Pattern Breaker

Martyring Yourself for the Opportunity to Sin

He's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive

Fury. Relief. Rage. Comfort.

"Soap? I don't- what- How ?" Alejandro gaped.

Johnny responded by reaching down, grabbing the bottom edge of his shirt that was just one size too small for him— a sight that already sent Ghost's head reeling as it stretched taut over his chest and upper arms. As the material drifted up, time crawled to a slow for Ghost and for Ghost only. His eyes followed, deadlocked on the now exposed expanse of Johnny's torso. It wasn't his first time seeing Johnny's bare flesh like this, but seeing him upright and not screaming in agony allowed him to enjoy what he saw easier. With only minor guilt.

Guilt that flourished when the massive, half healed contusion right smack in the middle of Soap's chest shouted at Ghost like a fire alarm blaring endlessly in the night. It was ugly, marred, and a hundred different shades of purple, red, and yellow. Ghost noted how much thinner he looked, muscles having shrunk from the lack of proper nutrition.

"You... had on a vest..."

"Aye, under my shirt. Had gotten away from the AQ soldiers when you lot first made it to the tower and found it. That's why I was strapped to that bloody chair." Ghost's view— half appreciation and half anguish— was interrupted with a twang of disappointment when Soap smoothed his top back over. "Told you I'd be alright, Captain."

Price ran to the other man, one arm wrapped around his neck and yanking him down slightly in the headlock. The bottom of Price's chin rested affectionately on top of Soap's head.

"You idiot. You absolute fucking idiot. And you smell bloody awful." The Captain's voice was thick with unrestrained tears.

"When does he not?" Alejandro hugged Johnny around the other man, clapping him on the back.

The sound of Johnny's laughter sent a soft wave of joy through Ghost. "Aff yer heid, pendejo." He responded, then noticeably flinched at the sudden movement. "Sorry. Still sore."

"No need to apologize, hermano. I'm just glad you're here."

Soap's mouth had barely opened to respond to Alejandro when Ghost basically threw himself at him, not even sure what he was about to do. Hug him? Cry into his neck? Kiss him directly on his stupid mouth?

His relief at seeing Johnny alive dissipated with each quick foot step that brought him closer, replaced by rage. Every single time Ghost was left for dead, forgotten about, betrayed— all came swarming back in one awful emotion that turned his vision red. He knew deep down that he wasn't upset at Johnny. Ghost, however, in his infinite incapability to be comfortable with any positive emotion, felt like he had his feet knocked out from under him unceremoniously. He felt stupid. Stupid for mourning, stupid for getting close.

He wasn't going to let that happen again.

He shoved Price and Alejandro roughly out of the way, gripping the collar of Soap's ridiculously enticing too-tight shirt by the neck.

"I thought you were fucking dead," Ghost hissed, slamming Soap in to the side of the truck. His eyes were wide, various shades of purple darkening the sensitive skin under them. Ghost felt a flash of heat at the sudden closeness of them— his hips pressing so roughly into Johnny's that he could feel the bones and his face so close he could see every dust speck and drops of blood that crusted over the healing wound that struck down his eyebrow. "I thought you were fucking dead. Do you realize that?"

"L.t., get off. You're hurting me." Soap grunted as he gripped the other man's upper arms through the fabric of his shirt.

" L.t., get off, you're hurting me , Boo fuckin' hoo, MacTavish. I watched you die. I watched you fucking die! And couldn't do a fucking thing about it!"