He Wants To Go Home
Words could not describe how uncomfortable he was.
Roach sat rooted to his bar stool, legs tangled around the pole sustaining the seat and hands wrapped securely around his ale. He kept his eyes forward, staring into his distorted reflection in the bottles ahead. In some spots, his head was twisted in an 'S' shape and he began to imagine just how preferable having his head shaped in such a way was compared to the current situation when Ghost floated up (yes, floated) beside him and elbowed him in the ribs.
"The bloody hell are you doing just sitting here? I didn't take you out just so you could plant your arse in a stool and hope to fuse with it." He said with a smirk, turning to look over his shoulder and then back at his friend. "Lookit. Bet you miss seeing things like that, eh?" The Sergeant, against all better judgment, decided to humor his higher-up by turning and addressing what he was talking about.
There was a rather attractive woman standing across the bar, chatting it up with another bunch of attractive women. Blonde, brunette, redhead; god, there were so many. Huge breasts, curvy legs, swaying hips, plump lips—Roach's breath hitched and his grip tightened significantly on his drink, though not for the reasons most would think of.
Ghost took the other man's silence and incredulous eyes as a good sign and put a hand on the back of his neck, steering him off the stool and directing him toward the gaggle of females. Roach jumped back into reality just before he crossed the halfway point and stuck his heels in the wooden floor in a defiant move that silently screamed "goddamnit, Ghost, back the fuck up."
He stumbled backwards a bit against the Lieutenant's hand, amber liquid sloshing over the edge of his glass.
"What's the problem now?" Ghost asked, a touch of impatience in his voice. Roach shook his head and attempted a step back, only to be stopped by his teammate. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and repeated the process a couple more times before finally managing to spit out a jumble of words. Simon's brow furrowed as he stared, head inclined. "You're going to have to repeat that, mate, all I heard was blubbershite."
Roach inwardly cringed when he was pushed another inch forward, turning and putting a hand on Ghost's forearm in a death grip. "I'm not going over there." He said through clenched teeth, digging his nails into the other man's arm. The brunette cursed under his breath and pried the Sergeant's hand from his skin. "Calm down, bug. You'll get over your nerves once you go over and at least give a little hello."
With that and a little forceful shoving (perhaps too much so—Roach nearly tripped over himself a few times), he managed to goad the blonde man up to the group and stopped, offering a smile at the women that turned to address their sudden appearance. "Evening, birds. My friend here would like—"
He cut off at the sound of shattering glass, sharing a bewildered expression with the rest of the bar occupants in the vicinity when he saw alcohol and blood trickling down Gary's arm and shards of glass scattered at their feet. Ghost turned his eyes up to his ally's face and cocked a brow at the odd mix of emotions he wore, turning to the women and waving a dismissive hand. "Forgive the bloke, he's just…" He paused to formulate an excuse, something to save Roach's chances with at least one of these girls. "…Overwhelmed by your collective beauty."
It seemed to work well enough as a pair of women approached the frozen Sergeant with some kind of concern (or whatever females called swishing their hips and subtly brushing their cans against a man). Ghost smiled to himself, turned around and convinced that he had done his part for the night until he heard an earsplitting shriek behind him.
He snapped back toward the sound and caught what he assumed was the one that screamed and observed her face; trickling liquid, specks of blood, and a look of discontented pain.
'Bloody hell, he punched a woman.'
Ghost was quick to catch the frenzied blonde before he could get another solid hit at a woman. He wrapped his arms around Gary's and hugged him tightly to himself as he dragged him away, ignoring the violent kicking and thrashing to the best of his abilities. There was nothing he could do about the shouting, as obnoxiously loud as it was—at least it was incoherent, for the most part.
Simon managed to take Roach out of the bar; the latter's screams making up for the other's silence. He pulled the Sergeant over into an alleyway, about to let him go before deciding it wouldn't be the best of ideas and instead tightening his grip. "What—bloody hell, Roach, calm your arse—"
He never did get a word in, not a comforting one, or scolding. Roach was too caught up in his ridiculously extreme reaction to pay attention. Ghost opted to try speaking to him anyway. He muttered what he dearly hoped were soothing things into the other man's ear (when said man wasn't bashing his head back against the Lieutenant's face) as he walked him back to base, shins numb and balls just fucking thankful they hadn't been heeled as hard as the rest of his lower body.