"NAG!" Graves threw his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close to his side. "Good to have you back."

She hugged him back, awkwardly crisscrossing her legs to walk with him toward HQ. "Good to be back. Didn't do anything fun without me, did you?"

He scoffed, clenching a wad of gum between his teeth. "Nothing compared to finding a fuckin' missile. How big was it?"

"Why, you want to compare sizes?" she teased, slipping out from under his arm.

Philip almost looked insulted, but the shocked grin plastered on his face wouldn't fade. "What? No! I've just never stood next to one."

"I hardly believe that..." He stared after her and she gestured with her arms high over her head "It was huge! Nearly as tall as the barn we found it in."

"Damn," he murmured to himself, letting out a winded sigh of astonishment. He dog-trotted after her, jumping ahead to hold open the door to the offices ahead. "I can only imagine how crazy that was. Did it make your knees knock a little?"

"Only a little."

"'Ey, NAG's back!" Malloy cut between Graves and Novaleen, the two of them high-fiving and bumping fists. "How were the Brits?"

"As peachy as I can remember. Is Gann around?"

"Right here," said the slim man, stamping out a cigarette in the ashtray by the back door. "Why? D'you miss me?"

Graves rocked his weight and folded his arms. "Man, what'd I tell you about smoking near the buildings?"

"... To 'don't',"

"C'mon, brother, don't let me catch you doing that again. You let that... sweet, smooth... stink in here and Shepherd is gonna have all our asses."

Novaleen leaned over the Commander's shoulder with a cheeky smile. "What he means to say, Gann: 'I'm trying to quit smoking and you're making it hard."

Graves looked away, gritting the gum between his teeth. "I chew Nicorette for a reason..."

Gann shrugged it off and made a lazy about-face toward the door. "Whatever you say, sir. What's our next move?"

"Get your gear together and stand by. Latest news from the General is that Laswell is still trying to get a location on Hassan; if we find him, we can find any other missiles he may have."

Malloy stroked the thin stripe of his mustache and nodded apprehensively. "'Ight. Will do commander." He tapped Gann's mosaic-tatted arm as he walked by. "Nothin' like hurry up and wait, am I right?"

"No shit, man."

Graves slowly licked his dry lips. "Can't get caught with our pants down, boys, we gotta be ready at a moment's notice." He shook his head and turned back to Novaleen. "... I'm so tired, NAG. Those two really wear me out some days."

"Well, thank God it's just because they're a little unruly, and not because you have to bail them out of jail every Friday night," she replied, leaning against the front desk and folding her arms. "When you're all set, wanna unwind with me?"

Philip sighed contentedly as he leaned back in his seat, tapping the neck of his Yuengling against Novaleen's. He took a swig of his lager and settled deeper into the weathered faux-leather chair, the sides of its cushion crackling under his weight. "Thanks, NAG, I needed this."

"So did I. The last few days took it out of me."

"I'll bet," he said, setting down his bottle. "Finding an American missile and enemy hands would get my dander up too."

"Sure..."

"Somethin' else on your mind, sis?"

Novaleen rotated her bottle in half-circles on the table, her green eyes glued to a couple sitting at the bar, their boisterous laughter drowning out the music and the sounds of clattering dishes. "I don't know. Working with Ghost wasn't quite what I expected."

Philip tilted his head, brows pinching together sympathetically. "How so?"

"Well..." She hesitated. How much did Philip really want to know? "... We sort of... Blew off some steam after the mission," she started slowly. "He was pretty worked up, and-"

"So you fucked him?"

Her face burned like the desert sun and she looked away. "I wasn't going to say it like that..."

Graves was laughing childishly, his head tilted back to let it high into the room. "Oh my God, NAG, you bagged the Lieutenant! How was it?"

"Why do you care??"

"Because, he's your hero, and you got to bang him! Not many people can say that."

She buried her face in her hands. "I mean, it wasn't awful..."

"Uh-oh, but...?"

"He's great in bed, a little aggressive, but he's really invulnerable. And the next morning, he was just aloof."

Philip took another sip and pursed his lips. "Sounds like you both went in with different expectations. You think he just wanted a one-night stand?"

She didn't want to admit it, but deep down, she knew that was exactly what he had wanted. Though she would have hoped there had been some kind of connection, that there was a glimmer of hope that maybe- just maybe- he felt something for her, in her hardest of hearts, she knew he had simply used her to destress.

--

Ghost was staring blankly through the curls of steam rolling from his cup. This was the worst coffee he had ever tasted. It smelled even worse. But it beat trying to keep himself awake as he watched Soap chat boisterously with the pilot. Seemed the lad could make friends with anyone.

Even as he stared ahead, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering. He thought about that day in Khazakstan. He had been there on an allegedly unrelated mission, hunting a band of AQ insurgents who were hiding out in the mountains. They had moved on fairly shortly before he had arrived and he never got an opportunity to even see one of them. To that day, he still wasn't sure why they had moved out. Who could have possibly known he was coming? Or had the mission simply been mistimed?

He remembered the distress call coming from Stalker-01- a certain Captain Howl, he recalled- and hightailing it 20 klicks northwest on a rusted motorbike left by AQ. It broke down just four miles away and he had to hike the rest. Probably for the best. Russians were a wary lot, and the sound of a bike anywhere too close might have jeopardized his own safety. Not that it bothered him.

Cresting a hill, he saw the bloody remains of the team and a fairly large group of Russian soldiers. Strange. They looked like Russian Army, but their uniforms weren't within regulations. They were staggered perfectly and he downed two with one shot, slotting the others quickly after.

Beyond them was a man standing on the ice, another Russian slowly approaching him. "Stalker-01," he had said into his com. "I have eyes on a Russian advancing on one of your men from the south. He's just out of my range, but I'm working my way closer. Changing positions and approaching from the west, ETA thirty seconds." He picked up his pace and charged through the deep snow, keeping his eyes on the two soldiers. Just as he peered out from behind a twisted, skeletal tree, the man on the ice was knocked down by a shot and within moments, had his brains splattered across the ice. Fuck.

Rage boiled in his veins and he unsheathed his throwing knife. It stuck in the Russian's throat and the man staggered backward, clutching at the weapon as thick streams of blood welled from the wound. He stepped across the ice, unphased by the enemy's terrorized cries when he slammed his foot down on the tang of the knife, pushing it all the way through his neck. Bastard.

He sighed disappointedly at the dead American with his blue eyes rolled up to what was left of his head. What a shame.

A flash of white caught his eye and he looked down at the ice. There were bubbles fluttering at the surface like little moths.

No. Not just bubbles.

A person.

Wasting no time, he stamped his foot on the ice and chipped away enough of it to break through it, taking the hand of the drowning American. She sputtered and coughed, falling limp when he pulled her up.

A woman.

He blinked away his surprise and held her up by her arm. "Come on, get up." She wasn't strong enough to stand yet, but she turned her green eyes up to him, dazed and bewildered as she did. Across her face was a long, jagged cut, fresh and still bleeding. "On your feet. We can't stay here."

There was a groan from the frozen lake under them and his eyes landed on another hole in the ice not too far away. It must have been where she'd fallen through. "Can you walk?" he pleaded.

She could barely get her feet under her, her knees wobbling, but he couldn't wait any longer for her to gather her wits. He snatched her off the ice and ran for the bank, tripping over a buried rock in the snow. Out of danger Ghost shot a glare at the woman. Whether he was upset because they had nearly both fell into the freezing water or because she looked so pathetic lying there in the snow, he wasn't sure. But the moment she started shivering, he pulled her closer and felt a stirring in his chest.

Strange. He didn't normally feel anything for other people anymore beyond a sense of duty or obligation. But he felt sorry for her. She had just lost her whole team and now was freezing to death after almost drowning. She needed help. He pulled her up to a sitting position and rubbed her arms to get the blood flowing. "Big Bird, this is Ghost, what's your status, over?"

"Ghost, this is Big Bird, we're approaching the LZ at the AQ camp from the north. ETA 2 minutes, over."

"Copy. I'm gonna need you to switch to a new location. I'm 20 klicks northwest trying to help some Marines out here. They're all dead but one, and she needs immediate medical assistance. We're by the lake next to a dead tree. What's your ETA, over?"

Big Bird had gone quiet. "Uhh, roger, Ghost, we'll be there in three minutes. Hang tight, out."

He nodded stiffly and pulled off his coat. Before he threw it over her, he realized her wet clothes would negate anything else he did to keep her warm. Quickly, he unzipped her coat and pulled it off along with her shirt, tossing them in a heap beside her. She looked terrified at first, but when he wrapped his coat around her, she fell weak against his chest.

Ghost didn't interact much with people, and having one- a female at that- laying against him made him freeze. Hesitantly, he laid an arm across her shoulders and held her upright, eyes on the sky for the helicopter.

"You awake, L.T.?"

Ghost blinked away the memory and narrowed his eyes at Soap. "Yes, Sergeant, I am."

Soap took a seat beside him and stretched, groaning contentedly. "I've never been to Mexico before. What's it like?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. But I would assume it's something like Rio De Janeiro."

The Sergeant jerked his brows up. "You been to Rio?"

"Nope. Just saw it in a magazine once..."

"Bugger gòrach- Cheeky bugger..." He twiddled his thumbs apprehensively in the following silence. Ghost was so closed off, he wasn't sure how to keep a conversation going with him.

Unlike anyone else, though, Soap wasn't content to simply let the conversation die. "So... You and NAG..?"

Ghost snarled up his mouth. "None of your fucking business, Soap."

Oh. A soft spot. "Ohhh, so you two did get it on."

"The fuck are you on about? Sod off."

"See, I know you two stayed behind after I left last night, and it's kinda funny that she's a touchy subject now. You take her home with you? Or did you find a cozy spot in your backseat?"

No one ever backed him into a corner. How did Soap manage to do it? "Alright, so I needed a little stress relief... I've done it with women from the bar plenty of times..."

"So you're a stud?" Soap nodded with a sly smile. "Gotcha."

"Shut up, Soap..."

"Why? You like her?"

Ghost settled a cold gaze on the Sergeant and Soap fell quiet, but the wry smile was still on his face. "I said shut your mouth, Sergeant. I wasn't asking."

"A'ight, fine." Soap folded his hands between his knees. "Whatever you say, sir."

For once, the silence felt uncomfortable and Ghost shifted his weight uneasily. "Besides, I may never see her again after this. The Americans still have their own missions to do."

"Ah, you did it out of desperation... Potentially losin' someone is a powerful aphrodisiac."

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes, but he knew if he responded, Soap wouldn't stop talking. So instead, he rolled up his mask and took a gulp of his piping hot coffee, letting the conversation die as the plane's engines yawned awake.