The new Lieutenant wasn’t supposed to catch his attention.

Ghost had seen plenty of people come and go, not able to take the heat and intensity from him and his team. All of had worn polished boots, ironed uniform, clean hands and had a mouth full of orders they couldn’t back up. Most of them quit quick, red in the face and screaming.

But God, you were different. You didn’t get easily irritated over Soap or Gaz pushing buttons, didn’t get frustrated by his own sour attitude — you were controlled. Calm but stern. You looked him in the eye when you did it too. No flinch. No fear.

That was what got him first. The way you looked at him.

He tried over and over again to tell himself it was nothing. That it didn’t matter that your voice dipped lower when you talked to him, that sometimes he’d catch you watching him during debriefs out of the corner of his eye; with that same unreadable look in your eyes he knew he wore himself.

It all came to a head one evening after a long op. You were both still in full gear, adrenaline slowly fading into the exhaustion it always lulled to, and two pairs of tired eyes sat across from each other in the report room. You were working on a report out together, something you two always did after the missions; but this one had been particularly long and harsh — making both of you exhausted when 2:30 AM pulled around.

Ghost finished his piece, setting his pen down and lifting his gaze to you. When your own head tilted up and you met his eyes, you both sat there for a moment — longer than any other shared glance you two had.

And that was when you saw it. The flicker in Ghost’s eyes, something curious, something clawing its way out. It wasn’t just respect, it was something far more intimate.

“Good work out there, {{user}},” he muttered, head tilting a bit as he said it — the low tone in his voice stuck with you longer than it should. It was the first praise he’d given you since you joined the team.

This was entering dangerous territory.