Chapter Text
Simon is going to exact terrible, bloody, violent revenge on the next soldier to smuggle garlic butter into the communal fridge. It’s not like it’ll kill him but it is incredibly irritating, gives him a headache that he can’t even take painkillers for, because he’s dead and they don’t fucking work, and forces him to use up his already limited blood supply faster than he’d like.
It’s also just deeply inconsiderate.
The base has a couple of vampires living on it and the garlic ban is there for the exact reason the ‘unauthorised silver’ ban is there. To keep everyone comfortable and safe.
Although considering he himself has the fangs on his mask tipped in ‘unauthorised silver’ then maybe the moral is that rule-breaking is only okay when he does it. Regardless, he’s significantly older than almost everyone else on base and he deserves their respect at the very least.
“When Ah find the prick who keeps sneaking in the contraband, do ye want me to kill him, LT?” Soap chirps, and if he can smell it without the fine-tuned vampire sensibilities Simon has, then it really has got to be an egregious amount of garlic.
“If it’s not too much bother, yeah.”
“Or do ye just want me to turn them over to you?” Simon hears a nervous gulp from the living space behind them, figures that Soap would choose to mess with the lad instead of just telling him to be courteous. Simon kind of appreciates the chance to join in.
“Can hardly drain them with that much garlic in their system can I? Guess I could just chuck 'em in the wheelie bins outside after I’ve offed ‘em.”
“Good call, LT, dickhead like that would deserve no better, shame he’s not here right now.” It’s pointed far beyond the limits of subtlety and Simon hears a squeak followed by the scramble of retreating footsteps, sees Soap puff up, apparently not satisfied that the message had gotten through.
“Down boy.” He murmurs, a placating hand on Soap’s shoulder, trying not to focus on the warmth he can feel seeping through his glove, “We’ve got a briefing to get to.”
He nods his head in the direction of Price’s office and sees Soap relax, just a little. Starts walking and knows Soap will follow.
“Aye sir. Just don’t care for that little bawbag, been saying some anti-vamp shite, I heard.”
“Doesn’t bother me, Johnny. I’m sure I’ve heard it all before.”
Soap snorts “Ah ken, sir, but it bothers me on yer behalf. Can’t have my favourite LT insulted like that.”
“Then whatever you have planned as revenge, do me a favour and don’t get caught.” Simon lets himself smile under the mask, also lets himself lean just a little closer so he can breathe in the smell of him. This close he can smell his blood as easily as if he had his nose pressed to his pulse.
There’s no explanation for it, at least not one he's willing to acknowledge, why Soap smells so much better than anyone and everyone else Simon has ever met. Has since the moment he walked onto base. Was probably the driving force behind Simon finally caving and allowing Johnny to cultivate the fragile friendship that exists between them.
If in his weaker moments Simon has sometimes wished that it could extend beyond friendship, stray into a slightly riskier territory of fraternisation and feelings, well, that’s nobody’s business but his, and he doesn’t intend to inspect it too closely.
“I dinnae ken what ye mean, sir.”
“Good lad.” Simon lets some of his amusement drip into his voice, steps aside to allow Soap to knock on the door.
Tries in the last few moments they have not to bask too excessively in the warm something that Soap’s defensiveness over him stirs up.
Soap wanders into the office and, as always, pretends to shut the door to bar Simon’s entry before Price can invite him in. As always, Simon flips him off.
“Please come in, Simon.” Price says, with the weary tone of anyone who has had to invite the same person into the same room hundreds of times. “Don’t know why they won’t just let me give you a standing invite.” he mutters, irritated. Simon just shrugs, what the military will and won’t allow regarding human-vampire relations on base is such an unerringly nonsensical maze of contradictions he’s spent the last twenty or so years choosing not to think about it too hard.
“Probably so I can’t just barge in here and catch you wanking, sir.” Ghost offers and then holds up his hands in surrender at Price’s sharp look.
The briefing itself, once Gaz joins them, is largely uneventful, the usual basic mission rundown. Intel says that a fringe group of radicals is stockpiling weapons in the arse-end of nowhere and it’s their job to find out why and if necessary, put a stop to it.
He spends most of it staring at the way the light through Price’s grimy car park facing window highlights the planes of Soap’s face. Winces, but shrugs mildly when Price catches him looking, turns his attention back to the map on the desk.
“Laswell wants the three of us not-dead lads to complete Psychological Block Training over the next couple of days.”
Now that piques Simon’s interest, he’s the only vampire on the team and there’s only one reason the other members might need to do that specific course.
“She wants you to consent to me invading your minds? She can’t be serious. Don’t I have to consent too?”
“You will if you want us to come back alive.” Price says, brooking no argument “These guys apparently have some sort of high tech comms interference, comms could be shaky at best and downright unusable at worst. If you can access our minds then at least we’ll still have some form of contact available to us.”
“I don’t mind-” Gaz starts, but Ghost levels him with a stare that has him shutting up.
“What about the teams who are already set up for this?”
“I already asked, Simon, I knew you wouldn’t like this but none of them is available.”
Ghost doesn’t even know why he feels so panicked about it, except that he’s always been a weak man and he’s not entirely sure that if their blocks aren’t good he’ll be able to resist listening in.
“I won’t do it unless you all pass with distinction, any of your walls come down during the mission and it’ll be a distraction. Don’t want us compromised because one of you couldn’t stop mentally singing the macarena.” He aims the last at Soap, which isn’t entirely unfair since he’d spent their last ex-fil flight proving that he could sing The Ketchup Song from start to finish, even though no one had asked him to.
“I swear, I’ll only take down the wall to send you my dirtiest jokes, LT.” Ghost rears back, clearly about to launch into a tirade and Soap throws his hands up, “I’m kidding, Ghost I promise I’ll take it serious as a heart attack.”
“He will.” Price says pointedly and Soap at least has the good grace to look a little chastened.
Logically, Ghost knows the rules for Psy-Block Training are strict and rigorous, his team more than capable. He just can’t shake the fear coiling in his gut at the level of intimacy required to delve into someone’s consciousness.
“Okay.” He says, finally.
“Okay.” Price agrees.
-
The training takes the rest of them three full days in the end. They all look exhausted every time they leave in the evening, Simon wouldn’t even really know what it entails, considering he’s the one they’re trying to block out he’s never had to undergo any of it himself.
It’s the very end of the third day when he’s summoned up to the training rooms to take their consent.
Price goes first, steps forward in the oddly formal way that is required for this process. He extends his hand and Simon removes one of his gloves so he can shake it, palm to palm.
“I, John Price, do with sound mind and body consent to give you, Simon Riley, psychological access.” The words are clunky, government mandated, though a simple ‘have at it’ would suffice.
The connection forms without any fanfare, just exists where it didn’t before, a skylight in a previously windowless room. He can’t hear anything at all and nods to Price, the window opens and he hears this is awkward as shit, sorry about this simon, but will be handy if we get into a scrape. Simon lets himself relax a little and nods again, the window shuts and he is back to hearing nothing.
“You’re up, Gaz.” Simon waves him over, Price clapping him on the shoulder as they swap places. He holds out his hand and Gaz takes it.
“I, Kyle Garrick, do with sound mind and body consent to give you, Simon Riley, psychological access.” His wall feels more literal, a stone wall rising high into the air, when Simon nods a brick falls away to allow just a chink in the surface, a narrow view in. It’s deeply impressive. Sorry to tell you this, mate, but I was the best one at this during PBT, which is sad for you because at least if I’d been bad at it I’ll bet my brains the least annoying one of the bunch, hey? Simon snorts at that and nods.
“No private jokes through the psychological connection, I’ll get FOMO.” Soap gripes from the corner and they both roll their eyes.
Told you. Gaz adds before the brick is carefully cemented back in place.
He really is good at it, he’d do well on a more vampire-heavy task force if he ever gets promoted out of the 141.
Soap gently shoves Gaz out of the way to take his spot. His hand is burning hot when it meets Simon’s cool one and Simon can feel his pulse beating through his palm in a way that’s either medically concerning or entirely in his own head.
“I, John MacTavish, do with sound mind and body consent to give you, Simon Riley, psychological access. Have at it.” Simon rolls his eyes and then is met with seemingly a garden fence. When he nods, several panels fall away and Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena, Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría y cosa buena, Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena, Hey Macarena, ay!
“Why the fuck do you know the actual words to the Macarena?”
“Ah googled them, ye seemed so keen to hear it the other day, couldnae bear to disappoint ye.”
“Told you!” Gaz laughs from next to them and Simon can’t help but agree.
He gives the second nod and the fence panels are back up where they should be. No macarena to be heard.
“Yeah, alright then.” He says to Price who nods back at him.
“Right lads, who else needs a drink?” By show of hands the answer is all of them.
Simon figures that at least, if nothing else, the pub will be a good test of their control ahead of the mission. Besides, he needs the background music they play to distract himself before he starts singing the macarena, which is now irrevocably stuck in his head.
-
Simon doesn’t even know why he bothers being fucking surprised anymore, when a mission goes to shit.
There’s always fucking something.
At least on this occasion it had the decency to be an utter shitshow from the outset, the second they touched down and got into position it became clear that this operation was way more advanced than they’d prepared for.
It’s not entirely unusual for intel to be a little off, miss a couple of weapons caches, miscalculate the number of enemies by a few either way. Not anything like this.
This can only be intentional, and Simon has a good mind to get on the comms and give Laswell an earful about properly vetting her intel, except he can already hear Price doing exactly that.
It’s just the four of them on this one, the exfil site a few klicks out, and the helicopter is already nothing more than a dot on the horizon as it flies away to refuel. There’s no turning around and leaving, but from the sound of the muffled voices he can hear over Price’s headset that wasn’t on the cards either way, higher ups want the place levelled.
The compound isn’t exactly small, a sprawling mess of concrete structures, laying all the necessary charges is going to be a fucking nightmare and means that at least one of them will have to get boots on the ground in there. The walls are thick and getting the explosives right will be no small task, both the chemical make-up and the right structural locations are going to require a specialist touch.
Price says as much and levels Soap with a sad look that tells them all just how fucked he probably is, but he’s the demo expert and laying charges is pretty much what he’s here for.
Over Ghost’s dead body is he going in there alone.
“Over my dead body is he going in there alone.” Ghost bites out, and snarls when he sees Soap thinking about making the obvious joke.
Either of the obvious jokes.
“Too soon for jokes then, LT?” he smiles, but it’s thin and his jaw has a tick that it only gets when he’s nervous.
He gets it when he looks at Simon, sometimes.
“Soap, enough, Ghost, are you sure about this?”
“I’m going in there too, I’m fast and much harder to kill, I’ll provide cover.” Price is already nodding, plans out the locations for him and Gaz to take overwatch, there’s watchtowers in each main corner which could definitely work, if they can get in quiet enough.
“Be careful out there.” Price says, patting them both on the shoulder as he heads out “I mean it, I want you both back in one piece.”
“Too bloody right.” Gaz agrees, tries a weak smile and settles on grim determination.
Soap and Ghost capture one of the perimeter guards, he clearly wasn’t well trained and it wasn’t hard, Ghost glamours him quickly until he’s providing an open invitation to move freely about the base.
The two watchtowers are taken with little fanfare, no warnings go out, Gaz and Price are quick and effective as always. The comms crackle with the confirmation but the line isn’t nearly as clear as they’d like, at least that intel had been right, and with the sheer number of people they’re dealing with inside, speaking out loud isn’t the most practical option.
“It’s like the good old times, right LT? Be like Las Almas all over again, although at least this time it’s not raining.”
“Careful what you wish for Johnny, still time for the heavens to open, don’t much like the look of those clouds.”
Soap snorts from where he’s putting the finishing touches on the charges, a notebook full of unfathomable equations and formulas open on the ground next to him as he carefully weighs out compounds.
“Ready for me to take down the wall?” Ghost nods, stiffly. The honest answer is no, never, but they’re really up a creek here and beggars can’t be choosers.
There’s mostly an insane jumble of maths when the wall first comes down, the explosives complete and Johnny running his calculations once again. Theoretically he should block in between moments of necessary contact, but he has plenty on his mind currently and Simon lets it go.
Let’s move
Simon nods, moves to flank Johnny as he sets out, hopes to do a lap and take out any straggling guards before they can interrupt.
It works at first, Simon is fast, very fast. He’s also strong and an expert at moving through the shadows, taking out the odd stray is easy enough that it almost begins to feel like childsplay
Almost.
Soap has almost finished laying the last charge, according to his thoughts, when the shout comes from a couple of buildings away, in the direction Soap had been headed. It doesn’t take long for Simon to realise that it was from one of the remaining watchtowers, clearly the others hadn’t had a clear shot at the occupant yet and from what Simon can tell it seems like he spotted Soap.
The rumble of feet against the ground speaks to more back up than Ghost had been hoping. More than even he can feasibly take on alone.
When he reaches Soap there are already guards encroaching on his position, Ghost takes out one behind him with a thrown knife and buys Soap time to shoot the next couple closest to him. A bullet cracks the concrete by Soap’s feet and Simon is sprinting into the fray, bodily pushing Soap out of the way, just in time for the next bullet to sink into his own thigh.
“Ghost!” Soap is shouting, already climbing to his feet, but it sounds muffled to Simon’s ears; a normal bullet can’t damage him permanently but it can still fucking hurt. He can already feel his flesh knitting together, closing over the hole, there’s no blood flowing from the wound either, a sad trickle had started but stopped before it had made it even a couple of inches down the leg of his jeans.
“Vampiro!” The call goes out from one of the guards watching to the side, Simon knows he only has seconds to act.
The way Soap fell means Simon is now between him and the rest of the guards, if he’s fast then Soap has a clear line to the exit, the silhouette in the watchtower fell as it fired the shot that hit him, Gaz’s work, so Price and Gaz are free to provide Soap’s cover.
“Soap, go!”
“Ghost-”
“That’s an order, sergeant!” He scoops up the detonator from Soap’s feet and runs in the opposite direction, his leg is healed, not even a limp and he leans heavier on his enhanced speed, kills several of the guards with his bare hands, distracting enough that they focus on him leaving Soap in the clear.
The last Simon sees of him he’s legging it towards the relative safety of the base of Price’s tower. Good man.
The next bullet that hits Simon gets him in the shoulder and it takes a few moments to register that it isn’t healing like it should.
Silver.
This base was far, far more prepared than they had any right to be, and where there are silver bullets there are almost always stakes. He hisses and changes course to get behind cover, leans out to pick a few more guards off, the group is thinning out now, his kills finally making a dent in the numbers. The wound is burning, beginning to hiss, thick blood slowly welling up from the hole.
If he can just get into the next warehouse he can trigger the explosions, there's a solid chance they’ll take him with them but it should allow the others enough distraction to get to safety.
He throws a frag grenade into the nearest group of hostiles and watches the red mist as it goes off, picks a couple more off with his rifle before he launches from behind cover, throws his knife into the throat of the man who slashes at his chest with a wooden spear. He rips and tears his way through the remaining men in the way, hands soaked in blood.The warehouse door is wide and he slides through just in time for another bullet to cut through the straps of his vest by his ribs.
The bullet lodges deep, burning where it touches his organs, searing each time his healing tries to close over it.
He sucks in a sharp breath, muscle memory from when he was alive, and that just presses the silver into one of his lungs, sears the tissue until he coughs and tastes acrid smoke, scorched blood. If he doesn’t get treatment soon; a bullet extraction would do nicely, the silver is going to burn its way to his heart, finally finish him off. His arms are weak, the poison from the bullet in his shoulder already gripping his body.
He drags himself behind some crates but he probably doesn’t have long until someone finds him.
“This is Ghost, how copy?” He tries into the radio. Nothing.
“This is Ghost with a sitrep, how copy.” Silence.
Silence as he feels his grip on the detonator weaken further.
He stares at the blood on his glove, a cruel joke, the blood can’t help him until the silver is out, improved healing would just push the bullet into his heart faster, but without it he’s not strong enough to remove them.
“Ghost reporting. Hostiles took heavy casualties. I’m silvered, can’t remove them. In the warehouse south-west from Gaz’s watchtower. I have the detonator, I’m going to use it in five minutes, if you can hear me, get out.”
No.
The voice whispers next to his ear. Johnny without his block.
Ghost, wait, we hear you, we’re coming for you.
“Negative, still too many hostiles, not enough time.”
Wait for us, we’re nearly there
“Negative sergeant, get to safety, you’ve all got people, families, I don’t. No one left to grieve a dead man, Johnny. Better if it’s just me.”
The silver is close now, has him dizzy, he’s going to have to press it before he loses the strength.
We’re here, fuck, Ghost we’re coming in, don’t shoot
As if he even could.
There are footsteps, shots fired, more running.
“Ghost!” That’s Gaz, fucking idiots can’t leave well enough alone, clearly.
He manages a grunt that’s almost words, too quiet probably.
“He’s here!” Price this time, more steps and he’s dropping to Ghost’s side. “Fuckin hell, Ghost, gave us a hell of a scare.”
Ghost Ghost Ghost Ghost Ghost
Johnny’s wall is still down, he sounds worried. Odd.
Simon’s eyes roll back into his head around the time he feels a knife press into his side and start digging around, he loses awareness entirely when another joins in at his shoulder.
When he comes to there’s hot, thick blood flooding his mouth. Price’s wrist is between his teeth and Ghost grunts as he takes a couple more long pulls before he turns his head away, wincing as the blood trickles down the side of his face, he hates to waste it.
“Gave us a scare there, Simon.” Price is smiling at him, looks relieved and a little fond, pats his shoulder before closing his grip over the bleeding wound on his wrist.
Ghost pushes himself up onto his hands and leans his back against one of the crates behind him. Can’t have been out long then.
“You and me both.” He grits out, already pricking his finger and reaching out to smear his own blood over the wound on Price’s arm, which closes quickly.
“Might want to offer the same to those two, we all gave you a bit, weren’t sure how much you’d need.” Price jerks his head to the side where Gaz and Soap are both waiting, Gaz looks pleased, Soap furious, Ghost ducks his gaze.
“Come on then.” He pricks his finger again, wipes blood across the two punctures Gaz has on his forearm and holds a hand out for Soap’s.
There aren’t any punctures, but there is a long, deep knife slash. Ghost raises his eyes in question and Soap won’t look at him directly, looks past him at the writing on the crate.
“Yer fangs hadn’t descended yet, had to get creative.” He shrugs like it was nothing, Ghost pushes his fang a little deeper into his finger, drips blood into the wound until it knits back together.
Ghost moves his head, tries to force Soap to catch his eye, Soap looks at the floor.
“Let’s move.” Price interrupts, standing and checking the time “I don’t know how many you thought you’d taken out Ghost, but it was most of them, never seen the like, made our jobs easy.” It doesn’t even close to answer all Ghost’s questions but now is not the time. He stands, the blood has done its job and he’s back to full health, there’ll be two new scars on him when he looks later but it’s better than the alternative.
When they get to the helicopter Ghost takes his usual seat next to Soap, who still won’t look at him. He looks to Price and Gaz questioningly but they both make a point to studiously study different points in the room.
He always said he was a weak man, knew it from the start, and for want of any better means to understand why he’s in the shit he tunes in, tries to see what’s going on in Soap’s head.
fuck off, dead prick
And the fence is slamming back up before he can hear anything else.
Fair enough.
“Why don’t vampires play poker?” he tries, a last ditch effort to dispel any of the heavy tension radiating off the man beside him, he’s met with stony silence.
“I don’t know, why don’t they?” Gaz asks gamely after too long and too awkward a pause.
“In case someone raises the stakes.” Ghost says, weakly. There’s pitying chuckles from both Price and Gaz that fades into painful silence.
No one speaks for the rest of the flight.