MW2 - You Can't Kill a Ghost

Just a little bit farther...

Roach weighed strongly on Ghost's shoulder as he helped drag the younger man to safety, just feet away in Shepherd's awaiting heli. As the back hatch opened, Ghost nearly sighed in relief as Shepherd came out to meet them. He could tell Roach, who was still breathing heavily in pain, began to relax in awaiting relief as well.

"Do you have the DSM?" Shepherd shouted over the roar of the engines.

"We got it, sir!" Ghost yelled back, ready to get his teammate a safe distance from the battle. Roach reached out a hand for support from Shepherd.

"Good," Shepherd commented, looking only at Roach. "That's one less loose end."

His eyes suddenly turned hardened and angry, and Ghost realized a moment too late that he'd pulled a gun with his right hand.

Before he could react, a shot rang out and Roach's weight was suddenly gone from his shoulders.

Horror ran through Ghost, and as his arms wildly flew out to catch him, Ghost couldn't stop himself from crying out, "No!" Roach, his teammate, was just gunned down by their own general. Quicker than the horror had, rage flew through his veins. He looked to Sheppard, ready to fire, though he beat him to it.

The last thing Ghost remembered was a blinding pain in his chest, then nothing.

----

"Nice driving, Soap," Price sighed dryly as he crawled out of the jeep, watching his footing as the plane took off.

"Whatever," Soap grumbled. He was too tired at the moment to care about his captain's remark, or much at all for that matter. Before he let his mind wander back to his teammates, he quickly got out of the jeep and helped Price get Rook out of his seat.

"I got him," Price said, his voice more gentle than before. Soap knew that the captain understood his loss, having lost his team before. "Rest up, Soap. You need it."

Soap tried to protest, but by the time Price had Rook fully supported and had given him a sharp look, he knew there was no use. He sighed, and worked his way back into the back seat of the jeep, curling up as he tried to sleep. Of course, he failed.

How could Shepherd have done this? Yes, Soap had witnessed plenty of death and murder in his lifetime, some by his hand and others by enemies. But this? He'd never seen such awful treachery. They'd fought for days, spent hours learning to protect themselves in new situations while protecting the people who'd become brothers to them. Brothers…that's what they were. And now they were gone. And for what? So Shepherd could cover his tracks as he continued the slaughter of thousands?

Fuck that. Not on his watch.

Soap could only imagine the look on Ghost and Roach's faces as they were gunned down by the man that they'd followed, that they'd trusted. The horror, the pain…the betrayal. Maybe they didn't see who'd done it. Maybe they were spared that realization. If only…

If only they'd warned them just a little sooner…

As the rage began to build inside of him, Soap tried to calm himself by thinking of better times. Unfortunately, his mind only thought of his fallen comrades.

---

As the hot Iraqi sun beat down through the break room windows, Soap stretched lazily in his chair, trying to find some music on the rickety old radio on the table.

Joseph sat at the small table on the other side of the room writing letters to his family, while Roach sprawled lazily across the couch, seemingly asleep.

Trying to fight the urge to fall asleep himself, Soap stood and made his way over to the fridge, drinking greedily from his cooled water bottle. Swallowing, he scowled at the My Little Pony sticker stuck to the metal near the cap. Ozone's touch. Where the fuck did Ozone get a My Little Pony sticker anyway?

"Shut up, dammit!" he suddenly heard Archer growl from the doorway. Curious, Soap closed the refrigerator door and made his way over to where Archer, Ghost, Ozone, and Rook were huddled by the doorway, formed in a circle.

"What the hell are you – "

He was cut off by the sound of a lighter clicking, and the sudden rushing sound of a flare.

Before he could ask again, the four turned around, while Archer, Ozone and Rook worked their way excitedly over towards the sleeping Roach, a makeshift cake in hand with a flare sitting on top. Ghost followed behind, though he looked more amused than excited, like the others.

Archer took the lead, making it to Roach first and waking him via chokehold, complete with roughly tousling the younger man's hair.

"What the – " Roach exclaimed sleepily, unsure of even who was harassing him at the moment.

Releasing Roach from his hold, Archer stood up with his cake-bearing comrades. "Happy birthday, mate!" Rook said happily.

Roach blinked a couple of times, squinting as he tried to wake up. He stared at the cake, trying to understand what they were saying. When he finally woke up enough, he started to laugh. "How the hell am I supposed to blow that out?"

Soap laughed too. "And where the fuck did you get a cake out here?"

---

Had that really only been 3 months ago? Seemed so much longer. Seemed like a lifetime.
Soap had known Ghost for well over a year, but he'd only met Roach a few months back. When he'd first met the kid, he'd already expected he'd be great. And sure enough, the kid started making his way up the ranks within the month.

His first mission with Roach alone was in Kazakhstan. God, how could that possibly have been just days ago? Even in those few days, he'd felt closer to Roach than he had in the months they'd been off-duty. Roach had become like his little brother, like he'd felt he was with Price when the first war began.

In Kazakhstan, he'd caught Roach as he slipped from the ice, and had hardly forgiven himself for not catching him in Rio de Janeiro. And now, he'd let him down again. He'd let him fall, and for the final time.

"Soap, we're here."

When had he fallen asleep? Stretching, he pushed the thought of teammates to the back of his mind as he followed Price to the back of the plane.

----

God-DAMNIT that hurt.

As Ghost began to regain consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was the stinging pain in his chest. Luckily the thick armor had held well enough, and the blood packet – a trick he'd learned from an old friend – had done the job. But getting shot point-blank fucking hurt, no matter how much padding and whatever else you have in between.

The second thing he became aware of was the smell of gasoline.