Lit

You were still debating what to order, lost in your head with only a bit of brain power to stop yourself from bumping into anyone, when you hear someone calling in your direction. There’s a man standing there, definitely more than two decades older than you and practically sneering from the way his lips curled up. “Yeah, ‘m talking you, pretty thing aren’t ya?”

A wave of disgust washes over you, but then again the town isn't too empty, so maybe he wasn’t even talking to you? Hell, you had thrown on any jumper you could find, and these cargo pants were covered in all sorts of muck. So naturally you just kept your head down, walking past so you could get to the café and call it a day.

 “Oi– I’m speaking to you-yeah.” He slurs towards you, and you make the mistake of glancing over, seeing the angry furrow of his brows as you still fail to reply. 

“You’re real rude, aren't you? Here I am being nice, and you’re just acting like a total–”

You’ve dashed into the café before you can hear the disgusting words he calls after you, heart thumping erratically. It’s strange how you can easily go onto the field, fight for your country and take down soldiers bigger than you, and yet still freeze at something as stupid as a creep catcalling you. The barista looks at you expectantly, and you step forward, trying to push the tingle of anxiety away as you pick the first special on the menu.

—

The foam art in the mug still lingers despite you sipping at it for the better part of the past half an hour. Every time you nervously glance up, you can still make out the colour of his jacket as he lingers to the shops beside. You were trained in combat, hell you could probably stop him before he even laid a finger on you, but the disgust that suffocated you was nothing short of evil. Something in you couldn't bring yourself to leave whilst he was still lurking, mind filling with possibilities of what he could say or do. Ones that made you shake the thoughts away as you sighed and took the last sip.

Well you couldn't just stay here forever, and your friends were all out— you had all struggled to stay together recently, and you’d slowly prepared yourself for the inevitable split up. Your thumb swipes at your contacts, all people from home, only a few on base until it stops at Ghost. He would be in the pub a road down by now, or on the way anyway. Could you really ask him for something as stupid as this? Would he even come?

Hesitantly, you press the call button, and soft ringing plays out, almost in time with the café door jingling as yet another customer leaves. Only half an hour until closing.

“What’s up, hm?” His voice echoes out in the speaker, and you’re half surprised he didn't call you kid this time— you feel like one right now anyway, begging your parents to pick you up.

“You–um.. owe me. For that favour I did.”

There’s a pause and then a small grunt in return, that vaguely resembles a yes. “What do you want?”

“Can you.. Come pick me up? It’s the small café on the main street, the blue sign.”

You hear a rustle of a coat, and then he gruffly agrees, before cutting the phone up altogether. 

—

You absentmindedly play with the wooden stirrer until you hear the bell jingle, and he walks in, coat making him seem a little larger than he actually was— you thought that’d be impossible but clearly it wasn't. He notices you, walking over and standing before the table, a black surgical mask covering his face than the typical balaclava.

“.. Everything alright?”

You nod quietly, standing up from your seat and thanking the barista who takes your dirty mug. He knows there’s something up though, you’re never this struck, even if he’s well aware you’re afraid of him. “Speak, now.” He insists, stopping you from leaving just yet, with an arm blocking your path.

You let out a sigh, fingers fiddling with the scarf that hangs down your neck, eyes downcast. “That guy outside was giving me a hard time..” You mumble, and he immediately snaps his head, zeroing in on the man in question. “He got angry since I didn't respond to him and I just.. I don't know, I didn't know what to do.”

You look ashamed, and he hates that, eyes narrowing at the poor excuse of a man still standing there and ogling other women on the street. “Did the right thing.” He eventually says, having weighed up the thoughts in his head. It was better for him to just come, use his presence to intimidate him off, rather than you causing physical harm and probably getting some papers to document that on your record. Not that the court wouldn't deem it in your favour, but still, a lot of hassle. “Come on, where did you want to go?”

He makes sure to glare the man down as he walks past with you, a hand on your back just to prove his point to the creep, and he almost punches him right then and there if not for him scurrying away onto the bus that’s stopped nearby. When you reach the supermarket, you stop outside, turning to him with a nervous look in your eyes. “It’s okay, I just needed to get out of that shop. You can go back now..” It’s a kind offer really, but Ghost doesn't take his chances with creeps, so he shakes his head firmly and ushers you forward.

“No way, keep going.”

—-

You try to rush your shopping in the supermarket, grabbing the bubble bath and body wash as quickly as you could dash to the aisle and back, just to find him looking over the fruit shelves.

“I’m all done.” You say, exhaling a long breath as you place your things in the baskets he’s holding. 

“Alright.”

Still he doesn't move, just grabs a pack of blueberries, and another of raspberries, then moves to the next aisle. You follow, obviously, though still nervous because you were sure he’d want to go meet his taskforce again, right?

Clearly not, because now you were grabbing the things he wanted as he held a basket for you and one for him, going through each aisle. Since you’re here, you decide to grab some snacks— mainly biscuits and chocolates. Though you do feel a little childish when you look down the aisle to see him with protein bars.

“Don't need to show off, you know.” You grumble, placing your high sugar assortment into the basket, and he rolls his eyes at you, his breakfast bars going in as well. “Don't blame me for your cholesterol level, kid.”

“You smoke, and drink!”

“And I’m special forces, doesn't make a damn difference.”

Soon enough you both make it to the checkout, after you giggled at his reaction to you grabbing some menstrual products. He didn't do much, more of an eyebrow raise, but you found it amusing nonetheless. Then just when he’s sure you’ve gone back to being terrified of him again, you stop him from buying himself a bag. “Wait!” He turns to look at you, and suddenly you’re rummaging through your bag. “I brought my own.” You insist, a cheeky grin on your face and clearly very proud of yourself as you hand him a ‘bag for life’ Asda bag. He’s not sure how you manage to always be prepared for all situations, but he takes the bag and starts packing his things inside. 

It’s darkened quite significantly now, the lights in town the only guide for you to follow. As it nears Christmas, fairy lights have begun to wrap around the lampposts too, a pretty sight in the dark night.  However, Ghost still follows you as you walk towards the bus stop you used to get here– usually you’d just carpool or something. 

“Aren’t you going to go back with your team?” You turn to him as you stop at the bus stop, and if he was anyone else he probably would’ve just assumed you didn't want him there anymore. He could see it in your eyes though, the nervous glance at the streets as if waiting for something to pop out at you.

“Nah, got some stuff to finish tonight.” He grunts, and tug your sleeve away from the bus stop to follow him. He had brought his car here since he planned to come home early anyway; not that you had known that. So you reluctantly follow, though your shoulders do drop in relief when you finally make it into his car, a little beaten up but more comfortable than any you’ve been in. 

The drive back isn't that long, twenty minutes at most, and you spend most of it watching the lights pass and letting your head nod to the mindless tunes from the radio. “What did you buy all that fruit for anyway?” You finally ask, the question swaying in your mind for the past ten minutes and finally gaining the courage just now. 

“Soap likes protein smoothies but hates the taste of those powdered premade ones. I make them now and then, it’s a good boost.” He doesn't mention how that’s the only thing that kept him going post surgery a few years back, and even sometimes when he can’t bear to stomach food. 

You blink in surprise, having never had time to bother with things like that and usually just chugging down whatever energy drink you could get. Maybe you could take a page out of his book for once; learning from a special forces soldier would be good if he wasn’t so terrifying all the time. “..Sounds tasty.”

“Much better than your pile of redbulls.” You internally sulk at the personal attack, walking into your room right behind him, and glancing at your little name tag stuck beneath his. It had to be added after one too many soldiers thought he was bringing a fling over every night, and one bastard even created rumours about you. Not that you were aware, you just thought it was for better knowledge.

Ghost was still seething about the stupid man as he walked over to dump out the other things he bought–mainly some new gloves that he’ll try not to get muddy from training again. It annoyed him to no end that someone so disgusting could scare a soldier of all people– not that he blamed you, he had a time when he had to watch his words because he lashed out at a civilian. That’s the only reason he had been so insistent in the supermarket, and silent too, the anger bubbling in his chest every time he thought about his face. 

Letting out a long breath, he turns to see you unpack your bag, noticing the bubble bath mixture and then the array of bath items already on your bed. It doesn't take much to put two and two together– especially when you grab them and quickly try to hide them away. Meanwhile, you were mourning that you definitely couldn’t have a bath with him here now. Damnit, all because of that stupid creep! Though he did say he would've come back anyway, maybe you saved yourself the embarrassment. 

“I’ll be out until midnight.” He suddenly announces, grabbing his fruits and walking towards the door– he could do his work in Soap’s room tonight. “Leave a light on, or I'll put the main light on when I come back.” You had forgotten last time, and he had woken you up with the sheer brightness of it, startling you away at two am. If you knew any better you wouldn’t have yelped so loudly. The door shuts with a soft thud, and you don't waste your time dashing into the bathroom and running his large bath with a happy smile. In your mind, it was a stroke of luck, and you were going to take it, the bubbles blooming quickly when you pour the mixture in.

When he returns that night, the lamp by his bedside is on, and the room faintly smells of post-shower steam and strawberries. When he goes to brush his teeth, there’s a post-it note on the bubble mixture, offering him to use it if he wishes to do so. He probably won't, barely ever has a bath unless a mission is particularly draining, but the sight of your fluffy headband is particularly cute as it dries off. Though, it must’ve been a pretty good bath given how you’re snoring softly into your pillow, arms stretched and looking as content as a kid who got ice cream for dinner. Maybe he will have to try it sometime.

-----------------

rookie masterlist COD masterlist

part one part two part three

You only see him the next morning, since you came back near to 6am the night prior, while you’re yawning while pouring hot water into your oatmeal. Not that it’s any good, but you’re too lazy to go to the mess hall anyway.

“Didn’t mean to wake you up yesterday.” He says as he strips off his gear, collecting his gym clothes from his cupboard.

“When did you wake me?”

He raises a brow at you, were you still angry at him? It was a rude thing to do, interrupting your well needed sleep just because he trusted his own assumption. So, it was perfectly fair if you were at least a bit annoyed with him, except you were looking at him in utter confusion, and that lingering intimidation you can't shake away. “Yesterday? You said you were sleeping late because of a different training course.”

“Oh.. oh you did. It’s fine, I hardly even noticed.” You brush it off, not really understanding why he even apologised.

“You glared at me.”

“What? I wouldnt–” You blink at him in shock, unbelieving that you could’ve possibly glared at him. That was a rookie mistake for anyone to do to any higher up, regardless of his terrifying appearance or not. Though it morphs into something sheepish when you slowly realise what had actually happened.

“..Oh. I had a dream that you kicked me out of the room and it was raining.. and i got soaked.”

For a second, he considers asking deeper into why he would even do that, and how it would be raining in the corridor but he just nods, accepting it before walking off again. He doesn't mention it the next time you see him, in fact he’s gone back to regarding you as furniture again, you're sure your embarrassment will fizzle out for sure this time.

—--------------------

“Any new dreams?” He appears out of nowhere as you’re lining up to get food in the mess, and you swear you almost scream if not for the fact you were really trying to get in the good books with your commander loitering nearby.

“Umm..there was one.” You don't elaborate though, moving forward to grab your cutlery on your tray– being extra nice for once too and handing Ghost his. He gives you a little nod in response, though moves in front of you to serve your salad. Fine, if he wanted to do favour for favour you were ready anyday.

“Did i piss you off again?”

“Not quite, was about the mission we did.” You step in front to place a bread roll on both your plates, uncaring about the chef’s giving you strange looks. “Sergeant Mactavish panicked and started a fake fight with you to distract the enemies. You flipped him over so fast he broke his back and we had to call the ambulance..”

He actually lets out a chuckle this time, though not without walking in front of you to grab the main meal plates, as well as water bottles. “Well, the latter is realistic. Not sure how we’d call an ambulance to the middle of nowhere though.”

“Doesnt matter, all the workers ended up being versions of Sergeant Garrick so we had to do it ourselves.”

“They were what–”

You get to place the last item on his plate, which brings you the most joy you’ve had all day before your commanding officer gives you a look to kill. So before he can question any further, you’ve scurried off already, eating your food before he assumes you’re done.

Compared to what you believed, Ghost was very amused by your dream stories, namely because he and the others rarely get one–more than the odd memory anyway. Sure, every few months Soap will comment about dreaming about the lass he saw at the bar, Gaz asking him to send it over telepathically and Price shaking his head at them. Yours were actual dreams though, nonsensical, full of unanswered questions and strange situations. It was like watching those kids shows that were just there to flash as many stimulating colours as possible and hell it worked.

Hell, it actually worked in getting you to talk to him properly too, forgetting his status as you rambled on about you and your friend fighting a titan and then him swooping in out of nowhere to airstrike them all. Sure he was a little late to a briefing, but they all took their time getting their soggy coffee cups anyway.

He had been doing his work on the desk in the room for once, since you’d probably be out all day like you always were on Saturdays. Though you do step in after lunch, rummaging beneath your bed for your jacket. “Not gonna give me an update?”

“Huh?” Your head snaps to him, before you realise what he’s implying, and for once you completely stiffen up, words failing to come. “Uhh.. I didn't have a dream last night.” You say, though you’re very obviously trying to hide your face from him and doing a very bad job at it too.

“Really? So you were speaking in your sleep over nothing?”

“I don't speak in my sleep.” You huff, slipping the jacket over your uniform and zipping it up tight, trying your best not to panic too hard.

“Maybe not. I definitely heard a few words though..” He hums, pretending like he doesn't care as he turns back to his laptop, hands grazing the forms he’s supposed to be sorting out. “About Soap.. being strong maybe?”

Your jaw drops at his blatant teasing, but the worst part is that he was partly right–it being about Soap that it. He had seen right through your facade and it was blatantly obvious when you stammered, panicking. “S-soap? Why would I dream about him? That’s your friend, not mine.”

“It wasn’t? Then why do you look the exact same as when you sat beside him?”

Desperate, you attempt to move towards the door, only for him to get up and casually start fussing with the coats he leaves hanging behind it. “Don’t mind me, just checking my pockets for something.”

There was no way out of this; like the skilled operative he was, he had you trapped in your lies and the only way to freedom was to tell the truth– at the cost of your dignity that is. “What have I done to deserve this?” You groan, placing your head in your hands, and he almost snorts at the complete despair if not for the fact he doesn't want you getting too lax around him. How will it be any fun then. “It wasn’t weird, okay?”

“Who said it was weird?”

“You implied it!” You retort, crossing your arms over your chest and then looking worried for even speaking back to him that loudly. He hadn’t gotten mad at you once in the months you’ve been together, not that he cares if you actually are scared of him or not. “He was just there, and um, I got to see him fight and it was really cool..” Your voice gets quieter with each word, growing noticeably more flustered too.

“Y’know you can just come watch us train, right?”

His offer was not lost on you, and for a moment your heart spikes with something akin to hope. “Really?!” You look like a kid getting offered to meet their favourite superhero, it makes him want to roll his eyes at your excitement. “I- i mean, no! No, i cant do that. That’s inappropriate; i’m not some teenager stalking their crush.”

“So you admit you like him, huh?” He’s abandoned pretending to fiddle with the coats, the knowing look obvious despite only his eyes showing to you.

“If i tell you the rest, will you keep it a secret?”

“Don’t think you should be the one making demands.”

With a loud groan you decide you’re fed up, and push past him towards the door, grumbling something under your breath as you storm out the room. He wouldn’t tell Soap, of course not, but it was all too entertaining watching you writhe just from the thought of it.

—-----------------

That evening the team decided to go out for drinks, nothing crazy, just one or two but mainly to just talk over some smaller details. Soap was only really interested in getting his battered cod and chips, and to be honest, Ghost felt the same way. It’s been a long damn minute since he’s had a plate of it, and it’s definitely a craving.

He gets up to order himself a coke, already sick of the bourbon when he already wasn't in the mood for it, just to return to an extra person at the table. It's you with warmth in your cheeks, dazed eyes, and Gaz gently holding you upright like you’re a raccoon they found in the bin outside.

“Aye, Lt, lookie who Kyle found!” Soap laughs, lightly elbowing Gaz as you giggle, albeit a bit nervously.

“I thought we were the only ones that came here.” The pub closer to base was the one that bustled with the younger soldiers, and so they usually avoided it like the plague. No one wanted to be back to back with a cocky, sweaty recruit. So he was surprised to see you here, especially on your own.

“My friend left with some guy..” You hiccup, and Gaz finally gets you to sit upright in the chair he led you to, a frown beginning to form on your face as Ghost takes the seat opposite you. “We came here ‘cause I didn't wanna end up in the same place as you.”

“Bloody failed at that then, didn’t ya?” He remarks, only riling you up even more than before. “Why did she leave you on your own?”

“Am not gonna cockblock her, idiot.” You drunkenly slur, the two sergeants finding the exchange greatly amusing, both holding their laughter in. “ ‘m fine. Bartender is my friend.”

“It’s true, he made sure that she knew who I was before I brought her over here. I had to show my id just to prove it.” Kyle affirms, passing you a glass of water which you take just to eye suspiciously. “Why’re ye so mad at Ghost anyway, lass?” Soap pipes up, a devilish grin playing at his lips, clearly trying to get any info he can to use it against him later. Though, this might just end up not going well for you instead.

“He’s mean to me.” Kyle and Soap give each other a look, as if understanding they’re going to get some real good details out of this one. “I’m like furniture to him; doesn't even talk to me.”

“Pheewww.. that’s low, Ghost.”

“I come back late, she’s snorin’ half the time anyway.” He huffs in response, paying no mind to your rambling, that is until you scowl.

“Fine. He’s so rude, he- he-” They look towards you intently, waiting for you to drop something crazy. “He told Soap that–” With that the chair scrapes way too loud as Ghost suddenly stands, walking around to tug you up and out of your seat. What an idiot you were, almost baiting yourself out when he hadn’t even a chance to properly threaten it.

“Think someone has had a bit too many drinks today.” You sputter as roughly pulls you away, still glaring harshly until Soap just looks at you both confused. “Told me what? That time you tripped over nothing and landed face first into a muddy puddle?”

You’re even more annoyed at that it seems, since you whip your head around to Ghost, eyes wide and lips parted. “You knew about that?!”

—--------

Thankfully Ghost managed to get you out of the pub before you could spill every secret you’ve ever had, only you’re exhausted now and stumbling as you walk beside him. It’s dark, almost eight pm, and he knows the others will probably tease him about it later. “Did you actually not tell him?” You ask, voice quiet as you almost trip on a pot hole. Damnit.

“I didn't.” He hums, holding your wrist as he helps you cross the busy road over to his car. Thankfully Price had brought a car too, though he would’ve just picked them up later anyway. “Wouldn’t put your dignity even further into the ground.”

“Rude..” But you’re grateful when he helps you with your seatbelt before beginning the quick drive back to base. A few soldiers stare when they see you trailing behind him, having refused for him to help you because you’re a ‘strong and independent soldier’. Yeah right, you practically clung to him when it came to getting out of the car again, insisting you’d fall.

“Brush your teeth and into bed.” He orders and you nod, waddling your way into the bathroom and of course forgetting to lock the door. All he can do is let out a long sigh as he sits on his own bed; he’s more than ready to fall asleep himself. Soon enough you make it out in one piece, and thankfully dressed in your pajamas with no trouble.

Instead of going towards your bed though, you head towards him, squinting your eyes like trying to decipher something. He just lets you though, returning it with a deadpan stare of his own. “What’s wrong now?”

“You wanted to use it as blackmail instead, didn’t you?”

“Probably.” He crosses his arms over his chest, as if challenging you to stop him. Instead you just frown, accepting your pitiful fate.

“Can you get me some water?” You tilt your head wearily at him, practically swaying where you stand and he just nods, smiling behind the mask.

He gets up and walks towards his desk, opening the cupboard to reveal a little mini fridge, cold water bottles inside. “Here.” He undoes the cap and you take it carefully, sipping it down and breathing a sigh of relief as the cold feeling runs over you.

“Mm.. okay. Night Ghost.” You hum, waddling back over to your bed. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him somewhat normally, without having that terrified look in your eyes. And while he does find it fun to scare you, he definitely likes this too.

“Dont go dreaming about my sergeants again” He asks, just to tease you one last time.

“Heheh.. he laughed at my joke at the table.” You giggle airily, climbing beneath your covers with a loopy grin. Something tells Ghost he’s probably end up spending more energy than you do to keep the secret in the bag.

————————————-

buy me a coffee! rookie masterlist

literally so tired guys but the next one is super fun i’ve bene writing it up

btw if anyone didnt see my last post, this is their shared room layout :)

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he enters his your shared room to find you lounging on your bed, playing some stupid game on your phone. The pair of you haven't talked much since he caught you out, and it’s safe to say you’re still a bit squeamish about the whole incident given by how you noticeably curl into yourself whenever he enters the room. Not that he cares much though— scaring the lower ranks is his second favourite hobby.

“Need a favour.” He grunts, not caring in the slightest as he takes a seat at the edge of your bed and starts pulling off his boots to change into his heavier ones, made for all terrains. Despite your embarrassment, you perk almost immediately, not expecting a lieutenant to need some help from you of all people. Surely it was just an errand running— it’s not the first time a superior has made you do a coffee run either. In your eyes, Ghost was intimidating as hell; even after your odd exchange, you still had to hold in a squeak when he even gestured to you.

“A favour?”

“Need someone to go undercover with one of my sergeants.” You tilt your head, wondering if you knew anyone who would be good in that field. Ghost barely even knew you, and you’re sure he rarely goes near the other privates anyway. “Captor and prisoner kind of thing.”

“I don't know anyone though..” Your teeth grind together as you try your best to think hard about who could fit that position well— a girl would likely be more believable than a man, you knew well that many underestimated you as it is.

“I’m asking you.” He huffs, barely resisting rolling his eyes up at you, and unsurprisingly your jaw drops, looking at him like he’d just kicked you out of the military altogether.

—————————————————————

It only hit you when you entered the compound, Sergeant Garrick— or as you were told to call him ‘Gaz’— by your side as he kept a firm grip on your arm. It wasn’t too hard to act prisoner; all you really had to do was keep your head down, look like you wanted to throw up and occasionally throw a glare back at him when he would tug at you. Oddly enough, it felt like a weird game, especially considering the lack of background knowledge they were allowed to give you. Ghost had already assured you it was a low stakes mission, and there was absolutely every guarantee that nothing would go wrong in the slightest, given the massive difference in experience between the SAS and the enemy’s operatives.

But that assurance was fading now, especially when you started walking through the busier parts. There were people all around now, some other prisoners like you getting walked to their cells, scarred soldiers walking past and even bruised and battered civilians. You didn't need to know why they resorted to infiltration rather than just overpowering the entire facility— these soldiers were people too, hell, civilians even. This was more than just black and white morals, the smoother this operation went, the less hurt on their side.

“Gaz is going to turn left on that corridor, and then you’ll be hiding in an office whilst he finds the info. No one should come in, and if they do, we have a plan, remember?” Ghost is speaking to you on a separate comms channel, guiding you through each step of the process. You appreciate it, but you know he’s only doing it to make sure the mission goes smoothly. Thankfully, fear on your face won't compromise anything, and there’s hardly a chance of you doing something that won't be passed off as ‘hysteria’ anyway.

Just as you were told, you’re led into what seems to be an office, Gaz ordering you to stay back whilst he searches through the desks. “Just stay there, okay? Don’t get defensive if anyone comes in; we can still play it off.” You nod along, standing awkwardly to the side, with your hands faked to be bound together with weak cuffs. You watch as he finds some sheets, looking over them before taking pictures to send straight back to Laswell and the others.

Now was the second phase.

“Moving in.”

Ghost’s voice echoes through all the comms as you and Gaz continue your route through the winding corridors. This was the slightly trickier part, mainly because you two were now going to become a distraction. “Ready?” He whispers to you, and you nod, seeing as both of you near what seems to be their version of a mess hall, other prisoners being dragged past just like you were.

All of a sudden he shoves you to the floor, making you fall on your knees. “You’re so fucking slow!” He grumbles, nudging you with his boot as a few others around start to look and stare. “Top priority my ass..”

The bait works as expected, a cocky man coming over, who looks like he’s no older than twenty two, sneering at your form on the floor. “Top priority? What for? Looks like they’re for the streets.” His laugh is ugly, but his arms are puny like most of the men around here. In fact, Gaz’s clothing was done purposefully to hide his physique, otherwise he’d look far out of place.

“Some town chief’s daughter.” Gaz scoffs, his part played so well you’re worried for a moment that you might actually be in some real danger. Then another man comes over, since they’re probably all bored out of their minds and looking for an excuse to be distracted.

“Bargaining chip, hm? She ain't worth anything more that’s for sure.”

They laugh between themselves for a moment, one of them forgetting the prisoner they’re supposed to be holding onto, and coming to join in on the fun. However, you’re waiting for Gaz’s signal, slowly scrambling yourself to get back up again whilst he pretends to roughly handle you. Bingo. The guard comes over, the only one in the vicinity, which means it’s go time. With one last push, he undoes the weak cuffs on your arms, and you pretend to fall to the floor. The men laugh, jeering at your weak form, that is until you grab the gun from the guard’s belt— one of the few ranks in this building to have guns— and run.

Angry men yell behind you, but you have the gun locked and loaded if anything needs to happen, no alarms go off though— thanks to Soap’s quick work of them. The goal is to follow the route Ghost made you memorise on the way here, and when you finally reach the end, Price will act as a higher authority to capture you. Definitely not what you thought you’d be doing when you joined the military, but not exactly far from it either. Your running is up to speed too, having trained non-stop for the past two weeks to make sure you could outrun these incompetent fools, and it’s not too hard either. Gaz is at the front, trying to rally alarm in those around so they’re less likely to see Ghost and Soap slipping into an office, and taking that man out back to be used in interrogation later.

Other prisoners watch the scene, and whilst not intended, they end up joining your lead, creating an even bigger chaos than all of you anticipated. Thankfully, you’re nearing the end now, just one more turn, but what if they still needed more time? What if they hadn't got him out yet?

Two strong hands yank your own behind your back, knocking the gun out your hand and onto the floor. “Where do you think y’r goin?” Price forced an accent on and kept his voice as muffled as possible, but the men immediately turned their head to the other prisoners still running, not blinking twice at the fact no one had ever seen Price before. His demeanour is one that screams authority anyway, even when wearing the enemies clothes, and the few soldiers that stayed disperse when they realise they won't be the ones to “guide” you to the commander and get the reward for a high priority prisoner.

“You’re meant to be in charge of ‘er. Fuckin’ useless.” Price glares down at Gaz, who takes on the look of a meek soldier immediately, following him out as the captain holds you by the scruff of your shirt. The rest watch in silence as the scene unfolds, the chatter probably already going around base at the stupidity and consequences of one mistake.

—————

“So mean, Cap.” Gaz sighs dramatically, leaning against the window of the front seat.

“You’ll live Garrick.”

Awkwardly you wait with them by the pickup point, Ghost and Soap eventually appearing with their hostage. The man is soon tied up in the boot, drugged and knocked out so that really isn't a problem until tomorrow. Though, the current concern you have right now is when Ghost and Soap get in, insisting you sit in the middle since you’re technically smaller only to be squashed between them two. Even though the adrenaline from whatever the hell just went down is still pumping high, you’re even more terrified at the fact Soap Mactavish is sitting next to you! The Soap Mactavish— youngest person to join the SAS— you feel like you might topple over while sitting if that’s even possible.

“Y’alright?” Ghost’s gruff voice snaps you out of your dreamy state, almost pissing you off before you remember this is your job, and he’s a much higher rank than you—just like all of them here.

You nod quickly in response, mumbling out a “Yes sir.” that comes off far too blunt and robotic than you’d like. Thankfully none of them pay any mind to it, Ghost just shrugging and looking out the window as the car starts to rumble over the gravel.

—

Sitting next to Soap for the better part of the last two hours had you gripping the sides of your trouser legs, nervous as hell— especially he would crack a joke towards you. The one time he had asked you a question you had stammered out the answer before Ghost had saved you with his own input. For the remainder of the journey your eyes had fixated on how close your leg was to his— practically centimetres away.

When you arrive at the safehouse, it’s near midnight, the dingy place looking nothing short of abandoned but perhaps that’s why it was such a good spot. The roof looked cracked, the windows were boarded, and even a faulty pipe was broken leading to a dodgy drain, but that was likely all a decoy to keep it that way. You follow them inside, watching as Ghost and Soap drag the limp body between them before taking it in a separate room. Since the others had headed in too, you assumed that was also your cue to follow, until Gaz stops, gently placing a hand out. “Not this one, soldier.”

You blink, but it’s not like you’re going to fight it— hell maybe it’s for the best you don't go in. The Captain also looks back, glancing at him for a moment. “Can stay if she wants.”

“Best not, sensitive information.” Gaz insists, nudging you out and so you just give him a quick nod, scrambling away.

Whilst they’re in there, you decide to busy yourself with the gear they dropped on the dusty couch. They couldn’t take most of it in, but the guns were still fairly dirty, probably from something that didn't go to plan when Ghost and Soap were going around. So.. after finding an old cloth and dish soap in the dirty kitchen, and some rainwater outside the main door, you get to work.

Of course the first thing is to empty the gun, and make sure no loose bullets are still inside; the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of all of them by catching your own bullet. After that, you carefully undo most of the bigger parts, and then begin to clean it with the very lightly dampened cloth. Your fingers press into the grooves, working out any buildup, and scrubbing away some grease left behind.

It’s a job you’re used to doing, and one you know particularly well, so you’re confident in not making a mistake here. You’ve lost yourself in it when you’re on the fifth firearm and now moving onto cleaning the helmets and the like. There’s something about it that’s oddly soothing, perhaps it’s the repetition of the movements, or the satisfaction of how much dirt comes out, or maybe it just makes you feel useful. You’re happy regardless, scrubbing out a particularly bloody splatter when you feel a large hand touch your shoulder, instantly making you sit up straight. It wasn't like you hadn't heard him enter, but you assumed he wouldn't come over to you.

“Cleanin’ really?”

You had jumped from his touch, but somehow his scolding tone was worse, making your shoulders tense unintentionally. “Might as well make myself somewhat useful..”

He rolls his eyes at that, but just sits down beside you, watching as you concentrate on cleaning. “Bit quiet, your CO said you were a bit more open than that.” He raises an eyebrow at you, as if questioning your behaviour today, but you just let out a little scoff.

“Not gonna be making jokes with a Captain and a lieutenant, am I?”

He chuckles at that, having forgotten how much more experienced they are than you, even if he’s not that much older than you. Well, it made sense now— why you had been even more skittish than usual.

“Could do. Would’ve been funny to see the Captain yell at you to stay focused.” Your face immediately stills, looking embarrassed for something you hadn't even done, but the look of terror is even more amusing to him that he just can't stop. “Noticed you got a bit flushed sittin’ next to Johnny. What’s that about?”

“Flushed? I was not—” You begin, fighting back your case before you meet the eye of the Captain exiting the room, blood on his gloves and a harshness in his eyes worse than the wrath of your CO. “Can you just not please?” Your head is lowered as you huff out, albeit much quieter than your initial retort and Ghost just follows your gaze, stifling a laugh when he realises.

“You were pink though. Could hear your heartbeat racing too.”

You groan as you bury your face in your hands, still way too nervous to actually bite back, and you’ve been on the bad side of an officer for even laughing at their joke once. His appearance made him seem the exact same way, but from how quickly he rolls his eyes and pats your shoulder like he’s comforting a dramatic child, he might just be quite the opposite.

“It’s not like that.” You finally manage to steady your voice, deciding to just give up on trying to not react and scrub the gear harder instead.

“Oh right? So you look at every officer with stars in your eyes?”

“He’s the youngest soldier to join the SAS and like– everyone tells stories about him!” There’s a tad bit of excitement in your voice as you explain, and then you just suddenly drop, pushing the cloth right through the groove of a gun and yanking out a lump of grease. “You’re just jealous..” It’s the first joke you’ve actually made that is supposed to be a jab at him, and he considers pretending to be mad, but he doesn't, just shrugging.

“Maybe I am. Must be nice having fans ogle you like a celebrity crush.”

Your jaw drops at his words, though instantly quietening when you snap your head in his direction to see him casually sharpening his knives. Where and when did he even get that sharpener? Does he just carry it around in his pocket?

“Sorry, were you saying something?” He’s definitely smirking at you right, but you just begrudgingly shake your head and continue your own work in silence. Your eyes begin to droop just a little, and you debate making a quick instant coffee with the sachet you shoved in Ghost’s bag. It didn't help that you couldn't bring one of your own, even less that your lips and throat were parched, and the sink water didn't look good in the slightest.

“You should get some sleep, you know.”

“I can't sleep now.” You argue, teeth digging into your lip as you think about how immature it’d be to just sleep now while they’re all busy. He can read your reactions easily, from the slight narrow of your brow down to the guilty swallow.

“You can, and you should.”

—-------------

Eventually he gets up to talk to the others, sort out some other things you’re not supposed to be hearing, and then figure out some other things again. They all start to quieten down as it nears three am, catching up on rest until morning, and they can deal with that hostage back at base. Killing him off would probably be smarter, but they have some drugs that’ll keep him under for long enough anyway.

He leaves the Captain with the sergeants since it was better that Price took the night shift and then let him drive in the morning. The drive wouldn’t be too long, an hour or two, but any sleep is worth it.

“You asleep yet?”

He steps into the room you were in, just to see you nodding off in your place, hands still holding a dismantled gun and a damp cloth. Your lips are parted just slightly, head slumped a little forward and a few stray hairs escaping the bun you had tied your hair back in. Carefully, he takes the items out of your hands, amused when your eyes squint, but you don't wake.

It’s always jarring to work with those with less experience than himself. How freely they can fall into slumber, not even checking all the locks first or worrying over the sounds of your breathing being too loud. Hell, you don't even think twice before you close your eyes, nor are you thinking of the million different ways you could possibly fend off an intruder.

You were innocence that believed it was tainted, but no one truly understands how the military changes you until they experience it.

With a soft sigh, he adjusts you to lay down properly on the length of the couch, propping a tatty pillow under your head. You settle quietly, looking a little tense but not as much as when you usually fall asleep in front of him. It’s pretty obvious that you’re intimidated by him— though probably Soap even more. He’ll tease you about it more another time though; it was best not to waste precious ammunition all at once.

Rolling out his own bedroll, he settles on the floor close enough to the couch, just in case. For a rookie you did surprisingly well, and there were hardly any unnecessary casualties which is always a win for everyone. Maybe he’ll even see you in his troop one day too.. he’d probably have to drag your heart eyes away from Soap though.

———-

rookie masterlist

Taglist: @ninniesontheglass3 @yummyzenaku @lavenderloss

The table falls silent, mostly because their jaws are dropped, in both horror and shock. “You’re joking, right? You wouldn’t be alive right now if you weren’t”

“I’m not joking” You scoff out, chowing down on the bread roll now and making all your words mumbles. “Why would I even lie about that?”

The three share glances with each other, suspicious ones at that. Of course every damn rookie knows the reputation of him, moreso the stories that have been told about him.

“Prove it.”

—------------------------------------------------------

“Just because he’s my roommate doesn’t mean I'm not just as scared of him as everyone else–this is evil!” You whisper shout as they pull you down the halls, two of them restraining your arms.

”Well we all know you’re lying, so just confess before we make you prove it.” Meatball huffs, tugging your sleeve along even as you squirm again, now trying to gain sympathy points from Beetle instead.

“You believe me right? I’m not lying!”

You almost stumble over your own feet when you come to a stop outside the gym, looking around in confusion before you spot the familiar mask on one of the men walking across the room. “Go on then. Prove it.”

“What? I’m supposed to just go up to him and say ‘hi roomie’?”

“No– obviously not– just ask him a stupid question or something!”

Before you can argue, she shoves you towards the gym doors and you stiffly enter, swallowing sharply as you watch the Lieutenant walk back to the machine he was using, near a sergeant you’re pretty sure is in his team. But it’s not just any sergeant–no– it’s John Mactavish himself, codenamed Soap. The youngest to join the SAS and hell, everyone you know talks nothing but praise about him. You turn back in a moment of desperation, but your friends have dispersed already, heading towards the supply closet so they can ‘retrieve training equipment’. Damn them. So now you stand in the middle of the gym, torn between actually walking up to them or just living you life being framed as a supposed liar or worse—an attention seeker.

Fate decides its course for you because a bunch of soldiers come for the post-lunch rush, causing you to step out of their way. Of course, you end up stumbling awkwardly over to where Ghost is benching a lot more weight than you could ever handle. “What’re you doing here?” The question catches you off guard and you immediately snap your head towards where he eyes you, not hesitating as he brings the bar lower to his collarbone and then pushes it up to sit on the holder. He sits upright again, still staring, but thankfully Soap has gone elsewhere—likely to refill his bottle or something.

“Uhh.. I have a question.” You glance to the right, wondering if you could somehow make a run for it, but you immediately make eye contact with the three idiots that set you up for this, their glares insistent.

“Don’t got all day, y’know” He huffs, lifting his mask a smidge to wipe his face with the towel.

“What’s your favourite Haribo?”

You really need to get better at what you blurt out because of all of the possible questions you could’ve asked him, even just asking where a piece of equipment was, you had bloody asked him what his favourite gummy was. His eyes narrow in your direction, and you’re convinced it might even be a glare considering that was a very reasonable response to wasting someone’s time.

Unfortunately, it was far worse than any of the possibilities you considered. “Eh? Terrorising the rookies without me?” You freeze, immediately recognising the Scot’s accent, and Ghost seems to read you easily, given that he crosses his arms over his chest, staring straight at you. “My roomate.” He hums, gesturing before turning his attention back onto you. “Go on, repeat it.”

“I- uh– I was just asking the Lieutenant what his um, favourite..Haribo was..” You force each word out, already expecting to be sent to the track for ten laps at this point. Soap smiles at you, lips curling into a sliver of a grin or rather a smirk but he reins it in, tapping his finger against his chin pensively. “Eggs are arguably the best. I’d fight ye on that.”

“Gummy bears.” Ghost plainly states, and you’re ready to give them a thumbs up and run out when Soap nods along in agreement, leaning in just slightly to you.

“This ones a real sadist. Eats the legs off first, then the hands.” For a second, you’re confused, or rather slightly unnerved by his statement though you're not too sure why. Maybe it’s because his elbow is gently nudging yours, or the fact that they look like they’re going to eat you alive. Either way, Ghost nods along to the words, not denying the claims in the slightest. “Bites the head of last. Real cinematic.”

You laugh a little, just for the sake of it, but Ghost stands again, grabbing his bottle in his hand. “I like my sweets the way I like my interrogations. Head off last.”

Now you just stare at the both of them, Soap’s hum of agreement and then the silence that follows. Surely it was a joke, right? You’ve heard rumours before, knew it was probably exaggerated, but now you were getting second doubts the longer they looked at you blankly. Soap’s face is dead straight, staring at you as you blink like an idiot.

“Right. Thanks for the answer.” You nod, a weak smile on your lips, though your face grows paler with each second they refuse to make any reaction apart from a small nod. As soon as Soap turns his head, you make a dash for it, your friends who eavesdropped looking equally as disturbed by the interaction. Soon you all leave the room, silence filling the space between all of you.

Back at the gym, Ghost snorts before patting the Scot on the back and settling himself on the bench again. “Good one mate. I’ll tell ya if she pisses the bed tonight.”

——————

rookie masterlist

Lmk if the codename thing is weird, not so much the actual names but like using codenames yk? I feel like its easier than calling extra#1 amy or sumthin LOL

Similarly, that’s exactly how you got placed in this predicament, not even close to qualify as a Sergeant and somehow standing before a Lieutenant’s room. Just with your luck, the fire had spread into your room seconds after, consuming quite a few rooms on the corridor. You were in nothing but some crappy pajamas, not that you cared about that right now when you had been sent to the lion’s den itself.

‘Lieutenant Ghost’

the label read, standing proudly beside the door that you’re terrified to knock on. When the assignments had gone around, everyone was in a chatter, some excited to finally room with the soldiers they admired and others partnered with officers that were similar to hell itself. Well, you’d take any officer who’d make you do jumping jacks before bed if it meant you didn’t have to disturb a lieutenant—Ghost of all people too. The stories were terrifying enough on their own, and you’re praying the ground swallows you right now before you have to actually go through with this. At least that girl will remember you– maybe she’ll even give a speech of how you lent your shoulder to her. It’d be better than your gravestone reading ‘death by being too much of a coward.’

Gulping, you carefully lift your hand up to the door, hoping that the Captain with a fuzzy beard who watched your reaction with a tired grin was actually right in doing this and not just preparing your funeral in advance. The rap of your knuckles echoes in the quiet corridor, everyone else already rushing to get to bed and continue with their sweet dreams. Each second of silence fills you with more dread but soon enough you realise that there’s no sign of movement in the slightest. Was he on deployment? Hesitantly, your hand rests on the handle, swallowing down your fear for a split second to hear the creak as it turns.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” A scream would’ve escaped if not for the fact your hand flew off the handle and over your mouth, spinning around to face the bulk of a man standing menacingly beside you. Your phone and uniform drops from your hands, some of the smaller things they had managed to recover before the fire caused too much damage to the room, clattering to the floor as you step back in pure fear.

“Sir— I-I- A fire— my room- gone- the Captain sent me—“

You force yourself to do a firm salute before saying everything you were supposed to say yet nowhere near a comprehensible sentence as you stare with wide eyes at his terrifying stance. A black balaclava marked with white to form a skull imitation is all you can see, apart from his eyes and the tufts of blonde hair peeking out in the corner of his hood. He had clearly just come back from working out, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark circles in the small space you could see his eyes.

“So you’re staying in my room cause some idiot caused a bloody fire in your barracks?” His gruff voice is just as loud as before, making your shoulders jump again before you quickly nod at him. “Yes sir!” Only a scoff is what you get in response, a key in his hand that he slips through the door before entering the room. “Well pick up your things and get in then.”

You clutch the folded uniform in your hands, the small pouch of essentials and your phone both slipped into your pocket, as you enter the bland room. Infact, it may have even been too bland— there was practically no decoration whatsoever unless you counted the small calendar on the wall. “Guess they’ll grab you a mattress tomorrow.”

You nod again, even if he isn't even glancing back at you, already heading into the bathroom to freshen up. Meanwhile, you patter over to the small couch, barely your height but you’ve learned to be grateful that you’re not sleeping on the bareground with active threats around. Carefully you set the clothes on the floor by the couch, sitting awkwardly. What you didn't expect was that he’d completely ignore you for the rest of the night, following his own routine whilst you’re too terrified to even breathe in case he decides that’s wrong.

Somehow you survive the first day, and the second—the mattress and more of your belongings included this time. He had begrudgingly moved his things around to let you push your little make-do bed against the corner, and now you took up a tiny part of his room. He wasn't there most of the day, and the same would be with the nights if you had a normal schedule. However, your commanding officer happened to hate your group— rightfully so because of the others— and it sucked for you. That meant you were up late every night, sometimes so late you saw him lounging in bed with a book in his palms. Weirdly enough, you never saw him sleep, not even once, and soon he started to just drift into the background for you— like he was like a part of the furniture.

The weekend finally hit, two weeks of being in a room where you’re barely comfortable to make more than three noises an hour and finally, Ghost was sent on a deployment. The news was confirmed by some idle gossip in the lunch hall earlier, a few other soldiers stuck with the other members of his team. Safe to say, you were well over the moon about it, practically skipping back to your quarters this evening. Nope, no time to grab any drinks in town or laugh till you knock out— tonight's plans were something you’ve needed desperately for two weeks but Ghost had stripped from you.

A damn good cry.

It was hardly the most ideal coping mechanism—nor the most respected. Especially considering your ‘sad’ playlist, where you collected the most heart wrenching songs you could find, was what put you in the mood. Though you consider it a pretty good reward especially after how frustrating these past few weeks have been.

—---------

Ghost returns at 0200, the mission being cut short due to intel they found that solved the issue fairly quickly and he was shipped back to base for the night. He creaked the door open, noticing immediately your arm slumped over the side of the mattress. For a second it makes him pause, the same images of a corpse splayed just like that but he snaps himself out of it before he ends up checking your pulse like some kind of nervous wreck.

Pulling off his gear, he realises the room is much cleaner than he left, or than it usually is— by a mile. The gear he left scattered on his bed before he left has been tidied into his cupboard, not to mention the floor has been hoovered up all nicely and the occasional wrappers have been picked up. The bin has been emptied, as well as the dust from all the counters wiped down, looking much more alive than how they’d usually appear. Hell, even his bed has been made nicely. There were a few snacks lying on the small table near the door, crisps, candies—whatever. You must’ve gone to town at some point and brang back whatever you could hide in your shirt. Typical rookies.

When his eyes settle on you again, he notices you look noticeably more tired than usual but surprisingly relaxed. When he’s around, you usually fall asleep pretty stiff and stay that way for the majority of the night, though your limbs are spread like a starfish now, face smushed into the pillow you placed against the wall after accidentally banging your head a few times. He doesn't pay much mind to it—you could sleep upside down for all her cares— ready to turn in for the night when he notices a small shine on your cheeks, the moonlight reflecting off of it. He pauses, wondering if he should just leave it before deciding to just take a small peek and peering over your shoulder. Your cheeks glisten as you breathe quietly, small little droplets on the pillows and the faintest trace on your eyelashes. Then again, it’s not really his business.. Right?

—--------

That became a little too of a regular occurrence for his liking, and coincidentally he noticed it the most when he was supposed to be out– that was understandable though, a rookie of all people would not want to cry before him. Though, he’s more focused on why this is happening so often– it must be because of something, right? He’s seen soldiers cry before, sure, when they’ve witnessed too many deaths, when they douse themselves in alcohol post op or even on the benches outside base, head in their hands and their sergeant badge hidden. It’s not the most common, but it’s definitely not something he frowns upon either. But it’s been a month of non-stop late nights for him and twelve times he’s seen your cheeks wet like that– yes he had counted.

Now that he thinks about it, you did return back rather late compared to the other groups, exhausted and crawling beneath your thin blanket almost immediately. It was normal for a commanding officer to be strict and enforce punishments but every day? That was strange.

So, when his schedule finally clears up, he happens to see– definitely didn’t look on purpose– your whole group kept back well into the evening, screamed at and most of you looking very exhausted when it finally ends.

“How long is the work day for the privates meant to be?” Ghost sits in Price’s office, nursing a tea on the off chance he’s free whilst his captain flicks through some information again. He seems surprised by the sudden question, glancing over at the lieutenant before scribbling down something. “Not long— usually eight am to five pm. Maybe six latest, why?” He hums, flicking the page over only to hear the lieutenant let out a grunt in return, swallowing down another gulp of his tea.

“..Seen one team that always stays still eight. Barely get scraps in the mess if they’re lucky.”

Price leans back on his chair, not expecting that and especially not the information from Ghost himself. Well, he does have a keen eye for a lot of things but something tells me it’s not that. “So, if i look into it, I s’pose i’ll find your roomie there, hm?”

Ghost scoffs, pulling his mask back down defensively as he places his empty mug on the table, looking at him with a glare so narrowed the Captain knows well it’s nowhere near serious. “Information always stems from somewhere.”

“Alright, alright. Don't go interfering now, i’ll handle it.”

———————-

So, the Captain solved the problem and the latest you finished now was six on a bad day, though that didn't stop you from coming back to his room extremely late. You don't look as exhausted though, so that’s a win in his books but he’s curious to see where you’re going instead.

And maybe he followed you once, or twice.

The first time you went to the mess and talked with your friends all evening, going to lounge around with the few of them who never had to share a room with the officers. But the second was a Friday, and you had ditched your friends’ plans, walking round the base till you found a nice secluded bench in the darkness. He’s confused for a moment, wondering why you’d just sit there but he can't get a good angle from where he stands near the wall. Surely you didnt just go out for fresh air every night until it was late?

Then he hears it, the soft sniffle and the leaking music from your headphones— he has no idea what band that even is but damn does it sound depressing. With a sigh he steps back into base, what the hell are you doing to him?

———————————————

You near towards your room with a yawn, having spent way too long in the bathroom trying to rid the red puffiness from your cheeks. That was the issue with having your sessions elsewhere, it was such a hassle having to hide your face. Though, it’s not like you cared much about hiding it from Ghost, it’d been almost a whole month now and it was very safe to say he didnt give a damn about you in the absolute slightest.

The door opens with a soft creak, your feet already taking you towards your mattress as you rub sleepily at your eyes. Until you see a pair of black boots where you usually kick off yours.

Confused, you raise your head until you come face to face with the Lieutenant.. who’s sat on your mattress and staring at you in a way that’s almost like those monsters in the stories. Does he even blink? You can't help but just stand and stare at him, utterly confused and mentally wracking your head for answers as to why he’s staring at you like you’re the one who's acting off script. He started it, not you!

And of course, stupid as you are, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Why are you sitting there like you found porno mags under my bed?”

Silence rings loud between you two, but your head is like a rave with how loud you're screaming at yourself for blurting out something that stupid in front of your superior of all people.

“Should I be checking for that?”

“No- no!” You quickly shake your head, before realising what that implies and waving your hands frantically in front of you as you struggle to get your point across. “I- i have no porno mags! Nothing! You can check! It was a joke!”

He looks at you a second longer before rolling his eyes up at you, making you freeze again in horror; the hole you’ve dug yourself was definitely 6 feet now, maybe it’s time to bury yourself.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He mutters, arms crossing over his chest but his eyes dont narrow into a glare, nor do they hold his usual stern gaze, instead a mix of curiosity and.. exasperation.

Confused, you teeter on your feet, shifting your weight back and forth. “So.. is this about me as a soldier..? Me as a person..? Wait— did i forget to flush the toilet or something?!” Your face burns red and he almost wants to facepalm right then and there, but he doesnt, scoffing lowly.

“No—every night you got bloody tears on your cheeks. What is wrong with you?”

He insists, being as straightforward as he can—probably to stop you from being so dense and finally answer the damn question. Alas, instead you stand completely block solid in front of him, cheeks growing warmer at the second as you process what he had just said. He knew about the tears. How long? Surely only recently.. right? What if it was longer? What if he had cameras in the room? What if—

“If you don't answer it, I'll write an official report to get a shrink for you.” He says, voice slightly stern this time, and thankfully snaps you back to life because you immediately stumble out “No!”

He raises a brow at your adamancy, and you sigh, fingers tugging at the hem of your worn shirt as you face him, the terrifying lieutenant that’s currently interrogating you about your constant tears. He might as well parade your grave around while he’s at it.

“It’s just umm.. like..”

“Like?”

“Its just like stress relief yknow..” You mumble, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you try and word it in a way that doesn't make you seem like more of the idiot he already thinks you to be. “Like when people hit things when they’re angry, I cry every now and then ‘cause it makes my chest feel less heavy.”

He was half expecting you to blurt out a long lifestory, maybe about how your parents didn’t agree with your military job, or you’d seen too many injuries on the past mission. Hell, he was waiting for you to just complain about how your arms hurt too much or some superior was yelling at you. So now he feels like a fool, all those conflicting feelings stored up in his chest that he figured was just down to morality, was all for nothing.

“So.. there’s nothing wrong.. at all?” Your eyes widen as he stands up, even if you were the tallest person alive, his stance was enough to still you. The way he looks at you is almost skeptical, which is ironic because he knows shouldn’t even be caring in the first place and yet here he is, interrogating you.

“I mean.. no?” Then you blurt out the second stupidest thing you’ve said all day. “Were you worried about me?”

The scoff that follows is almost immediate as he turns away, heading over to his closet to pull out his sleepwear, which mainly only ever consists of a t-shirt and joggers anyway. “Dont get ahead of yourself-“

”Then why’d you ask?”

He grumbles in response, ignoring your question and starts switching off the mainlights, which is odd considering he tends to read before bed anyway. “You were acting weird. Besides you kept cleaning my side of the room.”

Oh. You had done that. As much fun as it was to cry whenever you got exhausted, you sometimes tended to blast some music in your ears and have a spring cleaning session— every damn week that is. Back when your old roomies were out for the night, you could belt out any song you wanted dramatically whilst cleaning up the mess that became your room during the week. Oops.

”Just a habit whenever i have nothing to do.. yknow, clean up the mess.”

”Is your other habit listening to depressing music?”

“You know about that too?!!” He’s purposefully teasing you know, and it’s blatantly obvious in how he chuckles after your retort, tugging his socks off and into the small laundry basket for later.

”You’re hardly secretive. Just cry whenever you want, but dont go letting anyone see.” He says gruffly, and you pause, wondering why he said that. Did he think of you as embarrassing, or even shameful?

“Because it’s stupid?”

He turns to you properly and gives you a sharp glare, not before rolling his eyes at your remark. “No, because i dont want bullying allegations on my head. Don’t got time to be reprimanded for scaring off another rookie.”

He turns towards the bathroom, knowing damn well that glare has you frozen like a deer, before stopping in the door frame. “Oh and if you find a bloody thumb in one of my pockets, just throw it out. I bloody hate using grenades.”

You blink, once, twice— processing what he has just said. “A- a bloody what?!”

—————————

COD masterlist part 2 rookie masterlist