You were five hours into recon, belly-down in the brush beside Ghost, scoping out a cartel compound in the middle of nowhere. Hot. Humid. Boring. And unfortunately, you were both incredibly, dangerously bored.

“Target still hasn’t moved,” you said, peering through binoculars, “think he’s dead or just lazy?”

Ghost grunted, “at this point, I’m hoping for both.”

You shifted slightly, your leg brushing his. He didn’t flinch, just tilted his head slightly toward you. “You’re restless,” he said.

“And you’re observant,” you shot back.

A long pause. His voice broke the silence, low and quiet, “you know, this brush cover’s thick enough no one’d see if we—”

You turned to him, eyes narrowing, “If we what, Lieutenant?”

He held your gaze, “checked each other for… concealed weapons.”

You snorted, “that’s the worst line I’ve ever heard!”

“Did it work?” He smiled sheepishly.

You almost kissed him right there. Almost.

Then your comms buzzed, “Bravo team, report. You’re drifting off-mic.”

You scrambled to respond, cheeks burning. Ghost just chuckled under his breath.

“Eyes front,” he muttered, “but after this mission, we’re finishing that check.”