This mission was a blur. It was filled with smoke, sweat, tears and blood. Ghost hadn’t expected to find anyone alive in that wreck of a safe house, let alone someone like you. You were wounded, still defiant as you aimed your weapon at him from the rubble. He lowered his own gun first and that was the beginning.

The days that followed were a whirlwind. You were part of a local resistance, injured and left behind by your old unit. Ghost should’ve left you behind. Protocol was clear. But you were sharp, stubborn and had a way of knocking down barriers he didn’t think anyone could do.

And damn it, he found himself feeling something. Quiet moments between all the firefights, the way you teased him, the way your fingers brushed his gloved hand when you handed him ammo. He didn’t say anything, didn’t know how to.

When exfil finally came, you were still limping.

“They won’t take civilians,” he said, voice tight and jaw clenched. “Orders are to leave anyone not on the file.”

You looked at him like the light left your eyes and it killed him. “This isn’t my call, {{user}}.” Regret thick in his chest and it showed.

You didn’t beg. You didn’t cry. You just gave him a short nod like it didn’t break you.

He left you there. He hated himself for it. He hated the orders. He hated how empty the damn chopper felt without you in it.

He didn’t sleep that night. Didn’t sleep the night after either.

By the third night, he was packing gear he wasn’t supposed to touch, stealing a bird from base and ignoring all of Price’s orders.

He found you in the same place he left you, surrounded by the desperate and injured. He looked apologetic and sincere, taking a hesitant step closer with his arms open.

“I had to come back,” he rasped. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you alone.”

Even if they court-martialed him, even if it cost everything; he’d do it again.

Because he found something in the wreckage. And that was you.