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It had rained the whole week leading up to the one year anniversary of Soap's death. And not the light kind, but the type of rain that threatened to break glass. The kind of rain that flooded streets, and soaked you to the bone.
Usually it helped Ghost get some amount of sleep. It dulled his racing thoughts, and then pulled him under. But not this week. This week, with every raindrop came Johnny. If it weren't for the fact that Gaz and Price were constantly hovering around, the lack of Johnny might've felt like he was back at the church in Las Almas waiting for him to just answer him.
And he felt like he was going insane, because as much as Gaz and Price's hovering helped remind him that he wasn't in Las Almas, he knew it was only temporary. The truth was that without Johnny there was barely any trace of the 141. He didn't know how to talk to Gaz without Johnny, didn't want Price to feel like he needed babysitting, so he distanced himself, and promised himself one thing.
Never let himself get close to a teammate the way he was with Johnny again.
He was doing a real damn good job of that too.
He let whatever was left of Simon Riley join Johnny's ashes as they scattered through the wind. Buried it under all his layers, and masked it behind skull prints and wool cloth. Johnny got closer than anyone ever had, and he had let him. But the one person who he had let his walls down for was now nothing more than memory and ash.
If Gaz and Price had noticed the effect Johnny had on him, they never said anything, but Ghost knew from their silent conversations and glances that they knew. They also never said anything when Ghost reverted back to being- well, a ghost. He only spoke when needed, and operated on autopilot. Didn't make jokes anymore. Didn't find them funny. Didn't want to hear anyone else laugh but the person they were meant for. It wasn't really living, but he had survived this way once. He was sure he could do it again.
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The rain stopped the day what was left of the 141 set off for London. Ghost couldn't really find it in himself to ask Price how he had managed to get all three of them a day off, but the old man had his ways.
A part of him wanted to beg Price to let him stay on base. Let him take up a million missions all at once so his mind could focus on anything but Johnny. But the moment Price called him and Gaz into his office to discuss his plans, he knew his mind had already lost the battle to his scarred but still beating heart. And he told himself it was for Johnny. Hell, he wouldn't be doing this for anybody else but Johnny.
So on the morning of November 21st, Ghost slid into the passenger seat of Price's car while Gaz rambled about whatever had happened during yesterdays training session with the recruits. It was obvious Gaz was trying to lighten the mood. Ghost felt like a black hole sucking all of that out, and he would've felt bad about it if he could. It was a hard day for all of them, and here he was becoming the rain clouds that had shaded the sun all week. But Johnny was the sun, and he was gone.
It was a long drive to get from the base to London. Ghost stared out the window for the better part of it. Watching as the clouds shifted in the sky, preparing for the next bout of rain. The radio became white noise under Price and Gaz's conversation, but his focus shifted when he heard Price say:
"Soap,"
"He'd love this," Gaz stated, "would call us softies and laugh at us,"
Ghost looked at Gaz through the rearview mirror, caught the twinkle in his eye, the smile on his face. But he also caught the tears that threatened to spill, before Gaz shifted his focus down at his hands in his lap.
There was something about the way Gaz talked about Johnny. Like the thought of remembering him made Gaz light up and ramble as if whatever memory he had conjured had occurred just hours ago. Like Johnny was still alive.
Ghost on the other hand felt like ripping his own heart out, and cursing himself for having emotions. The weight of Johnny's death weighed on him and whenever he remembered just a sliver of happiness his mind immediately shut it down.
Johnny's not here. He's not coming back. Johnny's dead. You're alone again.
He ignored Price's gaze on him. He could hold himself together for a little longer. Force all his emotions under his mask, and when they returned to base tonight he could cry all he wanted. His eyes scanned the back seat through the rearview mirror. He caught a glimpse of the flowers sitting beside Gaz. Bright pretty things, colourful too. He had no idea how Price managed to get them. He was on base all day yesterday Ghost was sure of it. But once again Price had his ways.
The drive was long, and quiet for the most part, but soon enough they reached London. Ghost had been here a few times since. Every once in a while, he'd drive into the city, just for a change of scenery on his off days. But he never dared to drive past the alleyway. Somewhere along the way the rain had picked up again. It hit the roof of the car, mimicking their syncopated heartbeats.
Price parked a block away. Gaz pulled his hood up, as they walked towards the alleyway. Ghost's legs felt like jelly. He shoved his hands inside the pockets of his jacket to hide how violently they shook. He could see Gaz wiping his eyes already. He tried to shift his attention to the rain rather than Gaz's sniffles, and shaky breaths. He knew Gaz didn't care but he had been an asshole all morning, the least he could do was spare Gaz a little privacy.
Ghost had run through all the scenarios in his head, but somehow his body froze when he saw the familiar tunnel, and the gated up entrance.
Price knelt down, placing the flowers against the metal. Ghost watched as he took off his hat, holding it to his chest, his eyes shut. He knelt there for what felt like forever, but what was only a few moments. His cheeks were damp when he opened his eyes. Ghost could've blamed the rain, but he knew Price. He had known the man for a long time.
There was always a part of Price that blamed himself for Johnny's death. That small voice that haunted Ghost and Gaz also haunted Price, but it muttered something different. Ghost didn't know what happened in that moment, but what he did know was that Price was there when the first bullet hit Johnny. Both of them lowered their guard for a split second, and Johnny had paid the price. And it wasn't even just the events of that day that haunted the old man. Ghost knew there was something else there. Something that laid deeper. If he hadn't stopped Johnny from killing Makarov, then Makarov wouldn't have killed Johnny.
Ghost thought about that a lot. More than he liked to admit. In the early days following Johnny's death, his mind had constantly circled back to that moment. And for a period he couldn't even look at his captain. Couldn't bring himself to look at the bigger picture. Couldn't force himself to look at things from Price's point of view.
And it would be a lie to say he had fully forgiven his captain for that order. No matter how much time passed, Johnny's death was a direct consequence of keeping Makarov alive. Ghost couldn't just forgive and forget. He couldn't let it go no matter how hard he tried. But he knew his captain felt probably a hundred times more hatred towards himself than Ghost did to him. Because his captain wasn't stupid. He knew. It haunted him. And for now, that was enough for Ghost.
Gaz went next. Ghost watched him crouch in front of the flowers Price had set down. "Hey Soap," he started, voice wavering, matching his shaking shoulders. "You're lucky there's no way to reach you or I'd be dragging your ass back here to help me with all the new recruits,"
Price stepped up behind Gaz, putting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to help carry some of the pain. A part of him envied Gaz. He wished he translate his feelings into words just as easily as the other. He wished he could accept the comfort Price once tried to offer him before Ghost had shrugged himself away like Price's hand was poison. Because he once needed the physical weight of somebody, just to know they cared. That they were there, standing beside him, sharing the pain with him instead of just witnessing it. But something had shifted, and that part of him was stripped away, and buried.
Silence washed over them. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, pounding against his chest so hard he thought it might break his ribs, Gaz's sniffles, and the rain pouring down on them. Ghost felt like running away, putting as much distance between this horrible place and himself and just running until his legs stopped working.
Ghost snapped out of his freeze, stepping towards the gate.
Gaz's eyes shot up at him as he ran a hand along the metal.
"I need to go in," he mumbled. He looked at Price, but he wasn't looking for his permission. He was going to do this regardless.
He could sense both Price and Gaz's shift from devastation to confusion. He looked back down the alley, behind the chained fence he could see the door into the tunnels. The doors they raided a year ago, when tunnels became a tomb.
"You're not going to take 'no' for an answer," Price said. More like a statement, like Ghost's actions were as predictable as the next drop of rain.
Ghost turned back to Price. His hat was soaked, water dripping off the brim. And then Gaz. Both of them were visibly distraught. Rain mixing with tears. Noses red from a mixture of the cold and the tears, and Ghost couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't pretend to just be oblivious to their pain. His heart moved his body before his mind could stop him, and uncharacteristically, he patted Gaz's other shoulder.
The man looked up at him. More confusion. Probably thought Ghost was going to get himself killed in there. That he'd never come back. Price opened his mouth, Ghost figured it was about how long he had until they started searching for him. He didn't stay to hear what the old man had to say. He jumped the fence as easily as he had at the church at Las Almas, and his mind almost made him believe he was there.
In the pouring rain, and with Johnny waiting on the other side.
The tunnel, unsurprisingly was exactly like he remembered. His feet guided him through the gravel, and across the tracks but faltered once they reached the stone pavement.
Hesitantly, he forced himself to step onto the platform. Forced himself to turn his head to the spot Johnny haunted. The stone was stained still. Kind of hard to wash away blood, yet alone in a place that was so protected from the elements. He stood over it. Just staring at the stain as if Johnny's body was still there.
It was hard to scrub that image from his mind. Seeing Johnny's body, and watching the blood flood out of the hole in head. He could remember it like it was yesterday. The blood around Johnny's head like a halo, his blue eyes shut, never to open again. The image crept into his mind more often than he would admit. It buried itself in there, burning a hole through Ghost's own head. And sometimes it came to him in dreams. He would wake up, heart racing, skin sweating, and despite it being a dream, it was still his reality.
His breath hitched, and he slowly lowered himself into a crouch. It was just like a year ago. His knee tucked underneath him, the other one folded to his chest. The only difference this time was the fact he was completely alone in the echoey train tunnel. His joints protested against the movement still stiff from that long car ride, and the hardness of the stone beneath him didn't help.
The tunnel lighting flickered as he ran his fingers across the stone pavement. He didn't want to take too long and have Price drive back in the middle of whatever hell was going on outside. But something deep within his chest begged him to stay.
He sighed, his mind and his heart clearly at war with each other. "Fucking hell," he whispered, before shaking off his hood, and grabbing the back of his balaclava. He shut his eyes, before ripping the cloth off his face.
His blonde curls dropped into his eyes. He shoved his mask below his chin, ignoring how the elastic pulled his ears down.
"Starting to think you should be called 'Ghost', with all the haunting you've been doing to us,"
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, was an echo of a laugh. Johnny's. While he fought against the lump in his throat, his eyes started to burn. But Ghost wasn't here right now. He had taken off his mask, digging Simon Riley up from the spot he had buried himself. And Simon Riley had been buried so long, he felt like his chest was about to explode when he breathed. Each breath rattling off another wave of anger, hurt, grief. But for the first time in a year, he let himself actually feel his emotions rather than dig new graves for every time he felt the slightest bit of anything.
Simon's hands fumbled with the zipper of his jacket, before unzipping it just enough for him to be able to access the inside pocket. He pulled out a singular flower. He had separated it from the rest of the bouquet at one of the earlier rest stops.
He placed the flower on the ground. Right on the middle of the stained stone. The white petals of the flower stood out against the darkened grey. Like how Johnny stood out against the red blood pooling around his head. A fallen angel, or targeted prey, probably both. Something beautiful against something that had been pried out of a nightmare. His mind still couldn't really remember the details of that mission. He just knew that they had left base with Johnny, and had returned without him.
Salt pooled in the corners of his eyes. He didn't fight the tears. Just let them leak out and run down his cheeks. He might not have been able to remember much, but he remembered what he felt that day. Kneeling here, on what was left of Johnny's dreams, hopes and life, Simon remembered.
He was too late that day. If him and Gaz had arrived a few seconds earlier. If they had ran a little faster, pushed their burning lungs a little further they could've made it in time. He knew Gaz thought about it all the time too. It wasn't hard to figure that out. It was every time Gaz looked at him. As well as both of them could hide it, they both knew the reality of the situation.
If only we were quicker.
He patted over the flower like he had patted Johnny's stopped heart. There were a million things he wanted to say. Things he had gone over in his head until he thought he would go insane. But it wasn't as if he could ramble a few phrases and breathe Johnny back into existence. He thought about that a year ago. That maybe he could breathe and Johnny would magically start breathing with him. That he could reach inside the gunshot wound and mould Johnny's brain back together.
It didn't work like that.
"Miss ya," was what he settled on. He hoped it was enough. Hoped that if Johnny's spirit was still floating around, he was able to read minds. He couldn't summon the words, didn't really know how to properly explain how whenever he thought about Johnny his chest would tighten and it hurt to breathe. Couldn't explain how everything was grey and lifeless now. How it was so unfair that the one person who loved living, and dreaming, and loving, was gone. All he could really do was hope that Johnny knew his thoughts from wherever he was.
Finally, once the ache in his heart had settled to a dull throb, and the tears that spilled slowed, Simon pushed himself up from his kneel. His knee hurt like hell, but he didn't really let that kind of pain bother him anymore.
He ran a hand over his face, and dried his tears before tearing his eyes away from the spot he'd been staring at for the past couple minutes. It felt longer than that honestly. Price was probably minutes away from coming in here himself to make sure Simon didn't completely break down.
The mask went back over his face, covering his quivering lips, and then the balaclava, hiding his blonde curls. He closed his eyes, took a breath. His mind thought about Johnny's eyes. Bright, blue, like the summer sky. Summer had been hard. No matter where they went, the sky was always blue. Like Johnny was watching them. When he exhaled, his eyes flicked back open.
He stared at the spot he had been crouching over. The white flower. The stained stone. Simon Riley's tears. And just like he had done a year ago, Ghost dug Simon a new grave.
Sure he would cry later, in the privacy of his own room. But he left his spirit here a year ago, and he had no intention of bringing him home. Not without Johnny.
He took one last look at the flower, before forcing himself to leave the tunnel, and finding Price and Gaz.
Ghost slid back into the passenger seat. They sat in silence for a while. It was hard to ignore the fact that both Price and Gaz had red rimmed eyes. But finally, when things felt as right as they could be, Price started his engine.
The rain had stopped, a rare pause in the constant storm. Time froze, for just a few seconds, before Price shifted gears, and pulled out back onto the road.
Ghost was still staring out the window, watching as raindrops raced down the glass. He rose his hand, and tapped the window with a gloved fist. "See you later Johnny,"
He kept his eyes glued on alley, on the flowers positioned outside the entrance, until it blurred with the rest of the London street.