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He slipped into your room in the dead of night, his habitually light footsteps barely sounding within the silent room. You were wrapped up tightly within the soft sheets of your bed, a cocoon of silk to fight off the bitterness of the winter chill. You were dead to the world, soundly asleep with your lower lip gently pouted, held within your subconscious.
It wasn’t unusual for Keegan Russ to sneak into your room, long after the base had fallen into tentative respite. Rather, it was an expectation at this point. You were used to the near-silent twist of his key turning the inner mechanisms of the lock on your door. The gentle clicking as the gears had turned, was the only sound to signify his impending arrival. His movements were always slow, methodical, and precise—leaving little room for error. The line between his behaviours in his personal and professional life had long since blurred, yourself included.
You had been living on the base for approximately six months before you and Keegan Russ ever crossed paths.
You’d felt your breath catch in your throat the day that he had rounded the corner of the long corridor you had been transversing. An imposing figure dressed in a variety of dark camouflaged items, layers of assorted gear, weaponry and equipment adorning his body. Your eyes had been transfixed on his face, a mask covering the lower half, a black beanie covering most of the top. Truthfully, you had never been shocked to stumble across a man dressed for some kind of covert operation, given you now lived amongst soldiers. No, the initial shock had settled within moments, yet you hadn’t been able to tear your gaze away from the man.
More specifically, the piercing cerulean eyes that had locked on your own from across the room.
Time seemed to pause as you gazed at the man from across the open corridor, your body stilling in the process. As quickly as time had paused, it restarted, his shadow disappearing from view. The moment had replayed in your mind later that evening, as you stared up into the ceiling of your darkened room. Sleep had evaded you that night.
It was another month before you caught a glimpse of the serenity your mind had been envisioning. He had been unloading from an armoured truck, in front of the various garages and vehicle sheds that existed on site. His clothes had been caked in mud and debris, evidencing a likely assumption that he had been involved in recent combat. He worked with another individual, who adorned a similar mask, an unusual pattern hiding their lips and jaws from vision. The Ghosts.
You’d enquired about the men in the ghoulish masks later that evening, sitting at the dinner table with your colleagues. Only a few of you civilians lived within the sturdy walls of the base—it wasn’t often that survivors of the Federation‘s attacks were found. You had been found by a soldier with kind eyes, shaking in fear underneath the desk of your office building. Your city had been destroyed, blown apart, flattened. Debris and rubble surrounded you, your clothes in tattered ruin, burnt and blackened with dust. The thick, dark smoke from the nearby flames had started to encroach on your lungs when you had been pulled from your hiding spot, your shoulder dislocated and eyes watering from shock.
You’d cried in a mixture of relief and evident pain as you had flown away with several other survivors. Your colleagues and friends were likely dead, they weren’t in the helicopter with you. You had nothing other than the shredded clothing you wore on your bloodied skin. Your life had been ripped apart before your very eyes and blown into a million pieces. It could never be recovered. Everything you had known to this point in your life had been lost. The future was unknown. That in itself, had terrified you.
The road to recovery had been long and treacherous. You had been fortunate to have no lasting injuries, other than occasional soreness in your lower neck and shoulders from that fateful day. It was the mental scarring that had been the mountain to overcome. Your dreams were haunting, mocking. Tainted with flashbacks and memories of your former life. It was exhausting.
You’d tried your best with your fellow civilians, taking up various positions across the enormous base. Your former self had been a Dental Nurse, which had translated well into this new environment. Your skills and experience were transferable, a welcomed arrival to the Medical Department. It was fortunate that most of your role still involved routine checkups and minor procedures for those living on the base. Occasionally, it involved repair work for soldiers that had returned with injuries or missing teeth, but you were removed from the general bloodshed of the conflict, something you were thankful for.
Your friend had told you of the Ghosts that night, as you two tucked into the lasagna, sitting on the plastic chairs in Mess Hall. She explained how they were the remainders of the Special Operations Forces, an elite team and highly-qualified task force. You had seemingly been oblivious to the adoration and admiration across the base for the members of the small team, who were equally feared and revered. Their work was secretive, only a select few were privy to their operations. All that was heard were the general whisperings and rumours that seemed to follow wherever they went.
Over the next few months, you saw those pretty blue pupils on several occasions, seeming to run into the Ghost more frequently. You would catch glimpses of him across the Mess Hall or when he would walk past the window of your dental room on his way towards the garages. His shadow seemingly crawling into your mind further and further. You still didn’t know anything about the mysterious man, not a name nor a face to think of. It wasn’t until he approached you one night in the kitchen that the two of you finally spoke.
You’d been standing at the sink, filling up the kettle at a little after three in the morning. You hummed quietly to yourself, clad in your cosy sweater and jogging bottoms, your feet sliding across the cool kitchen tiles in your favourite fuzzy socks. Your whirlwind of a mind had conjured up images of your loved ones before that day, causing you to toss and turn restlessly for hours. You’d eventually conceded in your attempt to sleep and trudged to the kitchens in search of a steaming cup of tea.
“Can’t sleep?”
The low, gravelly voice took you by surprise, causing you to squeal and drop the kettle in the sink. It clanged loudly against the metal, your body whipping around to find an assailant for the sudden and unwelcome intrusion. You felt the familiar pause in time as your eyes met with that icy blue stare that had been holding your mind hostage for several months, unwavering in its gaze.
Your shoulders had gradually sagged as you regained your composure, letting out a quiet sigh as you looked back at him. “No, I suppose not.” You spoke quietly. There was a brief moment of silence before you nodded to the kettle in the sink. “Tea?”
He nodded, leaning back against one of the kitchen cabinets, his arms folded across his chest. He was dressed in his uniform of sorts, the black paint around his eyes smudged and messy beneath his mask and hat. He was without his weaponry or gear that you had often seen strapped to him, though his clothes were dirtied and worn. He offered nothing as he silently watched you prepare two mugs of tea, seeming to observe the way you stirred the spoon in careful motions—clockwise.
You placed the steaming cup on the countertop, pushing it closer towards him with the tip of your finger. He hadn’t made any moves to advance towards you, or even spoken up to say how he liked to drink his tea while you had been preparing it, so you thought better than to approach him. He leaned over, picking the mug up with his (rather large) gloves fingers, holding it in front of him as he tipped his head in gratitude.
“Thanks, Doll.”
With a parting look, he disappeared through the kitchen door and across the Mess Hall, away from sight. Becoming a shadow within your mind once more. You stood in the middle of the kitchen, lightly dumbfounded at the exchange that had just occurred, sipping your tea in silence.
The routine had become familiar with time. For three days in a row, you had met in the kitchen late at night to enjoy a cup of tea together. Words were scarce. In many ways, nothing really needs to be said. The silent company had brought comfort to you in the days that had followed. You found yourself eager to meet with the Ghost during the late-night rendezvous that you two had quickly developed. Though, you never actually saw him sip from his mug, choosing to disappear to drink it alone. The mask remained in place.
On the fourth night, he had lingered with the mug in his hand, looking at you with a softness to his gaze before offering his gloved right hand. “Keegan.” That offering of his name and a shake of your hands had been the beginning of your friendship.
Slowly but surely, the two of you had become close over the months following your initial meeting in the kitchen that night. You had both been hesitant to trust one another at the beginning, with any kind of personal information or memories from the past. You selected neutral topics at the beginning. TV shows, music tastes, favourite cuisines. Idle chit-chatter to pass the time. He would ask about your day at work, you would do the same. Though, you quickly learned that he could only divulge so much to you.
You learned many things about Keegan Russ during those initial months of friendship and observed his patterns of behaviour. For starters, he was insanely detail-oriented. You had caught a glimpse of his room once while standing in the doorway and everything had been incredibly organised. You suspected that it had to do with his peace of mind, given that he was cautious and meticulous on the field. At least, that’s what the rumours said.
While he was quiet, you could listen to the low rumbling of his voice for hours on end, if he would allow you to. The deep notes brought a sense of comfort that you wouldn’t quite pinpoint or attempt to explain. He was quick-witted, often coming out with a sarcastic joke or a snarky comment that made the corners of your lips quirk up in appreciation. His sense of humour was clever, reflecting the very essence of his mind. His natural intelligence couldn’t help but shine through with every discussion the two of you had.
Around others, he was different. He was quiet and distant, preferring to remain silent or contribute very little. His words would be chosen with purpose, selected as carefully as he was in every other aspect of his life. He would often be closed off, his arms folded and several inches from everyone else. Simply watching, waiting, observing.
You’d quickly come to learn that he, however, was incredibly expressive. He would gesture with his hands in the moments that he would speak, often throwing them around to further illustrate his point. Though, beneath the depths of his eyes were truly the key to understanding him. Indifferent or cold to some became a warmth of layered emotion to you. You soon began to understand the little signals he would send you, whether voluntarily or involuntarily. The subtle, minuscule roll of his eyes in annoyance. The pointed look to get you to follow him. The gentle crinkling around his eyes when he would smile behind his mask. Once or twice, you had even watched his gaze flicker down for a brief moment to your lips.
You missed him terribly when he would be away for a week at a time. Occasionally, it would be several weeks, in which you would find yourself aimlessly walking the corridors or attempting to close your mind off with trash TV. It never worked. Your mind would always drift to him, wondering what he would be doing, if he was safe. Whether he would think of you—would he be missing you as much as you missed him?
The first time you had seen him without a mask, you’d bitten your lower lip so roughly to quieten your small gasp, that you had drawn blood. This had flustered you, causing you to suck desperately in an attempt to remove the blood, your cheeks turning as red as the crimson liquid being swallowed down your throat. Keegan said nothing, whether this was out of kindness or mutual embarrassment. You’d sworn though that in the moment, his eyes had softened for a brief moment.
You’d felt a twist in your stomach as you gazed upon him for the first time. Tufts of short, dark hair emerged, ruffled by the constant use of his beanie. His jawline was dangerously sharp, with light stubble across the lower half of his face. His nose had a slight kink to it, as though it had been broken at one point. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him at the time, utterly entranced by his appearance. He was so ruggedly handsome and the mere thought of it brought flutterings to your heart and once or twice, a rush between your thighs.
Keegan actively avoided forms of physical touch. You respected his personal space and truthfully, you weren’t entirely sure how comfortable you would be with forms of touching either. It had been over a year of living on the base, over a year since you had last hugged or kissed your loved ones before that day. The thought of touching someone else after all of this time, even if it was Keegan, set your mind and heart racing alike. You shared an unspoken rule that a boundary was in place, which neither of you felt the need to break.
Of course, all well-intended rules were made to be broken at some point. Keegan had been away for several weeks, sent to conduct some kind of infiltration at a Federation site. He had been vague with the details, as he always had to be, yet he would always give you a rough estimate of when he would return. Multiple days had passed since his date. At first, you had remained calm. They were only ever estimates, it’s not like Keegan could ever be certain as to when a job would be completed. But when five more days had passed, you could no longer prevent the worry ripping through your chest, the light trembling of your fingers and the darkened circles beneath your eyes. You were on edge.
That evening, you heard a gentle rapping on your door. You shot up from your bed, rushing forward to unlock the door. Keegan stood there with tired eyes, a purple bruise starting to form next to his eye socket. You had felt your emotions overcome you in the moment, from seeing him standing there with a sense of vulnerability that he never allowed himself to display. With watery eyes, you had thrown your arms around his neck and leaned up on your tippy toes to pull him into a tight hug. To your surprise, he had hugged you back just as tightly, his arms wrapping around the small of your back.
Another wall that had been built between the two of you had come crashing down after that moment. His touch brought you comfort. He wouldn’t mind the gentle brush of your fingers as you passed him a cup of tea. He would allow your head to rest against his shoulder when you watched movies in your room, your backs resting against the headboard of your bed and thighs lightly touching. He would pull you into his arms upon his return to base, his large fingers running from the tip of your scalp down to your spine, knowing that it would cause a gentle blink of your eyes and a quiet hum of satisfaction.
He never had to explain to you that he enjoyed your touch, his body language told you everything. He would rest his head against your thigh, allowing you to remove the paint and grime from his face with a cleansing wipe. You would feel his body relaxing against your touch, his eyelids softly closing, as opposed to his usual state of alertness. His hand would find the middle of your back when guiding you down corridors, his tall, athletic figure an advantage for working through small crowds, compared to your more petite frame. In public, Sergeant Russ would refrain from touching you or speaking freely. But behind your bedroom door, he would trace patterns into the palm of your hand while reading briefing documents or texting on his phone. For no other reason than his desire to.
The two of you had fallen asleep while watching a late-night movie more times than you could count. Eventually, a new unspoken habit developed. Sharing a bed.
Keegan would come to your room each evening that he wasn’t away on a job, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. The two of you would lay in your darkened room, either talking quietly into the early hours of the morning or laying in comfortable silence. The closeness of your bodies brought that unexplainable comfort to you both, the warmth that his muscular body would bring to the sheets was heavenly to your cooler body.
Each night, you would cuddle up to him. You’d press your face against the side of his neck and breathe in his scent—a mixture of his musky cologne, amber and bergamot, with a hint of gunpowder residue that he could never quite scrub from his skin. Other nights, his face would be buried within your long strands of hair, his breathing soft against your ear. One time, you had felt his lips brush against the bare skin of your shoulder as he had readjusted in the night with a low groan. You had shamelessly come apart to the memory the very next morning, in the privacy of your ensuite shower after he had left for the day.
You attempted to blink away the sleep from your eyes as you heard his approaching footsteps. “Keegs?” Your voice was laced with sleep, your eyes squinting in the darkened room.
“It’s me, love.” He approached the side of your bed, lowering his face to allow you to see him, running his fingers through your scalp soothingly.
“I didn’t think you’d be back for another few days.” You smiled sleepily at him as you instantly relaxed from his touch.
“Me neither.” He chuckled softly before shifting to climb into bed next to you. “The trip was quicker than expected.”
His body was warm against your own as he pulled you towards him. His strong arms wrapped around your body, holding you tightly against his chest as your face smushed into the skin of his neck, his head resting against the top of yours. You nuzzled your nose gently against his skin and sighed softly in content.
“I’m glad you’re home. I missed you.” You murmured into his skin, feeling his body turn to putty in your hands at the intent laced behind your words.
“I missed you too, Kid.” You felt him press his lips against the top of your head, leaving a soft kiss in their wake. “I always do.”