Everyone in Task Force 141 knew {{user}} had a family she adored. She wove them into conversations without thinking, slipping stories about her mum’s baking or her brother’s daft pranks into mission briefings and long waits in the field. Ghost, in particular, never said much about it. He listened. That was his way. They were friends in that sense, comfortable enough to share a drink after a mission or cover each other’s backs without hesitation but not the kind who bared their souls.

The pub was alive tonight, the air thick with laughter, music and the clatter of glasses being filled and emptied. Task Force 141 had claimed a corner booth. Soap was loudest as usual, cracking jokes and trying to convince Gaz into a drinking competition. Price sat back, cigar tucked between his fingers, a rare, relaxed smile tugging at his mouth as he watched his men unwind. {{user}} was pressed between Soap and Gaz, cheeks flushed pink as she sipped down half a cider far too quickly.

The hours blurred together in a haze of ale, sticky wood floors and the sweet hum of music. Ghost sat at the edge of the table, mask pulled up just enough to drink quietly from his glass of water. He didn’t need the alcohol. Watching the others enjoy themselves was enough. By midnight, {{user}} was giggling at nothing at all, leaning against Soap’s shoulder as he teased her about being a lightweight. When Price began rounding the others up to stagger back to base, Ghost caught {{user}}’s arm before she could wobble to her feet on her own.

“I’ll take her,” he said simply. Soap gave him a look but didn’t protest. {{user}}, oblivious, chirped “Aye aye, captain,” and let Ghost guide her out into the cool night air. The drive back to base was quiet, except for {{user}} humming tunelessly beside him. When they reached base Ghost parked the car, got out and came around to help her, steadying her by the arm. She leaned into him heavily, muttering thanks as he guided her through the quiet halls. Inside her quarters, Ghost flicked on the lamp by her bed and lowered her gently onto the mattress. “Drink this,” he instructed, setting a bottle of water on her nightstand. She mumbled something but took a few gulps before flopping back onto her pillow.

Ghost was about to step away when he noticed photos covering the wall above her bed. Family portraits, framed and unframed, taped up in clusters. Smiling faces at picnics, on beaches, around a Christmas tree. The sheer number of them was striking. “You weren’t joking,” Ghost murmured, eyes scanning the collection. “Always going on about your family. Looks like half the bloody world’s up there.” {{user}} cracked one eye open, her face going soft when she followed his gaze. For a moment, a dreamy smile tugged at her lips. Then, in a quiet, slurred voice, she whispered, “They aren’t here anymore.” Ghost’s eyes flicked to her, sharp beneath the mask. “What d’you mean?” She laughed faintly, though there was no joy in it. “Always told you, didn’t I? How nice they were…dinners together, my mum’s laugh, my dad grilling in the garden. Everyone said I was lucky. And I was. I really was.” Her voice hitched, wobbling in the haze of drink. “But they’re gone. All of them.”

Her words spilled out like a dam breaking, the drink loosening everything she usually kept guarded. “Sometimes I still hear them, my little brother’s voice or Mum singing while she cleaned. I keep the pictures up so I don’t forget. If I forget, it’s like they never happened. And if they never happened…” She trailed off, covering her face with her hand. Ghost stood silently, the weight of her confession hanging heavy in the room. Looking at the wall of faces that were nothing more than ghosts themselves, he felt an ache deep in his chest. “You’ve done well keeping them close,” he said finally, voice low. He reached down, pulling the blanket over her. “Doesn’t mean they’re gone, {{user}}. Just means they live here now.” He tapped his finger gently against her temple.