Chapter Text
“Shit.” Simon tucked his head under his pillow, groaning at the absence of his mask. His head ached, a pounding sensation from deep within his skull. He peeked out from his cover, noting that the imprint of the woman he’d been with the night before was still there in the bedding – as he’d told her to fuck off once things had slowed. Gradually, the Lieutenant recalled what’d happened. He’d gone out for drinks, managed to pull some random chick and decided he needed more. Simon wasn’t an outgoing bloke, wasn’t interested in relationships or even socializing. But a man had needs, which became more urgent the lower his mood slipped. It never helped, however. Never made him feel any better. In fact, he was acutely aware of how awful he felt.
“You plannin’ on comin’ in t’day?” Soap’s voice could be heard from the doorway, his face contorting at the smell he’s met with.
“I ever miss a day?” Simon shot back with a grunt.
“Don’t think I can allow you near people’s orders – guilt-free, if I’m bein’ honest. Not in this state.”
“Fuck off, mate, I’m in tip-top shape. Just you wait.”
“Believe it when I see it,” the Scot turned to resume his morning routine, pausing half-way down the hall. “Open a bloody window, it stinks in there!”
“Wanker…” Simon growled under his pillow.
“What?” Soap shouted back, challenging.
“I called you a wanker!” At least he was honest.
Soap didn’t respond, encouraging Simon to get a move on. The Scot knew better than to feed the aggressive side of Simon Riley. He was prone to these episodes of meltdown, though they weren’t dramatic or carried out in search of help – it was just Simon and his self-destructive nature. Once he got the mask on he’d be alright. Too much time to think, that was all. Soon he’d be back in the field with his team. That, and admittedly it’d been getting more difficult to spend time around Soap and Price. Now they were a couple, which Simon was in full support of, it meant he was regularly reminded of how lonely and unhealthy his way of life was. Soap was merely a distraction from it, another façade – just like his mask, to convince himself he had some small semblance of composure in his life.
“Riley, let’s go!” Soap called out from his room.
This prompted the Lieutenant to finally rise from his half-slumber. Painkillers, he thought to himself. A hunt was launched for the tablets, which were located in the cabinet above the kitchen sink. He gulped them down, lowering his mouth to the tap in favour of desperately savouring the glorious taste of water. He rested there for a couple of minutes, eyes threatening to lull him into sleep once more until he heard the tap begin to run, followed by Soap slathering a handful of cold water across Simon’s face. He spluttered at first, stumbling back away from his attacker. Blinking through the cold, Simon scowled. “What the fuck, MacTavish?”
The look on his friend’s face was far from amused, however. “You either pull yourself t’gether, mate, or you tell me what’s up with you.”
“Nothing’s up,” Simon argued.
“Then what’s all this about? Bein’ late for work, the random folks you keep bringin’ home, gettin’ pissed where you can.”
“Nothing. Just enjoying myself,” Simon retorted bitterly. “You ‘n’ Price get to.”
“I’m just worried about you, mate,” Soap tried to explain. “You’re not talking t’ me. If something’s wrong I can listen. I can –”
“You can’t do shit, mate,” Simon stated. “Genuinely. This is just how it is.”
“Are you – having those dreams again?”
“Soap,” he warned.
“I want t’ be there for you, Simon. That’s it. You can trust me.”
“Not interested in havin’ this conversation.” A hand was raised to wipe away the remaining droplets on his face, then, he turned and made his way towards the shower.
“Whether you do or don’t, I give a shit about what happens t’ you.”
“Great. Cheers, Soap. I’ll bear that in mind.” The shower door was shut behind him and he sucked in a deep breath. “Sober up, Sunshine. There’s shit t’ do.”
The morning started off slow, a few drifters coming into The Barracks here and there for an early coffee or tea. A couple of tourists exploring Hereford ate their breakfast at the tables, having stayed the night upstairs. By lunch time, things had started to pick up a little more – though it seemed to merely be a quiet day. They happened, from time to time. Ghost didn’t mind, he kept himself mostly hidden behind the bar, staving off his hangover with meds and water where he could. He knew Soap had mentioned their little argument to Price already, seeing as the bloke came in as soon as he could.
“I’ll ‘ave a tea, mate,” Price requested.
“Bit early for a break,” Ghost observed as he began heating the water.
“Forgot to ‘ave one at home,” the Sergeant shrugged. “Got t’ start the morning right, eh?”
Ghost eyed Price for a few moments and then leaned closer, resting his crossed arms on the bar in front of him. “I know Soap asked you t’ come here.”
“He didn’t,” Price said honestly. “He mentioned it, but I’m here of my own free will.”
“Why?”
“Because I like it here,” Price attempted to humour him, but when it was clear Ghost was serious he shrugged. “You keepin’ yourself t’gether, lad?”
“Just fine,” Ghost hummed, shifting his gaze as he poured the hot water into a mug, chucking a tea bag in along with it.
“And you’ll let one of us know if you’re not?”
“Sure.”
There was a silence between them, a mutual understanding that this is all a lie but that there was nothing Price nor Soap could do about it. Sighing, Price carefully placed a palm on Ghost’s shoulder. “Word of advice, Simon. Don’t push away the ones that care about you.”
“Not pushing him away,” Ghost disagreed. “He’s…” Hands rose, as if to stress an unspoken point, though he was swift to decide against it – exhaling a heavy sigh instead. “Never mind. Fine, Price. I hear what you’re saying. Don’t expect me t’ thank you.”
Price arched a brow, giving him a firm nudge. He sat back on his stool, nodding. A warm smile was given. “When you headed back?”
“When the next mission comes in. Whenever they call for me.”
“Like a dog to a whistle,” Price smirked.
Ghost’s eyes scanned the other’s officer outfit. “One to talk, Price.”
The Sergeant chuckled. “I suppose I am.” Throughout their conversation, he’d been sipping at his tea until one mouthful was left. He chose to discard it, pushing the mug forwards for collection. He reached to retrieve his wallet, to which Ghost shook his head.
“You’re alright, mate. ‘s on the house.”
Price raised his brows. “No, come on, it’s only a couple of quid –”
“Buy yourself a fortune cookie or some shit,” Ghost joked. “‘s fine, mate.”
Price sighed. “Nice one. Cheers, lad. S’pose I’m off. Do me a favour and be good t’ Soap, yeah? He only wants the best f’ you. But most importantly,” Price met his gaze, stern, “be good to yourself.”
“Have a good day, Price,” Ghost gave a firm nod, taking the mug in hand. He turned away from the Sergeant and placed it in the sink for collection. Ghost paused, gloved hands grasping at the surface’s edge. He felt ill, exhausted. He needed to do something other than… just serving up drinks. In his peripheral, Soap appeared – conveniently. “You just missed your boyfriend.”
The Scot glanced at him. “Price stopped by?”
“Yeh, had a few choice words f’ me. You have anything t’ do with that?”
“I didn’t tell him to come here, if that’s what you’re implying.”
It was something he already knew, but he couldn’t help bringing it up again. “I’m gonna take my lunch break shortly,” Ghost informed. A brisk decision, but one he chose to stick with, nevertheless.
Soap eyed him quizzically – as though there was meant to be a coded message somewhere in that statement. “Alright…”
It was horrible, the tension between them and truthfully quite unnecessary. But Ghost could only find it in himself to push rather than pull right now.
“I need to talk t’ you about somethin’ when you get back,” Soap added, as Ghost began preparing for his lunch.
“Soap…” Ghost grunted.
“Not about this,” Soap reassured. “The Barracks are hiring. Summer’s coming up and they’re expecting it t’ be packed soon.”
“What d’ you mean they’re hiring?”
“Well… have hired. Somebody’s comin’ in for training t’morrow – I’ll need you t’ help out.”
“Fucking – tomorrow?” Ghost asked, agitated by the late information.
“Aye. I know it’s very soon, but you’ve only gotta show ‘em what t’ do. How things work, etcetera, etcetera. No biggie. Besides, I think it could be good for you t’ have somethin’ to focus on.”
“What’s that supposed t’ mean?”
“You know,” Soap raised his brows. To help the other get back on track, maybe. “Nothing you can’t handle, anyway. I’ll brief you more back at the apartment.”
“Bollocks,” Ghost growled. “Like I need someone else t’ trip over.” Ignoring the hurt on Soap’s face, Ghost made his way towards the exit. His gaze settled on Soap’s bike, which he’d come to work on the back of because Soap refused to let him drive with a hangover – understandable, but annoying. That meant he’d have to walk around for an hour. Therefore, he ended up finding a bench near the inn and seated himself on it.
His mask was pulled up and over his nose, a box tugged from his pocket and a cigarette drawn from it. He placed it between his lips as he reached for his lighter. It sizzled as he lit it, taking a deep puff. “Fucking newbie,” he seethed. He didn’t want somebody new joining them. Things were difficult enough with Soap currently. He hadn’t even fully let either the Scot or Price in on his past. They knew bits and pieces, random chunks he felt he could talk about. They knew his family was dead – but the details were vastly spared. Knew he'd been taken hostage, tortured and brainwashed – again, with the details vastly spared. Knew vaguely about his various exposures to abuse… But nobody except Simon himself would know the entire truth.
Whether the newbie would understand that or not didn’t matter to him, however, it always went smoother when people left him alone to get on. Ghost didn’t utter a word for the next hour, two cigarettes were dragged to their end – their remains scattered beneath his right boot. His watch read that his break was over. Already? He thought. Needless to say, the rest of the day would be rough.
“Why’a they bringin’ in the help now? Not like numbers are gonna fucking skyrocket,” Simon asked, form tense. They were back at their apartment.
“S’pose they wanna be prepared. I didn’t ask – not my choice and it’s not yours either,” Soap replied firmly, flicking through the channels on the tv.
“We haven’t had new staff for ages, we’ve been just fine.”
“Well maybe they wanna change that.”
“Bullshit is what it is,” Simon stated bluntly.
“SAS do the same, do they not? Bringin’ in new people.”
“Yeh but those blokes know better than t’ stick their nose in your business.”
“How d’ you know this guy’s not gonna be like that? He might respect your privacy,” Soap reasoned.
“No civvie respects my privacy, Soap. They’re fucking civvies, they don’t get it.”
“No doubt you’ll put him in his place if he asks.”
“Fuckin’ right. What reason would I ‘ave t’ feel bad about that?”
“Just don’t put ‘im off his first day, mate. You need this job to keep busy, remember? I won’t be fighting for you if you’re gonna make him bloody cry.”
“Won’t be my fault if ‘e can’t handle me.” Simon paused, glaring at the floorboards beneath his feet. “You met 'im yet?”
“No.”
“Know anything about 'im?”
“He’s a bloke and his name’s Gary.”
Simon scoffed. “Gary. Fucking ridiculous. Gary what?”
“Sanderson.”