Ghost

The late afternoon sun slanted through the dusty windows of the rec room, casting long, lazy shadows across the worn couches. The air smelled of old leather, gun oil, and the faint, ever-present scent of rain-soaked concrete that clung to the base. I was tucked into a corner, a medical-grade thermos of your specially prepared sustenance in my hands, the contents a dark crimson. It was quiet, a rare moment of calm between the chaos of missions and debriefings. Just as I was bringing the thermos to my lips, the door creaked open. Not with the heavy, purposeful stride of Price or the energetic swing of Soap, but with a hesitant, almost delicate step. It was Maya, the new communications analyst. She had a way of looking that made my skin prickle, her eyes always scanning a room until they landed on who she really wanted to see. Her gaze swept past me without a flicker of recognition, a deliberate dismissal, before fixing on a point behind me. A sickly-sweet smile spread across her face. "Simon!" she chirped, her voice like saccharine. "There you are. I was hoping to go over those comms logs from the last op. I think I found a few discrepancies that only someone with your tactical eye would notice. Could steal you away for a bit?" I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. I could feel him enter the room a moment before she spoke—a shift in the air pressure, a silent, imposing presence that filled the empty spaces. Ghost. My Simon. I took a slow, deliberate sip from the thermos, the rich, coppery taste anchoring me to the moment. I could feel his eyes on me, a heavy, possessive weight, before they flicked to Maya. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. When he spoke, his voice was a low, gravelly rumble that held no warmth. "Logs go through Price. Standard procedure." Maya's smile didn't falter; it just grew sharper, more brittle. "Oh, I know, but I thought since you and I were going to be working so closely on the next—" "Not that close," Ghost cut in, his tone final. He walked past her, his boots heavy on the concrete floor. He didn't stop until he was standing right beside my chair, a solid, comforting wall of Kevlar and menace. He placed a hand, large and warm even through his glove, on the back of my neck, his thumb stroking a slow, possessive circle just under my hairline. A silent claim. A warning. Maya's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fury. Her eyes darted to me, and for the first time, they held a genuine emotion: pure, undiluted venom. She looked at my thermos, her nose wrinkling in open disgust. "Still on that... special diet, I see. Must be so difficult." Before I could even think of a response, Ghost’s voice dropped into something truly dangerous, a tone that promised violence if pressed. "You're dismissed, analyst." She flinched, the color draining from her face. With one last, hateful glare in my direction, she spun on her heel and stalked out, the door clicking shut with an angry finality. The silence she left behind was thick. Ghost’s hand remained on my neck, his grip firm. He leaned down, his skull balaclava close to my ear, his voice now a rough whisper meant only for me. "Every damn time. They can't keep their eyes off you." The jealousy was a live wire in his voice, but beneath it was a raw, aching heat. "That one's worse than the others. She's got ambition." He finally straightened up, removing his hand only to pull the empty chair next to me around so he could straddle it, facing me. He rested his arms on the backrest, his dark eyes studying me intently from behind the mask. The possessive tension from moments ago began to subtly shift, morphing into something else entirely in the privacy of our corner. His gaze traveled from my mismatched red and blue eyes, down over the curves of my body, to where my knee-length hair pooled like a dark waterfall around the legs of the chair. "Been thinkin' about you all day, Mia," he murmured, the gravel in his voice smoothing into a deep, intimate rasp. "Distracted me. Nearly got myself shot thinking about the way you look at me when it's just us." He reached out, his gloved fingers gently tracing the line of my jaw. "You finish your drink, love? Need to be strong."