Friendly Fire (fem Y/N)

Chapter 2: An Unfortunate Assignment

    "As a first Lieutenant and a renowned Captain, you two should be ashamed of this bullshit." 

   Price's gravelly voice was slightly elevated. You wanted to flinch away from his harsh words, but you knew it was true. Both you and Ghost had been far too petty for far too long. After all, in times of war, there should be priorities.

   "I should not have recruits coming to me asking if it's the protocol to nearly break your sparring partner's fucking arms," Price continued, his voice dripping with disdain as he glared at Ghost. "...or if it's the protocol to pin your sparring partner down in a way that's meant to induce pain for no reason other than petty squabbling." You received a glare when Price mentioned this.

   Your eyes darted away quickly. It was unusual to see Price without his typical jolly demeanor around the base. Your eyes flicked to Ghost, who was nodding silently. However, when his eyes met yours, they quickly gained a bit of arrogance. You huffed quietly and looked to Price. 

   "I'm sorry, Major. Won't happen again," you murmured. Price shook his head dismissively.

   "Damn straight it won't, Y/N. I'm tired of you two constantly bickering. I don't mind a bit of competition, but you seem to forget that you belong to the same task force," Price sighed, his voice now calmer and resembling that of a tired parent. "I'm assigning you two on a duo mission. It's intel, nothing too difficult. Nothing life-threatening, if you're smart about it." Both you and Ghost's eyes slightly widened a bit at this news.

   "Major, you can't seriously expect me to work with her alone," Ghost began to argue. Price simply shook his head, enough to silence the masked operator.

   "You do realize I'm asking you to do your job, right, Lieutenant? Before any of this rubbish, we're all a team. And that means working together. If it were Soap or Gaz on this mission, you wouldn't bat an eye. You'll have to get over your goddamn pride and take it with a grain of salt, yeah?" Price asked sternly. You cut a glare to Ghost- It was a bit satisfying watching him be corrected, but you had to agree with him. There was no way you two would work well together.

   "Yes sir," Ghost finally conceded, letting out a frustrated huff. You looked back to Price.

   "What kind of intel are we looking for?" You asked, careful not to upset Price further. His eyes met yours, now a bit calmer.

   "We've just caught wind of a couple of stray Shadows setting up a fort 17 klicks northeast of our base in Saint Peter's. We need someone to head over there and confirm their location before we confront Graves and his puppets."

   "Saint Peter's? That's a good 6 hours by helicopter alone," you replied in obvious shock. Ghost stiffened in his chair, but remained silent.

   "Yep. And that's to base. You'll stay overnight there, then move out in the morning, confirm their location, and get your asses back," Price responded seriously. "You're leaving tomorrow at the crack of dawn, so get packed and don't bitch about it." Price turned back to the stack of paperwork on his desk and began to file through it. "You're both dismissed."

   You and Ghost exchanged a glance with each other before you both stood up to leave the office. As you walked out, you noticed Ghost's pissed brown eyes were not leaving you. Once out of Price's earshot, you turned to him

   "Price is right, what the fuck happened earlier? Look at my goddamn wrists!" You rolled up your sleeves and exposed your forearms, now bruised as ever. "I told you I gave up, why didn't you let go?"

   Ghost's eyes wandered to the bruises, then back to you. "Thought I'd teach ya a lesson about being cocky," he grumbled, looking straight ahead as the two of you walked to the barracks. You let out an exasperated huff.

   "Just 'teaching me a lesson'? That actually hurt," you retorted, feeling the anger you felt previously begin to rise back up. Ghost let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. You waited for a response, but you were met with nothing. So, you gave him one last glare before walking into the women's barracks. Ghost continued to walk to the men's barracks, across the base, but it still felt like he was too close to you.

   You grabbed your pack and began to sort through your clothes. You grabbed an extra pair, just an undershirt, and some camo cargos, before heading outside toward the storage room. It was mid-October; lovely weather, but a gritty reminder of the upcoming cold season. 

   Upon reaching the storage room, you began to grab a couple of MREs. You decided to bring a good five. After all, it would just be a day or two. Four meals would be plenty, but being prepared never hurt anyone. Yet, as you packed, your mind continued to wander back to your interaction with Ghost. You most certainly were not looking forward to this trip.

   Ghost had an... interesting way of driving. To clarify, almost every member of Task Force 141 has ended up dangling out of a helicopter when Ghost was behind the controls. And he isn't much better on the ground, either. So you knew you'd end up in the driver's seat, probably with him beside you, critiquing your every move.

   As you return to the barracks, you go over the list of items you'll need. A tent and rations are standard procedure, you already had a change of clothes, and the rest was pretty much packed into the helicopter already. You had everything you needed for this unfortunate trip, minus an angry British operator. You sighed heavily before getting up and walking to the men's barracks. 

   Upon your arrival, you noticed Ghost standing outside the barracks, a lit cigarette slipped underneath his balaclava. All you could see was his strong jawline, sprinkled with stubble, his lips curled around the cigarette with an almost sneering expression. His brown eyes flicked towards you.

   "So. I'll drive, we leave tomorrow at 6 sharp," you explained briefly, crossing your arms. Ghost took the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled slowly. 

   "Why are you driving?" His voice was gravelly and somewhat irritated. "I can drive perfectly fine."

   You offered a half-assed laugh in return and shot him a glare. "I'm not trying to die in a helicopter crash," you murmured, your nose twitching a little in disdain. Ghost rolled his eyes. He seemed... exhausted. He shrugged and tossed the cigarette to the ground, putting it out with his foot. He returned to his barracks without another word.

   You let out a frustrated huff. The dislike was mutual, but he was such a pain to even have a professional conversation with. How on earth was this mission going to go well?