#petra mama mayfield

[thelaisydazy]

Mama's Boy - Chapter 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Petra "Mama" Mayfield

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The buzzing of her phone made her groan. Green eyes opened to glare at the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock. 0200. She’d only just crawled into bed about twenty minutes ago.

A tired hand snatched the phone off her nightstand, hitting the answer call button and holding the phone to her ear.

“Mayfield..” she mumbled, still half asleep pulling herself up onto her elbow and trying to blink sleep away.

“Mama,”a gruff male voice with an accent answered. Petra sat up, awake in an instant hearing her callsign. “We need you. ASAP.”

It took a moment for the voice to register in her brain. Captain Price. Shit. It was never good news when he called. Petra’s feet hit the floor as she tucked the phone against her shoulder and searched for her uniform, pulling it on just as quickly.

“Big guy?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Price wouldn’t be calling her if it wasn’t.

“A-firm,” the captain said. “He’s already walking his stubborn ass back to his bunk.”

Of course he was.

“Two minutes Captain,” Petra said. She hung up after that, taking an old scrunchie to tie her dirty blonde curls back with, it wasn't regulation but she didn’t have time for that.

---

Exactly two minutes later, Petra is banging loudly on the door of the soldier she’d been woken up to deal with. It was a miracle no one else stepped into the hall to see what was going on, though she suspected the rest of the team already knew. She impatiently tapped her boot on the concrete floor for only a few seconds before opening the door.

“Lieutenant!” she barked. She saw him there, half leaned against his bed, removing his gear. A balaclava clad head turned to look at her, the skull plate that was typically worn over it still in his hand. Ghost was, well, large. He stood head and shoulders over Petra's head and she swore it was a miracle he fit through any door on base. He looked like shit even in the dark. Petra turned the light on, revealing just how bad it was.

Lieutenant Ghost, hunched over, was covered in blood, a gash in his side the source of it all. Petra’s hand flew to the zipper on the medical pack she’d carried with her, the other hand slamming his door shut behind her as she stomped inside.

“Sit.” she ordered, the far larger man quietly obeying, sitting on the bed with a grunt. The medic wasted no time making her way to him. She could feel his heavy gaze on her as she knelt at his side, watching her every move.

“M’fine,” he said quietly before being silenced by the small blonde digging through her pack.

“Shut the hell up,” she said. Petra was furious seeing such a serious wound that he’d apparently thought could go without treatment. She pressed a sterile cotton pad to the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. Ghost clenched his jaw at the pain in his side. “Blade or bullet?”

“Shrapnel,” he said in that damned British accent, she could feel the scowl behind his mask as his eyes still bore into her. The medic’s only response was a sharp exhale through her nose. That accounted for the size at least.

She lifted the cotton pad, now stained dark red with his blood, the wound was long and broad, being about as long as her hand against his side. It didn’t matter how well she treated it, it would scar. Not that it made much difference on Ghost, he was already covered in more scars than even he could count. Thankfully though, the bleeding had slowed significantly. That was a relief.

She moved to her pack again, this time producing a clean cotton pad and a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, she dampened the pad and listened to the hiss that escaped the lieutenant as she cleaned the gash. Petra quietly offered words of comfort, the way she often did with recruits that came to her with far less serious injuries on her last base. She didn’t look up to see the disapproving look in his dark eyes.

Once it was cleaned, Petra found the wound, despite how large it appeared, was shallow enough that stitches wouldn’t do it any good. She carefully bandaged it, being sure not to wrap it too tightly around Ghost's ribs.

“There,” she said, giving him one last look over. “That should do ya..”

“Thanks doc,” he said quietly. She could've sworn he sounded tired.

“You know I was finally getting some sleep when Price called,” she said, starting to put her supplies away. “A full week of round the clock work down at the clinic and the moment I finally curl up in bed, I have to come hunt you down because- for some reason! You thought you could just sleep this off??” Petra stood, adjusting the pack over her shoulder again and placing a hand on her hip. “You could've died, you know? Bled out and shit.”

Ghost was quiet, he almost always was, as Petra ranted at him. Telling him what an idiot he was for refusing medical attention. She reminded him of a small dog, barking up at the larger breeds simply for existing. Her uniform was disheveled, hastily put on he gathered, and her hair was only half in the bright pink scrunchie that attempted to hold it back. She still looked like the fiery medic he too often heard reaming out Gaz after the sergeant fell out of a helicopter and somehow survived for the second time since she arrived on base.

“You look tired Mama.”

Ghost's voice cut through her rambling, halting it. Petra stared at him, fire still in her eyes. She groaned, wiping a hand down her face.

“Just… make sure you get the bandage checked in the morning,” was all she said as she stalked out of the room, slamming the door as she left. She fished her phone from her pocket. 0245. If she was lucky she could get back to bed and get some sleep if she skipped a morning shower.

---

The next day Petra felt like her boots were filled with lead as she counted supplies in the clinic. She was at least slightly more out together than she'd been last night, her hair in a more reasonable bun and her uniform straight, though the bags under her eyes gave away her exhaustion. Supply counting was tedious and only made it harder to stay awake.

The medic found herself reminiscing about simpler days as she made notations of what would need to be ordered. Standing on a regular old base, in a regular old clinic with a full team of medics to work with as recruits and trained soldiers alike came and went with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises. Days where she could find sleep easily and often. Nothing like the task force’s base. Here she was basically alone, caring for the team of five and the clinic with nothing but the faint ringing in her ears to keep her company. Petra made a mental note to petition Price for a second medic.

She didn't hear the heavy boot falls as they came up behind her and a gloved hand placed a Styrofoam cup of coffee on the counter in front of her. Petra looked up, finding a familiar pair of deep brown eyes staring back at her from behind a balaclava decorated with a skull.

“You still look tired,” Ghost grumbled. He didn't look so great himself, though he hid it far better than Petra did. In place of his black combat gear, he wore an equally dark hoodie and jeans. Must be nice to have days off to dress casually.

Petra chewed the inside of her cheek, biting back the bitter thought. She glanced down at the coffee he delivered. Black, probably no sugar. A rare kindness.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, placing the clipboard she'd been holding down next to it. “Let's look at that bandage.”

She waved him over to a chair and Ghost sat quietly, lifting the hoodie so Petra could inspect her work from the previous night. The bandaging looked hastily done and sloppy, but no worse than when she’d had to tend wounds in the middle of a gunfight. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she removed the layers of gauze and medical tape. At the very least, she'd properly cleaned it. The gash still looked fresh but it was clean and it didn't bleed much after she bandaged it.

“We'll need to keep redressing it over the next few days,” she noted to herself aloud. Petra stood and turned to her cabinets of supplies. “How's the pain?”

“Can hardly feel it,” Ghost replied, this time not looking in her direction. She was grateful for that this time.

When she was finished redressing the wound, he had turned to look at her again, quickly looking away when she noticed. The medic turned, disposing of her gloves in a bin nearby.

“I don’t need to offer you a lollipop like I do for Roach, do I?”

Petra smirked, almost certain that had earned her a chuckle from the usually serious Ghost, but the only hint she received was the way his eyes crinkled behind the balaclava.

“I’m starting to understand where you got your name from,” He rumbled, the tiniest hint of humor in his voice. He stood up to his full height, stepping just a little closer to her. She barely came up to his shoulder. “You really worry about us.”

“Someone’s got to Ghost,” Petra replied, her tone softening. She had to shuffle half a step back to look up at him and not just stare at his broad chest. “Besides, what kind of medic would I be if I didn’t care for my soldiers?”

[thelaisydazy]

Mama's Boy - Chapter 5

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Petra "Mama" Mayfield

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Petra had been left on her own on base for almost a week before Laswell showed up. She was there to observe the medic’s training while the task force was gone, as well as fill out the paperwork that would inevitably need to be completed upon the team’s return. 

Kate had told Petra that Price, Gaz and Roach went to Mexico following a loss of contact from Ghost and Soap. It turned out that General Shepherd and a private military company - Shadow Company - had turned on them and the pair had been on the run. Thankfully with the whole team together, it hadn’t taken much to get them home safely. 

Now the group was sitting together at a local pub. Petra was seated between Gaz and Roach, Price and Laswell to Gaz’s left and Soap and Ghost to Roach’s right, the seven of them taking a booth in the corner of the bar. Price and Laswell talked quietly amongst themselves while the sergeants all chatted enough to make it difficult for the medic to hear anything besides them.

Gaz shook his head, laughing as Soap recounted a joke Ghost had told him on the previous mission while the lieutenant brought back another round of drinks. 

“I came across ‘is big dog in a crate, an’ Ghost tells me to shoot if the big geezer barks,” Soap chuckled. “An’ then the sick bastard goes ‘What’s got two legs an’ bleeds?’ Ah begged him no’ tae tell me and he says ‘Half a dog.” He turned to look at Ghost. “Ah asked ye no’ tae tell me.”

 “Kept you sharp Sergeant,” Ghost replied flatly, pulling up his mask enough to drink his bourbon. “No worse than your jokes.”

Soap rolled his eyes and looked at Petra. “Mama,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “Why don’t shrimp share?”

She sighed, knowing she’d regret asking but that he’d just tell her anyway if she didn’t. “Why?” 

“They’re a little shellfish,” Soap grinned at her as she groaned. 

“Gary, help,” she whined leaning back in the booth. Roach just grinned at her. “No help.” She picked up her drink, taking a sip as she looked around the booth. 

Soap was continuing his tirade of awful jokes, half of which he claimed were straight from Ghost - who made no effort to defend himself - Roach was laughing and on Petra’s left Gaz was scrolling through his phone. At the end of the group was Laswell and Price, talking quietly together. Petra couldn’t hear what they were talking about, though she could guess it was about the last mission. However, she could see something weighing on Laswell’s conscience. 

“Well, we’ll find him.” She thought she heard Price mutter over his whiskey. 

Kate shook her head and replied with something that made Price raise his brow at her. Both officers’ body language changed as they spoke, Laswell looking almost distressed. 

Petra glanced briefly at the rest of the team, needing to know that she wasn’t the only one seeing the interaction. The sergeants didn’t seem to notice, but at the end of the shared booth, she could see Ghost had been watching them as well, he shared a fleeting look with Petra, confirming his own concern. 

“Kate, this is over,” Price said firmly, turning back to his drink. 

“No… It’s not,” Kate shot back, refusing to back down. The harshness in her tone finally caught the attention of the rest of the team, who all looked over with interest. “They’re working with someone new.”

“Who?” Price asked, now intrigued. 

Kate reached into the inner pocket of her puffer vest and slid a photo across the table to Price, who picked it up with a stony look on his face. “We don’t know his name,” she said.

“He’s not new..” Price growled as he placed the photo back on the bar and slid it over to Gaz, who also looked at it. Petra leaned over to get a peak at it but Roach reached over her and grabbed it before she could. He then passed it along to Soap and finally Ghost. The boys exchanged knowing looks with one another, grim looks. Ghost slowly turned back to the group, a fire in his eyes Petra didn’t recognize. 

“Who is he?” Petra asked, knitting her brows together as she looked between them.  

“Makarov..” Price said. 

---

And just like that the mood soured. A night of celebration came to a screeching halt. They’d paid their tabs and filed out quickly. 

Petra was sitting in the passenger seat of one of the jeeps, Ghost was driving back to base and Soap was sprawled out in the back. Soap was furious, he kept mumbling Scottish to himself, making Petra turn around in her seat to look at him as he glared up at the ceiling.

“Ah cuid hev-”

“Johnny.” Ghost’s voice stopped Soap from whatever the sergeant was about to say. 

“Nae, ah fuckin’ had ‘im,” Soap continued, now sitting up. 

“That’ll do.” Ghost was harsh, raising his voice slightly as he spoke. Soap sat back again, scowling and muttering unintelligible Scottish under his breath. 

“Is anyone going to tell me who the hell Makarov is?” Petra butted in, fixing her eyes on Ghost as he drove. 

Ghost gripped the steering wheel, his dark eyes focused on the road. “Russian ultra-nationalist,” he said. 

“A right bastard,” Soap slurred from the back.

“He’s supposed to be in the gulag.”

“Apparently that’s not enough to stop him,” Petra said. The three settled into an uncomfortable silence, the two men fuming over the news.

---

Back at the base, things weren’t any better. Price and Laswell had disappeared into the captain’s office. Soap was complaining to Gaz about how close to killing Makarov he’d apparently been at one point in time while Roach sank into the couch nearby, head in his hands. 

Petra found Ghost outside smoking again. When he spotted her, he held out a cigarette. She settled next to him as the two stood in silence for several minutes, the smell of tobacco hanging in the air between them. 

“How bad is it?” Petra asked, breathing out a cloud of smoke. She looked up at Ghost, taking note of the light colored stubble along his jaw and the discolored scar that ran down his cheek. She couldn’t see the upper half of his face though, as he was still wearing his balaclava. 

“World War Three,” he muttered. 

Petra stared wide eyed at him. Ghost was a serious man, the kind that didn’t take his job lightly. He wasn’t joking around. 

His cigarette was nearly burnt out, and judging from the butt already discarded at his feet, it wouldn’t be his last. 

“Shit..” she breathed. 

As she suspected, Ghost quickly burned through his cigarette and lit another from the pack in his jacket.He inhaled deeply, blowing out smoke as he breathed out. Petra brushed her hair back nervously, her fingers glancing over where her hearing aids sat behind her ears, unaware of how Ghost stole a glance at the way a few stray baby hairs refused to stay in place, curling instead towards her face. She'd been up before the sun today and it was past midnight now. She was tired and her ears ached for a break from the devices that helped her hear the world better. 

“You should go to bed,” Ghost said. 

Petra huffed out smoke, having been mid-drag of her nearly spent cigarette. “I don’t think anyone is going to actually sleep after getting news like this,” she said, an empty chuckle in her voice. She flicked some ash from the end of the cigarette, watching the soft glow of the embers. “You all dealt with him before then?”

Ghost hummed in response. “Verdansk,” he said. “Bombed the stadium and the airport there. Johnny would’ve killed him if Price hadn’t stepped in.” 

“I remember that day..” Petra said. “I was still in Ankara. We were all crowded around the tv watching it on the news..” She flicked the last of her cigarette. “Should’ve known you all were there.” She watched as Ghost nodded. His cigarette was running out too. “How about we head in for tea?” 

---

Petra rolled over in bed, her phone ringing on the nightstand. She palmed the phone, not looking at the contact as she brought it to her ear. 

“Mayfield..” she mumbled, eyes not yet open. 

“Petra,” an exasperated male voice comes over the phone. “Why the hell are you giving my name out to the SAS?”

Petra blinked her eyes open and pulled the phone away from her ear to read the contact. Whip. She sat up in an instant. “Mike!” She was grinning. 

“Yeah yeah, it’s me,” Mike said, she could picture him waving off her excitement through the phone. “Answer the question Petey.”

“We need a second medic here,” she said simply.

Mike paused on the line. “Whaddya mean?” he asked. “You resigned. You were getting ya paperwork filled out, then one day you was just gone.”

Petra chewed the inside of her cheek. When she’d been called to meet with Laswell, all she’d talked about with Mike was the thought of going home and going back to school. 

She’d gone straight from that meeting to her new home with the 141. She would have let Mike know, but the task force was considered top secret. “Surprise?”

“Petra Mayfield, I swear to God!” Mike shouted, making her pull the phone away from her ear briefly. “I thought you went home! Lori’s been worried goddamn sick about you!”

“I know, I know,” Petra said. “I’m sorry.” She paused briefly. “You said yes though, right?”

She could practically hear Mike roll his eyes before he sighed. “With the money I was offered, how could I not?” he relented. Petra couldn’t help the grin that broke out across her face. 

“When do you ship out?” she pressed. 

“Soon as I'm done packing,” Mike answered. “Plane’s landing sometime tomorrow afternoon. You still haven't answered my question.”

“You're a damn good medic,” Petra said. “I'll pick you up from the airport.”

“You better tell me what you got me into,” he said. “Lori is going to kill me next time I make it home for this.” 

“I'll tell you everything,” she promised. “Text me your flight information. See you tomorrow.”

After they hung up Petra couldn't get back to sleep. 0400 the alarm clock read.. No use in trying to get back to sleep now..

After tossing on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, she walked back to the tiny kitchen in the common area. The room was mostly dark, with just a small light above the sink to see by. She opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a mug before turning to another. She reached up only to realize the instant coffee was on a much higher shelf than she remembered it being on, just out of her reach. Frowning, the blonde medic hopped up and down, but still wasn’t able to get her hands on it. 

Had Petra bothered to place her hearing aids back in her ears, she might have heard the footsteps come up behind her. She froze up as she felt a large shape against her back as he reached over her, retrieving the coffee mix for her and setting it down on the counter. It might have been her sleep deprived mind playing tricks on her, but she swore he lingered there for just a moment before backing off, giving her some room. She turned to look at him first, praying the darkness in the room would conceal the pink on her cheeks. 

“You’re up early Lieutenant,” she said, glancing back at the jar of instant coffee on the counter. “Thanks.”

Ghost nodded. He reached past her again, picking up the electric kettle and filling it with water. Petra got a better look at him as he stood just a little closer. His mask was askew, like he'd rushed to pull it on. Was he out here without it? 

The lieutenant had always been a mystery she’d been discouraged from solving, not that it was a foreign concept to her. Her time with the STALKER team had made her no stranger to military men who kept their faces covered. Still she had to wonder.. 

A mug of hot coffee was pushed into her hands.

“Hey, you didn’t have to-”

“‘Is fine,” Ghost rumbled, heading back to the couch. His voice was somehow more gravelly, he must’ve just gotten up as well. In the dim light she could see he was wearing a too-tight t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. He pushed his mask up and picked up a mug of his own from the coffee table. 

“Are you always up this early?” Petra asked, padding after him. She sat on the far side of the couch, quietly sipping the bitter coffee. 

“Was about t’ go for a run,” he replied. He brought the mug to his lips and tipped it back, draining the little bit of tea that remained. 

That made sense.. Ghost was definitely the type to get up at an ungodly hour like this and go running immediately.

“Would you mind a partner?” Her words made Ghost turn quickly to look at her, brown eyes searching her face. “A running buddy.” He let out a breath.

“Sure.”

---

Where Ghost was moving at what was probably an easy jog for him, Petra practically had to sprint to keep up. She was grateful, he waited long enough for her to return to her bunk to retrieve a hoodie before they left, as moisture from the drizzling rain mixed with the sweat that clung to her skin. 

She inhaled through her nose, exhaled from her mouth as she felt a slight stinging pain on the right side of her ribs. Petra was no quitter though, pressing on until she was stride for stride with Ghost, who only cast a fleeting look her way. 

They were outside the base,  running on a worn out path in the grass that Petra had to assume Ghost had carved out himself. He seemed like the kind of man to hold a constant routine, a perfect soldier. 

“Do you need a break?” Ghost asked, slowing only slightly as he heard her breathing. 

“I’ll live,” Petra insisted, stubborn as always. 

They followed the path around the border of the small base, and as they reached the start again, Ghost came to a stop. He’d barely broken a sweat, but Petra was out of breath and had fallen a little behind him about halfway through. 

“Head inside and hit the showers,” he ordered. 

“I’m… I’m fine,” Petra breathed, bending at the waist, hand on her right side. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to catch her breath. 

A large hand gently lifted her chin to look up at Ghost, those dark eyes fixed on her, commanding yet soft. “I said hit the showers.” His firm tone made her pulse quicken and she was suddenly very glad the cool morning air had already reddened her cheeks.  For a moment all she could do was stare up at him. Had his eyelashes always been that pretty pale yellow?

[thelaisydazy]

Mama's Boy - Chapter 4

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Petra "Mama" Mayfield

Previous Chapter ┊ Next Chapter

Petra’s back met the gym mat with a thud, knocking the air from her lungs. A cough escaped her chest as she looked up at Soap, who was grinning down at her.

“Didnae think I'd go easy oan ye, did ye?” he said smugly, earning a groan from the medic as she sat up.

“Do you ever speak English?” Petra grunted as she got back to her feet.

Soap had woke her far earlier than she’d expected given how much he’d drunk the night before, but she supposed stereotypes had to come from somewhere.

“Aye sometimes,” he beamed. “Now, hev a go 'n' stay on yer feet this time.” Soap dropped into a fighting stance, raising his fists and waiting for Petra to do the same.

The medic threw a punch, springing forward for now the third time at him. Soap dodged easily out of the way, he dropped low enough to hook an arm around her middle and haul the small woman up onto his shoulder before dropping her backwards onto the mat again.

“Am feelin' lek ye'r nae even trying,” he teased, looking down at her with that stupid grin.

Before he could gloat more, Petra swung her legs out, hooking one behind his knee and knocking him onto the mat beside her. She scrambled up quickly, pressing a knee to his chest and bringing her arm to rest against his throat.

“Don’t… Brag..” she breathed.

Soap stared up at her, blinking his blue eyes in surprise. Given her size he hadn’t expected her to be able to take him down, even fighting dirty the way she had. “Ye wur helding oot oan me lassie! Cheatn’ but ye knocked me doon,” he laughed under her. He started to get up, watching as Petra got off him quickly, straightening out her clothes. From the corner of his vision he could see a figure looming near the gym door, watching them. His grin broadened. “Aye! LT! Quit creepin’ aroond 'n' git in here!”

Ghost doesn’t enter the gym though, turning and leaving just as quickly as he arrived. Soap had never known him to be shy, lurking and standoffish sure, but not timid.

“Git.” Soap claps a confused looking Petra on the back, brushing off Ghost’s behavior. “Let's get back t’ work.”

---

Roach cocked his head, pressing his lips together as Petra came trudging up to the range. She looked disheveled and exhausted. He wanted to ask about her condition, but quickly decided otherwise when he was given a hard stare. The young soldier looked away quickly, eyeing the small hand gun he'd brought out for her to use.

Roach got to work, going over gun safety and how to handle the firearm. Though, having initially trained in the American military, Petra was already familiar with all the rules. It had been a while since she'd been on the range, and longer since she'd been in the field, and her skills had rusted.

Petra stood, aiming her sights at the target down the range. She squeezed the trigger, firing off a few shots and missing. Badly.

“Shit..” she groaned, glaring down at the target.

Roach came up behind her, close enough that Petra could feel him against her back. He put his hands on her hips and used his boot to adjust her stance by nudging her feet into the correct position.

“Now try it.” His voice was softer than she’d imagine it might be, it caught her off guard as she felt his breath against her hair. He backed up a moment later, giving her space to take aim.

Her face felt hot as she lined up her next shot, she took a deep breath then fired again. It wasn’t a perfect shot, but she’d at least hit the target this time.

There was no time for celebration though as her head whipped around to stare at Roach.

“Gary Sanderson,” she hissed, perhaps sounding angrier than she truly felt in that moment. She placed the handgun down, stepping towards him. “When were you going to tell me you could actually talk?”

Roach kept his lips tightly sealed, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking down the range at the target. He felt a pair of small hands clasp onto either side of his face, turning him towards Petra, who was still staring at him intently. He smiled meekly at her.

“Roach,” she said more firmly.

“I.. I was gonna tell you, honest,” he said in his quiet voice. Roach, like most of the 141, had a British accent. “It was jus.. just.. nice having someone el… else who speaks with their hands.”

“You two are hard at work,” a gravelly voice called from behind them.

The pair turned quickly, separating themselves as Ghost stood just a few feet away from them. Roach was red in the face, refusing to meet his lieutenant’s scrutinizing gaze, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. Petra was less timid though, looking directly at the masked man.

“Roach was helping me with my shooting stance,” she said, glancing sideways at the fidgeting sergeant.

“Looked cozy to me,” Ghost said, narrowing his eyes at them, his tone was sharp, almost accusatory. He stared hard at Roach, who was looking more uncomfortable by the second. “You two are supposed to be training.”

“And we are,” Petra said, prickling at his implication. Ghost's attention finally turned to her, but she didn't back down. “He was just helping me fix the way I stood so I'd be able to aim better.”

“Show me.”

Petra didn't need to be told twice. She snatched the handgun from where she'd left it. She shifted her feet so she was standing the way Roach had shown her and took aim at the target. Her finger squeezed the trigger and fired off three shots. Two bullets hit the target and one shot through the red circle in the center of the target's chest.

She turned sharply to glare, satisfied, at Ghost who stood as stoic as ever. He turned to Roach again.

“Her aim still needs work,” he said gruffly.

Roach nodded quietly, he started to gesture with his hands but was cut off by Ghost.

“Save it and get back to training.”

Ghost left then, leaving the air in the range thick with tension.

Petra watched him leave for a moment before turning to Roach, who was staring after their lieutenant, jaw clenched tightly. “Hey Roach, bud, you good?” She asked gently.

He nodded quickly and turned away to switch out the paper targets for new ones. Petra frowned as her friend avoided answering her. Roach wasn't like this, he was usually pretty open with how he was feeling. Ghost had appeared out of nowhere, looking like he wanted to beat Roach to a bloody pulp then left just as quickly. Ghost had also shown up at the gym when Petra was training with Soap, just creeping around the door and running off when he was spotted.

“What the hell is Ghost's problem?” Petra thought aloud. Roach turned to look at her as she rapped her fingers against the table next to where she’d left the gun.

Roach reached over, tapping her shoulder. He gestured, assuring her that everything was alright, that Ghost simply wanted to make sure she was prepared for whatever they might run into on their next mission. Petra wasn’t satisfied with that however.

“That doesn’t give him the right to act like that,” she said. “He's an adult, he can talk like one.”

---

Ghost’s chest felt tight as he stalked across the base, white hot rage bubbled inside him like molten lava. The image of Petra’s soft little hands on Roach’s face, the pair standing far too close for his liking, was burned into his memory. As was the picture of the medic astride Soap in the gym, out of breath and covered in sweat. He wondered briefly what it might have been like to be in Soap’s position.. or Roach’s.

Roach.

Gary had always been closest to Petra, visiting her often in the clinic, even if he wasn’t injured and eating their meals together. The once or twice he’d heard of Petra leaving the base, Roach had gone with her into town.

Gary was soft, too soft, too gentle. Ghost knew Roach thought highly of their medic, followed her like a lost puppy. Perhaps it was just a childish crush. But.. What if Petra felt the same? There was a harshness in her eyes when she stood up to Ghost, a protectiveness for the sergeant. She shouldn’t have to stand up to anyone. She should be the one being protected.

That’s what she needed.

The thought stopped Ghost. He knew that wasn’t right. Petra had training. She wasn’t a helpless nurse stationed on base with them. She could handle combat on her own. Had handled it well according to what he’d seen in her file. She was skilled and fierce. But Ghost wanted to shield her all the same..

He ripped a cigarette and lighter from his pocket, pushing his mask up far enough to place it between his lips before lighting it. He disappeared into his room, practically slamming his door behind him.

---

Later, Ghost ran into Roach in the hall on the way to dinner. While Ghost was considerably calmer than he’d been when he left the range, there were still the last embers of possessive anger in his chest. The sergeant hadn’t spotted him yet. The older man walked up behind the younger, clasping a large hand onto his shoulder and guiding him into an unused office.

“Sanderson,” Ghost rumbled.

Roach hadn’t been expecting to be pulled into an office, much less by Ghost. He stared up at the far larger man, fear evident in his eyes. His mouth hung open like a fish, silent words not finding their way out.

Ghost was silent, waiting. He wanted to see what Roach would say. When the younger man said nothing, Ghost sighed.

“I..”

He had to remind himself that Gary was his friend. They’d gone on countless missions together. Before Roach had joined the 141, Ghost had led him on an intelligence mission to a safehouse owned by Russian ultranationalist, Vladimir Makarov. They’d only been meant to get in, steal intel on Makarov’s army, Konni Group, and get out.

The mission had been compromised though and Ghost had been injured, shot in the chest. Roach hadn’t been left untouched either, also being shot at close range.

When Ghost regained consciousness, Roach had been dragging him out of a fire. He still didn’t know where the sergeant had gathered the strength to haul him all the way to exfil, but Gary saved his life that day…

“I just-,” Ghost started, but was cut off.

“I was out of line Si- Ghost,” Gary’s quiet voice cut through his own words. “She’s our medic, I.. I shouldn’t have overstepped. I’ll be better..”

The anger left Ghost as Roach spoke. He reached out with an unsure hand, clapping Gary on the shoulder.

“Just.. make sure you’re taking her training seriously,” he said.

---

Petra wasn’t in the common area where the team had started to gather for dinner. Gaz had seen her near the clinic, probably cleaning up the first aid kit she set up for them to use while she spent the day training.

Ghost didn’t bother sitting, instead fixing a cup of coffee then walking towards the clinic.

Gaz had been correct. Petra was counting a small box of bandaids she’d pulled from the first aid box. Ghost watched as she jumped when he placed the cup of coffee down next to the box. There was a coldness in her green eyes as she glanced at him before picking up the cup and taking a sip.

“Thanks..” she mumbled quietly.

Ghost nodded. “You should eat,” he said. Looking her over , he could tell she’d just showered. Her dark blonde curls were damp and she was dressed in a long sleeved shirt and a pair of leggings that clung to the curve of her legs. She didn’t acknowledge him though, just continued with her counting.

“Mama-” he tried again.

“I’m aware of the fraternization rules,” she said, still not turning to look at him and placing the cup of coffee on the table. “Not to mention that I don’t see Gary like that.”

It was Ghost’s turn to be quiet now. Despite her anger, he felt a sense of relief at her words.

“But, that was uncalled for,” she continued. “If you wanted to see how the training was going, you could have just asked.” Petra paused for a moment before turning to finally look at him. “What the hell were you doing watching me all day anyway?” she asked. “First you’re by the gym watching me get my ass kicked by Soap and running off the second we looked at you, then on the range you practically bit Roach’s head off for nothing.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Yeah, we were standing a little close. I didn’t exactly expect he could actually talk, he’s certainly never talked to me before. I just assumed he was mute!”

He blinked slowly. He was used to hearing Roach speak. Before their mission together, Roach had been talkative, talking almost nonstop before everything went sideways. By the time they made it back to base, Gary had very little to say anymore. Ghost suspected the sergeant had breathed in too much smoke trying to drag him from the fire. Or perhaps whatever had happened while Ghost was unconscious had simply weighed too heavily on Roach, making him the quiet man he was now.

“I see..” Ghost spoke quietly.

“That’s not an apology, Lieutenant,” Mama said, a frown still on her lips.

A sigh escaped Ghost. “I apologize then..” he said, lowering his tone, his eyes never left her. “For what it’s worth, I already talked to Roach.”

“Good,” Petra said. Ghost could see her relax just a little. “It’s time to grab some dinner then.”

Ghost nodded, turning and following her back to the common area for dinner.

[thelaisydazy]

Mama's Boy - Chapter 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Petra "Mama" Mayfield

Previous Chapter ┊ Next Chapter

Tap. Tap.

Petra rapped her knuckles against the frame of Captain Price’s door, seeing the captain sitting at his desk through the open door. The older man had been smoking his cigar and looking over some paperwork. He looked up seeing the medic standing in his doorway. Price was a good bit older than Petra, she’d guess at least a decade but she couldn’t be certain. He sported a short, well-kept beard, mostly dark brown with a few flecks of gray. His hair was the same color as his beard and it was cropped short and usually covered by a bucket hat. In many ways he reminded her of her father back home, a hardass at times, but he clearly cared for the team and usually greeted them with a smile that looked all too goofy on his face.

“Mama,” he smiled, his eyes crinkling as he did. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Several things, sir,” Petra said, not matching the pleasantness in his voice, she stood stiffly across the desk from him. She did her best to keep from scrunching her nose up at the smell that wafted from his cigar as it made her stomach churn. “First, when Laswell told me about the team, she mentioned I was being brought on as a combat medic. But the team has gone on several missions since my arrival and I’ve remained on base for all of them.” Petra caught herself a moment later, correcting her posture to stand straight, arms folded at her back, shoulders squared. “Being cooped up in the clinic isn’t exactly what I’d signed on for. I was made to believe my skills would be needed on the field as well.”

Price was quiet for a moment, taking a long puff of his cigar. “You’re right,” he said, blowing out thick smoke. “In all honesty, we don’t have a medical team here. I’d rather not put the only medic we have in a position to get injured herself.”

She tensed at his words. Despite it being an hour or two later, Ghost’s words still burned in her ears. You're our only medic. We can't afford to have you laid up for a few days.

“That brings me to my other issue,” Petra said. “If there is so much of an issue with risking me out on the field, why not have another medic on base?” She paused for a moment as another thought dawned on her. “Honestly, sir, if your intention from the start had been to simply have a medic to keep the clinic running smoothly, I would have rather gotten my discharge finalized.”

Price seemed taken aback by this, his eyes widening. “Now, I never said anything like that,” he said defensively, putting his hands up in defeat. “I know this isn’t exactly what you signed up for. I’m grateful you’ve stuck around this long Mama.”

“Don’t Mama me,” Petra’s voice was sharp, words spilling out despite herself. She stepped quickly forward, pressing her palms against the desk with a sigh. “Please, just give me a chance at least. I have more skills than just counting supplies and tracking Ghost down when he thinks he doesn't need medical attention.”

Captain Price was quiet for a moment, placing his cigar down on the ashtray on his desk. His face was that of understanding, though Petra could see a flash of annoyance in his eyes at her tone. The medic stepped back a few paces, standing at attention again, apologizing quietly.

“You’re right, Petra,” he finally said. “We haven’t been giving you the chance to show us what you can really do. I’ll look for a second medic to keep on base. In the meantime, how often do your duties in the clinic need to be fulfilled?”

Has it been this easy all along? Petra asked herself. “Ideally, counts should be done daily,” she started. “However with how few of us there are, every other day should suffice as long as the clinic is kept locked when it isn’t in use.” She saw Price shift, about to speak. “I can set up a small first aid kit with some basics outside the door if anyone needs anything simple.”

The older man nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Then on the days when you aren’t doing counts, I want you training,” he said. “Mornings you can work on hand-to-hand combat and in the afternoon you’ll be on the range. How’s that sound, lass?”

“Perfect, sir,” Petra said, satisfaction rising in her chest.

“Good, we start tomorrow with your training,” Price nodded, picking up his cigar again. “Might take a few weeks to get a new medic out here, but I’ll see what I can do. Now get your counts done.”

“Yes Sir.” Petra turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Sir,” she said. “If I may, I’ve worked closely with Whip from Ankara. He’s a good medic and he won’t mind being stuck on base if need be.” Price nodded, jotting the name down on a notepad.

---

Petra stood in the clinic, carefully counting the supplies and medicines they had stocked. She made notes of what she’d need for the first aid kit: bandages of varying sizes, antiseptic wipes, antibacterial ointments, and a small bottle of over the counter, generic painkillers. Anything that required more than that she’d need to deal with herself anyway.

A styrofoam cup filled with coffee appeared on the counter beside her.

Petra turned quickly, seeing Ghost standing there again holding a cup of his own that looked far too small in his hand, balaclava still concealing his features. The medic raised a brow at him, picking the cup of coffee from the counter, sipping the bitter drink, and ignoring the way it burned her tongue.

“I didn’t take you for a coffee guy,” she said, turning back to her count.

“It’s tea,” Ghost answered. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was watching her with those dark eyes of his. “Price said you were starting training tomorrow.”

Petra clicked her tongue as she finished counting a shelf, scribbling down the numbers.

“If I can’t handle a run, right?” she quipped back. She brought the coffee back to her lips, sipping it. “I was thinking of asking Gaz or Soap for help with hand-to-hand combat. Roach is good with guns, right?” Ghost only hummed in affirmation. “I might get his help on the range then.”

There was something in his dark eyes as he watched the way her thumb stroked the warm Styrofoam cup she was holding, something she couldn't quite read. She might've been able to, had it not been for that damned balaclava he always wore. Another quiet moment passed as the two drank the warm liquids in their cups.

“Why the sudden interest?” Ghost broke the silence, still watching her, observing. In the few months she’d been with the team, she’d never so much as mentioned going into the field.

Petra hummed over her coffee. “I’m not used to being cooped up,” she answered simply. “I was about to be discharged when Laswelll recruited me. Figured if I’m going to stay enlisted, I might as well get the most out of it.”

“Discharged? You were going to leave?” His question didn’t come as a surprise, she’d been one signature away from heading home when she joined the task force.

“Needed to get away,” Petra barely explained, she leaned back against the counter, finishing the last of her coffee. It was strong. She didn’t say much about her reasoning for leaving the military, letting her quick response hang in the air, though she could see understanding in Ghost’s eyes. “I need to get back to work. Thanks for the coffee.”

---

That night at dinner, Petra sat in the common area with the rest of the team, it was one of those rare nights where everyone was eating together. Gaz had made a trip into the nearby town, returning with enough food for everyone to share. Chinese. Petra was seated on the beaten couch next to Roach, legs tucked under herself as she bit into a few vegetables. The room was quiet. Soap, Gaz, and Price were all at the table eating, Ghost in a chair a little further away, his balaclava pulled up over his nose. This was the most Petra got to see of his face, the contour of his jaw and the tiny bit of light color stubble over his chin.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention, Petra turned to Roach, who motioned like he was holding a cup. She nodded as he stood and walked to the fridge, and retrieved a pair of water bottles. She thanked him with a motion of her hand as he returned, twisting the lid off and drinking a few gulps.

Over her shoulder she could hear Soap and Gaz talking, Soap’s thick Scottish accent making it difficult to understand what he was saying. He was one of the shorter members of the task force, though he was still much taller than Petra. His blue eyes caught Petra watching him.

“Yer not fixin’ to throw another shoe at me are ya, lass?” he shot through a mouthful of noodles. Despite his annoyance earlier that day, Petra could tell he’d calmed down and had now taken to teasing her about the incident.

She grinned at him. “Yeah, I was trying to figure out if my aim was good enough to hit that stupid mohawk of yours without getting Gaz in the process,” she teased back. She could see Price shake his head, a bad attempt to hide his smile as Gaz turned in his seat.

“I brought everyone dinner, I’d rather not get hit,” the sergeant pleaded, pressing his palms together and bowing his head. Gaz had darker skin and the shadows of a black mustache, his black curls were hidden under his cap. “But please knock that thing off his head.”

“Away an bile yer heid!” Soap barked.

“English! MacTavish,” Ghost grunted in annoyance from across the room, his eyes sharp on the man.

“Sorry sir, let me translate,” Soap snapped back, turning his glare back to Gaz. “Go fuck yourself.”

Behind her, Petra thought she heard a chuckle from Roach as he reached out a hand giving a thumbs up.

“Better,” Ghost rumbled, returning to his meal.

Captain Price stood up, chuckling and shaking his head. “You lot have far too much energy for this late in the evening,” he said. “I'm off.” The captain left the room then, heading for his quarters for the evening.

When everyone else had finished eating, Soap fished a few beers from the fridge. He slid one across the table to Gaz and tossed one to Roach. Ghost, as always refused the beer, opting to make himself a cup of tea instead. Soap offered one to Petra who shook her head.

“You don't drink, Doc?” Soap asked, raising a brow.

“I don't make a habit of it,” Petra replied. “Occasionally I like tequila.” She laughed when Soap twisted his face, complaining that tequila tasted of dog piss.

“Next time we go out drinking you're coming with us, lass,” Soap beamed.

Petra could just picture the Scotsman drinking entirely too much, ending up with a hangover the next morning and begging her for something for his headache. In the few times the guys had gone out for drinks since she’d arrived, he’d had a hangover every time.

“Sounds like a blast,” she rolled her eyes as she spoke. Though, it wouldn’t be the worst idea to spend a little time with the team, especially if she was to join them in the field soon. A warm mug of coffee slid into her hands, making her turn green eyes up to Ghost as he walked back to his chair near the corner of the room. Petra paused, taking a sip, the warm liquid radiating through her body, calming her and clearing her mind, jogging her memory. “I had a chat with Price earlier about going on missions with you guys, he said I needed to get some more training in before then. Mornings working on hand-to-hand combat and afternoons on the range, I’d really appreciate some help getting back up to speed.”

There was a tap on her shoulder. Roach signed his willingness to help eagerly as he grinned over the neck of his bottle of beer.

Gaz turned to face the couch, raising his hand slightly, his face questioning. “Hold on,” he said. “Not that no one wants you coming with us, but if you’re training all the time, who’s taking care of the clinic?”

“It's gonna be locked up when I'm not in there,” Petra explained, sipping at her coffee again. She might regret the caffeine so late at night, but the taste was so soothing and warm she couldn't help it. “But I'm going to leave a first aid kit with some basic supplies in it in case something happens, and if there's anything serious I'll just open the clinic and take care of it. In the meantime though, Price is looking into getting another medic on base.”

Soap clapped a hand on her back then, nearly making her spill the coffee and eliciting a glare from Ghost. “Well lass, I'll be happy to help you with the combat training in the morning,” he said, a wide grin on his face.

The medic looked up at him sharply, noting his beer was already half empty. She was grateful he was willing to help her, but she half expected him to be too hungover in the morning to be of any real help. Still, she nodded her appreciation.

---

A few hours later, Petra and Ghost were herding the sergeants to their dorms, the former giggling as Gaz and Soap half stumbled down the hall. The lieutenant was less amused, hanging back and grumbling as Ghost could hear Roach snoring from where he'd been thrown over the broad man’s shoulder.

After ushering Gaz and Soap into their respective rooms, Petra opened Roach's door, allowing Ghost to carry him inside, dropping the young soldier on the bed before rejoining Petra in the hall.

Petra was shaking her head, holding back a giggle and smiling. “I'd hate to see what they're like out at a bar,” she joked.

“About the same,” Ghost rumbled. He turned dark eyes to her, the mask over his face giving nothing away. He lingered in the hallway for a moment before turning and starting to walk away.

A short while later, Petra found him outside as she was bringing a bag of the night's garbage out to the dumpster. He was standing near the backdoor, back leaned against the wall, a lit cigarette between his lips.

“Those things can kill you, you know,” she said, raising a brow as he turned to look at her. The two of them stood there in silence for a while, staring each other down. Then Petra held her hand out, leaving the bag of garbage on the ground next to the door.

Ghost watched her for a moment, his lidded eyes questioning before he relented, holding out the cigarette and tensing as he prepared to be scolded by the medic. Instead, his eyes widened with surprise as Petra brought the cigarette to her lips, taking a drag and blowing out the bitter smoke. He watched as her shoulders relaxed a bit and some of the tension left her body.

“I didn't expect you smoked,” he said, fishing a new cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.

“Were you expecting me to scold you?” Petra asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

“A bit,” Ghost replied, flicking some ash from his cigarette. He watched her a few moments longer, allowing himself to take in the way she looked. The frizzy dirty blonde curls, still damp and barely tamed into a low bun at the back of her head. The tired but focused look in her green eyes. She always looked so determined, resolute in whatever task she set herself to. This afternoon in the gym had been the first time he’d seen those eyes falter.

He’d spotted her running on the treadmill when he entered for his own workout. Admittedly, he stopped and just watched her for a while, the way her body moved, the way the softer parts of her moved just slightly more with each step. Her eyes had lost focus though, looking as if they could see clear through the wall of mirrors in front of her. He’d walked closer then, keeping his eyes on her, waiting for her to notice he’d approached her, but she didn’t. Instead, in her daze, her steps faltered and her legs started to give way.

Ghost sprang forward then, scooping the small medic up and placing her all too gently on the concrete floor. His heart pounded in his chest like a freight train. It felt as though he’d been holding his breath when her eyes finally looked at him, focusing again.

Perhaps he’d been too harsh in his reaction, but he felt no need to apologize for his actions. The task force didn’t need an injured medic.

“What’s the real reason you’re suddenly so interested in going on missions?” he asked, watching her snuff out the last of the stolen cigarette. “If you were so upset about not getting discharged, you would have left by now.”

“I don’t like feeling like I’m not doing anything,” Petra said. She bent down, her small hand wrapping itself around the top of the garbage bag she’d carried out. “I need to feel useful, you know?”

Ghost nodded his understanding, blowing out another puff of smoke. “You waited three months to speak up?” he pressed.

Petra put a hand up. “It didn’t sink in until earlier today in the gym,” she said. “I’ve been here three months and I still don’t exactly know what you guys do out there. I haven’t been off of a base in even longer, I think it’s been six months.”

The lieutenant was quiet again, he stood away from the wall, bending and taking the garbage bag from her, his large hand brushing over her smaller one as he did. Petra drew her hand back, looking up at him again as he effortlessly lifted the bag and carried it to the nearby dumpster before returning to where he’d left her by the door. The two of them lingered there for several long, quiet moments, the smell of cigarettes between them.

“You are useful, Mama,” Ghost broke the silence. His gaze was heavy on her, holding her in that spot with the weight his eyes held alone. “Roach was in bad shape when you first came here, you nursed him back to health, helped him get his strength back. And a few days ago, you might have saved my life as well. Don’t doubt yourself.”

Petra softened as she caught the usual coldness in his eyes briefly thaw as he spoke. She tore her eyes from him, looking to her boots instead.

“Thanks Ghost.”

[thelaisydazy]

Mama's Boy - Chapter 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Petra "Mama" Mayfield

Previous Chapter ┊ Next Chapter

It had been three days and Ghost’s side was healing well.

Petra was sitting at the creaky old desk in the clinic, expertly replacing the batteries in her beeping hearing aids, the ringing in her ears drowning out the quieter sounds of the base: the hum of the fluorescent lights, the buzz of the too old AC unit, footsteps.

It was the last one that snuck up on her as the shape of a soldier practically appeared in front of her. She glanced up seeing Roach standing there, quietly looking down at her. He looked concerned at the tiny devices between her fingers. The sergeant gestured with his hands, motions Petra was familiar enough with having learned the unspoken language herself, though they sometimes had difficulties with the differences between the American and British variants.

“They just need batteries,” she answered him, popping the last plastic piece back into place before returning the hearing aids to their usual place, the incessant ringing quieting. “See? All better.”

She watched the quiet Roach smile at her. He was almost boyish compared to the rest of the team, being a few years younger than Petra herself. His face was round and his nose turned up a little at its tip. He had soft brown hair and eyes to match. Out of everyone on the team, he was probably the least affected by their lifestyle. He was easy going, a prankster. Though she suspected he took missions seriously and that he was good at what he did if he ended up with the 141. Best of the best she’d been told when she’d been recruited.

It was lunch time, Roach reminded her. Sweet boy. She gave him a nod.

“Yeah.. guess I should eat something huh?” Petra said, standing.

---

There was no mess hall on this base, it was too small to require one, so the team was left to their own devices for meals. There was a small kitchen in the common area though, nothing fancy but good enough for the handful of soldiers and Petra to make some quick meals, sometimes larger shared meals were cooked, but those were rare.

Petra settled on some leftover takeout she'd gotten a few days prior when she'd heard one of the guys was heading into town. She didn't bother heating it up though, just settled into an empty chair and dug in. It wasn't exactly good cold, but she was just hungry after skipping breakfast and needed to eat more than she needed something that tasted good.

Roach sat nearby, tucked into a microwavable cup of soup. The two ate peacefully for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet of the empty common room.

A light tap on the table turned Petra's head in Roach's direction, the thumb on his other hand lightly tapping his chin, the other fingers splayed and palm open. Mama.

“Yes Roach?” she said, swallowing a mouthful of cold rice. The soldier gestured some more, he was in a talkative mood today. The two continued on like that for a while making small talk between bites of food.

“Hey a few nights ago Price called me to take care of Ghost,” Petra said. “LT said he got hit with some shrapnel. What the hell happened?”

Roach blinked brown eyes at her, confusion in his gaze. His hands explained that, as far as he knew, there hadn't been any missions planned for the past week. Hell, he didn't even know when the next mission would be.

She shouldn't have been too surprised by his answer. It wasn't entirely unlikely that the captain and lieutenant had planned a mission without informing the rest of the team. Knowing Ghost, it wasn't out of the question that he'd gone on that mission solo. Which worried Petra knowing the condition she'd found him in. How had he managed to get back to base on his own in such a state?

A hand waved in front of her face, pulling her away from her thoughts. Roach was concerned, asking what happened. She shook her head.

“Nevermind Gary,” she said. “If you don't know, it's probably for a reason.”

---

The treadmill hummed under her feet as she worked her way from a jog to a run. It had been weeks since she last did any training, not that she usually needed it. Since arriving on base Petra hadn't seen any time on the field, staying mostly confined to the clinic.

The last time she'd stepped foot out on the field, Petra had been deployed with a small team of other soldiers as escort for some civilians. They were meant to take them from a small village that had been bombed to high hell to a refugee camp a few miles away, but not everyone had made it. Enemy soldiers had laid a trap on their route, and they walked right into it.

They hadn't even seen them coming. One moment they were walking alongside a small convoy of vehicles, the next gunfire rained down around them.

Petra had ducked behind one of the vehicles, pulling a young mother and her child down next to one of the stopped tires. She didn't even know if the woman could understand her as she shouted for her to stay low. The medic wasn't meant for combat, but she had still been trained. A medic that couldn't defend themselves or their patients was practically useless in a fight. She'd fired off several rounds that night, not sure if any of them had hit their marks. A pair of hands had gripped her shoulders, almost throwing her into the passenger seat of the truck she'd been ducked behind, the mother and child into the back. A sergeant climbed into the driver seat, speeding them off to safety.

Petra's heart thumped in her chest as her feet pounded harder against the treadmill track. Her lungs burned but she pushed through it, despite the crackling at the edges of her vision as the room tilted.

A pair of arms caught her, lifting her from the machine and placing gently to the gym floor.

“Mama,” a voice said, swimming somewhere in the air around her. Petra shook her head. “Petra!”

She looked up from where she was now seated on the floor, spotting the familiar balaclava wearing man staring down at her. He sighed as he could see her gaze focus on him.

“Where's your bloody head?” Ghost questioned, his gravelly voice harsh. He was bent over with his hands on his knees to look at her, his eyes narrowed at her. “You nearly fell off the damn thing.”

Oh.

“Sorry,” Petra mumbled, feeling a wave of embarrassment come over her. “Got a little lost in my head. Wasn't paying attention…”

Ghost stares at her expectantly. “Lost?” He asked.

“Yeah, it's fine,” she answered. “My mind wandered a little. Thanks for catching me.” She started to stand, aware that it was probably the only time he'd seen her out of uniform. Petra was wearing a black tank top and a pair of gray joggers, her hair pulled back into a curly poof of a ponytail with a pink scrunchie.

She then registered that Ghost had come to the gym only three days after she'd bandaged his side. She opened her mouth to scold him.

“You need to be more careful,” Ghost said gruffly, which gave Petra pause as she just stared up at him. “You're our only medic. We can't afford to have you laid up for a few days.”

Defensiveness curled inside Petra like a snake. “Oh? Coming from the same man that would have bled out if Price hadn’t sent me after you,” She shot back. “You’re going to get on my case for losing focus for half a second, but you can sneak off on a mission no one knows about and nearly get yourself blown up? I don’t think so, Ghost. Not a shot in hell.”

Ghost was quiet as he stood from his crouched position, his jaw clenched under his mask as his eyes bore into the medic. “If you can't handle a run, how did you make it this far as a combat medic?”

“Well if I saw any time off base, maybe you'd have some confidence in my ability on the field,” Petra frowned at him. “But since I arrived here two months ago, you guys have been on how many missions? And I've just been sat here in the clinic.”

Ghost didn’t say anything then, just turned to stalk off to another part of the gym. Petra hooked a finger into the back of one of her running shoes, pulling it off in a smooth motion and chucking it at the lieutenant’s back. He sidestepped just in time for the sneaker to miss him and hit Soap in the chest as the Scot came walking up.

“Aye ya wee hen!” Soap scoffed. “What’d I do?”

---

Petra left the gym shortly after explaining to Soap, perhaps a little too angrily, that she’d been aiming for Ghost who moved out of the way. By now she was heading back to her bunk, needing a shower to clear her head. She was still fuming over Ghost’s assumption that she couldn’t handle fieldwork. She’d handled herself well in the past, well enough that she’d been hand selected to join the 141. Sure, she didn’t have the same combat experience as the rest of the task force, but she was trained to fight when she had to and she had a cool enough head under pressure to treat even serious wounds while under fire.

She could still remember the day she’d met with Kate Laswell, an American Station Chief with the CIA, whom she assumed was a lot scarier than she turned out to be. Though she still had no intentions of finding out what it was like to be on the woman’s bad side.

“Petra Mayfield?” she asked, thumbing a file on her desk. “You go by Mama?”

Petra stood in front of Laswell’s desk, arms behind her back, standing as tall as she could manage with her height. At the time she’d had no idea what she was there for, she had been trying to get her discharge finalized when her CO handed her the summons for this meeting. “Yes ma’am.”

Laswell looked kind, seeming to understand the serious look on the young woman’s face. “I understand you’re looking to be discharged,” she said. “Guess I heard of you at just the right time then.” She paused and motioned to the chair across the desk from herself. “Sit. I just want to talk about a new opportunity for you.”

Petra sat stiffly. Her mind combed over everything she'd ever done in the military, searching for whatever may have earned her a meeting here.

“You’ve been enlisted for the last nine years, started training as a medic right out of basic?” Laswell asked. She had Petra’s file in front of her, no doubt having the answer there.

“Yes ma'am.”

“You were stationed in Ankara, got involved with a few skirmishes,” Laswell continued, looking through the file. “Refugee escort assisting Task Force Stalker. Not many medics jump into combat the way you did. Merrick said you worked well with his team, even if you threatened one of his sargeants.”

“In my defense ma’am, he snuck up on me in a firefight,” Petra said, doing her best to not sound defensive. “When he threw me into the truck I had to assume the worst.”

Kate nodded slowly. “That’s a good instinct to have.” She paused again, closing Petra’s file and folding her hands over the document. “Then there’s the Charleston Parade Bombing. You were there that day, weren’t you?”

Petra’s hands balled into tight fists in her lap at the mention of that bombing. “Yes ma’am,” she said through clenched teeth. “That was before I was even old enough to enlist, I don’t see how it’s relevant to my file.” It shouldn’t have been there. Laswell that dug into her past.

Kate put up a hand. “Relax, I just want to make sure everything I have here is accurate,” she said. “That was twelve years ago, you must’ve been young. You must have been scared.” She was met by silence. “You lost some hearing that day.”

“I lost a lot that day,” Petra said sharply. “What is this about? I was getting my paperwork pushed through to be discharged and head home.”

“You’re direct, that will serve you well,” Laswell said. “There’s a task force across the pond in need of a permanent medic. With your experience with Stalker, along with everything else I’ve read about you, you make an excellent candidate.” Kate leaned back in her chair, staring at Petra, who looked like a deer in the headlights. “It’s need to know. I can’t discuss anything further until I know whether or not you’re in. So, what will it be?”

This wasn’t real. Petra had everything in Ankara packed up and ready to go home after nine long years, and now she was sitting here discussing going right back into the fray with some unknown task force that she knew nothing about. But Kate Laswell was known for scouting the best of the best, Petra didn’t know if she fit that description. But, if she was here now, there was a reason.

“You expect me to just agree to join a team without knowing anything?” Petra asked. “I follow orders, but going in blind like that? That’s asking too much.”

“That’s a no then?” Kate asked, raising her brows.

“I won’t put up with any push back with my.. Impairment,” Petra said, shifting in the chair. “I’ve worked too hard to push past it. If I’m going to show up there and be treated as anything less than capable, then I’m out.” She leaned forward, determination glowing in her eyes. “Now, I want to hear about my new placement.”

Laswell chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re just as headstrong as I heard you were.” She reached into a drawer in her desk and pulled out another file. “You’ll be stationed at a private base near Manchester. I won’t be able to give you an exact location just yet. You’ll be working with Task Force 141, under Captain John Price.” She reached over the desk and handed Petra the file containing just enough information to tell Petra what she was getting into while maintaining the confidentiality of the operation.

The medic pressed her lips together taking in everything. It was a small team at least, five soldiers in total. Although most days were bound to be slower than she was used to, she imagined any injuries she would be treating would be more serious overall. What was she doing? She had been so close to going home, and now she was agreeing to take on something new. “When do I leave?”

Kate Laswell smiled. “I could have you on the next flight if you're ready,” she said. “I’ll have your belongings from Ankara sent over as well.”

[thelaisydazy]

Heyy! I’m Bela! Nice to meet you!

Do you have any draws of your CoD gurls? 💅🏼✨ I would LOVE to see some!!! Have a nice day 💘

Hello!!!! 💓 I don't have anything currently but I have the picrews I used to conceptualize them!

Top left: Lottie

Top right: Banshee

Bottom left: Petra

Bottom right: Perchta

I promise as soon as my shoulder recovers though I'll try and draw them!

[thelaisydazy]

Three fun facts about any of your Ocs?

You know the way to my heart 💚

Mama actually has a Southern accent. You just won't hear it unless she's really angry or drunk. She's actually really embarrassed by it. She also used to square dance, she still knows some of the dances.

Perchta could burn cereal. Terrible cook. That being said, she makes a great cup of tea. Hates coffee though. And hot chocolate is for the weak.

[thelaisydazy]

Just wanted to write from Perchta, enjoy

“Der Medizier..”

The words rang in Petra’s head, stirring her from the darkness that consumed her. Her limbs felt heavy, her head throbbing. Her wrists stung against the sharp plastic of the zip tie that bound them behind her back. 

“You are avake..”

The world came into focus, her green eyes finding the masked face of a woman crouched beside her on the ground. The woman kept a hand on her shoulder, holding pressure on a wound Petra could see bleeding into her shirt. 

“You speak Englisch, nicht?”

“Yeah, English,” Petra groaned, trying to sit up, her eyes still glued to the bleeding wound. 

“Don’t. Moffe.” The woman hissed gritted teeth. Cold steel pressed against Petra’s temple. She didn’t need to be told it was a gun. “If you vant to liffe, you lisden to vat I zay.”

“You’re hurt,” Petra says, her jaw tightening. “If you shoot me, I can’t help you. You’ll bleed out.” 

Air escaped her lungs as the gun was pulled away from her head, the woman replacing it into its holster. Petra took his moment to look over her captor. She wore black gear, her face concealed by a mask though she could still see the woman’s piercing gray eyes. The woman retrieved Petra’s own gun, tossing it a few feet away. 

“Nein tricks,” she said. “Treat me und you liffe. Verstehen?” Petra nodded. 

A moment later the zip ties were cut. Petra sat up and rubbed her wrists. There was a quiet tension as she reached for her med-pack, slowly as not to spook the soldier in front of her.

“Do I get to know your name?” Petra asked, soaking a cotton pad in alcohol. She dabbed it on the woman’s wound watching as she tensed at the sting. 

“Nein.”

Petra should have guessed that. “This is deep,” she said. “But I don’t think it needs stitches.” The medic reached into her pack again, this time producing a bandage and some medical tape. She bandaged the wound quickly. 

The woman stood when Petra was done. She rolled her shoulder, testing the bandage. 

“Danke.”

The woman turned, picking up Petra’s discarded gun, tucking it into a loop on her belt before pulling a radio off her belt. And tossing it to Petra. 

“Call your team for exfil,” the woman said. “Tell zem you are lucky to be aliffe..”

Petra stared at the woman for a moment before looking at the radio. “Why's that?”

“If I didn’t need ein medic, I vould haffe chust killed you,” the woman said. She turned, starting away from Petra. “Kood luck medic.”

Then Petra was alone. She turned the radio on, relieved as it crackled to life. “Mama to Overwatch,” she said. She looked in the direction the woman left. “I need exfil.. Pretty sure I just ran into Perchta..”

[thelaisydazy]

Legal Name: Petra Mayfield

Aliases: Petey, Doc

Callsign: Mama

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Nationality: American

Position: Combat Medic

Birthday: March 2, 1997

Markings: A pair of small scars along her right ribs: one small and circular scar (bullet wound) and one long, thin scar (surgical from a collapsed lung from the bullet wound)

Eyes: Jade green

Hair: Short, curly dirty blonde

Background: Petra grew up in the suburbs in South Carolina with her parents and three older brothers. She was closest to her eldest brother, Taylor. When she was 15 she survived a bombing that killed Taylor and left her with tinnitus. Three years later she joined the military as a medic.

Extra: Has a caffeine addiction and occasionally smokes cigarettes. Can use ASL.

[thelaisydazy]

Petra Mayfield, the only daughter in a family of sons. The only child to make it to the military, despite her mother begging her not to go.

Petra Mayfield who never looks back. She hasn't been home since she left for basic. She only regrets not having the chance to visit her middle brother's grave. To tell him just how far she's gone. She misses him.

Petra Mayfield who finds new brothers in the 141, especially in Gaz and Roach.

Petra Mayfield who goes between listening to tooth-rotting pop music and dad rock while working in the clinic. She's caught Soap singing along more than once.

Petra Mayfield who had a party girl phase in high school and will give Soap a run for his money in a drinking contest.

[thelaisydazy]

For the OC ask game, I have no specific OC that I want to ask for the game because I want to know more about all of them, so these numbers are for all of your OCs. If that's all right.

So the numbers are: 10, 15, 25, & 33.

That's so alright! I'll do my best to answer for everyone.

10. relationship to their parents

Mama doesn't despise her parents but she has no real intention of going home any time soon. Out of the two she's got a better relationship with her father, who's ex-military himself.

Banshee didn't grow up knowing her parents unfortunately.

Perchta adored her mother when she was alive. She loved spending as much time with her as possible.

Lottie didn't know her mother and only knew her father as an overprotective authority figure in her life. She had a deep respect for him, but not necessarily love.

15. biggest weakness

Mama can and will pick a fight with just about every soldier that gets under her skin. If she lacked any self-preservation, she'd likely square up with Konig.

Banshee is almost convinced she already died and therefore can't die again.

Perchta cannot handle extreme cold due to.. reasons. Spoilers for her story.

Cruelty towards animals enraged Lottie like nothing else. Doesn't matter what the animal is, she will put herself in danger to help an injured animal.

25. most prized possession

Mama has a photo of her last day with her brother, Taylor, that she keeps on base.

Banshee owns a Celtic knot made of iron. It's a protection charm meant to drive off the fey. She carries it on every mission.

Perchta no longer has any personal possessions she holds dear, however she used to have a ruby necklace given to her by her mother.

For Lottie it's her father's farm. It's like her personal Garden of Eden.

33. biggest pet peeve

DO NOT do something stupid and break your stitches after Mama just did them. It's the fastest way to get a boot flying at your head.

Banshee cannot handle sad drunks. They annoy her and she can't handle them.

Making fun of Perchta's height will get you laid out. No question.

See cruelty towards animals for Lottie.

[thelaisydazy]

Master List

.✿💀 28 . Dazy . She/They . MDNI . AO3 💀✿.

Headcanons

Simon "Ghost" Riley with kids

John "The Best Dad Ever" MacTavish

OC Headcanons

Petra Mayfield

Banshee

OCs

Quick Overview (CoD girlies)

OC Picrews

Petra Mayfield Bio

Aoife Finny Bio

Charlotte Wyatt Bio

Perchta Bio

Mama and Perchta Fun Facts

Firefighter!141

Tag List Sign Up

Moodboard

Firefighter!Simon Riley

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Routine

Firefighter!Simon RIley x Reader - Cherry Danish

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Locked Out

Firefighter!John MacTavish - Be Careful

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Locked Out Pt. 2

Firefighter!John Price x Reader - Cottagecore

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Wet Dog

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Cat Person

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Coffee Date

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - View

Firefighter!John Price x Reader - Thank You

Firefighter!Simon RIley x Reader - Jealousy

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Second Date

Firefighter!141 x Reader - Fire

Firefighter!John MacTavish x Reader - Bonfire

Band!141

Band!141 x Reader - Subway

Band!141 x Reader - Roach

Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

Mama's Boy┊ Chapter 1 ┊ Chapter 2 ┊Chapter 3 ┊Chapter 4 ┊Chapter 5

The Banshee Calls ┊Chapter 1 ┊Chapter 2

Fanfiction - AO3 Links

Mama's Boy

The Banshee Calls

Flashover - A collection of Firefighter!141 drabbles from this blog all together

Groupie - A collection of Band!141 drabbles from this blog

Other Posts

Playlists

Biker!Simon Riley

Guard Dog!Simon Riley

Medieval!141

[thelaisydazy]

Ok I need to talk about my girlies for a hot minute.

__________________

Petra "Mama" Mayfield

American Combat Medic assigned to the 141

Tiny, curvy woman. Short, very curly dirty blonde hair and soft green eyes.

Drinks way too much coffee. Has severe tinnitus.

Aoife "Banshee" Finny

Irish Corporal. Army Ranger Wing (Special Forces)

Average height, slim build. Long, flowing black hair with white streaks framing her face and dark blue eyes. Full sleeve of tattoos on her right arm.

Listens to her music far too loud. Hide-and-seek champ.

Hanna "Perchta" Klein

German Mercenary

Short, muscular woman. Long, silky brown hair and sharp gray eyes. Wears a privacy mask to conceal her face.

Will square up to anyone and everyone. Angry.

Charlotte Lottie "Pup" Wyatt

American Civilian turned Resistance Fighter

Average height and build. Curly dark brown hair usually tied up and brown eyes.

Looks like cinnamon roll, will kill you. Makes a mean shepherd's pie.

[thelaisydazy]

As the medic for Task Force 141, Petra Mayfield has her hands full. She works hard to keep her boys alive, living up to her callsign: Mama. After finally finding a chance to rest, she's pulled back to work when a certain lieutenant is injured and refusing medical treatment.

________________

My first fanfiction. Simon "Ghost" Riley x OC. Mostly just a passion project.