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Stress, stress, stress.
That was all that was possible for Ghost to think of, the Simon Riley consumed whole by some silly recruits, silly missions, silly thoughts. He'd let it get to a point that if just one more person asked him a question, he'd snap. It was a wonder that he hadn't snapped already, considering how he had handled stress in the past.
Though he wouldn't go back to that, he was healing. Ghost was always one to fulfil his promises, and so he made his way, head down in shame, to Price's office.
Price's office was always a safe space for his boys, though the true safe place was him himself. He wouldn't admit it, for his own sanity, but he cared for his boys deeply. It ate him whole, any minute they could die, just like the snap of a finger. That's why he never outwardly admit it.
He understood his boys more than anyone else could, and with the relationships his boys had with their parents, he found it entertaining that he had almost taken them in as his children; the ranking system not helping anything.
Price always offered himself up for anyone in need, even letting one of his boys into his bed when their minds were so consumed with terror. So when Ghost came stumbling into his office, he didn't bat an eye, knowing how ghost doesn't like the attention on him.
But today, that was what Ghost needed, the Simon Riley needed attention, love, to be cared for through and through. He needed Price's praise, to be told he was doing good, that he was alive, that the stress wasn't rotting him from the inside out.
As soon as Price's door shut, Ghost burst into tears, slumping down against the wall and his arms coming to cover his face from the shame he may be receiving. He had snapped, though not in the way he thought; crying made him feel utterly useless. Who was he if he couldn't control his body?
All he wanted was to be Price's boy, good, to be good for once. He'd let the words and tones of others crowd him for too long and needed his release. The older man knew he didn't like to openly regress or say what he needed, so he took a seat on the floor next to Ghost and waited for that familiar pressure of the other crawling into his lap.
Disappointment, he wasn't worthy of Price's love and attention, though he did envelop the others hand in his own; fingers intertwining and holding on tightly, almost causing bruises to form just below Price's knuckles. His hands were calloused, rough, and something about them could just let Ghost close his eyes and imagine it was some dad he never had. The more he thought of it, the more that blank face turned into Price's own, the crows feet by his eyes turning more prominent as he smiled.
Price had let them sit in silence, apart from Ghost's sobs, for as long as the other could sit still. It would take a while to learn of Ghost's needs, though he always tried his absolute best with his boys; such a strong, resilient man broken down into a lost dog wasn't something you saw every day. Price wouldn't be able to say his heart was in one piece, because seeing especially Simon like this tore him apart, shredded him bit by bit.
It was as if Simon was full of surprises today, the hand that wasn't clutched desperately in Price's had come up to tug his mask off, now stained with tears and snot from just how harsh his emotions had shown. Price could even see part of himself in Simon.
Strawberry blonde hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and a soft finger came up to swipe it off, dabbing the sweat with a handkerchief Price had kept in his pocket. Ghost was never one for eye contact, but the endearing gesture had him searching for approval deep in Price's eyes, eyebrows raised at a slight.
"There's my boy, Simon, so good."
Those words were like a wrecking ball to a dam, tears sliding down Simon's face, burning as if they were razors. He was too scared, too scared of Price disappearing, and maybe for the first time in his life he was in the older man's lap. Whispers and soft wails of "Please don't leave," shakily leaving his lips.
"I won't leave, I'm not leaving my boy," Price whispered back, cradling Ghost's face into the crook of his neck, his beard scratching Simon's ear; he didn't mind it at all, it reminded him that he was alive, and wasn't alone.
Simon had almost slipped up and mumbled out, "Daddy," in a plea to get Price to stay, though he didn't, at least not verbally. The other could tell, could just tell. Being with his boys for so long had only greatened his paternal instincts, which was an explanation to why Ghost wasn't the only one sobbing in Price's office at this given time.
He felt shattered, hopeless almost, seeing one of his men at such a breaking point. Simon was in no way a weak man, or even any weaker than before. He was simply human; simply just a human clinging onto another, knuckles turning white as he gripped for dear life onto Price's collar.
They ended the night with Ghost fluctuating from being seated in Price's lap and huddled to his side. Price had been the rainforest, the witness, and Ghost had been the raging fire surging through each vein in every leaf, quick to sizzle out to the cooling and grounding drops of water, pinching the flames shut.
Never was a word verbally spoken about that night, but there was a shared approach flickering between the two. Who knew Simon could fold and ask for help so easily after just one incident.
Who knew Price could care so much about a single soul.
Maybe his days longing for a child were over.