Not All Shells are Hollow

Walking on Your Hands

Routine had always been something that Ghost easily conformed to, it kept him sane and grounded. January and half of February came and went after they arrived at Brook Line, lost to repair work and then the more intensive schedule they needed to maintain here. No big operations in the works, just intelligence gathering. For a little while, he and MacTavish spent their nights working late over drinks, but the Captain put an end to it, saying he needed to cut back on the drinking for a while. Ghost didn't argue with him.

They were having a smoke when the younger man told him, "I'm getting shipped out to Russia in seven hours."

Ghost's cigarette drooped between his hard pressed lips. "Why's that?"

"Eh... intel collecting, nothing all that exciting," he answered dismissively. MacTavish's eyes remained fixed in the distance, reflecting the blue patches in the sky like a frosty mirror. A plume of smoke rushed from his nose. "Just me and Chrono spying on the Ultranationalists' inner circle."

"I hope your Russian's better than your Ukrainian," Ghost quipped. From what he saw, his CO seemed to have an understanding of Cyrillic, though he couldn't be sure if this extended to a full language.

With a sigh, he nodded. "Aye. It's a big part of why I'm going."

Ghost took one last puff off his cigarette and then discarded it. He toyed with the words in his head, the tone not quite matching up with the disinterested air that MacTavish was trying to give off. "Something on your mind, mate?"

MacTavish finally peeled his attention away from the invisible point in the treeline. "Apparently the Ultranationalists have the civil war just about wrapped up. It's frustrating, you know?"

"That after all the blood, sweat, and tears shit's still a mess? I know. Sometimes you just have to think of it as an exercise in futility." He tugged his balaclava up a little on his neck to help the chill on his skin. "That's not what's bothering you though."

Just like Ghost had, MacTavish snuffed out his cigarette and then kicked at the asphalt, causing a couple of pebbles caught in the sole of his boot to dislodge and skitter away. "Can we go somewhere less busy," he requested.

"You're antsy, aren't you," Ghost noted, stepping in beside him. "It's a lot quieter around Hangar 3." They hadn't exactly found a use for the hangar bay yet. Where as 1 was a shooting range, 2 stored a number of vehicles, and 4 became storage, 3 seemed like it'd been used for at least fifteen different things by the time the base had been shut down before. It was extra sheltered space. Its lack of purpose also meant few people bothered spending time there, on or off duty. As they turned towards the hangar's far side, Ghost felt a hand grab his. "... Captain?"

The gloved hand radiated with heat, heat that made the rest of him feel chilled by comparison. "We're sober this time." When MacTavish spoke, he sounded confident, yet the squeeze of his fingers betrayed him.

"I was starting to think you forgot about that," Ghost replied, surprisingly calm. He'd been waiting so long for some indication what their status was there, but he didn't dare ask. Asking was awkward. To have an answer at last put his worries to rest.

"I told you I'm a numpty," was the other's response as he stepped in and pressed his lips against his. The scent of tobacco was heavy on his breath, and if Ghost hadn't just been smoking too then he probably would have minded the ashy taste. Instead it was familiar and strangely comforting to him. Without so much as a second thought, Ghost gripped at MacTavish's coat sleeve and pressed himself into the kiss. He couldn't be sure if the pleased hum was one of his own or from the other man.

They shared a few seconds of bliss before they stopped, lingering very close to each other. As much as Ghost was tempted to offer up a snarky remark about how it'd taken so long for this to come up again, he couldn't find the words to express that. Silence was broken by the impact of Ghost's back to the side of the hangar. The Captain leaned into him for a much more heated kiss that he was happy to reciprocate. His fingers tangled into MacTavish's mohawk, gripping his hair as he fought for some control. Excited by this sudden change, he almost managed to skip the fact that this wasn't at all private enough for their behavior.