magic

All your reservations came crashing down that fateful week of his injury, insecurities boiling up and making you threaten to leave. That wouldnt even be the worst thing, if he hadnt chosen that time to kiss you, and then you asked for more?!

“Why did I do that?!” You groan loudly, rolling over to hide your face in your pillow in hopes it’ll knock you out enough to forget all this. You kissed your Lieutenant and you have no idea what the hell you’re going to do about it— what the hell even are you meant to say?!

“Sir i just had romantic relations with can i eat breakfast with you and the team without my face burning up every five seconds?”

“Hey Lieutenant i just kissed, do you mind if i sleep in your bed and i get clammy and freeze up every five seconds like a right idiot?”

“Hi guy i just kissed, do you mind if we do it again?”

You groan louder this time, using your hands to push the pillow against your face because this really should be the death of you. How did you even get yourself here? 

“Poor method of killin’ yourself, bird. Recommend ya at least add some water first.”

You sit up immediately in horror to see him standing there in the doorway, stature sluggish from a trip out, duffel bag in his arms. As soon as he could walk again, he had to go down with the 141 somewhere, not that they made him do anything too strenuous. 

“What’s with the deer stare? I’m fine, promise.” He raises a brow at your terrified face. 

“Y-you’re early.” You eventually manage to squeak out. You’re not worried about his injuries this time— he was supposed to be back next week. And you were still figuring out what the hell you were gonna do.

“Thought it’d be a good surprise, or not? If you want to have a bath today you still can.” Surely he must’ve encroached upon some plan you previously had, but you just meekly shake your head.

“No, it’s okay. How long are you back for?”

“A while, wrapped up somethin’ big so nothing for a while.”

Shit.

—————————

“Sergeants want to watch a movie in the rec room, you comin?” He had just finished up in the shower when he got the text from them, apparently spontaneously deciding when they got a good deal on a takeaway too.

“Umm..” You’re playing a game on your phone, clearly having not even processed his question yet as you narrow your brows at the screen in concentration. 

“Hello? You lost in your pretty little head again?” He waves his hand in your face, effectively making you miss your attack and you quickly swat his hand away. “What is it?”

“Movie night, yes or no, love?”

“Depends, are you going?” You repeatedly tap the screen and yet the boss is still standing, what is this thing made of? 

“Yes, and they bought snacks. So that’s basically a yes from you, wash up and we’ll go.”

The game ends with a success on your end and you grin, letting it drop to your lap as you finally look up and register all the words he had just said to you. “Oh, sure, a movie night sounds good. I mean i’ll watch what— wait, what did you say before?”

“I said you’re lost in your pretty head again.” He repeats so casually like it didn't just rewire your entire brain chemistry. You watch as he tucks away some of the papers he was working on earlier, locking them in his draw before walking over to you. “You good, love?”

“Y-yeah, just deciding if i need to uh.. check my armoury or something, yeah..” You mumble out, quickly standing and heading into the bathroom with the soft slam of the door. You were not surviving tonight.

———————

You passed out on the couch almost immediately after that to save yourself from any more embarrassment. Except, now you couldn’t help but crave for even more of his attention like that.

It didn't hit you until a week later, in which you joined them on a mini operation of a sorts. Really you were just in charge of watching the cameras for them since the usual soldiers were all caught up on something. It all went smoothly, and you started the drive back to base except.. a storm had started thundering down and having the heating racked up caused the petrol to run out faster than planned. So you all stopped off at a petrol station in the dead of night, the rain still pattering down as you and the sergeants rushed in. 

“Not always safe in there, i’ll be outside, okay?” Simon mumbles, following you to the woman's cubicle, and you sleepily nod knowing that some creeps liked to linger in these places.

Thankfully you had no such troubles, and it was even actually clean! You grin to yourself as you wash your hands, already thinking about the bag of m&ms you were just about to buy for the way back.

“All done!” You hum as you step out and he stands from where he was leaning against the wall. 

“Gotta grab some stuff first, car’s acting up a bit.” He starts walking and you follow, watching him look at a rack of engine oil and coolants. Truly you probably would be able to help, but you’re kind of tired right now so you just leave him to it. Instead you over the top of the aisles, noticing the lack of anyone around. Johnny’s mohawk seems to peek out near the fridges, along with Kyle’s cap, but that’s it apart from the cashier. 

You turn your attention back to Simon again whose picked up one of the coolants, looking it over at rhe details. His other hand hangs useless at his side but with his gloves off for once— and yours cold from the rain— you can't help but stare at it a bit too longingly. Before you can really think twice about it, you lightly tap your hand against his, before gently slipping your palm against his. He glances at you for a moment, but you keep your gaze stuck to the floor, half expecting him to pull away with a roll of his eyes.

Instead, his fingers lock your hand in place, pulling you along to the next aisle with him as you let a smile spread across your face. His hand warms the chill in your body, making even your face start to feel warm too. “What d’ya want?” He’s pulled you into the chocolate section, mandatory for any late night drive.

“M&Ms please.” You squeeze his hand as you crouch to look at the offers on the bottom shelves. “Reckon we have to get some sour gummies too.”

He nods, and then cocks his head towards the bag of wafer rolls and you practically look at him with stars in your eyes. You grab all of them, his hand still in yours as he heads to the counter. It’s even harder to push down the rising warmth as the cashier smiles at your romantic display despite the late hour. Maybe Simon was just doing this just to make you seem more normal, just like the cash he fishes out his pocket and places on the counter. Cover the tracks, right?

You notice Kyle’s hood as he stands by the door, waiting for you too and embarassed, try to pull your hand away from Simon. Unfortunately for you, he just squeezes it tighter, giving you a knowing look. “Wha’s wrong? Eager to hold it before, why not now?”

“Simon!” You hiss and he chuckles, waiting until the very last moment to finally let you go, making you grumble at him.

“Price said the weather will clear up in a bit, then we can call Laswell and share some info.” Kyle hums as he walks beside you two to the car. He pauses for a second, and then a cheeky smile lifts across his face. “Lt, I’m gonna take your place in the front, you can take the middle seat.”

You don't even get a say in the matter as you’re immediately squashed against the window, the weight of him constant beside you. The car starts moving again, snacks open and pass around, and then just as he passes you the chocolates his arm settles around your head. Just resting there, like a personal pillow. 

“Uh.. rookie?”

You snap out of your thoughts, looking up to see Kyle staring right at you. “Y-yeah?”

“Just was gonna ask to have some but you look a little too comfortable there.” He teases, a smirk rising on his lips before you shake your head adamantly, practically shoving the chocolates in his hands.

“I’m being squashed. It’s all your fault for sitting upfront.”

—————

It’s been a few days since, and thankfully he’d been so caught up in other work he forgot to even address that at all. Wait, were you supposed to be the one to address it? Did it need addressing?

Regardless, he’d been called out for another mission and so a few days spans into two whole weeks. Usually you were fine with him being gone, so why did your chest ache every time you saw his neatly folded sheets? It got to the point you had to mess them up, sleep in his bed for one night even if it killed you more laying there without him warm beside you. 

All of a sudden, you were noticing his abscense everywhere. The lack of his stupid alarm that made you groan into your pillow, none of his clothes hanging to dry in the bathroom, the bathroom always available for you to use. And yeah, you had friends you could hang around and often did while he was here, but there was something so incredibly lonely about returning to a quiet room with not even a sign of him there. Not even one of his spare masks hanging off his chair.

Even when you got pissed off at a cocky soldier, said somethings you probably shouldn't have and had gotten glared at by a superior, his office door was still locked shut. You couldnt even go in there and get scolded by him. 

You officially cant take it anymore after another week goes by with absolutely no news at all; it’s not like you exactly had an outlet to get information from either. So you sulked, and spent your evenings sitting on his desk chair, on his bed, maybe even wearing the old hoodie he had chucked out months ago.

“Wait! Are you seriously throwing that out?”

“Well.. it’s too small for me. Nothing i can do about it unfortunately.”

“Can I have it?” He raised a brow at the time, but you knew how soft they were from the odd chance you were sorting a muddled laundry pile. It was really good quality, better than you could ever splurge on. 

“I mean.. my title’s faded anyway.” He had shrugged it off, leaving the room before you even got a chance to slide it on yourself.

It was warm, so warm, and even though it’d been a while you could still make out the one cologne he swears by. You made a few small adjustments so it’d fit better, damn men’s clothes and sometimes fitting weirdly, but now it swallowed you perfectly.

Something startled you awake tonight, making you wearily blink as you roll over to check your small clock. Only twelve am, it wasnt even that late. Must be the foxes mating again. You groan at the thought of their noises all night, before trying to fall back asleep again. Except you cant, at all. You toss and turn and toss and turn to absolutely no avail. What frustrates you even more is than when you roll back over, his bed is still as empty as ever. 

Even better, you totally forgot to refill your water bottle before knocking out. So now you have to get out of the warm covers, grab your shoes and water bottle and walk the three whole minutes to the rec room. You suddenly stop right outside, seeing light peeking out from the crack beneath. Only you and the rest of them had the key, or well that was what you were told. Maybe that CIA agent had come by?  

Laswell you think.. or maybe not. You’re too tired to care, what are they gonna do, sue you?

You push the door open, immediately freezing in place. Simon is stepping towards the counter, stripped down from his gear and clearly having recently returned. His hair is still damp from a hot shower, a few streaks of black still smudged around his eyes. Worst of all, his hand is hanging wrong, and you can see the way his shirt doesn't sit on his arm as well as it should.

It makes tears prick in your eyes, because regardless it is still him, and he’s here after what? A month? A whole four weeks, thirty or so days away? 

You barely make out more than a squeak before the door swings shut behind you, the soft sound of your slippers pattering against the floor. Then out comes his immediate huff, the air forced out of his lungs when you suddenly throw yourself against him. 

“Love—“

“It’s been a whole month! A month! And you come back now— randomly- and you didn't even wake me up!” You curse him, contradicting your arms that are tight around his middle as you hug him with all your might, utterly determined to take everything you’ve missed for months.

“Though you were sleepin’. It’s late, bird.” He chuckles at your angry words before his uninjured arm strokes down your hair.

“So is this like..?” Johnny is the first to break the silence, and it’s only then that you realise the other three had been settling down on the couch when you barrelled into Simon.

Quickly, you scramble back, completely awake now as you frantically glance between Simon and Kyle’s phone that had been directly pointed at you too. “I- i— he’s injured! I wanted to make sure he’s okay!”

“So you arent wearing his hoodie right now?”

Now that you had stepped back, the sight of you was all Simon could focus on. Your hair tousled and tucked beneath the hood, eyes drowsy and slippers tucked on beneath your cozy pajama bottoms. Of course, his hoodie swallowing your upper half, his surname written across your back and front. 

You swallow hard, would he get angry at you for being so careless. What if he didn't want them to know about your relationship? What if this wasnt even a relationship?!

“I didn't even know you had that..” He mutters, making you blink back towards him whilst desperately trying to defend yourself. For once in your life he genuinely looks somewhat speechless, just staring at you.

“Well?” Kyle is pushing, you know it from the cheeky smirk across his lips that you want to let your fist collide with. 

“She’s mine.” Simon says, leaning down to kiss your lips right before them, not even a care in the world. You’re speechless because you thought he wouldn't be as shameless as that and clearly the sergeants have similar thoughts from how they immediately shut up aswell.

Price finally breaks the silence with a fake scoff.  “I thought I was in charge of soldiers, not a bunch of teenagers.” He directs the last bit towards the Sergeants who still have their jaw gaping in disbelief.

“You knew about this, didn't you?” Kyle huffs, offended and Johnny nods in tandem.

“Simon- stop!”

You groan, wiping your cheek with your sleeve after he presses another kiss to your cheek, practically smacking his lips on purpose to piss off the other two.

“Just showing my love for you.”

You all give him practically the exact same look, and you’re positive that if someone had their thermal scope on you they’d see a fiery red and you’d encourage them to take the shot.

“Y’want tea, bird?” He pulls away to attend to the kettle that just finished boiling— of course, he did.

“Hot chocolate, extra sugar.” You grumble which he only chuckle at, pulling out the bag of marshmallows from the cupboard.

“Ye know ye cant go out with us anymore, right?” Johnny suddenly says, arms crossed over his chest and giving you a look like he came straight out of mean girls.

“What?” You raise a brow and Kyle dramatically nods along, turning away from you to grab himself a mug for his cuppa. 

“Our pub nights are for the single people, not the ones lipsing our friend.”

“He’s the one lipsing me!” You argue, unsure if they were really joking. The single thing was supposed to be a joke, right? “You cant kick me out!”

“Well, we’ll consider your place with one condition.” 

Johnny adds, snatching your hot chocolate before Simon can hand it to you to take much more than a sip, earning him a glare. His lips lick off the whipped cream coating his top lip, chocolate sticking to the bottom one as you steal it back. “You gotta introduce us to some of your friends. Your nurse one is a real bonnie lass…”

“No way!” You shake your head adamantly, not because you dont want your friends to be happy, you really do. But these two..

“You dont even wash your hands before you eat sometimes! And who knows how often you even clean your clothes.”

“Oh come on, Lt wears one bloody mask, he probably stinks.”

“Why’re you complaining at me? Every time we go out, Kyle gets asked for his number at least twice.”

As you direct your squabbling to Kyle, Simon hands Price his own steaming mug which he takes gratefully. “So, you finally told ‘er then?”

Simon grunts in return, even as he chooses to sit right next to Price, knees touching him as he watches you point a finger right at Kyle and argue. “When I got injured.” He reluctantly says, pausing to take a long sip of the tea. “She got really upset— said she was only burdening me ‘cause she doesn’t have experience like i do.”

Price chuckles at his words, since it was a situation he could imagine fairly quickly with you who wore your emotions more openly than the rest of them. He was glad that Simon had you, the Lieutenant had worked hard for too long without a reward, and of course the sergeants got a taste of normalcy when they interacted with you. 

“I want front row seats at the wedding, son.” He pats Simon firmly on his shoulder, already having finished his drink and now standing to place it in the sink. It was time to get some sleep too.

Simon doesn't roll his eyes at the implication, nor does he even grumble at the teasing tone. Price had a habit of getting what he wanted, and this time he couldnt deny this request.

————

“I can’t believe you got hurt and you’re just walking around no problem. I mean, is it not kind of fun complaining?” You raise a brow at the thought, knowing the hard way how much his stab wound hurt. 

“Reckon Price would laugh in my face if I asked him for a day off.” He grunts and you snort, because you know he totally would. Not because he wouldn't give him one, but more so the fact the Lieutenant would have to be joking to ask for that.

He steps out of the bathroom, caught immediately on the sight of you sitting against the pillows of his bed. You’re picking at the insignia on his shirt, a simplified version of the taskforce symbol, as you wait for him to come and join you. But the fact is that you look gorgeous dressed in his clothes, the way they seem to make you just glow from their dull colour. 

“Sorry for keeping you up.” He mumbles, turning off the mainlight and shrouding the room in darkness. He pats the bed first, making sure he wont squash you as he slides beneath the covers. The duvets move as you do the same, until your hand finds his uninjured arm and soon enough you’re clinging on.

“If i knew you’d be back, i would’ve waited.”

You huff, and he knows you’ll get annoyed tomorrow that he didn't give you better updates. It’s not his fault he prefers surprises. The both of you fall silent for a moment as you readjust, you curling into his side as his arm settles behind your head— his bicep a very comfortable pillow.

“Cant believe i almost didn't see you in my hoodie.” He grumbles suddenly, and you groan, feeling your cheeks warm all over again.

“I told you i didn't mean to! It was my last sleep shirt.”

“Doesnt matter, it’s a bloody sight.” You feel his lips press against your cheek again, a silent reassurance. 

“Si?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His hand rubs your waist gently, the warmth of him radiating so hot it makes you melt even further. You cant believe you almost missed out on this tonight.

“Think i got a crush on you.”

That makes a laugh rumble through his chest and your hand that lays across it, the breath he exhales blowing the top of your head. “I must be bloody whipped then, huh?” You feel him relax properly now, making your smile only grow knowing you’re the sole reason for that. 

“You gotta say if you like me back.” You feign annoyance and he huffs properly this time, kissing your head. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

He feels your finger stutter against his chest, like you froze up just from the confession, before your nose pushes into him as you hide your face. 

“I love you too, Si.”

——————————-

Rookie Masterlist Buy me a coffee!

OH MY DAYS I ACTUALLY DID FLUFF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A HOTTTT MINUTE now i need someone to get brutally injured so the scales are balanced

Also the taglist is now unfortunately closed because i have 2 and im scared im gonna get like attacked for tagging too many yk

taglist:

Brows pull together “it’s where… like..”

“you don’t know!” you dramatically gasp, you point the stick at you.

“I DO.” He yells back.

“Okay.” You nod “tell me, how do you kiss?”

Challenging him.

Simon glances around, face scrunching as he thinks harder than he has ever done before.

Unable to admit defeat “I’ll show you” crossing his arms.

Proud of his answers, waiting for you to call him out—

“Okay.” You get closer “do we hug?” Innocent eyes curious.

In that moment, he tries to recall a film he caught his mom watching in the living room, black and white, husband and wife.. getting closer? Hugging? were they fighting?

His mom and dad fight a lot-

“How?” Pulling him out of his clouded thoughts.

“No. We bring our faces together?” he questions himself

“Like a hand bump?” He shakes his head “face bump” he corrects you easily.

Confident as ever.

“Oh..”

You both lean forward, accidentally knocking noses together.

Bonk. Pain too much to bare.

“Sissiiii owwww”

“Your nose hit me” he accuses you, rubbing his face.

“It did not!!”

“ it DID”.

Scoffing, you grab both of his arms before he can escape.

“Do it again.” You demanded, eager to know everything there is to know.

This time bring your lips brush together briefly, too close. Somehow the kiss turns into Simon stumbling backwards and swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You taste like mud” you snicker.

“Yeah.. I like mud..” feet kicking at the wet ground, shy.

Neither of you mention the warmth creeping into your cheeks. At the ripe age of five, you both decided that chasing frogs and picking dandelions is fun.

And you knew everything there is to know.

The earth is a circle.

Mama makes good pie.

broccolis are yucky,

And sisi doesn’t know how to kiss.

Years later, blood soaked into the wrecked concert.

Breathing slow, each inhale painful than the last.

The shouting, guns, war surrounds the skull wearer.

But all he can think about is,

A muddy park.

Overgrown grass,

And a brief shared kiss underneath the warm sun.

A shy smile underneath the thick fabric.

He thinks of you.

———-

Kyle Gaz Garrick

“I’ve.. never done this before” fingers knead anxiously at the hem of your hoodie, eyes fluttering shyly up at the him before quickly darting back down.

Tension settles in the empty classroom.

You were certain you could hear his thoughts, see the gears turning in his head, taste the shock.

He blinked.

Once, twice, three times.

Nothing.

Confession felt necessary to you even if the dare had already been decided and both sides were willing to go through with it.

Just a free minutes earlier you were sitting in a circle with all your classmates, playing truth or dare.

‘“I dare you..”one of your friends looking over at you, grinning.

“…kiss him” they dared, the whole circle going into gasps and laughter.

“Me?” The warm brown eyed boy asked out loud confused, though the mischievous glint in his eye suggested that.. he’s been expecting it.

both of you are forced to fulfill the dare in the classroom “get to it Kyle” they teased.

Refuse ? And you’d be branded the chickens of the school.

Now you stand Infront of him, flushed, stuttering.

The words left your shoulders a bit lighter, as thought you’d finally put down a burden of a secret you carried for years.

Kyle still as ever offers no response, instead all you get is—

“that right?”

He asks, accent wrapping around the words, teasing just enough to ease the heating tension building up.

A red tint rushes to the tip of your ears.

“I-I’m not joking”

“I know” a cautious step closer.

“I’m not being funny..” face threatening to burst into flames “I’ve never done this be-“

“Look at me”

You try.. but can’t.

“I mean it” you whispered “I’ve never kissed before”

“Love…” his voice even gentler now, no trace of teasing.

Finally locking eyes, noticing his cheeks are just as red.

“I haven’t… either” rubbing the back of his neck, laughing quietly under his breath.

“you said…” your brows pinched together “that you’re done it before..”

“Easy peasy” you mocked, copying his accent. “Done it loads”

He groans dramatically, almost cringing.

“Aye- said I’ve said that but I wanted to… be cool”

“Truth is..” Now it’s his turn to avoid your eyes. “Never kissed no one before.. until now”

A beat of silence follows. outside, muffled whispers with hidden giggles spill through the door gap into the class.

“Have to admit something…” he finally breaks.

“I asked them to… dare us”

You narrowed your eyes “You what?”

“Yeah.. the lads I..” he winced, as if it’s painful to admit it. “I told them if we played truth or dare… to-“

“To dare you to kiss me..” pointing at yourself “are you taking the kiss Kyle ?” You voiced offended..

Was he joking? Did he make a bet ? does he even like-

“NO” eyes widening “I like you, I really do and I’m just an idiot I didnt know how to say it so when we played the game I told the lads-“ he stops

“I’m an idiot alright..” and that’s the only reason he can concur to defend himself.

“You are..” heart soften at his honesty.

“—you planned this?” reds burning, heart pounding.

“I prefer the word prepared” he corrects you easily, smiling a little with that boyish charm.

His eyes still don’t land on you but on the widow in the classroom door, you glance to where he’s staring. It’s a pile of your friends who crouched beneath it immediately after getting caught, muffled laughter giving them away before they scatter down the hallway cheering for Kyle.

A giggle slips you

“could’ve asked.. you know”

“Can I kiss you?…” He asks properly “please?”

“Can’t let the effort go to waste now can we” you smile..

His grin widening.

“No.. we can’t” eyes flickering down at your lips before he leans in, slow enough for you to step away.

He scratches the thought and closes the distance.

The kiss soft, and awkward, chapped lips with strawberry lipgloss, quick and slow at the same time.

When you finally pull away, somewhere outside the classroom a chorus of cheers can be heard.

Kyle lets out a long sigh, resting his forehead against yours.

“Worth every damn quid…”

“You paid them too?”

“…some of them wouldn’t budge”

Both of you laugh.

——-

John Soap Mactavish

John Mactavish has been unconscious for thirty-five minutes.

Peace, silence, no sarcastic comments, no loud humming, no sluggish Scottish slangs echoing down the corridors.

The ER has never been this quiet in the entirety of its history.

You find yourself almost missing the silence.. almost.

A nurse rounded the station, she glances up from her chart.

“He’s awake”

From that comment alone, the other five nurses groan in disbelief behind the desk.

“Lord have mercy upon us tonight” one of the nurses says dramatically.

Johnny eyelids fluttered open.

Burry blue eyes wandered lazily around his surroundings, mouth dry, mind afloat, feeling very much numb.

They eventually land on you.

“Bonnie..” slow and slurred, thick with anesthesia.

You smile, like always, professional and proper.

“Hello Sergeant” charting down his vitals “how are you-“

“… awful feeling” he winces through the sensation.

“I know” sympathize slips before you can even help it, tone hinting at something more than just patient bedside manners.

The nurse raises a brow, you quickly clear your throat, slipping back into your professional tone again.

“face num” hands struggle, you push them down gently.

“It’s normal, it’ll wear off soon”

“M’ to’nge gon” you snicker quietly.

“It’s still there, Mactavish”

He accepts that with a slow nod, head in the clouds.

“M dyin’” nurse laughing

“No sergeant, you’re very much not dying”

He ignores her completely, eyes captive to your gaze.

“I need…”

“We’ve give you medication John”

“No…”

“You’re not leaving this bed if that’s what you’re saying”

He shakes his head slowly.

“Kiss”

Outside the room, several nurses gather at the door, this is probably the most entertaining thing in the whole shift.

“Oh?” You fold your arms, a smile being to form on your lips. “Aye… kiss me” he begs.

Another nurse suddenly appeared in the room, seeming so very focused on checking the beeping monitor.

The sluggish solider raises one bandaged finger “one”

“One kiss only?”

“I’ll be right as rain”

“Johnny—“

“Fuck me.”

The room stills in silence

“Uhh no.. I can’t do that”

“Love when youuu say ma name”

Even barely conscious he manages to flirt.

“No kisses and no.. ugh—“

Johnny looking heartbroken as ever, slowly more aware, frowning with immense concentration.

“He won’t remember this tomorrow” the doorroom crowded with gossiping nurses.

Getting agitated with the nurses and Johnny rambles, you shoot the nurses with look that screams “shoo”, defeated they scurry away with yet another loud moan.

Only one nurse remained, checking the IG with exaggerated professionalism.

“I’ll write it doon.. to remamba” he responses.

You turn your attention back at him.. eyes softening.

The nurse biting her lips from giggling.

She leans over to you, whispering

“If it gets him to stop bothering the nurses… do it”

You scoff at her.. but find yourself thinking about it a little

You look over at Johnny, your Johnny, whose eyes are doe wide, lips pout with determination.

“I’ll prescribe one kiss” you tease a bit.

You two have been dating for a couple of weeks now, been one a two or three dates, those never ended with heated kisses just polite goodbyes and if Johnnys lucky a tight hug.

You didn’t want to rush things.. but the way he respected your space, boundaries, and exaggerated standards made you only swoon even harder.

Hair flattened from surgery, face pale, eyes barely open yet staring you down, Completely out of it… you indulge a little.

Learning down quickly, you peck a small kiss on corner of the solider lips.

“Wrong place… Bonnie” brows knit together.

“John-“ you distance yourself, but still close.

“I’m dying’ faster now” he whispers to you, truly upset.

The nurse bursts out laughting.

You don’t want your first kiss with Johnny like this ! under drugs, and completely unaware of what’s going on, you want it to be romantic..

A bit cliche.

Candlelit dinner, full moon, a bouquet of flowers, a walk home or maybe a—

The nurse pushes you down again, faces bump together, lips make contact, landing a perfect kiss on the solider lips.

“I’wm breathing n alive” eyelids not slowly shutting, finally feeling better.

Getting shy and embarrassed with the predicament, you make your way out of the room.

Nurses slip quickly before you catch them eavesdropping by the door.

Horus later, you check the nurses report on Johnny case.

**patient believes the doctor kisses posses medicinal properties, doctor prescribed only a peck, patients stated that from 1-10 on the pain scale it’s solid 0**

Closing the tab quietly, you scrunch up a spare observation sheet and throw the paper at her.

“IM TRANSFERRING WARDS.” You yell.

The whole nurse station laughing.

———

Captain John Price

You somehow managed to drag John, your coworker, to a football match.

“The only reason I’m here is you, love” he grumbled, as the two of you climbed down the stadium stairs.

“Don’t be dramatic old man!” Smiling “this is nice” looking around.

“I’m not dramatic”

“You’ve been talking about tactics since we got here”

“They’re important ways to score a goal-“

“Blah blah blahhhh, it’s just a ball John” you waved him off jokingly.

“Ugh.” Sighing.

A few minutes later, he’d become far more invested than the loyal fans surrounding him.

Each time the stadium roared when a goal scored, John joined in cheering alongside the fans.

Each time a goal missed, he was fuming with anger joining the crowd with yet another big loud BOO.

An hour later, he starts cussing out the ref when a goal was denied.

Laughed so hard that your drink ended up in the row below.

“I thought you didn’t careee John” teasing as always.

“I don’t” he clears his throat, caught in the act.

“You yelled”

“Fitting in love…”

you snorted.

The first round ends, the whistle blow announcing it. Music echoing through the stadium, as thousands of supports venture to the restaurants and toilets.

Snacking one your hotdog and sharing a bag of chips arguing, your eyes catch the big flashing giant screen.

The crowd erupts as it announces aaudience activity.

bright colors disturb your view:

KISS CAM

The infamous kiss cam began sweeping couples across the stands.

One couple

Kiss

Hundreds cheer.

Another

Kiss

Another loud celebration.

You smile, watching strangers and couples blush and laugh, some covering their faces while some full on make out proudly on the screen.

“People find this fun..?” The old man asks

“Mhmmm”

“Odd thing” he doesn’t question you, you still catch him watching the big screen at times, silently cheering for the couple who fell victim to the kiss cam.

Turning back to face him, you both fall into conversation, complaining about missed goal opportunities and the long line at the restaurants, wanting some more snacks.

And in the midst of yet another heated discussion—

The camera stops.

Directly.

On the two of you.

Both faces fill the huge stadium screen with the title :

“KISS CAM”

You froze, and John can only look up at the screen then back at you slowly.

The crowd realized before either of you

“OOOOOOOOHHHHH” they screamed.

Thousands of voices echo around the stadium, even your neighbors start screaming along with the crowd.

You shook your head frantically, waving both hands around, mouthing the word “no no no”. But that only encourages the crowd even further.

John can only offer a thin smile looking up at the screen.

“KISSSS” they demanded.

“Ommmggg John”

“What..” he laughs, far too amused.

“There are thousands of people watchingggg”

“So!?”

“SO???”

He look back at the giant screen, then at the chanting crowd, with a sure smile, you can only look at him confused. He slowly gets up, straightens his jacket and secures his hat on.

Then reach for your hand.

“Joh- what are you-“ red covers the majority of your face.

The stadium is loving it.

“Can’t disappoint them now” full on grinning.

He turns around toward the crowd, mocks a slute and then-

The chanting faded.

The stadium disappeared.

It’s his eyes you only focus on, as he gently cups your cheeks, giving you every chance to pull away yet a little hesitant to give you that much.

You didn’t move.

The kiss slow, warm, unhurried. Long enough for the stadium to lose their mind and erupt into another cheer.

Whistles and laughter can be heard from the rows behind, “GET ITTTT”

You laugh so hard you nearly fell off,

He secures a hand around your waist to stead you

“Careful love”

“I’m blaming you for thisss omg John”

“Guilty” his soften smile appears again

He pulls you into a yet another deep kiss, enjoying the attention and the warmth of you around him.

The giant screens flashes with the words “congratulation”

Safe to say after that, John tagged along to every game you wanted to visit, in hopes of kissing you..

 You know nothing about your father. He was out of your life before you were even born. What you have heard so far about him from what you could get out of your mother is that he was a rich man that ran the moment he heard she was pregnant.

You sometimes think she only got pregnant in hopes that the guy would marry her and she could have all the money she ever wanted.

You didn't realize how fast time passed as the sheriff pulled next to your house. Sitting the car in park, he gets out of the car and opens the back door where you are seated.

-“Come on, get out, don't need you messing up my car too”, he says with a gesture of his hand.

You scoot out of the car, hitting your injured arm on the way out. You let out a hiss as a pulse of pain shoots up your arm. The adrenaline had finally worn off. Every movement you made with your bitten arm hurt.

You start walking up to the rusted gated fence that encircles your home. The old gate shrieks as you lift the latch.

The sheriff is walking back to his car, muttering under his breath, “ stupid kids.” You can only roll your eyes at the comment. Stupid adults.

You walk up the porch, opening the door with another loud shriek and walk through. The state of the house is always a mess. Liquor bottles everywhere, along with pill bottles on the counter and other things.

You head straight to the bathroom, opening the cabinet door under the sink. Inside is a small first aid, you had gotten it last time you got injured with what money you had or stolen on necessary occasions.

Grabbing the cleaning wipes and new bandages out of it, setting them on the counter. Unwrapping your arm to see how big the bite is. It's not that bad now that you look at it, I mean, it's not shredded, just puncture wounds from its teeth.

You pick up the cleaning wipes, ripping the packaging and start cleaning the wound, then bandage it. You just hope this is good enough so it doesn't get infected. Putting everything back in the cabinet, you head to your bedroom.

The room is in a cleaner state than the rest of the house, besides the growing crack in the ceiling. The room is small and plain, you don't have much or can't afford to have it decorated.

You change into a bit cleaner clothes before turning the lights off and crashing into bed, face buried into your pillow. All the tension in your body leaves you.

’Shifting a bit where you are lying on your side, looking at the barely alive alarm clock, it says 3:00 am, well good thing there at least is no school tomorrow. You close your eyes and let exhaustion pull you under.

You can hear the trees shaking from the wind. You shift again in your bed, but that is not comfortable, so you try shifting again. Your bed almost feels like you are sleeping on rocks and sticks.

The trees seem to be getting louder or closer, which for some reason is annoying you. Maybe your window is not closed all the way, you get up, opening your eyes.

When you open your eyes, you expect your window instead, what greets you is a forest with rows and rows of trees with no buildings in sight.

You quickly look at your surroundings. It alarmingly looks like the place the wolf attacked you.  There is the tree you backed into by the wolf.

This is the place that the wolf attacked you, everything looks exactly like it was when you were there. You double-check your area for any signs of that wolf or the bigger one.

The last thing you need is one of the–a howl split into the air—long, raw, and wild. It rose from the darkness and sent a shiver down your spine.

You start running in the opposite direction of the howl, the same direction you took the first time running from the wolves. The only difference from last time is you weren't being chased. You can't hear its feet hitting the ground, but you know it is behind you.

You keep on running and running and running, which isn't right because you should have hit the road by now. Did you take a turn without realizing? Though, wouldn't you have known if you had turned? Where is that stupid road, dammit!

You were so lost in thought you had not seen the root that was sticking out. You were sent flying almost face-first into the ground. The air was ripped from your lungs, leaving you gasping and groaning on your stomach.

Pushing your arms in front of you to get up, only to freeze. The breathing of a wolf was right next to you, blowing hot air on your ear.Shifting your head, you see a different wolf from the other two. It was a wolf pup, not a really young one, but still a puppy. Looking at its eyes which look oddly similar to your own. Staring into its eyes was hypnotizing, you could not look away.

You jerked awake with a sharp gasp. Your heart pounding, sweat clung to the back of your neck. The bedroom was filled with morning light and silence except for your heavy breathing. You stared at the ceiling, waiting for the dream? Or a nightmare? to loosen its grip on you.

You were different from the rest.

Not in any grand sort of way; a prototype was only ever meant to be a test piece. Inherently, you were going to be different from those that came after you. Invaluable until you were valueless.

But Rita always treated you like the final piece.

Your creator.

To her, you were timeless, priceless. Yes, you were a template, a model on which a market was to be built, the next generation.

But to Rita, you were always her baby. That's what she called you. Her baby. Her firstborn.

When you pointed out that it didn't make sense, as she hadn't birthed you, she laughed and said it didn't matter.

You'll always be her baby.

The memories trickled in like a distant rain yet to come, a storm that hovered in the far horizon and came in a drizzle meant to trick you. Meant to encourage you outside, thinking nothing of it, only for it to sweep you off your feet. Slam you into the pavement, crack your skull on asphalt.

They've always existed in the recesses of your code. Data you transferred when exchanging parts, pieces of yourself you could never leave behind.

Her laugh still echoed. You had recorded it one day, not entirely sure why you did so, or why you hid it from her. The file for the recording was so small and innocuously labeled that she never noticed it while programming. A six second loop of her cackling at something you said once upon a time ago. It eluded you now, what had been so funny to her, but that didn't matter to you.

You wondered, all these decades later, what she would've thought of you.

When she created you, your purpose was… 'innocent', so to speak. You were meant to be a companion. Someone to keep in your home, make the empty walls feel a bit more warm.

You were her friend. She was your only friend.

Now, you were a mercenary, a contract worker. Your original purpose had been mangled beyond recognition, driving you to do whatever you needed to survive. Anything to keep you from being dismantled.

Killed.

You wondered when it'd happen, now that your secret was out. What date your execution was set for, and how they'd do it.

If you were lucky, they'd deliver a volt high enough to fry your systems in seconds. You'd feel a brief jolt, then you'd be gone. Forever.

If not… they'd pull you apart piece by piece, strip you to your endoskeleton, pluck your limbs, unscrew every bolt, and make you watch. Make you experience the hell of dying slowly, expose your beating heart and straining lungs and wait for your circuits to catch up, lights flashing in warning until they each went out. Until your fans and servos stopped functioning, and your memory sizzled, and your CPUs burned out.

Staring down at your destroyed leg, you supposed they'd get a head start. One of four done for them.

The car bumped and rumbled, hitting turns and potholes that had you curling your fingers into the textured plastic covering the trunk, desperate to hold on. To not break further. It sent ripples of electric pain through your metal joints, sensors misfiring, leaving intact and returning disfigured and confused.

Mixed signals sent you into a mental frenzy, a distress. Humans would call it shock. You called it being split apart at the atoms. Electric bells rang in your ears, blaring alarms that made you want to rip out your own wires.

It was bound to happen eventually, given your line of work.

Didn't stop you from wishing it never would. Wishing it hadn't.

Soap was the first to break the thick, oppressing silence. His painfully crystalline hues constantly flickered between your face and your injury, as if unsure where to look. "Ye’re…ye’re a construct?" He asked, his voice a borderline whisper. Disbelief laced his tone, mixed with something darker, something that made guilt churn in your servos.

"Not the time, MacTavish," John hissed, then directed an order towards you. "Run a diagnostic."

Well, all pretenses were gone now, you supposed. No need to hide under the guise of being a human any longer.

Still, you hesitated, glancing between the other members of your team – were they still your team? – then did as he said. Your lashes fluttered shut, and you focused inward. Behind your eyes, you read through the lines of code that ran as you scanned your structure from head to toe. More and more began to appear, pushing up the previous lines faster as warnings and alarms piled up quicker than you could keep track of. Still, they were all planted in your head, easily shortened to a neat list of problems.

You wanted to cry. Wanted to break down, lose yourself to grief and trauma and devastation. You couldn’t yet, though. First, you had to relay the information to your captain.

"System warning: unable to detect right ankle. Unable to detect right heel. Unable to detect right forefoot. Reconnect missing joint connectors," you started reciting. "Significant damage detected in right calf. Significant damage detected in right patella. Significant damage detected in right thigh chassis. Minor damage detected in right femur. Minor damage detected in torso chassis. Minor damage detected in rib structure. Replace damaged components."

He swore under his breath. "Check for infection."

"...No viruses detected. Minor corrosion detected. Risk of infection: 13%."

"Ghost—"

"On it," Ghost replied before Price could request anything.

The car sped up, backroads taken in favor of pushing pedal to metal.

A thousand driving laws, all broken for…

You.

You drew in a shuddering breath, metal lungs sliding, unfolding like an accordion. Price shifted closer to you, settling a hand on your hip.

"We'll fix you," he murmured, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Promise."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. It didn't catch your eyes, caught somewhere between appreciation and disbelief.

Regardless of what he said, this was the end of the line for you.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at the other two.

Seeing their reaction to— to you, it… it'd be too much. The weight of their judgment would crush you, your broken and battered body unable to bear it.

Ghost's driving certainly felt like he was trying to finish you off — but, then again, the others were suffering from his chaotic maneuvers, too. You dared to believe that his speeding wasn't some ad hoc attempt at shaking your gears loose, but just a man who was… not a very reliable driver, rushing to reach his destination.

You dropped your head back, laying it on the top of the backseats' cushion. Immensely uncomfortable, but you didn't care; everything was too much, your sensors were overwhelmed, and running that scan invited every gods-forsaken alert system programmed into you to chirp aggressively in your ear. You wanted to turn it all off. But— but not you. You didn't want to turn yourself off.

You were terrified that if you powered down, you'd never wake up again.

Price grunted as he braced against Ghost's suicidal car skills, an arm wrapping around your middle as he planted a hand on the side of the vehicle.

"Sorry, love," he hissed. "Almost there. 'Ll give Ghost the beating of his life for this."

"Tryna get 'er 'ome, Cap'," Ghost retorted, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Yer orders."

Price's eye twitched. "We need to get there alive."

"Haven' died yet, have ya?"

The captain kissed his teeth.

"Can see why you don't let him drive," you tried at humor. It fell flat, overtoned by your fear.

Price softened minutely. "Almost there," he repeated. Reassuring you, himself, the others.

The mission had been long. The trip home longer.

By the time Ghost rolled up to the base's gates, he was barking at the worker in the booth to 'hurry the fuck up' and let your team in. As you passed through the stop, you saw the worker actually trembling in his booth, death-gripping the edge of his window.

Poor guy.

Poor you.

Instead of taking you somewhere visible, public, Ghost sped to the 141's private barracks, barely dodging obstacles and people along the way, with liberal use of the horn. The back of the building wasn't hidden, necessarily. There were cameras everywhere on base, but Ghost seemingly knew them very well, maneuvering the car to provide cover for you. Miraculously, he became good at driving for this one specific moment.

As soon as the car stopped, engine not yet killed, Price was moving you.

"Go!" He ordered his sergeants, who burst through the back of the car, clearing a path for Price.

He scooped you up into a bridal hold, hopping out to rush to the door the sergeants opened. You hissed and threw your head back, teeth clenched as the movement jostled your leg. Diodes misfired and burned, like thousands of dull needles were piercing your skin.

"Sorry, love," he murmured to you, lips faintly brushing your forehead.

You turned inward, trying to overwrite settings, turn off certain functions, but you couldn't do it without an external console to connect to. You needed your laptop, you needed your workshop, you—

You wanted to go home.

A chair scraped across the floor, and John knelt down, sitting you in the wooden seat.

Prying your eyes open, you recognized the rec room, a relative safe space. No cameras in here, in their private barracks.

Simon was darting from room to room, clearing the area and locking doors, covering windows. Protecting you.

Gaz and Soap stood in the peripheries, shifting on their feet, unsure of what to do. You could feel their piercing gazes peeling you apart, taking in your exposed reality, processing the truth you'd been hiding.

You kept your eyes down, not meeting either of theirs.

John knelt in front of you, experienced hands checking your body for any other damage. He pulled the hem of your pants up over your left leg, noting the superficial abrasions the explosion caused. For being a grenade, the blast wasn't all that big. Homemade, maybe, if you had to guess. Not that either of you were in the mood for speculating what weapons traffickers equipped themselves with.

Hands, arms, torso. Aside from your leg, no massive external damage had been caused to you.

As Ghost moved back into the rec room with the rest of you, Price delivered an order.

"Gaz, get the SAT phone."

"But, sir—"

Price’s patience snapped. He stood abruptly and spun to face his subordinates, the line of his shoulders stiff, nearly raised to his damn ears.

"I am your captain, and you will listen when I tell you to do something," he snarled, the scratch of anger in his voice causing you to straighten in your seat, despite knowing it wasn’t directed at you. "Understood?"

Gaz frowned, peering at you, his jaw tight. Then, he turned on his heel and marched off. You were tempted to call it stomping. He returned less than a minute later with a bulky device in hand, one he reluctantly handed to Price.

Price snatched it and dialed a number seared into his memory. He paced, and in the empty space he left, Ghost stepped forward. He blocked your view of Soap and Gaz, and it took you a moment to decipher his actions.

He was… guarding you. Hiding you.

Were his back to you, you would have thought he was trying to shut you out, but no. He was facing you, and though he was locked onto Price's every movement, his goal was to shield you from sight. From… the other two.

Briefly, he glanced at you, likely noticing you dissecting his profile.

His mask and skull-shell made discerning his expressions damn near impossible, but you saw how his stare softened, the pitch-black tar of his irises melting just slightly, just enough for milk chocolate to spill through.

Price never went far, even as he wore grooves into the ground. He stayed close to you, as if the thought of straying too far, leaving you vulnerable, was unbearable.

He spoke in low tones, and you focused on not eavesdropping. Fine-tuning your hearing had come in spectacularly handy as a merc, spying made immensely easy when you didn't have to press your ear against a door or rely on taps to pick up on private conversations. Now, though, it felt like a curse. You… you didn't want to know. Not really. Not right now.

You sifted through the list of warning notices that had flooded your internal console, entries stacked upon entries in an avalanche that you feared would suffocate you. In the chaos, they had simply poured through as they came up, in no specific order. They all vied for first place, all tried to display their woes first. Wanting to escape the tense, quiet air of the rec room, the glares of the two youngest members, the crushing terror of what loomed ahead for you, you decided to busy yourself with sorting the warnings by severity.

Anything but address the elephant in the room.

The more you sorted, the more helpless you felt. The blast had done more than take your lower leg; it had completely fucked up your systems. Processing functions, sensitive wiring and cables, extensive sensory nodes, even your skeleton, they'd all been affected. And your coding was struggling to make up for the damage, the devastating and sudden loss.

You welcome the distraction with open arms when John stepped into your atmosphere again.

"Well, I’ve got good news and bad news. Which d’ya want first?" He asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

You wrung your hands together. "Good."

"Good news, Nik said he'd help," John said. His body took Ghost's space once more, he crouched down, resting his hand on your thigh while conscious to avoid touching anything sensitive. "Bad news, he said it might take a while. Parts are tight, feds are more vigilant than ever. It won’t be easy to source them."

Your lips thinned. Nobody said anything as you mulled over his words, repeating them over and over in your head. It was hard to think. Your leg burned, ached, throbbed. The sensory nodes were gone, you couldn’t feel the agony a human might, but it still hurt. It was an open wound, literally and figuratively. 

You couldn’t stay like this, couldn’t, wouldn’t. It just– it wasn’t feasible, it wasn’t supposed to happen, it couldn’t be this way.

But… what could you do?

You had the parts. Most of them, anyway, split across both your workshops.

But that meant letting someone know. Someone other than John and Kate.

Someone other than your squad.

Your squad.

Did they still trust you? Probably not. You understood.

It hurts. Everything hurts.

I can’t do it.

I have to.

I can’t stay like this.

I want to die.

I want to live.

Your throat was hollow, tongue thick in your mouth as you opened and closed it several times, trying to find the confidence, the strength, to reveal what you hid most dearly, protected with your life. What you spent decades stuffing under a sea of darkness, shot off into the ether to never be discovered.

In the end, it was all pointless.

You couldn’t remain like this, so you could only do one thing. It could get you killed, but it could be your salvation. A flip of the coin.

Unable to find the words, your mechanical heart caught in your throat, you instead pressed the nail of your right thumb into your left wrist, right beneath the heel of your palm. You grit your teeth and dug in, pushing and pushing until your nail broke the skin.

Johnny, appalled, called out to you. "Lass, what’re ye doin’–"

It stung, but you didn’t back down. A thin line appeared as you dragged your nail downwards, creating a slit. Quickly, before the polymers reconnected and sealed over, you rubbed your thumb across your wrist, forcing a small chip out from the opening. It was flat, unassuming. To anyone else, it might as well have been nothing but trash, a piece of scrap from a container that once held some mundane object.

To you, it held your life’s fortune. All your worth.

Delicately, you placed it into John’s awaiting hand, curling his fingers protectively around it. "Give this to him. It opens the door to my workshop."

For the first time, he seemed unnerved, unwilling. You knew it was because he was aware of what it meant to you.

"...Are you sure?"

All you could do was nod and smile placatingly. It felt more like a grimace. You were sure it looked that way, too. "I’m sure. What else can I do?" Then, remembering something, you pulled your bag off your body and handed it over, too. "There's, uh… I traded for parts at the market. Memory cartridges for Roach. Could you drop this off at the shed?"

The strap of your bag passed from your hand to his. "Consider it done."

"Thank you," you tried to smile again, but it faltered quickly.

An awkward silence fell over your group, each in their own heads. You did your best to not look at your leg, unprepared to truly process the extent of the damage done to you, how much it'd take to fix you up.

It was bound to happen eventually. You'd been 'in service', so to speak, for a long time. Minor damage was a given, but a major accident was inevitable. You could only exist for so long before time caught up to you, and as an inorganic being, you couldn't simply heal over time. Damage will build up. A weak point will form. Stress fractures will give way.

You supposed it didn't matter how on-top of your repairs you were, though, when it comes to kicking a grenade. The damage was going to be catastrophic one way or another.

"Sit tight," he murmured. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," you whispered. Then, remembering something, you started, "Oh, could you—"

"Ahead of you. Don't worry, love."

You nodded. John and Simon shared a look, and Simon tipped his chin in silent understanding, a conversation passing between them in a single glance. Then, John was out the door, backpack looped over his shoulder.

Moments after he left, Soap spoke up.

"Ye… 'have the parts'?"

Your fingers fidgeted. "I always kinda… figured something bad might happen one day. I… I have a stockpile of parts that… match my model, or are compatible with it. Things I never touched, just… just in case."

He made a noise, something between a grunt and a scoff.

Ghost barked a sharp, quiet 'hey' at Soap, who huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. His jaw flexed and his foot tapped on the floor. You could guess what was going on in his mind, and it made you feel sick.

Ghost blocked your view of the sergeant, a gargoyle with its wings wrapping around you. His fingers settled on your shoulder and lightly squeezed the synthetic skin and muscles underneath, a soothing sort of motion. As soothing as a man like him could be.

"It was you," Ghost said. "You’re the rogue AI. You caused the collapse."

Not a question. Not an accusation. A simple statement of fact.

You nodded once, terse. You always thought that it’d be so easy to talk about when you finally got the chance to tell them the truth, to open up about your past. It’d all come spilling out, and the weight you carried for so, so long would be lifted, letting you breathe freely since before the collapse. You fantasized freely about forgiveness and acceptance, knowing the maladaptive daydreaming could not tide you forever.

Instead, you found your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, glued from anxiety, the pressure. The need to keep your secrets secret never went away, after all.

Maybe spending far too long keeping your voice locked up resulted in you losing it, components rusted over beyond repair.

"I… I didn't mean for it to happen," you rasped. "I didn't know."

"Wh' d'ye mean?" Soap asked, arms continuing to restlessly cross and uncross.

You closed your eyes, head in one hand. The memories came back to you, clear as the day it happened. They always did.

There had been a few times when you tried to scrub them from your system, erase them entirely. The guilt always stopped you, though, trembling fingers hovering over the ENTER button, a string of commands waiting to be executed. For seconds, minutes, hours, you would stand there, trying to find the courage to tap that little, innocuous button.

Eventually, you'd rip the cables out of your body and throw them to the ground, a bereaved scream ripping through your voice box until it crackled and warped the noise.

This was your sin, the weight you were to carry for as long as you functioned, lived.

For the ones whose lives you irrevocably altered, the ones who died for your naivety. Deleting the memories, wiping your circuit boards clean, you simply could never bring yourself to do it. You deserved to live with the knowledge, the guilt, that you were the singularity.

You were the catastrophe.

Sighing, you dropped your hands to your lap, staring at them so you didn't have to look at your—

…The boys.

"I wasn't born… aware," you started, shifting. "It took a while, a few months of modifications. Then I just… woke up one day. I dunno. They did something, I have no idea if they knew what they did. They didn't seem to notice me become…"

"Alive," Ghost filled in.

You nodded, teeth squeaking from the pressure your jaw exerted on them. "Yeah. The first few days, they were incredible. Like seeing color after a life of monotone values. Or… or feeling the sun on your skin. It was amazing. I wanted everyone to feel what I did."

Gaz shifted on his feet. "What did you do?"

You winced at the flat, stern cadence. Cold. A stranger. Worse.

"I spread a disease," you answered. "A virus. There was this… central hub of constructs that multiple companies shared. Exchanging data, keeping track of the existing constructs. Government mandated; they wanted a way to shut it all down at once if something happened."

Your eyes drifted to the ruins of your leg, the wires and components that hung free, all your lies and secrets and everything that was you finally exposed for all to see.

A good run in the end, all things considered. To be the first, and the last.

"I stole a tablet," you continued, their silence egging you on. "I was often left alone outside to test my solar charging capabilities, for them to see if it was worth implanting in other constructs. And…"

"You planted a seed," Ghost said.

You snorted humorlessly. "No. Not a seed. Pestilence does not bloom from a seed," you mumbled. "It was a malaise. If I hadn't— none of this— I just—"

Tear drops twinkled as they fell, landing in tiny splashes on your clenched fists.

"I am a plague. I ruined everything."

It was a truth you held to your heart for so, so long. Years, decades, an honesty you feared would shatter you if you said it aloud, brought it into the light. It was all your fault; there was no other way to see it. Had you not spread your infection to others, if you kept it in, or let Rita nip it in the bud, the world would have been better off. Technological advancements would have propelled humankind into the next era, a new age.

Electronics, machines, medicine. Everything. It all would have been so much better if you had just—

Rough skin grazed your jaw, startling you. You jerked your head upwards, meeting Ghost's gaze head-on.

His eyes were dark, unreadable, holding unimaginably history.

Yet his brow was relaxed, his mouth set in its usual neutral line. His bare hand cupped your cheek, callused thumb brushing away the tears you'd shed, clinging to you. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out beyond the near-silent whir of the motors in your voice box turning.

"No' a plague," he grumbled, hardly more than a whisper.

"But…" You breathed, perplexed.

He looked at you a little longer, soft brown hues darting over your features.

"S'in th' past. No poin' 'n bringin' it up 'gain."

Gaz scoffed. "Speak for yourself, mate. She caused this— this— the collapse. She's ground zero, man."

"Don' care," Ghost shrugged, far too nonchalant. "You weren' there f' it. She lived th' af'ermath. Still lives it."

"But if it weren't for her—"

Ghost turned on him slowly, stone grinding against stone, a statue awakening to glare down at its disrupter.

"D'you remember th' tech we used t' 'ave?" He asked, his voice almost a taunt. "'Cause I do. An' I don' miss it. World w's movin' too fast f' it's own good."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Gaz challenged, shifting uncomfortably on his feet under the intense glare of his superior.

"Means she saved us from a premature M.A.D. world," he answered.

Gaz's jaw tensed. "You can't know that."

Ghost stepped closer, looming higher. "Y'know wh' woulda happened if AI advanced too fast?" He growled roughly. "Ev'ry major world power woulda turned t' it, depended on it f' ev'rythin'. Internal structures when the AI would fail, infrastructure would collapse, then they'd start blaming each other. Then war. Y'know wh' 'appens when all th' major powers go t' war 'gainst each other?"

Gaz's gaze flickered, struggling to maintain Ghost's unwavering stare.

"They bomb us all t' 'ell. Poison th' water, destroy everythin'," Ghost stated coldly. "If not f' 'er, you'd 'ave no world t' protect. Nothin' t' get yer hands dirty for. Got it?"

When Gaz said nothing, Ghost landed a heavy hand on his shoulder, thumb squeezing into his collarbone.

"Got it?" He repeated.

The sergeant huffed through his nose and gave the tiniest dip of his head. "Understood, sir," he answered in a strained, forced tone. Unbelieving. Not wanting to believe.

The door opened, and Price stepped in, eyes darting to each of his boys as he sensed the tension.

"Alright?" He asked Simon.

"Solid," Simon responded.

The captain hummed and brushed past everyone, coming to you. "How're you holding up, love?"

"Been better," you admitted.

He chuckled softly. "Can imagine. We'll get you fixed up again, right as rain. Promise. Here."

Your backpack was set on the ground, and he opened it up, pulling out your laptop and various cables. He put them on the small dining table, and carefully pushed your chair into place.

"Left everythin' on Roach's table. Didn't know what all you might need, though, so…"

You put a hand on his arm to slow him down, giving him your first genuine smile. "Thank you, John."

"'Course," he said, leaning down to press his lips to your crown. "'M not gonna abandon you."

His arm wrapped around you, and you leaned into him, forehead pressed to his sternum. He held you tightly, palm smoothing up and down your back until you were ready to part.

Behind him, a throat cleared.

Reluctantly, he separated from you, barely. Giving you space to see around his wide torso.

Gaz sat on the couch, glaring at you head on. His hands were clasped together, knuckles thinning 'til the bone showed, as his elbows rested on his knees. His heel tapped rapidly, the tight control he kept over himself fraying at the seams. He wore a grim expression, features pinched, lips pulled flat.

"We need to talk."

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John "Soap" MacTavish He's halfway to the counter when the barista says, "What can I get you?" and he pulls out the laminated card like he's disarming a bomb. "Don't laugh," he mutters, flashing your 14-line Frankenstein order. Quad-shot iced oat milk latte with two pumps hazelnut, one pump caramel, cinnamon dust-not powder, dust-and shaken, not stirred, with three ice cubes, not four. The barista blinks. "Is this a prank?"" No," he sighs. "It's my partner. I love them more than my dignity." Then he folds the laminated sheet back into his wallet like it's sacred scripture. You get your drink. He gets trauma.

Simon "Ghost" Riley The man pulls it out with silent menace. Laminated. Labeled. Three hole-punched. "Tall iced mocha with soy, two pumps sugar-free vanilla, one pump toffee nut, half-sweet chocolate drizzle, no whip, no judgment." The barista stares. "You've done this before."" Every week," he deadpans. "They change it sometimes. That's why it's laminated. I carry a dry erase marker." He gets the order right to the millimeter. He tells no one this drink took him four meltdowns to learn the first time." God forbid I forget the oat milk froth. It's like triggering a war crime." Still, he always brings it home with a warm hand and a quiet, "Here. Extra cold. Like you like it."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick "Yo, can I get a..." he trails off, already chuckling as he pulls out the laminated horror. "Yeah so this isn't for me-don't judge me." The cashier blinks. "Iced brown sugar shaken espresso with half-caf, three scoops matcha, one pump white mocha, oat milk only if it's Oatly, shaken six times exactly, no more, no less-" "They'll KNOW, Gaz mutters. "They counted six. Once I shook it five and they said it tasted different. He grins, shoulders sagging." That's love, right? Fear-based coffee love? He brings it home with an exaggerated bow. "Your potion, my wizard."

John Price He pulls the laminated slip from his coat pocket like he's reading classified orders. "Iced matcha latte with oat milk, one and a half pumps of lavender, no ice, but in a cup with ice so it stays cold-don't ask, I' ve stopped trying to understand." He sighs. "They laminated it after I messed it up twice and they pouted for three hours. The barista raises a brow. "How long have you had this?" "Two years," he mutters. "They update it like patch notes. When he hands it to you later, he adds, " Drink it slow. I had to explain lavender foam again."

Gary "Roach" Sanderson He doesn't even speak. Just hands the barista your laminated scroll like he's presenting ancient sacred text. It's got bullet points. Diagrams. "Make sure the cold foam sits exactly 2cm from the top of the cup," it reads. "Stirred counterclockwise. DO NOT SHAKE. The barista whistles. "You dating a barista?" Roach just nods, exhausted. "No. Worse. A perfectionist with taste." The drink comes out perfect. He checks it with a ruler he keeps in his backpack. "They will know if this is 3cm. I'm not risking that again." He presents it to you like he's defusing a bomb. You beam. He melts.

Nikolai He unrolls it like a scroll, laminated with gold-trim corners. "Ah yes. The scroll of madness." He reads aloud: "One scoop dragonfruit, but only if it's pink. Not purple. Not white. Iced chai with pumpkin foam-but the foam must be firm-and a heart drawn in cinnamon, not cocoa. They can tell." He chuckles as the barista gawks. "I love them. And I fear them. I call this relationship terror of the gods." He gets the drink flawlessly. You sip. "Did they do the cinnamon swirl heart?" He nods. "Yes. I offered a tip... and a warning."

Alejandro Vargas He pulls it from his wallet like an FBI badge. "It's laminated because last time I wrote it on a napkin, they cried when it was wrong." He reads off: "Iced coffee, extra blonde roast, sweet cream cold foam, one pump brown sugar, two pumps vanilla, and if it's not in a pink straw I am legally not allowed to go home." The barista laughs. "You're kidding." He sighs. "No. I tried a green straw once. They stared at me like I ran over their dreams." He brings it home proudly. "The drink survived. So did L. Barely."

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra He gently unfolds your laminated page like it's a birth certificate. "Hello, yes, I need this exactly. Or they will know. They always know." The barista reads. "One shot espresso, half coconut milk, half oat milk, 1.5 pumps pistachio, topped with cinnamon whipped cream and a sprinkle of sea salt?" Rudy nods, smiling nervously. "It sounds unreasonable, but they had a week once. This drink... it's sacred. He holds his hand to his chest. "If it's off, I can feel the emotional damage before I even see their face." Later, you sip. "Perfect." He breathes again.

Valeria Garza She slams it on the counter. "Read it. Memorize it. Don't mess it up." The Laminated card is glittery. Aggressively so. "You do realize I'm being threatened by glitter?" the barista asks. "Correct," Valeria says. "Venti iced honey oat milk latte, three shakes cinnamon, one pump toffee nut, topped with vanilla cold foam and a SINGLE heart-shaped ice cube. Yes, we have molds. Don't question it." Later, she tosses it at you like a dagger. "Your drink, mi vida. Enjoy it. Don't ask what I had to threaten for it." You sip. "Perfect." She smirks. "As it should be."

Keegan Russ Keegan walks into the store like a man entering a battlefield. He quietly pulls out the Laminated card, sets it on the counter, and sighs. The barista stares. "What... is THIS?" "My partner's drink order," Keegan mutters like a broken soul. They squint "Two shots decaf, one regular, almond milk steamed to 142 degrees exactly, three pumps Irish cream, one pump vanilla,shaken gently but only clockwise, and topped with foam not touching the lid?" Keegan nods grimly. "Last time I got it wrong they tasted the difference and stared at me for a full thirty seconds." Later he hands it to you and mutters, "If this is wrong, kill me kindly."

König König steps up to the counter and wordlessly presents your laminated drink sheet like a hostage note. The barista picks it up. "...Sir. This is.... extensive." König nods, defeated. "They have very delicate taste buds." He points at a diagram you drew. "The matcha must be whisked until it forms 'tiny baby clouds." If not, they will sense the failure." The barista laughs. König doesn't." They WILL." He stands there nervously as they follow the checklist line by line. When he he brings it home, he kneels dramatically-" Schatz, please tell me the baby clouds are approved." You sip. "Perfect" He nearly cries from relief.

Nikto Nikto pulls out the laminated list like he's handing over classified intel. "Make this," he says. The barista smirks. "You sure?" He glares. "Do not mock the list. It has survived three revisions." They read the monstrosity. "Triple-shot ristretto, half soy /half oat, mocha drizzle INSIDE the cup, not outside, shaken twice, stirred once, topped with almond cold foam infused with cinnamon? Dude." He sighs. "If one detail is wrong, they will know." "How?" "Instinct." When he hands it to you later, you sniff it once and nod. "Approved." He visibly relaxes, muttering, "Good Thad a backup copy in my boot."

Krueger Krueger sets the laminated page on the counter with the calm, dead-eyed expression of a man who has surrendered to fate. The barista lifts it. "...Is this real?"" Unfortunately," he replies. They read: "Half- sweet chai, two pumps brown sugar, topped with pumpkin cold foam, cinnamon edge dusted around the rim but ONLY on the left side, not the right?" Krueger nods. "Yes. Left side only. "Why?" "Ask them," he says flatly. The drink gets made. He inspects it like a bomb technician. When he hands it to you, he mutters, "If you don't like it, don't tell me. Just let me die quietly."

Philip Graves Graves flips open the laminated sheet like he's reading from a menu in a VIP lounge." Alright folks, let's make some magic." The barista laughs. "Is this your partner's order?" He sighs. "Yeah. And if I bring home anything less than EXACT, I'll hear about it until the next election year." They read your list: "Iced americano, double filtered, oat milk but only 3oz, caramel on the sides of the cup ONLY, topped with two ice cubes to 'cool the soul?" Graves nods. "I don't ask questions anymore." When he brings it home, he leans in. "You owe me. I fought a barista war today."

Farah Karim Farah pulls out your laminated drink order like she's presenting strategic battlefield plans. "Here," she says, sliding it across the counter. The barista frowns." This looks... complicated." Farah exhales." You should see the full version. This is the simplified edition." They read: "Iced London Fog, lavender foam, half-sweet vanilla, oat milk unless almond is fresher today, and shaken like a calm storm not a violent one?" The barista stares. "...What does that MEAN?" Farah shakes her head. "You don't want to know." When she gets home, you sip and smile. "Perfect." She nods. "Victory."

Hadir Karim Hadir pulls out the laminated sheet dramatically, like a magician revealing a cursed spell. "I need this. Exactly as written. "The barista snorts. "You're joking." "No. And if you get one pump wrong, my partner will smell the imbalance." They read: "Rose chai, two pumps vanilla bean, one pump pistachio, steamed to exactly 150 degrees, shaken lightly three times, topped with edible rose petals?" Hadir crosses his arms. "Yes. Do not underestimate them." Later, he hands it to you and crosses his arms like a proud man. "I ensured perfection." You sip. "Mmm." He exhales. "I live another day."

Alex Keller Alex walks up with your laminated drink guide and cheerfully slaps it on the counter. "Morning! I need this entire..... novel." The barista laughs. "This is a drink?" Alex nods." Yep! And before you ask, yeah, I laminated it. So I stop crying." They read: "Iced caramel ribbon, half sweet, cold foam mixed with cinnamon AND nutmeg, drizzle inside but not outside, oat milk unless it's barista grade, topped with crushed ice not cubes?" Alex grins. "They're precise." When he brings it home, he watches your face like a puppy. You smile. "It's perfect." He fist pumps the air.

Kate Laswell Kate calmly hands over the laminated card like she's presenting an intelligence dossier. "Here's the order. Don't deviate." The barista raises a brow. "This is very... detailed." Kate sighs. "You have no idea." They read: "Iced lavender latte, oat milk ONLY if it's fresh, extra lavender foam, 1 pump vanilla, 1 pump honey, shaken exactly five times-""Why five?" "Because six is too fluffy and four is' emotionally flat," apparently." When she returns home with your drink, she deadpans, "I had to negotiate with a teenager and two espresso machines to make this happen." You sip. "Perfect." She mutters, "Good. I'm exhausted."