Chapter Text
Dr. John Mactavish wasn’t supposed to know where he was headed, apparently his new security clearance wasn’t high enough, but he did. Even from the air he recognized the base. He’d been here both before and during his time with the 141. John ruthlessly cut that thought off, as always thinking about him hurt. He shook his head, refusing to give in to the four year old hurt. Ghost’d cut him off without a goodbye and not once had he or Price replied to his texts. He owed them nothing and that included his longing.
From the small window he watched the base get closer, glad it wasn’t the one they’d abandoned him on. At least it would have mostly positive memories. The memories of that last mission hit him hard and he lost the battle against them.
The rain poured over him as he fought the two men. They were desperate to capture him and he was desperate to get away from the bomb he’d planted, both failed.
Soap came to, gasping for air, sometime later. Rain still pounded down on him as he lay on his back looking at the cloud-covered sky. At first he didn’t know where he was or what happened. He tried to focus but it was hard. He knew he had to check for injuries, but wasn’t even sure what that meant. What injuries? Whose injuries? And why wouldn’t that voice shut up? Soap struggled to make out the words, but the pain overwhelmed him. Consciousness slipped through his fingers like sand and he was unconscious again.
The next time he came to, it was night and the rain had stopped and there was only silence. He didn’t know how long he lay there, pinned under the rubble, but it had to be hours as not even the voice from before was yelling in his ear. Finally his mind connected to his body and Soap realised he was hurt, really hurt. He couldn’t feel his left leg and his head hurt, but the helmet kept him alive. Where was his team? Where was Ghost?
“Bravo 7-1 to Watcher,” he called over the radio. He was greeted with more silence. He called again, sure that someone would respond. Finally, he realise he was alone and he flipped channels and tried again. “Bravo 7-1 in the blind. I’m injured and need Medavac!”
“We read you Bravo 7-1. Thought we’d lost you, Soap.”
“Good to hear your voice, Watcher. It was close. I’m pinned under rubble near the exit of the building I was to blow up.”
“Understood. Sending help now. It’ll be a bit, so hang tight.”
The bump of landing broke him from his thoughts and John was grateful. He’d mourned that life four years ago, but he had a new one now and he enjoyed it. It wasn’t the same, but he was still helping people and that’s why he was here. When he was discharged, he went to university and collected Phd’s like he’d collected scars. He now had one in Chemistry, physics and was almost done with Biomedical engineering. He’d made something of himself. He still taught demolitions and basic sniper classes because demolitions was his first love.
John gathered his cane and bag as he prepared to exit, glad Laswell had told him to dress for the desert. He was wearing familiar tac pants, the ever present knee brace strapped over them, with a light shirt and shemagh around his neck. The light jacket he wore bore patches with his name and his designation as an independent contractor.
The nerves from the memory faded with knowledge he’d memorized from the file in his bag. Some was medical information he didn’t think he needed, but the rest was related to the cause of the coma for the two soldiers he was here to help. As the ramp lowered, John’s stomach sank, there waiting for him was Ghost.
John cursed Laswell, tempted to pull out his satphone and demand to return to the UK. Laswell wanted him to save the very people who abandoned him. The people he would have died for, who couldn’t even be bothered to visit him in the hospital or say goodbye.
****
”Ghost! we’ve been compromised,” Price’s panicked voice broke through the comm lines and static.
“How? Where are you?” Ghost hollered as he ran to the building Price and Gaz had been clearing. Ghost had known the intel was fucked almost as soon as the helo dropped them off. More men, more heavy artillery, just more.
They weren’t prepared for multiple labs, all running strange experiments. They were there to break up a human trafficking ring, not illegal human experiments.
Ghost was pulled from the memory of the mission in question by Roach bumping his shoulder and nodding at the doctor.
“Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant, we’ve called in a specialists. He’ll be here within the hour.”
Ghost stared at the poor doctor until he left, but didn’t otherwise answer. Both men were still in their dusty, filthy mission gear. Roach had a smear of blood on his right cheek and bits of dust and possibly glass in his hair, but he wasn’t injured. Even Price had no visible physical injury, he was just non-responsive, but breathing. Gaz had a stab wound, but it wasn’t the cause of his current condition which was the same as Price.
“Go get a shower and some food, Roach. I’ll stay with them until you get back. Laswell’s on her way in as well.
Roach’s shoulders slumped, pushing off the wall he paced. No one knew what they had been doused with and thus far the vial they brought with them hadn’t helped. “Do you think they’ll live?” he asked Ghost, a tremor in his voice.
“I don’t know. I do know the old man is a tough old buzzard and he won’t go down without a fight and Gaz is young and strong. I do know that neither will be happy if you don’t take care of yourself, so go.”
Roach glanced at Price’s still and silent form, “Yes, sir. I’ll bring you a tea.”
“Good man, Roach. And good job out there today.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Ghost moved the only chair in the room to the wall and prepared to wait. He owed Price everything, so he’d make sure the team was guarded and taken care of, it was the least he could do.
”One of…the scientists…cough…doused me. I can’t … I can’t breat…”
“PRICE! Talk to me! I’m almost there. Hold on.”
Ghost ran faster, killing anyone who got in his way. It was a bloodbath, but that was all he was good for, killing. Getting through the doors to lab where Price was last reported was a test of wits. The door wasn’t guarded, but it was closed and required a security card, which Ghost didn’t have.
“Bravo 0-7 to Watcher-1.”
“Go ahead 0-7.”
“I’m popping the panel to the door where Price was last reported. I’m going to try to override it unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“Ghost, we’ve hacked their camera system. We’re working on the doors. Just hurry. Price and Gaz are unconscious.”
Ghost pulled wires and began working, when Roach arrived. “I have one door buster charge left, Ghost.” He said handing off the charge. “It’s not enough for the door, but it should be able to fry the mechanism.”
Ghost held the charge gently, fearing it was his last hope. “Laswell, any luck?”
“No, Ghost. Use the charge.”
Ghost fought against the tremble in his hands, but placed the charge carefully. Hoping, praying to the god his mother believed in, that this would work. “Back, Roach!”
The single explosion wasn’t loud or that violent, but the men heard the door unseal just enough for their pry bars.
Ghost pulled himself from the memory, but shuddered with the reminder of how awful the rush to exfil and the last twenty-four hours had been.
Forty-five minutes later, Ghost was showered, changed and waiting for the specialists. Roach was guarding Price and Gaz, which may have been overkill, but this was an American base and Ghost was taking no chances. He remembered Las Almas all too well.
Ghost blended into the shadows despite wearing his desert gear, men walking past as the plane taxied to him missed him completely. However, the person who stood at the top of the ramp, didn’t miss him, had almost never missed him. Soap, the man he’d abandoned, the man he betrayed. Ghost cursed Laswell, knowing she somehow was involved.
“Lieutenant Riley, I guess you must be my contact,” Soap spoke first, he always had. He looked good, really good. He was softer and not as bulky as Ghost remembered, fewer smile lines around his eyes.
“Fuck,” Ghost muttered.
“Aye, my sentiments exactly. I’ll be havin’ words with a CIA operative about pertinent intel,” John sighed. “Show me my room and a work space.”
“And exactly how are you the expert? It wasn’t an explosive,” Ghost demanded.
“Based on what I read in the reports, I’m the expert. So let’s move. We’re wasting time.”
Ghost walked away, not waiting on John, not slowing his pace. “Ghost!” John hollered. “I can’t walk that fucking fast. Slow down, arsehole.”
Ghost whirled around, anger the only thing he felt. But before he could slam Soap against the wall, he saw him. Really saw him, the cane, the brace, the limp. He’d forgotten. Soap was broken and it had been his fault, he wasn’t fast enough and Soap paid the price.
****
John didn’t look at Ghost as he caught up with him. He couldn’t. Just seeing him at the end of the ramp brought it all back; the longing, the feeling of loss, and the heart break. What they’d had was so new when that mission happened, but to John it had been everything. He’d known before they got together that he was in love with Simon. He hadn’t known that Ghost was only using him. Not until he’d been abandoned on a strange military base alone.
The walk to his room was quiet, neither man willing to speak or break the silence. There were no seemingly accidental touches. John made sure of that, as he pulled his arms into his side.
Finally, Ghost spoke, “Here’s your room.”
“Thanks. I’ll just drop my bag and you can take me Medical. The sooner I figure this out, the sooner I can be away from you.”
Ghost bristled at Johnny’s words. Insulted that Johnny, the man he loved more than anything, didn’t want to be with Ghost. Had Soap just used Ghost for sex? Was that all they’d been? But it was better this way. Johnny was no longer in the field, no longer in danger. Away from Ghost he was safe.
Medical, like most of the base, was a tent, but Ghost skipped the bigger tent and led John to the smaller tent.
“Roach, it’s me and the so-called expert,” Ghost called out. The tent was like so many others John had been in during his time in the military, a drab brown. Inside there were four beds, all ready for more patients, but only two were occupied.
John ignored the venom from Ghost and entered the tent. He knew what to expect, but the knowledge didn’t prepare him. Gaz, the only member of the 141 to stay in contact, lay silent and still in the bed. His breathing was labored, but he breathed on his own. He was hooked up to a number of machines, an IV in his left arm, an EKG machine and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. He was pale, so very pale and gaunt, as if the substance was eating his muscles.
“Ky, mate, I’m here. I’ll figure this out. You just hang on,” John whispered to his best friend. His throat tight with emotion. As he took a minute to gather himself, he heard a scoff behind him. The fear for Gaz was gone replaced with the anger that had simmered for four long years.
John knew that Price was in the other bed, but he ignored him as Price had ignored John. Petty, but John was hanging on by a thread. He turned to the last person in the room, Roach, his replacement. The man John saw before him was both a clone of Ghost and yet completely different. His face was half visible, covered partly by the neck gaiter he wore. Bright green eyes, freckles on his nose and sandy hair.
“I’m Dr. John MacTavish. You can call me Doc, John or MacTavish. I don’t answer to anything else.” John extended his hand to Roach, who took it without a second thought and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“So you used to work with the 141? I bet you have amazing stories. I had some big shoes to fill, mate.”
“You can ask your lieutenant about my time with them. I don’t discuss it. If you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to get to work. The sooner I save them, the sooner I can leave.”
John hoped his dismissal was enough. He needed Ghost gone so he could work.