Chapter Text
The case files make a thump as they fall onto your desk. You were hyper focused on filling out a report on your computer so you didn't look up, assuming it was an intern dropping off paperwork that needed to be reviewed. You continue to type away until the intern clears their throat, you look up to find Chief Laswell standing over you.
"Ah." You straighten your back and smooth out your white bottom up.
"Chief Laswell, how are you doing?" You smile professionally and politely.
"Good, better now that I'm not being ignored by my own subordinate." Her smile might be friendly but her eyes are narrowed. As if challenging you, test to see a reaction. You've received a harsher stink eye from actual international criminals so you relax. It was silly you two played this game, but knowing someone around here was an ally, a coworker you can joke with, is a comforting feeling. You’ll try not to cross the line, she’s still your boss at the end of the day.
"Sorry, I was just so focused on my report, I didn't notice it was you, ma'am."
"Don’t tell me I managed to sneak up on you? In full lighting of the office and its open floor plan. Maybe, I should choose someone else for this mission."
Your ears perk up.Mission? You look at her in almost disbelief as she looks down at you with a grin.
"Chief Laswell, I-" She holds out her hand motioning you to quiet, stopping you from your plans of getting up.
"Shut up. Your task right now is to read these files and tell me when you're done. Nothing more, nothing less. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Agent L/N?"
You nodded, "Yes ma'am."
"Good. Get back to work."
The rest of work was boring and monotonous, like it has been from the past months. Your mind was occupied by the case files on your desk. You decided that you would go home early and just take them with you. If Laswell wanted you to open them now, she would’ve just called you into a conference room. There's a reason you haven't been in the actual field for almost a year now. You were surprised by Laswell's little gift on your desk but you're more than ready. You've been doing mandatory consulting and, frankly, have been mental and emotional over it for months now. Just waiting, itching for your metaphorical prison sentence (desk work) to be over so you could actually put criminals behind bars.
While working back at the office, it surprised you how many people were content working in an office and not on the field,but when you had shown the counselor the scars that ran down your back and heard him gasp, it clicked. Attending the holiday parties made you realize most of these people (your coworkers despite the fact you never thought of them as such before) had families and lives and people to come home to. You had parents you forgot to call. You try not to let stories of Charlie’s first orchestra performance or Samantha's first sleepover make you feel guilty, and you learned to set a reminder on your phone. You call your parents on the weekends, sometimes. Sometimes, an uncle or cousin calls you and you answer.
The new administration intern practices with the check-out systems so you can take the files home, while you log out of your computer and gather your things. You try to make a timely exit so you can make it to the small Italian place a couple blocks from your house before it closes. The interns come back with your files and bid you goodbye. You leave,take the elevator down, and the metro home. You eat your stamboli on your dinner table, wipe everything off, and shower. When you’re done, you spread out the file. There are some about the ops itself and then cases on the groups you’ll be working with.
Task Force 141
There's general information about everyone. Occupation , roles within the team, time served throughout their life. There’s also a lot of information blacked out which catches your eye, but nothing out of the ordinary in this profession. More curiously, one had more blacked out information than the rest of them and no picture.
Simon “Ghost” Riley
You spent the rest of the night reading over the files that contain information about the actual operation.
You decide it is time to quit and head to bed when you feel your eyes struggle to stay open. Sleep reaches you the moment your head hits the pillow and you sleep without much resistance.
Ghost never got his driver's license. It's a truly embarrassing fact but growing up in Manchester, you didn’t really need one. Either your parents drove you places or you can take the bus,train, or even bike to where you wanted to go. The public transport was good enough that individuals didn’t have to learn to drive, if they didn't want to. Plus,it’s not like Ghost has a parent or close relative to teach him anyways. The fact that he also joined at the ripe of eighteen also was a contributing factor. He never really had a chance to get a driver’s license and car before deciding to ship himself off.
This fact was very funny when you first heard it as a 'did you know that….' from Soap,but then Gaz overheard. You guys shared little tidbits you guys have learned about your secretive lieutenant over the times you've served under him, trying to create a complete image of him. You guys never really got there. This was the most collaborative your team has been for weeks. Sometimes it felt like you were fighting each other more than your prompted enemies.
"I heard he actually has fangs.” Soap chows down what you are assuming, are mash potatoes.
"Nah, his teeth must be all fucked up and stuff.” Gaz is always trying to undermine Ghost’s allegedly attractiveness. It might be personal. You sip some water before joining in.
"Aww, imagine him with braces."
“No giggling over the lieutenant, lass."
“Braces are cute on guys.” You point your fork at Sargent MacTavish before sticking it into your food.
Gaz stirred a cup of something steaming, must be tea you thought.
The conversation would end whenever he walked through the door. You guys would go on and on until someone would clear their throat or pull on a chair and the legs would squeak against the linen floors. This was usually at the beginning,when you were still new to the team and didn’t know the limits, unwilling to push someone’s limit unknowingly. Nowadays, you know that if you were bothering someone, they would let it be known.
“Is this what you SpecGru do all day? Talk about your own lieutenant?”
It was a comment from some other soldier in the canteen. One that was too close to the table you guys were sitting at and apparently eavesdropping. There was always someone nearby who wanted to share their opinion on how your team operated.
“All I know is, I couldn’t trust orders from a guy that hides his face.” His friends felt the need to comment as well. You look down at your food, and take a bite before you lose the motivation to.
Success is never a guarantee; the fact that most of your team was still in tack and on field was already pushing luck a little far, stretching it thin. Thinner than the Ghost patience after today. As Soap gets wheeled away for a stab right to the meatiest part of his thigh and all the others get ice packs and cream placed on small cuts and bruises that are already turning purple.
You could report exactly where everything just went wrong. There was no reason that everything went so horribly wrong.
There shouldn't have been a sniper on the other team nor should they have had the weapons that they did. It’s a dark day when Ghost himself tells everyone over the comms to retreat, and everyone objects, verbally. You wouldn’t have dared spoken up against him at that moment. If there was something that we just weren't seeing, you doubt that he would have just withdrawn without a valid reason, because then it would be his head on a stake.
"Soap, watch the alleyway."
"Y/n, don't static soldiers east of static
The comms go dead on your end. You on your own, for the first time in a while. You start to shake. Fuck, missions were done with a team. You have to mentally school yourself. You just have to make it to the rendezvous point. But as you lean against the wall and capture your breath, you realize you don't know how many soldiers are between you and your goal. How many more snipers the enemy has lurking, waiting for a fool, just like you, without guidance to fall right into the crosshairs of the scope.
When you used to think about Ghost watching you from a distance, a warmth would erupt in your cheeks and on the inside of your thighs. Now, all you feel are the hairs on your neck standing on edge and your legs shaking slightly (not from anything exciting) but from a little terror you've carried around with you since you first put on your uniform again.
It's dark and wet, it hasn't stopped drizzling since the team got here and now there's something interfering with the comms. It’s almost like they anticipated your arrival. You forcely settle your nerves, you just had to make it across town to the bell tower and try to reconvene. You hope that everyone else has the same idea as you. You slowly peek up to look outside the window to see there's no one on the roads. You check the alleyway and decide to go there instead.
You run up the bell tower and see nobody. No, you don't know what you are going to do. Your brain stops working and you have no idea why your fucking comms stopped working in the first place. As you creep out onto the top floor, you crawl to stay out of sight but as you pass and decide something from the right pulls your legs, straightening you out and then flipping you over.
Before you could reach the knives you have strapped, there’s Ghost over you with a finger pressed against your mouth, signaling you to keep quiet. You see the familiar mask of your lieutenant and relax a tad. He releases his hold on you and you turn back on your stomach, he does the same.
“Have you lost sight of Soap?” You manage to whisper but he still looks annoyed at the question as he glares at you.
“Lost sight of even the shadows, seems like they’re hidden.”
You guys were sent out after getting information for the computer Gaz collected at the last recon. The techs were able to enter into some chats that were going on. This abandoned village was supposed to be hosting a highly illegal arms cache auction, but everything was dark, silent. The townhouse that was supposed to have crime bosses and shady politicians was seemingly empty, there wasn’t a light on anywhere in the house.
“We probably should have had someone inside the auction, that would have helped.”
He was still looking through the scope of his rifle sniper.
It would have required you guys to get information about this auction early, maybe a couple of days before. You guys only had hours. It's fine though, everyone here is a soldier trained to function under minimal conditions. Work with orders that are never to be questioned, survive like desert plants under extreme heat and minimal rainfall, and kill with our bare hands.
Your comment goes ignored like most things you say to Ghost on a mission while he’s focusing. Initially, you had thought there was a lack of respect between you two, on his part mostly, but you’ve come to figure out that he will ignore any information or outer stimulus while looking into his mission mode.
You're glad to not be a sniper in all honesty. The job wouldn't be able to support your need to move around, your leg was already bouncing waiting for a reply that was never going to come.
“Are your comms working?”
"I have to hope that everyone can continue their task without running back here like a lost puppy. Even if their comms are off."
"I hope everyone is smart enough not to enter that place without proper communication."
There was no one else to shoot, and you were mainly providing support. you knew a good soldier wouldn't run around acting like a hero unless they were looking to get themselves killed. By Ghost response, it was almost like he wants you out there, shooting anything that moves, blindly following your instincts. But there was a difference in instinct between a frolicking deer and a cornered wolf. You weren't sure which one you would be.
He's looking out the window, gaze focused through his scope. The whole world's blocked out to him and it would be silly to expect any attention.
"I'm going back in. I'm going towards Soap's last local."
You turn to leave and don't look back.