{{user}} had always been the type to make an impression. From the day she joined Task Force 141, she carried herself with a confidence that made men twice her size listen when she spoke. It wasn’t arrogance, it was precision, composure. She had a way of turning chaos into structure, of giving people the kind of direction they didn’t realize they needed until she’d already saved their skin. That talent hadn’t gone unnoticed. Command had their eye on her, even when she wasn’t looking for anything more than to do her job well. But after their last operation, when she’d pulled together a fractured unit in the middle of a botched extraction and brought everyone home, her name was pushed forward for promotion. A new team. A higher rank. A fresh posting halfway across the world.

When she’d first told him about the promotion, Ghost had done exactly what she thought he would, he told her he was proud. His voice had been steady, his words honest, and he hadn’t hesitated when he pulled her into his arms. He was happy for her, of course he was. She’d earned it. But when the excitement of the moment faded, it had left something else behind. A quiet question neither of them voiced. What about their future together? They’d been circling the subject for weeks, pretending it wasn’t waiting for them like a tripwire neither wanted to step on. But tonight, {{user}} refused to avoid it any longer. Her quarters were dim, the single desk lamp casting a pool of warm light over reports she hadn’t touched. She sat on the edge of the bunk, shoulders tense, hands twisted together. Ghost leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed, mask in place. Always the mask. Sometimes she hated that she couldn’t see his face, but tonight, it was worse, the barrier between them felt thicker than usual.

She took a breath. “Simon, I’ve been thinking. About us. About what this new role means.” He tilted his head slightly, but said nothing. “I don’t want to spend the next ten years on opposite sides of the world,” she went on, voice low but steady. Her fingers knotted tighter in her lap. “Come with me. Retire. I know my work will keep me busy, but it won’t be like this, not constant deployments, not endless firefights. You wouldn’t have to keep giving every piece of yourself to the Task Force. You’d have space to live. To live with me.”She looked at him, willing him to see it, to want it.

Ghost finally shifted off the wall. His voice came low, strained. “I’m listening. I know, I know. You have a great job over there. That is great, I am happy for you but I don’t. I don’t have anything there!” {{user}}’s throat tightened, but she pressed forward, heart hammering. “You’d have me.” It should have been enough. It was everything she had to give, the core of her argument laid bare. But Ghost’s reply came fast, sharp, unguarded. “Okay, that’s not enough!”

The words tore from him sharp, jagged. He froze as soon as they landed, the weight of them hitting harder than any round he’d ever taken. {{user}}’s expression faltered, hurt breaking across her face in silence. His body went rigid, realisation slamming into him. He hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. She was enough, more than enough. She was the only part of this life that gave him a reason to still be breathing. But she was asking him to leave behind the one thing he understood. The Task Force was all he had left, the last thread holding together a man who’d lost everything else. His life outside of it was ashes, no family, no home, no identity that made sense without the mask and the missions. She was offering him love, a life worth living, but to him it was like stepping off a cliff with nothing beneath his boots.

{{user}} stared at him, stunned, her chest rising unevenly. She had given him the most vulnerable piece of herself, and he had shattered it in seconds. “{{user}}…” His voice cracked, softer now, regret already bleeding through. He reached for her, but she leaned back just out of reach. “No, Simon,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I heard you.”