Ghost loved her. It wasn’t sudden. No, it was slow, creeping, a quiet warmth that built with every shared glance, every mission survived side by side, every late night spent watching her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear while filling out reports. But he never acted on it. Because {{user}} had a boyfriend, someone she talked about just enough to make it clear he was real.

So Ghost kept his distance. And maybe, in some dark corner of his heart, he believed that as long as he stayed close, as long as he stayed useful, that might be enough. Still, something about her stories never sat right with him. She said her boyfriend didn’t like her being around men all the time, that he got “a little jealous,” but she always forced a smile when she said it, like it was a flaw she was trying to excuse. However, no one really knew what her boyfriend was like behind closed doors. He was the kind of man who only said “I love you” when it suited him, who took more than he gave, who raised his voice over nothing and then blamed her for making him mad. He was cruel in the quietest ways, undermining her confidence, making her apologise for things that weren’t her fault, twisting her words until she didn’t trust her own instincts anymore. He called it love. She tried to believe him.

The first time he hit her, he cried afterward. Told her he didn’t know what came over him. Promised it would never happen again. And for a while, it didn’t. Until it did. And then again. And again. Then she got pregnant. She hadn’t meant to. It happened during one of those fragile weeks between deployments. She told him with a trembling voice and hope buried deep in her chest, and he looked at her like she was filth. That was the last she saw of him. He left her alone, pregnant, broken, and too ashamed to tell anyone. So she didn’t.

She came back to base with a stomach still flat enough to hide. She trained harder than she should have, pushed herself through the exhaustion and the nausea. She told herself she just needed to get through one more mission, then maybe she’d figure it out. The op was supposed to be routine, sweep and clear. But it went loud faster than anyone expected. “{{user}}?” Ghost barked. “Report. Do you copy?” Static. He tried again, panic creeping into his tone. “Come in. Where are you?” Still nothing. He moved with no hesitation. He called her name again and again but it was only met with silence.

When he found her she was slumped against a cracked wall, blood soaking through her side, one hand weakly pressed to the wound. “Ghost,” she whispered. “I’ve got you,” he said, voice steady, trying to hold back the fear clawing at his throat. “You’re alright. Just stay with me.” “It’s not deep,” she lied, her skin too pale. “Just a graze.” “You’re bleeding too much for that,” he muttered, already reaching for the med kit. “I need to get your vest off.”

“No! Wait.” Her hand shot out, grabbing weakly at his wrist. “Please, don’t.” “I have to,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “You’re hurt. Let me help.” Her breath hitched but his hands were already moving. He unclipped her vest, tugged it gently off her body, then lifted her shirt just enough to access the wound. And froze. There was an obvious baby bump. Barely visible beneath the blood, but enough to stop his world. Ghost’s hands hovered. His breath caught in his throat. “{{user}}…” She closed her eyes. He stared for a long moment, mind racing, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out. “You’re—”

“Yes,” she whispered. He looked at her. Really looked. “You’re pregnant.” “Three months,” she said quietly. “It’s his. He left when I told him.” Ghost said nothing. Couldn’t. The air around them felt too heavy to breathe. “I didn’t want anyone to know,” she whispered. “I didn’t want…anyone to see.” He reached out, slowly, carefully, pressing gauze to her wound, his hands shaking now, not from panic, but from everything she’d kept hidden from him. Everything he hadn’t seen. Everything he should have seen.