Anchor

The minute they crossed the threshold of the mosque, Nora's knees gave out.

"No-Nora-fuck, no-" Ghost's voice cracked through the cold night as she slumped against him, her weight going limp like a marionette cut from its strings. He caught her, arms snapping around her in a grip too tight, too desperate. Her head lolled against his chest, her breath shallow. Her skin-clammy. Ice cold. Her blood soaking his arm.

He held her like that, her body cradled against his armor, his palm splayed across her back, pressing her against his pounding heart. His hand fisted the fabric of her vest as he stared down at her, at her pale face, slack features, lips parted just enough to whisper the terror into him.

"C'mon. Come back to me. Come on, sweetheart," he rasped, forehead pressing to hers. "You don't get to give up now."

She was gone for a full minute.

A whole goddamn minute.

Sixty seconds of silence where the world stopped spinning and all Ghost could feel was the drumbeat of panic rattling through his chest. His grip on her bruised her-he knew it-but he didn't care. He needed to feel her, needed to know she was still there, still real, still breathing.

Then-

A tremble.

A jolt in her shoulders.

Her lashes fluttered. A gasp rattled through her throat like broken glass.

"There you are," he breathed. "Fuckin' finally."

She blinked, confused, lips barely moving. "Wha-"

"You passed out. Scared the fuck out of me, baby." He shoved his fingers into her curls, dragging her closer, hiding the press of his mouth to her temple behind his gloved hand. "You're alright. We're almost there."

She could barely walk. Her legs dragged, but he forced them forward, dragging both of their wrecked bodies through the hollow, stone-walled mosque. Every step sent lightning through his thigh, blood trailing in fat drops behind them. His breath came in sharp bursts, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping her upright.

When they finally reached the spiral stairs to the roof, he paused only long enough to slam his hand over the radio.

"Bravo 0-7, rooftop. We're bleeding. We need that bird, now."

"On our way," Price's voice crackled. "Hang tight."

Ghost dragged her up the stairs, one agonizing step at a time.

She whimpered once-just once-and he cursed beneath his breath, leaning harder into her, like he could carry the weight of her soul if it meant she wouldn't make another sound like that again.

By the time they broke into the cold air of the rooftop, Soap and Gaz were just approaching from across the city, silhouettes limping under cover.

Ghost pulled her down with him behind a pillar, cradling her against his chest as they waited for evac. His hand stayed locked around her side, holding her to him like the only goddamn anchor in a storm he never asked to drown in.

"You're alright," he whispered, his thumb stroking over her ribs, too hard, too tight. She winced. He didn't ease up. He needed to feel her. "You fuckin' better be."

Minutes later, the chop of rotor blades cracked through the night, the helicopter cresting over the city in a blur of sound and wind.

Price leapt from the side ramp as soon as it touched down, firing into the shadows to cover their approach while Soap and Gaz made it to the rooftop.

Ghost hauled them both up, ignoring the screaming agony in his thigh. Nora was barely conscious, legs dragging. He got her inside first, sitting her down against the wall before he limped up himself and dropped hard beside her.

The doors slammed shut. They were airborne seconds later.

And still-his eyes never left her.

She was slumped against the metal wall, arms limp at her sides, eyes fluttering but not focusing. Her skin had gone paler again. Her mouth opened once, like she might speak-but nothing came out.

Then her head dropped to the side.

Her whole body went slack.

Ghost moved before anyone could breathe.

"Nora." His voice was low. Sharp. "Nora."

He reached across the cabin, swapping seats so her head dropped onto his shoulder, curling his big frame around hers, one arm slipping behind her back to keep her there.

Price was busy, yelling coordinates to the pilot. Soap had his head back against the wall, eyes closed, muttering curses. Gaz was checking his rifle. Nobody noticed how tight Ghost held her. Nobody saw how his jaw clenched, how he pressed his face into her hair, how his grip bruised her hip under the tactical vest.

"You fuckin' idiot," he whispered into her curls. "You almost died. For me."

He hated her for that.

He adored her for that.

His hand slid down her arm, fingers curling around her wrist, thumb brushing over the irritated skin there-the same skin she used to scratch raw when he left her. When he said nothing. When he made her crawl out of his bed like she was nothing but a body, like she didn't make his chest ache every time he saw her cry and tried to pretend he didn't care.

He cared too much.

Always had.

He squeezed her tighter-possessive. Bruising. Like he could fuse her bones into his if it meant she'd never walk into danger without him again. If it meant she'd never bleed for him again.

"You don't leave me," he muttered into her temple. "You don't."

And when her body shivered faintly, pressing closer to his side-whether conscious or not-he let his hand slide lower, gripping her thigh just to feel the warmth of her there.

He wouldn't make it obvious. Not here. Not now. They had rules. Secrets.

But when they were alone again?

He'd hold her the way he always did-bruising, rough, selfish.

Not because he didn't care.

But because caring was too dangerous to show.

And loving her?

That would kill him.

So he'd keep her close in the only way he knew.

By never letting her go.

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He's obsessed, we're in love, sheets gripped, ass sat. Everything's great yayayyay 😭💜💜

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