She scrambled for the phone on her vanity at the sound of the General's ringtone. "General Shepherd."

"Corporal Merwyn," he replied. "How's your evening?"

"It's fine and well, sir, but I hardly think you called just to chat." She dabbed a line of concealer on the pink stripe across her face, blending it with her fingertips until it nearly disappeared; the groove would never fully go away, but at least it wasn't as noticeable.

"I hate to interrupt any of your Friday night plans, but I need a favor."

Novaleen patted a soft brush over her face, spreading out her foundation as she spoke. "And to think I had hot plans with the checkout clerk at the PX, whatever will I do..." She chuckled, swiping a line of pink lipstick over her bow-shaped lips. "What can I do for you, General?"

He was quiet. "Meet me at HQ in an hour for a debrief; in short, you're heading to Al Mazrah tonight to catch a terrorist."

She set the slender lipstick tube down and switched the phone to her other ear. "Tonight? What happened? Are we at war?"

"Not yet, and we won't be if we can help it, God willing." Shepherd sighed tiredly. "Like I said, one hour, HQ, we'll talk more there."

"You're wheels-up in five," said Shepherd.

"Roger." Ghost walked swiftly between moving vehicles, keeping his heavy gaze on one as six or seven men jumped out of it.

"Marines are loading in now, you and the Sergeant are leading the way on this."

Ghost's feet rooted to the ground and his brows knit together. "The Sergeant..?"

Out of the group, a trim-looking young man walked over to him, a wide, bright-eyed smile on his face. "Soap MacTavish," continued Shepherd, as if on queue.

He had heard of this man before. The youngest soldier to pass selection for the SAS, if he remembered correctly. They briefly worked a previous mission together, though had never met face to face. Despite his incredible reputation, Ghost was less than impressed and already fatigued by Soap's upbeat attitude, like a puppy with a squeaker toy.

"Let's get ourselves a win, eh, L.T.?" The Sergeant gave his shoulder a light, friendly punch, causing Ghost to stiffen uncomfortably, and started for the Chinook. "I'll save ya a seat, sir."

"Fucking hell..." he muttered to himself.

"Ghost- you copy?"

The Lieutenant blinked slowly and tapped back into the com. "Yes, sir."

"Any issues?"

"Negative, sir. Out here." He stepped onboard and braced himself to sit beside Soap, silently hoping the Sergeant wouldn't chat his ear off the entire flight.

"By the by, L.T." By the by? God, what had he done to deserve this..? "Heard you've got a friend with the Americans."

"Friend?" he echoed.

Novaleen pulled off her helmet and pulled down the balaclava around her face. "Been a minute. How you been, Ghost?"

His dark eyes glinted with recognition. "NAG. Hey."

She settled back in her seat, hugging her helmet to her stomach. "Shepherd says we're going after Hassan, you excited for a little Capture-or-Kill?"

"I sure am!" interjected Soap.

Ghost sighed with a slow, unenthused blink. "Laswell prefers we bring Hassan in alive. But yes, Corporal, I'm ready for a little Capture-or-Kill."

Soap shut his mouth uneasily, returning his attention to the woman seated across from him. "So... how'd you meet Ghost?"

"I was on an op with the Marine Special Forces in Kazakhstan. We were going after a Russian terror group hiding out there, suspecting they had a massive weapons deal going on. Someone made a false move and they started hunting us; we put out a distress call, but they killed my whole team before we could get out, and nearly took me out as well. Thankfully, Ghost was there. He got me back home."

Soap's grin melted to a sympathetic frown. "Sorry to hear about your team, mate. Must've been hard."

She looked down at the floor, her fingers tapping together like her fists on the ice. "It was. But I know my Captain Howl wouldn't want me dwelling on it. Gotta keep living every day like a survivor, not a victim, yeah?"

Her smile was flat and Ghost couldn't tear his eyes away from her face. She was saying the right words, but she herself didn't seem convinced by them. Hell, he wasn't even convinced. After all, how could she call herself a survivor when she wasn't the one to save herself?

He looked away again and laid his head against the back of the seat, closing his eyes to rest before the mission. His senses were still alive, though, taking in the small noises and sensations around him. The dull thudding of rubber soles on the metal floor, the soft scraping of clothes and gear, the low murmurs of the other men talking. Occasionally Soap would gesture and accidentally touch him, but if he stayed still, maybe he wouldn't drag him into the conversation.

As he tried to drift off, he found his eyes cracking open to watch NAG again. He soaked in every expression and movement. Something about her gnawed at him. She talked like a soldier, dressed like one, but she was strangely feminine for a former Marine, let alone a Shadow. If he wasn't mistaken, was she wearing makeup? He caught a glimpse of her balaclava hanging around her neck and noticed a smudge of peach-colored dust. Yes, indeed, she was wearing makeup. It was vain, but that wasn't what had him perplexed.

Unable to shove his conundrum, he closed his eyes again, folding his arms across his chest. He couldn't rightly assess her. Not when he'd only spoken to her twice. He just hoped Shepherd's decision to use her was right.