Chapter Text
" Welcome to the Task Force."
It had been an uneventful day, almost as normal as any other one. You had woken up, took a shower and got dressed. With meticulous calmness, you had prepared yourself a coffee —God, how much you wanted to kiss the person who came up with such a wonderful beverage— and took off your, now, old base.
You had been transferred. You had known for a few weeks of that change, preparing yourself in advance for it. You had been studying your soon-to-be comrades' files, knowing all there was to know about them.
Captain John Price, 39 years old. Known to be seen as a fatherly figure among his subordinates, great strategist and righteous man to the core.
Lieutenant Simon Riley, 32 years old. Codename 'Ghost', he was an expert in clandestine tradecraft, focused on sabotage, ambushes, and infiltrations into denied areas and hazardous environments.
Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish, 29 years old. As one of you colleagues had described him, he was 'the type of guy you're relieved to have on your side. He seems like a carefree guy, but lend him a gun and he'll rail hell'.
Sergeant Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, 29 years old. Sergeant Garrick seemed to be, at least on paper, on the more quiet but efficient type of guy.
You already knew Kate Laswell, after all she was the one who suggested the change.
You closed the folders after reading them one last time, resting your head in the back of the seat. The jeep followed a steady pace, only perturbed by the occasional woosh of wind. Opening your eyes, reluctantly, and gazed towards the window, looking how it was totally covered in rain droplets. That made you adjust you jacket collar over your lips, trying to protect yourself against a cold that took root deep in your bones.
You were accustomed to traveling, never staying too much in one place, scenery and faces never being stagnant. Metamorphosis came as a second nature to you now.
Not everyone will look at your shadows lurking in the back and embrace you, so show them only what they want to see.
Change was a good thing. The unpredictability that came with it was what really terrified you.
You were anxious, as you craved control over the future, multiple scenarios taking place in your head, sowing scepticism in you bruised heart. That's why you studied those thin folders: not matter how little information they contained, knowing something was far better than not knowing, knowing what outcomes you had to prepare yourself for was far better that creating a billion different ones. You knew the Task Force 141 was like a family, they could welcome the new addition in their lines or they could not.
You were an anomaly in their routines, the thorn in their side until they learned to live with it or decided to take it off.
You could either adapt or flee.
Change was good. Change kept you alive. But no matter how many times you changed your surroundings, you weren’t capable of shaking away the fear, the anxiety, the reality that existed in your blood.
Exhaling slowly and closing your eyes, you cracked you knuckles.
Change is good. Change keeps me alive.
You chanted that mantra one time and another, engraving it in your flesh. Resting your temple in the window, letting the sound of the rain ground you, you found yourself hoping for more.
Change means the possibility of feeling worthy again.
It was a rare occurrence for Ghost to be in Price's office, but given the current situation, he supposed it was to be expected.
" Code name: Siren, 27 years old ", Price traced his stubble with deft fingers. " She's an expert sniper with... ", the man whistled, amused, " at least, 103 kills confirmed. She's also quite proficient in hand-to-hand combat, being trained in a couple of different fighting styles. Highly intelligent and a skilful strategist, both in and out of the battlefield. Oh, and would you look at that, she also speaks 8 different languages! " This time, Price laughed, unable to contain his feelings. "Spanish, English, Portuguese, German, Russian, Japanese, Greek and Arabic. And she's also capable of communicating with sign language."
Ghost kept his expression neutral under his balaclava, but the crease in the fabric signalled Price that his brows were crunched: " You seems good, but she offers no new skills to the team. Why did Laswell want her in? "
Price tossed the folder in his table, closing it with a thud.
" I don't know, but listen ", the older man rested his elbows on his knees, causing a change in the air of the room. The stillness almost static. ", I've been digging around you profile and something feels... " he furrowed his brows, moving his hand in the air, " missing. Almost everything is classified and I can't find anything about her before the age of 23."
Ghost understood what John meant without him even putting it into words.
" You think Laswell's working with Sheperd? "
Price abandoned his previous pose, relaxing against his chair. The sight could have been almost funny, such a powerful man constricted to a tiny place behind a desk. Ghost felt momentarily thankful for not being him, not knowing how Price could put on with so many hours of desk work.
" God, no. It's just simply that I don't know why Kate insisted so much in her being with us. "
His captain eyed him, causing Ghost to lightly tilt his head.
" And you're saying this to me because...? "
"Because I want you to keep an eye on things. I want you to make her feel, at least, welcome, to try and not murder her with your signature stare as soon as she sets foot on our base. " Price ruffled his hair, a gesture full of tiredness. " I trust Laswell and I know she would never betray us, but I don't like her withholding important information when it comes to my team. "
" Then what convinced you? What made you accept her in our team? "
Price's expression became darker, all playfulness gone from his stance. With a heavy sign, he replied.
" That's classified. Even for you. "
" Welcome to the Task Force."
You shook Price's hand, giving it a firm squeeze, offering him a sincere smile. You knew he knew, Laswell informed you what had been said during the negotiation. Consequently, you also knew he wasn't aware of all the details.
" It's an honour to be part of your team, Captain Price. "
" Please, lass. Just call me Price or John. "
You nodded.
" 'Course, Captain. "
A melodious chuckle sounded from behind you. You turned your head over your shoulder, carefully eyeing the beefy man. Subtly controlling your breath, the girl turned in his direction and offered you hand to him.
" Pleasure meeting you. I assume you're Sergeant MacTavish. "
" What gave it away? " Questioned the man while grabbing you hand. The female's eyes travelled downwards. His fingers grazed you uniform, inches above your wrist. A sudden thought crossed you mind. With hands big like his, he could easily wrap them around my throat. You felt your hands merely curling. You controlled it on time. " Was it my beauty or my unique presence? "
It's all in your head. Let the intrusive thoughts come and go, don't dwell on them.
Forcing yourself to untangle you hand from his, to relax your shoulders and to force a laugh out of your breath.
" No, it was the horrendous haircut. " You said while vaguely gesturing to his head. " I was warned against it".
The man gasped, but a glint in his eyes told you that it was a safe joke. He hadn't caught on your little slip, he had liked your joke.
So far, so good.
" You're breaking my heart, bonnie! And here I was thinking I could finally... "
Another man, slightly shorter this time, emerged from behind him.
" Quit the whining, I told you it would be a mess if you let Price cut it. " Now, both Captain and Sergeant gasped, feeling offended. Protests came from their mouths, however the tanned man paid them no mind. " Nice to meet you, I'm Sergeant Kyle Garrick, but call me Gaz. "
The girl accepted his hand, slowly forgetting the monster crawling at you brain. You were choosing to adapt instead of escaping.
" Same here. I'm Lieutenant Y/N Aguiar. "
The new man, whose name you already knew, nodded his head politely.
" Between your last name and your accent, I'm guessing you’re not from here. "
You flashed him a small smile, different from the first one you had worn on you face when entering the base. This one felt like a secret, as if it had been a long time since it reached the surface.
" Indeed, I was born and raised in northern Spain. " A small truth, one of those you permitted yourself in sharing.
" Wish I could say Spain is beautiful, but I've never been there. "
This time, you didn't contain it and you laughed shortly, " Doesn't matter, the sentiment is appreciated. "
You were more relaxed now than what you had been that morning or the night before. Your hands didn't itch and your thoughts were under control, it had been a long while since you lost all kind of grip on yourself and you intended to keep it that way. Moreover, it was going well overall, all the concerning scenarios you imagined long forgotten in the darkest corner of you mind.
Expect the worst and that way you'll always be prepared.
Right before you could entirely loosen up, a heavy gaze gave you goosebumps. It made you feel naked, exposing all the pieces —even the ugly and the broken ones— that formed you soul.
You had an idea whose pair of eyes those were.
Here it comes. The man everyone talks about.
Slowly, as if expecting him to jump you like and easy prey, you pivoted on your toes, facing the massive man who lurked in the shadows. Tall, gloomy, dangerous. All about his appearance stated confidence, from his crossed arms to his wide stance. He had been slumped in a corner, right next to the door opposite to the one you used to make you entrance. You hadn't seen him at the beginning, but your jittery nerves didn't fail to detect his unnerving aura.
Every little thing about his persona was poised. From what you saw, he was unarmed, but you knew better. That man was a well-oiled machine, if he wanted to kill you, he wasn’t in need of any weapons. He wore his uniform, military pants and a long-sleeved shirt which only accentuated his firm body, making his shoulders seems impossibly wider. You continued scanning him, brown eyes reaching the infamous balaclava. You went up and up, until their gazes collided.
Blue. As blue as the deep blue sea.
Blue filled you vision until you felt like drowning.
A shaky breath scaped your lips.
Black paint on his eyelids was visible even with his mask on, it only seemed to make his gaze appear more profound. The staring contest continued, he wasn't going to back out. Neither was you.
It could have been seconds or minutes, but it was him the one who finally broke the silence in the room.
"I'm the second in command. Call me Ghost."
Smoky, low, throaty voice. Gruff and lazed with a thick British accent. You felt your insides contracting, ideas melting.
He didn't move, didn't offer you his hand, didn't even hide his dislike for the situation.
All you could focus on was the blue of his eyes, you didn’t care about anything else. Cold, yet sincere eyes.
That's all you needed.
You felt a shy smile reaping through your lips, incapable of refraining from feeling relieved.
" I've heard of you. " You voice came out soft, as small as you felt under his scrutinizing stare. "It's truly an honour to work with you, with all of you. " You forced yourself to look at the rest of the people in the room, but you vision landed once again in the man covered up with a skull. You blamed that fact on the beautiful contrast the white of his balaclava created with the blackness that surrounded him in that corner.
Your gut was screeching. An aggravating feeling running along your spine. Strangely enough, you didn't feel like dying. With trembling hands, the Lieutenant welcomed the passing feeling, cradling it near your hollow chest, soaking in the familiarity of something you thought you had lost a long time ago.
Warm.
Shockingly enough, he felt warm.
It could be the overwhelming distrust in his look, the heated insecurity derived from the fluctuation in his timed routine. Or it could be due to the multiple layers you wore to protect yourself —from the cold, from the uncertain, it didn't really matter.
For all you cared, he felt familiar. That situation, with those people felt right.
You could work with that. You'll gladly work with that.
Later, in the middle of the night, if you mentally thanked Laswell for selecting the perfect team, it was only for you and the gentle breeze outside to know. And if for the first time in your life you felt comfortable welcoming an unexpected change, then no soul would now.
It wasn't as bad as you had believed it to be.
Yeah, you had to put up with Sergeant MacTavish's horrible puns, you had to wait 13 minutes —nothing more, nothing less— for Lieutenant Ghost to finish his stupid tea routine before you could make yourself some coffee. The Captain was much more lovely, greeting you every morning without fail, taking you in above his newspaper, sipping coffee —how much did you envied him, being able to enjoy his cup without having to go out if his way while that insipid black tea brewed— from his favourite yellow cup.
It had been a couple of days, a little more than a week, since your arrival, but you slowly found yourself inching closer and closer to Sergeant Garrick. You were aware they weren't friends, but somehow, you had slowly started to include each other in your respective routines.
They were polite with you, but politeness didn't equal acceptance.
On the third morning after you entrance in the 141, Garrick found you perched in the stool closest to the window, with a book splayed before you. From then on, he wordlessly made sure that one table sit was empty for you. Instead of thanking him, Y/N made sure a cup of fresh orange juice waited for him in the counter. Garrick didn't need to ask, he was painfully aware there was no juicer on base —he had to squeeze out the oranges himself every morning after his 8 miles morning run.
Those kind gestures were caught on by Ghost, his keen eyes never missing no piece of information, no matter how tiny or unimportant it was. He had become aware of the fact that you were a shy woman, keeping to yourself most of the time. Nevertheless, there was an innate sweetness to you, a light bounce in your step, as if you were dancing to a tune only heard by you. Ghost found it sweet —if asked, he'd said it was an absurdity— how your eyes followed every movement they made, soaking in all the details of their mannerisms, mentally taking notes so you could later help them discreetly, just as you were doing with Gaz and his juice.
He could almost —almost but not quite— saw you as endearing.
But the more brutal pat of his brain, the animalistic one, told him otherwise. He knew better than to expect the best from someone, war —and his own childhood— had taught him differently.
Price and him had talked, the night after you welcoming to the team, if he could compare greeting you in an empty, unused room with a welcoming party. They had agreed on one thing: you were an innocent looking woman, you actions the next couple of days proving that, but there was more behind the surface. Something Ghost couldn't quite put his finger on.
That irked him.
He wore a physical mask while you wore a metaphorical one that, as much, he knew. But it wasn't enough.
Ghost didn't normally spend many time in the common rooms, preferring to stay away in the solitude of his room or somewhere where he wouldn't be bothered. That didn't stop him from making his schedule line up with Y/N's. In the mornings, he brewed his tea while subtly keeping an eye on you —he also liked to be annoyingly British sometimes, just out of spite—, then when night came and almost everyone was heading towards their rooms both met again in the kitchen. Y/N was settled in the worn out, once green, sofa, seemingly engrossed in a book each time for the last days. On the other hand, Ghost sat right below the window, with all of his paperwork spread out right before him. He always had done it, finding himself having more patience there, with the quite lull of the outside noise allowing him to concentrate better. He took a fancy in the night, the solitude and hush of it enveloping him in a warm hug. That combined with the fact that he, as requested by Price, needed to discover what exactly was the woman hiding turned out to be a perfect excuse for him to be there at those times.
Wyoueas Ghost was calm and collected during those quite hours —sometimes you left after an hour, other times Ghost left first, fed up with his desk work— they were together, Y/N felt static.
Yes, you were coping well with the new environment; yes, you were starting to like you new comrades; but that didn't mean you were, in any shape or form prepared to deal with his presence all on you own. He was one hell of an intimidating man without even having to try.
You didn't know what the man thought of you, all you knew was that he hadn't made any advances towards befriending you —neither had you. He had stayed away from you, just as you had done with him, not mingling around in each other’s business. You weren’t ignorant to the fact that said man always watched over you, mistrustfulness clear in his actions, but the Lieutenant never directly looked at you, as if he was repulsed by the mere thought of it.
You didn't know if he hated you or not, but you were certain he didn't trust you. You were well versed in recognising those sings. You knew you had scored a few points with the rest of the team, but not with him.
You closed you book with a soft noise, hoping to not disturb him.
Then, slowly, as if the words didn't want to ripple through your plump lips, you softly spoke to the silence.
" Good night, Lieutnenant. " Said man didn't answer, didn't even lift his gaze, not wasting any energy at an attempt of appearing interested in you beyond wanting to figure out if you were a threat to his team or not.
He didn't care to make you feel included. If you couldn't deal with the fact that not everyone was going to like you, then that was on you. He didn't need to accommodate to anyone, much less make someone feel comfortable.
War was crude. You could either deal with eat or let yourself be eaten away.
That choice told someone everything they needed to know about a person.
And Ghost wanted to know which kind of person you were.
He leant back on his chair, eyeing the door you had just walked out. You were serious, he could give you that, but if you wanted respect and trust from him, that you had to earn.
You were also aware of that fact.
If you wanted to really become a part of the 141, not only on paper, you must also gain the trust of each one of them. And that could only be done in one place. You were a stranger, an outsider bearing secrets that could potentially destroy them, you had to prove yourself if you wanted to be recognized and not only tolerated.
You were a tiny sailor in front of a massive storm, a pitiful rowing stick in your hands as you only aid. Waiting for the tidal wave to bring you down.
What they didn't know was that you had sailed way worse tempests with bare hands.
You had been, roughly, two weeks earning yourself a place among those men, and yet only a five minute call was needed to ruin everything you had been working on.
The 141 had been assigned a mission. Which, in other words, meant that Y/N was going to cover their backs.
They were wary, you understood why and, naturally, didn't blame them for it, after all that was a normal reaction. You could be an impressive sniper on paper, you kept up with them during trainings. Despite this, you had still not proven yourself. Human nature worked funny, people tended to hesitate until shown otherwise and, in this case, that proof came in the form of them putting their life on your hands, quite literally.
You wanted to feel hurt for their doubts, but you couldn't find it in you to be upset. If the situation was reversed, if you were the one welcoming a complete stranger... you simply understood the second thoughts they were having all too well.
" We'll go to the borders, near Mexico " Price, thankfully oblivious, broke the silence that he himself had created. " It's supposed to be an easy mission: arrive, kill one of Hassan's old informants and leave. Tricky part comes next: they are expecting us to do something, so the zone's being tightly monitored."
" That means...? "
Price answered Seargent MacTavish: " That means only two of us will go. And Laswell wants it to be Y/N and me."
Oh.
Oh.
That was worse, that was way worse.
All eyes were on you, scrutinizing gazes weighted you down, waiting for the moment where you collapsed. You put your hands behind your back, carefully cracking your knuckles. You widened your stance and raised your chin defiantly.
" That's fine by me, Captain. "
Price nodded in you direction, eyes transforming into something you didn't recognize: " I know, kid. "
Therre was that nickname again. Price had begun to refer to you as kid a week before, after one gloomy morning.
You had just woken up from a bad dream, it hadn't been a nightmare, but it had settled a chill deep in your bones big enough that you couldn't blame it on the rainy weather. Deciding to not try and reconcile sleep, you headed to the kitchen, choosing to make yourself a coffee before the annoying British drink and its slow making could even risk ruining your mood.
Price was already there when you reached the room, lost in thought while having the lights off. You opened you mouth, ready to greet him, but something in the older man expression stopped you. He had that look on his face, the haunted one. You instantly knew. For a brief moment, you pondered whether or not it was a good idea to try and talk to him.
Fuck it.
With the most soft, caring voice you could muster, you spoke in the dark that separated them: " Cap, did you have a nightmare? "
All of them were familiar to the dark side of life, the ugly feelings, the scarred skin, after all that's what their job consisted of.
" Oh, lass, didn't see you there. " His expression sobered up, but no faked chirpy tone could hide the dark circles under his eyes nor the jumpy rhythm of his leg. " I just couldn't sleep, that's all. "
You caught the underlying meaning without him even wanting you to. With a heavy sigh, you showed him you back, starting to prepare two cups of coffee: black for him and with milk and sugar for you.
" You know " not once did your eyes raise nor your hands leave their task, but Price felt as if you attention, you whole focus, was solely on him ", I sometimes need to sleep with a light on. Not matter how faint it is, it makes me feel secure. But other times, when things get ugly it isn't enough. " Price silently listened to you, feeling how you was welcoming to a part of yourself not seen by the light. Feeling somehow grateful towards you for opening about that, for showing him he wasn't alone, that he wasn't the only one who felt that way from time to time. " I don't know what happened, but it doesn't matter who they were or how many there were, nor does it matter how much time has passed since then, you're allowed to feel guilty, sad even. "
He didn't want to be seen as anything other than strong and yet...
You left his cup, the yellow one, in front of him. " I know I'm not a part of your team yet, that I have to earn my place, but I couldn't have asked for a more decent or a better man to call my captain. And I assure you, not me nor any of those three men perceive you as lacking or whatever it is that's going through your mind. You may be our captain, but you're still a human. You're allowed to feel weak too. "
Price's gaze softened, a relieved smile tugged at his lips.
" Didn't take ya for a kiss ass, kid. "
" It didn’t work? " With a heavy thud, you slumped yourself in the adjacent chair to his. " Man, I was hoping you bought it and I didn't have to go and kiss the Lieutenant's scary ass. " Price snorted. Y/N smiled, feeling a little victory with the change in his demeanour.
A tiny piece shifted into place then, making you feel warm inside, in spite of the cold wind that blowed outside. A pleasant sentiment lingered in your heart during the whole day.
" Why can't three of us go? "
MacTavish's voice brought the woman back to the moment. With his interruption, only one pair of eyes remained on you frame. You knew which ones, those had never leave you since you arrival.
" It's more dangerous if we're a big group. "
" And why can't one of us go with you instead? Why do you have to go with you? "
You knew Seargent Garrick didn't intend his question to be phrased that way, to sound as harsh as it came out. You knew. You always knew, but you were getting a little bit fed up with always being the understanding one.
You thought they had started to warm up to you, at least a bit, turns out you was wrong. The roots of distrust were always harder to pluck.
You were a stranger, a liability. Nevertheless, you also were a fucking soldier, a Lieutenant at that, you had earned a place among them, you bled and hurt just like them. The place where you were standing was a hard fought one, nor once did you back own and you weren’t planning on doing it now. You were there to stay. They could either learn to deal with it or you would force them to.
" From what is worth, I understand where all of your weariness come from, gentlemen. " You crossed your arms, belligerent, daring them to try and knock you out." But am I hearing wrong or are you doubting my capabilities? " You had snarled, pinning them in their place with a calculating stare.
It was the man who they all least expected the one who answered the question.
" I trust your capabilities, not you. So fuck something up and that'll be the last thing you do. "
Fuck it up and I'll kill you.
The room became dreadfully quiet, no one had expected Ghost to be so blunt, to materialize what they all were thinking.
It wasn't you per se who they harboured suspicions against, it was just that you weren't part of them yet. How could they trust their captain in the hands of someone they had never worked with? How could they have blind faith when they were only capable of witnessing a hideous reality time and time again?
How many more chances could they risk before losing it all?
Something in your stance recoiled, not in a hurt or cowardly way, no. The way your shoulders squared and you gaze hardened meant something entirely different. You stepped back not because of the rage his words had caused you, but in spite of them. In that moment, you reminded them of a caged animal. Unpredictable, menacing. A killing machine patiently waiting for its release.
You lived up to your former war name, it was a pity they hadn't had the opportunity to hear it yet. Otherwise, they would be fearing their enemy’s fate, not their captain's safety.
You smiled at you Lieutenant, but it seemed more as a snake bearing its fangs, pulling back right before biting deep into its prey's flesh and ripping it apart. Your feet carried you to him, stopping mere inches apart. You tilted you head, assessing him without hurry. Feigned tranquillity dominating the room. All eyes on them, a silent bet on which one would strike first. Ghost was the taller one —his considerable heigh which reached 6'4" appearing even larger compared to your scanty 5'3"—, but given you attitude, everybody would have thought you was the one towering over him, controlling his every intake of breath.
" A week from now, when I bring back your captain completely unscathed, I expect you to drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness, Lt. "
Nobody dared to utter a word after that.
Nowhere on sight was the sweet, shy woman who had lived with them for a week, all there was left in that room was a cutthroat sniper, a beast going all out for blood.
Behind his mask, Ghost viciously smirked.
" We'll see about that, Lieutenant. "