Warning! This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little.
Note from Sassy: So I've tried something a bit new, which currently is making me so worried about posting. You guys have been so lovely to me with all your reviews and so I hope that I've freshened things up rather than letting you all down! I'm not sure if I'm happy with the chapter myself come to think of it, but I'm late posting already, so we'll see how we go. As usual I'm going to reply to all the lovely comments I got for chapter 5 here, so I'll apologise in advance for going on a bit…
VerityA: I know I sent you a pm but I'm still going to thank you again for your longest review yet! You are so very supportive, and very kind to me about my writing after all! I agree with everything you said (although I'm not sure I could put it as eloquently as you did) and you pretty much outlined all my writing fears, so I'm really glad that I'm avoiding them! And naturally, I love Soap too. ;)
xGhostxStealth: Ohhhh your comments! Seriously, they are far too kind (and make me smile lots). You pretty much outlined everything I wanted to achieve in terms of Soap's emotions, and for you to say that he was still "Soap" really made me feel happy. :D And you mentioned the book! Lol, I wasn't sure if it was a bit of a step too far. I doubt myself a real lot. Either thank you soo much! I hope that there's enough flashback for you here. And keep telling me what you think :D
Reeserella: That was the only nice part about writing chapter five, knowing that Ghost was ok and it was all going to be ok in the end. And thank you for the emotion compliment, I worry that I go overboard sometimes…
Dunedain789: I'm glad you still love it. I have John down as a proud man, but in a good way if that makes sense. But either way, I think he'd appreciate the hugs, lol.
GubbleBum96: I'm afraid you're in another author's note… :P But thank you so very much, I'm honestly very flattered by your review and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. I'm going to keep updating as much as I can! (I'm also snowed in right now, so that helps :P)
xStealthxSniperx: I'm very happy with the unique in a good way description :D And I'm sorry for the sadness, its not going to be angst all the way I promise. But I'm really happy that you're still enjoying it!
OK, sorry about that, I just feel that since you guys take the time to comment I should reply. Finally…we shall get onto Chapter 6. I hope you enjoy it!
In some ways it was surreal. His men, altogether in one large, crowded room, relaxed and for the first time in months looking like genuine civilians. It was an evening of no masks and no uniformity all mixed with a heady combination of alcohol and freedom. So free in fact, that even Riley had left his mask back at the base…
It was the one thing that kept them all going during their long nights on stealth ops, or through all the strenuous training regimes. Their reward. An entire weekend off base on leave. To every single one of them, Soap included, it felt like a far off dream come true.
But in reality it was so much more than that. It was a taste of normality. In its very essence a reminder of the life they'd left behind when they joined the military. Possibly even a glimpse of what their lives might return to when it was all over.
They'd had to work for it though. Soap's three new recruits had arrived at the start of the week, and as a result the whole task force had been plunged head first back into training. Shepherd played the same cards each time. Whenever a new recruit would arrive on base, all the men would have to take part in hour after hour of combat fitness tests and endurance training. They'd be forced to run for miles in full kit and complete obligatory escape and evasion exercises, unpleasant tasks that many of them knew well from their training before the 141. It was a heavy, stressful and agonising week, something that Soap was convinced Shepherd enjoyed handing out. After all, in the space of week he was able to test all of his new recruits whilst reminding everyone else just what was still expected of them. If Soap hadn't been involved in it himself, he would have agreed that it was a genius idea.
Anyone within the task force with sense would use the Saturday to simply sleep; only getting up in the late afternoon to eat so that they could line their stomachs ready for the night ahead. After all, if the FNGs thought that their week had been rough so far, then they were in for a shock. Their initiation into the team was far from over, and the other men would be sure to make them pay for the weeks training with the worst hangover of their lives come Sunday morning…
Gary Sanderson seemed to be well on his way down that route already. They'd only been at the club for an hour or so, in fairness Soap had lost track, but the poor guy was already having pint after pint forced upon him. 'Roach' as Soap found he preferred to be called was the most popular of the FNGs, being boisterous and young enough not to take too much of the ridicule he received too hard. The others, Chemo and Bishop were a little quieter, and Soap had already made a mental note to keep an eye on them. From afar of course. After all he himself had a certain reputation to maintain…
"Surprise…" Ghost smiled, suddenly appearing by Soap's right. His words were slightly slurred; his eyes hazy, but he still possessed his usual arrogant smile. He eyed Soap for a moment when he didn't reply, before handing him a small tumbler full of clear liquid. "You haven't drunk enough…"
"How do you know?" Soap quirked an eyebrow, taking the shot glass from him.
"I look out for you. Call it my duty as your subordinate." Ghost laughed quickly, perhaps noting how close to the bone his comment had been. He cleared his throat, nodding to the shot glass. "Just fucking drink it. It's not poison."
"That an order, Riley?"
"Call it what you like. We're off base." As if to prove his point further, Riley threw his head back, tipping the vodka straight into his mouth, his eyes clamped shut. Over the rim of his own glass, Soap watched him swallow, oddly drawn to how his Adam's apple bobbed underneath the unfamiliar skin of his neck. He was sure to quickly tear his eyes away and drink his own when Ghost looked back to him though.
"I hate vodka…" The Captain visibly grimaced to accentuate this fact.
"Sure you do." Riley rolled his eyes, leaning back against the club wall so that he was stood next to Soap, their shoulders just touching. Soap closed his eyes momentarily, both hating and loving the slight contact simultaneously. He felt as if he should speak, but he wasn't sure what to say, especially above all the heavy bass that rippled through the club around them. The room was simply a bubble of sound, bright gemstones of light flashing in amongst the twisting limbs of the dancers, their arms throwing out shapes as they twirled through the air with reckless abandon.
"The boy's are having a good night…" Riley said suddenly, leaning close to Soap's right ear so that he could hear him, his breath so close that it tickled against the skin of his neck. "Roach is already hammered."
"Aye." Soap nodded, glancing left to the bar where Ozone had a pretty enough brunette embroiled in some kind of intimate conversation. "Look's like someone's getting lucky."
"At least he can…" Ghost replied, although he didn't pause long enough to allow Soap to ask him what he'd meant. "How about you?"
"What?"
"Christ, John…" Riley laughed, moving so that he was standing in front of Soap, so close that his chin brushed against his shoulder when he spoke. "Have you seen anything you like?"
It was an unfair question. Soap knew it, and Riley must have known it too. It seemed innocent itself in context, but the way Simon had said it, the way he'd stood in front of Soap, almost daring him to make a move said it all. And in truth, Riley wasn't that wrong. Of course Soap had seen something he liked. It was stood right there in front of him, wearing a tight black t shirt and even tighter black jeans. But he'd be damned if he was going to admit it. After all, they were drunk, the entire task force was in clear view of them and even if none of that had mattered there was still one thing in the way. This wasn't Soap. He'd never fancied men and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now. Not even after the kiss which had haunted him every night for the past month…
"No." Soap shook his head, making sure that Riley saw the serious, almost warning look in his eyes as he did so. This wasn't right, and Ghost needed to realise that, sooner rather than later.
"You sure about that?"
"Yes…"
"Really sure?" Ghost smirked, clearly not backing down. He tilted his head so that it remained in Soap's field of vision, raising a cocky eyebrow. "How about now?"
"Give it up, Riley…" More to assert the dominance that he felt that he was losing, Soap gave Ghost's torso a push, gentle enough to go unnoticed to everyone else, but distinct enough to deter the other man. He scowled at him, watching the confusion in the drunken blue eyes that glared back at him. "Seriously …I don't know what you want…"
"I think you do." Ghost shook his head, laughing darkly. "You can act all fucking innocent, but you're not going to fool me."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what's going on here…"
"And what? You can read minds now? That it?"
"No…" Riley shook his head. "But I know you. More than you give me credit for." He glanced behind them, to where the rest of the men were chanting at Roach to down yet another pint. "What you afraid of? Them? Is that it?" Riley smirked at Soap's reaction, almost relishing the power he suddenly had over his Captain. "Why don't I just go over there and tell them that their CO likes kissing boys…-"
"You fucking do that…" Soap's hand was out in an instant, snatching up the tight fabric at Ghost's neck and curling it in his fist, bringing the Lieutenant to eye level, instantly silencing him. "…and I swear your days in the 141 are gonna be numbered…"
"Is that what it's come to? Threatening me?" Riley spat, wrenching himself from Soap's grasp. "That's low…"
"Then don't push me to it." Soap replied, equally as bitter. "Just fucking leave it, Riley. Ok?"
"Fine…" Ghost shrugged, stepping back. "But just remember…this isn't about me. It's just like all the guys say. You just can't let go can you?"
Soap watched Ghost leave the club, a bitter twist wrenching within his stomach. A part of him, and within his intoxicated haze he wasn't sure how big that part was, wanted to follow him, but the angry, confused part of him forced him to stay, made him keep that indifferent glare fixed across his features until he was sure Riley was gone. He hated how much Ghost could read him; how well he knew him no matter how many barriers he had or how many masks he tried to wear. But most of all he hated that Riley dared challenge him, whether it was his authority or anything else. Because like it or not, Soap wasn't used to that. He'd been in charge too long to actually remember what being challenged, genuinely challenged felt like.
He stayed at the club a little longer, drinking as much as his stomach would allow and trying to lose his thoughts in the incoherence that followed. When a beautiful, tall girl with short, dyed red hair approached him asking for a light, he graciously led her outside, and they talked idly over low lying clouds of cigarette smoke, but what about he could no longer remember. All he did recollect was when the girl asked him back to her flat; he'd pressed her against a wall, his mouth firmly connected to hers in what had felt like seconds…
After all, he could let go. And he was determined to prove Riley wrong…
Turning awkwardly in his bed, Soap desperately tried to shake the past from his thoughts. He hated how it was all coming back to him, every memory, every minute spent with Ghost flooding back in front of his vision, there plain for him to see. And with it he could see every misjudgement, every mistake, could hear every single word that he had said wrong. It was like an insane torture, made partly worse by the fact that Ghost was here, somewhere asleep on the base, and yet Soap literally couldn't get him out of his thoughts.
Soap felt as if he was going mad within the confines of his own bed. There was no escape, no respite from all these thoughts that continued to plague him. He had no way of distracting himself in that lonely room aside from counting the roof tiles lying directly above his head. But he had counted all 98 of them 7 times already… Groaning slightly with pain, Soap tried to close his eyes, focusing on anything to try and help himself drift off into sleep. But Riley was still there, still pointing out every single one of their mistakes.
It was insane to think that he was being haunted by the Ghost of a living man…
"Do you have the DSM?"
"We got it, sir!"
"Good. That's one less loose end."
"NO!"
"….."
"Area sanitized. All targets destroyed."
"Solid copy. No movement detected."
He felt like he'd just crawled out of hell. His body was on fire, the world was dark and the stench of blood and something much worse filled the air. His heart hammered in his chest, his mouth filled with a sticky, choking cocktail of dirt, blood and saliva. He tried to scream, to yell, to shout, but no sound was able to leave his throat, his every breath a stab of pure agony. He was alone, trapped in a frozen dusk with his body still smouldering from the fires it had somehow managed to endure.
And Roach. Or what had been Roach still lay beside him. The body was charred, what remained of the flesh giving off a scent that made him sick almost instantly. He seemed to gag forever, his stomach lurching and grinding, the agony of his skin and chest biting at his very sanity. For one single, brief moment in time he genuinely wished that he'd die.
There was no time for goodbyes, no time to bury his friend. He had to run, run through the pain, run before Shepherd came back and finished the job. Run before Makarov stumbled upon them. He had to run, had to escape. But where? Who would take in a half dead fugitive in a country where he only spoke the bare minimum of the language?
There were trees at every corner, and Shepherd's laugh was never far behind, a deep thunder that penetrated his ears no matter how hard he pressed his hands to them. At every clearing there were more and more Shadow Company men, their yells almost on top of him as he ran further through the forest. They were fitter, better equipped, their shots whizzing past him furiously. It was only a matter of time until one of their bullets hit home…
He wanted to scream, but as he sat bolt upright in the pitch black room Ghost managed to hold in the sound, his hands covering his mouth. He glanced round quickly, checking his surroundings, keen to make sure that he was safe. He sure as hell didn't feel it. The fire, Roach, even Shepherd were so fresh in his mind now that he felt trapped, suffocated by the memories that seemed to be closing in around him. He needed to focus. To remember where he was, to remember that barely metres away, Price was sleeping, that no one would be able to hurt him whilst he remained in the confines of the base. He just needed to be calm, to breathe and allow his heart rate to slow, to no longer feel as if it was about to burst right out from his ribcage.
It was the same dream. The same haunting image that had stopped him from sleeping for the past year. Whenever he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, Ghost was back there, in that ditch with Roach. All the agony he had awoken with was thrust back upon him, his scars reborn into searing wounds, his mind the same pool of confusion and insanity. He just couldn't escape it, no matter how much he ran, how far he travelled. The memory seemed to run so deep that time was only a temporary cure.
The soft sound of snoring distracted him momentarily, and Ghost glanced to his left, where Price was fast asleep on his back, completely oblivious to his turmoil. The sound was oddly comforting, the gentle rumble of his breathing acting as something for Riley to lock onto, something to remind him that no matter how imposing the darkness around him felt, he was not alone. And that notion in itself brought his thoughts crashing back to John…
If he'd been a second later, Soap would have been dead, Riley was sure of that. But he had never planned to find them there; in fact he'd half expected to never find them again. He had been running short of friends, and whatever information he had managed to secure on his friends had been poor at best. And yet, he had found them. He'd been so taken aback when he saw Soap in the scope of his rifle that he'd had to watch as he was pinned down by fire, his mind not believing what his eyes were seeing. It had just felt so impossible.
Then again, his survival had seemed so unlikely that Soap genuinely thought that he was dead. So maybe Ghost was beginning to rely on impossibilities these days.
Fated or not, he'd fired the shot that saved his CO's life. Not that Soap was just his CO. He was so much more than that, whether he acknowledged it or not. He was his best friend, the one and only man that Riley wanted to talk to if the world had just become that bit more intolerable. But that friendship had morphed into something else, something that Soap didn't recognise and Ghost didn't know how to describe. Ghost had never liked labels after all, so in the past he never did care if he was messing around with men or women, though generally it was the latter. In the end it was all just harmless fun. Except with John. Because when he had seen Soap staring down the barrel of that gun, the feeling that had coursed through Riley's system was nothing like he had ever experienced before.
It didn't help that that feeling was still there, a little dormant perhaps, but still sitting heavy at the very pit of his stomach.
Standing silently, Ghost walked through into the small washroom that was attached to the door, dampening a towel with cold water and dabbing it against his sweat drenched skin. He tried his hardest to avoid looking himself in the mirror, his eyes still not adjusted to the sight that awaited him within his reflection. Instead he washed quickly, before grabbing his black t shirt and pulling it across his head, soon following the action with his mask, his fingers quickly pulling the fabric into place around his eyes. Satisfied, he glanced back to Price, careful to make sure that the older man was still sleeping, before padding out silently through the door.
He wanted fresh air, but he knew it was a bad idea to leave the base, especially with most of Nikolai's men regarding him as suspicious. So Riley went to the next best place, following the corridor until he found himself standing outside Soap's door…
I'm so sorry that this is such an epically long chapter! But you know, I get a bit carried away, especially after all the AWESOME reviews I receive. On that note, as always, if you fancy letting me know your thoughts on this chapter then I will love you all eternally and quite possibly send you Ghost cookies too. :)Oh and for anyone who is interested, the title of the chapter came from the song "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak. I think the lyrics sum up a lot of what I perceive the boys are feeling in this chapter.
-x-S-x-