Daisy | Simon Riley

|16| Explicit Content 18+

The promise of coffee was enough to make her move quickly to her room where she slipped off her unzipped jacket and draped it on the back of a chair. She dropped her rucksack as well, then pulled her hair from its tight bun. With the strain gone, she was left a little more relaxed, then pulled her boots off and shoved her feet into a pair of slippers.

As she headed out of her room, she eyed the doors, unsure of which was his, but then she came upon one that was open. When she stepped in, her eyes fell to Ghost who was standing in front of a small kitchenette on the side wall as he prepped a pot of coffee.

"Why is your room so much nicer than mine?" she asked bitterly as she shut the door.

"Because I didn't get dropped here on a whim."

"Wouldn't really call a contract a whim," she muttered, moving to the couch and sitting down.

"At least you're not in a shared bunkroom."

"Thank fuck for that," she agreed as she pulled her feet under her. "Bootcamp was the worst."

"Don't miss those communal showers," he stated roughly.

She nodded in agreement, "I had a lot of whore's baths."

"The fuck is that?"

"A sponge bath? You know, over a sink?"

"I swear the shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes..."

"You'd have a time with my nan," she chuckled. "Proper bay, she is."

He turned, leaning against the counter as the coffee machine began to spurt. "What does that even mean?"

"Newfoundland is a big place; there's town, which is St. John's, and the bay, which is basically everywhere else. People can understand townies, but baymen got accents thicker than molasses. Especially the older ones. I grew up in town, but even then, I had to drop a lot of my accent when I moved for school. Drill sergeants weren't kind to Newfies."

"Cause they're known for bein' dumb?"

"Mhm. Education isn't great, along with the fact that Newfies are habitual mumblers and tend to have their own terms that others don't understand. But Christ, I miss a good bay accent. The Irish troops around are near enough, but it's not the same."

"When was the last time you were home?"

"Was on leave three years ago."

"A while then?"

"Mhm. What about you?"

He shifted, looking over at the coffee pot. "Was on leave last year."

"You go home?"

He hesitated, "Stayed in the city."

She noted his secrecy but didn't push. They were having a normal conversation for once—something she wasn't going to fuck up even if she was a shit disturber. "I was hoping we'd be able to head home for the holidays this year, but we'll be active duty instead," she said in annoyance.

"Nothing says Christmas like snow and terrorists."

She chuckled, "We gonna do secret Santa?"

He glared at her from across the room. "No."

"Come on, it would be so fun."

"We'll likely be in the middle of nowhere; what are we going to give each other?"

"We're on base for another ten hours," she said cheekily.

"You've got more important shit to do than go shopping today."