Work Text:
May, 2017
Ever since General Shepherd had dropped a soldier with a heavily redacted file on his head, John Price has been trying to figure Simon Riley out.
He keeps to himself. John’s only seen him in the canteen or in the working out alone in gym outside of normal training, never the rec rooms or leaving base. He knows the man smokes, can smell it on him, but has never seen him lingering around outside like the other men do. He eats his meals alone in his room, never shows his face, never talks to anyone unless absolutely necessary.
Most people are put off by him, and that seems to suit Riley, or Ghost as he prefers, just fine. The few that try and connect with him anyways give up quickly, being met with a glare and short, one word answers until they get the message. They usually join in on the gossip about him, afterwards.
‘Fucking freak, isn’t he.’
‘I heard he killed his whole family.’
‘Probably only a matter of time before he snaps and turns on us.’
He doesn’t seem bothered by the whispers around base, if he knows about them, and John would put down money that he does. Riley’s quiet but he’s observant as hell, John can already tell.
He’s tried talking to him a few times, with little success. Still, he’s usually the one left to deal with their resident specter, given that he’s the only one with much interest in putting effort into dealing with him.
“Riley! Hold up for a second, soldier,” he calls one afternoon, jogging down the hall to catch up with the man.
Riley pauses before turning around. “Yes, sir?” he answers, his tone clipped as usual.
“Got a job for you, need you to come with me. We’re headed off base for a bit.”
“Alright,” Riley answers hesitantly, “Right now?”
“Unless you’re in the middle of something?” John asks, and Riley shakes his head. “Come on then,” he says, risking a pat on the man’s shoulder. Riley looks decidedly uncomfortable at the interaction, but follows him anyway.
He leads Riley through the base and out to the parking lot, climbing into his own truck and gesturing for him to follow. Riley does without more than a curious look, settling into the passenger seat silently. They drive for a time, not-so-easy quiet settling between them.
They eventually pull off the main road at a park boasting a large lake that John parks the truck by. Riley is looking around suspiciously, his gaze turned to John when he speaks.
“Come on, help me with the stuff in the back.”
He reluctantly steps out of the vehicle, following him around to the back. John lets the tailgate down and retrieves a tackle box, along with several fishing poles and a cooler.
“The fuck is all this for?” Riley asks him.
“What’s it look like? We,” he says, holding out a rod to the man, “Are going fishing.”
“You dragged me all the way out ‘ere to go fuckin’ fishing? ” And oh, there’s the temper Shepherd warned him about, along with the accent John hadn’t been able to place. Simon Riley is a bloody northerner . “What the hell?” he demands.
“I’ve not seen you leave base once, aside from deployments. You need a break, Riley.”
His hackles rise even further at that. “You don’t get to decide what I need . And I don’t like being dragged into something I didn’t agree to,” he all but growls, using every bit of his two inches on John to loom at the man.
He sighs. “I’m sorry for not telling you the truth, Riley. I didn’t think you’d agree if I asked you to come.”
“So you knew I wouldn’t want to, and decided to not even give me a choice?” Riley spits back.
He tries not to let his own anger rise to match the man in front of him. “I’m sorry, alright? I wanted to do something nice and I fucked up. Just sit down and have a beer at least, and we’ll go back to base and you can brood in your room like you normally do, alright?”
Riley looks ready to continue the fight before his shoulders sag slightly. “ Fine,” he hissed, grabbing the cooler from the back of the truck and stalking towards the dock.
John follows him after returning his spare rod to the truck bed, his own rod and tackle box in hand. Riley sits with his back to him as he broods, his legs hanging off the dock as he drinks his beer as agreed.
John waits, fishing (with no luck) until he’s moved onto his second drink before breaking the fragile silence between them.
“So you a northerner?” he asks cautiously as he casts. He can see the line of Riley’s shoulders stiffen at the question.
“What of it?” he growls.
“Just curious,” John shrugs, “Been trying to place your accent for a while.” He sees the man’s shoulders relax slightly, and risks another question. “Where at?”
Riley is quiet for several seconds, and John assumes he’s simply going to ignore the question. “Manchester,” he answers, just as John was going to change the subject.
“Oh god ,” John says without thinking, and he’s about to apologize before Riley laughs . It’s a short bark of one, but it’s still a laugh, and the first one he’s ever heard from the man.
“Tell me about it,” he says, “Fuckin’ hate that place.”
“Airport’s a bloody nightmare,” John says with a shake of his head. Riley hums in agreement.
Silence settles between them again, though less tense this time. Riley finishes his second drink and just sits, looking out over the lake quietly, back still to John.
“Just tell me when you want to head back,” John says.
Riley hum noncommittally. “We can stay a bit longer,” he answers after a moment, “Quiet out here.”
“It is a nice change from the base,” John agrees. He can tell Riley’s still annoyed by the set of his shoulders, but he’s trying, for some reason or another. It’s more than he’s seen the man do before this point.
They head back a short while later. John failed to catch anything, but his focus wasn’t on the water today. Riley seems in better spirits by the time they return to base, still taciturn as ever, but decidedly less angry now.
The next time John has a day off to go fish, he invites Riley. A proper invite this time, not a half kidnapping. He doesn’t actually expect the man to agree, but against all odds the two of them end up at the lake together again. Riley still doesn’t grab a rod this time, but he does sit beside John instead of turning his back as he drinks his beer. They exchange a bit of small talk, complain about the FNGs, but mostly enjoy the quiet together.
~~~~~
The mission was simple. Sneak in, secure intel from two locations on site, and sneak out. Hardly even a two man job. And it was simple enough, up until the sneak out part.
“Intel secured,” Ghost says into his earpiece, thumb drive secured in his pocket. “How copy, captain?”
“Clear,” John answers him across their comms, “I’ll meet you back at the RV and we can make our way out of here.
“Copy,” Ghost answers, ducking out into the hallway he came from. He makes his way through the building silently, easily avoiding the security cameras they scoped out before. Things go smoothly until he hits the ground floor. He’s nearly at the exit when he hears a pair of voices approaching, despite the fact the building should be empty at this hour. He looks around quickly, spotting an ajar door and quickly ducking inside. It’s a supply closet, barely big enough for him to stand in with the door closed, but he manages to fit and pull the door shut just in time. He listens as the two guards pass, waiting until they’re well out of earshot before opening the door.
Except the handle jiggles in his hand uselessly.
He tries it again, more firmly this time, to the same result. The damn thing is broken, or locked, or something, and now he’s stuck.
“Shit,” he hisses, reaching for his comm in the dark. “Captain, got a problem over here.”
Price crackles to life in his ear. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Had company on the ground floor,” he says, trying to keep calm, despite the walls growing closer and closer. “Surprise guard patrol. Had to duck into a closet, and the door’s locked me in.”
“Shit,” Price growls, “You’re stuck?”
“Positive.”
“Can you break it down?”
“Negative. Not enough room in here,” he says, shifting uncomfortably, “Would draw attention anyway.”
“Shit,” Price growls again, “Hold tight, I’m on my way,” and the line goes quiet.
‘Not like I can do much else,’ he thinks ruefully. Ghost closes his eyes, tries to imagine he’s back on base.
But he’s not. He’s in a cellar in Mexico, crammed in a small box, and phantom legs are crawling across his skin and he swears he can see things moving in the darkness, whether his eyes are opened or not.
“Almost here?” he asks, hoping his voice isn’t as shaky as it feels.
“Working on it,” comes Price’s gruff voice.
“Copy,” he mumbles, flinching when something touches the back of his neck. It’s just the handle of a bucket but his skin is crawling and he can’t breathe and-
“Simon,” John’s voice cuts through his rising panic.
“Yes, sir?” He manages, forcing the words out of his tightening throat.
“What has two legs and bleeds?” John askes.
“Uh,” The question catches Simon off guard. He wracks his mind briefly, only recognizing the question for what it is, a joke , after a few seconds, due to the captain’s serious delivery. “Our enemies?” he answers.
“Half a dog.” John deadpans in his earpiece.
A startled huff of a laugh breaks out of his chest once the words process. “Bloody hell, captain. That’s a dark one.”
“Aye.” John replies. “What did one flag say to the other?”
He thinks on it for a few seconds and comes up blank. “What?”
“Nothin’. It just waved.”
He snorts, the tension in his chest easing. “Might not want to leave the army and become a comedian, sir.”
“Alright, got a story for you then,” the captain says with a chuckle.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Ex caught me cheating once. Found all the letters I had been hiding. Got pissed and said he’d never play scrabble with me again.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost groans, “Think I preferred the jokes.”
“You got any?”
“Hm,” he hums, thinking for a moment. “Guess I know a couple.”
“Let’s hear ‘em,” Price says, adding, “I’m almost there.”
Ghost’s shoulders relax slightly, knowing he’s close. “Two goldfish are in a tank,” he says, “One turns to the other and asks, ‘do you know how to drive this thing?’ ”
“Army humor. I like it. Give me another.”
“Why do graveyards have gates?”
“Why?” Price asks.
“‘Cause people are dying to get in,” Simon answers.
“Good one. Wanna hear a joke about construction?”
“Sure.”
“Still workin’ on it.,” Price says.
“Terrible, captain,” he laughs.
“You’re telling me. Think I see your door,” Price says, followed by a curt knock, “This you?”
“Yeah,” Simon sighs, “This is me.”
It’s silent for a moment, before Price wedges a crowbar in the door and swiftly pries it open, breaking the lock. Light floods into the closet, blessedly burning his eyes and letting him breathe again.
“Not my first choice, but I’ll take a disgruntled soldier as my prize,” Price says as he steps back.
“Congratulations,” Simon sighs in relief as he leaves the damned closet. “Should get out of here before anyone comes investigating the noise.
“Right, on me,” he says, turning towards the exit.
“Sir,” Ghost says, Price stopping his stride to turn around with a raised brow. “Thank you,” he says, softly, as to not break the fragile cover of it all.
“Of course,” Price says with a clap on his shoulder, gentle but still enough to make him flinch slightly at the contact. “Couldn’t very well leave you in there.” The words are light, like yet another joke, but his eyes betray the real meaning behind them. “Now let's get home.”
“Roger,” Ghost says, and falls in line behind him.
They make it to exfil without incident, the ride back to base quiet. Ghost is still on edge, his foot tapping the hull of the helo, but far from the verge of panic as he had been.
“Why did you… help me, that night?” he quietly asks Price a few days later in his office after discussing reports.
Price sighs and sits back in his chair. He lights a cigar, despite the
‘no smoking’
signs around base. “We all have our demons, Simon, and I wager you’ve got more than most of us.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Shepherd let me read your file. The real one.”
He watches as Ghost freezes in his seat, sure he would be pale if he could see any of his face. “And?” Simon asks.
Price looks him in his wide, fear stricken eyes. “I respect you even more now for having gone through all that and coming out the other side.”
Simon’s breathes, shifting slightly in his seat again. Price lets him process silently, puffing away at his cigar.
“That’s… not what I was expecting,” Simon admits with a sigh. “Thank you,” he mumbles softly.
Price smiles, not that Simon sees it, looking at the floor like he is. “I’ve got you, son,” he says, “Promise.”
Simon nods silently. They sit quietly for a few more minutes when Price offers him his cigar, swapping it back and forth over Price’s desk. By the time they’re finished with it Simon’s shoulders have relaxed again, his posture normal. They don’t exchange any more words when he goes to leave, only a nod that says more than one watching them would expect.
~~~~~
John can tell Ghost doesn’t like Nikolai when they first meet.
Nik harshly smacks him on the back in greeting before John can warn him otherwise and, of course, comments on the mask.
Ghost’s brows furrow down and his shoulders draw up, but he doesn’t react beyond that, so John takes it as a win. He still watches Nikolai with barely disguised suspicion, keeping a decent distance between them whenever possible, but that’s hardly out of the ordinary for him.
They finish their mission and return to base without incident. The fact that Nikolai didn’t screw them over (and kept his distance after a private word with John) seems to have placated Ghost, though he still grumbles ‘Don’t get what you see in him,’ when they hit the tarmac.
‘He grows on you,’ John replies.
He’s only met with a hum of distaste, but that’s not unexpected either. John himself seems to be the only person he tolerates thus far.
By the fourth time they work together, Ghost is greeting him with a friendly nod and no longer watching his every move with suspicion.
So he’s perplexed when some months later, he notices Ghost watching him closely again. Not just Nikolai even, but both of them.
He doesn’t broach the subject, though he can’t figure out what’s got the man studying him so closely. There’s no distrust in his gaze, so John just chalks it up to Ghost being Ghost, one of his many quirks manifesting. Simon still seems to trust him, and he honestly forgets about it for a while.
Simon’s the one who brings it up again on their next fishing trip.
“You and Nikolai…” he says, mask pushed up over his nose as he sips at a drink, “You know him better than you’ve let on.”
It’s a statement, not a question. John exhales slowly, keeps his eyes on the water. “What makes you say that?” he asks carefully, and sees Simon shrug out the corner of his eye.
“You go soft when you talk to him, sometimes. And you smile when you talk about him.”
“God save me from how perceptive you are sometimes,” John sighs. “You’re right, we are close. He’s my partner,” he admits
“Suspected as much,” Ghost says with a shrug.
“Thought you might,” John replies, “Does that bother you?”
“No, I… I’m also… y’know,” he gestures vaguely, scratching at the back of his neck with one hand. It takes John a moment to register what just happened.
Simon Riley, voluntarily sharing personal information about himself. Mark that down on the calendar.
John claps him on the shoulder. “Knew you were a good lad,” he says, and what he can see of Simon’s cheeks go pink.
They’re interrupted by a fish tugging at John’s rod, much to Simon’s relief. The fish is a beauty, large enough John makes Simon snap a picture of him holding it. They don’t return to the topic again after, but John’s content simply knowing Simon really, truly trusts him.
~~~~~
In 2019, Kyle Garrick joins the squad, and Ghost does not like him. Only he can’t place a finger on why . Garrick is nothing but kind, he’s skilled and reliable on the field and off. So Ghost has no idea why he wants to grit his teeth every time he sees the new sergeant next to their captain.
It’s fine. He refuses to let it get in the way of work, and keeps Garrick at an arm’s length outside of that like he does everyone else. Almost everyone else.
“What do you think of the new task force?” Price asks him one evening while they’re smoking on the steps of the base together.
Ghost shrugs. “Skilled bunch. Have to see if MacTavish can keep his yap shut in the field.”
Price laughs and takes another drag of his cigarette. “What about Garrick?” he asks.
He shrugs again. “What about him?” he asks, doing his best to stay neutral.
“You never seem excited to work with him.”
“I’ll remember to jump for joy next op,” Ghost says with a roll of his eyes. It earns a snort from the captain.
They’re both quiet a moment, smoking in silence, before Price breaks it.
“He’s not going to replace you. You know that, right?” he says.
“Of course,” Ghost scoffs, as if an unknown tension in his chest didn’t just release.
Price pats him on the shoulder before he heads back inside, and Simon would never admit it, but he feels lighter than he has in weeks.
~~~~~
They go fishing a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth. John eventually teaches him how, and Simon fails to catch anything until the next trip, a fact he doesn’t seem disappointed by. Simon buys them plenty of cheap beer, and John brings expensive cigars for each of them. Nikolai comes with them once, cautiously holding John’s hand once he says it’s alright, Simon knows. Gaz comes with them another time out of politeness, but it’s obviously not his scene. Price and MacTavish go on their own trip once, one Simon decidedly not goes on, in interest of not having his ear talked off.
It’s become their thing. It’s a known occurrence that when captain Price has a day off, him and lieutenant Ghost will be off base fishing for the day, just like how everyone knows you can find them smoking outside the east entrance just after seventeen-hundred most evenings, and that if, god forbid, you fuck with Ghost, you’ll be getting toilet duty from captain Price.