Repair Me

Push and Pull Me…

 . . . .

Ghost was at a loss. After he and Soap returned to base, the other had been… Bolder in his actions, managing gentle passing touches whenever he could. Now, Ghost didn't entirely mind. But it just made everything that much more difficult. He'd be walking down the hallway on his way to do something, then Johnny would show up and give him a friendly pat on the shoulder. Ghost couldn't focus, it felt like he was in a minefield, where every step could lead to an explosion. The thing that worried him the most, was that he didn't know what the inevitable explosion would be. 

Ghost was walking a thin tightrope between overpowering emotions and the ends were slowly snapping, daring to drop him into the pit below until one emotion overpowered everything else and eventually swallowed him whole. 'It was a mistake getting so close, he's doing this because you've been initiating the touches. Encouraging.' His thoughts were not wrong, Johnny hadn't been confident to touch him in the first place. Ghost's useless attempt to "get along" with his teammates and the idiotic choice to lean on the other, had backfired horrendously and set upon a precipice for this rising volcano. Ghost had to do something, tell Soap to stop touching him so mindlessly. Yet every time he'd open his mouth, words dangling from the tip of his tongue. Ghost couldn't do it, or more accurately, didn't want to.

It was a vicious cycle of back-and-forth emotions inside of him, one side telling him the touch would hurt him, that everyone would hurt him or he would hurt them. That both sides would be safer without his involvement or their involvement in each others lives. While the other told him he would be safe, that everything would be fine. It dug its claws into the pieces of Simon Riley, attempting to stitch the fragments together and amplify his feelings of want. Because Simon wanted, he wanted comfort and shoulders to lean on, it was the one thing he used to always rely on in the military. The only thing that hadn't let him down…. Ghost wanted solitude, he desired everything to be locked away in that coffin, to push everyone away. He didn't want to feel any of the hurt, the remnants of joy, the grief—unbearable. All of it is pointless.

. . . .

It was a late November night, the house was a strange quiet after his father had left, Simon didn't know where he went, but he always came back angry and speaking incoherently. Simon only had hope that today would be different, a foolish childish dream, he didn't yet understand. His mother had put him and Tommy to bed an hour ago, but sleep was hard to find for Simon, the shadows in his dark bedroom seemed to move and he felt his unease building into fear. He shuffled out of the bed, holding his ragged stuffed rabbit that his father hated so much. It was Simons favorite, but he constantly lost it. He was ever grateful that his mother always found and brought it back to him, but there were always new patches in it. Simon never really thought to ask, assuming the rabbit had gotten into trouble and his mother patched it up like she would for him.

He scuttled towards the bedroom door, taking long but hesitant steps as the dirty carpet shifted under his feet. He stood up onto his tippy toes to reach the doorknob, turning and slowly pulling it open as he poked a head through. The hallway was dark, the only light being at the bottom of the stairs, Simon carefully slipped out of the room, his grip tightening on his stuffed rabbit as he stepped towards the stairs. The familiar loud voice of his father and his mothers much quieter voice entered his ears as he got closer.

'Mommy and him must be talking again.'

Simon looked down at his stuffed toy, then at the bottom of the stairs before regretfully setting it down against the wall by the stairs, his father wouldn't be happy if he saw it... He looked at the toy for a moment longer before nodding at it and carefully making his way down the stairs, his short legs always made it feel like he was falling when he went down the stairs, so he slowly crawled backwards down them, knees and hands meeting each accompanied step until he made it all the way down and stood up. His eyes moving to find his parents, the light in the kitchen was on and the voices seemed to be coming from it, so Simon slowly approached, the words starting to become more coherent the closer he got.

"He'sa man! Little snake won' 'urt 'im!" His father's voice slurred.

"He's a child, and this is a home! Get that thing out of here!"

His fathers following words were too incoherent for Simon to make sense of them, though he didn't really understand the previous words either. 'What are they talking about this time? Child? Would that be me?' Simon carefully approached the doorway, standing there as his eyes found his parents. His father was holding something and his mother was standing a distance away from him.

"Momma?" His words came out quietly as he rubbed his eye, the switch from darkness to bright light making them slightly water. Both his parents looked over at him, his mother glancing back at father before coming towards him. She crouched down in front of him, eyes soft as the eyebags pulled them down, her cheeks were sunken and she was paler than Simon remembered. A wavering smile danced on her thin lips as her hands carefully grabbed his arms, rubbing comfortingly.

"Hey, sweetie. What are you doing up?" She glanced back at father again, almost hesitant, afraid?

"Couldn't sleep..." Simon said quietly with a tone of guilt, as if he did something wrong by not being able to fall asleep. His mother looked at him, so many things going through her mind as she looked at him.

"I see, it's alright. Do you... Do you think you can try for me? I'll be up in a minute to sing to you, alright?" She spoke softly.

"What? Sing to 'im? Stop treatin' 'im like a kid! He can suck it up!" His father said as he stepped closer, "ere! This'll man you up!" he extended his hand, a strange green thing in it. The thing hissed, its barb like tongue darting out.

Simon jumped at the sight, eyes widening as he made a scared and disagreeable noise while shrinking towards his mother.

"Stop it! You're scaring him more!" His mother held him as his father scoffed and roughly grabbed his arm, pulling him from his mother as he shoved the creature into his face.

Simon struggled to escape the hurtful grip on his arm, tears quickly spilling as he made pitiful noises and sobbed. He shook from fear as the thing got closer, it's mouth pressing against his for a moment before it's jaw opened to strike, sharp fangs were the focus in Simon's blurry eyes as he struggled harder, frantic even when his arm was free and he fell back. He didn't even register the pain of the fall, too fearful of the situation as he backed up into a corner and curled into himself. Not even his mother's arms around him helped sooth the pure fear he felt as his body shook and he sobbed.

. . . .

Ghost awoke for the fifth time, gasping as he choked on the overwhelming fear that followed him out of the memory. His mask, shirt, and sheets were covered in sweat as he spent an indiscernible amount of time simply calming down. Minutes and hours passed, he'd futilely attempted to sleep multiple times throughout the night, but he couldn't sleep with the terrors flashing behind his eyelids. Only three hours had passed in that time, and over half of it was spent calming himself down from night terrors and trying to fall back asleep. A ragged breath dragged in through his gritted teeth, his mind still weighed heavily with sleep but the constant adrenaline rush of fading night terrors continued to push it back. Blinking harshly, he shook his head.

Sliding on his boots, Ghost glanced at the lighter and cigarette carton on his nightstand, but shook his head. He didn't think it was that bad, yet. Truth be told, Ghost doesn't care for smoking, it's simply a means to calm his ever-rampant mind and trembling hands, it was effective for when things got bad. Sometimes…. Ghost hates the habit though, deliberately avoiding cigarettes unless necessary. It reminded him too much of Tommy…a reason for which he avoids drugs, aside from simply not liking them, the memories they brought were…unpleasant at best.

Ghost didn't want to remember it, the time before he'd helped Tommy get clean, before he met his sister-in-law, before his nephew. Before Ghost knew how painful betrayal could feel, and how creative humans could be when it came to torture…. Life had never been kind to him, he didn't expect it to, not since he was a young kid and didn't understand why his mother cried, or why his father shouted and why he drank so much. Before he understood what emotions and fear was....

Sighing and rubbing at his sore and tired eyes, Ghost left his room, the hallways were always empty this late—or early, rather. Depending on which side of the clock you sleep…. On nights like these, Ghost enjoyed the silence, the crunch of gravel under his boot as he walked. It was grounding, somewhat. Getting some fresh air was refreshing regardless, a reminder that he's here and not in that bloody room, not six feet deep in a coffin, or in his childhood home. He's free…Ghost walked aimlessly for a while, by the time he returned to base the sun had already risen halfway over the distant hills. Most of the soldiers were moving about, talking, and trying to fully wake up.

Ghost caught the stares as he approached, hands resting comfortably in his pockets. It didn't escape him that the whispers were about him, they always were. If one thing stands true about most soldiers, they love rumors, and he was practically a gold mine for them. He was passing a group of four rookies as one of them raised their voice at something another said.

"What?! You're crazy!" The soldier's eyes went wide as they caught Ghost's side-eye, quieting their voice. 

Ghost was admittedly curious as to what the conversation was about, but not enough to attempt listening in. Fortunately—or unfortunately, the loud rookie ended up calling out to him. Ghost considered ignoring them, he didn't want to talk right now. Though after considering that he didn't have anything better to do for at least two hours, he decided to play nice for once. Coming to a slow stop, Ghost turned sideways, head following after his eyes as he looked at the other. Glancing at his name patch, Kiston. Kiston shuffled his feet, a decent distance between Ghost and him, he glanced back pleadingly at his friends. The rookie looked like he hadn't wanted to approach Ghost, he most likely lost a bet. No one ever willingly approached Ghost, except for Price, Gaz, and Johnny. 

"Uhm, uh, I…" The kid was sweating bullets at this point, looking entirely too anxious. Ghost would've felt bad if that anxiousness wasn't the reason for Kiston's distance. Ghost watched the kid gape like a fish out of water for at least a minute, before he looked somewhat ready to say a proper sentence. Ghost did feel bad when he was interrupted.

"Lt!"

Of course, Johnny would be the one to interrupt the poor kid. Ghost was going to turn when an arm slid to rest over his shoulder. His eye gave a minuscule twitch, fingers itching to react. Ghost deserved some sort of prize for his self-control, Johnny would've been in the grave ten times over by now if not for it. The surprised looks from every nearby soldier only made Ghost's skin crawl more, he didn't need Johnny setting a precedent for others to freely approach or touch him.

Soap met Ghost's blank stare with a lopsided grin, "What's up?" His eyes scanned the scene in front of them.

"Not sure, you interrupted." Ghost could almost feel sorry for how uninterested he sounded. He just wanted some tea and sleep, the latter of which had already long passed its window of opportunity. Johnny raised an eyebrow, looking at him.

"Ah, sorry about that. Goan then." Soap waved, but didn't move from his position beside Ghost.

Rolling his eyes, Ghost looked back at Kiston who was in the middle of blinking himself out of his surprise. A more confident expression eventually took its place as he walked closer. Ghost was going to punch Johnny, screw self-control, the bloody bastard deserves it for starting this. He almost threw a punch, until Johnny stepped in between them.

"Ah ah, best not get too close t' the big guy. He's got a mean right hook." Ghost was tempted to roll his eyes again, Soap hadn't even seen him throw a punch yet. Although it wasn't incorrect, maybe Price told him, the old man had experienced it probably a few too many times.

Kiston's steps stuttered to a stop, confusion and worry on his face as he glanced at Ghost. By the fear that crossed his face, Ghost figures his intent must've been clear in his eyes. Even Johnny raised an eyebrow at him, lightly smacking his arm. Ghost caught his hand as it instinctively twitched towards where his pistol would have been, his chest strained impossibly tight with building anticipation.

"Dinnae scare the lad, Ghost." Johnny's voice was too soft to be berating.

Ghost honestly wasn't trying to scare Kiston, but Soap was not helping his twitchy trigger finger. The kid could obviously tell that, what with the way he and everyone within ten feet were backing away. Johnny must not know the price that comes with poking a bear, hell, the idiot probably would do it despite knowing. The anticipation bled out of Ghost from the thought, warm fondness taking its place as he sighed, amused. He shook his head, turning to continue his previous task. Not at all surprised when Soap followed, mouth spit firing words.

"What d'ye think he wanted?" 

Ghost raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Johnny, thinking back to the rookie. It was hard to tell, if the kid had lost a bet or been dared to come up to him, then it was anyone's guess. "Guess we'll never know." 

Soap pouted as they cut through the mess, Ghost beelined it to the kitchen. Avoiding attention from the rookies that littered the room was harder than it should've been to accomplish, when he considered how bad Soap was at stealth. Soap was loud in everything he did, walking didn't seem to be an exception. Ghost would've felt more annoyed about it if Johnny hadn't already been talking all the way to the kitchen. Some story about a cow in a bar, why would someone think it was a good idea to put a cow in a bar? How do those two correlate at all? Ghost had no idea.

"Maybe the bar also served as a cheese shop?" His brows furrowed at the thought as he put a pot of water on the stove.

"Naw, that would've been creative though. Cheese and beer." Soap hummed in question, the answer made Ghost pause. 

'Did I say that out loud?' Sighing, he shook his head. Could've said worse, fucking hell, he needed terrorless sleep, he didn't think he'd get it though.... Ghost had only managed a few hours on their mission, the flight back had lasted half the day and he didn't get a wink during it or after. Ghost would have time later though, better to stay awake until nightfall and keep a semi-regular sleep schedule. Not that he needed it, he tended to receive mostly night missions, meaning he slept during the day oftentimes, or simply whenever he managed to have a few or not a single night terror. Ghost finished making his tea, purposefully trying to sneak away without Soap. He succeeded, initially…up until Johnny caught up to him, standing in front of Ghost's door expectantly. 

Sighing tiredly as he stared down at Soap, unamused. Soap simply smiled, sipping on his coffee. "When d'ye think our next mission is?" He spoke into his cup.

Ghost would be more amused if he didn't just want to relax, alone, in his room. "How soon can Laswell gather information?"

He carefully pushed Johnny aside before entering his room, the other unsurprisingly followed. Making himself right at home, Ghost rolled his eyes as he sat down at his desk. Sliding his mask just above his lips to drink his tea, setting it down, he continued his half-complete mission report. Not unbothered, since Soap kept talking and bothering him every other second about being bored. Ghost somehow managed to keep his temper until he finished the report, at which point he practically dragged Soap to the gym. Both to relieve some of his annoyance and deplete Soap's energy, he found though, to his ever-growing disappointment. That Johnny had a lot of energy, not that he hadn't experienced it before, he just expected him to be more worn out from already being hyperactive all day.

Ghost grunted as he tackled Johnny for the seventeenth time, grip tight around his wrists as Ghost held them against his back, leaning over him. "How many times are you going to make me repeat this?" He sighed.

"'M good fer another fifteen Lt." Soap grinned despite his face being pressed into the floor.

"Bloody fucking hell, Johnny." Ghost has always been confident in his stamina, and he knew fifteen more rounds wouldn't fully tire him out. But Soap was barely panting! Albeit Ghost was wearing more clothing, and the mask certainly didn't help but, christ did Soap seem to have infinite stamina at times.

"Tired already, Ghost?" Johnny taunted below him, Ghost's eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip in response, leaning down to whisper in Johnny's ear.

"Oh, I'm just getting started, Sergeant." Ghost smirked with the sudden excitement of a challenge. Letting go of Johnny's wrists before standing up as he moved back to give the other space, he watched Soap lay on the floor for a solid minute before he stood up.

"Yannae what? Ah jus' remembered that ah–ugh, had something t' dae!" Soap's accent was suddenly thicker as he shouted and rushed out of the room.

Ghost blinked, dumbfounded as he stared at the closing door for a solid minute. 'What was that about?'

. . . .

Tear Me Apart…