Not All Shells are Hollow

Storm

Ghost had always liked the feel of Credenhill. On a good day in late spring with barely a cloud in the sky and just enough of a breeze to cut the heat some, there was simply few things better in his mind. It was the best time to run the obstacle course, or even just take a hike.

Today was not one of those days. In fact, it was the complete opposite, as is the standard in England. The sky was dark with heavy storm clouds that brought down sheets upon sheets of rain. Thunder rumbled off in the distance, though that the storm could very easily end up overhead in an hour.

It'd been a couple weeks now since Ghost had joined the Task Force 141, and he easily found himself slide right back into routine. There was comfort in the predictable day to day lull; busy work never bothered him any. Unlike many of the men here, he almost dreaded his down time at the end of the day. Often times he tried to distract himself with more work if he could, reading if he couldn't. With no friends to interact with, and Manchester too long of a drive to even bother, the only variety to be found was in the tasks he needed to do at work that day.

What made this stormy Saturday evening an exception? One word. MacTavish. After Ghost's initial frustration with him, he made a point not to be anything besides professional towards his CO. Fortunately, Captain Price kept the man so bogged down with paperwork that he didn't have to interact with him too often. Today, however, Ghost had off, and as the sadistic Lady Luck would have it, so did his Captain.

Ghost holed up in the rec room to read, as per usual, when a hand heavily landed on his shoulder. Almost immediately, the Lieutenant dropped the book and grabbed the offending hand, giving the other man's wrist a tight squeeze. "Can I help you?" He looked up, found himself face to face with his Captain, and immediately let go. "Sorry, sir."

Despite how hard he'd grabbed him, MacTavish was virtually unphased by it. "All good. What'cha up to?"

"Reading," was his curt response. He picked back up his book and leafed through the pages to find his place.

He could feel the Captain's weight as he leaned onto the back of the chair. "Anything good?"

Patience is a virtue... Ghost took a deep breath. "It's 'The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde'. You tell me."

"So classics," he concluded.

"Is there a point to this?"

MacTavish hummed before he said, "You tell me. Do you think there's one?"

With a frown, Ghost gave up and shut the book then turned back to him. "I'm not sure I follow."

"Do you think there's a point," he repeated.

"I heard you the first time," Ghost deadpanned. "I'm just trying to mind my own business, sir. Don't you have friends to go talk to? Or maybe that extensive training regiment?" Take a hint, just take a bloody hint.

"That doesn't answer my question."

Ghost dug his thumb nail into the spine of the book, a nervous habit. "I think you want something."

He immediately regretted giving MacTavish an answer at all, because that smirk that Ghost oh so loathed made its return. "I wanted to see if you've been trying to manage your stress. That's what we agreed on."

"I'm reading a good book on a rainy day, I think I'm fine, sir," Ghost replied.

That should have been satisfactory in Ghost's mind. Apparently it wasn't though for the Captain, as he said, "I know you pile as much work on yourself as possible, and when you aren't doing any of that then you're here reading. Are you actually relaxing or is this just a distraction for yourself?"