Ghost felt something crack open in his chest watching her. She'd walked into hell without hesitation, put her hands in a dying kid's blood, and hadn't looked away once.
Boots scuffed the dirt behind him. Torch stepped up, arms crossed, taking in the scene.
"Came to grab you for the recon brief," Torch said under his breath. "Didn't expect to find your journalist doing field medicine."
Ghost's eyes stayed on Rachel. "Neither did I."
Torch watched her for another few seconds, then glanced sideways at Ghost. "She's got more guts than I gave her credit for."
Ghost said quietly. "She just saw what needed doing and did it."
Torch's mouth pulled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Still think she's a liability?"
Ghost's jaw worked. He didn't answer.
Torch clapped his shoulder once, understanding in the gesture. "Yeah. That's what I thought." He walked off, leaving Ghost alone with his realization.
Inside, the medic finally waved in another corpsman. "I've got it now. You can step back."
Rachel hesitated, like she wasn’t sure the kid would be okay if she let go, then eased back slowly, sitting on her heels. A nurse handed her a towel and Rachel stared at it for a second before wiping her hands. Blood smeared across her pants when she tried to clean her palms.
She pushed to her feet, slower than usual, probably stiff from kneeling, then turned. Her eyes found him standing there.
Ghost didn’t look away.
Rachel's face was streaked with sweat and dust. Blood covered her hands and stained her shirt. Her eyes were wide and a little glassy, like she was still half in shock from what she'd just done.
Ghost's throat felt tight. He'd spent the last few weeks trying to keep her at arm's length, trying to see her as just another civilian he had to babysit. But watching her now, covered in a kid's blood because she couldn't stand by and do nothing, he knew that wall was gone.
Rachel walked toward him on unsteady legs. When she got close enough, he saw her hands were shaking for real now, the adrenaline wearing off.
"I hope he makes it.” Her voice came out strained.
"I don't know if he will," Ghost said honestly. "But you gave him a better chance than he had."
She nodded, then seemed to realize she was still covered in blood. Her hands came up like she wanted to wipe her face but then remembered they weren’t clean.
Ghost caught her wrist gently before she could touch her face. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."
Rachel looked down at where his hand circled her wrist, then back up at him. Something passed between them in that look, something neither of them said out loud.
She nodded again and he led her out of the tent, his hand still on her wrist, keeping her steady.
Ghost led her across the compound, his hand still wrapped around her wrist. Rachel didn't pull away. Her steps were uneven, like her legs weren't quite working right yet.
The officers' bathrooms sat in a small concrete building between the command tent and the motor pool. Ghost pushed the door open with his free hand and stepped inside first, eyes sweeping the space. Two sinks, three stalls, a shower stall at the far end. Empty.
He pulled Rachel inside and locked the door behind them. The click echoed in the small space.
Rachel looked up at him, confusion flickering across her face. "Ghost, this is the officers' bathroom. I'm not supposed to—"
"I don't care," he said quietly. His hand was still on her wrist. Her pulse raced under his thumb. "You need to clean up. This is closer and it's private."
She nodded, swallowing hard.
Ghost released her wrist and moved to the sink, turning on the tap. Water sputtered for a second before running clear. He tested the temperature with his hand, then stepped back. "Come here."
Rachel moved to the sink on autopilot. She looked down at her hands like she was seeing them for the first time. She had blood crusted under her nails, dried dark across her palm, her breath hitching at the sight.
