Prelude to To Die For

You often meet your fate on the path you take to avoid it.

-French proverb

British military recruitment office, London early 2002

The office was crowded. Probably had been ever since 9/11. That was why he was here... well, mostly.

He was here for serving his country, fighting for freedom and killing those desert niggers. Someone said, if you can't find a reason to live for, then find a one to die for. And now he had found a one, really had.

The bloke beside him was cursing for how damn long they had to wait.

'Yo', he poked the bloke next to him, 'no rush. Not like they'd run out of talebani before we get there.'

'Cheers to that, mate. Where you from?'

'Manchester, you?'

'Up north, Scotland. Kevin Sparks,' the man spoke, offering his hand, 'might as well add Captain to it.'

'Simon Riley,' He laughed, shaking the mans hand, cocky son a of a bitch, wasn't he?

'Well then lieutenant Riley, fancy a beer after?' the man asked when he was called in for a interview.

'Sure cap,' he joked before heading in the instructors office.

He liked the quy. He definitely liked the guy.


SAS base, 2006

'Got you, you bloody bastard!' he exclaimed cheerily. The sound echoed in the empty computer room.

'The fact you can hack the game doesn't make you a better player, asshole.'

'It does, 'cause I won. Bad loser, much?'

'Am not!'

'Well don't get your skirt all wrinkled up!'

'It's kilt, you prat!'

'Man-skirt-'

The resulting scuffle led them both on the floor, wrestling for the right to say the last word. Brawling stopped abruptly when he found himself pinned to floor and staring up to the cold blue eyes of his mate, merely inches from his.

'Sparks-' he started. This was getting difficult.

'Shut up, Riley.'

He did shut up but it didn't stop him from closing the gap between them.

The kiss that followed was the best thing his adult life had ever offered him.


Commander's office, Task Force 141 base, Early 2011

He sat just outside the office, waiting and eyeing up the surroundings. He hated the desert, that one was for sure- the concrete made base around him was probably going to end up on the hate list too- but it was far away at least.

What further away from SAS, Manchester, everyone and everything, the fucking better.

Then, suddenly, the office door was slammed shut, with force enough to shake the doorframes. Out rode an angry mohawked man with captain's stripes.

For a fleeting moment he believed that maybe his sanity finally abandoned him. He forced his throat to swallow around the lump that rose instantly. Apart from the haircut, it was like his past had risen from death. But Sparks was dead by the hands he had crossed over his chest. And men as dead as Sparks, he remembered the extra round of bullets he put to the bastards chest, didn't come back.

'You're coming with me, FNG,' the man commanded, Scottish accent heavy on the words.

What were the odds of him having to land with another goddamned highlander in the middle of some god forbidden desert? Especially when having to ever hear that accent again was one of reasons he wanted to get away.

'Aye,' he forced, closing his eyes and trying to control his breathing.

'Aye, what?'

'Aye, sir.' he sighed.

'You got a call sing back in SAS?'

'Ghost,' he paused before hesitantly adding, 'sir'.

'What the hell kind of a name is Ghost?' the man exclaimed.

'Name for a man like me, sir,' was all he could come up with.

'Whatever, FNG,' the captain huffed.

'Would a shot whiskey stop you callin' me that, sir?' he threw back, striding to keep up with captain who was practically flying through the corridors unfamiliar to him.

'Bribery, already? And what did I tell you about the chip?' the sparks look-a-like laughed. Was there no way to please this man?

Why did he even want to please the man?

'It's Scottish, sir,' remembering the accent, he tried.

Thanks to Sparks, the piece of shit, who used to drank that Scottish crap, he never left anywhere without a bottle. And if he had to sacrifice his only bottle in order to get somewhere, then be it.

'You got a good taste, mate, gotta give you that.'

He snickered. He had to admit, he kind of liked this man.

He definitely liked this man.