She came apart against his chest. Her hands fisted on his chest, her face pressed into his shoulder, and she cried. Hard, shaking sobs that wracked her whole body. He wrapped his arms around her and held on, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed flat against her spine.
"I've got you," he murmured against her hair. "I've got you, baby."
She cried harder.
Ghost held her through it. Let her shake and sob and fall apart while water pounded down on both of them.
Eventually, the sobs started to ease. Her breathing evened out slightly and the tremors in her shoulders slowed.
Then she pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes red and swollen, tracking down his body. She blinked. Looked down at his legs. At his boots.
"You're—" She stared at him. "You're still wearing your pants."
Ghost looked down. Water was streaming off the cargo pockets, pooling around his boots on the shower floor. "Yeah."
"And your boots."
"Yeah."
She just stared at him for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn't find words. "Logan, you're in the shower. In full gear."
He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears still streaking her cheeks. "Doesn't matter."
"Doesn't—" She shook her head slightly. "You're soaking wet. In tactical pants."
"You matter," he said simply. "The pants don't."
Rachel's mouth twitched. A small, wet laugh escaped, half sob, half genuine amusement. "You're in the shower with clothes on."
Ghost's lips curved slightly. "Noticed that, did you?"
She laughed again, a real one this time. It broke some of the tension sitting heavy in the air. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, the tightness in her face easing. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe." He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. "But I'm here."
"In boots."
"In boots," he confirmed.
She laughed again, her forehead dropping to his chest. He felt her shake, not from crying this time, but from laughter. It was a good sound. A better sound.
Ghost reached for the shampoo on the shelf. "Come here."
Rachel lifted her head, watching as he squeezed shampoo into his palm. He worked it through her hair gently, his fingers massaging her scalp. Her eyes drifted closed as she leaned into his touch.
He washed her hair slowly, carefully, tilting her head back under the spray to rinse out the suds, then grabbed the body wash and a washcloth, soaping it up before running it gently over her shoulders, down her arms, across her back. Avoiding the worst of the bruises. Being careful with the raw skin at her wrists.
Rachel didn't say anything. She stood there and let him take care of her.
When he finished, he shut off the water. The sudden silence felt loud.
Ghost stepped out first, his boots squelching on the bathroom tile, and grabbed a towel from the rack. He wrapped it around Rachel's shoulders and pulled her close, using a second towel to gently dry her hair.
She stood still, eyes half-closed, exhaustion written across every line of her face.
When she was mostly dry, Ghost bent and scooped her up. One arm under her knees, the other around her back. She made a small sound of protest but didn't fight it. Just wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her.
He walked into the bedroom, still dripping water across the carpet with every step. His boots left wet prints on the floor. Water ran down his arms, his chest, soaking into the towel wrapped around Rachel.
