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The tea had gone cold. Ghost stared at the untouched mug on the table, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood. He wasn’t sure why he let Price into his room that night. Maybe it was the way the old man stood there, holding two mugs and looking as if he’d seen the same ghost haunting Simon every time he closed his eyes. Or maybe it was because the silence in his head had grown too loud, Soap’s voice too far away to cling to anymore.
Price sat across from him, his own tea cooling just as fast, but he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned back in the chair, legs stretched out, as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Maybe he had. Just not with Simon.
“You don’t have to drink it,” Price said after a while, his voice calm but cutting through the stillness. “But I figured it’d help.”
Ghost shifted in his chair, his gloved hands finally moving to wrap around the mug. It was lukewarm now, the warmth faint but steady, and for some reason, it felt heavier than it should. “It’s fine,” Simon muttered, his voice gruff, muffled by the mask he hadn’t taken off.
Price didn’t push. He never did, and maybe that was why Simon hadn’t told him to leave. The man just sat there, quiet, his eyes scanning the room like he could see the ghosts hanging in the corners too.
“You know,” Price started, his tone lighter now, almost conversational. “Soap used to complain about how much sugar you put in your tea. Said it’d rot your teeth out.”
Ghost huffed, a sound that could’ve been a laugh in a different lifetime. “He’d sneak extra in when I wasn’t looking,” he said, almost without thinking. The words slipped out, and for a moment, the room didn’t feel so heavy.
Price chuckled softly. “Sounds about right.”
They lapsed into silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not like the first few times Price had shown up with tea and stubborn patience. Back then, Ghost couldn’t stand the way the older man just… sat there. Like he had all the time in the world to wait for Simon to say something, anything. Now, it was easier to just let him stay. Easier to have someone else in the room, even if they didn’t talk much.
The tea sat forgotten again as the hours dragged on, but neither of them moved to leave. Price’s presence was steady, grounding in a way Simon hadn’t realized he needed. It wasn’t about fixing anything, and they both knew it. Some things couldn’t be fixed.
But sitting there, sharing the quiet, made the ache in Simon’s chest a little less sharp. And for now, that was enough.
As the days passed Ghost started spending more time outside of his quarters. At first, it was subtle. He’d linger in the hallways or show up in the kitchen while Price brewed his tea. He’d stand by the counter, arms crossed, his silent presence filling the space without words. Price noticed but didn’t comment, just slid another mug across the counter each time.
“You’re spoiling me, Cap,” Ghost mumbled one evening, his hands wrapped around the mug like it was something fragile.
“Don’t get used to it,” Price shot back, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The kitchen became their unofficial meeting spot. Sometimes they’d talk—about small things, nothing heavy. Price would mention the weather or gripe about paperwork, and Ghost would listen, nodding occasionally, his mask hiding the expressions Price could almost imagine.
Other times, they wouldn’t say anything at all. Ghost would sit at the small table, watching as Price moved around the room. There was something calming about the way Price worked, his movements deliberate but unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to make a simple cup of tea.
It wasn’t just the kitchen, either. Ghost started sitting in Price’s office during the quieter hours. He’d take a seat in the corner, his posture relaxed but alert, as if he was keeping watch. Price let him stay, never saying much, just letting Ghost’s presence become part of the routine.
One night, as Price leaned back in his chair, a stack of reports forgotten on the desk, he glanced over at Ghost.
“You don’t have to hang around, you know,” he said, his tone soft, almost teasing. “I’m not that interesting.”
Ghost tilted his head slightly, the motion thoughtful. “I’d rather be here than… there.”
Price nodded, understanding the unspoken words. He didn’t press for more. “Fair enough,” he said simply, a small smile breaking through the weariness on his face. “Makes two of us.”
For the first time in a long while, Ghost felt the corners of his lips twitch upward beneath the mask. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“Come on,” Price said some time later, standing from his desk and grabbing his mug. “Let’s make some fresh tea. Sitting in here’s getting stale.”
Ghost hesitated for a second before following. The walk was quiet, but not heavy. Price moved with purpose, Ghost trailing behind him like a shadow.
Price set to work as soon as they reached the kitchen, filling the kettle and rummaging through the cabinets for a tea box. Ghost leaned against the counter, watching silently as Price moved around. When Price finally placed two mugs on the table, Ghost’s eyes flicked to the tea box sitting nearby. Something about it made him freeze.
“That’s not your usual,” Ghost said, his voice sharp enough to make Price glance up.
Price raised a brow, looking at the box. “Ran out yesterday. This was all they had left in the pantry.”
Ghost’s breathing hitched. His fists clenched at his sides as his gaze locked onto the familiar logo on the box. Those small round berries on the side, the decorative leaves curled around the box, taunting him. Memories surged forward unbidden: Soap grinning as he took out the teabags from that same box just a few weeks ago, Roach laughing over a cup right before that ill-fated mission. Both of them gone now, and that tea… that damned box had been there both times.
Price reached to open it. “Stop,” Simon tried to shout, riddled by the overwhelming need to lunge at Price, to save him from that fate.
“Simon?” Price’s voice cut through the haze, concerned but steady. “You alright?”
“Don’t drink it.” The words came out harsh, A broken plea hiding beneath a bark. Ghost’s voice trembled slightly, but the command was clear. The air was thick with tension. The box sitting there on the table, like a foreboding presence looming over them.
Price frowned. “It’s just tea, mate…” Price replied, leaning forward to grasp the seemingly flimsy case.
“Don’t.” Ghost’s voice rose, a rare crack in his usual control. He stepped forward, his hand twitching, quickly swatting the captain’s outstretched hand away from the table.
Ghost's eyes hardened, locking onto the two mugs ready and set to be filled. “Just don’t.” He warned harshly. Not again. Not ever.
Price's expression was a mix between disbelief and confusion. Before the captain could even formulate a response he gasped as Ghost flipped the table, sending every thing crashing to the floor. Teabags splattered across the tiles, the sharp sound of breaking porcelain echoing in the small space. John stared, stunned, as Ghost stood there, chest heaving, his eyes wild behind the mask.
“Lieutenant Riley! What the-? Simon…?” Price had started with his voice firm but it quickly tinged with worry.
Ghost didn’t answer. He turned sharply and bolted for the door, shoving it open and running outside. The rain hit him immediately, soaking through his clothes as he stumbled into the open. The cold bite of the storm matched the chaos in his head, but it wasn’t enough to ground him. His breaths came shallow and fast, his chest tight as the world spun around him.
He stopped near the edge of the lot, leaning against a wall as the rain poured down. His gloves felt slick against the wet surface, his body trembling as he fought for control. He clawed at the straps of his mask, ripping it off as the suffocating feeling grew worse. His tears mixed with the rain, the cold water running down his face doing nothing to alleviate the burning in his chest.
The harder he tried to breathe, the more it felt like his lungs wouldn’t work, each gasp sharp and painful. His hands trembled as he clutched the mask, his knuckles turning white. The memories wouldn’t stop—Soap’s laugh, Roach’s soft grin. That tea was the common factor on both occasions, and now Price had almost drunk it too. Ghost knew it didn’t make sense. It was irrational. But the thought of losing Price, of seeing another friend, of his captain being taken away too, clawed at his chest like a living thing.
“Stupid,” he muttered, barely audible over the rain. “Bloody stupid.”
He stayed there for a long time, the rain soaking him to the bone, as the storm inside him slowly, painfully, began to settle. Price wasn’t far behind. The sound of the kitchen door creaking open barely registered in Ghost’s mind, but the solid, steady footsteps did. He didn’t turn as Price approached, his breathing still uneven, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.
“Lieutenant,” Price said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the rain. “Talk to me, Ghost. What’s going on?”
Ghost didn’t answer at first. His shoulders shook as the rain poured down, the water running down his face. He clutched his mask in his hands harder as if the fabric under his grip was the only thing keeping him alive. Ghost chest heaved, the fight for air still raw and unrelenting.
“I don’t…” Ghost started, his voice cracking. His shoulders trembled, the weight of the memories and the storm colliding in his head. How could he describe the cyclone of feelings tearing through his mind? Finally, he snapped, shouting into the rain. “I don’t want to lose you too!”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and raw. Price stood still, his expression unreadable, the rain streaming down his face. Soon Price’s eyes softened, slowly he reached out, his hands closing gently around Ghost’s arms, grounding him.
“Look at me, Simon,” Price said softly, his voice steady and calm. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Ghost’s breathing slowed, his gaze lifting to meet Price’s. The older man’s eyes were steady, unwavering, filled with something Ghost couldn’t name but felt deep in his chest. Slowly, the storm began to quiet, the grip of panic loosening as he focused on the warmth in Price’s voice, the solid presence of his hands on his arms.
Before he knew it, Ghost moved forward, his arms wrapping around Price in a desperate hug. Price didn’t flinch, his arms coming up to hold Ghost just as tightly, the rain washing over them both.
Then, without thinking, Ghost leaned in and kissed him. It was quick, fleeting, but filled with the kind of vulnerability he rarely let himself show. When he pulled back, he didn’t look away, waiting for Price’s reaction with bated breath.
Price exhaled slowly, a small, knowing smile breaking through the rain. “We’ll talk about this inside, eh? Maybe this time we can warm up with some of Laswell’s god-awful coffee. Let’s get out of this bloody rain.”
Ghost nodded, his chest still tight but lighter than before. Together, they turned back toward the building, the rain still falling but the storm inside Simon finally starting to clear.