Contagious || Ghost x Fem

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐥

You had at least two more days to make your final decision about joining the task force. Seeking advice beyond Price, you found yourself standing at Krash's door. Raising your hand, you knocked on the wooden door. A few seconds went by, and Krash opened it, greeting you with a cheerful smile. "Hey Y/N, what's up?" He leaned on the doorframe as you began to speak. "Krash, I've got something big on my plate," you started, the weight of the decision evident in your voice. Without responding, he moved aside allowing you to come into his room, and you both sat on his bed. Krash, always approachable, leaned back and listened attentively. "Alright, spill it. What's bothering you?"

  "I've been offered a spot on Task Force 141," you revealed, watching for his reaction. His eyes widened a bit, and he leaned forward. "Holy shit Y/N! Task Force 141? That's no small offer. You've been gunning for something like this for a while, haven't you?" You nodded, "Yeah, but it's not just that. I'm torn, Krash. This team is everything to me, but this... I know it's a chance to be part of something bigger." Krash pondered for a moment before responding, "Y/N, you've earned your stripes with the SAS. But Task Force 141? That's the icing on the cake. It's a different league altogether. What does your gut tell you?" You sighed, "Honestly, I don't know. It feels like I'm standing at a crossroads, and I'm afraid whatever choice I make, there's no turning back."

  Krash offered a reassuring smile, "I get it. It's a tough decision, but you've got to do what's right for you. This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer, a chance to get out of this and be a part of something bigger. The team will understand, no matter what you choose, even though we'd miss your cooking skills." You chuckled at the mention of your cooking skills. "I appreciate that, Krash. It's just... It feels like leaving a part of myself behind, you know? My team, my routine, everything I've known for years." Krash nodded, understanding the weight of such a decision. "Change is never easy, especially when it involves leaving behind something familiar. But sometimes, it's that very change that propels us toward new opportunities and growth." His words resonated, and the thought of your family entered your mind once again. "What do you think I should do?" You asked, to which he answered quickly.

"Fucking go for it."

____________________________

As the decision to join Task Force 141 settled, the conversation between you and Captain Price delved into the intricacies of what lay ahead. Price, his demeanor soft, spoke first. "Y/N, you're positive you want to do this?" You nodded, acknowledging the gravity of the choice. "I know it's not gonna be easy. The dynamics, the responsibilities—it's a different world. But I think I'm ready." The decision resonated within you, not only as an individual but also as someone who never got justice for their family. "In that case," Price responded, taking a moment to contemplate, "I'll make arrangements for us to be on a plane to Mexico tomorrow morning." In the aftermath of your decision, a serene stillness enveloped the office, and a sense of assurance settled within you. There was a certain comfort in the silence, an unspoken acknowledgment that the path ahead was chosen with conviction.

  "Kate is going to be so happy to hear you've joined. I'm so proud of you Y/N," he said breaking the silence, a genuine warmth underlying his gruff tone. Feeling tears threaten the brim of your eyelids you joked, "Look you're getting all soft on me old man." He smiled. "Soft? I'm as tough as they come. You'll see when we're knee-deep in a mission, and you're grateful for these muscles." Price, in a display of playfulness, flexed his biceps jokingly, a mock attempt at showcasing his toughness. "Behold the pinnacle of military strength," he quipped with a smirk, emphasizing the humor in the gesture. In response, you couldn't help but play along, feigning exaggerated disgust. "Ewww, Price, put those away. My poor eyes."

  You both let out genuine laughs and for once, you felt you really might be able to find your purpose. The journey leading up to the decision to join Task Force 141 had been marked by the struggle to find purpose amidst the necessity of concealing a tumultuous past. For years, the nature of your origins and the events that shaped your past had to remain hidden, known only to a select few. This confidentiality, while serving a tactical purpose, had created a sense of isolation and a search for meaning beyond the constraints of classified information.

  "Hey kid, I say before we leave tomorrow we go to our favorite pub, eh?" You glanced up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "Our favorite pub, huh? You trying to get sentimental on me, Price?" He chuckled, "Maybe I am, just a bit. Figured we could use a quiet night before diving headfirst into the chaos down there." The idea appealed to you, a chance to step away from your worries and enjoy a moment of normalcy. "I'm in. It's been too long since we've just kicked back without worrying about everything so much." Price nodded in agreement. "Exactly. A drink, some good conversation, and maybe even a round of darts. What do you say?"

____________________________

The Rusty Barrel

Nottingham, UK

The creaking door of the pub swung open, and the familiar scent of aged wood, lingering cigarette smoke, and the hearty aroma of comfort food welcomed Price and you. The pub, known to locals as "The Rusty Barrel," held a distinct charm that came with years of stories etched into its timeworn walls. Dimly lit by the warm glow of overhead lamps, the atmosphere inside exuded a cozy ambiance. The low hum of conversation intermingled with the occasional clink of glassware, creating a comforting soundtrack that enveloped the patrons. A worn wooden bar, scarred by the passage of time and countless mugs, stretched along one side of the room.

The patrons, a mix of regulars and passersby, occupied worn leather stools or gathered around sturdy wooden tables. The air buzzed with conversation, laughter, and shared anecdotes punctuated by the backdrop of classic tunes playing softly in the background. Price led the way to a corner booth, a secluded spot that had witnessed countless conversations and shared moments. The aged leather of the booth offered a sense of comfort, and as you settled in, the familiar surroundings of the pub became a sanctuary away from the complexities of the outside world.

  The bartender, an old friend known as William, greeted Captain Price with a nod and a smile. "The usual?" he asked, already reaching for a bottle of whiskey. You both agreed and he placed the bottle and glasses on the table. "I'm gonna miss all this, John," you admitted, the sincerity of the sentiment evident in your voice. Price, raising his glass in acknowledgment, understood the weight of the statement. "It's the nature of the life we lead, Y/N. But no matter where we go, these moments stay with us." The clinking of glasses and the distant hum of the pub enveloped the conversation.

  "You think they will accept me?" you asked, a hint of uncertainty lacing your words. Price, catching the nuance, cocked a brow and looked at you intently. "If you're asking because you're the only woman, yes. They should have no problem with that," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact.  "It's not just that, Price. It's just... I've kept so much hidden for so long. What if they don't understand?" you continued, a touch of vulnerability in your voice.

  Price leaned back in his seat, studying you for a moment before responding. "They may not know your full story, but they'll understand the weight of secrecy. We all carry our burdens, Y/N. What matters is how you carry them and how you contribute to the team." The exchange conveyed a sense of understanding, acknowledging that the challenges ahead went beyond superficial considerations. As the night unfolded at The Rusty Barrel, the conversation dove into the complexities of acceptance, trust, and the shared purpose that bound his task force together.

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