Friends Don't Look At Friends That Way

Part Twelve.

May the best man win.

The given threat barely registers in my brain before I am on my feet, already slipping down the steep embankment I had hiked up earlier that day. There is nothing of substance going through my mind, only that I need to get [Y/N] now. Seeing her defenseless at gunpoint was one fear already playing out before my eyes, but then the sick fuck drugged her. Any control I had left wholly snapped, terror seeping into the broken places.

"Soap! Ghost! Both of you need to stand down now!" Price's callout is chastising in my ears, but I don't truly hear it, not how I should. I am scrambling through the mountainside faster than I can process, branches and twigs catching on my gear as I tear past. My focus is so singular that I don't see Ghost's massive form when it appears at my side. My brain finally catches up when I am being tackled to the dirt.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I growl viscerally at the ghillied figure, pinning me to the ground with his whole body. He has an arm against my throat to keep me down, and even with all my strength, I cannot shake him off.

"You will compromise her!" Ghost snaps, pressing harder on my neck with his forearm until I am gasping beneath him. "Be smart about this, Johnny! You go charging in there like this, and that will be it for her. Is that what you want? Because I'm sure as fuck not letting that happen."

I feign relenting in my struggle long enough that his hold loosens, letting me suck a greedy gulp of air into my burning lungs.

"Let me go." I huff as I surge against his weight. There is only one track my thoughts are spinning around, and until I have [Y/N] safe in my arms, they will stay there. I do not care what it takes; I will put my demolition specialty to good use and blow the place to fucking dust. Nothing will be left of them if they harm a hair on her head.

Ghost makes the blunder of pivoting himself just enough to allow me to sit up, my fist swinging into his face. He stumbles aside at the hit, cursing colorfully under his breath before I land another one square in the same spot. A raging, fuming part of me that has been slowly building over this last week beseeches for me to punch him repeatedly. I should knock his ass out for the sleeping bag incident alone, and his reluctance to rescue [Y/N] is only fueling that fire.

A blur of motion is my only warning before Ghost's fist connects with my jaw, knocking me back to the earth with a thud, stars dancing through my vision. He doesn't offer me a chance to recover, throwing his weight behind several more punches to both sides of my face before pinning me down so my arms are trapped beneath his knees.

"Are ye sayin' we do nothin' then?" My words are venom-laced, albeit gargled, as they drip from my tongue, blood flowing from my nose and mouth. All I need is one moment of weakness, even the slightest hesitation, for me to writhe myself free. It will take more self-control than I usually possess not to beat Simon senseless when that opportunity arises.

"There are more of them than there are of us! What do you want us to do here, hm? We fight our way in there, and they kill all of us." His wrath seeps into his body language as he violently fists the front of my suit to lift me, "We call for backup, and we start a full-blown war with the Mexican cartel, which you are bloody intelligent enough to realize is the worst possible outcome!" Ghost is practically snarling now, his masked face only inches from mine.

"No," I breathe out, "Losin' her is the worst outcome. I can handle goin' to war, Simon. I have done it before, and I will gladly do it again if it means that she leaves that building alive," I wiggle my forearms free and snake my hands up to cover where his own still have my ghillie suit in a powerful grip, my fingers attempting to pry his away, "If ye want to stop me, then ye are going to have to kill me."

Ghost grows unnaturally quiet, his heavy breathing the only sound between us for far too long. I cannot tell if he is gathering restraint or hoping that the longer he holds me hostage will sway me away from what he knows I need to do. His eyes are the only visible part of his face, but even those are tucked behind a veil of darkness, making his emotions impossible to read.

"Please, Simon..." Never in my life have I sounded more desperate than I do now, and I feel no shame in it. I will plead till my last breath for her if necessary.

My begging must strike a nerve because he gradually releases his iron-clad grip and rises to stand, those same hands now held out to pull me up. I accept his help, and once back on my own two feet, a quick assessment of my limbs tells me nothing feels broken - which is a miracle since Ghost chose to go complete linebacker on me. I glance wearily between the remaining downward slope and the man I used to call my friend. Will he stop me if I take off again? I have already lost more time on this altercation than I can afford.

"I won't let you do this alone," He says so quietly I almost don't hear it at first, "She needs us, but she needs us to keep ourselves alive. We have to do this with stealth. We take out guards as we go and cause as little commotion as possible, understand? If these guys get spooked, they will..." His sentence trails off with a choke, fists clenching tightly at his sides.

They will kill her.

He can't bring himself even to say the words aloud. Simply thinking about them makes my stomach roil.

"Price won' like this," I mumble, wiping away blood that drips down my chin.

"He doesn't need to like it, but he does need to get on board. If we can't call for reinforcements, we will need his and Gaz's help." I can tell by the sudden hardness in his tone that his sole focus now lies on her rescue, which is precisely what I need. Once Simon sets his mind to something, there is little anyone can do to stop him.

What he may feel for her, or her for him, none of it fucking matters right now. The rest will be dealt with later as long as he feels enough to drive his desire to play the hero.

However, one singular nagging thought keeps coming to the forefront of my brain, yearning to be spoken out loud. I am unsure if I need to say it for myself or because I need him to know it, too.

"I am in love with her," I utter softly, wishing like hell I had been smart enough to say it before now.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Ghost deadpans. He scoops up our discarded rifles, handing over mine— Ghost's form of a truce, I suppose. For Now.

The sounds of our footsteps crackling and crunching the nature beneath our boots drown out what he whispers, the words so soft I know they aren't meant for me to hear but more for him to release the weight of them from his chest.

"Join the club."