A couple of days had passed, and Reynolds had not heard from Matthews yet. According to Billy, they were still gathering and processing intel. He could not give her more information because he did not have any to give.
Feeling resigned, she went near the ranges where there was a CQB training area. Since a mission was coming up, she decided it was best to refine her skills. She went to the armoury and grabbed some ammo boxes, empty magazines, and flashbangs.
Settling on an empty table near the CQB entrance, she filled some mags with ammunition for both the rifle and the pistol. Loading both to get them ready she shuffled at the entrance, holding her rifle tight. Wearing eye and ear protection, she set her stopwatch and proceeded.
Through the door, she eliminated the first two targets and advanced to the first room. Throwing a flashbang through, waited for the loud crack and flash and went inside to eliminate one more target, ignoring the hostage. The rifle butt fixed tightly against her shoulder, Reynolds controlled every recoil to increase target precision.
Holding the rifle upwards close to her body, she went up the ladder, took down another target, and then down by the rope on the other side. She ran the last few metres and stopped the watch. 20.45 seconds.
Too slow, she thought, jogging towards the entrance once more.
"You're bloody slow!"
She spun around and saw the lieutenant donning the usual skull mask walk casually towards her. He was equipped ready to take the CQB himself.
"You're taking too much time up the ladder," he carried on.
He put the rifle on the table and clicked away on his watch.
"Put in a fresh mag and run it again. I'll be behind you."
She reloaded her rifle and restarted the course, this time with Ghost close by.
"Do not enter so far in the room when clearing it!" he roared.
He grabbed her from her vest and violently dragged her backwards.
"Move!"
Reynolds felt the pressure of being constantly observed, yelled in her ear, and being dragged from one place to another like a ragdoll. She was losing her patience and focus.
It was her turn on the damned ladder. Same as before, she pointed the rifle upwards and went up.
"Let the weapon hang! Are your reflexes so pissed that you're not able to pick your rifle up fast?!"
Slinging down the rope, she nearly fell on her back with the hurriedness to finish the CQB.
Ghost pressed his watch and glared at her.
"23.13 seconds. Fuckin' hell what a disaster."
"Stop yelling in my goddamn ear!" she shouted in his face.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the assault get too loud for you?" he pouted mockingly.
"I can't focus!"
He grabbed her by the arm and forced her close to him.
"This is the difference between life and death out there. I don't know you, but I prefer to remain pretty much alive."
The mask hides a plethora of emotions and facial expressions, but his eyes articulated what needed to be said. Reynolds was always left speechless as his blue eyes were as piercing as ever. It reminded her from when he interrogated her back in New York. The same shiver that ran down her spine happened again.
He let her go and she took a couple steps away from him at once. The man terrorised her, and he understood immediately. He scoffed and forced to soften his expression, glancing at her. She dropped her gaze, but Ghost still caught on an emotion her eyes conveyed. Fear.
He grabbed his MP5 and loaded it.
"Let's run it together."
Reynolds let out an exasperated sigh. What was supposed to be a straightforward training session, turned out to be a one-sided screaming session with Ghost. She was always looking forward to being humiliated by him once more.
"Go!"
They ran the CQB once more, Reynolds moving close to Ghost. Contrary to what she had thought, she felt extremely comfortable working alongside him. He oozed confidence and a level of sureness that eased her doubts. She followed him with ease and without any need for verbal communication. His actions and body movements communicated his intentions clearly.
When it came to climbing the ladder, she did with the rifle hanging as instructed. She swiftly grabbed and neutralised the last target. They sprinted the last part and clicked her watch.
17.45 seconds.
She could not help but grin sheepishly at the time.
"Not bad," he uttered, unloading his weapon and making it safe.
She did the same to her weapon and removed her eye and ear protection. Ghost asked a question which caught her completely by surprise.
"Do I make you uncomfortable?"
She snapped around, looking deep at him.
"Why are you asking me that?"
"Your eyes say more than your words," he said, drawing nearer.
"No, you don't," she finally answered.
"Don't lie to me," he said sounding pissed off.
"Does it really matter?"
"Yes," he persisted.
She sighed. "Yes, you do. You asshole was the only one that looked like you were enjoying it when you were torturing me. And you did a damn good job about it as well. So, yes, you fuckin' terrify me."
He looked at her stunned and for the first time, he was lost for words. He scoffed, grabbed his rifle and dashed off. Reynolds was left flabbergasted at the interaction. She was unsure how she should have responded but she was never regretful for being honest.
The day passed so quickly that MacTavish barely noticed it. Drowning in intel and reports he tried organising everything to make everything a bit clearer. Things were getting serious, especially after Makarov's airport attack. They were still focusing on trying to track the origin of the shell to identify who's been supplying him.
A soft knock sounded on his door, and he muttered to come in. Reynolds made her way inside his room slowly, waiting for him to lift his gaze.
"Sergeant," he said, sounding surprised. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She tried to keep focused but the feeling of his hands on her breast and in her pants were making it kind of difficult. He observed her for a beat, noticing the black bags under her eyes and chortled.
"Rough night, lass?"
His calm demeanour and nonchalance pissed her off to no end.
"Captain, I'm here to inform you that I will be leaving on a mission tonight and I don't know if I will be returning."
He furrowed his brow trying to understand. "You mean you're going back to New York?"
She came to the realisation that she did not know how to explain the fact that she was leaving on a suicide mission. The less he knew, the better, so she decided to drop it.
"Never mind."
"Should I be concerned?" he asked, standing up and edged closer to her.
"No," she replied curtly.
"The 141 is available if you need an assist."
"It's fine, MacTavish," she smiled. "I'll handle it as I used to before the 141."
"Listen," his voice dropping low, "if you need anything at all, you know you can count on me, right?"
She looked at him, pensive. Could she really rely on him? Or was he going to behave like an arrogant bastard like he usually does?
"I know," she said not believing the words being uttered through her own lips.
"Anything else, Sergeant?"
Anything else? What about how they nearly fucked each other a couple days earlier? How they could not keep their hands and tongues off each other?
"I don't think so."
"I think we should talk about, you know..." he started, trailing off, winking.
She tried to keep serious but could not hold back a smirk.
"We had gallons of alcohol in us. Every form of control went out the window. I think we should cut ourselves some slack," he continued.
"You're not bothered by it?"
MacTavish let out a soft chuckle, a sound that made her skin crawl. He crossed his arms against his chest, his eyes never leaving hers, reading every flicker of shame on her face and relishing in it.
"Bother me? Why would it bother me?" he said, his tone one of genuine, mocking curiosity. "It's just a bit of fun, Reynolds. A way to blow off steam. You're a soldier, you should understand that better than anyone."
He paused, letting the insult sink in. "Or maybe you're just not as tough as you pretend to be."
Her mouth gaped opened and her eyebrows nearly disappeared in her hairline. He was feasting on her embarrassment as he saw her cheeks flush.
"The fuck did you just say to me?"
His jibe was meant to cut and he was succeeding. Reynolds was correct when she analysed his behaviour from the mission in Amsterdam. It was all a power play for him, and he was hiding behind his rank. He decided to ignore her.
"Let's say it was..." he looked at the ceiling, pretending to be thinking, "an aggressive exchange of performances. And yours was adequate, by the way. For a beginner."
"Adequate? Beginner?" she choked. "You're insane MacTavish."
"Maybe," he conceded with a lazy shrug. "Or maybe I'm just not the one that's carrying it around. It's written all over you."
He tapped her temple with one finger. "It's all up here, lass. I can practically hear you screaming from here."
"Get out of my head," she hissed, yanking backwards.
"I can't. You're broadcasting it loud and clear."
He took a couple of steps back, his gaze sweeping over her dismissively. "You're ashamed, not because of what I did, but because a part of you didn't hate it. This is the same reason why you came snapping my head off after the Amsterdam mission. You enjoyed every minute of it and you're trying to pin it on anyone or anything so you can bury your head in the sand comfortably."
"That's a lie," she shot back, but her voice lacked conviction, and they both knew it. He had found the crack in her façade and was now happily wedging it open.
"Is it?" he challenged softly. "You're so tightly wound, Sergeant. All that control, all that discipline hidden behind a wall with Cobalt's emblem embedded in it. Then someone rattles the bars and you don't know whether to be scared or excited. I just rattled the bars a little."
He let the silence hang there, thick and suffocating. He was enjoying the verbal sparring with great gusto.
"So, no," he continued, "It's not bothering me. Why would it? I learned something valuable about you. And you learned something about yourself. Seems like a productive exchange to me."
He pushed his chair back and settled at the desk again. "You look pale, you should eat something. You'll need your strength; you have a mission coming up."
Her jaw was locked so tight she though her teeth were going to pulverise. She stormed outside, slamming the door behind leaving MacTavish donning a smug smirk across his lips. Wounding up the sergeant was becoming one of his favourite pastimes. He should do it more often.