Chapter Text
Ghost has never had trouble remembering. He remembers it all, from his father to Iran to Roba, he's never forgotten. His problem is often with distinguishing between his memories and the present. His past haunts him, day and night. In his dreams, in meetings.
He's running, boots snapping twigs and clothes snagging on thorns. His breaths are coming out in quick pants but he just can't seem to get enough air in. He's going as fast as he can, heart pumping and legs working overtime, but it's still not fast enough. He can hear voices behind him, yelling out for him.
“Ghost?” Price asks, head tilted, eyes questioning. Ghost grunts and adjusts in his seat, sitting up straighter.
“Sorry, sir. I'm listening,” he says. He breathes, in, out, and refocuses.
Price stares for a moment. His lips are pursed and there's something shining in his eyes, but he doesn't say anything except, “See to it that you are,” before he goes back to droning on about their newest mission in Mexico. They've already been over it, Ghost knows the plan inside and out, but Price insisted on going over it one more time before they head out.
They're following a sex trafficking ring in Mexico that kidnaps men and women from both Mexico and the states bordering it; it's run out of a larger city a few hours from the Texas border and it has operations scattered throughout the country. The 141 is going after their headquarters to find whoever is in charge, or at least to get closer to them. They’re stationed just on the other side of the Rio Grande, and they roll out in a couple of hours.
“This mission will likely strain you in ways that you've never seen. The people here, they will be scared, they will be terrified . They've been subject to things worse than you can possibly imagine and you are not to interact with them negatively.” Ghost knows this. He's lived this. He knows what it’s like, how it feels. He watches the others listen intently, nodding their heads with somber looks.
Price wraps up the meeting a few minutes later and instructs them to gear up. They're on the road, the five of them packed into a van in less than two hours, on their way to the shipping warehouse their intel tells them is the center of the operation. On the way, Gaz and Soap practically cuddle up across from him and Alejandro, looking at something on Soap’s phone, while Price drives. He's got the music cranked low and the road is bumpy and, despite what they’re probably heading into, it feels like home.
After a short drive, they pull up on the other side of a wooded area and start their trek.
They're close on his tail. He can't stop. He won't. He hopes to god they're nearing the border; he’s getting tired. It's a silly thought, really. He has no idea where they are, just that he's headed North. He could be hours out, days out. He could die out here; he just might if he doesn't lose Roba's men soon.
They arrive at the treeline that shadows the compound, sneaking toward the edges, moving in. It's nearly pitch black, the moon attempting to cast light through thick clouds, but they know the guards will still notice them creeping toward the building. They spread out and Ghost takes the blind spot he knows is there. They've studied the blueprints to the place, there's a spot on the west side of the main building that provides just enough cover for him to sneak up the edge of the building.
He slinks along it up to the edge, where he knows a guard is waiting, but he manages to take him out before the guy knows what's coming. Alejandro is next, snaking around the other side, then Gaz, Soap, and Price heading up the rear. They circle around the building to the main entrance and pause there. They exchange heavy looks before Price blows the door open. The smoke of the explosion swirls into the warehouse, disguising their positions as they storm the place.
They pick off the guards one by one until they manage their way to the upper level, boots pounding up the stairs in sync. There, they find the supposed head of the operation scrambling to pull together the files on his desk into an awaiting briefcase. Alejandro fires a shot over his head and his movements stop. The man whips around to face them and there’s fear written across his face.
Suddenly, this feels very wrong to Ghost. It feels too easy, and he gets the unmistakable feeling that
something
is
wrong
. But he can't make sense of it, so he says nothing and stands by as Price and Alejandro interrogate the guy, as Soap and Gaz start going through the files, as the guy starts begging them to kill him.
He stops standing by when Soap calls him over to show him locations marked on a map and – oh. Each red ‘X’ and the paired scribbles looks alarmingly familiar to him. But it's not enough to tell his team; he did spend a while in Mexico, it could be anything. None of them are the place he was held or anywhere near where he was captured, so there was no reason to sound the alarm.
So, he lets Price hand the guy over to Los Vaqueros and then they're on their way to a new location south of Mexico City. In the hours it takes to get there, Price manages to go over their new plan three times. This time, it's a lot harder to get into the facility. They manage, but not before raising enough noise to alert anyone inside. However, once they get inside, no one has fled. It's unnerving to say the least. It feels, he realizes, like a trap.
And he realizes it just a little too late.
There's cold steel against his balaclava before he even registers that someone is behind him.
“Oh, English . How I've missed you.”
Fear like he's never felt before grips him tight and before he can turn around, he's whipped in the head with the gun that was just against his head. He stumbles to the side and grabs at the wall, turning to take a swing, but the other man sidesteps and grabs his arm, twisting it around and pulling Ghost toward him.
They're chest-to-chest in seconds and Manuel Roba’s eyes are on his. Ghost moves to headbut him, but Roba's hand locks around his throat, effectively cutting off his movement as well as his airflow. He chokes in as much air as he can while he brings up a leg to knee Roba in the crotch, but the man only grunts and tightens his grip.
Both of his hands dig into Roba's and his fingernails come back with blood under them, but all Roba does is smile. “You know, you always were a fiesty one,” he grins.
Finally, just as his eyes are going fuzzy at the edges, Roba lets him go. He slumps to the floor, a hand going to his own throat, but he doesn't stop. He sweeps a leg under Roba and watches as he goes down and his head
thumps
against the concrete. He’s panting when he stands and his hand shoots down for his holster. He’s got his pistol out by the time Roba gets his hands out under him.
“Ghost!” he hears from down one of the winding hallways. It distracts him for a second , but it's enough time for Roba to get a hand around his ankle and tug . He goes down hard , but he manages to keep hold of his gun and immediately goes for the killshot.
Roba moves faster. He's on top of Ghost before he blinks and his gun goes skidding across the ground as Roba snaps his wrist. He cries out, but uses his other hand to grab at Roba's hair and drag him to the side. They roll until Ghost is on top; he lays punch after punch right into Roba's smug face. The man takes it for a while until he rolls them again, capturing Ghost’s aching wrist and digging it into the concrete.
“Get the fuck off of me,” he growls, the panic he feels laced into each word. Roba tilts his head back and laughs . Ghost takes it as a chance. He twists, squirms, manages to get his knife out of its holster and brings it up right between Roba's ribs.
His mouth falls open and Ghost
smiles
. It only lasts a moment though because, like a switch fliped in his head, Roba's eyes go from amused to
angry
. It's a look he hasn't seen before. The man always looked indifferent or vaguely amused so this,
this
was something new.
Ghosts eyes widen as Roba shakes his head and says, “English, I thought you knew better,” and brings his fist straight down into his nose. There's a sickening
crunch
and pain blooms throughout his face.
He twists the knife.
Roba lets out an angry, throaty cry, and goes to pull the knife from Ghost. It gives him enough leeway to worm his way out from under Roba, scramble to his feet, and
book it
. He doesn't know why, he probably could have won that fight, but he didn't want to leave that to chance. He was bone tired and, for the first time in a long time, scared out of his mind. But none of that mattered. All he could think about is that he didn't want to die. Not like this. Not to Roba. So he runs.
He can hear Roba call after him as he turns corner after corner, but he doesn't stop.