#asterdisaster writing

[asterdisaster06]

He Calls Me Back

simon "ghost" riley x john "soap" mactavish

Pt 1. Pt 2.

summary > “I’m tired of you disappearing for weeks and then waltzing back into my life like it’s nothing.”

“Better than me disappearing for good.”

“Is it?”

. . .

word count > 4.0k

warnings > angst, simon riley is a dick, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, soap POV, minimal simon riley involvement, we love price laswell alejandro and gaz

ao3

Soap had come to terms with his fate in the cold cell with a bright fluorescent light hanging above him in a mocking way. All of the light from his eyes had already faded, his condition near catatonic due to the absolute heartbreak and shame that he was going through. This had to be rock bottom. Maybe if rock bottom had a basement, that was where he was. He was still minus the uncontrollable shaking of his frame like a house in the middle of an earthquake. It felt as if it all came crashing down as the foundation was taken away. Simon was his load-bearer, and now he was gone. Soap would be surprised if it wasn’t for good this time. 

He rotted away in the cell with the other men who had committed much worse crimes from the words being floated around the jail. He bet that they were better off than he was though, ironically. He stared down at his dirty hands that had kept him alive for this long and yet have been the very death of him. And to think, he was afraid of living life in Simon’s footsteps. Look where he is now. Exactly the same place that he’s had to bail his lover out of more times than he should have had to count. Soap had been lost for a long time. And yet, he trudged on the soldier that he was. Like the soldier he still is. Somehow, somewhere, some time in that cell had Soap find some startling revelations. About Simon. About himself. 

The pure despondency and despair that encased his nervous system thawed, melted away. He would’ve loved Simon until the ocean dried. He would’ve loved him until the sun had burnt out. He would’ve loved him until the end of time since the dawn of time. It made a singular tear with no real meaning roll down his cheek silently. If he had any more left in his body, his sobs that wracked his body just then wouldn’t have been dry. He had wasted his life, his opportunities, his friends and for what? A man that didn’t even love him back. Couldn’t love him back. He had spent his time and life being a sacrifice for Simon. Soap had poured his heart and soul into someone he no longer could say he knew. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a buzz and then the click of the lock on the cell gate. A guard came in and roughly gripped Soap’s bicep to haul him up. His instincts almost wanted to fight back, but that’s exactly how he had ended up in this situation, so he decided against it. His dazed eyes filled with the horrors that he had seen swirling in his irises darted around the room like a crazed animal. A direct juxtaposition from his body that was so very tired. A body that he had neglected to take care of in favor of filling it with booze and sorrow. 

Soap’s eyes finally focused on the men in front of him, staring at him like the stranger he felt he was to them. He noticed the bloody rag that Gaz was clutching to his face and a sharp pang of regret hit him suddenly. He hoped that his look of a sad stray dog sent their way accurately portrayed the message he wanted to convey because he no longer trusted his throat to speak. There was an indistinct voice that made no sense to Soap’s foggy mind saying words that sounded like pure gibberish. What he could tell was that Price and Gaz nodded solemnly and his mortal body was transferred into their possession. His soul was still stuck mourning the loss of the life he had with Simon back in that cell. Despite knowing that it was completely in vain. It should have happened a long time ago. 

Soap was quietly led to the car he recognized as Price’s. He thinks he muttered a quiet sorry to Gaz, but he’s not entirely sure. For good measure he repeated it over and over again until he felt Gaz in the backseat with him embracing his broken body and rubbing his back. The sick thought that Simon used to do this crossed his mind, but he tossed it to the side in favor of gripping with all the strength he had left in his feeble body to Gaz’s hoodie - his head buried in the crook of his friend’s neck. He swears he hears Gaz murmur gentle words of comfort that eased his feelings of grief and remorse. 

He’s not entirely sure when he passed out, but he knows he awoke in the driveway of Price’s house to Gaz silently nudging him away. The man whispered tender words of encouragement to get Soap out of the car. Out of the cage he felt trapped in. For once in his life, he took the hand that was reached out to help - not hurt - him. He shuffled slowly into the house, a quick thought about him getting mud on the floors crossing his mind. He attempted to take his boots off, but struggled with the laces getting knotted up too tight. Price softly moved his desperate hands out of the way and undid them for him, slipping them off like a parent would to a child. All the pain he could have saved if he had simply jumped ship over to the lifeboat his friends had forever been offering much sooner. 

Soap had no tears left to grieve over this fact, and so he settled for trembling shoulders as his lungs spasmed with the force of his emotions - leaving him breathless. Price forced him to look up at him, and through his bleary vision Soap could see him mouthing the words ‘breathe with me’ while demonstrating what he wanted MacTavish to do. Soap followed suit and eventually let the pain settle to a gentle simmer in his soul instead of boiling over. He was led to a bathroom and sat on the edge of the bathtub as Price ran a warm bubble bath for him. One thing he could notice was the scent that Price seemed to still remember was his favorite. It warmed his heart with a bittersweet emotion he couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Gaz entered the bathroom carrying a plethora of fluffy towels and warm clothes fresh from the dryer meant for him. Soap stared up at Gaz who had a cut across his nose from the promise ring still on Soap’s hand. At that thought, he looked down at his shaky hands and reached for the ring to tug it off and lay on the countertop. He wasn’t quite ready to part with it permanently, but this was a solid solution for now. His two companions left him on his own with a smile, claiming that they would be right outside cooking dinner if he needed anything. They treated him with a kindness he felt he no longer deserved after what he had put them through. The gentle eyes still full of familiar love and care washed those worries away for the time being. 

As the door slowly shut, Soap peeled off the wet and muddy clothes that he felt suffocated in. He stepped into the warm bath, sighing at the feeling of sheer relief that the soapy water gave him. Scrubbing away at his skin until it was raw, he let himself just sit in a peace he hadn’t offered himself in a long, long while. He closed his eyes, letting the aroma of the room permeate his senses until a soundless tranquility washed through his veins. After a few minutes of that, Soap decided it was time to step out and face the reality that he had put himself in. Both the dirt and the bleariness was washed out of him. Drying himself off, Soap put on the clothes that Gaz had offered him, identifying them as the British man’s own. He suspects that Gaz intentionally chose oversized clothes from his closet to bring over to compensate for the height difference. He smiled at the thought of his friend running around to find the perfect outfit for the occasion, since he knew that with Gaz’s perfectionism nature that’s likely exactly how it happened. The smile quickly faded as the dire situation he found himself in became apparent. 

He must’ve spent almost five whole minutes just staring at the doorknob deciding whether or not he could fit through the small bathroom window. The decision was made for him as a knock on the door echoed around the small room as Gaz’s voice pierced his ears, asking if he was okay. 

“Everything’s alright,” Soap said, deciding to open the barrier separating him from the man that saved him in spite of everything that had happened.

“That’s good, real good. Price is almost done with dinner,” Gaz smiled. “I was kicked out of the kitchen after he deemed I didn’t know the right way to chop onions.”

Soap knew that it was equally possible that that whole situation had actually happened or it being an elaborate excuse for Gaz to take a break from cooking to check on him. Whichever one it was, Soap held only admiration and appreciation for the man with more strength than he could ever realize. 

“I want to thank you for, well, everything. I know I was kind of an asshole - I am an asshole to you guys. And despite it all you helped me, and I can never show you how thankful I am for that,” Soap rambled, nervously fiddling with a non-existent loose string on the hoodie he was wearing. 

“Shit, man, we served on the battlefield together. We’ve had our highs and lows and had each other’s back through all of it. You’ve saved my life more than I can count. The least I can do is carry it over. And seriously, don’t even worry about hitting me. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. We all have our instincts y’know? Plus, that was a mean left hook,” Gaz said, grinning. “All that we really ask for in repayment is that you go to therapy.”

“I can do that, absolutely. I can’t thank you enough,” Soap trailed off, wanting to say so much more but not having the time nor words to express it. 

“Don’t mention it, think of it as a repayment for you fishing the bullet out of my stomach with your bare hands back in Paris,” Gaz winked.

“That has absolutely no correlation to this situation, you twat,” Soap said, laughing for the first time in a while. He almost felt a sense of normalcy in the banter, in this house. No, this home. 

“Hey you hooligans, get your asses in here before the food gets cold,” Price yells out from the kitchen. 

Soap and Gaz share a knowing look before Gaz says, “On the count of three. One,” and then proceeds to take off sprinting down the hallway. Soap was already running before Gaz had said the first digit, knowing the only way to win against a cheater is to cheat yourself. They burst through the hallway, their socks making them drift on the last turn. Soap emerged victorious, feeling triumphant for the first time in a long while. With a rare smile on his face, he sat down at the table and stared at the mouth watering food in front of him. For someone who had been living off simple rations for months previously out of lack of motivation to cook, the food in front of him seemed like a feast fit for kings. 

Soap reminisces on when he used to cook for himself and Simon, whole hearted enjoying it at the time. There were a lot of things he had given up on for Simon. Cooking and baking his mom’s classic recipes she had passed down to him, drawing in those plethora of journals that have been collecting dust around the apartment, tending to flowers around the house that have been long dead - the petals of the flowers that once reminded him of Simon’s beauty dead on the stained floor. Himself. 

Soap began stuffing his face with food, enjoying the taste of something he hadn’t seen in a while. Genuine, homemade food. The sounds of cutlery clinking against the plate and the passing of food and condiments around being the only thing breaking the silence besides the soft music playing on Price’s radio in the kitchen. The radio taunting him with songs of beautiful and heavenly romance. 

“So, how’d a muppet like you end up here,” Price said, partly amused, partly still concerned for Soap’s well-being. 

Soap looked up from his plate slowly after swallowing what he was chewing in order to stare his Captain in the eyes. Shame filled the window to his soul, making him feel smaller than he was. 

“I guess I kept hoping that he’d call me back,” Soap admitted, chewing at his bottom lip. He knew it was a simple answer to a complex question, but it was honestly the truth and all the men there knew it. 

“Well, we’re not doing anymore of that, Soap. You draw the line wherever you need it, Sergeant. End of the day, only you have control over your life. We can have your back whenever and wherever, and we will continue to do so, but you need to make the choice to move on and get better,” Price said, his Captain voice being brought out in order to fully convince Soap of the man’s confidence in him. 

“Affirmative, Sir. I’m going to get better, and I’m going to stick to it,” Soap said, knowing his last sentence was a little jab at Simon saying he would heal and never committing to it. Maybe never fully committing himself to his lover that always waited for him at home. 

“Atta boy, we’ll be here for you for as long as you need,” Price says.

“Whatever you need, we’ll get it for you,” Gaz nods, adding onto Price’s promise. 

“God, what did I do to deserve you guys,” Soap’s expression softened and a faint smile came across his face. 

“It’s what the 141 does for each other,” Price claims, the offering of his support showing through his tone. 

“You’d do the same for us,” Gaz murmured affectionately. 

“A toast to you, MacTavish. The life you knew before is gone. Today, we fight to bring it back,” Price raises his water glass to clink against Soap’s. 

“Amen to that,” Soap replies, “One step at a time.”

“One step at a time,” Gaz reassures him.

The rest of dinner is filled with pure laughter and jokes thrown at each other about humorous interactions on base. There’s a lot of catching up occurring, and Soap is exhausted by the end of it. He offers to help Price with dishes but that is shut down almost immediately with Price ordering Gaz to show Soap the guest room. Gaz gives a mock salute with a toothy grin accompanying it. He guides Soap’s soul to his resting place almost like a grim reaper would. His soul that had been lost for a long time. 

Gaz wishes him a goodnight, saying that both him and Price would still be there in the morning and to expect pancakes for breakfast - his favorite. Soap offers up an unconvincing smile, parroting the goodnight response that’s expected of him. Gaz shoots him a look but leaves him alone to rest. 

Soap looked around the room, observing how bare it seemed and deciding at that moment that he was going to spruce it up a little bit when he had the time. He somehow doubted that Price would let him be on his own until he was completely okay. At least, to his Captain’s standards. He was going to decorate it in a way that reminded him of who he was before Simon. 

Letting out a sigh, Soap lays down and stares at the ceiling fan spinning around and around. He could fool himself for a moment and claim that it was the new environment that was affecting his sleep; however, he knew that wasn’t the truth. Soap didn’t get much sleep most nights. He’s seeing Simon in every dream. If only he could fall asleep but it wasn’t that simple. He was lying awake, restless, his belongings in a military issued duffle bag that Gaz had brought over from the apartment and received back from the detaining officer from the jail. The phone that he knew was sitting on top of all the clothes was occupying all of his thoughts, stopping unconsciousness from coming to him. He didn’t have a strong willpower against temptation in this aspect of life and he inevitably reached for it to check the lock screen. An image of Simon and him smiling while on a summer vacation lit the dark room up. Soap wasn’t entirely sure whether it was anger or angst filling his chest. He wasn’t sure there was a notable difference between the two at this point. 

Soap stared down at his phone, scrolling through the notifications of missed calls and texts from Price and Gaz and even Laswell and Alejandro. Those last two hurt the most because they had no obligation to try and reach him, he didn’t even call them, but there were zero notifications from Ghost. Absolutely nothing. Apparently Ghost did not have time for his bullshit. Suddenly, Soap was filled with visceral rage and anguish. He knew he wasn’t getting any sleep tonight and so he stood up to go on a nightrun. Something that he’s gotten in the habit of after Simon started leaving him again and again. He expected Gaz and Price to be asleep, or at the very least in their respective rooms, but he found them sitting in the living room. He takes a look at the clock and realizes it’s only 9PM, way earlier than he thought it was. He supposes the tiredness warped his perception of time more than he thought. 

“Can’t sleep?” Price asks gently. 

Soap simply shakes his head, staring at his feet while he awkwardly stands there. He takes in his surroundings while shakily taking in a deep breath. 

“C’mere,” Gaz says, patting the seat next to him, wrapping an arm around Soap once he had sat down. 

“Why am I so obsessive over someone that doesn’t give a flying fuck about me,” Soap snaps, his Scottish accent coming out. Gaz simply rubs small circles with his thumb on Soap’s shoulder to comfort him, aware that he just needed to vent and get all of this out. 

“Not a single call or text from him. I called him as much as the officer let me, and then some! And not even a text asking if I was okay,” Soap cried, starting to shake and tremble. 

“Fuck him, Soap. You’re a strong soldier, a caring man, and a wonderful person. If he can’t understand that then you shouldn’t waste your time with him,” Gaz spits out, pulling Soap closer into his side. Price notices his phone vibrating on the table with a certain caller ID that he recognized and moved to click hang up. He notices Soap’s gaze tracking his movements.

“Laswell’s calling me back, are you okay with speaking to her?” Price lies, letting the call end on its own while inconspicuously hiding the contact information from Soap. Soap simply nods yes, not questioning his Captain’s words. Quickly Price messaged Kate and then pulled out the computer from under the table for the video call. Price had full confidence that she would answer a message from him. That’s why he chose her as the pinnacle of his white lie. He also quickly texted Alejandro, explaining the situation, wanting double the support for his broken Sergeant. He needed to hear the voices of his teammates. He needed to not bear all of this on his own. 

Laswell and Alejandro joined the call as Soap quickly wiped his eyes to seem semi-put together as he looked at the skeletal figure staring back at him from the computer screen. There was a chorus of greetings between all five of them to start the conversation out. Kate spoke first after the lull of silence, asking Soap if he was doing okay. 

“I feel like I’ve been through hell and back, but I feel much better now, thank you Kate,” Soap spoke, his voice full of emotion still. 

“You look like it too, hermano,” Alejandro jokes light-heartedly, eliciting a cacophony of laughter. 

“From Price and Gaz’s tone when they called us when you went on the run, we thought you’d ended up six feet under,” Kate says solemnly, eyes betraying her fervor. 

“I kinda wish I did,” Soap jokes. Simon’s dark humor had apparently rubbed off on him. Gaz lightly hits him and Price sends him a sharp look at his words. 

“Ay, none of that, chiquito,” Alejandro sternly says, his voice full of endearment. 

“MacTavish, I don’t want to hear that from you ever again,” Laswell states, her authoritative tone rivaling Price’s. 

“I don’t actually mean it, I’m just so fucking tired of feeling worthless and overwhelmed and so very full of shame and regret,” Soap says, his voice fading near the end. 

“You mean the world to us, Soap. I want you to know that we care so much about you and anything you need, anything you could possibly want, we’ll get you,” Price says earnestly. 

“You have accomplished so much on your own and will continue to do so. We’re just here as your little cheerleaders on the side-lines,” Gaz jokes, ruffling his grown out hair. 

“You have gone through so much, MacTavish, and I’m so very proud of you,” Kate says, her voice colored with extreme sincerity. 

“Cariño, you have endured these circumstances with such bravery that I wish you could understand. You have nothing to regret because you’ve done the best you could with what you knew. Treat yourself with kindness,” Alejandro finishes. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you guys. What did I do to deserve all of you,” Soap chuckles, trying to hold back tears of happiness this time around. 

“You survived, and that’s all we ask of you,” Price answers genuinely. 

“Just keep marching forward like the bad-ass motherfucker you are,” Gaz claims with a chuckle. 

“Give yourself permission to move on and heal,” Alejandro smiles softly. 

“You trying to get better is all I ask for,” Laswell says.

The group talked late into the night, beginning to turn to more lighthearted topics that left them wheezing with laughter and tears rolling down their faces. Soap had almost forgotten what it was like, and he realized he never wanted to let go of this again. The call came to an end as they realized how late it was, an echo of ‘goodnights’ and ‘stay safes’ were said as Price clicked the end call button. Soap sat there with a smile on his face, squished between Price and Gaz. 

Soap let out an affectionate sigh, saying, “I saw the contact info of the call you received, Price, and I know it wasn’t Laswell. I need you to know I’m not a fragile doll that you need to tell lies to in order to protect, but I thank you for your compassion nonetheless.” 

“I figured it would be easier if you didn’t have to face him right after what you had said, and I know you needed some kind words,” Price admits. 

“You’re right, you always are. I don’t think I’d even know what to say to him,” Soap confesses. 

“Hey, the time will come eventually where you have to face him, but not now. Not now,” Gaz reassures Soap. 

It eases the nerves plaguing Soap’s mind, but he still didn’t know exactly what he was going to do about Simon. One day at a time though as Gaz said. 

One day at a time. . . 

#ao3 #cod fic #cod mw2 #fanfic #mw2 141 #simon ghost riley #cod 141 #john soap mactavish #mw2 #angst #simon riley x john mactavish #ghost x soap #hurt/comfort #hurt/aftermath #emotional angst #simon riley is bad at feelings ): #asterdisaster writing