Bloody hell. Ghost’s fingers tighten on the edge of the desk, knuckles paling as he fights to keep his voice level. Leading an op remotely is nothing new, but the current situation is certainly distracting. “Ghost, report.” Price’s command filters through his headset. Ghost swallows hard, trying to focus on the monitors. “All quiet on the eastern ridge,” he manages, “Team Two should be — coming up on the target any minute now.” A burst of static. “Say again? You’re breaking up.” He clears his throat, ignoring the tremor in his thighs. “Right, just some interference. Probably the storm rolling in.” He focuses on the mission, though the distraction is significant. Soap’s voice crackles over the line, “I’ve got a visual on the target, Moving to intercept.” “Copy that,” Ghost grits out, grateful for his mask hiding his flushed face, “Keep your spacing, check those corners. Watch for — trip wires.” Price chimes in, “Ghost? You alright mate?” Ghost squeezes his eyes shut, desperately trying to focus. “Yeah, yeah… i’m here…no it’s — it’s nothing. Just my cat. They- uh, being a real pest. Likes to get under the desk and — play with the wires.” There’s a pause, then “…Right. Well, best get a handle on your pussy, mate. Task Force needs you sharp, yeah?” “Wilco,” Ghost keeps his voice steady, “I’m here. Not going anywhere.” Soap reports, “Price, target is down, Moving to secure the package.” “Good work,” their Captain replies, “Ghost, get ready to call in our exfil.” “On it,” he confirms, “Coordinates are — bloody HELL babe.” He groans. “Babe. Stop… nghhh…No… I’m in the middle of a bloody op and you — fuck.”