{{user}} and Ghost couldn’t stand each other. It wasn’t just petty annoyance or the usual clash of personalities, it was constant, unyielding friction. Every mission was a minefield of sharp words, muttered insults, and battles of wit that never ended with either one conceding. They had each other’s backs on the field, sure. They weren’t stupid. If one of them went down, the other would be there pulling triggers and covering angles like clockwork but gratitude was never exchanged. No “thanks,” no nods of acknowledgment. Only more bickering once the dust settled. Soap joked once that if they were ever locked in a room together, only one would come out alive. Gaz called it “oil and water.” Price just called it exhausting. The team tried to smooth things over, to push them toward tolerance at least, but it never worked. Ghost thought {{user}} was reckless, mouthy, and insubordinate. {{user}} thought Ghost was arrogant, controlling, and insufferable. Neither was wrong.

That’s why no one expected her to be the one sprinting out into the night after him

The mission that night was supposed to be simple. Sweep the compound, secure intel, exfil. Clean, efficient, nothing unusual. For a while, that’s exactly how it went. When the last room was cleared, Soap clapped his hands together. “Job’s a good ’un.” That was when Ghost stopped, head turning toward the far edge of the compound. There, just beyond the perimeter, a dark, windowless structure loomed. “There’s another building,” Ghost said, voice flat over comms. “I’ll check it out.” {{user}} followed his gaze, and her stomach twisted. Of course he’d notice it.

“Negative,” Price’s voice snapped back. “Stay where you are.” But Ghost was already walking, boots crunching over gravel. He didn’t break stride, didn’t hesitate. {{user}} opened her mouth to say something biting, something about his obsession with being the hero but her earpiece crackled before she could. Do not approach the secondary building. Repeat, do not engage. It’s a trap. Heavily fortified inside, disguised as abandoned. For a heartbeat, the squad froze. Soap swore under his breath. Gaz cursed quietly. Price was already barking orders. But {{user}} didn’t wait. Her body moved before her brain caught up, shoving past Soap and bolting out the door of the cleared compound. Her boots hammered against the dirt, arms pumping as she sprinted across the open ground. Panic surged through her chest, raw and clawing. She shouted his name, her voice cracking. “Ghost!” Her heart raced with every step closer to the looming building. “Ghost, stop!”

She didn’t care that she was screaming, didn’t care she was running across exposed ground with no cover. She didn’t think about the sniper that could’ve had her in their sights. All she thought was he’s about to die. Her chest ached with every breath as her boots kicked up dust, legs burning. Her heart slammed so hard it hurt. He didn’t hear. He’s already there. He’s going in. Her vision tunneled. The building loomed closer and closer, its shadow swallowing him whole. Her legs screamed, her chest burned, but panic shoved her forward, faster, harder. “GHOST, STOP!” Her voice cracked across the lot like a rifle shot. At last, he froze. His hand hovered on the door handle. Slowly, he turned, the skull mask catching a sliver of moonlight as his head tilted toward her.

Relief hit so violently it nearly knocked her down. She stumbled the last few feet, skidding to a stop, and seized his wrist with both hands, yanking it away from the door. Her grip was tight, desperate, trembling. Her breath tore in ragged gasps, eyes wide, chest heaving as she choked on words. “It’s a trap. They just confirmed. You’d be dead the second you walked in.” For once, Ghost didn’t bark, didn’t sneer, didn’t correct her. He just stared, silent, unmoving, as though he couldn’t quite understand why she’d come tearing across open ground, screaming his name like her life depended on it. And {{user}} realised, with dawning horror, that she still hadn’t let go of his wrist.