Chapter Text
Three whiskeys in and Ghost was feeling no better than when the night had started. It was late, far later than he had intended to stay. He had a job to do the next day, duties he needed to be prepared and not hungover for in the morning. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Leave had never been good for Simon. It was easier to pretend he was still allowed on base.
But there he was, sitting at the bar of a humid, sticky pub in the middle of Manchester, very much on an indefinite leave. It felt weird being back in his hometown after so long. The familiar streets had long since lost their appeal. It was perpetually gray and dismal and it rained nine months out of the year. Curse Price for making him go back and face things he was better off forgetting.
“Another one?” The bartender frowned slightly as Ghost gestured his way. Poor lad just wanted to go home, no doubt, yet Ghost was holding him back and making him enable his poor drinking habits.
Ghost just grunted and gave the bartender a short, sharp nod. The other man sighed and poured him another glass before pushing it over.
“This is the last one, mate. Shift was over fifteen minutes ago, I’d like to go home sometime tonight.”
Guilt bubbled up in Ghost’s gut. He very quickly stamped it down. The man very well could have cut him off earlier. It was his own fault for giving Ghost as much alcohol as he did. Still, Ghost had to admit it was very late and he had no doubt overstayed his welcome.
Tossing the rest of the drink back, he set the glass down and pushed himself up off the stool. His vision blurred for a moment before it cleared just as fast. Ghost pulled the surgical mask up over his nose, obscuring the bottom half of his face. It was a simple black one. The mask was usually comfortable, yet that night the material felt like razor blades against his skin. He ignored the feeling and made his way out of the bar. The bartender would close out his tab, no doubt adding a hefty tip for the inconvenience he had caused.
The night air was just as damp outside as it was in the pub. It was cooler, however, and it allowed Ghost to breathe a little easier despite the mask.
Unsure of where his feet were taking him, Ghost set off. Destination unknown, he just walked. And walked. The Lieutenant was no stranger to walking long distances and it showed in the way that his stride hardly faltered.
As he walked, he retreated inward. He trusted his legs to get him somewhere safe. His mind had grown fuzzy with the alcohol, but he was still lucid enough to actively get lost in thought. It took more alcohol that one would think, getting his brick-shithouse of a body truly plastered. Ghost thought back to last time he was on base.
Only a month had passed since he was forced off base and on leave. The anger and betrayal was still there, lingering as if it had happened just the day before. Price had called him into his office, a grim look on his face. He didn’t speak as Ghost sat across from him, the grim expression morphing into pity as he slid some papers across the desk.
Ghost’s latest psych eval, failed spectacularly. It was out of his hands, Price had said, yet he clearly agreed with the decision. Ghost apparently needed some time off, an extended leave to get his head on straight. His emotional state was proving to be more compromised with each passing day, and he had officially been classified a danger to himself and those around him. While Price was reluctant to send him off on his own, he agreed that Ghost needed a break. Ghost had no such agreements.
The fallout was… not as dramatic as Price was no doubt expecting. Righteously pissed off, Ghost was, yet he did not throw a fit. His hands had clenched into tight fists and his eyes narrowed harshly, yet all he did was nod. Ghost remained silent as Price tried to explain and reason.
He was silent as he got up and left the Captain’s office, silent as he went to his own bunk to pack because apparently the leave was immediate and he was to be off base by nightfall. He was silent as Gaz approached him and wished him well, told Ghost to call him should he need someone to talk to, reassured Ghost that he was still his friend despite everything. He was painfully silent as a certain somebody pointedly did not approach to say goodbye. Ghost had remained silent through the drive to the station, through the train ride up to Manchester and the cab drive to his flat. In fact, it took Ghost six days to actually speak to another human being.
A harsh bump against his back drew Ghost from his thoughts. He grunted and spun around, hackles raised and ready to fight.
“Shit, sorry!” A woman stood before him, quickly taking a step back and brushing herself off. The small group she was with looked bashful, as if they were the reason she had bumped into Ghost. She looked… oddly familiar. He knew this woman. “My friends thought it would be funny-”
“Sergeant Richards?” He interrupted without thinking, surprised to see somebody he actually knew from work so far from base. The woman before him was Sergeant Blake Richards, a promising woman with a list of achievements that had caught Captain Price’s eye. He vaguely recalled that she had gone on maternity leave several months earlier. Seeing as she no longer had the dramatic swell from when he had last seen her, it was safe to say she had given birth.
The woman squinted, suspicious, before her eyes blew wide open. She gasped quietly and automatically snapped to attention, much to the surprise of her entourage. “Lieutenant Riley! I’m so sorry, sir, if I had known-”
Her frantic apologies had something in his chest twisting painfully. Was he really so intimidating and unapproachable that his soldiers seemed scared when he was dressed down in his civvies?
“Relax, it’s alright. You had no way of knowing.” Ghost held a hand up to stop her rambling. “Surprised to run into you in Manchester of all places. You live around here?”
Richards blinked dumbly for a moment. “Uh, no, I don’t. My place is out in Leeds. I’m actually just here for a friend’s wedding tomorrow. Her one last night of freedom, y’know?” She chuckled, still seemingly uncomfortable and unsure of the entire exchange. Her friends swapped glances between themselves. Some wary, some still embarrassed, and one was just outright checking Ghost out. Gross.
Ghost hummed in agreement despite not knowing what that was like. He’d never had friends, much less ones that got married and had night-before parties.
“Right, well I’m not goin’ to hold you up any longer, then. Have fun and stay safe, I’ll see you back at base when our leaves are up. Ladies.” He gave the group a polite farewell nod before turning and continuing his way down the street.
He made it down to the next intersection before his name was being called. “Lieutenant Riley!”
Ghost turned, brows furrowed, and saw Richards jogging down the sidewalk to him. She stopped short in front of him.
“Do you uh… do you have any plans for the rest of the night?” She looked embarrassed. He shook his head. “If it’s not too much trouble, would you like to accompany us? It’s just, we were goin’ to go drinking but none of us know his area too well. As well-trained as I am, I’d feel more comfortable knowing we had somebody to keep an eye on us.”
That was… an odd request. Still, Ghost truly had nothing else going on and, if he was being honest with himself, he was lonely. He hadn’t spoken to anybody he knew in weeks. It was his own fault, really, Price and Gaz’ messages going completely unanswered while he was on leave.
He must have been silent a little too long because Sergeant Richards quickly tried backtracking. “I mean, you don’t have to. Don’t feel pressured, I’m sure we’ll do fine-”
Once again, Ghost interrupted. “Easy, soldier. I’ll tag along, make sure you and your friends don’t get into any trouble.”
And that’s how Ghost found himself tagging along with a group of middle-aged women on a random Saturday night in Manchester. He’d feel like a massive creep, if not for the fact that Sergeant Richards took a break from the party every once in a while to just talk to him and get him another drink. More alcohol was probably not what he needed, but he wasn’t about to tell Richards that he had already been drinking.
It was nice. It wasn’t his usual group, wasn’t who he’d ever imagine talking to so casually, but it warmed him. For the first time in a while, he felt like a person again. He got to know Richards a little more, asked her questions about her husband and baby. Learned her husband was a diesel mechanic and had taken an extended leave of absence for their daughter. Learned that Richards, unfortunately, would not be reenlisting once her contract was up. Ghost felt that was a bit of a shame. She was a damn good soldier and the forces would be worse off without her skills.
As the night wore on and the women became steadily more intoxicated, Ghost figured it was about time to get them back to wherever they were staying for the night. Richards rounded her friends up and Ghost called for a rideshare for them. The Sergeant reassured Ghost that they’d be alright from there on and insisted he go home and rest.
Inclined to agree now that he was truly feeling the effects of the liquor, Ghost ended up staying until they all piled into a car before thinking about what he should do to get to his own place. Richards and her friends had dragged him all the way downtown, nowhere near his flat. He’d definitely need a ride, but giving his permanent address to anybody didn’t sit right with him.
He ends up walking again. It seemed to be his preferred mode of transport, with how frequently he was just walking down the street. He knew exactly where he was, not dumb enough to lose track of his position even while intoxicated. He knew exactly where he needed to be.
A train. He could take a train. It was easier and safer than walking.
—
Ghost figured crawling on his hands and knees through broken glass and hot tar would be less painful than the situation he was in. The train was close to empty with only a small group of men on the other end of the cab Ghost was in. It would have been a godsend if the men weren’t so obnoxiously loud. It was obvious they were drunk too, but not drunk enough to be considered “disturbing the peace” drunk.
The men on the other end of the cab were practically yelling over some stupid football match that had taken place earlier in the week. One of the guys was far more passionate than the others, a little more drunk.
Still, Ghost did his best to ignore the noise. He closed his eyes and settled into his seat, kicking his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. Arms crossed over his chest and chin tucked against his collarbone, he looked truly elderly. Like a dad falling asleep in his recliner as soon as any sort of television is put on.
“Why don’t we ask ‘im, then?” Unfortunately, Loudmouth was a little too loud. And clearly a little too drunk because when Ghost cracked an eye open, he was crossing the cab directly towards the masked Lieutenant.
In absolutely no position to be speaking to anybody, Ghost simply closed his eye again. He let out an annoyed huff and did his best to relax. Unfortunately, his new friend had other ideas. The drunk man settled in the seat directly next to Ghost, leaning into his space and overall being a general nuisance.
“‘Ello there. Me and the lads had a question for ya. You see, those pillocks over there think Manchester United is the best team around. I say they’re full of it. Manchester is too much of a shitehole to have a decent sports team, eh?” The man nudges Ghost with his shoulder, drawing a grunt and a harsh glare from the masked man. Shame, too. He was about to agree with the man about Manchester before he decided to go and touch a complete stranger.
“Anyways. I says the best football team is Liverpool. They’re much better than the northern boys.”
Ghost stared the man down, eyes narrowed in annoyance. The stranger continued to look at Ghost. When it became obvious he wasn’t getting an answer out of Ghost, the man huffed, looking extremely put out.
“Come on, don’tcha know it’s rude to ignore people?” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “What, you think you’re too good, ey? Think you can just go around ignorin’ perfectly decent folk just tryin’ to have a conversation?”
One of the man’s friends seems to have a bit of sense. “Oi, Dan! Leave the bloke alone, he clearly don’t wanna chat.”
Ghost hummed in agreement before getting up and moving to a seat further down. Unfortunately, that just seemed to rile Dan up even more. He got up and followed Ghost, now spitting mad.
“Oi! You’re bein’ right fuckin’ rude, y’know that?!”
As Dan went on his little tirade, Ghost grew more and more ticked off. His head had started pounding, his stomach was turning. He did not feel good in the slightest and he just wanted this stranger to leave him alone.
But, as per usual, life was never kind to Ghost. So he was stuck listening to the stranger yell at him. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, doing his damndest to ignore Dan. He was doing a good job of it, too.
That is, until a fist connected with the side of his head.
Ghost’s eyes snapped open with a grunt. The force of the punch had him tilting in his seat, the alcohol doing no favors in keeping him upright. He snarled and shot to his feet, instinct taking over to analyze the threat.
It was just Dan, who, frankly, looked a bit shocked that he actually threw a punch. Ghost watched with satisfaction as Dan paled, eyes following him up as Ghost rose to his full height. Normally, he’d posture and hover menacingly to get people off his back. That night, however, something in him was itching for a fight now that a punch had been thrown.
Ghost grabbed Dan by the shoulders, relishing in the frightened squawk the man let out, and tossed him to the side. Dan crashed against the seats, scrambling to get away. Ghost, however, was faster, and quickly closed the distance. He lifted his leg and slammed a heavy boot down on Dan’s side, driving him harder against the uncomfortable seats.
Somebody was shouting, the other men trying to intervene when they saw just how violent Ghost’s retribution could be. He staunchly ignored them, even as hands grabbed at his arms and shoulders. Somebody slammed against his back.
Ghost spun around, fist connecting with the first body it came across. He vaguely registered it as the man that tried getting Dan to leave him alone. He’d feel sorry about it if he was any more sober.
A fist connected with the back of his head, sparks dancing in front of his eyes. The headshot disoriented him and the other men took it as their chance to go crazy. A foot slammed into the back of his knee and he was brought to the ground. A knee bounced off his face with a sickening crack and he knew immediately that it had broken his nose. Oh well, not like he hadn’t dealt with that before. Several times.
The train shuddered to a stop but the men didn’t let up. Ghost did his best to lash out, to fight back, but somebody had gotten a good hit to his eye and it was rapidly swelling shut. That mixed with his exhaustion and inebriated state made it that much more difficult for him to stay alert.
Fingers fisted his hair and before he knew it, his face was being slammed against a solid surface. Black spots exploded in his vision and he was out like a light.
—
When Ghost came to a few minutes later, a security guard had rushed into the cab and broken the fight up. Ghost thought, a tad bitterly, that he could have stepped in before he was knocked out.
He groaned and lowered his mask to spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor. He tucked his arms under him and pushed himself up onto his knees. Pain throbbed in his head, his knees, his spine.
Ghost looked around, eyes locking onto the group of men. He growled and shakily got to his feet.
The security guard looked over at him and stepped between him and the others. “Alright, lad?”
Ghost huffed. “Never better.”
He turned to exit the train, but the security guard quickly stopped him. “Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t quite let you leave yet. The police are on their way and they’ll want your statement.”
Irritation flared in Ghost’s chest. Still, he was a good little soldier and did as he was told. Legs aching something fierce, he flopped into a seat and waited, eyes locked dangerously on the group of men. He noted with satisfaction that Dan was bleeding sluggishly from a head wound and one of his friends was cradling a twisted, sprained wrist to his chest.
When the police arrived, Ghost was separated from the others. He really was in no mood to talk, arms crossed over his chest and mouth set in a firm, unyielding line. Even as he was questioned, he found that the words just… wouldn’t form. Forget not wanting to talk, he quite literally couldn’t . It happened sometimes, where Ghost’s mouth would seal, his brain would stop working to form words. It was a real nuisance most times.
Eventually, the officer got sick of his silence. He sighed and shook his head. “Right, well is there anybody I can call for you? You’re in no state to be walkin’ home, wherever that is.”
Ghost hummed, mind drifting. He could feel himself getting antsy, could feel the familiar buzzing just under his skin. Suddenly it was just too much. Drunk, in pain, alone, overstimulated. An embarrassing wave of panic washed over him.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to convey the appropriate information. His brows furrowed harshly when he couldn’t. The officer took pity on him. With another weary sigh, he handed a pen and a notepad to Ghost.
“Give me a name and a number, I’ll give them a call for you.”
Infinitely grateful and unable to properly express it, Ghost simply nodded. He took the offered items and put pen to paper. He hesitated, unsure which number he should put down. He knows which one he should write, knows the only person that he could possibly call in this situation is Price. Yet… he couldn’t bother the man, not with this. Price had already been put through the wringer with Ghost’s issued on leave.
He wrote down possibly the worst name and number that came to mind and handed the items back to the officer. He took them and retrieved his cell, quickly putting the number in.
With the late hour, it was no surprise it took a couple tries before somebody answered. The somebody that picked up the phone?
“John MacTavish? Yeah, hello. I’m terribly sorry to bother you at such a late hour. My name is Officer Shunpike and I’ve got a bloke here that needs to be picked up. Mhm. Well, he won’t exactly give us his name. Just been sittin’ here staring at the ground. Poor lad’s pretty out of it.”
Ghost huffed and shifted in the seat.
“Yeah, that sounds like him. Big bloke. Speaker? Yeah, I can do that.” The officer turned towards Ghost and held the phone between them before putting Soap on speaker.
“Yer a goddamn bloody fuckin’ coward, Simon Riley!” Soap’s voice filtered through the device and he did not sound pleased. Ghost’s eyes widened a fraction. He had a feeling the Scot wouldn’t be too happy to hear from him, but he never expected such vitriol. “Got yourself in trouble and ye called me to come bail ye out, aye? Well fuck to that! Have fun sitting in a holding cell for all I care!”
The call disconnected before either Ghost or the officer could say anything. Officer Shunpike stared between the phone and Ghost. The shock morphed to pity as he sighed. Ghost wouldn’t admit defeat so easily. He reached out and took the phone from the officer and hit the dial button. It rang and rang and rang before it fell silent.
“Is there somebody else I can call for you, son?” Officer Shunpike’s voice was soft, sympathetic. Ghost let out a soft, shaky breath and admitted defeat. He punched in Price’s number and gave the phone back.
Similar information was relayed to the Captain and the call ended a few minutes later with assurances that Price would be there soon. Well… as soon as he could.