#6eons

It was at this moment that Ghost and Soap had done a count down, bursting into the room, nailing the man watching the door while the other took down the partner-less man by the window. The masked man’s eyes searched for the second man, only to be surprised with a metal ‘click’ as a cylindrical handheld bottle rolled into the room. Before the lieutenant had time to react, smoke had filled the room. Ghost had ordered Soap to hold his breath as long as he could as they split up to find a free space to breathe, or until the gas had cleared.

“Gaz, do we have your copy?” Ghost was the first to inhale a little bit of the gas bomb, holding in a cough, stuffing his face into his elbow as his mohawk’d friend had found shelter in a nearby room, under an office desk.

The misty cloud didn’t relent, not even on Gaz’s end. The very door he’d been worried about remained locked as he breathed in the fumes of the gas, trapped in the room he deemed safe to patrol.

Their overwatch had been compromised.

Once the gas had sunk into the flooring, silence had filled the air. Soap had carefully peered out from under his hiding spot, hoping to find the eyes of his masked lieutenant. Without the extra pairs of eyes on scope, the pair were practically blind; the threat of more gas and smoke grenades still something to consider.

With the scraps Soap had managed to craft a makeshift mine of his own. Once new voices had reached the room, he did a double peek, backhand tossing the bomb he'd crafted over the desk he was propped under. The sound of the explosion was enough for both Ghost and Soap to take point and firing rapidly at the new threats that had made their way to the floor.

“Where the hell’s Gaz gotten up to?” Soap mutters under his breath. He momentarily tucks himself behind a pillar, his thumb pressing against the button to open up comms once more. “Ey Gaz, y’alright?” Soap’s eyes instinctively scan towards the glass that separated himself from the roaring wind of the night, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of the glimmering light that a scope’s reflection would give off. He blinks a few times, a black blur swooping by quickly — so quickly in fact, he didn’t even pay any mind to it, feeling more concerned about their eyes instinctively scan towards the sky being MIA.

Soap peers over the crevice of the pillar he'd previously taken cover behind. His ears twitches when he realizes another wave of enemies would soon meet him and Ghost. They were outnumbered, and without Gaz's intel, he wasn't sure by how much.

"LT, there's more comin' up the stairwell. I can't verify how many, but there's more than a few." he shares a glance with Ghost. They were too close for this to slip through their fingers; they were too close to die just right before the finish line. The only thing they had hope for was for Gaz to stop taking the piss and return to his post now. Or maybe he'd reach out to the Captain for extra reinforcements to weasel them out of this poorly turn of events.

Before Ghost could line up a backup plan, Soap had pushed from his hiding spot hands up in surrender, his gun stashed back into its holster. Ghost had cursed under his breath, forced to follow in Soap's suit, knowing with just him, he'd surely have a bloody defeat without any backup.

The newly armed men that had arrived, split up into the room, a good handful aiming in on their guns, making sure that any sudden movements would not go unpunished. A burly man, bigger than the both of them, pushed passed the armed men. He was the only one not in tactical gear. Maybe he was the man at the top calling all the shots. He didn't utter a word and with the jut of his chin, a few of the armored men behind Soap and Ghost scrambled behind them, restraining the surrendering soldiers with rope. With a forceful shove, they were down on their knees. Definitely a powerful man.

"Who do you work for? State your business," the big man had a thick accent that seemed different than the rest of the men there. Though, visually speaking, he didn't seem to fit in with them in that department either. He was engaging in a stare down with the lieutenant; Ghost's eyes dull, not even amused or fearful at the position they were in. Their captor accepting defeat before his eyes trailed down to their tactical gear.

Ghost's eyes didn't leave their capturer. Though, that didn't mean he missed a sneaky little thing quickly zip down from the ceiling, yanking an armed man from his position. The movement was swift and the man didn't even make a noise. What was concerning was how the surrounding men didn't even feel the air in the room shift. Amateurs, these guys were; he was in disbelief this was who Soap surrendered to - something he'd be sure to give him an earful about.

Just as quickly as you disappeared, you'd reappeared, snatching up another outlier. A quick snap of his neck after you'd tugged him up into the ceiling, farther away from the men so they wouldn't hear.

"Okay, you don't want to talk? We'll get you to talk." the big man picked up an office chair, tossing it at the glass, shattering it causing a gust of wind to push into the office space. He harshly snatches the back of Ghost's neck, dragging him to the broken window like he weighed nothing. Ghost's knees hit the floor, broken shards of glass digging through his cargo pants. Just as Ghost's eyes never left his captor, his captor's eyes stayed glued to Soap's as he pushes Ghost's upper half through the newly formed hole in the glass, dangling Ghost over the edge. "49 stories up, you think he'd splatter over the pavement? Before or after he feels all his bones break?"

"Alright, I'll talk," Soap silently prayed to no god in particular. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, right? He'd never let his lieutenant's demise be because of him, not if he had a choice. The burly man tugs Ghost back, hand still gripping the back of his neck. "We're here for the drugs." this causes the corner of the burly man's lips to tug upwards.

"That's what they all say." he comments, not entirely surprised at all. "They all leave in body bags, though, they're never in small groups like this." he squints his eyes, peering around the room. It's like he didn't even notice how several of his men had disappeared; it's not like the stiff armed men had even looked around either, whether it be from lack of permission or not, they were just as clueless as the meathead in front of the window. "I am interested in how you two were able to singlehandedly get through the security we have in place. Who the hell are you?"

Two... He thinks it's just Ghost and Soap.

Burly man's eyes scanned over Ghost and Soap, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. The silence didn't help, nothing really gave away much about who they were with, the 141 operatives opting for a stealthier set of gear. When Soap didn't say anything, he dangled Ghost's body out of the broken window again.

"We’re undercovers," Soap is quick to spit out, a lie of course, though he doesn't sound convincing. He doesn't miss the way his captor's eyes glint with interest. Makes sense why only the two of them were able to damn near shake down their operations.

"Soap." Ghost grits through his teeth as a warning to stop talking. Ghost was more than willing to die for the cause as long as the rest of the team remained safe. However, Soap wasn’t seeing what Ghost was seeing — disappearing soldiers one by one and they were all none the wiser. The man behind Ghost smacks him in the back of the head with a gun, ushering him to not speak unless he’s asked to.

"Ah, stubborn one, you are." the burly man taps his finger at the back of Ghost's neck. "Maybe I can get this one to squeal another way." he pulls Ghost back, giving him a shove to the side, repositioning him away from the window before he gestured for his men to deliver him the Scot. After Soap's been pushed towards the capturer, it was only a matter of time for Soap to be in his lieutenant's position, held over the edge of the broken window of the skyscraper they'd snuck into.

It was at this moment that the man keeping Soap from falling to his doom had realized... The 14 men he'd entered the room with was narrowed down to 6. Perhaps his sadistic thoughts of making the lieutenant watch his own sergeant die had clouded his judgement.

"What the hell are you playing at?" the man grits through his teeth, eyes shooting daggers into Ghost's. "There's more of you, how many?" A question neither Ghost or Soap had the answer to, considering their 3rd man was nowhere to be found. He didn't wait as long for an answer this time, impatiently scared that something wasn't right. He releases his grip on Soap, letting him fall forward out the window, rushing to leave the premise with Ghost, maybe as a bargaining chip; He didn't need two of those.

Before Ghost can shout, the sound of a 'thwip' fills his ears and his eyes land on you - tight-fitted black dress, also not in armored gear. A holster adorned across your chest with one around your hip to match it. You'd shot a grapple gun out the window Soap was free falling from, diving in after him.

Someone with a trained eye could not miss this. And it didn't appear that these guys were, considering they were scrambling to get Ghost up on his feet.

"Lieutenant, I have eyes on your floor." Gaz's voice fills Ghost's earpiece and he's never been more relieved. A single bullet penetrates the man behind Ghost, the one trying to force him up. Ghost is still meters away, facing the window when he sees you fling yourself through the window, thighs wrapped around his sergeant, tossing him across the floor. "Who the hell is that?" Gaz manages to question as you tuck your grapple gun away, but it becomes less of a concern when you yank Soap's gun opening fire. You're helping them, that part evident to Ghost but clears up with Gaz.

"Stay down," you demanded, heel digging in Soap's back, no time to spare to release him from his ropes. Ghost follows suit, allowing him to plant himself in the ground as Gaz helps you take out the assailants. "Good boy." you're quick to murmur, not sparing him a glance.

"Shit," Gaz's gun clicks, realizing he needs to reload. "Reloading, stay down if you can." he's comming to the boys. As if they had a choice.

"Untie me," Ghost requests to you. You're reaching out to abide by his request but a stray bullet is shot in between you two, causing you to tuck back in.

Gaz is able to help you take out two more men before his gun jams, a string of curse words leaving his mouth as he unloads his clip. And before you can get around to untying the men on the ground, the big burly man roars, the shout almost startling you as he's barreling towards you. You point your borrowed gun towards him, a click notifying you that you were out of bullets too.

You chuck the gun towards your attacker, much to Johnny's dismay, trying to get a bit of distance between you two. The big man crashes into a couple of office booths as you swiftly move out of the way. You're able to shoot your grapple to grab onto the vest of one of the few remaining armored men. Using the retractability to reel yourself into him, your fist comes into contact with his jaw. A satisfyingly nasty crunch under your knuckles causes Ghost to smirk under his mask.

A knife that didn't come from either of your holsters but the inside of your thigh high boot is hurled into the man standing beside Soap, lodging into an artery in his neck. Soap is able to sit himself up, less threats around made him a little more confident to be up. With his arms bound to his back, he twists his body towards the man you'd just killed so his hands could grip at the knife. He's able to extract the knife from the corpse, twisting his wrist upward to start cutting through the rope.

"You sure your rooftop guy's a good shot?" your voice softly questioned to the masked man. A grunt of approval was all the answer you needed. Not that you had a reason to trust him. Of course he was a good shot, that's exactly why he was on overwatch, Price's golden boy.

"Vince, you're a lot bigger than last time." so the big, burly man had a name. You were just buying time, noticing the man on the roof's shots had come to a stop. "Donnie like the gift I left?" the bald man's face contorts into seething anger.

"You do not get to speak of the Don." he grits before charging at you once more.

A whir of your trusty grapple pulled you up, and you quickly perched yourself on top of Vince's shoulders, gloved hands wrapping around his thick neck. The big man gasped, inhaling nothing as you held him in a secure chokehold. His hands move up to try to grab you to pitch you onto the ground but your heels had dug into his shoulder blades probably breaking skin. You brace yourself for impact as the man under you tries crashing into any obstacle around him to try and get you off.

The wind that pushes your hair from your face makes you realize that Vince is stumbling towards the broken window. He, like Ghost, was willing to die for the cause of his team. He's happy to hurdle you both out the window to paint the concrete with you, a symbol of his honor to his family.

"Come on Gaz," Soap mutters under his breath as he feels the rope loosening behind him. He rotates his wrists to make more room in the ropes as he wiggles himself free from his restraints. Soap makes his way to Ghost, snipping the rope that bound his lieutenant together. His lack of weapon, that you so carelessly threw earlier, does not give him the confidence to help. "LT-"

"On it," Ghost is quick on his feet, drawing his weapon. He fires a few shots in Vince's back, shooting one in his leg. No matter how good of a shot Ghost was, he was not going to risk taking out the woman who'd been their saving grace. As a last ditch effort, the man underneath you tightens his hands on your ankles as he falls forward.

Soap jumps forward to grab onto your hand, your hands disappearing from the burly man's throat. Thankfully enough, the man you’d choked out loosened his grip on your legs to grab at his bullet wounds. Soap and Ghost pull you from the edge of the window, Soap kicking shards of glass away so he could gently set you down.

Soap opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a mechanical beeping. Your heels click as you make your way towards one of the computers your flash drive had been occupying. It was on a desk tucked in the corner of the room, seemingly safe from the damage you'd partaken in afflicting. With a few clacks on the keyboard, you ripped out the drive.

Also stashed under the desk was a briefcase. Your thumb flicked the buckle, lifting open the lid. Bags of blue pebbles lined the inside, they resembled what the bottom of a fishtank looked like. Your fingers brushed against the plastic bag, like you were in deep thought.

"Hey that looks like-" Soap's thoughts are cut off by you slamming the case shut, locking it up. The drugs Price had set them out on a mission to hunt for.

"I can't let you take that." Ghost takes a step in front of you, hands gripping his gun in front of him.

"I reckon you think you're going to pry this out of my hands, yeah?" your lips curl upwards in a grin. You tuck the flash drive in the holster of your hip. "Oh, but I did so much work getting this." you feigned a pout. Ghost didn't lower his gun.

"Drop the briefcase, you're interfering with military affairs." Ghost wasn't sure why he was so intrigued by the glimmer in your eyes. You were being held at gun point and yet you didn't seem at all phased. The glint in your irises was almost as if you were challenging him, daring him to shoot you. Maybe he should chuck you back out the window, since that was the closest thing he'd seen that was comparable to panic.

What Ghost didn't see was your sleight of hand, pulling a smoke bomb from your holster as you tucked away your intel. The metal ring was wrapped around your finger, the handheld device sitting at the back of your hand. You raised your hands up, eyes locking onto his. He was much taller now that he wasn't on his knees or face down planted at your feet. A familiar click causes his ears to twitch and the same damn grenade from before had fallen to your feet, causing a burst of smoke to fill the room.

Ghost’s fingers pulls the trigger where you once were, the bullet shooting through the lifting fog to momentarily reveal that the space you’d taken up was now vacant. Soap coughed and that was enough for Ghost to kick the smoke bomb away.

You'd disappeared long before the smoke had died down.

Gaz's gun was still jammed, so even if he did see where you'd faded towards, it wasn't like he could shoot you down. This was bad. The mission had been turned upside down and the small opening they had was gone as quickly as it opened up.

Ghost's body moved back towards the hole in the window, where he'd assume you would have made your escape. As utterly pissed as he was at this waste of time, his mind seemed to wonder more about you. The way you moved, the way you were sort of a shit shooter, but your hand-to-hand combat wasn't bad at all. Who were you?

"LT, we've got another problem." Soap's shoulder brushes against Ghost's. Ghost's eyes follow where Soap's was... Down where you would have been if it weren’t for him and Soap.

The man called Vince's body was nowhere to be seen. A large trickle of blood lay where he should have been.

Ghost could only look out into the night, questioning your escape. You couldn’t be very far…

No body armor, yet you were unscathed, like your body repelled bullets. High heels that click and yet you seemed to move with stealth that replicated a creature of the night.

[ Herefordshire, England, United Kingdom ]

After a frustrated phone call with Price, the boys were happy they were going back to base. They were exhausted of this case already. Dead end after dead end. Nothing successful came from this mission.

"Price says Laswell's got something." Ghost sits back in the heli. He's sure the two boys are already falling asleep, the helicopter seeming to be more comfortable than the wet, musty safehouses they'd been camped out in for the last two weeks.

He wondered if their captain would be disappointed with them. This small, lightwork of a mission should have been easy. It shouldn't have taken them more than a week and it did. He tried not to dwell on his failures too much, knowing that he could only prove it to his team that this was just a bump in the road and whatever Laswell’s got, he’ll be taking it and leading everyone to success this time around.

Once they’d touched base, the sun was peeking out from the trees. Ghost questioned Gaz about what had happened on the rooftop. He needed the information to fill out his post op report to present to the captain. Gaz had confirmed that he too had fallen victim to a chemical trap that seemingly made him pass out on the roof. He apologized profusely, explaining that maybe they’d have their assets had he shared with everyone this eerie feeling he had. He felt at fault for not being able to have their backs as he usually would.

“No bother,” Ghost murmurs lowly, giving Gaz a pat on the back. “We all were lacking this time’round. Nothing we can’t make up for next one.” he said hopefully.

“Welcome back gentlemen,” Price approaches the three men. “Hope the ride home wasn’t too rough.” he notes how Soap straightens his back, his hand brushing against the covered skin where someone’s foot would have been.

“Was fine. Ready for a nap.” Soap grunts, a few bones pop as he rolls his shoulders.

“Post op, medical, and naps are gonna have to wait, we’ve got a meeting with Laswell in 15,” Price checks his watch. “She arrived this morning with a new lead.”

The four men walked together across base together toward the presentation room. With the time they had to spare, they’d made a pit stop in the mess hall. Teas, coffees, and protein bars were shared amongst them.

“Think it’s too early to start drinkin’?” the Scot wipes his hand over his face, though he’s not even sure if it’s what he wanted. Jetlag, lack of sleep, and this shite mission all just catching up to him, making him a bit delirious.

Maybe they should have hit the bar instead. Nothing could have prepared the three men to find you, seated next to Laswell leaned over the damn briefcase from just 12 hours ago.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Gaz’s yawn was immediately punched out of his lungs and he suddenly felt wide awake. “What is going on?” you glanced at the men you’d encountered the night prior, before sharing a look with Laswell in confusion? Surprise? Or both.

“You’ve met?” Laswell cocks an eyebrow to you. You were not super detailed in your report back to her, though the detail of these men were irrelevant to you; they didn’t stop you from getting your job done.

“Well yeah, we’ve bloody met,” Soap lunges forward and Ghost grips the back of his vest. “She’s the one that stole the asset from us.”

“Stole?” you pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at the man with the mohawk. “I don’t believe it was ever in your possession. I don’t think any of you knew what the hell you were looking for, calling them ‘drugs’.”

“Hey, we saved you,” Soap aggressively pointed his finger in your direction.

“I hardly needed saving.” you rolled your eyes, fully confident and capable in your ability to have recovered from your entanglement with Vince. “And I remember it me saving your ass, twice if you’re hellbent in keeping score.”

“Laswell, can you tell me why an operative of yours intercepted our mission?”

“Well, since last I had heard you guys were still at the safehouse, waiting on information, I called in an IOU. I had no idea you boys were moving in on the case, I apologize.” Laswell nodded her head sympathetically.

“You should have notified me of the change of plans.” Price chides Laswell.

“I’m sorry sir, that’s my fault,” your sheepish voice comes out, softer than you’d spoken to any of the men beside him. “Laswell gave me the case yesterday, said it had to do with The Don. I told her I’d look into it.”

Was that a fucking humble brag, Ghost thinks.

“You got the case yesterday?” Price questions. You nod your head. “And you got it done same day?” when you shrug, Price can’t help but nod his head back at you. “Efficient. CIA?” he pushes curiously. Maybe he’d snatch you from Laswell when this was all done. If Soap didn’t rip your head off. If he could.

“Mercenary,” Laswell answers for you. “She’s a free agent. But get in line, I’ve been trying to get her for years.” she pokes at Price, knowing that look in his eyes. That doesn’t stop Price from planning out an offer to you.

“Alright everyone, let’s take a seat.” Price rubs his hands together. “And play nice.” his eyes flicker from Soap and Ghost.

You take a seat next to Ghost- well, closest to him but there’s a few empty chairs between you two. With a few clicks, Laswell’s screen is being displayed on the projector. The information you’d extracted from the computer last night.

“The Don, the name of a mafia that scatters over New Jersey, New York, and Philadelphia. Ran by Adonis DeMarco.” a photograph of a suave-looking olive-toned man is displayed, his suit seems to be made from the finest of satins, tailored only by the best of the best. “He’s been working with some underground pharmaceutical manufacturers to create something dangerous. He doesn’t aim for this to be a street drug, he wants big spenders lining up for it.”

Redacted scanned images of files pop up on the screen. Laswell clicks through each slide, but pauses in between to make note of the handwritten scribbles on the paperwork. Mostly in Italian.

You’d seen enough to worry you. Chewing on the dead skin on your lips, you were perched forward in your chair, elbows resting on your knees as your eyes analyzed each scanned image, as much as you could at least with how fast things were moving along.

“Super soldiers.” you mumble to yourself. Laswell’s ears perk up as she calls your name, looking directly at you.

“He’s developed a serum to create super soldiers and is trying to auction them off to world leaders, for their wars.”

"You read Italian?" Price asks, though his eyes don't fall on you, instead they fall on Laswell; he can't be convinced that you were an agent she'd been working with for years with how many surprises that had surfaced.

Laswell's already lifted up the blue bag in the air, staring off like she's in thought. She looks at you for a split second before back to the bag that she's already locking up in the briefcase.

"I'm gonna get someone to translate these files and we can reconvene." Laswell takes a deep inhale, and before you can open your mouth to offer her help she stops you with a call of your name. "As easier as that would be, I do think this is a great time to get to kiss and make up with your new allies."

That does you in.

Your eyes harden and your jaw clenches, sparing a glance over to the three stooges that were already looking at you.

You never worked well with others, nor did you like following other people's commands like they were law. It was the whole reason why you weren't tied down to a team. You did your jobs alone and you did a damn good job at it, so the need for allies? Hardly seemed necessary, especially if they were just going to slow you down.

"Why don't you work for the CIA?" Gaz questions curiously. He's walking beside you, while you follow Ghost and Soap who are not very discreetly talking about you. Leading you throughout the base, lazily giving you a tour of the place so they can get back to their business.

"Too many rules, I suppose. And it also means I have to trust a team." you answer truthfully.

"Trust a team? Like you don't really like to trust people?" Gaz's eyebrow shoots up.

"It's not that I don't like it. I can get the job done, I don't really see a reason to add more bodies in the mix."

"Something tells me that's not always true."

"I did your 2 week job in less than 24 hours," you scoff at Gaz. "I don't think you have a foot to stand on with that one." Gaz playfully reaches over his chest, as if you've wounded him. "Sensitive topic, I'm sorry."

"Why do you work with Laswell so much? She said years, right?"

"She pulls strings for me, gets me pardons. And in return, I get her anything she needs on a silver platter. She looks good and I fly under the radar."

"And what exactly would you need pardons for?" Soap inquiries, revealing that he'd definitely been eavesdropping. He sat dangerously on the line of innocently curious and genuinely sussing you out, maybe because he wanted to have a reason to dislike you.

"Eesh, can't a girl have hobbies?" you respond ever so ominous.

"Why does Laswell call you 'Widow'?" Gaz waves to another soldier walking by.

"I kill men. For fun." you don't miss the low chuckle that comes from the tall, broody man in front of you. "At least, that's what Laswell would tell you."

"So y'don't kill men for fun?"

"Bad men," you corrected with a tsk. "I do my due diligence in protecting people who can't protect themselves."

"And Laswell protects you." Soap purses his lips, almost as if this is what's making or breaking his judgement on you. Soap finds your hobbies to be quite chivalrous. "Alright, I'm considering offering you a clean slate for that one lass."

"Oh? That's so generous of you," a little grin making its way to your face as Soap turns while he remains next to his lieutenant, extending an arm out to you for a formal introduction.

You're still unconvinced about this team, though you don't really have a choice. You and the 141 wanted the same thing; you were sure that if they couldn't pull their own weight, you'd do whatever it took to get the job done yourself.

The morning that followed, Captain Price had called the 141 in for a meeting. Simon was considerably late, seeing as he arrived to his office with no tea waiting for him like usual. No bother, he’d just make his way to the mess hall and brew himself one. Then he found out the kitchen staff had relocated almost everything, so he rummaged through every cabinet and drawer to find where the herbs were stashed and of course it just had to be the very last one he checked. Cursing under his breath, realizing the time, he went to grab the carton of milk to give it a little splash only for him to find chunky particles in the milk.

Perhaps your wish upon a star was for him to have the worst luck ever.

Simon stormed into the presentation room damn near 10 minutes late with a milk-less tea that tasted like shit, which he wouldn’t know that it had to do with the teaspoon of honey you’d add to his tea. A little sweetness to sweeten him up, you’d think. The mess hall was also on the other side of the building, how you managed to make his tea, run it to his office, and make it back to Price’s office for your tasks was beyond him. Your eagerness to make his day easier carried you through it. He couldn’t be mad at you for the lack of cuppa on his desk when he knew it wasn’t required of you.

Price started off his morning meeting with a lecture about punctuality, an eyebrow raised at his second in command. Simon was scowling under his surgical face mask, arms crossed as he sat in the corner of the room. He hated that he could smell your cup of tea that was definitely made just the way he liked it.

Price had tasked Simon with paperwork, which was a surprise to Simon but not to the captain.

“What’s got you so irritable about doin’ paperwork? Y’seem to fair fine every other time I’ve had you check on forms.” Only Simon doesn’t remember touching any paperwork other than post op paperwork. So this had nothing to do with him, right?

Simon finds himself feeling lost in what he should be looking for. He stares blankly, blinking a few times and Price notices this.

“Alright lieutenant, I’m gonna need you to go to Archives to retrieve the paperwork you finished last week and cross reference this morning’s paperwork so you can catch yourself up on whatever it is you seem to be missing.” Price doesn’t have time to be concerned about whatever’s got Simon stuck, though he just chalks it up to a bad day, he just needs the work done.

Does he even remember where Archives is? He remembers it was in the west wing in one of the southern corridors, just not the room number. Easily enough, the room he’s looking for has a sign in uppercase text to point him where he needs to be.

A soldier of his ranking gives him the utmost clearance, so he’s confused as to why the office people stare at him. Well, maybe it’s because he’s wandering aimlessly trying to find where his damn filing cabinet would be. He opens drawer after drawer and finds a pattern that everything is alphabetized by last name so when he gets designated filing cabinet, he can’t help but notice how unfamiliar it seems. It’s not at all how he remembers it and suddenly he can’t remember the last time he was here.

He pulls the drawer open to find your neat handwriting on yellow manilla folders. Each report, incident report, post op were filed so neatly — everything had been separated by year, into quarters, into months. It made it quick and easy for you to find whatever you needed and you knew if Simon needed to do his own reports for whatever reason that you couldn’t (like you wishing upon a star to dismiss your feelings for him or whatever) it would make it easier on him. His fingers brushed against the tops of each folder, pulling out a random report and true as day, your handwriting was found on documents that were his responsibility.

He gathers the documents he needed and was starting to make his way back to his office to work on his paperwork.

“Finally gave your sergeant a vacation?” the office manager calls out from behind Simon. He turns on his heel to see an older woman, greying hairs and glasses that were connected to a chain that fell around her neck. Simon grunts in acknowledgment, not knowing how to respond before trudging on.

In his office, he finds Soap waiting for him with a tray and a fresh cup of tea. Black. How he took it before you. “Mornin’ LT, brought ye lunch since I dinnae see ye in the mess hall.” the MacTavish boy grins. Simon slaps the documents on the table, glancing at his wrist watch.

Christ Almighty, was it lunch time already?

“Shit, what a fuckin’ long day,” Simon’s palm runs across his face as he takes his seat, letting out a sigh of exasperation.

“Aye, I ‘aven’t seen you so stress since… well… maybe yesterday.” Soap pokes at the masked man. “Or with paperwork still to do at noon.” Soap also checks his watch and runs his hands over the archived documents, eyes finding your handwriting.

“Apparently, one of my other sergeants has been taking care of it for me,” Simon name drops you specifically, though Johnny didn’t need to be told that. Not when the paperwork with your pretty scribbles was right in front of him.

“Hm, this doesn’t have to do with your tardiness this mornin’, does it? I don’t think they made you a tea. Did you tell them to piss off or somethin’?”

“Why would I tell them to piss off?”

“Because it was bloody obvious that they fancied you, yeah? I reckon if you were interested back, you’d have said something by now.”

Right…so maybe it wasn’t bloody obvious. Simon’s dead fish eyes were on full display, blinking cluelessly at his best friend. Almost as if he was waiting for Soap to burst out laughing and say he was kidding.

“Mate, please tell me yer joking.”

“Johnny, does it look like I’m joking?”

“Well, I can tell ya yer funny-looking, but I’m not sure about joking.”

Simon rolled his eyes, no longer having the motivation to do whatever it was Price needed him to do. Though, the motivation was never there. Which was why you always did it for him. A knock at the door causes Simon to groan, face palming once more. He could not catch a break and whoever was at the door was not going to make it easy.

Gaz pokes his head in, waving to the boys. “Good afternoon sir, I’ve got a few incident reports to follow up with you on. Price mentioned I might need to sit with you since you had a lot on your plate from the workload he gave you earlier.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘ave a seat.” Simon grumbles. He isn’t even thinking about food, so he pushes his tray to the side to make room for Gaz and his paperwork.

“Simon’s losing it without his pet,” Johnny feels the need to update his peer. “He didn’t even know they fancied ‘im.” Gaz’s face pales in an alarming way, eyes wide and Johnny thinks Gaz has fizzled out the way he’s stopped blinking.

“What d’ya mean he didn’t know?” Gaz turns to Simon who’s seemingly more interested in the ceiling as he overthinks every single interaction he’s ever had with you. “Y’mean to tell me, you weren’t purposely ignorin’ their advances at you?”

“Well, m’not exactly the ideal boyfriend. Didn’t think they saw me in that way, I thought they were jus’ bein nice.”

“Following you around in their free time? You think that’s just being nice, mate?”

“Aye, lay off, Simon’s jus’ as dumb as he looks apparently.” Johnny earns a glare from his lieutenant. “That’s b’sides the point. Where have they fucked off to anyway?”

“Might’ve had something to do with that,” Gaz’s eyes don’t meet his lieutenant or Soap’s eyes.

“What’d you do?” Simon sits up, straightening his back. His thoughts are suddenly filled with some altercation where Gaz grips your shoulders and yells at you to get over your little crush, out of character, nothing that Kyle would actually do. But he fears it.

“They were proper griping about this unreturned crush they had on you, mate. So, last night on our walk home from the pub, we saw a shooting star and I may have told them to wish that they didn’t like you anymore.” Gaz sinks in his chair as Simon’s eyes grew more intense, not a word coming from his mouth.

“Y’did what?” Soap almost looks like he wants to laugh, he thinks it some sick joke Gaz has improv’d. “A wish on a star?”

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” this sends Soap into a thought of realization and it shuts him up. Gaz didn’t think the wish would have truly worked, hell, he’s only half sure that’s the reason you’ve distanced yourself from Simon.

Simon seems to be conflicted. As unaware as he is, he is aware to the fact that he only noticed your little crush on him when it was gone. And it only affected him when he wasn’t on the receiving end of how it positively benefited him. Would it really be fair of him to chase you?

Maybe it wasn’t written in the stars, you two… But it didn’t mean he couldn’t try. After all, you only wished that you were never smitten with him. Not that you could be (future tense) smitten with him.