Callsign: Princess // Ghost x Reader/oc

9

For once, I agree with Ghost's decision to exclude me.

"You're our pilot," he says. "And you haven't slept in over twenty hours. Get some rest. We fly back to base at 0900 tomorrow."

I stare at the retreating forms of military personnel escorting Belsky across the aircraft carrier. I want so badly to be in the room, to hear what he has to say. To watch him break.

But I also know what that will entail. Half the people I extract from enemy bases are scarred and damaged from the torture they endured. It won't be pleasant to watch.

And Ghost is right. I really need to sleep.

There's not much in the way of formal bedrooms on the aircraft carrier. The sleeping quarters are stacked beds, halfway between bunk beds and sleeping pods. Thin sheet, thin blanket. I've never been an easy sleeper, and I expect it'll take me hours to even drift off in these conditions. There's a steady rocking so far out at sea — not as pronounced as it would be on a boat, but present.

Alejandro appears like my own personal guardian angel. "Take one," he tells me, handing a pill and swallowing back his own with a cup of water. "You'll get to sleep without the hangover."

"Sign me up," I mutter, gulping back my own. "How's your ankle?"

"Better now it's been looked at. Lots of painkillers, compression bandages, and ice." Alejandro frowns, elevating his leg on a bed beside the one I've marked as my own. He speaks again, this time in Spanish. "You really saved my butt back there. Thank you."

"We got him out. By the time you and I wake up from this nap... We'll know where Volkov's at."

Alejandro nods slowly. "Y... el Fantasma?"

I stiffen. "What about him?"

Alejandro switches back to English with me, though he keeps his voice low. "You seem to be having... professional difficulties."

"That's the nice way to put it," I mutter. I pull off my boots and clamber beneath the thin blanket. I could really use a shower and a hot meal, but this is no time to be picky. This isn't rest — more like a refuel. Supply my body with what it needs so I can fly us home again.

Home. The word makes me think of my brother. I'd been hoping for time off after a couple weeks, a day or two to go see him. It hadn't even crossed my mind that would be an issue. But now, with el fantasma seemingly hell-bent on making my life difficult for the fun of it, it may not be an option.

My jaw clenches. Fuck Ghost. I'm going to see my brother whether he likes it or not.

I sigh. "The rest of you seem to like him."

"What's not to like?" Alejandro shrugs. "Though, the rest of us aren't battling him for authority. I can't be surprised you're butting heads."

"Battling him for authority? I am not!"

Alejandro shoots me a look. "Be for real, Princesa. You refuse that he is a rank above, and he refuses that you are a rank above. That's where all this stems from."

"Nobody's a rank above. That's the entire point — we are equal."

"But he is training you. Which means it's not fully equal."

I scowl. "Whose side are you on, hermano, huh? Are you having these conversations with Ghost? Because he's the one who started all this."

Alejandro lifts his hands into the air, settling into his own bed. "I just think the two of you should work this out. I don't like to see my friends fighting."

"El traidor," I mutter. "I saved your life twice. You're meant to be on my side."

He rolls his eyes, knowing me too well to take the jibe seriously. "Close your eyes, hermana, or the medicine will never work."

I sigh, closing my eyes, wondering as always if I'll remember the moment I fall asleep. But it doesn't come just yet. Alejandro's words are still rolling around in my head.

"Do you really think I'm being too harsh?" I ask, my voice barely audible.

"I think you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Princesa."

I frown. Either this is some Mexican idiom that doesn't translate properly, or my brain's shutting down too quick to understand metaphors. But before I can ask what the heck that means, I slip into a calm, peaceful sleep.

***

"Volkov's EMP is still in the development stage."

Oh my god. My whole body responds in relief, sinking lower into the seat in the conference room. Everyone reacts to Price's words in kind — Gaz bangs a victorious fist against the table, Soap leaps to his feet and begins pacing, and Alejandro holds his head in his hands. We're not about to die.

Well, maybe. But we have a chance of stopping it now, at least.

Ghost nods in confirmation, then begins talking. "According to Belsky's intel, Volkov's scientists are about two months out from a finished product. That gives us eight weeks." His eyes flicker to me — I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I am. That'll take the entire length of my training with Task Force 141. "I don't plan on dragging this out anywhere near that long. Laswell's already gathering intel. I want to be ready to move in twenty eight days."

Gaz glances at Price. "Is this doable in just a month?"

Price shrugs. "It'll have to be. Now you lot are filled in, let's get back to base. We can start planning once we're there."

I stand to my feet. Shaking slightly, I ask, "What about Belsky?"

Ghost turns to me, arms folded across his chest. "What about him?"

"Will he be coming with us?"

Something shifts behind Ghost's mask. "No. Belsky was a loose thread. We had to eliminate him."

And then, with no further explanation, he turns and leaves the room.

I exhale a shaky breath and make my way to the side of the aircraft carrier. Glancing down at the waves crashing against us, I wonder if Belsky's churning through the sea forevermore.