Pattern Breaker

And So the Pattern of Behavior Continues

He knew shouldn't have partnered Soap and Ghost together during the raid last night. He had hoped, stupidly, that having the two of them back on the field together would knock some sense into them. But it didn't work. After they RV'd back at the aircraft, Soap stormed up the ramp the most furious Price had ever seen him and Ghost looking shockingly crestfallen behind his hardshell mask. He could feel Soap's glare at him the entire flight back, one that almost had him worried for his own safety.

What the fuck happened between the two of them? And why did it sound like Soap had moaned over comms before both he and Ghost went radio silent for five minutes, not responding to any calls?

Price sighed, flipping through some of the intel they had gathered that was scattered in front of him lazily. He couldn't focus. He took a deep breath, resting his forehead in one hand. Then he suddenly froze, the smell of fresh cigarette smoke filling his lungs as he inhaled. Intuition hitting him like a truck, his eyes flickering down to the drawer next to him that had been locked shut for weeks. It was cracked open now by a few inches. His lips parted slightly as a deep pit of horror nestled into his core.

"How long were you planning on keeping this from me?"

"Fuck!" Price exclaimed, jumping back in his chair as he spun it around. Not sure how he had missed the large, imposing man perched in the corner.

They didn't call him the Ghost for no reason.

He was sitting on one of the many waist high filing cabinets shoved to the side of the room, one leg kicked out as the other propped up on the side of the metal. A lit cigarette, almost dead, dangled precariously from his lips– bare from the balaclava being rolled up against his nose. In his lap sat two of the audio recorders, the third being rolled gently between both hands. Playing with it. Marveling it.

"Simon–"

"I don't want excuses, Price. How long?"

"I don't know. I wasn't planning on telling you. Not yet, at least."

"How long have you known?"

"Since Soap came back. Alejandro had them." He flinched, realizing he just outed his friend without meaning to.

"Alejandro, hmm?"

"Ghost..." He warned.

"So, you both knew? And decided not to tell me?"

'Would it have made a difference?"

"It would make all the difference!" He suddenly shouted, slamming his fist into the wall behind him.

"For the worse, Ghost. What if he had died and you found those? What would it have done to you? Hmm? Have a little bit of sympathy for yourself, Lieutenant."

"Can't afford sympathy in our line of work, Captain." Ghost rose from his seat, letting all three of the recorders fall to the ground in a loud clatter. He reached one hand up, pinching the filter of his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger as he took one last drag off of it– the cherry burning bright red and orange. He pulled it from his lips, dropping it to the ground– disrespectful , Price grumbled to himself– and snuffed it out with the toe of his boot before he walked off, leaving the remnants crushed directly next to the recorders.

—

Soap found himself drinking a little too often, a little too much here lately. Addiction was a given with his family history and career choice, and he had made himself a promise what felt like eons ago to not fall down that path he had seen so many times. He was failing himself right now, and he knew it, but decided that he'd deal with those consequences at a later date.