#cod ghosts merrick

Hesh-

Logan-

Keegan-

Ajax-

Kick-

Merrick-

Elias-

Rorke-

"Are we going with you?" Keegan's forearms rested on the table in front of them, his back against the chair he sat in, his demeanor relaxed for once. If only Logan could say the same.

"I don't know," his hands restrained in a clasp, preventing him from picking his nails and torn cuticles, "I want to go on my own, I'm just…" he stiffly exhaled. One of Logan's thumbs shifted to start scratching at the edges of the other when David put his hand over both of Logan's. Logan let go of his hunched shoulders, breathing coming easy now.

"We could come in for food and hang outside while you guys talk. Something happens and we'll be there."

Logan's hands were in his lap now, hand on each leg.

"What do I tell them?" Merrick tilted his head slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Like… how do I explain what happened? I can't tell them about Rorke or anything that happened back then."

"Well," His captain sucked in a breath, "You can say you were a prisoner of war. Anything classified can't be shared so you can't talk about Rorke, and you can't give the specifics of what they did." In an attempt to help, Keegan leaned closer to the table they sat at.

"Maybe you can just keep it focused around your…" He vaguely gestured to his own head, "Your mental health. If they ask questions, say you can't share that information or that you aren't ready to discuss it."

As his elbows made contact with the table, Logan mumbled into his hands.

"Why is talking to civilians so hard?"

The soothing sensation of his brother's hand on his back helped Logan collect his thoughts.

"Because they're civilians." David put his arm around him, chin on the crown of his little brother's head. Logan leaned into him, bringing his arms back down.

He was never really an optimistic person, but never a pessimist either. His family always called him a realist, thinking logically about hypotheticals and current situations. This time, though, he was struggling to maintain the balance with both the best case scenario and worst case scenario. Just a fucked up military brat, he thought. Damaged, broken, put back together with glue that's dissolving by the second. Logan's train of thought was broken by Kick.

"They sounded curious, though." Logan huffed.

"Yeah, I'm sure they'd love to hear all the fun stories I have."

"Sorry, did they or did they not want to make sure you were okay before anything else?" Kick wasn't being snarky to be mean. He had a point and Logan's anxiety had been blocking himself from seeing it.

"… yeah, they did." Logan would be lying if he said he hadn't read your exchange of messages over and over on his walk back. He could recite it from memory at this point. The first thing you had asked was about him, his safety. The corners of his lips were pulled by his emotions, a smile, his eyes lightly squinting.

"There he goes, all doe-eyed again." With a red face, Logan turned away a his teammates lovingly teased him. Whatever happens, he breathed in, I'll be okay, and breathed out.

~

The rest of the day went by smoothly. Plans were finalized. The Ghosts had treated your next conversation similarly to how they prepped for a mission. Once complete, Logan had the joyous time of doing paperwork. While he was still healing from being a P.O.W, he was still technically a soldier. With physical therapy, mental therapy and frequent enough check-ins with doctors going well, he slowly made a return to the duties familiar to him. He wouldn't be out in the field for anything any time soon, but he was capable of enough.

Counting cans of food, just like dad. He recalled the psych eval his father had done many years ago, Elias telling psychs about how him and David had joked about their father's all important duties. Of course they knew what he actually did but the prospect of teasing was irresistible to the young Walkers. It certainly meant something to Elias. Maybe he was watching all of this go on with their mom. "Just ask them out for Pete's sake," Elias would say, "They're not gonna bite. They'll say no or they'll say yes and you go from there." Even in spirit, he was right.

Later that night, as Logan lay in bed, he rehearsed possible conversation starters. There really isn't a good way to tell someone you're in love with that you have more trauma than they're ready for and you can't say anything more than that without possibly breaking social boundaries and getting in trouble for sharing "classified information" while making sure they don't lose interest but also don't gain too much interest.

It's not like they're seeing you at the crack of dawn. Logan turned onto his stomach and smushed his face into his pillow, groaning about everything. After taking deep breaths and readjusting at least three times, he slipped into dreamless sleep.

~

The vibrations of Logan's phone tickled him awake. He didn't recall setting any alarms. Turning his phone to be screen-side up, he skimmed through the assault of messages from the team.

David Dub: "Good morning sunshine"

Kick the Bucket: "good morning starshine the earth says hello"

K. Russ: "It's not that hard to just say morning and be done with it."

Kick the Bucket: "its a part of my whimsy"

Kick had sent a full paragraph's worth of sparkle emojis.

K. Russ: "We're texting in a group chat, why do you need whimsy?"

Kick the Bucket: "this is why people prefer talking to me"

K. Russ: "You don't like talking to anyone outside of STALKER who isn't a tech specialist."

Kick the Bucket: "information specialist get it right"

K. Russ: "Fix your grammar and maybe I'll consider it."

Kick the Bucket: "its a group chat not a novel with an edgy black coffee with no sugar on the side"

K. Russ: "I don't drink black coffee."

Kick the Bucket: "thats not what you told sergeant phillips ex wife when she came to base and complimented your muscles"

David Dub: "All you had to say was good morning"

Captain Crunch: "This is a conversation that can be had in-person."

Captain Crunch: "Good morning."

K. Russ: "Good morning, Captain."

Kick the Bucket: "oh so you can say good morning to him but not to david and i"

Kick the Bucket: "what a gentleman"

K. Russ: "I said good morning, you said some hippie bullshit."

Kick the Bucket: "it was a charlie and the chocolate factory reference you tasteless bird"

Kick the Bucket: "johnny mfing depp"

As per usual, the two had gone back and forth for about five whole minutes according to the timestamps before Logan stepped in.

Lincoln Logs: "Good morning, America."

Kick the Bucket: "sup nerd"

David Dub: "Good morning sleeping beauty"

Captain Crunch: "Get up if you haven't already. Let us know when you want to head out."

Lincoln Logs: "Wilco."

Yet again, Logan would choose to wear an long-sleeve olive green shirt and dark blue cargo pants to hide his scars. Just loose enough to be comfortable without looking like he was hiding something, ignoring the various markings unwillingly adorning his body.

Once the team was fully prepared and Riley had been walked at least once, they finally left base. To help him walk off the lingering anxiety from not having an exact script to go off of and because the weather was perfect, David suggested walking instead of driving. Not that Logan would know, but David was slightly worried that driving would remind him of the other day. He and Kick had been talking about it earlier that morning prior to all the hubbub in their group chat.

As they walked, Merrick engaged in conversation with David and Kick whilst Keegan stayed behind the three with Logan. As they got closer, Logan tunnel-visioned trying to find anything reasonable to say to you.

"Hey," Keegan's voice was low, the conversation ahead of the two was still going on. "You don't have to have anything figured out right now." Though Logan agreed, his nerves still tingled with anxiety.

"I just want to be ready."

"It's hard to be ready to talk to someone you hardly know." The intersection before them held their conversation up for a moment longer. "It's a learning opportunity before anything else, but you won't get to it if you don't calm down." Logan stood straighter, dropping his shoulders and letting his arms go slack. Keegan let his hand weigh on Logan's shoulder. "You'll be okay."

The light changed, signaling for them to walk.

After crossing the street and turning, the doors to Morning Routine opened. The scent of coffee and cinnamon brushed past him, instinct leading him to take a deep inhale and exhale. There weren't many people inside, the booths and seats almost entirely empty save for someone on a call of some sort and another wearing headphones. Good, privacy… kinda… not really. He mentally begged the universe for the patrons to either leave or stay sucked in whatever was entertaining them.

The lines were shorter than usual, people quickly ordering and getting their drinks and snacks before the cycle repeated. Casey handled the register as you walked in and out of the kitchen in the back, restocking the more popular items and putting together meals for customers. No rush, no unnecessary long waiting time, just comfortably efficient.

As planned, everyone else ordered first and Logan was last, getting a to-go for later. In the meantime as he waited for you to make another appearance, he and Casey chatted a bit. Small-talk, sure, but nice.

"Glad to see you're alright."

"You too, how's the arm?"

"Nothing a needle and thread couldn't fix," Casey held their left arm out, sleeve rolled up. There was a neatly wrapped bandage on their forearm, closing in just a little on the crease of their elbow. "It wasn't as bad as it looked. Thankfully one of our patrons that day was a nurse so she helped out. I only need a couple stitches for the worst of it."

"Should you be working with an arm that's still healing?"

"Eh, I've worked with worse. Just need to use my other hand which is thankfully my dominant one." Their lopsided grin displayed an envy-worthy confidence. "I'll head to the back to get your orders ready to go."

With that, everyone was left alone by the pick-up area as Casey intermittently came out with dishes of food. Logan's to-go was the only one left. David leaned towards his brother.

"We'll be outside if you need us." The bell on the cafe door rung at their departure. Logan was mostly alone again, save for the other patrons. Your cafe was playing more music. Was this one of those lo-fi mixes people listen to for studying or was it an actual album? Just as Logan took out his phone to try to find the source, your voice graced his ears.

"Logan?" His head perked up. There you were again, approaching and organizing things on the way. Your smile that had been given to him so many times wasn't any different. Not pitiful, not forced, just genuine happiness.

"Hey…"

"Hey stranger," You readjusted your hair to stay out of your face. "How's you? Or wait, shit, how's your life – your day?" You pinched the bridge of your nose. "How. Are. You. Doing. At this current juncture in time?" You quickly gave up upon hearing Logan's huff.

"Better, just needed to rest a little…" Attempting to gather the right words, he let go of his nerves. "I wanted to explain what happened if you're not busy…" Wrinkles appeared on your forehead as you looked around the space.

"Would you want to talk somewhere else? We can go to the kitchen." Oh thank fuck.

"Yeah, yeah, let's do that." Did he sound too eager at that?

Walking back towards the double doors, you waved him over to follow you.

"I'll let Casey know the register's open for them again and they are getting," you pointed finger guns at Logan, "kicked out the kitchen."

He waited outside the door's for all five seconds before Casey made their exit and held the door open for him. Was your cafe a TARDIS or something? This kitchen was almost half the size of the main room. It never looked this huge on the outside.

There sat a large kitchen island in the middle of the room, an even distance from the appliances, counters and walls. The sleek silver fridge sat in the right corner opposite to the doors he had just walked through. To the left of the fridge, was a large oven with a flat top displaying unbaked globs of dough covered by a sheet of cling wrap. As his eyes continued scanning, he found the stove, more counter and drawers, double sink, even more counters and the largest dishwasher he's seen. Above it all were cabinets and shelves holding dishes and ingredients. The lights were bright LEDs that contrasted the bare bulbs hanging just outside, the ambience changing from cozy to a space of hard work and dedication.

Logan's eyes waved back to your form on the other side of the island, wiping down surfaces covered in various items. Bags of flour and sugar were put on the counters behind you, measuring cups and things simply shifted around in an organized pattern. Once everything was comfortably moved, you were left to fidget with anything nearby. Should he start talking now?

"Sorry for the mess, I forget I won't always be the only person in here."

"It's no problem. I mean, moving in here was kind of last minute so…" The end of his statement dropped off from his train of thought like the flour swiped from your counter. You relaxed a little, but the anxiety was still there.

"Maybe." You wiped your hands on your flour-stained apron, "Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything? Water, coffee?"

"Oh I'm good, I actually don't like coffee. Makes me jittery."

"Gotcha, gotcha."

You both stood there. We're so good at this, Logan mentally berated himself, just talk. He inhaled to speak and your eyes met. Expecting something, inspecting him. Today was a good day for loose clothes or else he would've felt too bare to face you.

"I'm… sorry," Confusion overtook your expression, "for freaking out the other day. I didn't mean to worry you."

"It's not that you worried me. I mean I was worried, yeah, but I know you didn't mean for that to happen."

"I should've held myself together though. You guys didn't need to see that."

"Logan–"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to say that. I'm sorry." You walked closer to him, leaning on the island.

"That's not something you need to apologize for." You were staring at each other again.

"…I scared you."

"You didn't mean to." He paused.

"Can I explain why it happened?"

"Because of the glass shattering?"

"Yeah, but it's more." Okay, he was doing this. This is fine. Logan took a breath and settled himself against the counter behind him, careful not to knock anything over or bump his head. "If anything is too much, just tell me, ok?" He looked at you expectantly. You hesitated.

"I will." Logan tugged at his sleeves, rubbing his thumb over the hems.

"So my brother and I are in the military. We live down at the base." He inhaled. "Four years ago when the Federation was at its worst, our dad was killed and I was, well, taken by the guy who killed him." Logan avoided looking at you, the thought of meeting your eyes made his bones cringe. "I was a hostage for a couple years. A lot happened that I can't really get into because of rules and stuff but when I came back I needed a lot of help just to get myself healthy again. That's part of why David and all them are so protective. I'm still in therapy which has been helpful but sometimes things just," He dropped his arms in favor of holding onto the counter he leaned on, "things just kind of bring me back and… yeah."

Logan glanced at you, you stood staring off to the side of him. He couldn't read your expression exactly but it was definitely nothing positive. You looked sad, or something close. Pity? You didn't need to pity him, he's just a guy in your cafe, your kitchen, talking to you because you were willing to listen.

"Was that, like, PTSD?" Just as he processed your head turning to face him, he instinctively forced his attention to the wall.

"Pretty much. I have episodes. Some days I handle it better than others." He looked at you again.

"So we scared you then." That sounded too much like you were blaming yourself. Logan stood upright.

"It wasn't you guys. Just the noise and– and Casey getting hurt. That wasn't anyone's fault for glass breaking." He was getting anxious again, this conversation wasn't supposed to make you blame yourself. You stood quiet.

"It wasn't your fault for having a panic attack either. You know that, right?" Your expression grew more neutral.

"I know. I just struggle to believe it."

You hummed.

"Thank you, Logan." Now he was confused.

"For what?"

"For talking to me, being open and all."

"I wanted to." He smiled. "I like talking to you." You beamed, light flooding your eyes again. "I'd prefer talking to you about less depressing stuff though." A snort escaped you.

"That's fair."

As silence settled, the air felt more comfortable.

"Are you doing okay? After all of that on Sunday?"

"Yeah, I just needed to be alone for a while. I think texting yesterday helped, just getting comfortable y'know?" You nodded. "Are you okay?"

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." You chuckled a little. "Almost want to give you a hug after hearing all that. That's gotta be rough."

"It is, but nothing a dog like Riley can't fix."

"He seems like a good boy."

"He is when he's not stealing socks and drooling on your face."

"Baby wants socks, baby's gonna get 'em."

"'Baby' can get David's socks instead of mine."

"Mmm, what if he just gets all the socks on base? Endless collection?" Any sound outside the kitchen was drowned out by your shared laughter. You looked at the clock and sighed. "I may have to get back to work soon."

"Yeah, me too. Glad we got to talk though."

"Me too. Oh!" You pointed behind Logan, where a brown paper bag sat. "Your food's in there. I forgot to bring it out earlier. Casey just told me you were here and I– you know."

"All good."

After he grabbed the bag, you both walked back out to the main area. There seem to be a few more people inside now, Casey moving around carrying drinks and typing in orders. You walked beside Logan to the door, outside of which, his family sat chatting away. Logan looked back at you before he reached for the handle.

"I'll be sure to come by before the music thingy."

"If you can, that'd be great. I was thinking of making some special treats but I need opinions."

"I will happily be a taste tester."

"Good."

Logan stilled for a moment and, to your surprise and his, opened his arms.

"Did you want to…"

Your lips curved as you followed suit and wrapped your arms around one another, your chin on his shoulder and vice versa. Logan's heart had either stopped or was beating too fast for him to notice. You were soft to hold and smelled nice, probably from all the sweets you're always baking. He tried not to smile lest the patrons, and Casey who was now grinning ear to ear, think he was a creep. His limbs became jelly and relaxed in a way they hadn't in years. once you separated from each other, you were full on smiling, Logan almost the same.

"I have to go but um." You walked backwards, pointing behind you. "I'll see you around." He could only nod and wave.

"See ya."

Logan made his way out the door only to be greeted with bright eyes and stares that told him everything was seen and nothing needed to be said.

But perhaps Hesh gets too attached. He sees the way Merrick attempts to take it easier on him, eases up a little and makes room for him, carves out a space for Hesh’s anger that no one else ever cared to do. Carves out a space for him. And Hesh can’t help but feel like that means something. It does mean something.

Merricks a hardass. Spend five minutes with him and you’ll see just how much war can age a man. He’s both chill when he can afford it, and intense when it counts. But he also cares deeply, cares more than most might assume. That’s why he redirects Hesh rather than just letting him off the hook. Merrick would never simply let anyone off the hook, no matter how cute they are.

At first it’s normal. It’s all very normal for them, despite everything. Hesh raises his voice and Merrick tries not to mirror that distress, he tells him to take a breath. Tells him to go for a walk and not come back until he can address his captain correctly. Has his patience tested like it’s never been before by an overgrown kid that he’s suddenly in charge of. A package left behind that Elias Walker didn’t send with a return address.

Merrick soothes him professionally, in a brotherly, comradeship type way. Pats on the back that Hesh tries not to take to heart, cause that’s just what people do. Brief shoulder holds and subsequent squeezes from the older man that almost remind Hesh of his dad, but not quite. It feels different and he isn’t sure why.

But he lets it go, there’s bigger fish to fry than wondering why his captains reassurance over comms starts to hit different for him. Why it’s the same type of dopamine hit to hear his voice as it was to hear Logan’s or Elias’s. Why it feels even safer than Kick, Keegan, or Neptune’s.

Maybe the team gets close to finding Rorke or Logan, but not close enough. Hesh cries for the first time in a while. He’s doubled over, the mental pain translating to something physical. Something that only unravels itself as he feels Merricks big arms encase him in a bear hug. He breaks down in the safety of his captains arms.

Hesh doesn’t ask Merrick to let him go and it wouldn’t matter if he did, because he won’t. The older man ignores any ulterior feelings he has in the moment, the ones that allude him, he’s just trying to calm Hesh. To be the anchor holding him down, keeping him tethered to his sanity. Merricks seen it before. Almost reminds him of himself, Keegan and Ajax after Sand Viper.

Horridly lost.

Merrick does not have Rorke or Elias to help guide him now either. He has himself. The team is his responsibility and he will go down with the ship if necessary.

But he’d refuse. Because the guys need him. Hesh needs him, needs his brother back and Rorke six feet under. They all do. So he picks Hesh up off the ground, hugs him for a bit longer when he feels the way the soldier grips at his t-shirt like a lifeline.

Merrick looks him in the eye and tells him what he already knows, that giving up isn’t an option. That they’ll fight, until there’s nothing left to fight. He ignores the pang in his stomach when he sees the red rims of Hesh’s green eyes, the tears stained on his face, soaking down his neck into his own shirt. Somewhere in his head, a flicker of guilt shows itself. For what exactly, he isn’t sure.

This isn’t the time for feelings, he’ll tell himself all day long. And he means it, stubborn as a mule and won’t let his emotions get in the way of the job, of course. But when he lays down to rest, images of Hesh flash behind his eyes, along with the usual suspects.

Excuse him, but he can’t really help it if he involuntarily imagines the man in his arms at night, can he? Not cuddling…no, Thomas…just keeping the soldier wrapped up and safe, like he knows he can do for him above all else when not in the field.

He knows it, he knows it, he knows it. And it eats at him a little. He’s no stranger to losing his men, but the thought of loosing Hesh in the field…of being the reason another Walker meets their demise, even if nothing is directly his fault, makes his stomach twist. Something ugly rears its head at the idea that he cannot save what’s left of that family.

He shuts it all up for a while because what the hell else can he do? There’s a war to keep ending, people to save and people to put in the ground. He settles for the momentary peace he feels when Hesh is either in his direct line of sight, or he can hear the younger man running his mouth over whatever troubles him most at the moment.

He feels like he’s being taught some kind of lesson by whatever higher power there might be. If one even exists anymore. He thinks of his father and grandfather, what the men would think of all he’s done. All he hasn’t been able to do. Would they shame him for the same things that eat him alive with guilt and sadness? Or would they understand it?

Hesh isn’t as avoidant as his captain, though. Maybe in his own head, but he has a way of bringing things out of people that he can’t seem to turn off. He’s no stranger to pestering and bothering and poking the bear. Not now, not ever.

So he asks Merrick. Asks why the hell Rorke would do what he’s done-he wants the full, uncut story-why he’d take Logan and not him. Why, why, why.

Why he’d level his voice just for him, in that softer way he does when they’re alone. Why he watches him sleep sometimes when he damn well knows he should be sleeping too. Why he hugs him now, why his hands linger on his back and shoulders and that one time they raked through his overgrown hair.

Merrick doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to answer. Not because he doesn’t know, but because he’s not sure this is the time. That there will ever be a time for him to explain that Hesh is somehow the closest thing he’s felt to whatever the hell a soulmate is.

Of all the Ghosts Thomas Merrick has known, Hesh is the only one who’s managed to pierce his heart in such a way. The only one who’s been able to turn him so completely inside out without trying, and not turn up his nose at what spills out. Hesh had seen Merrick lose it, especially after Elias died, and he’d never run from his captain. Not ever.

Hesh wasn’t satisfied with the lack of answer from Merrick, but he’d make do with the avoidant man’s attitude. Just like he did for him. It gnawed at the soldier though, swirled around in his head with all the other thoughts he couldn’t knock. It wasn’t that he was necessarily receiving special attention, just attention in general.

It filled a hole in him. To see a more experienced Ghost praise him and have his back the way Merrick was doing. They both danced around it, but the connection was there. Had they not been so busy, perhaps one of them would further address the way Hesh would always attempt to bunk near Merrick when he could, or the way the older man would silently let him. The way he’d always whisper a gruff goodnight, kid to Hesh.

The way Hesh would replay the sound of his voice over and over ‘til the words goodnight and kid started to loose meaning.

Keegan, Kick, and Neptune weren’t without eyes and ears of course, but they’d never say anything about the captains attention he gave to Hesh. Nobody minded, what with the way the soldier was on the brink of a meltdown most of the time. Any slight provocation finding him on the wrong day had Merrick considering counseling.

But they noticed. Hell, it was impossible not to notice the stares they exchanged or the hot and cold, on and off energy they shared. Some days Hesh clung to the captain like a monkey. Keegan figured ‘needy’ maybe wasn’t the right word for it, but the younger man certainly seemed like he needed something.

Other days, when their arguments got the best of them, when Merrick couldn’t tone it down for either of them, they’d get avoidant. It pained everybody, but the two always bounced back. Always found their way back home.

Merrick figured this was his home, after a while. The Federation had been defeated, but that was only a third of the battle. He imagined his former captain, if he’d even have the relationship he did with the man’s son if Elias were still around. Would Hesh attach himself so dearly to him if he still had his dad? Would Hesh need him the way he does, if he had his family?

That thought lost its footing quickly though, because it didn’t matter. Hesh only had the team now. And Merrick would be damned if he let the kid down.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Years could’ve gone by and Merrick would’ve hardly noticed. His focus was on the mission. Several times he would remind himself what that mission was. When he woke, caught some sleep, ate his meals and pushed his body to its limits, he reminded himself. That the mission is to take down Rorke. To rescue Logan. Etc.

The mission was not to piece Hesh’s life back together. Miracles weren’t man made, after all. The younger man would have to make do with whatever happens, that’s how one lives life, he told himself.

But that didn’t stop him from wondering, what Hesh could be given for a change, rather than have taken away. Would he be worth anything? His devotion? Or would Hesh find it no more worthy than a piece of scrap trash at an antique store?

Merrick would give. Give himself to his soldier in any sense of the word if he’d like. Was it stupid? Probably. Was it borderline inappropriate? Beyond.

Was it hard to care? Certainly.

He’d counted every time he saw Hesh smile in the past few weeks. It wasn’t difficult to keep track when the image would play over and over in his mind. It wasn’t difficult when it became more rare of an occurrence than it already was.

But he counted. He tallied the soldiers happiness. Did some calculations. Could he add to it? Could he make those pretty green eyes light up or was it futile? He pondered that one for days.