I FORGOT

Gaz: I could hear his scream from down the hall 

Rookie: Lol learn to live without me. See ya later. Have to make sure this mission doesn’t go to shit.

When you get to the club, Marcos opens the door for you. He huffs in greeting, if he had a real tail it would be wagging. You smile behind your mask and give him a curt nod as you enter. Friday afternoon the club has a few more employees running around than yesterday. Rudy pets your hair as you walk by, which makes you blush. When you enter the dressing room you see that Kaleb is anxiously biting her nails. 

“There you are!” She exclaims when she spots you, “Sokolov’s right hand will be here in half an hour. Get ready, c’mon, dear!” Kaleb helps you into the gear, giving the straps an extra tug and your hair an extra ruffle. She, Ruby, and Marcos help you go over what will be expected of you, which includes how to present and kneel. 

The girl with curly blonde hair from yesterday comes in and whispers into Kaleb’s ear. Kaleb goes rigid for a second before turning back to you.

She takes a deep breath, “Angelo is here. Alright, c’mon.” She grabs a clipboard from behind the door and leads you out to the main floor. 

There you see him. Sokolov’s right-hand man, Angelo. He couldn’t be any older than thirty-five with black hair slicked back and erie gray eyes. He has a scar that stretches across his face. You don’t know what could’ve caused that. He wears a navy three-piece suit. 

But he isn’t alone.

Behind him is a man you could only describe as gigantic. Much taller than Marcos and certainly taller than Ghost. You assume he had to duck down to get through the door. He’s in full military gear and an executioner-style hood with bleached streaks running down the eye holes. On his arm, a patch for the Austrian flag, and on the other an insignia you’ve only seen a couple of times before. Your eyes widen when you realize he’s Kortac. Sokolov probably knew the risk of walking around after the Mexican compound was raided so he hired a private military contractor. 

You stand in line with a couple of other employees, all in different styles of dress. Kaleb gives Angelo the clipboard with a shaky nervous hand, eyeing the giant behind him. He walks down the line, looking over everyone until his eyes fall on you.

“This is your newest pet, yes?” He says in an accent you can’t identify. He scans you before flipping through the clipboard to your profile. He reads out loud your information until he reaches a certain line, “Oh? Transgender? Unexpected but lovely surprise.” He steps closer to you, the Kortac soldier by his side. You don’t know who’s scarier. “You’re a long way from home, eh? Be a good boy and remove your mask.”

You tense, hands shaking as you reach behind your head and undo the buckle. You slowly pull it down, revealing your face. He smiles.

“We’re matching scars, eh? It’s a shame someone got to your lovely face before us. But you’re cute.” He grabs your face, examining every scar that liters your skin. He lets go of you and takes a step back. “Kneel.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him as you fall to your knees. He studies you for a couple more seconds before turning to Kaleb. “This one will do.” 

You visibly relax at that. You’ve successfully made it to the next stage. 

———

Group chat: 141

Rookie: Day 2 went perfectly. Plan will continue as expected.

Price: Good work. We’ll be happy to see you soon.

Rookie: But I have something to report

Rookie: Sokolov’s right hand arrived with a PMC operator 

Rookie: Kortac to be exact. A really tall guy with a hood over his head and an Austrian flag on his sleeve.

Price: They hired Kortac?

Soap: a hood?

Ghost: I know that guy. Had a run in with him in Moscow a while back. I’ll email you his info.

Rookie: thanks.

Gaz: Do you think you’ll need support?

Rookie: hope not. For now everything is under control but be prepared for shit to hit the fan tomorrow.

Rookie: would rather not cause a scene 

Price: Information noted. I trust you to make the right call.

Rookie: alright. Thank you. I’ll see you all tomorrow.

But you don’t turn off your phone. Instead, in a sudden burst of mischief you head over to Soap’s private messages.

Private message: Rookie to Soap

Rookie: Hey

Soap: what’s up lad?

You send a photo that Ruby took of you after she told you you looked adorable. You’re in full leather, kneeling on the ground, with your face flustered. Ruby managed to get stunning lighting, with red lights highlighting your face. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel hot in that photo.

It doesn’t take long for Soap to reply.

Soap: ???

Soap: is that

Soap: IS THAT YOU?????

Soap: lad

Soap: lad

Soap: pup

Soap: answer me 

You laugh, watching as he goes through every emotion possible. Your fun is cut short when you receive another private message:

Private message: Ghost to Rookie

Ghost: don’t be a brat 

Ghost: he’ll be your problem when you get back. 

Rookie: I don’t know what you mean L.T.

Ghost: don’t play coy

Ghost: careful how you play

The message is more ominous than it needs to be.

——-

Today is the anniversary of the day you were kidnapped. You wake up in a cold sweat, haunted by nightmares and memories. You wish you could go back to sleep. But it’s not like it’ll do you any good. You just pray that everything goes according to plan. 

You’re too nervous to eat breakfast, so instead you decide to walk to some nearby shops. Maybe get the boys a little gift. You stop in your steps as you process that thought. Why would you get them something? Would they even want a stupid little souvenir? 

You can’t help but miss them, though. Aside from talking with Kaleb and the employees at the club before they open, you have been living a relatively quiet life these past two, almost three days. Maybe you will get them a souvenir. 

You force yourself to eat something for lunch. You decide on some groentensoep met balleties, a traditional Dutch soup that a small restaurant by your hotel makes. It warms you up in the freezing cold. 

Group chat: 141

Price: How are you feeling, Rook?

Rookie: I’ve been less nervous taking down terrorists

Gaz: happens to the best of us

Price: we’ll be in Amsterdam soon. You got this, kid.

Rookie: thanks capt 

Rookie: I’m going to enjoy taking the rest of the month off

Price: Soap has been acting like a kicked puppy since you reminded him yesterday.

Soap: speaking of

Ghost: don’t.

Gaz: ???

Gaz: we got a dog?

Soap: you can say that.

Rookie: Actually, i might need a second month off

Ghost: or a transfer

Rookie: wonder how much I’d make as a Kortac operator.

Ghost: probably more.

Price: Very funny.

Price: See you in a couple hours, Rook. 

Rookie: See ya, capt. 

—---

“So, you have a partner?” Kaleb asks as the two of you sit at the bar. You almost spit out the juice you were drinking. She looks up from her paperwork with a curious smile. Luckily the club is only filled with employees running around who are too busy getting ready for the night to care about your gossip. 

‘No. Why?’ You sign.

Kaleb shrugs, “Always assumed being in the military would get you hot boyfriends. You know, always sweaty and muscular and filled with unchecked sexual frustration. If I wasn’t with my dear pup, I would’ve gotten myself a cute military boy to keep my bed warm.” 

‘You’d have a cold bed. We’re not good for civilian relationships.’

“Which is why you cuddle up with your squad,” she points out. “So no boyfriend? Really?”

‘It’s complicated.’

“He has a girl at home?”

‘He has three other military boyfriends.’

Kaleb bursts out laughing, “I don’t understand what the problem is. You just get with the other three, too!” 

‘I’m not sure they like me like that. Plus, I haven’t told them about…’ you point down, gesturing towards your lack of dick and testes. Kaleb’s eyes go wide.

“You haven’t told them, dear? Not even the one?” 

You shrug, ‘I just… don’t know how they’ll react.’ 

“Dear, if they’re kissing they can’t be transphobic. And if they are then they’re not worth your time.”

‘But what if they don’t want me because I’m not-‘ Kaleb grabs your hands before you can finish the sentence.

“They’d be fucking stupid to miss out on such a wonderful man like you, dear.” 

You smile, and for the first time in a year, there’s no mask hiding it.

———

Whoever decided to put all the zippers and straps on kink gear probably didn’t think they would be used to hide enough anesthesia to knock a grown man out, yet here you are. You sit in one of the VIP rooms, hearing the loud music echo through the club. Sokolov should be here any minute, as well as some of his men and that Kortac soldier.

Marcos checks on you every couple of minutes. You have a feeling he’s nervous about this plan. If it goes to shit, Kaleb and all her employees might as well be dead in a ditch. You promise yourself that you won’t let that happen. It’ll be clean. You’ll capture Sokolov, and you’ll head home.

But you’re not sure where home is.

The sound of foreign voices and loud footsteps wake you from your thoughts. You kneel on the ground, presenting how Ruby and Marcos taught you. You spot Sokolov quickly, his gold teeth are hard to miss. He’s followed by Angelo, the Kortac soldier, some of his men, and a few of their own companions. 

He smiles when he sees you. It makes your stomach churn. He talks to Angelo, but you don’t understand him. You can assume from their smiles that Sokolov is pleased with you. He takes a seat next to you, pulling at your collar to move you between his legs. He smells like expensive cologne and cigars. His hand runs through your hair. If it wasn't for the muzzle you would’ve taken a large chunk out his hand with your bare teeth.

“This one is American, no?” Sokolov asks, looking towards Angelo. 

Angelo nods, “He’s mute and has a pussy.” The hand in your hair pauses. You want to take the Kortac soldier’s gun and kill Angelo on the spot.

“Really?” Sokolov chuckles, “Been a while since I’ve been with such a pretty-“ he uses a Russian word you don’t understand, but you get an idea of what he means. You’re a phenomenon to them, a fetish. 

As you’re forced to lay your head on Sokolov’s thigh, you think about the 141 and your conversation with Kaleb. She’s right, they wouldn’t treat you like these pigs. They wouldn’t whisper and laugh at your existence. They wouldn’t see you as whatever derogatory term Sokolov and his men decide to call you.

“Pour me a drink, puppy,” Sokolov commands. You turn around, lean over the low round table, grab him a glass and you pour him some vodka. You can feel his eyes on your ass. When you turn around and offer him his drink, he pulls you up into his lap and takes his drink from you. “Keep my lap warm, and maybe I’ll give you a reward.” You would rather barf.

The knowledge that the team is in the back alley in a van waiting for you to sneak Sokolov out brings you comfort as Sokolov caresses your inner thigh. All you need is to get the fucker and his men drunk enough that they don’t know what happened when Sokolov disappears. Though, your biggest obstacle is the giant in the hood that won’t stop staring at you. 

In hopes of making him cross you off as a threat, you nuzzle into Sokolov’s neck. If he wants a puppy, he’ll get a puppy.

“Oh? Is the big man scaring you, puppy?” He coos, you nuzzle deeper into his neck in confirmation. God, you don’t get paid enough for this. Sokolov snaps his fingers at the soldier, he says something to him. The soldier nods his head and walks to a corner of the lounge, although still ominous, he can’t bother you from over there. “There’s a good boy,” Sokolov pets your hair. You hope the smell of his cologne will wash away from your hair later.

As the night goes on, Sokolov and his men get drunker and the club gets hornier. 

Meanwhile, Soap and Gaz sit in the back of a black van in the alley directly behind the club. They watch the camera feed from inside the club, although the lights make it hard to identify you or Sokolov. Price sits in the driver seat tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and Ghost sits on the passenger side, keeping an eye on his phone for you to give them the signal. 

“You think we can get a sneak peak inside?” Soap asks, although nobody is sure if he’s joking. Gaz elbows him lightly.

“I’m sure Rookie would be mortified if we saw them flirting with Sokolov.” He flips through the cameras, trying to find you. “There,” he says, pointing at the monitor, “tall Kortac fellow. And is that-? Bloody hell, lad.” Gaz eyes widen as he watches you nuzzle into Sokolov like a dog in heat. 

“Focus,” Ghost warns. 

“Yes, sir,” Gaz says, “we’ll never let him live this down.”

“Think they’ll let him keep the gear?” Soap chuckles. 

“Rookie and Sokolov are moving,” Gaz reports, “looks like they’re headed towards the private rooms. Jesus, the fucker is absolutely hammered.”

Ghost and Price get up from their seats and walk over to the monitors. Ghost huffs in amusement as he watches you lead Sokolov through the hall. Price’s ears go red under his beanie as he watches you intently. He can’t believe you, out of all people, agreed to wear that. 

“The big guy is following them,” Soap says, pointing towards the large figure walking a couple meters behind the two of you. “Might be trouble.”

They watch as you enter one of the private rooms, it’s only a matter of time before you send the signal. 

Luckily for you, it’s easy to inject a drunk man with anesthetic as he tries to take off his pants. You switch the pup mask for a regular black mask and rip off the dog ears as you watch him slowly fall unconscious. Eventually, after a couple of seconds, he’s fully out. You zip-tie his hands behind his back, pull a bag over his head, You check for any devices that could be tracked. You find his phone in one of his pockets, you smash it with your boot. 

Private message: Rookie to Ghost

Rookie: got him

Ghost: careful. Big guy outside.

You curse under your breath, trying to figure out the best course of action. The Kortac soldier will get suspicious.

But Ghost can’t wait for something bad to happen. He exits the van and heads inside. The environment is much more overstimulating than he thought it would be but he pushes through. He takes a right down the hall and spots a large figure. 

“Aye, freak. No voyeurism for the private rooms. Fuck off,” he barks, the tall man scurries away. He pauses, confused on how easy that was. He knocks on the door to the private room, “hey, it’s me. Better get a move on, the big guy is gone.”

You sigh in relief and grab Sokolov by his feet, and drag him out the back door. You struggle slightly as you pull him, hoping he doesn’t mind if his suit gets a bit dirty. Ghost appears from the back door, he grabs Sokolov and drags him down the alley and into the van. 

“Dear!” A voice talks, you look down the long hall as Kaleb is running towards you, her heels clicking down the cement. She pulls you into a hug, “was worried I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye. I’ll miss you, sweet thing.” You hug her back tightly. You didn’t think you’d grow so close to someone after three days, but here you are, crying like a child. 

‘Thank you for everything,’ you sign. 

“Tell Kate I said hi and don’t be a stranger! If you ever want to leave the military you can find a place here,” Kaleb sniffles. You pull her into one last hug.

Then you see him. The Kortac soldier.

He rushes down the hall firing his handgun. The loud bangs echo through the alley, you push Kaleb out of the way. Ghost grabs Kaleb and leads her out the other side. Soap pulls out his own handgun, shooting a couple of shots. The soldier stumbles over, holding onto his bleeding thigh. 

“C’mon! Let's go!” Soap yells, you rush into the van. Ghost right behind you. Price quickly pulls out of the alley way.

‘What about Kaleb?’ You sign at Ghost, face full of worry. ‘What about Marcos and Ruby? All those people?’

“She’ll be alright,” he tries to assure you. But you won’t believe it.

‘That Kortac soldier saw her with us! He’ll hunt her down!’ 

You can’t hear what Ghost is saying, his words becoming nothing as a buzzing fills your ears. You become suddenly aware of a warmth spreading across your abdomen. Then, a cold, striking pain. 

It feels like a scene in one of those movies Soap likes to put on in the common room after dinner. Where the character touches their stomach only to find out that they’re bleeding. 

Gaz is saying something, you can see his lips moving. He turns to Soap and the world feels like it’s slowing down. Your vision blurs as the three men get closer. 

Then, it’s dark.

Chapter Text

None of them were particularly fond of hospitals. You don’t go to the hospital for things like childbirth when you’re in this line of work. Instead, it’s common to find your hands covered in your teammate’s blood after trying to stop them from bleeding out while you sit in the ER waiting room. It dries tacky into your flesh and embeds itself into your nails. An unpleasant feeling that makes your hands twitch. 

“Can you stop that?” Gaz mumbles, rubbing his temples. But Soap can’t stop, his leg bouncing anxiously as he watches the seconds go by. By now the seconds have become minutes which have become hours. They’re all on edge. Price can’t stop pacing around and Ghost hasn’t moved in hours. Gaz isn’t sure if he’s blinked since the nurses pulled you away. 

There’s not much any of them can say. They all blame themselves just enough for it to furrow their brows and curse that they wish things had gone different. Soap wishes he had pulled the trigger faster. Ghost wishes he had distracted the Kortac soldier better. Gaz wishes he would’ve rushed you a bit more. Price wishes he hadn’t put you in that club in the first place. 

They feel helpless. There’s nothing they can do but wait. 

“John Price?” A voice calls out, everyone’s heads look up towards the voice. Price nods, walking over to the nurse, “We were able to get the bullets out and stop the bleeding. Luckily, he didn’t need a blood transfusion. He should recover.” 

Relief washed over the waiting room in a collective sigh. 

“Thank you, can we see him?” Price asks, Gaz and Soap quickly stand up at the sound of the request. The nurse looks over the four men but shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. No visitors allowed in his room.”

“What? Why not?” Soap butts in.

“It was at his request.”

Sokolov was tied up in some warehouse ready for interrogation. Ghost and Gaz were forced to attend to that while Price and Soap stayed in the waiting room. Soap had sent you message after message, hoping that you would let them in. But to no avail, the only people allowed inside were doctors and nurses. 

They only got to see you while you were being transferred to a hospital near base. You wore a blue surgical mask and a hospital gown. None of them liked the scars that littered your visible skin but said nothing. Though Price and Soap shared a look.

They didn’t see you again after that. 

During the mission debrief, Laswell reports that you’d be staying off base for your recovery. Gaz expresses concerns for your ability to tend to yourself in your condition, she reassures him you’ll be fine. 

It takes you one and a half weeks to finally start moving around. The nurses had pleaded that you’d stay in bed for a couple more days but you refused. You couldn’t stand being in another hospital bed for so long again. So by the time the doctor sees you up and moving he discharges you and you’re sent off to the flat Laswell got for you. It’s a couple hours away from base and temporary, only meant to house you while you recover. The original plan had been to keep you here while you recovered from vocal cord surgery, but it looks like you would stay here a little bit longer than that. 

It's quiet. You haven’t had this type of silence in months. The type to crawl under your skin and force you into bad places. You keep the TV on practically every second of the day. It reminds you of the common room. You make tea. The type Ghost makes when it rains. You don’t drink it. You just like the smell. 

Christmas is lonely. Your first Christmas without a team and without a family. Laswell sends you a gift through the mail, a gift card and a hoodie with the 141 insignia on the back. You don’t wear it. You don’t celebrate the holidays, instead you go to sleep early because the pain medication and your stitches don’t let you do much more than that. Whats the point of celebrating a holiday alone? 

When you lay in bed (looking out the open window because you don’t want to feel trapped) you wonder what they are doing. Do they celebrate? Do they spend the holidays together? From what Soap has told you about their relationship you assume so. It makes you feel worse. Like you keep digging yourself into a deeper hole. 

Vocal surgery does come. After Christmas and new year, you visit the surgeon one last time. It’s quick, or so you think. You lived a quiet life during those weeks. It would take eight weeks for you to fully recover. You’d be back at work before that. 

You decide to leave your phone off during those weeks off. You were mad at them, all of them. You had no way of contacting Kaleb or any of the other employees from the club. You didn’t know if they were okay. You were scared, hardly sleeping. And when you did sleep, your dreams were filled with the horrible possibilities of what could’ve happened to them. You try to ignore the possibility that they are going through what you went through. 

Kate reassures you that she contacted Kaleb and that she and Marcos are currently safe in an undisclosed location. It doesn’t bring you as much relief as it should. She lied to you about Alekna. She could be lying about this. As much as Laswell has helped you you know she isn't your friend. She is your boss, and she will say what she needs to keep the gears turning. You don’t blame her for that. You would do it too. 

You’re sure Soap and Gaz had tried to contact you. Maybe send you a Merry Christmas and Happy New Years texts. You told Kate to not give them your address, not wanting to see them as you were. Pitiful. Weak. 

Part of you felt bad for keeping them away from you while you were in the hospital. But you didn’t want them to see you at your second lowest point. You hoped for them to imagine you as you were before, not laying in a hospital bed with tear stains on your cheeks and tired, worried eyes. Those pitiful looks never get easier. 

The two bullet wounds on your abdomen heal nicely, although still tender. There are still moments when you lay in bed thinking about that night and the wounds start to ache. Like with the countless other scars, you know you’ll get used to it. 

But by the second week of January, you start speaking a bit. It starts with easy exercises to warm up the vocal cords. And soon enough you find yourself surprised when you let out an audible noise. It scares you the first couple times. The first time being when you woke up to the sound of your own snoring. Then, when you hit your head on a cabinet drawer and let out an audible ‘fuck.’

Your voice isn’t the same as it was before. There’s a certain rasp to it now. The doctor tells you it might go away with time, or it might be permanent, depending on how you heal. You don’t mind it that much. You don’t remember what your voice sounded like before testosterone and before your mutism. 

In the last week of your recovery, you finally decide to turn on your phone. Your phone buzzes insistently for a couple of minutes, emails, missed calls, and texts rush in. There’s some from everyone at the 141 as well as Alejandro, who you realize probably doesn’t know what happened. There are plenty of messages from both group chats as well as private messages. 

Group chat: 141

[239 unread messages]

You debate if you should send them a message. But decide against it. They’re probably mad that you alienated yourself from them for almost two months. You rather wait and confront them in person.

—

“You didn’t get me a coffee?” 

“You never ask for one.”

Soap pouts, watching as Gaz hands Price a coffee. Price gives him a quiet ‘thank you’ as he sits down. Ghost takes a seat next to Soap, taking a sip of his own coffee. Another meeting. They’re all tired. It’s been a hard couple weeks. And with no word from you, none of them can rest easy.

They spend Christmas together. Not that they necessarily celebrate it, for Simon’s sake. There was a certain feeling that loomed over everyone. Gaz still left a space open for you, even when he knew you wouldn’t be there. Price found himself trying to figure out what you would like as a Christmas gift, maybe a scarf or a new pair of headphones for that music you’re always playing. He would shake his head and put the gift back before he could buy it. 

New Year isn’t any different. Soap pours one too many glasses of booze, he’s set on kissing you once the new year hit. But of course, when it does he looks around and reminds himself that you’re not there. That you’re alone with bullet holes in your stomach. Ghost hides it the best. He’s always been the best at hiding it. But he feels like shit. He’s quieter than usual, checking his phone more often. Maybe you’d text him? Maybe you trust him? But he remembers your desperate attempt to keep Kaleb safe. He should’ve done more to assure you she’d be fine. 

Laswell comes in next, as always. She greets them all and pulls her laptop out on the desk, connecting it to the projector. She takes a seat, which makes Soap do a double take. Laswell never sits down. She always goes straight to the point.

“What?” She asks when she sees Soap’s confusion.

“Are… we waiting on something?” He asks.

“He should be here soon,” she says, checking her watch. “Had to make a quick stop at his room to leave his things.”

“Who-?”

The door opens and everyone turns to see who it is. Of course, who else would it be but you?

‘Sorry,’ you sign. You don’t look much different as you did a couple weeks ago. Your hair is a bit longer and you’re wearing the hoodie Soap gave you. He smiles when he sees you.

“Lad! Sweet Jesus, it’s good to see ye!” He greets, you nod with a tight smile behind your mask.

“Good to have you back,” Price smiles.

“How was recovery?” Gaz asks. You throw him a thumbs up, too nervous to speak. Kate gives you a look.

“How do you like being back?” She asks, her eyes narrowing. 

You lick your dry lips and clear your throat, “I don’t,” you say. It's a whisper, it's broken, but it’s you.

You would’ve thought they had won the lottery they way they all jumped up in surprise. Soap and Gaz share the same wide dopey smiles, while Price has an equally large smile you could only describe as cute. There’s a twinkle in Ghost’s eyes that lets you know he’s smiling too. 

“And you weren’t going to tell us, lad?” Soap exclaims, you shrug. 

“Didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” you say quietly, still recovering. 

“It is a big deal!” Gaz says. “We haven’t seen you in weeks!” You wince at that. Guilt washing over your face.

“I- should apologize. For ghosting you all…” you can’t look them in the eyes, “I was mad… For how we left Kaleb and her club. And I just- didn’t want you all to see me like that. She’s safe now, and uh, sorry… for getting shot, I guess,” you ramble.  

“We’re just glad you’re alive, Rookie.”

“Thanks, capt.”

—

You notice it feels different now. To sit in the common room during lunch. Everyone’s eyes are on you, asking you questions and just hoping to hear your voice again. It makes you want to go back to the flat and hide under the bed. Hell, find Kaleb and take up her job offer.

“Can you say: Worcestershire?” Gaz teases, you roll your eyes.

“I’m not even gonna try,” you mumble, eating an apple slice. Soap hasn’t let you out of his sight, always trying to find a way to be able to touch you. That being a hand in your hair or your boots touching. You blush when you’re reminded of your time in the club and that photo you sent him. You swat his hand away, “you’re so needy.”

His hand doesn’t stay out of your hair for long, “admit it, you like it.” You glare at him instead of responding. He runs his nails across your scalp. It feels so good that you don’t realize you’ve groaned until it escapes your lips. Your eyes widen as Soap’s hand pauses. You stand up, avoiding the gazes of all three men, “fuck off.”

Soap snickers as you walk over to the couch, you pull up your hood as you sit down. He’s quick to follow behind you, he sits down and lays his head on your shoulder. You try to ignore him by flipping through the TV channels. 

“Didn’t know you could make such pretty noises, pup,” he whispers into your ear. A chill runs up your spine and your grip on the controller tightens. His hand falls onto your thigh, “You looked so good in that gear, on your knees with such a desperate look on your face.” His hand starts to slowly crawl higher up your thigh. Heat pools deep within you. “Might indulge you and get you a collar. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Soap,” Ghost warns from the table. Soap’s hand pauses and he groans. “Time and place.”

“Technically, you said you wouldn’t hold me back, L.T.” Soap says, his voice a bit raspier than intended. The sound of it goes straight to your core. 

“I should probably explain something first,” you start, your voice quieter than you had hoped. Soap looks at you with a confused expression. “I didn’t really know how to say it.” 

“What is it, lad?” He asks, his voice matching yours. 

“I’m not-“You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to work up the courage. “I wasn’t- fuck.” You think back to Kaleb and how kind she was. How she opened her arms to you and never saw you differently because of what you had or hadn’t. If you were ever going to accept Soap’s ridiculous advancements, you felt like you had to be honest with him. And hope that he didn’t see you any differently. Hope that he doesn't see you as Sokolov did. 

The words don’t come naturally to you. So instead you take his hand already on your thigh and you move it up. You keep your eyes on him as his mind tries to process what you’re trying to say. His eyes fill with concern, then confusion, then finally realization. 

“What is it, Soap?” Gaz questions, “Something wrong?”

“N-no, nothing's wrong,” he stutters before whispering, “Lad- I- holy shit why didn’t you tell me before?”

You shrug, “Never planned on it. But… are you okay with this?” 

Your conversation with Soap before Amsterdam flashes through your mind. You can see that the same thought flashes through his mind. 

He smiles, “of course.” 

—

Everything is changing too quickly for your liking. You haven’t told anyone else on the team. When Ghost and Gaz asked what was up you and Soap only smiled and told them you would explain later. Though you don’t know when later is. 

Soap’s need to be touching you doesn’t increase, but it becomes more confident and trusting. You don’t tense as much around him, when he slips his hand over your hoodie you don’t slap him away and you don’t protest when he bites your neck. Even though he’s found a liking to calling you ‘pup’ you find that he’s the dog. Always whining and looking for attention, not just from you but Ghost and Gaz, too. If Price wasn’t cooped up in his office so often you’re sure he’d be just as needy around him. 

You notice it more now that you know about them. The way Gaz’s hand lingers on Soap when he walks past or how close Soap sits next to Ghost when there’s plenty of space for them or the looks that Gaz and Ghost share when Soap is insistent that he needs to lay on top of you.

Even though that, you can’t fit Price into the picture. He’s just so… him. He looks after everyone on the team, including you. But he’s so professional. He never touches any of the men past a pat on the shoulder or chest. He always makes sure everyone is alright, but it always carries a tone of leadership, not a concerned lover. 

That’s the thing, right? They wouldn’t call each other lovers. It’s past that. You hear the stories of Ghost and Soap in Mexico. About the time Price and Gaz got lost in the Alaskan wilderness. How Price had to carry Soap to medical after he got too close to an explosion. How Ghost and Price’s relationship began much before Ghost became Ghost.

Where do you fit in all this? 

You knock on Price’s office door and you poke your head in. 

“Hey,” he calls you by your name. “Come in. I wanted to talk to you.”

You shuffle inside, taking a seat in one of the big leather chairs. It smells a bit like cigar smoke in his office. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks. He writes something down before putting his pen down and giving you his full undivided attention. 

“Fine. Stomach hurts sometimes and I’m getting used to-” you signal towards your throat and mouth, “-this whole thing again.”

He chuckles, scratching his beard. “I’ve heard McTavish has got a liking for you.” Your face flushes, “He’s a handful. Hope he isn’t doing anything to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, Captain. I don’t mind.” You mutter, “I hope it’s okay…”

Price scoffs, “The two of you can do as you please. He wouldn’t stop checking his phone during leave, hoping that you’d send a message. I tried to tell him to leave you alone, but you know him.”

“I’m sorry, again. For what I did in the hospital.” 

“Simon did the same thing when he got shot,” you look up towards Price, “it was early on in the creation of 141. Muppet didn't want anyone to see him without a mask, or see him in such a vulnerable state. So he told me, McTavish, and Garrick, to fuck off. Came back to work acting like nothing happened. I don’t blame you for the way you acted. Especially, after nearly escaping death.”

“Thank you, sir.” You sigh in relief.

“I know Laswell rented you a flat out while you recovered. Do you have anywhere else to stay? Aside from your place in the States?”

You shrug, “Not really. I was planning on using the money to get something near base.”

“You could always get a room with either Ghost and Soap or Gaz and I,” he comments casually, but it doesn’t feel casual. “We live in the same building, both have an extra room. I’m sure Soap would be ecstatic to have you move in. Or if you’d like some more peace and quiet, Gaz and I.”

“I-I couldn’t. I don’t want to interfere with your relationship. I feel like I’m already overstepping my bounds,” you stumble over your words, talking a little too quickly. You sign as you talk, though you don’t realize it. Price can’t help but find it charming. 

“You’re overstepping no bounds. If anything, you’re being too careful. We don’t bite, lad,” he smiles at the way your eyes flicker down in embarrassment. “You haven’t called anyone by their actual names. Only ever call signs or rank. I’m sure Garrick won’t be mad if you call him Kyle. Or Soap, that boy would never stop talking about it if you called him Johnny.” 

“I mean, you all call me Rookie, sir. I’ve been in the military for a good while now.” Your tone is light as you protest. 

He hums in thought, “I guess it’s only right to find you an official call sign, eh? But you should really consider my offer, we’d all love to have you.” 

“I’ll think about it,” you smile politely. You wonder if your expressions translate behind the mask. His eyes crinkle as he smiles back at you. 

“If you need anything, you can always come to me.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

—

Watching a movie around Soap has been deemed impossible. Before you could even say anything he sits himself on the big recliner and pulls you onto his lap. You push him away in annoyance but his grip around your waist doesn’t let you leave. You sigh and move your body so your lower back lays on the arm rest and your legs across his body. Your quick submission to his antics makes him smile. 

You can’t pay attention to the movie playing on the TV with Soap’s constant touches. 

Unfortunately, Gaz had some issues to attend to with Price over the upcoming mission so you are left alone to your devices with Ghost and Soap. Though Ghost seems to be really interested in the movie to notice that Soap keeps biting your neck like you're a goddamn chew toy. Or maybe he simply doesn’t care that his hand is under your shirt touching your chest. You have to clench down on your teeth to stifle a moan as he massages soft flesh. His other hand is twitching against your inner thigh. 

“So soft,” he groans into your ear, “maybe you’re not a puppy, maybe you’re a cat. Always swatting and hissing, but the second there’s a hand scratching behind your ear you melt into a sweet thing.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you grumble, shifting in his lap. His hands feel like lava against your already burning skin. It doesn’t help that Ghost is right there and not saying anything. Is he watching? God, you hope he isn’t.

“Let me make you feel good, eh? Please, puppy.” He pleads. The desperation in his voice goes straight to your groin. 

“We shouldn’t- Ghost is right there-“ you whisper into his ear, you take hold of his shirt in the hopes of regaining some control. 

Soap laughs, “he’s probably enjoying this more than me.” His eyes fall on Ghost, who hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you sat on Soap’s lap. “What do you say, pup? Give him a show?”

“Asshole,” you groan when you feel his hand on your thigh reach the apex. You grind up in hopes of relieving some pressure that’s building. You can feel his own hardness against your leg.

“That’s not an answer. C’mon, puppy. Speak.” 

Your face burns every time he calls you that. You hate how much you love it, how much it actually affects you. 

“Fuck, please.” Your voice breaks, nodding.

“Good boy.” 

Soap doesn’t waste any time unbuttoning your pants, his hand slipping into your briefs. His other hand slips out from under your shirt and finds home at the base of your neck. Your grip on his shirt tightens when his fingers reach your dick. He lightly grazes it, making you flinch. But he doesn’t spend much time on it, instead going lower towards your slit. The sound of his fingers collecting the slick and dragging it up across your dick is too loud, too embarrassing.

“Jesus, pup. You’re dripping,” he teases under his breath. All you can do is hide your face in the crook of his neck as he plays with you. That’s really what he’s doing. He isn’t seeking to get you off, he wants to touch every part of you. Learn how you react to certain movements and touches. His eyes fall on Ghost, who’s palming his own dick through his jeans. Soap smirks, rubbing your dick a bit harder just to see his reaction when you moan and squirm. “Such a cute little thing,” you don’t know if he’s talking about you or your dick.

You whine into his neck, squeezing his hand in between your thighs. He’s such an asshole, teasing and playing with you. You wouldn’t be surprised if he stopped touching you just to see you plead and cry. But he decides to be nice to you. His middle finger finally enters you, stroking your walls. After a couple of minutes of playing around, he inserts a second finger, the palm of his hand bumping against your dick with each stroke. The sounds coming from your hole and mouth are obscene. The thought of someone walking in on this right now is mortifying.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost groans. The movie long forgotten.

“I can feel your dick twitching, c’mon. You can do it, puppy. Cum.” The knot in your stomach tightens and tightens with each stroke. It isn’t until he curls his fingers up that the cord snaps. Your entire body tenses before releasing in bliss. Soap doesn’t stop until you swat his hand away. He carefully pulls his hand out of your jeans, admiring the wet glistening on his fingers. You jerk up when you hear the unexpected sound of him sucking his fingers clean. 

“You’re disgusting.”

Chapter Text

You hate the cold. 

It was a hate that you had before being tortured in the middle of the Lithuanian winter. It was a hate that stemmed from childhood. How many times have you been locked out of the house on cold nights? Only with the clothes on your back? The thought sends a shiver down your spine and goosebumps on your skin. 

“How are you feeling, Rook?” Price called out, “Cold getting to you?” The snow crunches underneath your boots with every step. You and the team were out in the Russian winter. You had hoped that this mission had been canceled, maybe given to a different task force. But no, it had to be given to you. You don’t even remember what the mission is about, probably too busy thinking about what happened with Soap and Ghost in the common room. God, you did that on Price’s chair. There had to be some Freudian theory behind how fucked that is. 

“Nope. I’m used to it.” You say with the most monotone voice you can. In reality, you wished you were back on base under your soft blankets. This type of cold never gets easier. 

In the distance, you can see the safe house, a cabin barely peeking out in the snowy pines. You could cry from happiness, though you think your tears would freeze before they had a chance to fall. Rucking in the rain was better than this, carrying all your gear on your back and practically climbing over the snow that reaches your knees. You walk behind Price, trying to walk into his footsteps, but even then it’s difficult. 

Once reaching the cabin, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz scope out the perimeter while you and Price check the inside. You keep your gun close as you follow Price through the door. He checks the downstairs while you check the upstairs. You groan when you notice there are only two bedrooms. Guess you’ll be sleeping on the couch. After double checking, there’s nothing out of the ordinary you head back down and report to Price. Only then are you able to finally sit down and rest after the treacherous hike. You groan as you take off your boot, feeling an aching pain spread across your ankle. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” Price asks, taking a seat next to you on the worn couch. 

You shake your head, “broke my ankle. Still hurts sometimes, especially after long hikes.” He nods his head in understanding. You can see that he’s curious about how you broke your ankle so you decide to be generous. “Crowbar.” 

“Crowbar?” He lets out a nervous laugh, “bloody hell.”

“Honestly, it was worse when the doctor had to break it again to fix it.” You let out a shaky laugh, he smiles. It’s not a full-on smile, it’s soft. A smile you could barely make out but know it’s from deep inside. “What?” You ask.

“First time I’ve heard you laugh,” he says before patting your back twice and getting up to check for the rest of the team. The cold air rushes in as Price opens the door, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost walk in, all shivering. 

“Absolute hell out there,” Gaz says through a chattering breath. They drop their bags by the door, shaking off the snow from their pants. “Can’t even get a fire going, huh?” 

Price shakes his head, “unless you want anyone to know we’re here, no. At least not while the sun is up.”

“How’s the room situation?” Ghost asks, checking the bottom floor out. 

“Shitty. Two bedrooms. I’m taking the couch.” You say, Ghost scoffs. 

“If you want to freeze your nuts off by sunrise, sure.”

“What? You don’t want to share a bed with L.T. and me?” Soap teases.

“I don’t. I would rather sleep with Gaz and the Captain.” 

Gaz shrugs, “Fine by me. Right, sir?”

“Right,” Price agrees.

—

By the time it gets dark, Ghost decides to test the team’s luck and start a small fire in the fireplace. The likelihood of anyone seeing the smoke in the dead of night is slim. Gaz finds some blankets and piles them into the living room, creating a cuddle pile with you and Soap. Ghost and Price reluctantly take their own blankets as they study the map for their journey in the morning. The house slowly heats up to a comfortable temperature. 

“Next mission should be somewhere warm,” you grumble as you tuck your face into the blankets, “Brazil is probably really nice this time of year.”

“Do you even know Portuguese?” Gaz asks softly, already dozing off in the warm cocoon. 

“Falo um pouco portugués,” you say, “my old teammate on Alpha Five was Brazilian. It’s not much different from Spanish.” 

“What were they like?” Soap asks, staring at the warm flickering lights reflecting on the ceiling. 

You sigh, “They were my family. They accepted me in a way my parents never did.” 

They all stay silent, listening to you talk.

“There was Dove. Cute little thing. She had this tendency to puff up her cheeks whenever she got annoyed. She looked like a dove when they puff up to stay warm.” You close your eyes for a second, remembering her soft features and kind smile. It was always hard to believe she was military. 

“Then there was Diaz. We were basically attached to the hip. He was the voice of reason to any of my bullshit. He had this necklace made from the bullet that almost killed him. Barely missed his heart. He was a bit older than me, so I always saw him as an older brother.

And then Sol. She had this mean resting bitch face that made her look super scary. But when you would come up to her she would have the kindest smile. That’s where she got her call sign, she was the sun. 

Of course there was Angel who was this absolutely behemoth of a man who could rip doors off its hinges if he wanted to. And Elías, this super artsy guy who only really joined the military to pay for art school but ended up on an elite team. And Dante, he was a K-9 handler before joining the unit. He was the one that gave me my old call sign.

And um, our captain, Miles Montgomery. He has this insane mustache that we would try to tug on when he least expected it. He absolutely hated it but we thought it was the funniest thing in the world. I would butt heads with him all the time. He valued it when we would speak up, but I guess I would speak up too often. He was great.” You ramble on, at one point you started signing while you talked and only realized it when you finished talking and your hands were still up. Force of habit, you suppose. 

Even though you remember every fond memory like it happened yesterday, the creeping image of their bodies haunts your mind. The blood and gore that covered that room. The smell of iron and gunpowder. God, the warm wet feeling of their blood covering the tiled floor. Nothing can ever make you forget the smell of burning hair and flesh.

The thoughts swam your mind and your stomach grows nauseous. You quickly jump out of the blankets. Worry plagues the team’s faces as you suddenly stumble towards the front door. Someone calls your name, but you don’t hear it as you rush into the snow. You pull down your mask with clumsy hands and you hurl into the snow. Your hands grip the fabric of your jeans, tears flood your eyes as you choke on bile. 

Someone calls your name again. 

“Give me a second- just- don’t look at me,” you weakly cry out. The cold winter air aches in your lungs as you take deep breaths. You can feel the snow soaking into your socks, toes going numb. You grab a handful of clean snow and shove it into your mouth in hopes to wash out the taste of bile.

“Rook? Are you okay, love?” Price asks, his boots crunching into the snow as he gets closer. You nod, grabbing another handful of snow. “C’mon, it’s freezing.” You can feel his hand on your back, a rock to hold you down as you spit out the melted snow. Afraid you’ll go someplace else. You do for a second. You’re not in the middle of nowhere in Russia freezing your toes off, you’re back in the States watching Sol and Diaz make a big pot of champurrado in the kitchenette. So when Dove, Elías, Angel, and Dante got back from training in the cold they would have a hot drink to warm them up. Price calls your name again. You look up. Second time he’s seen your face and his gaze never falters, his brows never furrow and his lips never twitch. He doesn’t think anything of the scars, it’s just a symbol of your survival. Nothing to be ashamed of. A sentiment you don’t follow.

‘Sorry,’ you sign, then wipe your mouth with your sleeve. You pull your mask up before following him back inside. You can barely feel your fingers, the warmth inside almost hurts your frozen reddened skin. He sits you on the couch then kneels over to pull the soaked two pairs of wool socks off your feet. He lays a blanket over your lap.

“You’re pants are soaked. Don’t need you getting sick on a mission, Corporal.” He says gently. You grimace as you slip stiff cold hands under your waistband and slip them off. You follow with your underclothing since they were wet as well. Someone hands Price a water bottle, he holds it up to you. Instead of letting him pour the water into your mouth, you take the bottle.

“You don’t have to baby me. I’m not broken.” 

“Just looking out for you, lad.”

“Don’t,” you snap, “don’t fucking do that. I hate it. I hate how everyone fucking looks at me with so much fucking pity. My entire team was massacred and I was tortured for forty-five fucking days! Of course, I won’t be okay! Why is it so hard for everyone to move past that?”

“We care about you, mate.” Gaz chimes in. “You’re part of the team.”

“More than just the team,” Soap adds in, “we were fucking miserable when you were gone. Worried sick. And that’s not because we pity you or see you as weak, lad. We know what it’s like to go through fucked up shit. And you shouldn’t have to go through it alone.”

“We all carry demons, lad.” Ghost says, his voice gentle. You almost don’t recognize it. “You won’t scare us off.”

You sit for a moment, looking at each and every one of them. You stare until your vision blurs with tears. You feel like a child as you sniffle and let out shaky breaths. You use your cold wet sleeves to wipe away your tears but they keep coming out. It becomes hard to breathe under the mask. Your shoulders shake as you feel the last year crash onto you. You’ve been so alone. You’ve been carrying so many burdens and so much grief that it’s suffocating you. You’ve never thought this was a weight you could share. You never wanted that. To see others carry all your fucked up baggage. Yet here they are. Stuck in the middle of the Russian winter with you in some shitty cabin trying to take the weight off you. 

“I’m sorry,” you sob out, “fuck- I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

Finally, you rip your mask down. You take a deep, shaky break as you try to calm down. But it’s no use. There’s a warm arm on your shoulder, you know who it is. You lean into Price, hiding your face with your sleeves. He mutters some comforting words to you but you can’t make them out. 

“Sorry- I uh,” you let out a weak laugh, “I wish I was wearing pants right now.” You can feel Price’s chest shake as he laughs. 

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Gaz asks. 

“There’s not much to say,” you shake your head, “I mean look at me.” You signal towards your face and pull the blanket up to reveal the ugly scar on your ankle. But nobody seems disgusting or freaked out. Soap crawls over and kneels below you. He grabs your face, you flinch as he gently runs his fingers across the scars. You think back to the time you let him touch the scar you got from the bar fight. When he sees it he smiles softly. You hold your breath as his fingers travel across the long scar that travels from your mouth, up your cheekbone, and into your hairline. His face gets closer, you close your eyes nervously. He kisses the scar. 

“You’re a fucking dickhead,” he mutters, but there’s no malice in his words, “you look lovely.”

“If anything it looks badass,” Gaz comments. Price shoots him a glare but you just laugh. 

“Fuck off,” tears well your eyes again, but this time from laughter. 

“Looks like we’re matching, Rook,” you hear Ghost say. You look up at him as he lifts up the bottom of his skull mask, you avert your eyes before you see his skin. “It’s alright.” He reassures you. When you look up you realize he didn’t take his mask completely off. If you were anyone else you would’ve been disappointed, but you don’t need to see his face. You don’t want it to be some weird obligation or a pact of loyalty. Instead, only the bottom half of his face is out. There’s light stubble on his jaw. But what catches your eye is the Glasgow smile that splits his mouth open. 

It brings you a certain joy that would concern most people. 

“Healed nicely,” you comment. Ghost huffs in amusement. “Since we’re already here and, I guess, confessing shit…” you take a deep breath and hope for the best. Soap grabs your hand, you squeeze it tightly.

“I hate doing this. But- I’m- I wasn’t-,” It takes you a second to find the right words, they only wait patiently. You let out a deep breath, “I’m trans.”

The silence is almost defending. You almost regret it until Price hugs you tighter and Gaz jumps on you. 

“Jesus Christ I thought you were going to say you were double-crossing us!” Gaz laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Or that you were leaving us! Don’t scare me like that!” 

“We’re here for you, lad. You’re one of us.”

You feel years of worry and fear lift off your shoulders. The tears never stop coming as Price ruffles your hair and Gaz wraps his arms tighter around you. Ghost doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t need to say anything. You know you’re in good hands. 

—

Soap is distraught when you uphold what you had said earlier. You would rather sleep in bed with Price and Gaz than with him and Ghost. You have a feeling that Soap wouldn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. Even Ghost wouldn’t be able to stop him from rutting against you like the mutt he is. 

The only problem with sleeping with Price and Gaz is deciding where you would go. On the side or in the middle? You insist on sleeping on the edge but both Price and Gaz agree that since you’re mildly hypothermic you should sleep in the middle. 

You don’t know how it happens but after a couple of minutes of shuffling around the three of you finally fit on the bed like puzzle pieces, maybe it’s because the three of you are too tired to care. Price ends up on his back with you on your side with your head on his shoulder and Gaz behind you spooning you. You tell yourself that you’re resting your head on Price because the pillows are flat and uncomfortable but you know deep inside that you like being held by him. 

His touches are not like Soap’s. Soap is touchy like a dog who’s always jumping and licking you the second he sees you. As much as you tell him to fuck off or give him annoyed glares, you really don’t mind it. 

But Price’s touches are much softer, more mature. He never touches you first, which you’re thankful for. You like Soap, but he can be a bit overwhelming. The few times you’ve hugged or touched Price it was a comfort that you didn’t know you needed. He’s warm and soft, and it’s embarrassing how quickly you become a puddle.

It’s probably the best sleep you’ve had in a long while. Gaz’s weight on you is like a weighted blanket, keeping you secure and grounded. He smells so good, too. You almost forget you’re on a mission. 

But early morning eventually comes, Price has to peel your sleeping body off of him to get an early start as usual. He’s always the first to get up no matter where he is. He lets the team sleep for a while longer. But it doesn’t take long for Ghost to wake up. At one point while you and Gaz cuddle up against each other, Soap, who wakes up to an empty bed decides to go to your room and climb into bed. He wastes no time to pull your multiple layers up just enough to wrap his arms around your skin. 

“So touchy,” you mumble into Gaz’s chest, you can feel him chuckle.

“You get used to it,” he mumbles back, but you doubt it. Soap grumbles into your hair in protest. He tries to pull you off Gaz but you just hold onto Gaz tighter. 

“Alright, suit up. We have a long hike ahead of us.” Price calls in. The three of you groan collectively. You start to get up but Soap’s grip tightens, preventing you from getting up.

“C’mon we hav-,” you’re interrupted by Soap’s hand covering your mouth. 

“Shhh, five more minutes,” he murmurs. You struggle in the two soldiers’ grasps, but you really don’t want to be the reason the mission gets messed up. So you do what any rational person would do: you bite his hand. Soap yelps and pulls his hand away. Your teeth leave a perfect imprint. Soap glares at you before grabbing your hair and pulling your head back. You groan, Gaz’s arms leaving you as he watches this unfold. “I ought to muzzle you, pup,” Soap practically growls into your ear. 

“Don’t be so mean,” Gaz yawns as he gets up and stretches, with no intention of stopping what’s going on. 

“Should’ve been more careful,” you grin, all the tiredness gone from your body. 

You wince as Soap tightens his grip, “We’ll finish this when we get back.” 

And just like that he gives you a kiss on the cheek and lets go. 

—

The hike isn’t easy. But when is anything easy in this life? The five of you look like polar bears in your large white camo winter gear. Maybe oversized penguins with the way you waddle through the snow. Apparently you’re on the hunt for an underground bunker that may or may have not been used as a La Red safe house. Information courtesy of Sokolov.

Everyone is skeptical. If this bunker was used in the past you doubt they would keep it around for someone like you to find it. Laswell didn’t explain entirely why you needed to locate some bunker that nobody is using but all you can do is hope she knows what she’s doing. Which you have no doubt that Laswell is capable and smart. She could probably take down the American government if she wanted to. 

Your ankle starts to act up after a couple of hours. You wince with every step, the ache pulsating across the bones. You try to ignore it for half an hour, but it starts to feel like it’s broken again. 

“You alright?” Gaz asks behind you, which makes Price turn his head. You nod, lips tightening into a straight line as you try to fight it off. 

“I’m good,” you say, although not very convincingly. 

“We should reach the point in thirty minutes,” Price calls out. You groan, your head dropping. 

“I’ll be alright.”

You are not alright. By the time you reach the location you doubt you’ll be able to hike back to the cabin, never mind the hike back to the location where the helicopter dropped you off. You rather be spotted by tangos than suffer any longer. You take a seat on a large rock and roll your ankle, but it does more harm than good. Maybe you should’ve listened to the doctors back when they told you to keep from extraneous activities while your ankle healed. In no shape to walk anymore, the team decides to leave you outside while they clear the bunker. You feel useless. A burden to the team who they have to carry around. Maybe if you lay down the snow will suck you in and you won’t have to be here anymore. 

But you know one of them would probably pull you out before you get a chance to make your grand escape.

“Which leg is it?” A voice asks. You look up to see Ghost towering over you with his head tilted to the side. 

“Left.”

His eyes narrow, “thought you got mauled on your right?”

You narrow your eyes back, “I did. Got my left ankle smashed with a crowbar. Bad escape attempt.”

“That’s fucked,” you notice his eye twitch and his shoulders tense.

“Should’ve been smarter,” you shrug. “Maybe next time, if I’m lucky.”

He huffs, “There won’t be a next time, Corporal. We’ll make sure of that.”

To your displeasure, Ghost ends up carrying you on his back. You try to tell him that you can hike back but he refuses to listen to you. It’s frustrating to have to depend on someone, but you also know that you won’t be able to make it far. You rather be smart than stubborn. 

You make it back to the cabin in record time. Ghost doesn’t let you down until you’re inside and on the couch. You push him off when he tries to take off your boot to look at your ankle. 

“It’s fine, I’ll do it.” You mutter, swatting his hands away. He nods and lets you be. You pull off your boot and bring your foot up on the couch. You massage your ankle, trying to hold back groans of pain. Maybe you should’ve gone to the physical therapist appointments like the doctor had told you. 

“We’ll stay here tonight and travel back to the pickup location in the morning,” Price announces. Then he glances at you before heading to the kitchen. You know what he means with that look, he wants you to use this time to recover. And it’s not like you won’t. A couple of hours and you’ll be good. 

Gaz takes a seat beside you as he unties his boots, “so,” he starts, “have you thought about it?”

“About what?”

“Taking the guest room. I promise John and I are better flatmates than Simon and Johnny,” he smiles. 

“Aye! That’s absolutely not true! Kyle takes the longest showers known to man and Price isn’t the best cook,” Soap protests. 

“Better than you, mate. You nearly burnt the building down trying to make popcorn and Simon leaves the entire bathroom soaked when he showers,” Gaz retorts. “Not to mention the two of you fuck like savages. Surprised you haven’t received a noise complaint.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t like the videos,” Soap teases back. You suddenly feel like you’re listening to a conversation you shouldn’t be listening to. But before you can sneak to the kitchen to see what Price is cooking up Soap and Gaz turn to you. “So? Who are you saying with?”

You scoff, “who said I’m agreeing to stay with either of you?”

Their faces fall instantly and you have to fight the urge to laugh at them. You already sold your old place. All your stuff is on its way to England.

Chapter Text

The weather is finally getting warmer. Yet the Las Red trail is getting colder and colder. The anxious thoughts that swarmed your brain made it hard to focus on your task at hand: moving. You had asked the nice older man who lived next to you in the States to send the boxes you had packed before you left. Making sure to pay for the costs as well as leaving a bit extra for him too. You also tell him he can do whatever he wants with the stuff that wasn’t in boxes. Sell it, use it, throw it away, you don’t care. By the time you’re back from Russia, the four large boxes are at your door. The team gives you a confused look as they pass you by, heading to their own rooms. 

“Whatcha got there, lad?” Soap asks.

“My stuff from the apartment,” you say simply, hands up as you sign along. You curse at yourself. It's a habit that’ll take time to get rid of. Soap has to physically stop himself from getting too excited, his face lighting up like a child at Christmas. “Hopefully nothing broke, shipping was expensive.” You're talking to yourself more than Soap. 

“We can take you to the flat later if you’d like,” Gaz suggests, “after a trip like that I doubt Laswell or the Captain will force us to stay on base.” 

And he’s right. After the debrief and lunch, Laswell tells the team to go home and enjoy the next couple days or weeks until she calls you up again with a new mission. Everyone packs up their small travel bags, grabs a box, and packs up the car. The drive back into town is nerve-wrecking. Moving in feels like the next step to something you’re not ready for. You’re not sure they like you like that. You know Soap does, he makes sure of it. But Ghost, like you, isn’t one to show extreme emotions like that. Gaz is kind, and so very lovely but is he just being nice because he’s your teammate and nothing else? What about Price? He cares about you, you think. But is it just Captain to their Corporal? Although all those questions make your stomach hurt, you don’t know if you want to know the answer.

The apartment complex is in a good place. Not far from the shops so you can walk to places but also not so close so that there’s a lot of traffic and noise. You follow the team as you enter the building, each carrying a box except for Price who offered to carry your bag while you carry a box. You take the elevator up a couple of floors, you try to count but you’re too busy trying to figure out if you're feeling dizzy or if the elevator is moving too fast. But when you hear the elevator ding, you try to shake any and all nerves from your body. This is no different from moving into a college dorm, of course, you never went to college. You went straight to the military and didn’t get a chance to pursue anything or even learn how to be an adult. One day you were some kid, the next you were learning how to kill someone and not feel any remorse over it.

Maybe you would’ve been a biology major, or an art major, a psychology major maybe? That was never a discussion you ever had with your parents. You never got to consider who you would be aside from a military dog. And it’s not like they forced you into it, hell your parents were so against it. But you had no choice. You couldn’t afford college. The second your parents kicked you out you didn’t have a place to stay. All your high school friends were off doing better things. So what do kids do? Stupid things. Things like falling down a rabbit hole lead them to get captured by a trafficking organization, be tortured, and get thrown back into all of it because that’s what life is now. You wouldn’t be able to go back now. College isn’t an option. You know too much and you’ve seen too much.

“So your room will be the first door on the right. My room is across the hall on the left. L.T. is next to you down the hall and the bathroom is across from him.” Soap explains. “Kitchen, living room, laundry room…” he signals as you walk through the house. “Balcony door gets stuck sometimes, ye just have to give it a good tug from the top.” 

You place your box in your room. It’s fairly plain with cream-colored walls and soft chocolate brown carpet. It’s decorated and furnished minimalistically with a queen-sized bed. There are no windows, which makes your lip twitch. Gaz, Soap, Ghost, and Price leave the remaining boxes and your bag in your room before you all move to the living room to decide on dinner. 

“Takeout?” Gaz suggests, scrolling through various nearby takeout spots on his phone. “Rookie gets to choose.” 

“I don’t know. Whatever you guys want.” You shrug, sitting down on the couch. It’s soft and you can imagine the great naps you would be able to take on it. Gaz and Soap shoot you a look.

“There’s nothing you’re in the mood for?” Soap asks, and you shrug again. “C’mon, there has to be something.”

You hum, thinking for a moment. “Pizza? I’m not picky with toppings.”

Gaz smiles, “there’s a great pizza place nearby. I’ll call it in and it should be here in thirty.”

“Gives you some time to start unpacking,” Price comments, “I have some errands to run but I’ll be back in an hour.” Soap and Gaz boo Price as he leaves, while you and Ghost tell him bye like normal people. After Gaz calls in the order he leaves to his flat to unpack his things and do some chores. You reluctantly let Soap help you unpack as Ghost goes off to his own room. 

The boxes aren’t labeled so you’re forced to open each one. You don’t let Soap open any of the boxes, afraid of what could possibly be in its contents. You have to physically hold him off as you open the last box. You quickly close it when you spot a black leather object sitting on the top of the box’s contents. You’re lucky you’re wearing a mask to hide the deep red blush on your cheeks, but it doesn’t hide the same red on the tips of your ears and your suddenly tense shoulders. Soap is spec ops and not stupid, he notices it. A smile spreads across his face.

“What did you find, lad?”

“Nothing, fuck off.” You hold him off with one hand while you keep the box closed with the other. But all he has to do is grab you by the torso and throw you on the bed. You scramble up but it’s too late. 

“Don’t be a dick! Close it!” You exclaim. But he doesn’t close the box, instead, he pulls the item out. It dangles between his fingers, a black leather collar.

“Did you have a dog back in the States or did you indulge in a certain kink before Amsterdam?” Your face only grows hotter, his teasing not helping at all. He approaches where you kneel on the bed, you glare at his mischievous smile. “I could get you something nicer. Maybe get my name engraved on it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Or maybe something better, how about ‘141’ on it?” Soap loves how your face contorts with humiliation, warm cheeks, and desperate eyes. Any semblance of a tough soldier is gone and all that is left is a cute little puppy. He undoes the clasp on the collar and your breath hitches. He tilts your chin up and lifts your mask up to expose more of your neck, you let him. You close your eyes when you feel the leather on your neck, after a moment he backs away. When you open your eyes he’s standing over you, his eyes filled with something you can’t describe. 

“Get on the floor,” he orders, his voice carrying a more dominant tone than you’re used to hearing from him. Without hesitating you get off the bed and kneel like Ruby had taught you. “Good boy.” He praises, petting your hair. You don’t understand how your brain shuts off so quickly, how you fall into the headspace like it’s second nature. You should be telling him to fuck off but instead, you want to be good for him. Heat pools low into you when you notice the growing bulge in his pants. 

“Been thinking about those cute ears you had on in that photo. I’ll get you a pair of ears and a tail if you’d like. Maybe even a muzzle. I know L.T. would like it.” You whimper, fuck what’s gotten into you? You don’t whimper. “Yeah? He’s been holding back. Waiting for you to make the first move. I told him it wasn’t going to happen. You need someone to show you what you need, right, pup?” 

You nod your head. You shift your weight from one side to another in hopes of releasing some pent up energy that’s circling your system. You resist the urge to press your thighs together. You keep your eyes on Soap and he moves around you to sit on the edge of the bed, you adjust so you're kneeling between his legs.

“You look so cute between my thighs. I bet you’d look cuter with my cock in your mouth, don’t you think?” You lick your lips and nod your head enthusiastically. He hums in appreciation. “If you do a good job, pup. Maybe I’ll let you cum.”

A whine escapes your throat as he unzips his pants and pulls his hardening cock out. He gives it a few quick strokes. Saliva collects in your mouth as you watch him. Slowly, you pull your mask off and toss it somewhere across the room. 

“There you are, lovely,” he smiles, “are you ready?” You nod, not trusting your voice. Slowly, he pushes his cock into your mouth. You run your tongue over the head, tasting the pre-cum that collects at the tip before taking it in deeper. He moans as you slowly bob your head, trying to memorize every inch. After a couple of minutes of letting you experiment with your mouth his hand lands in your hair, enticing you to go faster and take him deeper. You’re not an expert at sucking dick, but the sounds Soap is making could convince anyone. 

You keep your hands to yourself, fighting off the urge to slip your hand down your briefs. Instead, you focus on Soap, working your mouth around him. His hand tightens in your hair, using you to push and pull you on his cock faster. Your eyes tear up as his tip brushes against the back of your throat.

“You look so pretty,” he moans, eyes hooded as he looks down at you. His hand that isn’t in your hair makes its way into his pocket and pulls his phone out.  “Doing so well, puppy.” You moan at his praises as he takes a few photos of you. You know you probably look like a hot mess, tear stains, and messy hair. He continues to fuck your face, his breaths ragged in between moans and sweet praises. You almost forget to breathe out of your nose with how entranced you are with him. His face flushed and desperate, sweat forming on his brow. 

“Oh, fuck. I’m-,” Before he can finish his sentence you can feel his thighs tense as he cums down your throat. You swallow the best you can but some lands on your tongue as he slips out. You stick out your tongue to show him before swallowing the rest. He gives you a lazy grin, “Good boy.”

You lay your head on his thigh as he pets your hair. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, breaths heavy. After a few moments, he taps your cheek and you look up.

“Do you want your reward?” He asks, shoving his cock back into his pants. You nod shyly. Too embarrassed to admit that you’re desperate to get off. “Okay. You have two options. Either you rut on my thigh or on my boot. Which will it be?”

Your eyes dart as you consider your options. Part of you wishes he would just fuck your instead, but you’re not sure if you’re ready for that yet. Instead, you nudge his thigh. 

“My thigh?” You nod. “Okay, then. Hop on, pup.” He pats his thigh in the same way you pat a couch or a bed to tell your pet to hop on. It doesn’t help your current situation. You climb onto his thigh, careful not to knee him in the dick. His hands find home on your hips while yours grip onto his shirt. You give him an experimental grind, figuring out the best method to make this the least humiliating thing you could be doing. You hide your face in his neck, grinding your clothed dick against his thigh. You groan when he flexes his thigh to give you a better surface. You bite the junction between his neck and shoulder as you start to speed up and gain more pressure. “C’mon, you can do it. Take it.”

You hope your slick hasn't transferred onto his pants by the way you desperately rut against him. The only thing holding back your moans is the flesh between your teeth. With his hands on your waist, he controls the rhythm, pushing you down on his thigh. It’s almost too much yet not enough. Then, the rubber band snaps. Your teeth bite down harder as you cum, Soap’s hands still keep you moving as you come down from your high. You let out a whine, squeezing your thighs due to the overstimulation. When you let go of his neck, he lets go of your hips. You lick the teeth intents on his skin, murmuring an apology as you try to soothe the skin. He hums in appreciation.

“I’m surprised you haven’t bitten a chunk out of my neck yet.” He chuckles. He holds you close, rubbing your lower back. “You solid, lad?” 

You nod, “Yeah, just- give me a second.” He lets you lean on him for a while as you return back to your senses. Your breathing falls in sync with his. You eventually let go and with shaky legs, you stand up. You groan, feeling the wetness left in your underwear, “Get out, I need to change.” 

He leans back on the bed, scrolling through his phone, “Do you mind if I share that photo with the team?”

“And why would anyone want to see that?” You exclaim, trying to find something to wear. In one of the boxes, you find a change of clothes. Specifically, a soft pair of sweatpants you haven’t worn in years. 

“You’d be surprised,” he doesn’t make an effort to leave the room. So you sigh and change as quickly as possible. To your surprise, he doesn’t try to sneak a peek.

“I mean, I guess. Sure, whatever.” 

There’s a knock at the front door. He jumps off the bed and kisses your forehead. Muttering a ‘thanks’ in your hair he leaves. You don’t realize he has a giant bite mark on his neck until he’s out the door. The sight makes your stomach feel a sort of way you can’t describe. 

After a couple of minutes of trying to organize your stuff, your phone buzzes.

Group chat: 141

Soap: Pizza is here :)

Soap: also

He sends the photo he took of you with no warning. Your hair is messy, tears staining your cheeks with your eyes glazed over, and his cock in your mouth.

Rookie: you’re a motherfucker 

Soap: What? You look good 

Rookie: I didn’t think you’d send it now AND in this group chat

Ghost: …

Ghost: Is that a collar?

You place your hand on your throat, feeling the leader that you forgot was there. With flushed cheeks, you quickly undo the back and shove it back into its box.

Gaz: Where did you get a collar?

Soap: Rook’s private collection 

Rookie: I don’t have a collection it’s just that one thing

Ghost: almost don't believe you 

Price: Almost crashed the car opening the message

Soap: Sorry sir

Soap: do you like it? :)

Rookie: please don’t answer that Captain 

Price: I think the current relationship I have with Rook is too complicated for me to say yes or no

Rookie: that doesn’t make anything better

Soap: sounds like you want to say yes

Ghost: Price is still your superior 

Soap: not while off base 

Rookie: ESPECIALLY off base

Gaz: I don’t know about that

Rookie: I don’t want to know about that

Soap: uh oh Rookie has daddy issues that are being projected onto Price 

“Soap, I’m going to kill you!” you shout from your room, it's rougher than you anticipated. Vocal cords still recovering. His laugh from the living room makes you want to strangle him. 

—

You put your mask back on so you don’t have to show your entire face (in shame) while you all sit in the living room eating pizza. Gaz was right, it was really good pizza. So good you could almost forget that Soap had shared that photo and hinted at some parental issues that you couldn’t deny (fucker). Gaz picks out an old action movie to put on. The sun is starting to set. 

You sit on the far edge of the long couch, head resting on the armrest as the screen flashes with bright colors. Price sits on the recliner next to you, with a laptop out and glasses on the tip of his nose. You snicker quietly at the sight. For a moment, he doesn’t look like your captain. He catches you staring.

“What?” He asks, raising a brow.

“Nothing, Cap.”

“You know you can just call us by our names off base.” Gaz comments, keeping his eyes on the TV as he shoves a slice of pizza in his mouth. 

You can’t do that. It’s too personal. It’s too real.

“I can’t. Feels weird.” You say simply. 

Soap scoffs, “how is it weird?”

You shrug, “You don’t call me by my name. It’s always Rookie or Rook.”

“Or lovely.” Price mutters, you barely catch it. 

“You don’t have to,” Ghost butts in. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Soap groans, “You’re telling me you don’t want to hear Rookie call you Simon?” Both you and Ghost tense. 

“He can. In the end, it’s his choice if he wants to or not.”

“And I don’t want to.” 

“C’mon, just once. Say my name once and I’ll drop it.” Gaz whines. You roll your eyes.

“Why is this such a big thing for you people?”

“Why is it such a big thing for you?” Gaz questions.

You give him an annoying look but hold your tongue. “Alright. But just once.” You instantly regret it when Soap and Gaz lean in dramatically to hear you. 

“Kyle,” you say. Your entire body recoils. Gaz and Soap cheer like they’re watching a football game. “Awful. Don’t make me do that again.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I just said I’m not doing that again.”

You hope.

Chapter Text

It’s weird at first. After Price and Gaz go to their apartment for the night. When it’s oddly quiet and there’s no need to talk or interact. When Soap goes off to take a shower it’s just you and Ghost sitting on the couch watching whatever show rerun happens to be on the TV. You sit closer to him than usual, with a blanket on your legs and your mask down. You hadn’t made an effort to pull it back on after you had eaten. It’s quiet. Much quieter than base and oddly domestic. When was the last time you sat with someone watching TV like this? Under a blanket in clothing that wasn’t military fatigues? When do you feel comfortable enough to take your mask off and let your shoulders relax? There’s a nervous feeling in your stomach despite it all. Like you're waiting for your mom to kick you out because she just doesn’t want to see you or waiting for Laswell to call you back to base. Hell, part of you is waiting for the building to explode and get kidnapped again.

“You alright?” Ghost asks, his voice low like a whisper. 

‘I feel like,’ you sign, he puts his full attention on you. ‘I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.’

He nods, “I get that too.”

‘I’m scared that… that if I let my mind slip too much…’

“That suddenly everything will happen again?”

‘I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to think about it. But I have to. Even when I’m here. I don’t want to bring that here.’

He looks at you for a second. Your eyes are glossy with tears, lips pulled back to prevent a sob from escaping your throat. But you doubt you can cry, you don’t think you can even speak. His eyes soften. 

“I um…” he scratches his neck under his balaclava. A nervous gesture. Like a dog sneezing when they’re anxious. “Sometimes I wake up feeling like there’s hooks under my ribs. Or I can’t eat because I smell or hear something that reminds me of it . I can’t be touched, I lock myself in my room so Johnny doesn’t look at me. I feel bad when I snap at him, or Kyle, or John. But they understand, I think. That it’s something that will never be fixed. Those cracks will always be there. But you learn to manage it.”

“Have you learned to manage it?”

He scoffs, “fuck no. It’s not easy. And this line of work doesn’t make it easy. But you got a good group of muppets keeping you company. No matter how shitty it gets.” 

Soap gets out of the bathroom before you can ask Ghost anything else. He walks over with a towel still in his wet hair and climbs on top of you and Ghost, laying across the both of you with his top half on Ghost and the bottom half on you. 

“What are we watching?” He asks. You huff in annoyance as he shifts around getting comfortable.

“Get off, I want to go shower,” you groan. Soap pouts but lifts his legs so you can escape. Before you can leave he grabs your hand and pulls you towards him. “What?” You ask, he points at his cheek. “I’m not kissing your cheek, weirdo.”

“You can chew on my neck but kissing is crossing the line?” He narrows his eyes in playful judgment. You sigh before leaning down and kissing his cheek. But he doesn’t let go. “Would you like to sleep in my bed?”

“I think I should report you for fraternization.”

“That’s not a no.”

“What’s the point of letting me stay in the spare bedroom if I’m going to sleep in your bed?”

He shrugs, “I like being around you.” Those words do more bad than good to your psyche. He isn’t using that tone he usually uses when he’s messing with you. When he wants to see you get all flustered, it’s genuine and gentle. You can’t deal with it. You rip your hand from his grasp and rush to your room, locking the door. This can’t be happening to you. It has to be a joke. You’re not someone to be genuine and gentle with. 

You don’t leave your room until you know Soap and Ghost have gone to bed. You sneak into the bathroom, hoping that nobody tries to talk to you about what happened. Maybe Ghost talked to him about it. Maybe he understands you can’t accept it. It’s not like he said I love you. He said that he just enjoys your company. Yet it fills you with panic. 

After your quick shower, you head to bed. But you can’t sleep. If you don’t see his face behind your eyes you see Soap. His puppy dog eyes looking at you with that goofy smile. How he lays on Ghost and lets words slip from his mouth like it’s second nature.

You don’t want to be alone. 

You hate being alone. You hate windowless rooms with plain walls. You hate the cold that lingers on your skin. You hate the cold sidewalk under your cheek. You hate the cold stone walls. You hate the dripping water. You hate the pitiful looks. You hate how your voice gets caught in your throat when you freeze. You hate how you can’t accept anything nice or good in your life. You hate that the other shoe always drops. And you hate that sometimes, it’s your fault.

You wish you could love as easily as Johnny does.

Sleep doesn’t come until early morning when the sun is starting to rise. Your dreams are no different from the thoughts that terrorize you when you’re awake. You wake up in a cold sweat, scared. You can’t go back to sleep. You can hear the sounds of Ghost and Soap already up, maybe the sounds of Price in the kitchen. 

You don’t want to get up. You don’t want to see anyone. You just want to lay in bed and sink into the sheets until everyone forgets about you. 

The knock on your door strips you from those hopeful wishes. You grimace, sinking deeper into the sheets when the door is open, light entering your dark room. 

“You alright, Lovely?” It’s Price. When is it ever not Price? He slowly closes the door behind him, his footsteps soft and he draws closer to the bed. You make a noise that’s almost human. You can barely make out his silhouette kneeling next to the bed. You feel like a kid throwing a temper tantrum. “How are you feeling?”

“Miserable,” you mumble. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

He hums in thought. 

“Do you feel like there’s a bomb under the table?” Is the question he lands on. It confuses you for a second but after a moment of thought you understand what he means.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want some company?” 

You pause. Eyes flickering between his silhouette to the abyss that is the windowless room.

“Yeah.”

You move over on the bed, making room for his larger frame. He lays down next to you and opens up his arm for you to slide in. You cram yourself into his arm, almost as if you were trying to be absorbed into his body. Maybe you could hide in his ribs. He wraps his arm around you, not saying a word. Just letting you listen to his heartbeat. The rhythmic pattern lulls you to sleep after a few minutes. Warmth engulfing you.

—

It isn’t until midday when Price manages to pull you out of your room so you can get something in your stomach. He tells you Soap and Ghost went out to get groceries. It makes you relax. You feel bad for how you reacted. Price reassures you it’s okay and to just eat some of the soup Gaz made. 

“I’m still trying… to get used to- this, I guess.” 

“This? As in living here?” He asks, taking a seat across from you on the dining table. 

You shake your head, “Not really. More as in just living.” 

He thinks for a moment, his brows creasing in thought as he looks out the glass balcony doors. Rain patters against the glass. You hadn’t realized it was raining. 

“Do you want to talk about what's troubling you? Any of it?” 

You shrug. You rather not. But part of you trusts Price to not be weird about it. 

“The woman in south Mexico. In the facility where we found the hostages. Was she there in Lithuania?” 

You nod, “she would bring me food occasionally. Tend to my wounds so I wouldn’t die of inflection. Probably reported back to him .”

“How often would you see him ?”

“At first he didn’t show up for the first couple of days. He- um… he would make sure I knew how many days I was there. So he started coming by every day. Sometimes for a couple of minutes, sometimes hours.” The scars on your back ache, a constant throbbing as you remember. “He would have this metal cart with all sorts of instruments. He would make a game out of it. At some point, he stopped asking questions and just came by to… you know.”

He nods, keeping his face neutral. He doesn’t look at you with pity. He just absorbs the information like you’re talking about a mission brief. 

“He would… carve a tally mark on my back for each day. If he didn’t come by one day the next he would make sure to slice an extra mark.” 

“Can I-?”

You nod, biting your lip. He walks around the table slowly, cautiously. You pull your long-sleeved shirt up. The cold air of the apartment hits your back. He doesn’t touch them, but you can feel his stare on your back. Studying. 

“How did your Amsterdam wound heal?”

“Fine.” You turn in the chair, take off your shirt, and show him your abdomen. He lightly touches it. Your cheeks warm at his touch. You watch as he examines your scars, his eyes traveling up til they reach your top surgery scars. You think his cheeks turn ever so slightly pink at the sight. “I think the surgeon did a good job, what do you think?” You try to lighten the mood.

He clears his throat nervously, “They- um, they look good.” His fingers slowly trace the scars. You try your best to not react. “What’s it like? I mean- how did you know?”

“What? That I wasn’t a girl?” You let out an exasperated sigh as you think back, “It’s different for everybody. I guess I just never had that connection to being a girl. Especially after my sister got older and started becoming her own person. I realized that I was nothing like her. If that makes sense.”

He smiles up at you while he listens.

“It was never a hate of the color pink and wearing dresses. It was more of a feeling that something was off. Like my skin wasn’t made for my bones. It’s hard to describe. I think you just know.”

“Did your parents know?”

You scoff, “They hated me. Telling them wouldn’t have helped.” His expression changes to confusion. You answer before he can ask, “My mom… wasn’t well when she had me. After I was rescued Laswell sent me to see some therapist for a bit. She said it was maternal rejection syndrome or something like that. My father had no excuse. He just didn’t like me because my mom didn’t like me.”

“And your sister?”

“My mom loves her more than anything. I’m grateful for that. I love my sister very much and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Do you talk to her?”

“Um, we got cut off after I joined Alpha Five. Our mom doesn’t let her email me or send letters. She should be a freshman in high school now. If that means anything to your British brain.”

He chuckles, standing up. “Barely.”

After that, he sits back down and you put your shirt back on. As you eat you talk about your teenage years. You tell about your summers in Mexico working with your cousins on their farm alongside the occasional Christmas break. He shares his own story of his aunt trying to raise chickens when he was a kid and getting chased by one. You laugh, sharing your own story about a Mexican street dog that would wait for you on a street corner just to chase you all the way to the plaza. He never chased any other kids. You assume it was because you smelled like the freshly slaughtered pigs your uncle would have you drain the blood from. You didn’t like doing it. But your uncle would tell you it's either draining them or killing them yourself. It wasn’t murder, but it felt close to it.

“When I killed my first hostile, I didn’t feel guilty. I thought I was fucked up for it. But I guess all those summers desensitized me to all the gore and blood of it all. Maybe I was just cocky and young. It didn’t hit me until I was in that facility… slipping on my entire team’s blood. Sorry- for um, talking about depressing shit.”

“Don’t apologize. If anything I encourage it. It's a part of healing.”

You chuckle, eating the last of the soup, “you sound like a therapist.”

He smiles, stands up, and takes your bowl to the sink. “We’ve all seen a handful of shrinks. Mandatory after traumatic events. You start to learn the tricks after a while.”

After eating, Price leads you to the couch. He gently pushes you onto the soft cushion and drapes a blanket over you. It smells like Ghost. He says something about relaxing and taking the day off to mentally recover. He gives you the TV remote and lets you pick whatever you want to watch. You settle on an easy-to-watch show you don’t have to pay much attention to. He goes to sit on the recliner but he notices the look in your eyes. 

“Do you want me to sit next to you?” He asks. Your cheeks flush and you look away. You would never admit something like that. He reminds you of a cuddly bear. Maybe a brown bear? You give him a small nod. Without hesitation, he stands up and sits down beside you with an old man groan. You find yourself leaning into him, enjoying the warmth radiating off of him. 

After an episode, you hear the sound of the front door unlocking. Your body automatically tenses when you hear Soap enter. Price takes a page out of Soap’s book and puts his hand in your hair in the hope of grounding you. It works.

“Bloody hell, it’s fucking hell out there,” he complains. 

“Doesn’t seem like it’s going to get better,” Ghost comments as the two of them place the grocery bags on the counter. They both spot you and Price on the couch. “How you feeling, Rook?”

“Better,” you say, though a bit too quietly for your liking. Soap almost jumps over the couch to get to you but he doesn’t touch you. He keeps a distance. It looks like he’s using all his willpower to hold back from hugging you. He looks at you with the saddest puppy eyes you never thought you’d see on a full-grown man. 

“Lad, I want to apologize. I’m sorry for being so touchy and in your personal space. I’m sorry for being so forward and intense. I know we mess around but I never meant to freak you out.” 

You almost jump out of your seat, waving your hands in front of you as if to say ‘wait, wait, wait.’ 

“No, don’t say that! I’m the one that should be sorry. I’m sorry that I’m cold and distant. I don’t hate that you’re touchy, although sometimes it can feel like too much. But I like that you’re forward.” You scratch your neck nervously as you ramble, “I’m not good with knowing what I want. Or how to express it. It’s hard for me to accept kindness and even harder to process trauma. I just- I don’t want everything good to be stripped away from me. I don’t want to lose another team.” Your vision becomes blurry with tears, it’s ridiculous how often you’re crying now. 

He grabs your hands and holds them tightly, “You don’t have to apologize for anything, lovely.” 

You don’t know how it happened. Maybe he leaned in first but you’re almost completely certain that you leaned in first. 

You kiss him.

It takes him a second to react, but when he does it’s pure unadulterated love. Or maybe it isn’t love. Maybe it’s something beyond that. He cups your face gently, thumbs carefully caressing your cheeks and wiping away tears. You don’t know how to describe how you feel. But you rarely do anymore. It's nice and warm. For a moment, you feel safe. But you know the moment will pass. All you can do is hope that the feeling returns. When you both pull back you don’t completely separate, instead he pulls you into a hug. 

You can hear his heartbeat in his chest. You hope he can hear yours.

—

That night, you ask Soap if it would be alright to sleep in his bed. It’s more than alright for him, scrambling to make his room presentable by picking up dirty clothes from the ground. Although messy, his room is fairly clean. The walls are covered in posters from sports teams, bands, and movies he likes. You recognize a few of them. There’s also a Scottish flag on the wall that he proudly displays, it makes you think back to the flag you had up in the barracks while with Alpha Five. His king-sized bed is against the corner, with dark sheets that surprisingly match with the rest of his room. As you bring in your own blanket and pillow you notice two picture frames on his desk. One of the team looks like it might be two or three years old. The second is of him with his sisters, which is much older since Soap looks like he can’t be more than fourteen years old. You almost don’t recognize him without the Mohawk.

Soap tries to keep his hands to himself as you lay next to him. But after a few minutes, you can basically hear his fingers twitching at his sides. Your third big step today: you move closer to him, laying your arm across his stomach. He leans closer in until you’re as close as you can be. You manage to fall asleep in seconds after that. 

But you wake when you hear the creaking noise of the bedroom door. You turn your head to see a large figure you quickly identify as Ghost. Through the soft light behind him, you can make out messy hair but not much else. He closes the door quietly behind him and approaches the bed. You shuffle around, moving a semi-unconscious Soap until there’s enough room for Ghost. You assume he would like to sleep on the other side of Soap, but instead lays next to you. 

He seems scared to touch you at first. You take his hand and gently guide him to wrap his arm around you. Although made of hard muscle, his hold is soft and warm. You can feel his breathing on the crown of your head. It doesn’t take long for the three of you to fade back into sleep.

Chapter Text

You wake up in a bear hug. Ghost has always appeared massive to you but now as his arms are wrapped around your middle you realize he’s huge. He holds you like a teddy bear. You don’t know what to make of it. Part of you is too comfortable to move out of his grasp and the other part is in complete panic because Ghost has never touched you like this. Hell, you don’t remember the last time he touched you. Maybe when you got shot? When you were bleeding out in the back of the shitty black van. 

Soap is nowhere to be seen, but the smell of coffee tells you what you need to know.

You try to slip out of Ghost’s grasp, but he only tightens his hold around you. His face nuzzling deeper into your hair as he lets out a deep breath. His entire front is pressed against your back. You huff in annoyance.

“I thought I wouldn’t have this problem with you,” you whisper, voice still raspy. You can feel his body slightly shake as he laughs quietly.

“Do you want me to let go?”

“No.”

“Alright.”

But you don’t fall asleep again. You doubt Ghost did either. It feels much more intimate knowing that you’re both awake, simply enjoying the warmth that radiates from each other. Your arms wrap around his, softly caressing the tattooed skin of his arm. 

“When did you start developing a thing for biting?” He asks, breaking the comfortable silence. You think about it for a moment. 

“Don’t remember. Sometimes I just get the urge to bite.” You shrug. But there are a few theories you’ve collected in the past. Cute aggression is one of them. The urge to bite someone you like (because you would never admit to love) simply because you like them. The second reason is much more primal. Maybe something left in the wiring of your brain from evolution. Maybe it's something you don’t remember. That you forced yourself to forget. 

“Do you... want to bite me?” He asks, curiosity seeping through his tone. 

“Do you want me to bite you?” 

His arm leaves your middle and brings his hand to your mouth. His fingers flex as you grab his hand and place the fleshy thick part of his palm in between your teeth. You’re careful at first, slowly putting more and more pressure on the flesh. Your jaw twitches, feeling warmth travel down your spine. His breathing becomes shallow. After a few moments, you let go, licking over the mark. 

“Jesus,” he breathes out. 

“Can I go again?” You ask. He nods against your hair. You waste no time biting a new section of his hand, biting near the knuckle of his pointer finger. You don’t notice you’re grinding back into him until you feel something poking at you. He lets out an air moan after a particularly well-angled grind. His hand that isn’t in between your teeth travels down your front. His hand spread wide just above the waistband of your sweatpants. You let go of his hand. 

“Johnny keeps telling me you’re well-behaved once you get a taste of what you want. Always nibbling for more. Can you tell me what you want now?” He mutters into your ear. You hold back a whine, seeking out another bit of flesh to bite into. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to answer. He lets you flip his hand so you can gain access to the flesh on the other side near his pinkie. It’s an awkward angle but you manage. “Brat.” He pulls his hand away before you can really get a good bite into it.

“Fuck,” you groan, “don’t be an asshole. You started it.” 

“Johnny has spoiled you too much. Lets you do and say whatever you want without consequences. That won’t pass with me.” He practically growls into your ear. His bitten hand finds home at the base of your throat, pinning you to him. Like a dog showing dominance over another. His leg slots between your thighs, when you fight back he hitches his leg up towards your center. You groan, submitting as your body relaxes against him. “Good boy, there you go. Tell me your safe word.”

Your face heats up. “Abacaxi,” you breathe out.

“Abacaxi?” He questions in amusement. 

“Yeah, it means pineapple in Portuguese.” You let out a small laugh. His hand tightens slightly around your throat, reminding you of what position you’re in. 

“If you aren’t willing to tell me what you want, then that means dealer’s choice, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To let me use you any which way I deem fit.” His leg presses up against you, making you let out a shaky moan. You nod your head. “Yeah? Good.” His hand on your front doesn’t dip lower to your disappointment, instead, he fully pulls your sweatpants down just under your ass. Only then does he touch you. His fingers find your t-dick, hard and twitching. He gently touches it, making your hips twitch. But he doesn’t spend long there, traveling down towards your dripping core. He huffs in amusement as he slides his two fingers through the slick. “Bloody hell, all this just from biting me?” 

You’re glad he can’t see your flustered expression, but you’d love to be able to turn around and see how much of a mess he is as well. Slowly, he dips his finger inside, stroking your inner walls. You flutter around him which makes him groan.

“There you are… so pliant now. Was that so hard?” One finger quickly becomes two, stroking and stretching you open. You whine at the lack of attention to your dick. But when you try to get some relief, Ghost tightens his grip on your neck. He loosens his grip when you keep your hands away from yourself and instead hold onto his arm on your neck. He continues to work on you, always just barely missing that spot. It’s frustrating how he takes his precious time stretching you. 

“Please,” you moan, grinding back against him. But he shushes you.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he mumbles into your neck, “one more finger. You can wait, right, Lovely?” You feel like you’re overheating in your clothes. The obscene sound of his fingers stretching you out fills your ears and you’re almost certain that Soap can hear what’s going on on his bed. Nevertheless, you nod, wanting to be good for him. He’s merciful, using his palm to graze your dick with every stroke. Not enough to get you far, but enough to relieve some building pressure. Finally, he pushes a third finger in. You let out a breathy moan, eyes fluttering. “Doing so well, pet.”

Clenching around his fingers, already feeling so full you can’t imagine what it’s like when he actually fucks you. You wiggle your sweatpants lower until they’re trapped around your calves, you kick them off and lift your leg to give Ghost more room to prod your insides. He hums approvingly, pressing his lips to your hair and muttering praises. 

“Please, please, Simon,” you plead. His fingers pause when he hears his name slip out of your lips. Slowly he pulls his fingers out.

“Are you sure?” He asks. You nod, face hot red with humiliation. “Okay, relax for me.” You try your best to relax, anticipation flooding your veins as he pulls his cock out from his sweatpants. It’s hot and heavy against your ass, you wish you could look back and see it. Is it pretty like Soap’s? He pulls away, you can hear him opening up the nightstand in search of something. 

“It’s um,” you start, barely audible, “it’s okay. I’m clean and got an implant. Unless you prefer it, it's fine.” 

“You sure?” He asks.

You nod, “I’m sure.” Your hands fidget with the sheets as he returns to his original position behind you. His hand that was at the base of your neck finds its way under your shirt, keeping you close as he uses his other hand to guide himself in. The two of you moan in synchronization as the tip nudges its way inside. It’s a tight fit, but you manage to relax to make the intrusion as bearable as possible. He lets you get used to the feeling, caressing your thigh to comfort you. When you start grinding back he takes it as a signal to slide in deeper. He curses under his breath, slowly moving in and out, in and out. Every time going deeper and deeper. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. 

“How are you doing? Need a second?” He pauses, you shake your head. Not trusting your voice.

‘Feels good,’ you sign with shaky hands. He lets out a small laugh.

“Better be quick. Johnny might get jealous,” he teases. His thrusts start off slow but quickly find a good, constant speed. You moan when he angles his hips up, you twitch around him. “Good boy, taking me so well.” His hand slips out from under your shirt and instead moves to your twitching dick. He strokes it in between two fingers, making you writhe around in his grasp. It’s overwhelming how good everything feels, you can’t think straight. All you can do is take it and hope you’re able to recover from this. This was inevitable, Soap teases him with you all the time. Waving a piece of meat in front of a dog and expecting him not to bite? Foolish. Though, you’re surprised how shameless you are to let this happen, and enjoy it so much. It’s nice to forget for a while. About everything, and let carnal desires lead you.

You’re sure Soap knows what’s going on in here. The sound of skin on skin and the constant moans that slip from your lips are hard to ignore. He picks up the pace, fucking you harder and deeper while the strokes on your dick pick up as well. His hand that had been holding on to your hip lets go. He brings his hand up to your mouth, you don’t waste a second on taking the flesh in your mouth. He groans, hips stuttering as you bite down on two fingers. 

He sees it before you do, the way you start to twitch and the way your breathing speeds up. You don’t register you’re going to cum until you’re already there. You flutter around him, clenching as he pounds into you. His hand on your dick never stops as you tense up and relax. You whine when the overstimulation on your dick becomes too much. He quickly takes his hand off, kissing your head as an apology. He grips your hip instead, pushing and pulling into you with a bruising grip. It’s rough and animalistic. Nothing like Soap who pets you and praises you for being good. Right now, you’re two wild animals biting and nipping at each other. The only thing you have to hold onto is his flesh in between your teeth. You resist the urge to bite down completely as he finally cums. A hot feeling spreads in your insides, making you moan as you get filled up. He slowly fucks his cum deeper into you for a couple of strokes until he eventually gets his fill. His hot, tired breath is on your hair, chest rising and falling on your back. 

“You alright?” He asks, his voice rough. It’s similar to the way it sounds while on missions. Fuck, now you won’t be able to be on comms with Ghost without thinking about his cock in you. You let go of his fingers, noticing the red intents on them as he slips them away from you. He studies his bite-covered hand. 

“Good. You?”

“Good.”

“I feel like Winnie the Pooh with just a shirt on,” you mutter, mostly to yourself but Ghost catches it. 

“I should have a mask here somewhere.” He turns his body towards the nightstand again, his softening cock still inside you. He shuffles around, cursing at Soap’s disorganization. “There it is,” he comments, putting the balaclava on. “You can turn around now.” 

“Would be easy if you weren’t still inside me,” you grumble. He huffs with an eye roll. Slowly, he pulls out. You wince at the feeling. The bed shifts as he sits up, stretching his tired muscles. You quickly put on your underwear and sweatpants, grimacing at the wet feeling. “Sorry for um, chewing on you like that.”

“Should get you a gag to bite on,” he says as though it’s the most casual thing to say to someone. “Thought you were going to bite my fingers straight off.”

“Thought about it.”

“Funny.”

You shower first. The hot water feels like heaven on your overworked muscles. You wish you could stay there all day. But your grumbling stomach prevents you from doing so. You quickly get dressed in some comfortable clothes and head to the living room. Ghost is sitting with Gaz and Soap at the kitchen counter drinking their preferred hot drinks. There’s two extra mugs, one for you and another for Price. Price’s mug is half finished. 

“Morning, Rook. Did you have fun?” Gaz teases. “Sounds like you did.”

“Shut it,” you grumble, taking a seat on an open stool and taking a sip of your tea. It’s just how you like it. “Where’s the Captain?”

“Got called to base for a meeting,” Gaz shrugs, “should be back by the evening.” 

“Never mind that what is that shirt, lad?” Soap questions, holding back a laugh. You look down at your shirt, confused. You hadn’t paid much attention to what shirt you had picked from your semi-packed boxes. It’s a black shirt that reads “Proud Army Husband.” Dante has given it to you as a joke. You weren’t going to keep it but now it’s one of the few things you have of your team.

“What? You don’t like it?” You ask with a grin.

“Think you’re moving a little too fast,” he teases.

You scoff, “I wouldn’t marry you.”

Soap almost does a double take from your shirt to you. “What? You wouldn’t?” He asks with an offended tone.

“I wouldn’t want to live in Scotland. England is already rainy as hell.” 

“Where would you rather live, then?”

“I’m not entertaining this scenario with you.”

You hadn’t really thought about it. Where you would go if you were ever to leave the military. The closest thing to picking where you’d spend the rest of your days was picking where you wanted your tombstone to be. You always juggled the idea between Mexico and the States, what you know, and who you are. You want to be buried in the States so you’ll always be close to your sister. But at the same time, you feel like you don’t have a real connection to the States. You can’t spend every summer of your life in Mexico and not find a connection to your roots. 

Soap pouts but doesn’t touch the subject anymore. 

By early afternoon, with the help of Gaz you’re able to finally unpack everything. You’re surprised to find an old photo album at the bottom of one of the boxes. You had completely forgotten about it. It’s medium-sized with black worn leather. The cover has your name scribbled on with a white paint marker. You flip through dozens of pages filled with photos of you, your sister, old friends, and basic training friends. The oldest photo being one of you when you’re no older than eleven, your smiling face covered in frosting after your cousin shoved your face into your birthday cake. The newest photo being from the day you were sent on your first deployment. 

“Is that you?” Gaz asks, looking at a photo of you on your uncle’s farm when you were thirteen. You’re holding a chicken in your arms and your face has a bit of dirt on it. You nod, staring at the photo. If you remember correctly, your uncle made you kill that chicken later that week for dinner. 

“I think I got something in here that’ll make you flip out,” you say, flipping through the album. It doesn’t take long for you to find it. Near the end of the album is a picture of you with Graves. In the photo you’re still presenting as female, your hair tied up in a slick military bun. 

Gaz’s eyes blow wide, “bloody fucking hell, is that Graves?” He exclaims, taking the album from your hands to get a closer look. “What the hell is the context behind this?”

“I did a job with the Shadow Company. I think that’s the day he asked me to join, but I said no. Instead, I joined Alpha Five, obviously.” 

“Bit of a prodigy, aren’t you?”

“Not really, no. Lucky, maybe.” But your luck did run out. “Military wasn’t even my first choice. It just kinda happened because I had no other choice.” You take the album back and flip through the pages idly. There’s no pictures of you and your parents. Do you even remember what they look like? 

“Why did you come back? I doubt Laswell or anyone for that matter was going to force you back after what happened.”

“I thought about it. But it’s difficult to leave all this. Even if I wanted to buy a house in some secluded area and live off the land with no one to bother me. You don’t see what you see and just… return to civilian life. You know?”

Gaz nods in understanding, “Yeah. I get it. How do you like living here?”

“Terrifying.”

He gives you a worried, confused look. He tries to read your face as you thumb through the album pages. 

“I don’t understand.”

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop, I suppose.”

He hums in thought. 

—

After finishing unpacking everything you end up taking a nap on the couch. The pattering of the rain softly lulling you to sleep. You’re curled in a big soft blanket that Soap and Ghost keep on the couch that smells just like them. Soap had dragged Ghost out to the store but refused to tell you for what. Leaving you with Gaz on the other side of the couch mindlessly doing something on his laptop. His phone occasionally buzzes, which he quickly responds to before putting back down.

The sound of the door unlocking wakes you up, but you’re too comfortable to move. Instead, you try to figure out who it is by the sound of their footsteps. Price is your best guess since there isn’t a second pair of footsteps behind him. He mutters something to Gaz and kisses him before he turns to you. You feel his hand on your shoulder trying to gently wake you. You groan, opening your eyes.

“Hungry?” He asks you with a smile. He looks a bit tired, maybe stressed from the meeting. 

“I could eat.” 

“Anything you’d like?”

“Fine with anything.”

“Alright.”

His voice is soft when he talks to you. Not in the way you talk to someone when you think they might break, but in the way you do when you just adore someone. 

As Price leaves to wash his hands and start on lunch, you follow right behind him. You fidget nervously with the seam of your shirt as you try to find the words for what you want to say. When he notices you trying to find the words, he returns with a patient look. 

“Can I help?” You finally ask. You don’t know where to look. Anxiety eating at you for such a simple request. He smiles. 

“Of course.”

—

You end up making some chicken Parmesan and a salad with Price leading the way. It went smoothly. Price is good at telling you what to do and you’re good at listening to his instructions. Though, at some point, it became hard to concentrate when Price would praise you for doing a good job with the sauce or breading the chicken. Price didn’t notice the way your cheeks would flush whenever he would lean over you to check your work and whisper “good boy” in your ear. Or maybe he didn’t make it obvious when he did. 

Soap and Ghost make it back just as Price pulls the chicken from the oven. You notice the large black bags they’re carrying as they walk in.

“Whatcha got there?” You ask as you wash your hands in the sink. Soap grins mischievously as he approaches you with his bag. He opens it just enough for you to peek inside for two seconds. You’re taken aback when you catch a glimpse of dog ears and a tail among other things. “Not happening.” You back away, glaring at Soap. 

“Don’t lie to yourself, lad. You were very eager yesterday.” He steps closer to you. Every step he takes forward you take back. The back and forth of you denying his requests and his persistent teasing continues until you bump into Price. You quickly move to the other side of Price, using him as a shield. 

“Quit teasing, Soap.” He warns. “Save it for after lunch.”

“Aye, Captain,” Soap salutes before backing off with a smirk.

You’ve never felt so betrayed in your life. 

Chapter Text

You can’t do it. 

To take that step you have to let them know everything. You have to let them in . Sure, you’ve talked to Price about it, but your relationship with Price isn’t like your relationship with Soap. Soap can tease you, fight you over dumb stuff, and bite back. He’s spontaneous and wild. Price is nothing like that. He’s calm and calculated. If you need someone to lean on or to reassure you you seek out Price. 

Ghost is a healthy medium between the two. He’s the one who understands your trauma the best, and knowing that trauma he knows how to poke and tease you. Gaz falls on the other side. He’s easy to talk to. He makes you feel like a normal guy in a sort of boy-next-door type of way. He’s a nice break from the intensity that is the rest of them.

Do you trust them? You want to say yes. You do to an extent. But you won’t lie and say that you don’t flinch when a hand brushes too close to your tally mark scars or tense up when their footsteps are a bit too loud. You don’t blame them for the way you act or feel. You’re a product of what happened to you. Even before being tortured. You are the way you are because your parents never loved you the way they love your sister. You are the way you are because you accepted the hot feeling of blood on your hands when you were young. You forgot the difference between farm animals and human beings for too many years. You are the way you are because you saw what true evil looks like. It’s not your fault, and it’s not theirs.

You feel like you’re constantly taking one step forward and two steps back. It’s a constant gamble if you’ll wake up feeling like everything’s okay or if everyone is against you. You don’t lash out, but sometimes you find yourself isolating yourself from conversations and interactions. You keep everyone at an arm's distance. And even though you bite and growl they always wait for you. You wonder if it's tiring for them.

You understand that they understand. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. You watch the way Soap and Gaz kiss each other good morning. The way Price ruffles Soap’s hair and nudges Ghost on the shoulder in greeting. The little touches that Gaz does to check on Ghost when he starts spacing out. They seem happy. A happiness you don’t think you can ever achieve again. But every day you try. You try to move past everything. But you can’t knowing he’s still out there. 

So you decide to come completely clean about everything. You sit them all down in the evening, and you talk. You tell them every bit of information that you can remember about those forty-five days. 

You tell them about the mission in Panama. How everything was going well until it wasn’t. 

You tell them about the man. How he would come in every day with his cart of tools and decide which ones he would use that day. You show them the scars on your arms, remembering which tool he used for each. 

You tell them about the woman and the soldiers that would come into your cell. How she ratted you out about your biological sex and made everything worse. You tell them what he does, as much as it pains you to do so.

You tell them about the daily gamble of not knowing if you’d be given food and water. How you were restrained to the back wall with a chain when they thought you were too weak to truly fight back anymore.

You tell them about the scars on your face. About the broken ankle. And eventually, about your back. You’re scared to show them. Price gives you a reassuring look as you lift up your shirt. They mutter words reflecting pain and sadness. You hate how you feel small. You eventually pull your shirt down and turn back around. 

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz seem… mad. Not mad at you, but mad at what was done to you. Their jaws clenched and eyebrows furrowed. They stare at the ground, trying to process it all. You look at Price for any sign of support and reassurance. His eyes crinkle and he gives you a warm smile. His hand reaches towards you, calling you over if you need it. You scoot over to him, bumping shoulders. The warmth radiating off of him contrasts with how cold your hands feel. 

After a few minutes, Gaz is the first to say something. Maybe it’s because your heart is still trying to beat out of your chest that you won’t remember what he said, but you remember the feeling. The soft grip he had on your hand and the careful kiss on your cheek. 

They all say your name so sweetly. And for the first time in the last year, you don’t feel weak and pitied. You don’t feel like they’re walking on eggshells around you or hoping they don’t say something that might upset you. You feel like you can continue on living. Maybe the other shoe won’t drop.

—

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” You ask, trying not to seem too desperate. This is starting to feel like a student crushing on their English teacher. You are a sucker for those glasses Price wears when he’s doing paperwork or looking at something on his laptop for too long. 

“Of course.” Price answers with a smile. He waits for you to shower, brush your teeth, and change into sleep clothes before saying good night to Ghost and Soap and leading you out to the hallway with Gaz. You had almost forgotten that their apartment was right next door. 

It’s a cozy apartment decorated in warm neutrals. It’s a bit of an odd combination between Gaz’s much younger tastes and Price’s more mature ones. There’s a small shelf by the kitchen filled with expensive-looking bottles of alcohol and fancy glasses. The living room looks a lot like Soap and Ghost’s living room. There’s a reading nook in the far corner with a big comfy-looking chair and shelves filled with books. Their dining table is smaller, with papers scattered around. They spend many more meals in the other flat than in here. 

“I’m at the end of the hall. Kyle will be on your left and the bathroom to the right.” Price explains as he leads you down the hall. Gaz calls out that he’s going to shower before heading to his room to collect some clothes. You catch a sneak peek inside, it’s much cleaner than Soap’s room but still reflects his younger age. He has a matching football poster on one wall. His sheets are a soft sage green.  

As you enter Price’s room the first thing you notice is the incredibly comfortable-looking bed. The comforter is a soft brown and the pillows look just as soft. The lights in his room shine a warm tone. You then notice the desk in the corner of the room that looks just like his desk back at base. You can’t help but roll your eyes. He never truly leaves work does he?

“I have to reply to a couple of emails but you can head to bed. I won’t be long.” 

You have to hold yourself back from pouting. Instead, you narrow your eyes at him for a moment. “Do you ever take a break, Captain?” 

He lets out a small laugh, “Not while there’s a job to do.” He pulls back the sheets on the bed, opening up a spot for you on the right side (closest to his desk).

“I hope I haven’t contributed to your to-do list,” you crawl into the sheets, nuzzling into the soft blanket. “Feel like I’ve caused more problems for the team than solved them.”

“You know that’s not true,” he sits on the edge of the bed, hand resting on your knee. You feel your cheeks warm. “You have been extremely valuable to the team. You got the information that led us to the hostages-“

“Almost died in the process,” you mutter.

“You saved Garrick from getting shot.”

“Almost shot him myself.”

“The Amsterdam mission was only a success because of you.”

“I also almost died.”

He sighs, head falling low. He pauses for a moment before speaking. “When you were gone in recovery… we thought we would have an easy time waiting for you. A couple of weeks is nothing compared to the multiple month-long solo missions we sometimes go off on. But those weeks were near hell. We all missed you. You’re not just a valuable member of the team, but you’re also valuable to us as more than just a teammate. Problems or not. Missions are rarely perfect. Now-“ he gets up, ruffling your hair. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll be done in thirty minutes.”

But after he sits down at his desk and furrows his eyebrows as he stares at the blue light monitor you can’t fall asleep. Instead, you watch him work. For a moment you wonder if this is what normal life is. Laying in bed under amber light waiting for them to go to bed so you can lay your head on their chest and fall asleep to the sound of their heartbeat. Maybe in another life, you stay up late just talking about your day. Maybe you would have a job that isn’t so awful. Anything would be better than special forces. Of course, as much as you’d like to quit and get a boring office job you know you wouldn't be able to stomach the guilt and fear. So you shake the ideas away and fall deeper into the blanket. It smells just like Price. 

You’re almost asleep when Price heads out to brush his teeth and change into his sleep clothes. You can barely keep your eyes open when he lays down in bed. With the last of your strength, you reach over to him and wrap yourself like a koala against his side. He wraps his arms around you, running his thumb gently on your shoulder. 

“Are you usually this clingy with your superiors?” He jokes, his voice sleepy. 

“It’s usually the other way around,” you yawn. “Simon holds me like a stuffed animal.”

You pause for a second.

“Don’t let him know I called him that.”

He huffs in amusement, “I’m sure we’re past callsigns and titles. Nobody is writing you up for calling me John or calling Ghost, Simon.”

“Do you want me to call you John?” 

He thinks for a second, “privately. If it makes you more comfortable.”

“Alright,” you say softly, “good night, John.”

“Good night, lovely.”

—

You don’t want to get up in the morning. You can feel Price— John shifting around as he tries to get up without disturbing you. Damn his die-hard military habits. You grip onto him tighter, mumbling something in protest. He gives up, but after a few minutes hoping that you have fallen asleep again he tries again. So, as any sane person would, you basically climb on top of him and drop your body weight on him. You’re not small by any means, but you’re also not bigger than him. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, not entirely sure if you’re conscious enough to know you’re doing it. He sighs, placing his hand on the small of your back. 

“Don’t bite me, lovely,” he warns when he feels your lips on his skin. You’re too sleepy to process his words entirely, all you hear is ‘bite me.’ So you do. You don’t bite hard, just hard enough that he can feel your teeth without any pain. He places his hand on the back of your head as a warning, prepared to scruff you if you try to lock your jaw. “I should write you up for insubordination.”

“Don’t go, stay a while longer.” You mutter after releasing your jaw from his neck. 

“I have some things to do,” he says, but you aren’t listening. “Kyle is probably sleeping for another hour or two. Can I drop you off with him?”

You shrug but nod. 

It doesn’t take much effort for John to pick you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you to Kyle’s room. You don’t remember the last time you were carried like this. Maybe you were never carried as a child. Does that explain the feeling in your chest? 

Kyle doesn’t stir much to the intrusion in his room. He opens one eye to assess what’s going on and scoots over to make room. John carefully places you on the bed and Kyle automatically throws the blanket and arm around you. John places a kiss on Kyle’s cheek before kissing your forehead. He leaves quietly, letting you sleep for a while longer.

—

You wake up with your head tucked under Kyle’s chin and his arms wrapped around you. Your legs tangled in his. You forget where you are for a moment before smelling the sweet body wash that Kyle uses. But the sudden urge to go to the bathroom hits you and you wiggle out of his grasp. You hiss as you walk across the cold floor and head to the bathroom. 

After doing your business, washing your hands, and making sure your hair isn’t an absolute mess you peek into John’s room. He spots you in the corner of his eye.

“Good morning,” he greets, and with two fingers he signals you in. If you were a weaker person your legs would’ve turned to jelly from the simple motion. You walk over to behind his desk and lean over it.

“Morning.” You say simply, you glance over at this computer monitor. There’s a giant wall of text that you can’t bother to read. If you were on base and in work mode maybe. But those are problems you will worry about when Laswell calls you. “I like those glasses on you.”

“Really? Makes me feel old.”

“You’re not that old. During basic training I—“ you stop yourself from confessing something you might regret, John gives you a look. “Nevermind,” you say instead, cheeks tinting pink. 

“You were much more spontaneous back then, weren’t you?” He asks, pulling back his chair. One of his hands rests on his thigh, you can’t help but look at the way his pointer finger taps on his leg. 

You shrug nonchalantly, “It’s what spending the years you’d typically spend in college in the military does to you. I did some really stupid shit.” 

“Like?”

“Start bar fights, get mauled by a dog, and flirt with men old enough to be my dad. You know, the normal stuff. Though flirting doesn’t work anymore, not since I chopped my tits off.” You signal to your very much boob-less chest. John huffs in amusement.

“I’m guessing most guys liked them?”

“Yeah, had these massive things. Surprised they let me enlist. They were a threat to the entire country.” You joke. 

John laughs at the absurdity of it, “Fuck off.”

“Which um- reminds me. I stopped injections a year ago while I recovered. Since you are my Captain I have to ask for clearance to start T again. A little email to medical so they can start shipping that to me.” You explain as you nervously play with the frayed ends of your sweatpant ties. “There might be a form to fill out, I don’t know.”

“Of course, I can do that, lovely,” you try to ignore the way he spreads his legs on the office chair. How he rests one arm on the desk and the other on his leg. “Anything else I can do for you?”

You open your mouth to say no but no words come out. Your face grows hot when he pats his leg, beckoning you to sit. You slowly step closer, like a stray dog cautiously walking closer to a human’s outstretched hand. You carefully sit down, his hands locked around your waist. The stray dog accepts the human hand. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and take a deep breath.

“I don’t like being this needy,” you whisper, “I’m not… used to this.”

“You deserve to want things.”

You were never allowed to want things growing up. You were given what you were given and that was final. No whining, no complaining, no discussion. You never asked for a hug from your parents when you had a bad dream. Or help when you got sick. You dealt with it. And you learned to live like that. It’s strange to be able to ask for affection now. To be cared for. 

“Is there anything you want?” The soft bristles of his beard tickle your face as he talks. 

“Can you— um. Fuck.” You groan, embarrassment heating your skin. But John is patient. “Can… Can you kiss me?”

The kiss comes faster than you had anticipated. As if the only thing holding him back was you expressing the same want that he felt. He’s much warmer than you thought he’d be. Soft lips on yours. It’s not a soft, shy kiss. Nor is it desperate. It’s passionate, slow, and meticulous. Your hands find the hair at the back of his head, not long enough to tug so your hand just holds him there. When you separate, your mind is almost foggy and your breaths heavy. He isn’t any better, his cheeks flushed pink and his eyes hooded. 

“Anything else I can do for you, lovely?” 

—

You don’t remember how things escalated. It’s more like you don’t care to remember because you’re on his desk with his face in between your thighs. You gasp and groan at the way he’s basically making out with your cunt. It’s messy and desperate. A starved man seeking nourishment that only you can provide. You keep one hand over your mouth to muffle out your insistent, loud noises while your other hand grabs onto John’s hair. You’re not pulling or maneuvering him, but holding on to him for dear life. You doubt your hand on your mouth is doing anything to keep Kyle in the next room from knowing what’s going on. The sounds he makes as licks and sucks are obscene, mixed with his own moans makes it hard to control your own. 

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” He praises against your cunt, the vibrations of his voice making you twitch. Your inner thighs are a bit red from his beard rubbing against your skin. You nod to his question. “Say it.”

“I’m- I’m a good b-boy,” you struggle to get out as his tongue laps against your dick. “P-please— I’m close— fuck.” 

“C’mon, lovely. Cum for me.” He says before placing his lips around your t-dick. You cum in a white flash of pleasure, your back arches off the desk, and your mouth gapes. He doesn’t stop lapping up your slick. The overstimulation makes you twitch. When he finally gets his fill he pulls away, his beard wet and eyes glazed over. “Did so well. Think you can take me, love?”

You nod, “Not on your desk, though.” You can feel something digging into your lower back. The hardwood of the desk not being the most comfortable surface to get fucked on. John nods with a smile, he leans over and wraps his arms around your torso. Your confusion is quickly resolved when he picks you up. You yelp, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you towards the bed. You tense up, like a large dog that doesn’t know what to do when they’re picked up. 

Once John sets you down he wastes no time to get his lips on yours. You groan as you taste yourself on his tongue. You pull and tug at his shirt. He quickly gets the message and pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere across the room. You can’t help but stare at him, the thick hair on his chest and stomach that travels down into a happy trail. The geometric tattoos that decorate his shoulders and upper arms like maps. Your hands run through the hair, wanting to nuzzle into it. Jesus, you really are a fucking dog. You’re so focused on the soft fuzz of his chest that you don’t notice when he pulls his cock out. It’s pink and leaking, bigger than you had been anticipating. 

“How are you feeling, lovely?” He asks, his voice hushed like he’s telling you a secret. 

“Never better,” you whisper back. “C’mon, Captain, don’t keep me waiting.” 

He groans, lowers his head to kiss and suck on your neck, “Don’t call me captain right now.”

“What would you prefer? John? Sir? Daddy?” You smile when you feel his cock twitch on your thigh. “Yeah? You like to be called daddy?” His hand makes its way to your throat, he doesn’t squeeze but he keeps it there as a warning. He uses his other hand to drag his cock through your spit-slick cunt.

“You’re a bit of a brat, aren’t you? Thought Johnny was exaggerating. Always been so good with me.” You can feel him teasing your entrance, but never pushing in. You whine, eyes desperate. “Be good and I’ll give you what you want. Can you do that, lovely?” 

You nod. “Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, almost inaudible. 

“Fuck,” he breaths out before pushing in. His hand moves from your throat up to your face, caressing your cheek as he slowly enters you. It’s a soft gesture, it’s almost too much. He holds you like you like your worth more than gold. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“I’m okay,” you reassure him. Your eyebrows pinch as he slips deeper, he leans down and kisses your forehead. He mumbles sweet reassurances and praises until he’s fully inside. You hold on to him, your arms and legs wrapped around him. He waits for a moment, letting you get adjusted to the feeling. You can feel him throbbing inside of you, holding back from pounding into you. 

You fight off the urge to bite him, the point between his neck and shoulder so close to your teeth. His thrusts start slow and experimental but quickly find a constant medium speed that makes you clench around him. 

“Ple-please, let me bite. Please, I’ll be good,” you plead, licking the sweat that’s beginning to form on his neck. The wet sounds that echo throughout the room (and surely into Kyle’s room) are obscene. “Need to bite.”

“Go on then, pup.” 

You waste no time sinking your teeth into his neck, you can feel his quickened pulse under your tongue. He curses under his breath, his thrusts picking up speed.

“Good boy, such a good boy. Asking so nicely. Gonna let me fill this boypussy up?” 

You moan in response, feeling his movements stutter as he draws near. You’re no so far behind. He keeps one hand on your cheek while the other falls in between you two, his fingers playing with your dick with quick persistent strokes. The knot in your stomach begins to tighten and tighten until it snaps. Your jaw detaches from his neck as your senses are overtaken by pleasure. Your body tenses and your back arches as he fucks you through it. He brings you into a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss as he pounds into you in quick strokes before filling you up. You groan at the sensation. 

He holds himself by his elbows over you, locking you into his frame. You try to avoid his blissed-out eyes but you can’t help but stare at his pretty blues. Your heavy breaths in sync as your chests rise and fall. Your legs slip off his waist and your arms fall from his shoulders. 

“You alright, lovely?” He asks, watching your face for any sign of discomfort or pain. His absurdly concerned face makes you break out into a smile. You’re a soldier, you’ve survived bullets and torture. Yet here he is afraid that he might’ve been too rough.

“I’m alright.”

—

“It was about time, lad!” Johnny laughs as he works on lunch. Simon is helping him cut up some meat. You sit at the counter, watching them cook. “Thought the two of you were gonna beat around the bush for at least four more months.” 

You hide your face in your hands in embarrassment. You have no idea how they’re so casual about this sort of thing. 

“Don’t tease him like that. Not everyone can be as straightforward as you are.” Kyle butts in, sitting down beside you with his laptop. He nudges your shoulder teasingly.

“Don’t forget you had a hissy fit when you found out the lad fucked Alejandro,” Simon mentions as he throws the cut meat into the marinade bowl. Johnny playfully kicks at him in warning. 

“I didn’t fuck Alejandro technically.” You mumble through your hands. 

“What? What did you do then?” Johnny asks.

“Probably something freaky considering your track record,” Kyle chuckles.

“We can probably ask Alejandro. You still have his number, right?” Ghost says.

You fight off the urge to punch all of them. You peek through your fingers, glaring at the three men. “I don’t ask about your sex life.”

“You don’t because we openly share it,” Johnny retorts. And it’s true. You find yourself opening your phone awaiting a message from Laswell or maybe just a casual conversation from the team only to see photos and videos that you’d expect to see from adult sites. Johnny is the biggest contributor, sharing not just photos and videos of him with others from the team, but also solo stuff. You never know if you’re going to see a message asking about missing shirts or full cock and balls on your screen. 

To your dismay, John isn’t any better. Though Johnny likes to take pictures during, John loves taking pictures after. You (consensually) have fallen victim to it after your silly little thing in his room. He had slipped out of you and took a few pictures of his cum dripping out of you. You hate to admit it, but you really liked it. 

You’d say Simon and Kyle’s sexting habits are about the same. They’re mostly reserved about the photos they post, but then they do post even you get excited. Kyle is an artist when it comes to taking photos, always capturing beautiful lighting and angles to the hottest pictures you’ve ever seen. Simon’s photos are equally beautiful but in the opposite way. They’re raunchy and raw.

You on the other hand can’t take photos for the life of you. You’re fine with any one of them taking a photo of you but the second you try to snap a quick photo you feel like a dumb teenager. You leave it to the professionals, considering they seem to enjoy it more than you (not to say that you don’t).

“Honestly if you want you can ask him yourself,” you challenge, pulling out your phone from your front pocket. You place it in the middle of the counter for anyone to grab. Johnny snatches it before anyone else can. Unlocking it, he looks through your contacts. He presses the call button and puts the phone to his ear.

“What time is it in Mexico?” Kyle asks.

You shrug, “Like seven hours ahead so… nine?” 

“He shouldn’t be busy then,” Johnny smiles as the phone rings. 

Your eyes widen, “wait you’re actually calling him?” You nearly jump over the counter trying to take the phone from Johnny. But when you hear a familiar voice on the other side you sit back down and hide your face in your shirt.

“Hey, hermano!” Johnny greets, “hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

The voice on the other side talks, you can’t make out what he’s saying.

“No, no. The lad is alright. This call isn’t work-related. Quick question, lad is a bit embarrassed to admit it so I thought I’d ask. At the bonfire, after the two of you left, what happened?”

There’s a laugh from the other side and some talking.

“No, no, we know. Asking for specifics, if you would be so kind.”

There’s a long pause, where Johnny just listens to Alejandro talk. Simon leans over to listen to him talk as well. A smile spreads across Johnny’s face. 

“Oh really, mate?”

Another pause.

“Okay, thank you, amigo. If you’d like there can be an exchange done for your cooperation?”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” you butt in. Johnny only grins.

“Yes of course. Talk to you another time, Ale. Cheers.” 

He hangs up and slides your phone back to you. You can barely look him in the eyes.

“What did he say?” You ask. 

“I think you know what he said.”

“Yeah, he knows but I don’t,” Kyle pouts. Johnny makes his way around the counter and cups his mouth around Kyle’s ear. You can barely make out some of the words he whispers into his ear. Kyle’s face turns into a dark red shade and his lips twitch into a smirk. “You were embarrassed to admit that ? I heard what you said to Pri-.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

—

The rest of the day passes relatively calmly. After lunch, you take a nap with Kyle on the couch. You find it hard to sleep alone now, always seeking someone else’s body warmth to keep you company. 

By early evening you head out with Johnny and Kyle to pick up dinner at a nearby place that Johnny swears has the best pasta. You take it as an opportunity to finally get out, considering you’ve spent the last week inside doing mostly nothing. It made you anxious at first, not doing much aside from helping with daily chores. You're so used to the military schedule that it feels odd to not do it. But you’ve grown to enjoy the limited time you have where you can take naps and eat something that isn’t military food. 

You wear your black mask out. Kyle and Johnny don’t mention it, thankfully. They understand that your scars are still something painful for you. Something you rather not share with the world. The three of you sit at a table near the window as you wait for your food. You watch Kyle laugh at a dumb video Johnny shows him on his phone. The restaurant is fairly empty, a small group of friends sitting on the other side enjoying their meal and talking. They look to be high schoolers, your sister’s age. You imagine she’s doing well somewhere, going out with friends and complaining about the spring semester. 

You hope she isn’t doing anything that you did during high school. You hope she’s listening to her mom and doing her homework. That she stays away from drugs, alcohol, and shady guys at parties. She was always great at making friends, and kind to everyone. Hopefully, she doesn’t have to learn the cruelties of the world just yet. Sophomore year is hell. But that's six months from now.

Fuck, six months? Your perception of time is messed up. Last time you checked she was still in middle school. Last time you checked you were still in Lithuania. That was… fourteen months ago? No… you were captured about fifteen or sixteen months ago. You missed your birthday… and your sister’s birthday. You haven’t visited your dad’s grave… or anyone from Alpha Five’s graves. You haven’t texted Alejandro since you left Mexico… four months ago? Jesus…

A voice calls out your name. You look up, catching soft brown eyes. 

“C’mon let's go before the rain picks up,” Kyle says, nodding towards the door. You get up and follow them out and back to the apartment. 

When you get back, John is on the phone. Simon is leaning on the counter, arms crossed and tense as he waits for him to finish the call. John looks as tense as Simon does, his jaw stiff and his shoulders square. He gives short replies, eyes stern as he stares at the counter. When Johnny catches Simon’s eyes they don’t say anything, they just give each other a quick nod that tells them everything they need to know. You don’t catch on to what's going on until John says his goodbye.

“We’ll see you soon, Laswell.”

They found something. Fuck.

Chapter Text

You arrive back on base early in the morning. But you don’t stay long. You and the team are quickly moved onto a small plane that takes you over the Atlantic to Colombia. The whole ride you can’t sit still, always fidgeting. Either your leg bouncing or your finger tapping. Your music doesn’t help much either, you bounce between the pink and black MP3 players but they can’t seem to distract you from what is coming. 

Laswell was vague in her quick brief back on base, but you could see it in her eyes. It was him. It was Alekna. The thought sends a shiver up your spine that makes your team worry. Simon keeps a subtle yet diligent eye on you. He watches as you hold your cheek in your palm under your mask, he knows the feeling. A dull ache in your scars. He watches you sink into the corner of your seat, away from Simon’s body heat. You can’t stand being touched right now. He feels useless. He doesn’t know how to help.

Johnny has always been better at this than him.

When you land in Colombia you can feel your bones go stiff, your body aches and your head feels off. There’s a tight knot in your stomach that won’t let you breathe correctly. You wish you were like Simon. You wish you could just turn on your own Ghost. You wish you didn’t have to feel your hands shake as you pull your bag over your shoulder and hop onto a truck that’ll take you to the local base. The Colombian military is not a big fan of the 141 being there. They’re cautious of you sticking your head where it’s not supposed to be. You know well enough how corruption in law enforcement is common in Latin American countries. You’ve seen it first hand. But all you can do is lower your head and keep to yourself as the soldier driving you to base gives you odd looks. 

It’s a small military base, not Colombian. American. Because the US military loves to stick their noses in other countries. 

You meet up with Laswell in a large tent, protected from the light early March rain as the dry winter months end. Luckily, the awful humidity is still yet to come. Laswell introduces you to a small group of American soldiers you’ll be working with. You nod at them as she tells the team their names. You don’t try to remember them. You likely won't see them again. She turns on the projector and without hesitance gets right into the meeting, which you’re thankful for. The faster this is done the better. She clicks a remote that changes the screen, and you tense. You feel nauseous.

It’s his face.

You had almost forgotten it. Slicked back blonde hair, crow's feet, dead eyes. The photo is much more recent, most of his left ear is gone. Must’ve nearly missed a bullet when he escaped the facility. Maybe another of his victims got close enough to tear flesh.

“Lukas Morris Alekna,” Laswell starts, “one of the more influential members of La Red. Without him, everything falls apart. That’s what we’re aiming for.” Her eyes fall on you for a second before looking away.

 “We located him in a bunker not far from here.” She clicks the remote, changing the slideshow to an aerial view of an old run down building. “We assume he will be heavily guarded, so keep your heads on straight. But avoid lethal contact with Alekna at all cost, we need him alive.”

“What?” You say before you can stop yourself. Everyone turns to look at you. 

“Is there a problem, Corporal?” Laswell asks. 

“No, my apologies,” you cross your arms defensively and take a step back.

“Can you be on this mission or will I have to bench you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“If you find yourself in front of Alekna will you be able to put past grievances aside and be a professional? Because I don’t need ‘Rookie’ on this mission. I need El Cazador. Can you do that?” Her voice is stern in a way you’ve never heard from her before. But you recognize that tone. Same tone your mother would use. It’s cold and devoid of sympathy. You don’t hold it against her, it’s your job. And she’s not your mother. You are an adult. 

Can you be El Cazador again? After everything? Can you pull your finger away from the trigger and walk Alekna out of that building like he didn’t ruin your life? 

Why should you? You have every right to kill him. He didn’t show you mercy. Why should you?

But Laswell and John both wait for an answer. Your eyes flicker to Simon for a moment, his eyes on you. He’s wearing that stupid skull mask, you can’t figure out what he’s thinking. You almost don’t notice it, the subtle sign he does.

‘Not yet.’

You can feel something in your stomach. A mixture of anxiety and anticipation. You have to wait. Wait for him to be in your hands. Then, when it’s all said and done, you can enact your revenge.

“Affirmative, ma’am.”

—

You’re quiet. You’re always quiet, but this is different. You’re cold, calculated. You keep your eyes forward, don’t move without purpose. It’s almost robotic the way you quietly prepare for the mission. You strap essentials to your vest, making sure to pack a couple more knives and clips than you usually do. You examine your handgun, feeling the weight of it in your hands before putting it in your holster.

“Hey, Rook,” someone calls. You don’t hear it, not entirely. Like a passing conversation not meant for you. The voice calls out your name. You feel the sensation of being lifted from freezing water as you look up toward the voice. Kyle gives you a tight smile, “how are you feeling?”

“Fine. Just another day on the job.”

He doesn’t believe you. That lie won’t fly by with anybody. They could see it from the second John got the call. How your hands balled into fists and your shoulders tensed. There’s a deep breath you haven’t been able to let go. It’s choking you.

“You know, you can sit this one out. I can tell the Captain you aren’t feeling well.” Kyle looks at you with a soft gaze. His hands twitch, wishing to put his hand on your shoulder but decides against it. 

Sitting this one out feels like the worst option. It would be taking the gun out of your hands before you can decide if you’re going to shoot. You would feel useless, sitting in a base you’ve never been before, waiting and hoping that everything goes well. You would be sitting in that building again, trying to call in for your team while they got massacred.

You shake your head, “this is something I can’t run away from.” You let out a dry cynical laugh, “I mean, isn’t this why I was hired? To do my job? Might as well terminate my contract if I can’t do a simple thing like follow orders.”

“I’m not asking for you to run away. I’m asking for you to let us take some of the weight off your shoulders. We’re a team.” Kyle takes a step closer to you, but you take a step back. Your gaze pierces through his. 

“I’m doing this for my team.”

—

Your body rumbles alongside the humvee as you’re transported alongside the rest of the team. You recite the plan in your mind over and over again. There’s no room for errors. No room for more casualties. The raid plan takes into account your team’s past with La Red and their unfortunate end. Johnny will be placed in the most danger as the demolition expert. He’s meant to identify and deactivate any of La Red’s infamous traps. His confident smile does little for your churning stomach. You drink some water in hopes of washing the dread down your throat. You pray you don’t throw it up once the vehicle stops moving. 

Although Laswell was skeptical to have you join, you are assigned the front lines. You are one of the first people to enter the bunker and the first to find Alekna. There’s a ringing in your ears similar to an explosion going off that won’t go away. The bomb under the table went off and now it's all you can hear. Burning skin and hair melt into military-grade plastic and blood mixes with soot as the burning fire makes it bubble. It all fills your senses and the conversation over the radio falls on deaf ears. 

“I don’t know what this is going to do to him.”

John looks over to Kyle and lets out a tired sigh. He looks in the rearview mirror where you haven’t moved since you sat down. Both earbuds in your ears blasting something he can’t identify. He thinks about the headphones he wanted to gift you for Christmas. 

“I don’t know either.”

“He was making progress. He was getting better. This is only going to take him twenty steps back.” Kyle grits his teeth, fidgeting with the strap on his gun holster. Kyle’s loyalty to the team and willingness to sacrifice himself is something John always admired about him. The way he is willing to jump in front of a bullet for anyone. It's foolish and reflects Kyle’s youthful hope. It's a hope that John no longer carries. People will die, people will come out worse and people will hate him. But that’s the burden he is willing to bear. If you come out of this worse, the blame will be put on him. If you kill Alekna it will be his fault. If he kills you it will also be his fault. 

His grip on the steering wheel tightens as he thinks over the multiple outcomes of this. Johnny would probably be the one to put the most blame on John. He’s always been so starry-eyed and bushy-tailed. He still believes he’s invincible and that the world can be saved. That’s why Simon gravitates to him so much. He is everything he isn’t. Johnny, like Kyle, is doomed to sacrifice himself for a better world… or at least one with you in it. 

John thinks of the conversation he had with Johnny one night when you were already off to sleep in Kyle’s bed. He was washing the dishes while Johnny dried them, the TV played softly in the background under the warm dim lights. 

“You’re picking up strays,” John told him under the sound of the rushing faucet water. 

“So are you, sir.”

John hands him another wet bowl for Johnny to dry. 

“I pick up strays with the intention of keep them.”

Johnny’s brows crease in thought, “You don’t think I’m willing to keep him around?”

“It’s not that. You have a grip on all of us, I have no doubt that you’d go to hell and back for him. For any of us…. But it’s going to be hard.”

Johnny smiles, “That's why we got you, sir. Simon and Kyle too for that matter. I’m too much, I know that. You muppets tether me to the ground. Doubt any of us would be alive if it wasn’t for each other.” He huffs in amusement, “We pick up strays because we are strays.”

“Then we’ll be there to help him take the necessary steps back,” John tells Kyle.

Simon and Johnny sit in the humvee behind theirs. Johnny bounces his leg up and down anxiously while Simon keeps tapping his finger on the steering wheel. The silence in the vehicle is deafening. 

There’s nothing they can say. They’re on the same page. They know that putting you on this mission is a bad idea. That Price would’ve just held you back despite Laswell’s command. They know that this is a sacrifice that John is forced to make time and time again. 

Get your hands dirty to keep the world clean.

“Quit it,” Simon grumbles. Johnny pauses his leg bouncing but his anxiety quickly shifts towards him unclamping and clasping something on his tac vest. Simon only sighs. “Don’t baby him. That’s the last thing he wants right now.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“You act like you’re not worried.” Johnny turns to face him, scanning Simon’s eyes. 

“Of course, I’m bloody worried. But he’s a grown man and this is just something that needs to be done.”

Johnny scoffs, “You sound like John.”

Simon doesn’t say anything in return. Instead, the conversation is prematurely ended by radio static.

“Approaching site, look alive.” John’s voice comes in from the radio. Simon’s grip on the steering wheel tightens momentarily as he goes over the plan one more time in his head. Johnny does a quick inventory check before calling in a ‘copy.’ 

—

Diaz had once told you, “al mal tiempo, buena cara.”

He had said that while he was helping you hop back to exfil after your leg had been mauled by that dog in Brazil. It was a simple idea. When in a bad situation, put on a good face. Push on through. 

You wish he was here now to tell you that. 

Instead, you hop out of the humvee, dirt and sticks crunching under your boots as you follow your team. You feel like a machine being fed commands on what to do. But you guess that’s really what the military is like. You are all machines. Sometimes you break. Either they throw you away or fix you just enough so you work.

The bunker is hidden deep into the Columbian Darién Gap. Thick foliage covers the ground and tropical trees make it hard to see past a couple of feet. The sun is starting to set, speckles of orange and yellow shining through dewy leaves. 

You follow behind Gaz as your team moves as one across the underbrush. You can feel him turn towards you every couple of minutes to check on you. His gaze searing hot on your skin. But you ignore it, eyes forward and with one objective. 

It’s hard to be El Cazador again. When you were El Cazador you weren’t afraid of dying. You had never been face to face with death himself before. You had thought you had seen death, but near misses with bullets, slaughtering farm animals, and guard dog attacks feel like child's play now.

You’re terrified of death now. You’re scared of your sister forgetting your name, the one you gave yourself, or the one you were born with. You’re scared of your dog tags hanging around someone’s else neck as they’re forced to tread on without you. Who would wear your dog tags? Part of you thinks it’ll be Kyle, ever the sentimental one. Back then you know Diaz would’ve taken them without hesitation.

You turn on the night vision visor attached to your helmet, lighting your vision as you step over large roots and rocks. You think about rucking in the rain with the team for a moment. Which team? Alpha Five? Or 141? You can’t make up your mind. 

Gaz holds up his fist, signaling the team to stop. You watch carefully as he scans for something. After a few moments, he leans into his mic.

“Bunker spotted, keep your wits about you and weapons ready.” 

You don’t see it at first. But as you begin to move again the bunker comes into view. It’s hidden extremely well. Deep in the Colombian rainforest where no one would look (if it wasn’t for Sokolov). The bunker is built into the side of elevated ground. Large, rusted metal doors hide behind foliage. They look thick and heavy, meant to be bullet and explosive-proof. 

Nevertheless from behind the small group behind you Soap walks up to the doors. He examines the door, running his hands through the edges looking for its weakest spot. He clicks his tongue as he pulls out a device and a detonator from his tac vest. 

He attaches the device to the side of the door near the hinges before taking several steps back. You and your team stay a safe distance away as he prepares to blow the bunker wide open. You won’t have much time after the door opens, every second after will be more time for Alekna to escape. 

Soap calls in a short countdown before he presses a single button on the remote. The explosion booms into the forest, and for a second everything goes quiet. 

Then you move.

Your unit moves in behind Soap as he works around in search for bombs and traps. In any other situation, you would have been in awe at how quick and precise he is. His eyes scan every inch of the long dingy cement hallway. Part of you wished he would just blow the entire bunker up so it collapses in on itself and kills Alekna, forever encasing him in this tomb. Maybe it’ll be your tomb too. Soap signals that it’s safe to continue so you follow deeper into the bunker. 

It’s claustrophobic. The smell of wet dirt and mold is suffocating under your mask. It feels like you’re back in that cell. Trapped in a nightmare where none of this feels real. Your breaths become shallow as you go deeper into the bunker. The lack of guards terrifies you. 

You can feel yourself panicking until… you’re not.

It all feels fuzzy, voices sound like they’re underwater as you and the team clear room after room. Your ears zoned in on hearing for him . It’s a large bunker, filled with confusing hallways of solid cement and empty large rooms. It had to have been used before as a doomsday bunker, made to house as many people as possible. But now it only houses one. 

Gaz signals the team to split, you with him and Soap, Ghost, and Price with the soldiers you had met at base. The long hall separates into two, your team goes left while Ghost and Price head right. The hall feels much narrower and feels like it keeps on going. But you can see it, a single metal door. 

Gaz signals towards Soap to head up and identify any visible traps. He scans like he did before, but it seems to just be a door. With his gun ready he turns the handle. The metal hinges creak loudly as the door opens. Soft orchestral music plays within the room. Then, deja vu hits you. The sound of footsteps. You know those footsteps. The grip on your rifle tightens as Gaz leads the team in. You check the right blind spot while he checks the left. The room is much nicer than the rest of the bunker. Walls lined with brown wallpaper and cement floor covered with intricate rugs. It’s furnished with dark wooden furniture that must’ve cost a fortune. 

It almost startles you when Gaz yells out: “Target located! Put your hands above your head!”

You feel like the world slows down as you turn to see him. He can’t see you like he did back then. You’re covered head to toe in black. Yet, when his eyes fall to you, it feels like he knows. He knows that it’s you. Alekna stands by a record player. He wears black slacks and a white dress shirt. His hair slicked back like always. In his hand, he holds a martini glass. Your eyes flicker toward his hand, he’s missing his pointer finger. He doesn’t listen to Gaz.

“Sveiki! Hello, officers! Come! Come! Sit down, let's have a drink! What’s the rush? You captured me, no? God forbid we have a drink before you send me away.” He laughs, taking a seat on the large intricate sofa. He kicks his feet up on the wooden coffee table. Your hands are shaking. 

“Would rather have a drink after we take you in,” Soap barks out. He takes a step in front of you. You don’t know if he’s guarding you or him. “Bit of a coward move, eh? Hiding in a bunker like this?” 

Alekna takes a sip from his glass and crosses one leg over the other. “Oh, I know. But military dogs love to sniff around in my business.” He shrugs, “Sacrifices one has to make to keep the world turning, I suppose.”

Gaz scoffs, “And how are you making the world turn?”

“It’s all business. The rich pay a lot for what I offer. Drugs, weapons, women, and men. Keeps them satisfied.” His eyes scan the three of you before he finally sets them down on you. “Your friend seems quiet. Would he like a drink? Something to calm his nerves?” 

You feel sick. Paralyzed. Your heart pounding out of your ribcage. 

He looks back to Gaz and Soap. “La Red commercializes what is hard to commercialize. If anything, my people and I are doing you a favor.” Soap scoffs. “Do you really want to unravel the monopoly that keeps everyone happy? You want more women kidnapped? More dangerous drugs? The world is a delicate system. And I know how to maintain it.”

“That’s how you stay out of the public and government eye for so long?” Gaz asks, his patience beginning to wear thin. “Skim just enough off the top and hope nobody will notice? What’s a couple missing people, yeah?”

“Partially.”

“Partially?” Soap questions. 

“Don’t be naïve.” Alekna rolls his eyes, swishing his drink around in the glass. “Who do you think is my biggest buyer? The people that run everything.”

There’s a certain dread that falls into everyone’s stomachs. Taking Alekna in wouldn’t guarantee that La Red will be taken down. Hell, it wouldn’t guarantee that he would stay behind bars long enough to be convicted. If someone powerful wants him around, he will stay around. And there’s nothing you, Price, or Laswell can do about it. 

“Death is always an option.”

They all turn to you. Alekna’s eyes fall like daggers on your own poisonous gaze. Soap takes a single step back as you take a step forward. Alekna’s eyes sharpen, as if he’s trying to remember something. 

“You know-“ he stands up with a huff, and walks towards the record player. He stops the vinyl and begins to run his fingers through the records on the shelf next to the player. “-I have seen death many times. Death is never really an option. It’s cowards taking the cowardly way out of the situation. Either their own life or someone else’s. Tell me, soldier. Killing me, what will you accomplish with that? You think this all goes down when I’m gone, no?”

You readjust your grip on the rifle, shifting the balancing in your feet nervously. Alekna finally decides on a record. He pulls it out to admire the sleek black before placing it on the player. He slowly drops the needle and music begins to play. 

“Love this record. There are few contemporary musicians that truly know how to capture classical compositions and how they’re meant to be played.” He turns back to you, a smirk on his face. “I am very picky with the music I listen to. It saddens me that there’s a certain composition I haven’t been able to hear for some time now. Nevertheless, to my surprise, my favorite instrument is standing before me. Right, El Cazador?” 

Your voice is caught in your throat before you can say something. Instead, it’s Gaz who yells at him to get on his knees and to put his hands in the air. Soap puts a hand in front of you as he moves forward. 

“That’s enough,” Soap gruffs out, as he points his rifle at Alekna’s skull. Alekna kneels down and Gaz grabs a zip tie from his vest. He ties Alekna’s hand together behind his back and pushes him up to his feet. He checks him for any weapons or tracking devices before leading him out the door. 

Soap looks at you for a moment, “ye solid, Lovely?” 

‘Good,’ You sign, following behind Gaz. The music doesn’t stop playing, echoing softly down the halls accompanied by heavy boots on concrete. 

“Target captured, heading back up,” Gaz calls in. You keep your rifle up and ready. “Did you find anything, Team Beta?” 

“Affirmative, Team Alpha. Shit looks to be well protected. Will need to call tech on this.” Price reports. “Rendezvous back at exfil.”

“Copy.”

It’s dark when you finally leave the bunker. Your hands feel cold yet your entire body feels ablaze, as if every scar he has caused has suddenly reopened. Your tongue licks over the gash on the side of your mouth, making sure it isn’t actually open and bleeding. It’s just the droplets of rain starting to fall from the night sky that are starting to soak into your mask. 

“I had hoped you’d be alive, but I am surprised you stayed as a military dog. Always assumed you had gone home a broken man,” Alekna laughs and he’s pushed through the dense forest. “Or- less than a man.”

“Shut it,” Gaz snaps.

“So who ratted me out? Montez? Sokolov? Lawrence? It was Sokolov, wasn’t it? Bet that little pussy had fun, no?”

“Shut. It. Or I’ll do it for you,” Gaz practically growls at him, tightening his grip on Alekna and pushing him against a tree. “You are in no position to speak. I can put a bullet in your head right now.”

“Killing me would only make it harder to take down La Red,” Alekna whispers, smiling like he knows Gaz can’t do much. “Suspension, maybe even discharge wouldn’t be pretty for you.” 

“Is that something you want to challenge? Shut it.” Gaz’s anger never leaves his face, he simply pushes Alekna off the tree and continues walking. 

Silence falls among the four of you. After a few minutes of walking in near darkness, Soap decides to walk next to you instead of behind. You catch his face in your peripheral view, he’s biting the inside of his cheek like he’s holding something back. Eyes darting around to keep an eye on his surroundings but always darting back to you. He looks more in pain than you, you think. As you walk you gently shoulder him, no more than a tap of reassurance. He smiles weakly, but visibly calms. 

Then, a single bang rings out through the rainforest. 

Everyone pauses, eyes high as they survey the area, but it’s no use. It’s too dark and the forest is too dense. You’re all left vulnerable to whoever is in the forest. 

“Did you hear that, Team Beta?” Soap radios in.

There’s a bit of static on the radio before Ghost calls in, “Affirmative. Came from the north. No sign of anyone. Continue on to exfil. We’re almost done here.” 

“Copy.” Soap confirms, but he feels it a second too late. A single bullet grazing his jaw. Gaz pushes Alekna down to the ground with him while Soap does the same for you. You barely register what’s happening when Soap calls in, “Contact! Sniper north!”

Soap rolls his weight off of you, wiping the blood from his jaw before turning to his back and pulling his rifle toward the direction of the bullet. There’s a deafening silence that creeps deep into your spine. You can’t see the sniper, but they can see you. 

“Soap, how copy?” Ghost calls in, there’s a hint of distress in his voice that anyone would’ve missed.

“Alive for now, L.T. Don’t know where the fucker is.”

You slowly pull a communication device from your vest pocket and attach it to your radio. You’re all sitting ducks, and someone needs to do something if you plan to get out alive. Unfortunately for everyone, you decide that’s going to be you. You’re not going to die before Alekna does.

You press a single button on the device and the robotic voice says: “I’m going in.”

Both Soap and Gaz jerk their heads towards you.

“Stand down, Corporal. We don’t need you losing your head,” Gaz calls out in a hushed voice. But he’s keeping his weight on Alekna and isn’t able to stop you without risking Alekna’s escape. 

You ignore him, army crawling through the leaves and away from your team. Soap tries to crawl after you but another bullet flies past him. He curses as he lays back down. 

“What’s going on over there?” Price calls in.

“Rook is going after the sniper, Captain,” Gaz responds through gritting teeth. 

“Do you have eyes on Rookie or the sniper?” 

“Negative.”

“Fuck.”

The rain begins to slow down. Droplets tickle your nose and fingertips as you crawl. You keep your eyes high as you search for the sniper. Forest… it’s all fucking forest. You can’t help but think back to the geography class you never paid enough attention to. Something about the Darien Gap being notoriously dangerous.,, you don’t remember. You can’t bother to remember as you crawl deeper into the rainforest. 

Although padded, your knees and elbows begin to ache. You don’t hear anything coming in from the radio and less from the sniper. He’s either pointing at Gaz and Soap, or directly at you. The shot couldn’t have been that far considering how dense the forest is. You cheer internally when you reach an incline, a perfect spot for a sniper. You wipe away the rain blinding you. You almost miss it, The glint of black metal. 

You slowly pull your handgun from your hostler, while you press a button on your com device. 

“Contact.”

You shoot first, shot flying a little too high. The figure turns towards you, cursing in another language as he aims the sniper towards you. He shoots, but you quickly roll out of the way. You stumble to your feet, shooting again. This shot lands straight into his right shoulder. He groans, feet kicking as he rushes to stand. He abandons his sniper, instead pulling a knife from his vest. 

Something comes over you. 

You throw your handgun down, pulling out your own knife. You’ve never been good at close combat. But today is the day you make up the test Gaz had rigged in your favor all those months ago.

He rushes first, swinging his knife towards you. You take a step back, balancing on your back foot and bouncing back to return the swipe. He steps to your left, your knife barely missing. The dance is almost enjoyable, like playing with your food before you ultimately dig your teeth into their throat. Maybe part of the fun is the hope that your food fights back. 

He manages to sidestep unexpectedly and cuts into your shoulder. You wince, feeling the warmth soak your clothes. You stumble, but catch his wrist as he goes to stab you in the throat. He grabs your wrist, preventing you from stabbing him in the stomach. A groan escapes your lips as his grip tightens. You kick at his leg, again and again. His teeth clench with every kick until his legs give out and he falls on one knee. He uses the momentum to drag you down with him. He flips you to your back, your knife falling out of your grasp. He raises his knife over his head, prepared to land a killing blow. His left hand falls to your throat, holding you tightly in place. You kick your feet, panic filling your senses as you grasp his wrist with one hand and throw your other up to protect yourself. Maybe you are the food. You were always the food, weren’t you? Overconfident food.

But the killing blow doesn’t come. Instead, through the rain and trees someone calls out your name. Not Lovely, not Rookie, not Cazador. Your name. 

The sudden voice distracts the sniper just long enough for you to punch him across the jaw with a satisfying crack. He tumbles sideways and you take the momentum to flip him over. Straddling his waist you hit him again, and again, and again, and again. 

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again. 

And again.

And agai-.

The voice calls your name again. You look up.

“He’s dead, you’re okay.”

What? 

“C’mon-” He says your name again, “-You’re safe. It’s me, Simon. We have to go.”

Simon? Oh, of course. Simon. 

“Fuck,” There's a static sound in your ear as he- Simon clicks a button on his radio. “Found him. The sniper is… dead. He’s not looking too good.”

There’s a voice in your ear.

“Is he hurt?” Says a gruff voice.

“Stabbed in the arm and a few cuts. Doesn’t seem to register his injuries.”  He says your name again. Why does he keep saying it? “Can you stand up?”

You nod, but make no effort to stand. He opens his hand towards you. You stare at it for a moment before registering that he wants you to grab it. He pulls you up, your legs unstable. There’s something- someone under your feet. What is that?

With hazy eyes you look down, scanning the blotchy red colors below you. The same red color paints your knuckles. 

He says your name again. You look up. A skeleton mask and honey-brown eyes. 

‘Simon?’ You sign. His eyes scan yours, gears turning in his head. 

“Is that my name in ASL?” He copies the hand movement, an ‘S’ dragged down the face like a mask. You copy the sign again, a glint of recognition in your eyes. Simon’s eyes crinkle in a smile. “What’s the sign for Kyle?”

You create a ‘K’ with your hand and drag it across your forehead, like the flag on his cap. Simon copies it.

“And Price?”

A ‘J’ drawn from your top lip and down your jaw like his beard. He copies it again. You can start to feel your hands start to ache. Your throat is sore and your shoulder throbs warmth. You forgot it was raining. 

You didn’t realize he was grounding you back to reality.

“You broken?” 

‘A bit.’

“Let's get you to exfil before you bleed to death, mate.”

—

You don’t remember how you get back to base. The last couple of hours feel like a blur of high emotions that your psyche has decided to hide away for the time being. Locked up with everything else. Your cuts are bandaged, your stab wound stitched up and you’re given a pain killer, a shock blanket, and a hard candy. It’s guava-flavored. 

You sit in medical for a while. They expect you to go into shock, maybe cry or scream when the adrenaline finally leaves your body. But it doesn’t. The brimming cup hasn’t spilled over just yet.

Now, you stand behind the large one-way mirror of an interrogation room next to Laswell, Soap, and Price (you insist you need to be there at the interrogation). Alekna sits in a dark room with his hands cuffed to a metal table on the other side. Gaz sits on the other side of the table while Ghost circles around them like a shark. 

“What do you know about unit Alpha Five?” Gaz asks.

“Nosy dogs like the rest of you. Butting your nose where they don't belong. Got what they deserved… at least most of them.” Alekna looks towards the mirror. He knows you’re on the other side. You can feel his eyes on you. It sends a shiver up your spine.

“What was the purpose of the facility in Panama?” 

“He’s watching me, isn’t he?”

“Answer the question,” Ghost pressures.

“We spent a lovely one and half months together. To be honest, it was addicting to have a little toy to play around with. Sang so beautifully. Voice box eventually did break, of course. But I see he got a new one. Tell me, Sargent, does he sing for you?” He turns towards Ghost, “or for you, Lieutenant?” 

“What happened to the thirty-six women who were reported missing last year?” Gaz asks. 

“He almost did manage to escape once. Did he tell you about that? Had to break his ankle so he would think twice before doing that again.”

“What were you keeping in the Russian bunker?”

“If I remember correctly it was the second week when I was given that lovely surprise. Not often do you see girls disguise themselves as men as well as he did. I’m assuming you’ve seen it, Lieutenant. Probably would’ve killed him if it wasn’t for that pussy. Had to stop eventually—“A loud crack interrupts Alekna as his head is thrown forward, his nose cracking on the table. Ghost grabs him by his hair, pushing his head back up. Alekna only cackles, bloody dripping in a steady stream down his lip from his nose. 

His teeth red as he grins coldly, “Had to stop fucking him after he bit my finger straight off.” He raises his cuffed hands, showing that missing finger on his right hand.

Dread fills your stomach like water filling your lungs. The room feels too big yet too small at the same time. You try to recollect your time captured, but it’s all a blur. No. No. That was a one-time thing. He only assaulted you… once? You never bit his finger off. You would remember if you bit his finger off. He only touched you like that once. 

“Do you need some fresh air?” Laswell asks, her voice filled with more concern than you’re used to. 

He only touched you once. 

You can feel your voice get caught in your throat. It chokes you. 

He only touched you once.

“C’mon lovely, let’s step out for a moment,” Price says softly. His hand touches your shoulder and you tense. 

He only touched you once. You didn’t bite his finger off.

He leads you out of the room and down the hall and outside. It’s dark, rain pattering on stone. You sit down under a metal awning, the concrete ground is cool to the touch compared to your overheating body. 

“He only touched me once. I-I don’t remember- I don’t remember biting his finger off… Fuck- I don’t remember most of those days. Maybe- maybe thirteen of those forty-five days? I know what happened to me,” you ramble, picking at the bandages on your arms. Your vision blurs as tears fill your eyes, your voice wavering with every word. “John, I know what happened to me.” 

You both know you’re trying to convince yourself more than anything.

“It’s common to disassociate, not remember large parts of your trauma. It’s your brain protecting you.” He tries to explain softly. He sits beside you, gazing out towards the rain. 

“Is that- is that why I bite? Some fucked up psychosexual trauma?” You can’t help but let out a dry laugh, “how fucked is that?”

“It’s not psychosexual. You know that,” John sighs, taking his hat off. He puts it on your lap. You anxiously rub your thumb against the stitching on the brim. “It’s just how you process trauma.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen it with—“There’s a pause in his words like he’s deciding if he should say it. There’s a break in his voice as he continues, “I’ve seen it with Simon.”

You don’t say anything, there’s a feeling in your stomach that you can’t describe. A feeling between seeing the darkest part of someone while also knowing you’re not alone.

“He fluctuates between hypersexuality and sexual repulsion. Kinks and the sort that stem from sexual abuse and trauma are common. It’s the brain coping.”

“It makes me feel sick. Like I’m fucked up.”

He hums, “Talking to Simon about it would probably be easier. He understands his inner workings better than I do. But you shouldn’t blame yourself over something you can’t control.”

The two of you sit there in silence. Watching the rain patter and puddle on the concrete. Your knuckles still hurt from killing the sniper.

“What’s going to happen with Alekna?”

“What do you mean?”

“He has influence on the inside. If we send him to justice he’s going to get out again. Someone will make sure of it. He knows too many names.” 

John has seen it before. He knows the likeness of it happening. Even if he does stay behind bars, he will live like a king in a comfortable cell. The 141’s hands are tied. Once Laswell takes Alekna in there’s nothing they can do. And as much as anyone wants to kill him, they were given clear orders from the higher-ups. 

There’s nothing reassuring John can say.

“When I- um,” you start, biting your lip. John turns to you. “When I killed the sniper… I think– I didn’t see the sniper. Hell, I don’t think I saw Alekna. I… liked to have control again. I could’ve just shot him. I could’ve stabbed him. But I wanted to feel his blood on my hands. That sickly crunch of his jaw and teeth under my fist. It felt righteous. Like I was taking back everything bad that’s ever happened to me.” You huff, “It's fucked.”

John sees it, the twenty steps back.

He scoots slightly towards you. You scoot into him, feeling his warmth radiate off of him. Only then does he touch you, wrapping his arm around you. 

He doesn’t allow you to return to the interrogation. He tells you that they have it handled and that you should go to medical to get some rest. But you don’t like it there. It smells sterile and there's a constant beeping that reminds you of the hospital. Your skin feels itchy and you’re still on edge. Instead, you sit under the awning watching the rain. 

Was this it? Did the other shoe drop? 

No. It’s still dangling above your head. 

Chapter Text

After hours of interrogation, Alekna is taken away and you’re back on a plane to England. You’re confused with what comes now. It’s all so anticlimactic. He’s… gone and you still remain. You have to pick up every piece of you that’s fallen off and glue it back on. Part of you thought that once he was gone, it would all fix itself. That maybe in some absurd reality your team would be back. 

“We should take a vacation,” Kyle suggests from the seat behind you. You pull your earbud out, the muffled sound of loud angry music blasting from the small bud.

“What?” You ask, turning to face him.

He smiles, “a vacation.”

“Where do you want to go?” 

“Wherever you want to go.”