Ink Stained Hands, Broken Chained Collar

"Tell me what you want to hear." —Secrets, OneRepublic.

. . . .

… Inked pages…

. . . .

The night air was crisp as he walked down the ramp, M14 slung over his shoulder while he bantered with a few teammates. He laughed with the group over a funny story, when a familiar voice suddenly grabbed his attention.

"Soap!"

Soap's eyes lit up at the familiar voice as his head whipped around and his eyes found Price, he hadn't seen the older man in a while, which had produced a bit of stress on his mind, so seeing the man now immensely helped to relieve it. Soap rushed down the ramp, practically jumping onto the older man.

"Price! It's good to see ye!" The Captain chuckled as he accepted Soap's hug.

"Sure is, son. How've you been?" Price asked, patting Soap's back before pulling away, hands resting on Soap's shoulders.

"Ah yannae, cleanin'." Soap jokes, smiling wider as Price chuckled and shook his head. The Captain patted his shoulder before turning.

"C'mon, I've got something we need to discuss."

Soap raised a questioning eyebrow as he followed, deciding to keep silent for the moment. With more than a little difficulty, he had a lot of questions swirling around in his head. 

They walked away from the base, following a path to the rocky mountains. They didn't go all the way up though, stopping at the foot of the first hill when Price seemed to think they were far enough. Soap rocked back and forth on his feet impatiently as the older man turned to him and finally spoke.

"I've been putting together a new task force, and I want you to join." Soap's movements halted, his eyes widening as he stared at Price for a moment, blinking as if he expected to suddenly wake up from a dream.

"Yer serious??" A smile slowly broke out onto his face, "'Course I'd join! Did you really need to even ask?"

Price smiled and shook his head, "Not really, but I'd rather hear a straight answer from your mouth than assume."

"Aw haud yer weesht." Soap lightly punched him in the arm, "Ye'd prolly transfer me even if I declined."

Price shrugged, but the slight smile under his bushy stash was enough of an answer. The older man knew Soap well enough to know that the Sergeant would jump at any chance to see more action.

"Alright, get some rest tonight. You fly out tomorrow at 0500." Price patted his back as they headed back to the base.

"Ser!" Soap playfully saluted, receiving a light punch to his arm in response. He just chuckled.

. . . .

Soap was anxious the entire ride, Price had messaged him that he'd be at the base to greet him, along with his other teammates. From what Soap could glean from the texts, there were at least two, maybe three others. A small group considering, but that's what made him excited. It meant he would be in a special task force! Also meaning that he'd most likely receive special missions! He was quite literally vibrating in his seat as the plane began its descent to land, Soap barely managed to stop himself from running down the ramp before it even fully opened.

Once it was down though, it was no holds barred. He raced down to find Price waiting for him like he'd promised, along with a younger familiar face. 

"Soap! Right on time. Let me introduce you two." Price spoke as Soap came to a stop in front of them, not waiting for the introduction before sticking his hand out to the familiar face, interrupting Price.

"Gaz! Right? We both took the SAS selections course together." Soap grinned.

"Thought I recognized you! You're the bloke that stopped to help one of the guys who got injured on the course. Pretty impressive you still managed to score just behind me." Gaz smiled as well, genuine admiration in his words as he accepted Soap's hand.

"Ah." Soap gave a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well what cannae say? I'm a bloody brilliant multitasker." He joked.

Gaz chuckled and shook his head in amusement, taking his hand back. "I think we'll get along just fine."

Soap liked Gaz, that much was clear already. They'd get along wonderfully.

The two showed Soap around the base, letting him put his bag in his room before dragging him to the mess hall. Gaz proposed that they tell some stories, so the minutes passed as they each took turns.

"An ah told 'em "Tha's no place tae put a cow!" Th' poor girl was jus' standin' in th' middle of th' bar!" Soap blathered, Scottish accent heavy as he got more comfortable. Price chuckled as Gaz fell into a fit of laughter, a disbelieving expression on his face.

"There's— No way, they actually thought it was a good idea to put a cow in a bar." Gaz said through laughs.

"Ye'd be surprised what people come up with." Soap smiled, shaking his head as the conversation came to a comfortable conclusion. Price looking at Gaz as he spoke.

"Gaz, why don't you go fetch Ghost? He should be done by now." Price suggested, Gaz smiled and nodded. Taking his leave to find their final teammate.

Soap's leg bounced under the table as he looked at Price, who had put on his Captain's face the moment Gaz left. It made Soap sit up straight and pay attention.

"You're gonna have to hold back from your usual friendly touching when you meet him." Price said, face blank from everything but sincerity and authority.

Soap's brows pinched together in confusion, "Wha—? Why? Is th' guy a germaphobe or somethin'?"

Price sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "No, just… Avoid touching, please? It's mostly for your own safety but…" He sighed again when Gaz returned, Soap expected someone to be behind him, but was left a bit disappointed when the door closed after him.

"Hey Gaz, did Price have the same no-touch talk with you?" Soap decided to ask. Gaz raised an eyebrow for a moment before it lowered and he nodded, taking his seat.

"Yeah, I didn't exactly get much of an explanation. Although the guy doesn't seem bad, if a bit standoffish." Gaz replied.

Soap raised an eyebrow, he'd met quite a few who preferred to stick by themselves. It certainly wasn't uncommon. The description only served to fire up Soap's curiosity, leading to his mind creating endless possible images of his mysterious teammate. He almost missed the sound of the mess door opening, Gaz and Price's conversation tapered off as all three of them turned their attention to the new arrival. Soap's mind went blissfully blank as his eyes landed on the skull mask… it took him a moment to process it before he managed to take in the rest of the man's bulky figure, he was…a bit scary, if Soap were to be honest. Even from the door he could tell the man towered over him. It wasn't the first time he'd met someone taller than him, or bulkier, but the mask was definitely new.

What surprised him the most though, was how quiet his footsteps were despite his stature. Soap couldn't make his footsteps that quiet even if he was walking on foam. The masked man took a seat a notable distance away from Gaz, which brought Soap's mind back to what Price had told him. Silence didn't last long as Price broke it.

"These two have already met," He gestured between Soap and Gaz. "So final introductions go to you, Ghost. This is Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish, since there are only four operatives and a handful of trainees, you two will be working closely together."

Soap was confused, Price only introduced the other man by his callsign, "Ghost" which wasn't typically uncommon for someone's callsign to be introduced first. But their full name always followed right after, yet Price never continued. There was no "Soap, this is blah 'Ghost' blah blah blah." Nothing… Pushing down the confusion, he smiled. His hand instinctively moved, his manners automatically taking control until Soap realized and pulled it back to his side sheepishly.

"Let's have some fun, yeah Lt?"

Ghost stared at him for a moment, eyes boring into him as he responded. "…Sure" 

Soap was floored, the deep gravelly rumble— distinctly British accent— of his voice was not what he expected. Although he didn't exactly know what he expected, he hadn't even filled out a questionnaire for the basics of hair and eye color. Not that he could do the former, the balaclava kind of prevented that. 

Gaz and Price looked just as surprised as Soap felt for some reason, he could understand Gaz, but Price? Was Ghost someone who was randomly picked to join rather than scouted by Price? After a prolonged silence, Gaz and Price picked up their conversation again. Soap didn't really bother joining. His eyes were glued to the mysterious man across from him, and the distant brown eyes under the mask. 'In thought.' He hummed to himself.

Soap didn't know if it was because he could only see his eyes, but the man seemed completely emotionless. Which sounds blasphemous because eyes are supposed to be the window into a person's soul, but as far as he could tell, Ghost's soul was completely blank. A sheet of paper with no ink, it puzzled him. In all his years of life and being in the military, even the toughest, most mysterious guys had something in their eyes. Be it hate, sadness, or longing. They all had something. 

Except for Ghost, he seemed like the epitome of mystery, the textbook definition that others tried and failed to imitate. Soap would applaud and say it was impressive if it wasn't also uncomfortably… sad. Comparable to a puzzle with missing pieces. It made him want to find the missing pieces and place them back to see the full picture.

Soap never wished he could see someone's face more than he does now, although it was more of a desperation to see what emotions would be splayed across Ghost's face—if any. He let out a frustrated sigh, watching the other's eyes slide over to Price. Soap watched them apparently share a silent conversation before Price nodded and ended his vocal one with Gaz to speak.

"There are no missions planned yet, so use your free days to settle in." Ghost nodded, standing up and taking his leave. Soap watches as Ghost takes his leave, brow still pinched. He looks back at Price with an expression that screams 'what the fuck?' Price just shakes his head, amusement flickering in his eyes as he stands.

"Why did ye only introduce him with his callsign?" Price let out a sigh, seemingly expecting the question. 

"It's—" Price started only to be cut off by Gaz, "Classified." the younger man gestured with quotations.

"It's the same answer he gave me when I asked." Gaz grumbled.

Price rubbed his temples, "Because it is, even if it wasn't, it isn't my place to tell."

Soap pouted, ready to bombard the older man with more questions when Price raised a hand to stop him.

"If you want to know, ask the man yourself." His tone made it clear that he wouldn't be convinced to change his mind.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Don't stay up too late."

Standing, he gives them a lazy two-fingered salute before following Ghost out, leaving Soap and Gaz alone. Soap immediately turns to Gaz, leaning forward with his arms on the table.

"Alright, spill it. Wha's wi' the whole no-touch thing? An' why's Ghost so..." He makes a vague hand gesture, unable to find the right word.

Gaz chuckles, leaning back in his seat casually. "Not sure about the no-touch thing, didn't get much of an explanation on that either. As for Ghost, he's just a quiet bloke, bit standoffish like I said earlier. Though he was way worse when I first met him, at least he spoke to you."

Soap frowns, not quite satisfied with the lack of real explanation. Though he supposes there isn't much Gaz can tell him if he doesn't know either. Letting out a small huff, Soap stands and grabs his empty tray.

"Well, guess I'll jus' have tae figure it out meself. Care tae join me in explorin' th' base a bit more?"

He grins, always one for adventure and exploring new places. Gaz chuckles and nods, standing to join Soap. The two spend the next couple hours wandering the base, chatting and getting to know each other better. By the time they part for the night, Soap feels like he's gained a new friend. Taking in his small sleeping quarters, he took a deep breath, smiling softly. It didn't take him long to shove everything into his dresser, only saving his guns and journal from the uncaring treatment. His thumb brushed over the rough leather of the book as he opened it, picking up the pen from between the pages as he sat down. Turning to an empty page, he sketched, dragging the pen against the paper effortlessly as the lines came together to form a picture.

Soap jotted down a few notes under the sketch before moving to the other page, staring at the blank skull and dark eyes. The drawing was missing something, but no matter how long he looked at it. Soap couldn't figure out what, was it the lack of expression? Emotion? Something…it bothered him, never one to leave drawings or sketches incomplete. 

Soap didn't have enough of a basis of Ghost's personality, at least that's how he felt. The other was wrapped in mystery and despite how long he stared at him, Soap simply cannot figure Ghost out. Not that he really expected to upon meeting him, there were plenty of rumors to go around about him. The biggest one was exactly that, of a ghost. Always hidden beyond a non-corporeal veil, unreachable and mysterious. Soap just expected… less of the rumors. As far as he could tell, most of them held up, but Soap was never one to believe something about someone simply through rumors. He wanted to learn about Ghost from Ghost. So he would, the only problem was…how? 

He sighs, closing his journal and setting it in the drawer of his bedside table before standing to get ready for bed, he wonders if the Ghost is as standoffish and quiet outside of first meetings. The mask certainly adds to the whole mysterious persona Ghost has going on. It makes Soap all the more determined to befriend the elusive man. Always one to enjoy a challenge, he falls asleep with a small smirk, mind already churning with ways to get Ghost to open up.

. . . .

Waking up in the early morning, Soap mostly relaxed, the jet lag had hit hard but he wasn't ever one to lay still for long. Getting ready, he explored the base a bit more before meeting up with Gaz. Their chat was mostly one-sided with Soap rambling about anything and everything as they headed outside to the track, running for a good bit. Soap jogs a few paces behind Gaz, chatting animatedly as they do their morning run. He finds himself glancing around, taking in the open training yard when his eyes catch on a figure tucked away in the shadows, the glow of a cigarette giving him away. Soap grins, recognizing the familiar mask even from a distance.

"Oi, Gaz! Look who's up bright 'n early too."

He points towards Ghost's hiding spot. Gaz follows his gaze and chuckles.

"Well I'll be damned. Didn't take him for a morning person."

Soap's grin widens mischievously. "Let's go say hi!"

Before Gaz can protest, Soap is veering off the track towards Ghost. He skids to a halt a few feet away, bouncing excitedly on his feet.

"'Ello there! Fancy seein' ya out here. Not one for runnin' I take it?"

He gestures at Ghost's cigarette, eyes bright with mirth behind his joking accusation. Truthfully, he's curious to hear the man speak again, see if he can coax more than a few words out of him this time. Ghost blinked at him and slightly raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the lit cigarette between his gloved fingers, his eyes lifted back to Soap's face as he gave a quiet grunt in response.

"Run plenty…" 

Soap laughs, the sound bright and amused. He's pleased to get more than a single word out of the stoic man this time.

"Oh aye? And here I thought ya were just bein' anti-social hidin' away over here."

He says it teasingly, a cheeky grin on his face. Gaz jogs up beside them, shaking his head in exasperation at Soap's antics.

"Don't mind him, he's got all the energy of a hyper puppy," Gaz chuckles.

Soap just shrugs, completely unbothered. He likes making people laugh and being friendly. Though it seems Ghost will take a bit more effort to get through that serious exterior of his. Soap is nothing if not determined however. An idea pops into his head and he perks up.

"Say, why don't ya join us for the rest o' our run? We've only got a couple laps left."

He bounces on his toes again eagerly. Gaz raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't object to Soap's invitation. Soap waits hopefully for Ghost's response, ready to keep cajoling if needed. The man intrigues him, makes him want to learn more about what's behind that mask both literally and figuratively. He watches Ghost slightly cock his head to the side, seemingly considering. With a quiet sigh Ghost put out his cigarette on the bricks of the wall before tossing it into a nearby trash can and shrugging, walking past Soap and Gaz as he walked over to the track as he started an unhurried jog.

Soap grins triumphantly when Ghost actually joins them without argument. He and Gaz quickly fall into step on either side of the larger man. True to his word, Soap chatters away aimlessly as they run, occasionally trying to draw Ghost into responding more than the grunts and one word answers he's mostly getting. By the last lap, Soap is starting to run out of steam, panting lightly as his shorter legs work to keep up with Gaz and Ghost's longer strides. He's impressed that Ghost barely seems out of breath, clearly the man's stamina and fitness are top notch.

"Christ...how are...ya not knackered...yet?" He huffs out between breaths.

Gaz chuckles, glancing over. "Maybe because...some of us...actually pace ourselves...instead of running our gobs...the whole time."

Soap shoots him a mock offended look before turning his gaze expectantly to Ghost. He's curious to see how the stoic man will respond. Soap gets the feeling Ghost probably enjoys pushing himself physically if his physique is anything to go by. He wonders what other training and skills Ghost has picked up to reach his clearly elite status. The mask and lack of real name make him even more of an enigma in Soap's eyes. Ghost grunted in agreement with Gaz's words.

"…The breath control needed while talking and running takes more breath and energy, rather than simply running…" Ghost responded bluntly.

Soap huffs out a laugh at Ghost's blunt response, though he has to admit the man has a point. He doesn't take offense, finding Ghost's matter-of-fact way of speaking more amusing than anything.

"Aye, yer probably right 'bout that," he agrees, flashing Ghost a grin.

By now they've finished their laps, slowing to a stop. Soap puts his hands on his knees, still catching his breath as he looks up at Ghost.

"I think I'll leave the marathon runnin' to you though. My legs are ready for a break!"

He straightens up with a groan, rolling his shoulders. Gaz claps him on the back in a companionable way.

"C'mon, I think breakfast is probably on by now. Race ya there, Soap!"

With that he takes off towards the mess hall. Soap barks out a laugh.

"Oh yer on!"

He goes to sprint after Gaz but pauses, looking back at Ghost. An idea strikes him and before he can think better of it, he's grabbing Ghost by the wrist, grinning up at him.

"Let's go slowpoke, don't wanna get left behind!"

Not giving Ghost a chance to react, he takes off, practically dragging the larger man along in his eager rush to catch up with Gaz. He's too focused on his impromptu race to consider that grabbing Ghost without warning probably wasn't the wisest idea after the whole "don't touch" conversation from Price. But Soap has always been one to act first and think later when caught up in the moment.

Soap lets out a surprised yelp as Ghost's fist connects with the back of his head, hard enough to make him stumble. Pain spiderwebbing across the back of his skull as he gathers himself, blinking away his unsteady vision before whirling around, one hand going to the back of his head as he stares at Ghost with wide, shocked eyes.

"Bloody hell! What was that for?"

He rubs at the sore spot, wincing. Clearly Ghost packs one hell of a punch. Soap blinks in confusion as he takes in Ghost holding his wrist defensively, the larger man seeming distressed. It clicks then that Ghost must really not like being touched for some reason. Soap mentally kicks himself for forgetting Price's warning so quickly. He holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Shite, sorry 'bout that mate. Shouldnae have grabbed ya without askin'. You alright?"

He looks Ghost over with concern, anger fading to guilt for triggering such an extreme reaction. Gaz jogs back over, looking between them warily.

"Everything okay over here?"

Soap shrugs, giving him a sheepish look. "Aye, just me being an oblivious idiot as usual. I'm fine."

He turns his attention back to Ghost, genuinely apologetic. "Really am sorry though, won't happen again. Let's just get some brekkie, yeah?"

He keeps his voice calm and friendly, hoping Ghost will relax again. Soap makes a mental note to ask Price more about Ghost's apparent aversion to touch later. For now he just wants to smooth things over and get back to trying to befriend the mysterious man, this time more carefully.

Soap watches Ghost shake his head and hurry off with a frown, guilt still heavy in his chest. He really bollocksed that up. Letting out a sigh, he turns to Gaz who looks just as confused.

"C'mon, let's get that breakfast..."

They head inside, Soap lost in thought as he picks at his food. His enthusiasm from earlier has faded, mind preoccupied with Ghost's reaction. He really needs to talk to Price and get some proper background on his new teammate, especially if they're meant to work closely together. He glances around but doesn't see the Captain or Ghost at any of the tables. After eating what he can stomach, Soap seeks out Price's office. Knocking on the closed door, he straightens up when he hears a gruff "Enter."

"Sir, do you have a minute? I was hoping to talk to you about Ghost."

Price raises an eyebrow but gestures for Soap to take a seat. Soap quickly explains what happened that morning, minus a few details to spare Ghost some dignity. When he's done, Price sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I told you to be careful with touching. Ghost has...a difficult history that makes physical contact a challenge for him." Price's tone holds a note of warning. "You'll need to be patient and go slow earning his trust."

Soap nods seriously, resolve strengthening. "I understand, sir. It won't happen again. But I'd still like to try befriending him, if he'll let me. We all need people we can trust and rely on out here and I think Ghost could use that."

Price studies him a long moment before nodding. "Very well. Just...tread carefully. Dismissed, Sergeant."

Soap stands, saluting before leaving the office, mind swirling with this new information. He'll do better from now on, try to take things slow and be more considerate of Ghost's boundaries. With time and effort, Soap hopes the man will eventually feel comfortable around him. Only one way to find out.

. . . .

Soap had deigned to give Ghost some space the rest of yesterday. Today, he sits on his cot and draws absently in his journal, sketching random objects around his small quarters. He adds some comic-like dialogue bubbles coming from the potted plant in the corner, amusing himself. A glance at his watch shows it's nearing mid-day already. With a sigh, he closes the journal and sets down his pencil. His talk with Price yesterday weighs on his mind, making him antsy. He wants to try approaching Ghost again, see if the stoic man has calmed down any. But he also doesn't want to push too fast and ruin any chance at gaining Ghost's trust. Groaning in frustration, Soap runs a hand through his mohawk and stands. A bit of target practice might help him burn off some restless energy.

Making his way to the range, Soap grabs his preferred rifle and a box of ammo. Stepping inside, he blinks in surprise to see one lane already occupied. The broad back and familiar mask give Ghost away even from a distance. Soap hesitates, debating if he should leave Ghost be or not. Curiosity wins out and he moves to take the lane a respectable distance from Ghost's. He glances over as he loads his first clip, taking in the way Ghost efficiently handles his rifle. The man clearly knows his way around firearms, his tight groupings speaking to skill and experience. Soap can't help but admire his precision, staring probably a bit too long...

Soap eventually manages to turn his focus to the target in front of him, aiming even as his thoughts wander to the man a few feet away. 'What is Ghost is thinking about as he methodically empties clip after clip?' Soap sneaks another glance at his stoic teammate. The mask makes reading Ghost's expressions impossible, but his body language seems calm and focused. Soap hopes he's not still dwelling on yesterday's incident.

Shaking his head, Soap takes a deep breath and focuses on his target, relaxing into the familiar rhythm of aiming, breathing, and firing. They continue on in silence for a while, only the muffled shots ringing out occasionally. Soap only realized half-way through that Ghost had stopped shooting. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he speaks up just loud enough to be heard over his shots.

"Some fine shootin' you've got there. Reckon you could hit a bug's arse at 500 yards with skills like that."

He keeps his tone light, trying to break the ice a bit. Gaz was right about Ghost being a tough nut to crack, but Soap can be patient when needed. And his curiosity about the masked man only grows with each new interaction.

Soap pauses, lowering his rifle as he hears footsteps approaching, he looks at Ghost with surprise and curiosity as the man approaches him, stopping at a distance, The firing range remained silent as the two stared at each other. Soap didn't really find it awkward, per se, just a bit suffocating. He's never been the best with silence, but he decided to at least try to be patient. Especially since Soap could see Ghost's jaw working under the balaclava, as if he wanted to say something but was fighting with himself. So he let his smile soften and watched the man work his thoughts out.

Thank god it seemed to work because Ghost finally spoke after five painful minutes, yes Soap counted, it was the only thing he could do to keep his attention without turning away from the man in front of him.

"Your shoulder…" Soap raised a questioning eyebrow, waiting for the man to continue. "When you shoot, you raise your shoulder a bit…"

Soap blinks, not having expected advice on his shooting form. He glances at his target thoughtfully, replaying his last round in his mind. Ghost's observation makes sense, he can picture the way his shoulder tensed upward slightly. Looking back at the larger man, Soap gives him a grateful smile.

"Do I? Never noticed that before... but aye, you're right. Seems a bad habit o' mine, tends to throw my aim off when I'm not focused." He chuckles self-consciously, scratching the back of his neck. "Good catch, I'll have tae work on keeping both shoulders even. Don't wanna be the weak link out in the field if things go tits up."

He pauses, then adds sincerely, "Thanks for the tip. You've got some serious skill with firearms, clearly. Reckon you could show me some pointers sometime? Help me fix my crap form?"

He gives Ghost a hopeful, friendly look. The offer comes from a genuine place - he wants to improve, and it seems Ghost has plenty of knowledge to impart. But it would also give them a chance to spend more time together. Soap is determined to gain Ghost's trust, even if it means moving at a snail's pace. Baby steps are still progress, after all. He waits patiently for Ghost's response, hoping he hasn't overstepped. Ghost merely grunted in response as he hands Soap a new target to replace the shot one before making a gesture for Soap to pick up his rifle and pick up position.

Soap's face lights up at Ghost's silent acceptance, quickly moving to grab his rifle and take position. He glances over his shoulder, looking to Ghost for guidance.

"Alright, I'm all ears. How's my form lookin' from over there?"

He tries to relax his shoulders and settle into a proper shooting stance, keeping his movements fluid as he lines up his next shot. Having Ghost observe and critique him makes him a bit self-conscious, wanting to prove he can take instruction well. But it also gives him a little flutter of excitement at getting one-on-one guidance from the expert marksman. He focuses intently through the scope, waiting to fire until Ghost gives him some feedback.

"Fix the butt of the rifle closer to the crook of your neck, you're putting all the pressure on your armpit and it's not meant to take the recoil, doesn't take it well either." 

Soap complied without complaint, adjusting his hold on the rifle, grimacing as he realizes Ghost is right about the poor positioning. He settles the butt snugly into the pocket of his shoulder, marveling at how much more balanced it feels already.

"Aye, that's better. No more jabbin' my poor armpit," he chuckles. "Shoulders feel more even too I think."

He glances at Ghost again for confirmation, fingers resting lightly near the trigger guard as he waits. Having an expert eye critique him is proving incredibly helpful, making him eager to keep learning. He knows he has raw talent, but there's always room for improvement. And who better to learn from than the mysterious and talented Ghost?

"What else am I bollixing up here?"

Ghost grunted again and instructed what needed to be changed, having Soap take a few experimental shots and giving verbal correction each time Soap made a wrong movement or positioned himself wrong, by the end, Soap's shots were more closely clustered in the center of the target.

"Take it you're more close quarters." It was a statement more than a question.

Soap grins as he examines the much tighter groupings on his target, pride swelling in his chest. He did always pick things up quick when someone competent was teaching him. Turning to Ghost with a big smile, he nods.

"Aye, you've got me pegged. I prefer gettin' up close and personal in a scrap. Nothin' quite like the thrill o' hand-to-hand."

He mimes a few fake jabs and swipes with his fists, clearly at ease with the idea of fisticuffs. Growing up scrappy on the Glasgow streets gave him an appreciation for the raw, visceral nature of physical fights.

"Reckon that's why my aim goes all to shite at a distance," he chuckles. "Too impatient, wantin' to see the damage upfront. But havin' long range skills is important too. So thanks again for the help, I really appreciate you takin' the time."

He gives Ghost a considering look. "Sometime we'll have to spar though, hand-to-hand I mean. Pretty sure I can take ya, big guy," he says teasingly, flexing one arm in exaggerated macho fashion.

"Careful. As much as I'm not 'big on touching', you aren't the only one good at CQC." Ghost slightly mused.

Soap laughs loudly at Ghost's response, delighted to get something bordering on trash talk from the usually stoic man.

"Oho, them's fightin' words! Don't think I'll go easy on ya just 'cause yer a hardass with a cool mask."

He grins and playfully shadow boxes the air. Truthfully he's thrilled - bantering and sparring seem like the perfect ways to bond with someone, in his experience.

"Name the time and place, mate, and I'll put ya on yer arse. We'll see how good that CQC of yours is."

His eyes gleam with mischief and competitiveness. Getting to spar with Ghost will satisfy his curiosity about the man's combat skills, and maybe teach him some new techniques too. Not to mention it will just be fun - Soap loves testing himself against skilled opponents. He bounces excitedly on his toes as he waits to see how Ghost will respond to his challenge. His expression eventually turned into a more genuine and thankful expression.

"Naw, fight's can wait for the moment, I owe ye a drink though! Yer an absolute saint! A've been tryin' tae solve why ah have nae been able tae make every shot."

Soap bounces excitedly on his toes, clearing the distance between them before he realized, his arms wrapping around firm muscle. The excitement was quickly replaced by pain as a fist connected with his abdomen, causing him to remove himself from Ghost's space and hold his abdomen, groaning, it took a moment for Soap to gather himself after that..

"S-Shite, I didnae… mean tae… Christ... ye hit harder... than last time…" He wheezed, "A-Are ye alrigh'?"

He stared at Ghost apprehensively, his shoulders were stiff but that was the only thing that told Soap that the other was bothered. He tried to search his eyes but they had the same blank stare. It frustrated him, being unable to completely understand how Ghost was feeling. He wanted to reach out and comfort him but also didn't want to make the situation worse. 

What was one supposed to do when dealing with someone who was adverse to touch but also possibly internally panicking and or having a mental breakdown? Soap didn't know what was going on with Ghost, but his instincts told him to comfort the man. The only problem is, his only known method of comforting someone is physical touch. Which for obvious reasons, probably wouldn't work.

"Ghost? Are ye alrigh'?" He repeated the question, concerned as he took a slight step forward, ears straining to try and hear maybe panicked breathing, or something. At least a hint to Ghost's current state, but there was nothing... Okay, alright. Not a big deal, he could be a quiet breather…Soap's head spun as he distinctly observed not a single rise or fall of his chest. "Are—Are ye breathin' at least?" He decided to risk it and ask, better than not saying anything and watching Ghost pass out from lack of oxygen.

His answer came in the form of the slow rise of Ghost's chest, Soap was a bit shocked the man wasn't gasping for air after holding his breath that long. He watched Ghost's body come back to life as the man himself finally spoke.

"Yeah… No, yeah. I'm alright." He very unconvincingly muttered as he grabbed his gun and practically ran out of the firing range. 

"Shite…" 

Soap relaxed his posture as he rubbed a hand through the scruff of his facial hair, grimacing, he weighed the pros and cons of going after Ghost. 'Price is going to be pissed….' He groaned as he ran a hand through his hair and grabbed his gun, making his way back to his room. He only stayed long enough to drop off his gun before searching for Price. His search led him to the mess, where he realized lunch was ready. Decidedly pushing away the thought of eating, he hesitantly walked over to Price and Gaz. The Captain noticed him first since he was facing him, Soap realized his expression must've been a concerning sight because Price's face turned serious as he approached.

"What's wrong, son?"

Soap couldn't make himself look at his Captain, instead choosing to stare at the table as he prepared himself for the conversation. Taking a deep breath, he spoke before his mind could change. "Yannae how ye told me to take it slow and not to touch Ghost… again...?" He cringed as he finished speaking. The silence was deafening, but it lasted barely a moment before Price was grabbing him by the shoulders.

"What happened!? Where's Ghost!?" Soap's eyes widened at the frighteningly worried expression on Price's face.

"I— He— His room, I think." He stammered out, as soon as the words left his mouth Price was running off like someone just told him his child got hurt. Soap shared a shocked expression with Gaz before they both followed after their Captain. Catching up, they watched Price bang on Ghost's door.

"Ghost, open the door. C'mon son, it's alright. Just turn the lock, it's just me." Soap watched the worried creases deepen on Price's face as the seconds passed "Ghost, you're alright. Everything's alright, you're at the base. I need you to unlock your door, son."

Soap was also growing increasingly worried by Price's behavior, was it really that serious? Did he fuck up badly? What was Ghost doing in his room? Would he hurt himself? It certainly seemed like it from how his Captain was reacting, in all of the time he's known and spent with Price. The man has never once shown this much worry, sure Soap got a lot of worry from the man, but never this much... Did Soap accidentally trigger Ghost? Is that why Price told them not to touch him? It would make sense.

Something happened to Ghost and now touch triggers some kind of trauma response, Soap just hoped it wasn't a harmful one. He worried his bottom lip as he watched the desperation in Price's face and actions, even his words were laced with it now. So thick it was almost suffocating. Soap's eyes turned to stare at the blank door, mind swirling with unpleasant thoughts as his chest clenched unpleasantly. 

He just hopes Ghost is safe…

. . . .

… Stained skin… 

. . . .

… Collared… 

Ghost's chest seized up as he curled further into himself, hands gripping the sides of his head as he rocked back and forth. That damned speaker replaying the same recording for the hundredth time.

"Your name is Ghost, You're loyal to Manuel Roba, you've been bad so you're being punished. Bad dogs get punished, good dogs get treats. You want to be a good dog." 

Click

"Your name is Ghost, You're loyal to Manuel Roba, you've been bad so you're being punished. Bad dogs get punished, good dogs get treats. You want to be a good dog." 

His blunt nails dug into his scalp, eyes squeezed shut hard enough to build up a headache. Ghost knew that by now, he didn't even need the speaker to repeat, the words constantly raced through his head like a destructive train. Breaking up the pieces of Simon Riley and trying to piece together some twisted amalgamation. Ghost flinched as the metal door slid open, he didn't bother opening his eyes, knowing perfectly well who it was. Footsteps echoed in his ringing ears, stopping somewhere in front of him. 

'Go away, go away, go away!' Ghost desperately tried to will the words into existence. 

The chain of his damned collar tugged bruisingly at his neck, forcing him up less he wanted to be choked. His eyes slowly peaked opened to the bright and bleary room, hands moving down to grip the chain. Roba clicked his tongue a few times, hand running up the chain to Ghost's hands. He tugged harshly, receiving a wince in return as he held the defiant gaze. 

"Ghost, I am beginning to grow sick of your defiance. I may be a merciful owner, but I am not a patient one. And you have been testing—" he emphasized the word with another tug of Ghost's chain. The smell of garlic wafted from the other's mouth, causing Ghost to grimace. "—my patients. Your friends have been so compliant, don't you want to join them, hm? They get wonderful treats, don't you want some treats Ghost? Treats are much better than punishments." 

Ghost felt sick to his stomach listening to him, he felt even sicker when a part of him tugged against his logical thoughts and told him to comply. The twisted, drilled-in virus that Roba spent so long forming in Ghost's subconscious, it was a sickening and weak part that wanted all this to end, to finally give in. 

"Ghostie, look at me, boy." 

It sounded like a request but with the unrelenting hold Roba had on his chain, he couldn't look away even if he had the strength to try. So he focused a venomous glare on him. It certainly worked to piss the man off, the rough palm connected with his cheek, his head turning with the blow as he kept a hard and defiant expression. 

"Now now, enough of that. Hurry up and comply, your friends have become boring." 

Ghost's brows knitted in confusion at the words, which only received a devilish smirk from Roba. He didn't respond to the unasked question, instead, he tugged on the chain again. Forcing Ghost's face forward as Roba straightened and met the movement with his hips. 

Ghost was mortified, his hands rushing out to push against the other's legs, unsuccessful as his face unwillingly met Roba's crotch. Disgust and a sudden rush of adrenaline let him push himself back, Roba let him go. Ghost's hands pulled on the chain as he sneered at the psychopath in front of him. Roba only laughed, face turning dark as he forced Ghost forward again. His face inches from his. 

"Too bad I can't risk you biting, might have to build a muzzle." He hummed thoughtfully as if he was simply discussing buying groceries. 

"Go…fuck yerself…" Ghost's words grated against his painfully dry and sore throat, his accent was heavy. 

Roba clicked his tongue "Nu-uh, only good boys get nice words~" 

Ghost shivered against his will at the velvety tone his captor used, he regretted it vehemently more so because it only seemed to encourage the other. Roba's eyes lit up as he smirked, "Ah, do you like this tone better?~ Perhaps that's why you're more defiant, I suppose it's my fault I didn't try to switch it up~ Animals do react differently to tonal changes~" 

Contrary to what Roba seemed to believe, the tone accompanied by his words only served to disturb Ghost even more, if simply on account of that fucking virus singing opera in response to it. He wanted to crawl into a dark corner and rip apart his body until he clawed away at the poison. 

Your name is Ghost, You're loyal to Manuel Roba, you've been bad so you're being punished. Bad dogs get punished, good dogs get treats. You want to be a good dog. 

The stupid voice repeated, it repeated and repeated and repeated. Ghost regretted not just shooting himself at that time, he'd never get that lucky to hold a gun again. Hell, he's debated just gnawing at his wrists until he bleeds out. He doesn't know why he hasn't yet, whatever strand of hope and life still exists in him after all this, must be locked behind a goddamn diamond vault door that not even Ghost has access to. 

"Come on Ghostie, tell master what you want. I can give you anything, as long as you behave~" 

A quiet unbidden whimper tore its way out of his mouth, sending his mind spiraling as he internally screamed at the virus, his split mind fighting for his body viciously. Roba looked entirely too pleased by the reaction, hand carefully grabbing Ghost's chin. 

"Use your words, I'll even allow nice words~" Roba's tongue ran over his lips purposefully slow, seductive, as greedy eyes bore into Ghost. 

He wanted to kill him, he wanted to watch him slowly bleed out then fucking feed him his own dick since he seemed to like it so much. He wanted to watch the horror on his face as Ghost sliced him up slowly and tortured him just the same. He wants to beg. The thought made him turn green, stomach acid taunting his tongue as he registered a thumb on his lips. Ghost watched with knitted brows as it ran back and forth before pulling down at his bottom lip. 

"You've also got the best canines~" Roba seemed to have been rambling if the words he did catch were any suggestion. The thumb pushed against his teeth, seeming to try and gain entry. Ghost was really tempted to do it, if only to bite his finger off, but the dangerous glint in Roba's eyes said that wouldn't be a good idea. "A dirty tongue~" His thumb withdrew before his hand shot out to grip Ghost's hair. 

Choking down the disgusting whine that nearly bubbled all the way up through his throat as Roba pulled his head back. His other hand moved out of his vision, a smirk crossed Roba's face when his thumb ran down Ghost's trachea. Bumping on his adam's apple as it bobbed, the touch made his skin crawl but that damned virus was practically sobbing out of joy inside him, he wanted to sob for exactly the opposite reason. For the fact that he didn't even know how much time had passed outside, how many hours were spent in torture at the hand of this fucking psychopath. 

He should've taken the chance to bite off Roba's finger, maybe he would've got lucky and struck a twofer. He'd certainly take pleasure in watching the fucker struggle to hold anything. Ghost didn't give him anything but a glare throughout the strange touches, despite this, Roba seemed satisfied when he let go of Ghost and stood up to leave. 

"It's only a matter of time Ghost, It's only a matter of time…" He grinned as the door closed and locked behind him, Ghost laid on the cold concrete floor, nearly sobbing when the speakers turned on again and the familiar recording replayed. His never ending torment and psychosis.

"Your name is Ghost, You're loyal to Manuel Roba, you've been bad so you're being punished. Bad dogs get punished, good dogs get treats. You want to be a good dog. A good dog." 

. . . . 

Ghost rocked back and forth, hands clenching the fabric of his mask as he mindlessly mumbled the words repeatedly.

"Your name is Ghost, You're loyal, you've been bad so you're being punished. Bad dogs get punished, good dogs get treats. You want to be a good dog." 

The muttered words didn't register with his faraway mind, two worlds apart yet uncomfortably connected. His ears rang, and he could swear he heard banging, maybe it was Roba. He was pulling tricks again, having a subordinate bang on the door claiming to be part of a task force sent to rescue him. It was an old trick, one that didn't even work the first time, his hope for a savior had been crushed after the seventh time he was strapped to that table…. So why was he still banging? Ghost couldn't understand it, the banging sounded different. Not the familiar metal, but wood. Had they moved? When? Why?

"You're loyal, you've been bad so you're being punished. Bad dogs get punished, good dogs get treats. You want to be a good dog."

"Ghost! It's alright, it's Price. You're safe. I need you to open the door for me."

That wasn't right, Price wasn't here, he couldn't be. Was this another trick? Would he open the door to find Roba holding a gun to Price's head? Would he watch as blood sprayed and bodies dropped while Roba dragged him back?

"Bad dogs get punished, good dogs get treats. You want to be a good dog..."

"Son, You're safe. You're at base, I just need you to unlock your door." 

The voice was worried, why would Price be worried? Maybe there was a gun… Maybe Roba will get impatient and just shoot him before barging in.

"You want to be a good dog..."

"Ghost, please." There was a moment of hesitation before he continued, voice sounding closer to the door. "Roba's dead, you're safe. I promise, I need you to open your door so you don't hurt yourself. Please."

Ghost's muttered mantra stopped then, body freezing mid rock as the ruins of his mind tried to process the unbelievable information. Dead? Roba? That…possible? Was…was he really? Price wouldn't lie to him, even if he had a gun to his head. Would he?

"Ghost, please. Just listen to my voice. I need you to turn the lock."

Lock? Could he? But Roba would get mad, but Roba was dead, Price said he was…. Was he actually? Was Roba messing with him again? 

"Son, it's alright. Just open the door for me."

Ghost slowly lifted his head, visions of bloodied concrete floors conflicted with sleek brown wood. His hands shook as he slowly pulled them away from his head, it hurt trying to process everything. So he didn't, he crawled on wobbly hands and knees to the door. 'It's alright, it's Price. Price is here, always, always is. Always here, he wouldn't leave. Never, never. Roba wouldn't get him, couldn't, Price said. Dead, he's dead.'

Simon hesitantly reached for the lock, taking a shaky breath before slowly turning it and moving aside as his back pressed into the wall once more, knees coming up to his chest as he hid his face in them. Wrapping his arms around his knees and head as his left hand gripped his pant leg and the other gripped the back of his balaclava. Simon listened to the hushed whisper of Price's voice behind the door before it slowly opened, quiet and unsure footsteps entered as the door shut and locked. Price crouched down beside him, his presence alone was already calming.

"Is it alright to touch?" His voice was soft, patient and worried as Simon shook his head a moment before he nodded. Frustration built as his desperation craved comfort but abhorred the thought of being touched. "Okay…. How about we take our time with it? Just a hand?" Simon shook his head, he didn't want a simple pat on the shoulder.

He couldn't breathe, his lungs and chest painfully constricting with his internal conflict. "Son, take a breath. You're alright, can—can you remove your mask? It'll help you breathe."

Simon quietly gasped against the fabric, he knew he should remove it. But it was the only thing preventing him from entirely breaking down, so he shakily rolled the bottom up over his nose instead. 

"Good, good. You're doing good, now take a deep breath for me. Okay? Follow my breathing."

Simon's ears strained against the ringing as he tried to take a shaky breath, only to be cut off by another quiet gasp. He tried not to panic, panicking wouldn't help. He could take a breath, it was simple, if only his lungs didn't constrict so tightly.

"Simon, it's alright. Try again, start with a small breath and work up, okay? In and out." Price repeated a few breaths.

Simon followed along.

Breathe… 1…2.

Exhale…

Breathe… 1…2.

Exhale…

Breathe… 1…2.

He counted the seconds as he slowly inhaled and exhaled repeatedly. Keeping a calming pace as his lungs loosened, his heartbeat began settling to a semi-normal rate.

"Good, good." Price's relief and smile could be heard in his voice.

Simon's sudden want for comfort shot to the top of his priority list as he unfurled his body, hesitating a moment, Price noticed, reaching for a blanket from the nearby bed, covering himself with it, Ghost practically collapsed onto Price after that. Burying his face into the other man's shoulder as he broke down, silent tears spilling from his eyes and onto Price's shirt. Despite the unpleasant shivers the contact brought, regardless of the barrier of the blanket and clothes, he didn't pull away when the other wrapped the blanket and his arms comfortingly around him. Simon found comfort in Price, maybe because he reminds him a little of his mother. The comparison made him feel a bit melancholy, but it was also a great comfort. Perhaps that is why his touch doesn't feel as bad….

As long as Price was near him, it didn't matter whether he was in that damned basement or not. Simon felt… safe… free….

. . . .

… Broken Chains…