Chapter 12
F.O.B Kilo - Field Med Bay
A child’s scream cut through the midday heat.
Ghost was already moving before his brain caught up, rounding the corner of the med tent at a jog. His boots crunched over gravel. The air reeked of antiseptic, sharp enough to burn his throat.
He hadn't been following Rachel. Not exactly. She'd mentioned heading to the med tent to talk with the corpsmen about field rotations. Notebook in hand, camera over her shoulder. Standard embedded journalist work.
He'd told himself he was just keeping an eye on the perimeter.
But when the call came in, civilians hit by an explosion north of the village, Ghost's gut had twisted. He'd moved fast, knowing exactly where she'd be.
Inside the tent, everything was moving too fast.
Two women huddled in the corner, veils soaked with dust and tears, voices rising in panicked Pashto.
Three children lay across cots. Medics swarmed around them, hands flying, voices sharp with urgency.
A corpsman yelled for suction. Another dropped a tray, metal clattering against concrete, the sound lost under crying and shouted orders.
Blood. Everywhere. The smell hit Ghost hard, metallic and thick.
His eyes found Rachel immediately.
She was kneeling on one of the cots, both hands pressed hard against a field dressing on a small boy's abdomen. The kid couldn't be older than six. His shirt was soaked dark with blood. Rachel's face was pale, jaw set, her whole body locked rigid as she kept pressure on the wound.
She wasn't doing this for a story. Her camera sat forgotten across the tent. She'd just moved when she saw the blood, when she saw the kid.
Ghost stood near the side entrance, watching. His pulse kicked harder than it had any right to, and it wasn't the adrenaline he knew from combat. This was something else entirely.
Rachel had her hands pressed hard against a compress on the kid's stomach, blood soaking through the white gauze faster than it should. She had no medical training that he knew of, but her hands stayed steady. Her face was bone-white, lips pressed thin, but she didn't pull back.
The medic beside her called for more gauze and someone passed it over without Rachel having to move. She kept her weight on that compress, leaning into it. Ghost could see her arms shaking now from the strain of holding pressure, tiny tremors running from her shoulders down to her wrists.
"Keep pressure. Just like that," the medic said, voice tight with focus.
Rachel nodded without taking her eyes off the boy's face.
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.
"Hey." Ghost's voice came out softer than he intended. "Look at me."
She lifted her eyes to his. They were too bright, glassy with unshed tears.
"You did good," he said. "That kid's alive because of you."
"I didn't know what I was doing," she whispered. "I just... I saw him bleeding and I—"
"You did exactly what needed to be done." Ghost stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the copper tang of blood on her clothes mixed with her shampoo. "You kept pressure and you didn’t panic. You saved his life."
A tear slipped down her cheek, cutting a clean line through the dust.
Ghost's hand moved before he could stop it, his thumb catching the tear and wiping it away. Air caught in her throat at the touch.
They stood there, close enough that Ghost could count her heartbeats in the pulse point at her throat. Close enough to see her pupils dilate when his thumb brushed her cheekbone.
"Turn around," he said, voice low.
Rachel blinked. "What?"
"Your hands Rachel, you're shaking too hard. Let me help."
Rachel turned slowly, facing the sink. Ghost stepped up behind her, close enough that his chest nearly touched her back. H
He reached around her, his arms bracketing hers, and guided her hands under the running water. The blood swirled pink in the basin, disappearing down the drain.
"It's not coming off," Rachel said, voice tight. She started scrubbing, her movements jerky and frantic.
Ghost caught her hands gently, stilling them. "Easy. You're going to hurt yourself."
He grabbed the bar of soap from the dish and worked it between his palms until it lathered, then took one of her hands in both of his. His fingers worked the soap carefully across her palm, between her fingers, under her nails. The blood loosened and washed away in pink streams.
Rachel's breathing changed, became slower and deeper. Her shoulders dropped slightly.
Ghost moved to her other hand, repeating the process. His thumbs traced the lines of her palm, gentle and thorough. He was hyperaware of every point of contact, the delicate bones in her wrist, the calluses on her fingers from holding a camera, the way her pulse hammered against his fingertips.
"I couldn't just stand there," Rachel said quietly. "I know you don't want me here. I know I make things harder for you and the team. But I saw that kid and I—" Her voice cracked.
Ghost rinsed the last of the blood from her hands and shut off the water. He stayed right behind her, "You made the right call."
She turned in the small space between him and the sink, forcing him to either step back or stay close. He stayed. Her face tilted up toward his, eyes red-rimmed but clear now.
For a moment she just looked at him, like she was trying to figure out what to say, then swallowed hard. "Am I in trouble? For walking around the base without telling you where I was going?"
Ghost's jaw tightened. He should say yes. Should remind her about the rules, about staying where he could see her. But standing this close, watching the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, smelling her shampoo mixed.
"No," he said, voice low. "If you were, I wouldn't be standing this close."
Her eyes widened slightly. She let out a breath she'd been holding, and some of the tension in her shoulders eased. "Good. Because I don't think I could handle a lecture right now."
"No lecture," Ghost said.
Rachel's lips quirked, just a little. The fear and shock were still there in her eyes, but something else was creeping in too. Something lighter. "You know, most people would be yelling at me right about now."
"I'm not most people."
"No," she said quietly, studying his face. "You're really not." She paused, then tilted her head slightly.
Ghost’s gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before meeting her eyes again. "You're complicated trouble Rachel. Makes it hard to remember why I should keep my distance."
A real smile broke across her face then, chasing away more of the shadows. "Complicated's just code for worth it."
That pulled something close to a smile. Almost. "You always this cocky?"
"Only when I'm right, Ghost." She moved toward the door, stepping past him with deliberate slowness.
Ghost's hand shot out on instinct, catching her wrist before she could reach the handle. Not hard, but just enough to stop her.
Rachel looked down at where his fingers circled her wrist, then back up at him. Her pulse jumped under his thumb.
"When it's just us," he said quietly, "it's Logan."
She repeated softly. "Logan," she repeated, softer this time.
He held her there for another heartbeat, his thumb brushing across the inside of her wrist where her pulse hammered, then released her.
Rachel stayed still for a moment; eyes locked on his. When she finally moved to the door again, she paused with her hand on the knob and glanced back over her shoulder.
"And admit it, Logan," she said, voice carrying just enough tease to land. "You like this trouble.”
He stayed quiet, unmoving, every muscle wound tight to keep from proving her right.
She smiled, knowing and genuine, and slipped out the door.
Ghost stood alone in the bathroom, staring at the space where she'd been. His hands were still damp from washing hers. He could still feel her pulse racing under his thumb, still see the way she'd looked at him when she said his name.
He was in serious trouble. The complicated kind.
And she was absolutely right, he liked it.