Ghost, who makes it so impossible to capture him because he knows the second he's back in anything resembling a torture cell, the moment he can't get out of restraints or thinks he's been taken hostage, he knows he's going to lose it.
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A gigantic fucking part of his survival and coping mechanisms is iron-clad repression and avoidance. Never get caught, never get held captive, never give anyone the upper hand. Put a bullet in your head if you have to, but never let it happen again.
And Soap notices, of all things, because of a friendly spar. Not his first time pinning Ghost down, though those times are rare. Maybe it was the late nights, the way the power flickered as his fingers closed around Ghost's wrists. Maybe something entirely unrelated.
But Ghost's reaction was swift and destructive, leaving Soap with two cracked ribs and Ghost avoiding him for days. Soap didn't expect Ghost to talk about it, to explain himself, just filed it away as something he had to be really fucking careful about in the future.
But being careful with each other doesn't make them good soldiers. Knowledge of your warmate's limits, triggers, and weaknesses is as essential as knowing the enemy's. So Ghost orders Soap to his room one night, sits him down, and explains.
He uses words that were clearly fed to him, listlessly regurgitated. PTSD. Trauma. Merinthophobia. Cleithrophobia. Haphephobia. The way his lungs turn to mush, his ribs to glass, how his entire brain just shuts down and thinks 'escape or die' and doesn't really care which.
Understands. Gives Ghost a few days to lick the wounds on his pride clean, and then very gently offers to help him. Recondition him. Give his brain something to cling to that isn't panic or the certainty of death - a place he's safe, a person he's safe with.
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Soap takes it in.
And Ghost lets him try.