Thinking about reader never drinking their water, to the point that they fainted once mid training and Ghost had to carry them to med.
Now the captain wouldn’t let that slide so that mf would buy reader one of them fancy water bottles in their fav color and by miracle reader’s headaches r gone, and they now drink enough
(and yes Soap is whinning abt favoritism bro wants a cool water bottle to and Gaz bought him one to shut him up🫡)
Summary: You really need the money. Like really need it. Otherwise you would have never take another Price delivery.
CW: genderfluid reader, mdni, complete series warnings
Your phone buzzed in your hand, another cheeky message from a contact you had sworn not to text.
Kyle.
The embarrassment from that night still ran strong, the fact you had his scarf looped around your neck was like a brand. You couldn't move without feeling how soft the cashmere was against your skin. Expensive. Lush. Too nice of a thing for you, and yet you clung to it for warmth every day. A constant reminder that you were maybe not ready to get back out there.
You were giddy too, the feeling unfamiliar but not unwelcome. You were excited to have something good to look forward to.
You weren't going to tell Alessia, not yet at least. She had badgered you enough about it when you had first told her about him. She wouldn't be very happy that you were texting him and hadn't told him about you, about your gender, your complicated relationship with yourself. You knew you were the type to avoid conflict, avoid anything that was more complex than easy. Alessia knew that too, and she had only given up on Kyle after you told her you thought someone had broken in.
Despite never finding anything out of place to support your paranoia that someone had been in your apartment, you had been avoiding it as much as possible. You had taken job after job, regardless of the type of request, zooming across the city and triple checking each night that your bike was actually plugged in to charge.
The pace was exhausting but the pay was worth it. You spent any time you were in the apartment looking for a new spot, maybe not something as fancy as Alessia's building, but something where the front door always locked, the elevator wasn't a death trap and the landlord responded when you asked him about the cctv.
So you had texted Kyle on a whim, just looking for something else to distract you, something that wasn't as draining as work. The text was something cheeky, a little rib about stealing his scarf and being ready to apologize for the heist. He hadn't responded right away, but he had responded while you were working that morning. You knew you needed to tell him about preferring they/them pronouns, about being gender-fluid and mostly leaning masc but it didn't feel like the right time.
Are you free this week to go out?
You were free, you were very free and going out with Kyle was a good excuse to not be at home, wondering if whoever it was that had broke in was going to come back. And in person you could more subtly get a feel for where Kyle landed with the whole being queer thing.
So you told him you were free and he told you it was a date, so at minimum you might get a free meal and drinks out of it, which was good because your bigger issue with moving was not so much finding a place as much as it was affording one. There weren't a lot of options in your price range.
It was the all consuming need to save money that had you considering the Price delivery that had just popped up in the queue. A door to door shipment, contactless pickup with delivery to the doorman of a very fancy address. You had made other deliveries to addresses on that same block, they were buildings fancier than even Alessia's.
The pay for this shipment was more than you make in a day, it was almost a month's rent. You would be well on your way to being able to afford a new place or maybe one of those fancy pet cameras so you could see what was going on when you weren't home.
You put the phone down on the table of the little cafe you had stopped at for lunch. Your bike was parked out front, the spot just in your line of sight. You had found this cafe one of your first weeks working as a courier. They had a clean bathroom, a water dispenser to refill your bottle and the best coffee in the city. It helped that the barista was adorable and if you weren't broke and maybe a bit broken, you would have asked her out.
But you didn't ask her out, you just sat at the same little table watching your bike, sometimes watching her work and daydreaming of what life would have been if you were someone else, someone with drive, someone with goals.
Instead you were someone who was currently debating whether the risk of running into that masked weirdo was worth the pay for the Price job.
You decided to make a deal with yourself, if the job was still there in the morning you would take it. The money really was too good to pass up.
"Alessia, I want to meet him, I just don't know that going to some fancy cocktail party is my scene."
"Come on, I'll let you borrow something."
You groaned, you didn't want to borrow some fancy, over the top dress and go to some stuffy cocktail party with a bunch of rich people.
"Can't we just meet up at the lounge or something?"
"Why won't you let me show off my boy toy properly."
You rolled your eyes.
You were sat on the front steps of your building, bike leaned against the wall as you waited to select your jobs for the day. You had called Alessia on a whim, she had been texting you almost non-stop since the night she had stayed over, still trying to convince you to crash with her. You weren't ready to admit defeat. You weren't ready to run, tail tucked between your legs to the safety of your only friend.
Especially when you still weren't sure it wasn't totally in your head.
"That's not the problem and why can't you just show him off at the lounge? He can pick up the tab, prove he's not a dud, and then I can take a cab home. I won't have to get all dressed up and meet a bunch of people."
"But maybe you could find yourself a sugar daddy or sugar mama. Get you out of that shithole flat."
"Rude, it's not that bad."
"Babe, you think someone broke in. It's bad."
You looked down at your phone. She wasn't wrong. Maybe you should take that Price job, it was still there, your finger hovering over the accept button while Alessia continued to talk about neighborhoods you could look at, better buildings.
You hit accept on the job, the screen moving to the order details, pickup location address, any notes from the sender, then the address for Price. Very fancy building, too fancy for someone like you. Just like the cocktail party, you don't need some minted tosser looking for a sugar baby. You just need an apartment building with a little bit better security.
"I'm looking into places, I'll look more tonight after work."
"What about a sugar mama?"
"No," you don't need someone to take care of you, you can take care of yourself. "Now, I got to get to work, got to go bring down the value of some fancy fuck's building."
"Get that bag, and call me later. If you don't I will be calling the police."
"Stop being dramatic, I'll be fine. Talk to you later."
The pickup went off without a hitch, the locker that the package was stored in was at one of those generic pack and ship stores. The package itself was bigger than you had picked up for Price in the past. This time it was a box, small enough that it fit in your messenger bag but definitely a change from the envelopes you had delivered previously.
With the pickup documented and the package secured in your messenger bag you had biked across town, wishing you had thought to wear Kyle's scarf today. There was a chill in the air, the kind the penetrated your layers, not even the heavy leather jacket enough to keep it out. You were eager to get this delivery completed, you didn't want to run into the masked man and you thought that maybe you would treat yourself to a nice dinner and spend some more time searching for apartments. The pay for this job would certainly help.
The building was as fancy as expected, a doorman at the front with an expensive green suit, epaulettes that shone under the bright sun, and a smile that was far too friendly for your liking. You told him who you were delivering to and he held open the brightly polished door, waving you in with your bike. It felt odd but you couldn't really complain.
Each of these bougie buildings was different, and only half the shippers ever bothered to give you complete delivery details when it came to mail rooms, freight elevators, service entrances. It seemed like this one wasn't too picky about who came in through the front door because the man sitting at the front desk barely reacted as you approached, giving you a wider smile than the doorman.
"Good afternoon, how can I help you?"
"I've got a delivery to doorman for a Johnathan Price."
"Oh, Mr. Price!" he said excitedly, continuing to smile as you stood awkwardly, bike leaned against your side, hand ready to reach into the bag to grab the package. "You can take that right up to the penthouse."
"Oh no, that's…it's supposed to be to doorman," you tried to explain.
"Do you mind? I'm the only one at the desk today, you can leave your bike right there and I'll watch it. I would hate for Mr. Price to have to wait for his delivery."
You wanted to argue that it probably wasn't important, the last one had been a weirdass cryptic postcard after all, but he looked at you so expectantly, so eagerly, you felt bad crushing that cheer.
"Okay, fine, what's his floor and room number?"
"Thank you," he said, standing up from his desk and coming around to help you with the bike, taking it and guiding it over to a corner of the lobby that had an unused umbrella stand.
"So you'll take the elevator on the right, it will take you directly to the penthouse."
You were a bit flustered by the change in plan. You couldn't even put together enough words to question what you were supposed to do when you reached the penthouse. And on the topic of the penthouse, how did the man you had met at the office afford a penthouse in one of the fanciest buildings in the city? You knew they said don't judge a book by its cover but damn, you really had him pegged wrong.
It was actually very ironic coming from you.
You stepped into the elevator, the walls were mirrored, your face peered back at you as you reached out and reluctantly pressed the single button that said PH. You stepped back to rest against the far mirrored wall.
The elevator moved in that annoyingly smooth way that fancy elevators did. None of the lurching, creaking climb that you felt on the daily at your own apartment. You were surprised there had even been a button to press. At many of the buildings you went to, especially the fancy offices you checked in at the front desk and they buzzed you up to the correct floor, the only floor you could access. It was fancy but not nearly as fancy as what you found when the doors opened to the penthouse.
You took a step out. You hadn't been sure what to expect, but it wasn't to walk into a foyer out of Architectural Digest, all straight lines, shades of grey, the only intrigue coming from the flecks of color in the terrazzo flooring of the entry way.
Somewhere in the penthouse music played from a speaker, a soulful piano piece. You didn't hear any voices, you weren't sure if the man at the front desk had called up to tell Mr. Price you were coming up. The urge to just drop the package on the credenza that lined the hall was strong, but you couldn't risk not getting the proper proof of delivery pictures. You needed the money and it was the rich fucks who always tried to cry wolf to get out of paying for their shipping.
You took another step forward, then another.
"Hello!" you called out, because what the fuck are you supposed to do?
You stopped to the sound of footsteps quickly approaching. A man turned the corner, face already set in a frown when his eyes fell on you.
He was a striking figure and most certainly not the masked weirdo you had delivered to in the past. This man was older in that distinguished way, with a dusting of salt at his temples, creases to the sides of his cold blue eyes, his beard groomed in a style that you didn't know the name for but would certainly stand out in a room of men. He wore a plain white button up, the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms, the material stretching across a broad chest. The top buttons were undone, a tie loosened but not untied around his neck, his suspenders already pulled from his shoulders and hanging loosely from his hips.
"Hi, I'm so sorry, I'm looking for Johnathan Price."
"Wot ye got there?" he asked with a scowl.
Your hand slipped down to the messenger bag.
"Stop right there."
You froze, fingers pressing in on the latch to open the bag.
"Got no reason to believe you ain't here to cause trouble, you put your hand in that bag real slow."
You swallowed, throat dry and heart racing. He didn't look dangerous, but that was the thing about dangerous things, they didn't always look dangerous. Poison could be sweet on your tongue. This man, despite his looks, and his clothes, radiated danger.
"Hey, man, I'm just a courier."
"How'd ye get up here?"
"The kid at the front desk? I told him it said delivery to the doorman, but he said I could just come up. I didn't realize I would be like in your flat or whatever," you stumbled over your words, prattling on as your mind scrambled for a way out of this situation.
"Fuckin' daft bastard," the man grumbled. "Take it out whatever it is."
You watched him as your fingers pressed open the latch, hand sneaking down into the bag to pull out the box. It felt like your fingers were made of lead as you held it out to him, waiting for him to take, to dismiss you, to free you from whatever this moment was.
He didn't move, his shoulders were tense, his jaw set, brows furrowed. When he spoke next he tucked his right arm behind his back. The angle was unnatural, uncomfortable, like something you had only seen in movies but never in real life.
"Open it," he instructed.
"I don't-" you started but he cut you off.
"Open it," he repeated.
Your fingers trembled as you pulled at the brown tape that held down the two flaps at the top. The sound of the tape ripping filled your ears, the material rough against your fingers. You didn't want to see what was in the box. You didn't want to be here. You hadn't wanted to take the Price job. You never would have if it hadn't been for the money.
Inside the box was crinkled paper scraps and a smell that you couldn't quite place. It tickled something in the back of your mind, like what it was was just out of reach.
"Show me."
You turned the box, showing him the shreds of papers.
"Take them out."
You hold the box in one hand, it really was that small, with the other you start pulling out the shreds, letting them fall to the ground, scattering around your boots.
You don't think your heart can take much more, the pounding in your chest more than anything you have felt before. Sweat dripped down your spine, your shirt sticking to your skin as you shifted your weight from side to side.
It feels like the world stops when you pull out the last piece of paper. Like you are here but not here because nothing makes sense as you stare down in the box, the object so out of place, so unexpected that you can't fathom it. Can't fathom the thing nestled on a piece of velvet, like you are presenting the man across from you some priceless piece of jewelry, a gem so fine, so precious that it requires the softest touch.
There is a jem though, a ruby set on a thick golden band. The kind of ring that would have been worn by a man that commanded any room he found himself in. A man who would have made your blood run cold, the same way that man who now waits impatiently for you to reveal the contents of the package to him.
You look up at him wide eyed. You open your mouth to say something, anything really, words that aim to make some kind of sense of the situation that you have found yourself in.
But you can't talk, you can't move, you can't understand why you are holding a box, with a ring still on the finger of the man it belonged to. The knuckles hairy, the skin a sallow and unsettling color that speaks of decay. The smell is the unsettling scent of death, the kind of thing you innately understand even if you have never experienced it first hand.
Death.
Your fingers shake. You can't stop them. You can't grip the box. You can barely breathe.
It feels like the room is closing in on you, the edges of your vision darkening as you start to feel the same weakness in your legs that you feel in your fingers. The box starts to tumble as you take a step back. Maybe you'll faint and you'll crack your head on the fancy marble floor and when you wake up you'll realize this was all just a dream. A warning not to take the Price delivery, even if the money is good.
The box hits the floor, the finger rolling out, the ring clattering against the marble.
You take another step away from the man, your back hitting a solid wall. Only, you weren't standing that close to the wall. A beefy arms loops around you, holding firm as you instinctively try to escape, your fingers digging into their skin. Anything to get yourself free, because the longer they hold you here, the longer you're locked on to the finger, a beacon you cannot look away from.
"Ah, ah, ah, котик. Put those claws away. You are in trouble enough, да?"
CW: mild gore, mentions of gutting a man, canon typical violence, blood tests and needles (not descriptive)
prev next
————————————
“Reaper! Up now!”
Ghost barges through your room door, the closet door banging against the wall whilst his hands desperately search for your uniform. You immediately jump up, the command not lost on you even in deep sleep, the serum thrumming alive in your body as it always does in response to his commands. The scrape of the hanger against the metal pole finally ends when he finds your all round attire, pulling it out and tossing it over to you.
“Get dressed, we’re heading out in five.” He barks out before leaving again, taking the leash of the poor German Shepherd still sleeping beside you— he’ll have to find someone to take care of it whilst they’re out.
————
You’re in the helicopter five minutes later as promised and Ghost graciously made sure you had proper ear protectors. The rest of the force is here too, other soldiers coming in from closer bases but of course, Soap and Gaz are here. Ghost stands at the front, his arm crossed tightly over his shoulders. “This is a public security threat. They’ve taken hostages in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, and we need to keep order for the citizens around the area. Soap, you’ll be going with Price to the hostages, Gaz and Reaper you’re with me.”
Gaz nods firmly, holding onto the side of the helicopter as the towns pass below. “My old team has been tracking those perpetrators for months. Seems like they finally chose the time to strike.”
Soap nods towards you this time, but you haven’t spoken once since you first woke, locked in and ready for battle. “Don’t you want Reaper inside?” He doesn't hesitate before asking, and Ghost doesn’t even scowl, just shaking his head.
“Usually, yes. But it’s too public, we need them to get everyone out of the vicinity fast.”
As the helicopter starts to lower, the sergeants notice the fires in the area, likely the first warning sign the terrorist group is putting out. The ride from the landing pad to the scene isn't long, and they run the rest of the way. Gaz regroups with his team, collecting details of what they know so he can address the situation properly.
You’re left with Ghost, both of you steadily jogging over to where the police do their best to guard off the area, having got most of the people out but due to shops in the area it’s practically impossible to do so.
“Get all civilians out of the radius, injured and alive. Watch your back, Gaz mentioned there’s a chance some of them might loiter around in alleyways. Direct them to the paramedics, I’ll let you know when it’s over.” You don’t even nod because he knows you didn't need to, that was your orders and your brain was hardwired to listen to only that and nothing else.
So you separate, instantly heading for the sound of cries, small children and their parents it seems. Rubble has fallen from an explosion, the warning Ghost had talked about before. You’ve seen terrorist ideology before, and that's how this usually played out. It takes seconds to free the mother from the explosion, and you scoop up three of the kids to escort them to the police as far away from the situation as possible.
“Please - my husband— he’s still there.” You give nothing more of a short nod before heading back, there’s no time to give reassurance when you can free them at that time. That wasn’t confidence in your own skills, it was a fact, truth even. This is what you were designed for.
Ghost had lent you one of his masks, surprisingly, but it wasn’t just for the fun of it. With the amount of smoke it would be needed, besides its better to keep your super soldier nature away from public eyes. The skull print also meant he could spot you better in the darkness, since this wasn't exactly a place where stealth would be needed. So far there’s only been two run-ins with the enemy, both swiftly taken out by a knife to their throat before the civilian could register there was someone there at all. It’s best you’re not too gruesome with your kills, so you’ve also been given a gun with a silencer— louder shots would cause far too much panic.
“The north side is clear of civvies.” Someone speaks over the comms; it’s not for certain, but it means you can switch your objective to beginning the hunt instead. One of the men you killed had come from the back of a shop, so you start there, walking through with narrowed eyes. They’ve most likely hijacked the security cameras already, but that doesn't matter to you–even knowing where you are won't put them at an advantage. “Try to take one alive Reaper.” You hear Ghost speak out, and your brain rewires itself again, adjusting its objective.
There’s at least two here, that’s obvious by the pair of footsteps heard above, and another below. Trying to trap you.
When you reach the top, the man grins like a devil, a button in his hand and beeping coming from the vest strapped over his chest. “Step any closer and he dies—”
He doesn't get to finish his words before a knife pins his hand to the wall, the remote dropping to the floor as he cries out, trying to hit it with his foot. You kick it to the side before turning around to shoot the hostile behind dead in the face; this one is strapped with a similar mechanism, though the detonator held by the first was meant for him. The man against the wall’s was wired to his pulse–if he died then the bomb would go off with it–that meant the one you just shot would have to be manually controlled, to try to trap you.
The father huddles beneath a counter as the man yells, but you extend your hand out. The terrorist could kill himself and kill both of you, so you don't wait for him to gain his courage, throwing him over your shoulder before crashing through the window. Maybe not the best idea on your hand, but he was safe against you and thankfully the building wasn't tall enough to cause any of you serious harm. He lands on you as you fall onto a large waste bin below. “Blue West side retail shop about to explode. Two suicide bombers!” You yell into comms and, not wasting a second, you carry him to the building across the street, pushing him behind the brick wall just as both of the bombs strapped to the vests go off, rubble falling all around.
A long breath comes out of your lungs as you keep pushing him forward, making sure he doesn't look back no matter what–the children would need their father.
————
“Hey, are you holding up fine?” Gaz comes up next to you, after having just passed a civilian over as well. You nod firmly, and he motions for you to follow him into the next building. Despite you working with Ghost for over six months now, he rarely sees you in action. To be honest, he didn’t really know what to expect of you; the whole super soldier ideology was kept fairly hushed, and the only information that went around was of soldiers who had been in the field beside you. He figured you’d be like any regular soldier, just stronger even at your younger age and with much faster reflexes. So as you both got deep in battle again, he didn't expect much of a difference.
“Reaper, watch ou–”
Before Gaz can speak the last word, the man approaching you has crumpled to the ground, and then he hears a loud thud in the vent on the right of him, blood seeping through the metal grate.
The air falls quiet, and he sees you moved from the position you were at before, crouched beside a corpse and wiping the blood off a knife you just pulled from its throat. “Everything okay?” That’s the line he should be saying to you, as a soldier older and with years more experienced than you but all he can do is stand in shock before quickly nodding and continuing through the building. That was a one-off, surely?
Wrong.
He didn't even need to think about checking his back, hell he could walk in blindfolded, because wherever you wanted the bullet to hit, that’s where it would land. And not once did he witness you hesitate, not even for a second. When you exit again he just gives you a smile, nodding in sheer awe. “Thanks..”
“For what?” You’re confused, voice slightly monotone, but you’re scanning over him for danger still.
“The show. It was bloody brilliant.” He laughs, handing you one of the knives he borrowed, and you just blink, having no idea what he means.
————
“Still need to take one?” You tap into the comms as you search the open area, your eyes watching everything and still listening intently.
“Everyone has bombs strapped to them, it’s not worth it anymore. Come regroup by me.”
You find him fairly easily, standing a good distance away from the building Price and Soap are in– it’s protocol whenever there’s explosives present. All you can hand over is the detonator, and he seals it in a bag in case there are any chances of getting evidence off of it. They’ll take the bodies when this is all over, too, but it’s worth taking things now.
“Alright, help me search these buildings for any civilians; I heard some noises.”
As soon as you’re about to enter the shop, dust bellows out, rubble crumbling before you as the explosion goes off, meaning they had failed to dismantle the bomb. The debris is thick, but thankfully scattered over the ground and as Ghost runs over to the scene, you follow, the glasses thankfully letting you get by without irritating your eyes too badly. “Bravo-6, hostages are secured. One dead; the one wearing the vest.” With that news, you settle with finding Ghost instead, eventually finding him near the building and checking the perimeter for any hostiles waiting to get the remaining hostages. You’re almost beside him when you see it, the glint of silver behind the pillar, if he shot Ghost now he would likely graze him at most, or hit his bulletproof vest.
His hand is shaking as he finally steps out, sweat probably coating the gun aimed right at Ghost. “We will not be forgotten–!” But you don't care about the technicalities, you act before you think.
Two shots go off in that second, but only one lands.
Trapping the hostile beneath you, the gun slides far away from his hand as your knife carves deep into his intestines, and you shove it up his front so harshly you’re sure you snapped his ribs right there. It’s like you had just gutted a fish, the way his blood spills out, and you yank the knife out just to throw it across the hall at another trying to run. It hits his trouser leg, sending him toppling over in front of Gaz, who disarms him quickly and pins him down. You put your attention back to the one beneath you, all sense of life disappeared from him, and you’re almost tempted to get your other knife just to drive it all the way through his heart.
“Reaper!” It’s a grunt, or more of a yell, but you stand upright as you usually do, clothing covered in blood. Strong hands grab at your arms, tugging you backwards and away from the lifeless form beneath. You’re being restrained again– just like you always did before they locked you into the truck. This was protocol. Instead, you let your eyes flicker on the surroundings, checking frantically if another dared to come near and shoot at him you again.
“Look at me!” He snaps his fingers in your face, and you immediately pay attention, suddenly realising the gauze he has pressed against your ear and the side of your neck. His voice isn't as loud as you remember, muffled by something else, specifically loud ringing that feels like a drill attacking your eardrum.
Everything hits you at once as you snap out of your battle focused mode: the wet trickle down your neck joining the pool wetting your hood. Your neck stings badly, another soldier hurrying over to help Ghost wrap a bandage around your neck, your eyes hazed as you fumble to understand what had happened in those seconds. Between the severe pain and the ringing, you manage to look towards the floor, noticing the headset snapped with a bullet hole piercing right through the ear cushion. It makes sense, or sort of does; all you definitely know is that a bullet hit you and cut the side of your neck. The weirdest thing is..you knew that would happen. You heard the shot go off, and you had moved your head out of the way in time for it not to hit somewhere actually dangerous. It wasn't the pain that had snapped you out of this; it was Ghost’s yell.
—-
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” The medic now attending to you asks, trying her best to communicate with you despite how loud the ringing in your ears are. Ghost had stepped away to talk to the others on comms; even if he wanted to stay with you, this mission had lives depending on it.
“All secure, Lt.” Soap announces on behalf of Price, now escorting the hostages out of the building with some other soldiers who joined. “Reaper got the last one for our interrogation. We’ll see you back at base, yeah?”
Right, he wouldn’t be coming back with them anymore– he swore that he wouldn’t leave your side, and he intends to stick by that. “See you at base, Johnny.”
The medic stands as he approaches, walking over to him with their hands on their hips. “No serious damage, but the bullet hitting the earlobe did cause a lot of blood to spill.” She gestures towards the already reddening gauze wrapped tightly on your ear. “It will also cause loud ringing in the ear, which is likely why they didn't respond initially. It’ll fade eventually, but the pain afterwards will be very bad.”
He sighs, coming to crouch before you– this time you immediately respond to him, sitting up a bit straighter as if trying to understand what they were both saying. Paired with the loud noise of police sirens, heavy footsteps all around and cries of young children, it would be impossible to even try to communicate with you.
“Do they need immediate attention?”
She shakes her head, and pats you gently on the shoulder, trying her best to give a reassuring smile. “It can wait until you get back to base, but I’d rush them quickly, just in case of infection.”
He thanks her properly before helping you upright, taking one of your arms over his shoulder with his hand supporting your side in a firm grip. You seem surprised, glancing over at him but deciding not to question it further. Just that is enough to make a pang of guilt hit him, knowing the far from humane treatment you’re used to experiencing after any op. He pushes that down for now, knowing he needs to get you back and seen quickly.
—-------
The wait in the infirmary isn’t too long, seeing as there weren't many injuries from this operation, and at this time in the morning. Even if you refuse to show it, he knows you’re probably exhausted, both from the pain and the mission. The nurse gets to work immediately, cleaning and sterilising the wound the best he can before bandaging it up with plenty of gauze. As for the cut on your neck, some small stitches and a plaster is enough to keep it secure. Ghost has to reassure him a few times that you haven't gone into shock, and he backs off when he mentions it’s classified information. Especially by the scratch marks on your face.
As usual, you did get your separate truck post op, but this time he rode with you and left you unrestrained. It stressed you out usually, and with the addition of actually having a sliver of light, you handled it a lot better. It was the first time he actually witnessed how hard it was for you to come out of it, compared to how fast you could snap into focus. Clearly the scientists didn't give a damn about your pain after, just how quickly you could bounce back. He only had to hold your hands from digging into yourself three or four times, but you only mildly struggled anyway– and he was proud of you for that. It definitely didn't seem easy to repress that urge, he knows how some things eat away at you, literally and figuratively.
“It’s not as loud anymore.” You whisper on the way back to the barracks. Thanks to the current time, the hallways were practically silent, and it finally let the ringing ease.
“Can you hear me clearer?”
He breathes a sigh of relief when you nod, patting your shoulder before leading you to his room. “C’mon. You can sleep here tonight. I’ll go grab you some pajamas, alright?”
Unfortunately for him, you were still being stubborn whilst injured, so he let you come along on the condition that you leaned your weight on him. That forces you to give in a little, and so he leads you to your room, rummaging through the drawer for the shirt and long shorts you usually wear to bed. “These?” He whispers, making sure he got the right ones as you nod from where you’re sat on the bed, watching as he grabs your duvet and a plushie or two as well.
When you make it back to the room, you’re even more exhausted. Typically you fell asleep in the truck on the way back, or at least passed out. That meant you pretty much didn't feel the effects as much when you were conscious, but now it felt like you were still deep in it— even if you hadn't hurt yourself this time.
You splash your face with cold water in the bathroom,, the mirror reflecting back how sunken your eyes had grown, how clenched your jaw was and the hunch of your shoulders. No matter how much you wanted to pretend, you were in pain, and you had got hurt. A small knock shakes you from your thoughts, Ghost’s rough voice muffled by the door. “Alright in there?”
“I think I can put on pajamas just fine.” You say as you open the door, where he’d been waiting for you. He just rolls his eyes and walks past you, wetting a small towel.
“You would’ve said the same to me if i acted off.”
The infirmary cleaned up the wound, but there was still a lot of blood staining your skin. He gently starts to rub it away, starting at where your cheek meets your ear, then down to your jaw and underneath towards your neck. You stay still for him, lashes lowered as he wipes the metallic smell away, his dark eyes soft on you.
“You did great today.” His other hand rests on your shoulder, towering over you as he continues. “Even when shot, you took care of the hostile trying to run. And then you didn't even kill him, you listened and kept him for our interrogation.” Finally he stops, both hands holding your shoulders as he looks at you, his mask still on.
“He was going to shoot you.” You mumble out, assuming he was going to question why you had suddenly jumped onto that guy though. Sure, your techniques have always been a little.. gruesome, but it’s never been like that. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.” Your tone is firmer, full of conviction and you look up at him properly, through the haze he can see the determination in your eyes.
He’s stifling a smirk and you can tell, knowing that his mask always crinkles at the edges when he does so. “Soap’s like that. I’ve had to pull him off of people before.” It’s reassuring, even if it sounds like a little joke. What you had done didnt make you less of a person, if anything it made you more human. “A bit of anger can give you a lot more strength than you realise. But it can also get you killed.”
You lie down for a little bit whilst he changes into his pajamas, and also checks on the situation with the others. It’s better for you if he does it in the bathroom, given that your ear is still very sensitive. Whilst he’s gone, the pain really starts to settle in, and you’re almost sure you can feel the blood seeping into the gauze. Even before when the ringing was so loud, you had thought there was blood trickling out your ears, and you’re not even sure why. Thankfully your inner ears were actually alright, checked by the nurse earlier, so you can only chalk this up to a weird side effect of the pain meds your on. Speaking of those, they’re finally taking over your body, easing the constant pain you would’ve had sleeping with your ear bandaged.
“I see the meds have worked.” You turn your heard and somehow he’s sliding in beside you— when had he even come in? How hadn’t you heard that? “It’s meant to be like this, dont panic.” The panic must’ve been obvious on your face so you reluctantly relax a little, letting your thoughts dull out into the darkness around.
You dont really know how you’ll sleep like this, so you just try laying on your back as he continues to check his phone. A few minutes pass, maybe twenty, maybe an hour. You felt weak, a shell of yourself, but this time there was no immediate shame that came with it. Somehow, you just acknowledged that you were weak now and accepted it.
Man, these meds were weird.
“Can’t sleep?”
You nod, not sure where you’re even supposed to be facing but you thankfully find his face to your right. It’s bare now, the mask probably tossed onto his desk, and you just stare for a little, watching as his lips move like that.
“Reaper.”
He snaps you out of your trance, having to click his fingers in front of your face. “Is the ringing getting bad again?”
“No..” You groan, embarrassed you hadn't heard anything as you start to roll back over, before promptly realising if you do, you’ll sleep flat on your damaged ear. “Just the meds..” Your brain was practically fried, everything felt like it was tipping over and here you were, struggling to control it infront of him. How would you prove your capable to be on missions when you could barely handle the aftermath?
——-
He lets out a hum, understanding the predicament you’re in. It’s clear you cant really think straight right now, and you’re probably still trying to deal with the exhaustion from the mission too. It was making him worry, how you kept losing yourself in your head rather than sleep.
Even when he was on his phone, it was just to give you some space so you didn't think he was watching you intently or something, and it's not like he wanted to sleep before you either. That’d be stupid. He had even thought you had finally slept when your shoulders sunk, but it only proved to be you losing yourself more, making him snap you out of it— literally.
His teeth clench as he watches you struggle again, trying to turn over before realising you’ll only hurt more. This was worse than any panic attack you had, damnit, he couldnt take this.
“Close your eyes.” He insists, one hand in your hair and the other around your waist after pulling you to lay against his side, half your weight resting on him. It was an impulsive move really, and he’s not even sure why he did it. “Wont let you turn on your side, promise.” He whispers, fingers scratching gently at your scalp that you forget pulling away from this like you usually would to anyone else, and instead sink in.
——
It’s almost embarrassing how fast you gave into all of this, not that you needed any convincing anyway. It’s not the first time you’ve thought about inching near him—-
You quickly cut the reminder out of your head, the thought a hundred times worse when you’re literally laying atop of him. Rejecting any other form of touch was easy for you— Soap’s elbow jabs, Gaz’s shoulder pats, even when the Captain would ruffle your hair. It all made you so.. stiff. But when you lay next to Ghost that first night, you wondered what it’d be like.
And now you’re here and you were right about one thing— he’s very warm.
His hands are cooler, which is the strange thing, but his chest? It’s like having a hundred of those plushies, right here at your disposal— with their warm hands wrapping around you too.
You know he’s trying to get you to relax, and you want to but everything in your head has gone haywire again.. and it feels like a long time before it’ll be back to normal again. A lot of time, effort.. and energy. Energy that you dont have. Your mind slipped into a weird state once or twice, and you can't hold on to yourself anymore, somehow always staring at the ceiling as your mind runs itself to the ground. So with his action, you decide to just go for it, just go ahead and hold on, as tight as you can.
Sleep comes in minutes, one arm draped over his chest like an anchor and his keeping you in the moment. You’ve never slept with so much warmth surrounding you, and you’re not sure you ever will again. It eases your mind so easily and with each quiet thump, your muscles start to loosen. With each small rise of his chest, the pressure starts to lessen. And, with each slow rub up and down your back, scratch in your hair and small breath releasing, you come undone, the super soldier serum feeling like nothing more than a pest in your blood as you let sleep take you somewhere sweeter and pain free. Somewhere where your thoughts are no more.
——-
You cling to him for the entirety of the night, and he can't complain, his hand cupping the back of your head to his chest in case you roll onto your ear during the night. He falls asleep like that too, just feeling you beside him, your head on the quiet thump of his heart.
When he eventually has to wake up, it’s almost nine and technically still a weekday. He probably has to go in for a debrief, and you dont exactly need to come either. But then again, he doesn't want to leave you alone, that’s not right for a handler like him.. or is that just because he’s actually worried for you?
The briefing is long and boring, and he’s half tempted to make up some excuse that you need him right now. It’s laughable, and soldiers probably mock him for how hypocritical he’s been. To think he’s gone from not being able to stand two hours just watching a movie for your birthday to wishing he could get back to your side already. His hands grip at his trousers as the meeting finally finishes, suddenly feeling an urge to apologise to you twenty times over; not that he’s actually brave enough to do that.
He steps outside the briefing room, a black coffee in his hand from the crappy machine that only works when you hit the back twice, remove the water container and then click it back in again. No one really knows why he even uses it at all, but to be frank he just doesn't care enough to get the instant packets.
What’s more important is checking up on you, and how you’re holding up—injuries can be rough even as much as you’ll pretend it’s okay. So when he turns the corner and sees you talking to Price, he’s surprised. He had just been in the debriefing too, so he must’ve caught you a few seconds before.
”Your ear looks rough.” He remarks, but you just smile at him, a wide one too as you glance over to Ghost and then back at him again.
“Yeah, hurt like hell last night, but the pain meds dulled most of it.”
He eyes you for a moment, searching your face for something before looking over to Ghost, giving him a firm nod. “I’m going to have to steal your soldier away next week. We’ll speak about it later.”
And then he’s gone, with one last pat on your back and you saying bye to him like you used to. Like you still admired him.
“You’re meant to be resting, how are you even up like this?”
“I’m a super soldier, of course i’m up. Hardly even affects me.” You shrug, a sly grin forming on your face. “Why? Would you have to rest for the entire day?”
”I’d make you run laps for that, but you’d just enjoy it.”
You let out a genuine laugh, whilst he gestures with his head for you to follow, leading you to the mess hall to get your energy for the day. Otherwise, you’d be complaining all night.
“I did get my ear checked out though; the nurse said it’ll be fine. Obviously I shouldn't sleep on that side, and continue taking one painkiller a day.” The pair of you walk up to grab your trays, and for once the soldiers don't look at you too differently. “I slept really well anyway, for once I feel actually energised.”
“So that’s why you look like you’re on a sugar rush, huh?”
“Well, I plan to use this rush at the gym today.”
He rolls his eyes as you both sit down, Kyle and Johnny already gone it seems— or maybe they’re having a really long sleep in.
“Well, you’re free today except from the health checkup later.”
You raise a brow, stabbing your fork into the boiled egg but immediately stopping when he says that.
“..Checkup? I had one like.. last month. When yknow, all that stuff happened.” You gesture in the air, still not wanting to bring up anything that happened when you got yelled at by Price, and he doesn't really blame you anyway.
“It’s a monthly checkup. You’re obliged to have it.”
“Then why didn't I ever have one before?”
That makes him shut up, because of course you never had one— he didn't even read your files until four months ago. “Because I'm a bastard who didn't know you needed one.”
What drives the nail through his heart is the way your face drops, seemingly not intending to take a dig at what happened between you two, and now feeling guilty for it. Damnit. He sighs, and passes one of the rashers on his plate to yours as peace offering. “Didn’t.. mean to bring that up. The point is, you have a blood test today and a full body checkup.”
You didn't really like the sound of that too much; the blood test didn't bother you in the slightest, you nearly always had your blood taken for tests before, but it felt uneasy being monitored like this. The cameras first and now constant checkups? Sure you were meant to have them before anyway, but something tells you they probably werent more than blood work before.
When you fall silent and pick at your food, he grows a little worried, mind racing to the worst. What if you were scared of needles? Or maybe you hated blood tests in general. Should he have told you earlier? He thought he did, but judging from your surprise he clearly didn't.
“Are you going to come in too?”
He blinks, not expecting that to be your concern and nods along, eating his own plate now before you get suspicious of him too. “Yeah, yeah. Course I am. Do you want me there?”
“Yeah.” You hum, stuffing the egg into your mouth, and chewing it down forcefully like it’s the cause of all these anxious thoughts. He knows you don't do well with nurses,mainly from how they stick harsh needles into you, but he had asked specifically for a butterfly needle and he already thought up a million ways to distract you from it all.
“It's at three pm, okay? Wear something you can easily take off if they need to.”
————
You meet him by his room just before eleven, skin still slightly damp from your shower and an unease in your bones. Still, he nudges you along, bringing you down to the medical wing, and checking you in at the small desk. You sit in the waiting area in the mean time, holding the small phone he gave you last week. To be honest, you’re still a little wary of it, but Soap taught you how to download different apps now.
“Really? You decide to play a multiplayer shooting game now?”
“Multiplayer? But i’m by myself?”
You raise a brow at him, not understanding what he means as your little avatar runs across the field, easily destroying the people around before you get demolished yourself, a frown settling on your face.
“There’s other people in your team.”
He hums, pointing at the markers of the squad members on your small screen, and you just snap your head to him.
“They’re real people?!”
You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and he’s starting to wonder if you’ve left your mic on every time you play too. Unfortunately for you, the doctor steps out and calls your name, forcing you to drop the subject and walk into the room.
The doctor doesn’t glance at you more than once, just takes the paperwork from Ghost’s hands and slides his deskchair to the small computer.
“Can I just confirm your name and date of birth?” When Ghost doesn't reply, you look at him confused, and then back at the doctor who is now looking over at you expectantly. Embarrassed, you answer quickly but now you’re just confused. Since when were questions ever addressed to you? when were you allowed to speak without being explicitly told?
“And you are in charge of them..?” The doctor looks at Ghost now, who nods.
“Their lieutenant. Just overseeing their injury.”
Wasn’t he your handler? Didn't he have a right over you?
After that everything goes by typically, tighten a strap around your upper arm, tell some stupid fib to distract you from the pain you won't ever even feel, and then the needle stabs into your arm. Well, you dont actually feel it, but you do remember the years you used to— when you were much younger, and when they’d drag you screaming and crying until they just gave up and sedated you. Now, you look at Ghost the whole time, who leans against the wall though his hand twitches forward each time he senses the tiniest bit of discomfort in you.
“Alright, i’m just going to handle these vials.” The doctor hums, standing up and walking towards the door. “Take your outerwear off, and then I’ll perform the full body checkup.”
He exits, and Ghost's eyes follow him until the door clicks, before slowly stepping forward towards you. “Y’ heard him. C’mon.”
It’s only when you’re shrugging your t shirt off when you look up to him, a hunch in your shoulders and your feet turned inwards as you chew at your lip. You’ve never had a problem before— well you did, but no one listened before, so nothing ever changed. But Ghost did, he changed for you. Maybe he won’t let you suffer like this.
“Can you do the checkup?”
It’s paired with a soft sigh as you look at the ground, feeling weak for asking such a thing but it was better than saying it in front of anyone else. You watch him freeze, his shoulders going rigid before he just tilts his head just slightly. “Are you sure?”
Still lowered, your head nods quietly, letting the t shirt settle on the table and the multitude of your scars to shine in the bright overhead light. He’s seen them before, and hell you’ve seen his a few times, but it always makes you shiver whenever a new person sees them. “Okay. Give me a moment, alright?”
He slips out of the room, presumably talking to the doctor and soon enough they both re-enter, the doctor looking slightly startled as he takes a seat at the computer again.
“I-i’ll just read out what to look out for, Lieutenant Ghost.”
Slowly your shoulders slacken, eyes just slowly following his movements as he checks your hair for anything strange, your neck, down to your arms, sides and abdomen. There’s a few bruises, and that of which he applies ointment to for you, but after that it’s just gently applying pressure on certain places to make sure your reflexes are as good as they should be, and that your body responds as it should. It’s when he’s checking a nasty burn near your knee when you jolt, and his eyes immediately flash with concern, pausing.
“What’s wrong? Did it hurt?”
You shake your head quickly, embarrassed but when his hand brushes it again, you jolt once more.
“Oi, stop lying, does it hurt?”
Again you shake your head, adamant but you let out a quiet snort this time, your stomach doing a small flip as you retract from his hand. “ ‘s not my fault-“ You snicker, even as he reaches forward and his hands gloves rub your knee, leg jerking again. “It tickles.”
———
By the end of the session, Ghost has treated all underlying injuries and concerns, and also found out every single place where you’re ticklish which you know will definitely not end up well for you. Already three times in that hour had you been fighting to stay composed, even though you could see that sly look in his eye as he purposefully let his fingers glide on your sides. Bastard.
“Stop prodding at it.” He huffs, watching as you flex your arm and press at the small cotton taped over where the needle had been inserted to take the blood. “I know it doesnt hurt.”
You groan, because he’s right, it doesnt and you’re just complaining for the sake of it now. “It feels weird, i hate it. My arm feels all tingly and funny.”
“Well, you did good for the rest of the checkup. All the results seem to be good, though you’d probably end up with a higher sugar level this time around.” He praises as you leave, but you refuse to accept it, embarrassed and cheeks slightly pink.
“Whatever. It’s just a checkup.”
He knows you’re only brushing it off because you don't want to seem overly eager, but it’s so blatantly obvious that you love it. Hell, he knows Soap does too, the idiot grins like a fool whenever he gets a pat well done from anyone. “C’mon. Let’s go for a run, it’s still light out and i know you have energy to burn.”
That gets you excited now, though just before you can respond, a long yawn ripples through you, making your shoulders squeeze and your eyes close. You blink it away and stare up at him, who's now raising a brow at you. He hasn't seen you that tired, actually he’s rarely even seen you yawn. “Maybe not then..”
Instantly your eyes go wide, not wanting to miss out on your run and your jaw drops. “What? No- It’s just a yawn! I was stretching!”
—————-
The two of you go for a run, or more like Simon goes for a paced jog and you try your hardest not to speed up unnecessarily, trying to keep pace with him. He finds it a little bit cute how you were carefully watching his boots, trying to keep in sync with him the best you can, whilst subconsciously copying his arm movements aswell. He takes a stop near the lake, which is finally looking nice again after being frozen over for the better part of the year. However, instead of coming to a stop too, you almost keel, yawning again as you rest your hands on your knees.
“Y’alright?” His hands gently land on your shoulders, crouching slightly to look into your eyes whilst you nod slowly.
“It’s the painkillers. My head is all drowsy..”
He had forgotten how strong the pain meds they had given you actually were— just because the super soldier serum nulled most of the pain, didn't mean it didn't null the medication given. Plus, things always affected you differently than the average person.
Thankfully the lake was close to the training grounds, so he sat you down on the edge first, letting you splash your face with the cold water. It helps you a lot, waking up your brain until he can get you back inside, and you two head straight for dinner in the mess.
———
“You wanna come round to my room tonight?” Gaz asks, leaning on his arm as Ghost replies to some texts, likely busy with something major it seems.
“Hm? Why?” You’ve never been into his or Soap’s room before, only Price’s, but you are quite curious as to how it looks like. After all, Ghost is a very bland and simple person, and Price isnt the most expressive either. Gaz and Soap’s room could be anything in your imagination.
Soap pipes up this time, mouth stuffed with a potato until he dangerously swallows it in one whole gulp. “Gaz borrowed his cousins ps4. It’d be so much more fun with three players.” He clasps his hands together, almost begging and so you agree, not really sure even what a ps4 even is, but hey, there’s a first for everything.
When you get up to leave, Ghost stops you all, raising a brow at you specifically. “Dont over exert yourself, I'm not dragging across the floor.”
“I’m not going to pass out-“
This time he bypasses you, staring at Soap and Gaz head on. “They almost dropped in our run, dont listen to their rubbish. If you think anything's wrong you take them to the emergency room straight away.” The pair nod, understanding the severity given your injury.
However, you dont.
“He treats me like im a damn kid..” You huff, shoving your hands into your pockets as you follow them to their room.
“It is his job.” Soap shrugs, but Gaz shakes his head at you. “He gets all grumpy at us when we get injured too. I remember when he refused to let me sleep on the ground when i was wounded out on the field. .”
“He doesnt do that for me..” You look at Soap, surprised by his words, having thought Ghost would be at least fair in his care for the sergeants.
“Does too. He purposefully eggs you on so you can get through the mission, everyone knows you can get a long way just by having someone be level with you.”
“Shut up. ‘S not true..”
He grumbles and you both snicker, knowing damn well what he can be like.
—
Playing videogames is something you never considered doing in your life, even when you read about it in the few books you had to accompany you when you were much younger. Even just sitting on a bed with two people who actually worried about you, made sure you were comfortable, and yet weren't afraid to threaten to beat you in a game you didn't even know how to fully work.
But the surprise of it all made it so much more fun. If it wasn’t for Ghost’s “Painkillers.” text, you’d probably stay until you fell asleep there. It would’ve been pretty late though, and your ear was starting to throb badly again.
The keycard buzzes quietly as you tap it against Ghost’s door, humming quietly in greeting before popping out two of the large painkillers. It was best to take one midday and one at night— just so you could at least sleep peacefully. He stays quiet whilst you start to wind down, eventually settling in bed beside him whilst you read an article on your phone. You were unsurprisingly a very quick learner, given that you were easily navigating google and the like.
“Why’re you reading that?” He questions, peering over your screen just to see you reading an article on.. organ systems.
“Huh? Oh, i wanted to know what happened when my ear got shot.”
“The nurse said it was just cartilage though— you'll be fine”
“Yeah but..”
You keep scrolling, practically ignoring him for a moment from how concentrated you are on the article. “It’s good to know the actions my body takes— yknow? I know alot about animal biology too, incase we ever run into a wild one. It’s good to know how to handle it.”
He never knew you liked biology, or that kind of science in general, but judging by how you’re stuck to the screen right now, maybe you really are. In fact, he didn't really know what else you liked apart from your job, and he wasn't even sure if you actually liked that or it was just ingrained into you. He’d be stupid to think that he fixed everything the second he started caring about you, or even when he gave you that movie night to actually live properly. There was so much left to be done— the way you had fallen quiet in the doctors office just because you were never asked for your opinion was proof enough.
“So, you studied biology to get an advantage in battle?” He suddenly says, making you nod in response, scrolling through.
“I usually read books. But it’s good to know what the effects of hitting certain places are. If i hit that hostile any higher on his leg— you’d have no one to interrogate.”
He knows that, but he learns that after countless training sessions and also learning the hard way. Not from intense study and research into it. “The sergeants could use your expertise. They couldn’t stop fawning over you.” He hums, finally putting his own phone down to settle on the bedside table and you pause, surprised that they werent disgusted. “Maybe you can teach us all a thing or two.”
“Yeah.. i’d be happy to.”
He starts to get comfortable, and you get up to click the light off, before shuffling beneath the sheets again. The article could wait for tomorrow now.
“It still hurts.” You huff out, staring up at the ceiling and he blinks, surprised you even admitted it. For once you decided to be honest with yourself, like Ghost was honest with you. The injury had hurt you, and you were in bad pain. And hell you were exhausted.
“The painkillers will take a while to kick in.” He says, but when he feels you shuffle up he understands.
“Night, Ghost.” You hum, your forehead thumping against his back to rest there , and your hand holding the pillow like that’ll stop you turning over in the middle of the night.”
“Yeah, night..” He mumbles, rolling over so your head lands on his chest a little. Maybe it was selfish, giving into your request. After all, he had finally had a rest without no nightmares either.
——————
next
Please support me on kofi!
a/n: sacrificed both my wrists for this chapter, your welcome for some much needed comfort
a/n: all relationships are platonic, military innacuracies, mentions of feeling watched, dogs?, self doubt ig, idk man
part one previous next
-----
Its four am when you wake, fingers curled around the stuffed animals hidden beneath the baby blue duvet, your eyes half open. You know you shouldn’t look, but you can’t help it, eyes glancing over and over at the little camera in the corner. They were smart enough not to make it visible in dark settings, so you could just be staring at nothing— but you know you’re not. You see it every time you walk into this room, every time you walk out, every time you consider curling up in a ball and every single time you think about relaxing your muscles. There might be more, they could be everywhere— anywhere.
Suddenly you run still, staring at the beady eyes of the comfort you’ve been holding close, the little eagle wings tucked behind. What if this was the purpose of it? For a while you genuinely believed that they really wanted to do a kind gesture for you. But now it seemed strange, the fake heartbeat inside, the way you reacted to the lavender in the shop. The warmth was so artificial, it reminded you sometimes of the hot water bottles they’d give to you after torture training, not caring for any more soothing than that. The scientists never cared for more than their experiment.
It’s been two days since the pub trip, but you’re too pissed off to think about any of that, ignoring the fact it’s almost 10pm and practically marching to Ghost’s quarters, knocking on the door firmly. There’s a low mutter behind the door, then you hear footsteps almost as heavy as your own, and he opens the door. “Oh, it’s just you. I swear if another private starts complaining about the routine I’m puttin’ them on–”
“You’re leaving.” You scowl, arms crossed firmly over your chest as you stand in the doorway. He had been walking back towards his desk when you said it, pausing for a split second before groaning and tucking the documents into a plastic wallet. “Which one of those bastards told you?”
“It was Price, he was moaning about not acting up while he’s gone.”
“Of course that’s the only thing that old codger cares about.” Ghost remarks, tucking the documents into the locked cabinet before walking back over to you again. “Look, it’s only for the rest of the week, and I've got something arranged for you while I'm gone.”
“You could’ve taken me with you.” He hates that you almost sound betrayed, or maybe he’s just guilty that he didn't beg long enough for you to come with him. After all, it’s been a while.
“Not an op, kid. Just gotta discuss some stuff with some important people. I’ll explain it later, alright? I’ve still got tomorrow with you.”
“Fine.” You huff at him, turning on your heel quickly so you don't have to explain the pang that attacks your heart– half hoping he’d deny Price’s stupid words.
———————-———————-
You didn't take breakfast with them today, nor did you do it the day after the pub trip either. It wasn’t uncommon for you to not eat with them— after all, you didn’t really want to be stuck to them like glue— but it was pretty obvious why you chose not to. Well, it was obvious to you. Every moment of sitting there you were like some stiff doll, just observing and never having thoughts or feelings of your own. It’s not like the aftermath was any better—finding out you had been hit on was a surprise, but you were more upset that you hadn't realised. No wonder you’ve never been placed in infiltration— you’d stick out like a sore thumb.
As you turn the corner, chest heaving quietly as you replace breakfast for a run, you see Ghost standing where you had begun. For a second you attempt to just keep going, but his firm tone snaps that momentary rebellion from you. “I know you saw me, come here.”
So you reluctantly pause your timer, jogging slowly over to where he stands before grabbing your water bottle from the bench. “I don't want to do the usual training today.” You state simply, which is good since he'd rather deal with this than someone who refused to communicate altogether. “Fine by me. Time to introduce you to that job I spoke about.” That makes you tilt your head, confused. A lot of consideration was put into whether a super soldier like you joined an operation or not, which usually meant you got an ample warning. And.. you haven’t been on a real stakes one in quite a while now. “It won't be an op, I'm assuming.”
“Just follow me.”
You follow him to the government issued car with the paper bag he tossed into your hands, full of breakfast pastries you’re pretty sure you’ve never tried before. They taste good though, sweet, and he doesn't even scold you when you pick up a second one, taking a bite while looking straight at him.
“I already ate mine. You can have it.” He rolls his eyes at you, nudging you with his elbow so you stop eyeing him suspiciously and just eat your damn food. When you’re done, folding up the bag to preserve the remaining pastries, he passes you a napkin, and a whole bottle of orange juice he had somehow fit down his.. Trouser pocket?
Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t give you a chance to question it before he stops short outside a small facility, and you freeze for a moment, staring at the building. You never saw the outside of the place you grew up in, partly because they didn't want to give you a chance to escape and be able to navigate the outside world. When you were allowed outside, all you saw was the grey stone, towering over your smaller form as you played with the other kids. Even then, you were all so relieved for the chance to relax that you barely looked twice at your surroundings.
“Reaper?” You snap out of it as Ghost’s palm settles on your shoulder, but you don't back down just yet. “Where are we going?” If this really is the place you think it is, you’d be damned if he thinks you won't bite his arm off right here, and you don't make empty promises.
“It’s a surprise.” He huffs, but you don't smile, nor even let your straight expression twitch, staring at him like how you usually look mid-battle. “.. Fine. It’s the K9 centre. You can hold my gun if you think otherwise.”
You watch as he yanks his keys out the ignition, climbing out the car, and so you follow, confusion written in the scrunch of your brows. “I want that gun.” So, you both walk down the small path, his gun locked in your holster, until he pushes the door open, revealing what looks to be a smaller version of the base. There’s more training areas out here too, probably where other rookies would train, but you skipped all of those basics. Eventually you reach your destination, a few twists, turns and small staircases later, the woman behind the door smiling as you both enter.
“Lieutenant Riley! And I'm guessing you’re the soldier he wrote to me about?” It’s been a long time since anyone’s referred to you by your actual name, rather than the code name of the experiment number, so it instantly catches you off guard.
“That’s me.” You mumble out, suddenly feeling a little shy and out of place. She's so nice compared to any sergeants or officers, so relaxed and bright. Her hand shakes yours firmly after she shakes Ghost’s, leading you two past the small reception area and towards what seems to be a regular gym– just without the equipment. “I’m really grateful for the offer, I was honestly expecting any rookie who was on punishment, but I'm grateful for anything. Give me a second, I'm just going to grab some leashes.”
She disappears into some sort of large closet, leaving you both alone in a room that smells oddly of fresh dirt. “If you couldn’t tell, for the rest of the week you’ll be working here with the K9’s. They had two more trainers, but both can't be back until next week as part of an op.”
“I’ve never even pet a dog before though.” Your eyes dart to him, almost worried, but he just chuckles, shaking his head. “The work is nothing crazy, just listen properly and you’ll be fine.”
————————-
He stays for the first hour, since he still has to get back soon, and watches as the trainer leads you around the main aspects of taking care of the dogs. After the small introduction, the trainer looks at you sheepishly. “I know it’s your first day and all.. But I really need some help washing one of our big German shepherds..”
That’s how you end up completely soaked, standing outside to dry off whilst the dogs play around— only when they’re not busy eating a treat for every correct hand signal they recognise, that is. The German Shepherd in question runs around the courtyard, shaking it’s wet fur and spraying you and Ghost with water.
“I take one phone call, and you end up like this?”
It’s weird seeing him with the sun shining on him, even more because he’s wearing a navy jacket today compared to the usual camo or all black. He takes a seat on the small bench, and you quietly pass the gun that you stole off of him before. “Thank you.” He hums, sliding it back into his pocket, safety clicking on and the weight confident in his hands. It was fully loaded when he gave it to you, and he knew that trust resonated in your head too.
“So, what is my life going to be like with you and Price gone?”
That makes him snicker beneath his mask, leaning back against the metal fence as he watches you move the brush through the fur of a dog that had approached, tail swishing happily. “Gaz will drive you here every morning and pick you up around four thirty–just let him know if you need anything. I’ve arranged for you to have a phone.. So you can call me if you need to. But only emergencies—any questions?”
He can already see the small quirk of your lips, and he knows you will probably text him just to annoy him, especially when Soap tells you what he does. He only ever watches his stupid vlogs when he brushes his teeth, mostly because he can't stand the silence. “How did you fit that orange juice in your pocket?”
“Any relevant questions?” He almost wants to facepalm now, he’s suddenly not surprised you didn't pick up on that man’s flirting now.
“What constitutes an emergency?”
“You know what an emergency is.”
“What if I don't do my workouts? I could just be lazy all day, and you wouldn't know.”
That makes him roll his eyes, knowing damn well you wouldn't miss a workout for the world. You loved it. “Firstly, I'd believe pigs flying before you are not working out. And secondly, you’ll have to pay the price, not me. So do whatever you want, just don't go hurting yourself.”
“I'm not gonna hurt myself.. On purpose anyway. Relax. You can go have your boring meeting, and I'll play with dogs all day.” For one, he sees a grin form on your lips, and instead of calling you out on your clearly cheeky behaviour, he just watches. You don't grin that often, and never like that.
————————-
That night, you find the phone on your bed, turning it on to see that you’ve already got the team added to your contacts. Soap and Gaz have somehow made a group chat already, one with all of you and then one with just you three. There’s one message from Ghost, his blank profile picture adorned with a little notification bubble. You click on it, blinking at the message below.
“If you’re gonna do something stupid, at least tell me so I can cover your ass. Or better yet, don't let anyone find out. You know how to cover tracks.”
The thought counts, you know, but you can't help but giggle at the seriousness. As if you of all people would intentionally step out of line like that?
“Alright, guess I'll have two Fantas tonight.” You type back, already smiling about how he’d react.
“Really? Have three, coward.” You hadn't expected the response to come back too fast, and for a moment you jump when it comes out of nowhere. Is it supposed to do that? Was he actually watching you through the cameras? So, you do the smartest thing possible and hide your phone in your top drawer before going to bed, pulling the covers high and over your head.
———————-
Even though you haven't eaten breakfast with them in a while, Gaz doesn't pay it too much mind, but does raise a brow when you pick up the breakfast pastries from Ghost’s car and start munching away at them. As promised, he drives you to the facility, dropping you off near the door. “Message me if you want anything, okay? I’ll drop off some lunch around twelve.”
You nod along, feeling awfully like a little kid going to school on their own. Though, you aren't really complaining about this comparison, considering you never went to any kind of public schooling. “If a dog bites me, do I still get rabies? Or is it different because they’re military dogs?” Gaz looks at you, at a loss for words and then slowly shrugs. “Wait, I don't know either. Just don't get bit, okay?”
“Alright. Don't get bitten by Soap.” He raises a brow at that too.
“ Wait— did he say he’s going to bite me? Did I do something wrong—“
But you’re gone, already walking through the front door and greeting the lady from yesterday, who is basically your new boss now. Gaz hadn’t acted any differently to when you had gone out, but still, you felt the weight of isolation hanging heavy in your heart. You already know everything that had gone wrong that evening, having nitpicked it in your mind every night since.
———
Working at the shelter isn't too difficult to get used to. It’s a typical situation even when you don't know too much. In fact, the first two days you do entirely the same routine: Feed the dogs breakfast, walk them, help the trainers make sure they know the typical hand signals– that includes encouraging the dogs to listen and sit still for longer amounts of time. Another option is brushing the dogs fur and cleaning them up if they get muddy, and then they get to play for the remainder of the afternoon. You eat lunch around 1:00 provided by Gaz in a paper bag and what seems to be a sausage roll and a scone, sitting on a small bench alone while you watch some other rookies get taught firm lessons by the commanding officer.
Most of the breeds are the same, Germans Shepherds and Belgian Malinois. In fact, you’ve learnt quite a lot about dogs this week. “How do you know how to train them?” You asked, puzzled at how differently each of the handlers would train their dogs. You had the privilege of meeting four of the handlers today, all of which were telling you anything and everything about their pups.
“Well, the first thing I did with this one was see what toys she liked best.” One man says, throwing a chew toy across the field, and the dog just stares in confusion, that is before he throws a long stick across the field which makes her dart across, running for it. You watch in awe, and nod along, to be fair, if Ghost gave you a strange command on the field you’d act similarly too.
“He’s right.” A girl says, working with someone else who has a foam sleeve on their arm. “After that it’s pretty easy to train them. Of course, it depends on what they’re being trained for as well.” As she gives the signal, the dog jumps forward and bites the foam covered arm, simulating a perfect attack.
“What can they be trained for?”
After that, it's a free for all. The boss said you didn't need to do anything past lunch, and could go back to base, but it didn't feel right just getting up and leaving. So you stayed.
First you cleaned out the room where the dogs slept, sweeping up any stray dirt they brought in and mopping the floors while the sun was still out. The next day, you organised the food packets, the snack ones, and the equipment drawer. Since being taught how to wash the dogs, you could now confidently do it by yourself, washing them with ease. You never felt exhausted or tired after it anyway—your energy would always be at an all-time high. Still it didn't feel enough, so you pushed yourself, trying to find fun ways to encourage the dogs without pressuring them to learn. You sat there from 2pm to 4, when Gaz would call you to get in the car, guiding each dog through an obstacle course similar to training you did yourself— making them sniff out the hostage instead, obviously.
Though, still, even as you made yourself exhausted by the evening, sleep still evaded you again. The cameras were watching, you knew they were. Sometimes you’ve even shaken awake at night, startled by the soft sound of beeping you swear you can hear, even the flicker of light that refuses to let you close your eyes.
————-
“Soap’s not busy today, was wondering if you wanted us to grab some takeaway.” Gaz asks, driving you back from your third day working at the shelter now. Unfortunately, there was no way they’d ever let him or Soap take you further than this, especially since you were technically a threat to society without your handler. Even being alone with them like this was dangerous in its own right– you knew that as well.
“I can just eat mess food, it doesn't bother me.” The sky remains bright as the days grow longer–he can see clearly that the change in weather has put you at ease as it does for most people. It’s refreshing to be able to have the sun shine down like this, and for the air to not chill your skin to the bone.
“You sure?” This time his eyes flicker over to you with a hint of worry in them– Soap has pointed out before that you seemed to appreciate being able to see emotions being painted on a person’s face. Again, as did many people– he doesn't even understand why there seems to be this normalcy in treating you like an experiment, something to watch carefully and tiptoe around. Then again.. He did have to go investigate the broken sink in the bathroom you left, so maybe he’s being too trusting, too naive about this all.
Still, he can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of pity when you just nod quietly like that, like some sort of caged animal, muzzled and locked away from the world. The worst part is, Ghost would’ve scoffed at that notion a few months ago, but the truth is he looks at you with the exact same eyes as he does. They all do– apart from Price.
—----------------------------
Soap lets his tray clatter against the table as he groans, elbowing you slightly with an obvious frown on his face. He has to force himself not to reach when you pull away, instantly looking at him puzzled– not scared, just averting yourself from the touch.
“I was prayin’ you’d say yes– do ye know how badly I want to devour a doner kebab right now?” Gaz laughs at Soap’s complaints and watches as you realise he’s not actually annoyed, starting to smile as well.
“I was saving our stomachs for something better.” You insist, which makes both of the sergeants lock eyes before staring back at you again, confused. Gaz had recognised your current, and earlier behaviour as not wanting to interact with them further, at least until you get your feelings sorted out. But now it seemed you were intending to do something of your own. “Price is out, and Ghost.. Can't we have a movie night in the common room?”
Soap immediately grins, grabbing you by the shoulders excitedly before nodding along. “Hell yeah we can! And we’re doing this again tomorrow so I can have my kebab. Yer gonna eat some too; just don't tell the other two.” Gaz watches, aware that you might not be up for two days straight of this, but surprisingly you grin back just as wide to him, your hand hesitantly grabbing his arm in return as you nod along. “If they come back early we’ll just make a run for it. Maybe we can gaslight them.” You giggle along with Soap, who nods, continuing to conjure a plan with you.
After you go back to your room to grab your duvets and change into your pajamas, Gaz walks with Soap to his, only speaking once the door is shut behind them.
“Ye were right, they’re acting strange.” Soap sighs, feeling slightly guilty for forcing physical contact with you, but it was slightly strange how you’d pull back nearly every time– first noticing it a few weeks ago when he had patted your shoulder. “But I don't get it. Why did they grab my arm and act all excited?”
“They probably wanted to match your energy. Should we ask Ghost about the movie night?”
“Skippin past Cap’ already?” Soap pauses his rummaging to look back, his hand reaching for some plaid pajama pants and a matching t-shirt– his ma gifted him a new set every Christmas. “I thought you were the one insisting we shouldn't bypass his decisions.”
“Yeah well, isn't it strange how Reaper started acting like this after he yelled at them? That time when he got angry at them overexerting themself. We don't even know what he said.” Gaz sighs, stealing a shirt from the drawer too, earning him an elbow to the side and a scowl. He rolls his eyes and carries on, changing into it. “He’s been approaching this whole situation strangely–like he knows something we don't.”
“I’d say it’s not our place to judge, but did ye see Ghost after he read the files? You’d think that was his own child the way he treated ‘em.” Soap shrugs off his sweaty camos, tossing it onto the bed to deal with later. He needs a shower, desperately. “Ask Ghost about the movie night, nothin’ else. We’ll see how it plays out.”
Gaz nods, watching Soap disappear into the shower as he sits on the bed, preparing a text to send to Ghost. He was just hoping he wouldn’t deny the request, else they’d have to break their promise to you– plus they’d never get anywhere with trying to figure out what was actually happening.
—--------------
“What the–” Your eyes widen as you stare at the arrangement of the common room whilst you had been cleaning up yourself– getting the stink of dog food out your hands proved to be more difficult than you thought. It had only been two hours since dinner, and somehow they had managed to steal another couch from a neighbouring room then cover it in pillows and their own blankets. What surprised you even more is the snacks they had out, biscuits, popcorn, chocolate bags and three Fanta cans sat there waiting. “How did you even..”
“Lt sent a little gift.” Soap grins, hands on his hips as he admires his own work at setting up the place to look like this. He knew you were likely just expecting them to sit together and watch a movie, but he felt like he had to go above and beyond for you all the time. Besides, he wasn’t lying, all Gaz got in response to his text was an Uber Eats delivery code, in which he had to go and collect it from the front, surprised by the bags of stuff.
“He sent all of this?” You say in surprise, picking up the delivery note and reading it.‘Don’t finish it all in one day unless you want to feel sick and have nothing for tomorrow. Save the gummy bears for me.’
Gaz nods, “Yup, all of it. Either this is bribery or he’s actually being nice to us for once.”
“What do I have to do to make Lt spoil me like this?” Soap grumbles, and tugs your sleeve to sit down on the couch, him and Gaz sharing the other one. “I had to beg ‘im just to let me use his sleeping bag when mine got lost in an explosion!.”
You settle beneath the duvets you dragged over, tucking them high to your neck and leaning against a pillow propped against the arm rest. “He mentioned that after your last mission together. Said he was glad I wasn't a ‘bloody furnace like Johnny is’ else he’d kick me onto the floor.”
His jaw drops immediately at the accusation, which makes you grin even harder when Gaz has to pull him back from calling the Lieutenant up right now. “That bastard! He’s the one who kicked me in the middle of the night!”
The night goes smoothly, Gaz dropping his observant gaze to enjoy the atmosphere between the three of you, though he was slightly tense when Soap moved to sit next to you in favour of sharing the bag of sweet popcorn with you– Gaz personally preferred salty. You didn't blink twice though, sitting beside him with legs propped up as the recliner let you both lay down comfortably. There was soon no need for the other couch at all, your head resting on a pillow as you curled up against the edge with Soap in the middle and Gaz on his other side. You looked perfectly content like this, happy to just be able to sit with them and watch a movie, eating snacks you would never be allowed to.
Ghost is surprised to hear his phone ding this late in the evening– he knows he should probably finish this paperwork, but checking one message shouldn’t hurt. He opens his chat with Johnny, to see a video of you fast asleep, lips parted as you quietly breathe and eyes closed firmly shut. Your hands gently grip the edge of the pillow, chest rising and falling as your body relaxes too, completely lost to dreamland it seems. And of course, there’s the faint marks of chocolate around your mouth– this will have to be a secret they all hide from Price.
———————————--------------------------
Friday is the last day you’re working here, and one of your most independent days yet. Your boss is out teaching rookies in an interactive workshop in a base down south, so you’re in charge of the dogs in between the training sessions. They’ve taken a liking to you now, especially since you’ve let them approach you rather than rushing to get them to like you. One particular one follows you wherever you go, nudging its nose against your legs until you give it an affectionate pat, and only then does it let you clean out the food bowls once more. It’s also a much warmer day than usual, so you’ve been given permission to put the sprinklers on for the dogs, which they find great interest in, running and jumping through each one.
You had watched the handlers with their dogs nearly all week, training hard and teaching them how to sniff out all kinds of things. From what you learnt, this specific centre works with narcotic searching dogs… which explains why they always sniff you funny. Though, as soon as the handlers tell them to knock it off they do, instead just following you curiously. Technically you’re an anomaly to them and they want to know why.
You pack away the last bag of dog food and blow the whistle you were given, the dogs immediately bounding in after food. They eat hungrily, even though they had a healthy breakfast too, but you can't blame them for wanting to eat more— just like you promised Ghost never to blame yourself. They finish rather quickly, now just licking their lips whilst the last few finish up.
However, the dogs get momentarily startled when heavy boots echo down the hallway, making you snap your head up in confusion. No one was supposed to be coming by, or any other training session until after the dogs settled their stomachs. So who was it? Nervous, you pull up the mask you use when cleaning the kennels, afraid that if they see your face and recognise you for what you truly are, they’ll freak out. That’s too much of a regular occurrence for you now.
Slowly you walk out the door, the same dog following you before it immediately barks and jumps the visitor, its paws reaching to his waist. “Woah, easy girl, at least let me walk in.” Ghost laughs as the dog he’s worked with many times before, despite not being its handler, immediately recognises him. It persists though, and he eventually lifts it up, carrying it in his arms as he walks over to you.
“That dog was following me around.” You murmur, and the edges of his mask crinkle, likely from a smile.
“She’s a cheeky one. Always used to try nipping my fingers.” He hums before letting her down again, where she circles around you instead, poking her head between your legs. She’s panting her tongue at him, wanting to play so he sighs, grabbing a leash off the wall and leading her outside. “Come on, bet the others want to exercise too.”
——-
The sun beats down, your back against a tree trunk and another dog laying in your lap as it seeks a reprieve from the heat. Another comes to lay near, sniffing your hands first before settling on the other side of the tree. Ghost sits on a small bench, leaning back as he watches the dogs play freely, the one who had been attached to him bringing him a toy occasionally to throw across the field. Behind this tree is total privacy, so his mask has come off, as has yours.
“I got a report from your boss. She’s really happy with all the work you’ve done this week.” The words are slow, a start to the conversation before he goes into something else, turning his head towards you. “Gaz and Soap told me about the movie night you had. Can’t believe you waited until I left.” He huffs, albeit not seriously annoyed anyway, but still.
To his surprise, you rummage through your pocket, tossing him the packet of gummy bears he told you to save. “They’d finish it if I left it at base, so I had to bring it with me.” Your expression is sheepish as if knowing what he’ll bring up next, and he doesn’t waste the opportunity given.
“So you do have self-control, hm? I heard you fell asleep though, twice.” He glances over to you again, watching as your shoulders tense just a little, then ease up as you begin to brush the dog.
“I have an early bedtime you know that.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t that was it?” He didn't want to call you out on it, but it was his responsibility to look after you, capable or not. “You lied like before.” When you fall quiet he knows he’s right, sighing quietly as his hand quietly runs over the worn wood of the bench. “What were you hiding from this time that you made an excuse for them to be beside you?”
There’s a few beats of silence before you eventually sigh again, your hand gently scratching at the ears of the dog, the thick fur encasing your hands. “There are cameras in my room. I assume Price planted them.”
You watch from the corner of your eye as his face visibly twists, brows furrowing and a frown settling in deep. “Are you–” He wants to ask if you’re serious, but hell you wouldn't joke about something like this, let alone anything. “When did you first notice it?” Suddenly his tone is firmer, and it reminds you of how you were treated not too long ago, demanding answers to your actions.
“When he let me go back to my room.” Now you’re starting to second guess yourself, wondering if those really are cameras. They had to be right? “I was just looking around for the sake of it, but I noticed one on the wardrobe and another beneath the dresser top.”
He lets out a long breath, clearly annoyed by the audacity of Price to put cameras in your room like you’re a damn prisoner to be watched. It’s bad enough to make him clench his fists, just barely restraining his anger. “Alright, okay. I’ll talk to him about it—” You immediately snap your head to him, wanting to protest, but he shakes his head. “If he wasn't the one to plant it, we’ve got a bigger problem on our hands. I have to confirm that.”
That makes sense to you, and he is right, thankfully you’ve been careful and aware of it the whole time to not accidentally do something in front of it. He watches you quietly now, the dog nuzzling closer to your stomach and your arms wrapping a little more around it.
“Here.” Out of his wallet, he was offering you the spare keycard to his room, guilt written in his eyes. You’ve worked so hard recently just for someone to stupidly make you uncomfortable like that— besides, you should have the key to his room anyway.
The cold metal rests in your palm now as you look at it, aware of the trust he’s put into you, and that he seriously does care about you now. “Use it whenever you want, obviously don’t tell the other two, they’ll get jealous.” He huffs out, crossing his arms far over his chest as you nod quietly. “Thanks Ghost.”
But there’s still something that plays on his mind, something that he can’t push away, and yet he’s still almost afraid to ask.
He sits himself onto the grass beside you, his arms resting on his knees as he quietly glances at you. With a soft hand, he moves to rub the dog's ears as well, before he gently picks up your hand and lays it on the belly. The dog immediately lifts its leg, so you hesitantly drag your nails back and forth its tummy, making the tail wag excitedly.
“Why did you take the gun that day?” His wallet rustles against his trouser pocket as he slides it back in, trying to act casual, but he knows he can't be anymore.
“I didn't know where you were taking me.”
“Where did you think I'd take you to?”
“The scientists.” You mumble, keeping your eyes fixed on the dog, watching as your hands glide through the soft fur, each strand parting as it moves through. The dog loves it, nudging its snout into your stomach as your other hand carefully rubs its ears. It’s not nearly as rough as the matted orange fur you remember, nor is its eyes greedy for affection, plenty satiated from its current owners. Nor does it even beg for food, content and comfortable in himself.
“I wouldn’t-”
“I knew if you had to, you'd tell me beforehand.” You say quickly, sighing as you realise you’re struggling to convey yourself again. “And that’s fine- but I thought maybe you’d think nothing of it and take me and–”
“Sorry. I should’ve known to be straight with you about it.” He sighs, knowing he had caused more trouble trying to keep it a surprise more than anything. “I don't want to take you back there, but I'm glad you understand that there might be a situation in which I have to. I could read all your files and yet that serum you take is beyond me— as much as I hate it, they’re the only ones who can fix you if something goes bad.”
You understand, of course you do, you would never escape the place that moulded you together like some stupid Frankenstein’s project. “Would you come with me?” He’s surprised by the question, but nods firmly, his crooked lip quirking up just slightly. “Yeah, always. I’ll be right next to you.”
Both of you know that with the uncertainty of the military that could never be a promise. Maybe he’d get injured and would be in hospital while you get sent back, or you have a complete shutdown which causes him to not be allowed to be anywhere near you. Either way, he’d try his best to be there beside you, and you know that well.
“You know you had chocolate all over your face when you fell asleep.”
“What? That’s not true, they didn't tell me that.”
He pulls out his phone and shows you the video Soap took, your face twisting in horror. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”
—--------------------
“Oh, thank lord you haven’t left yet!” You’re just about to grab your coat when your boss walks through the door, relieved to have caught you before you went. She rushes forward, stopping you from even taking your temporary lanyard off. “You’ve helped out so much, I don't even know what to say— you’ve seriously made a big difference here.” She insists, her hands holding yours gently and giving them a tight squeeze.
“I- i didn’t do that much..”
“Are you kidding? Of course, you have. It was really fun chatting with you as well, you know you ask really good questions.”
That catches you off guard, looking at her with genuine surprise written on your face. Even when you did ask a question, you were worried it was stupid, or out of touch— especially when you’d double-check before you did anything that seemed a little serious. But to her, it was different— the questions showed you cared, she didn't mind in the slightest if it was something plenty of workers that came here knew, you were curious, and she was happy to answer. Ghost’s hand reaches up to gently pat your shoulder, nodding along to her words.
“I had a lot of fun.” You say gratefully, squeezing her hands back gently before she eventually drops it. “Thank you for having me.”
“I think the dogs will be thanking me for having you too.” She chuckles before reaching behind you to grab a leash. “If you want..you can look after one for the evening too. Of course, it’s up to your Lieutenant, since he has the licence.”
Ghost fakes a groan, though clearly he doesn't mind too much so you nod, a little shy and soon enough that pup from before is sitting in the passenger seat as you ride back, watching Ghost intently with its beady eyes. “It’s like having two of you now, bloody hell.” He complains, and you snicker, knowing that you and the pup will cause a ruckus for him tonight.
Thankfully for him though, you wear out easily after the dog even happily joins you on your run around the track and so, the pair of you are flat out on the couch even as Soap tries to entice you. You all had collectively decided to have one last movie night before Price returned as well, giving Soap the opportunity to finally get the kebab he wanted– the one he’s trying to tease you with right now. But even with his and Gaz’s attempts to see your face covered in chocolate again, you fall asleep almost immediately, snoring in tune with the dog. Ghost is just grateful you won't have to return to your room another day.
--------------------
buy me a kofi!
previous next Series Masterlist
A/n: trust u guys r gonna love the next one sm i would write more but its 11pm and i have a doctor appointment tmr (nothin crazy just smth smal) and i am sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepy, wish i had a dog to cuddle rn my cat is a hateerrrr
errrr is there anything else i need to say, icl i just writ e these author notes cus theyre fun, ok i yawned big time to sleep
MalinoisHybrid!Simon x reader
Chapter 5 - (Chapter 7)
You just managed the doctors appointment with Simon and already you're rushed into a meeting. Will they allow Simon to leave the solitary room or do you have to learn to work with him in that room?
~8,6k Words
Content (might contain spoilers): hybrid AU, mentions of past attacks, attack, biting, blood, reader being physically pinned to the ground, pants being torn, fluff and angst
A.N: *old woman voice* It's been 84 years. I'm truly sorry. I'd also promise that it won't happen again but I'm not a liar and we have to stay humble here. It will probably happen again. All the more thanks to you all who have been incredibly patient and encouraging. Your comments and asks give me life and I love you all. Have fun. Also I cried while writing. I might be a crybaby but part of this chapter was incredibly emotional to write. I'm still shit at spelling (also my program didn't check it for me this time so I'm sorry if it's extra sucky).
You walk to the meeting ready for battle. There had been barely enough time to make yourself feel slightly more presentable after the morning you’ve had and you’re hurrying to keep pace with Nate’s quick strides. Apparently handler management had cleared a small time slot to talk to you immediately. Which meant no time to catch your breath.
„It’s called handler management but it’s actually more about handling the hybrids through the handlers. They’re the one’s who get your weekly report.“ Nate informs you while he confidently leads you down a flurry of identical hallways, different identical hallways than earlier.
Great, so handler management are the one’s evaluating whether you’re doing your work well enough, that doesn’t put any pressure on you at all. There hadn’t even been enough time to prepare for the meeting. Though in truth you don’t even know what you would have had to prepare if you had the time. You’re going in more or less blindly and it makes your whole body feel clammy.
Nate claimed the meeting is to talk about Simon’s rooming situation but you can’t help but feel like you’ll get chewed out for this morning. Maybe you’d get away with a slap on the wrist for not letting the female doctor examine Simon. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too mad about it. You’re new, you don’t know how lenient they are and how much authority the handlers hold here.
Before you can spiral further in your thoughts, Nate stops in front of an unassuming white door and knocks.
„Come in.“, a tight male voice calls and Nate opens the door for you letting you in and entering after you, closing the door once you’re both inside. It seems like he’s going to stay for the meeting too and although surprising his presence might help you to keep at least somewhat calm.
There’s a rectangular desk in the middle of the pretty small room that takes up most of the space. On the far end there’s a closed file cabinet and across from you two people sit at the desk, standing up to extend their hands to you.
You step forward, unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth and shake their hands with a smile you managed to plaster onto your face.
„Oscar Bell.“, the elder gentleman introduces and when you glance at his eyes for a moment the intensity of the pale blue almost makes you flinch.
The hand of the younger woman is soft and warm but still firm in it’s hold. „Dr. Halloway. It’s a pleasure to meet you.“
You introduce yourself too, although it seems weird to do since they evidently know who you are. They invited you to the meeting after all. But an introduction seems like the correct thing to do so you push through the slight awkwardness of it.
Another Secretary walks in through a door on the left, carrying a tray with coffee and water, just as they invite Nate and you to sit down at the table. While everyone gets their preferred drink Dr. Halloway informs you that she’s going to protocol the meeting. You get your drink last and try hard not to spill it when you put it down before yourself on the desk.
Mister Bell leans back in his chair, relaxed, folding his hands over his slightly round belly. He’s smartly dressed and it makes you feel like a peasant next to someone important. „So. As we heard you caused quite the disturbance at the doctors this morning.“
Hot embarrassment floods you, shooting down until it fills your entire body and you consciously keep yourself from sinking into yourself trying to disappear. Clearing your throat you put your hands on your thighs to keep them still. „I did not mean to interrupt the doctors day.“
As lays back as Mr. Bell seems at the moment, his tone is sharp as he says: „And yet you did. Would you be so kind as to enlighten us why you asked for another doctor?“
You swallow heavily. You hate this. His eyes searching you intensely, almost looking through you, like the question he just asked is a test. It feels like there’s some deeper question but you don’t know what exactly it is. It makes you feel small and incapable. You hate feeling like there’s some hidden agenda, some sort of meaning you don’t understand.
„I asked for that to ensure the safety of my charge and everyone involved.“ You simply say. „Simon did not need to be sedated again, which was preferable considering the highly negative reactions he has to it.“
The elder gentleman inclines his head a bit, studying you and you try your hardest not to fill the few seconds of silence with unnecessary chatter to explain yourself better. Suddenly he sits up a bit straighter, leaning forward and sipping his coffee.
„Very well.“ The intensity lessens just like that. „As I heard it worked. He got examined without any bigger issues.“
You nod, because there isn’t really anything for you to add. Are you supposed to add something?
„I also heard that he attacked you yesterday.“ He continues and you look down at your bandaged arm, putting your other hand over the white wrapping and giving Nate a quick glance. In stark contrast to the way you feel like you’ll wither and die under the pressure of this meeting, Nate is sitting in his chair like this couldn’t be more relaxing. One leg crossed over the other, giving you a quick smile. That simple expression soothes you slightly. He wouldn’t look at you like that if you’d done or said anything wrong so far.
Once again you nod and Mr. Bell folds his hands again, this time on the table and suddenly he seems all the more intense his blue eyes piercing into you. „What happened? Why did he attack?“
You feel like you might be missing something again but you still don’t know what it might be. You straighten your shoulders slightly, absent mindedly stroking the bandages with your thumb. „I was happy to see him again and approached him in a way that made him feel threatened. It was a series of unfortunate events and not malicious on his part.“
Mr. Bell hums and Dr. Halloway types away on her laptop. The clacking of the keys grating your nerves and you feel like taping your ears shut. The way Mr. Bell doesn’t look away from you is slightly unnerving and you try to keep eye contact in a natural way even when it makes you want to scratch at your brain from the inside to stop the itchy feeling.
„So you’d say he’s not dangerous?“ He asks.
It’s a trap, is all you can think. It’s definitely a trap. You might not have understood any hidden questions so far but you can easily tell what answer acquires which outcome. If you say he’s not dangerous they’ll have it in the protocol and if anything happens they’ll point their fingers at you. But if you say that Simon is dangerous he’ll stay locked up in solitary.
You don’t want that. Simon needs to get out of that room because even if he stays in there for weeks or months you won’t be able to help him. You’re a handler, not a therapist and in order to help him you need to handle him, outside of that room.
You consider the question probably longer than you should. „He’s a malinois hybrid. Even if there were no prior incidents I wouldn’t call him harmless. No hybrid is.“
That has Mr. Bell grinning sharply and it unnerves you but before you can question what you said wrong, it gentles into something almost satisfied. Subtly you rub the palms of your hands over your thighs again, digging your fingers in slightly. Hopefully this meeting will be over soon.
„So if he isn’t harmless and not malicious either, what do you propose we do? Initially we wanted to keep him in solitary but the development since your arrival yesterday is interesting and we wanted your insight before we decide.“
This is it. The reason why you’re here after all. You take a deep breath. „I don’t think keeping him in solitary will help him, Sir.“
He nods slowly, considering. „We cannot afford moving him to the general housing wing and having him attack someone again. There’s only so much aggression and hostility we can excuse because it is founded in trauma.“
You nod, unsure what else to do. That’s not entirely true. You know what to do but you’re pretty sure it’s not the smart thing to do. It’s definitely a really stupid thing to do. But you never claimed to be particularly smart.
„What if I took responsibility?,“ you carefully ask. Putting yourself on the line like that is probably foolish but everything in you screams to get Simon out of solitary.
Mr. Bell inclines his head in interest. „What exactly do you mean? Are we talking about an extended handler agreement?“
Your pants are slightly rough under your hands, it helps to ground you just a little bit as you nod slightly. „His doing will be my doing.“
His eyes widen slightly and he leans back, stunned into silence for a moment, contemplating what you just said. You bite your tongue so you don’t back paddle. What are you doing? Can you even shoulder that type of responsibility? What if you’re completely wrong about Simon and he looses it. Anything he does will be judged as if you both did it.
„Are you sure you want that type of responsibility for him? We understand if it’s not possible or too risky and he needs to stay in solitary.“ Mr. Bell looks at you and for the first time it feels like he isn’t trying to dissect you but actually trying to look out for you.
You think about Simon. The way he covered you with the blankets. The way he silently watches you like he expects you to turn against him at any moment. All the small and big moments you’ve already had with him even though you’ve barely spent time together.
„I am sure.“, You say calmly and pray he can’t hear the deafening sound of your racing heart. Any moment now it’ll tear your chest open with how hard it’s hammering against your ribs, you’re sure of it.
He keeps watching you and then slowly nods. Quicker than you expected he calls for the other secretary asking her to prepare an extended handler agreement for Simon and then his attention is back on you.
„Now that that is settled I have two conditions for Simon to be allowed to leave solitary.“ His serious expression has you sitting up even more.
„Sir?“ You ask unsure what he could want now that you’ve already agreed to take responsibility. Calmly he leans back again, and rests his hands on his belly again.
„Firstly he has to start attending his therapy sessions with Doctor Halloway.“
You’re more surprised by that information than you should be. Of course they’re offering Simon psychological support. And it also shouldn’t surprise you that he hasn’t attended yet. You swallow dryly. You need him out of that room but…
„I can try, Sir. But I won’t force him. All the therapy in the world won’t help him if he doesn’t attend willingly.“ You keep your voice measured, factual and see Dr. Halloway nod. For the first time she participates in the conversation.
„I agree. That is why we’re hoping you can convince him.“
That makes you raise an eyebrow. „If I fail to do that he’ll be sent back to solitary?“
She shakes her head but it just confuses you more. „The condition is that you try to convince him. Like you said, you shouldn’t force him. We’re merely hoping for you to make an effort and for that effort to make the difference he needs to come to his appointments.“
You settle slightly. That makes sense and also lessens the weight on your shoulders slightly. You look back to Mr Bell and he nods in agreement.
„What other conditions do you have?“
He takes over talking again. „He has to wear his collar at all times and he’s not allowed outside of his room without being leashed and muzzled. We have to try to prevent anymore unwanted incidents. Before allowing him to go without muzzle or leash we’d like you to consult us.“
You slightly incline your head. It makes you wary but you understand their reasoning. „I understand.“ You hesitate for a second. „What if it is for training purposes with no one around?“
„Then it’s up to your judgement as long as it isn’t in the building complex or the training grounds outside. It is impossible to ensure that you’re not disturbed there.“
Agreeing to that comes easy, easier than any other part of this conversation has so far and you hope that the worst part is over. The door to the left opens again and the secretary comes back with a stack of papers, handing it to Mr. Bell who looks it over and then slides it across the desk to you. It’s the extended agreement.
„If you agree to these conditions and sign these, then it’s up to you how and when Simon moves.“
You carefully take up the stack, hoping you won’t stain the paper with your sweat. Quickly you scan the papers and before you can think better of it you put your signature on it. For a second you think of Liz. You can vividly see her clicking her tongue, admonishing you at how rashly you’re acting.
He takes it back and nods at you. „It was a pleasure meeting you and I wish you success with Simon.“
Without any additional small talk Mr. Bell stands up and Dr. Halloway closes the laptop. He extends his hand towards you and you shake it, relieved that the meeting concluded without any unnecessary pleasantries.
Seconds later you’re back on the way to Simon’s current room. Thoughts spinning, replaying the entire meeting again and again wondering what you might have said wrong, what gesture you should have added and how you could have navigated it better. Did you do alright or had you messed up somewhere without noticing?
Nate’s hand on your shoulder nearly makes you jump and you smile up at him. „How bad was that?“ You can’t help but ask and against everything you expected Nate laughs warmly.
„You did incredible. They were both impressed.“ His words reassure you more than you expected. Now that you’re walking away from the meeting room exhaustion slams into you and you wish you could just lay down for a bit. Just until you feel like you can resemble a normal functioning human again.
That’s when you realize that Nate isn’t actually taking you back to Simon’s room. „Where are we going?“
Nate glaces at you. „To the cafeteria. It’s time for lunch and this way you can take the food with you and don’t have to come back a second time.“
You nod slowly. Feeling the tension return to your limbs immediately almost annoys you. Until you hear the overlapping voices of people chatting and any annoyance is replaced by nerves. Around the next corner you almost stop walking but Nate’s self assured steps force you to keep going.
The cafeteria is big. And packed full. Bigger than the center in the US you work at. Granted Rehybrid is highly specialized but you’d have preferred that type of center here too. It would have meant less people and less hybrids. Less potential threats.
Nate queues up for the food and mechanically you step up next to him, looking around. Somehow you were not prepared for the variety of hybrids you’re seeing here. Sure there’s dog hybrids, but there’s also cat hybrids, further back you’re pretty sure you see the colorful head feathers of a scarlet macaw and there’s so many other animalistic feature’s present on different people, you don’t even have the time to assess what types of hybrids there are. The organized chaos has you a bit breathless and you’re trying to adjust to all the new impressions.
Weirdly enough the fact that there’s so many types of hybrids besides dog hybrids helps you to calm down. Your brain evidently not registering them as a threat. Many of them sit in groups without any human present and the sight of that seems jarring for a moment. Back at Rehybrid every Hybrid had a handler who they spent most of their time with. Eating with them and spending time aside from training with them helped immensely with the type of cases you got. But these hybrids weren’t military. Hell many of them weren’t even working type hybrids but companions.
It just highlighted the difference all the more and suddenly you’re nervous. Simon and you would stick out like a sore thumb. The last thing you wanted was being ogled all the time and you’re pretty sure Simon wouldn’t enjoy that either. A wave of relief crashed over you when you finally get the food for you both, leaving the loud space to eat with him in the privacy of his room.
Nate leads you back to it so you don’t get lost but he doesn’t join you. His smile is almost bashful when he says: „Sorry, I have other commitments for lunch. But if anything happens you’ve got my number.“
And then he’s gone. You stand in front of the door for a moment. Balancing both your trays you awkwardly rub your hip up against the key card scanner hoping you can open the door with the access card in your pocket without having to set the trays down on the floor.
It feels like minutes of trying and looking like a fool but the door finally unlocks and you open the handle with your elbow shuffling inside backwards. For a second you think you hear a growl and a huff of breath at your neck but when you turn around, Simon is at the other end of the room watching you warily.
„Hi.“ You awkwardly say but somehow that makes him relax. Holding up the two trays you walk over to him. „I brought lunch."
He’s watching you again, with that unnerving intensity of his and you look around the room. The table and chair are bolted into place and the thought of one of you eating there while the other has to sit on the bed seems wrong so you cross over to where Simon is, carefully stepping over the collar and leash he left where he let them fall to the ground. You’d concern yourself with that later.
You’d deliberately left them before the meeting to see if he’d put them away. The fact that he hadn’t even touched them again makes you worry a bit about the second half on the conditions you had been given. Maybe he won’t agree to wear them at all.
Once you reach him you unceremoniously plop to the floor and set down the trays. „Will you join me?“
He stares at you like you’re a puzzle he has to solve but he slowly lowers himself to the floor as well. The food is surprisingly good for canteen food and you find yourself actually enjoying eating. You don’t fix your gaze on Simon but you notice that he suspiciously sniffs the food and carefully takes a small bite, testing the taste. When the food is judged as safe he digs in, eating with such speed you’re a little worried he’ll choke.
He keeps his eyes on you while he eats too only glancing down for a few seconds when he takes the next bite. You try to ignore it. Once he’s finished he keeps watching you until you’re done as well. Unmoving, his ears swiveling, nostrils flaring every now and then.
Slowly you put your fork down and look up, meeting his eyes. You consider easing into the topic of the meeting but you don’t even know how, so you just jump in. Openly communicating with him has worked well enough so far. „They agreed to let us move to our joined rooms.“
He doesn’t move, just a flicker of his ears as he listens, eyes searching your expression before you get to hear his rough voice again. It makes you realize how long he hasn’t spoken. „What’s the catch?“
You sigh deeply but don’t break eye. „You need to start wearing you collar permanently and you’re not allowed to leave the rooms without leash and muzzle.“
Immediately his ears press flat to bis head and his tail bristles. This time you’re prepared for it and you try to breathe through the quickening of your heartbeat.
„No.“ He growls and you cock your head studying him.
„Was this morning that bad?“ The question is delivered softly, making sure not to provoke him.
„Yes.“ His answer is immediate and it has you deflating, looking down but he’s not done. „No… Maybe.“
You glance back up, waiting until you realize that nothing more is coming from him. He’s studying you again, tense, silent and a little unreadable aside from the aggression the mention of those devices always earns.
„I won’t make you do it.“ He scoffs at that like it’s a bad joke. You press on. „If you truly can’t and won’t do it then I’ll find a way for us to work here but…“ You trail off for a second turning your head to look at the collar, leash and muzzle laying on the floor. „I’d really like to take you from this room. I’m taking responsibility and the possibility of you getting triggered and attacking someone is definitely there, so you can’t go muzzle free yet. I’d really like to show you that it doesn’t have to be bad though.“
„What if it is.“ It’s rough. All of him is and the way his voice reflects that is strangely fitting. You don’t say anything hoping it will make him continue. For the first time since you came back his eyes have left you, staring at the collar like it will come alive and choke him, eyes burning into the muzzle like it will cover his face and leave him unable to breathe. „What if I have to hate you for it.“
That makes your throat tighten and reminds you of another conversation you wanted to have with him but you don’t react until his eyes focus again and snap back to you. It’s quiet for a long time because you’re not sure how to answer to what he said. Words can’t convince him of something he has to experience to learn. You’re not even sure he was speaking to you with what he said anyway.
„Simon?“
„Yes?“
It’s surprising that his unwavering attention doesn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. You clear your throat. „I’d like to address something else.“
He stiffens again and you wish you could soothe him. Put a hand on his shoulder or back, maybe pet his head but you know he wouldn’t appreciate that so you can’t do anything except keep your body language open and friendly.
„You’re a malinois hybrid.“ You begin and he cocks his head. „Meaning you generally thrive on rules and clear boundaries.“
His eyes narrow slightly.
„In order to have you comfortable and safe I’d like to start establishing rules with you.“ The confidence in your voice surprises yourself but you pause letting your words sink in and watching him body language grow hostile yet again. After the silence stretches enough to get uncomfortable you softly speak again. You need a reaction, anything else aside from his angry ears and tail or you’ll stress yourself out. „Simon?“
His ears twitch. „I hate rules.“ The words are almost spit out.
Curiosity fills you at the fact that a military hybrid, a malinois at that, claims to hate rules. It makes you want to dig and probe until he tells you. Everything in you screams to ask him why but something tells you it’s not the right move. Asking about it won’t help your success in this conversation, so instead you gently say: „Do you hate rules? Or do you hate the rules you’ve been given before?“
He stills, his ears suddenly alert on his head, resembling a statue. It makes you press on, desperate to get through to him. „I need you to understand that the rules I’ll give you are meant to help and protect you. I’m not going to force any of them onto you. They’re not meant to cause harm but rather to ensure that we work well together and you feel safe.“
He blinks slowly, entirely unconvinced, his aversion to the idea written in every line of his body.
„May I give you an example?“
His ears swivel at that, then he nods, curtly and stiff.
„The first rule would be that you talk to me. If anything hurts you, makes you uncomfortable, angry or feels wrong you have to express that to me. I can’t read minds and if anything weights on yours or your heart you have to tell me so we can try to lighten the load.“
That makes him frown, he cocks his head and licks his lip. The way he looks at you like you grew two heads shows just how little he expected you to say that so you wait for him to talk. He doesn’t for a long time, just stares at you like something about you is wrong and he has to figure out what it is.
„That’s not a rule.“ He gruffs and somehow that makes you smile.
„Of course it is.“ You argue and grin at him. His ears swivel again but you notice the subtle way his shoulders drop a bit. „I’m making it one, if you agree to have it as a rule.“
Now he’s staring like you’ve lost your mind. „You want me to agree before making it a rule.“ It’s a statement but you catch the question behind it, so you nod.
„Yes, that’s what I said. You have to agree to the rules before they actually become rules.“
Considering you he swallows and licks his lips again. „If I agree and fail to act on it what will be the punishment?“
You stare at him, caught off guard. Punishment? The way he’s asking, like he’s sure there will be a punishment, he just doesn’t know what kind pushes you to ask: „Why do you think there will be punishment?“
„There always is.“, he growls and something in you breaks but before you answer his eyes narrow in suspicion. „And you evading the question proves me right.“
Frantically you shake your head. „No!“ It’s so quick and loud that Simon jerks back. You try to reign in your emotions and calmly continue. „I’m not going to punish you Simon.“
Unconvinced he huffs. „Then I don’t have to follow the rules.“
Shaking your head you smile at him, softly, fondly. „The rules are supposed to help and guide you. Not acting on them generally means you’re more uncomfortable. You’re supposed to want to follow them, not feel forced to.“
„I don’t…“ Simon cuts himself off and you curiously look at him.
„Yes?“ You gently probe, hoping it makes him continue instead of shutting off.
„I don’t like it.“ He bites out and you grin widely.
„That is exactly what that first rule would be about. You did incredible. You’re telling me you don’t like it so that means we leave it be. Well done, Simon. I’d like you to think about it tho. If you come to the conclusion you hate all kinds of rules then we’ll drop it. But please give it some thought.“
Slapping him couldn’t have surprised him more than praising him does. He looks utterly floored but you catch the subtle jerk of his tail before it gives a few wags and then stills again. It has you biting back a smile. Comfortable silence settles between you again and you stack your plates and the trays while you give him some space.
His voice interrupts the near silence. „I’ll try.“
Whipping around so fast that you almost get dizzy you stare at him and he seems slightly off balance by your intense focus. „The collar and that stuff.“ He clears his throat and when you stay quiet he adds: „I trust you.“
Maybe you’ve already heard it before, yesterday, but hearing him confirm it again after taking him to the doctor and putting that trust to the test makes some tightness disappear from your chest. Conversations like the one you just had with Simon always leave you tense even if it’s your job. He’d been quieter than yesterday and it had you slightly worried that he’s withdrawing himself. Having him affirm that that isn’t the case relieves you like nothing else could.
A quick nod and you’re already retrieving the items from the ground. Simon backs up slightly but you ignore him heading for the bathroom instead where you begin meticulously cleaning the devices. You don’t want anything on his face that has been laying on the floor for a while.
His approach is utterly silent but from one moment to the next you feel the weight of Simon’s eyes again and when you glance up he’s standing in the doorway, watching you. You’ll never get used to the intensity of his attention and before you grow too self conscious you start talking again.
„We’ll try to get you muzzle and leash free as quickly as possible.“ You scrub the edge of the muzzle that will sit on his skin. „Thank you for trying.“
Maybe one day you’ll manage to get him to speak more but it’s not today. You methodically dry the muzzle and collar and make to leave the bathroom but Simon doesn’t move from where he’s blocking the doorway. Big and imposing and your heart starts pounding. You’re trapped if he doesn’t let you out. The bathroom is small and tiled. Blood would be easy to clean up here. The thought makes you want to curl in on yourself and shield yourself.
Instead you draw a deep breath and come to a stop in front of Simon, just at the edge of his personal space. He’s looking down at you and you wonder whether he’s testing you. His body language isn’t aggressive at the moment but it wouldn’t be the first time a hybrid uses his body language to lull you into a false feeling of security.
Shoving back those thoughts you remind yourself that you can do this. It’s your job to be the authority to make him feel safe and that starts with you being confident in your own actions. How is he meant to lean on you if you question yourself all the time? If you think of Phillip instead of him?
„Step aside, Simon.“ Deliberately you’re not phrasing it as a request. He reacted surprisingly well to that when you took him to the doctors earlier. Eye contact has never been your strong suit but aside from your frantically beating heart that seems to scream danger you grow eerily calm. This is something you know. This is something you’re used to from other hybrids.
For a few tense seconds he doesn’t move, his honey coloured eyes fixated on yours, then his nostrils flare and he steps aside to open the doorway for you. You step through and stop in the middle of the room. Turning to him you hold out the collar and the muzzle again and wait for him while you calm yourself down. It worked and he hadn’t tricked you.
Surprisingly he doesn’t hesitate before taking the muzzle. Once again he tests his ability to operate it easily by himself then he slips it over his face. His breathing deepens and his eyes meet you. Exaggeratedly you breathe deeply and slow, putting emphasis on breathing out. He matches you and then takes the collar from your hand, fastening it around his throat. Once again it’s way too lose but you’re not going to say anything. Not yet.
He clips the leash onto the collar and you wait for him to drop it into your hand. He does so without hesitating and to your immense satisfaction you realize that he doesn’t plant his feet like he’s bracing for something.
„Ready?“
He nods. You smile.
„Stay close. I’m going to take care of everything you don’t have to worry.“
He follows you silently, once again staying a few steps behind you. It makes you wonder where he got that habit from. When you call him up to walk next to you he quickly takes his place there keeping up with you easily although you suspect he walks slower than he’d do on his own.
It’s unusual for a hybrid to walk so far behind their handler. Very few handlers demand their hybrids to walk behind them and you’ve never agreed with their reasoning. If your charge respects you as handler it doesn’t matter where they walk. And if your charge doesn’t respect you making them walk behind you won’t change that.
After about five turns down different hallways that all look exactly identical you have to admit to yourself that you have absolutely no idea how to get to your rooms. And you left the map in your room before Nate brought you to Simon yesterday.
Yesterday. It’s barely been a day but with everything that’s happened it already feels like a small eternity. Somehow you’d assumed you’d at least find your way back to your rooms but alas, you’re wrong.
That means you have to wait or search for someone to point you into the right direction. You can only hope that that someone won’t be a handler with a dog hybrid. You look up at Simon and he meets your eyes. Squaring your shoulders you continue ahead.
You can do this. Even if you’d die internally if you were on your own the fact that you have Simon by your side and need to take care of him somehow makes you forget your own struggles. When it’s for him it’s easier to do. It’s not long before you meet someone.
Your breath stutters. It is a handler and their hybrid and their evidently not military. But the fact that it’s not a dog hybrid but something else entirely - you’re not even sure what kind of hybrid and your nerves keep you from assessing what she is - immediately helps you calm down. Opposed to Simon who is as stiff as a board.
You straighten up and try to project calm and confidence while you ask for the way. Simon’s standing close to you, closer than you ever expected him to stand of his own free will. One deep breath and your shoulder would probably brush against him. During the short conversation Simon doesn’t growl or move. He just stands silently behind you and observes and when you continue, finally in the right direction you beam at him.
„You did well.“ You acknowledge and don’t miss the signs of his satisfaction at that.
Barely five minutes later you arrive at your rooms and stop, turning to Simon. „Would you like to enter through my room or through your own door?“
Considering it, his eyes study you. „I’d like to see your room.“ He quietly admits and you nod easily, getting the access card and opening the door.
Once inside you let go of the leash. „You can take them off now.“
As soon as you finished that sentence he rips everything off, quicker than you thought possible. This time he doesn’t throw them to the ground. He extends them towards you and when you hold out your hand he drops them into your hold without touching you.
Pressing your lips together you decide not to comment on the fact that he took the collar off as well. It’s a temporary one without any identifying tags so you assume there are personalized one’s in his room. Carefully you set the devices down on your table and make a vague general gesture that encompasses your entire room. He scans it with narrowed eyes, nostrils flaring.
When you show him the door to his own room, a few moments later, he’s a lot more hesitant before slowly inching his way inside. He scans every corner and then begins systematically opening every drawer. The closet door opens to reveal it’s inside for his scrutiny and you’re surprised to find that it’s filled with military issued clothing. They really thought of everything. And in the same closet on a little shelf you spot three identical collars. Those look way better quality than the temporary one he’s worn and you walk over, carefully taking one in your hand.
These are what you’re used to seeing on military hybrids and on the inside of it his name is engraved. You turn it a bit and catch sight of the little covering where the handler information is stored. It’s already been prepared, you’re name and number inside.
If ever anything happens it will be clear who is responsible for him and who to turn to. You turn your attention back to Simon, collar still in hand, to find that he’s already watching you. Expression unreadable, body relatively still.
„These are the collars you have to wear permanently from now on.“ You say softly, quieter than you intended. His adam's apple bob, then he starts padding towards you.
Somehow you expected him to put up a fight again, to argue or tell you no. Instead he simply takes it from your hands, inhales deeply and then fits it around his throat quickly.
It’s too lose. He frowns, rotating it, trying to find a comfortable position for he collar to sit but you know he won’t find a truly comfortable position unless it’s properly fastened. For a moment you watch, then you can’t hold back. „You didn’t fasten it properly. Let me…“
You outstretch your hands and his lips peel back in a growl. You freeze. Despite what he told you earlier the distrust in clear in his eyes as they’re fixed on your hands. Not leaving him out of your sight you slowly pull them back. He relaxes minutely and your next breath come shuddering, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. You wonder when sudden signs of discomfort from him, which always look like aggression for him, will stop shaking you up.
It’s ridiculous and pathetic how any and all shows of aggression scare you. Somehow you thought it would be easier quickly but the feeling of Simon‘s teeth in your arm is too fresh on your mind.
Stop, you tell yourself. It hadn’t been a malicious attack. He’s traumatized and that reaction is entirely normal. It’s not aimed at you as a person but at what happened to him and the fact that the collar seems to remind him of that.
Simon’s nostrils flare and his lips lower, concealing his canines as he cocks his head. You’re not sure what has him watching you so curiously but his attention has you continuing your train of thought. „I’d like to adjust the collar properly. When it’s fastened correctly it shouldn’t bother you and be rather comfortable.“
It feels like Simon and you will forever be locked in this sort of dance. You trying to help him and get new experiences and him distrusting you. But that’s fine. You’re patient. It’s one of your better qualities.
It knocks the air out of you when he nods and takes a step in your direction. Slowly you raise your hands, aware that you cannot afford a mistake with this. Not if you don’t want to hurt him. His eyes are locked on your face as your reach up for the collar. His chest starting to rise and fall fast and shallow.
„Breathe Simon.“ You murmur without thinking not even expecting it to help. But it does. He exhales stuttering but long and you smile while you try to unfasten the collar. It’s uncomfortable the way you have to reach up and you stand up on your tiptoes so you don’t accidentally tug on the collar.
It’s a struggle and before long you’re huffing in frustration. Letting go of the collar you turn to get one of the chairs for Simon to sit on when you hear a soft thump and turn back.
Simon has dropped to his knees before you. His gaze surprisingly steady as he now looks up at you. It’s subtle but he’s trembling and when you reach out again you realize that so are you. A low rumble starts up in his chest again. Arms flexing like he wants to shove you away when your finger brushes his throat while opening the collar again. A shudder runs through him.
„You can hold onto me if that helps.“ Your voice comes as barely a whisper.
As if he’s afraid of spooking you, his hands move slow, coming up and then they close around your wrists. You stare at the contact. He’s warm, his palms sweaty from the stress of the situation. And his hands are big. They easily wrap around your wrists fully, his fingers overlapping.
It makes your throat dry. You’re not sure how panicked you should be at the reminder how easily he could hurt you, how much bigger and stronger he is than you. And then you look at the collar around his throat in your hands.
He’s trusting you. He’s trusting you not to hurt him.
Maybe you’ve had it backwards this whole time and it’s not bravery and time that will help you overcome your fear. Maybe it’s trust.
So you close your eyes for a long, long moment. Long enough that it feels wrong and you want to quickly open your eyes to make sure Simon isn’t making any unexpected moves. You heave a few deep breaths until the shaking of your hands lessens enough to operate the fastening of the collar.
When you reopen your eyes something in Simon’s expression has relaxed. It’s subtle but the lines around his mouth seem less harsh. You smile at him and his palms keep hold of your wrists while you fasten the collar correctly to sit comfortably against his throat. Tight enough not to to rub his skin from moving around but not so tight it feels constricting.
You meet his eyes, hesitating before checking the tightness. Maybe you should leave it up to him. It’s probably insanity that has you doing it yourself. Neither of you look away from each other as you curl your forefinger around the upper edge of the collar until it fits comfortably between his neck and the collar. The first touch of your skin on his has him jerking. He shudders, his grip tightening but he doesn’t pull you away.
There’s a subtle sheen of sweat on his forehead as you slowly run your finger along the collar, sliding it along the skin of his throat until you reach his neck on the other side. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Unhurried you pull your hands back and before he lets go of you his thumbs softly caress the sensitive skin of your wrists once, maybe just a slip of his fingers. The breath in your chest hitches.
Quicker than you can blink he’s back on his legs. Like whatever just happened is only now catching up to him his breathing speeds up even more, growing shallow again. His own hand comes up to the collar and he slips his finger between the band and his throat. It fits easily but his gaze is wild.
„Easy, Simon. It’s okay. You’re okay. You can breathe. It’s lose enough. You did perfectly.“ You automatically soothe and subconsciously your hands rub over your wrists where he just held you. „How does it feel? It’s not uncomfortable?“
That makes him still. After a few seconds of mentally checking whether it’s uncomfortable he shakes his head and you exhale, relieved. „I’m glad. If it ever does we can adjust it and if it’s too much.... I’ll pretend not to see it if you take it off for a while.“ Your grin is slightly unsteady but Simon fixes his eyes on it anyway and you get to watch his muscles slowly uncoil.
The rest of the afternoon is spent with both of you settling in your rooms. He finishes the inspection of his room while you watch him, fascinated. There’s method to it but you can’t quite figure out what he’s looking for. When he gets to the bathroom and notices the door leading to your room he freezes for a moment but he doesn’t say anything and you’re left wondering what he might be thinking.
Unpacking and making yourself at home takes up the rest of the time and before you know it it’s already time for dinner.
Dinner. Which means going to the cafeteria with Simon.
Thinking about dinner has you wishing the day was already over. You’ve barely had a breather since you arrived and you’re fully ready to just fall into bed. You straighten from where you were putting the last of your clothes into the closet and rub your hand over your face. Tiredness is filling you up like it’s the marrow of your bones. But you can’t allow yourself to rest. Not until Simon has eaten.
Sighing you take up the muzzle and the leash from the table where you set them down and turn to knock on the door that leads to Simon’s. There he is already, leaning in the doorway, surprisingly relaxed, watching you. Realizing that he’s been there a while makes you flinch and your hand comes up to your chest.
His ears flicker back and forth and you hold up the objects in your hands. „Time for dinner, big guy.“ You say the endearment slipping out. As soon as your attention is on him his posture stiffens subtly and he straightens up.
Reluctantly he approaches you. Looking at him makes pause. There’s shadows under his eyes, subtle exhaustion in every line of his body. He’s already pushed himself far beyond his comfort zone today.
The cafeteria was packed at lunch. And that was at a time where some hybrids and handlers might have been absent. Taking him there now seems like unnecessary stress for him and you’d like the day to end on a good note.
Your hands fall to your sides. „Tell you what, I’m going to go get us dinner and we’ll eat here. How does that sound?“
He frowns, confused so you clarify: „I think it will be more comfortable here than in a full cafeteria.“
His gaze follows you when you put the muzzle and leash back down and he nods shortly. Smiling reassuringly at him you grab the map this time and leave through your door. An empty hallway greets you and you realize that it’s the first time you’re on your own. No Nate by your side whose easy confidence kind of rubbed off on you. No Simon whose comfort you can concentrate on instead of your own.
You lean back against your door for a moment and take a minute to just breathe. It’s okay. You’re okay. The map will help you get around and you already got lunch at the cafeteria so you know how to behave to not draw attention.
Luckily the map is actually very easy to read and you’re back at the cafeteria in no time. The atmosphere is relaxed and busy and you quietly queue up for the food watching the big space. Observing the interactions has you smiling. You’re so used to being surrounded by almost only dog hybrids that the diversity here makes you curious. You’re specialized on dog hybrids and you wonder what working with other hybrids is like.
Soon enough you’re balancing the two trays and make your way back to your room. That went well. You didn’t panic, only the usual amount of nerves of doing something new at an unfamiliar place. It almost has you humming contently.
You don’t even need to consult the map on your way back to your room and somehow the small achievement puts you in an even better mood. You’re completely exhausted but satisfied with today. Once back inside your room you call Simon over and set down the trays at the table. At least one thing today that didn’t put you on the edge.
Watching Simon settle in one of the chairs makes you smirk. He makes even the furniture appear small. The quiet while you both eat is comfortable and you find your body relaxing, making the exhaustion of the day weigh you down until you almost fall asleep while you finish the food.
Simon already wolfed down his dinner and when you’re finally done as well he takes your plate and stacks it onto his.
„Thank you.“
He huffs and you nod. „I think it’s time for bed for me. I know it’s pretty early but today has me beat. I’m going to bring back the trays and then I’ll go to sleep.“
One sharp nod and he stands up making his way to leave your room. He hesitates in the doorway for a second, looking back at your over his shoulder. Another nod and then he closes the door behind him.
Bringing back the trays and getting ready for bed is a matter of minutes and soon you’re snuggled under the foreign blankets. Opposed to what you expected sleep doesn’t find you immediately. You toss and turn, mind buzzing with thoughts, replaying today again and again.
But at some point you do fall asleep.
You wake with a gasp. Someone is at your door. Scratching and huffing at it. Trying to get in. Adrenaline shoots through you, hot and uncomfortable it turns your stomach over. Before you can decide on a course of action there’s the violent sound of someone throwing their weight against the door. It shakes on it’s hinges.
You pull up your blanket. Frantically scanning your room for something to protect yourself with. You leap from the bed. Wood splinters. The pieces embedding themselves in your skin. The door is open and through the ruined entrance the big silhouette of a hybrid steps.
Philip found you. You try to make a run for the kitchen to get a knife. Big rough hands seize you and throw you to the floor. The wooden pieces there bite your shoulder. They sink their teeth into your wounds, into your upper arm, your sides. You scream.
Violently you try to shove him off you. He keeps you tangled in his limbs snarling in your face. He’s here to finish what he’s started. Maybe he didn’t prove his independence enough. Or his contact sent him to finish it.
You kick. Screeching in terror until it nearly tears your throat. Somehow you kick him off trying to crawl away. That’s when his hands grab your legs and your pyjama pants tear like paper under his sharp fingers. Tears run down your face, burning your skin in their wake. No. Please.
There’s hysterical sobbing that you recognize as you own. His hand presses down on your neck. Something bites into your cheek and he presses himself against your back. He’s big, broad, even worse than you remember. You squirm until you can turn onto your back and look at him.
The eyes boring into yours are the color of molten honey.
a/n: all relationships are platonic, military innacuracies, alcohol,
part one previous next
————-
Seeing as you seemed to understand what you’d done wrong, you were granted permission back to your room by Price. It was completely clean when you re-entered, the closet closed and clothes hung up nicely and folded in the drawers.
You decide to look past it for now, though you do take a short walk around your room, looking for cameras or microphones of some type— you’ve seen your fair share before from ones you’ve planted yourself in enemy territory. Unsurprisingly, you find one slotted right above the closet, the small blink of red not escaping your keen eyes. Though you hesitate to remove it just yet, instead watching it from the corner as you pretend to busy yourself when grabbing your training uniform. Should you remove it? If you do, Price’ll definitely know you’re onto him and that may not be the best move right now. However, it’s not like he’s some evil monster trying to ruin your life—- it must be for a reason.
You’d need to find out what.
For now, you head to meet the others in the mess hall. The chefs don't waste time serving you your share, probably from the threats they received from Ghost, and you walk over to your typical seat across from Gaz. Weirdly enough, Soap sits beside him today, forcing Ghost out of his usual seat and beside you instead. You ignore the chatter; it’s not like you contribute either but you’d take anything over sitting on your own table again.
“You comin’?”
It takes Ghost nudging your fork for you to snap back to the moment and realise that Gaz is staring at you, waiting for an answer to the question you hadn't even heard.
“Sorry— what was it again?”
Soap glances towards Ghost, but Gaz just smiles and shoves a piece of the fried egg into his mouth. “We’re going to the pub tonight, wanted to know if you’d come.”
The pub? You’d never been to a pub, or at least not in a situation like this. Sure, you’ve raided and investigated one before, hell you’ve even engaged in warfare over the counters once. Still, were you even allowed to go there? Hesitant, you decide to turn your gaze to Ghost, looking at him expectantly.
“Don't see why not.” He shrugs, and Kyle grins, taking that for a yes.
——
Thankfully, you finally had some actual clothes now though it consisted mainly of a few hoodies, jeans and boots— sneakers looked far too flimsy for your liking. Even though it’s getting warmer by the day, you’ve got a fair share of sweaters and the like and your personal favourite is your new training wear though Ghost did roll his eyes when you went for the highest quality brand for your gloves rather than your jeans.
It took a moment to find an outfit that looks put together, given that you hadn’t actually tried any of them on yet. There was no way you’d waste your time going shopping in person, and thankfully Ghost didn't argue for a second about it either.
You slide your new socks and shoes on, comfy on your feet and head out the door, meeting Ghost by the car. As usual, you’re sandwiched between him and Soap, who refuses to let you zone out for even a second. “So, what’cha gonna drink tonight hmm?”
“Water?” You stare back at him blankly, unintentionally making his face drop.
“Not allowed to get drunk, it’s too risky.” Ghost grunts, relieving Soap of the panic he momentarily felt since he believed he offended you for a moment there.
“Well.. there’s always fun soda flavours right?”
———
It’s almost eight pm when Price parks the car, all of you filing out and heading down the road. As you draw closer, you’re met by the sound of drunkards happily clinking their glasses together and the loud chatter of football fans eagerly cheering on the game slowly beginning. You trail behind Soap and Gaz as they chatter with Ghost occasionally pitching in every now and then. The people seem to duplicate with every step you take, the noise only growing louder the second you step through the doors. You almost scowl at the stark stench of alcohol that permeates the air, stiffly following the others to a small round table not too far from the screen fixed above the counter.
Gaz immediately starts taking orders, eventually turning to you. “They have mocktails if you want?” He offers, looking at you expectantly but you only shrug.
“Water’s fine.” You’re ready to start your quiet investigation of your surroundings when you realise they’re all staring down at you like you said you only drink bleach or something. “What?”
“We’re out, ye can't just order water.” Soap complains, picking up the flimsy plastic menu and shuffling up beside you to show you the drinks. As he points out a few options, his arm presses against yours, instantly making you recoil just slightly, eyes widening just a sliver before you reign yourself back in. “Pepsi looks good.” You hurriedly pick one and thankfully he leans away from you to place the menu back in its little holder.
Your teeth grit uncomfortably for the remainder of them talking through their orders, eyes fixed on the table to ignore how loud this place is and the fact that people are so close nor do they even realise what you actually are. Theoretically, it should feel freeing that they view you as a ‘normal’ person but something just wont sit right.
The drinks come fairly quickly, and you reach for the red can when someone takes it before you. “Pepsi is the dark one.” Ghost chuckles, reaching for the dark blue can and placing it in front of you. He takes the red one for himself, cracking it open and hiking his mask up just slightly to take a long sip of it. Meanwhile, you're staring at him in confusion, darting between your can and his. ”Aren't you going to drink alcohol?” You ask, and he restrains the urge to laugh when you phrase it like that, sounding exactly like someone who is far too innocent for their own good.
“Designated driver, not tryna kill anyone tonight.”
”I can drive though?.”
To his surprise he hadn't found an ounce of jest in your features, looking at him with sincerity in your gaze. “You sure?”
The nod you give in return is just as genuine, and he pauses for a second before eventually agreeing and standing to walk towards the counter to order one for himself.
Soon you all have your drinks in hand, Soap already on his second and Gaz on his third after loosing a bet the two had made moments before entering. The chatter at the table is casual, friendly even and you’re surprised when Ghost genuinely laughs at a remark Gaz throws back at the Captain, the sound deep and rumbling through his chest. It’s easy for Soap to join in aswell, throwing a jab at his lieutenant until it becomes a game of the superiors versus their sergeants, filling the whole table with life and laughter.
Except for you.
Talking was so effortless for them, and you figured it’d be the exact same now. The sergeants would always talk to you at base, or at breakfast–albeit it was usually them asking and you answering. For the first time, you were stuck in a situation where no one’s attention was directly placed on you, and you actually had to make an effort to be involved in said conversation. And that was terrifying.
You tried to observe what Ghost did, considering he didn’t speak as often as Soap did but he was no help, considering he just occasionally grunts out a quip every now and then and very rarely did he even give his own input. Desperate, you even searched for patterns in the way he chose to respond, only to be even more panicked as you ended up there silent for even longer. They had lost themselves deeper into conversation now, Soap already offering to beat someone at a game of snooker, whilst you internally panicked at the sheer thought of being left at this table with one of them one on one.
“You know how to play snooker?” Ghost nudges you, startling you out of your trance, and you shake your head, watching as the other two rise to reserve the table. His eyes are scanning you; it's obvious by how his mask twitches where his brows are. “I can teach you–”
“No need. I want to watch the rest of this game anyway.” Price says, the undertone not hidden in how he leans his hands on the table. Still, Ghost glances at you, but you can only just nod again, face straight as the Captain insists. “Go. They’re waiting for you.”
So, he reluctantly heads over, leaving you sitting opposite Price and a tension laying thick in the empty seats beside you.
For a while, it’s quiet, his eyes trained on the small screen above the bar, watching the small men run around in the differing colours and nodding along to rules being shouted out by the commentators. You’re confused, of course, having never even witnessed a game other than hearing about it through books or another soldier who had forgotten you were even around. Though, the screen comes to a pause as large letters reading ‘half-time’ appear, and suddenly he’s shifting in his chair turning towards you. “Eh, they’ll definitely lose at this rate.” He huffs, taking a small sip of his glass before looking up at where you sit, fingers carefully placed around your can. “Ever watch it?”
“No.”
He nods, not minding the blunt nature of your answer and instead gently swirls the drink in his glass. “Ghost told me you’re getting back on track again. It’s good.”
This time, though your muscles tense inside your body, careful not to show too much appreciation nor the opposite. “He put me on a good routine.”
It falls quiet again, the halftime not lasting particularly long, and you’re wondering if this is the end of that conversation when midway he turns back to you, sipping down the last of his drink.
“Why dont you come over here?” He gestures for you to pull your chair closer, but you don’t, sipping your own drink now.
“No need, there’s a better angle from here.”
Despite your rejection he takes it well, his lips quirking up into what resembles a fond smile. That only makes your throat constrict more though, hesitant with the information you’ve learnt.
“Alright, well, how are you doing then? Any more incidents?”
So that’s what he wanted to know.
His eyes are soft in the same way he looked at you before too, and you almost fall into the same trap again, trusting the comfort that could come with it. You could spill the worries here– you would’ve– and tell him about every doubt and little thing that’s hurt you. Swallowing slightly, you bite your lip, force a calm look and shake your head again.
“Unless you count Ghost getting angry at me for stealing his blankets, then no, no incidents.” You remark, and this time you can't hide the surprise when he laughs, deep and throaty with his fist lightly hitting the table.“Is that right? Good, it’d do you well to annoy him a little bit more.” He says, and you’re left contemplating the sincerity of his words when the boys return, Ghost having dragged them over after Soap tried to hit on a girl and almost said the stupidest military pickup line known to man.
They explain the whole story, making you smile a few times as well, just from the sheer absurdity of the situation and soon enough you’re dragged to the table this time, the sergeants adamant to teach you how to play. Soon enough you’ve forgotten about your struggles to slide into the conversation, with them now leading it, you easily find yourself falling into the right words, the right phrases— or so you think anyway. You’re laughing, so that has to be a good sign.
———————
“Another round?” Soap suggests, already standing up and ready to grab yet another. Ghost nods, so does Price, and so naturally, you do as well. Feeling a little better, you look over the menu. “What’s a ‘Fanta’?” You question, making Gaz chuckle at your obliviousness. “Sweet, like fizzy orange juice.”
“You’ve had too many.” Price says, gesturing for Soap to go order the rest, all while you, on a sugar buzz, raise a brow. “I’ve had like, two glasses.”
“It’s too much sugar; I dont want it to affect your medical reports.” He huffs, seemingly not taking your weak argument as an answer. Though for some reason you don't give up, some weird confidence in you makes your lips quirk even as Johnny’s already walking away.
“So? It’s not like it’s going to kill me, or something. It’s a one off.”
It just slips out, and you’re looking at him like an idiot, already expecting that laugh to return again, from all of them this time too.
Johnny does it all the time, hell you’ve had to hold back a smile every time he teases him about his old age. Gaz isn’t one to readily challenge him, but he definitely has had his fair share of fast quips, followed by Simon’s questioning brows as the Captain claims that all their words are untrue. It’s only fair that you would get your moment too, given how many times they’ve all teased you.
Though, he just suddenly snatches the can from your hand, his brows furrowed into a deep glare as he leaves you in stunned silence. It’s enough for you to realise the mistake of your joke— coming off more as a petty, unruly attitude—and the smile on your face disappears, just as fast as it came. It’s not how a soldier behaves to their superior, and definitely not how a super soldier should even consider behaving at all. “Captain I-“
“You never get one offs. It’s water or nothing.”
The rest of the table is quiet, not one coming to your defense. and you watch as he crumples the weak metal before stepping away to throw it in the bin. He doesn't stop there, walking to the bar to make sure no one serves you again for the remainder of the night.
“Damn, did Price just scold you?” Soap returns, bordering tipsy now and holding the remainder of the drinks before setting them down for each person. The chuckle sounds mocking now, and you sink into your seat, ashamed and embarrassed at your own idiocy.
—---
Avoiding their eyes, you manage to excuse yourself to the bathrooms, heart heavy in your chest as you slip away before the Captain returns. Both rooms are full of people, gender disregarded as sounds of drunken vomiting echo through all the walls. Somehow you manage to squeeze through enough to steal a stall to yourself, and you instantly slump against the door when you lock it shut, huffing out a long breath of air.
This wasn’t fair and not in the way that just makes your blood boil– this didn’t even make sense. What made it different when you tried to jest? Was it the monotone sound, the blank emotion in your eyes? Were they repulsed by how horribly you failed to make a joke? Was it too rude? Did your brows narrow, did you glare?
Were you allowed to make jokes?
.
.
.
Your hands grip the cold porcelain of the sink, the sharp edge tearing into your hand from where you had snapped the corner off. Swallowing hard, you blink and stare into the mirror before you. A couple behind you watch you in horror, whilst another person washing their hands backs away, before promptly dashing out of the door. Small beads of blood seep from the scratch and you quickly wash it down in the sink nearby, dumping the broken porcelain in there too. You don't know when you left the stall, or when you had even started staring at the mirror and you’re scared to look back in case the door has been ripped from its hinges.
Gulping down another breath of air, you follow out of the door, past the stares of the drunkards, their eyes lingering on each part of you, down to the veins in your heart. It pounds in your chest and in your ears with every step you take, a constant reminder of something–a lurking feeling.
Finally you make it up the steps and back into the main area of the pub, the bustle of people different to the one you experienced when you walked in. There’s a few cheers, occasional boos, by the screens, but everyone has crowded together, making it a sea impossible to cut through. So you take the long route, walking around other tables and tiptoeing over knocked over chairs until a large palm plants on your shoulder, and when you turn it grazes your waist.
“You out here on your own?” The man looms near, a soft smirk playing at his lips and you blink, slightly confused. “No. I’ve got some..err friends to get to. Do you need something..?”
“Well, I could use a sweet thing to take home tonight..”
You stare back at him, then start looking left and right, searching the tables and everything. “A sweet thing? ”
“Yeah, I've got one in mind..” The guy chuckles, stepping closer, but you move over to an empty table, picking up one of the plates left behind. “Well someone’s left some scones here, you could take this, I guess? I mean, I don't really condone stealing but i dont think they sell many sweet stuff here–”
Before he can reach you again, and let his other hand get a good hold on you too, there’s two rough palms laying flat on his own shoulders. “Who do we have here?” Soap’s lips are pulled into a tight smile, Gaz walking over to you to tug you out of his grip before crossing his arms firmly at the guy. His face is downturned into a firm scowl, sending the guy into a panic as he struggles to get free from Soap’s death grip. “You don't own ‘em!” He argues, though he quickly falls silent when Ghost walks over, whispering something that is nothing short of a threat before Price follows, trying to get the ever-angry Soap off of the man’s heels.
You barely get a chance to question what even happened before Ghost drags you by your arm, back to the table, forcing you to stay when you hear a loud thwack and then Soap being dragged over, his hand red and angry. “Bloody bastard– thinking he can hit on ye like that and get away with it too” He huffs, chest puffing whilst Price pulls him by the back of his shirt, making sure he doesn’t try to get another hit in again.
“He didn’t try to hit me! He asked me where he could get a sweet thing.”
The table falls silent, all four men looking at you like you’ve been hit over the head with a spanner, ans the dread from before returns full force. Again. You’re not understanding the situation, again you’re in the dark, again you're not part of this.
“He was flirting with you.” Ghost eventually explains, finishing the last of his drink before nodding to the others to finish theirs too. “You were the “sweet thing” he was referring to.” He huffs, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, along with yours too. “Come on, we’re heading back.”
Even at your insistence, Ghost decides to drive anyway, seeing as he’s been sobered up for a good while anyway. Price sits in the front beside him whilst you lean against the back window, the two other sergeants snoring beside you. A sinking feeling swells in your gut; you were positive that everything was starting to look up, but now it felt like it was being torn to shreds all over again. All your progress seemed to be for nothing if the end result ended up the same as before, disregarded and useless outside of the field. If you couldn't handle a simple conversation with them, a small joke, a flirty line, even a damn bathroom trip– how could you handle anything? How were you any better than the destructive soldier you were before?
Concerned, Ghost watches the rear mirror, eyes locked onto the way your head slumps against the window. You had been fine the last time you went out with the two sergeants, and mealtimes in the mess hall seemed fine too. You’ve been acting off ever since Price had yelled at you, even though it’d been at least two weeks since then. He cant blame you for that, but he cant help but feel that there’s something you’re not telling him, or rather that he’s failed you yet again.
———————
buy me a kofi!
previous next Series Masterlist
A/n: havent been online much recently, but just read all your nice comments under the last chapter and i’m very grateful. Thank you for the support everyone!
In the wake of early announcing that their blog will no longer be posting fanfiction, I wanted to offer a different perspective than the ones I’ve been seeing in the argument against the use of AI in fandom spaces. Often, I’m seeing the arguments that the use of generative AI or Large Language Models (LLMs) make creative expression more accessible. Certainly, putting a prompt into a chat box and refining the output as desired is faster than writing a 5000 word fanfiction or learning to draw digitally or traditionally. But I would argue that the use of chat bots and generative AI actually limits - and ultimately reduces - one’s ability to enjoy creativity.
Creativity, defined by the Cambridge Advanced Learner’s Dictionary & Thesaurus, is the ability to produce or use original and unusual ideas. By definition, the use of generative AI discourages the brain from engaging with thoughts creatively. ChatGPT, character bots, and other generative AI products have to be trained on already existing text. In order to produce something “usable,” LLMs analyzes patterns within text to organize information into what the computer has been trained to identify as “desirable” outputs. These outputs are not always accurate due to the fact that computers don’t “think” the way that human brains do. They don’t create. They take the most common and refined data points and combine them according to predetermined templates to assemble a product. In the case of chat bots that are fed writing samples from authors, the product is not original - it’s a mishmash of the writings that were fed into the system.
Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) is a therapy modality developed by Marsha M. Linehan based on the understanding that growth comes when we accept that we are doing our best and we can work to better ourselves further. Within this modality, a few core concepts are explored, but for this argument I want to focus on Mindfulness and Emotion Regulation. Mindfulness, put simply, is awareness of the information our senses are telling us about the present moment. Emotion regulation is our ability to identify, understand, validate, and control our reaction to the emotions that result from changes in our environment. One of the skills taught within emotion regulation is Building Mastery - putting forth effort into an activity or skill in order to experience the pleasure that comes with seeing the fruits of your labor. These are by no means the only mechanisms of growth or skill development, however, I believe that mindfulness, emotion regulation, and building mastery are a large part of the core of creativity. When someone uses generative AI to imitate fanfiction, roleplay, fanart, etc., the core experience of creative expression is undermined.
Creating engages the body. As a writer who uses pen and paper as well as word processors while drafting, I had to learn how my body best engages with my process. The ideal pen and paper, the fact that I need glasses to work on my computer, the height of the table all factor into how I create. I don’t use audio recordings or transcriptions because that’s not a skill I’ve cultivated, but other authors use those tools as a way to assist their creative process. I can’t speak with any authority to the experience of visual artists, but my understanding is that the feedback and feel of their physical tools, the programs they use, and many other factors are not just part of how they learned their craft, they are essential to their art.
Generative AI invites users to bypass mindfully engaging with the physical act of creating. Part of becoming a person who creates from the vision in one’s head is the physical act of practicing. How did I learn to write? By sitting down and making myself write, over and over, word after word. I had to learn the rhythms of my body, and to listen when pain tells me to stop. I do not consider myself a visual artist - I have not put in the hours to learn to consistently combine line and color and form to show the world the idea in my head.
But I could.
Learning a new skill is possible. But one must be able to regulate one’s unpleasant emotions to be able to get there. The emotion that gets in the way of most people starting their creative journey is anxiety. Instead of a focus on “fear,” I like to define this emotion as “unpleasant anticipation.” In Atlas of the Heart, Brene Brown identifies anxiety as both a trait (a long term characteristic) and a state (a temporary condition). That is, we can be naturally predisposed to be impacted by anxiety, and experience unpleasant anticipation in response to an event. And the action drive associated with anxiety is to avoid the unpleasant stimulus.
Starting a new project, developing a new skill, and leaning into a creative endevor can inspire and cause people to react to anxiety. There is an unpleasant anticipation of things not turning out exactly correctly, of being judged negatively, of being unnoticed or even ignored. There is a lot less anxiety to be had in submitting a prompt to a machine than to look at a blank page and possibly make what could be a mistake. Unfortunately, the more something is avoided, the more anxiety is generated when it comes up again. Using generative AI doesn’t encourage starting a new project and learning a new skill - in fact, it makes the prospect more distressing to the mind, and encourages further avoidance of developing a personal creative process.
One of the best ways to reduce anxiety about a task, according to DBT, is for a person to do that task. Opposite action is a method of reducing the intensity of an emotion by going against its action urge. The action urge of anxiety is to avoid, and so opposite action encourages someone to approach the thing they are anxious about. This doesn’t mean that everyone who has anxiety about creating should make themselves write a 50k word fanfiction as their first project. But in order to reduce anxiety about dealing with a blank page, one must face and engage with a blank page. Even a single sentence fragment, two lines intersecting, an unintentional drop of ink means the page is no longer blank. If those are still difficult to approach a prompt, tutorial, or guided exercise can be used to reinforce the understanding that a blank page can be changed, slowly but surely by your own hand.
(As an aside, I would discourage the use of AI prompt generators - these often use prompts that were already created by a real person without credit. Prompt blogs and posts exist right here on tumblr, as well as imagines and headcannons that people often label “free to a good home.” These prompts can also often be specific to fandom, style, mood, etc., if you’re looking for something specific.)
In the current social media and content consumption culture, it’s easy to feel like the first attempt should be a perfect final product. But creating isn’t just about the final product. It’s about the process. Bo Burnam’s Inside is phenomenal, but I think the outtakes are just as important. We didn’t get That Funny Feeling and How the World Works and All Eyes on Me because Bo Burnham woke up and decided to write songs in the same day. We got them because he’s been been developing and honing his craft, as well as learning about himself as a person and artist, since he was a teenager. Building mastery in any skill takes time, and it’s often slow.
Slow is an important word, when it comes to creating. The fact that skill takes time to develop and a final piece of art takes time regardless of skill is it’s own source of anxiety. Compared to @sentientcave, who writes about 2k words per day, I’m very slow. And for all the time it takes me, my writing isn’t perfect - I find typos after posting and sometimes my phrasing is awkward. But my writing is better than it was, and my confidence is much higher. I can sit and write for longer and longer periods, my projects are more diverse, I’m sharing them with people, even before the final edits are done. And I only learned how to do this because I took the time to push through the discomfort of not being as fast or as skilled as I want to be in order to learn what works for me and what doesn’t.
Building mastery - getting better at a skill over time so that you can see your own progress - isn’t just about getting better. It’s about feeling better about your abilities. Confidence, excitement, and pride are important emotions to associate with our own actions. It teaches us that we are capable of making ourselves feel better by engaging with our creativity, a confidence that can be generalized to other activities.
Generative AI doesn’t encourage its users to try new things, to make mistakes, and to see what works. It doesn’t reward new accomplishments to encourage the building of new skills by connecting to old ones. The reward centers of the brain have nothing to respond to to associate with the action of the user. There is a short term input-reward pathway, but it’s only associated with using the AI prompter. It’s designed to encourage the user to come back over and over again, not develop the skill to think and create for themselves.
I don’t know that anyone will change their minds after reading this. It’s imperfect, and I’ve summarized concepts that can take months or years to learn. But I can say that I learned something from the process of writing it. I see some of the flaws, and I can see how my essay writing has changed over the years. This might have been faster to plug into AI as a prompt, but I can see how much more confidence I have in my own voice and opinions. And that’s not something chatGPT can ever replicate.
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annaxmalina
titsay
