Routine had always been something that Ghost easily conformed to, it kept him sane and grounded. January and half of February came and went after they arrived at Brook Line, lost to repair work and then the more intensive schedule they needed to maintain here. No big operations in the works, just intelligence gathering. For a little while, he and MacTavish spent their nights working late over drinks, but the Captain put an end to it, saying he needed to cut back on the drinking for a while. Ghost didn't argue with him.

They were having a smoke when the younger man told him, "I'm getting shipped out to Russia in seven hours."

Ghost's cigarette drooped between his hard pressed lips. "Why's that?"

"Eh... intel collecting, nothing all that exciting," he answered dismissively. MacTavish's eyes remained fixed in the distance, reflecting the blue patches in the sky like a frosty mirror. A plume of smoke rushed from his nose. "Just me and Chrono spying on the Ultranationalists' inner circle."

"I hope your Russian's better than your Ukrainian," Ghost quipped. From what he saw, his CO seemed to have an understanding of Cyrillic, though he couldn't be sure if this extended to a full language.

With a sigh, he nodded. "Aye. It's a big part of why I'm going."

Ghost took one last puff off his cigarette and then discarded it. He toyed with the words in his head, the tone not quite matching up with the disinterested air that MacTavish was trying to give off. "Something on your mind, mate?"

MacTavish finally peeled his attention away from the invisible point in the treeline. "Apparently the Ultranationalists have the civil war just about wrapped up. It's frustrating, you know?"

"That after all the blood, sweat, and tears shit's still a mess? I know. Sometimes you just have to think of it as an exercise in futility." He tugged his balaclava up a little on his neck to help the chill on his skin. "That's not what's bothering you though."

Just like Ghost had, MacTavish snuffed out his cigarette and then kicked at the asphalt, causing a couple of pebbles caught in the sole of his boot to dislodge and skitter away. "Can we go somewhere less busy," he requested.

"You're antsy, aren't you," Ghost noted, stepping in beside him. "It's a lot quieter around Hangar 3." They hadn't exactly found a use for the hangar bay yet. Where as 1 was a shooting range, 2 stored a number of vehicles, and 4 became storage, 3 seemed like it'd been used for at least fifteen different things by the time the base had been shut down before. It was extra sheltered space. Its lack of purpose also meant few people bothered spending time there, on or off duty. As they turned towards the hangar's far side, Ghost felt a hand grab his. "... Captain?"

The gloved hand radiated with heat, heat that made the rest of him feel chilled by comparison. "We're sober this time." When MacTavish spoke, he sounded confident, yet the squeeze of his fingers betrayed him.

"I was starting to think you forgot about that," Ghost replied, surprisingly calm. He'd been waiting so long for some indication what their status was there, but he didn't dare ask. Asking was awkward. To have an answer at last put his worries to rest.

"I told you I'm a numpty," was the other's response as he stepped in and pressed his lips against his. The scent of tobacco was heavy on his breath, and if Ghost hadn't just been smoking too then he probably would have minded the ashy taste. Instead it was familiar and strangely comforting to him. Without so much as a second thought, Ghost gripped at MacTavish's coat sleeve and pressed himself into the kiss. He couldn't be sure if the pleased hum was one of his own or from the other man.

They shared a few seconds of bliss before they stopped, lingering very close to each other. As much as Ghost was tempted to offer up a snarky remark about how it'd taken so long for this to come up again, he couldn't find the words to express that. Silence was broken by the impact of Ghost's back to the side of the hangar. The Captain leaned into him for a much more heated kiss that he was happy to reciprocate. His fingers tangled into MacTavish's mohawk, gripping his hair as he fought for some control. Excited by this sudden change, he almost managed to skip the fact that this wasn't at all private enough for their behavior.

Ghost nipped at MacTavish's lip and tugged his head back somewhat. He rasped out a sharp, "There's gotta be a better place for this."

With an indignant grunt, MacTavish tell him go. "There's my quarters, if you care to go that far."

Distance didn't sound all that appealing. It was either that or try their luck at the nearest supply closet, not that doing anything with a broomstick poking at his ass sounded like a great alternative. "It'll work."

If it wasn't already a chore to move, they also needed to act like they weren't just all over each other and about to be again in two minutes. What was deemed a natural distance (about a half a meter) was placed between them. Close, not too close. Not touching. The walk did help clear up Ghost's head so he could work out a game plan. He quietly plotted his course of action starting with that door closing.

Once in the solitude of the Captain's quarters, Ghost grabbed him by the shirt front and tugged him from the entry way, quick to take command of the situation. "Now where were we?"

MacTavish gripped the back of Ghost's neck, bringing him in for a short, teasing kiss. "With you under me." He pulled off Ghost's sunglasses and set them aside.

"Wanna bet?" Ghost challenged. His eyes narrowed slightly with the removal of the tinted lenses.

If there was a response that the Lieutenant had been expecting, it was forgotten the moment his back hit the nearest wall and lips were dragging along his jaw. Ghost gasped as teeth grazed over his adam's apple. Pride demanded that he put up more of a fight, so he jumped to the next best thing he could think of and reached around to grab his ass. It only seemed to encourage his Captain.

Jackets were first to go. Too much cloth. With better access, MacTavish untucked Ghost's shirt and slipped his hand underneath. His warm fingertips traced each muscle they came across, a sensation that proved plenty enjoyable to Ghost. As he continued to kiss him, MacTavish pressed his thigh against Ghost's crotch, making it increasingly hard for the Lieutenant to hold back the sounds that built in his windpipe. The hand paused and came to trace a particularly long and deep scar in his side.

Ghost slapped his hand over MacTavish's and moved it to his chest with a breathless, "Don't worry about that..." Before his Captain could question him, he took the chance to flip their positions. With his CO pressed to the wall, he smothered him and reached down to feel the growing bulge there. He chuckled and leaned in close to his ear. "Look at you, rearing to go."

MacTavish groaned at the contact. "Please... you've been hard since we started."

"Watch what you say, Captain," Ghost warned, giving him a squeeze. The pressure caused MacTavish to knock his head back against the wall. Taking this as an encouraging sign, Ghost undid his fly and reached into his pants to get a better feel of him. As he rubbed his thumb along the shaft, MacTavish's composure dwindled more and more. "Sensitive, aren't we?"

Heated with arousal and likely embarrassment, MacTavish dug his nails into Ghost's chest, the sting it brought provided a rush of exhilaration. "Would you just shut up?"

For once, Ghost decided to humor him and not retort. Instead, he flashed him a smirk and decided on his next move. No need to scare off the other man, who he doubted was totally comfortable with his sexuality yet. He didn't expect him to have lube at this point anyways. Without missing a beat, he dropped to his knees and dragged MacTavish's pants down with him.

That earned him the man's undivided attention. Ghost pulled his cock free from his underwear and took his time teasing him further. The littlest of things elicited a sound from the younger man, made him tremble. Calm as he could possibly be in the situation, Ghost flicked his tongue over the tip, then took it into his mouth. He didn't know why he expected an awful taste, but it made for a pleasant surprise to find that MacTavish was simply clean. No sweaty odor to distract him while he worked. Fitting for someone named 'Soap'. Each motion of his lips was slow and calculated as he tested what prompted what response. The only thing that made him actually pause was when he felt hands run through his hair. Ghost breathed heavily and glanced up to find himself staring at the absolutely trusting look in MacTavish's eyes. He's too innocent. Ghost took more of him in and picked up his pace.

Between his rolling tongue and tight hold, he managed to work MacTavish to the edge, and he could feel it. If the younger didn't have the wall to lean against, Ghost doubted that he'd still be upright. Muscles twitched beneath the hand he kept pressed to his thigh. As tempting as it was to finish him just to see the look on his face, his own dick was aching for attention. Ghost released him from his mouth and stood up. "Don't think I'm done with you."

MacTavish nodded. "Any reason you're good at that?"

Ghost rolled his eyes and got out his own dick. "Don't think too hard on it." He came in close and wrapped his hand around both their lengths to get them both off.

"Ah, shite..." MacTavish clutched at Ghost's back. Ghost felt the man's heart rapidly drumming against his chest. "Ghost, I'm gonna-" He cut himself off with a hardly contained groan as he buried his face into the other's shoulder. Warm jizz tickled against Ghost's knuckles, and heavy panting heated his chest.

Ghost gave two seconds pause for him before resuming his long strokes, now a race to finish himself off. With the continued stimulation, MacTavish shook and gave a strangled whine. At this point, he was just barely hanging on for the ride. His fingernails dug into Ghost's back, groaning out profanities under his breath. Ghost felt him practically claw him between his shoulder blades, which pushed him over the edge. He pretty much sandwiched him to the wall, hand still wrapped around their dicks, while they both stood breathless and spent.

MacTavish mumbled something inaudible into Ghost's shoulder before finally picking his head up enough to rest his chin there. "What's this even count as?"

"Mm?" Ghost felt his pants slide down a little further before finally falling around his ankles with a little clatter from the belt buckle. He'd have to deal with that. Later. Of course. "It's not gay unless you finish inside."

With a bark of laughter, the Captain cuddled into him. "Pretty sure it's gay, Ghost."

"Now it is with all your snuggling," Ghost pointed out. Despite this, he didn't move to separate himself from him. Too warm and comforting. "You want to be a dear and do clean up?"

"Aye... Think I left a box of tissues on the desk."

-()-()-()-

If GSMEAC didn't sound like someone hacking up a lung, it would've been a whole hell of a lot less memorable. While MacTavish sat in the chopper headed to Russia, he ran over each point in his head, further cementing the already ingrained information in his brain.
Ground: Central Moscow. Civilians were a concern.
Situation: New intelligence needed on the Ultranationalist Inner Circle. Spend the next week observing activity and sending it back.
Mission: See Situation...
Execution: Meet up with Loyalist operative outside the city and set up base of operations close to Kremlin. No attention can be drawn to their presence. Talk as little as possible in public. If compromised, lose enemy first and then escape the city.
Administration and Logistics: Alternate between six hour watches, providing each a chance to rest. Concealable weapons only, comms, laptops, listening devices, spotting scopes, kevlar vests, and civilian clothing.
Command and Signals: TF 141 Command, Firebird One-Three...

"Foxden, this is Firebird One-Three, we're entering Russian air space," Hurricane announced from the cockpit.

"Copy, Firebird One-Three."

A knot formed in the base of MacTavish's stomach. This was it. It'd be his first time back in Russia since the Atlay Mountains - since being flung by an oil tanker explosion and that crumby Russian hospital. That destroyed bridge remained etched in his brain; every pool of blood on it, every dead comrade. He hadn't voiced his apprehension about returning to this fractured nation, nor was he about to any time soon. It'd been over half a year ago now. The wounds were cavernous scars, and he'd long gotten back his strength and full range of motion. Yet...

That's what PTSD does.

The Captain chased away the thought, gripping his assault rifle a little tighter. With deliberately slow breaths, he repeated the mission parameters in his head once again.

-()-()-()-

Six hours ago...

"You think you can handle this, Soap?"

The concern that lit Price's face should have been more upsetting than it actually was. Shepherd had decided that MacTavish would act as field commander for this assignment. Doc had raised concerns about Price's shoulder, which ended up forcing the older Captain to take on an over-watch role. Maybe that was what bothered Price. "I've got this."

On top of the excuse that Price wasn't physically fit, it also provided a unique opportunity to place authority in MacTavish's hands. This was as much a test as it was a learning experience for him. It'd be the first time he'd lead a mission in the field. No longer just a follower.

"Don't get cocky now," Price warned. "First time taking command's always the hardest."

MacTavish flashed him one of his winning smiles, hoping to mask his own unease about the whole arrangement. Could he really rely on his own leadership skills? Crane's comment on his age had opened a whole well of doubts in himself. "I'm not getting cocky, sir, trust me."

Price reached into his holster and set down a pistol on the table, the very same M1911 that he'd carried through the entirety of the seven day war that dropped Irman Zakheav. To the questioning look his XO gave him, the Captain said simply, "Just for luck."

Since when did they ever believe in something as unpredictable as luck. "Bit of a funny talisman, don't you think?"

"If you were expecting a bloody rabbit's foot, then I don't know what to tell you," Price responded with a shrug. "Besides, that at least will shoot someone in a pinch."

MacTavish checked the pistol, making sure it had ammo and was in good enough shape. Despite the scratches and chips in the metal from the action it'd seen, it was kept remarkably clean. Price must've maintained this sidearm religiously. "I feel almost weird taking your gun."

With a snort, Price crossed his arms. "Don't. That thing's been with me since Afghanistan. It's about time I let someone else hang onto it for a bit."

A/N: I'm sorry it's been a long time without any updates. The arc that follows turned out to be difficult for me to write, so I ended up withholding these chapters. Updates will be slow, of course, but I plan to reread everything up to this point and continue the story, maybe replay the games too so I can refresh the characters' voices in my head.

Anyhow, I hope y'all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Hopefully 2020 will bring some actual progress with this fic.