Pattern Breaker

Realizing Your Own Needs Far Too Late to Stop the Consequences of Acting On Them

Captain John Price was a sensible man. A creature of habit, despite the unpredictability of the profession he chose. Call it a touch of OCD leftover from childhood, he had things the way he liked them and kept them that way. If something wasn't, he made it as such. If he couldn't, he figured out a way to cope through it- usually through smoking or drinking a little too much, unfortunately– but rarely was it something he had true difficulty handling with grace.

This, however, was something he was not prepared to handle in any shape or form. He had absolutely no idea where to start, what was appropriate.

Price found himself frequently imagining a scenario where he had never picked John MacTavish to join the 1-4-1. Not because he wasn't a good soldier. But because he was too good of a man. And he knew, with all sincerity, that if something else happened to Soap and actually left him dead and gone, they all would lose Ghost for good this time. It would break something within himself, too. Within everyone he was sure. Having him back and that relief and joy that everyone on the 1-4-1 Team felt when he returned being ripped back out from under them would irrevocably fuck every single one of them up.

It was still early in the morning, the ache of his slight hangover mildly annoying him. It was nothing compared to the obscene amount of heartburn he had woken up to at 4:00am on the dot from that God-awful scotch he decided to have with Soap.

Soap was young, but not stupid. Not most of the time, anyway. Any time Soap and Gaz found themselves within a thirty foot radius of each other it was like they had made it their personal mission to be the absolute most annoying human beings on the face of the planet. It was like the two of them had been separated from the womb until now and were making up for lost time.

Price was sure if he heard one more horrifically R-rated joke followed by the worst obnoxious cackling you've heard in your life that he was going to bash their heads together and forbid them from talking ever again.

Young was correct, however. Soap didn't quite come off as cocky, just extremely confident. Price had quickly grown to view the other man as almost a son to him, much like he had with Gaz. Still his equal, of course. He knew Soap wasn't fearless , not in the sense he wasn't scared of anything. The only person he was almost positive didn't feel fear was Ghost, but after what happened in Chicago that had gone completely out the window.

Kinda like Soap had.

Price scowled to himself, grumbling nonsense as he kicked his shower on, eyes still blurry with sleep.

He knew when you were stuck for weeks on end with the same people, you'd inevitably get close with them. When away from any sort of sexual gratification, surrounded by testosterone, it got even worse. You'd get desperate for any sort of emotional or physical release.

However, dealing with the consequences of one of the toughest mother fuckers Price has ever met, falling madly love with another soldier who undeniably had a deathwish what not something that he had the displeasure to figure out prior to now. To top it off, they were both too fucking dense to admit it to each other.

His private grumblings continued as he began scrubbing his body down, glaring at the suds as they washed down the drain. Price didn't get anxious. Ever. But this shit had his stomach churning.

"I'm going cold, L.t." Soap's tired voice came in through the recorder. It was the first time he had mentioned or spoken to Ghost in all of this nonsensical ramblings he'd captured hours of. Price still wanted to know what was wrong with his mustache. "It's dark. And, as much as I hate admitting this to ye.. I'm scared. I'm scared. It's been lonely. Without you. Didn't know how much being away would hurt this badly. Away from home. Away from you." A humorless laugh. "I think I'm the one out of my mind, now, L.t."