Part one: Tracy just wants her dad to be happy. Y/n makes her dad happy. Though they are both in denial, Tracy makes it her sole purpose to try and get them together.
Part two: Y/n and Troy work together to help Tracy through an asthma attack. After, they have a heart to heart
Part three: Tracy tells Y/n what she thinks of her
Part four: Tracy asks y/n quite an awkward question about her relationship with Troy, it ultimately gets them in quite a bit of trouble
Part five: This chapter is a wild ride. Troy seems to be seeking out Y/n less since the accident. She thinks it’s because it’s going so well in the group and he doesn’t need her help so much. That soon turns out to be wishful thinking.
Part six: The clock is ticking and Troy is desperate to protect his people.The only out he can think of is to make an appeal to the mercy of an old friend.
Part seven: She is willing to meet them halfway. She states her conditions and tells them to bring the group.
Part eight: Troy says his goodbyes and reveals where he plans on going.
Extra ||troy alone: Troy on his adventure after leaving
Hi! I’ve been reading your story Little Mastermind and I love it! I wanted to ask if you will continue it any time soon? I can’t wait for the next parts!
I will, I’ve just been out of it for a while. Don’t worry, love 🫶🫶🫶
The letter arrived in a plain envelope, its weight light but its contents heavy.
It was five years after your wedding, the world had kept turning.
The handwriting on the front was unmistakable—neat, precise, and his. You held it for a long time, your fingers trembling as you traced the letters of your name.
Along with it was a white card, a wedding invitation. His name, and one of a woman you'd never heard of before.
————————————
Hey, you,
I hope this letter finds you well.
By now, you've probably received the invitation, and I imagine you're wondering why I sent it after so many years of losing contact. I wanted you to hear this from me, in my own words.
I never regretted loving you. Not for a single moment. Not when you met James, not even when you married him.
What I do regret is the timing. The missed chances. The things I didn't say when I had the chance to say them.
I've tried for the longest time to move on, to be happy again. And I think I finally did. I've found someone who makes me smile, she's kind and understanding. She knows about you—or at least the parts of you I carry with me in day to day life. She's been patient enough to let me work through it, to help me let go.
I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to put you in the position I did that day. I'm sorry for the way things turned out. But I hope you know that even now, you're a part of me. You always will be.
Thank you for being my friend, my partner in crime, my everything when I needed you most. And thank you for showing me what love is, even if it wasn't ours to keep.
I'll always love you, but I needed to let you go. And I hope, in your own way, you've also found peace and happiness.
Take care of yourself.
Yours truly,
Kyle Garrick
——————-
You read the letter again and again, tears blurring the ink until every word was etched into your heart. And then you wrote back.
—————-
Dear Kyle,
Thank you for your letter. It means more to me than I can put into words.
I think about you, still. About the promises we made under that tree so many years ago. I carry those promises with me. Glad that we could fulfil at least some of them.
I wanted you to know that I named my first son after you—Kyle. He's brave, like you. Strong, kind, and full of life. I tell him stories sometimes, about a man who taught me what it means to be courageous and loyal.
All that being said, I don't think I'll be able to come to the wedding. It's not that I'm not happy for you. I am, truly. But watching you get married, would open old wounds that I don't think either of us need to revisit.
You deserve to be happy, Kyle. You deserve all the love and joy this world has to offer, and I'm so glad you've found someone who can give that to you.
I wish you the best, always. And I'd like to keep in contact again, maybe exchange letters a couple times per year?
With all my heart,
Always your best friend
P.S. Tell your mum I said hi :) I miss her too.
——————-
You sealed the letter with a deep breath, sending it off with the knowledge that this would be your last exchange. It hurt, but it also healed something deep inside of you.
Sadly, the envelope you'd carefully sealed, your heart poured into every word, was one among the flood of cards and congratulations that arrived for Gaz and his bride-to-be in the weeks leading up to his wedding. It was lost amidst the avalanche of well-wishes from friends and family.
You waited for his response, checking your phone or mailbox daily, hoping for something—anything—that would acknowledge the letter you'd sent. But it never came. The silence stretched on, longer and longer, until you realized that no reply would come.
You told yourself it was for the best. Maybe it got lost. Maybe he read it but didn't know what to say. Maybe he thought it was better this way. You tried to convince yourself that this was fate stepping in, forcing you both to truly move on.
2041
You were 45 years old, when you learned about the news.
Major Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, KIA in Chechnya.
The world stopped turning for a good long while, but it wasn't until the funeral notice arrived that it truly hit you. He was gone.
His wife, in a gesture you didn't expect, reached out to you. She sent the invitation with a short but sweet note, telling you she'd hoped you'd come because she understood what he had meant to you.
You couldn't bring yourself to go.
Instead, you wrote a polite, heartfelt funeral card. You poured your sorrow and your regret into it, offering condolences to his family and her, even though you knew she didn't need to hear from you. You hadn't been in his life for years. You weren't even sure you had the right.
But you knew where you could go.
London.
It felt right to stand under that damned tree again, the one where it had all started. You stood there for hours, staring at the scarred bark, the initials you'd carved in a fit of youthful rebellion and hope.
Your initials + K.G.
Followed by an endearing 'BFFs 4EVA'
The words were faded now, the wood weathered, but the meaning was just as strong.
You looked up at the sky, hoping he might see you, wherever he was now.
You didn't cry.
You didn't need to.
You believed he had just taken a head start, that he was on his way. To that other life, the one you'd promised each other, the one you'd dreamed of. He was waiting there, ahead of you, and when the time was right, you'd meet him again.
It wasn't goodbye.
It was a promise, a vow that no matter the years, no matter the distance between you, you would find each other once more.
And until then, you'd carry him in your heart, forever the best friend who had loved you silently, fiercely, and without regret.
———————————————
Should I write an alternate happy ending? I feel like I should, to soothe my own heart. 🥹
You and Gaz attempted to keep in touch, exchanging messages and updates about your lives. But the weight of his confession and the awkwardness that followed made it harder and harder to keep the friendship alive.
Eventually, the messages stopped.
You threw yourself into your new life, trying to build a future with your husband. You asked for a transfer out of the SBS and back to the army, settling into a desk job far from the trenches, far from the life you'd once shared with Gaz.
But in the quiet moments—late at night or when you were staring at the ceiling as James made love to you—you'd think of him. You'd wonder where he was, what he was doing, and if he still thought about you the way you thought about him.
And he did.
At first, he thought about you every day. He used the pain of it all and channelled it. He became an absolute beast on the field. Earning medals and ranks left and right as if it was nothing. Using his heartbreak as a source of energy, until eventually, it ran out.
He met someone—a nice girl, kind and sweet. Nice but not made for him in the same way you were. Still, he had made a promise to his mum to settle down one day, and so he did.
But every now and then, something would remind him of you—a song, a place, the way someone laughed, the sight of a tree with wide, overhanging branches—and the memories would come rushing back like a tidal wave.
You both carried the weight of what could have been, what never was, and what never would be.
You always lived your life with lingering sadness, that you never even got to tell him how you felt. That at one point, you had loved him too. The best friend who was always there, the one who loved you in silence, and the one you'd never truly be able to thank for all the years of unwavering loyalty.
And in your dreams—oh, in your dreams—you were sixteen again. Sitting under that old tree in the park where you'd once made a pinkie promise to join the military together.
"Best soldiers in the world," you'd said, sealing the promise with a grin.
And at one moment in time, one glorious moment, that's exactly what you were. Together, 'you and him, back to back. Kicking ass, saving the world or whatever.'
Even though the texts and letters had faded into nothing, and you hadn't seen each other since the wedding, there was a quiet understanding between you and Gaz—a connection that didn't need words.
You both rooted for each other, silently, from afar. In another life. Another universe.
And maybe, just maybe, you'd find each other again in the next one.
You'd be together. That was the life you were meant for.
Until then, you waited patiently, finding comfort in the thought of someday in another life.
And somehow, that was enough to get out of bed each morning. For both of you.
He'd hoped that day would change everything—that it would make you realize he was the one for you. He lived in that fragile daydream, holding onto the hope that the bond you shared would finally evolve into something more.
When you went on leave shortly after the mission in Urzikstan, his childish optimism convinced him you'd end things with James. That you'd return, free and ready for him to sweep you off your feet like he always should have.
And you thought about it. You truly did. For days, you wrestled with the idea of breaking things off with James and going back to confess your feelings to Gaz—feelings that had lingered, on and off, since you were young. And you'd made up your mind, right up until the moment you stepped out of the plane.
But those thoughts were abruptly silenced when you got back, and James had a surprise waiting for you.
A week later, during mail call, Gaz, along with Price, Ghost, and Soap, received the invitation.
When he saw your name next to James' in an elegant font, paired with the words "Join us as we celebrate our union," Gaz felt the air leave his lungs. The weight of it hit him so hard he didn't say a word.
"Wedding invitation, lads. Looks like we've got some nuptials to plan for." Soap, who never did learn to read a room as fast as he could clear one, spoke up.
Gaz didn't say a word. He didn't even look up from the card, his hands trembling as he read your name next to James's in the elegant, celebratory print. He felt the air leave his lungs, his chest tightening in a way that made it hard to breathe.
The others picked up on the shift in his mood, but no one said anything. Ghost exchanged a look with Soap, and Price, always attuned to his team, frowned slightly but didn't press.
Gaz slipped away before anyone could stop him, retreating to his room and shutting the door behind him.
He didn't come out for the rest of the day.
By evening, Price's patience ran thin. He knocked once before stepping inside, finding Gaz sitting on the edge of his cot, shoulders hunched, his face buried in his hands.
Price had seen Kyle Garrick in every situation imaginable—unwavering under fire, calm in chaos, and unafraid in the face of death.
But this? This was new.
"Kyle," Price said softly, his usual gruffness replaced with concern.
Gaz didn't look up, his voice muffled and hollow. "She's getting married, Captain."
Price didn't need to ask who. He sat down next to Gaz, silent for a moment before speaking.
"Bloody hell, son," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "I didn't know it'd hit you this hard."
Gaz finally lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. "I thought... I thought maybe she'd break up with him, realise... I don't know. That it's me? That it's always been me."
Price exhaled slowly, his expression pained. "You love her." He concluded.
Gaz nodded, his voice breaking. "More than I've ever loved anything."
Price didn't have the heart to tell him that he'd seen the engagement coming.
Because everyone had seen it coming.
Instead, he sat down beside Gaz, letting the silence stretch out between them.
"She's happy, yeah?" Price finally asked, his voice stern but filled with the wisdom of a man who's seen it all.
Gaz let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. She is."
"That's all that matters," Price said, though he knew it offered little comfort.
Gaz nodded, but his hands clenched into fists. "Doesn't make it hurt any less, Captain."
"No, it doesn't," Price agreed. He placed a steady hand on Gaz's shoulder. "But you'll get through it. You've been through worse, son."
Gaz didn't respond, his mind still replaying every moment he'd shared with you. Every laugh, every promise, every lingering look that he'd hoped would mean more.
But now, all he had was an invitation to a wedding that wasn't his.
——————
The day of your wedding was a blur of ivory lace, floral arrangements, and excitement. You'd spent the morning surrounded by friends and family, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. You were about to marry a man you'd forcefully grown to love—a man who wasn't your best friend, who wasn't Gaz.
But thoughts of him lingered in the back of your mind like a shadow. He was there, a constant presence, the one who'd been through it all with you. He hadn't said much during the lead-up to your wedding, offering polite congratulations and keeping his distance. You figured it was because he didn't want to be in your way.
As the clock ticked closer to the ceremony, you were getting ready to head to the altar when a knock sounded at the door.
Gaz stood in the doorway, his usual confidence replaced by something hesitant, almost vulnerable. His sharp dress blues framed his broad shoulders, medals shining under the light of the windows, but his expression was what caught you-hesitant, almost vulnerable.
He let his eyes trail over you, and you swore you saw him falter.
He could write poems, about how ethereal your face looked, sonnets about the curve of your bodice, the way the light danced on your dress. He could write entire books on the way he felt when he looked at you, so beautiful, so prefect in your wedding dress.
He could stare at you all day, could take a picture of you like this before being locked inside a cold and dark cell for the rest of his life and be perfectly content just staring at that one picture.
Knowing he probably shouldn't say any of that out loud, he settled for a simple, "You look beautiful,"
A smile tugged at your lips as you crossed the room to hug him, careful not to disturb your makeup. "Thanks for being here, Kyle. It means a lot."
You glanced at the clock—ten minutes. Ten minutes until you walked down the aisle and into a new life. You turned toward the door, ready to leave, when his voice stopped you.
"Wait."
You turned back, frowning slightly. "What is it?"
He hesitated, his hand brushing the back of his neck, his usual confidence replaced with something weak and uncertain. "Can we talk?"
"Can it wait till after the ceremony?" Your look towards the door and then to the clock before looking back at him. "I'm about to walk down the aisle—"
"I know," he interrupted, stepping closer "I know. But I need to say this. I need to say this now, or I never will."
For a moment, you just stared at him, your pulse hammering in your ears. The weight in his eyes made it impossible to look away. There was no way, no way he was going to say what you thought he was.
"I thought I could let this go," he began, his words spilling out in a rush. "I thought I could bury it, and I tried. God, I swear I tried. But I can't. I can't stand here today, watching you marry someone else, without telling you the truth."
"Kyle..."
"I love you," he said, the words raw and quiet, like they'd been clawing their way out for years, and they had. "I've loved you for so long, for years, and I was too much of a coward to say it. I thought it was enough just to be your friend, to be in your life. But it's not. Not anymore."
The air left your lungs in a rush, his confession hitting you like a physical blow.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry for saying this now, when it's too late. But if there's any part of you—any doubt about this wedding—please, I'm begging you..."
Your hands trembled as you clutched the fabric of your dress. "Kyle, I..." you started, your voice breaking. "I can't do this right now. I'm about to walk down the aisle."
"I know," he said, stepping back, his jaw clenched tight. "I know. And I understand that, and I want you to be happy, I do. I just—" He took a deep breath, his eyes locked on yours. "I needed you to know."
Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, unable to find the words.
The door opened again, and someone called for you. It was time.
As you walked down the aisle, your thoughts were a chaotic mess of love, regret, and frustration. The music was distorted, and the faces of your loved ones blurred together. You reached your fiancé, who smiled at you with such pure, unguarded joy that it made your chest ache.
He didn't even know.
But as the vows began, your gaze flicked to the back of the room. Gaz stood there in his Air Force blues, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. For one fleeting moment, your eyes met, and the tears you'd been holding back spilled over.
To everyone else, it seemed like a bride's natural emotion, overwhelmed by the gravity of the moment. Your fiancé smiled, his own eyes glistening with tears, believing they were tears of joy.
But only you and Gaz knew the truth.
——————
The day after your wedding, Gaz left for deployment. There was no goodbye, no final conversation, just a brief exchange of texts.
Gaz: hey, just thought I'd let you know, I overslept so I'm in a bit of a hurry to check out and catch my flight. I'm not going to be able to say goodbye
Gaz: hope you had a good night last night.
Gaz: I'll write to you when I arrive at base :)
You stared at the messages, phone trembling in your hand, for what felt like hours. Each word was carefully polite, distanced, as though he hadn't just spilled his heart out to you the day before.
From the bedroom, your husband called, his voice laced with the contentment of a newlywed. "Coming back to bed, honey?"
"Coming, love!"
You swallowed hard, blinking away tears, and typed out a reply.
You: that's alright.
You: I'll see you soon and I'll look for your letter in the mail.
You: have a safe flight ✈️
There was a pause, a moment of silence, before his final reply appeared.
Gaz: Thanks.
Another message followed almost immediately, and it shattered you.
Gaz: Be happy. That's all I want for you. Always.
Your fingers hovered over the screen, typing out what your heart wanted so desperately to say:
You: Kyle, I love you too. We'll find a way. I'll get an annulment.
But you didn't send it. Fear stopped you—fear of hurting James, fear of throwing everything away and regretting it. Instead, you deleted the words and replaced them with something safe, something neutral.
And God damn it, he'd almost forgotten about his feelings for you.
You'd just said goodbye to him, watching as he boarded the chopper with Nik. You stood on the back of a pickup truck, Price beside you, both of you firing at AQ soldiers closing in fast.
"AQ locked on us," Nikolai's voice crackled through the comms.
"Nik?" you asked, your voice tight with worry as you glanced at the chopper. "Everything alright up there?" Your stomach churned with unease, your thoughts on Gaz.
"Deploying countermeasures," Nik responded, his tone tense.
You looked up, and time seemed to slow as you saw a cluster of AQ missiles streak toward the helicopter. Your heart dropped as the first impact jolted the chopper, forcing it to tip violently to one side.
"Gaz..." you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you watched, wide-eyed. The second explosion rocked the chopper, sending it into a sickening tilt. And then it happened—your absolute worst nightmare. Gaz slipped, falling from the helicopter as gravity claimed him.
You couldn't look away. Your breath caught in your throat as the world blurred around you, all of it fading into the background. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, every agonizing second etched into your memory.
You watched, helpless, as he plummeted toward the ground. Except—he didn't.
"Thank fucking God," you muttered, relief crashing over you as your eyes locked on him dangling from a rope beneath the chopper. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, exhaling a shaky breath.
Price hadn't seen the whole ordeal unfold, too focused on taking out as many AQ soldiers as possible. His rifle fired steadily, clearing one of the enemy trucks as you stood frozen, adrenaline coursing through your veins. When the immediate threat was neutralized, he called into the comms.
"Nik, what's your status?" Price barked, his tone clipped and urgent.
You saw an AQ soldier aiming at Price while he was distracted. Without hesitation, you raised your weapon and took him out with a single shot, nodding to Price before stepping forward to provide cover fire.
The tension in Nik's voice came through the comms loud and clear. "Captain, Gaz fell out!"
Price froze for a split second, shooting you a confused look before snapping back to the comms. "Say again?" His voice was sharp now, demanding clarification.
"The sergeant! He's gone!" Nik yelled, panic bleeding into his words.
You rolled your eyes internally as you fired off three more rounds, swiftly taking down another group of AQ soldiers. "Gone" was a bit dramatic, even for Nik.
"I'm not dead, Nik!" Gaz's voice suddenly burst through the comms, loud and exasperated. "I'm hanging from a bloody rope!"
You couldn't help the small grin that tugged at the corners of your mouth, the tension in your chest easing slightly at the sound of his voice. Even in the chaos, Gaz still managed to be as sarcastic as ever.
"круто," Nik gasps through the comms, clearly impressed.
You snort, unable to help yourself. "Didn't you hear? Gaz is unkillable," you quip, watching as he hangs upside down from the rope, still managing to take down AQ soldiers with his pistol. "Glad you're okay, Sergeant."
"You know it, Sergeant," Gaz responds, his voice laced with determination—right before coming face to face with a truck. "Pull up! Pull up!" he yells at Nik, his tone of urgency sharp.
"I'm trying to—" Nik grunts, clearly wrestling with the controls.
Gaz lets out a colourful string of curses as he's swung around, narrowly missing vehicles while still shooting at AQ soldiers.
"Nik, you're a big guy," you chimed in, "but if you don't get Gaz out of active traffic right the fuck now, I’ll murder you with my bare hands."
Price pats your shoulder, breaking your focus, and points at an incoming truck full of AQ soldiers. You snap back to the fight, leaning on the roof of the pickup to shoot as accurately as possible.
"Gaz, what's your status?" Price asks over the comms, his voice tight with concern.
"Little busy right now, Captain," Gaz answers, his words strained as he clings to the rope and continues firing.
"Nik! Pull up! Now!" Gaz yells again.
You hold your breath as Nik finally manages to lift the chopper higher. Gaz spots an opportunity and drops onto the roof of a truck, cutting himself loose with a knife. He lands hard but steady, immediately pulling his weapon.
"I'm free!" Gaz announces, and you let out a relieved sigh, allowing yourself to focus entirely on the chaos around you.
"Cowboy up, Gaz," you call into the comms. "This fight's far from over."
"Thought I'd let you have all the fun?" Gaz shoots back, his tone playful despite the danger, as he takes aim at AQ soldiers from the roof of the truck.
You continue pushing forward, desperate to catch up to the vehicle holding Kate Laswell hostage. The carnage left in AQ's wake is gut-wrenching—civilian cars burning, roads blocked by debris.
"Good Lord," you mumble under your breath, the destruction a stark reminder of AQ's ruthlessness.
"AQ will burn for this," Gaz growls, the fury in his voice unmistakable.
"I'll bring the matches," Farah responds coolly.
Price taps your arm, gesturing toward a convoy of AQ pickup trucks gaining on you. Without hesitation, you start shooting out their tires, buying precious time. "Gaz, got your rifle?" you ask quickly between shots.
"Lost it in the fall," he replies. "I've got my pistol."
Price takes over. "Gaz!" he calls out sharply.
"Captain!" Gaz confirms, ready for instructions.
"AQ's got reinforcements. You'll need firepower."
Moments later, Gaz catches up to your truck, swinging open the door and preparing to leap.
"Hop in, Sergeant! Let's go," Price orders.
Gaz jumps seamlessly, landing beside you and Price in the truck bed.
"Good to see you in one piece," he adds "Take the grenade launcher,"
You continue to provide cover fire from the back of the truck as Gaz and Price brief shortly "Sweet heat, Captain... what's the word?" Gaz asks
Price briefs him quickly, explaining that AQ has changed tactics. "We were chasing them. Now they're chasing us."
Gaz scoffs, the determination in his voice unmistakable. "Let them try, sir. Let them bloody try."
—————————
After a relentless pursuit, you finally catch up to Kate. The mission is complete, but safety is still a distant goal. As the team regroups, you and Gaz find yourselves in the back of another pickup, adrenaline finally giving way to the weight of what just happened.
Before he can say a word, you throw your arms around his neck, holding him tightly. "I thought I lost you," you whisper, voice trembling with emotion.
Gaz froze for a moment, his arms hovering uncertainly before they wrapped tightly around you. He hadn't expected this—hadn't expected you. You were trembling against him, your breath hitching as you tried to keep your composure. His heart thundered in his chest, louder than the roar of the engine beneath your feet.
You were safe. You were here. And you were falling apart, not for the first time in your career, but for the first time... for him.
He tightened his grip, pulling you closer as if to shield you from the chaos still unfolding around you. His chin brushed against your temple, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. He'd nearly died today—nearly left you—and it was only now, feeling your desperation, that it hit him how much that would have broken you.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice low, just for you. "I'm alright. I'm here."
You didn't let go, and he didn't want you to. His pulse pounded in his ears, a mix of relief and something deeper, something he thought he'd buried. Seeing you now, holding you like this, your arms wrapped so tightly around him it felt like you'd never let go—it all came rushing back.
The years of unspoken feelings, the stolen glances, the words he'd always held back. He'd told himself it was too late, told himself you'd never feel the same. But this moment, your shaking hands clutching at him like a lifeline, was unraveling every lie he'd told himself.
You cared. Not just as a friend, not just as a teammate. You cared about him.
"Don't scare me like that again," you mumbled against his chest, your voice barely audible over the hum of the truck. It was raw, vulnerable in a way he hadn't heard before, and it made his throat tighten.
He swallowed hard, his thumb tracing a slow, soothing pattern at the nape of your neck. "You're stuck with me," he said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your tear-brimmed eyes locking onto his. And God, if the sight of you didn't knock the breath out of him. He could see it all—the fear, the relief, the affection you were too afraid to name.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the mission, not the war, not the danger waiting for them around every corner. All that mattered was you.
"Promise?" you whispered, your voice breaking, and he could see how hard you were trying to hold it together. For him.
Gaz couldn't speak for a second, his chest too tight, his heart too full.
"I promise," he said finally, his voice low and steady, though his hands were trembling now too. "I promise, love."
You held up your pinkie finger, face completely serious, just as he had once.
Gaz's laugh broke through the tension, rich and full, and it felt like a balm to your frazzled nerves. You kept up your pinkie finger, face completely serious, your eyes unwavering as you waited for him to match the gesture.
"Seriously?" he asked, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and disbelief.
You nodded, determined. "It's legally binding," you said, your tone firm despite the faint crack in your voice.
For a second, he just looked at you, his smile softening into something warmer, something almost tender. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he lifted his hand and wrapped his pinkie around yours.
"Alright, Sergeant," he said, his voice low and teasing but laced with something deeper. "I pinkie promise."
The moment felt strangely significant, a callback to simpler times when promises were made under trees and stars instead of on battlefields. His thumb brushed over yours as your hands lingered together for just a beat longer than necessary.
"See?" he added, his grin widening. "Unkillable, remember?"
You huffed out a shaky laugh, but your grip on his pinkie didn't loosen. "Yeah, well," you muttered, your voice softer now, "even the unkillable need someone to have their backs."
Gaz's eyes softened as he looked at you, his heart twisting in a way he wasn't sure he could hide anymore. He wanted to say something—to tell you how much it meant to him that you cared this much, how much you meant to him. But the words stuck in his throat, too big, too heavy for this moment.
So instead, he squeezed your pinkie and murmured, "You've got mine, love. Always."
The word hung in the air between you, weighted with years of unsaid things, and for the first time, you didn't flinch from it. You just held his gaze, your pinkie still linked with his, and let it settle.
The day you were recruited into Task Force 141 felt like a triumph. You were stepping into a world of relentless danger and high-stakes missions, but you weren't stepping in alone. Gaz was there too, and the familiar comfort of his presence made the transition feel less daunting.
Together, you both thrived. The intensity of your missions pushed you to your limits, and the trust you'd built over the years carried you through the worst of it. You were a team—unshakable, invincible, and as close as ever.
Best soldiers in the world, just as you'd promised each other all those years ago under that tree.
So why hadn't he told you how he felt?
Just before the Task Force 141 recruitment, during a rare break in deployment, life threw a curveball.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Meeting someone new wasn't part of the plan. You were just looking to unwind, to forget about the chaos of your work for a moment. But then you met him—a kind, grounded man who was so different from the life you'd been living.
James wasn't like anyone you'd ever been with before. He didn't come from your world of bullets, orders, and danger. He was a lawyer and a good one at that. He practised family law, usually taking on custody cases for clients with abusive partners.
He was steady, calm, and uncomplicated in ways that made your life feel like less of a storm. He didn't ask about your missions, didn't pry into the darkness that lingered in your eyes. Instead, he focused on who you were outside of the uniform—your laugh, your quirks, the way your shoulders finally relaxed when you let yourself breathe.
Gaz never said anything to get in the way of it when he found out. He smiled, congratulated you, and even teased you about finally settling down. But behind the smile, something inside him broke. He told himself it was fine—that this was just how things were meant to be. You deserved happiness, even if it wasn't with him.
The task force felt like old times, like you'd slipped right back into the familiar rhythm of your partnership. You joked, teased, and supported each other in the way only you two could.
There was no awkwardness, no tension, just the steady friendship that had carried you through so much already.
But then you started talking more about James.
Over time, it became a regular part of your conversations. You'd tell him about your weekend trips with your boyfriend, about the way he'd surprise you with letters or gifts. Gaz listened like a good friend should, offering the occasional quip or smile.
But it killed him.
Every story was a reminder of what could never be. He told himself it was fine, that it didn't matter. You were happy, and that was all that counted. But deep down, he couldn't stop the ache.
The feelings he'd tried so hard to bury came rushing back with every laugh you shared, every moment spent together. But he shoved them down again, locking them away somewhere they couldn't hurt you—or himself.
The more you opened up about your boyfriend, the more Gaz retreated into himself. He became quieter, less willing to share his own thoughts. Not that you noticed. Between the missions and your budding relationship, there wasn't much time to ask why Gaz seemed different these days.
Still, you talked like normal. You sparred together, shared meals, and teased each other during downtime. It was so easy to fall backs into old habits, almost like nothing had changed.
After that night, you started appreciating all his little things more, every moment was special to you. His departure loomed, and you felt it like a weight pressing on your chest. Every moment with him felt more important than the last.
You kept pretending. Pretended that things were normal, that everything was fine.
But when you said goodbye to him on the day he left for his SAS selection test, it hit you harder than you expected.
He stood before you, his gear packed and slung over his shoulder, the sound of the chopper roaring in the background.
A horrible feeling of deja vu came over you as this was exactly the way it was the first time he left for the army. The feelings, the look on his face, the fact that he was moving faster than you again.
He looked at you for a moment, his eyes full of something you couldn't quite place. Then he pulled you into a hug, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to hold on a little longer than usual.
"I'll see you," he said, his voice rough.
"Don't screw it up," you teased, trying to play it off, but there was no mistaking the lump in your throat.
He kissed his teeth quickly "You know me" He said.
It was time. He knew he had to turn around and walk away. But he still hesitated, still searching for the right words to leave you with.
"I love you," he wanted to say. The words were heavy on his mind, and for a brief moment, he opened his mouth to let them spill out.
"Garrick! Time to go!" The SAS recruiter yelled through the comms, the sound of the chopper drowning it out a bit.
The interruption jolted him back to reality. Confessing his feelings now, just as he was about to leave, wasn't fair to you. He didn't have time to explain, to be there while you processed what he was saying. And he knew you had a mission to get to. It wouldn't be safe to burden you with something so big when you needed to be focused.
He swallowed the words and settled for something safer.
"You take care of yourself, yeah?" he said, his voice steady but soft.
You nodded, feeling the sting of tears at the back of your eyes. But you refused to let them fall. You wouldn't cry, not now. You had a mission. You had things to do.
You looked so beautiful to him in that moment. You stared up at him, holding yourself together when he knew how much you hated goodbyes. The tears in your eyes were for him, and that thought alone made his chest tighten.
The urge to bend down and kiss you was almost unbearable. It clawed at him. But he couldn't. Not here, not now. He'd write to you. He'd figure out a way to line up your leaves, and then—then, when he had enough time to pour his heart out, he'd tell you everything.
And you smiled at him. A brave, small smile that nearly broke him. You smiled knowing it wouldn't be fair to him if you fell apart in his arms right when he needed to leave. He'd feel horrible leaving you like that. You didn't want him to feel guilty for chasing his dreams, and you didn't want to distract him on what was supposed to be the biggest day of his career.
But when he turned to walk away, you felt the ache deepen, sharp and unrelenting. You weren't ready for him to go.
The sound of the chopper drowned out everything else as he boarded. You stood there, watching him disappear, until he was but a small speck on the horizon.
———————————————
The months that followed passed in a blur. His absence was everywhere. It was in the quiet moments, in the empty spaces where his voice used to be, in the weight of knowing he wasn't just a call away anymore.
You threw yourself into your training, pushing yourself harder than ever. Long hours, endless PT, anything to keep your mind occupied. You thought that maybe, if you worked hard enough, you could fill the void he left behind.
But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop thinking about him.
And every time the thought of him crept in, you told yourself the same thing: He's working toward his dreams. You should be happy for him.
But the truth was, you missed him. More than you wanted to admit.
And then, the letters started arriving.
In the quiet moments after missions, you'd find yourself reaching for his letters, desperate to hear his voice through his writing. He'd always been a great storyteller, his words vivid and full of life. You could picture him grinning as he recounted some ridiculous mishap during training or complained about the food on base.
And then, one day, one of his letters arrived, and it was much more heartfelt than you were used to. You'd just been approached by an SBS recruiter, and were about to leave in a week for selections.
—
Hey you,
Hope this finds you in one piece. I know I always joke about you being tougher than me, but honestly, I do worry about you sometimes. I know the SBS isn't exactly a walk in the park, and I always wished you'd follow me to the SAS, but it's good to see you go your own way, I know you'll crush it. You'll be a legend in no time, no doubt.
I know SAS selection was kind of a lonely road for me and I can imagine what you're going through out there. Your letters were honestly what helped me through it, and why I did so well (fastest time finishing the course in British history or whatever, in case you forgot). So I'll write to you as often as I can; maybe my rambling can help you through it the way yours helped me.
Things here are alright. But it's not the same without you. I miss having someone who calls me out when I'm being a twat or keeps me grounded when my head's in the clouds. And yes, I miss your terrible sense of humour too. There, I said it. Don't let it inflate your ego.
Anyway, just wanted to say I'm proud of you. I've always been, but watching you chase your dreams and absolutely smash them? It's so inspiring. You're incredible, you know that? I'm lucky to call you my best friend.
I've got Christmas leave coming up. What about you? Maybe we'll catch each other in London in December?
Write back soon, yeah? I'll be waiting.
Yours,
Gaz (That's Sergeant Garrick to you)
—
The word "yours" stuck with you longer than it should have. It was a simple sign-off, something that everyone ended their letters with.
But the way your heart fluttered when you read it told you it meant something more. You tried to push it aside, to brush it off as nothing. But it wasn't nothing.
After that, reading his letters started to feel like when you were 16, the conversations you'd have at 1 am when he used to sneak into your bedroom to just talk all night.
—
To the Most Splendid and Unparalleled Sergeant Garrick,
I'm actually crying.
That last letter? Totally unfair. But exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you.
You were right, it is kind of lonely. But I've been keeping your letter close, and reading it during hard times.
Things here are tough, but I'm managing. Honestly, some days I don't even know how I'm still standing, but then I think about how far we've come and it keeps me going. I guess what I'm trying to say is you keep me going. So thanks for that. And for everything else too.
You're pretty much the sole reason I believe in myself. And you have been from the start. I never would have followed my heart into the army.
If it weren't for you testing the water for me, I would never have enlisted.
No Christmas leave for me, unfortunately—bootcamp's smack in the middle of it. But if I make it, I'll come out an officer like you, (and you will be calling me Sergeant), so here's to hoping. I've got leave in March, though, and maybe we can line up summer break? I got August, what about you?
When you're in London, give your sister and mum a hug for me. And your dad a nice firm handshake. I'll see you again soon.
Also, my sense of humour is not terrible. You just don't appreciate brilliance when you see it.
Take care of yourself. And don't do anything stupid without me there to be stupid with you.
Yours,
Always
—
The word "always" was your undoing. You knew you were falling for him all over again. But how could you not? He was your best friend, your rock, the one person who had been there through everything.
He'd also slip in little things—subtle, almost unnoticeable—that hinted at something more. The way he missed you. The way he couldn't wait to see you again. The way he'd mention how proud he was of you, how incredible you were, how he couldn't imagine his life without you.
It was there, between the lines. And you knew he felt it too.
But neither of you said it out loud. Both of you held back, you afraid to ruin the one thing you had. Friendship.
Though at this point, he no longer cared about friendship, he knew what he wanted, and he knew the two of you would work great together.
He actually wrote the letter at one point.
--
Hey,
I don't know why I'm writing this.
Actually, I do. But I just don't know if I should be.
I was going to say this in person, but I don't know when I'll get the chance. And I don't want to keep pretending like it's not there.
I miss you. More than I probably should. More than just friends should. And maybe that's stupid to admit, but it's true.
You're everywhere. In every inside joke I can't tell because you're not here to get it. In every song on the radio that reminds me of summer because that's your birthday. In every bloody cup of tea that doesn't taste right because you're not the one making it.
I think I love you. And I know I've said that before—love you, as in, as my best friend.
But it's not like that anymore, I love you like I want to take you out and wake up next to you. And, you know, I see a future for us.
I don't know what you'll think when you read this. Maybe you'll laugh. Maybe you'll hate me for it. Maybe you already knew.
But it's the truth.
Yours,
Gaz
--
After writing it, he stared at it for a long time, debating whether to send it. Then, with a sigh, he crumpled it up and tossed it in the bin, deciding that when the time comes, you deserve to hear it from him in person—not on a piece of paper.
All he wanted was to tell you how he felt, face to face.
Your leaves never overlapped during your first year with the SBS, which made it even harder, but he promised himself he would confess his feelings as soon as he saw you again.
Three years had passed since you enlisted. You'd made corporal within two years. You cleared the ranks faster than your counterparts, and something told you that was because of Gaz.
Gaz had been there every step of the way, dragging you into his relentless pace. And you -with all your glorious pride- had allowed yourself to be dragged into his ambitions. Because, if there was one thing you refused, it would be enabling Gaz to leave you behind.
Gaz liked to joke that you owed it all to him, but deep down, he knew you'd earned every stripe yourself.
Still, it was his unwavering support and ruthless training sessions that sharpened the point of your pencil, and soon enough, you found yourself diving headfirst into special forces training.
It was rare for women to advance so quickly in such a male-dominated environment, but with Gaz constantly at your side, refusing to let you fail, you had no choice but to rise to the occasion.
Gaz couldn't put his finger on when it started—this need to push you as hard as he pushed himself. Maybe it came from a fear of you falling behind. Or maybe he wanted to rise together, knowing that what you did, you did as a team.
Or maybe he just wanted to be right about you being made for this.
All he knew was that you made him better. Sharper. Stronger. And he wanted to do the same for you.
*Gaz sat in his chair, feet kicked up on the edge of his desk, flipping through a well-worn study guide. His dorm room was a mess of crumpled notes and empty energy drink cans,
"You ready for the next one?" he asked, glancing over at you.
You were sprawled out on his bed, lying on your stomach, legs bent at the knees and feet lazily kicking in the air. One hand absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair while the other gripped a highlighter that had long since lost its purpose.
"Hit me," you mumbled, face half-buried in a pillow.
He smirked and read the next question. "Define the three main principles of urban warfare and give an example of how they apply in a high-risk extraction scenario."
Without missing a beat, you rattled off the answer, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow but still confident and sharp.
Gaz let out an impressed whistle. "Alright, brainiac, that's three in a row. You sure you even need me for this?"
You smirked, eyes still on your notes. "You're just here for moral support, really."
He huffed, flipping to a harder question. "Alright, let's see if you can keep the streak going. What's the primary drawback of relying on recon drones in combat?"
You hesitated for half a second, then answered, "Uhh... limited battery life?"
Gaz grinned like a predator who'd just found a weak spot. "Wrong," he said smugly. "It's the risk of detection via signal interception," He huffs theatrically "Rookie,"
You groaned, dramatically dropping your head onto the mattress. "Shut up, Gaz."
"Can't, mate. I'm just doing my duty as your superior officer," he teased, tapping the book against his knee. "Might have to revoke your brainiac status—"
The pillow hit him square in the face before he could finish.
Gaz sputtered, caught off guard, then narrowed his eyes at you. "Oh, you're dead."
You barely had time to sit up before he was on you, tossing the book aside as he grabbed another pillow and launched it at you with full force.
Laughter filled the tiny room as you both descended into a full-on war, pillows flying, notes getting crumpled under the chaos. You managed to dodge his next attack, ducking behind his desk chair, but he was relentless.
"Admit defeat!" he demanded, brandishing a pillow like a weapon.
"Never!" you shouted back dramatically, diving for cover behind his bed.
By the time you both collapsed in a breathless heap, Gaz was grinning down at you from where he'd pinned your arms with his forearm, both of you still giggling like children.
"You're a menace," he muttered, releasing you and flopping onto his back beside you.
"You love it," you shot back, nudging his shoulder.
And he did. More than he cared to admit.
"Alright," he sighed, reaching for the study guide again. "Back to work, troublemaker."
You groaned. "Fine, but if you get smug again, I'm throwing another pillow at your stupid face."
Gaz smirked. "Noted."
And with that, the moment passed, slipping through your fingers like it always did.
The outrageously late nights that faded into even earlier mornings, the missions, the stronger friendship that came from sharing everything. But something about this year felt different.
You and Gaz had grown into real soldiers, something that still felt like a fever dream most days.
But, there had been times when the reality of it all would suddenly hit.
When it did, you'd find yourself slipping away from the chaos, searching for a quiet space to let yourself break. More often than not, it was inside one of the tanks. Its heavy doors felt like a shield, protecting you from the eyes and ears of other soldiers.
You'd call up on Gaz's private channel. "Gaz?" You'd ask in a small voice.
He could be mid-task—helping a rookie adjust his aim, debriefing a team—but when he heard you, everything else would stop.
"Yes, Major?" He'd ask, just so no one would catch that it was you who was calling him.
You told him which tank you were in and he nodded "Right away, Sir," he turned to the rookie he was helping "Sorry, man. Major's calling," he patted the young man's back before turning around and out of the shooting range "keep practising!" He called over his shoulder.
And without fail, Gaz was always there when you called him.
You'd bury your face in his shoulder, the scent of gunpowder and Gaz clinging to his uniform as you let the tears fall. He'd hold you through it.
He hated seeing you like this—hated that you carried so much on your own.
"Take your time," he'd whisper, his voice low and steady. "It's just you and me here."
He wanted to say more, to tell you how much you meant to him, how proud he was of you. But he kept it simple, knowing you didn't need words right now.
When the radios eventually buzzed, demanding to know his whereabouts, he'd answer with a deadpan excuse that never failed to make you crack a smile.
"I'm taking a shit," he'd say, completely serious. Then, with a mischievous smirk, he'd add, "Don't rush me." That response always bought him at least another thirty minutes.
In those precious minutes, he'd make it his mission to pull you out of your sorrow. He'd crack the worst jokes, making you laugh in spite of yourself. He'd share ridiculous stories, acting out every detail with the kind of enthusiasm only he could muster.
All because of the fact that when you wept, he felt a knot twisting so painfully in his chest that he thought he might die.
He wanted to fix it, to take away whatever was hurting you and transfer it to himself because lord knows he could and would gladly carry it for you.
But he knew he couldn't do that. All he could do was be there, and so he was.
Somehow, by the time the radio came back to life with more impatient demands, you'd be wiping your tears and rolling your eyes at him.
"You're a bloody idiot," you said, but there was a small smile on your lips.
"Yeah, but I'm your idiot," he shot back.
He'd help you climb out of the tank, both of you pretending as if nothing had happened, but the unspoken understanding between you remained.
As you walked back to the chaos of the base, he couldn't help but glance at you, his heart swelling with something he didn't dare name.
You didn't know it, but he'd always be there for you. No matter what.
Because he loved you. Genuinely, fucking loved you.
And every time he saw you smile, every time you laughed at one of his terrible jokes. Called him an idiot.
Every single time you trusted him enough to fall apart in his arms, that love only grew stronger.
But he wouldn't tell you. He had to gather the courage first. He was positively terrified to ruin your friendship.
So he buried it deep, where it couldn't get in the way. Where it couldn't hurt you.
But it was there, burning bright and steady.
——————————————————-
Everything changed, though, when the end of the year approached.
The SAS was calling for Gaz, and though he'd worked hard to get there, he was still struggling with the decision to accept. It was what he'd always wanted -the next step he'd dreamed of, bled for, and spent countless hours preparing for.
And yet, it didn't make leaving any easier.
The hardest part wasn't the training. It wasn't even the gruelling selection process. It was knowing that, once he moved forward, things would be different between you.
You were so proud of him, happier than words could express, but deep down, you couldn't shake the ache that settled in your chest whenever you thought about it. Once he moved forward, things would change.
The undertone of attraction between you was still ever present—but the timing had never been right for either of you. It was always something. His ambitions, your duty, your near-perfect friendship that couldn't be ruined. But now, with him moving on to the SAS, you both had let go entirely of the idea.
One night you and Gaz found yourselves sitting together in the canteen, exhausted and quietly massaging bruises and aches.
You watched Gaz as he sat across from you, idly pushing his food around with his fork. Something was on his mind—you could see it in the way his brows furrowed, in the distant look in his eyes.
"Gaz, you okay?" you asked, nudging him lightly. His eyes met yours for a brief second before he looked down at his food, continuing the push around with his fork.
"Yeah. Just... thinking," he replied, but you could tell it was more than that.
You both stayed silent for a long time, the noise of the other soldiers buzzing around you, but neither of you seemed to notice.
Finally, he looked up into your eyes and spoke.
"I'm gonna miss this. You, I mean." He paused, swallowing hard. "I don't know what's gonna happen when I go for the SAS. I don't know how things are gonna be after that."
You paused, your own heart clenching at the thought. You didn't want to admit it, but you were scared too. What would happen when he was gone? What would happen to your friendship?
Your biggest fear, to lose contact with your best friend.
"You'll do great," you said quietly in an effort to steer the subject a bit. "I know you will."
Gaz chuckled softly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, maybe. But I'm not so sure about you." He grinned playfully "You'll be alright without me?"
You rolled your eyes, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself. "I think I'll survive. You're not that irreplaceable."
But as the words left your mouth, you both knew they weren't true. It was a lie. You weren't ready to admit how much you'd come to depend on him, how much he was the only thing keeping you sane.
For a moment, you hesitated, the unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air. Finally, you broke the silence.
"You'll write to me, yeah?"
He shoots you that charming boyish grin of his "Of course. I have to remind you how cool your best friend is."
And just like that, he made it easier. He always did.
You were finally 18, and after breaking up with Marcus over an argument about Gaz, there was nothing holding you back anymore.
The decision was made—you were going to join the army, just like you'd promised Gaz. You wanted it more than ever now. No more distractions. No more waiting for life to happen.
As you packed your things and prepared for the journey, you tried to quiet the feeling that had been growing inside you for months.
It was a mix of excitement, nervousness, and a little bit of sadness, but what truly dominated was the sense that you were stepping into something that would change you forever.
Gaz was already there on base the day you arrived for basic training. He greeted you with a quick hug when you arrived but let you know that he was terribly busy that week, he'd signed up to be a peer coach for the new recruits.
You'd seen him at boot camp once or twice during those seven days of introductory training.
But it wasn't the same anymore. Not to you at least.
The bond had shifted to you. You weren't the same two kids from high school. No, now you were both soldiers. Adults.
After a gruelling day of boot camp, you found yourself wandering to the outskirts of the training field, trying to walk off the pain in your legs. You leaned against the railing of a small observation deck, letting the ache in your legs ease for a moment.
Below, a group of recruits was finishing their drills under the stern eyes of the peer coaches. You spotted him almost instantly.
He stood at the edge of the group, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed in concentration as he watched the recruits struggle through their final pushups.
A faint amused grin tugged at the corners of his lips when one of them stumbled and quickly corrected herself. He stepped forward, crouching beside her to offer a quiet word of encouragement before helping adjust her form.
It wasn't like the Gaz you remembered from high school. Back then, he was goofy and a little cheeky, always cracking jokes and skirting the edge of trouble with that boyish little grin. But now...
The recruit nodded, adjusting under his guidance, and you couldn't help but notice the easy smile that crossed Gaz's face when she got it right.
He wasn't the same boy who used to sneak snacks into the library or talk you into skipping study sessions for a walk to the corner shop. He was responsible, reliable, and someone people admired. He was a man now. He was...
No. No, you weren't going there.
You tore your gaze away, but your eyes betrayed you, flickering back almost immediately as if they had a mind of their own.
His uniform fit snugly against his broadened shoulders, his jawline sharper than you remembered, he looked taller, even. You couldn't stop the thought that crept into your mind—when had he become so...
You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting into a knot. This is ridiculous. He is your best friend. He's just Gaz. You'd never thought about him like this before-
Oh, wait... You had. But really not seriously. That fleeting crush when you were 15? That was nothing.
This was different, like you wanted to actually eat his face.
Great. Now, you couldn't ignore the way your chest tightened every time his deeper voice carried over the field, the way your pulse skipped when he smiled.
Your pulse quickened when he glanced up and caught you staring. His brows lifted in surprise, and then he smirked, tilting his head as if to say, Spying on me?
A surge of panic rose in your chest. What were you doing? Why were you even thinking like this?
You clenched the railing tighter, trying to ground yourself.
You tore yourself away from the railing, forcing your feet to move. You couldn't do this. Not now.
But as you walked away, your heart wouldn't stop racing, and your thoughts wouldn't stop spiralling. Because no matter how much you tried to push it down, you knew something had shifted.
Maybe you should give it a chance, tell him how you feel.
----------
But one day, you were sitting in the canteen with a few of the girls you'd started to get along with. The powdered eggs on your plate were barely edible, but you'd learned to force them down.
Suddenly, two hands clamped over your eyes.
"Guess who," a familiar voice teased, and you couldn't help but grin.
You gasped "Lieutenant Anderson! This is highly inappropriate," you joked
"Ha ha," he said sarcastically before showing his face to you and walking onto his usual table with his boys.
As soon as he was out of earshot, all of the girls snapped their heads at you simultaneously, "How do you know Private Garrick?" One of them, Harper, asked just as you took a bite of disgusting powdered eggs.
You chewed as you looked between all of them who were just staring at you.
"Who, Gaz? He's my best friend from secondary, why?"
The silence was deafening.
Then came the first giggle. Then another.
"Best friend, huh?" one of them drawled, nudging your shoulder.
"Didn't know you had 'friends' like that," another chimed in.
You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, come on," the first girl said. "Don't tell me you haven't heard about him."
"Heard what?"
And then, you heard it for the first time.
The stories.
The tales of 'Gaz the ladies' man,' the one who was always the life of the secret parties that happened after drill days, the guy who could charm anyone with a wink and a grin. A guy who didn't seem to take much of anything seriously.
You swallowed your bite, and the sour taste in your mouth was no longer from the eggs.
It turned you completely off, the way those stories painted him. You didn't want to be another girl he joked around with, another name in a string of fleeting attachments.
You plastered on a smile, pretending the stories didn't bother you, but they left a sour taste that lingered long after the conversation moved on.
So, you kept your distance—just romantically. You didn't shut him out, you were close, but you made sure to draw a line.
Gaz had enlisted in the army, and as the months passed, he found himself buried in basic training. Every letter he sent back to you was filled with updates, jokes, and thoughts about how he missed home.
At first, it was the simplest things. He missed the comfort of home, his mum's cooking, and the big-city life. But the more time he spent away, the more he realized something he hadn't expected to feel. It wasn't just London he missed; it was you.
He suddenly found himself hoping for letters from you every mail call.
He thought back to all those times you two had spent together, late-night talks, laughing about silly things, or supporting each other during stressful moments. Those memories hit him in a way he hadn't expected. He started having feelings for the thought of you that weren't mere friendship—it was more.
But you had a boyfriend, and he wasn't about to get in the way of that.
You were happy with Marcus. Or at least, it seemed that way. You had someone who was there for you when Gaz couldn't be, and he respected that, even if it made his chest ache every time he thought about it. So he did what any handsome 18-year-old might do when faced with feelings he couldn't act on—he buried them... under lots and lots of conquests.
The few girls on base were easy distractions. They didn't remind him of you, didn't carry the weight of years of friendship and feelings.
The first girl he pursued was Sadie Dawson—a cadet at the army's IT academy. She was everything you weren't. Loud, obnoxious, and honestly kind of bitchy. The kind of girl who talked back to officers with a grin and had a sharp, cutting wit that left most people either laughing or fuming.
She was the opposite of his type, which was perfect because, on paper, his type was quite literally you.
He was lingering in the rec room, trying to focus on a game of cards when she plopped down across from him, kicked her feet up on the table, and smirked.
"Garrick," she drawled, tossing a peanut at him. "You're staring."
He wasn't staring in the slightest, but he played along anyway. "Am I?"
"Yeah. What, you want ta try to take me to your dorm or just admire me from a distance?"
He let out a short laugh. "Don't think I'm supposed to do that."
She shrugged, playful but completely unbothered. "You're not. But I'm bored, and you look like you need a distraction."
And maybe she was right.
She was easy to flirt with, and shameless in a way that made it impossible to overthink things. When she laughed, it was sharp and teasing, nothing soft or warm about it. When she leaned in close, there was no hesitation, no weight of something unsaid.
That was the appeal.
She wasn't you.
So when she dragged him outside later that night, mischief in her eyes, he didn't resist.
After a night that was mediocre at best, Sadie didn't last very long in the academy.
She had the confidence, the physical strength, and the cocky attitude to hold her own in training, but the discipline? The grind? The relentless, soul-crushing routine? That was another story. It didn't take long before she realized this wasn't for her. A few weeks later, she was gone, leaving nothing behind except a few half-hearted goodbyes and a smug little wink in Kyle's direction.
He didn't miss her. They barely talked after that night.
And maybe that was the trick—bury it all under enough distractions, and eventually, the feelings wouldn't matter anymore.
What stuck with him wasn't her—just the realization that it had worked.
That night with her had been a turning point, the first step in proving to himself that he could let go of whatever lingering feelings he had for you
Slowly, with each new face, each intimate encounter, the thoughts of you faded. The ache in his chest became a dull throb, a distant memory. The more time he spent with other girls, the more the feelings he had for you slowly dissipated.
It didn't happen all at once. After Sadie, it was just a little easier to go to bed without thinking of you. Then it was easier to think about those moments he'd shared with you without getting butterflies in his stomach. Eventually, he found himself not thinking like that about you at all.
And he convinced himself it was for the best. He was in the army now. His future was ahead of him, and there was no time for lingering feelings from the past.
The pact had started as a half-serious joke, a moment shared between two teenagers dreaming of something more than the predictable streets of London. It had been late one afternoon, the two of you lounging in the shade of an old willow tree in the park.
"I could see you in the army," he said, tossing a pebble into the nearby creek and watching it skip away.
"Oh, yeah?" you replied, your head propped up on your hands as you stared at the sky. "Why's that?"
"You're smart and quick," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And you've got a strong stomach. Remember when Tommy S accidentally stabbed himself with that pencil, and everyone else was gagging, but you pulled it out of his hand like it was nothing? You're a tough cookie,"
You snorted. "Tough enough to keep you in line, maybe."
"Exactly," he said with a grin, his gaze sliding over to meet yours. "We'd make a good team, yeah? You and me, back to back. Out there kicking ass and saving the world or whatever."
You sat up, brushing grass off your arms. "Alright, Gaz. Let's make a deal. If one of us joins, we join together. No excuses."
"Deal," he said without hesitation, holding out his pinkie.
You blinked at him. "A pinkie promise? Really?"
"It's legally binding," he replied, deadpan. You huffed out a laugh but didn't leave him hanging. With a roll of your eyes, you hooked your pinkie with his.
"Fine. No backing out," you said, trying to sound firm but already smiling.
He grinned, "Wouldn't dream of it."
"Good, because I'll sue you."
—————————
The days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and before you knew it, the idea of joining the army wasn't just some fleeting thought anymore.
Gaz had turned it into a thought-out plan, bringing it up at every opportunity. He'd share details about recruitment, basic training, and the ways he was already preparing himself—running longer, lifting heavier, sharpening his focus, and playing shooter games whenever he had free time.
You admired his determination. He had a way of making the future feel exciting.
But as much as you shared his excitement, your own path wasn't so clear. By the time the summer rolled around, the pact began to feel like a promise you weren't sure you could keep.
For one, you weren't old enough to enlist yet. Being all of 17 and two months, you still had close to another year to wait, while Gaz—true to his word—was already planning to sign up the moment he turned 18.
Then there was your boyfriend, Marcus. He didn't exactly share your enthusiasm for the military.
Marcus was different from Gaz in almost every way. While Gaz was very gifted at physics and maths, the kind of subjects you had to practise rather than revise. He had a high IQ and was very street-smart.
Marcus came from a world of brocade uniforms and academic accolades. He attended a private school for gifted students. He excelled in economics, hustory and geography. He possessed a lot of knowledge that he'd spent hours doing the reading on.
When the two of them finally met, it was during a casual Saturday when Marcus had invited you and this 'best friend' of yours for dinner.
At first glance, their interaction seemed perfectly normal—polite even. Marcus offered a firm handshake, a polite smile, and a compliment about Gaz's trainers. Gaz grinned back, his usual easy charm on display. But you, knowing Gaz better than anyone, caught the weird tension in his smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes the way it normally did.
You noticed it again when Marcus made a comment about his football team. "We've been undefeated for three years now. I play midfield," Marcus had said, his tone just casual enough to mask the pride underneath. Gaz nodded, but his grip on his glass tightened ever so slightly.
"Nice," Gaz replied, his voice smooth. "We've got a solid team too. Played striker last season and bagged a fair few goals."
To anyone else, it would've seemed like friendly banter, but you could feel the silent dick-measuring contest brewing between them. The way they sized each other up, the way they held each other's gaze just a beat too long, the slight edge in their voices, the tiniest shifts in their postures—it was almost comical if it weren't so awkward.
When Marcus suggested kicking a ball around after dinner, you had a sinking feeling it was a terrible idea. And you were right.
What started as a lighthearted game of footy quickly escalated into something else entirely. Marcus tried to outpace Gaz with calculated precision, while Gaz countered with sharp, cheeky maneuvers designed to frustrate. At one point, Gaz stole the ball with a particularly cheeky nutmeg, earning a sharp glare from Marcus.
"Illegal move, mate," Marcus says, stepping just a little too close for comfort.
But Gaz just didn't have it in him to back down, he was going to put Marcus in his place classic Gaz style, friendly and maddening. "Eh, it's legal in the higher competitions, it's just advanced,"
Marcus glared at him, his height a few centimetres taller, but he somehow looked small in front of Kyle who just looked up at him with a smug grin.
"It was an illegal move. Just admit it."
Kyle reached up to pat him on the shoulder "it's just a game, mate. Keep your hair on." He says with a chuckle.
He moves to walk away but Marcus places his hand on Kyle's chest to stop him.
"We not gonna have a problem, will we?" Marcus asked, more for your sake. He really wanted to get along with Gaz for you, but Gaz just seemed to rub him in all the wrong ways.
"All in good fun, mate" Gaz said with a grin, his tone light but his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
You had to step in to diffuse the tension before it got out of hand. "Alright, boys, let's not tear up the grass," you joked, though your voice carried a note of warning.
Gaz relaxed instantly, flashing you a winning smile as if nothing had happened. "She's right. Just a bit of fun, yeah?" He tossed the ball back to Marcus, the smirk still lingering at the corners of his mouth.
Both of them backed off, but the underlying tension lingered for the rest of the evening.
It was a warm Saturday evening, the two of you walking home together. The conversation had started casually enough, but when you brought up Gaz's and your plans again, Marcus stopped in his tracks and laughed—short, sharp, and disbelieving.
He huffed and looked at you as if you just told the funniest joke in the world, "You're not serious,"
"Why wouldn't I be?" you replied, frowning.
"Because it's dangerous," he said, his tone exasperated. "And you're not... you don't need to do something like that. You've got options, you're smart. You don't have to throw your life away."
You stopped walking, your arms crossing over your chest. "Throw my life away? Is that what you think Gaz is doing?"
"That's different," he said quickly, avoiding your gaze.
"How?" you pressed.
He hesitated, then sighed. "I just don't want to lose you, alright? The army's not exactly safe, and... I don't know. I just don't think it's for you."
His words stung more than he realized. It wasn't just the dismissiveness; it was the fact that he didn't believe in you the way Gaz did, and he practically called Gaz stupid.
By the time Gaz's enlistment day rolled around, you found yourself stuck between a rock and a hard place. You'd spent the better part of a year watching him prepare, listening to him talk about his plans, and secretly wishing you could join him.
But when the day came, you stood on the sidelines, watching as he stepped onto the bus with a bright smile on his face.
"Wish me luck," he said, his voice light but his eyes serious.
"You don't need it," you replied, waving him off and forcing a grin.
He paused, looking at you for a long moment. "I'll see you out there next year, yeah?"
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Best soldiers in the world, remember?"
He pulled you into a hug, something he very rarely did. "Best soldiers in the world,"
You were seated at the edge of the canteen during lunch, watching the chaos of the high school courtyard unfold. There were the usual crowds—some kids laughing and messing around, others buried in their phones or books. Your friends were talking to you, yapping about god knows what. But your eyes kept drifting back to him.
Kyle Garrick.
His friends called him Gaz.
He sat with his usual group of friends, effortlessly leaning back in his chair, making everyone laugh. He wasn't the loudest in the group, but he didn't need to be. He had that quiet confidence that drew people to him. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be the centre of attention with minimal effort, or the way he looked a bit like that F1 driver whose poster you had in your room.
You didn't think much of it at first—just that he was cool. And, maybe, that you had a tiny crush on him. You weren't the only one. Everywhere he went, girls trailed after him, all giggly and swooning. It was a bit ridiculous, really.
One of his friends, Otto, lived across the street from you with his notoriously Dutch family.
And one evening, just as you were about to go down for dinner, you spotted Gaz out of your bedroom window. He was pacing the pavement in front of Otto's house, kicking rocks and occasionally juggling a football with impressive skill.
Curious, you pushed your window open and called out, grinning, "What's up, Garrick?" You said, catching his attention. He looked up in confusion before smiling.
You didn't know him very well, but you were acquainted enough to greet him when you saw him in the street.
He waved, looked to both sides of the road and jogged over.
"What are you doing sulking outside Otto's house?" you teased. It had been a sorry sight.
He shrugged. "You know how they are. It's dinner time. I've gotta wait till they're finished."
You raised an eyebrow. "So what are you going to eat, then?"
He shrugged again, casual as ever. "I'll eat when I get home later."
You hesitated, your parents were out for the evening and they'd left you with more dinner than you could possibly eat.
"Wait a second," you said as you pulled back from the window.
He quirked an eyebrow but waited.
Within five minutes, you opened your front door. "Come in," you said, stepping aside. "I've got spaghetti."
He looked surprised but didn't need much convincing. As he walked in, he muttered a quiet, "Thanks."
Your parents wouldn't murder you if you had a boy over as long as he stayed in the parlour and they didn't catch you in a compromising position. Not that there was any danger of that, 15-year-old you could only think about how scandalous it'd be to hold his hand.
You were clumsy. Here was this boy you had a schoolgirl crush on, sitting idly in your parlour, playing on your Wii, totally at ease as if he came to your house every day.
You, on the other hand, were a nervous wreck. You spilt sauce, broken glass, and burned yourself on the stove. Of course, Kyle came into the kitchen for a refill of water just to see you holding your hand under the sink and the mess you'd made around you.
"Wow," he said, leaning against the kitchen counter with a grin. "Did you start a food fight in here without inviting me?"
You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to play it cool. "Very funny, Gordon Ramsay."
You almost would've thought he was a jerk if it weren't for the fact that he immediately felt the water and turned the tap a little warmer, explaining that cold water would only make the burn worse.
He also heated the pasta while you were tending to your hand and continuously asked if you were alright.
By the time you both sat down to eat, it was like the earlier awkwardness had never happened. He was easy to talk to—so easy that you almost forgot how nervous you'd been.
As the evening went on, you realized there was more to him. Beneath the surface, he was a genuinely good boy. Over steaming bowls of spaghetti, you talked about everything and nothing. He had a way of putting people at ease, a charm that wasn't forced or performative.
He didn't go back to Otto's house that evening, hanging out with you until his mum called him angrily to ask where he was.
The following weeks blurred together as he sought you out more and more. You'd spot him in the courtyard at school, and he'd wave you over.
Sometimes, he'd walk you home, juggling his football and cracking jokes the whole way.
You saw how he treated people—his friends, the quiet kids, the teachers. He didn't have that snobbish arrogance that some of the other popular kids did. No, Gaz had a kindness to him, even if it wasn't always obvious. His parents raised him right, and that was visible in everything he did.
You'd made yourself no illusions that he liked you any more than he liked Otto or any of his other friends. What you had was completely platonic. It didn't take long for your crush to fade.
The more you got to know him, the more you realized he didn't see you that way—and that was okay. What you had was better. A rock-solid friendship.
Gaz became your friend, the kind of friend you could talk to about anything. You'd tell him about the boys you liked, and he'd tease you relentlessly before offering his wingman services. In turn, he'd tell you about the girls who couldn't seem to leave him alone, rolling his eyes but never sounding smug or arrogant about it.
Somewhere along the way, the two of you had made a pact, you'd both join the army and become the best soldiers in the world.
Before you dive into this heartfelt little story, there's a few things I'd like to say. This includes: Intro, Content warnings, Update schedule, and Summary.
I wrote this in the hope of pulling more fans into Gaz's lane and because I've already read every single Gaz fic on the face of the earth.
This is possibly the fourth Gaz fic on all of Wattpad (correct me if I'm wrong), my baby deserves some more love.
This story was initially meant to be a two-part imagine for my book of COD imagines, but I went a little overboard and it ended up being more than 15k words.
So here we are. If you've found yourself on my little piece of the internet, feel free to grab a drink and a bite, because I do hope you enjoy what I've been able to put on paper.
That being said, there are a few content warnings I'd like to get out of the way.
Content warnings:
- Violence incl: Gun violence
- Mention of fictional terrorist organisations (Al Qatala)
- Death of a fictional character (Not Soap dw :).)
- Mentions of sex
- Angst
- Marriage
- Military themes
- I may break your heart at some point
- I'll probably break your heart at some point
- I will most definitely break your heart at some point :')
Feel free to let me know if I missed anything.
Update schedule:
I also hate it when I get really into a story and the author suddenly stops updating and my heart feels empty. I'm guilty of letting this happen to my own stories one too many times before. I promised myself and my readers that I wouldn't let that happen anymore.
That's why I finished writing this story before uploading the first chapter. But, for the sake of the algorithm, I won't upload all of them at once.
If you stumble upon this story and it is not yet complete, there's no need to worry because I can positively say that I'll upload every day, because the story is finished.
It may occur (very unlikely) that I don't upload one day, which means I simply don't have time for my phone all day. The maximum time you'll go without a chapter is one day.
Story summary:
Slice of Life follows two childhood friends whose bond is tested as they grow older. Over the years, their shared memories and promises evolve into something more, though neither is aware of the other's feelings. Both are scared to ruin what they've built, so they remain silent about their love for the longest time.
When you and Kyle met in high school, neither of you expected to have such a long and extensive history together. The type of lore you subtly drop to your grandchildren. From making foolish promises under the shade of a tree to becoming soldiers ready to take a bullet for each other in a heartbeat.
"You're a tough cookie,"You snorted. "Tough enough to keep you in line, maybe.""Exactly," he said with a grin, his gaze sliding over to meet yours. "We'd make a good team, yeah? You and me, back to back. Out there kicking ass and saving the world or whatever."You sat up, brushing grass off your arms. "Alright, Gaz. Let's make a deal. If one of us joins, we join together. No excuses.""Deal," he said without hesitation, holding out his pinkie.You blinked at him. "A pinkie promise? Really?""It's legally binding," he replied, deadpan. You huffed out a laugh but didn't leave him hanging. With a roll of your eyes, you hooked your pinkie with his.
Slice of Life is an exploration of friendship, love, and the sacrifices we make for the ones we hold dear. It's a quiet tale of those moments that shape us—some of them full of regret, others full of the quiet joy of knowing you're never truly alone.
Reblog if you are employed / have a full time job and are a fanfic writer who still actively writes and posts new chapters / new works.
My friend says you can’t be an adult, have a full time job and be a fanfic writer at the same time, because you’ll have to sacrifice your writing, fandom activities, for your career. And I just… don’t think that’s the case? At all? Unless I’m missing something? Unless I’m doing it wrong by being employed and still writing fanfics?
Are you taking request?? I LOVE YOUR POST ABOUT GHOST AND I WAS WORDING cuz if you are please do ghost/simon reply x Rival! Fem! Reader- They both bicker and just fucking "hate " each other but they 100000000% want to get in each other's pants-
@canyonmooncreations @edgarapoecolouredglasses
How do you like your heads? Sunny-side up.
Okay guys. Please buckle up. I don’t know what this is or how it came to be what it is. My brain had an idea and my fingers grabbed it and took off in the opposite direction. If you don’t like it, that’s fine! To each their own. i crave validation so please somebody tell me this is girl boss girl power and not stupid.
Warnings: plz i’m so bad at these. swearing obvi!, POV switches!, angst, some sprinkles of ✨trauma✨, blood lots of blood, tears, guns, death, fire, explosions, many many many allusions to sex as well as fantasy sex, so to be safe MDNI 18+, fluff, reader is a badass ofc, TW definite allusion to SA so plz consume carefully if that triggers you, no use of Y/N, usage of the word slut and etc., probably military inaccuracies, probs medical inaccuracies, WHAT ELSE???, i dunno just read under your own discretion and we’ll be cool
Word count: plz don’t hate me 13.7k and some change
P.S. i’ve written this three fucking times because tumblr has been a little bitch, so just lemme say ily guys and we’ll call it a day
That stupid fucking mask.
He was always sulking in it, stern eyes glaring at every single move you made. It didn’t matter how well you followed protocol, how strictly you obeyed orders, he always had a remark queued up, poison at the ready that he’d spit on you any chance he had.
You felt it in your veins, pulsing through your blood; you felt it in your mind, when every time he was around, your thoughts pushed you to work harder, to be tougher; but you felt it the most in your core. When those calloused hands would grasp on just a fraction to gently or when his broad shoulders grazed past yours.
It was a fever dream, nothing but a wish upon a star.
He was arrogant, reckless, and made your insides throb in a way that had your head spinning. You were constantly shoving it aside, trading the butterflies in your stomach for claws that you used to scratch him raw.
It was the easiest thing to do, because there’s no way in hell you’d succumb to that man, ever.
That stupid fucking smile.
You were always throwing it at his mates, always letting it cover the hate brewing at the surface for him. He saw that fake fawn look from a million miles away. It pissed him off how you pretended to be so deer-like and innocent, so friendly.
He’d watched you kill people, watched you take down grown men four times your size. He didn’t understand why you weren’t miserable like the rest of them, why you were so bubbly and loud.
Every time you were around him his jaw would clench, the muscle ticking when that incessant laughter you had echoed throughout the room. His hands tensed in anger, anticipation, feeling the urge to slap the plump cheeks of your ass with each press of them against his thigh. He hated the little, sorry lieutenant, you’d croak out. Voice husky and sickeningly sweet.
He hated you, because there was no reason on Earth why he should be feeling this way, especially when he couldn’t ever force himself to act upon it. Never in a million years would he give into your little game, never.
“Alright,” Price’s voice was eager, the file in his hands creasing when large fingers pried it open. The pages fought back, like they knew what was coming next. “We’ve got word from Russian allies that our guy is three miles west of home base.” Some papers trickled out, and he slid them your way, the frayed edges stopping with a squeak under your fingertips. “This, here, is where we need you Slugger. You’ll be with Ghost.” He didn’t give you a moment to argue. “Riley, you’re backup. There’s men here, valuable sources, I want as little casualties as we can afford.”
Both chests inhale a sharp breath, muscles going taut and eyes hardening. You made an attempt at keeping calm, looking up at Price with the most pleasant face you could muster. “Captain, I assure you, I’ll be fine on my own, I’ve done this dozens of times. I know the drill.”
“Sir, ‘m not a babysitta, ‘f she can’t ’andle ‘erself it’s not my problem.”
Your teeth gritted, lips tightening into a thin line. “I can handle myself just fine. Kicked your ass before, can do it again.”
“Try.” He tilted his head in mockery, the side of his mask crinkling as he smirked. That bastard. Such a tease, such a stupid fucking-
“Oh fuck you, you think you can just sit there on your high horse. I’ll punch you in your fucking throat you bi-”
“Call me tha’ and see wha’ I do next.”
“Bi-”
“That’s enough!” Price’s chest was heaving too, frustration rolling off his shoulders and crashing over you in waves. You were wasting his time, precious minutes you didn’t get enough of.
It was his own fault, pairing you with that sick bastard. He knew what kind of reaction he was creating, knew that the two of you together meant big egos and loads of anger.
“You two tighten up. This isn’t a game, I need your heads clear.” His gaze flitted back and forth, only to see one glaring at the other. It was a testament to who was greater, who was more dominant.
It was like fucking national geogrpahic.
“Lieutenant,” Ghost faltered, only for a moment, but in the animal kingdom, that was your opportunity to go for his throat. To win. “You’re not babysitting anyone, I need you hidden, stored away until we’re in need of your…….gifts.”
He sighed, more like grunted really, deep and from his chest.
You almost smiled, almost pranced around in glorious satisfaction, until the file, along with a hand, slammed down in front of you, piercing eyes meeting your own. “Slugger,” He kept his voice low, the lingering smell of whiskey and the familiarity of his cigars meeting your nose. You’d been overpowered. Now you were the one cowering with your tail between your legs. “I suggest, very highly, that you learn to keep that mouth shut.”
It warranted little to no reaction from you as you searched his gaze, looking for a way out, a notion that you could still win this fight, but he gave you none. It was only cold-hard determination that was met and it immediately overpowered your stubbornness.
Long and drawn out, you let your lips open and allowed defeat. “Yes. Sir.”
“Good.” This time, when you met Ghost’s eyes, he was looking somewhere else, drinking your body in like it was nothing shy of water. The focus was mainly on the rise and fall of your chest, the curve of your breasts as you regained your composure. When Price turned back toward his team and began addressing the others, you let your head fall into your hand, the action causing the neckline of the skin-tight shirt to fall just a little lower, revealing more for him to see, to drink. Because It would be cruel of you to send him out into the desert dehydrated, now wouldn’t it?
Fuck you, you teasing little bitch. You hadn’t won, not in the slightest. Not by being a feisty slut. Leave it to you to flaunt those goods out for everyone to see. Whore.
The word was on the tip of his tongue, insults piling at the ready, finger on the trigger. “Ghost, we have the all clear. Gear up.” Before he could throw venom at your face and watch the pride melt away, his eyes were moving to look at his Captain. A mere nod sufficed, and he dismissed with one in return.
Though the chairs began creaking, and boots began stomping, he didn’t move, and neither did Price.
You, however, grabbed your paper and folded it up as tight as it would go, sticking it in the back pocket of your pants. He watched the lingering touch of your fingers as they grazed your hip, and he wanted to slap them out of the way, wanted to replace them with his own bruising grip. To teach you a lesson.
That smug pursing of your lips as you stifled a grin needed to be wiped off with teeth and tongue. He’d show you who was the boss, just give him time.
His legs moved out of their own accord, ready to follow you, to fight back and spit acid into your mind, but he was stopped by Price standing in front of him, hands curling in his tac vest. He tugged, and Ghost could see the creasing in his brows, could hear the lecture that was bound to come next.
“If there’s a problem with you and Slugger, you put that aside. This, right here, right now, is more important. I need you with me Lieutenant, need you sharp. I need her sharp.”
Gloved hands grasped onto the back of a chair, the metal groaning beneath his weight. “Good luck with tha.”
His words warranted a sigh through Price’s nose as he closed his eyes. “She’s the best sniper we got, never seen someone take down men the way she does.”
It was his turn to sigh. “I know.”
“I can’t have you tripping her up cause your dick’s a little hard Riley. That girl is gonna save our asses tonight. Put aside your ego and be aware of that. Back her up until I need you. Those are my orders.”
Price didn’t give him room to fight, and he left Ghost there to relish in his own anger. It stirred inside of him, twisted his insides and made him want to hurl. He was gonna fuck that cunt apart after this, was gonna tear your body to shreds and make it his, but until then, he’d forget about the worry plaguing his thoughts. He was gonna shove it down deep where he kept everything else, and he’d gear up, grab his gun, and kill a couple bastards.
Because you didn’t get inside his head, at all.
The situation you were in was almost ironic. You, your precious gun, and the man you hated more than anyone shoved next to you. Shoulder to shoulder, thigh pressing against thigh, the heat on your bones molding together and throwing tension across the rest of the team.
Your men were afraid to step the wrong away, even breathe, because putting the two most pent-up, angry people together, was more than likely the worst idea Price had in a very long time.
It was a ticking time bomb to say the least, and there was no way to decode it and stop the explosion, it was inevitable.
“Quit movin’ or I’ll bash your ‘ead in.” He’d only told you that four million times.
You let your eyes roll back in response, making a feeble attempt to get away from him. The pistol on your hip felt mighty tempting, your pussy agreed. “Can’t help that I have to breathe, would you rather I choke and die, hm?”
You knew the answer, that’s why you said it.
“Tempting.”
A scoff meshed with a laugh and forced a sound from your throat. “Then who’d save your ass?”
The heli shifted, pushing his shoulder harder into yours and making you shiver. He was so juicy and thick, fuck me sideways if you didn’t just want to clamp your teeth down into the muscle and make your mark, claim your territory, mine.
“Arse doesn’t seem t’ need savin’ unless your around.”
“O-kay buddy. You keep tellin’ yourself that.” The pat on his thigh was meant to be condescending, a joke, but he chubbed it up as much as he could, flexing beneath the tight fit of his cargo pants and leaving behind the large imprint of his dick standing strongly in your eyeline.
You squeezed, hard, shifting your own gloved hand as casually as you could to the crease where his hip met his thigh. You watched the bulge grow as you teased a finger toward it, stopping just shy of his dick before slamming a fist into his stomach. “Not in your wildest dreams shithead.”
Not in his, but they most certainly remained in yours. Especially when you felt the slick coating your panties each night, when you were in the shower and his name, his real name, slipped off your tongue like a prayer.
That was for you. Not for him. You couldn’t give him that kind of satisfaction. Big man didn’t need an even bigger head.
“One day I’ll shoot you.” It was final. He sounded genuine, and for a moment you considered the thought of him hunting you down, shiny pistol held between his fingertips.
“Make me cum first, then we’ll talk about gun play.”
He wanted to laugh, no, he wanted to cackle. Sometimes you were clever, those quips coming so easily that he swore you had to have a notebook filled with them. Truthfully, they weren’t that grand, probably took an average human a few seconds to come up with them, but they sounded so……funny, coming from your lips.
He didn’t know if it was because those deer-in-a-headlights eyes betrayed the jokes, or if he was just a little to buzzed from the cigarettes he smoked beforehand, but damn you, you were good.
Not good enough though, not enough to make him forget the hatred that seethed in his gut. To forget how you drove him mad. Something about your presence sent sparks flying underneath his skin, turned his body up a degree too high, and no matter how many times you counteracted that feeling, it never truly went away.
He didn’t know if it’d ever be satiated. Not until he was licking the sweat off your neck.
“Forty meters out, get ready boys, we’re goin’ in.” Gaz’s voice crackled over the speakers, followed by the opening of the helicopter door and Price barking orders.
“Slugger, this is your stop.” He was shouting over the wind, chopper blades almost drowning him out completely. If it hadn’t been for experienced ears he’d have heard nothing, but Ghost knew by the glint in his captain’s eye that this was his mark, no more thoughts of your pussy swallowing his cock like the good girl he’d turn you into. Only the scent of gunpowder through his mask and the weight of a weapon in his hands.
“Send Ghost down first, check for threats, I need her safe down there. Not a living soul in sight, got that?”
“Loud an’ clear.” As the concrete landed beneath his boots, he pushed you back into your vault, locked you up tight until he could wrap a hand around his cock and get a good wank out of it all.
He could’ve sworn he shut the safe all the way, was totally convinced of it when a bullet hit a man straight in the head.
Absolutely one hundred percent positive when he gave the all clear through the comms.
He missed the part of you that escaped through the last little crack in the door, and it came back to haunt him when he watched thick thighs wrap around rope and meet his hands at the bottom.
Oh boy, he was fucked.
All the focus was on you now. There was no evil banter to counteract reality anymore. It was just your face beside your captain’s, and his faith was being placed in your hands upon the contact. “We need you down there kid, do me right.” The rifle slipped around your back with ease as you took your place on the rope. It was muscle memory, the way you tangled your body around the thread, not a thought behind your eyes other than blood.
It was why when you wrapped an arm around Ghost’s shoulders and when his hand landed on your thigh, you didn’t think twice, just allowed him to help you. Not even a blink when suddenly his arm was looping behind your waist.
You were sitting on his bicep, skeleton hands curving around your hip as he helped lower you to the ground.
That was new.
“Easy,” You ignored the way his gruff tone seemed softer and blamed it on the roaring chopper blades.
It was awkward, and if it hadn’t have been for the reminder that you were literally in the middle of trying to kill somebody, your sure you would’ve stood there for a good twenty minutes asking yourself what are we? Because, fuck, did his touch feel good.
“Clearest shot is round ‘ere. This corner.” You followed him wherever he was taking you, ignoring the pulsing of blood in your ears as you settled the hefty gun back between your fingertips. It was a few minutes of shifting, readjusting, and then shifting again. You felt his gaze heavy on your body each time he turned back in your direction.
The angle was good, he was right, but it felt off. Your gut was telling you somewhere else, and you listened.
“It’s good, but not good enough.” Ghost’s scoff was quiet, but you heard it. He was doubtful, always had been. One of the many reasons he irked your nerves so badly.
But dammit if he wasn’t pretty.
“You’re the expert.”
“That’s right, I am.” You put on a cheeky smile, walking along the concreted outline of the roof. Lap after lap was made, and each time felt worse than before.
You tried another spot, setting your gun up in the same routine as always.
You blew on the scope, for good luck, and tried to find the exact position you were looking for.
The tension in your shoulders only increased when you found it seemingly worse than all the others.
“Damn.” The word was supposed to be a whisper, a revelation to yourself, but you felt his presence appear behind you, and suddenly he was squatting beside your body, knees cracking along with his voice.
“Feelin’ wrong yet.”
You could hear the crippling satisfaction as it drenched his tone. “Haha very funny.” The remark fell short though as you leaned back, catching the inside of your cheek between your teeth.
“Wha’s the matta?”
“I dunno,” You shrugged, rocking back on your heels. The base was quiet, seemingly too quiet, and something in your gut told you that there was more to the story then what had been placed on the surface. “Something’s not right, can’t put my finger on it.”
His breathing pattern changed, once even and casual breaths now a little quicker, nervous almost. “Needa change position again?”
You shook your head, remaining crouched down. Your brain was whirring like a machine, any and every scenario that was about to take place flashing like a slideshow in the forefront of your mind. “No. I mean, when I can’t get comfortable, it always means something’s not right. It could mean I need to move, but most of the time it’s more than that.” For a brief moment, you tried to fight it, made the best attempt you could at rationalizing with yourself. Price wouldn’t send you in blind.
Of course, not on purpose.
There was a split second where you almost admitted to being overly paranoid, almost gave in, but something in the distance kept catching your eyes, an all too familiar glint. “So wha’, you’re sayin’ we need ‘a get out ‘a ‘ere.” The thick drawl of his accent had you shivering, hands going numb as you laid them on your gun.
“I’m saying something’s wrong.”
If it hadn’t have been for the lack of pride in your tone, Ghost would’ve assumed that you were being cocky, but he could tell by the rigidness in your shoulders that you were off. One thing the team had taken to notice about you, was the eery relaxation you got when holding a sniper in your hands. The last time you weren’t calm like this, Gaz was shot in the shoulder and you left with six stitches to the back of your head.
Immediately he was on high alert. “I’ll call Price, let ‘im know.” You didn’t nod, didn’t even blink. Instead your fingers were stiff, focus unwavering as your eyes stayed glued to a wooden tower in the distance. Somewhere else, your mind was somewhere else.
“Price, this is Ghost, Slugger’s bird is feelin’ a littl’ tired. Says it need a rest, you ‘ear?” He watched intensely as you loaded your gun up on the concrete wall, your shoulders rolled, neck leaning from side to side as you blew off the scope.
Every damn time.
“Price, this is Ghost, I said-” Before he could blink, your gun went off, and the wooden tower burst into flames. A ricochet of explosions hit like a domino effect, and suddenly, the first line of buildings went from concrete to fire. The blaze illuminated the night sky and revealed dozens of men with heavy machinery guns lined at their front.
An ambush of sorts. They knew the Task Force was coming, and they used the dark to their advantage. Both the physical and the figurative. Whatever intel Price received was from someone sent to keep the information contained, a need to know basis of sorts. That’s why you’d said it was too quiet, the 141 was literally being kept in the dark.
“‘ow many you count?” He watched your mouth move, plump flesh meeting its partner as you formed the numbers on your lips.
One, two, three, eleven, fifteen, twenty-six.
“Too many.”
“Fuck.” He tried the comms again, static meeting him in the middle. Fear rang loudly within his chest, and anger grasped ahold of it to take its place. “Did you blow up one of the fuckin’ buildings that ‘ad our men in it? Did you?” Fierce hands moved in regards with his mind, and before he knew it, he had you pinned down on the ground, fingers hovering above your pulse point.
Your eyes weren’t afraid. They were alive, hungry.
“You might think I’m incompetent, but I assure you, I do my research.” With an open palm, you reached within a pocket on your tac vest, pulling out a crumbled piece of paper.
Your hand writing was all over the miniature map. Notes upon notes scribbled on the wrinkled page.
You’d been studying.
“They’re in the building in front of the fire, with a direct line of sight into a militia that they cannot take on. One wrong move and we lose them all.”
He was panting, breaths hot inside the mask. He found himself wanting to rip it apart, to shove it down your throat and watch you choke on it as he fucked you senseless.
You’d need a reward after this.
“Gaz is in a neighbouring heli, right. there.” He followed your gloved finger, seeing the outline of the air strike in the distance.
“You do this?”
Your shoulders moved just slightly in an attempted shrug. “Somewhat. Me and Kyle had our doubts from the beginning. Laswell agreed. Like it or not I do have some authority Lieutenant, you’d better start trusting it.”
You could have some authority after you sucked his cock.
He should’ve gotten off of you by now, should’ve taken his hips off the moment he saw the chopper, but he loved the way you looked beneath him.
Trapped and defenseless, a helpless little rabbit in the hands of a killer. He could snap your neck with a single touch of his hands, and somehow you still welcomed it. If the steady pulse beneath his finger was any indication, you might even like it.
“You got ‘a plan don’t ya.” Not even a question.
He watched that cheeky grin of yours spread wide, all the way to your ears, crinkling your eyes, and your hand went up beside your face to reveal a thumbs up.
Fucking idiot.
“Alrigh’ then, enlighten me.”
He released you from captivity and you both scrambled up, time was not something you had a lot of, and you were wasting it.
“We can’t bring in air strike yet, too close to home. I need you to make your way to Price.” You were messing with your gun as you spoke, and he followed your hands, looking at the stickers donning the weapon. As though it was some toy and not a device designed to kill, to destroy. “When you get there, you bring them back to me up here. Gaz will pick us up, and then,” You pulled the bolt on the gun back, staring back at him with eyes of steel. “it’s sayonara motherfuckers.” You punctuated your sentence by slamming the bolt back into place, and he felt fire in his stomach at the way you looked so……excited.
“And wha’ about you?” He adjusted the grip on his gun, feeling something like weariness settle in his bones at the way you tucked yourself into the nook of the concrete, adjusting your gun like you were staying here.
No way in hell.
“I’ll cover you. Babygirl’s been dying to get some work done.” Your fingers gently tap the barrel of the rifle, brushing across a faded sticker of a Mother Earth with a smiley face on it. Whatever helped you sleep at night he guessed.
“They’ll figure it out, someone’ll come for you.”
He didn’t know why he wanted to fight you, to keep you safe. He was crumbling.
“I’ll be fine Ghost, really. This ain’t my first rodeo.” You shook your head in disbelief, as if absolutely flabbergasted that he would be concerned about the fact that you could, wild guess, die.
Stupid little fawn.
“Now seriously, go. We don’t have time to suck each other’s dicks.”
Yes ma’am. Be the boss for now, see what happens later.
You wanted to be wrong, holy shit did you want to be, but there was this constant shimmer coming from the old water tower. A glint only made from a fellow sniper.
Everything went quiet almost instantaneously, until all you could hear was the even sounds of your own breathing. Then, like a thief in the night, you came. In one, smooth shot, you took him out. With his honorable sacrifice, you hit the detonator on his chest, revealing the mess they’d left you to clean up.
Such a noble guy, dying so his militia could lose.
“C’mon babygirl, don’t let me down now.” You blew on the scope, and watched carefully as the line of men began to spread out.
They were getting antsy, concerned. There was a reason you hadn’t attacked yet, and eventually they’d solve the problem and come looking for the solution.
Ghost moved quickly and quietly, you never once saw him as he weaved through the buildings. Man, did he live up to his name.
His name. Simon.
Simon, Simon, Simon.
You wanted to moan it loud and proud as he was straddling you, the outline of his dick ever present against your pelvis.
If it hadn’t have been for the impending sense of doom lying over your heads, you might’ve asked him to fuck you there on the roof. In the spot where you were sitting now.
You’d be naked and drooling, he’d be cackling and coated from head to toe in his uniform.
Fuck, if the thought of chewing him out while he was buried to the hilt inside you didn’t make you wet, you didn’t know what would.
“Soldier down, there’s more comin’ on the right, stay sharp.”
The pulsing of your clit mirrored the pounding in your heart, and you adjusted the lens back a bit, trying to get a wider view on what was ahead.
They’d split up, and now there was MG’s all over the place.
One wrong move and you were fucked.
“Pick ‘em off carefully, we don’t need all of ‘em down, just the big ones.”
You inhaled sharply, eyeing the men with the biggest guns.
“I’m goin’ dark Slugger, do us proud.” On cue, a body fell to the ground, gunpowder leaking from your bolt. Whatever you say Lieutenant.
You watched carefully as some men fell in between the alleyways, he was working fast. You, on the other hand, found it next to impossible to decide who to take down.
It was hard to pick your battles when everything inside of you screamed to shoot them all. To keep them away from Ghost as his bulky body made its way to your men.
He could handle himself, you knew that much, but there was this ache deep down in your gut that wanted to take care of him, keep him safe, and tonight it seemed next to impossible to ignore.The only solution was the rifle in your hands. Price needed you clear headed, the only way to do that was to kill some sons of bitches.
“Talk to me sweetheart, who’s going down?” The gun spoke immediately, revealing a man with a weapon much to large and much to clean for your liking. “Attagirl.” Target acquired. Target neutralized.
Man by man you dwindled down the group, doing the best you could to draw out the ones with the largest weapons.
Anything that could kill faster than the speed of light was gonna end up in a puddle of blood, you were sure of it.
But, just as your time was precious, so were your bullets, and you were frantically running out of both.
Footsteps were drawing nearer, foreign voices riddled with foreign accents taking the steps a moment too quickly.
The pistol on your hip was in your hands immediately, the only issue was: the missing suppressor.
“Fuck,” It was shoot or die, but that was dogshit when one small gunshot drew attention you couldn’t afford. You could either trust in a group of men that could easily be buildings away, or, give in and allow yourself to die willingly.
Slugger wasn’t your nickname for nothing.
If you’d die, you’d die trying.
There was nowhere to hide on the roof, just a sorry excuse for a chimney that would barely cover your shoulders.
You couldn’t call for Gaz, not yet, and you couldn’t get Ghost over comms, for the chance of revealing their position to enemy soldiers.
It was up to you.
The gun was to big to hide, you’d have to leave her.
As insane as you fucking are, you kiss the scope, putting your forehead to the bolt. “Thank you for your service.”
It was mostly a joke, mostly.
The footsteps barreled through just as you lowered yourself against the back of the chimney. Their eyes immediately landed on your rifle, excited laughter following suit.
A language you didn’t recognize, words you couldn’t understand, and they all had their backs turned to you.
You could take out two before they’d get you, and you’d have to be quick about ducking down. How’d you get the other two you didn’t know, but you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.
If you came to it.
An inhale of air, and it happened all at once. One minute you were closing your eyes, begging something for mercy on your life, and the next, you were putting bullets in two skulls.
You had it, you did it, even had leverage now to shoot a third man, when a bullet came flying at you like lightning, slamming into your shoulder and splattering blood on your cheeks.
You fell back on your side with a shout, trembling fingers grasping onto the quickly leaking wound. Blood was already pouring out of your skin, making you dizzy.
The gun was slick in your hand, and every part of you screamed in agony, but you didn’t give yourself a single moment to think.
The guy to the left of you was down in seconds, and fingers were attacking your neck before the body hit the ground.
You were pushed on your stomach and slammed hard onto the concrete, something on your face cracking.
“You think you kill me.” It was poor english, and you were stringing together words, trying to throw out insults that resulted in more pressure against the back of your head. “You think I die, we die.” The laugh was bone-chilling, and all at once everything slowed down.
Your eyes were bleary, brain fog making it impossible to see straight, but there was no longer adrenaline coursing your veins, just utter fear.
You didn’t want to die.
“You’re,” Gasp. “terrorists.” Gasp. Something was wrong with your voice, it felt weird, distant.
Your chest was heavy as he shoved you further into the concrete. Blood was beginning to soak your uniform, crawling under your tac vest and burying itself in every crevice it could find.
“You not? You kill my people, for fun. Stickers.” You should understand, right? This should make sense, but all you can hear is the clanking of a belt buckle, and the realization that your body feels too heavy to move.
“Punishment. You deserve punishment.”
You take it all back. You did want to die. Now.
“No,” The word is weak, desperate, and swallowed by a hand around your throat. He’s flipped you over on your back.
“No one hear you scream. Like no one hear my people scream.”
It’s all happening too quickly and too slowly. You have to get out of this, have to kill him.
As your hands fumble for a gun, and a hand slaps you across your face, you hear the door burst open and loud voices shout. Familiar voices.
Blinking blearily, you catch sight of a skull. Of a ghost.
Ghost.
You try to speak, but the hand tightens, leaving you gasping and gurgling on spit and blood. Finally, the body above you lands flat on your ribs, leaving you struggling for breath you already didn’t have.
Just as the weight is being lifted, as the breeze of helicopter blades washes over you, a warm palm is placed against your neck. Weak arms try to push it away, to shy from the gentle warmth it provides.
Before you can stop the wandering hands, you find stars at the edge of your vision.
It’s dark.
Slugger going dark.
Your words echoed like a dull melody in his brain.
No time, running out of time.
There was to many soldiers, to many guns, it felt next to impossible to even breathe for the mere chance of them hearing it.
He’d already taken down two, and there were more flanks coming his way, coming your way.
Something took place of the thoughts of your eyes, of your skin, of the fantasies he’d been replaying to make him move quicker, it was fear.
He was terrified of something happening to you.
Instinctively, his feet picked up their pace, and with another shot to the head, he was bursting open doors and staring at his Captain.
They were standing there as shell-shocked as ever, but the look in the Lieutenant’s eyes said enough. No time for explanation, they needed to leave.
He led them out of the building and weaved through dead bodies, feeling solace when every now and then he’d hear the suppressed sound of your rifle followed by a thud as a body touched the ground.
Did he smile at that? Yeah, he fucking smiled.
It all faded as fast as it had come when a gunshot hit his ears. One he didn’t make, and one too far away to be anyone down low.
You.
You were in trouble.
His body overtook rational thinking and he started running, ignoring the men behind entrusting him with their safety.
They’d be fine. You wouldn’t.
Slugger wasn’t your nickname for nothing, and he knew you’d fight. But when one shot turned to three, it was over, he knew you were screwed.
He could hear the sickening sound of a man’s laughter as he climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time. So close and yet so far.
The man was monologue-ing, wasting time, thank fuck.
He burst through the door just as the man’s hand was on his zipper, and he shot him without a second thought, watching in sinister satisfaction as the body oozed blood.
Until he realized it was oozing blood on you.
Your voice was nothing, and when he approached a seemingly lifeless body, he felt panic enter into him for the first time in a very long time.
The body was off in seconds, and he saw the way blood was coming from you now.
Your face, your shoulder, your mouth.
You made a strangled noise when he put a hand to your throat to make sure you had a pulse, make sure you were still alive, breathing.
“None ‘a tha’. I’m ‘ere.” His voice was void of emotion, but he meant it, he was here. He had you. He’d take care of you.
“Price, call in Gaz,”
He was shouting orders, Ghost peeking out from the back so Simon could face you.
“Gaz is downstairs, stationed below Slugger.”
He shook his head, leaning your now unconscious body up. “No, change ‘a plan. I’ll explain later, just call ‘im.”
He grabbed your bicep with one hand, and wrapped his other arm around your waist. He stood up with you to his chest before throwing you over his shoulder.
A big hand was splayed over your bottom, while the other held your legs, keeping you steady.
“Get ‘er gun. She’ll ’ave my head if we let it die with these bastards.”
More confusion on their part, but they did as they were asked anyway.
Footsteps began again and vicious gunfire as the chopper was lowered, and by a bloody miracle, they made it in and up.
“All clear Sergeant.” Ghost mumbled softly as he laid you down on the floor of the heli, hand palming your forehead.
Your face was in rough shape. Still utterly fucking stunning.
Weak fingers twitched beside your body, and you whimpered in response when he started pushing against the bullet hole on your shoulder. “Gotta put pressure on it Slugger, you know the drill.”
The distant sound of explosions rang in his ears, but he barely heard it, to focused on your shallow breaths and the way you said his name.
Simon.
He’d never heard it from your lips before. It was sweet sweet music.
“Yeah, Simon’s ‘ere. I gotcha.”
He didn’t hate you so bad anymore. In fact, he thinks he might not hate you at all.
Maybe that hate was something else all along, or maybe it wasn’t. He wasn’t to sure if he’d ever know.
But something he did know, was that he wanted to scoop you up, fuck you hard, and never let you go again.
And that’s gotta count for something?
Punishment. Punishment.
You deserve punishment.
The words echoed around your skull, bouncing off the metal walls in your mind and landing with an iron taste on your tongue.
Punishment. Punishment.
I deserve punishment.
Over and over you repeated this, until the lingering feeling of hands was touching your body, and there was too-bright lights blazing your pupils.
You opened your mouth to speak, to call for somebody, anybody, but your brain was mush, and everything felt like it was being weighed down by an anvil.
You think you might’ve groaned, might’ve mumbled a harsh request for water, but no one responded.
Fuck it, anvil or not you’d get it yourself.
Something began beeping rapidly when you tried to lean up, and pain spread like a lightning bolt through your shoulder and down your arm, all the way to your chest.
Lightning.
You’d been shot.
The covers were scratchy and warm as you threw them off, bare feet landing on the floor.
Your head swam as you did so, and streaks of white hot pain flew down your neck to your spine. You found yourself reaching for the source of the agony, but the only thing that met you there was another bandage.
Just as you were about to stand, unfamiliar hands grasped at your arms. You couldn’t see who it was, your eyes were too blurry, but the voice sounded far away and you didn’t like how squeaky it was.
“Off.” You tried to push it away, to make it stop touching you, but it was persistent in it’s, his, efforts.
You were back on that roof, fighting for your life. This was a dream, a figment of your imagination. You had to get out, had to save Ghost.
Ghost.
His baritone voice overtook all your senses, and now the clammy hands were off of your body, replaced with warm, calloused, familiar palms on your cheeks.
“Take it easy Slugger, relax.” Your weighted head fell forward, pounding skull meeting an equally pounding chest.
He kept his fingers away from your neck as he maneuvered your weak limbs back on the bed. The scratchy covers were over your legs again and the lights were right within your gaze.
You tried again to speak, to ask for water, but you didn’t even need to say the words, he knew already.
The straw met your cracked lips, and you leaned up as best you could, chugging the drink greedily and relishing in how the coolness eased the throbbing in your throat. Even when the ache was soothed, you kept chugging, trying to suffice a thirst that was hunkering down in your core. It had you sputtering over the liquid, barely open eyes watering as you choked around the straw.
“Alrigh’ we’re done ‘ere.” You could’ve cried when he took the cup away, and if the hot tears streaming down your cheeks were any indication, you think you might’ve. “Quit tha’ yeah, you’re okay, we’ll get ya some more in a minute.” You felt knuckles graze your face, thick fingers dipping beneath your eyes and catching the strays that managed to escape.
“Rest up Slugger, I’ll be ‘ere when you wake.” Beneath his touch, you faltered, and let sleep succumb every thought you could’ve had. He’d be here. He would.
He watched, intensely. Watched your chest rise and fall, watched each minuscule noise that left your lips as you slept. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, just protected. A certified guard dog.
Nurses came and went over the next couple hours, all females now, because what in the hell were they doing sending you a male nurse after the report they’d been given? No, not again, not while he was there.
The team came for a bit. Big, burly men now awkward and seemingly so small. The sight of your face was enough to have them all recoiling, and the handprint shaped bruises made them leave altogether. Sure, they’d seen worse injuries, but this was Slugger they were talking about.
And you didn’t get hurt. Ever.
Soap stayed for a few hours, he sat in Ghost’s spot so he could stretch, bouncing his knee as he talked to you. Ghost came back in the room to him resting his forehead against your thigh, eyes shut and shoulders rising and falling softly.
“Johnny,” His hand fell against the back of his neck, squeezing. The sergeant woke with a jerk, only realizing who it was when he felt the familiar touch of gloves.
“Go ‘ome Soap, I’ll call you with news.”
He was quiet, whispering something into your leg before giving it a kiss.
“Don’t forget Lieutenant.”
Gaz was the second one to stay. He seemed shaken, eyes burning as they took in the state of your body.
He paced for a while, watching the windows every now and then before coming back to your bed. It was like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d try to sit on the edge of the mattress, only to stand and pace again. He wouldn’t touch you, wouldn’t talk to you.
He only left when Ghost ordered him to. “Pacin’ around like tha’ ‘s gonna give me a ‘eadache.”
Price was the last to come. His eyes looked heavy, vacant, and the stench of beer was overpowering.
“You should go home, get some rest. I can sit with her.” His captain was in day clothes, hands finding the pockets of his jacket. Ghost hadn’t changed, he was still in a bloody uniform, and he’d stay like that until you could bitch at him about the way he smelled.
“Promise ‘er I’d be ‘ere when she woke up, I keep my promises.”
“Alright then,” He adjusted the beanie on his head, sniffling as he cleared his throat. “Can I sit?” Ghost didn’t respond, just held your hand a little tighter.
There was a chair on the other side of your bed, buried between wires and machines of all kinds. Price moved mindlessly, like he’d done this before.
As he grunted with the weight of his body, silence fell over the dim room, drenching the soldiers in unspoken words. Accusations, questions, answers, they all swirled above your head, finally coming to a close when Price pulled out a file from his backpack and let it fall on your legs.
“Wha’s this?”
“A file.”
Ghost’s gaze on your face was unwavering, but his demeanor crackled for a moment.
Price shifted, and he flipped open the file, revealing a long stack of papers. Your name, your real name, was scattered across the top of each one them.
Confusion was evident on the Lieutenant’s features and he dropped your hand, not missing the way your heart rate increased just slightly from his lack of touch. “Why am I lookin’ at this?”
“I need your help filing a report on Slugger.”
“Like wha’, turn ‘er in?”
“Not exactly.” He was being vague, shifty, he could tell by look in his eyes, the way he was watching the windows, the doors.
“She saved our arses back there, ‘m not gonna throw ‘er to the dogs.”
“I’m not asking you to.” More confusion and Ghost was growing irritated.
“Get to the point Captain.” It was practically a growl, the edge to his voice, he felt like he was being dangled above a lion's mouth, a rat hanging by its tail.
One thing about Ghost, he did not like being prey.
“I want you to look at this.” He flipped through the stack of pages, grasping a pile of papers stapled together. “Dozens of hits on her. Everywhere we’ve been, there’s a bounty on her head.”
Countless countries were listed, ransoms, pictures of your smiling face in uniform and your precious rifle tight between your fingers.
“This ambush wasn’t for us, it was for her.”
The room was spinning and Ghost was in the center of it. There was no air in his lungs, no thoughts in his head.
“What that bastard was going to do to her is nothing compared to what the others have planned. If we file this report, get her stripped of her title, we can hide her away, keep her safe.”
For a moment, he was stunned into silence, his tongue dry and heavy as it laid in his mouth, searching for the right words to say.
“Wha’ we do, ‘ow we are, it’s who she is, I can’t take tha’ from ‘er, I won’t.”
Price ran a hand down his face, scratching at the ends of his mustache before searching for another paper. “What she did out there, with Kyle, was smart. She has killer instincts. But it’s a way out. She had no authorization.”
“Laswell.”
“Laswell had no authorization.” He huffed out a frustrated sigh, mumbling something under his breath before tucking a page between his fingers. “I can get her a desk job, maybe partner her with Kate, but she can’t be on the field. It’s too dangerous, for all of us.”
Ghost placed down the stack of papers, reaching out for whatever sort of sacred information Price had.
“Wha’s tha’?”
He jerked the page out of his hands, skimming it from top to bottom.
Sunny-Side Up Killer
Ransom: $4 million
Dead or alive, bring the gun or no deal.
Beneath the foreign words was a picture of you and your rifle, your face broken out in a smile as you held the brightly colored stickers.
“Don’ recognize tha’ name, sunny-side.”
His Captain’s eyes were piercing, and he tucked his hands back in his jacket pocket, leaning back in the chair as he cocked his head in your direction.
“It’s her.”
It was a mistake telling him all this, because now he was frantic, heart leaping out of his chest and pulsing rapidly in his throat. “Does she know about this? Know there’s a bounty on ‘er ‘ead, know they see her as a murderer. Did you know?” His words were pure poison, wrapping themselves around Price’s veins and squeezing until his blood ran cold.
“No. None of us did. It’s why we need her out of here now. The more she’s exposed to the public the bigger chance we have of a rat sighting her. One screw-up from us and Slugger’s dead.”
No. No. Not on his watch.
“That’s not ‘appenin.”
“I know.” He stood, letting a hand fall to your knee. There was a softness to his touch as he stroked your leg with his thumb, and his eyes looked like they were in agony when he stared at your beaten face.
“I’ll load up some soldiers, post them here until she’s ready to go.”
Good. That was good.
“You tellin’ the boys?”
That drew a chuckle from his chest, and he patted your skin, leaning down to give a light kiss to your forehead. “They’re itchin’ for a fight already. Don’t even know what enemy to start with and they’re plannin’ it out like they know what’s next.”
“Do you?”
He watched Price rub a hand across the top of your head, lightly brushing across the large bandage above your eyebrow. “Not a clue in the fuckin’ world Simon.”
If Ghost wasn’t thinking a thousand miles a minute, he might have laughed, might have followed his Captain to the door and grabbed a shitty candy bar from the vending machine, maybe some coffee, but knowing what he knew now, he’d never leave you again. Not even if you ripped off his head for being so close.
“‘ey John,”
His features were heavy when he turned to face him, shoulders tense and saggy, they all felt the same way. You were their Slugger, irreplaceable, and somehow they’d have to find someone else to fill the gap. It was a weight on the team, he could sense it in the way Price sulked and shook.
“Why do they call ‘er tha’?”
He sighed, hung his head, and scratched at his beard. “Just read the file Simon, it’ll all make sense.”
And it did, make sense, but it left him mouth agape for a moment, fingers curling into a fist and tossing the papers across the room. They floated with ease to the ground, one of them scrambling at his feet.
It was a desperate attempt to make him see why you were who you were, why you did what you did.
He read it, noticed your handwriting within seconds and scoured the ground for every page he could find with those marks on it.
Your history, your past, you.
With each sentence, he felt his stomach grow tighter, felt some sort of connection drawing him to be near you. You’d lived a life a lot like his, at some points, he considered it worse.
The things you’d done to stay alive, he didn’t understand how you were so human.
When the pages ended, and he read the last bit of what was standing before him, he went to the bathroom and coughed up bile in the sink.
Slugger was created on a whim, when I ripped open a man’s head with my fists and a wooden baseball bat. He tried to do things to me that would make an ordinary man sick, and in turn, I spilled his insides out like an egg. Sunny-side up and leaking all over the floor.
That man was my father.
When you woke again, the pounding stayed but the fog had evaporated, leaving behind dewy eyes and a mind filled with questions.
Your eyes felt a little less heavy, and this time, you could blink.
At first, all you saw was the ceiling, shadows dancing on the roof from a bedside lamp or whatever the fuck it was. All you knew is it was dimmer than before, which helped ease the throbbing in your skull.
When you tried to lean up, hands were immediately behind your upper back, lifting you into strong arms.
The body was warm, familiar.
“Ghost?” You wrapped trembling fingers around his forearm, ignoring the way your shoulder protested.
“Yeah tha’s righ’. I’m ‘ere.”
You tried to nod, but all it resulted in was pain, vicious pain.
A rank scent filled your nose, bringing you back down to Earth, if only for a minute. “You stink.” His chest deflated, heart rate evening out beneath your ear.
“Been busy savin’ your arse, didn’t ’ave time to shower.”
Normally by now, you’d be a smartass, pushing and shoving and throwing mean jokes his way, but for some reason your mind felt like jelly.
“You,” It took strength to think. “You still stink.”
That was all you could muster. It made you want to cry.
Why did things feel so far out of reach?
“Ease up Slugger, think you might’ve broke me with tha’ one.”
A smile crept across your lips, even as your head lolled and he had to catch it, bringing it back down against the bed.
You didn’t like being so far down, it made you feel incompetent, weak.
For a moment, you filtered through your mind, searching for the right words. “I wanna sit up.” He obeyed, blindly, your little puppet. If you were in your right mind you’d have something to say about his dick, but all that was available was being grateful for his help.
“Tell me when t’ stop.”
Up, up, up, and your shoulder was pulsing like your head. “Stop.”
The reaction was immediate and the silence that fell after was nothing like it had been before. This wasn’t awkward or tense, it was easy, simple. It soothed your achy insides, made the pain a little easier to bear.
Until you were squirming, trying to find a comfortable position.
The bullet wound burned, twisted around your bones and made them feel like molten lava inside your skin.
You tried to keep your noises quiet, to stay still and not make his watchful eyes notice anything, but the heart monitor gave you away.
“Hurtin’?” He leaned forward in the chair, letting his hands fall on the edge of the bed, his fingertips were brushing against your hip, your thigh. It was almost impossible to differentiate if the shudders wracking your body were from the pain or his touch.
“Yeah, just, I dunno it burns.”
He nodded, tapping your skin before standing up. “I’ll get a nurse.” There was a moment of hesitation, a split second where he leaned over like he might kiss your forehead, but then something flashed in his eyes, like he remembered how he was supposed to feel, and he moved to the edge of the bed, opting instead to grab your foot. “Be righ’ back.”
You merely winced in response.
This was odd.
Whatever dynamic you’d had before was fraying at the edges, slipping like grains of sand through your fingers.
You couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or not, if you should feel good or not. Maybe it was better if you weren’t at each other's throats. He was a lot like you and you were a lot like him, you could be each other's saving graces.
But where there was something good, something bad always laid beneath the surface, ready to snap, closing in on the joy with deadly claws.
It hid itself under leaves, blending in until you were forced to step on it.
Love was like a bear trap. You felt safe and happy, until you were dripping blood.
Love was dangerous.
Was it worth it to risk it all for a man that might not even know how to hold you? How to be compassionate, accepting. Was he capable of loving?
He’d never showed you.
Maybe Soap would know. They were close enough.
Johnny, the answers lied with Johnny.
“Knock knock,” A chipper voice flooded your ears, and you realized for the first time that your eyes had been closed, only because a warm palm splayed against your forehead. His palm.
Odd.
“The Lieutenant here said you were in some pain, can you tell me where exactly?”
Probably where there was a bullet?
You fought back the snark comment. “Right here, in my shoulder.” You pressed lightly against the bandage, hissing when all that met you was agonizing pain.
“I’m gonna take a look, just to make sure there’s no signs of infection.”
You merely nodded in response, leaning your head back into the mattress. Her fingers began undoing buttons on the gown, a gown you didn’t even know you were fucking wearing.
Suddenly it became all too real how vulnerable you were to the man in front of you. The man who was still holding your head, holding your……hand?
Your throat swallowed back bile as she pulled the tape off, the gauze tugging at your stitches. The only way you could not think about it was by staring at his eyes, trusting in his harsh gaze to keep you grounded, but when those hazels met you, the only thing inside of them was concern. They looked softer. “If you look, I’ll cut your dick off.” Your words were slurred, like Gaz when he had too many pints.
You swore you saw his mask lift up, like he was smiling. “Nothin’ to look at.”
That barked a laugh from you, one that made you whimper.
“Sorry,” The nurse grimaced as she put the bandage back on. “It looks good, the stitches are healing really well.”
“Good.” Ghost’s voice came before your own.
“I’m gonna give you some pain meds, you need to try and eat something with them if you’re able. Without food, they’ll make you feel very sick.” She poured some pills into a miniature cup, grabbing a paper cone filled with water.
“She’s got some.” Ghost spun around to grab the hospital cup you’d been given, holding it between his fingers and keeping a firm grip as you tried to pry it from his hand.
“If you feel like you can’t eat, let me know and I can give you some nausea meds okay?”
“She’ll eat.”
The nurse placed the pills in your hand, watching carefully as you tossed them in your mouth. Ghost had the straw to your lips immediately, holding it steady until you were satisfied.
“Alright, I’ll bring you anything you like. I recommend something light to start with. Is there something in particular you prefer?”
By now your eyes were closed, eyelashes fluttering against the palm of his hand. You can’t remember when he put it back on you, but the pressure was nice, so was the warmth, and now there was no light peeking through, keeping your head from picking back up its incessant pounding.
“Pudding is fine.”
“Okay we have chocolate, vanilla and possibly butterscotch but I’m not sure, I can check if you want?”
Too many questions, she asked too many damn questions.
Ghost must’ve recognized your frustration, because his thumb started moving against your cheek.
“Vanilla, she likes vanilla.”
How the fuck did he know that?
Her voice was softer the next time she spoke, and you wondered what kind of death glare she received to make it that way.
Was it the one he always gave you? The shut up or I’ll rip the skin off your bones? Or was it worse than that, more vicious.
At least you weren’t on the receiving end.
“I’ll be right back, buzz if you need me.”
A relieved sigh poked through without even meaning to. “She’s-”
“Annoying.”
“Sweet Ghost, she’s sweet.” He scoffed, a sound you’d heard so much that it was now comforting.
“Talks too much.”
“You say I talk too much.”
“It’s different.”
It made you smile. This was kinda nice. Almost nicer than calling him a bitch.
“Thanks for being my sunglasses.”
He pushed his fingertips down lightly in return, dropping the hand that was holding yours and placing it on your thigh.
He’d gotten so touchy, when did that happen?
You weren’t complaining. He was so warm and somehow so gentle. It didn’t seem possible, you didn’t think he was capable of being anything other than who he was.
It seemed you were wrong, unless he wanted something. Did he want something?
A knock sounded, and quiet footsteps came in. “Buzz if you need me.” It was all she said before leaving again.
Damn. The look he gave her must’ve been bad.
“C’mon Slugger, let’s get some food in ya.” There was a pat on your thigh and a squeeze on your head before both hands pulled away, the sound of plastic being crinkled making you crack open your eyes.
“Can feed myself.” It was a frustrated mumble as you fumbled for the pudding cup. He simply swatted you away, placing the plastic in your bad arms hand and handing you the spoon.
“‘f you start feelin’ sick, tell me, got it?”
“You’re so bossy.”
“Wonder where I learned it sweet’art.”
Sweetheart? Where the fuck did that come from? Something else was going on, brewing beneath the surface. You could feel it bubbling up like a volcano, ready to explode off his lips at any moment. You were tired of waiting. You needed to know what the hell this was, and you needed to know now.
“What do you want?” The outright bluntness surprised you, making your tongue feel raw.
“Don’t know wha’ you’re talkin’ about.”
You swallowed a laugh with a spoonful of pudding. “Oh come on. You’re not doing all of this for nothing. What do you want?”
He was quiet, leaning back in his chair with clenched fists. The look in his eyes was the same one you were used to seeing.
“I’m not trying to twist your dick here Ghost, but I mean, can you blame me.” The sweetness of the vanilla was settling oddly in your stomach, but you shoved it aside, focusing on the man in front of you as you forced another bite. “This, here, isn’t something we do. And I can see the soldiers posted at my door. I might be down but I’m not dumb. Something’s up.”
No more pudding for you. It was thick on your tongue, suppressing a gag in your throat. “I deserve to know.”
He turned his head, blinking a few times, before grabbing the cup, tossing it in the trash along with your spoon.
He moved throughout the room, silently. “Don’t give me the fucking silent treatment. I just got shot for Christ’s sake.”
He had a hand on the door, and slammed it shut behind him.
Okay. This was so wonderful.
See how good at communicating he was. The perfect potential boyfriend!
It poked tears at your eyes, stupid pain meds, and you threw your head back, forcing a breath out of dry lips.
You would ask yourself what the fuck his problem is, but this was just what he was like. Brooding, quiet, and so utterly frustrating. It was your fault for getting comfortable, you knew better.
The door clicked again, and you half expected him to be holding a gun to your head, but instead, it was Price, followed by Soap and Gaz, and then finally, Ghost.
Excitement flurried in your belly when you locked eyes with the Scot, and you couldn’t help the way you grinned, body twitching with the urge to touch him. “Johnny.” Forget Ghost, those grown out curls from his mohawk and blinding smile were all you needed.
“‘ey Slugger.” He was quiet. Gaz was too, and with the way Price was looking at you, you could tell something was wrong.
It was the same gut feeling you’d had before, you almost vomited on your lap.
“Did somebody die?” It was meant to be a joke, said through a laugh, but they remained all too serious for your liking. “Oh,” There was the pudding again, coating your throat. “Did someone actually die?”
“No, no, everyone’s fine.” Johnny was beside you, taking Ghost’s place in the chair. He grabbed your hands, squeezing them softly.
Price stepped forward, grasping the end of the bed frame. “Got something we need to talk to you about is all. Ghost.”
Your brain was buzzing with questions, you could practically feel your vein pulsing behind the bandage.
The Lieutenant obeyed blindly, walking beside Johnny to grab a black backpack, out of it he pulled files.
“This the mission intel? I thought we killed those sons of bitches, thought it was over.”
“We did.” Johnny stared at you, eyes easy, sad. “This is something else Slugger, it’s about you.” Price nodded, and the files were being placed on your lap.
You tugged your hands out of Johnny’s hold, shakily reaching for the papers.
“What’s this?” Complete silence. “Is that-is this my file?” Nothing, just a simple hanging of your Captain’s head. “You promised you’d never show this to anyone. That it was between me and you.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but there was anger lacing your tongue and keeping you from listening. “You’re a fucking liar. Who else did you show this to?”
“Just the boys. That’s it.”
“You- why would you do that?”
He was sighing, placing hands on his hips and closing his eyes. “Just trust me, read the file.”
“I know what’s in it.”
“Bloody hell,” Ghost pried the papers from your hands, fishing through them and laying something down on your lap.
It was a picture of you.
“Why am I looking at this?”
“Read it.” Ghost’s voice was harsh, but it made you comply.
Sunny-Side Up Killer
Ransom $4 million
Dead or alive, bring the gun or no deal.
What was breathing again?
What did normal voices sound like? You were sure it wasn’t rapid and distorted, or only hearing nothing but blood pulsing in your ears.
“H-how do they know? It was in my file, you told me it was safe, that it was hidden information. How did they find it?” Johnny tried grabbing your hand but you flung it off, scouring through the rest of the pages.
There were countless ransoms, countless languages, and your name was scattered on top of each one.
Price cleared his throat, tapping his thumb against the bed. “We think there’s a leak. Somewhere.”
Now Gaz was stepping out of the shadows, ball cap crumpled between his hands. “We’re doing everything we can to find them. Soldiers posted at every door, no one has access to the computers or any of the files besides us and Laswell.”
Too much information and yet not enough.
Shaking your head, you toy with the papers, letting out a shaky puff of air. “I don’t understand why this matters to them. What I did to my dad was-”
It hit like a freight train.
“My dad.” You threw off the covers, swinging your legs over the bed and ignoring the way your entire body throbbed.
“Woah woah, sit down Slugger,” Gaz was by your side, trying to shove you back down, but you ignored him. The IV’s were off in an instant and whatever the fuck else they’d put on your body.
“No it’s-I’ve gotta get out of here.”
You tried to stand, even used the bed for leverage, but there was no power left to use. You’d been drained of any and all strength.
“Okay, alright, we gotcha.” Instead of just Gaz, they all were at your side. Hands on each of your arms, hands on your back, hands on your hips.
“I’m fine just, I just need a second.”
They all sighed the exact. same. sigh. at the exact same time.
Price’s voice was steady, it was John talking, not Captain. “Look, just take it easy. Tell me what’s going through your head.”
It took a moment to gather your thoughts, and you clenched your eyes shut.
Johnny was somehow behind you, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your hips. He had the string of your gown bunched up in one of his hands. It must’ve come undone.
“My dad had……connections, these people, these countries, they knew him.”
Price was aware, it was how you became involved with the military in the first place, and your knowledge of certain circumstances, to say the least, was one of the reasons you were recruited into the 141.
“He did important things for important people and whenever he died, whenever I killed him-” Your voice cracked with emotion and you shook your head, fighting off feelings you shouldn’t even have. Your father was an evil man, he was better off dead.
“Whenever I killed him, it was just us. The only thing those friends of his knew was he died. But if the file got out and they saw he was murdered-” Johnny’s touch was grounding, steady, and it kept you from crumbling in their arms, his voice mirrored it when he spoke. “It’s an act of war.”
“In their eyes, yes.”
The whole room went stiff, quiet, and Price was staring at you with intensity. It was hidden conversation, unspoken words that when he pulled away, you knew he understood. “Alright, I’ll call Kate, get a list on everyone who's asked for access to your records.”
“Thank you,” Without the extra front support you want slouching forward, the last bit of strength in your legs giving out completely.
This time they moved without speaking. Johnny pulled you backward until he had to move out of the way, and Ghost and Kyle lowered you down back onto the bed.
Price busied himself with your file, swearing up and down as he placed it on his back that he’d keep it safe.
“Prove it Captain.” Your words weren’t teasing, and he nodded, patting your thigh before walking out.
“Gaz, you’re with me,” He hesitated before kissing your temple, slipping his hat back on as he walked away. “Johnny, the second she’s up, you call evac and get them the hell out of dodge. There’s a safe house up near-” John’s stern commands were cut off by a series of loud screams, gunshots following in pursuit.
It was like everything began moving in slow motion. Like molasses it seemed, their was soldiers inside your room, syrupy and sickeningly steady, all the boys had their guns out, pistols aimed high at the sliding glass doors.
You were outside of your body as the hospital wing opposite yours exploded, fire erupting as more voices echoed down the hallways.
Price was yelling, loud and orderly.
You knew you were supposed to move, supposed to say something, but there was nothing other than emptiness pulsing through your veins.
This was all your fault.
Someone was saying your name, squeezing your skin, dipping down to catch your wide, distraught eyes, but there was no air in your lungs, no words in your brain to be able to respond.
You couldn’t think of anything other than fire as your body was manhandled and thrown into a warm chest.
He was watching every part of you so fiercely as Price broke the news.
Anger bubbled ever so heavily in his chest, threatening to spill out all over your body with his guts. It wasn’t directed at you of course, but he knew you took it that way, could tell by the harsh lines carved into your forehead.
It was agonizing, watching your features crumble as you ran the picture through your blood-stained hands.
A part of him begged to hold you, to whisper in your ear and tell you were good, but the other gnashed and bit him raw, reminding him that the only way to protect you was to be the opposite of what you needed.
Johnny stepped in, so did Gaz, your heart was open to them, even after finding out the betrayal Price had committed, found out it was for your own good, you still bared your teeth. You bared your teeth at him.
Better you being alive and angry then dead. He’d rather see your flushed cheeks screaming in his face than to see your pale ones in the casket.
It was easier to pretend this way, pretend that you were better off.
He stitched these words into his gut, even as his heart pounded at seeing you so distraught.
This was for your own good, this was- every bit of resolve he’d created crumbled in an instant when that first gunshot sounded.
His only thought was you. He had to protect you. Had to keep you breathing so you could chastise him about being too closed-off, so you could tease him relentlessly, so you could point a finger in his face and call him a selfish bastard.
He needed you.
Suddenly your real name slipped off of his tongue, and he was grasping your cheeks, begging you to see him as the flames began engulfing the building.
“‘ey, ‘ey, come back to me now, c’mon, come back.” You were long gone. Drowning in your own guilt. These people were coming after you, prepared to place your head on a pike in their backyard.
Price was yelling, demanding his soldiers to step up. “We needa get her outta here.” He had to scream over the sounds of people dying.
“Soap, call Laswell, now.”
Ghost heard this, heard how they needed him, but you were frozen, and he had to thaw the ice with his own breath.
“Alright,” You responded with a shaky exhale, hands trembling against his chest. “I know, I know, ‘m gonna take care ‘a ya, don’t worry, Simon’s gotcha.” He maneuvered you into his arms, looping an arm around the good side of your body and placing the other under your legs. “It’s gonna ‘urt, but we’ll fix it up. Don’t worry bout ‘a thing lovie.”
You didn’t make a sound when he lifted you into the air, and somehow that worried him more.
“She can’t walk, gonna ‘ave to carry ‘er out.” There was no response other than Gaz pushing forward, the two soldiers on either side of Ghost and Soap behind. It was a barricade, they were creating a barrier between you and those men.
“Laswell said fifteen minutes, can we hold out that long?”
“We’ll have too,” Price’s voice wavered as he shouted, but Ghost saw the determination in his Captain’s eyes, they’d get you out, it was written on each of the men’s hearts.
“Simon,” Your voice was croaky, and as they entered straight into the firing zone, he instinctively pulled you closer, memorizing the way your glazed over eyes stared up at him like he was holding the universe in his hands, because he was.
“Gettin’ you out ‘a ‘ere troublemaker, just close your eyes.”
“I don’t-”
You were cut off by a soldier next to Ghost shouting. “Men coming from the left!”
As countless as they’d been on the roof, they came barreling, foreign voices shouting about men in uniform.
Gaz spoke with the authority he was used to hearing from John. “There’s a hallway here, leads to a stairwell. Don’t fire unless provoked, the smoke should cover us.”
Gunshots sounded, bam bam bam, there was a mother screaming over her children, and then a bullet sounding not a second later.
Countless bodies were already littering the floor, like a house of horrors.
The fire grew stronger, the smoke barreled higher. It was impossible not to cough as the sickening scent filled his nostrils.
Gaz had taken the lead and had his own Captain following behind him, handgun held high as he surveyed the area. “Just round this corner.”
You were whimpering and whining as the soot smothered your face, head buried in Ghost’s chest.
“Stay tight, they could be coming up from this way. Need to be prepared to make a quick exit.”
Soap’s back was brushing against his shoulder blades, chiseled biceps pressing him onward. There was a loud cry as Ghost was outlining the veins of the Scot’s muscles, one that sent the hair on the back of their necks standing up straight.
It was a child.
That perked your ears, and you leaned up, eyes no longer glossy. Fuck.
Price’s voice was scratchy by the time they reached the stairs, and Ghost knew the orders before they even came. “Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage.”
These men might’ve knew you, might’ve loved you, but they didn’t know.
“No, no no, Ghost we have to go back, we have to get her we have to-”
“‘ave to get you safe, we’ll come back later, pick through the remains.”
There it was, that stubbornness, clear as day.
“No, fuck no, that’s not happening, put me down.” You slammed a steady hand on his chest, ignoring the way Gaz announced an ‘all clear’, there was loud footsteps coming closer, signaling the militia was closing in.
“I’m not just gonna leave that baby to die, put. me. down.” You tried to throw yourself out of his arms again but he just groaned a fuckin’ ‘ell, spinning around to face Soap.
“Johnny, take ‘er, I’ll meet you down.” He didn’t need a second command.
They were trading, a gun for a life, and you were trying to hide a grimace as your shoulder was jostled once more.
“Easy bonnie, I got you.” Your face was still pinched up in anger, matching the look on Price’s.
But he nodded, understanding, and the Captain followed his Sergeant down the stairs.
Ghost got close, placing a hand over your head as he put his masked lips to Soap’s ear.
“‘f I’m not back by the time they get ‘ere, you leave me you ‘ear.”
“L.T. I-”
“You take ‘er and you keep ‘er safe. Keep that fire burning. Promise me.”
He looked down at your droopy eyes, then looked back up at Ghost. “You’ll be back.”
“Promise me.”
“Yeah alright, alright, I got her.”
He better not fucking leave that kid.
It was the only thing you could think of, the only thing that made you feel alive.
You’d kill him if he did, shove the knife through his heart yourself. If he’d been shot you’d fucking revive him just to beat that face to a bloody pulp.
“Almost there lass, just a few more steps.” Johnny was smiling, warm hands, though not as warm as Ghost’s, squeezing your skin as you approached the final few flights.
You were getting farther from the screams, the gunshots, farther from the mess you created.
Maybe it would’ve been better if you just let your dad kill you that day. Maybe if he’d had his fun torturing you, this never would’ve happened.
“Exfil is five minutes out!” Gaz was shouting orders, the two soldiers barricading Soap just like they had before.
“I need,” Your breath felt out of reach and oh so heavy, dust piling up inside your lungs and making you cough. “I need a fucking beer.”
Soap laughed from his chest, low and deep, it made your insides rumble. “You and me both Slugger. What do you say when we get out of here, I take you out for a pint, maybe a drinking contest of sorts.”
That made you laugh, fingers wrapping around the man’s thick biceps. “I say, you’ve got a deal, loser.”
“Ohhh that’s how it’s gonna be, yeah.”
“That’s how it’s gonna be.” He opened his mouth to speak again, ready to ease the tightening in your chest just a little more, when icy cold air bit at your bare skin, and the overbearing sounds of sirens filled the streets.
“Exfil is one block over.” The men kept walking, kept pressing on. They needed distance, needed to keep you as far away as possible until your were countries over.
Gaz let Price take the lead once more, finding his position by Soap’s side.
“We’re almost out of it, Slugger.” He placed a hand against your head as you walked, and it was nice, comforting, but all you could think about was how none of these bodies were Ghost’s.
How their voices weren’t Simon’s.
These arms were big, they were strong, but they weren’t his.
That prayer slipped off your lips again, begging for him to come back, for that screaming child to be in his arms. You prayed for him to yell at you, for him to scoop you back up and lecture the whole way out about how he never should’ve listened to a word you said.
Anything to prove he was alive.
“He’ll be here, right Johnny, he’ll be here?”
The lie slipped off easily as the chopper came into view. It wrapped around his lips and landed on your ears as the blades blew his overgrown mohawk in the wind. “Course, never met a gadge more stubborn eh.”
You didn’t believe him, he could tell as you peeked over his shoulder, watching the stairwell door as the fire from the building ignited the one in your eyes. It swirled and blazed, turning your cheeks pink, your skin hot.
You watched as they loaded you on the chopper, you watched as they searched for the destination, and you felt tears slip from your eyes and onto Soap’s shoulder as the landing gear lifted from the ground.
“He’ll be here.” It was the only thing you could say.
Johnny’s grip was tight, cheek against your temple.
Gaz’s head was hung low, baseball cap back between his fingers, and Price was staring out the window, wishing on a star that didn’t exist for his Lieutenant to come barreling out of that building.
You were in the air, you weren’t breathing, you were chanting please please please.
Then it happened.
The flames crackled, roared, and the entire building collapsed, another explosion completely obliterating the wing you’d been in. The wing Ghost had been in.
Obliterating Ghost.
You gasped, choked on a sob, and Soap held you tighter, closing his eyes as he breathed in the now smoke-filled scent of your hair.
You didn’t take your eyes away as the concrete crumbled, large pieces landing on the asphalt and shattering into a million little shards.
Just like you.
The same vacancy that erupted that hospital began encapsulating your body, and you were lost at sea once more.
There was no rusty anchor to keep you grounded, no calloused hands to pull you out.
Johnny chanted, cooed, hugged, and kissed, but it made no difference.
You were gone, left the minute he did, because you’d been tied all along, your souls intertwined. It left nasty claw marks but they were his claw marks, his wounds to lick clean and patch up.
He’d been yours.
From the very beginning.
And before the beginning could even start, the pages of the book went blank.
“Four hours out, try and get some rest soldiers, you did good.” You couldn’t recognize the voice, it was garbled and meaningless.
The building went out of sight, the book closed.
You watched the night sky trade places with flames and pain pulled you under.
As you fell asleep, you missed the quiet thump thump thump pulsing on the back cover.
You hadn’t thought to turn it over, to read it. The book was over, done with.
But it wasn’t, no, blank pages didn’t mean an ending.
It meant the story wasn’t finished.
There was still room left for blood-red ink and holy fuck were you gonna fill it.
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