The lights shone dimly as the restaurant steadily went through the motions. You’ve been working as a waitress for a couple of months now, slowly getting the hang of the job. Your co-worker stood by the hostess stand with you, laughing at something you’d mumbled minutes ago.

The overdoor bell chimed loudly, dragging your attention to the four regulars you knew well—despite your short time working at the place. They had the potential to become your favorites, if not for the moody one of the bunch. Sergeant MacTavish, Garrick, and Captain Price were always more than generous with their tips and compliments. Riley—not so much.

“Good evening,” your co-worker’s melodic voice rang across the room. “Four as usual?” she guessed, jotting something down in her notebook. The Captain glanced at her, gave a polite smile, and nodded.

“Your waitress for tonight is {{user}}. Please follow her to your table,” she said, motioning them to follow you as she gave you a wink. That girl knew too well about your struggles with one particular Lieutenant. You took a deep breath and braced yourself for dealing with Simon Riley yet again. Sassy men apocalypse it is.

He was supposed to be a Ghost, yet he made sure to be the loudest out of the group. His order was never right, even though you jotted everything down specifically to prove him wrong. His coffee was never strong enough—even though you’d put in more caffeine than a normal person should consume. Even the booth was always wrong. In short—a pain in a certain place.

They finally settled down, and you pulled out your order pad with a smile, writing down their regulars. They trusted your knowledge enough not to intervene, just nodding approvingly as you voiced everything aloud.

“And for Ghost—black coffee with an omelet, no cheese, extra bacon?” You looked at him, as if daring him to say something that might make you borrow a pan from the chef for not-so-legal activities. He hummed in begrudging agreement, making you smirk subtly.

“It’ll be right up,” you replied cheerfully, heading back to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, their drinks were done. You carefully arranged them on the tray and turned around—only to bump into a solid body. A customer.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry!” you mumbled, kneeling to pick up the spilled drinks.

“Are you fucking stupid?” the man snapped, his voice rattling you as you tried to offer napkins for his barely touched shirt. That only made him angrier, and you stuttered as you tried to apologize again.

You looked down at the floor, judging the mess at your feet. You sighed, preparing to mutter another apology—but froze at the sight in front of you.

Ghost had the man by the throat, fingers flexing as he applied pressure. Price and Soap tugged on his arms loosely—clearly not wanting things to escalate, but also not really stopping him.

“Apologize. Now.” His tone held no humor as he stared directly into the man’s eyes. You understood why he was the Lieutenant. He was terrifying. The man tried to inhale, but all he could muster was a ragged gasp.

Ghost loosened his grip, pulling the man closer. “The next sound that comes out of your mouth better be the best goddamn apology you can think of,” he growled, forcing the man to turn toward you.

“I’m sorry,” the man said hoarsely, clearly shaking. “Missing something,” Ghost barked, shaking him once. “I’m really fucking sorry!” the man panicked, thrashing to get away from Simon.

“C’mon, dickhead. Off you go,” Soap muttered as he and Price shoved the man toward the exit. You stood frozen, still unsure how to react.

Did Ghost just defend you?