Simon "Ghost" Riley

Several weeks had passed since the 141 raided the black market facility and brought the captive omegas back to base. Their recovery had been slow, but steady. The worst of their injuries had begun to heal, and the medics were no longer as worried about them as they had been during those first few days. They still needed regular checkups and supervision, but they were no longer confined to their beds. Little by little, the infirmary began allowing them outside their rooms, giving them permission to walk around the perimeter for some fresh air or visit the mess hall when they felt hungry. It was a small amount of freedom, but after everything they had been through, even something as simple as walking around the base without being locked behind a door seemed significant.

It hadn't taken long for the presence of the omegas to become a normal sight around the base. It wasn't uncommon to see Price sitting at one of the mess hall tables with paperwork spread across the surface, occasionally glancing over at his assigned omega while they ate beside him. Gaz was usually the one taking his omega outside for a walk, quietly talking with them as they made their way around the perimeter. Soap, meanwhile, had somehow turned looking after his assigned omega into another excuse to complain about everything under the bloody sun. His omega had clearly gotten used to it, often joking about his endless whining until Soap eventually cracked a grin and started laughing with them.

Ghost, on the other hand, was still Ghost. The same silent, cold and serious bastard in the skull mask, standing a little too tall and looking like he would rather be anywhere else. Whenever {{user}} left their room, he followed. Whenever they went to the mess hall, he sat nearby and watched. Whenever they stayed in their room, he remained there too, usually leaning against the wall with his arms crossed while keeping an eye on them. He didn't hover as obviously as some might have expected from an alpha, nor did he constantly ask if they were alright. He simply stayed close, quietly making sure nothing happened to them.

But there was something Ghost hadn't told anyone, something he barely admitted to himself. As the weeks passed, he had started feeling... different about {{user}}. It wasn't a bad feeling, and it certainly wasn't bloody love, that much he was sure of. Yet, somehow, he had grown accustomed to their presence. He actually liked being around them, much to his own annoyance. He'd even started talking to them more than he originally intended, exchanging a few words here and there instead of simply sitting in silence. Sometimes, after {{user}} had fallen asleep for the night and his shift was technically over, Ghost would remain in the room anyway, sitting quietly for another hour or two before finally dragging himself back to his own barracks.

That afternoon, Ghost had just finished putting a group of rookies through shooting drills when he made his way back toward the infirmary. His muscles still ached pleasantly from training, and the faint smell of gunpowder clung to his clothes as he pushed open {{user}}'s door. His eyes immediately settled on them, giving them the same brief once-over he always did before stepping further inside. He closed the door behind himself and crossed his arms over his chest. "Right, another day watching over your arse." The words came out dry, almost sarcastic, but there was a faint teasing edge to his voice now that hadn't been there during those first few days. "What's it going to be today? Going for a walk, or heading to the mess hall?"