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I miss your arms around my chest while you slept. It is still hard for me to sleep, but especially without you. I miss running my hand through your hair as you slept. I miss you drooling on me every night.
-Simon “Ghost” Riley letters to Laura Taylor
13/?
It had been three days since Dr. Taylor patched him up and she told him to return to her on the third day. Everyday he looked at the medical dressing, it was clear plastic so he could see how his wound was recovering. It looked fine to him, but he isn’t a doctor. The task force hadn’t been on a mission lately so he was distracting himself by working out almost every minute of the day. He was a predator therefore he needed to be in top shape. Anything less would be seen as failure, and that isn’t a choice in his opinion.
The other men were scattered throughout the base, Gaz and Soap were in the workout room comparing their workout notes while Price was in the kitchen, making soup in a can – typical base food. Ghost was walking down the hallway toward the doctor’s office, he moved his black hoodie sleeve to look at his watch on the unaffected arm, it was 3:30 pm. Hopefully she wasn’t too busy to see him.
He stopped in front of the door, and looked down to the doorknob, his hand reaching for it. But then it started to shake so slightly. He cussed to himself mentally. What is he so worried about!? She’s just a woman. A kind and respectful wom- no, he can’t think like that. Not now, not ever. When she touched him three days ago, it made him so tense. He hadn’t let anyone touch him like that in years not after the incident. The thought of anyone touching him made him angry, almost violent. But…she was so gentle, always telling him what she was about to do. Her fingers felt so soft on his rough skin, stroking away all the tenseness in his core. He didn’t like how it made him feel – vulnerable. He has seen people betray those who they acted like they cared for, and he always must be on guard. Yet, with her touch that wall of distrust was slowly crumbling, and that made him nervous.
He inhaled, and knocked on the wooden door. Nothing.
That was strange. He knocked again, a little louder. Nothing.
A sudden panic washed over him. What if an ultranationalist made their way into the base and killed her? Her body in a body of blood, drowning in her own blood – the man quickly opened the door and walked inside, panicked.
“So, as we can see from this chart the effects of using arista on a bleed within the body’s cavity has a 80% chance of creating a clot-” a drone voice was being played from a laptop that was on the ground, the screen pointed up to the ceiling.
He looked around, not in a panic anymore and spotted her on the couch. A note book was on her chest, along with the iPad she uses nearly every time he sees her. Her lean body was sprawled out, her arms over her brown tank top. She was wearing black shorts, and her long legs were stretched out and hanging off the couch’s arm. Her blonde hair was braided to the side, hanging off her shoulder. She was asleep because her mouth was open a little, and a small amount of droll was hanging out of the corner of her mouth. The sight of her in such a vulnerable state tugged hard at his cold heart.
He didn’t want to wake her up, so he quietly walked over the medical crates on the other side of the room. It was difficult to be absolutely quiet with his size and his heavy combat boots. He probably just needs a bandage, an ace wrap should do. Probably exactly what a doctor would use. He tried to quietly dig in the supplies, moving various items out of the way and putting them to the side of the crate.
“What are you doin?” A voice nearly startled him, he looked over his shoulder to see her slowly sitting up on the couch.
“You were asleep.” He spoke simply, still searching for the ace wrap. “Did you know you drool in your sleep?”
“I don’t drool,” she said sleepily, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands. He turned his attention to her slightly, and saw her rub her hand over her mouth, quickly removing any leftover droll.
He spotted an ace wrap at the bottom of the crate, grabbing it. He heard her faint footsteps beside him and he quickly stood up, but before he could walk out of the room she grabbed at the sleeve of his hoodie.
“Not so fast,” She pulled him toward her, the motion made his muscles tense. “Let me look at it. That’s why you came, right?”
That was, of course. He didn’t say anything, but he slowly moved the sleeve up to show her the plastic dressing. She gently stroked at the plastic, staring down at it. One of her hands gently wrapped around his wrist, moving his arm to the left and the right. His fingers stirred under her touch, wanting to touch her back, but his sensible side told him that wouldn’t be smart; no one wanted him to touch them. She was so close to him, he could smell that sweet scent of the rose body wash she used every morning. He wanted to bury his face into her neck, and smell her – all of her.
“It looks great, I can take it off and put the bandage on,” she paused, looking up to him. His dark brown eyes made contact with her soft green ones. “Unless you just want to do it.”
“You can,” he said almost too quickly for him to realize what he said. He could do it himself. No doctor needed to take off some dressing and wrap his arm up. Any trained soldier can do that, but no, he wanted her to do it.
“Ok,” she nodded, breaking their eye contact and gently peeled back the plastic dressing, discarding it to the table to the side. He handed her the ace wrap and she took it out of the plastic, and started to wrap it around his tattooed arm.
He looked around the office as she wrapped his arm. The audio was still playing on the laptop, a muffled drone voice of someone who didn’t want to be part of the presentation. And a few scattered carton protein shakes on the ground and on the table.
“What are you listen’ to?” He questioned her, causing her to sigh.
“You know doctors have to listen to presentations all the time, even when we don’t want to. We are constantly being told new ideas or new products,” she moved the bandage around him slowly, gently tugging at the fabric to tighten around him. “I have to listen to it and look like I’m part of the meeting, but that doesn't mean I have to always participate. I just don’t turn on the webcam.”
He was never a studious kind of guy. Sure, he enjoyed reading books every now and then – usually deep nihilistic and philosophy books. The thought of going to university never appealed to him; sitting in a room for hours, having to pay attention to someone and taking tests. It sounded horrible to him.
His gaze was fixated on the protein shakes and he realized he had never seen her eating in the kitchen. Sometimes Price made them dinner, actual dinner; usual British dishes like Shepherd's Pie if they had the ingredients, and bangers and mash. Was she really just living off protein shakes? That surprised him considering she was a doctor.
“Do you always have so many protein shakes?” He asked her and she tugged harshly at the wrapping, causing him to move his arm slightly away from her. She mumbled a sorry, and wrapped it around his wrist, attaching the velcro strips together.
“Wait, are you judging me?” She said with a slight laugh. The sound made his arms tense, but not in a bad way. “I know you only drink protein shakes too.”
That was true, he did. The thought of eating the food Price made for him made him feel too human. He needed to be like a machine, a killing machine. A machine doesn’t need food, it can live off basic nutrients that are provided in a protein shake. She released his arm, and he rubbed at the ace wrap with his other hand. “But you’re a doctor.”
She sat back down on the couch, muting the meeting on her laptop. “So, what? There are doctors who know how terrible smoking is for people but they smoke a pack after a bad surgery. We are still people.”
That was true. Still, he had put her on this imaginary pedestal because she was able to save people with her hands, while his hands were only for killing.
He was quiet and she started typing on her laptop, basically ignoring him now. His cue to leave, he started walking to the door.
“You don’t have to leave,” her voice stopped him but he didn’t turn back to look at her. “You can always stay, if you want.”
Her cold heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. She wanted him to stay? His throat felt dry, very dry like he hadn’t drank any water in weeks. His stomach felt heavy, but also filled with nervous creatures trying to tear out of him. His chest was tight, he needed to breathe, now: inhale and exhale.His hands were feeling clammy under his black skeleton gloves. No, he can’t. He can’t be alone with her.
“I have things to do,” he said simply, lying. But his body wouldn’t move. He was like a statue, frozen in time.
The sound of the keyboard typing was the only sound between them. “You don’t have to come in here just for medical treatment you know. I have other stories if you want to hear them.” her voice was low. He didn’t want to offend her, did he? But why would she want him to stay!?
“Another time,” he needed to leave, now. He needed to get out of her office. Finally, he was able to move his foot and then the other. His head was cloudy, foggy with questions that he knew he wouldn’t have answered for any time soon. His hand grabbed the doorknob, closing it behind him softly.
There were muffled sounds from down the hallway, Gaz and Soap were being loud in the workout room but Ghost’s head was filled with so many thoughts, all racing at once. He couldn’t pinpoint one from the other, and his chest felt heavy. Why did she say that!? She couldn’t have possibly meant it, right? There is no way she actually wanted him to spend time with her. He is cold, distant – he knew this while she is warm and welcoming; they are complete opposites. But what was that stupid saying? Opposites attract, right? No!
Oh man, he needed something to distract himself with, and now. He made his way to the workout room but stopped at the entrance of the kitchen. He looked inside and didn’t see anyone in the kitchen. There was a discarded bowl that needed to be washed out in the sink, probably Price’s canned soup. Ghost opened the fridge, it was nearly bare of any food. There were two pieces of chicken breast, a block of butter, a few beers, cartons of protein shakes, celery wrapped in plastic, and slices of cheese. His fingers drummed against the fridge and he grabbed the pieces of chicken, butter, and celery. Then he opened the cabinet to his left, inside was a bag of rice, a bag of sugar that was nearly empty and flour. He reached for the bag of rice, placing it on the countertop. Maybe this will distract him, for a few minutes at least.
Laura was in the twilight of consciousness and unconsciousness, trying to fight off sleep. It was so difficult with that horrible lecture about hemostasis. Usually she is very interested in learning new ways to stop bleeding with new products, but this new post has been draining to her health. It was easier in a hospital. There were nurses and residents, even med students to help with day to day tasks, but here she is all alone. She had to treat their wounds, make changes in their charts, update their charts, and of course dictate the treatments.The dictating took the most time, and she relied heavily on her iPad. She would just speak about the treatment and what method of approach she used, and it would write it out for her. Of course she had to edit it because it never seemed to understand her accent: very annoying.
Her tan arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, trying to doze off for a second. But then she heard the creak of her door. She tried to open her eyes, but it was too tiring. Someone was in her room, but she didn’t feel threatened by their presence. Usually, if someone comes in while you are sleeping with malicious intentions, the body will alert itself but that wasn’t happening. Must be one of the men coming in to grab something from the medical crate. They can do it this time, she’s too exhausted.
She inhaled and the scent of baked chicken engulfed her being. Chicken? Did someone cook? Since when did any of these men cook!? Sleep will have to wait, she used all her energy to open her eyes, rubbing them harshly with the palms of her hands. Her vision was disoriented and fuzzy, adjusting to the lights. Finally, her vision was clear and she slowly stood up, looking around for the cooked chicken that was in her room.
On the table was a plate of cooked chicken breast, a bed of rice mixed with celery. It smelled good, no it smelled great. There was a single fork by the plate as well. She pulled out her roller chair that was settling into the table, sat down and picked up the fork and poked at the chicken, and tore off a piece and ate it. It tasted great, better than the protein shakes she had been drinking for weeks now. But who brought it? She would put her money on Price or Soap. Price had such kind eyes, he truly reminded her of his father and every now and then she would spot him in the kitchen making food for the men. It was never her type of food. British food always seemed so gross to her, even when she was in college in Cambridge. Beans on toast? Why would anyone want that?
She moved the fork into the rice and mixed it with some pieces of chicken, eating it together. Even better. Maybe it was Soap. He was extremely friendly with her, always complimenting her appearance and her skills as a doctor. He would fit in well back home, especially with his accent. Despite how kind he was to her, she wasn't attracted to him, not romantically or sexually. However, she doesn’t have the heart to say that to him. She always smiled at him and thanked him, keeping it as casual as she could.
She finished the meal quickly, she was hungrier than she realized. She picked up the empty plate and put the fork on top, and walked out of her office and toward the kitchen. Gaz and Soap were in the kitchen, eating the leftover chicken.
“Hey doc,” Soap greeted her. She smiled slightly over to mean, walking over to the sink. She put the empty dish in the sink, turned on the water, and washed off the plate “Did you make us dinner?”
She shook her head. “No way. I can’t cook worth a darn.” It was embarrassing to admit, a woman from the south who couldn’t cook.
“Well damn, who did then?” Soap said, stuffing more of the rice into his mouth.
“Price said he saw Ghost in here,” Gaz said and that made Laura turn off the water for a moment.
“No way.” Soap said, picking up more of the chicken with his fort. Laura turned the water back on and started to wash off the other dirty dishes in the sink, the warm water on her tan hands. “Lt doesn’t cook, the man only drinks protein shakes.”
“Maybe this is a skill he has been hiding from us?” Gaz said with a chuckle.
Laura was quiet. If that was true, then that meant Ghost had brought her food that he had cooked for…what for himself? Soap was right, Ghost doesn’t eat anything but protein shakes. Then, the thought crossed her mind, did he cook for her? No, that was laughable. Why would he do that for her? He wouldn’t. No way. However, the thought of him cooking a meal for her made her heart feel light and made a small smile drawn on her lips, but she shook her head. No, he didn't do that.
"Can you imagine LT cooking for us? Like some domestic housewife?" Soap paused, because Laura was glaring at him over her shoulder. "Not that housewives aren't important," he quickly tried to cover his tracks and she returned her attention back to the sink.
She could imagine it. She could imagine waking up, smelling breakfast in the kitchen and walking in to see Ghost over the stove cooking eggs for them. He wouldn't be wearing his mask, but she can't even imagine what he looks like without it. Maybe he has ash blonde hair because his eyelashes are blonde. He wouldn't smile at her, but he would acknowledge her existence by making that strong eye contact that she has begun to crave from him. He would say good mornin' in that heavy British accent that made her knees weak. She would walk over to him, wrap her arms around his waist and rest her head on his bicep. She would bury her nose into his clothed arm, inhale his scent of leather -- such a manly smell, but she craved it from him. He would tell her that the food would be ready soon and to go sit down, he would bring it to her. His head would turn slightly, his lips on her blonde ha-
Shit! The water was nearly scalding her hands now because of her daydream. She quickly turned off the water, the steam from the water around her face and she sighed softly to herself. At least that brought her back to reality.
"Yall could ask him." Laura said, looking over at them, wiping her hands with a paper towel. The pain was still heavy in her nearly scaled hands.
Gaz chuckled; his plate was cleared of any remaining food. "Right. Like that will happen. He would never be honest about it."
"If this was him, I hope he cooks for us again," Soap said with a slight smile. "It was bloody good."
Laura walked out of the kitchen and back to her office, closing the door behind her. She turned off the lights in her office and let out a loud exhale and fell onto the couch, pulling her white blanket over her body. Exhaustion was rolling her over again, and she closed her eyes, hoping to dream of the daydream. At least in her dreams it feels real.