Chapter Text
There was truly nothing worse than when Ghost roped you into agreeing to be his pretend enemy when he did his hand-to-hand combat training with his troops. Ghost preferred to demonstrate his lethality on someone who was resilient enough to take the blows and was trained enough to know how to safely take them. Why you agreed to it every time was a mystery, because you would go home at the end of the day and count all your new bruises. Last time, it was seven.
At the very least you weren’t alone. Soap has also fallen prey to this scheme more than his fair share. You and Soap had created a “Victims of Ghost” Club. It mostly consisted of you two texting each other to run and hide when Ghost began his training doll recruitment.
You could hold your own in a fight. Even against Ghost himself. However, this situation was different. You would be subjected to taking all the hits and tackles he needed to do for demonstration.
Today he was going over disarming and disorienting. His forte. Which meant a lot of being thrown on the ground and having your ass handed to you.
Ghost was explaining the purpose and importance of close combat when he signalled for you to join him on the mat. You positioned yourself at the front of the mat, with a plastic gun in hand. Standing as if you were on a watch. Feet slightly apart and gun poised.
He always started off by letting you know what moves to expect from him so you could prepare for it. The best you could. Then he would do a full run-through of the move, followed by a slowed down set-by-step explanation.
He began the training session with simple disarms. His motions were snappy and well-practiced, the gun was knocked to the floor and a hand was pinned behind your back. He moved like it was second nature to him.
“Sorry,” he said lowly, dipping down to your ear. Your heart dropped down to pulse between your legs.
This was why you kept saying yes.
You nodded, rubbing at your wrist where he had grabbed it and offered him a thumbs up. He returned the nod, eyes watchful. Once he was satisfied that you were truly fine, he proceeded to the step-by-step. He was extremely gentle when he did this, his hands ghosting across your body. A complete paradox from just moments before. Like when his fingers linger a second too long sometimes. Or when his thumb drew little circles on the bare skin of your wrist when he pinned it behind you once more.
Near the end of the session, you felt like you were going to burst into flames. The man radiated heat like he was a furnace and his proximity throughout the last hour has been torturous. That and every time he whispered apologies to you, you felt yourself melt a little more.
Only to be brought back to the cold earth when he announced the next disarming tactic and takedown. You had yet to decide if you hated or loved this next one.
Ghost turned back to you, “I’ll be going between your legs. Try and break your fall this time, would you?” he teased you about the last he taught this one in class he had moved in on you so fast you hardly had time to catch your fall. Your face had made friends with the floor that day.
If the situation was different the words “I’ll be going between your legs,” would have made you weak in the knees.
You glared over at him, “Go easy on me,” you had to force yourself to relax your muscles. It would make the fall hurt a little less. Once again you positioned yourself at the front of the mat, allowing a little extra space in the front of you this time. Since you’d be falling forward. You made sure you bent your knees and your grip on the gun lose.
Ghost tapped your left leg as he passed you, letting you know which leg he’d be attacking. It helped with knowing which direction you’d need to twist towards when falling.
He didn’t give any cues when he moved in. Aside from the quiet swish of fabric, he was nearly silent.
A foreign leg hooked around the lower half of yours, and a well-placed hand pushing at your back forced you to lose balance and teeter forward. It was instinct to toss the gun and bring your hands up in front of you. You were still free-falling when a large hand wrapped around the ankle of your right leg, redirecting your momentum to the side so you landed on your shoulder. By the time you were on the ground, you were facing him with your back to the floor. You struggled to catch your breath for a moment. The force of the fall had stolen the air straight out of your lungs. Ghost was kneeling over you, a hand placed into your chest to keep you to the ground. There was no pressure to the contact thought.
He kept his attention on you until you gave a reassuring tap to the arm pinning you down. He remained as he was to allow you extra time to regain composure. His eyes flicked between the group of soldiers and you as he decoded his motions for them. There was no anxiety behind his eyes, just a hushed concern. He knew you weren’t injured, but the fall was never pleasant and he was well aware of that.
He helped you back to your feet, squeezing your shoulder lightly before walking everyone through the action. This time when he hooked his leg around you there was no push or pulling. You still followed through with how it would have gone if it were happening at full speed. When he brought your right leg across his body so you were lying facing him once again, his watchful eyes were on you. Before he had to drag them away from you.
He allowed for the remaining time for the troops to use as practice. You made your way to your water bottle, needing the ice cold water to chill the heat in your core. Ghost trailed after you as he watched the soldiers try out all the different moves and techniques he showed them today.
“You’re going to have to go track down Soap for the next class,” You were half kidding.
“If you stop giving him a head start every time I try, I just might do that,” he fixed you with a bored look.
Of course, he knew.
You faked a shocked expression, “My loyalties lay with McTavish.”
“Then I’ll see you on friday,” he stated. He could pull rank on you, but you knew if you said “no”, he wouldn’t. He very very rarely pulled rank on you.
Bonus of Ghost taking the legs off Soap
If there was one thing in this world that Simon had no issues throwing class and grace to the wind for, it was when someone challenged him. He also had no qualms about besting Soap in a fight. So when Soap told Ghost that he could take him down in a fight, Ghost rose to the occasion. A few members of the 141, including yourself, were in the training room when Soap contested that he could take on Ghost in a duel. To which he immediately denied the thesis. Much to no one’s surprise, Soap didn’t back down. Claiming that his agility was superior to Ghost’s resilience and power.
You and Gaz set up camp on the benches. Placing bets on how long Soap would last.
“No holding back on me,” Soap pointed a finger at the Brit before taking a ready position.
As soon as Ghost tapped at his chest, a silent sign to begin, Soap was moving. It looked promising for the first few punches. Ghost on heavy defence.
...It ended quickly.
He blocked one of Soap’s punches, deflecting the momentum to create an opening for himself. With a quick jab to the abdomen to disorientate, then a sweep of his foot, and a body check, Soap’s feet were above his head.
You sighed, hanging your head as you dug into your pocket to retrieve a few bills, “I thought he’d last a little longer,” you mopped as Gaz took the money from you.
“You gotta stop betting on the dofus.”
Across the room, Soap rolled over to his side, “That hurt.”
Ghost was already walking to the bench, “It’s supposed to. It’s an ass kicking,” he turned and pointed a finger at Soap in the same manner he had done to him just moments ago.