Chapter Text
It was dark as the sun set. It was wintertime and it made Ghosts' knees and hips ache. He hated the cold. Even as a Brit, his time spent in the military had fucked up his joints and body. He had never gone to anyone for help with it. Why should he? He could handle it. He huffed, his breath coiling and disappearing into the cold air from beneath the balaclava. He had gotten many looks for limping towards his destination wearing all black and not showing an inch of skin.
His boots thudded against the stiff ground as he walked the pavement and gravel. He glanced at the phone in his gloved hand, making sure he was going to the right place. He was. Ghost sighed again, his breath curling around him. The skull balaclava hid his identity and Ghost was comfortable with it. He had worn it ever since he finished BMT.
The building came into view, its back to a field then a few miles away, the ocean. Ghost trudged up the gravel roadway, his military grade boots handling the uneven ground with ease. The gloves were slick against his phone, so he put the device in his right pants pocket. He wore a military uniform that was pure black. He even got weird looks for how he dressed. Ghost could feel his dog tags clink against his chest with every step. A comforting thud as he breathed, a reminder he survived and was now a civilian. The building was called “141 supply and rec room.”
141 was a rising band, starting to gain popularity around the UK. They were a group of three, known for their pop and rock like music, handwritten and some covers. Ghost had heard of them but never seen them fully. Reaching the door, the heating hit him, raising the arms on his arms and neck beneath the clothing. He did a quick survey of the area. A soldier's training.
At the entrance was the shop. It held instruments and gear for all of them. It was about the size of a Blockbuster by itself. To Ghost's right was a desk that read ‘studio and office.’ That was where he had to go. A female was there, and she looked up as Ghost approached. Her eyes widened and her hands twitched. Ghost resisted the urge to sigh. Everyone who encountered his 6’5 height and his 230-pound build were afraid or wary. Just his body told what he did for years and that he was experienced.
“I need a price.” Ghost growled, his rough British accent making the woman startle again. Jesus, just stop. Ghost thought. She fumbles for words for a minute. “I need to see your ID, please.” She says her own accent is less audible and higher pitched then Ghost's low timbre.
Ghost blinked at her. ID? To go see the boss? His eyes narrowed and he lifted his head slightly and she shrunk back, shoulders lowering. No one asked him for his ID but the bars and the smoke shop. Ghost did not ever show his government issued ID. The government barely knew who he was, but when he had to, he just flashed his veterans ID which had a picture of him as he was now because it was how everyone knew him when he served. “ID?” He growled, not understanding why a damn studio for a band was IDing people. She opens her mouth to start, but an older man came out. A man that Ghost slightly recognized as Price.
“It's alright, Lea. Let him in. He's with us.” The older guitarist said. Ghost just watched silently as Lea nodded, less terrified with Price there. She waves Ghost behind the desk, and he huffs, watching before approaching Price.
The older man had a muttonchop beard and he wore a bucket hat. Ghost hadn't seen that kind of hat much in the military, but it was worn here and there. The man smiled at Ghost, looking at him. Ghost just grunted in greeting as Price turned on his heels and walked down a hall, leading Ghost to a destination.
“I hope you've been doing well since our last visit.” Price says over his shoulder, glancing back at Ghost, the soft smile never leaving. Ghost huffed a breath. “Less of a visit and more of a job offer.” Ghost rumbled and Price laughed. “Yeah, I suppose so, lad.” Price's accent was a bit thicker than Lea’s, but it was softer, and it curled in a way that made him sound like he was constantly amused or on the verge of laughing. Under the mask Ghost clenched his jaw. He remembered the time that Price had approached him and asked him to join the band. They talked for no more than 5 minutes.
Ghost remembered the event. It was a veterans meet up and Ghost had been forced to go by his superiors but at that time he had been so fucking done with the world that he ignored everyone there. He snarled and snapped at anyone who spoke to him, angry and hurt. Many had understood the veterans' need for space, so they gave it. Ghost had walked around the room, needing something to do or he would probably explode on some innocent bystander. He found the drumkit in one of the back rooms and he had approached it, remembering the times he had played as a kid. He loved it. He looked at it, took his place, then quietly played songs he remembered. It eased his hurt for a while until he stopped, staring at it and some had clapped. He had jerked his head up, throwing one of the sticks on instinct. The man, who Ghost now knew as Price, had dodged it with ease.
“Sorry lad. Didn't mean to startle ya. You play that well.” Price says, looking at Ghost. Ghost had snarled something at Price, but Ghost didn't remember what. Pain, anger, trauma and depression had all come back, and Ghost didn't remember much from that night other than wanting to get black out drunk and go to a roof. Somehow, somewhere, Price told Ghost that he was the lead guitarist in the band 141. Ghost had recognized the name, snapping that Price was not in fact in the band. There was no way that an old veteran like him could lead a band. Price laughed and showed him a picture.
“Now lad, we are looking for a drummer. My team is picky, and I think you're a good fit. It looks like you need something to do other than wallow. You're wasting away. I can see it. You could take the job, sign the contracts and you're in. I can give my number, and you can decide.” Price says and Ghost had growled a single ‘fine’ to hurt to consider a job. Price had given Ghost his number and had left. A week or so after, Ghost was in a depressive state, and he couldn't stop thinking about the job offer. He finally called Price and said yes. Price had been silent for a minute as if sensing the pain that Ghost was in, sensing how drunk the man was, sensing how much he didn't want to exist anymore. Price had told him about it, but Ghost half listened to him, nursing a cigarette on the roof, buzzing. He just agreed to sign the contracts on his computer later.
Price seemed to know something was off and he asked Ghost where he was and what he was doing. Ghost told him, too depressed to give a shit. Price had been silent for a minute and when he had spoken, Ghost could feel the concern in his voice. ‘The team is meeting up at our studio next Thursday. I think you should come to get a feel for what we do. They are excited to meet you.’ Ghost had stared at the city in the distance for a while and Price called out his name worried. Ghost just grunted an agreement, half listening. When the location came in a text a few hours later, Ghost knew he couldn't change his mind. He had gone and that's where he ended up now.
“Ghost?” Price asked over his shoulder and Ghost's mind was brought back to the now. “Yeah. I'm good.” Ghost grunted and Price looked at him, sensing Ghost wasn't entirely truthful. “That's good.” Price said instead of pushing. Price opened a door at the end of the hall and inside were two other men, both smiling.
“Meet the rest of the band, Ghost.” Price said as Ghost stood in the doorway. One had a mohawk and had a guitar slung over his chest. He smiled but he showed his hesitancy and wariness. The other was dark skinned, and his grin was genuine. He moved away from the wires he messed with, and he moved towards Ghost. Ghosts hand twitched to his side arm and the man paused at Price's look. He wore a UK hat.
“There. Now I'm going home.” Ghost said, turning to leave, but Price's hand shot out, catching the strap of his hoodie. Ghost whirled, slamming Price into the door with a loud thud and clatter. Price didn't fight as Ghost snarled, an arm digging into the older man's throat. The dark-skinned male yelped in terror and shock and the mohawked one basically slammed the guitar down and he rushed forward.
“Soap, stand down. Give him a second.” Price gasped out, eyes darting to the mohawked man. The man came to a stop a few feet away, eyes frantically darting to Price then Ghost. Ghost's eyes were flared, teeth bared under the mask. They couldn't see his canines. “Soldier, stand down. It's not the field.” Price ordered and Ghost instinctively let go, backing off.
“Shit. He's a veteran?” the dark-skinned man asked as Ghost backed off, instinctively scanning the room for more threats. Price sighed and nodded, rubbing his throat. “SAS vet with a shit load of trauma no doubt, but even he has training that still exists.” Price says and Ghosts eyes drug back to Price, his mind coming back.
“Don't.” Ghost snarled, telling Price not to give out information and to not touch him. Price just nods. “My bad. Just…stay. Play for a bit. Get out of that damned apartment. I know you'll just go get drunk again and go back to that roof.” Price says. The mohawked one, Soap, twitched, face warping into concern, confusion and interest. The dark-skinned one just frowned.
Ghost snorted a low growl before waving a hand. “Fine. If you leave me alone and shut the fuck up, fine.” He says and Price just smiled, gesturing to a well-made drumkit nearby. “Have at it, Lieutenant. Well leave ya alone.”
Chapter Text
The dark-skinned male, who Price shortly after said was named Gaz, Soap and Price all moved away from Ghost, pretending not notice Ghost moving towards the drums. Ghost knew Soap especially was watching. Gaz and Price went about setting up electronics and cleaning gear, but Soap was sitting by, watching as Ghost ran his hand over the rim of the drum. He had taken his gloves off and all three glanced at Ghosts hand as his scars shone in the light.
“Bloody hell.” Gaz murmured, seeing Ghosts brutalized hand. His fingers where crooked from where they healed wrong after being broke in training and in missions. Cust littered his hands and fingers from mistakes with his knife, from training, from rope burns getting out of the heli, from self-defense and more. The area around his nails were scarred from being brutalized on the field. Ghost felt conscious about his scars, and he quickly retracted his hands from sight at Gazs mutter. Soaps and Gaz’s eyes widen as they realize their mistake. “No- i.. I didn't mean…” Gaz started but Ghost turned his head away to look at something else on the drum, but Price appeared in his blind side.
Ghost tensed, hissing as he braced himself. Price just tilted his head, eyes soft and concerned. “Easy. Let me see.” Price says, slowly holding his hands out, palms up at waist level. Ghost lifted his head, wrinkling his nose in disgust at Price. Price of course could not see it. Price waited patiently and Gaz and Soap sat a way away watching. Ghost debated turning and walking off but for some reason he was too tired to do more than stand there. He felt fucking exhausted.
Price noticed, brow furrowing as his expression softened more. “Easy. Easy.” Price whispered, slowly moving closer. Ghost just stood still, watching, the softness keeping him from lashing out or just collapsing. Ghost hadn't cried in…months. Gods he felt the urge. Ghosts jaw clenched as he swallowed hard. Price’s eyes lowered to Ghosts hands shoved in his pockets and Price slowly grabbed one of Ghosts wrists. Ghost growled, baring teeth again as he tensed, body wired and ready for a fight. “Stand down.” Price says, voice a bit firmer.
Ghost obeyed the order naturally, shoulders relaxing slightly as he stopped growling. Price eased Ghosts hands out of his pockets, Prices hands holding Ghosts in the air, looking at the brutalized hands. Price traced the mishappen knuckles, the rope burns, the jagged and raised scars. Price finally sighed, lifting his eyes to Ghosts.
“Does it hurt?” Price asked and Ghost shook his head. “No. Just scars and bones that didn't heal right.” Ghost says, voice rougher as he fought back the urge to break. Price understood, letting Ghosts hands fall. “Alright….just….let me know if it does, alright? I'll see if I can find you better sticks.” Price says, moving away and out of Ghosts personal space. He went back to helping Gaz and Soap who stared before a sharp order from Price sent them scrambling to do their job. The air felt colder around Ghost without Price closer and Ghost hated it and did not understand it. He snarled at himself, jerking his head sharply as he paced for a minute, earing the quick and long stare of Soap. When Ghost flipped him off harshly, Soap turned away, keeping his back to Ghost for a while.
After getting himself in control again, Ghost stopped pacing before going back to analyzing the drums for a second. They were beautiful. It was made with the intention of being used and cared for a long time. Sleek and black, it matched Ghost perfectly. He sighed, taking his place, picking up the sticks. They were an expensive oak and Ghost almost hated them with how much they costed. Ghost wasn't sure if Price bought this or if it was loaned from somewhere.
Pretending that no one was there was the hardest part of playing. Ghost hated to play for anyone. It put more stress on him, and it made him feel awkward. It often caused more mistakes. Ghost bowed his head, eyes closed as he just focused on his breathing and heartbeat. He tried his best to ignore the obvious stares of Gaz and Soap. Price didn't mind, having heard Ghost play before. Using his military training, he forgot that Gaz and Soap where there, and he started to play with a deft motion.
He played a common song. It was easy for a beginner to learn, but good enough for an expert to tune off of and to get a feel for his equipment. Ghost soon learned it was a bit flat, but a quick move fixed that. Ghost had his own unique way of playing, as everyone did. He added a bit of emotion into his music depending on the song. Hard rock was often with anger, slow with calm, and quiet with sadness. This song was long and included all three. Ghost shoved out memories and pain with the music. It was the easiest thing to focus on besides his thoughts. The counting and the memorization made it hard to think of anything else, and Ghost was glad for that. With a sharp note, the song ended, and Ghost just stared at the drum, panting slightly as he came back to reality. Gaz whistled sharply and Ghosts head snapped up, eyes narrowing on the trio watching. He had forgotten where he was and that he had an audience. All three where smiling, all in awe and Suprise.
“Jesus, what he lacks in personality, he makes up for in his playing. I can see why you chose him Price. Damn.” Gaz chuckled and Ghost growled at him, displeased. Soap smiled at that, and Price rolled his eyes, elbowing the brit. Ghost had never heard Soap speak. “Nah. He has personality, he just suppresses it.” Oh. There it was. The man was Scottish. His accent was thick, and it often sounded like he wasn't saying vowels. Gaz snorted and Ghost lifted his head. Soap was too damn accurate.
“Leave the damn man alone.” Price says, lightly tapping them both on the head. Gaz yelped and Soap just nodded. Ghost watched before throwing the sticks down, not caring where they went. All three looked up as Ghost stood and walked out of the room, never looking at them. “Riley!” Price called and Ghost whirled, slamming a fist at his head which was a millimeter from connecting. Price took a step back.
“Don't fucking call me that!” Ghost roared and Price realized he should never have used Ghosts real last name. “I'm sorry, Ghost. Easy.…what's wrong?” Price asked tilting his head again. They were barely two feet from the doorway and Gaz and Soap were watching again. “Everything. I'm not fucking doing this. I quit or whatever the fuck you do.” Ghost snapped, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. Soap seemed stunned by the fact that Ghost smoked. Price sighed. “Why? It's barely been half an hour. Give it a chance.” Ghost shoved the unlit smoke in prices face. “Because your too fucking soft, they have a staring problem and I'm still fucking healing from killling-” Ghost cut off, eyes widening as he realized what he almost said. He made a n angry, loud growl that was close to a roar as he turned on his heel, storming out of the hallway and past Lea who stared in terror, confusion and worry. He thundered his way outside, panting as memories flooded his mind. He forgot about the cigarette until he was outside. He had dropped it.
“SON OF A BITCH!” Ghost roared and a few birds went scattering from the nearby trees. He panted, debating pulling out his pistol and shooting at them. Gravel crunched behind him, and he whirled, 150 feet from the door. Soap came from the building, empty handed and alone. “What do you wan-”
“Nothing. I knew you needed this.” Soap says, handing Ghost his cigarette and a lighter. Ghost took them, looking at them. Ghost stared before grunting and sitting on the gravel as he huffed, breath misting again. He faced the building, lighting the cigarette. He lifted the mask enough to take a drag of the cigarette. Soap said nothing about the scars that showed on his neck and his nose. Soap just sat beside him, close but not touching.
Ghost expected Soap to talk but he didn't. He just sat there, silent, enjoying the cold, psychotic Scot, and looking at the nature around them. “Why?” Ghost finally asked, voice still a growl as he exhaled the smoke. Soap glanced at him, watching before glancing up at the sky, leaning back against the gravel. Ghost was sure the gravel hurt his palms, but even if it did, the Scot did not shift.
“Because I know what it's like to be overwhelmed and out of place. I understand people more then everyone thinks. I saw that you just needed silence and someone to just…be there. If not verbally or mentally but just physically. Price wouldn't know how to do that. He's always verbal about his concern and he's always trying to help even when it hurts more than anything. Gaz is just… Gaz.” Soap huffs a soft laugh. He seemed so content and happy, even when he was dealing with a crank like Ghost. Ghost glanced at him, then just at the cigarette.
There was silence again before Ghost spoke. “Don't see many Scots this far down in the UK. The lot of ya are too high and mighty for us simple brits.” Ghost growled and it was the truth. Most Scots stayed in their homeland because England was too crowded, and Scots and Brits had some tensions from the past. Soap laughed again, smiling at the cloudy sky.
“Yeah. I get that a lot. My dad got a job down here when I was in high school. We moved down here so he didn't have to travel for 4 hours a day. I met Gaz in high school and we bonded over music and band. We were asked by Price to start a band when Price had seen our videos online. We were excited. Price was only a few years older than us when he talked to us. We were 20 when he did. He was 28. He had been on leave, and he wanted to play with us. He had to leave soon after when he was called back early. We waited for him. He came and went for a few years, and we produced a bit of music. We made 141 and we got some popular songs. The band hit its 3-year anniversary when Price was discharged at 37. After that we made the band full time. We continued for a few years, then you came along.”
Soap says. The Scot seemed very proud and happy to be here, and Ghost just hummed at the end. “How long did Price serve?” Ghost asked. Soap did quick math. “Since he was 21 to when he was 37, so 16 years. Why?” Soap asked and Ghost just did some rough calculations. Ghost had served since he was 18 until now. Price had to be around 43-45. Ghost was only 38. “Because I served 20.” Ghost says and Soap looked at him. “Shit. I'm sorry. I mean unless it was something you really liked.”
Ghost exhaled the smoke with a shrug. “It was until it wasn't. Couldn't do it anymore.” Soap hummed, glancing at him, looking back at the scars on his hands then neck. “Body failures?” Sure. that was one way to put it. Ghost didn't want to say that he broke. He couldn't even hold a gun anymore. He didn't want to say he had such horrid nightmares that he often didn't sleep, that he became paranoid and depressed.
“Sure.” Was Ghosts response. Soap seemed to sense that it wasn't true, but he didn't push. Soap just nodded, looking back at the trees. Ghost caught a scent of ocean water on the breeze. “Keep with it for a while. This job. You may not like it now, but that's your mind talking. Something to keep you busy, a schedule helps a lot. I've seen it. Besides, Price and Gaz are nice, once they realize what to do and what not to do. Trial and error.” Soap says, getting up and brushing the gravel off his hands and clothes. Ghost watched him stand, the cigarettes almost gone. Soap smiled down at Ghost.
“I hope to see you back in there…” Soap trails off, unsure what name to call Ghost. In the last hour he's heard Price call Ghost three different names. “Ghost. Always Ghost.” Ghost responds and Soap nods before heading back inside. The door swings closed behind him and Ghost sighed, putting the cigarette out. He finally stood taking a deep breath as he lowered the mask, the pain and confusion falling away with the movement. He felt like he did in the military. Feared, well known and the unkillable Ghost.
Chapter Text
He entered the studio again where all four were waiting. Lea imminently cowered back and Ghost relished the fear. Gaz and Prices heads snapped up. Price relaxed, exhaling deeply. Soap just nodded in approval as Gaz grinned. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize you didn't like being called by your real name.” Price says, looking genuinely regretful. Ghost just stared him down.
“Your first name is Riley?” Gaz asked, watching Ghosts reaction. “No. Stop calling me that before i snap your spine. Thats my last name.” Ghost snarled. Gaz twitched but dropped it thankfully. Soap was watching silent, observing Ghost and how he reacted. “What's your legal name then?” Gaz asked before he could be told to drop it. Ghost just lifted his head, a foot taller than Gaz. He narrowed his eyes, and Gaz had the common sense to lower his gaze. “The only people who know that have a bullet through their skull and are buried 6 feet under.” Gaz just nods weakly, and Price sighed. Soap was watching Ghost, probably watching how he reacted.
“Do you want to go home, Ghost? I can…be there if you need me to be. I don't want you to just do anything you would regret.” Price says, clearly hesitant to let Ghost go home alone, but he clearly couldn't hold Ghost there. “Fine.” Ghost says, turning back towards the door. Price called out as Ghost left.
“Meet here tomorrow the same time as today. We will get your sheet music ready for you.” Price calls and Ghost just grunted, heading home. The apartment was in the middle of the town, and it was pretty basic. His disability and veterans pay covered it. He climbed the stairs, ignoring the sharp pains in his hips and knees as he did so. Unlocking the door, he walked into the entrance. He kicked off his boots and he walked into the kitchen. Before he had been too depressed and too numb to take care of the sink full of dishes, the trash so full that it was crowding the floor around it, the expired food in the fridge and the messy floors and counters. The whole apartment was like that. Unkept and extremely messy.
For some reason just the interaction made him feel more…human. It made some of those emotions come back. It made him realize how bad he had gotten. He sighed, deciding he had enough energy to clean the kitchen and his bedroom. It looked a lot better after a few hours. He made dinner and ate, the house silent. He was alone and he knew it. He felt exhausted after cleaning and the social interaction. It was the first time he had been out of the apartment in weeks other than to go grocery shopping. He stayed up for a while longer. He finally went to bed around midnight. The first few hours were undisturbed, but the nightmares came. They always did.
Ghost walked the halls of the military base. It was familiar. Welcome. It made him feel at ease to be back within the dull grey walls. He walked down a path he had seen every night for weeks. Dread settled into his chest because he knew what would happen. He's the one who did it. Ghost in the dream opened the door and the room was completely bright white. A man was kneeling on the ground, struggling and yelling. “I'm not a traitor! It's a lie! I was nowhere near those files!” Ghost knew the man. His partner. Edgar. Ghost's chest hurt. No. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't kill him again. God please no.
No matter what Ghost tried to do, his body moved. Edgar was held to the ground by two guards. Edgar's head whipped to him. “Simon! Simon, please. Believe me. You wouldn't let them kill me, would you? You love me. I know you do.” Edgar pleaded. Ghost snarled at his real name. No one else knew of his real name but Edgar and those guards. Ghost kept the cold mask up. Brass had asked him to deal with the traitor.
Consequences of selling information was death. Ghost was tasked with that. He kept that cold emotionlessness up because he had to. His chest hurt and he felt horrible. He didn't want to kill his boyfriend. Edgar continued to plead as the guards handed Ghost his side arm. Ghost took it, reloading it in a slick movement. Edgar paled, struggling beneath the guards. One wall was a glass wall. Ghost knew his higher ups were watching. They were testing him.
“Simon. Simon, please. You wouldn't. I'm innocent!” Edgar begged as Ghost raised the gun, putting the muzzle close to Edgar's forehead. Ghost's eyes were cold beneath the mask. “I should never have given you my first name.” Ghost snarls. Edgars eyes widen before Ghost pulls the trigger. Blood covered Ghosts hands and clothes. The walls and the floor. Ghost was clinging to the body, sobbing beneath the mask. The mask had fallen shortly after the bullet was released. He had dropped the gun, a strangled cry coming from his throat as the guards let the body fall. Ghost stumbled back and the guards came to his side, but Ghost batted them off with a snarl.
They left, sadness and pain on their faces as they left Ghost with the body. Ghost fell to his knees, sobbing. He didn't care what his CO’s thought. Soon people came to take the body. Ghost clung to it, sobbing as he snarled “Don't! Don't-”
Ghost snapped out of the nightmare, crying “Don't!” He came to his senses, panting. God. God. He slumped to the bed, shaking as he gasped. He remembered it perfectly. He couldnt shake it. It haunted him. He felt dirty. He could not sleep the rest of that night.