Pattern Breaker

And So the Pattern of Behavior Continues

He was smart enough to at least keep it light tonight, only enough to take the edge off.

To still the shaking in his hands that had started when he went a little too long without a drink.

He didn't bother switching the lights on as he half fell into his room, instead choosing to lay down with an exhausted groan facedown on top of his bedsheets, not bothering to change his clothes yet. He hadn't been sleeping well, regardless of how sober or not he was. He was still finding catharsis in the gym of course, and it had been helping quell the aches from the old bullet wound in his shoulder that plagued him at the worst of times.

"No one can replace you."

Soap jerked up off the bed, quickly reaching under his pillow and brandishing the small pistol he had stashed underneath since he returned from Chicago.

"Easy..." The low voice spoke again, sending fireworks exploding through Soap's body as his eyes finally focused on the far corner of the room where a figure was leaning against the wall.

Soap huffed, trying to calm his nerves as he lowered his weapon.

"Bloody Christ, Ghost. Don't do that." He sighed, dropping the gun on the bedside table. "What are you doing here?"

"No one can replace you." Ghost repeated factually, following Soap's movements. Not out of fear or out of concern he was actually about to shoot him. Out of interest.

"What?"

"In the 1-4-1. You said to tell the story of how you took Graves down to whoever replaces you. But there's no one, Johnny, that can live up to you ."

Soap just blinked dumbly at him before his body went cold with realization. Ghost's gaze slid up Soap's arm as he tucked it tightly against his body, trailing across his chest before settling on his face.

"I'm going to fucking murder Price." Soap muttered, falling back down with his ass sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Don't. Not his fault. I went snooping. I think I'd like the satisfaction of doing it myself, anyway."

"I'll just murder you, then."

"I'd like to see you try." He scoffed.

Soap rolled his eyes before sighing. "Say whatever you need to and get it over with, Ghost."

"Were you telling the truth?" Ghost asked suddenly, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

"What?"

"The truth, Johnny. Were you telling the truth?" He pressed again, severely.

Soap fiddled anxiously on the edge of his shirt, picking at a loose thread. "I don't have any idea what you're going on about." Liar.

"Answer the fucking question, Sergeant."

"I was out of my mind," Soap blurted through gritted teeth. "Dehydrated. Starving. I don't know what I was saying." Fucking liar.

"So you were lying?" No, not then. " It was all just... empty platitudes?" No, no it wasn't None of it was. It was the most honest Soap had ever been in his entire life.

"Another big word, Lieutenant. I hope you choke on it." Soap snapped, but it was weak. His shoulders had started curling in on themselves, foot bouncing his leg up and down. The material of his jeans were itching against his legs uncomfortably, and he could suddenly feel every single stitch and tag in his clothing rubbing against his skin.

"You should expand your vocabulary." Ghost pushed himself off the wall and stalked over to stand in front of Johnny, their height difference amplified as Johnny stared up at him through his lashes with his chin tilted down. Ghost's feet were spread shoulder length apart, and Ghost's torso– only covered with a thin shirt, no rucksack– was inches away from Johnny's face. He swallowed thickly, fingers gripping the corner of his own shirt as he tried to relax the best he could. It wasn't working.  "Don't fucking play with me, Soap. Not right now. Were. You. Lying?"