Work Text:
Do you think it was wrong that I was jealous when you gave Soap mouth to mouth that one time?
-Simon “Ghost” Riley’s letters to Laura Taylor
7/?
The past few weeks the task force was slowly warming up to one another. The men were hanging out with each other after missions, smoking and drinking at the debrief table discussing the mission and every so often their personal lives; the only one who didn’t discuss the personal aspect was Ghost. However, he did stick around for a smoke and to discuss how many kills each of them took. He didn’t touch any of the alcohol, it’s tempting as hell but one sip and he will fall back into that darkness. Right now, these missions are all that matters to him. They give him purpose, even if it is for a week. He doesn’t have a family to go home to or even think about. He doesn’t have anyone he cared for either or someone who cared for him; he was a lone wolf. The mission is all he cares for, all he will ever care for.
They had finished a mission earlier that day, a small camp needed to be erased from the map in Sweden and they took care of it – no injuries on the team. The men decided to celebrate in the debrief room. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke, and Gaz shut the door to the room because they all knew Dr. Taylor would come in and lecture them. She was a good doctor, but they hardly knew her. She kept to herself in the office, and only came out to make a protein shake in the kitchen or shower in the shared locker room. That was difficult to manage at first. There were stalls for toilets and showers for a single person with a glass door, it was private but the men wanted her to have her privacy. If one of them saw her go into the locker room, that person would radio the others that she was in there for her shower. Ghost hated to admit it, but he liked going into the locker room after she was done. It smelled so nice; a lingering of rose and coconut, a womanly scent as opposed to earth tone smells the men used. It reminded him of how his mother smelled, she always smelled like roses because anything that smelled like a bush of roses was her favorite; soap, perfume, body wash, lotion – anything.
She did speak with them more and more, laughing at their jokes every now and then. Her smile was so bright – like one of those perfect American smiles that every Brit is jealous of. He had noticed more and more about her. She always wore light makeup – mascara on her blonde lashes and a little bit of lip gloss. Some days she would have dark circles under her eyes and the next she wouldn’t; either she was concealing it with some makeup or was having trouble sleeping at night. Her hair was always pulled back in some fashion; ponytail, braid, bun, etc - she never wore it down. He had also noticed that she never prepared her own food - like she survived off protein shakes, granola bars, and cereal like the rest of the men. He had learned from a conversation that she was from Tenneese, he had to google it on his phone to see where it was in America; he only knew New York and California.
“Question,” Soap let out a drag of his cigar. “Do you lads think the doctor has a special someone?”
Gaz chuckled and Soap raised his hand in defense, “What? She’s a pretty woman with that blonde hair, tan sk-”
“Keep it professional,” Price cut in.
“I am!?” He was defensive, his voice was getting higher. “Is it unprofessional to say she is a pretty woman?”
“Depends on what she thinks,” Ghost chimed in, and Soap dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
“It’s hard to know,” Gaz spoke up. “She doesn’t really talk about herself that much. I feel like she is busy all the time…but aren’t all doctors. I feel like they age so much more than anyone else, working all the time and stressing about so many patients at one time.”
“I guess,” Soap muttered to himself and tapped his cigar against the ashtray. “So, are any of us going to take dibs on her?”
“Soap!” Price glared at the man. “Enough.”
“What makes you think she would even want us?” Gaz said which made Soap frown.
“You’re only saying that because she saved your ass from drowin’,' ' Ghost said to Soap, lifting his mask slightly to let his cigarette hang from his mouth.
It was true. A day ago they were on a mission in a rural town in Denmark, they brought her along instead of keeping her at the base just in case. Price told her to stay at the chopper and keep in radio contact in case any of them were injured. The mission was tough but nothing they couldn’t handle. The ultranationalists were a well trained group, but thankfully they were better. The ultranationalists had set up a camp near a lake, using the lake as a defensive barrier shooting anything that came over the water. The group had to camouflage themselves as driftwood to get across the water without being discovered, they had taped wood onto their helmets and had oxygen tanks on their banks with a mask over their mouth and nose to get across; ditching the tanks once they reached the camp. It was nighttime and most of the men were asleep in their tents, making it easier to silently kill a few of them with a combat knife. The rest went down with a few bullets. Price had radioed the doctor to inform the chopper pilot to pick them up at the camp. The chopper landed and the men were getting ready to board it, Price and Gaz were already inside while Ghost waited for Soap to catch up to them. But one of the ultranationalists had managed to hide during the slaughter in the lake and shot Soap in the leg causing the man to fall to the ground.
Dr. Taylor was on the ground jogging over to Ghost who was trying to find the solider on his sight, but the soldier was pulling Soap into the lake. The soldier was using the water as perfect camouflage, but Ghost ran over to the lake with the doctor right on his heels. She had pulled out a flashlight from her pocket, shining it into the lake. Soap was splashing in the water, desperately trying to find any weapon to kill the man.
“There,” the doctor shouted at Ghost, pointing behind Soap. “Look with your headlight, there are bubbles shoot there!”
Ghost lowered the headlights on his helmet, and she was right. There was a pocket of bubbles, but Soap was thrashing about, he had to make sure he didn’t shoot him. He waited a second, inhaled sharply and pulled the trigger on his rifle at the pocket of bubbles. The bubbles stopped, a pool of deep crimson appeared and then a floating body. But, Soap was no longer in the dark water – he was underwater.
“Shit,” Dr. Taylor said and ran toward the lake, kicking off her cowboy boots. “He’s drowning.”
She ran into the dark water, and dived down, disappearing. Ghost kept his headlight on the lake, hoping both of them would resurface. He waited, and could hear Price and Gaz shouting from the chopper. He walked closer to the lake, but kept his attention to where the doctor had dived. Finally, she emerged from the water, gasping for air and Soap’s arm was wrapped around her shoulder. Ghost exhaled in relief, and walked closer to the edge of the lake, keeping the light on them. Dr. Taylor swam slowly while keeping Soap above the water, it had to be difficult with all that tactical gear he was wearing. Ghost leaned down once she was close to the edge and helped her pull Soap out of the water. He wasn’t coughing – Ghost looked over to her, worried. She held Soap against her wet body and then lowered him to the ground.
“God damn it,” she said as she held him. She leaned closer to his head and one hand held him against her while the other felt at the side of his neck. Then she opened his mouth, leaning in and listened. “He’s got a pulse but he’s not breathing.”
“What do you need?” Ghost asked. He felt helpless – a feeling he isn’t used to. He hated it.
“A mask for respiratory, but we don’t have time.” She said and opened his mouth. She started giving him rescue breaths, her lips were around his and she gave him 1 - his chest rose - 2 - his chest rose again.
Then, he started to cough pushing her off of him as he tried to sit up. He rested on his side, his elbows used for his support while Dr. Taylor rolled onto her back, breathing deeply. Ghost walked over to Soap and gave him a slap on his back, causing the man to cough again. Soap opened his eyes, rubbed his hands over his wet face and looked up at Ghost, the light from Ghost’s headlight on his face.
“Fuck, what happened?” He asked, coughing again.
“You almost drowned. The doctor had to save your ass,” He stated simply.
Dr. Taylor was standing up now, her blonde hair sticking to her tan face and water dripping from her clothes. Her chest was heaving up and down, she was obviously exhausted.
“I owe you,” he said to her as he slowly stood up.
“No, you don’t” She said simply, inhaling slowly trying to catch her breath.
Price and Gaz made their way over to them, they had checked the area for any more stragglers but didn’t see any, they were all dead now. Soap was ringing out the water from his vest as Ghost and the doctor walked back to the chopper. Her arms were wrapped around her wet body, she had to be uncomfortable but wasn’t going to say anything. He couldn’t let her be in that state, not after saving Soap like that. Ghost undid the tan cape from his shoulders, and handed it to her. She looked at it and then him, but took it from him, wrapping it around her body.
They both made their way into the chopper, sitting down on opposite ends of the chopper, and she let out an exhale. “Thanks,” she said to him.
“I didn’t do anything,” he stated simply. “You saved Soap.”
“It’s my job, right?” She said with a small smile. That smile tore at his cold heart, just a second, but that second mattered to him.
“Did she have to do mouth to mouth?” Soap asked which made Gaz groan in disgust.
“Better her than me,” Gaz said with a smirk. “I would have let you drown.”
“So, we basically kissed already,” Soap said with a sly smile that made all the men groan in unison, even Ghost.
Finally, the conversation drifted to something else – something uninteresting to Ghost. He walked over to the table, pushing the cigarette into the ashtray and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Their voices were loud behind the door, laughing. He envied how even after all the bloodshed they had seen; they could still laugh about anything. Why wasn't he the same? Maybe, they hadn't experienced the pain he had gone through. He wouldn't wish it on them, never them. He was beginning to almost trust them -- which he knew may be a mistake. The hallway was dark, except for the light in the medical office. She was up late. He walked to his door but stopped and looked over to the medical door again. He walked over to the other door and saw a shadow pacing back and forth. She was still awake.
He raised his hand up to knock, but stopped before his hand was on the wood. He shouldn’t disturb her. She was probably busy. She doesn’t want to speak, why would she? Why would anyone? What would he even say? Why does he even want to see her? He turned his back to the door, but the door opened, the air brushing his back. She was in the doorway, holding the doorknot in her hand.
“Hey?” She asked him, causing him to turn back to face her.
Her blonde hair was pilled up on top of her head, a pen resting behind her ear. She was wearing a navy blue hoodie and shorts, showing off her tan legs. He tried not to look too long, he didn’t want to be like Soap. But, maybe women liked men like Soap? He was handsome, unlike him with his scarred face that he cannot even stand to look at in the mirror every morning.
“Hey," he said simply to her.
“Everything ok?” She leaned against the door frame, her arms over her chest. Her soft green hues met his dark brown ones. He hated to admit it, but he was growing attached to her green hues. They were so soft looking, despite knowing she has been in combat and seen people die. They weren’t rough and tired like his eyes – stained with blood and murder. “I saw a shadow at the door, figured it was one of yall.”
“Yea-” he started to say.
“Oh wait,” she interrupted him. “Before I forget.” She opened the door more, a silent way to tell him to come in. He stayed at the door frame, looking into the office. There were many papers on the floor, a medical textbook opened on the floor with a laptop beside it, and a few empty boxes that needed to be broken down and taken to the recycling bin. Her cot had a white throw over it and a single pillow with a book on the pillow. She picked up his tan cape from the couch and walked back over to him, handing it to him.
“Thanks again,” she rubbed her clothed arm, almost nervously. “I didn’t have time to wash it though.”
He didn’t say anything, holding the cape in his hand. He stared down at her, wanting her to look up at him – make that eye contact that he craved from her. She was the only woman who dared look him dead in his eyes and not show any fear. She cleared her throat and rested her hand on the door.
“Well, I have things I need to finish unfortunately,” she started to speak, nodding her head to the mess on the floor. “Doctor stuff…the usual bullshit. Unless you need something?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t.” He doesn’t even know why he came to her door. He just wanted to see her, that's all.
She nodded. “Alright then,” a small smile on her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, yea?”
“Yea,” he breathed down to her.
She finally looked up to him, her soft green colored eyes met his dark brown ones. Something stirred in the pit of his stomach – it was unlike any hunger he had ever felt before. He hadn’t felt like this in years, thinking he had pushed this side of him deep inside of him into the deepest crack of darkness. Yet, she was pulling something out of him, and he barely even knew her. But he wanted to know her. He wanted to know so much about her — even her favorite color if she would tell him.
She slowly closed the door, the small smile still on her tan face. He stood there, letting the door close in his face and then looked down at his tan cape. He turned his back to her door and slowly walked down the hall to his room but stopped. He brought the cape up to his masked face, inhaling slowly. It no longer smelled like leather or smoke from his cigarettes , it smelled like her, that sweet scent of roses and coconuts. The scent he has started to crave when she leaves the locker room in the morning. His fingers gripped the cape, harshly. He inhaled it again, letting her that sweet scent travel through his body, warming at his cold heart. He wouldn't wash this, not until the sweet scent was gone.