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. When I say fair, I mean a lot.

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. Technically I do own Lev, Artem and Markov, but you know, I'm not going to get too hung up on them.

Note from Sassy: So I'm back with more NSD, desperately trying to write these chapters for you beautiful people as quickly as possible. I promise that I am going to keep updating too. And on that, relatively brief note for me, I am going to get replying to all the awesome and motivating reviews that you guys are so kind to give me! :D

xGhostxStealth: Don't feel terrible! But thank you so very much. I'm afraid it wouldn't really be me without throwing a fair bit of angst into my chapters. Although I am very relieved that I don't make it too over dramatic, I do worry about going a bit over the top with the descriptions every so often. I hope you enjoy this chapter! As always, thank you so much. :)

xStealthxSniperx: I kept changing my mind whilst writing it to be honest…but I guess that's what loads of arguments are like in the real world, I liked the greyness of it all. Either way, never fear, as this chapter hopefully proves Ghost will never really forget Roach. Thanks so much for the lovely review!

Yunalein: Well everyone is in pain for different reasons I guess. And I'm glad you agree with how Ghost feels about Roach. It must be really difficult to be the "survivor" and I was really trying to capture that without it all being a bit melodramatic. There's plenty of Mactavish in this chapter for you though, I hope you like it! Thank you. :)

VerityA: I do feel a little mean that I've pretty much made all of my characters depressed in one way or another. But thank you sweetie! Although I kind of agree, Markov is more alone and conflicted, where as Ghost has a sexy Captain to distract him. Lol and I'm sorry I stole your title… :P

Dragonmorph: Hello there! Thank you very much for your awesome review; it made me all kinds of happy. Feel free to stalk me as much as you like, just as long as you keep enjoying the chapters! :)

SarkastinenNasse: I love that…McRiley, :D. And thank you so much, really, your reviews are really making my day here! I also worry that I'm either being a bit too fluffy or a bit to angsty, so I am so pleased that you think I have the combination of the two about right. As for the characters, well I am very honoured by that. I like them to be as fleshed out as possible. :) Thanks so much, I hope you enjoy this chapter too. :D

Reeserella: Well poor old Ghost did lose it. But he's an angry, confused soldier, I guess violence is second nature to him. I'm glad you're enjoying hugging the boys! :P Thanks so much for the review. :)

UrgentOrange: Your review spurred me on to write another chapter, so thank you! :D

Now...let's get on with chapter 17… :)

It should have been so easy.

All he had to do was to relinquish the grip of his right hand, but somehow the small action felt ridiculously big, a seemingly impossible task. The metallic dog tags that dangled from his hand chimed in the desert breeze, but to Ghost they were heavy, almost welded into his fist. He'd told himself over and over what he had to do, what he needed to, but now that the time was at hand it suddenly just wasn't so simple anymore.

He wasn't a man of elaborate actions and symbolism, but Riley still knelt there in the sand, Lev's grave barely ten metres to his right. In front of him his hands had clawed out a small pit in the sand and earth, barely the diameter of one of his fists. Roach's grave, or at least a small token of the one that his friend had been denied. Ghost bit his lip, a part of him despising himself for what he was about to do. For a year, he had carried the last remainder of his best friend with him, but now all that simply had to stop. John had been right; it had gone on far too long and this combined with Lev's death had made Ghost realise something. He still had every intention of returning Roach's dog tags to his family, but realistically the only time he could do that would be when the war was finally over, something that seemed too far off and distant to even contemplate. And if Lev's death had taught Riley anything, then it was the simple reality that he might not live to see that day himself…

"Quite a show you put on there." It would have sounded judgemental from anyone else, but some how Price's voice in the lonesome air was strangely comforting. Riley span round, unsure of whether or not he should be embarrassed as the older man took a few steps closer. He watched as Price's eyes flicked between the "grave" and him, awaiting a smirk or a look of confusion, yet never finding one. Instead Price seemed content to fish a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it quickly before dropping to his knees beside Ghost. He took a deep, almost thoughtful drag from his cigarette, nodding to the hole in the ground in front of them. "That for Roach?"

"I guess…" Riley suddenly felt ridiculous and he avoided the Captain's gaze as much as possible, staring into the ground. "I need to forget him."

"Not forget…" Price shook his head. "But you can't keep beating the shit out of anyone who mentions him." He paused, laughing to himself. "Sure…the kid did ask for it this time."

"I lost it." Riley sighed. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"From what I heard…neither was he."

"He didn't touch me though…did he?"

"No…" Price paused, rocking back on his heels and taking another drag from his cigarette. "But what he said…" He shrugged. "You have to understand that every man on this base has lost someone."

"Fucking walking wounded." Riley laughed darkly. "I think just 'losing' Roach would have been easier than this."

"You can't keep blaming yourself forever."

"And what the fuck would you know?" Ghost spat, his tone bitter. He finally turned to the Captain, meeting his intense stare through his sunglasses.

"Plenty." Price's face morphed into another soft smile, as if he was enjoying the bitterness that Riley threw at him, or at least as if he was expecting it. He took his time continuing, content to let the desert hum around them as he finished his cigarette, extinguishing it casually in the sand. "…Macmillan...toughest son of a bitch I'd ever met…or ever will meet. He was my CO back in the SAS."

"Were you close?"

"Not at first." The Captain shook his head. "The man had to trust you to ever really get to know you. Took at least three months of ops before we were truly friends." He laughed, shaking his head. "Best sniper I've ever met, ruthless bastard too if you caught him in the wrong mood but bloody indestructible. Knives, bullets, hell he was even crippled by a downed helicopter. They said he'd never be back on active service again but…he made it back alright."

"And what happened?"

"We were behind enemy lines, caught up in a fire fight that our intel told us was impossible. One of them got lucky with a grenade, landed right in amongst us. We scattered. When the dust cleared we realised that Macmillan hadn't got away in time." Price shook his head slowly, his tongue licking at his lips. "Blamed myself for years."

"You couldn't have done anything…"

"Think about anything long enough and you find ways around it." Price shrugged. "But like I said, you can't keep blaming yourself forever." He nodded to the dog tags in Ghost's hand. "Let him go. People like that leave a mark on you, you won't forget him." He smiled weakly, moving to stand up. As he turned to leave, there was the brief, distinct pressure of him giving Ghost's shoulder a quick squeeze. "Come find me when you're finished. I might have some information to make that decryption a bit easier."

Alone again, Ghost ran an absent minded thumb across the dog tags, his gloved hand detecting every ridge and dip in the metal. He closed his eyes, trying to think over what Price had said. After all, maybe he was right. Maybe this was finally the day when Ghost stopped blaming himself.

There was a resounding, yet muffled thud as the dog tags hit the packed down earth at the bottom of the hole. As Ghost began to fill it in, he could only hope that Price was right…

"Sit still…" Artem warned, steadying his hand as he finished off the stitch in Markov's lip. When he fidgeted again he used his free hand to slap at the younger man's arm. "I told you."

"I'm fine." Markov shrugged, ignoring the grimace the action received from the medic. "It's nothing."

"I'll be the judge of that." Artem grunted, finally pulling away. "It would have been neater without your stubbornness."

Soap had been watching them in the operations room for some time now. He'd been absently flicking through some files and desperately trying to distract his thoughts from Ghost when he'd become distracted by the seemingly parental exchange. He didn't understand a word of the hushed Russian that was flying back and forth between them, but he didn't have to be a linguist to understand that he wasn't the only one to make things difficult for the base's medic.

His eyes scanning back down to papers, Soap tried to focus his mind on the print that lay there. But it was hopeless. He was still worried. Ghost had stormed off immediately after their talk and although Soap had wanted to follow him and make sure that the lieutenant didn't do something fucking stupid, he'd forced himself not to. After all, he knew the look in Riley's eyes all too well. Right now, anything Soap said would be wrong, hurtful and they would both end up being pulled into another argument where judgemental things would be yelled and hasty punches thrown. After that morning, Soap could fully accept that right now that was the last thing Riley needed.

"Your friend needs to learn who his friends are." Soap hadn't even been aware of Artem being stood next to him until his voice broke the thoughtful silence in his mind. He hesitated slightly, taking his time to register the words before lifting his head, cocking a confused scarred eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"I know you heard me." The medic nodded to where Markov was sat across the operations table from them. "You saw what he did."

"I stopped it."

"Not soon enough." Artem practically snarled. "You should control your men."

"Riley isn't one of my men. Not anymore." Soap was biting down on his tongue now, the familiar burn of anger beginning to bubble in his stomach.

"So he is allowed to do this?" Artem laughed darkly. "After today we do not want him here."

"What are you saying?"

"That we won't tolerate him treating us like dogs…Not here."

"Ghost stays. You understand me?" Soap was standing up; making sure that he was eye to eye with Artem. "He won't do this again."

"And if he does?"

"He won't."

"You trust him…That is a mistake." Artem smiled, almost cruelly. "Don't worry…we all know exactly why you trust him."

"That has got nothing to do with this." The warning tone in Soap's voice was not to be underestimated.

"Really? So you're not…how do you say… bias to him, yes?" The medic laughed, stepping forwards confrontationally. "He was clever to fuck with you…"

"That's enough." Soap closed the distance between them, using every inch of height and weight advantage over the slighter medic. "…I'm sorry that Markov got hurt and I'm sorry that your friend died." He gave him the most sincere nod that he could manage. "But I'm not letting you take all this out on Ghost."

"And there it is…" Artem laughed, his features mocking in every way. "…If it were any other man…you would not defend them like this…"

He didn't like being questioned or challenged and so Soap was pulling back his fist ready to strike the arrogant medic in the face as his only response. He didn't care whether the anger that was now propelling its way through his system was because of what Artem had said or because it was about Ghost, but right then all Mactavish really wanted to do was to wipe that smug, knowing smile off the doctor's face.

"Stop it!" He'd lunged forwards when Soap had finally became aware of Markov's voice cutting above them all, the younger Russian suddenly appearing in his vision by Artem's side. He was bloodied and bruised, but the anger in his eyes was unmistakable as he grabbed Artem's arms and pulled him backwards towards him. When he spoke again his voice was an audible blur of angry Russian. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? I will not cause another fight…not today…" When Artem tried to argue back, Markov quickly silenced him. "Do you think this is what Lev would have wanted?"

Soap watched as Artem stood down with a snarl, wrenching his arms from Markov's grasp. He fixed Soap with an angry glare, but withdrew, stepping around Markov and away from them both. When he spoke again his Russian words were lost on Soap, but his tone was thick with anger and frustration.

"You need to remember who your true friends are, Markov."

As the door to the operations room slammed shut, Markov's bruised, blackened eyes flicked momentarily to Soap. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, instead taking a few steps backwards towards the door himself. This time he gave the Captain a slow, dignified nod, his voice soft and unsure when he finally did speak out. "I should go follow him…"

Surrounded by an almost unnerving silence, Soap sat back down at his desk, his head almost automatically falling into his hands. He hated him for it, but Artem's words were now firmly fixed into his head, echoing around amongst all of his loyalties and justifications. Had the medic been right? Was Soap so blinded by whatever he felt for Ghost that he couldn't see the damage he was truly doing? Or was Artem simply using his own anger to blame Riley, just like Markov? Tired hands rubbed at his temples. Soap didn't know anymore. There had always been a small rift between him and the Russian soldiers, mainly due to the language barrier and the fact that they seemed happier speaking to each other rather than to him. But right now, that rift had morphed into a large divide. At a time when they needed to be as cohesive a unit as possible, the cracks were beginning to show, relationships buckling and straining amongst the claustrophobic confines of their underground base. And for the first time, Soap actually found himself asking a bitterly uncomfortable question. Was that partly because of Ghost?

He didn't like feeling so conflicted, but at the same time Soap recognised the possibility. It had been one of his concerns when they were back in the 141, with Riley making himself so 'available' and Mactavish slowly beginning to realise that he liked it. It had been harder and harder to resist the temptation, but the one thing that had always stopped him was the worry that starting any kind of "relationship" with Ghost would result in a slight, yet noticeable shift in power. After all, command in the 141 was a powerful yet fragile thing and any inkling among the men that Soap was treating Riley any different could have been a disaster for them all. But now…well the 141 was a thing of the past and Soap actually believed, however naïvely that maybe it just didn't matter anymore, that he and Ghost were no longer important enough to impact on anything, whatever they did. But in mere seconds, Artem's furious words had sewn the seeds of doubt in his mind.

After all, what if he was wrong?

The rest of the day had crawled by in its own mundane routine. Soap had been keen to avoid the others as much as possible and had been glad of Price entertaining him with hushed conversations about the frequency 7 intel that Nikolai had uncovered. Through close monitoring of the frequency they had managed to discover that the group were by no means Russian soldiers, but even then that didn't tell them for sure that the group were Ultranationalists, never mind harbouring Makarov. And as Nikolai had pointed out very eloquently, they really didn't want to be attacking random groups of terrorists and making themselves even more hated in the process.

Not that this seemed to bother Price. His only response had been through the heavy exhale of a large cloud of smoke, his words hushed enough so that Nikolai wouldn't be able to catch his meaning.

"Not that it matters. If there's even a chance that Makarov is in there then we're going in before the Russian army get their hands on him…If they get to him first…then we're well and truly buggered."

Soap had gone to bed early, his body feeling more bruised and tormented than usual after his scuffle with Ghost. He didn't regret tackling the lieutenant in the slightest, but the action had left the wounds in his torso feeling strained and fragile, along with the throbbing pain left behind from Riley's heavier than usual punch to the face. A shower had barely alleviated any of the pain, but Soap didn't dare go to Artem for any medication for fear of being poisoned, instead crawling into his bed and hoping that darkness would snatch him into sleep. Not that it did, even after a good hefty few swigs of whisky to try and aid it.

Ghost. Soap hated how the man constantly seemed to be in his thoughts. He hadn't spoken to him since that morning, the lieutenant seemingly making it his business to be everywhere that Soap wasn't. The last he'd heard from Price, Ghost was back working in the operations room, his head focused on his decryptions and very little else. Soap let out a small sigh in the dark. It was typical Ghost. The lieutenant was prone to burying his head in work and letting the purely logical side to him take over when he wanted to avoid anything complex. His feelings about Roach, Soap and the rest of the base seemed to have driven him to that quite effectively.

Turning painfully, Soap reached for the picture stuck to the wall beside his bed, his thumb idly tracing across the girl's face. It was an old picture, but it was the only thing personal that he would ever let himself carry, a small token of back home. Of all he had left. Sarah. A sad smile worked its way across his features. She'd be twenty five now, but in his head she was still his baby sister. It had been nearly a year and a half since he had actually spoken to her. They'd been close, but as he progressed through the army he'd lost more and more of himself to it and as a result, he'd lost her too. She'd lost both her parents and everyday she faced the possibility of losing her only brother, in reality John could hardly blame her for resenting him for that. He'd beat himself up for hours about how selfish he had been, how he had never thought, but none of that did any good now. Even without the army, they will still separated, John not even able to write to his sister for the fear that it might endanger her. He blinked hard, turning his back to the picture and trying to blank out these new, self indulgent and painful thoughts. It was better for Sarah if she thought he was dead…

He must have fallen asleep as when Soap opened his eyes, a crack of light was streaking across his vision as his bedroom door was closed softly. He squinted through the gloom, recognising the near silent footsteps to be of Ghost, although there was no speech to tell him otherwise. Soap remained silent, listening his only tool for working out what Riley was doing in the gloom. There was a hesitant silence, and then, slowly but surely the definite sound of fabric being pulled away from skin, the rustle and chink as jeans were undone and pushed down to the floor. Soap raised a curious eyebrow to himself in the dark, before moving instinctively to the side when there was a firm dip in the mattress as Riley sat down beside him. Silently, the lieutenant laid down and settled himself against the pillows, his forearm the only thing that was actually touching Soap. For a brief moment Mactavish toyed with the idea of saying something, or leaning over and instigating something far more physical between them, but he decided against it. After all, if Ghost wanted to talk, or for that matter fuck, then Soap realised that he would have already started something.

It was the first time that they had ever slept together without fucking, a strange, almost alien feeling registering in the back of Soap's skull. After all, it seemed so much more intimate to fall asleep next to Riley without the usual post coital haze. But when the body beside him began to breathe that little bit more heavily, Soap let his good hand stray out and close the distance between them, resting gently against Riley's bare bicep. It was only a small gesture and of course his hand would be long gone before morning, but it was still there, a comforting warmth soothing his thoughts. For a split second at least, all of the doubts were gone, withered away until they were so small that they no longer mattered.

Because right then, they didn't.

So rivalries are getting in the way of the team dynamic and as always there's lots of angst lurking around every corner. Will the team be able to cooperate and find Makarov? I couldn't possibly say… But of course, if you feel like inspiring our downtrodden Ghost and Soap with your reviews, then I'm sure they'd happily pay you back in hugs. :)

And on a more sane note, thanks again so much for your continued support! It means the world to me.

-x-S-x-