Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The call was sudden, jagged. A contradiction into the still life of forests, quiet wind bristling through a home-grown garden. Solar panels gleaming in a night sky lit up by fires around and nothing could be done but stare at the world falling apart around a quaint house. Spiraling out of control- borders and other countries colliding into what appeared to be an eternal twilight of fire, gun powder, and the morning sunrise.

You almost didn’t hear it, a Nokia burner from decades ago. An alarm from a time never long forgotten but surely had been given up… Not by choice. Frozen at the front door, a basket full of herbs and veggies for the day’s stew. Ignoring the perpetual yellow colors that created an almost sickly glow across the forest shadows. The world was burning, around you, and yet the recipe for morning stew with a freshly killed duck from a long night’s hunt is the only thing that seemed to be on your methodical mind. Though, when the familiar tune finally reaches your partially deaf ears- the vibration only grew stronger.

Steps up to the bedroom. Stronger. They quickened. Louder. Yet your steps only grew more tense when approaching. ‘Check corners, move forward.’ Echoes, from a past no longer yours.

Turning the knob felt heavy, approaching even heavier. Standing in front of this bed stand as if a death sentence was finally staring you in the face. Was it penance for your sins? Or was it karma finally cackling at you for the years of deception and lies. Yet, time waited for no one, and even though these moments felt as if they lasted a lifetime- it was only mere seconds with an eternity to of decisions within the moment you grasped the phone to pick up the call… How you always picked up the call. A habit that could never be forgotten.

“Hello, Lieutenant. Must be serious if you’re calling me.” Monotone, unreadable, untraceable. Echoing years of silence gone unstilled until now.

“…Captain, actually.” Came upon ragged breathing, as if he was running. Unsurprising, considering the circumstances of the world burning to the ground. Was he running towards something or away?

“Ah. Forgive me, sir.” Cynical, but strangely lighthearted.

“That favor you owe me. I’m cashing in.” Oh. Yes. The favor. Your face remains expressionless, before glancing around at this home you’d been burned to the ground in. Gun fire, flak, and every roaring engine in between airplanes that their pilots fought for their lives- only grew louder through the burner phone that you counted and almost hoped… Would never ring.

“Understood, sir. The statue remains unmoved.” You remained unmoving, listening to the familiar sounds of war raging all around this lieutenant. Oh, sorry… Captain. Swears in different languages, return fire, movement and coordinated teamwork could only be barely heard upon the roar of opposing dangerous tangos. Always did take two to create such a complicated dance.

“Even the four pigeons? Didn’t take them for standing still that long.” The question hissed bitterly through gritted teeth. Another small grunt from another pigeon, wounded it sounded like. Limping? Dislocated? Ankle broken or wrist? Who was it, where did the steps belong to, and what type of blood did you smell through the phone? Smelled bitter and smelled old.

“The flock tends to stick together through the rain, sir. That’s what makes the statue stand strong. I’ll be prepared to help give the statue a thorough cleaning.” Though you were quick to hang up, knowing that the ragged voice completely knew what statue they were now looking for. However, with quiet movements- the burner phone was dismantled down to the motherboard. Tossed into a basket full of veggies, herbs, and a freshly killed duck from that night’s hunt… It seemed you missed a couple things back at the water reservoir you kept for rainwater. No better time than now, to perhaps pick up a couple mushrooms for tonight’s stew since they grew right next to it… Considering you could now expect company, for your 0130 meal.

The trip to the water reservoir was easy, quick, and disposable. The walk back measured in brisk steps, now that every second did count. Water already set to boil on the stove, a hot fire stoker laying within to keep any firewood from drifting out. Ah, it was time to bring out the good whiskey. Along with taking heavy steps to the basement… Meeting a solid metal door, steel, locked and wouldn’t be easy to even shove open. Yet you did it with practiced ease, having opened this door twice and locking it behind you. Habitual, was it a ritual at this point could you say? Even though your thoughts remain muddled, your body did not. Remembering the cold red bags under fingertips, just the smell wafting through your nose in different yet familiar metallic smells. The naturally cold basement air stinging against warm skin, plastic against the chest weighing heavy as usual. Grab this, hold that, don’t you dare hold it with your teeth fucker-

It was a heavy tap, single on the door. Ringing through the house loudly like an alarm… Though in reality- quieter than a feather drop. Which only made your steps lighten, skating across the floor in quiet- dance like steps. Opening the door with a foot turn, not bothering to even look at who walked through the second entry way on the first floor, all the while your eyes remain a blur. The stew boiled, the kettle whistled, the fire crackled, and the blood bags set on a sterile table. Saline solutions and IVs let go from the left hand next to them- and a sterile stitch kit set down with the right.

“Sit. The one with the A type comes first.” Words slipping through your lips like a spell, as silent steps come forward. Taking a heavy seat on the chair, low grunts coming upon heavy breaths. Your eyes remain cast downward, smelling the air. Eventually the door shuts, as the entire room remains quieter than a raindrop. Though your ears could hear the heavy breaths in static fuzz, heartbeats steady, but a limp or a sway here told you that stint would be needed on the later… Who came in last- who was this last presence-

Steeled blue eyes watched your every move with a weapon drawn at your very head. Level, unmoving, ever watching… Shepard like. A herder. A watcher.

No time for that, as a needle sinks into the beaten and tanned skin of the soldier in front of you. Creating an iv insert with little time and accuracy. You’d done this many times before, so many times that it could be done in your sleep. Explaining in scientific garble about the cocktail you were about to provide for the pain, gripping the torniquet tighter as a low growl and grunt come from a tightened jaw. What little blood let through dripping to your pristine, deep brown floors. No light, no sound, just as you liked.

“Didn’t tell me your pigeons were like pansies, sir.” Monotone, unreadable, focused as soon- you were disinfecting a deep gash across a thigh. Manageable, fixable, a few inner dissolvable stitches here. Tanned skin, melanin excessive, Hispanic? No.

“Can’t bloody he- fuck! That stings!” British? Interesting choice, though you continue your intricate lattice work. Weaving steel ribbon through flesh as the squish underneath the needle brings back memories that never left your fingertips. Cracking a smile, you knelt in front of one of the pigeons. Only tightening the torniquet as he throws his head back in both frustration and pain. Gripping the chair arms with callused and rough hands- white with pain and breaths seen heavily hanging in the air under heaves left by the protected vest.

“I thought you said you gave me pain meds! What the-whoaaa there it is.” Ah, calm in the storm. You continue steady work, with the barrel of a well-worn but still highly upkept and still well-functioning rifle mere inches from your back. The heat somewhat biting, and yet inviting, nonetheless. Watching as this pigeon’s head lulled back fully. Looking up to the ever-watchful Captain with wide eyes, wide pupils, and a sense of confusion.

“This one tends to… Need a bit of extra care. Gaz, while good at what he does, is reckless.” The captain chuckles lowly, and your eyes roll. Looking up to this Gaz, seeing sweat and grime. A uniform soaked in blood, not his of course, dark skin only darker from weeks- no months under a ruthless sun. Once the gash is sewn shut soundly, disinfected again, cut with clean scissors, washed and bandaged through the bloody clothes- a methodical checklist to ward against domino-like effects on the human body- did you offer a hand to this… Gaz.

“Sorry for the suddenness. I don’t like pigeons bleeding to death on my floor. The feathers don’t pluck out as easy.” With a crooked smile, and a slight tease in your eyes- emotions never quite reached the pupils. Noted by the ever vigilant and shadowy figure that still held a trained rifle to your vital points. One wrong move, you’d be dead. One wrong move, hurt his team in any shape or form, there wouldn’t be any statue to uphold this pigeon façade any longer-

The captain only sighed heavily and gestured to the next soldier who waited patiently- staring out the windows. Left, right, left again by the door, right by the blind corner. Onto the next window, rinse and repeat. Only did this man actually do two more watchful checks, did he turn away from the window. Replaced by the steel blue eyes that finally took his rifle with him. Silent steps, even the wood didn’t creak in it’s old age… Impressive.

“He’s just a bit tense from the last-“

“Classified details don’t need to be shared with those who don’t need to know.” Deep, but also hurt from possibly yelling too much. Did radio comms not work as well as they used to? Muffled by this balaclava painted in a white skull, black only darkened what little skin was already practically not hidden. Helmet only making it harder to pinpoint where exactly a vital point would be to take down such a daunting and rather… Silent opponent.

“Good god, Ghost. I think at this point; Price’s friend would be informed at this point who we are.” You were. Aware of this squad, and what they did, what they stood for. However, you were thankful that Price only kept your knowledge at that… A civilian at best. But as to why it seemed to be increasingly obvious, they were on the run… From what- you didn’t know. This squad didn’t run. Which made the reason why Price had called you even more… Haunting. Price sighs heavily, glancing down at your kneeled form- waiting for the next pigeon to sit in your chair while Gaz stood up. Limping away to the couch to rest a bit, only to earn a deep and strict cough. Turning to look at you- Gaz remained grumpy. Slightly dizzy, but you only cocked your head to the wood stove.

He couldn’t help but excitedly jump at the chance for real food. Though you had no coffee, and no tea, just warm water. A duck stew was just about the best meal Gaz had in weeks. Ever since this whole fiasco started- it’s just been mission after mission after move after move. No rest, only vigil. Rotate, rinse and repeat. For all four of them.

“I am. But I dare not call upon this pigeon flock less the caregiver gives me permission. As apparently no one bothered to write me about someone’s promotion.” Chided, cold words bit and hung in the air with dry humor… Were you that unsocialized? Unpracticed? When was the last time you had social contact?

“Yes, this old caregiver gives the statue permission.” Price rolled his eyes, a knowing smile hiding under his mustache. Having already poured himself a mug of hot water, disinfected, and it soothed the weary bones in his body from weeks of pure adrenaline and his brain going haywire until reaching what finally might’ve been a safe house. You… Hadn’t changed a bit to his relief. Finally, the soldier sits in front of you. Allowing eyes to scan over him, and with another IV poked in- your focus shifted from injury to prevention. Fluids. No blood needed. Surprisingly- no, you shouldn’t be- there wasn’t a broken bone or bruise on his body.

“Soap. You?” Soap’s words were soft, articulated, but nonetheless calculated. He watched your every move closely, regardless of how relaxed he appeared. Which wasn’t so, and you could see the forever set tic in his jaw. How his leg slightly bounced once or twice. Tapping a finger on his forearm, crossed in guarded fashion, reachable to a side arm in case something really was about to go awry… What… Happened? What cue did you miss?

“Angel.” Ironic, really.

“Seems fitting for what you do.” He hums in a breathless chuckle.

“Not really. Only others who just met me call me Angel.” Grumbling, you really hated the nickname- before Price coughed lightly. Raising an eyebrow to you… There came a heavy sigh from your lips. Soap didn’t miss this. Ghost even more so, as he continued to patrol every single window. Following Soap’s pattern… Your eyes widened just ever so slightly.

There. He was the limp.

It was ever so subtle, an easy hide. In just the slightest scuff on the floorboard to the rubber of his shoe, did Ghost give no inclination that he had a broken bone. Ankle perhaps, no… He wouldn’t be able to walk otherwise. Hip? Did he land wrong? No, because then he wouldn’t be able to put weight on it. Ribs. It was a broken rib. Perhaps more. Did he take a few punches harder than he meant to?

“You catch on quick… What’s your real call sign?” Raising an eyebrow to you, your eyes flitted to Price. Who shrugged in response, smiling into his mug. Trained well, it seemed- as Soap looked at you with sharpened eyes. Before you could even respond in kind- suddenly three different firearms were trained on your body. One to your head, one to your chest, one to your legs. Price once again bore a smug grin to the mug as nothing but the sound of him taking a sip into his warm water broke the stillness that was untouched until now. The three men watching your every move closely, not moving a muscle until your breath evened. Showing that your usual charm wasn’t going to cut it with these three- not unless you wished to keep your head. Even Soap, had no problem holding a trained and even pistol right between your eyes.

“…Liar.”

“The fuck kind of call sign is that?” A raised eyebrow, the set of a weapon ready to fire.

“Then the call sign sticks. I’m a liar.” Shrugging, you continue your inspection of Soap’s body in your methodical check list. Slowly Gaz looked to Soap, Soap to Ghost, and Ghost to Price. The Captain barely able to keep himself from laughing. Leading the three to lower their weapons, and Gaz once again picked up the bowl of stew you so kindly offered to limp his way back to the couch. He was about to apologize, you heard the sharp intake of his breath.

“Save it. Protocol. I understand.” Once you were satisfied with Soap’s condition did he stand with the partially emptied fluid bag. You stood back, arms crossed, and gestured to grab some stew too. Soap watching you closely as well, but did eventually turn his back to the Liar in the room. Hearing Gaz eating it with little groans of content. No signs of poisoning, no signs of struggle. The food remained safe… For now.

Watching the three pigeons continue to at least let themselves some solace, or at least… Everyone but Ghost, who continued to do his patrols of the windows. Now moving to the upstairs. A few moments later, followed by silent steps, did he also go to the basement. You purposefully leaving unlocked this time- to allow them full access to your home that now has somehow become some sort of safe haven… So much for staying off grid for the remainder of your penance on this earth. Only then, did you begin to clean the blood that spilled from Gaz’s wound with bleach. Only then, did you begin another methodical checklist to make sure that your table area was clean. Arms stained with light red, rust brown, and other ample bloody colors that only served to remind you of the numerous- invisible tattoos you had gained over years of… Past memories.

Only then, as everything was set back into place and disinfected, did you sit down at your table with two bowls. One for the caregiver, and one for the statue.

Gaz and Soap exchanging quiet glances or conversation in mere looks, to you sitting across from Price. Arms crossed with an eyebrow raised.

“Free to speak.” Price gave permission.

“Duration of stay?” Monotone again. Stilled. As if unused to hearing your own voice.

Ghost moved again, to the main floor from the basement. Gods that limp was beginning to bring a twitch to your eyebrow… A miniscule movement. Unnoticed by most, except the watcher himself.

“Unknown.” This old friend’s voice was low.

“Requirements?”

“All.” There… Was a shame behind it. A guilt in his words… Price didn’t like this situation anymore then you did.

“Understood. Any… Flies?” A careful question. One that Soap and Gaz pause in their conversation to listen to.

“Yes. Many.” How did he not notice? Nothing slipped past Price.

“Are they helpful?” Your spoon swirled in the stew, as did Price’s… He shook his head. Oh.

Tap, tap, tap. Tap… Tap, tap, tap. Tap… Tap, Tap… Tap.

Your spoon tipped at the end of the bowl. Over twice, paused. A melodic, rhythmic note you’d memorized repeatedly. Ghost’s steps paused. Watching the window again, but you could incline or assume he was listening. All of them were. Did they understand? Price knew… But they certainly didn’t, thinking nothing of it and continue on with either refilling their energy or patrolling the house continuously.

“Understood. The statue remains… Base is considered open, and ready.” You murmur quietly, standing with your bowl-empty of food and head up the stairs with a slight yawn. 0300.

“Four cots are in the basement. This place is off grid, remote, and no one will find you here. Considering they didn’t want me to be found in the first place. Price? Don’t make a mess, okay?” Finally, the façade fades just enough… To reveal that you did indeed- know who this squad was. What they did… And now you know what exactly transpired. Price nods, taking a deep breath.

“Six weeks. We’ve been ousted and considered soul orchestrators for a series of events that has led the world to believe America wants to become the new dictators of the new age. It has set the world against each other and created another World War. There is no… 141 now. Just us four.” He finally confirms in solidified words, as Ghost stiffens. Obviously, he wanted to protest, as Price spoke of classified information that could easily lead to their downfall.

“Liar, we need to lay low just enough to be able to grasp our baring and continue our work to find the real cause of these events… I couldn’t think of anyone else that wasn’t in this shadow company’s pocket. Hospitals won’t even let us in, older friends or even foes consider us a danger or a liability… We’ve been isolated.” Like you. Price stood up, looking up to you from the bottom of the stairs. Finally, a somewhat… Berating smile pulled the corners of your lips. One where the emotion of familiarity and somewhat ironic feeling reaches your pupils. Ghost stares behind Price, to you at the top of the stairs.

“Welcome to being burned, boys.” Your words sting, and you only could chuckle to yourself before fully walking up the stairs to your bedroom. The door shutting with a daunting click. Gaz looking at Price as his jaw steeled tightly. Soap searching his captain’s face as the man’s fists curled tightly at his sides in a muted but certainly frustrated anger. Staring at the ground, breathing coming at a bit of a struggle- as Price had been trying to deny it the entire time… But no. You were right. Ghost growled lowly, untrusting and frustrated.

“…You brought us to a spy’s house. No wonder her call sign is Liar.”

Chapter Text

“Этого недостаточно.” It’s not enough.

“Ничего нового, что еще я могу для вас сделать, генерал?” Nothing new, what else can I do for you General?

“Сайфер звонит, мне нужна информация.” Cypher calls, I need information.

“Я не уверен, что вы имеете в виду. Разве недостаточно быть в окопах?” I’m not sure what you mean. Isn’t being in the trenches enough?

“Если ты в окопах медиков, это принесет признание. Не информация.” Having you in the medical trenches gets confessions. Not information.

Eyes open wearily to bleak grey skies of smoke, as the smell bores into your lungs heavily. Blurry from unsettled normal nightmares, not quite awake. Head, check. Legs, check. Arms, check. Strange man standing over you watching you whilst you sleep from behind a skull mask?

Not on list. Respond in kind.

Your body moved before your mind could wake up, rationality out the window. The piercing cold of metal in your hand from the pistol you kept beneath your pillow. Still, the ever-level blue eyes trained that familiar muzzle to your head just like yesterday- no, this morning’s beginnings- yet a hand swatted it away. Blanket flying off the bed- obscuring your foe's point of view for mere fractions of a second. Rifle dropping to fling the blanket down to the floor, preparing to engage- only to be tackled at the waist by stronger arms than what anyone was prepared for.

“I’m tellin ya, this is a bad idea Captain. Sir. All due respect, the longer we stay here the longer we risk even being caught.” Soap grumbled in that deep morning voice prior to coffee, water, or any other drink of choice. The cot only stiffly setting the soreness from six weeks of pure combat just to find a space to sleep for a few hours. Even soldiers he’d fought with in wars past held their weapons to this squad… What had the world come to now?

“Soap, can it. There’s no where else that’s gonna take blokes like us without any expectation.” Though the morning was eerily quiet, and Ghost was nowhere to be found… Minutely he hoped that the quiet fellow wasn’t causing any more trouble then necessary. Vigil or not, even he deserved rest.

“Hey, at least Liar’s one hell of a cook. That soup knocked me the fuck out.” Snorting- the injured Gaz could only roll his eyes, sitting on the couch. Leg up but rifle still facing the door, guarding against any potential threats. Considering the hell that the four of them had gone through just to make sure Gaz was able to move with them as a squad was enough to send anyone in a constant state of watch. Soap sighed heavily.

“Gaz, I’m pretty sure it was just the pain-"

THUD.

“Shit!” Swearing under his breath, the normally composed squad leader dashed up the stairs. Soap very close behind him with Gaz watching the two disappear in deep green streaks up the staircase. Steps barely heard above the plush carpet- even in panic did the two keep their training close. The familiar sounds of a scuffle penetrating the floor and roof in a deadly tango, two combatants that if not stopped quickly would surely wound each other - or worse.
“Sure. Leave the cripple to guard the fort. Thanks fuckers!” His voice chided, though in tease, and lightheartedness- Gaz continued to watch the first floor.
“You guys go have all the fun.”

Choke point, pulse rapid, grip strong but not strong enough. Practiced hands squeezing a thick throat, sweat nearly making your calloused hands slip. Gloves gripping hairless forearms, enough to break skin in raw contact, and the thick smell of bitter old pennies mixing in the air with traces of gunpowder. Blurred eyes, static roaring in your ears, heavy breathing- a body trained but a mind that wasn’t there. A body unable to combat anymore, muscular thighs rolling sore hips. Slamming a sore back onto hardwood floor.  The approaching sound of quickened footsteps in the hallway growing louder as the deadly tango continued on. Short arms slipping from a slick throat, and leather holding wrists tightly. Though low grunts could only sound through gritted teeth when square hits land on the vest. Threatening to relinquish the steel grip, blurred eyes fighting. Until finally, the jarring sound of a door being breached. It distracted the two in their death tango long enough- only for one strong square blow to make contact. A snap piercing the air.

Broken bone.

The only thing strong enough, to bring a medic back from muddled thoughts and even more muddled actions. What were you doing?! Clarity finally lighting the fire behind your blurred eyes. Gloved hands removing their tense grip from sore wrists, leaving deep bruises… Not as deep as the one on the skull mask’s neck. Not as deep as- without a doubt- a splintered rib instead of simply cracked. Haggard breathing, drowning out the slightly wheezing but somehow still calm one. A tense gaze still held until finally arms grapple shoulders and pull the two apart. Both soldiers standing but on opposite sides of the room.

“Down Liar! Attacking friendly!” Piercing, strong, smoky lingering through the static- a familiar but barely comprehending command. At first, your arms could only fight the grapple- though, by this point, even Ghost, held back by Soap...well, not really held back so much as acting as a ground to prevent him from going in for round two. He had thought he was quiet enough, but the quietest, slightest squeak had woken your already tense body. Long before your mind had time to activate… Long before the damage had been done. Your blurred eyes staring down Ghost as if he were some sort of entity designed to kill, sweat drenched arms now covered in claw marks from his leather gloves- dripping rusty pennies onto a sheet barely designed to keep the frigid cold of the room from penetrating your body anymore to cause pneumonia.

Was this some sort of self-purgatory for you? 

Price’s words didn’t quite click, radio static too loud. Yet once pulled away from the enemy- heartbeats only sounded to the drum of panic marching on. Shaking your head lightly, trying to recollect your thoughts… Being slammed to the ground over someone’s shoulder only served to scramble your thoughts. What were people doing in your home? At this hour? You didn’t hear the door, you didn’t hear someone enter, you didn’t-

“’Ey. Tell me somethin' - Why is your call sign Liar?” 

Confusion flashed across your face, what…? What?! Huh?! This fucker just decided to throw you to the floor, and tore up your arms… You also just choked him and further broke at least one of his ribs. Why was he just now asking about a call sign that wasn’t even related to this conversation.

“I know you heard me.”

“W-what?” Rough, a cough sneaking through your lips.

“Why’s your call sign Liar...” Ghost took slow steps to you, hand extended out cautiously. In case your body decides to act before your mind again out of what little clarity you allowed yourself.

“You don’t have the right to ask. Shut up.” Growling, a rabid dog, still held back by Price- who strained under weeks of weariness… This is why they had to stop here. Only thoughts that lingered in the back of your mind recognized that checklist. The tremble, as no matter how hard Price tried- the strain finally taking its toll on sore and beaten muscles. Bodies can only take so much before giving up and with the squeak of scuffing boots on the floor while you took a fighting step forward- Price only had so much energy left… Ghost being the only one in the room, at this very moment, able to stand up to such a monster here. Right now.
…This wasn’t you. Ghost had seen it thousands of times.

“Just answer the question, Liar.” Soap instructed lowly, a snap of your eyes registering the other side. The opponent. The entity that wanted to kill you in shadows and long white claws. His own actions stiff, and fluid- waiting for the moment to strike as well in case.

“No… No response.” A predetermined answer, one used more than you’d like to admit.

“Then you must be Angel, if Liar isn’t your call sign.”

“Don’t fucking call me Angel, that call sign is unnecessarily stupid." Suddenly filled with a familiar annoyance to the call sign that shouldn’t even be yours to call, contradictory, to your library of knowledge- did your brain thrum with the life of the soldier they’d seen last night for a mere hour and a half… Oh. The body finally stood still, panting heavy in your ear- and glanced to the side to see a straining Price holding your shoulders soundly… As instructed before in moments like this. Bitter soreness in your shoulders and old joints creaking under strain- though your whole body didn’t miss the tremble of a beaten body on the brink of defeat. Seeing the newfound clarity behind your eyes, Ghost stood back to his vigil next to Soap. Two pigeons staring in knowing looks that only broke your pride mildly at their unwelcome pity. Letting your body fall slack slightly- signifying to Price in an attempt to release you- did the captain let you go. Arms lowering in reluctantly. 

Standing straight brought cracks from your back, stiffly fitting yourself back in a body uncomfortable with this flock trying to rest on your shoulders. A weight you were unused to, and… A presence that you had forgotten about in the mere hours before sleep tensely took you hostage. Yet- Ghost remained unmoving. Steady. Watching, as always. Even when he accidentally spooked his herd.

“…God help us all, you don’t even have a sense of humor.” Raspy, worse than last night, did Ghost’s words find their way through the static of your ringing ears. Earning a low growl in protest from you, but something that even biting your tongue couldn’t hide. Yes. You sucked at this, always have… From the beginning.

“I have half a mind to throw you out. Who watches over a vulnerable woman like that?” An eyebrow raised. The vigil statue remained unmoving at stones thrown.

“Simple-" Memories were invading your already tense body- “Patrol.” He’d seen it all.

“Ghost… You didn’t.” At least his friend, brother- no… Ghost saw Soap as a nephew, or semblance of someone younger to guard and take care of- understood. Crossing his arms disapprovingly.

“Patrol. Simply following protocol.” Gruff and unmoving. No one was going to convince him otherwise.

“Don’t do it again, not in my home.” The request, though more of an order, hissed from the back of your throat. Ghost shook his head, denying it.

"Not happening.”

Unable to reason with an immovable object, you moved fluently in both anger and frustration. Grabbing some sort of work out bag from the closet behind Ghost and walking downstairs with an undeniable glower. Gaz trying to wave or thank you for what your habits had done for making sure that he didn’t bleed to death- only to be met with a harsh SLAM. The whole house rumbling in protest to your abuse, and the marching footsteps quickly faded from the house. Leaving three pigeons tensely standing around a statue-less stand.

Only finally, did Ghost tremble- and took a strong knee. Allowing wheezing breaths to barely escape from clenched teeth and a steeled jaw. Gloved hand, shaking, holding onto the vest above where the dull ache was now turning into a painful throb as his tired body was registering just what happened. Catching up to his brain finally. Trying not to cough from a bruised throat, and an even more bruised ego. He absolutely, needed to be more wary of the monster that lay dormant in this home… A force to be reckoned with, but something Ghost could’ve easily handled had he not been standing vigil wearily.

“Liar did in that rib, didn’t she?” The captain murmured, quietly offering a body to help him stand and Ghost nodded. Followed by painful grunts with Soap hoisting him to his feet. Price heavily sighed.

“Sorry, Simon. I should’ve warned you about her.”

“Nothin' I couldn’t have dealt with, sir.” The voice cracked in its steadiness. Soap only scoffed, muttering something in Scottish again. Ghost not having the brainpower to deal with it at the given state of his body. Considering he was only functioning- now- at 30% capacity of his full strength… No, all of them, were below 30 and he just poked the bear simply to follow protocol and sate the normality that was paranoia. Nearly getting them in trouble… Again.

“Let’s get that rib looked at once Liar comes back. Give her about an hour, then go look for her by the river.” An order, not a request, as Ghost stared at his captain.

“I thought you’d send Soap, someone to dampen the situation.” Ah, Price could never hate Ghost for every time he questioned anything they did. But in this moment… God he really just wanted to just slap that thick head of his sometimes. Today was one of those days.

“Soap would only make it harder, as right now he’s the only one acting at 40 percent. Unlike the rest of us, and certainly unlike Gaz or you- who are both at 30. You two rest. Captain’s orders… Go find her, gear off.” This… Order made Ghost stiffen. Gear off, now, with everything going on? Price could easily see the man pause in deep thought, though one might take it for Ghost simply staring through Price while processing.

“…Yes. Sir.” Each word forced, as Price heavily sighed. His voice ringing through the house on order to Gaz and Soap...and to himself, too.

“Gear off! Shutdown, debriefing at 1300!” It came like a Hail Mary to the squad, simultaneously bringing a sense of unease.

Muscles ached, shoulders stiff, the cold water being the only thing that for some reason- kept the muddled brain braining enough to understand you had about thirty minutes before fluid in your lungs would build up. Up, forward, across, reach, pull, back. Left, up, forward, across, reach, pull, back. Right, up, forward, across, reach, pull, back. Fuck, don’t forget to breathe-

After your next breath, head quickly turning to the left, past the drag of the black skintight sleeve- sat a figure on the bank of the river. No tactical gear, no rifle, no vest. Just a long-sleeved black shirt, dirty cargo pants, leather boots...and a mask - the mask forever leaving an imprint in your mind as a shadow that wished to swallow you whole. Immediately your head dove back under the water. Staring at the floor of the clear river water, fresh melting snow with whisps of white. Clouds dancing and moving liquid filling the static of your ears with muffled white noise. Up, forward, across, reach, pull, back. Left, up, forward, across- what was he doing here? Your methodical checklists interrupted once more, but now… He was part of the list.

Up, forward, across, reach, pull, back- left, up, breathe, check, accept, adapt, forward, across, reach, pull back. Overcome.

It was frustrating, lashing out in such a way that your body responded before your mind could recognize friendly. An instinct you thought you had squashed at least a decade ago. Only to rob Price of more energy, which was a priority, and you only made accomplishing recharge all that harder. Watching your arms move under your body, mere flickers of hands or fingers that pulled against the raging river. An act of pulling yourself up against the current, only to remain in the same spot. Drag brought on by an old, waterlogged uniform. Leather boots threating to anchor you under, and drown you… Sometimes, maybe… One day that’d be for the best-

Only for them to firmly plant themselves on the river floor. Sinking smoothly into the rocks, now your body acting as a statue in the ever-flowing icy water. A ritual, and something you did every morning to keep your body in shape. As there wasn’t anyone to spar with, anyone to swap theories with, anyone to talk to. Pressure from flow always threatening to push you back into the banks and down the slopes into possible injury… But it would never come, as you finally looked up to Ghost- who silently watched you ebb and flow your way through an angry current of river water that you had long since conquered. No wonder that first tackle after the flung sheet had so much oomph to it… You were a bull of pure muscle. A relic long forgotten, no longer used, and discarded. Burned.

“What.” Angry, bitter, shame perhaps, at yourself for your morning behavior, a call heard barely over the roar of moving water.

“I’m here on orders. Debriefing at 1300… Shut down commenced. Six weeks, three days, two hours… 49 minutes.” Calling back, Ghost forever sounded muffled because of the mask. Eyes holding with a neutral gaze to watching this still statue remain unmovable in the ebb and flow. Even still in how you trudged through the water and forced it to move around you. Walking to shore in full uniform, save for the tactical gear… At least another twenty pounds of water weight. You worked out like this, every morning?

“Explains a lot… I apologize, for my unbecoming behavior this morning.” Your words were offered, but without sincerity. A formality if anything, but you didn’t expect nor warrant sympathy. Walking up the muddy shores, grabbing a green towel hanging from a tree branch… Wait- you didn’t remember putting that there. Did he-

“You owe me nothing.” Unmoving from his position, eyes watched your trudge up to the rock he sat at… Next to the bag you left at the shore. Sitting down at least a rock’s distance away, did your warm breath hang in the air even though your body’s skin was nearly blue due to the cold… Was pneumonia not a worry for you either?

“You need to rest. Being on missions that long takes a toll on both mind and body. Doc’s orders.” You, of all people would understand most the longevity of missions that sap at the very soul of a soldier. Didn’t matter how long or how hard you trained for missions- in the end the mortality of the fragile thing called human flesh always won out. Therefore, even Ghost had to let out a small sigh - cut short due to a twinge of nerves - if you were recommending he rest as well. But not before interrogation, and not before finally given the permission to rest from Price… Even if he had given it, Ghost didn’t know if he could rest anyways. Not so long as the target on their back remained.

“Being a statue isn’t for the faint hearted… Even the rocks become weathered to water over time.” Speaking in the quietness of the forest, barely heard above the bird song- surprised there was still bird song. Now that the sky offered it’s grey tinge of smoky weapons fire- the sky offered a muted orange in sunrise… No pink, no blue. Red fog, orange clouds, yellow sun… Fog, hues, gunpowder, smoke, and war hung in the air akin to a curse.

“No, it’s not… I’ll be okay.” Two pairs of eyes blankly staring at the sky.

“Not after that square hit to your ribs. I heard the snap. It’s splintered, and in order for it to least heal somewhat soundly- you have to keep your arms down. To your side. Raising them raises the risk of the rib healing in direction to the lungs.” Raising an eyebrow to Ghost, he glances back to you. Body still unmoving, as if it refused to rest out of pure spite.

“Unacceptable.”

“Well, accept it. Four weeks, that’s minimal time to recover… I can try my best to speed the recovery along but even Gaz is going to need PT. Price needs to let his body rest, and Soap… Soap needs to find a hobby or something. He’s got some mental scarring. Come on, Ghost, this is your herd… That’s why you lot are here right? To heal. Just enough to 70.” Spoken in familiar terms, it would mean minimally 10% recovery a week. Less than… a 2 percent recovery rate per day.
It was better then losing 5 percent here, and 10 percent in one mistake… Mistakes becoming more common then naught. This squad couldn’t afford to make mistakes, for the missions they want to carry out in the future.

“Three weeks. That’s all I’ll allow.” Myself.

“Four, otherwise I make it five and ground you. Price will listen to my orders as if I were a medical officer.” That earned a stern glare from Ghost. Almost daring you to cross his path again so he could drown you in the water, damned be it all if someone tried to ground him - not with the entire world burning down.

“Ghost.” Gaze held stern, with a medical knowledge to argue. You sat your elbows on your knees. Looking to him with understanding… The same understanding he gave you this morning.

“Liar.” Of course, a stern soldier would challenge it in return. One that always challenged everything, and demanded nothing less than perfection.

“Four weeks, or I make it five.” It was a serious threat.

“I won’t remain stationary.” He also meant it as a serious threat.

“…Sling your right arm, and then I’ll make it three.” Finally, you caved, just enough. A tic in your jaw, showing annoyance.

“…Three, and I’ll take the sling.” At least he could fight with one hand, and wasn’t completely useless.

“Ah, you can compromise.” A low scoff coming from pale lips, before sneezing lightly. Hair dripping from the cold water, and immediately Ghost stood.

“Grab your bag, we’re heading back to base.” Just like that… The compromise is gone.

“Yes, sir.” Grumbling, you too stood, following orders of a lieutenant that you didn’t even have to follow any longer as your retirement meant no rank could really command you around… Ghost turned his head to you, acknowledging this, before carrying on back through the forest to the house nestled in the shadow of a mountain.

“That’s Doc’s orders. Final.” Short, gruff, commanding. Sitting in the wooden chair; across from the pigeon group of soldiers followed by shared glances between another… But in the end, the three looking to the caretaker- whom had also been corralled onto the couch somehow. Smoking a cigar and tips it into an ash tray when sharp eyes stare at it. Once interrogation had finished- your body sat itself down on this chair and across from Gaz in the living room. Looking over each and every paperwork given from Price that could be written down. Documented in such a fashion that you… Knew what he was asking for. Which meant long nights. Again.

Gaz was strung up- until the gash healed completely, the poor man was out of commission until said otherwise. Being at the lowest percentage of capacity in order to complete missions left him the one with the longest time to heal. Soap, while at the highest percentage of capacity, also seemed isolated and somewhat distracted… It left openings for mistakes, and therefore was in desperate need of rest… Of foreign normalcy. So, Price had left it up to Soap to declare this place base. Make it a base, and a working point.

It gave his active mind something to work on.

However, the part that Price himself was surprised about- was that you grounded Ghost for three weeks so long as his right arm remained in a sling for the designated time. That he not aggravate the splintered rib any further as your kick only escalated the injury from recoverable and workable to immovable until healed. While you grounding him didn’t come as a shock… It was Ghost finally agreeing to it, spoken through a pretermitted deal, that gave the team a sense of confusion.

“Give yourselves at least two weeks of pure rest. Soap, Price, and I will do patrols as necessary- but Ghost and Gaz? Your focus is solely on rest. Study your missions, study your mistakes… Study your interactions, I don’t give a fuck what you do but if I see that right arm out of the sling or you up on that leg without crutches- I’ll make those missions seem like a cake walk.” The words came on light sarcasm but a toned seriousness that meant you indeed would kick their arses if the two did anything to compromise the healing process you were trying to begin.

“If you listen to me, you’ll be at 70% come about three weeks’ time. Enough to begin recon missions with minor conflicts without worry of injury or mistake. Which is my goal, I don’t want you fuckers here any longer than you want to be. But you’re compromised and burned. Therefore- living in a burned spy’s house is something this Shadow Company wouldn’t expect. Plus- I’m not on any documented government records. I don’t exist. Therefore, this really is the best place for the time being… Take advantage of it. Any questions?” Knowing eyes glance up from the pages of the interrogation that Price gave willingly and to Ghost’s normal protest. To familiarize yourself with each of their history, injuries, and medical requirements. A necessity, as you’d just finished grilling through all four of them for honest answers.

No surprise, that Ghost gave you the most challenge and fight on breach of protocol.

“No, sir.” Soap was the first to respond- breaking the tense silence of the four having their silent conversations between glances and indications. You nodded, at least someone had the gall to speak up- of course leave it to the Scot to do so.

“Liar, will you debrief the team on who you are? Actually. It’ll ease some of the paranoia the boys and I have gone through these last few months.” Not a request, but an order. Glancing eyes looking between the four stern and serious gazes that knew trust wouldn’t be earned less you too shared with this damned class as well. Sighing heavily, nothing but morose and bitterness left your breath hanging heavy in the air. Low rumbles beat mindlessly in loud flak ringing around the house with the meaning that forts were now beginning to fly over the area… Turning the grey sky a sickly orange.
Sitting up, you stiffly crossed your hands on your lap. Blurred eyes focusing just enough to give this hardened squad the due respect. They could see this change, openly, and listened- ears up.

“Callsign ‘Liar’. Counterintelligence, and combat medical professional. Though, I would say the counterintelligence came after my medical training. The nature of my burned status is classified, and don’t ask. I won’t tell… But this has been my home for the last ten years.” Telling them that you’ve been out for a long time but still kept up with the going-ons of the world. Still kept up on protocol, and… That you were far older than they understood. Not older than them by any means, but you were retired at a strangely young age. While spies were retired early- it seemed far earlier for you… But considering you were a combat medic, it didn’t make sense as to why they would let an asset live like that.

“The only reason you’re here, is due to your Captain saving my life a long time ago. Nothing more, nothing less. He called in a favor he promised me that he’d never cash.” Short and sweet to the point, you gave just enough information to form a bridge to semblance of a relationship. Though Price had easily saved their lives on numerous occasions, and same went for them… For a burned spy to say that Price saved their life, meant that the Captain most likely pulled some favors or strings- to make sure you weren’t executed for the information you secretly and sternly carried.

“A couple rules of engagement. If I am caught, do not rescue me. If I am held hostage, or used as some sort of bartering chip, I am not. I’m not your friend, your chum, your compadre. If killing me, means completing a mission, I expect you to do so. I will not do any missions except for extractions, and only if you call me mid mission in prediction. I won’t leave this place and won’t exist anywhere else.” Standard protocols for expendable counterintelligence. Ghost had these memorized, but it left a bad taste in Soap’s mouth, while Gaz’s eyes just… Noticeably, and minutely softened. Price had already spoken to you about what to debrief the squad on in terms of boundaries. What to expect from you, considering you let them into your home.

“Yes, sir.” Three voices spoke in unison, as you grumbled lowly.

“For fucks sake, I’m a civi. Don’t treat me like one of yous.” There it was, just a tiny drawl of New Orleans. Rolling your eyes, your body grew comfortable in the wooden chair- now having four thick manila folders on the table besides your chosen designation. One that showed every window, every part of the house that could be seen. Even into the bathrooms, which also held no doors- and each hallway with no cover points. It was a very crafty layout… But also a death trap if someone decided to invade. Steady hands opening one of the folders, to begin a thorough examination and read into the men that you’d have to medically examine at some point or another.

“Gotcha, Doc. Thanks.” With a wink, Gaz chuckled lowly- glancing to the others who groaned in protest. Being social sucked for all of them, being all naturally introverted. A wicked smile on his face.

“Taing.” Soap also nodded his head before standing. Beginning his new mission of establishing your home into a working base. You had already given permission to move your bedroom if necessary but do not touch the linen closet in the hall. Less he wanted to find your delicates. Though… Soap thanking you with a slight breathless and anxious tone, made it all the more endearing to hear him finally letting out some informality. Meaning it had been a good decision for giving him something to do. Price snorted, taking his cigar and walking outside to smoke it. Leaving you, Ghost, and Gaz in the living room. The two you weren’t going to let out of your sight… It was as if there was a hawk, amongst the pigeons. One wrong move, and you’d ground them for longer.

That was how time flowed for the first week. The squad getting to know you, and you getting to know the squad. For starters- Ghost no longer kept vigil over you, simply put… He didn’t want to compromise their deal, and therefore knew if he’d spooked you again that the rib would only splinter more. It already made it difficult to sit still, and his right arm twitched for movement. However, Ghost also noted that you had these methodical checklists that became so thorough and second nature to your habitual medical procedures that he even began to understand what it meant that morning.

Ghost wasn’t part of the list, therefore you simply responded to his unknown presence in kind.

The jarring sounds of others in the house acted in a strange symphony that you couldn’t explain… Only that your quiet little life had suddenly become quite noisy. Not surprisingly so. They each had found quarters in empty rooms in this strange house, ranging from closets- Ghost finding a quiet hole- to taking up a bedroom as both an office, debriefing room, and quarters… Price. A well oiled machine, one that ran on broken gears and missing cogs- noticing this as quickly they too… Tried their best to respect your routine.

Each had their own little quirks, personality traits, things that you listed underneath every bit of their files in a strange short hand that no one could decipher unless they wished for some sort of headache. More often than not, Price asking for your reports to be in formal. Not cyphered. Ghost had seen the short hand everywhere in the home, and even though the cypher was old or even outdated… Without even knowing the origins of it, no matter how hard he stared at it while waiting for the tea to steep- the meanings still remained lost.

Gaz probably had the strangest personality out of them all. Chipper on the outside, but serious when needed. Probably the most social, you knew the most of him or about him as he lay on the couch most days. Staring at the ceiling and allowed his mind to empty for rare moments you allowed for in a guarded watch. Having tried to walk one day, only for you to give his good ankle a swift tap and next thing he knew- Gaz was on the couch. Followed by a disapproving and emotionless stare from a doctor who had already given him the proper protocols to understand. Did he however? No. No he did not, and if he did? You quickly, quickly learned Gaz did not care.

Indeed, Soap was as fidgety as you initially predicted. He needed something to do, and more often than not sought out your advice or approval to alter your home to make room for requirements needed to keep the squad running. Almost equivalent to the heartbeat of the squad you couldn’t help but notate. Gaz was able to have serious moments with him, and for some strange reason- you’ve heard small banter with Ghost. Respecting Price as if he were a father of sorts… Yet at the end of the day- Soap sometimes ate alone. Or sat alone. Or did tasks to keep himself busy. As if running from something.

Ghost was Ghost. Stubborn, quiet, and always wearing that balaclava of his. Routines set in stone, protocol unmoving. A perfect statue almost… Almost. You certainly didn’t miss the small moments by himself, where frustration was found in pain. Respecting your requests, but the teas and coffee you brought in from town- realizing that this squad did not live very well without caffeine as if it were some sort of lifeline- proved to him a challenge in the mundane. Ghost was not mundane, and the fact his mortal flesh was reflecting the weariness made it all the more frustrating… Only by himself. Only alone.

“You seemed to have settled in well, Liar.” The familiar voice that started this whole mess, sat down at the dining table that had become more or so an office at this point- Price pushed forward tonight’s meal from your homegrown garden. As also with some of the meats stored in your storehouse- now also mixed and become the armory. Meaning that every wholesome food you’d carefully cultivated over the last decade now had a permanent taste of metal and gunpowder… A nostalgic taste truthfully. Your eyes just barely grazing up from more previous mission briefings, and medical notes to see Price at the table. Soon followed by Soap… Ghost returning to his closet, but Gaz settling next to you with leg up on the chair. Already, you could see a 10% increase in capacity.

“I feel like that statement should be backwards, sir.” Skeptical, you continued to eat and look over the reports. Blurred eyes reading over words, listening to the gospel that was medical notations. Learning their patterns, their habits, and their very way of living. You were counterintelligence after all. Learning people is what you did… Being a combat medic made it only scarier.

“Eat, take a break. We’ve been able to survive just fine thanks to you.” He pushed the plate closer, only for you to politely push it aside again.

“How’s that leg feeling, Gaz?” Deflecting.

“Better, I can put weight on it-" Your eyes flicked up as Gaz waved his hands back and forth- “Not that I was trying anything!! Just testing as you ordered.”

“Good to hear.” Flipping to his folder, you notated a few letters… Strangely in Russian. But it translated loosely to the letters ‘I, W, 2.’

It felt… Almost impersonal. Withdrawn, that you saw them as case files rather than human beings. Gaz noticed, trying to get you to do anything over then read or study was near impossible. You had delegated your garden and other routines to maintain the home to Soap- who only did it at your behest… Knowing you were trying to keep him busy enough to not be lost in thoughts but not so much to distract away from the feelings he needed to process. Alone. Glancing back and forth between his friends, Gaz took a deep breath. Before, suddenly the files were snatched away from your face- leaving a slightly surprised medic holding up empty hands. Setting them down on the counter, underneath some ammo that Soap was going to put in the storehouse later. Blurry eyes blinking.

“Come on, have some humanity. Eat your damn food. What is it you’re always yelling at us for? Ah, right. REST.” He grumbled, a rather eerie and serious tone that left Gaz with a deep glower on his face. Still yet, you blinked at him in surprise. Price snickering into his food, as Soap shook his head.

“Whit's fur ye'll no go past ye, and ya better get used to Gaz being a cow.” Snorting lightly, Soap words thoroughly confused you. Leaving an unknowing and slightly bewildered look. Gaz also scoffed.

“He meanssss; whatever will happen will happen and get used to me being a little shit.”

“Dito nel culo.” Grumbling into your food. A wicked smile appears on the Brit’s face.

“I’ll take being called a pain in the ass as a compliment, thank-you-very-much.”

“Didn’t realize you knew Italian.” Humming lowly, you looked slightly disinterested in your food. Tasted like Price’s cooking, slightly over done and smoky.
“I know a lot of different languages. Contrary to belief, I know quite a bit!” Gaz proudly huffed and only earned a small smack upside the head from Ghost walking by. Carrying an empty plate and an empty mug that he sat down on the table to give Gaz a warning.

“Don’t be a shit.” Stepping away to put his dishes in the sink. Shoulders pausing in that same roll you’ve noted the past few days. Frustration at his uselessness… Trying to figure out how to execute mundane tasks while following through on your deal. Standing up from a half-uneaten plate, you began to wash Ghost’s dishes. Stepping next to him to finish it… Boots scuffle, and squeak lightly, a knowing weight giving a respectable distance between the two of you.

“Oi, I know my cooking’s that bad but at least it beats Gaz’s.” Pride jokes, trying to lighten the mood. A shocked, sarcastic gasp filling the air. A kick to someone’s ankle only ending in Gaz groaning in pain.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch… Regret. So much regret.”

“Muscles are connected, dito nel culo.” Judgement laced on a gentled smile while sterile hands washing dishes from the nightly dinner… A private face that Ghost quietly tucked into his information. Turning away to join the others at the table now that your chair remained empty… You were owed that much respect, in privacy.

“No shit!” He bites back, Soap laughing lightly. Picking at his food with Price shaking his head. A lighthearted banter filling the white noise over the flak and war of the deep orange nightly world war around them in this forest hidden way from the politics of the world… This is how you wished your medical tent could’ve been, back in the day. Ghost shaking his head as the four chatted mindlessly about different topics. Avoiding the present. Enjoying their closeness.
Soon, the back door clicked in a muted quiet exit. A warmth missing from the house; somber blurred eyes looking to the lit sky in nostalgia. Leaving the four to their precious normality.

Chapter Text

“Having finally established contact with other resources, intel confirms that Russia indeed leading the charge to the United States. Carefully creating opportunities for terrorist organizations to infiltrate in cracks we don’t want to see. This mission’s goal is to infiltrate the northwest building of a PMC Milita base and create opportunities for gathering further intel. We’re lucky to get this much from past counterintelligence, so current plans might be outdated. Proceed with caution. Do not get caught, do not raise alarms. If we raise any suspicions of infiltration, we are to exfil and recoup at rendezvous point bravo.” Pointing specifically to old map specs, and pictures taken from recent reconnaissance missions with Soap at point, Price debriefs the new mission they’d been planning for within the last week. Early to rise, they listened to their captain with a vigor. Ready to rise, ready to go. Itching to fix this war and go back to what little normalcy they had.

“Gaz will be staying behind as home support. Ghost, you will be laying low and picking off as needed while Soap and I place the gathering devices.” 

“Yes, sir.” Speaking in sharp unison, Gaz couldn’t help but steel his jaw stiffly. Feeling rather useless at the moment, as it should be Price remaining at the home base. Getting the leader to stay behind was usually the call for him to be home support while the three of them went out… But he was still about a week out from being cleared- and was lucky enough to allow you to even give him some grace in walking. Or training. Or sparing… Didn’t mean that the leg wouldn’t stop flaring up once or twice even with extensive PT he pushed himself through. 

You, had pulled off some sort of miracle. Why your pseudo call sign was Angel made absolute sense, considering how you took this near dead squad and made them back on their feet in three weeks. No less either, as with some final prodding and poking of Ghost’s ribs without any pain- having learned to be honest in their reactions as you tended to poke until seeing the reaction you should’ve received the first time- did they get the clear for missions. Finally.

“Arms up, 1300.”

So… 1300 came, and suddenly the house was quiet. No heavy breaths, restless pacing, sparing, noise. Your static ears rang, sitting next to Gaz underneath the living room in the basement that quickly expanded out. Giving Soap permission to create the bunker or safe space actually helped relieve quite a bit of aggression and nerves compiling into one nasty… Conflict. But one that Soap desperately needed in the wee hours of the night, and a private moment with Ghost you had heard mere snippets of in passing. Having made it very clear, besides patrol outside the base of operations- is what your house has now been fully turned into thanks to Soap’s diligence- you wouldn’t be accompanying on missions… Who would want to go on a mission with a burned spy anyways? Especially with one’s callsign being-

“Liar. Get outta your head, dude.” Gaz- had so annoyingly picked up on every cue you gave. Not as quickly as Ghost or Soap did, but damn it all, your blank stares now had meaning behind it. He knew if you stared upwards to the sky, you were thinking of the past. Zoned out blank glares through the wall meant strategy. Downwards at the files meant personal… All the squad knew, your head in files meant hiding.

“Keep the chatter brief, listen to your radio coms. This tech is a bit on the older side which means radio static. Won’t be as clear what you’re used to.” All work and no play- makes a dull Liar, Gaz quickly realized. How you even got the call sign ‘Liar’ when your body language was so obvious sometimes was beyond him… Or

perhaps, and the thought suddenly dawned on him-

This was the façade you wanted them to see.

“’Ey. Beats the yelling we’ve had to do until now. Never heard so much complaint out of Soap for yelling considering he’s the loudest of us all.” Shrugging, Gaz shifted the single sided headphone. Pulling the mic to his ear. Your clipboard held up, and pen in hand. Since they had no tech at the moment to log radio chatter- someone had to do it manually… Which is what you were trained to do. Accurately.

“Check.”

“Soap.”

“Price.”

“Ghost.”

“Received.” Logging that the radio worked, at least giving them some sort of channel to communicate. It was a blessing, and something that the squad hadn’t realized they were desperate to obtain… Not until you had come back from town with some old military equipment. As well as a few grazes of bullets on your face, spooking them all a bit.

Your pen moved with fluidity, a cypher that they all recognized but all couldn’t understand at the same time. Though, they truthfully didn’t think much of it- considering you deciphered it into reports and somehow extremely detailed files from perhaps half a page of writing. Gaz hummed lightly in mild relief, releasing a breath he didn’t even know he carried when all checked in. Now, it was just the waiting game… Considering they still had hours before reaching their destination.

“…Thanks, for callin in all those favors of yours too. For a buncha pigeons.” Finally, Gaz broke through the silence. Muting his mic for the time being- as even the squad had gone silent in anticipation for their first mission at near full capacity. Glancing up from your clipboard, you gave a slightly glazed blurry eyed blank stare.

“Even statues got other statues in other cities… Have a couple old mates I can call.” Call you did, Gaz being part of most of them. You had spent the majority of a day, calling people on old burner phones that you even had to scavenges for cords to at least charge them somewhat to make a five minute call. The amount of burner phones, including Price’s, was astounding… Attesting to just how many people’s lives you’ve saved over the years.

“Pretty impressive, considering you got us a few arial support vessels… We’re lucky to have in town support as well now that the war’s crossed through the area.”

“…It was the least I could do, since I’m just sitting here gathering dust.” Grumbling once more, your pen clicked in this same pattern they’d all picked up on… Gaz knew what you meant in belittling words of a burned spy whose hands were tied. If the government caught wind of a spy trying to do reconnaissance or extractions or mission work in general to current events… It was a death sentence. A waste of Price’s work, and the loss of a valuable asset… Even if you didn’t see yourself as such.

“What does the morse code mean?” Ugh, this was what… The fifth time he’s asked you? Gaz batting sarcastic puppy eyes to you, in which it was met with extreme annoyance.

“Negative on that, no response.” The same answer he’s gotten every time.

“I’ll figure it out one of these days. One of us will.” He challenged every time, just as stubbornly as his superior- a certain ghostly man whose presence found its way into your methodical check lists.

“…One of you already know what it means.” AH! A different answer! Headway! Gaz’s eyes glittered brightly, before they suddenly glowered at you.
“See, that’s a load of horse cock. Because Price won’t say shit to me.” Growling lowly, Gaz crossed his arms. Before grimacing in pain as you pressed down on the tender skin that was the healing wound.

“Ow! Ow, ow okay okay! Sorry!!” You released  your precise grip on the wound, a reminder.

“As it should stay that way, don’t ask him again either.” The tapping continued, on repeat. Especially as of late with missions coming to fruition, and prep only growing more time consuming.

“I’m gonna keep asking until you give me something, Doc.” Every damn time he called you that, slowly you began to respond. The same way you did Angel… Personally, your muddled brain wasn’t quite sure what to think of it yet.

“Just call me Liar.” Short. Unpersonal… Did he hit a nerve? Gaz wasn’t sure… You made for a horrible conversationalist.

“But you ain’t one. Or at least… Not that I noticed. Less that little façade of yours is so convincing you don’t know who you are anymore.” Followed by silence… A long, stifling silence. One that made Gaz think maybe he had pushed too far.

“Not sure if I know myself anymore honestly-“

“Cut the radio chatter already, get a room.” Ghost’s voice suddenly boomed- well… More like a quiet whisper- but regardless, it made Gaz jump as if the man yelled into the mic while you began to suddenly scribble lines in the log.

“Damnit, I thought I had this shit muted!”

“You didn’t. Stop prodding Liar for answers you’ll never get.” His voice seemed somewhat amused, or bored. Gaz glanced over to your hand, seeing it writing the abbreviations in your cypher for the whole conversation they just had over coms… His theory was right.

This was the Liar Façade. One that was perfected, and one that told Gaz you were going to be a hard case to crack.

Ghost sat with the large sniper rifle in hand, listening to this mindless drivel on coms that was a welcome distraction while they flew silently in the skies. Soap and Price also somewhat zoned out- as they all compartmentalized this way before missions. Mentally going through all different conversations, different scenarios, different outcomes. Ironically, it now felt weird to have full control over his right arm. The sling proving effective in healing the splintered rib to the point he could comfortably move as if it were a mere deeper bruise. Which was more than workable.

‘If you get hit in the chest again, it will splinter. You’ve barely got it hanging together, you’re lucky that your body is healing quicker than most.’  Your words lingered, staring at his medical file. Noting every little scar, every little nick and wound… But again, you were one to lick your own wounds in the darkness and shadows of your own home. Now converted into something unfamiliar. He remembered the night that you were tending to them… Which is why he had chosen the hallway closet- strangely big enough for a cot to rest comfortably with room for a few more belongings. Because at that spot- he could hear… Everything.

Everything. The murmurs in your sleep with tense nightmares, mornings when you fall out of bed, that damned morse code tapping on constant repeat. Repeating like a damn mantra that he couldn’t understand no matter how many cyphers he knew and ran it through. Morse code, that’s all he could obtain- but no matter how many other forms of morse code he ran through… It would come down to what year and what language it was in. It meant… Anything. An endless road unless he knew from you- what the cypher was. Everything in your house echoed into that one closet which what made it ideal for Ghost to listen in vigil. The conversations Soap had to himself while trying to maintain his weapons, the cursing from Gaz as he did PT with you in the basement… Price’s murmurs and regrets as to bringing this life back into yourself. A silent promise, and of what- he didn’t know. The Liar that the squad knew wasn’t even close to the one behind closed doors, the one he heard through the closet walls.

‘I know you’re there. You’re up.’ It was a bitter sting, after waking up from another nightmare due to the monster. More importantly, how did you know he was up listening again?

‘And?’

‘Stop listening.’ A demand. Cold.

‘Never.’

‘Will there ever be a day you just respect that I want to be left alone?’ To atone for the sins you’ve committed? Ghost wouldn’t dream of it now.

‘Nope.’

‘Ghost.’ Snapping lowly.

‘Liar.’

‘…I’m going to close off that closet.’ You knew.

From that day forward- the wall was muffled. As if you’d moved a dresser in front of it, and put padding through… Since then, he hadn’t been able to hear you as well. If not at all. Leaving his ears to simply listen to the rambling from the squad… Closing yourself off to him, which Ghost didn’t appreciate. He knew all his sheep, knew all his people… Which included you, now that you’ve brought this squad from falling apart enough to resume the missions that needed to happen sooner than later.

“Ears up, target location in ten. Begin infiltration.” Price’s voice sharp and low- cutting through his thoughts. Ghost packing away all those concerns and all those extra things into a neat little box. Shoved in the corner, in the shadows. Another time.

Gaz listened, with the radio quiet in the basement. The moment that Price said ears up, you stood. Clipboard in hand, pen tip following the map of the building that they were able to somewhat sketch and obtain specs on. If things went according to plan- which they never do- then it would be a simple mission… He watched as you logged something.

“Guard rotation’s going to be off.”

“Understood. Guard rotation is off, keep your eyes peeled boys.” Gaz repeated- you were thankful, he didn’t add any fluff and sarcasm… Ah, so the man could be serious.

“Tango at 2, moving east to 4.” Soap. It allowed you to adapt quickly, place a marker on the proper spot- knowing exactly where they were in their current position.

“They’re switching then, rotating guards. Wait fifteen seconds then descend.” Murmuring, Gaz could see where the counterintelligence came into play… You saw the specs in full view, dragging the tip of your pen around like a marker. As if you were drawing out map lines and possible scenarios… Like the rest of them, a trained operator. It was somewhat brilliant to watch, Gaz taking your words into account and reflecting them shortly to the squad to communicate effectively.
“Fifteen seconds to drop.”

“Check.” Came three responses. Gaz keeping his head somewhat down, listening to the decent from the helicopter to the wilderness beyond. Avoiding suspicion of entry. Hearing the thrum of the blades quiet, the calm breaths, and smooth movement with each purposeful step. The pause of Ghost finding his position in the hills overlooking the militia base that rested in it’s own shadows… Like a bowl.

“Position acquired. Guards switching out, blank spots open. Two tangos, 3 and 8. Changing in…” Ghost counted down, from three. Why… Did his voice sound slightly different? Or was it your imagination?

“Lets take ‘em out, Soap you get left. On one.” Price. Two subdued clicks and Ghost counting down later- you swept the markers off the guard positions. No alert to the base yet, and a few more clicks- more markers fell off the specs. Watching the specters of this well-oiled machine work without a skip in their step. They moved in the pair, around the fence first to the east. Leaving the outer perimeter and easily stealthing their way through the base.

 
“Ey’ you lot- got the patrol coming up from 6. Move it.” Ghost’s voice broke the radio silence, as the checker pieces moved with the tip of your pen. Leading to a moment where two rotations would be catching Soap and Price, Gaz glanced back to you… Who seemed somewhat lost in thought.

“Take the ladder up on the building to the right. Going to put them on the roof, which means risking being caught rises by a few percent.” Instructing, Gaz nodded.

“Bank right, grab the ladder. Stay low.”

“Check.” Soap and Price.

Their breaths were somewhat uneven but certainly not labored or tense. Used to plans deviating often, they indeed keep low to the tops of the buildings. Ghost peering through the scope as the two fluidly moved from one building to the next, calling out other guard rotations and patrols as necessary. Gaz reading off your adjustments, meshing with Ghost’s view… The mission went surprisingly smooth, and not in an eerie sort of way. A simple mission, one placing the devices in a few cargo holds or a few different vehicles… Next thing you knew, they were back at the extraction point. No incident, no guards noticing anything out of the ordinary… Or at least, that was how it remained until they began to fly away.

It wasn’t until they were far enough from the target- was when you heard the alarms go off. Blaring in their haunting song at the two guards downed from the beginning. Signifying the scramble that sent everyone looking for hostiles, which were already gone by the time they arrived.

“Capacity check.” Gaz shortly asked.  Seeing you freeze slightly, waiting for that post mission check. Pen gripped tight, your knuckles somewhat white. The sinking paranoia of a medic, one that Gaz hadn’t seen before. Not on you like this anyway… Did you really think you led them astray? Even if you had, they already were on high alert due outdated intel… You needed to have more faith that this squad would succeed uninjured. There was a momentary pause before radio silence was broken.

“Price, 70.”

“Soap, 70.”

“…Ghost, 68.”

“Check, come home. Liar will inspect and adapt.” Instructing at the behest of your glare- wondering why the fuck Ghost went down a few. He could see it in how your eyes steeled, wondering if you missed something- wondering if Ghost was fighting something that required him to retain focus and unable to report until finally they were safe in the heli. Coming back to base.

“Negative. Interrogation first.” Ghost’s voice grumbled, Price heavily sighing.

“Ghost, haven’t you ever heard of multitasking?”

“I’d like to think I’m pretty good at it… Sir.” The first bit of snark you’d ever heard from Ghost in regards of a light hearted tone. Gaz saw the grip on the pen lessen, just slightly… Damnit you were tapping again.

“Ask where the injury is.” You grumbled, sitting at your chair next to the radio and next to Gaz. He sighed heavily.

“Guys. I really don’t want my head to get bitten off here. I need status. Full status; otherwise, Liar’s gonna have my balls in chow tonight.” Gaz gulped lightly, glancing to you and slightly scooting away so you didn’t grasp his leg in threats again. Ears slightly turned to hear better through the static of your brain.

“Ye’d find it braw.” You were wondering why Soap was so quiet… But at least it was good to hear the Gaelic.

“Soap. English.” Ghost demanded in a familiar annoyance.

“Ah. Uh… You’d enjoy it, fucker.” His voice came in laughter, as Price and Ghost groaned.

“Ghost, if you don’t tell our Angel-“

“Oi!” Your voice sharp, interjecting.

“Where that injury is, she’s gonna have a cow. I don’t wanna be in the blast radius. Please.” He almost begged, kiddingly as you threatened to swat him with the clipboard upside the head. Earning a small scoff from Gaz and a big- bullshittery smile.

“The face. A small graze I can patch up after interrogation.” Ghost barely finished the report before hearing a clatter, and hurried footsteps akin to your light footwork. Gaz heavily sighed.

“And she’s gone.”
 

Chapter Text

“Dooooc, doc hey now. Ghost doesn’t take off his mask for anyone and if he’s got a wound on his face then we ought to let him deal with it.” Trying to reason, Gaz could see his words not reaching your ears full of static. No, your mind was reeling back through the logs- trying to pinpoint the moment Ghost received injury and how you didn’t log it. You had one job, one small task to maintain, and how you missed it wasn’t something you were going to accept… Or at least, that’s what Gaz could see.

‘Doc- mask- wound-‘Bubbling, underwater- pulling against the current again; river water splashing coldly against shoulders that mindlessly prepared stitch kits. Sterile hands pushing aside files, specs, ammo. Cleaning a spot obsessively, lingering smell of pennies. Continuing in your prayers and in your rituals, Gaz struggling in steps- boots shuffling across the wooden floor- ever still clean this one spot in the kitchen. A blind spot, a darkened shadow, a place that no one could see anything from the windows. Blank eyes glancing over what needed to happen next and turning to-

Bumping into something- your hand naturally reached out to push aside whatever stood in your way only to be grasped by leather gloves. Tactical gear pulled off, weapons set aside; leaving nothing but tight black sleeved arms. Glancing up, blue eyes scanned your face once more. Something tugged at the end of them… Worry? Pain? You couldn’t tell, frozen in time by the grasp until fresh blood filled your senses. When had they come home? Did you miss the interrogation?

“Hand over the kit, unless you can butterfly stitch blind- I’d suggest giving it.” Ghost murmured quietly. Walking in just moments ago to see you mindlessly cleaning the house… Almost obsessively, sterilizing every bit of it and the stitch kit remained on the table in case. Even bumping into him like this wasn’t something you did… What sin were you atoning for with that monster of yours? What unspeakable evil was eating at your insides now?

“I can do it blindly.” Responsibility weighed heavy on your uneven breaths.

“No medic, no matter now skilled, can do it blindly.” Grumbling once more, a semblance of annoyance in his disbelieving tone.

“I can, and do. Often.” Another strange skill, one that had no business being in your list of job description. Ghost continued to look down at you, blue eyes unmoving to your unwavering gaze. No one moving an inch, until Price patted his shoulder.

“Ghost, if Liar can do it blind- let ‘er. You’re horrible at stitching yourself up.” With that- Price walked away to continue his reports. Leaving Ghost in somewhat of a tight spot, a tic in his jaw and eventually the sigh of resignation breathes on frustrated annoyance.

“Fine. I’ll be watching your eyes the entire time.” If you opened them, glimpsed, snuck any sort of look- you’d never touch Ghost again. A silent warning. Nodding sternly, your hand released from Ghost’s grip. Grabbing the stitch kit, and gestured for Ghost to follow you. Upstairs, and to the closet the two of you went as Gaz and Soap caught a few glances at each other… Did they need to stay on guard in case they needed to pull the two of you apart again?

Sitting down on the cot, you found your steadiness on soft blankets. Setting down the stitch kit in a predetermined location off to the side- Ghost sat down with a slight grunt. The rib was throbbing again, and so was his face after the amount of adrenaline finally leaving his body. Ghost turned his head lightly, showing where the wound was. A graze deep enough to need stitches… It would most likely leave a scar. Letting you observe it closely; did Ghost finally get to see your face in detail… The way your slightly foggy eyes analyzed every bit of the wound. Hair pulled back behind your ears, callused hands grazing over the skin. Finding the deepness, and slowly peeled away the mask… Thus, watching your eyes close. To respect Ghost’s requests, just as he’d respected yours.

Familiar darkness spread forth around you, hearing Ghost take even breaths- timed and purposeful. Muffled cloth being removed from his face, Ghost returning back to the position you’d closed your eyes in. To give you the best chance at this seemingly impossible task… Though remained still, frozen to the touch when one hand gently tilted his chin for a better grasp on the wound. Fingertips gently skating over unfamiliar skin… A new terrain, something new to learn and take in. Yet your control only showed that your hands took their job seriously.

They didn’t move, explore, try to learn the soft skin underneath the ragged fingertips. Ghost hadn’t even noticed that your fingertips were peeling slightly, small wounds on the sides of your nails from chewing them it seemed. Creating hang nails… You hadn’t even considered the thought that Ghost would have a small bit of stubble or the slightest inkling of a beard due to being unable to shave in the last few weeks. Strange- feeling flesh underneath the mask of an unreadable man. However, the jaw tensed- hands moving to pick up the needle and steel thread… God you were going to poke his eye out, Ghost remaining still to the best of his ability. Thumb holding the wound slightly open, right on his defined cheekbone. Lashes blinking against the back of your index finger, moving Ghost’s head just enough… They were long, and soft.

Moving, every time your instrument touched his skin. A slight twinge of pain in each curve to pull the stitches together, closing the wound up one stitch at a time. Slow, purposeful, memorized, visualizing the wound and the masked face around it. Thumb scooting across underneath the wound- checking to see if it’d closed or not after the last movement of your needle. Each and every movement Ghost gave under your hand… You memorized, as if drinking in some sort of liquor, trying to understand the unreadable man before you. Closing the knot, your hand pulled away- setting the needle back into the stitch kit's predetermined spot.

“…You stitch your own wounds, in the dark.” Astute observation, you expected nothing less of Ghost.

“Have to, often actually.” Indications of self-harm?

“How… Are your arms?” An awkward question, one that Ghost didn’t know how to ask without feeling just… A semblance of guilt. Sighing softly, you pulled up your sleeves- revealing the bloodied bandages. But no stitches… Letting yourself bleed out slightly.

“Fine.”

“Liar.”

“That’s my call sign. You seem to like it a lot for as often as I hear it from you.” Fingers moved to gently pull the sleeves back, still lost in darkness and unable to open your eyes… Only to be stopped by ungloved hands. Ones that gently pulled off the bandages, inspecting the damages… They needed stitches too. In order to make sure they healed enough to hold together your arms. Flinching away from the unfamiliar touch, rough hands holding your arms down lightly. Next to the predetermined stitch kit location… Damn yourself for bring in another needle.

“Keep your eyes closed. I’m still watching them.” Ordering, he pulled one arm up slightly… A whisp of hair grazing the hairless arm, light- as if it were a ghost’s kiss. Oh how ironic… But he obviously had bent down towards your arm, to focus better on it.

“Says the one trying to patch up old wounds.” 

“…You’re punishing yourself.” The sentence made your arm flinch back slightly, causing the needle to miss an entry spot… It didn’t hurt, and Ghost saw how your face didn’t betray any sort of pain.

“I have no time for such things, simply been busy lately.” The scripted answer came with practiced sighs. Ghost shook his head in disapproval.

“Making time to blindly stitch up a graze, when your own gashes threaten to grow infected… I’m sure you could make time.” Each prick of the skin felt akin to a prod for some sort of information. Ghost trying to understand you slightly, a statue that had no secrets meant it’s existence was secrecy. Three weeks in the same home, same closet, same area and he knew nothing of you… As the same went both ways, you knowing nothing of him either.

“Give me something to work with.” An order. Not a request.

“You’ve already seen enough.” A reply, practiced. Ghost was starting to be able to understand the moments your answers were so perfect that if someone wasn’t trained in counterintelligence, they wouldn’t know the difference… You were letting him learn the difference.

“Liar.”

“Ghost.”

Words that seemed to be swimming endlessly in circles with no fruition or end in sight. Switching to the other arm after bandaging up the finished wound sutures, you somewhat rested your head against the closet wall. Eyes were closed anyways, so it wouldn’t matter… You choose not to see, live in the darkness, and atone for whatever sins you could.

“Good work, for a blind medic’s job.” An honest compliment, willing gave in the darkness after what felt like an eternity of silence.

“…Thanks.” No quip, no immediate response… Slightly off kilter, slightly gravelly… Tired. Your actual answers sounded tired. Exhausted. Ghost nodded to himself, keeping close eye on your line of sight.

He’ll take it. A small win, to learning Liar and what kind of soldier you were. Remaining focused solely on each stitch so that the gashes on your arms healed properly… Scars or not. Once again, you simply kept your eyes closed in the darkness. Knowing you can’t pull away from him once Ghost set his mind to something… Callused and scarred fingertips, moving with practice. Pulling the wounds he caused together, the metal thread then binding skin. Each stitch was careful, purposeful, practiced… Gentle. Caring. Albeit a bit gruff, but in all Ghost was returning the same respect you gave him.

“…My mission was counterintelligence, inner intel, during the Russian-Ukraine war. I was a medic, under Russian militia.” The silence broken suddenly, your voice particularly soft and somewhat… Graveled with age. Giving him honest information. Ghost paused for a moment, about to finish the last stitch before glancing up to you. Eyes still closed, an unseen gentleness stretched in how your eyelids relaxed. Steeliness in your jaw, unrelenting, gentled… Parting your teeth with closed lips. Tongue resting, breath evening out… Trust. This was your way, of showing him trust.

“I see. That… Was almost a decade ago. Brutal war, but if we hadn’t intervened- Russian would’ve been an unstoppable world power-" 

“It was my last mission.” The one that caused your monster to appear, the one that created this guilt or need to punish yourself… The one that got you burned from your job, discarded once served your purpose to a life of solitude and… The need to repent.

 
“It’s not. Your mission currently is to this squad.” Gruff, commanding, he finished the last stitch.

“Price won’t discard you the way others did. He’ll vouch to get your mission returned.” Spoken in such confidence, as if Ghost knew from the bottom of his heart that Price would be able to do such a thing. His words hung in the air, dust settling on the cot and clothes shoved aside for the moment… Atop the mask he’d have to replace after this.

“…Liar?” Your breathing evened out deeply, Ghost once again glancing up. Sighing ever so softly, beginning to bandage up your arms… Letting you sleep against the closet wall, as Ghost knew- sleep was a precious resource for you and was rarely allotted even enough to at least scavenge your way through the day… So, Ghost let you be. On the side of the closet, on his cot… But silently, quietly, actually had to try fully due to many past experiences- snuck out of the closet. Taking the stitch kit, slinging his mask back on. Trudging down the stairs.

“Ey, where’s the lass?” Soap’s question was quiet, seeing as how Ghost replaced his mask and threw the old one into the wooden stove to burn evidence. Glancing over his shoulder, Soap could already see and understand what his lieutenant meant. You were subdued for the moment, sleeping, finally. It wasn’t as if you’d run ragged these past three weeks trying to create some sort of miracle that got all four of them back on their feet to only shoot or graze or wound themselves again. You barely slept, barely ate, and truthfully- the squad had no idea how to even get you to give some sort of semblance to your own humanity.

“Sleeping. Soundly. We are to leave her be.” An understandable order, Soap nodding rightly. 

“Roger. Did you get a chance to talk to Price?” He nods, picking at the chow for the night. Truthfully, your garden was full of specific super foods. Ranging from kale to others; it truly seemed as if this place was meant to be a safe home… As if you were some discarded toy, waiting for someone to pick you up and play with you again. 

“Negative. Went to medical instead.” Ghost was waiting for his tea to finish brewing, a small solace he found while waiting for his rib to fully heal… You had gone out of your way, to hush into town. Grab coffee, grab teas, and all sorts of things you gathered intel on from their files… From mere interrogation of their histories, to bring some sort of home to your home for them. The level of detail you put into your medical care, showed in how you managed to heal a splintered rib and a slashed leg in three weeks. No less… But no more either. 

“I’d meet with Price, L.T. He’s got some info that’s… Interesting, as already our recon and infil missions are bearing fruits.” Shrugging, he bit into the food… Ghost patted his shoulder lightly.  Soap had lost his spark lately - missions were fine, as it proved a distraction, but there was something deep down that Soap wasn’t sitting okay with. Ghost could tell; Gaz could tell…yet for some reason he had problems even voicing it. Maybe you could crack him open.

Ghost frowned lightly in thought, shaking his head in confusion before walking up to Price’s bedroom and office for the time being.

Chapter Text

“Again.” Sharp, whiplike, taking apart Soap’s weapon in mere seconds before the soldier’s eyes. A slight twitch of the eyebrow, gritting teeth of frustration, breaths growing slowly more and more ragged in anger with each ‘Again’ that came out from your blasted lips. Like a fucking mantra.

“What am I even hearkenin' tae ye for. This is fuckin’ insanity.” Mumbling more and more words under his breath, Soap once again put his rifle back together for the umpteenth time that day. At your behest, at… Ghost’s orders to listen to you. Recon missions weren’t going at the moment, due to the one time the lot was able to place intel at needed locations on multiple occasions… He dare say they had some down time.

Some. It was supposed to be some.

“Again.” Fucking hell. Your hands moved with a precision, taking apart the rifle just as quick as Soap put it back together. He’d just been minding his business in the basement, fine tuning the weapon and now your damn sticky hands made it so that the rifle slowly became harder to put together. Somehow he’d missed when you’d taken out a screw somewhere, a spring there, every damn fucking time you’d-

“Again. Soap. Focus.” What the fuck?! How you managed to disassemble the entirety of the chamber down to pulling out the long metal prong that held everything together. It seemed every time he’d thought he’d be done of your mental tedious and maniacal exercise- somehow, you’d made it more and more complicated. The next time surely, you’d have the rifle completely disassembled piece by meticulous piece.

Something wasn’t fitting… Fuck this piece, why wouldn’t it go in? Suddenly, the rifle fell apart in Soap’s hand. Scattering in pieces across the floor. If he hadn’t taken a few big deep breaths for control- Soap would be pounding your face in.

“Again. This time pay attention.” Face neutral, unreadable like Lt’s. Soap couldn’t tell what in the world was running through your mind as he bent over to pick up the pieces. Only for you to suddenly kick it away across the floor.

THUD. Soap grasped the collar of your shirt and hoisted you up against the nearest wall. The sheer disrespect, and he wouldn’t tolerate it any longer! Growling low, a feral beast of his own showing through. A twitching eyebrow. Only to be returned with a still neutral gaze back to him. One that he couldn’t read, one that he couldn’t understand-

“…Is this how you held your brothers, when they shot at you thinking you were the reason for the new war?” Monotone, like a damned computer, some fucked up script that only shook Soap’s hands against your shirt harder. Banging you lightly against the wall, staring at this fucking doll with a vengeance… That wasn’t directed at you. A sight you immediately understood after Ghost came to you with this particular request.

“Why the fuck should I tell you, huh?! You come down ‘ere and disrespect me this way?!” Trembling hands, your gaze flitted down for mere seconds- almost untraceable if Soap hadn’t been so close. Calm, even breaths, steady eyes. Watching’s Soap’s every move as if he were some sort of number, some sort of log.

“You tell me Soap. Why can’t you put your rifle back together? It’s a simple task.” God, he was going to knock your teeth in.

“It fell apart. The fuckin’ pieces didn’t fit!” What the fuck was he saying… He was a trained operator. Soap bit his tongue lightly to keep his anger down. Remain calm. You were trying to rile him up. Remember his training, hours of recon. Hours of honing skills. He was better than this drivel you were spewing.

“It’s your rifle MacTavish. They fit together.” Shrugging your shoulders, callused hands held onto his wrists with an unexpected gentleness.

“They should but they don’t! Whatcha do to tamper with it.” Shaking you lightly, there was a sound that Soap quickly picked up on… It came from your sleeves. Why the fuck-

“Did you notice your brothers change…? Their loyalty to you, through thick and thin… Did you notice it right away?”

“Of course fuckin’ NOT.” Trembling worse, heartbeat quickening, you saw it in Soap’s ears. How he barely had the strength to hold you to a standard that held himself to… Standing above the rest, holding the squad together. Or… So he thought. Shrugging, you raised your hands in ‘surrender’.

The silence, the wide eyes, as piece after piece clattered to the floor. All belonging to Soap’s fine tuned rifle, replaced with cheap parts.

It felt as if a damned grenade went off, a frag grenade, a flash bomb, whatever it was… Left Soap deathly still. Shattered slightly, stunned, unmoving. Whatever word described the rigidness that Soap’s grip held you with… That was it. Still holding the collar of your shirt, pieces falling out from your sweater as if you’d collected cards and showed your hand.

“How could you, with your head in the clouds? Would you have noticed, every time I switched a part out when your own thoughts created opportunities for mistakes and replacements? You weren’t trained to look for it. The differences between the fine tuned and chosen… To the cheap and expendable.” Soap’s breaths deepened, trained breaths doing everything he mentally could to keep some semblance of the trained soldier he was… A gentle pat from your callused hand, brought Soap back to earth for mere moments.

“…It wasn’t your fault, Soap. Never was… It’s just politics. I’m sure your brothers are out there somewhere. Or the ones who betrayed you that way aren’t giving a damn if you’re alive or not.” Dropping you, Soap immediately looked away. Staring at the ground without a word to rebuttal with, which was rare for the Scottish man. He’d always had some quip to say, some Gaelic nonsense that didn’t process well… He didn’t know where to look, how to respond… Just left with a raw bitterness crawling into his lungs.

Quietly, your body skirted around the frozen man. Gingerly, carefully, picking up each piece you’d dropped to shatter what little control Soap had left… Though that didn’t mean you wanted to treat such a precious part of him that way, a rifle this fine-tuned- an instrument that was an extension of himself- and you threw every small part on the floor. Clattering in ways that even caused a deep cringe in your lungs, in the deepest parts of your dead heart… You didn’t want to teach him this way.

‘We are the cheap, and the expendable. No one takes time to fine tune us, as we fine tune ourselves. Remember this, Liar. Remember this until the day we perish together.’ Teachings of a time long gone, teachings that shouldn’t matter but still linger in your lungs. A form of second hand smoke. Each piece of Soap’s rifle you picked up, after swapping it so many times with each ‘again’. Watching his glazed eyes, how he’d put the rifle together without even checking the pieces first… Which he always did. Every time. But once Soap started just haphazardly assembling his instrument back together out of the frustration of watching it being dismantled after the umpteenth time that hour… You knew that the same training you’d received decades ago- was starting to wear down the uniqueness that made Soap… Johnny “Soap” MacTavish.

Thank God, he threw hands with you… Minutely, it stirred some unknown emotion in you- when seeing the training wear him down. Was it… Worry?

“I got it.” An eternity of silence, Soap finally knelt down to pick up the pieces with you. Looking over each one with a somewhat numb gaze… Ah, you saw the memories linked to each of these pieces. They weren’t fine tuned… They were pieces of his fallen squad members. Brothers in arms. Comrades… People who’d taken bullets, fire, flak, everything in between for him.

“Understood.” Though, your fingers didn’t stop reaching for pieces as well. Helping Soap gather them together gingerly, showing him that you truly understood what you’d done by throwing those pieces on the floor. Silence hung in the air, smoke above your heads, when crawling on the ground… Putting Soap’s soul back together, one fallen piece at a time.

“…No. I wouldn’t know to look for things like that. The way you do. The way you were trained to do. I guess that’s what’s so siaring about the whole lot.” Mere whispers, raw from yelling and screaming in his lungs silently… A monster lodged in his head, taking the time to defeat such a thing was no easy task. Let alone to talk about it. Humming lowly, you nodded your head slowly.

“I’m… going to assume that means it hurt you a lot.” Slow, drawled out lightly, a perfected answer unnoticed by a quiet scoff.

“’ye. Yes, it does.” Pieces were slowly brought to hands, hands brought to the table where most of the rifle remained still fallen. Soap sitting down at this table, staring at the mess of parts… Where did he even begin? Everything gathered in a pile of mixed chosen, and expendable. Your purposeful hands, grasping the long prong that held everything together… The first true part, Soap had taken from a rifle from his first loss- to him.

“…Again.” Came your soft command. Like a fuckin’ mantra.

“Again.” Soap nodded, looking to the mangled bits and parts… This was him right now, indeed. Though, as soon as your hand hovered over another chosen part did he at once swat yours away… A rare sight, a smile, almost genuine but real to an untrained eye- on your face. Soap could only return a smile in kind.

“Bile yer heid.” Insults on a breathy laughter.

“Soap, I don’t know what that means.” Genuinely. What did that mean?

Hours after hours go by, a few more rough landings that sounded through the house and soon Soap came up from the basement… Ghost watched, vigil still, Soap walking through. Grabbing a bit of poor man’s coffee, taking a drink- his face grimacing. A pep to his step, light in the eyes, holding himself beyond what he used to- though he did not miss the sideways glare once your footsteps caried you upstairs back to the living room. Rolling your neck lightly, rubbing your collarbone- bare traces of a grimace… What did you do? Ghost glared at Soap. What did he do to you?

“He’s failing.” Speaking seemingly to no one, a walk back in the cold after watching you fight against the river in yesterday’s morning punishment ritual.

“I can see that.” Panting lightly, out of breath still, towel wrapped around your head… Shivering. Winter was coming soon, you couldn’t keep doing this.

“Fix it.” Steeled eyes turn a worried head back to your shivering, huddled under the towel downhill from his stern pace.

“Oh? How about a please L.T.?” A tick in his jaw, ah- a nickname only Soap could get away with. Information for later you suppose. A predetermined answer, practiced… Fake. Liar.

“Ghost, to you. I won’t ask again.” Standing still, he held your bag- knowing you had a hard time walking back to the house after working out… Specifically because it seemed that the river sapped your strength every time you worked out. Again, a tiny punishment. Something he wanted to change.

“You owe me.” For the sleep.

“…Fine. Only because I like Soap.” Your glower to him came on honest answers. A mild annoyance, filled with disdain for Ghost’s requests… But undeniable because it only played into who you really wanted to be. He huffed lightly; a victory won against Liar the Soldier.

“That’s more like it.”

“Imma grab a pint in town.” Shrugging on a jacket, Soap had changed his clothes to look civilian enough. Keeping a hood low, keeping profile to a minimum… To at least hide the noticeable hair. Nodding in approval, you hummed lightly in thought. Soap walking past you- Ghost watching the interaction closely.

Suddenly, Soap double backed at you- slamming his fist into your chest.

Doubling over, coughing raw and roughly from the bottom of your lungs- you clung to the staircase. Heaving pants, trying not to puke on the floor. Ah, when was the last time you felt pain like this? It was sweet, an old friend you embraced… The sting in your ribs, breath stolen. Exhaling warm lava and inhaling cold needles. Stinging bittersweetly as if a homecoming reunion… Oh how you loved it so. Ghost’s boots squeaking against the hardwood in surprise at Soap’s actions. He could see Ghost’s jaw ready to tear into MacTavish. Only to receive a hand, waving away at Ghost’s silent concern. Grimacing at the pain and eventually sat on the staircase at the feet of Soap’s vengeance.

“I-I wh-whole cough, cough whole… Oh fuck… Deserved that.” That. Was an honest answer if Ghost had ever heard one. The most honest he’d ever heard from you, Soap flicking his nose with his thumb at you… But still held a wicked, and bright smirk on his face- walking out the front door. Head held high, kicking a rock as he whistled back into town.

“Mgh, oh man… Yeah… That’s going to leave a bruise.” Inhaling was sharp, exhaling even more so. Ghost kneeling in front of your figure crumpled on the staircase, heaving- stomach trembling. Trying not to vomit your morning’s breakfast so lovingly made by Ghost himself… As he’d made chow for everyone that day… Though, Ghost was slightly more concerned about the honesty in your voice. Raw, and open… Did you know you sounded this way?

“What did you do?” He stood, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and returned before you had time to protest. Weakly fighting against him, and Ghost forced the icepack on your chest. At least help yourself, damnit… His jaw steeled.

“I fixed him. Like you wanted me to.” Since… When did you listen to Ghost’s requests so closely? He had meant it as- over time and perhaps within the next month start at least… Some sort of work around. Some step forward… But it seemed as if you just gave Johnny the runaround, slapped him in the face, and pissed on his head… In that order. Truthfully.

“That’s not an answer.” Pushing down on the ice pack, a grimace tugged your lips… That hurt you? Not the numerous stitches on your arm, which he could see the bleeding through the bandages again, no- a strong gut punch was enough to make you grimace?

“…I made him reassemble his rifle until he realized I was switching parts out.”

“…You didn’t.”

“I did. Counterintel training… First thing I learned.” Another bit of information offered the moment you were taught that you were expendable. Ghost was familiar with it. That didn’t stop his stomach from aching lightly, or his jaw steeling every time he learned something new about your job and not your humanity.

“You were aware?”

“Very much so. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done the exercise twenty times.” Twenty times… Your eyes just… Barely darkened. It took Soap twenty times, to realize that you’d switched the parts and by then- his rifle fell apart. Had he gone on any more missions in that mindset then no doubt he would’ve been hurt worse than Gaz’s leg. Thinking of him- where-

“ACK.” A noise left your gut and lungs, Ghost pressing harder on the icepack that left you breathless… Not in a nice way either. Weak arms tried to pull up against the staircase current that swept you down farther to Ghost’s grasp, only to be slightly pinned down by a gloved hand.

“Later. You’re not in a position to do any PT. Besides, Gaz should be doing it himself by now. Not relying on you for every damn thing.” Grumbling, you rest in defeat on the staircase… Head resting back, revealing black and blue bruises on your collarbone. Those were fresh too.

“Tell me about these.” He poked the bruises, earning a small hiss.

“Stop poking the fucking bear.” That… Was also a first. The sheer anger and annoyance that hissed with every labored pant. Genuine frustration… Genuine worry, an emotion he hadn’t heard from you until now. Did you genuinely worry over Soap’s mental state of being?

“Never. Now tell. Before I get more ice packs.” No thanks. Fuck that.

“Oh fuck off… Soap did it when he flung me against the wall. Out of anger, and grief. He didn’t mean to hurt me.” Groaning in slight pain, did Ghost finally release his relentless hold over your wounds. Allowing you to slightly sit up, grunting. Doubled over the ice pack, a steeled and icy glare matching the unmoving object now known as Ghost- standing in your way stubbornly. Knelt before you…

Eyebrows furrowed just slightly. Just enough, so see the scar on his right eyebrow. He. Was. Concerned. For you. Since… When were you able to see such a thing?

“Give me… Ten minutes, then we’ll follow Soap. Don’t want him drinking alone.” Grunting you set the ice pack off to the side, Ghost stood- offering a hand to you… A leathered glove in the form of an olive branch. One that brought the numerous gashes on your arms, but you knew that the bruise across his neck just faded as well… So, your hand grasped his tightly; easily yanked to your feet. Weighing nothing to him, and once again you saw that tiny… Tiny twitch. He didn’t like that. Supposedly. Making you wonder ever so slightly, what did Ghost think of behind that mask?

“Did I hear drinkin? I’m game.” Gaz chuckles, rounding the corner with a pair of frames on his face. Were they fake? You didn’t really want to know at this point, and honestly with Gaz- it felt as if the man was pandora’s box. Once you opened him up, the man didn’t want to stop. For anything. Price’s office opened, as he too was already dressed in civilian clothes- the two of them matching the local attire.

“We could probably use a load off, truthfully.” Chuckling- Prime gestured to Ghost. Who, as per usual, was still in uniform. A few bits of gear away from being in complete tactical. Once again in slight awe to Price, Ghost grumbled lowly- heading up the stairs. Pausing once to pick up the ice pack, looking back to you- and the cold finds its way into your hands gently. You half expected Ghost to shove it at you. Holding it to your chest lowly, Price and Gaz chuckled to each other. Walking out the front door to follow their brother in arms.

“Make sure Ghost dresses properly. Otherwise the man’s gonna lose his shit.” Price laughs, boldly, waving a small salute to you while turning to the path. Knowing that the town was safe, and so was the bar they’d discovered… Surprised by how much the moment you spoke to the townsfolk about the squad being your ‘friends’ the entirety of them immediately accepted them.

So…

How did you end up in this situation…?

Chapter Text

On your back, the cold floor reminiscent of old memories. Staring at a swimming pool of stars, reminding you of lanterns on a ship. Four faces peering at you, one masked Ghost full of readable concern. Your legs on a barstool- upside down… Thinking. You were thinking, that’s right. Your sober ass finally aware enough- wondering… How did you get here? Your humanity on display for these four bastards that turned your life upside dow- okay… Maybe you weren’t exactly, completely sober. You… Were a horrible drunk after all.

Several Hours Earlier:

“Barista, qualche giro per me e i miei amici!” Calling out from a table the squad had found in a corner- your eerie but bright smile only throwing off the entirety of your company. Though, Ghost- arms crossed in discontent- could hear the perfect little tones of your perfect little façade. He couldn’t help but slightly roll his eyes, a small gesture that an already buzzed Soap didn’t dare miss. Ghost had become more expressive lately, the whole squad noticed this.

You had stood up, grabbing a few pints from the bar- holding four in one hand and one in the other. Easily, as if they weighed nothing, setting them down albeit followed by a flair one might hold a candle to an Irish waiter on Saint Patty’s day… Practiced, a public persona. Though, the others might not recognized it… Ghost knew. He always knew now. You taught him.

“Didn’t take you one for drinking. Sheesh.” Murmuring in slight concern, Gaz gratefully took a pint while Soap still cradled his… Third? Third, and the man was only holding a buzz. Ghost shook his head politely, but Price didn’t miss a beat. Immediately grabbing one of them, chugging as if the man was dying of thirst. Certainly not cradling it the way his team did, setting it down on the table. Rattling the glasses, sighing in relief. Happiness.

“Ah, Gaz. Trust me, if Liar’s out drinking- it’s probably for intel. Don’t let ‘er fool ya.” Three gazes shoot to you sharply. Particularly Soap and Ghost’s. Heart fluttering lightly, lungs tight, yet your gaze settled on Price for giving away your… Actual reason for being here.

“You fucker.”

“Are you seriously working?! Come on, Doc!” Particularly disappointed, Gaz was hoping to see a bit of your humanity. Not your job. In fact, it seemed as if the whole squad was tired of working with Liar… Wanting to know the person behind the call sign. Scanning each face, for once it seemed the predetermined equations of practiced answers were no longer going to satisfy the ever growing enigma that was this team.

“…Doc? Why do you keep calling me Doc? You know my call sign.” Voice hushed, barely heard over the sound of the tavern… They watched. Watched you struggle to remain composed, under their scrutinizing gazes. Shrinking a bit behind the pint of beer, it seemed their Liar was threatening to fold. A sharp intake of breath, Gaz was about to answer you- before suddenly watching your face drain of all color.

“Angel, ty li eto?!” Angel, is that you?! Russian. Angel. A twinge in your neck, Ghost couldn’t believe how quick you shifted into work and turned around with a forced smile. Standing, you stood tall in front of this large… Russian soldier. The squad continued to drink their beverages in peace, not wanting to arouse suspicion in case the Russians were still hunting them. Hands behind your back in a cheerful, bubbly attitude. One that made the soldier relax completely. He knew you, from a long time ago.

Your finger rapidly tapped. Ghost, ever watching, moved to the edge of the booth. Switching seats with Price. Incase.

"Khirurgiya! Chto ty delayesh' v etikh krayakh?” Sergey! What are you doing here?  Giggling softly, a strange sound from your mouth, a bright smile. Tugged eyes. This one’s grown up, and you remember when he was but fresh blood in your medic tent. Shivering from scrap metal shock.

“Prosto prokhodil mimo, poluchil prikaz vydvigat'sya na sleduyushchiy den'. Reshil, chto voz'mu vypit” Just passing through, got orders to move next day. Figured I'd grab a drink. This… Sergey soldier chuckled bashfully, scratching his cheek as a few other soldiers moved into the tavern. Stiffly checking things out, as the squad tensed. Ready for things to escalate, even the buzzed Soap sobered up quickly.

Though, as quickly as your conversation remained civil, suddenly… You found yourself sitting down at a table, away from your safety line. In front of Sergey, a smug smile on his face. Uniform coat off, a bottle of vodka off to the side, rolling up sleeves on strong arms… Damn you remembered when this one was still a kid. Skinny and tall like a stick. If a cold bitter wind had even looked in this boy’s direction, he’d shiver and fall apart. Two glasses, Russian soldiers on one side… Your squad behind you on the other. Belonging to such a small platoon- and through careful conversation- Sergey had no idea who the Squad 141 or whatever could be. All he knew- again from smooth conversation- was that Russia was moving on Europe to cut off supplies to the United States in this new war. Quickly, a soldier returned- slamming a board in front of the two of you excitedly… Oh no. Fuck.

“Come now, we used to play. All time!” Sergey laughed, pouring a shot of the vodka. One for you, one for him. Pulling out black and white chess pieces with practice. Ghost towering behind you, intimidatingly so to the point where Sergey had to take a gulp. Who were these scary, doglike men and why did they look like they were willing to burn the world for you?

“Stop staring. They’re family. Extended family.” Waving away Sergey’s worry, his puppy dog like charm only lit up more.

“Angel has family?! No way. Insane I never meet until now!” Family… Ghost coughed a bit, looking away at that comment. He didn’t realize you had considered them-… Family. Liar’s family. The façade’s family… Not your humanity family.

“Well, you’d never meet them unless you come to Italy! Which is where I’m from.” You instilled that fact, multiple times in subtle hints across the conversation that left lasting facts hanging in Sergey’s mind with a knowing nod. The chess board set up quickly, and with a clink of glasses… Ghost watched you down a shot of vodka, drinking as if it were water. Setting it down next to the board, as you were white. Which meant you went first.

“Standard rule?” Asking lightly… A shift in your demeanor. The gravel back to your tone found in only honest answers, how your body shifted to one side of the chair. Leaning an elbow on the arm, your head on your hand, crossing your legs as your ankles… Ghost watched your every move. Hair slightly messy, eyes lidded; the vodka only served to loosen your nerves. A mesh, of both practiced answers and brutal honestly.

Your… Humanity.

“Standard rule.” Sergey confirmed, your fingertips grazing over the pawns lightly. Shivering under your sharp gaze, one that Sergey missed- and one that Ghost wanted to jump this fucker for. Only to be kicked in the back of the leg by Gaz. Shaking his head and Price continued to drink his pint.

“Settle in boys, we’re in for a ride.” He snorted almost, as Gaz heavily sighed.

“You’re a horrible drunk, Cap.”

“Damn right I am… And so is she.” Huh?! How would Price know how you were, drunk?! Ghost had chosen a seat slightly behind you, slightly interested in the game… Chess was a passtime of his. But nothing serious.

So, when he watched your humanity settle in- a spirit returning to its body almost- it was strange. Ghost knew he had asked for this silently… But it was somewhat scary. Truthfully. Sergey was downright stupid. As if he didn’t play chess to learn the game you enjoyed- no, he wanted to see that sharp gaze. Fucking pervert. Once again, he earned a small kick in his ankle. This time from Soap in a raised eyebrow, one that told Ghost to chill. This was your domain, and your line of work. Right now, they were your family… Ghost still wanted to know what this standard rule was.

Sergey threw his head back, taking another shot of vodka.

He’d lost a bishop to a pawn, lack luster in every note of the word. You scoffed lightly, and gestured that it was Sergey’s turn.  A wicked smile tugged on your lips, one that spiked a canine out slightly. Your tongue underneath it in a teasing thought, waiting for this Russian to make his move. Shoulders lightened, rolling in a single laugh, watching this red faced Sergey- this kid- make another move. While it did cost you a pawn, suddenly a chain reaction went off. Turn after turn, his forces crumbled.  Your pieces danced around his clumsy traps and attempts at tactics, stealing a rook, a knight, and his last bishop in short order. Did you lose two pawns and a knight yourself? Yes. But a necessary sacrifice in order to gain a significant upper hand.

So… The two of you, took the three shots owed. Pouring it, crossing arms, shot back. A movement you’d practiced with Sergey often, Ghost could gather that much. By the time Sergey had reached his fourth shot- he was red in the face… While you remained composed, elegant in a sense, with barely a red blush on the tips of your ears. Laying your head on the back of your knuckles, waiting for Sergey to make his move.

“I remember why I stopped playing.” There was a slight sway to his movements, in how he reached to grab a pawn and his aim overshot. Leaning forward, cold fingertips gently guided him back to the pawn- a hushed and playful smile that reached your eyes in an honest reaction.

“Ah, kid, you never stopped playing. You just stopped learning cause of a pretty face.” Winking lightly, Sergey’s blush only deepened more. Swatted by some of his friends.

‘Dude! She’s double your age! What the fuck, man?!’

“And? Gotta problem with old women?” Sharp, raised eyebrow. Staring the three of them down, a dangerous gaze that spoke more than what Sergey probably described. Quickly, they shook their heads. Gaz snorting a bit into his glass, Soap slightly leaning against him once the third pint kicked in. The two beginning to swap bets, as Price finished his second pint quickly. Wanting in those bets… Ghost?

He was watching you. Watching the game… But mainly watching you. Your humanity… That’s what they were betting on. Supposedly how long it’d take for you to crash out.

About three more shots later, Sergey resigned and tipped over his king in frustration. Barely able to hold his own and downed another shot begrudgingly. Swaying slightly in his seat, intoxicated, and huffed to you.

“Seeeee, that’s the Angel I remember! Ruthless, cold beautiful eyes! Calculated, holding our lives in the palm of your hands as if you were playing God.” Laughing loudly, you rolled your eyes. Savoring this last victory shot as if you’d never get another. Sipping it, as the blush on the tips of your ears had only spread slightly to the outside of your cheeks.

“You remember nothing, drunken fool. I never play God, because lives are too precious to lose.” Swirling the glass, your eyes settled on the clear alcohol… That familiar gentle smile, Ghost had only seen a few months ago and tucked away in his tabs, gracing your face in a loving gaze. Before they sharped back to Sergey who laughed. Snorting, and rocked back in his chair to the point where his friends had to hoist him upright.

“Ozvezi yego domoy obratno na koyki. marinovannyy sok po utram pomogayet pri pokhmel'ye.” Take him home back to the bunks. pickle juice in the morning, helps with hangovers. Commanding, caring and a gentle flow came from nothing but honest answers since your first drink, you gestured in a toast to Sergey as his head lulled forward. His friends nodding.

“Thanks for game… He really does like chess, never knew why. Happiest we’d seen him in a while.” Nodding their head in respect, you finished your toast. Throwing back the… Seventh shot? God, were you even feeling the effects? Ghost had no idea what to think, just staring at the pieces. The Russian soldiers leaving, Gaz passing Price money. Grumbling under his breath as Soap also awaited his payment too… Were they betting on you?

Right as you were about to turn around, to apologize for the interruption, suddenly the chair was shoved forward slightly and towards the chess board. With the sudden movement, suddenly the world swam just enough to make your head lull forward. Sharply looking up, grasping the arm chairs… Sat across from you, was Ghost. Arms crossed, perfectly sober.

“Compose yourself. I want to play.” What?! You were nearly drunk, and Ghost now wanted to play a game with you?

“G-Ghost. I’m not sure if I’d be a good opponent in my- hiccup- in my… State of mind.” Never mind, the money was being passed back to Gaz. Who silently pumped his fist.

“No. This is exactly the perfect time. We wanted to see your humanity. Right? Show us. Your humanity.” Ghost gestured to the board, in a slight snide remark. If he was smiling under the mask, you couldn’t tell. Right now, you could barely keep your filter together, keep the façade up. Keep the distance… Keep the walls shut. Keep your monster at bay-

“…Standard rule?” The words slipped out of your mouth, floating before you could even recall them.

“Standard rule.” Turning the board, so he was the white pieces… Ghost took the first move. Pausing in thought. A consideration tugging at his eyes past the black… You didn’t know just how tiny but powerful these movements were.

“Recant statement. Loser has to drink, not on lost pieces.” Humming lowly, you raised your eyebrow to Ghost openly. Gaz and Soap glancing at each other. Hadn’t heard Ghost state recant… Almost ever. New bets were being placed, Price watching these two operators closely. A chess match of the century sat here, in a tavern hidden away from the world… And no one knew of it but them.

“I thought you didn’t drink.” Leaning a bit in your seat, it groaned and shifted under your full weight being pressed against it.

“Who said I was planning on losing?” The mask never came off after all. Ghost confident in that, earning a bit of a chuff.

“I’m gonna wipe that smirk off your stupid hidden face.” Grumbling, a light blush reached your cheeks. Soap didn’t know how, but you were reading Ghost closely. Attune to their level.

He of course, decided in the end to let you go first. Moving a pawn forward, he responded in kind. You could’ve easily taken it, but Ghost’s eyes moved ever so slightly in the whites and blacks that blurred together in your eyes. The vodka hitting harder than you remembered, but then again- you stopped drinking like the Russian’s did almost a decade ago… So you moved another pawn. Setting a simple trap. He once again moved another pawn, almost copying your moves. It set a tic in your jaw, was he trying to make fun of you in light play? Moving your bishop to put him in check, he moved a pawn also in response. You could’ve taken it, but also lost the bishop in turn. So… It forced you to move back, so Ghost could move his. Which, once again, made the bishop move back in defense to a safe square. You were already down two tempi, and behind in development. Were you...losing? Already?!

Not even five turns later, he didn’t even have to take another damn piece.  A series of forcing checks and sacrifices leaving gaps in your defenses. The thrum and daunting tap from setting down his last piece caused shock to slightly flood your system.  Any of your king's possible defenders were pinned and helpless to stop Ghost's attacking knight.

“Checkmate.”

Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he’d played chess with anyone, let alone someone able to think more than five turns ahead. However, he knew, once the drinks had settled in with the flush reaching in juncture on your nose did your eyes alight. Glittering in shock, wonder… Open and honest, not so tightly guarded. Shock, for once, in how you lost in so few turns. Ghost wanted to be slightly empathetic, you were seven shots of vodka in after all. Instead-

“I believe that’s a shot, Angel.” Drawling out, a bit of his British accent slightly teasing- your face only grew a deeper shade of red. Grumbling, you poured yourself a drink. Shot it back, and sat back on the chair in your lean.

CRACK.

The arm of the chair gave way finally. Sending you sprawling to the floor, legs up on the chair in that same shock but your head did take a slightly harsher hit when landing back first on the floor. Blinking in confusion, Ghost the first to stand with the rest standing in follow. Price however, took his time with a bloody big grin on his face.

And that… Was how you ended up wondering; ‘how did I get here?’ A chess game. A chess game with a man that held so much mystery and cold air about him that it matched yours in unparalleled ways.

“…Your brain is unique, and I wish to study it more.” Slightly off kilter, gravelly, genuine and honest in how you spoke- a drunken arm raised to Ghost. Sharp eyes speaking in seriousness, that left Ghost sighing lightly on your behalf.

“You really are a lousy drunk.”

World spinning, the trees swayed in their laughter upon your humanity spilled in front of four professional operators. No… It was them instead, or so your muddled- spinning brain somewhat confudlded (a very technical medical term) about. Resting heavily against warmth, a coat… Sandalwood and poor man’s coffee. MacTavish? Soap? They were the same person weren’t they? Oh how your muddled brain hurt… How did you get here? Last you remembered was playing chess with asshole skull mcskull face. God you were shit faced… A disgrace to russian lineage- even though you weren’t russian.

“I feel this is partially my fault.” Laced with gaelic, feet slowly dragging back up to the base. Gaz shook his head lowly, hoisting Price by his shoulder. At least the man could walk… You?

“Iiii am perfectly capable of… Whatever this is.” Lifting your head up was near impossible, arms wrapped around MacTavish’s neck. Dangling these damned things, trying to grasp MacTavish’s shoulders. Causing the two to stumble lightly, pausing. Legs planted as he grumbled.

“Oi!! Calm your arse before I drop you!” Growling, eventually your body settled. Followed by nonsensical meanderings, and plop. You were dead weight once again on Soap’s back… Ghost standing close behind in guard, in case you decided to take your drunkness to another level and pull the two of you down to earth again.

“You can’t drr-“ A pause stuck on the ‘ur’- “rrreop me! Ghost would be sooooo pissed.” Soap could feel your smile on his back, sighing softly… Hard to believe that this was the same wack job doc that took his soul apart and put it back together a mere few hours ago.

“…I would be at you. Not MacTavish.” He warns lightly, responded by a giggle from you. A bright smile, hidden in staring at dishes with the warmth of a house hold… That was the last he saw it.

“Ah, you’d forgive me. You always do.”

“Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?” A carefully placed question, one that Soap focused on keeping his head down… That and so that way he didn’t lose his grip on your body dead weighting on his back in this piggyback ride that you’d never receive again… No, that was a lie.

“You see through everything. Just-just like… Dark glass. You-you… Youuuu, oh words are harrrd… You know Liar. You know me. And… You know the self-purgatory I do, and still manage to stop me from making it worse. But above all else…” Thump, your head laid back on Soap’s once again. Never finishing your answer, leaving Ghost kicking rocks on the ground. Dead weight once more, humming and giggling… Nuzzling into the back of Soap’s head, that same warm smile on your face.

“I felt sooooo bad… Soap’s rifle pieces dropped cause of me… I’m a fucker. No good. Whatever bad words.” Rambling slightly, Soap sighed heavily. This slight hike felt so long, especially with a heavy moving load on his back.

“Liar, I forgive ya. You meant only well… Sorry for sucker punching you.” The sigh was long, a thought lingering in his mind for a while.

“Haaah, I gotta meet pain again. An old friend. Haven’t felt pain in a long time. It was a welcomed reunion.” Spoken as if you were an old man, Soap’s eyebrows furrowed. Glancing back at you.

“…Liar, you’re not making any sense.”

“And neither does your Gaelic bullshit!!”

Chapter Text

“Do not-“

“Doc, seriously. Take the day.” Finger to face, a deep and tired glower darkening your expression. Hair messy, pulled up in a tight bun. A cup of coffee, that you never drank as you preferred your personal teas… Gaz crossed his arms, looking down to you, somewhat exhausted. Trying to argue with a statue that continued to try and move miracles when running off a serious… Serious hangover.

“I will. Be. Fine.” Whispered words, only what you could manage without setting your brain on fire. Wincing in the sunny day as light was not forgiving in the slightest. Head throbbing as if someone had smashed it in… Not to mention, even as bland of breakfast Ghost tried to make for you at Soap’s direction; it still came up not even minutes later. Never, will you try to out drink a Russian again. Never, not for chess, not for Ghost. Nothing.

“Yeah, right.” He reached up and opened the curtains of the kitchen.  The harsh- truthfully, gentle, to anyone but your hungover self- morning sunrise blinded sensitive gazes and caused you to duck away with a grimace. Pulling up the hood on the oversized favorite sweatshirt you wished to die in currently. Taking the cup of coffee from your hands, setting it on the dining table – Gaz herding you out of the kitchen. Onto the couch, sighing heavily.

Throwing a blanket over your body lightly, showing purposeful movement; Gaz knelt before you. An action he hadn’t been able to do until his leg was finally deemed fully healed not even a few hours prior. Only because of your bullheaded stubbornness, and care about his mental health did Gaz finally realize that you- as Liar- weren’t a bad person. Just… Extremely traumatized, but who wasn’t when they worked for the military in your capacity? Up until yesterday, Gaz had been the one squad member who’d spent the most time with you due to PT. Now, it seemed everyone- except Price in which he noticed there was already a very complicated history there- had their chance with you.

To see your humanity.

“Chill, Doc. It’s just recon, no engagement needed. We’re not heading any farther into areas without your supervision or you on tech support here. Ghost and I are just heading out to gather intel for you to scan over when we return, yeah?” He tried to offer, but the mere mention of a mission- recon or not- tensed your shoulders and tried to sit up. Only for a gloved hand to push you back gingerly. Ghost pausing before the couch, neutral in his stare as always, to you trying to fight what your body was saying. Dressed in full tactical, the both of them were, right about to head out when Gaz had found you in the kitchen. Trying to fix and force your body into doing things they weren’t meant to do, whereas with the rest of the squad- you’d demand rest… Like how you grounded Price for the day, who had the same hangover as you did. To his begrudgingly stubborn nature, he also countered- as the commanding officer in the building- that you take a day for yourself as well. Did you listen? No.

“Recon or not, you still need radio support-“ Jaw steeled, quiet in your pain… Ghost remembered last night where you couldn’t keep your filter shut. Words complete and honest… Yet now, back to your self-declared purgatory with an unanswered question that Ghost knew he’d never get the complete answer to less you were shitfaced drunk again. Which, not to his surprise, you swore you’d never do again.

“Soap’s stayin behind to keep an eye on the lot of you. Make sure you two don’t do anything crazy, he’s our support. We were a functioning squad before you, and with your help we’re functioning again. Let us do our job.” Sighing, Gaz wanted to pat your head. Watching you miserably lie down on the couch and throw a pillow over the cause of your pain and shut out the light even more… Through the familiar darkness, heavy sighs of mainly worry fell through Gaz’s teeth. Standing, glancing to Ghost. The shuffle of boots on the floor, the door opening quietly… Curtains closing, light dimming. Lamps off, plunging the house into darkness… Radio static, a leg shuffling in the basement. Nervousness perhaps, but the low snoring of Price told you enough… That the house was safe.

BAM BAM BAM. Albeit a gentle knock, the noise came hours later. Waking you sharply from your nap, loud enough to you to be someone barging the door down. Hearing Soap trying to walk through Gaz and Ghost through their recon of what they were looking for- the knocking continued. Sliding off the couch quietly, knees near to the ground; staying out of sight of the door windows- your body crept up to the door. Rummaging through a nearside table, loading a mag into the pistol you stopped keeping under your pillow after the first incident. The knocking continued.

Grasping the door handle, it flung open and immediately held aim to a surprised Russian ally. Holding his hands up with wide eyes, trying to tell you-

“Ally! Ally!”

Still you held the gun close to Sergey’s chest, ready to pull the trigger at any moment. Dead eyes looking over this kid… Glazed, blurry eyes for some reason told Sergey he’d just forfeited his life. Though it flitted away, eventually lowering the pistol but Sergey noted the way you shoved it on the small of your back… Safety off. You were tense, wary, everything that Sergey didn’t know you as… Why was a medic staring at him with dead eyes? Did this have something to do with that post this morning about four wanted men?

“Come in, but unfortunately I have to leave soon so it’ll have to be brief.” Russian slipped from your lips as if it were a native tongue, Sergey nodding. Taking off his uniform hat, and walking into the house… This was your house, your home he was standing in, it felt so much like you. A cozy little cottage in the middle of nowhere. A little garden full of medicinal herbs, a kitchen full of home cooked meals. No one would even know you were a retired medic… Perhaps maybe a perfect wife- an angel.

“Coffee? Tea?” Gentleness in your step, staring at the tiles in front of you- Sergey couldn’t help but smile. Smitten, obviously, hands behind his back. Comfortable with your presence. Nodding to the coffee, Sergey watched your step so closely you could’ve sworn he’d been fixated on everything you did. As if your steps were gospel and he the worshiper… It was creepy.

Setting the mug on the dining table in front of Sergey, you took a sip of your own. Glancing over him in a tiny fashion that made it appear from first glance that you were zoning out just a bit. However the Russian happily took his cup of coffee, sipping on it. Ah, a poor man’s coffee but it had a wonderful tang to it. Akin to the medical smell of your tent on the battle field. Where he woke up to you relocating his shoulder back into place. Where he first saw your command over staff, and confident leadership. Your mug dropped from your hand, an obvious accident- a gentle gasp from your chapped lips. Bleeding from being chewed on in the dry coming winter air. Sergey bent down to pick it up, only to hear footsteps coming up from the basement. You had a basement? Sergey couldn’t even tell, and he always thought he was at least an astute observer.

“Sorry about that… Morning hangovers and all.” Sweeping up the pieces, your smile never faded as Sergey blinked in surprise. You got hangovers? Sergey couldn’t remember the last time you’d gotten hangovers in the entire few months he was at the medic tent.

“Oi, you okay?” Deeper, Gaelic, a voice that didn’t belong to you- Sergey glanced up to see some tall man in what appeared to be some sort of relaxed work wear- short sleeved black shirt and cargo pants in combat boots- come up with show for worry. Before immediately scanning the room, seeing it clear of all proof the squad was living here. Plus… This creep of a kid sitting at your dining table using his mug. Oh. Oh ho. No.

“I’m fine. You remember Sergey, right?” Gesturing to the Russian, who formally knew you as Angel. That he was extended family. A tell, quickly spoken. The broken mug a way to grab his attention and to tell the boys he was going silent for a bit.

“Yeah, we met last night.” Soap nodded gruffly, not very welcoming - Sergey couldn’t help but notice. Your finger tapping repeatedly again, just like last time. A cry for help? Or nerves?

“…I remember that cypher, from a decade ago right? Why you spelling out the letters B, S, C?” Oh this poor kid, if only he knew… Russian morse code from the Ukraine war huh? No surprise truthfully, but… BSC was code, American code, for Betrayed. Save. Considered.

Betrayed by team. Save yourself. Considered loose end.

“Be brave, survive, courage of course. Our motto from the war.” Chuckling bashfully, you checked the tapping immediately. Forgetting that Sergey would know it, that the squad didn’t.

“…It was brave, survive, counter- Angel.” There was darkness appearing in Sergey’s eyes. Why didn’t you remember it? You used to chant it to him, during the war. Used to say it to all the soldiers who were dying in the tents, a lantern by your side.

“Forgive me, it’s been so long.” Laughing softly, you stood lightly. Seeing the darkness grow as Sergey stood before you. Towering over you. A shadow casting over your figure, blocking Soap’s view.

“You spoke it like a mantra, Angel. It’s something you wouldn’t forget… you didn’t think I’d notice that your extended family looks almost identical to the wanted posters at camp?” Growling, something shook you to the core as Soap immediately drew his rifle upon Sergey. Swatting it away with his mere size, Soap responded quickly when drawing his side arm. Grasping Sergey’s wrist, suddenly Sergey’s knee buckled. A spike of pain lancing through it- blood splattering to the floor grotesquely. A steak knife lodged between his legs, right on the femoral artery and if removed- meant he would bleed out quickly.

Grasping his throat quickly- Soap thrust Sergey back into the chair. The familiar click from the pistol tipping against the back of his head, Sergey glanced back to see the same dead gaze from earlier… You weren’t you. This wasn’t you, this wasn’t the Angel that saved his life. The one who spoke in honey-glazed sweetness and drank during chess games with him. Soap could see it, you could see it. Sergey’s life was crumbling before his eyes, watching his ‘Angel’ fall from grace… From everything he knew. Holding the pistol steady to the back of Sergey’s head- Soap quickly bound the large Russian to the chair.

“You should’ve taken the hint when I kicked your ass in chess, Sergey.” Murmuring quietly, the light still only brought a sensitivity to your eyes. Though no grimace filled your face, only cold and unrelenting… The same as when Soap first met you. Sergey glancing away from you, unspeaking… Still coming to terms with his world crumbling. Creep.

“Hey, go. I got this.” Indicating to the basement, once Soap was sure that Sergey wasn’t going anywhere- he nodded. Quickly making his way back to the radio, you dragged Sergey to a particular spot in the living room. One that could be seen from every window on the outside, and one that left you sitting in blind spot. Pulling up a chair of your own, the same sharp gaze given during chess games, flickering on your blurred eyes. One that Sergey couldn’t recognize anymore.

“…They put out a target on them this morning?” Asking carefully, noting answer in gripped hands on the chair. A tic in the jaw and Sergey spits on your face. Even though it splatters your eye slightly, your whole composure remained unmoving. Wiping it away without a second thought, keeping an eye on this kid the entire time.

“I knew you. I knew who you were. You were an Angel!!” Gritted teeth, Sergey grimaced when the steak knife moved ever so slightly. A bit of blood soaking into the uniform… One that you used to don frequently in the past.

“You knew me for two months, at best, soldier. You came in with a dislocated shoulder and a graze. Your friend nearly died because of your recklessness. You call yourself a hero.” Each word spoken with a venom Sergey didn’t even realize you knew or had the capability of knowing.

“You’re American.”

“So? Everyone’s got a job.” Once again unmoving, no reactions given. Sergey couldn’t get any sort of information out of you while your eyes ate him up of every tiny reaction that slipped past. Though to your eyes… Sergey was a gold mine of information and wealth. All you had to do was look at him slightly, and the boy squirmed under your gaze. Easy target, easy pickings.

“God damn fucking liar.” Ah, yes. Sink in the shock, your best friend just betrayed you, your heart sinks as everything you knew crumbled to dust. B.S.C. Over, and over again, the last… Last words, you received from Lieutenant Price in Ukraine. A warning, and a returned favor. Sergey’s eyes widened, as a devilish smile slipped on your lips. Some sort of insanity or psychopathic tendency crossing for mere seconds in your dead, blurry eyes. Why would calling you a liar cause some sort of orgasmic reaction of gratification or satisfaction?

“Not the first time I’ve been called that.” Chuckling, a slight tilt to it, setting the pistol in the small of your back once again. A favorite place from over the years, of practice… The kid began to shake slightly and struggled against the bonds. Was it sinking in for him yet?

“…You’re Liar. The American Spy Russian milita’s been searching for ever since the Ukraine incident.” Ding ding ding, the winning bells metaphorically ringing following the eerie smile gracing your face. One Sergey had seen time and time again, when speaking to patients that were dying… Ones that you comforted with soft words of kindness, and gentleness. Were those lies too?

“Congratulations. I ought to reward you a medal of some sort.” Leaning forward to the knife, gentle fingers swirl the end of it- looking at the weapon as if it were some sort of toy. Turning it slowly, blood dripping to the floor in the puddle growing bigger. Sergey could see it in your eyes, calculating blood loss to death.

“Answer me a few questions, and I’ll save your leg. Seem fair?” Would you even let him live? Sergey remembered the times you would bring back soldiers from those captive missions, how all of them went insane and all of them were discharged… But none of them knew of Liar’s face. Or the ones that did… Never made it out alive.

“S-Sergey Vlan. Unit 215.” So it began, the repetitive mantra meant to keep mentality alive. He was hoping that someone would know he was missing. That someone would notice something wrong with this town, something wrong with this house… Right? Standing, you stretched lightly. A gentle crack in your back, a sigh falling from your lips. Putting pity on Sergey, filled with uncaring eyes.

“When did the Russian government put out an issue for the capture or killing of four men?” Glances back and forth, trying to retain composure. His training weak, his resolve weak. Someone who could easily give you the answers you needed.

“Sergey Vlan. Unit 215.” As quickly as his answer came, also too- the orders came suddenly. A disbelief, that you would even associate yourself with these people… Oh, his poor poor Angel.

“Understood, thank you for your reply.” Your voice murmurs quietly, though Sergey was again- confused. He hadn’t said anything! Given away anything! He responded the way his officers trained him to do… But you would know that, wouldn’t you. Sergey grit his teeth, jaw set.

“What did they say about these four men?” Sergey had to tense his muscles, grunting from the pain. If he didn’t, then he’d bleed to death. He wouldn’t be able to bring back reinforcements. To blow this fucking house off the face of the earth.

“Sergey Vlan. Unit 217.”

“Hun I thought it was 215. Disgrace to your officers for forgetting your training.” It earned Sergey spitting in your face again, wiping it off again, and sighing heavily. Hooking your foot under the chair- a simple tip of weight and it sent Sergey on his back… His knee only pushing the knife further into the muscle. Though his cry of pain came unanswered, when your hand thrusted another into the same position on the other knee. Once again, calculating blood loss. Splattering over your hoodie lightly.

“F-Fuck you!! Ffuck you and everything about you!!” Sergey growled, heaving in pain. Shaking from the shock. You had about three minutes before it proved too much and you’d lose the information needed.

“Give me the answer, kid. What did they say?” Leaning on the chair, foot in between his legs- you jiggled one of the knifes. Giving it a flick, earning more curses and more heavy breaths.

“Fine! FINE just pull me up! PULL ME UP.” Begging, the pathetic coward he was, you pulled Sergey up. Suddenly thrusting the pistol underneath his chin- barely giving the man room enough to move. Close enough you could read his pulse, read everything… Incase he told a lie. He watched your eyes blink, feeling your lashes on his face.

“One chance, Sergey. Tell me now.”

Step by step, Ghost briskly walked- more or so sprinted- to the house. Compromised, radio silence. That was the last he heard of Soap and hadn’t heard back since. Bringing a tenseness to his chest, Gaz barely able to keep up behind. They’d just landed from the end of the recon mission. Having just ended without any conflict and gained invaluable intel… That, and somehow the Russian military caught wind they were in Europe… They were closing in, quickly. Which put you in harms way. Shaking his head lightly, no time for thoughts such as that. The squad was compromised somehow, who in the world would even know where your safe house was located? He had a gut feeling, a tiny one, they were followed last night. You distracted him.

BANG. Birds flew, shaking the trees as if some unknown entity swept through them. Fuck. Ghost grit his teeth lightly, continuing forward now at a stern pace. Gaz struggling even more so, his leg still sore from healing even though you’d cleared him for light duty… Suddenly the radio static filled their ears.

“Base cleared, status confirmed. No known tangos approaching. Clear to proceed.” Soap’s voice was somewhat ragged. Ghost sighing heavily, relief perhaps? No. Continuing forward, the roof groaned upon approach. The front door open, as… Ghost could see the body of a Russian soldier. Slumped in the chair, head cleanly shot through. Slowly walking through, blood had splattered everywhere. Along with bits of brain matter, and… Other things. However, Ghost had to stop in his tracks lightly. Watching your every move cautiously. Blood, splattered across your face. Dead eyes looking upon the mess you’d made.

Obvious interrogation, and torture. Of a familiar face, a kid, whose immaturity and obsession cost him his life. Pursuing a dangerous animal, and finally you fought back. Cornered. Leading to this. Soap bolted up the stairs, Price sitting at the base of it- having watched the entire thing- gesturing to Gaz.

“Let’s clean up, Ghost- take care of Liar.”

A stern command, one that Ghost nodded quickly to and Gaz moved even quicker. Soap following behind like a shadow as the two men easily began to untie this kid’s body. Lifting it up and dragging it to the back of the house to dispose of it properly. Blood dripping all the way to the back door, Ghost… Approaching you, silently, taking off his helmet and setting his rifle to the side. You did this? Made this mess? His hand hovered at the base of your shoulder, not even having to touch you with leather gloves radiating heat enough to start making your body move in avoidance. Guiding you to the first floor bathroom…That’s when it hit.

Quickly, you disposed of the bloodied sweatshirt. Pulling it off and dropping it in the shower tub. None of it had soaked into your shirt but your arms and face were covered in it. Turning on the sink while you pulled your hair back, Ghost sat on the toilet… Watching you take a towel, scrubbing your face with a specific surgical soap. One that turned the sink pink, dripping water from your elbows onto the floor. Up, down, up, down… A continuous cycle. Once smearing the blood turned into washing it off, the rag was discarded along with the sweatshirt. Hearing Gaz and Soap cleaning the scene- with bleach as they’d watched you clean up their bloody messes before… Soap murmuring quietly, explaining to Gaz what exactly happened. The only word Ghost caught was… Sergey.

Next, were your arms. One after the other in a synchronized method. Scrub one arm, then the next. All the way up to the elbows with a new rag, turning the sink pink once again… However, as Ghost stood vigil and everything from your work was washed away… Even after the sink returned to its porcelain white, did you still scrub. And scrub. And scrub some more. To the point where you were beginning to rub out the remaining stitches and open your wounds again. The pain seemed miniscule to you, compared to the need of washing your hands clean. Ghost… Couldn’t find the words to say, or the ability to tell you to stop. Because he’d been there before too. Methodical, a check list, in between the cracks and the knuckles. Back up the palm. To the elbow. Down, again. Rinse, again.

“…He followed us, last night.” Words, sinking heavily into your lungs. Arms raw from scrubbing, turning the sink pink again now that you’d purposefully washed out Ghost’s stitches. A rubber band holding everything together, weak and frail. Brittle from being exposed to the sun for too long. Breaths ragged, clutching the sink tightly. Moments hanging in the air, spider webs of control- the sink just slightly blurred from your hair slipping apart… Suddenly your shoulder snapped, fist clenched, and shattering glass fell to the floor. All because your ponytail fell out. Ghost sharply stood, pulling you away from the shattered mirror- the bloody fist covered in gashes to match the healing ones on your arms. Now most likely lost capacity again in this cleansing ritual of yours. Gaz and Soap’s footsteps shuffling quickly, stopping at the doorway to see something they’d never thought would ever happen.

“I gotcha, I gotcha.” Ghost’s whispers hung in your ears- clutching you tight, arms across your chest in a steady hug. Your back to his chest, leathered gloves clutching your wrists to prevent further damage. Holding tight, holding you together- replacing the rubber band that snapped… Feeling your agonizing sobs rock back into his body and linger in their coldness on his sleeves. Each and every heave that stole the air from your lungs. A sound, that none of them wanted to hear… The amount of hatred you had, for yourself.

The emotional and mental toll of torturing a friend would do to any normal person. Trained or not.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks, the mere conversation you allowed yourself went as followed-

“You alright?” Someone would ask. It came from all of them, except Ghost for some reason.

“I’m fine.” Short, to the point. Slightly grumpy.

“…You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?” Polite, treading on eggshells around you. Waiting to see if you’d lose composure again.

“I’m. Fine. Not the first time I’ve done an interrogation.” Gritted teeth and steeled jaw.

They left you at that, seeing the rise of emotions that you were still trying to sort through and process. But the intel you’d gathered along with Ghost and Gaz that day left a bitter taste in the squad’s mouth. 

The United States had sent out a warning, declaring them as dangerous and wanted dead. The order had specifically come from General Shepard, broadcasting it on very selective channels that these four were the reason certain figures in the world had been assassinated. Showing "proof" to these same selective channels, Ghost and Gaz had gotten their hands on a copy prior to returning to base thanks to their recon mission. A very poor, black and white camera surveillance with the S.A.S uniforms obviously stolen or borrowed. To show these ‘assassinations’ with poor teamwork and even more poor performance. Making it so it was obvious who the infiltrators were.

It had reached the world, specifically Russia, on the morning of Sergey stopping by the house. His obsession for you had merely grown over the years you had been absent, and he had come to this delusional point thinking you’d become his perfect Angel of a wife. Only to find out what kind of monster you were - threatening that if you left him alive, he’d probably force himself upon you and kill you himself. Thus the decision to kill him instead, was easy.

 
Indeed, he had followed you to the house the night you were drunk. Angered by how ‘intimately’ close you were to these new friends of yours, where you’d spared him no thought in the eternity you’d spent with him…which in turn, had only been two months. However, it was enough to leave a lasting impression on his mind in the decade to come of absence from his life.  You had considered him an acquaintance, a friend even, but certainly not a partner.

 
‘It’s a good thing my call sign is ‘Liar’ then.’

‘Y-you’d said you spare me!!’

‘After that? I changed my mind.’

The sweatshirt and two rags you used were burned along with the body - everything had been properly disposed of. Gaz and Soap were thorough in how they cleaned the whole house. Finding you staring even at the ceiling, a part normal cleaners would sometimes miss, and nope. Not a speck of red, brain matter, or anything you could find. The mirror in the bathroom had been completely taken down, but not replaced… In fact, you noticed that all the mirrors in the house had been taken down. You weren’t sure who’d taken the time to do so, but you had an inkling it was Ghost.

 
“Liar.”

“Hm?” Coming out a daze slightly, your gaze looked up to see the familiar skull-masked man you’ve honestly been avoiding slightly. His grapple from that day still lingered as well, a comfort… What little comfort you allowed and certainly did not want to tell Ghost such a thing. He held food, a small but tangible breakfast, in front of you. Having hunkered down in the basement with the rest of the squad while they did debriefs and more infiltration / reconnaissance missions. Sitting in your little office corner. Normally going through files, stolen intel, reports and transcribing mission reports from your shorthand… That everyone now knew, due to the ‘incident’. Trying to find the first source of General Shepard’s PMCs... squadron, a contractor. Something. Something to begin unraveling the corruption that, truthfully, all of them had taken hard. Soap, not so much now knowing how to deal with those emotions himself.

Ghost sat next to you, something he started doing more often since what the squad now called ‘the incident’. Damn, you liked that sweatshirt and how incredibly oversized it was. It allowed you to hide the skinniness, the wounds, the self-inflicted purgatory that now this damned squad wouldn’t let you do anymore.

Thinking about it brought a tic in your jaw, and Ghost saw it. Fucker saw and heard everything now. Including the taps, of morse code. That Sergey had given the cypher to all of them, they now heard what Price had debriefed them on later that evening after you’d finally managed to sleep.

"I found her. In the trenches, the whole base abandoned except for her medic tent and a few wounded. No one had communicated, purposely not told Liar, that the base was abandoned and to be disposed of. Waiting for that next order from her superiors, and once I had warned her- specifically saying ‘Your team had betrayed you, save yourself. They consider you a loose end.’ That, when I met her again later on as Liar instead of Angel, was the morse code you used to send to the S.A.S squad in report for loss of intel. It’s constantly tapping from her fingers. The first and only time I met Liar, was the day she got burned and forcefully retired. She gave me the burner and said only to call in dire need. She wasn’t a first call, but a last resort."

"B. S. C."  Over and over again, the last and saving grace that Price had given you. Ending your mission but saving your life. Hence you felt compelled to give Price the burner phone in-case for whatever the reason- you’d owe him a favor.

“…You did good. Got us some valuable intel." The first time Ghost spoke of the incident, you paused mid bite. Glancing at him as if he spoke in a foreign tongue that you didn’t know.

 
“Same intel you came back with.” Grumbling, you bit into some toast. A bit of an aggressive chomp than you wanted it to be, it slightly hurt the roof of your mouth.

“Ever heard of trust but verify? You verified it with Price as witness.” He pulled up the mask, just enough to munch on the meal as well. Not the first time you’d seen him do this… But again, out of respect, you’d always look away.

“I… suppose.” The toast was dry in your throat.

“We also know where the bounty came from. Gaz and I didn’t get that.” Trying to reason. Trying to find some sort of good out of torturing a friend and killing them out of betrayal.

 
“Trust but verify. Have any intel to back that up?”

“We do. The video surveillance was docked by a code pertaining to Shepard’s computer systems.” Physical proof… That Shepard orchestrated it all. A sigh of relief, brief and tight, left your lips.

“…It was worth it then.” Trust.

 
“It was worth it.” Verify.

 
Something swept through the room, a wind of relief perhaps. The squad could feel it as the foreboding corner of grumpiness that was encompassing you finally dissipated. Leaving a clear view, one that left you relieved and able to eat again. Something that Gaz, Soap, or Price couldn’t do no matter how many small conversations they had… Soap was pretty sure you’d absolutely murder him if he tried to the same trick you did to him in regards to the rifle.

 
“Glad to have you back, Doc.” Gaz called, breaking the tense silence with that wicked smirk on his face. Sighing heavily, you couldn’t help but bow your head lightly in respect to them.

“Thank you, for your support.” A call, to all of them. Soap huffing lightly, in mainly acceptance, before returning back to his rifle. The… Silence hung in the air, once again earning a heavy sigh.

“Alright, ask away. You get thirty minutes-“

“How in the bloody hell did you learn to interrogate someone?!” Gaz was the first, wasting no time whatsoever. You couldn’t help but chuckle bashfully. 

“Counterintelligence training.”

“Ballocks! The knives were pinpointed and placed! That’s not something in training.” Countering, Gaz crossed his arms. Ghost tensing lightly, about to shut Gaz down before you swatted him lightly on his arm.

“No, I learned it from the Russians. Medical training means also… Healing from the interrogation sessions for them. It’s how I got placed into certain positions, and gathered intel. Best place for a spy to be, in medical and being the ones who treated the wounds… Or sometimes inflicted them.” Meaning, you might’ve tortured American soldiers as well. Or British, or other militia belonging to your side. Gaz nodded at the answer, before you glanced to the side. 

Ghost… Remained neutral, but you tell he was somewhat appalled. You… Swatted him? You were that comfortable with him?

“How many cyphers do you know?” Soap grumbled lowly, focusing on his rifle. Though, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the question. Considering that Soap had been tapping the ceiling of the basement in that cypher since the incident to talk to you when upstairs.

“Probably about a hundred or so. Takes me about a month to learn or decipher others.” You were slightly surprised by the questions, wondering why they weren’t prying into the kill counts or the saves. Or if you’ve encountered any of their squad members.

“…I never saw Roach.” The words were soft, glancing away. The squad falling deadly silent, staring at you. Waiting for the lie to hit, waiting for the false answer… It never came.

“Roach never passed through my hands, or if he did- he might’ve been tortured to the point where I couldn’t recognize him… Even though the number of times I selectively spoke in code- I never received Roach’s back… I’m sorry.” A genuine apology, one that created heavy smoke in the air of grief.

“…We knew. Figured, after searching for months or almost a year at this point. Never found him once we lost him mid mission.” Ghost murmured quietly, you glanced over. Unable to see anything from beyond the mask as he pulled it back down. Finishing eating. 

“But you’ll never stop.” Trust.

“Never.” Verify. 

“I’ll ask around some contacts. See if I can dig up anything.” Nodding, you’d help search if you could. It seemed to bring an ease back to them.

“Thank you, Doc.” Soap murmured, as Gaz nodded in agreement.

Trudging up the stairs, mentally tired from the barrage of questions about everything regarding your past… The squad now knew everything about you.

Considering how much they’ve helped you, and you’ve helped them… Smiling to yourself, fingering grazing over wooden rails in thought- opening your bedroom door and shutting it behind you. A subtle click telling yourself the door shut, releasing a breath held heavily in your lungs. Windows were open, letting the curtains flow in on breezes followed by the dancing white moonlight.

Bathing everything in a night glow, one of your favorite moments of the day. Probably the moment you’d spend the most time awake in, truthfully. Not even noticing when night time had fallen, having stuck in the basement most of the day… Eventually kicked out by Soap, who was also tired and wished to retire, everyone had taken the time to return to their quarters and Ghost his nightly closet next to your room.

Glancing back to the dresser, that you’d moved when discovering the wall adjacent allowed Ghost to hear you easily, your body moved on it’s own. Pushing the dresser on carpet, moving the numerous sheets you’d put behind it in order to muffle the sounds better- soon the dresser was back in it’s rightful spot. Not protecting you from a monster, not hiding your secrets away from people who now knew them all. Like dirty laundry airing out to dry.

Undressing, clothes dropping to the floor till you were in shorts and a tank top- your body flopped on the bed tiredly. Snuggling into the sheets lightly- Gaz having gotten a few from the old recycle shops. Insisting that you sleeping with just a sheet wasn’t acceptable. That your lack of sleep would affect them all at some point. Humming mainly to yourself in content, knowing Ghost was probably listening… You opened your eyes, to find a void of some sort on your pillow. Having just plopped your head on it.

Sitting up, you pulled the fabric with you. Soft, slightly stretched, worn. A sweatshirt, of unknown origin, rest in your hands. Running over it lightly, palming with a thumb, it seemed extremely similar to the one you had to burn. The squad having to listen to your meanderings and complaining about losing your favorite sweatshirt all because of a stalker. Black worn to a slight dark grey in places rubbed together frequently. Ribbing on the ends, a makeshift hole your fingers gently slid through. Testing to see if they held, and it seemed- by the feel- the fabric was glued together. Giving a somewhat tough texture but not enough to bother callused hands… Or ones that wore gloves all the time.

Why… Did you think that?

Though, the size was perfectly oversized. On the original owner, it might’ve laid flush or might’ve been a bit snug. Especially on the arms, but for you? You could drown it, curl your legs in it, use the sleeves as weapons to smack someone with- literally. Just like your old one. Glancing around, seeing just you in the bedroom- as it should be truthfully- the sweatshirt finally made its way over your head. Sleeves first, pull over the hood, find the neck opening. Once it rested over your body- indeed this sweatshirt had been molded to someone else for quite some time. But that could be said for any one of the boys in the squad. Considering sometimes you swore they all dressed the same. Twas the uniform of the S.A.S.

Sighing softly into the fabric, it fit genuinely like the old one did. Able to curl your legs into it, your knees to your chin. Arms unable to pull your hands out due to how long the sleeves were. Pulling the hood over your head, a little content giggle slipping from your lips. Coughing however, to right it, as you didn’t usually allow such feelings to slip through. Especially if Ghost was listening. Snuggling down into it- your nose dipping into the collar. Only to catch something on it when pulling back up. 

A fabric mask, sewn in as part of the sweatshirt. Not a modification. Unfurling your body and simply sitting there on the bed. Wide eyes, as the mask… Felt stretched. Felt familiar, you’d felt this shape before. Closing your eyes, fingers running across the hem… No. It was his. No doubt about it. You’d recognize that cheekbone anywhere, considering how many times you’ve had to stitch up grazes here and there for him.

The sweatshirt belonged to Ghost.

You had no idea, just how large Ghost was or how muscular he’d become underneath all that tactical gear. Considering how the man had never gone out to town to buy a few more articles of clothing the way Soap and Gaz had. Knowing that they’d be here for the long run, Ghost still chose his black sweatshirt and skull balaclava underneath. So why did he have this sweatshirt with the mask stitched in? For worn in private? Thoughts such as this swam through your head, slightly drowning in the sweatshirt that fit perfectly around you… Like the rubber band that had snapped and was replaced with even stronger arms.

Enough of this, your thoughts echoed. At first, motioning to take the sweatshirt off… Before settling to just allow yourself to sneak into bed with it on. Snuggling down, mask up… Hood up. Hiding underneath the sheets, eventually able to fall asleep somewhat. To the scent of fresh rain, slight sweat, and gunpowder.

Chapter Text

This was stupid. This is stupid. Stupid, fucking stupid, why were you doing this stupid thing-

“You okay in there, Doc?” The earpiece lightly broke through the static, hearing the water run through your end. Grumbling somewhat incoherently, your fingers gently applied makeup in a way that was light and inviting. 

“I’m fine.” I feel stupid. Your reply was hushed, in case anyone else was in the bathroom. Pulling down the black and white cocktail dress that barely held to your knees, fixing your hair to be slightly professional, the heels boring into your ankles slightly and squishing your toes. Putting the lipstick back into your clutch, doing a slight twirl to make sure you’d look the part- taking a gulp- you braced yourself.

“If any- any of yous- make fun of me for this, I will never work with yous again.” Grumbling, you quietly hissed. Stepping out of the grand hotel bathroom, and into the sitting foyer.

 
“Doc… We could use a huge favor. Something’s going down in England. And… It’s a party. None of us can do it, obviously. We need to breach a hotel room, that was turned into an office, but we need you to keep this person busy. They’re… Known for bringing people back to their room after the gatherings are over.” Price asked softly, a conversation kept between the two of you. The captain didn’t want to admit it but ever since the squad had gotten to know you- they felt a bit more supported with you at base. Waiting for them to return in case of injuries.

It meant if you went with them, who would wait at base to help you?

“Holy shit.” Gaz’s voice murmured from the earpiece, a warm smile on your face. A professional business walk, as if you’d just stepped out from the event for a moment. Keeping the pinned tag “Maria Lopelli” snatched from another poor Maria Lopelli who suddenly had a nasty case of food poisoning caused by yours truly moments prior.

There was a bit of scuffle, you couldn’t tell from whom but soon Ghost rang through.

“Eyes up, no distractions.” Stern, but even you could hear the slightest… Slightest strain in his voice. If that command was meant for the squad or for him- you couldn’t tell.

“Can it, spaz. Otherwise when they memorialize your name I’ll make it so it’s at the bottom of the list. So that way dogs can keep pissin on your grave.” Hissing lowly, you shuffled the skirt down a bit out of habit. Hearing slight laughter from Price and Soap… Ghost remained silent.

 
“Damn, first time I’ve heard that one.” Gaz snorts, though he sounds slightly strangled when Ghost coughs.

“Alright break it up you two and lets cut the radio chatter. The moment Liar catches the assignment, our mission can begin.” Price sighs heavily, was Gaz currently being head locked? You couldn’t tell truthfully. Regardless, you steeled your nerves. Rounding the corner into a large conference room, labeled-

‘English Military Awards Ceremony’

It explained why the hotel was crawling with Brits and yet you already knew it was Shepard’s PMCs’. If your intel was correct, this would be the time for scoping out new organizations and new possible allies to take out the remaining S.A.S squad… Aka, this squad. Hence why you were here.

Click, click, click, your heels on the tile floor. Each step creating this new persona and this new Maria person you needed to be. Unfortunately, you’d done enough of these missions to understand what exactly Price needed you to do. By now, the awards ceremony had concluded truthfully. At this point, it was just the after party and this… Breem fellow was looking for some poor sucker to take back to his room. A higher official and known for bringing his work with him wherever he’d gone. A perfect opportunity to sneak into his hotel room, grab some intel, and sneak right back out. A waiter walking by with some partial empty glasses, and you snuck one on the rounded corner out. Matching the slight, slight blush you’d applied moments before.

“And that’s how I managed to save this dumbass and myself from a burning helicopter.” Laughter chimed, some sort of track found in those television shows Gaz loved to watch in his down time. Yours chiming in on the same sound wave, but just slightly higher enough to catch Breem’s attention. As if you’d been there the entire time and the crowd around him didn’t think two seconds of it. Tall, blonde, handsome. Standard cut, blue eyes, jawline similar to the farm boys back home… You found it hard to believe that Breem was a bought-out coward, until he nudged into his friend the ‘dumbass’ he had to pull out of the helicopter supposedly. A flicker glance between the two told you enough that the story was false. Just meant to impress, not to have any merit behind the story. Soft chatter filling the group, while you stood directly across from Breem. Nowhere else to look but at your figure, slightly buzzed figure based on the champagne glass in your hand.

“I don’t think I caught your name-“ He glances to your name tag. Holding up your hand to introduce yourself, a simper smile on your lips. Parting the light pink ever so slightly.

“Lopelli.” Teasing, Breem holds your hand to plant a kiss on the back of your knuckle. Tilt of the head, allowing some bits of hair held back by a pin to fall. Purposeful, remain in his eye, everything about you is this… Maria.

“But your tag says Maria.” Chuckling he stands, pushing the distance closer between the two of you- his dumbass friend watching closely. Rolling his eyes. This was typical behavior, indeed.

“Sorry, only Majors get to call me Maria.” Winking lightly, the same waiter came by again. Allowing you to set down the glass you never touched, crossing your arms loosely. Breem laughing lightly, flirting back.

“It’s a good thing that I’m a Major.” Inclining his rank, you knew that already.

“Then it’s Lopelli to you then.” He likes brats, like disobedience, likes to break and make women submit. Or so said his debrief, and his profile. Breem snorts lightly before laughing and leans his arm against the wall you’d slowly moved them to. His dumbass friend leaning behind him, following with a dangerous smirk. Ah, they were a team.

“Ha! I like you Lopelli… Say, if I buy you a drink think I’d be able to call you Maria?” Offering, a lull in his voice. Stepping closer, your toes just barely grazed his shiny shoes. He still towered above you, but with the unwavering eyes that held his- your lips popped just slightly. Showing the moisture of your lips in a lidded stare.

“Might take more than a few, but you’re welcome to try. I’ll be at the hotel bar, when you’re done playing soldier.” Breath slightly minty, mixed with the alcohol you never had, your steps loud in Breem’s ears when walking backwards. Inclining your head back to the foyer bar and gave just a tiny little twirl… The pin falling out of your hair, drawing the long curls down your back. With a quick motion, the pin was immaculately put in place. An intoxicating sound of every step, one that he knew he’d get in trouble with… But that was exactly as he liked it. To the T. Cross the T, dot the Is’ and you were everything he was looking for in a fun night. He could see it with your hair down, underneath him screaming his name into the pillow. Breem glanced back to his friend, rolling his eyes before sauntering off after you.

He followed. Good.

“Target’s on the move, sir.” Pulling away from his scope, Ghost glanced to Price. Confirming that your distraction was working, and quickly at that. Exactly what they discussed and debriefed you on. Price nodded, dropping the duffle bag of equipment they’d brought along for this mission… Now and days, Ghost couldn’t help but admit, that recon and exfil were the only two missions they’d been accomplishing lately. Albeit each mission provided with more and more information for that first infil mission that’ll hopefully set the world back right.

A hook exploded into the air, followed by a zipline. Thick black cable lost in the lights and wires of the city below, no one would be able to spot them climbing from this building across from the hotel. They’d tested this theory many times over the last few days since arriving in England… Their homeland. Where many if not all of the soldiers had either been bought out, or the ones that couldn’t be bought out… Killed. It stuck to the roof of the hotel, creating a firm tie line.

“Eyes up, move. Ghost, you know the drill.” Price nodded, securing the tie so that way the three of them could cross. Ghost nodded in understanding back, moving his sniper rifle a bit closer to the tie point. Glancing up to the sky once Price had begun his climb across, the rain slowly began to pitter and patter against the mask. Giving Ghost a bitter cold that he’d become all too familiar with… Comforting, rational, and controlled. Taking a final deep breath, he tucked away all those feelings in that tiny box. Shoving it in the dark, and to focus on the mission at hand.

“Begin infil for upper room 912. Guard rotation restarting in three… Two… one-“

“Cheers to that, mate.” Laughing softly to Breem’s stories once more, it’d become increasingly clear that you could see behind the bravado and the fake stories. Telling the Major none of his usual cheap tricks wouldn’t work on you. Clinking glasses with him, taking soft sips. Ones that purposefully left lipstick on the edges of the glass, left your lips slightly parted. Crossing your legs boldly, opening to Breem for mere seconds, before closing them and crossing them once more. Watching through the glass as Breem gulped a bit to himself.

“Ignore my brother, he’s not the best with the dignified ladies.” There, indeed, were two Breems. One named Hanson and the other Kyle. The one you’d sunk your hook into was Kyle and it seemed Hanson was the actual mastermind between the two. Cool, calm, collected. He let his brother be the face, while he was the one behind the scenes pulling the strings.

“Oh? That makes you more interesting, Major?” Both had reached the rank Major at early ages. But looked just enough different to create that gap… Hanson was the smarter one, perhaps the one that you should’ve targeted from the beginning.

“Depends, do you prefer one or two Majors?” He sat slightly behind his brother, eyeing you through the deeper blue eyes of the two… Did these two share the same habit, of looking for a fun night? Oh boy, you did not want to find that out.

“…Depends, Major. Are we talking one room, or two?” Take a sip, change the topic. You need to know if these two shared a room or if it were in one. Plus, you needed to also know- which brother was the one who bought out.

“We… Could do one, I suppose. Hard to walk between, no?” Kyle chuckles openly, glancing back to Hanson who also shrugged lightly. Both taking a drink, perhaps to reset themselves.

“Good thing we’re so cheap.” Snorting lightly, Hanson pulled his barstool around so that way he and Kyle were sitting side by side. Swirling the old-fashioned whiskey in hand. His brother laughing lightly, nudging him. Their uniforms just slightly clinking.

“Cheap?! Mate, you got us one of the penthouses on the ninth floor. That isn’t cheap.” It was a slight brag about their money, meaning if you needed to be paid off for what they were talking about… They could, and it sounded like this wasn’t their first time doing so.

“Nineth floor…? Very impressive. Makes a little girl like me seem like a poor beggar off the streets.” Humming, you looked at the back of your perfect nails. Raising an eyebrow to the two Breem brothers, and they smirked at each other.

‘Confirmation on location. Proceed.’ Ghost’s voice echoed quietly. Not enough to change your thoughts.

“See, that’s why we’re such good officers for the military. We know who to pick up off the streets-“ Kyle knelt forward, leaning to the ear without the earpiece.
“We can help you, Cinderella.” A new code name?

Leaning back, you glanced back at the two. Kyle’s cheerful demeanor changing to a somewhat serious gaze. What was the change in their tone? Looking between both Hanson and Kyle, they exchanged looks in return. Suddenly, the air took on a chilly bite to it- and before you knew it… It was just the three of you at the bar, and PMCs’ guarding the entrance. Were they onto you?

“Maria… What if we were to talk about… Opportunity. Yeah? Just the three of us, beyond this little façade we’ve all created.” Hanson murmurs quietly. Curious you leaned an elbow to the bar, tilting your head onto the back of your knuckles.

“Oh…? I’m listening.”

‘That’s a lot of tangos guarding a hotel room. Soap, you get left, on your go.’ Gaz instructed, Ghost’s scope following the team’s smooth infil into the ninth floor from the ceiling. Not surprising them with amount of militia rotating through. A trail of dead bodies behind the squad, as per usual- Ghost picking off where he could through open windows. Watching their 6.

‘Come on, Maria. We know, we’ve been given the same opportunity as you. Why haven’t you taken it yet?’ What? Ghost tuned a bit into your conversation, at first having to drown it out- following along with Price and the others. Continuing to do so, letting the rain soak into his clothes. Reaching his warm skin, calming it for steady shots. Letting Ghost resonate with his sniper rifle.

 
‘I’m aware of this opportunity. But right now, I don’t wish to compromise much.’ Predetermined answer, smart girl. Left ambiguous enough for open answers but not give enough away. Ghost shooting down another through opened windows, quickly creating more open windows the moment Price threw a smoke screen.

‘Compromise? It’s a win-win deal. How we became majors and were put in positions of power. Surely you want that too.’ Good thing this conversation was wired and recorded- important intel for later. Ghost couldn’t help bit admit to himself, that he was grateful you were good at your job. He was getting slightly tired of Gaz trying to go into counterintel, only to be recognized and once again extracted… It had certainly quickened the pace along, in getting intel to take down- who they now knew- was General Shepard. Bastard.

‘I do. I’ve already been promised a hefty promotion… But I can’t take it until I have the proper leverage or information to give.’

‘I have some for you. Ever heard of the S.A.S member known as Ghost?’ How… Did the conversation turn to him? More importantly, were you okay? Ghost grit his teeth, ignore the conversation. Shove the feelings in the box. To the corner with it… Hadn’t he done that already?

‘I haven’t, no. I didn’t realize information to them was the way in the door.’ Oh. That was an interesting bit of conclusion you were able to bring to the table. There was a bit of laughter, sounds like Hanson. Kyle wasn’t the target, Hanson was, and you had changed your route to accommodate… Nice to know your training was legitimate. 

‘It helps Shadow Company the most. Considering they’re the biggest threat to our world right now.’ Ghost took deep breaths, tempted to take out the earpiece to shut out the engagement. But he needed to keep it in, in case he’d heard the cypher to get you out of the situation.

‘How so? Share some information… Maybe I’ll give you two a good night for your troubles.’ Trade off, with false promises. He’d done it time and time before.

‘I suppose we could. Come to our room, and we’ll chat more there.’ Ah shite. Ghost grumbled lowly, killing off another tango while Soap was trying to pick the door. Come on, Liar- they needed five more minutes.

‘See- now that’s not fair. We’ve had this whole conversation on an empty floor, and you want my company for free? Come on, dangle a carrot for me. Make it… Enticing.’ Atta girl, Ghost’s jaw steeled. Still picking off a few oncoming tangos, and soon Soap gets through the door. The three rushing inside to obtain the information they’d risked putting you in the field for.

‘…A woman after my own heart. I can appreciate that. Fine. I have something enticing for you.’ Keep them busy, Liar. Ghost watched the room’s door. Picking off any guard that came to investigate what was going on. Hanson took the bait, Kyle already a lost cause.

‘Simon Riley. If you can find any information on a man named Simon Riley, that’ll get you in the door. They have nothing but a name, and that damned skull face of his. Say that if you see him, you’re a dead man.’ BAM. The glass shattered, missing the open window by nare but a hair; but killed the target. Immediately the alarms started blaring, the smoke alarms activating… Ghost frozen, for just a moment. How did they…

‘Shit! We’re breached! Check the ninth floor and make it quick! Maria, be careful and vanish. We never met here, and we never had this conversation.’ At least they were kind enough to let you disappear from the conversation, hearing a bit of rustling.

“Heads up, target is aware and is making way to extraction point. Gather what you can and get the fuck out of there.” Ghost commanded, now shooting through the shattered window. The squad checked and soon made a hasty exit. Heading back to the roof, making an even quicker time to the extraction point. He could hear the Breem brothers calling out orders to the PMCs through your device.

‘Contact us when you’re ready to work for Shadow Company.’ Another corrupted one, they hoped, before the drumming of heavy steps took off. Your breathing remained even, acting as if nothing had happened. Your clicking heels being the last sound he heard from your earpiece- before it went radio silent. Leaving Ghost in the frozen rain- one that normally calmed his nerves but now only served to act as cold daggers amid this new predicament. 

You said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge what had happened during the mission when it went off plan. The entire time during interrogation, reporting back to Price when in the car on the way back to the base of operations. Sitting up front with Price as he drove, letting Soap and Gaz take the second row… While Ghost remained deathly silent. Crossing your arms into the black sweatshirt that all of them noticed you had a tiny… Tiny obsession with. It went everywhere with you, and now the squad couldn’t really imagine you without it on. You were just thankful to have this to cover your body again. Cargo pants to cover skin… Wasn’t ever really a fan of showing skin if you could help it. Their tactical gear put into the hidden compartments of the car, and Ghost sat in the last row. A blanket nearby to help him blend into the back seat, now that they knew Ghost was the one with the biggest target on his head.

“After joining them to the bar, I was able to extract the methods that they use to recruit new soldiers into ‘Shadow Company’. Promising them positions of power, or other forms of bribes, it leaves very little room for negotiation and wanting to take the deal almost immediately depending on the person the deal is tailored to.” Monotone, your eyes had blurred over slightly. Recanting the entirety of the conversation… Though at one point, you specifically were trying to create this static over words spoken by Hanson.

Simon Riley.

No matter what you did to train it out of your memory, it stuck. Running through your tongue, in different cyphers, and different languages. Making its way into your vocabulary when you really didn’t want it to… It was this way, for any major secrets you learned. Your body clung to them, stickier than honey, and soaked them into your being. Curse your immaculate memory.

“Understood, log and fill report when we return to base.” Price murmured, before slamming on the breaks heavily. Nearly running a red light, that left the seatbelt imprinting itself into your chest. Earning a somewhat strangled noise from your lungs, akin to a duck being caught.

“Price, your driving hasn’t changed in the least. Can Gaz or Soap take over?” You glanced to the side, Price rolling his eyes at you. Inclining to the squad behind… It didn’t help that Soap looked like he was going to be sick from Price’s driving.

“Nah, give ‘em a break. This last mission was fruitful but also dangerous. Put us back in their sights and no doubt they’re gonna be lookin for them first. You and I make this car ambiguous.” Explaining the method to his madness, you nodded.

“Understood.” Sinking a bit into the sweatshirt, your nose naturally brought up the mask. Feeling somewhat hidden in it, your thumbs rubbed the insides of the fabric. Feeling the super glue holding the cut ribbing in place. A minor private thought, causing your profile to shrink a bit more into the chair.

This is Simon Riley’s sweatshirt. It held such… A heavy value on your heart.

“Hey, where’d you get that sweatshirt anyways?” Price asked, suddenly pulling you out of your thoughts. Ears perked up, as Gaz leaned a bit into Soap. Glancing and meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror. He wanted to know too. God this squad had the best time sniffing out tea… They were Brits after all. Ghost’s jaw steeled, still silent while watching the world go by. Your eyes softening ever so lightly… Yeah, you’d feel the same way too if your legal name was being used as information bargaining chips.

“Picked it up at the recycle store Gaz went to in town.” Boring! Gaz rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. Glaring out the window. Seeing him then hand a bit of money to Soap, who took it thankfully… But didn’t look any better. Price’s laughter ringing out.

“Ouch, looks like I owe Soap 20.”

“Okay, why the fuck are you guys’ bettin’ on me?! Am I nothing but sport to yous?!” Finally, you snapped between the three of them, catching the squad off guard. It was a genuine frustration, and one you didn’t understand. Price suddenly patted your head lightly, Ghost catching the flinch.

“…We do it as a squad. To tease and lighten the mood. You’re not the only one we bet on, and… We do it to show you’re part of the family.” He murmured softly, beating Soap or Gaz to the explanation. Quieting your frustration, suddenly a small blush falling upon your face. Pulling up the sweatshirt mask to hide it quickly and sunk into the seat… Pulling up the hood as well. Hiding your embarrassment.

 
“I’ve… Never been part of a squad long enough for that to happen before.  Didn’t know that was a thing… Sorry.” Apologizing through muffled whispers, you were lucky they understood your apology when most people wouldn’t be able to hear it half of the time.

“Sall good. We figured.” Though, Soap was now handing a few more dollars to Gaz. Cackling lightly to himself.

“…So, what bets do you have running anyways?” Admitting sheepishly, Gaz’s eyes lit up brightly. You wanted in?! Fuck yeah!

The moment Gaz started recounting all the bets they had, between all the squad members… Your loneliness seemed to dwindle and fizzle out. Bit by bit. Family… Right?
 

Chapter Text

Thuds echoing late into the night, waking you in your own bedroom. Quiet, muffled, but rhythmic. One, two. One, two, three. Someone was in the basement of the house, hitting the bag that Gaz found from that recycle shop in town… That guy had some sort of shopping addiction, your first thought was. Wearily staring at the black ceiling, until you realized no. Gaz probably had a scout at the recycle shop and bought something to cover up the fact: he was looking for intel. Regardless of how hyper, or spastic he seemed- Gaz was extremely smart. Smart and witty.

However, as witty as Gaz was, he had a regular sleep schedule. As did Soap, once he recovered mentally, and Price you could hear clear as day across the hall from his sawing logs of snores… A white noise that you’d become accustomed to, now that they’d been living at your house for the better part of seven months. Turning up, and gently placing your feet down on the carpet… They didn’t squeak any of the floor boards, and your toes gently held your body up. Sneaking down quietly, hearing the rhythmic hitting the entire time. Walking down the concrete steps into the basement.

There he was.

Short sleeved, same cargo pants. Revealing muscular arms, and tattoos covering them. Ink revealing so much about Ghost, in regard to their importance. You had inklings- ha- but never asked. Wanting to respect Ghost that way, as much as you could… Considering that’s all he’d done since the first time you’d met. Respecting your monster, respecting his fear of being identified… wanting to separate Ghost, from Simon Riley. Taking a seat in the dark corner that you’d claimed as yours, you watched Ghost hit the bag. Back to you.

Seeing him fully like this; one, two, one, two, three- made sense as to why the sweatshirt was so oversized on you. Damn - you were tiny compared to this beast of a man hitting this punching bag. Deep in thought, probably trying to figure out who or what gave the Breem brothers his legal name. The entire car ride back, he spoke to everyone but you. Trying to mindfully find a way to understand what happened, what was compromised… But unable to find a way to speak to you, without that awkwardness. You imagined he didn’t want you finding out his name this way, was hoping to gain more trust or build up to that point, something other than a bargaining chip to your job. You’d feel the same exact way, if it was your name and life on the line.

Sinking into the sweatshirt again, your legs curled into it slightly. Curling your feet on top of the chair, toes just slightly off the edge. Nose nudging the mask up, pulling the hood up, sinking into the darkness… Simply waiting. No doubt, Ghost knew you were here. Just unable to acknowledge you at the moment, still trying to work through emotions that normally didn’t leave that special box shoved in the corner. You’d noticed a long time ago, that Ghost tended to shove his emotions and humanity aside during missions… Sometimes forgetting to bring it back out. One, two. One, two, three.

Gloves off, set to the side. Mask still on, boots still on. You hadn’t seen him wear a different sweatshirt since, not even going into town to look for a new one. Leaving the boys with numerous questions, prodding him over and over for information unsuccessfully. You hadn’t said anything about it either, until the car ride back. Even then, lying obviously between your teeth- the squad took the answer suspiciously. Surely it was connected, as to why Ghost’s sweatshirt was missing and yet you received a new one.

Body moving on its own, you pulled the sweatshirt off. Folding it politely, setting it down next to the gloves on the floor. Out of the way of Ghost’s area, finally earning a silent glance in the dim light of the basement. Heavy breaths, sweat soaking through the back areas of his shirt- between the shoulder blades. Ghost… Had been at this for a while. Right now, you couldn’t quite tell what he needed. Watching you, as if he were a cornered animal, before your body leaned against the bag. Holding it steady, not looking to Ghost. Quiet in how you moved… It took a few heavy breaths, before once again the rhythmic drills continued.

One, two. One, two, three.

His punches had no weight to them, barely moving the bag into your body. Testing the waters, making sure you were steady. Controlled, perfected, light. The way a perfect drill would be run… But right now, you weren’t really looking for perfection. Keeping your head down to the floor, your bare feet holding steady to the cold concrete. Slowly, over the midst of many sets, his punches hit harder. A bit of resistance met, but very little. Allowing himself some… Some sort of expression. Showing you could support the weight of his punches. Keeping your head down, in this quiet session.

The next set, his punches hit enough to where you had to start steeling yourself slightly. Leaning into the rhythm enough so that way you didn’t move. Still staying to support this punching bag, obviously Ghost’s thought lifeline now. Everyone processed different and difficult emotions differently. Soap, a bit more vocal. Gaz, a bit more avoidance. Price- at least he was blunt about it… Ghost, was more physical. Isolated. He trusted his squad to carry his emotions… But also understood that he best worked through things by himself. Soon, your body fully steeled against the bag. The sets having little to no breaks in between, the rhythm still maintaining but the punches no longer withdrawn. Breathing ragged, sweat dripping to the floor, your eyes never glanced up from the concrete.

About halfway through, still not looking up, Ghost finally got the cue… You heard the rustling of the mask, of it falling to the floor. Being set politely to the side of the sweatshirt, with the gloves. Slightly tremoring hands pulling hair back a bit, rolling his neck in soreness. Hearing a few cracks, before suddenly his punches started pushing you back slightly. Turning your feet slightly towards the bag, holding it steady still. No matter how hard he punched it, you would hold it steady. Knowing that the moment you let go, he’d also have to control his punches as to not break it off… Trying to control this emotion within.

Relentless, his stamina knew no bounds. Regardless of how heavy his breaths hung in the air, or sweaty he became. Ghost continued to punch this bag in the same perfected drill repeatedly. One, two. One, two, three. Silent in his anger, frustration… Worry. A significant amount of worry. While you weren’t a psychologist… There was a part of you, wondering if Ghost had a form of a phobia regarding being recognized in public; found in forms of severe PTSD. Belonging to a severely battle-worn veteran. Remaining ambiguous kept him safe, kept the monster asleep, and kept his squad alive. Soon, you found yourself slightly sliding. But strengthening your calves made it so that way you stopped. Still, keeping your head down. Hidden behind the bag, holding it for him…

Full punches came a few sets later. Grunts leaving between his teeth, the bag slightly rattling the chain it rested on. These ones actually did push you back, sometimes knocking you off the bag. Yet you returned every time. Earning a low breath from your lungs, having to tense and prepare for each strike. Sometimes it rattled your head, and you had to keep it hovering away from the bag as Ghost hit it harder. How long had he been down here before you’d begun this silent ritual with him? You couldn’t remember the last time you spoke with him, but it was at least before the last mission. A foot slightly slipped, causing your form to slightly faulter but it caught back to its stance quickly.

It didn’t matter; the punches stopped immediately.

Remaining in silence, besides the heavy breaths, you heard Ghost pull his mask back on. Waiting until the rustling of the fabric stopped… But soon the sweatshirt was being held out to you, within your field of view. A silent permission to allow your neck to crane up a bit. The moment you did, your neck cracked stiffly. Earning a few groans of stiffness, rolling your neck. Wiping away your sweat and pulled the sweatshirt back on.

“…I’m sorry.” Soft, ragged, heard as you pulled the fabric back over your head. Popping your head out, looking up to Ghost. Meeting his gaze solidly, usually cold eyes staring back to yours… This time, conflicted and emotion raging through them. In the ways the corners tugged slightly, and in the way his eyebrows furrowed together. Sweat wiping way some of the black, revealing somewhat pale skin that matched the rest of his body.

“Nothing to apologize for.” Whispering back, your answers were genuine. He didn’t detect any falseness, and only honesty suggested at your tone of voice… Appreciated, deeply, in this moment. You pulled back the sleeves, his sleeves, and held out your hands to him. Gesturing to give something… Reluctantly, Ghost gave you, his hands.

As suspected, they were bloody. Raw, bruised, beaten, from the numerous amounts of sets he just went through. Holding them gingerly, you pulled Ghost over to your table in the corner. To better lighting… He let you numbly, drag him over and sit down in the chair you’d stitched everyone back together numerous times. Soon, you rested them on the desk. Pulling out a few things; bandages, cotton balls, tweezers, disinfectant… Here you were, taking care of him. Again. Whereas Ghost did nothing but simply demand from you all the time.

“Don’t do that to yourself.” Murmuring, you could practically hear the self-berating thoughts. All too familiar with that monster, you dipped a few cotton balls in the disinfectant. Pulling forward one hand, and the soaked cotton ball grasped with tweezers; lightly dabbing the wounds. Ghost’s first reaction- while you were slightly surprised by it- flinched his hands away from the sting upon the first touch. Waiting patiently, you held your grasp and tweezers in the air. Looking at him through your lashes, before he finally gave you back his hand. One dab at a time, watching for his reactions; your eyes finally settled on the hand itself. A slight tilt to the left, concentrating, focusing on just the wound… Nothing else.

“You aren’t curious?”

“About what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A simple response, one that you rarely used. Usually you did know everything, heard everything… To say you heard nothing, meant a deep amount of respect for Ghost. Especially as counterintel.

“No interrogation needed?” Trust.

“No.” Verify.

“In the line of counterintelligence, we can train our memories to forget certain details. A practice that only skilled spies tend to use. Especially if in torture or interrogation states. Makes it easier for us to ‘tell the truth’ when people ask us about certain details or information.” A quiet admission, that you continued to clean his wounds. Trading pink cotton balls for white ones time to time. Ghost nodded.

“I know.”

“I figured… Never hurts to hear it for real sometimes.” That, he could agree with. Carefully, your hands placed a few gauzes over the wounds. Bandaging it, before setting it down gently on an icepack he hadn’t even noticed you grab. Fuck, he was extremely out of it. Gesturing for the next one, Ghost gave you his hand once more. Staring at the bloodied knuckles, that same numbness deeply soaking into his lungs.

“I like the sweatshirt. Thank you.”

“Hm?” A statement broke his thoughts cleaning, momentarily distracting him… You knew?

“The sweatshirt. It’s oversized, allows me to put my legs inside. The sleeves are long, and the holes on the ribbing holds well… The mask… Smells like fresh rain, and gunpowder. It’s… Comforting to sleep to.” Ghost could’ve sworn he saw the tiniest… Tiniest hint of redness on the tips of your ears. Still cleaning his wounds with that careful checklist, methodical. Ghost… Didn’t know how to respond. He genuinely didn’t think you’d figure it out.

“I thought you got it from the recycle shop?” Trying to cover, suddenly… That same gentle smile, hidden behind dishes in a warm household, pulled your mouth upward. Staring at his knuckles, a kindness behind them… No, this was you. Not your humanity, not your job. This smile, right here… Was you. Someone beyond Liar.

“Ah, I suppose I did send you to fetch it for me after all.” Chuckling, there… Lingered traces of a light love, into the work you did and into the sweatshirt you wore that comforted the monster within you. Replacing the rubber band with a grapple that left a lingering warmth since that day. Since when… Did you look at him that way? How did he not notice beforehand?

“May I ask a personal question?” Replacing the cotton ball, you glanced up to Ghost… Who nodded. He owed you that much at this point.

“Do you have a phobia of being recognized in public?”

Ding. You understood immediately. “…Yes.”

“I see… Thank you, for trusting me that way.” Oh. Ghost’s eyes widened at your statement. Meaning, that the reason you knew the sweatshirt belonged to him was because the mask had been molded to his face… Which you silently remembered and traced over his cheek bone often when feeling the wound to check if it healed. You didn’t question the mask, or if taking it off would help as now people were knowing him for it. But it gave a faceless identity to a faceless person who didn’t want his own person to be used as leverage… That was his biggest fear. Having his own identity used against him. Considering how many things Ghost had done to warrant such threats.

“I’m trying to train my memories to forget the details… It might take me a few months, but I will eventually forget.” Offering… Truth be told, it was probably the kindest thing anyone had tried to do for him. A way to respect him, as a person. Beyond the call sign Ghost… A way to respect, Simon Riley. Ghost swallowed hard at the thought. You were giving him that option at the end of the day. It was your olive branch, your trust extended as you’ve done multiple times. Yet Ghost was the one unyielding, like a statue… Like you were, in the beginning of this whole mess.

“…Don’t.” It came out a bit rougher than he intended. Nodding, your eyes glanced up to him through your long lashes again.

“May… I commit you to memory?”

“A… Affirmative.” Ghost glanced away. Waiting. Did you want him to take the mask off?

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to stop training my memory.” No? You didn’t ask him to take the mask off. Instead, you simply meant- in a way- asking to keep the information you had already. The information he’d willing trusted you with… The anxious worry, holding the breath in his lungs, released. Gently you bandaged his knuckles once more, setting it in another icepack. Watching with wavering blue eyes, Ghost saw your body shrink into the sweatshirt. Hiding your knees, toes curling on the edges, your arms and hands retreating deeper into the sleeves. Nudging the mask over your nose and pulling over the hood… The only thought in his head, popping up, was that you reminded him of a black cat curling up to sit happily. Basking in sunlight. Trusting Ghost with a part of yourself that no one else would see.

He too, committed your curled black cat form in his sweatshirt to memory.

Chapter Text

“…You do realize what you’re asking of me.” A raised eyebrow; crossed arms sunk in the sweatshirt. Pouring over the last few files from the intel gathered from on this most recent mission. Price nodded, sitting in front of you slightly offput. As if he were a candidate for some sort of interview.

“I’m aware. I’m also aware that if this goes successfully it means that we will clear our names.”

“If- and IF- I have the information, that means you owe me.” Putting it in words that Price understood, he nodded. Agreeing to your terms.

“…Doc, I’m fairly certain I owe you far more than just a favor at this point.” He grumbled, ticking his finger lightly on his coat.

“I mean… I’ve gone through five burner phones. But who’s counting one more? Let me make a call and see.” Shrugging, you gave him a bit of a smirk before digging through your drawers and the captain sighed heavily.

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Don’t mention it.” Murmuring quietly, you pulled out a burner laptop and another cell phone. Soap trotting down the stairs to the basement, followed by Gaz. You didn’t miss the slight limp he had however… His leg must’ve been bothering him again.

“Whatever happens, you didn’t hear it- understand?” Warning the two- Soap and Gaz pause lightly. Glancing at each other… What did they just walk in on?

“Yeah, Doc. We gotcha.” Gaz shrugged lightly. Soap nodding as well.

Thus… The phone rang, you put it on speakerphone and set it near the laptop. Turning it on, as the laptop sprung to life. Price noting the chew on your inner cheek, this wasn’t really your field of expertise. The phone line finally connected.

“…Liar. This better be important, our team disbanded a decade ago.” A low voice, male but the low laughter of children could be heard in the background.

“It is. Otherwise I wouldn’t call you.” Humming softly, you glanced between the three. Who immediately looked away.

“Alright. Give me a second- Trei! Trei don’t- stop bullying your sister-“ Crying could be heard… Chaos ensued. “Daddy’s gotta step in the office, okay?!” The voice called, as the chime ‘okaaaay’ could be heard. A few shuffled steps later, and a closed door there was a slight cough.

“…You heard nothing.” A stern warning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about… Can I say one thing?” Chirping lightly, you were holding back laughter.

“You get one.” Growling back at you, you scoffed lightly.

“Fatherhood sounds good on a burned spy. I need info… Think you got it for me?” Laughing lightly, a foreign sound to the squad as Ghost finally walked down. A slight grump to his step from last night’s boxing session. No one said… Anything.

“I probably do. Whatcha need?” The hum of the computer rose, and the burner you had sprung to life. Connecting instantly.

“…The thing.” Non-descriptive, the squad looked at you confused.

“Wait… That thing? What the fuck are you doing? Do I dare ask?” Suddenly the screen flashed to life, watching your friend work through the information.

“You… Don’t really wanna know.”

“I do if you’re asking for blackmail on the US Pres.” Causing you to sigh heavily, Price’s eyes widening.

“Listen, I just need partial. Don’t need it all. Gotta keep a few bargaining chips ya know.” Shrugging as if he could see, the friend sighed even heavier.

“I can do partial. Just gotta decrypt it. I thought I taught you this?” Grumbling, the screen started flashing red. It felt threatening, and worrisome but you knew better. It was just standard procedure.

“Eyes, there was a reason you were tech intel.” Grumbling in return, Eyes laughed.

“Yeah! You were fieldwork because no one wants to look at my ugly mug! If I find out that the US makes some world changing move, I will absolutely know that’s you. Again.”

“…Again?” Price asked, and Eyes went quiet.

“Did I just hear Price…?” His voice murmured, and you glanced up at Price. A slight glare in your eyes.

“Yes.”

“…Liar.” His tone was cautious.

“…Yea?” Your tone tried to convey it as light, and something not serious.

“Please tell me you’re not-“ Almost pleading.

“Eyes. I didn’t question when you needed that favor from me a few years ago.” Sternly countering, Eyes groaned.

“You absolutely interrogated me!”

“You, willingly answered. Stupidly I might add. Surprised you didn’t catch my cues considering I trained you on field work.” Sighing heavily, you glanced up. Jumping lightly to see all the boys now interested in your conversation. Staring at you, the phone, and the computer screen with stern but curious gazes… Like wide eyed pigeons watching and waiting for a statue to move. Just so one could say ‘I told you so’.

“You know I’m not good with fieldwork!” Exasperated, you snorted.

“And you know I’m not good on tech intel!”

“…Touché. Okay. I got it decrypted; how much you need?” Watching the screen, your mouse hovered over two specific files. Which they immediately printed behind you, and the information was crypted once more.

“There, I got it. Please don’t ask for black mail on the US government again. Especially the pres when I live in the US.” Eyes sighed heavily, Gaz glancing over. Finally, someone asked the question.

“…Do I wanna know why, you guys have blackmail about the US Government on… Hand.”

“Classified.” Your response and Eyes’s response were immediate. Same flat tone and everything, followed by a stern glare. He held up hands and walked away. Not wanting to get his head chewed off again.

“Anything else Liar?”

There was a moment of silence.

“…Anything on a callsign Roach would be appreciated.” The squad stiffened lightly, as this wasn’t a work-related favor but a personal one. Eyes could tell it by the sound of your voice, one that was laced with honesty… And care.

“I don’t think I have anything, but let me do some digging okay? Might be a while.” A promise.

“No rush. Thanks, man. Give your kids some love for me k?” Chuckling, Eyes hummed lightly before hanging up. You grasped the two pieces of paper and handed them to Price.

“We’re even.” You huffed, putting the burner laptop and phone away. Price looked over the paper, along with Gaz and Soap… No, Ghost read it too. Gaz’s jaw dropped, upon realizing what he was reading.

“…WHAT?! You had this shit on hand and this is PARTIAL?!”

“Yep. Still can’t tell you how though; that’s classified, and I don’t wanna die today thankyouverymuch.” Grumbling, you stood lightly. Cracking your back stiffly and stretched. You remembered that mission clearly, just to obtain that information… What it cost, and why it was barely used in the first place.

“But that signature is-“

“I’m aware.” Your face unmoving, a slight tic in your jaw.

“He witnessed and signed officially?!” Gaz took the document and read it a few times. Surprised you even had this information on hand. Sighing heavily, you shook your head. Sinking into the sweatshirt lightly.

“You heard Eyes, I’m field work counterintel while he’s tech. Originally if Eyes didn’t have the black box, I was gonna ask him to help me hack into the Pentagon to dig some stuff up.” Shrugging lightly, Price couldn’t have been more thankful for your… On hand blackmail. While it made him curious as to what you had on hand, Price knew better than to ask and now that he’d called in every favor… This would be it. This would be the turning point, to make it so that way they were sanctioned and somewhat protected. Now… Truthfully, came the hard part.

“Alright, we have intel. Now it’s time to plan and create our mission… Doc, I might need you for field work again, but it won’t be the last time either.” Price warned, snatching the paper back and folding it politely in his pocket. Suddenly aware of the weight it carried. Standing to start creating this mission, that if successful… Would provide the team the inside they needed to freely hunt General Shepard without the rest of the world on their backdoor.

“Understood, I’ll chat with you about it at the debrief. I still have some intel to sort through.” Murmuring, you stretched a bit. Turning away from the squad. Upon stretching, Ghost could see that you’ve lost weight due to running in the missions now too… Soap glancing to Gaz, then back to Ghost. The two of them inclining to your stretching, thin figure that dark circles were becoming more apparent. Ghost holding the gaze back to them in slight confusion, what could he do? He wasn’t that close to you- any more than they were.

“Your eyes are too loud. If you don’t have anything to say- do you mind if I get back to work?” Turning back to them, Ghost glanced to Price… Before looking back to you. Seeing what they were referring to.

“Liar… I think they’re trying to find the courage to tell you to take a break.” Price murmured, only to be met with a shake of your head. Sitting down at the intel files. Trying to ignore the three men who continued to stare at you.

“…When do you need the intel by?” Sitting back finally, you did look and feel a bit worn for wear. Price shook his head lightly and glanced between the squad.

“It seems all of us could use a day. We’ve been very busy these last few months and with this last intel- we’ll be able to start planning for the endgame. So how about we just take a day to recoup. Recharge. Rest. Doc that means you too.” Price challenges, earning grumbles and meaningless swears from you. Only for Soap and Gaz to hoist you up by either arm with a grin.

“Wha-hey! Put me down!” Squirming a bit, the two dragged you upstairs. Probably to force you to chill on the couch for a few hours with a good book. Leaving just Ghost and Price in the basement. Alone.

“A word, lieutenant.” Price asks, right as Ghost was about to turn and follow. He stands vigilantly, wondering what this was about.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s come to my attention that this Shadow Company is specifically looking for information on you. Making you the likely target of numerous investigations… I would like to use a fake but convincing file to help Doc get in the door to Shadow Company and lead us straight to Shepard… Can you do that for me?” Asking quietly, knowing that this was something Ghost was sensitive about. He nodded, jaw set.

“Yes, sir. Not a problem.”

“Glad to hear it… May I ask one more thing of you?” He pauses somewhat, unsure if he should ask it or not.

“Sir?”

“Did you give Doc your sweatshirt?” He expected an honest answer… Especially just being the two of them. Ghost nodded silently.

“…Losing it when interrogating Sergey made Doc distracted. I saw quick solution to fix the distraction.” A very… Ghost answer. Price raised an eyebrow. Crossing his arms.

“That’s considered fraternizing, Lieutenant. People might get the wrong idea.” He warned, a furrow in Ghost’s eyebrow.

“It’s a solution, not fraternizing. Sir.” Of course, he wouldn’t see it as such or understand it that way.

“…Just be careful Simon. I don’t want you getting yourself into something you might regret.” He didn’t mean it as an insult to your character, but what others may see or interpret it as. Ghost nodded curtly, understanding that Price was just looking out for him in the long run.

“Understood, sir.” …He hadn’t even thought to consider him giving you the sweatshirt as fraternizing, or as a PDA. Public display of affection. Ghost just looked at the situation logically and saw an easy solution. He could always get another sweatshirt.

“She knew it was mine.” Ghost finds himself murmuring, crossed arms. Gaze long in thought. Price laughed at the statement.

“Ghost! Who doesn’t know it’s yours?!” Huh? Ghost was very meticulous with it, washing it so the scent stayed out. Never really wore it around anyone.

“It’s the mask. That’s in the sweatshirt. The one she noses up. Who else gets a sweatshirt if not for the mask.” Price snickers lightly, giving Ghost a playful push. He could see the deepening glower behind the thickened jaw.

“…It’s effective.” Oh man, Price rolled his eyes lightly.

“Ghost, just admit ya like her a bit.” Like… You? He saw you as a soldier in arms, a friend but… Not above anyone else in the squad.

“Negative, sir. I’m just doing what anyone else would do.” Ghost denied sternly, the captain only sighed.

“Of course ya are. Alright, I’ll drop it for now. Go get some sleep, chill for the rest of the day.” Price inclined upstairs and made the exit first. Letting Ghost have some privacy with his thoughts.

Conflicted. For once between logic, and his humanity. Walking up behind Price, it looked as if Gaz and Soap had gone into town. Considering how quickly Price disappeared, he obviously followed. Just leaving you, and Ghost in the home… Glancing around, Ghost soon found you in the living room. TV on, cup of tea in hand, mindlessly watching a documentary on warfare. Did you never let your brain take a break? Ghost found himself somewhat annoyed, his body moving on it’s own. Snatching the TV remote and changing the channel to something a bit more mindless. An old Brit show, something that you could fall asleep on. As you’ve done, time and time again.

“…I was watching that.” You grumped a bit, before giving a grunt when Ghost threw your favorite throw at you. Huddling under the sweatshirt only did so much to stave out the cold of the house and with winter in full swing- the snow only made the bitter cold that much more… Bitter.

“Watch something else not related to your job. Otherwise, it defeats the purpose of rest.” Stern, logical, and straight to the point. You couldn’t help but notice that Ghost had gotten extremely comfortable around you. To the point where he had started to understand your thought processes more often. Snuggling under the fluffy blanket, your grumbles and mutterings never ceased.

“An old Brit show is supposed to do that for me? It’s black and white.” Ghost crosses his arms, inclining to the show with a huff.

“I used to watch this stuff, after hard missions. Bleeds the brain activity.” Of course, Ghost would find some sort of reason or explanation as to why watching this old show would be beneficial to you. He was an odd one sometimes. Far too serious for his own good, you swore.

“…I suppose I could watch it. Only if you’d watch it with me, since it’s a rest day.”  Murmuring quietly, your mug came to your lips. Still somewhat stained pink from the last mission, dark eyes tinged with eyeliner. Lashes are still somewhat long from mascara. You’d washed it as much as you could, but Ghost knew there were still lingering traces from it… Soap was right, you were skinny. Losing weight the longer these missions carried on. Dedicated to their mission, their squad, keeping everything in line to the best of your ability. Keeping them at full capacity to run missions as hard as they have been… You’ve been dedicating everything to them, asking for nothing in return.

Ghost found himself staring at you. Instead of the TV… The black and white reflecting on your face- bringing color to this world.

“Ghost, stare at me any harder I’m gonna have a hole in my head. Did I do something?” Glancing back, your head tilted. Hair falling around your shoulders, slightly into his sweatshirt that really should be labeled yours at this point. Was… Price right? Did he like you a bit? Ghost couldn’t tell, didn’t know what that felt like, wouldn’t be able to identify it. Shit, he was still staring. His gaze flitted back to the TV, trying to keep his mind distracted. Put all his feelings in that box, shove it in the corner.

“No… You’ve been working too hard. That’s all. Looks like you’ve been losing weight.” Barely heard above the muffle from the mask, you nodded. Aware that you’ve been losing weight when your shorts were becoming slightly too big. When sweatshirt was feeling a bit too loose in certain parts.

“Food hasn’t been staying down as easy. But I’m managing.” Managing wasn’t enough, and it certainly wasn’t fair. Everyone else was at 100% capacity, everyone else was more than managing. Ghost suddenly stood; gaze long lost. Yours following his every movement. Slightly confused, with boots shuffling to the kitchen. Gaze settling back to the TV, the black and white easy on the blurred eyes… Made it extremely easy, getting rid of the mild headache you carried constantly. Before you knew it, a few episodes had passed. Finding yourself strangely invested in this… Brit show.

After the next episode passed, a food tray was brought up. Opened, and then a plate was set down in front of you… Your secret favorite meal that Ghost made repeatedly these last few months. One that you wolfed down quicker than most, one that kept your stomach settled for a while. Strong hands, gently setting it down. Revealing more of the inked tattoos littered on his surprisingly darker skin. Wide eyes, looking up to Ghost, who’s eyes revealed some sort of… Empathy.

“Eat.” A simple command, one that you set down the cup of tea for. Gingerly picking up the meal and holding it close… Watching your steeled eyes soften as well. Feeling Ghost sit back down, arms crossed, watching you closely to make sure you ate it… You didn’t realize just how closely Ghost watched you until now.

“…Was it you, who kept bringing me upstairs? When I fell asleep in the basement?” Barely above the show, muffled by eating food you didn’t know you were hungry for.

“…Check.”

“Did you… Purposefully make my breakfasts lighter to make sure I didn’t puke them up?” Trust.

“…Check.” Verify.

“You walked every morning to work out or watch over me while I swam… Because you were concerned?” Trust.

“…Check.” Verify. Ghost found his chest growing strangely tight. These were things he’d do for any of his squad. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing wrong with protecting those close to him… Since when were you close to him?

“…Ghost, do you… Understand the difference between support and fraternizing?” An… unfortunate trust.

“Check.” Quickly responding, it notified you immediately that indeed. Ghost saw all these actions as simply acts to support you. Not intentional, nothing meant behind them… Nothing at all. So then… Why did your heart and lungs hurt? A bitterness sinking deep within them, almost as if you’d been rejected by something. Or… Someone. Ghost remained confused slightly when watching you set down the food. Rather sharply, watching you suddenly take the sweatshirt off, and throw it at Ghost… Seeing such a dark glare, that Ghost didn’t recognize… Anger? Betrayal? It was raw, it was… Unknown.

“Save your fucking pity. I can take care of myself. Did it before you came along and can do it when you’re fucking gone.” Laced with venom, your steps were heavy with that same raw anger. The door slamming shut, leaving Ghost confused. Arms slightly raised to catch the sweatshirt, for it to linger over his face just enough to catch… Fresh river water, and old paper. The door opened, revealing Price returning from his walk. Seeing a baffled Ghost, the sweatshirt in his hand, an unfinished meal and his usual decompressing show on… But no you. He sighed heavily, grumbling, kicking the door lightly.

“Ya done fucked it up, didntcha.” Price growled, Ghost looking up to him with wide eyes. Holding the sweatshirt tightly. An answer came that even Price had never heard before.

“…I fucked up.” You thought of it as… Something different

Chapter Text

“Alright, attention. Let’s get this debrief underway, we’re losin time and daylight.” Price’s voice cut through your muddled brain quickly, bringing your attention to fruition. Looking up at the intel board, you’d just spent the last three days pouring through.   

Three days, of no sleep.  

No sleep, barely ate, barely rested. Living off coffee, toast, and everything you used to do back during counter-intel days. Knowing how important it was to this squad that this intel be decrypted and cyphered quickly. So that way the end was in sight, allowing this squad to finally rest… To finally get Ghost out of your fucking house.  

God. You had been so stupid! To even think, think, for a few seconds- weeks, no, months- that this cold-blooded son of a bitch would even see the quiet moments you shared as something a bit closer then how he treated the rest of the squad. No, it was logical. It was perfectly, reasonably sound in everything he did. Support the squad, support the mission. All work no play, nothing but that wall you thought somewhat moved when in reality; you were falling for the same counter-intel façade that you’d created for everyone else that no longer worked to fool them all… Here you thought you were at least somewhat human, in how you were able to find a close relationship with this squad.  

“With that, I will leave it to Doc to run through the diagnostics and intel on how this mission’s going to run.” His voice once again cut through your angry bitterness, your foolishness, and your grudge. All of them felt it, brooding. How it was some sort of angry tap that wouldn’t plug no matter what they did to reconcile it. Standing, you cleared your voice lightly. Shutting off the lights, to allow the screen to shine a bit brighter… So, Ghost couldn’t see your form better. Sticking with sweaters, somewhat baggy shirts, and your cargo pants- the squad found it downright eerie how quickly you shut them all out… Not even Gaz, able to reach you. During PT, he’d try. Receive the dry answers they’d gotten before.   

As they had just gotten used to your humanity, suddenly they were met with this cold wall that shut them all out. Focused on getting them home, back to their home base. Back to a semblance of normality they knew and one where they’d let you be in your self-purgatory… Now it seemed to be more self-misery. You were hurting, from what? They just couldn’t pin place it either.  

Words tumbled out of your mouth, professionally. Even though your tongue moved slowly, cotton stuck to the roof of your mouth, nothing gave way to even show that your entire core was still suffering. Concise, to the point, everything about your intel was sound. From the guard rotations, from the pictures you’d gathered, the information about this meeting in this selective part of the US. Unknown except to personal contacts, and once again- Shadow Company’s invitation to you as Maria. The Breem brothers carefully sending out the invitation- wanting to give you directions to on whom the new ‘Ghost’ intel was to filter through… General Shepard, wasn’t the highest. But he was the one who started all of this.  

“Any questions?” Though, there really wasn’t any room for them. The plan was sound. Price and you had been poring over it for the last three days. Ghost watching from a distance, unable to approach you the way Gaz or Soap did. You made it known, through actions alone, you wanted nothing to do with him… It left a stabbing pain, right where the rib was fully healed, in his lungs. Ghost still couldn’t quite place why your reactions to him trying to get you to full capacity, to catch up to them, ended only now in failure and making your situation worse… No matter how many times he left the sweatshirt on your bed, like last time, it always… Always found it’s way back on his cot. Untouched. Unfolded. He watched miserably as you ran yourself ragged these last three days, and you wouldn’t let him back in to at least soothe the harder parts. He couldn’t… Even tell anymore, which answers were false and which ones were true. The anger blended them together that it left Ghost guessing more often than nought… He didn’t like that. One bit.   

‘Ghost… Please tell me what you know happened.’ Gaz had almost begged. Resting his still slightly stiff leg from PT. Covered in sweat and drank water to replace what he’d lost. Ghost remained quiet, unable to answer. Because truthfully, he too didn’t have an answer.  

‘Negative.’  

‘God damnit. She’s especially cold today. I can’t even get her to crack a smile. Can’t do shit. Normally I could at least get under her skin a bit, but now I feel like I can’t find a way in.’ Grumbling, there was a frustration. Usually, Gaz was always the one to lessen tensions between squad members. His personality allowed him to be in a unique placement to do so. But now, it was as if someone took a dial to your emotions and turned it completely upside down. Shut everything down, they’d worked so hard to chip away… No, what they’d worked so hard to show you could trust them. Now- something had your hairs standing on end. Looking at everything they did to try and care for you as some sort of bargaining chip to your trust.  

‘…Did you try-‘  

‘Ghost. I tried everything. Everything you told me, and none of it’s working. If anything- I get a harsher reaction to it than trying one of my own…. She recanted all of her bets too. I’m back to square one… I fear I’m losing her.’ Genuine concern laced in his voice, pulling out his notebook that Gaz kept all of his bets in… Would Price come out alive from this next mission? Would Soap finally call it, breakdown, and clean up your desk when it was the only thing in the basement still messy? Would Ghost finally get you to relax? Could you beat Ghost in chess?  

All of those bets, ones that you interacted with or found interest in- crossed out. Gaz having to cross out so much that you’d trusted them with. God dammit, what happened?! What caused the change?! Why were you slipping through his fingers, and why couldn’t he do anything to stop it?!  

‘I… I fucked up.’ A phrase, that Ghost was never familiar with. But now, certainly had come to terms in understanding that whatever he’d done to offend you- was shutting you down completely.  

‘…HUH?! Repeat that? I don’t think I quite understood you.’  

“Alright. That’s wrap. Wheels up in thirty, and we’re heading to the US today. Doc’s got us on route to be there on time and I don’t want to miss out on that. It’ll keep us under radar, without being caught getting into the borders. Lets keep it that way on the down low.” Commanding, soon the squad was shuffling about. Packing up and preparing for this long trip as it wouldn’t be like England. Where it was about a three day’s drive. Ghost watched your stride, avoiding him. Avoiding his gaze, and looked straight ahead… Fuck, that pain in his rib hurt a bit more. You wouldn’t even spare him a glance.  

‘Ghost. Do you know what happened? She’s gone a bit mad it seems. Can’t even getter to open up to me.’ Soap had approached him on the second day. He didn’t understand as to why everyone was coming to him. Asking him why you were upset as if he had the answers.   

‘Negative.’ Again, an answer that ticked his jaw.  

‘Bollocks. God, I can’t even reach her. Do you know a way to soften those blows? Her tongue is like a whip, and her eyes are right cold.’ Soap especially seemed worried, as you hadn’t left that desk in the last day and a half. Trying to cypher through all the intel they’d gathered and continued gathering up until this point… He saw nothing but piles of coffee cups, and a few paper plates strewn here or there.  

‘Negative. There is no solution.’ Ghost… Couldn’t see one. Not one where you were at full capacity again.  

‘Did ya look at her like that? Like she was some kinda number or mission?’ What did that mean? He did that for everyone.  

‘Not that I was aware of.’  

‘…That sweatshirt, she got from the ‘recyclin’ shop. Where is it? Usually she curled up in it like a little black cat when workin like this. Brought her some comfort.’ Soap grumbled, scratching the back of his head in confusion. Ghost couldn’t exactly say it was back in his closet. Which you moved the dresser, again, so he couldn’t hear anything once more. He coughed lightly, as suddenly there was a prick in his lungs. One that stabbed harder than the broken rib, and one that seemed to reach deeper. A feeling he couldn’t identify.  

‘Unknown.’  

‘…Lt. You know everything. There’s very little you don’t, and usually it takes you minutes to figure it out.’  

‘I… Genuinely don’t know.’ It wasn’t as if he didn’t try either. Ghost did everything on his checklist, to try and see what happened to you since that night. It was as if you’d taken that methodical checklist, ripped it up, and burnt it… Nothing worked right, and this well-oiled machine was beginning to feel the wear of it. As you were the oil, making sure things ran the way they were supposed to.  

‘That’s scary Lt. I’d figure it out soon. Sounds like we’re leaving for the next mission in a few days… Hopefully the one after that will be our last before getting to go home.’ Soap sighed, glancing around your house… One that had slowly become home for them.  

‘Right… Our last mission is soon.’  

The car ride became nearly unbearable, to the point where even Soap’s eyebrow twitched lightly. Ghost was quiet, adding a solidarity, sort of coldness from his seat in the back. Your brooding, which only created such a thick tension that everyone on the squad could feel it… Suddenly you took a deep breath, and the brooding went away. In fact… Everything else went away, feeling wise. Leaving some sort of empty doll, opening the file that Price had given you and memorizing all of the facts within it… Preparation, erasure, your methodical checklist that no one had gotten to really see until this point. Usually by the time the squad met up with you for an infil or intel mission- you had already done your preparation for the mission with ease.  

“Enough! This is glaikit! What the fuck is going on between you two?!” Soap couldn’t take it anymore, his sharp voice causing your body to jump and revert from its check list. He gripped the seat, looking between Ghost and you with annoyance. Gaz heavily sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose while Price… Focused ahead. He was staying out of this one, and kept an ear out in case things got out of hand.  

“…Elaborate, Soap. I don’t speak angry Scotsman.” While it would’ve normally been something you’d scoff at, the bitterness in your heart didn’t want to fade. Gaz, trying to swat Soap into stopping, grumbled lowly.  

“Drop it, MacTavish. Seriously.” Did… Gaz figure it out already? Why you felt such this certain way? You couldn’t and all you knew was that it hurt.  

“I ain’t gonna fuckin drop it, when we’re legit trying to prep for a mission and it’s so god damn tense I can cut it with one of Ghost’s knives which are dull as shite half of the time!” He bit at Gaz, who raised his hands. Ghost wanted to say something, you saw that jaw open… Only for it to shut. He knew why, of course Ghost knew why.  

“If you can get Ghost to say sorry to Doc, then I’m pretty sure it’d clear it up.” Huh?! What did Ghost apologizing to you have to do with getting the mission back on track. Price heavily sighed, before glancing at you… Speaking one word that froze you solid.  

“Poiser.”  

“T-this isn’t another Poiser situation! Don’t you dare speak that name to me.” Hissing, it was as if it were some damning word that cursed you. The banter paused for a moment, leaving the car in silence… Ghost had heard that callsign before, in counter-intel files. How… Were you involved with Poiser?  

“I ain’t sayin it’s another Poiser situation… But it’s getting pretty damn close, and I warned you a long time ago why we don’t mix work with personal… I know your heart is too sweet for that.” Damnit, you wish you had that damned sweatshirt to hide your face of embarrassment in it. Wanting to sink down and hide away, as the three men looked up to Price. Slightly confused.  

“You wanna tell ‘em or you want me to?” He warned, only for you to sink even further into your seat.  

“Ghost, you wanna give me a report?” An order. One that Ghost felt slightly confused about.  

“Robert ‘Poiser’ Cifric. Counter-intel agent, KIA. Belonging to Intel Squad 158, US faction. Death unknown, but rumors circulated that he sacrificed his life for a fellow agent in order to complete the mission. Others state he had fallen in… Compromised, and it led to his own down fall.” Or at least… That’s what Ghost remembered from the file he’d read a long time ago. Why did that intel squad 158 sound familiar?  

“…KIA, due to being put in a position that compromised his cover. Because the agent he’d gained feelings for, denied him. Leaving him in a state of mind that caused a slip up… Getting him killed in the middle of an interrogation. Therefore, the new ruling came into fruition. Counter-intel agents are not authorized to pursue personal relationships.” Your words spat through angry teeth, that caused you to take deep breaths. No, as much as the words stung, Price… Was right. You still had to hold yourself to the counter-intel codes. Which…  

“Understood. Thank you.” Reassess. Configure. Fix. You’d done this mental exercise so many times, as a way to make sure these missions weren’t compromised. Soap and Gaz glanced at each other, while Ghost remained somewhat confused as to why Price would bring up such a specific counter-intel agent as if he was proving a point to you. However… Overtime, they felt the brooding fade… With a different deep breath, you eventually glanced back to Gaz.  

“…I owe you 20 bucks.” To which, Gaz’s eyes glittered to life. Yet, while the three in front chatted… Ghost’s gaze upon you was lost. Wide eyes, clenched fists, hidden by the tactical conversation… Hidden by your change.  

Nothing. There was no honesty in your answer at all… Even though, it was a personal term to the rest of them. No. They didn’t know it, but they had lost you. Lost that trust… Ghost took a deep breath, steadying himself. Truthfully, even if the last mission happened- it would mean that you no longer belonged to the squad. That you were free to live your life, or what little life a burned spy could… Which meant you’d go back to your self-purgatory. Self-isolation, punishment, whatever you wanted to call it. This shut down. Was your mental way of preparing for the worst… That this squad would leave you behind, just like the last one did.  

Ghost found it hard to breathe, the pain in his rib only growing further.

Chapter Text

“Maintain radio silence.” It was a dark evening, deep in the mountains of Tennessee. A base not known on standard maps, one hidden away from the world in the mountainside as a bunker of sorts. Visual became only as good as the flashlights and guard posts that gave enough light to look into the white snow that blinded them back… Making it somewhat useless to see.  

This… Was an escort mission. With you at the center of it. You had dug out your old tactical gear, and made sure that your own weapons were on par with the rest of Squad 141. It’d been a while since you were a grunt on the ground, and it made the squad feel slightly bigger… Perhaps a bit clunky but the entirety of the squad moved as if you’d been part of their team since the beginning. Even Ghost was on floor this time, leading as secondary point into this daunting task. Up until this point, Ghost had taken the time to improve upon your rusty skills. Reminding you of combat points, and if worst came to worse- you were to duck and take cover. You being the asset that would ensure this entire mission wasn’t for naught.  

Quietly, the squad walked through the trees. Avoiding the crunch while slightly spread out, but your task was to stay close to Gaz. Considering he was the one who specialized in escort missions. A few steps behind, rifle up in vigil, your breathing evened… If Gaz hadn’t known better, you were used to running missions like this often… He even had a bit of edge to his nerves. None of the squad wanted you on the floor like this, but in order to work with they had… They needed you, for a negotiation hostage situation and the outcome to their benefit.  

Two faint cracks.  Two thuds into bloodied snow. Two bodies falling from the guard rotation. One silenced by your shot, and the other by Gaz’s. The two of you had your own paths to follow, while the other three had their own plans to keep everyone else busy… Or kill them in the process. Unphased by this, Gaz took careful steps forward. Watching for any extra incomings that’d slipped by, but no. Everything was smooth.  

“Which way, Doc.” Gaz’s voice was low. Once past the wire fence, through a patch worn down by time, soon the two of you reached inside the bunker in the mountainside. Listening for the footsteps, your hand signaled left. Quietly, your body stayed somewhat low while banking down the hall. Avoiding a few more rotations- and coming up to the first camera, you glanced up at it. Waiting… Waiting.   

Suddenly, the whole building shut down. Throwing itself into pitch black, a few loud sirens blazing, and red soon flooded the halls. Signaling that something had shut down power to the bunker. That was the cue, now kicking Gaz and you into gear. Moving at a smooth, fast pace through the halls. A few tangos appearing from here and there in a scramble to find the source of the power outage. Only to fall to your duo teamwork with Gaz, all under radio silence. Truthfully, he hadn’t had an escort mission work so smoothly… Also, he’d never had an escort mission where his escort actually was able to hold their own- and he never really needed worry about it.  

A few more halls and descending into stairs- finally they came across a sturdy bunker door. One locked by a few passcodes and recognition systems, before stepping forward to begin extracting the codes- you glanced behind you. After a few moments, Soap appeared.  

“100. Check.” Full capacity. Good. A few more moments, Price was right behind him.  

“100. Check.” As planned, it was smooth sailing and easy. Ghost appearing within seconds from the shadows. As expected.  

“100. Check.” And you knew Gaz was 100 as well. Which meant everything went smoothly, as planned, as they practiced or checked on numerous times. Your plan, and intel easy to follow… But they made sure it executed the way it was supposed to be implemented. Which demanded nothing but their best.  

“Check. Inserting decoder now.” Nodding, you fished out a USB stick. Thankful that Eyes had taught you how to make one of these a long time ago. Having run this through many different code keepers, the moment you began to fish around the keypad… Soon your fingers found the hidden compartment for the stick. Most people, for some reason, always thought they were sneaky by installing this little component for computer safe updates and communications. One of the few things that most people didn’t even think to look for.  

“Tangos incoming, on your 6!” Ghost suddenly commanded, as you didn’t even bother to look. Right now, your priority was to get this bunker door unlocked. Gaz immediately knelt besides your knee, proving cover and distraction so that way hostiles were most likely to hit him instead. Continuing to work through the complicated system… This was the only hiccup so far. This program taking longer than it should have, and because of it- the scrambled troops were now beginning to reassemble just as quickly as you remembered their training to be. It wouldn’t matter if gave them the proper code back, they were probably paid off to kill you too.  

Bullets jarring off to the side, mere sparks bouncing around you- there was a tiny pain laced through your ankle. One must’ve grazed you, but right now there wasn’t time to worry about that. Later, you could patch it up later… By yourself. Later- no. Box. In the box those stupid thoughts went and in the midst of your frustration you gave the corresponding panel a good punch. It didn’t break anything but…  

Ding! Access granted.  

You’d take it, stupid luck or not. Gaz glancing up to you in a slight… Confused manner, one that spoke in question about your tactical to making sure the mechanism worked. They worked, you shrugged lightly in response. Soon, the bunker doors were forcefully opening- hearing a cease fire from the other side. Smirking lowly to yourself, quickly you dipped into the shadows of it. Unseen by anyone else except the squad- which took it as their cue to follow you as well.  

No good soldier wanted to accidentally shoot their own president.  

With a loud BAM, the bunker door shut- and immediate gunfire started. Ducking low away from the main body, your aim went for knees and ankles. Chipping away at what guards you could… But soon left only one person alive in the room. An older man, sitting at the end of an oval table. The United States logo on screen behind his head. Politely sitting, waiting, carefully checking his moves… This, was your favorite game. This was the chess you were familiar with. There was a moment of silence, the squad unmoving- guns still raised… Before finally the rustling of papers could be heard.  

From where the president sat, sweat running down his back lightly, these four goons- intimidatingly haunting- had just infiltrated one of the most secure bunkers in the world. With just four people- but once he heard papers moving… He hadn’t even realized there was a fifth. They moved as if they were used to four but this fifth person appeared out of nowhere. The shadows in between, like a puppeteer. Smaller in stature, you pulled off your helmet. Setting it on the table, pulling down a pure black cloth mask. Allowing him to see your face… A very, very familiar face.  

“We have to stop meeting like this, William.” Your voice was unchanging as the day he met you the first time.  

“…Liar. Why am I not surprised.” William kept his voice monotoned. He, was told you were KIA. The same day Poiser had been declared KIA. No surprise he couldn’t trust his own intel anymore, considering when Squad 158 disbanded it seemed that their operations stopped running so smoothly.  

“Ah, you know me. Habit for getting into the Shadows of certain Companies.” Emphasis on two words- you pulled out a thicker file from inside your vest. Setting it politely on the table, the President looking down at the file cautiously… He really hoped that wasn’t what he thought it was.  

“If you were, then you wouldn’t be with these wanted criminals.” Warning, he inclined to Price and his team. Who had now turned two to the bunker door and the one known as Ghost and Gaz watching this interaction closely.  

“Same boat as you were, sir. Remember?” Raising an eyebrow, your hands opened the envelope. Pulling out two pieces of paper first. William heavily sighed, looking to you with a somewhat exasperated look.  

“…Liar, you legitimately have my personal cell. You could’ve called.”  

“Risk you tapping the phone? Not a chance… Sir.” It was quiet, but the amount of respect you had for this man was undoubtedly strong. Ghost noticed this, as he now realized… You were American sanctioned originally. Not British the way they were, or how Soap was a transfer. It… Explained a bit of the brutality, and somewhat brass way of stubborn thinking.  

“You’re never going to trust me again, are you?” Meaning, he’d done it once before. You kept pulling out a few more papers before taking a stack of photos and set a few in front of him.   

“You got about five minutes Doc. Save the catch up for later.” Price called, hearing the chatter beyond the bunker doors. Glancing back to him, you nodded… William noticed this as well, a new callsign? A new relationship with a squad you said you’d never join again before disappearing.  

“Listen, William. They need sanction, and US backing to go after this target. The moment you give this to them; you’ll have the biggest conspiracy arrest given to you right at the front door.” Straight to the point, you laid photos out of people in his cabinet that even he was surprised to see.  

“Explain.” He looked over the photos, studying them closely. You set a General’s photo in front of him.  

“General Shepard, leading poster boy for this PMC called Shadow Company. He certainly isn’t smart enough to run it, but he’s been recruiting people for the last decade since he was given his promotion into General. This also includes cabinet members, politicians, and milita figures… Such as your Breem brothers, charming pair really.” Shrugging, with each new list of illegal activities- you gave him a new photo. Photo after photo, dated and signed with two witnesses- poor Gaz and Soap having to sign all of these with you- followed with the camera logs and specs as to when and where you took the photos… It was solid evidence, irrefutable proof. William looked at these photos, a tic in jaw. Here he’d been trying to get some sort of proof of this, and a KIA spy brought it to his doorstep after killing a majority of his men.  

“If I didn’t?”  

“Mission Landmber.” Two words, a few pieces of paper- folded  in your hand. Powerful, effective, a monotone stare holding his slightly nervous gaze. Setting them on the table as well, as you were really hoping the kindness of William would out weight the needs of the presidency he’d risen into. Though… It made his face slightly pale, and that steeled jaw tweak out of place.  

“You know I have more.” The fact you were completely calm, while threatening one of the most powerful figures in the world… Brought a strange respect from Ghost. Watching this interaction.  

“I’m trying to trade with you. Right now my squad’s renegade, wanted criminals right? Burned. They’re the ones to blame for this world war going on... Not the case. General Shepard’s mistake when it came to planting an American spy into a Russian terrorist organization ending in slaughter is what set this all off. Russia wanted someone to blame, after the incident in the nuclear facility with their new famed hero. Who better to blame, than a squad who was there at one mission, and is known for doing others so effectively? No Russian, after all.” Once again, you presented evidence, after evidence… Suddenly there was sparks starting to fly into the bunker. They were trying to break their way in.  

“Doc…?” Price warned.  

“Give them sanction, let them hunt the target- and I’ll give you intel to the conspiracy that leads across the world. Giving the US a boosted reputation.” That was where the rest of the photos spilled in front of William, weeks… Months of preparation leading up until this moment. The sparks getting bigger, the bunker door threatening to crumble as William looked at you. Sighing heavily.  

“LIAR!” Price demanded the answer, less they be killed. The door fell, leading to a cloud of dust momentarily giving them cover.  

“CEASE FIRE. FRIENDLY.” William’s voice roared from the bunker; you were quick to sweep the blackmail back into your tactical vest. Pulling up the mask and putting on the helmet once more. The squad raising their rifles, ready to fire as the multitude of American soldiers also had arms raised… A tense standoff, until William’s voice echoed.  

“Escort this squad back to the entrance, they’re sanctioned under US protection until further notice.”  

“But sir-“  

“That’s an order, sergeant!” His voice loomed, quick to snap, demanding no question as the soldiers’ parted ways to allow them all through. Looking over this squad of five men- albeit one shorter- as they quietly walked out of the crowd around; rifles still vigilant in case someone wanted to try anything. Suddenly, the president coughed when you were about halfway through.  

“Liar, we’re even after this. You have a week, that’s all I can give you before people start questioning.” He purposefully called in front of the soldiers, as your jaw ticked under the mask. The fucker! Revealing your call sign like this meant it would be near impossible for you to go unnoticed if your callsign ever slipped out in conversation. A spy in circling conversation was akin to a soldier on the battlefield without any gear on.  

“…Yes, sir. We are.” A surprisingly low female voice from a masked solider, left the rest baffled and slightly confused as to what just happened. They couldn’t have even tell there was a female amongst such a formidable squad… She moved, exactly the way they did.  

A week was far more than you needed, three days would’ve been enough, as once escorted back to the entrance- the decent back to the car began. You were walking ahead, breathing in familiar air and the cold bitterness that bit at your eyes. Considering how close you were to home- stationed in Italy all this time when in reality you were from New Orleans… This felt somewhat bittersweet, being close to home. A slight smirk on your face- until you took a step and your ankle suddenly lit up in a stinging, fire licking pain.  

“Doc! Your ankle!” Soap grasped your shoulder lightly, helping put weight off of it. Hoisting you lightly, limping ever so softly. A trail of bright red blood in the snow… They hadn’t even known. The entire time, your movements reflected no injury until now.  

“Right… Forgot I got grazed.” Shit, that would compromise the mission- no. You just had to be careful with the clothes you choose next. That’s all. Suddenly, Soap was switched with the familiar skull faced menace.  

“I got her. Just go ahead and get the vehicle. We’ve gotta make it across country in four days.” Ghost nodded, a curt order that left Soap looking between the two of you. A slight glare to his eyes, specifically at Ghost, before gesturing for Price and Gaz to follow… Quiet, was your walk. Or as quiet as limping in the snow could be. Ghost taking your pace step by step, walking down the steep mountain side. He was scanning, making sure that the US wouldn’t back out on their sanction… It felt nice, not being hunted for once. Scanning, to make sure the other three were out of earshot.  

“Listen I-“  

“Ghost… Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I reacted immaturely.” Murmuring quietly, Ghost could hear just… Slight traces of honesty lacing your words. Thawing again… Thank god you were thawing again.  

“I… I should’ve been clearer on my boundaries. I apologize.” Ghost responded quicker than he’d like, barely heard above the crunch of their footsteps. Damn, you were not a fan of being shot in the ankle. Not being able to walk correctly sucked.  

“You know that’s being committed to memory, right? A rare apology from a stubborn mule like you?” Teasing, you were slightly a bit honest in your answers than the last one… That was the solution.  

You… Needed to see his humanity.  

“I give you permission to commit it to memory.” Grumbling, there was a moment you could’ve sworn something shifted in his demeanor. Something a bit… Gentler, something a bit more empathetic. Guarded, still hidden, still Ghost… Still Simon. Everything once again quiet, hearing the crunch. It didn’t last three full rotations.  

“The team has sanction now. You guys should be able to drop me off at the airport and I’ll fly my way back to Italy.”  

“…What? Why would we do that?” There was a slight baffle of confusion to his tone, Ghost glancing down at you… A bitterness in your eyes. Limping down the mountain this way.  

“Because my use has ended.” God, his rib hurt again. The pierce stung and weighed heavy in his lungs as if you’d just filled them with water.  

“We still need you.” I still need you.  

“For what? The next mission is infil. Infil, eliminate, exfil. Recover intel will be after the mess, once reported to William. We’ve already done the intel for the next mission, and you lot are more than capable of handing that mission far smoother than today.” Explaining, while it was perfectly logical- Ghost founding himself fighting against it. You were absolutely needed still for support; it was because of your intel and such a detailed debrief that they moved so smoothly. Running a mission of taking the US President hostage for negotiations as if it were a day job.  

“Your support is invaluable. We ran smoother today, because of your detailed planning. Things were planned prior, easy, we didn’t have to engage enemies until the bunker door. Only due to the code lasting mere thirty seconds longer-“ Your scoff cut off his words.  

“See, that’s the problem with my plans. They don’t allow any breathing room. They’re precise, they expect perfection and if anything goes wrong- it can fall apart if not responded correctly-“ Rambling, blaming yourself. What were you trying to do? Find an excuse not to come with them?  

“We do. You expect nothing but perfection from us. Which we willingly give. Not every mission planned is going to involve this squad being hunted. Some will be far easier; something might come up where its world ending. But to know we have a combat medic, who specializes in counterintel warfare, behind us… Is somewhat of a comfort.” Ghost spoke as if he was expecting you to come with them.  

“Ghost. I asked for sanction for your team… Not me. I’m permanently retired. I have to go back to Italy once my involvement is no longer necessary.” Otherwise, forces at power would start hunting you. You wouldn’t be surprised if they already were. Especially after that last engagement.  

“…I can pull a few favors of my own.” Ghost murmured, after some thought.  

“Are… You saying you want me on the squad permanently?” Was he… Recruiting you? Trying to convince you to leave your self-purgatory behind for something greater? To… Stay with your family, a little longer.  

“Yes. I believe you would be a very, very valuable permanent asset to the team.” Insistent of the word permanent, Ghost wanted to make it very clear to you that… He wasn’t going to leave you behind. Glancing down, seeing your eyes waver in that small slot the mask didn’t cover. Truth be told, when you pulled out your tactical and the mask was part of your old gear… Made sense, and truthfully, felt just like you.  

“I’d… Really like that, Ghost. Thank you.” The gentle smile, behind cleaning dishes, pulled your eyes upward. He didn’t have to see it, to know that he’d done something that really meant a lot to you. Easing the bitterness, easing the loneliness and sadness to fade. The notion of Ghost going out of his way to make sure you weren’t left behind… Brought a few tears to your eyes in happiness.  

“Simon… Call me Simon. In private, of course.”  

“H-huh? Are you sure? Because I-I… I can’t tell you my name.” It left your eyes wide, glittering in the white snow as they took the steepness a bit easier. Ghost making sure to support your decent further.  

“I don’t expect you to… But I feel you’ve earned that respect from me.” Ghost nodded, comfortable with the notion of you knowing and saying his name. Especially after the respect you’ve shown him of his fears.  

“Whoa. That’s… Who are you and what have you done with my Simon ‘Ghost’.” Meant as a tease, a prod, the smile continued to reach your eyes. Wincing once and a while when you put weight on the right ankle in the wrong way. Ghost found himself enjoying the way his name came from your lips… It was soft, and kind.  

“Simply put. You’ve earned my respect. Truthfully, you earned my respect a long time ago but… I wish to make that boundary clearer.” That… Was his respect to you. Making sure lines didn’t blur into unprofessionalism once again but know that he still supported you. To the point where he wished to recruit you into that squad.  

“…I appreciate that, Simon. I don’t think you understand how much I do.” Tired, gravelly, your voice dipped in its honesty. Ghost nodded lightly, hearing the car beginning to drive up.  

“I do. I hear it in your voice.” His gaze followed this poor, beat up car pause in front of them as close as they could be on this off roading and beaten path.  

“…You hear everything, don’t you?” Quiet, somewhat sheepish. Ghost scoffed a bit.  

“Affirmative. I do.” Soap and Gaz opened the back up. Quickly hoisting you in the back of it, the back row seats pushed down so that way you could extend your leg on it. Grunting when they helped you into the car- Soap shut the trunk while you dug around into your belongings. Finding the necessary items to begin stitching up the graze before it bled out anymore. Ghost sat in the seat in front of you, Gaz to the left. Soap in front, and Price driving.  

They were strangely silent, listening while you unlaced your shoe in the midst of the bumpy ride. Pulling off the bloody boot, and sock. Hissing through your teeth at the mild pain, pulling a towel underneath the wound itself. Washing it, earning a few unique curses that suddenly saw a few bucks passing back from Gaz to Ghost… Right. You were part of this squad. You kept forgetting this. So used to being left behind, discarded, once your use ended. Thus, during this bumpy ride, your body practically folded in half to hold yourself steady. Stitching up your own wounds, so that way the others could focus on specifically preparing… For this last upcoming mission.  

Suddenly, a sweatshirt was thrown back at you. Landing over your head with a flick, earning a small squawk of surprise. Black, darkened grey in some spots… Fresh rain and gunpowder. Blinking, you looked up to see Ghost looking out the window still. Tactical off, just like the rest of them as they passed it back to you in the back of the suv. That gentle smile, private until now- hidden behind dishes in a warm household… Flickered on your face when pulling the sweatshirt back on. Rolling up the sleeves to continue working on your wound.  

“Doc, welcome to SAS Taskforce Squad 141.” Price chuckled.  

Chapter Text

No rest for the wicked, they always said. From the moment you chose to be a combat medic, to becoming counterintel- they always said that spies were the bottom of the barrel… Sometimes they were right, compared to the things you’d done in the past. But now? You sat in the front of the car. Next to Price, letting your leg rest up while driving down the highway. Pushing the seat as far as it’ll let you go, watching the world go by while they drove across the country. Just because the US gave them sanctions to hunt, it didn’t mean that they could just hop on an airport and jump to where they needed to.

“When this mission is finished, your callsign will become ‘Doc’. Not Liar. Your main assignment and designation will be to the medical field… We want to keep Liar on the downlow, especially after the President announced who you were. Save you for extreme necessary missions that require a skilled hand at intel.” Price explained, watching the road and sharply changing lanes. Causing you to grip the seat lightly. Soap… Wanted to puke. Gaz, slept so far and Ghost was listening to the conversation as always.

“You want me away from counterintel?” That was surprising, considering your specialty laid more in the skill.

“Not completely. We’ll most likely have new recruits, more soldiers to train… Starting from scratch won’t be easy but I want you to train these lot how to look for those cues. Wouldn’t be surprised if they knew already… As well as, if a few soldiers choose to go into counterintel- we’ll need you to train them as well. But they’ll have to go through our programs first.” Price seemed to be almost… Rambling lightly, if to himself, or to you. But, regardless, you nodded lightly.

“I understand… You sound like you’re thinking about starting up a training core for a bit before returning to missions.”

“Even we’ve gotta take a break once and a while. Keep in mind though, the world’s going to busy with new intel coming to light… If it’s something that obvious powers can take care of- we want it that way. We’re not meant for the spotlight. Not like recently.” Staring ahead at the road, your line of sight slightly followed.

“…Careful, you sound like you’re forming a PMC.” Warning, you gave him a slight side eye. Price laughed heartily.

“Doc, no. Rebuilding the program and the SAS when we return is what I’m thinking about. It’s about to be gutted, and about to be possibly retired unless we’re able to get it back up and running… I want you focusing on medical. I… I’d like to get you out of counterintel if possible. Because I know that’s why you went into the US Army originally. A Ranger at that… So much training, yet you wanted to be a combat medic.” Smiling mainly to himself, only for Soap to glance at Price. Back to Ghost, and held a gaze to you.

“…Wait, you’re Army Ranger?”

“Not like I go bragging about it now do I? Kinda went to waste going into the medic MOS. That only being also wasted when I got recruited to Squad 158… Well, yes and no. I went on what… Three tours, and then recruited into 158. Brought a lot of people home… Alive and dead.” Explaining, followed by a sigh, you glanced back to Soap. Before holding a gaze, seeing his eyes widen just slightly.   Respect? Or some sort of admiration? You couldn’t tell.

“Spent your entire life then, in the military huh?” Soap finally,  finally learning a bit more about you. Ghost couldn’t help but be slightly impressed with your military history. Fairly the same as his truthfully, except through England.

“From the moment I graduated highschool, I went into the office and made it stupid easy on the recruiters. The moment I said I wanted to be a medic- even more so. The moment I got accepted for ranger training? People used to call me ‘Beaver’ because I was an eager beaver to jump at training. Training, knowledge, didn’t matter how physically demanding it was. I wanted to know. Maybe my callsign should’ve been ‘nosy’. I dunno. I used to think Beaver was a stupid callsign… Now, I miss it. Way better than Liar.” Shrugging lightly, your eyes reminisced in the memories of Basic and AIT… It made you wonder just how many people remained from your original company in Basic as well. Soap nodded… Before blinking. Grazing over a few thoughts.

“Your… Original callsign… Was ‘Beaver.’” Trying not to laugh, Ghost’s eyes shifted just a bit as well. Realizing what information you willingly gave. Finally Soap burst out, waking up Gaz with a start.

“Fuck! I thought Soap was a great one but BEAVER?! As in eager beaver?! That’s fuckin hilarious!” Unable to contain his laughter, Soap started coughing lightly. Earning just a few low chuckles from Ghost and Price glanced at you with a bit of… Pride in his eyes.

“Told ya you’d fit in just fine.” He chuckles as once Soap recanted the information to Gaz; he too started laughing his ass off too. Their beloved Doc, serious as one could be- devoted military personal- once had a callsign named ‘Beaver’ because you were so eager to do anything.

“So how many callsigns do you have?” The captain, your captain, asked while the two swapped jokes. Making it impossible to speak over them.

“Beaver, Liar, Angel… Doc. I got Liar because of how I passed my counterintel exams… Or actually, how I specifically passed the counterintel program acceptance test.” Shrugging lightly, Gaz and Soap immediately quit their idle chatter. Even Ghost leaning forward slightly to listen.

“Specifically, I was never meant to even be in the exam room. Truthfully, I thought I was going for more combat medical training on new equipment. Suddenly, found myself in an exam room for a test I never even knew I’d be taking. Didn’t know if it was a secret thing or if it was a legitimate test for medical. So I uh… Lied through my teeth. During the interview processes, during combat drills, during the whole written exam. Once I finished, and the exam was called to a close- I was the only one called to stay behind. The instructor at the time, my mentor, said I had the lowest scores. Asked why I even wasted his time grading my shit if I’m going to even take the training program. When I blankly stared at him, and he recanted what the program was for- I uh… Then told him that I wasn’t even supposed to be there.” Telling the story, your hands slightly moved in the sleeved sweatshirt that was rightfully yours. Ghost saw the way your speech turned genuine- looking to the past for good memories. Gaz listening intently, Soap only imagining how much trouble you were going to get into.

“So, he specifically asked why I went through with the exam. Told him I was eager to learn… However, the instructor told me I was accepted into the program ahead of everyone else from the exam because I was the best damn liar he’d ever met. Apparently, when your lowest score on your first attempt on counterintel programs comes from no studying whatsoever- it leaves a lasting impression on instructors.” Shrugging nonchalantly, Gaz shook his head in disbelief.

“Basically, you lied your way into a classified program with no prior training or even preparation?”

“Affirmative, Gaz.” Chuckling at the simplified version of it, Soap then had to fish out a few extra bucks- handing it to you. Which… Was a first. What bet did you win?

“You bet me that you got your callsign from something stupidly serious, or something seriously stupid… And you bet on the seriously stupid. I owe you a buck.” Grumbling lowly, you could only glance back at him.

“…How do you guys keep track of all this shit?”

Overtime, the five of you settled in for this long car ride. The antsy, adrenaline still slightly combing through your veins. Everyone had prepared in their own way for this longest ride of your lives. Soap pulling out his rifle, disassembling it- still always keeping a wary eye out for your grabby hands- and fine tuning it once more. Checking over every part with a fine comb gaze, a towel to the side to clean what he needed to. Gaz checking over a few files from previous escort missions. Learning from what little he had available- and also over the debrief once more. Ghost took to sharpening a few of his personal knives, making sure they were ready to plunge in a body with ease. Price focused on the road, and you? Reading over this Maria file, along with the fake file Ghost had compiled as ‘evidence’ to get you inside the door.

The mission was simple. Find, kill and execute General Shepard, and escape before the US forces arrives to clean up. At least the objective of the mission was simple, as for the execution… That as a bit more complicated. All of the mission required each person to push themselves, separately, and if one failed- the rest would too. Gaz was to accompany you, in a different uniform and different personality as an ‘escort’ to General Shepard with the ‘evidence’ of Simon Riley at the Breem brother’s request. If he failed, you would be left on your own. No weapon, no sort of tactical gear as you were going undercover intel again. If you failed, it would mean you would be killed immediately. General Shepard was far too cautious to believe that ‘Maria’ wasn’t in with Gaz.

Soap would be reaching the main network of the building, creating security loops to fool the monitor system into thinking nothing was going wrong while Ghost and Price were going through. Sweeping up bodies, searching for POIs they would capture and bring concrete evidence to the US forces that would most likely sweep in hours later once the alarm was purposefully tripped at the end of the extraction.

You, were to keep General Shepard distracted long enough and engaged in conversation for Ghost, Price, and Soap to meet back up to the main building. Rounding themselves back up to General Shepard’s office. To step out of the way to allow them to execute the man who’d made their life a living hell for the last year and a half… It was such a delicate situation, that if anyone messed anything up- and threw anyone behind… Anyone left for the US soldiers to find would most likely be killed.

No mistakes could be made. Which is what made you worried about your ankle slightly. A mere 5% deficit in your capacity, but that 5% could be the difference between a split cue to control the conversation versus a life-or-death situation. If Soap failed, the security loops wouldn’t be activated. Therefore, alarms would be set off, and the whole team- divided due to the situation of the mission- could easily be picked off one by one. If Price and Ghost didn’t round up the POIs for interrogation later on, William could easily assume that the ‘conspiracy’ was just a ruse to kill an ‘innocent man’, and you’d have another situation like Russia blaming the US for the slaughter at the airport once more. Every piece was methodical, purposefully placed with a reason. Waiting for the other side to take the opportunity, to take the bait. Let everything fall into place…

“Talk to me, Doc.” Asking quietly, your eyes flickered up to see Price slightly focusing on the road. Trying not to bother the others in their pre-mission rituals as well. He had noticed you hadn’t flipped a page in a few minutes. Just staring at it, lost in thought.

“…Just thinking of all of the ‘what ifs’, sir.” Murmuring, you turned the page once more on the file. Finding the end, restarting it, and debriefing yourself on the identity once more. He hummed lightly.

“All the ‘if one of us fail’ because the plan you’ve concocted is a little on the tight side?” Challenging lightly, of course Price would know what you were thinking of with a strange accuracy.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me ask you this, at the end of the day- who approves the missions?” He pulled out a cigar, lighting it one handed with practice and rolled down the window lightly. Tipping the ashes and inhaling softly. Your teeth naturally chewed on the side of your cheek.

“…You do.” Already, you could see where Price was going with this.

“Correct. So, if we chose a missions that follows your recommendations- I tweak it here and there to make sure it falls within the ranges of our requirements. That we can meet it’s qualifications… If I give the go ahead, would it be you who made the choice?” Exhaling the smoke, blowing it out the window- sighs escaped between tense teeth, followed in slight annoyance.

“No, sir.” Grumbling, he nodded at your answer.

“No, it wouldn’t be you who made that choice. Have a bit more faith in us, okay? We’re a strong squad and have gone through hell with each other. You’re part of the squad, because you saw that- and made use of every skill we all have. Not just through studying our files, but getting to know us as well. That- is why we trust you with our medical care. So- you can keep thinking about all those what ifs- or you can trust your team. To do what they need to do.” Slightly lecturing you, Price leaned his arm against the window. Letting the cigar burn but overall, his energy remained level. Staring at the road ahead of you, slowly turning to sundown… Halfway there, they were halfway through to the destination.

“…I need to get better about that, sorry.” Murmuring, your nose naturally nudged up the mask in the sweatshirt- which you did miss the three days you were pissed off at Ghost. Sinking lightly into it but maintaining your ankle up to rest as much as possible.

“We all got things we need to be better about, yeah? That’s what makes us human, and what a fuckin time to be alive.” Chuckling, Price inclined his head to the sunset. Rolling down the window a bit more to enjoy the crisp winter air… Enjoying the cold. Your eyes naturally drifting off to the side, barely seeing your reflection above the white winter land driving by… You’d always enjoyed the cold as well. Something about how quiet it always was brought a sense of peace to your core.

‘You’d better get outta here, lass. There’s no one in this encampment anymore, they’ve all moved on. It’s just you and these wounded left.’ The same voice warned you- standing guard at the entrance of the medic tent. Your eyes quickly seeing the S.A.S. insignia, and the same man watched your eyes steel. Taking out the pistol you’d always kept in the back of your uniform in case, shooting the three wounded men. They were your next captives to send to the US anyways, and with no intel left to give- they were useless to you.

The captain raised his rifle to you, unsure if you were friend or foe- here he had just been trying to give you a bit of mercy. Hearing most of the company begging, before he killed them, to spare the Angel in the medic tent. That you hadn’t done anything wrong but try to help them survive. Surprising, coming from a Russian encampment on the edge of the raging war. Meaning you’d seen the worst of it all.

‘I’ll find my way home. Thanks.’ Spoken in perfect English, there was no point keeping the façade if the S.A.S. Squad leader was present, and no point in keeping the captives alive for interrogation later. Some sort of combat medic you were, taking Russian lives when you’d taken the oath to save people… Not kill them, or determine their worth. The man met your gaze, glazed over and blurred out… You weren’t quite all there, as if you’d been playing this façade for a while.

‘I’m heading to an extraction point, do you need to contact your faction and request a pick up?’ Offering an olive branch, you nodded curtly. Taking a few journals, taking off the medic tent uniform and changing into tactical you’d had hidden. Buried slightly underneath a medical cabinet. The soldier extended his hand to the medic.

‘Callsign Price. S.A.S. Task Squad 141.’

‘Callsign Liar. CIA Task Squad 158.’ You took his hand.

‘You know they called you Angel, right? Begged me to spare you.’ Price warned, as the two of you began to walk on guard to the extraction point. Keeping an eye out for any remaining tangos, working on the exfil that would bring you home unexpectedly.

‘…At least I’m that good of a liar.’ Your response was curt as well. As if some part of you were kept closely guarded and focused on accomplishing the mission instead.

‘Specifically, they’d say- ‘Angel’s team betrayed her. She has to save herself, as uppers see her as a loose end’… Sounds pretty loyal to me. You must’ve done a real good job at earning that loyalty.’ Truthfully, at the time, it slightly stung. A very, very tiny part of yourself knowing that with everybody felled was most like a comrade you’d helped heal or bring back to the battlefield… Even though that wasn’t where your loyalty lied.

‘You got a point to this?’ Trying to pretend you didn’t care, Price took point while quietly maneuvering through left patrols and soldiers scrambling to find out where the infiltration occurred. Pausing once, waiting for something to move past, before scooting behind a few cars and other vehicles.

‘Maybe one day, you’ll find a squad who actually gives a damn about you. Instead of leaving a soldier alone on the battlefield, ya need some loyalty in your life.’ Shrugging- sneaking past a few more patrols left the two of you crawling in a field. Carefully making your way under the radar, and into the trees away from the encampment that exploded not even seconds later when hiding into the forest.

‘I work alone, that’s what a spy does.’

‘Well, again. Maybe one day you’ll find a squad that won’t leave you behind. If ya ever made it to my squad- I’d never leave you behind.’ Price laughed lightly, even though he’d just blown up your comrade’s base and escorted you to the exfil location… Where a large chopper was waiting for them to return.

‘Make room for one more! US fraction friendly, we need to give our allies a call that we got one of theirs!’

Chapter Text

“My name is Maria Lopelli, I have an appointment with General Shepard. Please let him know that it’s regarding a chess game we played a long time ago.” Polite, short, sweet and to the point- you held your badge and ID number out to the guard at the gate of the facility. Three floors high, two floors deep. Two different subsections to the right and left. Even though this part of the base was already within another larger compound - it still had its own militia guarding it. Taking different guard rotations, and if Gaz hadn’t been ‘escorting’ you closely- no doubt you’d have a hard time making it out on your own. Acting as one of the bribed guards, holding their weapon and dawning their uniform. Truly it looked as if you were fresh blood for this "Shadow Company". 

“You're clear, go ahead.” Stern, the guard opened the gate with a loud buzz. Slowly, as if every little second were pulling teeth and nails from your skin, it opened. Rattling into place, singing the sounds of a possible death sentence if you weren’t careful. Dressed in a business suit, as you were a politician from Europe, it seemed appropriate for Maria - your walk was graceful, immaculate. Walking forward with confidence, your head held high to the building- suddenly Gaz was stopped by one of the guards. 

“Authorized personnel only, corporal. General’s orders.” They insisted, with you not even giving Gaz a second glance. Waving him away with a nod of your head. Okay. That’s okay. Gaz was outside the building- stationed closer than the other three. He could reach you within five minutes, if need be, even on the third floor… it'll be fine.  You'd adapt. He will adapt. 

“Yes, sir.  I will remain here for Lopelli’s return to the gate.” Purposeful about the words, stating that he will be on standby- the guard nodded. Accepting that… Watching in a calm, mild horror as the gate shut in front of him. Fuck… He’d just let you walk into a den of wolves. Alone. 

‘Plans changed. Doc’s in infil point alpha. Outside the building on standby.’ Gaz’s voice came through on a whisper, barely audible. Soap took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. No doubt you were adapting, which meant he would have to as well. Thankfully you kept your mic on, while still keeping the volume low, so that way the team could plan their routes around your conversations. Currently you were walking into the building, which meant it was time to hit the security cameras. 

Thankful that the building was on the outskirts of the base- away from most of the busier parts- Soap easily cut a hole in the fence. They’d waited 'til sunrise to do this mission - planning their infiltration route to have the sun in the eyes of any base personnel who'd be on guard duty, which allowed Soap to easily use a spray to freeze the metal and make his way into the base undetected. Visibility issues were compounded by a light flurry of snow; the snow made it difficult for tangos to see Soap creeping up, and the two guarding the security building outside door were shot. Picking the lock, Soap kept an eye out for any patrols before opening the door. Quickly dragging the two bodies inside to hide any evidence from far away before shutting himself in. 

‘Third floor, please.’ Your voice calmly asking someone in the elevator for a lift. Finding himself in a deep red light, Soap feet fell in front of the other smoothly- no sound upon the concrete. Another guard making a round, turning right. A knife plunged deep in his throat, as Soap quickly then executed close range and once again dragged the body off to the side. The less attention he brought, the better. Followed by another wondering what the mild sound of his silenced rifle was- creating another opportunity for a smooth take-down of personnel. Pulling both of the knives out, Soap put them back into his pocket. That only left the two in the security room. Quickly moving- Soap breached the door to the main server room. Surprising the two guards sitting at the multitude of screens- click and click. They fell to the side, out of the chairs with blood splattered over the controls and screens. 

‘Security infil successful. Beginning back door video loop, making base coms go dark… Now.’ Price and Ghost easily beginning their sweep at the far side of the base. Now, this… Was the most important part. As much as Ghost would’ve appreciated to just execute Shepard for this tyranny, right now- this was the squad following through on your deal. Gathering that intel, that proof. The POIs or persons of interest in the base that would clear their names with US sanction. First building to the left, the hangar with weapons systems and vehicles. You wanted the two to shut down those systems first, rigging a small line of C4 to the fueling tanks and other planes. A plan B, for later. 

‘Third floor, ma’am.’ Your thanks came in response, turning down the hall to the right. At the end of it was a very official looking office. Of course it’d be his. General Shepard was known for being somewhat flashy- you noticed from his detail in the files. Hearing Soap acquiring the security feed and shut down communication to the base, and Ghost’s check in planting the C4 incase things got a little… Crazy in the end. Now, it was your turn… To keep Shepard as distracted, and as busy as possible to allow the duo to sweep the base for any POIs that would secure the deal. Your ankle ached, but right now- you had more important things to worry about. You two were isolated now, in this third floor in the middle of this large base. 

Tap, tap, tap. Your knuckles knocked against the glass door. Holding this… Fake file in hand, that you’d read over and over again to memorize the details. Purposefully keeping your own details in that little box off to the corner. Those weren’t the facts you needed right now. The ones in your hands were. Quickly, you heard shuffling behind the door- as if someone was reading over papers and shoving them away. Standing politely at the door, you didn’t dare knock again. If Shepard wanted to take his time- you would let him. 

‘Bravo Building secured, 2 POI found and captured. Moving onto Charlie.’ Ghost’s gruff voice reported, as he sounded… Slightly out of breath, as you could hear gentle pants. As if he’d just started working out. So far, you heard no alarms, and no gunfire. Meaning this side the base was yet to become aware of what was going on within… The black out of coms working for the moment. 

“Lopelli! Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Quickly, your thoughts were shaken- brought back to focus when the door opened. Revealing a charming smile, gruff old man in a Navy uniform. Smile stretched and thinly forced, as he gave you an open hand. Taking it in a simple handshake, your smile was also rightfully stretched thin and forced. Matching his energy. 

“Of course, thank you for responding so quickly… After the lovely dinner with the Breem brothers, I couldn’t… Help but wonder about those opportunities they spoke of.” Choosing your words carefully, Shepard invited you in. 

‘How was that conversation by the way? I heard that… Some flies were causing problems.’ Ghost grit his teeth, kneeling at the end of the hall while firing. Price down below- sweeping the floor for any leftover hostiles.  No return fire yet, just the surprised exclamations of dying men.  Jaw steeling, his sights landed on a few heads.  Two quick pops, then...silence.  Standing, the ache in his legs from maintaining a stiff composure, was nothing new. An old friend, the adrenaline in his veins… strangely enough the calm was what set his nerves on edge. Breaching an office door across the hall. Finding it empty, and moving on to the next. Not even two doors later- tangos started firing at him. Fuck. Ducking into the office, Ghost switched to his side arm. Aiming down hall, lining his sights up again- and shooting down another merc. 

‘Our discussion was interrupted yes… But I received an invitation, and… I heard you were looking for intel on a Simon Riley?’ Just the mention of his name from your lips brought a slight pain to that rib again, but Ghost couldn’t focus on that at the moment. Not with soldiers shooting at him once more. He’d just barely finished sweeping the second floor when coming up from the first were more marching in. Rifles aiming at him- 

A few silent clicks, they fell from the back. Revealing Price, who had another unconscious POI in tow. That was three, they recognized from the photos. Good. The more for your intel and negotiations, the better. Crossing back downstairs, the unconscious individual was tied down to a chair- shoved in a secure room and locked inside. They wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. 

‘Charlie Building Secured, 1 POI found and captured. Moving on, three buildings remaining.’ You had heard the gunfire through the radio, but not outside yet. Two buildings down, three more. Most of the base was the weapons hangar, the runway for airplanes and trucks. A base, very unassuming and very small off the map- something General Shepard purposefully kept hidden and small. However, the man looked to you with curiosity. Head slightly tilted. 

“Explain to me… You’ve received my invitation and have seen what we’re capable of. How’s the new political position suiting you?” A check, a quick and simple question. One that if you hadn’t studied on her profile, you might’ve not been able to lie your way out of it. 

“Very well. Due to the support of the people you’ve placed in me, I’m able to gather the intel you requested with relative ease. For English Central Intelligence… It’s surprisingly open.” A gentle smile, small laugh, and you opened the briefcase you carried with you for this very reason. Pulling out the file that Ghost had created; a fake of himself with false information that you poured through to make it sound as convincing as you could and set it on Shepard’s desk. Keeping the briefcase open… Letting the silence take over, letting Shepard take as much time as he wanted looking over that file you’d just let slip through your fingers. 

“What about this part here? Did you get photo evidence to back it up?” So it began, the interrogation. The checks, the verification… This is what you prepared for. Setting out the corresponding photo to the background response. Looking over the quality, before glancing up to you. 

“What about legitimacy of the photo?” He wanted to make sure that it was valid. To which you gestured to the back of it. Revealing a signature, a date, and a private investigator’s business. 

“All verified, hired the investigator myself… Also disposed of the investigator myself as well. I have proof of that if you need it too.” Just a flash of a plastic bag, but truly with nothing in it- Shepard quickly shook his head. He… Didn’t need to see the proof that you were serious about this investigation. 

‘Delta cleared. No POI  found, moving.’ That. Was when you could barely hear the gunfire over the air conditioning unit, causing Shepard to pause for a moment and listen. Though he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, not on the radio he carried anyways. Plus when glancing at the few security screens he’d placed in his office- they remained calm. Still. As if nothing was happening. 

“Is everything okay, General?” A quiet question, one you shifted with worry. Making obvious tells you nervous after the last encounter with this deadly squad and how they interrupted the last conversation you had with the Breem brothers. Shepard smiled brightly, wanting to sooth the worries of a young politician. He couldn’t afford to scare Maria Lopelli away… Not when she was an upcoming politician, newly appointed senator… Someone he could influence into becoming president. 

‘Of course, my apologies. Shall we continue?’ Oh, thank God. Ghost was thankful that you were able to reroute that conversation back to the distraction… Even if it was about his past. There were some missions he did have to include there that Shepard had been apart of in the past, so if he wanted it to be legitimate… They’d be in there. He’d just been a bit reckless, alerting two guards that Price swept in and Ghost cleaned up afterwards. Attempting to fire back didn’t end well, but they were getting closer to the main building… Where the moment they began the siege, then the conversation would end. You’d have to find a way out of there, but Shepard played dirty… He just hoped you wouldn’t get caught that way. 

Breaching into the last building before the main one- all that was left was a small basement bunker. One that contained the very select barracks for the soldiers Shepard trusted. Without access to their weapons, while some thought it’d be smart to bring a knife to a gun fight- it didn’t last very long. Able to separate and round up numerous soldiers who accepted their clean defeat- Price and Ghost finished up the last tie down… Out of breath slightly. They were reaching that threshold you warned about. Search and capturing five buildings in the span of an hour was not an easy accomplishment. You were demanding the best out of them, and so far… It was working. 

‘Search and seizure complete. Rendezvous at point Charlie. Begin main objective: execute Shepard.’ Gaz kept the patrol at the gate busy- keeping an eye out on how the base suddenly lost life. How it grew quieter and quieter, with each building taken down by these two beasts. Finding the POIs you’d thought of, knowing that these would be more than enough to sanction their names- clear them… Now it was just for the bastard at the head of it all. Once the rendezvous point was stationed, there wouldn’t be any hiding what happened to General Shepard’s meticulous base- and they were extremely careful the entire time… To the point when Ghost finally returned to that front gate- and the two guards at the beginning shot cleanly- did Gaz see it. 

Ghost’s hand was shaking. Just slightly. 

Holding his rifle, having switched support hands- even just holding it, Gaz could easily see his hand shaking from having to keep vigil on high alert this long. Price looked tired, his body feeling the heightened demand of the mission you put before them. That’s why you wanted Soap- and now Gaz- to lead point at this specific building. To allow the two, who’d just searched and seized five buildings on their own in a trained base facility, some ease. 

‘Get down. I heard fire.’ The squad turned to the building, looking up at the looming three stories and two separate conjunctures. You were in this wolf’s den… Now it was time to get you out and execute the bastard who did this to them. 

‘Yes, sir.’ The gate opened once more. 

“Task squad 141, retrieval mission of asset and objective execute the target is Oscar Mike.” Price growled, cracking his neck lightly. Not even moments after he gave the order- did Soap and Gaz slide up to the main doors. Bursting them open, throwing a few flash bangs down the hall. Followed by blinding lights, loud ringing- there wasn’t holding back anymore. This was a full infiltration mission, and they’d be damned- if they left any of these corrupted soldiers alive. Shouts of confusion rang out, soldiers scrambling to grab their weapons- in the midst of it blood splattered from clean shots. Downing the hall of guards with ease, Soap staying low while Gaz hugged the wall. Elevators were shut down already, so it meant a climb both up and down to clear the building completely.  

A quick sweep of the first floor, as Soap found one more POI able to be tied down and secure- led the squad quietly and rounding corners cautiously up to the second floor. Now- this was when they heard coordinated shouting, a sudden clatter rolled to their feet. Ghost immediately grabbing the thrown grenade and launching it back into the hall of the second floor. Pinning them down on the first to second floor staircase, returning fire above their heads. 

‘What’s going on down there, sir? Th-that sounded like gunfire!’ Your poor little sweet, trembling voice gave way. Shutting the briefcase, and kicking it away from Shepard’s reach as a ‘desperate attempt’ to hide under his desk. Which he dragged you there anyways, as suddenly the building seemed to sigh- a rumble from a heavy explosion- and settle once more. Dust falling from the ceiling, you watch Shepard reaching up in the desk in a few hidden slots. Pulling out a pistol, his only sidearm.

“Looks like I’ve been compromised, honey. Squad’s found me and I’m gonna make it out of here alive.” Oh? While you had half a mind to take that gun and shove it up his- you held your tongue. Shivering like the scared politician who’d never seen combat in her life, you held onto Shepard’s sleeve tightly. 

“W-wait, what about me?! You promised me!” Ugh, oh god, your reputation… This was the one thing you did hate about being intel. Was the groveling you sometimes did. Gunfire sounded closer, and closer- as if some sort of machine was on a rampage and the soldiers- the numerous ones you’d seen outside- were fighting for their lives against it. 

‘He’s gonna leave her for dead! Ghost, get up there we’ll catch up!’ Price… Really was coming for you. 

‘Yes sir! I’m not going to let that happen!’ Scuffling, fighting, gunfire. The sounds of war that rang jagged around you. From the phone that rang last year, to this moment right now. You just had to buy time to allow Ghost up here. Shepard growled lowly, flinging you off of his arm with a frustration. Maria was just a tool to him after all, a scared little- 

BAM. The doors opened. 

Click. A sudden strong arm around your neck, the familiar pistol butted against your temple- Shepard swung your body in front of him. Meeting steeled blue grey eyes, some of the black fading down from around the mask due to sweat… He really had pushed himself to the brink- to complete this mission… To your direction. 

“Stay there Ghost! Stay there or I pop the girl’s head off!!” Snarling, his voice was gross this close to your ear. Spittle flying from his mouth as he yelled, a humid warmth on your collar. His trembling hand holding the pistol so close, that you didn’t even have time to react when the butt of the pistol met your temple. Causing a bit of blood to tinge your vision, ringing fill your ears… Ghost’s footsteps shuffling forward, back, forward again. Unable to decide if he wanted to negotiate or if he just wanted to shoot Shepard right then and there. 

But… Then he’d risk shooting you. 

“Put the gun down Shepard! The whole base is gone, and it’s just you!” Threatening, his voice was raw. Traces of fear lingering in it, but only to your ear. To the squad’s ear. To those trained to listen for it. Taking a sharp step forward, trying to shock some mistake into Shepard- he took a clean step back. 

“Any more steps, and you’ll have another conspiracy on your hands! I can easily make this look like your squad like I did the last one and I’ll do it again!” The muzzle pointed at your head, struggling to see past the slight blood in your right eye. The hit had caused enough damage for your thoughts to be scrambled. You’d thought of this scenario, what was the plan…? What was the plan again? 

‘We’re on our way Ghost!! Keep him busy until we can help!!’ Price’s voice echoed in the earpiece, Ghost holding steady. Blue eyes holding your gaze seriously, unbreaking and unwavering. He will get you out of this mess. He will bring you home. 

“Too late, mate. Already got a US sanction, and got our evidence. Turn yourself in, and I’ll make it painless.” Instill hopelessness, find a solution that was an equation that worked in the past. Ghost’s brain ran on all cylinders, racking his numerous hours of training and scenario building for situations like this. What was the solution? He’d find it. No doubt about it. 

“Let me walk out of here, and I’ll be sure to let your civi live. How about that instead.” Shepard shot the ceiling, hitting one of the lights that caused sparks to fly. An involuntary whimper escaping your lips, trying to turn and avoid the sparks. Putting the pistol right at your temple again, taking slow steps back. Trying to fight back against Shepard a bit, give Ghost a clean shot. 

“Easy, girl. Keep your cool or else I kill you anyways.” His words spat venom, he had no intention of letting you live… But Maria would fall for it, and that’s what he believed right now. That’s what Ghost needed right now to make the most of this situation… So you calmed enough, practiced whimpers and slight begs for help pleading through lying lips. 

It… Still sounded so damn real to Ghost. Made his eyebrow twitch with each ungenuine plea for release. Each time you whimpered, cried out in pain, moved with Shepard as if you were some weak little girl… It wasn’t you, it didn’t feel like you, it was staring this Maria in the face and personally had it not been you- Ghost most likely would’ve done and over with this whole façade. Killing the two in the process. But no, it was you. That was the difference. It. Was. You. 

“Negative, Shepard. You kill her and you lose your only protection.  Surrendering is the only way you leave this room alive.” His voice remained stern, and Shepard grit his teeth. 

‘Complete it.’ Suddenly, Ghost saw it. The way you tapped your finger against your thumb. Holding both hands on Shepard’s arm around your neck, tapping your thumb against the back of your hand so he wouldn’t even know a thing. Complete it…? As in… Shoot through you? That was the solution you saw, one where everyone got to walk away smoothly. You’d prepared for this situation… And that was your solution. If you didn’t have Gaz, if you couldn’t make it out in time, couldn’t make it out of Shepard’s grasp… Was for him to shoot through you and kill Shepard. 

“Not gonna, Ghosty! Give me that escort!!” A standstill, one where he loaded the gun. Fuck! It was either he shoots and hope or lose you. 

‘Complete it!’ The thumb shook lightly, you were prepared. Ghost’s jaw steeled. 

“Drop the gun Shepard!” Last warning. Shepard’s finger landed on the trigger, Ghost’s instincts kicking in before he could even stop it. 

BANG.

Chapter Text

The world spun, pain flaring in your chest- similarly to being stabbed which you’d experienced before. A splatter of red, falling to the side and landing on the floor soundly. Ah, the cold floor… You could remember the cold floor. One that felt all too familiar. Blurry eyes barely opened to a white ceiling, ringing ears somewhat working… Muddled brain quickly accessing the fact that yes- you were shot. A black figure, maybe the monster you’d fought against for so long, moved to the body behind you. Coughing roughly, Shepard’s voice barely heard as he tried to crawl away. Play dead… Play dead. 

“Y-you cruel man. Shot through the- cough cough only hope… This country had.” He tried to shoot at Ghost- grasping the pistol only for it to be swatted away with a swift kick to the head. A satisfying crunch heard, as Shepard gave a right bloody scream. To Ghost… It wasn’t enough, for the fact he had to shoot through your chest- to even reach this point. 

“See, that’s your problem mate. You can’t tell the real deal from a bloody good Liar.” Before Shepard could even respond, Ghost’s rifle shot right through him. Blood splatter and brain matter sweeping the carpet. Leaving a bloody mess… He waited, did a small double tap to assure death… Before you watched the impossible happen. 

Ghost moved so quickly, grasping the curtains from the office window. You could’ve sworn he was shadow, or an actual ghost, but before you know knew it- he was ripping strips into makeshift bandages. Tying them together, shoving them in both the back and front of the wound. Earning numerous swears from your shivering lips, wrapping it tightly with the curtain bandages- immediately with what little strength you had, put pressure on the wound to help prevent any more bleeding than you needed. 

“I know. I know.” Muttered after every curse word, every small shift, as if it were a begging plea to forgive him- Ghost hoisted you on his back. The same way Soap had hoisted you the night you were so drunk. Like a backpack slung against his tactical, white shirt drenched in red… Your arms lamely hung around Ghost’s neck- he strapped you against his back. Which allowed full movement, as there was still gunfire outside of the office. 

“You… Made a pun for me…” Raspy, haggard, it hurt to breathe… Drowning, you were drowning slightly. Blood no doubt filling your lungs, but your laughter still rang pathetically in Ghost’s ear. Head heavy against his back, a curse. A sin. Ghost hated the feeling… He didn’t want to feel your head against his back like this. He would’ve rather been the one carrying you back from a night of heavy drinking again. Light, airy… Hurting. This was his fault. Fuck, they needed to leave. Now. They had no doubt less than an hour before US forces would start flooding in. As promised. 

“Hard not to, when the fucker’s a damn fool.” His response was dead paned, no humor, no punch line. Ears up, rifle up, Ghost needed to get you to at least the second floor- where the rest of the squad was at least holding their position. Fighting upstairs is always hard. Downstairs? Not so much. You nodded against his warm back, scooting one of your arms to rest upon it- putting pressure on the wound. Taking deep breaths, controlling your intake of oxygen. That’s what was preventing your decent into shock slower. He moved quickly, roughly, Ghost had to get you to safety. So the least you could do was make sure you’d come out of this alive.  

“He was… Such a jerk. Zero outta ten… Would not cough recommend.” Trying to quip back, trying to keep awake. Count the number of clicks you heard through Ghost’s rifle with every return fire to the soldiers who defended the building. Every muscle movement he made, how sculpted his back was. Something, anything to keep your brain from fading. Ghost suddenly banked left, hiding behind a wall that caused your chest to burn. Fire flickering through it in low throbs. That kept you awake for a bit… Pinned down by gun fire, you barely heard Ghost speak. 

“I’m pinned in the left corridor, how close are you to meeting in the middle?!” His voice strained, he’d been yelling and communicating this entire time after all… It brought a smile to your lips, knowing Ghost trusted your decision and plan for intel… It would be alright. You had accommodated time into this section in case this happened. For whatever reason. 

‘Give us thirty seconds! Just finishing up sweeping the second floor!’  Soap’s voice rang through loudly past more gunfire. 

“Make it quick, I have injured!” Demanding gruffly, you rolled your eyes slightly. Now everyone was going to be worried about you for no reason. Ghost grumbled lowly, before gently untying you from your position on his back. Setting your heavy body on the corner facing away from the gunfire… It allowed him to move freely. Opening fire without weight. So… You waited there, bleeding into these makeshift curtain bandages- before Ghost finally was able to pick you back up. Return fire ending. 

Walking down the hall briskly, Ghost was running through every solution he could think of. Of everything he passed, would it be helpful to you right now or no. Every bit of medical training, every bit of counterintel, how exactly he could save you with the best possible out come. 

“Ghost…” Your request came quietly, with his head focused on saving you. At first; it seemed as if he didn’t hear you.  

“Ghost, I need to tell you cough cough something.” Ghost hummed in response… Before his eyes widened.  

Your name, quiet… Subtle… Whispered on cold blue lips stained red from your blood.  

A sense of finality and dread filled Ghost’s gut, swallowing heavily. Feeling his breathing uneven just slightly, grip on the rifle tighten. Felt in his shoulders, felt in his chest, and felt in his heart. How the steady beat suddenly skipped, and began to thrum in Ghost’s ears. His head glanced back to you over his shoulder, the first time you could see actual fear in his blue eyes.  

“…You’re not dying today.” They steeled quickly, shoving the fear aside for determination. No, he refused to let you die. Especially since it was his fault you were shot in the first place. Sighing softly, you nodded to Ghost’s order and smiled. That gentle, hidden one that Ghost had come to love often. The one hidden in shadows, behind closed doors, behind the sweatshirt mask that belonged to him.  

“Yes, sir. I-I won’t die.” Though the stammer forced itself through, beginning to shiver lightly from the shock of blood loss. Ghost growled lowly to himself, fuck protocol- he needed to meet up with the squad. Now. With the third floor swept properly, his decent downstairs met with the rest of the squad halfway up. Gaz’s eyes widening- seeing such a sight.  

You, shot, on Ghost’s back. The same way he carried Gaz from the mission that grazed his leg. Blood slowly dripping to the floor from your hand resting on the back of Ghost. Whose tactical gear and shirt had now bled through the back. Slowly to the front. 

“Hand over, Ghost. Now.” Gaz ordered. A seriousness you’d never heard before, gruff and almost… Scary. A darkness, hidden within and Ghost didn’t have to be told twice. Unwrapping you from him, Gaz quickly took you in hand. Cradling you close to his chest, taking up both hands. He was the one with the most capabilities at the moment, as everyone else was slowly losing strength the longer this mission carried on. Soap jumped steps, guarding the second floor while Price practically launched himself down to the first. Ghost leading point while Gaz practically ran. 

“US forces should arrive any minute!! We’re going to find their medic right away and get airlifted back!!” Soap’s voice rang out sharply from behind once they’d breached the first floor. Gaz ducking behind a wall quickly, the other three shooting at the new oncoming tangos that came from the other buildings as support. Your eyebrows furrowed together. No? You should’ve had at least thirty more minutes. 

“We called the unit coming to sweep up, let them know we had injured.” Explaining through heavy pants, Gaz saw the furrow in your eyebrows. Feeling every shiver, your blood seeping through the bandages a long time ago. They had no time to replace them, not until they got in that airlift.  

“…That isn’t-“ 

“Doc, with all due respect- let us fucking save you, okay? We’re not leaving you behind. So shut up.” Irrefutable, Gaz’s stubborn dark voice remained. Covering your head with his, as a few grenades exploded around the squad. Avoiding any debris from getting into the wound. Soap and Ghost throwing back a few as they could. Ducking cover from others, Price picking off in between. Rotate, move up. Pick off. Duck, return, move up. A well-oiled machine, as Gaz kept your body covered… But it wasn’t fast enough. 

“…Hey, Gaz…” Your voice barely heard above the gunfire. Tapping his head, leaving a small blood smear. 

“Doc, I thought I told you-“ 

“Gaz I’m passing out.” Barely managing, Gaz cursed. Trying to keep you awake, trying to keep you aware. Because they knew the moment you passed out- would the moment shock set in. All you could hear, was the gunfire and Gaz’s pleading… Only for that black fuzz to claim your body. Lulling you to a deep sleep.  

The loud ringing in your ears only grew louder, and louder, and louder- until opening your eyes. Silence, even though your body rocked back and forth in a helicopter. Seeing the saline IV, a blood bag, numerous soldiers moving around your body. Lifting you up- taking off the bandages that Ghost made, and replaced them with actual ones. Shoving them deep in the wound- earning a slight wince. There should’ve been noise, should’ve been loud whining and orders and shouting… But you couldn’t hear a thing, except the ringing and the heartbeat in your ears. Someone was straddled on your hips, glancing down you saw a black masked monster again… Ghost, who’s shoulders heaved- his mask slightly pulled up past his mouth. Hands held together as if he’d just done CPR.  

Oh, your heart stopped. 

He gave orders, yelling, pointing- but not moving from his spot on your hips. A stern vigil in case you decided to code once more. However- none of it reached your ears. Still ringing from the shock, your hand felt heavy- just trying to lift your fingers hurt. Your chest hurt, specifically the ribs… Good, he did it right. Accessing yourself, your brain came to the conclusion that… CPR was necessary, three broken ribs, a shattered sternum, and entry plus exit wounds from being shot clean through. That didn’t include either, the ruptured organs or internal bleeding. You would definitely need surgery, most likely a coral or bone transplant. Possibly a new lung if Ghost didn’t graze it properly. Ouch, you… Were a mess. 

‘Don’t… Leave… Me.’ Straining each tap, that barely made contact to Ghost’s knee- leaving blood smears each time; in the midst of his orders- wide eyes looked down to see blurred ones struggling to stay awake. Stay alive. You promised him, you wouldn’t die today. Nodding, Ghost made a silent promise. A silent prayer- that he wouldn’t go anywhere. No matter what happened. You’re not dying today, that was the only solution on his mind. Like a fucking mantra. Over and over in his head. The mission was complete, and he promised he’d bring you home. 

You’re not dying today. 

Passing out once more, this time it was peaceful. Long, surprisingly. However- at the same time you shouldn’t have been surprised. You were probably in surgery, or just getting escorted off the helicopter. Where you were flown to, you’d only find out when waking up. It was a strange thing, to be under anesthetics. As every combat medic went through that training, as in counterintel training- what it felt like to be under such medications. And, how to understand the difference between a chemically induced sleep versus natural REM sleep cycles. 

Laying in the dark, staring at nothing. Hearing nothing, saying nothing… You thought you’d enjoy the peace and quiet for once but at the same time… Being a lucid dreamer never helped. You couldn’t move- effects of the medication that you were very thankful for at the moment. 

“Hey. I’m here. I promised.” A voice echoed from the darkness, Ghost’s voice… No, Simon’s voice. Ghost would be more official. Less raw, less… Emotional. Staring into the black around you- and considering you could hear voices… It meant you were out of surgery. If Simon was here, that meant you were in the ICU- waiting. Waiting for your body to catch up and heal. 

“…I’m sorry.” It wasn’t your fault. 

“I know. I can hear you saying it now, lecturing me about how it was your plan. Your solution to completing the mission.” Damn right.  

“But… It doesn’t change that I still shot through you. I’m sorry for that… Really truly. I… I hope you could forgive me.” You had already forgiven him, long before he even had shot through you. 

“…It worked. The plan worked. Price and I found almost seven POIs… Almost being one of them killed themselves, prior to capture. The US came in, cleaned up like fuckin yanks, and took the credit for the whole mission. Every news outlet’s covering it. Largest conspiracy takedown in US history- even though it was some of their ranks involved… Called themselves the Shadow Company. But you probably knew that already.” That was nice to hear, but it wasn’t what you wanted to know. Of course, the plan worked; you made it… You trusted them. 

“That’s enough for today, Ghost. You have to let her rest. I promise you- she’s probably awake in that brain of hers. But the body’s weak. A barebones when you brought her to us.” Another voice, female, you couldn’t identify. However, part of you screamed for Ghost not to go. No, not a part of you… This darkness was maddening, and if your only lifeline left- it’d leave you with nothing but your thoughts. 

“Visiting hours are over, Ghost. I’m sorry.” No. Please, don’t leave… Don’t leave you behind. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I made her a promise.” His voice turned dark, dangerous. The other, probably the nurse, sighed heavily. Shuffling boots, the closing of a curtain, followed by a door… Thank god, for his stubbornness. Thank god Simon was still here, and still stayed… The sound of a moving chair, followed by an unfamiliar weight… An unfamiliar skin, and a new terrain to feel. No, you’d felt it once before. A long time ago, as you’d felt it once in the closet of your home in Italy. Fingers gently grasped around your hand, silent- in prayer almost- shaking… He was shaking during the mission too.  

“…Last thing for the night. Soap had a couple grazes on his arms from bursting through fire and throwing a few grenades back. Price had a dislocated shoulder in the end. However, he’s still asleep from the mission… Been at least three days now-” Three days?! It’s been three days and his voice was just now coming through to you?! Fuck, how bad was your body if it took you three days to gain some semblance of a consciousness?! 

“The medical staff says nothing’s wrong with the fucker, he’s just exhausted… You might need to talk to Gaz though. He’s blaming himself for leaving you alone with Shepard. Insisting it was his fault you got put in that position, even though… Though I’m the one who made that decision, to complete the mission.” But he listened to your directions. Listened to your pleas, as if he hadn’t… Shepard would’ve killed you, and that would’ve sent the whole mission in a downward spiral to fail even worse. What about Simon…? Had Simon done anything to take care of himself? 

“I’m… Okay. Sprained my shoulder from a few too many breaches. Cracked the rib again. Broke my hand though.” How’d he break his hand? There wouldn’t have been any ways for him to break his hand unless… 

“…Punched a wall. When I found out you were in surgery for two days. Not a good thing to punch concrete walls at full force.” Oh, you fucking idiot!! God damnit Ghost, you were NOT worth hurting yourself over this! 

“I get it. I do. I’m an idiot. I can hear you in my head now, telling me how much of a fool I am… For getting worked up over your wellbeing.” Followed by silence, Simon didn’t… Know what to say. Staring down at your unmoving body. Hooked up to all sorts of tubes into your chest meant for draining and monitoring your heart. Monitoring your lungs. Thankfully you were able to breathe on your own- at least you didn’t need that tube shoved down your throat… Simon was pretty sure if he had to see that- he wouldn’t be able to sit here. Rambling to himself, waiting for you to open your eyes. Waiting to yell at him, curse at him… Tell him he was a fool, for shooting you. A lump in his throat, stuck there since he felt your fingertips tap his knee after bringing you back from death. 

‘Don’t leave me.’ 

The desperation he saw in your eyes, the fear, the glazed over- barely conscious you… Scared to be left alone. Scared to be left behind, even though you’d just watched the four of them go through hell to get into that airlift and get you to the nearest hospital. Simon couldn’t tell you that he’d been up for the last four days- unable to sleep until he knew you were responsive. Unable to tell you that Gaz was currently under psych eval because he continually blamed himself for you being shot. Even though he was the one to do so. Unable to tell you that Price had taken a part of the falling building on his back. Sheltering you and Gaz from being crushed… Unable to tell you, that Soap had taken a piece from your rifle when you coded twice on the ride down. Praying in gaelic to it, that you’d come back. But he promised you, Simon promised… He wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave you alone. 

“…Your name. That you promised you’d never tell me… Is just as mysterious as you are.” Soft whispers, hung in the air as if he were speaking taboo. Simon’s hand holding yours lightly- cherishing every moment he could feel the pulse on your wrist. Hearing your heartbeat on the monitor, your oxygen perfect, everything was perfect… He could still see the blood splatter. Hear the shot pierce through your body and Shepard’s… Feel your ribs crack under his hands with every press against your chest. Sandpaper dry lips, cold from blood loss, a dying breath. Simon sat up sharply, eyes blinking wide. Realizing he’d begun to fall asleep again. Your dying figure, a reoccurring ghost in his dreams that Simon avoided if he could. 

“How’d I know I’d find you here, Lt.” Soap’s voice quiet, gently opening the door and closing it behind him. Moving the curtain away, grimacing at the sight before him… You were hard to look at, all of these wires and tubes connected to the incision in the center of your chest. It was necessary, and it kept you alive… But it didn’t help either, that currently their squad was dysfunctional. 

The well-oiled machine wasn’t oiled anymore. Sure the gears ran, but they were sticky. Sticky and hard to turn. Hard to move, and because of it- the machine stopped. Couldn’t work anymore. Not with you like this. Ghost hummed lowly, sitting back in his chair as if he’d just woken up from a nap… Though, he couldn’t fool Soap. He knew that Ghost had been praying to your hand again- talking to you as if you could hear him. 

“Because I haven’t left in four days.” He grumbled, an obvious statement. One that didn’t need repeating. Soap gestured to the couch by the window in the ICU room. A pull out- somewhat resemblance of a bed. A pillow and blanket placed there by the nurses that knew they couldn’t remove Ghost even if they ordered him to. A guard dog, some sort of black statue that sat vigil over your healing body. 

“Sleep, Simon. I’ll take over.” He sighed softly. Ghost shook his head. 

“Can’t… I see it again.” Ghost tried to protest, only for Soap to grasp the back of the chair and tilt it forward sharply. Nearly throwing his LT to the floor, as Ghost caught himself. Standing with a slight sway. 

“Even if you do, you have to get sleep. Otherwise you’re causing more damage to your body, and we both know the moment Doc wakes up that she’s gonna get a full check on everyone. Regardless of mental capacity. At least don’t cause her worry.” Soap took a seat in Ghost’s chair before he could sit back down. Glancing over to the couch- he sighed heavily. 

The next time the nurse came by to check on you- she stopped. Surprised to see two men in the room. Ghost, asleep on the couch. Facing away from everything… And Soap, reading a book in the chair next to your body. 

‘Glad to see she’s got more company than just Gloomy over there.’ Hey! Simon wasn’t that gloomy! Though you could hear Soap’s scoff… It warmed your heart, that he was here too. Allowing Ghost some sort of break from the monotony of waiting for your body to wake up. 

“Be kind to him, ‘ey Jackie. Guy just shot his own partner and watched her die two times.” Partner? Since when were the two of you partners? You didn’t know if that was even a thing, but all you knew was that if Simon had been awake to hear such things- no doubt he’d be giving Soap hell. 

“Partner? I thought Gloomy didn’t take partners. I know yall are a squad but that boy work alone.” Well, this Jackie- this nurse- seemed familiar to Ghost and Soap. Perhaps familiar to the squad. Soap laughed softly. 

“He doesn’t. But this… This one happened and he won’t say a thing about it. Though I’m pretty sure if given a chance- all of us would’ve become her partner.” What… Was that supposed to mean? 

“Finally found a fifth member that meshed as well as Roach did?” Jackie’s hands were cold, your body giving involuntary shivers when feeling gloved hands moving tubes slightly. Checking everything, making sure your body remained painless… Which you were thankful for. 

“I’d say so…” 

“Alright, well I’d tell you too that visiting hours are over but- I have a feeling you wouldn’t listen to me.” Jackie chuckled, as the familiar curtain shut again. Followed by the door. Leaving the silence between you, Ghost- who remained asleep- and Soap. The turn of a page, followed by a heavy sigh… Suddenly, you felt a hand rest on the back of yours. Kindly, not so intimate… But caring. 

“…It was freezingly cold, and this job of seeing off a distinguished stranger was not one to be envied, but Lieutenant Dubosc performed his part manfully. Graceful phrases fell from his lips in polished French. Not that he knew-“ Was this… Murder on the Orient Express? Agatha Christie? You always wondered what those books were that Soap always read. But you found it endearingly sweet, that to keep your brain busy and to keep it from your thoughts in the silence… He was reading aloud his mystery books, not knowing if you could hear them or not… But hoping that you did. Hoping that you would find solace in it, in this dark space. That didn’t feel the slightest lonely… 

By the time Jackie came by- a new shift about two days later- another one had made his way into your room. Ghost sitting in his chair of vigil, a never moving statue. Soap in the corner, leaning an arm on an inclined leg and reading out loud the book he’d started… Half way through it already. Followed by the newcomer- who sat across from Ghost, finally getting him to open up to a game of cards. 

“Have the lot of you nothing better to do?” Jackie asked, glancing between the three of them. Seeing the newcomer push up his glasses a bit. 

“Nah, I promised her I wouldn’t leave her behind.” Another promise, of not leaving you behind… Gaz. He must’ve been released finally; you wondered what took him so long. As you were beginning to wonder why your body was taking so long as well. It’d been five days, laying here in this stupid- inactive body. Thank god, that Johnny kept reading the book- as you were pretty sure if left to silence… You’d scream your lungs out in frustration. Wake up god damnit!! 

“Any response from her today?” Jackie asked softly, as Ghost glanced down to where he held your hand gently. All of them, had taken to it- a way in case you tapped one of them… They’d tell. Shaking his head, Ghost had to stand off to the side. A few more nurses coming into the room, followed by the doctor. Hearing the gloves snap, and the washing of hands… Ugh no… It was that time. 

“If any of you lot have weak stomachs, time to leave.” The doctor warned jokingly but was met with a deadpanned room of seriousness. You would’ve laughed, as the joke was in poor taste, but nonetheless- braced yourself. A few clicks here, turning off another machine there- your inner soul gave heavy shudders. The tube grasped, gently being pulled out from your insides as if someone had grasped your guts and slicked them out through a tiny hole. Shuddering, though not reaching your body. 

“You two, Ghost and Soap, ears up- I need you.” Price’s voice would sharply whistle to the two- feeling Ghost’s hand squeeze yours lightly… Hearing the two exit the room. Glad to know Price was alright. Though the absence of presence wasn’t gone long, Gaz taking up the mantle. Waiting in that vigil, gently resting his hand on yours… Not intertwining it the way Simon did. It didn’t take long for the doctors and nurses to filter out. Making sure your insides were where they needed to be and your heart could beat without the machine with ease. 

“…I’m sorry.” Ah. You knew this one was coming. 

“My cowardice, not wanting to fight and be by your side… I’m sorry for it all. They stopped me at the gate and all I could think of was the damned mission- not you.” What was it? Oh right, you’d been told by Price to trust the team. You trusted him. 

“It took me a lot longer to come see you, cause they thought I’d gone insane from my reasonings… I was pretty sure I had too. Turns out getting shock outta your system causes a whole bollocks of chemical reactions.” Chuckling softly, if you could roll your eyes you absolutely would. You would’ve told him that, explained it to him… Lectured him on it. 

“Gods I can hear you in my head- probably lecturing me on what shock does to the body… Hear you running through your check. I’m alright now, I promise. Legs good, still sore like you told me it would be… The other doctors were surprised, thought I’d gotten care at a specialized facility by the way it healed and how I worked on it.” Hah, fuck modern technology sometimes. You did that without any specialized training. 

“…Come back soon, okay? I’m pretty sure Ghost is losing his shit. Even though we’re on a forced leave of absence for recovery right now, he already wants to get the S.A.S back up. Been talking to price about recruitment programs and how to reestablish without worry of being infiltrated again… How you could train us, to look out for that.” Chuckling lightly, Gaz rest his head on your hand… As if asking for forgiveness. You never had to forgive them in the first place… The amount of vulnerability these men had given you, was something you’d have to take to the grave. No doubt they wouldn’t want anyone to know of it. 

“Kyle. Name’s Kyle Garrick. Didn’t know if I had the chance to tell you that or not.” He had, a long time ago… But it brought a smile to your unmoving face. 

The next time however… Your eyes opened. Unknown as to when you’d fallen asleep again, or if your body finally decided to shut down. But your eyes allowed light in. Squinting from being locked in darkness for so long- even though it was night outside. God, how you missed the moonlight… The stars, the open window with curtains blowing in. A similar sight to your bedroom- having moved into a patient room in the hospital. Away from the ICU, at this point the doctors had just deemed your body required the much-needed rest. 

Who… Was that? 

Sitting up was a struggle- knowing not to use your arms but your abbs to not disjoint your ribs or sternum- but eventually you were able to lean back against the headboard. In the moonlight… Was a man asleep in a chair, next to your bed. Strong, darker skin- tanned from work but there seemed to be a strange paleness about his face. Reminiscent of a farmer tan. Tattoos extended to the bottom of his neck. Dirty blonde, somewhat short hair unkept slightly, slicked back- trained to be that way. A fade tapered cleanly… A scar on the right cheekbone, a scar on the eyebrow. Slightly chapped lips, tense with slightly labored breaths, parted- licked the dry lips- before eyes wearily blinked open. You’d recognize those eyes anywhere. Steel blue, sharp. Commanding… Relieved. 

“…Simon?” Your voice barely worked, hoarse from about a week’s worth of rest and unuse. Snapping his head quickly, seeing your body finally… Finally move from laying down- hands resting in your lap. Eyes wide in wonder, that he couldn’t quite place. Before you gasped heavily, a movement that made you groan in pain- but Simon didn’t care. 

“D-don’t. Don’t worry, don’t do anything. Be still just… Don’t hurt yourself. Things are still sore.” He tried to instruct, sitting up and reaching out to you as Simon’s voice was crisp. Clean… Bright and yet loud… Like fresh rain from the sky. Comforting, something that could soak into your skin. 

“M-Mask!” Trying to speak through pants, short bursts of air that your lungs would allow, Simon blinked. Before realizing what you’d meant… Shit!! He ducked, putting his mask on back quickly… But knew the damage was already done. You’d seen him, definitely long enough to commit it to memory. Seeing you glance away, as every movement hurt to even do anything at the moment. Once the rustling stopped, you were able to rest slightly against the headboard… Finding a pillow between you and the back of it. Another in your hands to grip and rest- a comfort that made it easier to rest your arms… So that your chest didn’t hurt so much. Simon sat back down before you could even realize he’d been the one to do so. 

“…You were asleep, for seven days.” Unsure of what to speak about- Simon awkwardly scratched his cheek. Muffled once more. 

“That’s… A long time.” God, Simon didn’t want to admit he was relieved to hear your voice. See the gentle smile he’d began to pray for and covet. An image he burned into memory. Etched into reality. 

“Did… You wait for me all that time?” Trust. 

“…Yes. I did.” Verify. 

Chapter Text

“Grip my hands as strong as you can.” Sighing heavily, you did as the nurse asked. Nodding lightly, she then asked you to smile. Which you did- eerily- it made Ghost somewhat scoff. 

“I know you can’t lift them very high right now but hold your arms out as best as you can.” Reaching… Hurt. Your shoulders especially- unable to lift them any higher than a few inches from your lap… Then the pain came. The burning, the throbs, your nerves in protest. Yet you held them, trying to go higher. Ignore the pain- ignore the protest. Only for your hands to shake somewhat violently, and they drop. Unable to move for the moment, your shoulders ignoring your silent pleas and requests to try again. 

“That’s okay, it’s better than yesterday. Couldn’t even lift them off your lap.” The nurse, who’ve you come to know as Jackie, smiled politely. Nodding, she noted your progress in the computer- watching as you stared down at your hands in mild frustration. Everyone else was reinstated, establishing the S.A.S Program once more… Everything you asked for, William made sure it happened. 

“Want to try for that walk today?” Gods no, you didn’t want to move. Right now, it just hurt to exist and breathe. At least, laying in the darkness it didn’t hurt. But then again- they kept you on strong painkillers and now- you were allowing yourself the bare minimum. To feel, to assess, to make sure you were healing correctly. But if it meant that you could return quicker… Then a walk you shall do. Nodding, Jackie moved to help you up- but already you were standing. Ghost watching, vigil and unmoving, you continued hugging the pillow he gave you early in the morning as if it were the only thing keeping you alive. Pulling the IV with you, Jackie glanced back to Ghost. 

“Gloomy, your partner’s a strong one. Trying to force a body to move that doesn’t wanna move.” Chuckling, you glanced at her sideways. Partner? Why is everyone calling you that? And… Gloomy? Where did that even come from? 

“Jackie, can it. Doc’s just Doc. You know I don’t take partners.” Though, he stood. Jeans, another black sweatshirt- plain black balaclava with a hood on. No black underneath- not that it mattered… You could see his face clear as day, remember it and ingrained it into your memory… Of Simon. Seeing the eyebrow scar so clearly- you couldn’t help but wonder how he got it. 

Suddenly, your ankle buckled from the graze. Gripping the bed with a wince, you grunted through gritted teeth. Ghost pausing for a moment, hands slightly up. Prepared to catch you, as did Jackie. Shaking your head- through a few heavy breaths that only made your chest burn… Eventually you had to sit back down, releasing your muscles in your legs. Trembling in pain, simply sitting but holding the pillow. Resting your chin on the end of it. Fuck, you needed to walk today. Walking showed recovery. Walking showed progress. 

“You were shot in the chest. Your left lung had to be stitched back up. Your collarbone is shattered, along with three splintered ribs and your sternum was broken. Thankfully your heart wasn’t grazed… The fact you can even breathe the way you are is remarkable. The fact you can move your arms, attempt to walk is impressive… This is the second day you’ve woken up. Be kind to your body.” Jackie murmured, holding a straw in front of your lips. A slight glare from your eyes before Ghost stood at the doorway of your room. Leaning against it; arms crossed, leg swept. 

“Come on, Doc. Get up.” His voice stern, but certainly not cold. Jackie gave a bit of a ‘puh’ noise to him. 

“Hey, Gloomy dunno if you noticed- but she’s kinda in a lot of pain!” 

“Don’t coddle her, Doc can handle it. Get your ass out of bed.” His head inclined to you, steel blue expectant. Jackie looked back to you, her nurse looking telling you that you didn’t have to get up… But you did anyways. Grunting heavily- holding onto the pillow. Gripped tightly, every breath burned… But one step at a time, that was an order. It helped, truthfully. Someone standing up at the end of your room, a goal. One step at a time. Left forward, your body trembled. Right forward, your ankle threatened to give way. Left, Ghost got closer… Right, even more still. Left, your knee buckled. Right, your ankle burned. Left… Your head gently rest on Ghost’s chest. Arms out to catch you incase. 

“There ya go. Right as rain, now walk back.” Ghost’s words rang in your ears, as your vision blurred just enough. Frustrated tears pricking at the edges of your eyes. You were better than this. A mere few steps causing your whole body to ache, and stumble. Shake like a scared little dog. Nodding, you turned yourself around. Hugging the pillow, taking step after painful step… Sitting on the bed slowly, knowing if you’d just flopped, you’d be in a hell of a lot more pain. 

“…That’s very impressive, love. Most people don’t start walking until day three. Even then, just sitting up is worse.” Jackie praised softly, standing to note it in the computer. Ghost helping you swing your legs back into bed, and set everything back up the way you liked it. Sitting down at his chair, Ghost returned to his vigil over you. Like he never moved… But he did set up another chess game, a table lowered to the right side of the bed. So that way your arm didn’t have to raise at all to play. 

“Ain’t very impressive, if that’s the standard Doc sets.” He chuckled lowly, leaving you somewhat… Floored at his open compliment. Jackie rolled her eyes at Ghost. 

“And you say you don’t take on partners. What the bloody hell is this?” Her hand gesturing between the both of you. Truthfully? You didn’t know, and didn’t… Really want to put a label on it.  

“None of your business.” Glancing to you, that- you could truthfully agree with. Ain’t really anything there when you didn’t know something was there to begin with. Jackie raised her hands, winking to you. Turning on her heel, exiting the room. 

“…So…” Unsure of how to start this conversation, you moved a pawn. Ghost responded in kind, watching your hand closely. Checking for any kind of tremble, any sign of pushing yourself… Past what he’d already made you do. He saw the frustration, the slight despair, and even though you wanted to take that walk- part of you had no direction to do so. Ghost… Hoped he hadn’t overstepped any boundaries. 

“Spit it out, Doc.” That, came out harsher than he intended. Ghost once again taking another piece when you moved it slowly. 

“…Partner?” 

“I don’t know why they keep saying you’re my partner. You weren’t assigned to me, and I never asked you to be such.” Ah, such a very Ghost thing to say. At least you could rely on him for being consistent in his way of thinking. Laughing lightly, only to groan lowly and take a moment to hug the pillow. 

“It’s because… Ow…-“ 

“Easy. If it hurts, let it roll through.” His voice was cautious, guarded. Watching your every move. 

“That- Ghost. That right there.” Inclining to him, you sighed softly. A gentleness to your gaze, Ghost… Glancing down to stare at his hands. 

“…I guess it’s just easier… When it comes to the people I care about.” Shrugging softly, Ghost’s gaze flitting up to yours. Holding the gaze, unwavering- serious. Your fingers twitched, lightly… Wanting to close your eyes, trace over his face and understand it more. Besides the glimpse you saw the night you first woke up… But you couldn’t say that to him. Ghost was already cautious enough about his fears. 

“Like… Price, Johnny, and Kyle?” Giving him a slight side eye, Ghost scoffed. The bare traces of a smirk rising his cheekbones under the mask. You moved another piece, capturing one of his. Setting it off to the side. His hand, ungloved. Watching your eyes glance over the tattoos with curiosity. 

“Like you too.” Tap… Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap… Tap. ‘Let us save you.’ 

“Right… Still getting used to that.” Your eyes seemed to filter over things, memories perhaps and thoughts. Unsure of what to say, now that you belonged to a squad again. Been at least a decade… But even then, as counterintel you were so used to working alone or on radio silence half of the time that it was weird… Having people who would want to risk their lives for you. 

“Get used to it. Get used to having people who actually have your back. Trust your team.” Gruff, but still kind as ever, Ghost took another piece. Seeing the dash of annoyance flicker, but also a semblance of tired- your eyes blinked slowly. He sighed softly, pulling aside the chess board. A gentle shake of your head, a sigh escaping annoyed lips. You knew better, could be better, knew where your body should be and it wasn’t. Which annoyed you thoroughly. 

“Sleep-” Quiet, alone… Hearing your name from his lips in a mere whisper. Barely heard from the muffle of the mask. A name, with a gentle kindness you hadn’t heard in years… A stillness brought over your beating heart, glancing to Ghost. A cautious eye about it, and he raised an eyebrow of expectance to you. Finally- he won the staring contest. Grumbling, herding you to grow comfortable… Allowing you to sleep, soundly, under his guard. 

The next time you woke up, sitting up slowly followed by the familiar uncomfortable throb- eyes glanced around… You’d been asleep for about four hours, god only five steps and it wore you out that much. 

“Got a minute to chat, Doc?” It… Was Price, sitting at the side of your bed this time. In his lap, numerous stacks of paperwork. Glancing around, you couldn’t see anyone else. The door was firmly shut and you saw Soap standing outside the door. Guarding it.  

“Suppose I do. What can I do you for, sir?” Some nerves rattled a little bit, the last time having a conversation like this… Was the time you got burned in the past. 

“Your MOS, in the Army, was combat medic, correct?” Price opened up one file, setting it on your lap. Whoa… Those were your enlistment papers, from decades ago. How did he get these? You thought they were locked down. 

“Yes. Those are the papers I signed.” 

“After your AIT, you were cleared for Ranger training and attended that.” Once again, he set another folder in front of you. Papers from a long time ago, there was still dirt smears on it from when you were pulled by your Sergeant and told the news. 

“Yes. Those are the papers I signed.” Replying again, you… Didn’t quite understand what Price was trying to accomplish. 

“Three tours later, one to Iraq and two to Afghanistan, as under your MOS but not as a Ranger- you were recruited into Task Force 158 under the CIA after an accidental admittance to the counterintelligence program.” Once again, he produced this folder- with your test results and the contract continuation for another 10 years after your first contract was expiring during your last tour. 

“…Yes. Those are the papers I signed, Price what are you trying to accomplish?” Asking out of caution, your eyes flitted over the papers… Reading over your signature, the date. He held up a hand to you, gesturing for your silence at the moment. 

“This… Is the forced resignation of callsign ‘Liar’ after returning from the Russian Ukraine war alive and ended a mission forcefully in France. Due to faulty counterintelligence that nearly killed half a million people because the intel you received from Poiser- a known KIA double agent from Russia that infiltrated your squad.” Ouch, way to rub the salt in the wound. Glancing away, you felt Price set the fourth folder on your lap… This one felt the heaviest.  

“Please verify the paperwork.” He sighed softly, gritting your teeth. Ghost began to walk by, seeing Soap guarding the door. Stopping him momentarily as at first Ghost gave Soap a slight… Tilt of the head. Once Soap explained, a few words spoken through the hand, Ghost’s eyes widened. Before stepping off to the side, out of sight. Oh god, what was Price doing? 

“Please verify the paperwork, Doc.” Price pressed again, and your head shot back down. Looking over it… The smudge of tears, the black sharpie that covered the mission details and interrogation that burned your career. 

“Yes. Those are the papers I signed.” Your voice was a bit hoarse, as Price nodded. Taking the files and closing them. Setting them off to the side, as he had one more… But that was the end of your career. What more could he put in front of you? 

“After confirming your paperwork and verifying your status- this is the moment you are now to be reinstated as your MOS Combat Medical Personnel, reinstated of rank before transferring to C.I.A. Task Force 158, and enlisted into S.A.S Task Force 141. With this, I will need your signature in three different places.” Price pushed the open file to you, a sly- smartass look on his face. Holding a pen to you, who’s eyes stared at the official documents. Reading over every word with disbelief. 

“…You got my profile unlocked…” Jagged words, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The day you’d gotten burned, felt as if the world had just carved a piece of your soul out. Took it and snuffed it. Price nodded. 

“Had to pull a few favors… But consider us even after this. I do… Need you to sign it however.” Price shook the pen at you, teasingly as you took it gingerly. With a shaking, painful hand, you signed in three different spots. 

One to reinstate your MOS.  

One to reinstate your rank.  

One to transfer you to the S.A.S Task force 141.  

“Ah, I do have one more thing.” One more what? The thrum of your heartbeat beat when finishing your last signature- there was a light jingle. Metal on metal, as Price held your hand. Opening your palm, the familiar shape and weight felt so foreign to you.  

“Welcome back to the Army, Staff Sergeant.” He pulled away his hand, revealing a slightly rusted set of dog tags. Tinges of old blood at the edges, a corner slightly bent with another curved. The time you’d dodged a bullet, legitimately, and it snagged your tags… These were the originals, the ones you gave up when taking on the call sign ‘Liar’ for the CIA. 

“…Thank you, sir…” Tears fell from your eyes softly, sniffling lightly, Price sat there politely. Letting you cry in the afternoon, a smile on his face while taking a towel. Dabbing your tears away and gently pat your head. Soon the tears turned from happiness to a slight pain, as each time you hiccuped- fuck did it hurt. Only to laugh at your predicament, and that hurt too. There was no winning. 

After a while, once your whole body settled down- you did officially read through the documents. Indeed, Price got your entire profile unlocked. Reading through the three tours, the intel missions, Posier… That one hurt. You thought you’d gotten over Posier, but no. It just seemed to stab you every chance you got. If anything, Price noticed that you held the files he’d brought over- a customary when being transferred into the task force- a bit closer. Spreading them out on your bed, fingers flit through the information- pouring through it. Seeing the intel on everything you did. 

Truthfully, these were the condensed versions. The reason why Price took so long to visit you was because he didn’t rest. As soon as he woke up- he established the S.A.S. Task force again. Working with military leaders, or the remainder of them, to figure out where they were going from here now that most of the program had been gutted. Once Price had a heading, then he brought Soap on. You noticed, that Soap seemed to be the second in command that Price trusted a bit more… There was a history, and you weren’t going to pry about it either. But, the whole S.A.S. company had been bought out, bribed, or turned because of Shepard. Therefore- new heads had to be established. New recruits- fresh blood and veterans, brought on. Starting everything from the ground up once again. 

“Therefore, I’d like you to lead the medical team. You will have your own med building, tend to anyone that filters through. Teach combat medics, get them as ready as you can for the field. However, there will be times I need you for counterintel. Training fresh blood in programs and also doing rounds. Checking to make sure no one’s trying to sneak by from Shadow Company. Think of it as… A medical checkup every few months or so.” AKA… Paperwork. So, much paperwork. Nodding to everything that Price was asking of you, truthfully- it… Couldn’t have been a more perfect position. You had no problem teaching, medical field or counterintel. Whichever Price wanted you to be, you would be. No questions asked. You were eager, to work again.  

“As for missions, when the 141 is called to action- we will respond. You will be tech support at home base, as you were this last year. Once again, I might need someone undercover like the Breem Brothers or Shepard. You directly report to me. Sound fair?” It was surprising that Price was even giving you an option, but you nodded happily. That gentle smile never leaving your face, as Soap and Ghost glanced at each other. They’d snuck in, grabbing a couple chairs followed by Gaz sitting on the couch in the room.  It was strange, seeing you so happy while being given a momentous amount of paperwork. Soap had been drowning in it, and hated every second… He was a field lacky not a desk jockey. 

“Sounds good to me.” So strange. Soap couldn’t fathom it. 

“Rest up, sooner you get outta here the sooner we can get you to your new office and barrack.” Laughing lightly, Price leaned back in the chair. Crossing his arms, while you looked slightly confused. 

“Wait… Did you-“ 

“All last week. Do you know how many fuckin cypher codes you have in that house?!” Soap pinched the bridge of his nose. Blinking, you glanced between all three of them. 

“You got the-“ 

“The garden got moved to the back, so you didn’t lose out on any herbs.” Gaz interrupted, a smirk on his face. 

“But what about-“ 

“All your documentation and intel has been carefully sorted through and settled into the office. I went through it all personally.” Ghost nodded. Your mouth remained open as they groaned. 

“Doc! We lived in your house for a year. We know what you use, and what you need.” Soap grumbled, and thus your mouth shut. Before murmuring in slight embarrassment past your pillow you’ve learned to hug like a lifeline- 

“Even my favorite mug…?” 

“Even the stupid cat mug you drink tea out of every morning. It’s at your office, waiting for you.” Shaking his head, Price laughed even more at your predictability. The squad knew you, what you needed, and what you would want to bring from your house in Italy. They didn’t want you going into self-purgatory again… So the med building was connected to the main area. Right off the hangar, for when people came in from missions they could come straight to you. Your living quarters upstairs, and your office downstairs. It was about a five-minute walk from the main building, that way you weren’t isolated in the slightest. 

“…Thank you.” A small, embarrassed squeak came from your mouth.