Chapter Text
John “Soap” MacTavishhad been an only child, so when he’d come home and started sleeping through the night right away, his parents had been relieved. The hardest part of a newborn is the lack of sleep. But John slept and he slept well. The parents felt like they’d been blessed.
The feeling didn’t last long.
While he might have been an easy baby, he was a challenging child. He was smart and curious and absolutely fearless, and as anyone who's spent time around children can tell you, those three things are a hair raising combination. But his mother wanted him to grow up knowing he was smart and curious and fearless, so she did what she could to let him do dangerous things safely and always know he was deeply, unconditionally loved. But she couldn't stay, death sweeping her away from her beautiful John boy. And the people who came after didn't see him for the bright, engaging little boy who just wanted to be loved like that again. They saw a boy who was too loud, too clingy, too hard to control. And so it began.
Soap is a sub who's used to being told he's too much. Being gagged and hobbled when he's not deployed to control his attitude and his constant fidgeting. Learning to crave deployment since it's the only time he gets any sort of praise, even if it's just that he's "not as much of a fuck up as expected", or that he's "not totally useless" when they wrap up a successful mission. Only being allowed to access his dynamic enough to stave off a drop, never comfortable enough with any of his teammates to let himself go very deep, learning to survive on crumbs when he craves a full meal.
He hasn't truly dropped since his last leave, when he'd had to turn to a stranger for a chance at hitting subspace. But that was months ago, and he's starting to feel the lack again. He needs to go down, craves it in his bones. It's starting to show when he's on base again, and he knows his commander is at his wits end.
He hasn't been let out of his gag aside from meals for a few days now, and his lips are cracked and sore at the sides from the constant wear. The hobbles he wears are loud, designed to shame him out of moving more than absolutely necessary. When he's not training, he's expected to kneel, still, in the corner of the rec room, practicing stillness and being allowed to slip down into subspace. But he won't, doesn't feel safe enough to let go, needs to be put back into the field. Because when he's in the field, he's finally good enough for something.
~~~
The sub with the warhawk and the bright blue eyes draws Price's attention easily when his unit shows up as backup for the 141. The man is highly competent and cleans house more effectively than even Ghost. Price is curious about the man, and after the mission is wrapped up and everyone has had a chance to breathe, he approaches the man's Major, curious about the possibility of bringing him over. Hell, he'd even take him temporarily. There's just something about the man that pokes at his brain and he can't let it go.
The Major is surprised by Price's interest, surprised anyone would want him. Sure, he's good in the field, but it doesn't quite make up for his behavior, high maintenance on base, and not a very good sub anyway. Price is appalled as he listens to the man speak, almost reconsiders his request. But he presses forward. There's something there. Something that makes Price think Soap would be a good fit for his team. The Major shrugs but accepts. Getting rid of a defective sub just means one less headache for him to deal with. And it's not like he can’t find a replacement. subs don’t join the military just for the orders.
~~~
Soap wonders what he's done this time as he shuffles down the hallway toward his Major's office. The lack of subspace is itching at him and he knows he's been more absentminded than usual, and definitely more fidgety. The hobbles are short, and he has to concentrate to avoid ending up on his face. He tries to ignore the looks of derision he gets from the Doms he passes, but it's the censure and pity he sees on the other subs faces that hurts the most.
He tries to be a good sub, he does. But it's hard. He isn't small, he isn't slight, he doesn't enjoy pain, and he doesn't know how to back down when he knows he's right. It's harder when he's teetering on the edge of a drop, and he knows he needs to go down, wants it almost more than he wants his next breath, but he can't. He's tried, tried to let himself go in the rec room like his Major ordered, tried to find someone in his unit to help him. Hell, he's even tried to go down to the youtube videos of Dom's voices. It's dangerous as fuck to go down alone, but he's desperate. If he can't find a way to get himself down, he'll be benched. and if he can't go on missions, he'll have nothing.
He knows he's a lot. Knows he's too loud, too opinionated, too hard to get down, too hard to keep down, too needy when he is down. But he doesn't know how to stop.
~~~
The man who walks through the door is not what Price had been expecting. Instead of the hypercompetent soldier he'd seen on the field, the sub who slinks through the Major's door with his shoulders back and chin tucked down looks like a sub on the edge of crisis. How is his commander just standing there watching him hurt like this? Price's instincts are begging him to sweep the man up and carry him away from here. As he looks at the man, he feels the swell of surety build in his gut and he feels the rightness settle into his bones. John "Soap" MacTavish belongs to the 141 now.
"Ah, MacTavish, Captain Price would like to talk to you about an opportunity. Have a seat."
Price watches as Soap folds to his knees gracefully, shoulders back and chin tucked. His hands remain behind his back, and Price frowns at the deviation from protocol. Generally, subs at rest put their hands on their thighs. The Major sees his confusion and clarifies.
"MacTavish is hobbled while on base. It helps him remember the importance of stillness."
Price knows some subs enjoy the hobbles, but Soap doesn't look comfortable in them, shoulders stiff against the pull.
"And the gag?"
"To curb his tendency to mouth off." Price doesn't like the sound of that. Between the way Soap looked when he walked in, the stiff set to his body, and the chafing Price can see at the corners of his lips, Price is starting to think the Major might actually be worse than just incompetent.
He ignores the Major’s sharp gasp as he kneels in front of Soap.
"Can you look at me, Sergeant?" The blue eyes that snap to his are hazy at the edge with subdrop and Price curses silently. Without looking away from Soap, Price asks for the room. The Major blusters, but Price is firm, requesting the keys for Soaps bindings as well. Once the man is gone and the room is quiet, Price speaks.
~~~
"Can I take off your gag?" Soaps eyes are unsure, but he bobs his head lightly.
"Good lad."
Good. The word rattles around his head. He hasn't been called good since he knelt in that bathroom in Glasgow all those months ago, and he's so desperate for praise that the look in Price’s eyes as he watches him added to the simple 'good lad' has him slipping down.
He panics at the sensation and wrenches himself back, losing his balance and toppling sideways, forgetting the hobbles in his panic. His eyes slam shut as he braces to hit the floor. When he doesn't hit the floor as expected, he opens his eyes to see Price holding the chest strap of his arm restraints.
It's not until Price has pulled him back up and moved around his back to work the locks off that Soap realizes this might be OK. Price didn't seem mad when he jerked away, hasn't slapped him or scolded him. Hadn't let him fall.
For the first time since his last transfer all those years ago, he feels a tiny flutter of hope in his chest.
~~~
When Price unlocks the last padlock, he guides Soap's arms forward slowly, rubbing at his shoulders. He wants badly to go find Soap's former Major and beat the tar out of him. It's barbaric what he's let happen. From the stiffness as Soap moves, Price thinks he's been in the hobbles for at least a day. Leaving a sub in bondage that long without a break can cause permanent damage.
Once his arms are down and Price is satisfied with the color in Soap's fingers he returns to his spot in front of the sub, reaching up slowly to slip the key into the lock behind Soap's ear. Price slides the ball out of Soap's mouth carefully, giving him time to work the stiffness out of his jaw as he tosses the gag away with a look of disgust. If Soap's shoulders were bad, his mouth is so much worse. The corners are cracked and one is actively bleeding, a slow ooze of red against the pink of his lip. The skin of his cheeks under the straps is chafed and raw.
He cannot stand the idea of Soap saying no to his proposal but he has to give him the choice. Refuses to treat him like he doesn't have a say just because of his designation.
"Would you like a drink?" Soap watches him with solemn eyes, but Price thinks he can see a hint of hope there too and waits for Soap to decide. When he answers, his voice is ragged.
"Yes, please. Sir."
"Alright. Stay put." He watches as Soap resettles, posture perfect and hands neatly placed on his thighs. Crossing to the door, he pokes his head out and points at a soldier walking by.
"Is there water nearby?" The young man freezes, answering hesitantly.
"Yes, sir. Would you like me to bring you some?"
"Two bottles, if you would."
"Yes, sir." Price closes the door and returns to where Soap kneels, in exactly the same position he left him in.
"Thank you, Sergeant. You're being perfect for me today." The sob that leaves Soap’s mouth is cut off, but the tears on his cheeks don't stop, and Price wants to touch him. Wants to offer comfort. It's so apparent no one has been kind to this man in ages.
~~~
"Can I touch you?" Soap nods, bracing himself. But the touch is soft, a gentle hand cupping his cheek. His spine softens and he lays more weight on the hand, fairly sure he won't be chastised. He wants Captain Price to keep him, wants to be good for him. Wants the kind words and soft touches to continue. Knows he would never be that lucky. So when Price asks him if he's happy with his unit, he doesn't know how to answer. If he tells the truth, Price might think he is a complainer, and leave him behind. But if he lies and says he's happy, Price might decide not to take him anyway. So he splits the difference and answers.
"I go where I'm sent, Sir. I've done it my whole career."
"So if I told you I wanted to offer you a spot on my task force you'd say..."
"I would say thank you for the opportunity." He watches Prices face carefully, catching the disappointment Price tries to hide. It's enough to make him continue. "And I would ask when you wanted me to report, sir."
~~~
Price almost wishes he was still on his knees when Soap finishes speaking. Leaning forward, he's careful not to take his hand from Soap's face as he leans down and presses his forehead to Soap's.
"Thank you for the gift of your consent."
"Sir, you're my superior. You don't need my consent."
Price is immediately furious all over again, and Soap can feel it. He pulls back, shoulders coming up and gaze dropping to the floor between his knees. He isn't sure why what he said pulled such a strong reaction out of his new Captain, but he knows it's his fault. Keeping his eyes lowered, he tips his face back and opens his mouth. He can see Price cock his head at him and he takes a chance to explain.
"You can put the gag back in when I talk too much."
"Oh, Soap. No."
Price feels his heart squeeze. Soap assumes he's mad at him. He's not. He's mad at a Major that would do this to someone under his protection, upset that Soap has apparently never had a decent commanding officer. Indignant that Soap was mistreated for long enough to think it was acceptable, worse, that it was normal.
Suddenly, Price is entirely done with being in this room. Done having Soap waiting to be hurt at his feet. But he's not mad at Soap and he takes a second to breathe out the worst of it, not wanting to see the emptiness rush back into Soap's eyes. Gently, he lifts a hand toward Soap, palm up.
"C'mon, lad. Let's go home." Soap takes the hand and lets Price help him to his feet, blood flowing back into his stiff legs and making his toes tingle. The hobbles on his legs are still in place, and Price snatches the keys up, unlocking and removing the straps keeping Soap from a normal stride.
Price turns away and opens the door, startling a soldier holding two water bottles in one hand, other raised to knock.
"We're leaving. Let your Major know that I'll be sending over the transfer paperwork when I have a chance. They're already moving as he finishes speaking, taking the water and handing one to Soap, standing a step behind him.
"Be good, and drink that. If you're still thirsty when you finish, you will tell me. Understood?"
Soap accepts the bottle with a nod and goes to twist the cap off. Price halts him with a hand against his wrist.
"I prefer my boys to speak up when they acknowledge an order. You accepted the transfer and now you're one of mine. So make sure and let me know you heard me, OK?"
~~~
Soap clears his throat. "Yes, Sir." He watches Price nod at him with a small smile and feels a small rush of warmth in his chest. He did that. He made Price smile. As Price turned away, Soap opened the bottle and took a small sip. The water was heavenly against his dry throat, and he followed Price out of the officers wing, back to the enlisted barracks. Stopping at a small placard on the wall, he asked Soap over his shoulder,
"Which way is your room?" Soap nodded his head in the right direction and Price turned to face him.
"What was that, lad?"
Soap took a small sip of water nearly done with the first bottle. Shit. Price wanted a verbal response. "That way, Sir."
"Given that you know where you're going and I don't, why don't you take the lead?" Soap felt himself blanch at the suggestion. On this base, subs did not lead Doms around. subs remained one step back and to the right any time they were walking with Doms. And when they were not accompanied by a Dom, they were expected to step aside and let them pass. So the thought of breaking that rule made Soap's insides go hollow. Had he been wrong this whole time? Was Price setting him up to fail?
"No thank you, Sir. I'll be happy to provide directions, though." Soap huffed out a little breath. Hopefully a compromise would suffice.
"Alright, tell me which way." Soap thought as they walked, only speaking to give Price the next turn, and considered the day's events. This morning he'd been on the edge of a drop, and now he had the promise of a new unit and a kind superior officer dangled in front of him. As much as he wanted to trust that Price was being genuine, past experience had taught him caution, so he stuck to following Price as much as he was able while trying not to violate any of the traditions he'd learned in his time in the service. It felt like walking a tightrope over shark infested waters. Soap prayed it would be worth it.
When they finally made it to Soap's room, he was almost embarrassed about opening the door or Price to see. But Price made no move to enter, leaning back against the wall by Soap's door, phone in hand as he met Soap's eyes and spoke.
"Pack anything you'll need immediately, and any comfort items you'd like to have on hand when we get back home. I'll arrange to have the remainder shipped but you know as well as I do that it can be a bit of a wait."
Price waved him into his room and Soap went, gathering his things and filling two duffels. The things he left behind were standard military issue items he didn't need immediately, like his winter kit, and some discipline items that his Major had left behind as a warning against bad behavior. Soap shot the pile of chain and leather a hateful look before turning away and leaving the cold space that had never in all his time here, managed to feel like anything more than a cell.
Price was surprised to hear the tread of boots only a few minutes after Soap had ducked into the room, and Price watched him emerge, a stuffed rucksack on his back, and a duffel bag in hand.
"Everything else marked for the movers already, lad?"
"Nothing else to bring, Sir." Price said nothing, nodding at Soap and trying to relax the instinctual clench of his jaw at the sub's words. Soap was young, of course, and a military sub, so he wouldn't have accumulated the same amount of possessions as a civilian sub, but he should have had something. Surely he'd had previous Doms gift him during casual courtings, or after parting ways in remembrance.
But as far as Price could see, Soap didn't even have a small chest, and those were incredibly common for service members. Hell, they even had a shipping code. Even Price had one full of bits from past partners; Doms, subs, and even the rare switches he'd spent time with. Ultimately though, it wasn't Price's business, so he left it alone. Maybe Soap wasn't a sentimental man.
As Soap stood waiting for Price's instructions, he watched the man carefully. The edge of haze was still present in Soap's eyes and Price knew he'd need to try and get him down before they hit dirt in Hereford.
"Our flight leaves in 20. Direct flight." Price shot a look at Soap over his shoulder. "While we wait, we're going to talk about how this will work moving forward."
When Soap swallowed at Price's word, he watched his Adam's apple bob nervously.
~~~
Price shoos a few baby officers out of the lounge and ushers Soap inside the room. He isn't immune to the smirks and the side long glances when they see who he has with him, but he's about done with the whole lot of them and they're going to think whatever their puerile little minds want. So he ignores them, worrying more about the silent sub on his heels. Soap hadn't spoken since leaving his room, only pointing the direction any time he noticed Price's strides falter.
"Set your stuff down and let's talk." Soap sets his bags off to the side carefully and drops to his knees, connecting with the tiles in a way that makes Price's knees ache in sympathy.
"Careful with yourself, lad. No good to us if you're broken."
He'd meant it kindly, spoken softly, but the way Soap's shoulders came up and he tucked his head down seemed to indicate that Soap had not taken it that way, reading the gentle chastisement as censure instead. Price clenched his jaw, wishing he'd brought a cigar. Both Gaz and Ghost had been on his ass about it, though, so he'd come without any of his favorites tucked into his breast pocket. He was regretting listening to them now.
Squatting down in front of Soap, he grimaced at the audible clicks his knees gave. He was getting too old for this, preferring to have his subs between his feet while he was seated. But this conversation felt like it deserved to take place on an equal level, and since Soap had chosen to kneel, Price was going to as well. He groaned a little as he adjusted to kneeling again, and Soap put out an instinctual hand when Price wobbled, ready to catch if he could. Price
watched as he registered his action and flushed a pretty pink across the bridge of his nose.
"Thank you," he said, waiting for Soap to meet his eyes. When a few minutes had passed and Soap had still not looked up, Price prodded him. "Look at me, lad."
Soap snapped his eyes up to Price's face, and he noticed that while Soap had obeyed the order, he was looking at Price's nose, still not meeting his eyes. Shelving that discussion for later, Price offered a quiet "Thank you."
That caught Soap's attention, and he met Price's eyes in surprise before looking away.
"When was the last time you went down, lad?"
"Last time I was on on leave, Sir."
Price smirked at the non-answer. He'd noticed Soap offer them before, and he'd need to get him to a place where he felt safe enough to stop doing that. "And when was that, Soap?"
"Last October, Sir."
Fucking hell. October is almost 8 months past. subs weren't supposed to go more than three without a drop. Price couldn't help the surge of pride and worry that rolled through him. The man in front of his was strong, that was clear, but at what cost to his sanity? Prolonged deprivation from a person's dynamic wasn't something people did. It was a war crime according to the Geneva Convention. Price considered his earlier thoughts about the competence of Soap's former commanding officer. He hated that he'd been right. The man was a moron, and a criminal.
"Well, that can't be left to stand. You need a chance to go down, and if you'll let me, I'd love a chance to get you there."
Soap nodded, but continued to avoid eye contact. "Aye, Sir." Price waited for him to continue, and when he remained silent, he asked another question instead.
"May I have your permission to help you?" Price shifted a little on his knees, grimacing as the tile bit at his kneecaps. Soap chewed his lip, but eventually spoke.
"Sir, can I... I mean, with your permission... um." Price waited, giving the sub space to figure out what
he wanted to say. "Can you get up, please?"
Price nodded, a small burst of pride in his chest. This was only the second request Soap had made of him, and he was relieved to see that even years of incompetent leadership hadn't completely crushed him. Price threw out a quick wish to the universe that the 141 could help him find himself again. They'd already done it once, and Price loved watching his boys come into their own. Soap was a hell of a soldier, and Price couldn't wait to see some of that confidence carry over to his dynamic too.
"If you want me up, I'll get up. You tell me what you need to drop and I'll give it to you if it's in my power to give."
Price almost missed the quick look of disbelief that flashed across Soap's face, and he reached out, taking his chin in gentle fingers. "I know you have no reason to trust what I say, but I'm telling you the truth. You don't have to believe me right now. Just obey what I tell you until you feel confident enough to believe. If you can do that, I'll give you a team that will accept you for you. Can you give me that much?"
Soap nodded, his chin still cradled in Price's fingers. "Yes, Sir."
"Thank you. I know this is a lot all at once, but you're handling it beautifully."
Soap's cheeks heated at Prices' words and he felt himself start to slip, the affection in his voice clear. Price released his hold on Soap and settled into an armchair against the wall, spreading his knees and beckoning Soap forward. "C'mere, lad."
Price pulled the pillow out from behind his back and set it between his feet. "Settle here and close your eyes. If you can't go down, that's fine. We're just gonna take some time to be quiet together. May I touch your hair while you rest?"
"Aye, Sir. Just..."
"What, lad. Tell me."
"Just. Can you be gentle?"
"Absolutely. Thank you for asking. You're being so good, and I'm proud of you for speaking up."
Soap settled between Price's knees and let the man guide his face down until his cheek rested against Price's thigh. Soap could feel himself start to go soft and watery, and for the first time in more than a year, it didn't scare him. Price was there, and as he felt the gentle fingers start carding through his
hair, he took a chance, let go, and sank into the float of his subspace.
~~~
Price ran his fingers through Soap's hair, feeling the tension in the body pressed against his leg lessen. He didn't have a lot of faith that Soap would hit actual subspace, but he needed something at least
close to it or he was going to fly apart. So Price sat quietly and dragged his fingertips gently through Soap's hair and across the buzzed sides, enjoying the feeling of caring for a sub. He felt his own dynamic calm, finally able to do what it had been begging to do all day. When he felt Soap's body lose the last of the tension and slump against his leg, he looked down to see Soap's face, mouth soft and forehead relaxed, eyes mostly closed, the visible blue fogged over with subspace, and let out a deep sigh of relief. Soap was gonna do just fine.
~~~
Price let Soap drift as long as he could. Their flight had been delayed due to a small storm shifting their way, but Price hadn't actually minded all that much when he'd been informed of it by a nervous looking sub. Soap needed the relief. But it did mean that by the time they deplaned in Hereford, the sun was rising. Soap was alright, the stretch of subspace enough to bolster him. Price, however, was flagging. When Price stepped off the ramp, he was pleased to see his Lieutenant waiting for him.
"Ah, Ghost. See you got my message. Things have changed a little bit, so I'm going to need Gaz to join me. If you would go find him and request he head to my office, I'd appreciate it. Then go ahead and show Soap around the base."
Ghost nodded and turned to face the ramp again, stopping when Price touched his arm. He was watching Ghost carefully as he spoke.
~~~
"Simon, give him a chance. You might find something you've been searching for in him." Ghost grunted his acknowledgement and turned away, waiting for Price's new golden boy to come off the plane. As he watched, the steady flow of soldiers off the plane slowed to a trickle and then stopped all together as the pilot left. So where was Price's boy? He and Price shared a look and then started jogging to the plane, hitting the ramp together.
~~~
As the sound of boots on metal died down, Price looked around the dim interior of the empty plane.
"Soap, call out." He took a few steps forward and called out again. He was near where they'd sat during the flight, and Price saw Soap's bags tucked to the side but no Soap.
"Captain!" Ghost shouted from the front of the plane. Price jogged to where Ghost was crouched with hands out and Soap was wedged in under a row of equipment storage racks. "He's in Full Drop, Sir."
~~~
Price crouches by the spot Soap has wedged himself. His breathing is ragged and shallow and he can see where his fingertips are white as he digs them into his arms.
"Lad, I need you to look at me. Can you do that?"
Soap doesn't quite make it, but Price can at least see most of his face now, tears staining the flushed skin of his cheeks and eyes blank while he's lost to the Drop. Price thinks quickly and tries to recall if Soap had said anything about what he liked for aftercare. Mentally chastising himself for not pushing harder, Price decides to just give in to his instincts and let them lead. Speaking softly, Price stretches a hand toward him, frowning when Soap pulls away with a whine. He hears Ghost shift behind him and glances over his shoulder. His normally stoic lieutenant looks pinched around the eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking like he wants to intervene.
"Ghost, come here."
He's got a hunch and he wants to check something. Ghost drops to his knees and Price winces at the sound. He's going to start making everyone wear knee pads at all times if they keep doing that. Ghost shuffles forward, and Price watches Soap turn his face to the masked Dom at his side. Soap is whining again, a small sound high in his throat, and it lessens at Ghost gets closer.
"Your hand, Lieutenant. Give him your hand, please." He watches in surprise as Ghost pulls his gloves off and extends a hand to Soap. Soap lunges forward unexpectedly and wraps both hands around Ghost's, pulling it in and pressing it against his face like Price had held him the day before. The whine in his throat dies off, and Soap's face softens a bit. He's still in Full Drop, but he's not falling deeper. Price eyes Ghost, wanting to check on the man too. He hasn't Dommed anyone besides Gaz in months, and given his past, he worries a dropped sub might be too much. But Ghost looks fine. Worried about the man whose face he's cradling, but his eyes are light and observant, and Price sits back, letting them be. Ghost is speaking lowly to the man, and Price can't make out what is being said, but Soap looks calmer and he's worked his way out of the cubby he was in, now pressed against Ghost as he gazes at the masked man holding his face so gently. Price rocks back to his feet and steps back, calling to Ghost softly, not willing to interrupt what is happening between the two if them.
"Try to get him up if you can. Does he have a room yet?"
"Yes, Sir. He's next to Gaz."
"Alright. I'm going to go round up a few things and grab Kyle. Can you get him to his room?"
"Yes." Price watches Ghost's focus return to Soap and he turns to walk off the plane, grabbing Soap's bags as he passes. It's going to be a long day.
~~~
Price finds Kyle on the range, watching a class of recruits. He watches the man walk up and down the line, offering suggestions, adjusting stances, cracking a joke as he moves, and he wants that for Soap. Wants to see him bright eyed and animated. Shaking off the wishful thinking for now, he sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles high and sharp, to pull Kyle's attention to him.
"Cap! You're back!"
Kyle crosses toward him in a few long strides and throws himself into Price's arms, letting himself melt against his chest. Price takes a minute to just breathe him in. Watching Soap in Drop had been hard and when Soap had pulled away from his offer of comfort, he'd dipped a little bit himself. But the obvious joy in Kyle at his presence helped soothe the sting away.
"Did he agree? Is he here?"
"Yes, Kyle. He agreed. But it wasn't what I thought and when we landed here he hit a pretty serious Drop. Ghost is with him now."
"I can't leave. I've got recruits until lunch."
Kyle steps back and eyes Price carefully. "How are you handling it?"
Price blows out a breath. "I'm coping." Kyle's face goes skeptical and he steps back. Price's chest squeezes. Maybe he's not. Kyle spins and shouts to the recruits on the firing line.
"That's it for today. Clean your weapons and return them to the armory. Take the rest of the morning on personal time. Afternoon training as normal."
The men on the range shift, shooting looks at one another. It's more to do with the unexpected free time than Kyle specifically, but Price is struggling and he barks impatiently at the recruits.
"You heard Sergeant Garrick! Off the range, you muppets! Or it'll be discipline for the lot of you." At the Captain's orders they scramble and the range clears in record time. Kyle tsks as he presses back into Price's side.
"Where to, Sir?"
"Ghost was taking him to his new room. I've got his stuff."
Price meets Kyle's eyes and Kyle's small smile falls at the look in his eyes. "I am not doing well."
"Oh, Sir. Let's get back to them and we'll sort it out together. Can we do that?"
This is why he is grateful that Kyle said yes when he offered his collar. He was Price's first serious collared sub after years of temporary partners, and in their years together, Kyle has learned to read him as well as he reads Kyle. So being reminded that he doesn't have to carry the weight alone feels so nice that he doesn't fight it. Just lets Kyle ask and answers in the affirmative. He cannot wait for Soap to meet Kyle. Hopes Kyle likes him too. Has a feeling they're going to be good for each other. From what he's seen and heard about Soap's last base, he didn't get the feeling that strong subs like Gaz stuck around long, either
requesting transfer away from the regressive leadership, or pushed down and sent away for daring to disturb the status quo. He runs the 141 differently , and since Hereford has grown up around the 141, the base operates similarly. They have a higher than normal ratio of subs to Doms on this base, and the incidents of dynamic based conflicts are markedly lower than most of the rest of the installations in country.
Price knows that isn't just down to his leadership, but he likes to think that it had an impact. He expects his people to behave like soldiers first and their dynamics second, and so far, he's received a good return on his expectations. He's proud to have helped to create something like that, and he's excited to be able to watch Soap experience it, a small bit of good after years of bad. It won't undo all the damage,
but hopefully it will help. Price realizes his thoughts are spiraling when Gaz tugs at his hand and he realizes that he's taken Soap's duffel in hand and is towing Price across the field away from the range.
"Where are we headed, Sir?"
"Ghost said his room is next to yours."
~~~
Price lets Kyle tow him along and he worries. Price looks tired and worn thin in a way he doesn't usually unless they're caught in a multi-day firefight, or wounded. Or if one of them is wounded. He's careful to hide his concern, knowing Price would push back against Kyle's concern for all that he's not a traditionalist, he's still got a few things that Kyle has been working on digging out of him. Mainly that he never lets himself be cared for until everyone else is settled first.
It's an admirable quality for a Dom, but like anything else, it can be carried too far. And that's what Price does sometimes. Forgets to care for himself until it's become a problem. Kyle is usually good at catching it, but whatever happened while he was off collecting the newest member of the 141 must have been worse than expected for him to
have fallen this quickly. Once he gets them all settled, he'll need to ask Ghost if he knows anything about what happened. For now, he's got a Dom to soothe and a new team mate to meet.
~~~
Ghost shifts from his knees to his feet, careful to keep one hand on the dropped sub at his feet. He can feel panic scrabbling at him now that Price has left him alone with this man. John MacTavish. Soap. The newest member of the 141. He's been working with Gaz on getting back into Domming, but he hasn't Dommed anyone aside from Gaz since coming home after Mexico, and he prays he doesn't fuck it up and make Soap worse.
He's careful to keep his voice soft as he asks Soap to stand up for him, a careful hand at his elbow and one still on his cheek as he helps him to his feet. He's wobbly and soft, but Ghost can see he's climbing up from the drop a little more, eyes still blank, but the edges of a subspace haze brewing.
"So good for me, Soap." Soap presses his face in harder at Ghost's words and Ghost watches his eyes flutter open a little bit more.
"We can't stay here. Can you walk with me?" Soap whimpers a little at that, and Ghost coos reassuringly back to him.
"I know, but it's not too far, and I'd like you to be comfortable. C'mon, Johnny." Soap's eyes flare wide at the new name and Ghost has a second of panic as he wonders if he's just really fucked up. But the blue isn't shrouded with blankness anymore, just hazed with a solid subspace and Ghost feels his own Dominance surge in response. Soap is moving a little bit more fluidly now that he's up higher, and Ghost keeps him tucked against his side as they go. The soldiers he passes in the hallway all lower their eyes respectfully as the two men pass and Ghost appreciates their discretion.
He makes it to Soap's new room as Gaz is towing Price around the corner and the two share a look. Both Price and Soap need handling, and given that they both seem to have chosen who they're best responding to, they agree in just a glance to keep everyone together until things level off. Gaz has a free hand, so he turns the knob to Soap's room and pushes it open. The space is empty and reeks of cleaning supplies, having been scrubbed in anticipation of a new occupant. It's cold and empty, and Ghost doesn't like it. Can tell Gaz feels the same. No sub deserves to come up in that space. Gaz wrinkles his nose against the chemical burn and turns to Ghost gesturing to his own room with his chin.
Ghost nods and follows Gaz and Price. Gaz' room is one of an established military sub. It's comfortable, and there are signs of his designation in the layout and furniture of the room, but it's subtle, and Ghost feels his shoulders lower as he steps into a space that only holds positive associations for him. Gaz points to his bed with his chin and Ghost leads Johnny over, helping him lay down before lowering himself too, and opening his arms to the sub, offering an embrace. Soap rolls himself into Ghost's arms and tucks his face against Ghost's throat, nosing at the fabric of the balaclava, but making no move to push it out of the way. He watches as Gaz sets the duffel in his hand down gently and helps Price shrug off the rucksack on his back, leading their captain to the plush armchair tucked onto the corner of the room and settling on his knees between Price's legs on a pillow he pulls from a basket by the chair.
Ghost watches Price's face soften as he surveys his team, and when Gaz leans his full weight against Price and wraps an arm around his leg, the last of the down turn of his mouth disappears.
"Alright, old man?" Ghost calls softly and Price nods.
"How's the lad?" "He came up before we left the plane. He's back in the float now."
Gaz speaks up, asking what the hell happened and Price fills them both in. He leaves Soap's former commander out of it for now, not wanting to bring his anger about that situation into the room while Soap is still under, not wanting to risk a second Drop. Price had pulled them off rotation before going to meet with Soap and he knows Laswell will give them as much time as she can, knowing that adding a new member to their dynamics will require at least a week to stabilize. For now, they'll just let everyone level off, and let Soap come up at his own leisure. Gaz picks up on Price's desire and starts telling him about what's been happening around base while he was away, and Ghost chimes in
occasionally to offer context or a different perspective.
Price can feel his blood pressure stabilizing, and the tightness in his muscles giving way to the warmth he feels when he spends time with his team. What the 141 has created is precious to him, and he hopes Soap can find happiness here. From the way that his lieutenant is holding the man, pressed together from nose to toes and running a bare hand up and down his back, pausing occasionally to sweep his fingers over the back of a bared neck, he wonders if maybe Soap won't be the only one finding
his happiness. As Gaz presses a quick kiss to his knee, he reaches out to run a finger over the line of the collar around his neck and leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of the man's head before sitting back and picking up his story.
~~~
Soap is floating. He's warm and calm and nothing hurts. He can hear voices around him but he doesn't care enough to try and figure out what they're saying. His face is pressed against warm fabric and the heat against his front makes him feel dozy and lethargic. He isn't sure where he is and the last thing he remembers clearly is boarding the plane at his last posting and flipping it a mental V sign as he followed Price up the ramp. As he thinks about it, he comes to himself more and more.
He shifts in the arms of the person holding him and rubs his nose over the fabric, catching a little on a raised line under the fabric. The person holding him must be a collared sub. He didn't think Price had any. Certainly hadn't heard him mention any before. He was still deep enough in the float that he didn't really care, and let the thought go, borne away in the haze of his subspace. It's good, and he's tempted to let himself slip under again, but he's curious about who he's wrapped up in, and he wonders who the other voice is. Of the three he's heard, he only recognizes Price. The man holding him isn't speaking and he can hear a second voice bickering with Price.
Wiggling a little, he turns in the man’s arms, not fighting the hold, but trying to see the room they're in. It's a nice room. The bed he's lying on is comfortable and big, eating up a good amount of floor space, but there is a desk tucked beside it under a window and an armchair in the corner diagonal. Price is sat in the armchair, and a man kneels between his knees, shooting Soap a quick smile when he sees Soap's eyes are open. There are two doors in the last free corner and Soap assumes one must lead to the hall. The other must be a closet.
Soap hears the man on his knees speak and he feels like his ears clear all at once, the words finally registering. "I'm just saying. I told you you should have taken me with you."
Soap tenses. A sub sassing like that at his old base would have earned themselves a trip for Discipline if they were uncollared, or at the very least been ordered to report to their Dom for correction if they had one. Soap wasn't sure how Price handled his team, but he didn't seem like he was the kind of Dom to let his sub speak to him that way. Soap could feel the remains of his subspace dissipate and he tensed against the man at his back, eyeing Price carefully. Price had a hand wrapped around the back of the man’s neck, and Soap dropped his eyes, not wanting to see. The anxiety from the day before was creeping back, and the arms wrapped around his middle squeezed him lightly before retreating.
Soap sat up slowly hoping not to attract any more attention, and slid off the side of the bed, settling onto his knees and arranging himself into a textbook kneel. From his position, he could only see them out of the corner of his eye, but when the man on the bed slid forward and put a leg on either side of him, he couldn't help but lean into him for support. He'd noticed that the room had gone silent, and his face dropped. He'd been here less than a day and already fucked it up. He watched as a pair of boots entered his sight line and a man settled into a kneel in front of him. The man at his back put a gentle hand on his shoulder blade and Soap looked up slowly.
The man on his knees was young, around his age, and he was smiling, cheeks rounded and eyes clear and content as he looked back. The collar around his neck was navy leather and the blackened buckle sat proudly at the center of this throat, a small silver tag hanging from it, the insignia of the 141 carved into the metal. Soap's chest gave a lurch at the sight and he wondered if he would ever be gifted the right to wear the same tag.
"Hello. Price says you're our newest member. I'm Kyle Garrick. But most people call me Gaz."
Soap nodded, shooting a look at Price. He didn't look bothered at all, looked more content than Soap had seen him since meeting him in his Major’s office the previous morning. Soap sucked in a sharp gasp at that. Had it really only been a day since his whole life changed? He could feel the burning in his sinuses and bit his cheek, trying desperately not to cry. Everything felt a little too big and if not for the legs pressing him on from the sides, he worried he might fly apart.
"It's OK. You're not in trouble."
Soap bit his lip and considered the sub, Kyle, again. "Are you?" he asked quietly. Kyle sat back, a stunned look on his face.
"What?"
"subs are not to disrespect Doms. Violations will result in Discipline." Soap's voice sounded mechanical as he repeated the words. He knew them well, had had them flung at him frequently, could feel the shame and embarrassment of his public Discipline sessions like they were fresh. The legs at his side suddenly felt overwhelming and he wanted to push them away, wanted room to move if he needed to. Kyle leaned forward and pressed a soothing hand to Soap's chest, and soap realized he was breathing too fast, the floaty feeling in his head probably from the lack of oxygen.
"Ghost, give us some space, yeah?" The man behind him slid back and moved off the bed from the foot, crossing to Price and settling himself on Kyle's abandoned cushion. Soap flicked a glance at the man Kyle had called Ghost. He was a big bastard. Even seated, it was obvious he was tall, and built like a brick shithouse. As he looked, he watched Price set a gentle hand on his shoulder, resting his weight on him like Kyle had done. He didn't look afraid, but his mask covered everything aside from his eyes, and Soap didn't know how to read them yet. But his body language remained relaxed, so Soap refocused on Kyle, noticing as he did that his breathing had settled and he didn't feel like he was seconds from throwing up.
"No one is in trouble. Even if they were, it wouldn't be your problem. I don't know how your old base was, but we don't do public Discipline here."
"Oh."