Ghost One Shots | FemReader

RAIN VERSION 2

Author Note: This is version two; not quite cotton fluff but who doesn't like a bit of argument aftercare?

***

"You never fucking LISTEN!"

Ghost stands quickly, slamming his gloved fist into his desk. The action causes you to flinch as the sound reverberates around your head, jaw clenching in response. Although you're avoiding eye contact with him, that unblinking and intense stare burns through you.

"I— I'm sorry."

All confidence stripped away from you by his words. Usually you can brush off a berating this bad, but from him it's different. You have an unexplained desire to impress him and you'd managed the complete opposite.

"I don't want to hear your apology."

His tone was cold, his voice low. He hear his heart beating in his ears. Stay calm. He tells himself. Don't lose it with her.

"Never do that again."

He hisses at you though gritted teeth, his voice seeming even deeper. You feel a heat rise into your cheeks, embarrassed, like a scolded child. This was of your own doing, even though you'd rather have an injury than him dead. You look down at your boots, feeling tears well in your eyes, quickly shaking your head, blinking in a pitiful attempt to reabsorb them.

"Dismissed."

Posture straightens, but it causes you to wince in response to the injury. Just a couple bruised ribs from the impact, you have your vest to thank for that. Eyes meet his, desperate to leave the room, the air so thick with tension you could barely breathe.

"Lieutenant."

The word barely leaves your mouth as you leave his office, fiddling with your dogs tags through your t-shirt. Fuck. The narrow hallways feel claustrophobic, you needed to lie down before your chest caved in. Painkillers, headphones, sleep. You list your needs off in your mind before reaching your room.

It's a struggle to get comfortable. The scene of the shot replayed over and over in your minds eye. It was a miracle it hit your vest really. No wonder Ghost was so angry. The ache of your injury intertwined with lingering emotions of what if?

What if Ghost had been shot?

A soft light illuminated your room, you flicker open your eyes and see your phone is buzzing. Him. You hesitate answering. What was the time? Had you been sleeping? Sliding your finger across the screen, you answer.

"Sir?"

"How are you feeling?" He asked, his voice gruff but calm, a clear change from earlier.

"Better." You lie. White noise fills up the silence between you as you listen to him breathing. You can visual his expression perfectly. Furrowed brows, dark eyes, grinding teeth.

"I'm coming over."

He cuts off the call before you even part your lips to protest. Shit. You panic. You don't want to be here. Slipping on your boots, you leave your room, slamming the main door open letting the cold night air engulf you, but you don't stop walking until you're at the edges of the base.

Heavy footsteps approach behind you, crunching the sandy surface. Of course he found you, figured you out, he was probably two steps ahead of your own thoughts. You close your eyes, revelling in your last few moments of peace.

"Sergeant."

Sergeant. You rolled your eyes. The rest of the team had their nicknames, but you hadn't earned yours yet, and his stubbornness didn't allow him to call you by your name. You strain your peripheral vision to observe him, clearing your throat.