BY ANY OTHER NAME
Chapter 2: MAKE PEACE WITH IT
Summary: Ghost tries to mend what he broke with a clumsy gesture and an invitation that's hard to ignore. As you become more and more entangled with the group, the whispers and shadows surrounding your past grow ever stronger. But can you ignore your feelings for the greater good, or is it already too late?
Pairings: Tf141 x reader // poly!tf141 x reader
Warnings: none
Words: 6k
Prologue, Chapter 1
Masterlist:
Author’s note: guess who’s back?
Disclaimer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)
Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!
The next morning felt like a punishment.
At the medical room, with the hum of fluorescent lights over your head, you could taste the antiseptic smell inside your mouth. It made your tongue numb, a sense of bitterness you tried drowning down by swallowing several times.
Sleep had been shallow and you had turned and twisted in your sleep all night. Not even Sebastian’s familiar weight curled at your side had helped you settle down. And now, the sensation of full of static noise under your skull made it obvious, from the moment you woke up, that the day would be criminal.
You tried to focus on sorting supplies, checking the inventory, anything that didn’t involve thinking too hard. But still, your mind spun in circles as your hands moved on their own for a while. With slow movements you thought about what had happened the day before. The idea of your relationship not being the same anymore made your guts twist. It made you itchy, not being able to hug Johnny again, not being able to relax inside his arms ever again. It made your omega stir. Even if she had been asleep for quite some time, something unconscious and primal made your heart tear up with grief.
The sound of someone knocking the door made you freeze.
A troubling sense of deja vu came out of nowhere.
You hesitated, just for a moment. That strange tightness tugged in your stomach as you moved to open the door, like an invisible force pulling you towards it. And then you saw him.
Ghost.
You looked up, a slight frown decorated your face and your eyes widened in surprise.
Ghost filled the doorway like a shadow, the fluorescent lights above his head did little to soften the cut of his frame. A black t-shirt clung to him like a second skin, stretched over his body, all pure muscle. Broad shoulders framed the width of the door, arms flexed just enough to make your stomach twist with something sharp and wanton. His chest rose and fell beneath the thin fabric. Slow, controlled, like he was calculating every breath.
His mask, always perfectly put in its place, looked somehow less intimidating today. His eyes, those cold and unreadable eyes you had got used to feeling as he watched you from afar, were softer today.
The slight flush on his neck appeared where the fabric ended. That flush caught in the harsh white office-like light but just enough pink to betray him. He was blushing.
And then… his hands.
Your gaze dropped, confusion flickering behind your eyes. Your browns furrowed and your forehead raised, your mouth even opened and closed several times.
His large, strong and steady weapon-trained hands. Awkward and too big for any gentle act. His calloused fingers and scarred knuckles,
Holding… a crystal lunch container?
The kind that belonged in a kitchen, not in the hands of the most feared man on base. His fingers gripped it too tightly, like it might betray him at any moment and fall to the floor.
There was a faint blush creeping up his neck, barely visible beneath the edge of the mask and his shirt, but it was still there. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched just a little too tight. He wasn’t looking at you. He didn’t dare to do so. His gaze lingered somewhere to your left, anywhere but your face.
You blinked once.
The absurdity of it was almost sweet.
“Is that—?”
He cut you off with a sharp glance, throat bobbing like the words were catching there.
“Brought you lunch.” His voice was rough, deeper. “Didn’t know if you’d eaten.”
Ghost cleared his throat and finally glanced at you. Just for a second.
It was the first time you’d seen him flustered.
“I— Can I come in?”
You stepped aside.
He walked in, slow and measured, like he was entering an enemy building.
You closed the door behind him, the soft click sounding louder than it should have.
Ghost stood there for a moment, shoulders squared, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he was inside. The lunch container sat awkwardly in his hand, like an alien object he had just found from another dimension.
Ghost looked around briefly, like he was scanning for something dangerous out of habit, then his eyes flicked back to you. But still he didn’t quite meet your eyes.
He set the tupperware down on the stainless steel counter, awkwardly, like it might explode.
“It’s not poisoned,” he murmured after a beat.
You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s comforting.”
He nodded once. Still stiff. Still too still.
"It’s your favorite." He said quickly, almost a gruff. His voice was deep and clipped.
You arched a brow. "You know my favorite?"
His shoulders twitched. Not quite a shrug, more like a nervous twitch. "Noticed you always pick the same thing at the mess hall, before everyone arrives…"
Your eyes softened, just slightly.
"You didn’t have to-"
"Yes. I did," He interrupted before you could even say the whole phrase. He shifted on his feet, finally looking at you. His eyes flicked to yours for only a second, but it was enough. You caught the flush creeping above the collar of his balaclava. Faint. But there.
"About what I said yesterday. About your... smell. Your husband. That was..."
You tilted your head. Waiting.
He cleared his throat. "Outta line."
A moment of silence was enough to make doubt grow inside Ghost’s chest. He didn’t know what he would do if Johnny didn’t forgive him. If you stayed angry at him. Not only angry, but hurt. Even if he couldn’t smell you, he didn’t like the idea of hurting an omega, an omega that hadn’t done anything wrong, and who was also mistreated by her mate. An omega so deeply connected to his own packmate.
The connection Ghost had with Soap was undeniable, maybe that was why he felt so terribly attracted to you. It only made sense that his packmate’s missing piece was also his “missing piece”. Or at least that’s what he told himself to be able to sleep the night before, as he tried to fight the urge to run towards your building and beg for your pardon.
He thought about it. To find you there, asleep, maybe even with your husband next to you. It felt wrong, the idea of you laying next to another man. It made his teeth ache. Oh, how he wanted to snatch you out of your husband’s arms and bring you to their pack house. You would be warm there, all nice and cozy. Safe. You would be safe inside his arms, a soft pouring coming out of his chest as he surrounded you with his warm arms in a newly fresh nest.
Yes, a nest. For you, he would build the most perfect nest. Full of fluffy pillows, warm blankets and soft cushions so you would be as comfortable as you could. Oh, what would that be like? To have you there with them, inside their walls, inside their house, laying between them, their rough hands touching your soft looking skin. Your arms, your chest, your neck, your mark.
Simon could feel a tent forming in his trousers with the mere thought of you wearing his mark. He was just a simple man with simple pleasures after all.
However, his delicious dream broke when he thought about your husband marking you, and everyone being able to see your precious neck scratched with that disgusting mark. It made Simon sick. The idea of you completely belonging to another man, another man that didn’t even have the decency to scent you, to make his presence known to other alphas. It made him nauseous.
But if you were with him, with them. He would scent you every morning before leaving. He would make sure that every person at base knew that you belonged to him. To them. He was sure Price and Soap wouldn’t be able to resist themselves either. He knew Price would give you small kisses that would leave you a panting and blushing mess and Soap would leave pretty marks around your neck and collarbones. Purple, pink and red, decorating your skin like a necklace.
Yesterday he had fallen asleep with a plan. First, you had to forgive him so Soap could forgive him too and, therefore, Johnny could be close to you again. The second part of the plan was killing your husband. Well or at least making him disappear. That way you could join their pack. I mean, you didn’t have your husband’s mark, you weren’t mated, you didn’t smell like him. What was he there for? What did you need your husband for? Ghost and his pack could give you everything you wanted. Yes. He had fallen asleep knowing that the next morning he was going to apologise and that the moment he knew who was your husband he was going to kill him.
However, now there you are, standing in front of him, looking at him in silence. A silence that made him more nervous than what he wanted to admit. But with a nervous nod, no “apologies accepted” were needed when you said:
"Have you eaten?" you asked.
He looked away. For just a beat.
"Didn’t think so," you said gently.
You peeled back the lid. The smell hit immediately, something warm, spiced, and vaguely nostalgic. A profound sense of peace invaded your body. You reached for the fork.
"We can share."
"Don’t want to eat your meal.”
You gave him a look. "It’s big enough for two. And you look like you haven’t sat down since last night."
He didn’t argue. Last night was tough. Soap had been furious with him, practically spitting fire when he had arrived back at their house. The Scotsman stormed into their small living room, his shouts loud enough that people down the hallway had paused.
The packhouse kitchen was dim. A faint aroma of coffee danced through the room. The overhead lamp flickered weakly, throwing long, restless shadows across the walls.
Price sat at the table, arms crossed, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. Gaz leaned against the counter, quiet, eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds.
They didn’t have to wait long.
Price was pretty sure that with that slam, that he was going to have to check the door hinges. That bang was just a hint of what was about to happen. The sound of hurried footsteps toward the kitchen was like hearing a trail of gunpowder burn before an explosion.
And boom.
Soap entered the room. Johnny’s boots stomped across the hardwood, the heavy thud of each step announced his mood before he even opened his mouth.
“Ye fuckin’ bastard!” His voice cracked the air like gunfire. “What the fuck were ye thinkin’, eh? Sayin’ that shite tae her?”
Ghost was already there, leaning against the counter like a wall of concrete, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t flinch at the outburst, but his jaw was tight beneath the mask, his shoulders wound taut like steel cables.
“Whit the fuck’s yer problem, Ghost?!” he shouted, his boots stopped in the middle of the kitchen, looking right at Simon. “Ye cannae just say shite like that tae her! In front o’ everyone!”
Ghost didn’t move from where he stood, leaned against the wall near the sink, mask on, head low.
“Ye had nae right!” Soap roared, voice raw with fury. His chest heaved as he pointed a trembling finger at Ghost. “Ye humiliated her! Told her she didnae even smell like a proper omega!”
Price’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interfere yet. He’d seen this before. Johnny’s rage usually ran hot, he was the explosive expert after all. But today it was different, he had never seen Johnny so on edge, so… gone. He couldn’t recognize the look behind Soap's eyes, but he was sure that they weren’t talking to his rational side anymore, his wolf near taking complete control over him.
“Say somethin’, dammit!” Soap shouted, pacing, fists clenching at his sides like he was seconds away from putting them through the wall. His whole body vibrated, energy coiled so tight it might break him in half. His accent thickened the louder he got, sharp and guttural, the kind of rage that shook the air in the room.
Ghost’s answer was low, barely a whisper, knowing that anything he said would just fuel more Soap’s anger.
“Didn’t mean it like that.”
“Like hell ye didnae!” Soap spat, stepping closer. “Ye cannae take that back! Ye don’t know whit she’s been through—”
“Soap.”
Price’s voice cut through the chaos. Low. Stern. Calculated.
Just one word, but it carried an authority that rooted itself in Soap’s bones. It was a warning. Johnny now knew that the pack’s leader was watching and that he wouldn't doubt interviewing if he crossed the line.
For a second, Johnny froze. His chest trembled with every breath and sweat dampening his temples.
His eyes flicked to his Captain. Price sat on the edge of the couch, calm but sharp, his Alpha presence filling the room like a stormcloud ready to break.
“Watch your tone”.
But Soap was too far gone. His chest still burned and his teeth ached from clenching his jaw. He spun back toward Ghost, teeth bared. His hands were trembling, his voice was a bunk of half-choked guttural words. Like a beast learning how to speak.
“An’ all that about… about her husband!” he spat furiously “Ye think I give a fuck about him?! Ye think I care if she’s married?! She could have a whole bloody pack waitin’ for her at home and I- I’d still—”
He stopped himself, jaw snapping shut like he’d said too much. His chest heaved and drops of sweat ran down his temples. Gaz coils see how the back of his neck was and a ball of dread drops to his stomach. Something was happening with Johnny and it wasn’t good. He was almost an animal, his dilated pupils, his chest trembling with groans and a layer of sweet completely covering his body.
God, and his smell. The smell coming out of Johnny was almost putrid, a strong tart smell that made Gaz gasp for air. The amount of pheromones in that strong smell was a threat to others to step back. It was a smell that alphas used as a warning.
Gaz’s voice broke the air, low but steady and very cautious, trying to calm down the situation.
“Johnny” he said, tone careful. “You know how this works. There’s a hierarchy inside a pack. They’re mates, her and that husband. They’re a pack. You can’t just… get in between that. You wouldn’t want someone trying to take away one of us, yeah? What if someone tried to pull Price out of the pack? Or Ghost? Maybe this is for the best of us…”
That did it.
Soap’s head whipped toward him, eyes wide and feral. The sound that tore out of his throat was feral, animal, a growl that didn’t belong to a Beta. He lunged forward, fists balled, his entire body aimed at Gaz like he’d tear him apart with his bare hands.
He was halfway across the room when Price moved. He was on his feet in a second, crossing the distance with Alpha speed. His hand shot out, catching Soap by the scruff of his neck like he was nothing more than a misbehaving pup.
“Enough!” Price barked, dragging him back with terrifying ease. Soap thrashed in his grip, shoulders straining, face red with fury. He snarled and cursed, spitting rage at anyone who dared look at him.
“She’s mine!” Soap shouted, voice breaking with something deeper than anger. “She’s mine, and none of you fuckin’ see it!”
The packhouse fell silent. Even Gaz stared, mouth agape, eyes flicking nervously toward Price.
Price’s grip only tightened, his Alpha weight pressing down until Soap’s struggles slowed. Until the Beta’s breath came in harsh, ragged gasps and his chest shuddered with the effort of holding himself together.
“Enough,” Price growled, voice low, dangerous “That’s enough.”
Soap’s body went rigid. The Alpha weight in Price’s tone hit him square in the instincts, grounding him. His breaths came short, still trembling, but fading. His shoulders slumped, his body shaking with the force of everything he couldn’t let out. The fury bled into something else. Something smaller.
He looked wrecked. Almost fragile. Like a kicked puppy.
Ghost, who hadn’t moved. Who hadn’t said a word. Who just stood there and took it.
Gaz pushed off the counter and approached slowly, cautious but kind. “C’mon, mate,” he murmured, tone softer now. “Let’s get you outta here, yeah?”
Soap didn’t fight him. Didn’t even look up. He just let Gaz guide him out of the kitchen, one steadying hand at his shoulder, the other lightly steering him toward the hall.
As they left, the air shifted, heavy again, but quieter. Gaz closed the door gently behind them.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Ghost finally exhaled slowly, deliberate and Price’s eyes cut toward him.
“You better fix this” he said quietly. “’Cause if you don’t… he’s not the only one you’ll be answering to.”
Ghost didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He kept staring at the spot where, a moment ago, Soap had tried to pounce at him. Beneath the mask, his jaw clenched until it hurt.
The echo of Soap’s words still hung in the air, cruel and unforgiving.
You made her cry.
Ghost linked slowly as the memories of last night fade away.
The memory hurt like a wire snapping when pulled too tight.
The echo of Soap’s voice still rang in his skull when the faint sound of a throat clearing brought him back.
You were watching him.
“You okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head. Your voice was hesitant, curious, maybe even a little worried, ghost wasn’t able to tell.
Ghost straightened almost imperceptibly, the old soldier reflex cutting through the haze. “Yeah.” The word came out low, rough, like gravel. “Just…thinking.”
You hesitated. Your eyes flicked up to the mask. Then back down.
"I can put something over my eyes. If that makes it easier. You know, for eating."
His gaze snapped to yours.
You held up your hands. "I’m serious. I keep bandages in the drawer. Not exactly high-tech, but it’ll do."
Ghost stared at you for a long, silent moment.
Then, slowly, he nodded. "Not even a look."
"You can double the gauze if you’re worried."
You stood and opened the drawer, pulling out a long stretch of clean bandage. His eyes followed your movements with unreadable focus.
You handed him the long stretch of clean bandage. "Here. You do it."
His hands were surprisingly gentle, rough fingertips brushing against your temples as he tied the gauze securely around your head. The touch made your breath catch.
"Well? Still here?" you asked once it was done.
There was a pause. Then his hand grabbed your arm, around your elbow, softly, extremely softly for a man his size. Just barely a nudge. He guided you with small steps towards your desk’s chair, gently guiding you to sit down.
You swallowed.
The silence stretched. Then you could hear it. A chair scraping against the floor. He sat in front of you.
Then, you started talking. Nothing too big or too serious. Just little stories about your last base or a joke Soap told you some time ago (it was an awful joke, but Johnny had laughed so hard that he fell backwards).
Your voice filled the room like the most wonderful melody. A soothing sensation invaded Ghost chest. He even allowed himself to purr. Just a little bit, a small vibration just low enough to make sure you couldn't hear it, but enough to make his wolf satisfied.
He wasn’t really listening to what you were saying. He was far more occupied watching you.
Watching the way your mouth moved when you spoke. The way your fingers curled around the fork. The slight wrinkle in your nose when you chewed something too peppery. The way your chest rises and falls when you laugh too hard. Or how sincere was your smile when you talk about how Johnny had gifted you a stupid trinket he had found in a little shop.
And then his eyes dragged over your throat. The untouched skin where a mate mark should be.
“You should talk to Johnny” He suddenly interrupted.
You paused mid-chew.
“He’s... he’s not doing great. ‘Thinks you don’t wanna see him.”
There was a pause. Your brows furrowed.
“Why would he think that?”
Ghost shifted slightly. His chair creaked.
“He thinks it’s because of... your husband.”
You said nothing. But your silence was enough. A slight frown now decorating your forehead and, although our eyes were covered, Ghost could swear that your gaze had frozen somewhere in the darkness of the gauze.
He went on, voice careful and deep.
“He’s trying not to overstep. Doesn’t wanna... come between anything.”
He didn’t say it, but you heard it anyway: Doesn’t wanna try and steal an omega from another alpha.
“He’s heartbroken,” Ghost added, almost too quietly in a quiet voice.
You looked down. The food wasn’t warm anymore.
“We’re all having dinner tonight. Mess hall.”
He leaned back like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was just logistics.
“If you wanna... make peace. With him. With all of us. We’ll be there.”
“Is that an order?”
“No.”
A pause.
Your jaw tightened. You nodded once.
You heard the chair move and Ghost stood up, the thump of his boots moving towards the door.
“You can take the blindfold off now.”
You reached for it, pulling the gauze and blinking slowly trying to accustom your eyes to the white ceiling light.
With his back towards you, just before he could exit the office you asked:
“Did you take the mask off?”
He didn’t meet your eyes. Just answering before walking away:
“Yeah. ’Course.”
A lie. But you let it slide.
At least, just for now.
That was how you found yourself standing outside the mess hall.
You stopped just before the doors, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. You bit your lower lip, staring at the worn metal like it might give you an answer if you waited long enough.
Laughter leaked through the walls. Voices. Cutlery clattering. The thick, overwhelming blend of alpha scents seeped through the cracks and although you couldn’t smell it properly, due to the heavy use of suppressants, you could still feel how heavy the air inside the mess hall was.
You almost turned around.
Almost.
When you pushed the door open the mess hall hit you all at once. Bright lights. Long metal tables packed with soldiers. The air was loud with conversation, boots scraping against the floor waiting in line for food, trays sliding over steel. Groups leaned close together, heads thrown back mid-laugh, shoulders bumping familiarly.
And then… the looks.
You felt them before you saw them. Several alphas stared openly, brows furrowing, noses flaring subtly. Confusion rippled through the room.
Your shoulders tensed. Your omega curled inward, suddenly very aware of herself. You scanned the room, searching for a familiar face, a safe anchor, but the longer you looked, the heavier the stares became.
Your pulse picked up.
Then a shadow fell over you.
Big. Solid. Warm.
“What—?” you started, then stopped.
Soap stood beside you, frozen like he’d just walked straight into a wall.
His eyes were wide. Actually wide. Mouth parted just a little as he stared at you like you’d grown a second head.
“You—” he cleared his throat, voice pitching higher than usual. “What’re ye doin’ here?”
Not accusatory. Just… stunned.
You shifted your weight, suddenly shy under his gaze. “I… um. I wanted to see you.”
His breath hitched.
“You didn’t come by lunch,” you added softly, eyes flicking away. “And… today’s chocolate pudding day.” A small, nervous smile tugged at your lips. “Thought I might come try it with you.”
For a second, Soap just stared.
Then his face broke into the brightest, most helpless grin you’d ever seen.
He stepped closer without thinking, instinctive, like gravity had decided for him. “C’mon. They’re all already sittin’.”
Soap guided you through the tables, talking the entire way about how the pudding was criminally underrated, how he always grabbed extra because Gaz usually steals his and how Price pretends not to like it but always finishes his.
You listened, smiling, letting his voice ground you.
At the table, Price sat relaxed but observant, elbows on the surface. Gaz leaned back beside him, expression easy, eyes sharp. Ghost sat opposite the empty seat Soap pulled out for you — still, imposing, watching you with unreadable focus.
Soap slid the chair out. “Here. Sit. I’ll be right back.”
You barely had time to protest before he disappeared toward the food line.
You sat.
The table felt… very quiet without him.
Price gave you a small nod. “Evenin’.”
“Evening,” you replied, voice soft.
Price smiled “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Neither did I” you admitted.
Ghost said nothing. But his eyes tracked every movement, the way you folded your hands on your lap to play with your fingers, the way your shoulders stayed slightly tense with your back a bit hunched and most importantly how you kept looking down at your lap, occasionally glancing furtively Gaz and Price’s shoulder to see if Soap was coming back. Ghost was touched by the gesture, you almost looked like a lost puppy waiting for its owner to come back.
Then Soap appeared again.
With a tray piled obscenely full. Meat, vegetables, bread and even three chocolate puddings stacked like treasure.
He set it down with a satisfied huff and dropped into the seat beside you, immediately angling his body toward yours.
“Right,” he said cheerfully, nudging the tray closer to you. “Ye need to eat. Properly. Can’t run on nothin’ but nerves,”
He had a big smile, almost grinning, his eyes shining with a softness none of them have seen before. He shoved a pudding toward you like a massive German shepherd, who didn’t quite realize how large he was, tail wagging as he tried to be gentle, waiting for you to accept his ball to play with him.
You laughed softly, cheeks warming.
He looked at you a second longer. Then dropped his gaze to your tray.
“You gonna eat the carrots?”
You smiled. “Help yourself.”
He picked one up with his fingers, not bothering with the fork.
The cafeteria settled into a strange rhythm once everyone started eating.
Soap talked. A lot.
Mostly nonsense, complaining about rations, praising the pudding like it was a religious experience and nudging your elbow every time you took a bite like he needed visual confirmation you were actually eating. He kept stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking, smiling too fast, too wide, like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he blinked too long.
Price watched from over the rim of his cup how Gaz made conversation with him when needed, light and easy, keeping the table from tipping too far into silence.However, he never spoke directly to Johnny or Ghost, both too engrossed looking at you to care about small talk. Ghost stayed quiet, too quiet.
You felt his eyes on you, and he didn't quite try to hide it, barely removing his gaze from time to time. His presence was a constant pressure at your side, he felt the way you leaned closer to Soap when he joked, the way your shoulders relaxed just a fraction as the noise of the mess hall faded into background static.
At some point, Soap slid the third pudding toward Ghost without looking. “Eat,” he muttered.
Ghost stared at it for a second, then complied by grabbing it and hiding it inside his sweatshirt’s pocket for later.
For a moment, you caught yourself smiling.
A group of alphas at a nearby table laughed too loudly making you startle. One of them glanced your way, nostrils flaring, confusion tightening his expression when he caught nothing.
Soap noticed instantly. He shifted closer, thigh pressing firmly against yours, body angling just enough to block the line of sight. His voice stayed light, but his posture changed — possessive without meaning to be.
That was when you knew it was time.
“I should probably–” you started.
Soap stiffened. “Already?”
You nodded. “Yeah. It’s… a lot.”
He didn’t argue. Just stood immediately, the idea of you leaving alone wasn’t even an option.
They walked you out together.
The noise dimmed as the mess hall doors closed behind you, leaving the hallway quiet and cool. Your ears rang faintly from the sudden silence.
Soap stopped just outside the doors.
“Wait here a sec, yeah?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t quite meet your eyes. “I– I gotta grab Ghost.”
You blinked. “Why—?”
He cut himself off with a sharp breath, you could see his jaw tightening briefly. You caught the shift, something wild flickering just beneath the surface.
“Just– trust me,” he said softly. “Please.”
Then he was gone.
You hugged your arms around yourself, the warmth from the mess hall already fading. When footsteps approached again, your head lifted instinctively.
But it wasn’t Johnny.
Ghost emerged from out the doors instead, tall and silent, hands tucked into his pockets. His gaze softened when it landed on you, just a little.
“Oh,” you said, unable to hide the disappointment. “Where’s Soap?”
Ghost paused. Just long enough to think.
“He, uh… got held up,” he said without a second thought. “Asked me to walk you home.” he said, already falling into step beside you.
Your shoulders drooped despite yourself. “Right.” You tried to smile, but failed, something similar to a grimace appeared on your face.
Ghost noticed.
He shifted his weight, then gestured down the hallway. “C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”
You hesitated for half a second and then nodded.
The walk back was silent. You didn’t talk, and neither did he. Ghost stayed near, not brushing against you, but close enough that you felt him in your bones. Like armor.
Ghost walked at your side in silence, boots echoing softly against the concrete.
Soap’s words still rang in his head.
Not what he’d said but how he’d said it.
Ghost knew that look in Soap's eyes, he knew that tone. Johnny had been vibrating with barely leashed instinct back there, happiness tipping dangerously into something feral. The kind of joy that made an alpha stupid. Reckless.
If I walk her home, I’ll lose control.
Ghost’s jaw tightened behind the mask.He told himself he had more restraint than that, he wasn’t entirely sure if that made him safer or more dangerous.
Then again… Johnny wasn’t an alpha, he was a beta. And that made his behaviour lately even more confusing.
You didn’t speak much on the way. You seemed quieter than before, shoulders slightly drawn in, fingers worrying the hem of your jacket. Ghost kept half an eye on you, matching his pace to yours without thinking.
When your building came into view, suddenly you froze.
Not subtly.
You stopped mid step forward, then your whole body went rigid, breath catching so sharp Ghost heard it immediately.
His hand twitched at his side.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, low, already scanning the windows.
You swallowed. “I—”
There was light. You could see through your kitchen window a faint golden glow that spilled out from your bedroom's directions.
You’d turned it off that morning. You always did. Always.
The blood in your veins turned to ice.
Even if he couldn’t smell the sharp and metallic smell of fear, he could feel instantly the way your body language changed. He studied your face: the tight jaw and the way your eyes kept flicking back to the door. Fear, he had seen it many times before.
“You alright?” he asked again, closer now.
You forced a laugh that didn’t fool either of you. “Yeah. I’m just tired, you know I’m not used to all that.”
A lie.
You knew it. He knew it.
You hesitated, then turned to him too quickly. “Do you… do you wanna come in? For a cup of tea. Just for a bit, I know it's late…”
Ghost didn’t answer right away, he blinked once and then paused for a second. A flicker of something unreadable behind the mask. Then, he nodded and followed you in.
“Alright,” he said finally. “Lead the way.”
You talked too much trying to open the door, failing several times due to the shaking of your hands. Something about your lock being rusty, the weather, a joke about how you were still awake past 22:00– wild. Laughing too loudly when you were able to open the door.
Inside, you moved fast.
Too fast.
“Kettle’s there,” you said breathlessly, already halfway down the hall. “Cups in the cupboard above the sink, sugar’s on the left, milk’s in the fridge—”
You didn’t wait for a response.
You just… kept going.
Ghost watched you disappear toward the bedroom, unease curling low in his gut. He filled the kettle slowly, ears straining and every instinct alert.
Down the hall, you stopped.
Your bedroom door was closed. A faint thread of light spills out from under the door.
Your heart hammered so loud it drowned everything else out.
Someone’s here.
The thought landed heavy and absolute. Your feet felt heavy and rigid and your hands dripping cold sweat.
Your fingers trembled as they closed around the handle. You breathed once. Twice. Tried to steady yourself with the knowledge that Ghost was only two rooms away.
If they hurt me, he’ll hear it.
With a deep breath you pushed the door open slowly.
Nothing.
The room was completely empty.
You scanned it frantically. Behind the curtains, inside the wardrobe under the bed and inside the bathroom before rushing to the bed. You lifted your pillow.
The gun was still there.
Relief hit so hard your knees almost buckled.
You leaned against the dresser, trying to grab anything to keep yourself standing, sucking in air, shaking. But you were alive. At least for now and that was all it mattered right now.
“Everything alright?” Ghost’s voice called down the hall.
Your throat worked. “Yeah,” you said, forcing steadiness. “I’m– I’m coming.”
You changed quickly, hands clumsy and trembling,your pulse still racing as you change your outside clothes. You tried calming your breath as you dressed yourself with a clean pyjama, woolen socks and some fluffy rabbit slippers.
When you returned to the living area, Ghost was waiting.
Two mugs sat on the table, a soft smell of camomille danced softly into the air.
The domesticity of it struck you like a punch.
He stood nearby, arms folded loosely, with a relaxed posture but his eyes tracked you immediately. Took in the thin straps of your pajama top, the smooth bare skin of your neck and collarbones was too bare for his liking.
His alpha stirred.
The house had felt wrong to him since he stepped inside. It was quiet, sterile and empty. Almost like one of those safe houses they had visited on numerous missions abroad.
But most importantly, it didn't smell like you.
Nothing did.
No traces in the furniture, no lingering warmth in the air and no sense of an omega having settled here, lived here or even nested here.
It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
His gaze followed you as you sat, the instinct to move closer almost overwhelming. To pull you in. To wrap something around your shoulders. To make this place yours in a way the world would understand.
His chest vibrated with a low, unconscious rumble he barely suppressed.
You looked up at him, tentative. Vulnerable.
Ghost forced himself to seem nonchalant as he walked to sit on the other side of the sofa.
“Tea’ll help,” he said quietly.
But his eyes said something else entirely.
“Everything alright?” Ghost asked again.
You lifted the mug to your lips with both hands. They trembled enough that a little tea sloshed dangerously close to the rim. You blew carefully before taking a sip anyway, using it as an excuse to look away.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m fine.”
Another lie.
Ghost watched the way your shoulders stayed hunched, the way you didn’t quite settle into the couch. His jaw tightened.
“Is it your husband?” he asked, abrupt, voice rougher now. Less careful. “Did he do somethin’ to you?”
The question hit harder than you expected.
You shook your head immediately, too fast. “No. He didn’t– it’s not that.”
Your voice cracked anyway and before he could say anything else you spoke again. “Please,” you murmured. “Not tonight. I don’t wanna talk about him. Not today.”
Something in your tone, small, exhausted, pleading made Ghost drop the interrogation. For now.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Alright,” he said at last, quieter than before. “We won’t.”
Silence settled again, heavier this time but not sharp.
You sat there for a while, tea slowly cooling in your hands, your body inching closer to his without you quite realizing it. The day caught up with you all at once, the fear and impending sense of doom was starting to take a toll on you.
Your head tipped, just slightly.
Then more and more. Until your temple rested against his shoulder..
Ghost froze but he didn’t move a muscle.
He could feel your weight, your warmth bleeding through the thin fabric of your shirt. Your breathing, uneven at first, eventually starts to calm down as you fall deeper into your sleep.
You fell asleep like that.
Right there, on top of him.
Your grip loosened on the mug and Ghost caught it before it could fall down, setting it aside with one careful hand. You shifted, curling closer, your forehead brushing his collarbone. He could feel your warm breath on his neck and it made his skin crawl with goosebumps.
He didn’t move for a moment.
Then, carefully, he did. He turned his head slightly to be able to watch you.
The way your lashes rested against your cheeks and the faint crease between your brows that never quite smoothed out, even in your sleep. You looked smaller like this, softer.
His chest ached.
Ghost leaned down slightly, slow enough not to wake you. He tried to scent you, he really tried. Drawing the air deep into his lungs.
Nothing.
No omega sweetness. No warmth. No signature smell.
Just… absence.
Confusion prickled under his skin.
He tried again, pressing his nose and mouth gently into the crown of your head, breathing in deep, desperate, his instinct taking over. Focused and full of determination, he tried to gently rub his own cheek against the top of your head to at least make you smell a bit like him. His mask causes your hair to bristle with static electricity.
Still nothing.
You stirred faintly, a soft sound leaving your throat and Ghost immediately pulled back. He cursed himself under his breath, as if waking you up was the greatest of all possible sins.
Carefully, he slid an arm under your knees and another behind your back, lifting you as if you weighed nothing.
Your bedroom was quiet when he laid you down on your bed, the sheets cool beneath you before covering you with a soft grey blanket laying at the button of your bed. You turned onto your side, curling in on yourself instinctively.
Ghost straightened, already turning to leave when–
Your hand shot out.
Fingers slightly curled into the fabric of his hoodie, not quite tight since you were still asleep, but just enough for him to stop on his tracks.
Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused and heavy with sleep. “Please,” you whispered. “Stay. I don’t wanna be alone.”
That did it.
His alpha surged hard enough to make his vision blur.
Ghost swallowed hard, then carefully climbed onto the bed beside you. He lay on his back, rigid as a board, arms pinned at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to act on their own.
You shifted closer, pressing your back into his side, curling into an even smaller ball.
He didn’t move and didn’t sleep either.
He stared at the ceiling, thoughts spiraling.A profound sense of calm invited his cheat, his Alpha
You shifted closer, pressing your back into his side, curling into an even smaller ball.
He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts spiraling. You shouldn’t have to sleep alone in a place that makes you afraid.
So he stayed.
Wide awake.
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