Ghosts of the Past (A Call Of Duty: Ghosts Fanfiction)

Chapter Seventeen

The desire to heal and feel one hundred percent quickly became replaced with anger, a hunger for redemption. When I thought of everything that had happened, my jaw clenched and a surge of angered heat would rush through my body, flushing my cheeks. Imagining the injection of poison and the manipulation from Carter became clearer with each day in the week that passed. While I knew I had no place to even challenge him—nonetheless try to kill him—it didn't change the strong feelings I felt to do so. 

    A week passed with an odd, heavy silence hanging over the Ghosts' base. I rarely saw the main men who'd taken me in, as they were consistently rotating on recon—least that was my understanding. I was sentenced to the mundane walls of the base, ordered to heal and not push anything per Merrick. While I didn't have nearly the experience of the Ghosts, I still ached to go with and be productive with them. 

    "You seem off today." 

    I glanced up from forking around my bland food, seeing Kick approach me. A shorter piece of hair shifted to my face and tucked it behind my right ear, annoyed it fell out of place. "Just going stir-crazy."  

    Kick frowned, his amber eyes shifting over to where a few other soldiers were shoving each other as they exited for the evening. "I can imagine." 

    Over the short span of healing and being stuck, Kick had been the main person keeping up with me. If I refused to use the medical attention or check-ups, he literally dragged me. Any food unfinished or meals skipped and he was in my shit. I appreciated it truly, yet I would never admit it. 

    "Besides that, how are you?"

    We hadn't seen each other in the last two days, him being out on a mission, and I could tell something was different about him. I studied him with my eyes as he reached to pick up a piece of stew, hesitating to wink at me before gobbling the piece of meat down. He didn't catch me continuing to look at him as he looked to the side at more Ghost comrades entering the large room. 

    He is....tantalizing. I realized my thoughts were straying as my gaze traveled along his cheek to his jaw and then trailed down the side of his exposed neck. 

    "Ash?" 

    I didn't realize his hand was bumping mine until he spoke. "Oh, s-sorry." 

    Brows creasing in concern, Kick cocked his head. "How are you?" 

    "I feel solid," I shrugged. "Been testing myself the best I can in the gym. Arm is a hassle of course, but my ankle has been steady." 

    "Your bruises are mostly gone," Kick was eyeing the skin on my face and it burned. 

    "The visible ones, anyway," I looked down at my food. "My ribs and abdomen still show signs." 

    I could see a flurry of negative emotions cross Kick's face, causing him to clench his squared jaw. It was bitterness, a hint of defensiveness mixed with it. He had anger too. A lot of it. 

    "Carter won't lay a finger on you," Kick gritted out. "Not so long as I am breathing." 

    "I would feel bad for the guy," I glanced at my cast, "with you and Keegan vowing to end his life, but...."

    "With more training, you will be too." 

    A smile lit my features but I didn't respond. I picked at my food again. 

    "Speaking of, if you're up to it, want to go hit the mats?" 

    I perked up. "An activity besides sulking about and being useless, sure!"