Simon Ghost Riley x you feat. Task Force 141
The coffee had gone cold. You'd known that for at least twenty minutes.
The young soldier standing beside you seemed to know it too. Every now and then he'd glance at the paper cup in your hands, as if wondering why you were still drinking it.
Truth be told, you weren't. You were just holding it.
The helicopter sat on the tarmac while its engines wound down, the rhythmic whine slowly fading beneath the chatter of ground crew and the occasional beep of a reversing forklift somewhere behind the hangars.
Nothing exciting was happening. Everyone was simply waiting.
The soldier nodded toward the helicopter. "They're on that one."
You followed his gaze. "Who?"
You looked back at him. "The Task Force?"
His face lit up immediately. "You've never heard of them?"
He looked almost offended. "Only the name?"
You smiled into your coffee. "Should I know more?"
"Oh, absolutely." He shifted his weight, clearly delighted to have found someone willing to listen. "I heard Sergeant MacTavish once got himself trapped inside a goat pen during an operation."
You stared at him for a second. "A goat pen."
He nodded with complete confidence. "That's the story."
"The goats wouldn't leave him alone."
"They just... stood there?"
You laughed. "You're making that up."
He grinned. "My training sergeant swears it's true."
You took another sip of your coffee. Still terrible. "I'd ask for proof," you said, "but somehow I don't think there are mission reports for aggressive goats."
He laughed. "Probably classified."
A comfortable silence settled between you for a moment before he spoke again. "I've got another one."
"I was afraid you might."
"This one's about Captain Price. Apparently he spent two days hiding in a fishing boat."
You blinked. "Voluntarily?"
"Exactly." He shrugged. "Which is why everyone believes it."
You couldn't help smiling. "So far your stories involve livestock and seafood."
"I'm getting to the good ones."
He pointed toward the helicopter again. "Sergeant Garrick."
His expression changed slightly. "You always hear people talking about Price, MacTavish and Ghost."
"But whenever you meet someone who's actually worked with them..." He smiled. "...they bring up Garrick."
"Because somebody has to keep the other three from making everything worse."
The soldier pointed at you. "See? That's exactly the reaction everyone has."
"I mean..." You shrugged. "...it sounds believable."
He leaned against the crate beside him. "I heard he once spent six hours talking to a local source."
"What were the others doing?"
"They didn't get impatient?"
"Oh, they absolutely did."
"He walked away with everything they needed."
"Without kicking a door in?"
"Without kicking a door in."
You nodded slowly. "Useful skill."
"The best." The soldier looked back toward the helicopter. Then, almost automatically, he said, "And Ghost."
You noticed how his voice changed. Less amused. More respectful.
"My training sergeant worked with him once. He said Ghost carried a wounded soldier nearly two kilometres after an ambush."
You watched the ground crew moving around the helicopter. "Nobody ordered him to."
The soldier shook his head. "They didn't need to." He folded his arms. "If Ghost's on your mission..." He hesitated. "...people reckon you've got a better chance of coming home."
You looked back at him. "That's quite a reputation."
"The best one." There wasn't any excitement in his voice now. Just certainty. A moment later he smiled again. "I'd love to work with them someday."
He shook his head. "No." A quiet laugh escaped him. "I've never even seen them."
The rear ramp of the helicopter began to lower with a heavy hydraulic groan. Almost immediately, conversations around the tarmac softened. People naturally stepped aside, leaving a clear path from the helicopter.
You frowned slightly. "They always do that?"
The soldier followed your gaze. "Yeah."
He watched the line of soldiers opening without anyone saying a word. "I don't know." A small shrug. "Respect, I suppose."
You looked at the widening path. "That much?"
He nodded once. "That much."
The first to step off the helicopter was Price.
The young soldier beside you straightened almost instinctively.
Price spotted him, gave a brief nod, then looked your way. "There she is."
You smiled. "Welcome home."
"Good to be back." He looked tired. Not unusual.
Before either of you could say anything else, Gaz came down the ramp. He barely slowed before pulling you into a quick hug. "Been waiting long?"
He looked at the untouched coffee in your hand. "That's been cold for ages."
"So why are you still holding it?"
You looked down at the cup. "...Fair point."
Gaz laughed. "I'll make you a fresh one later."
Then came Soap. The grin was already there before his boots touched the tarmac.
You folded your arms. "You're planning something."
"I've no idea what you're talking about."
He stopped in front of you, arms already opening. "C'mere, lass."
You sighed dramatically. "I knew this was coming."
"Course ye did." He wrapped you in a quick hug anyway. Warm. Comfortable. Entirely expected.
When he stepped back, he looked far too pleased with himself. "Miss me?"
"You've been gone five days."
Gaz snorted. "He's impossible."
"I've been tellin' people that for years," Price muttered.
The young soldier watched the exchange in complete silence. His expression had changed. The legends he'd spent the last half hour talking about... were teasing each other like brothers.
Then movement caught everyone's attention. Someone was still inside the helicopter.
Soap noticed first. He didn't even turn around. Instead, a grin slowly spread across his face. "Oh, here we go..."
The soldier frowned. "What?"
A second later, Simon stepped into the light. Helmet still on. Vest exactly where it belonged. One gloved hand adjusted the sling over his shoulder before he started walking down the ramp. Nothing dramatic. Nothing flashy. Just the steady, confident stride of someone who had done this hundreds of times before.
Soap watched him for all of three seconds before shaking his head. "Ghost."
Still nothing. Soap sighed theatrically. "Will ye stop showin' off for five bloody minutes?"
Simon kept walking. Didn't even turn his head. Only the slightest tilt of it suggested he'd heard every word.
Gaz laughed under his breath.
The young soldier looked completely confused. "He's just walking."
Soap pointed triumphantly. "Exactly!"
He looked at the soldier as though explaining the most obvious thing in the world. "That's all he's ever does."
The soldier blinked. "I don't understand."
"Neither do we," Gaz admitted, still grinning. "But somehow he makes walkin' look annoyingly cool."
Price let out a long sigh. "Ignore them."
Soap watched Simon draw closer. Then he jabbed a thumb toward Simon. "Did ye see the shoulder roll?"
The soldier blinked. "...What shoulder roll?"
Gaz laughed. "Told you. Only you notice these things."
"Because he's doin' it on purpose!"
Price didn't even look up. "He's stretching, Johnny."
Simon finally stopped in front of you. For a heartbeat, the noise around the tarmac seemed a little farther away. A gloved hand lifted, two fingers settling beneath your chin. He tipped your head up just enough to meet your eyes. "Hello love."
The young soldier's mouth fell open. Not because Ghost had spoken. Because Ghost had said love.
Simon held your gaze for another moment before glancing sideways. "I heard that."
Soap looked entirely unbothered. "I wasn't exactly whisperin'."
One corner of Simon's eye crinkled. The closest thing he ever gave to a smile. Then his attention shifted to the paper cup in your hands. He took it without asking. Had a sip. Immediately regretted it. "It's cold."
You shrugged. "I was distracted."
"So I noticed." He handed it back.
The young soldier was still staring. Finally he looked at you. "You knew them?"
You smiled. "You never asked."
The poor bloke looked genuinely betrayed.
Even Price's shoulders shook.
Simon stepped beside you, resting one hand against the small of your back. Easy. Natural. Like it belonged there. "Ready to go home, love?"
As you passed the young soldier, you paused. "The goat story."
His eyes widened. "What about it?"
You nodded toward Soap. "It happened."
The soldier slowly turned to look at him.
Soap threw both hands into the air. "It wasn't my fault!"
"It was absolutely your fault," Gaz laughed.
"There were... circumstances!"
Price pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've read the report."
Soap looked horrified. "There was a report?"
For a moment nobody said a word.
Then the young soldier laughed. Really laughed. Long enough that he had to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. He watched the five of you walk away across the tarmac.
The stories he'd grown up hearing hadn't been exaggerated. If anything... Nobody had ever mentioned the ridiculous parts. And somehow, that made the legends even better.
