Chapter Text
Chapter 1
He had never been afraid of dying, at least not for a very long time. There had been a time, he was sure, long before Simon Riley had been buried, where he must have been afraid. But the feeling was so long forgotten, so deeply hidden under years of violence and trauma that he couldn't access it anymore. Now death felt like a greeting, like a long lost friend reaching out his hand. No, he wasn't afraid of dying. Living, that's what he was afraid of. Living was hard, every beat of his heart a fight he struggled not to lose. But dying was easy.
So maybe it was all right then if he died now, died for someone he cared for. For Soap. He just wished he could've told him. Told him what? The spiteful voice in his head asked. He wasn't sure. Just that there was something lodged deep deep down that tried to crawl its way out everytime he looked at him, with every stupid joke and every friendly jab. It climbed up his throat, thorns and spikes like barbed wire drawing blood with every foot they gained, no escape, no retreat. It was terrifying on a level he had never experienced before. It felt big and primal, like a weight on his chest that wouldn't lift, like walking into enemy territory blind and alone with no hope of coming back and no will to do so either.
So yeah, it would be fine to die now, really the only thing he was capable of doing about this thing in him. He was a Lieutenant and as such it was his duty to make sure his team got out safely. Soap had gotten out safe. He would see another sunrise. Ghost wouldn't. Maybe they would mourn him back in base for a day or two, drink on his name, but they would be fine, they would move on. He was only Ghost, nobody to worry over, nobody to miss. Just a mask and a whisper. Not more.
He didn't lift his head as the door creaked open. Cold air rushed over his exposed face, restrains dug into his arms and legs. Blood caked his hair, his clothes and his skin. Hopefully they came to finish him off this time. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. He wouldn't give them what they wanted. He would give them nothing. He wouldn't die a hero, but he wouldn't die a traitor either.
"Ghost!"
Before
"What do you call an invisible sandwich?" Soap's voice came through the intercom. Ghost took a moment to think, while he stared through the scope of his rifle, tracking some hostiles on their way through the compound.
"What?"
"A Ghoasty."
He held the snort in that tried to break out of his mouth. He couldn't keep his lips from twitching, but nobody would be seeing that through the mask. Not that anybody would see anything anyways because it was the dead of night and they were spread out around the whole compound, looking for a sign of their target.
"Did I make you laugh, Lieutenant?"
"Negative, Sergeant."
"A shame."
"What's green and looks through a peephole?"
A short pause. "Don't know."
"Spynach."
"That one was bad, even for you, Ghost." Ghost was sure he could hear a smile in his voice. The thought made blood rush to his face instantly.
"Could you focus on the task at hand, boys?" Price's voice.
"Positive, sir," Ghost said.
"Yeah, sorry Price."
"Like take a room or something." Gaz.
"Fuck off."
"We might, I see a few nice rooms on the second floor."
"MacTavish!"
"Sorry, Price."
Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Ghost brought the rifle around, far up the road cars stirred up dirt and leaves. "Vehicles approaching from south west. Counting three, armed."
"Visual on target?" Price asked.
"Negative."
"I got him." Gaz. "Second car, backseat on the drivers side."
"Copy that, hold fire."
Ghost adjusted his position, aiming for the convoy and the men on the backseat. "Got visual on target."
"Soap, Gaz go down, be quiet. Ghost and I will cover you. Remember, we need him alive."
"Roger."
"Copy that, no permission to kill target, going down now."
The convoy halted, armed hostiles rushed out and took their target in their midst, escorting him away from the cars.
Soap's figure reached the fence. "Am I clear?"
Ghost sweeped the area around him. "All clear."
"Copy."
"Target entering east building," Price said.
Ghost followed Soap's path while he kept an eye out for the east building. He had wanted to go down there himself, but Price had insisted that he was needed as cover. Not being able to interfere directly if Soap or Gaz got in trouble made his fingers twitch. He was a good shot, but being a good shot did as good as nothing once Soap and Gaz entered the building. Sweat collected at the nape of his neck. He needed to pull himself together, to focus. He could always worry about Soap once they got back to base. Being distracted meant being dead out here and fuck him if he wasn't distracted. It had grown into a problem over the last few months, maybe longer, he couldn't really tell. He was good at bottling his own feelings up and pushing them as far down as they would go.
"Two hostiles approaching from your left, Johnny. Get ready to engage."
Ghost watched as he took them out silently, their bodies dropping down before they could alert someone.
"Two down."
"Good job, Sergeant."
"Oh well thank you Lt., got more where that came from."
A shiver went down Ghost's spine. "Counting on it."
"One down," Gaz said. "What, no good job for me?"
"Fuck off."
"Always knew Soap was your favourite."
"Focus. Visual on target, second floor of east building, several armed hostiles with him. Counting six."
"Three hostiles circling east building. Take cover now, Johnny."
"Copy, entering building through ground floor window."
"Me too, meet you up there, Soap."
God he hated waiting. Ghost watched as the three hostiles disappeared around the building, hopefully soon reappearing on Price's side. He caught a glimpse of Soap or Gaz here and there when they appeared in front of one of the windows. The compound wasn't on alert, their luck. They could hopefully keep it that way a bit longer. He still didn't understand why Laswell had insisted on sending all four of them. He could've gotten it alone faster than they did now, without endangering anybody but himself.
"Careful," he murmured to himself. He was entering dangerous territory again. Soap was a professional, they all were. It wasn't his job to protect him and yet with every passing day he felt more and more that it was.
"Entering stairwell to first floor. Shit, four hostiles blocking the stairs," he heard Gaz. Ghost adjusted his scope to one of the staircase windows.
"Visual on hostiles. Free to engage, Price?"
"Yes."
"Be ready Gaz, firing now." He took two guards out with a headshot before the other two got their bearings enough to engage Gaz who was storming them.
"Shots alerted compound. Fire at will. Be careful boys."
Ghost concentrated on incoming hostiles, taking out as many as he could, before they reached the building. His heart was beating fast and strong and the sweat now soaked his back. That's why it was stupid to get attached, that's why he had always worked alone. This worry would someday cloud his judgment, stand in the way. If something would cost him it was that, he was sure of it.
"Fuck, more vehicles approaching. It's going to get cozy down there. Permission to leave my post, Price?"
"Positive, I'll keep you covered. Calling for exfil now. Hurry everybody."
Finally. Ghost shouldered his rifle and skidded down the steep slope all the way to the compound fence. He grabbed the top of the fence and swung over, landing silently on the other side. Gun ready he creeped towards the arriving cars.
"Close to target, where are you, Soap?" Gaz asked. No answer. A jolt of fear went through him. He clenched his jaw so hard he was surprised that no teeth were breaking. "Soap, how copy?" Still no answer. "Johnny! How copy?"
He ducked behind a crate and took two hostiles out with blazing fire, their comrades shouted loudly and pointed in his direction. He changed cover.
"Solid. You'll have to go on without me, Gaz. Got myself in a bit of a situation."
"Copy that, breaching door now."
"Exfil in five."
"You need help, Sergeant?"
"Negative, Lt."
"Eyes on target. Stand by."
Bullets were hitting the ground around him, spraying dust and debris into his face. He waited for a pause in their fire to lean out and shoot. One hostile crumbled, followed by another one taken down by Price.
"Target secured. Coming down again."
"Copy that. Exfil in three."
Ghost suppressed a curse. Three minutes to get all the way to the other side of the compound and Soap was still nowhere in sight. His stomach clenched. Footsteps behind him. He turned around on instinct and thrust a knife into the approaching guard without hesitation. Blood splattered over his hand and seeped through his glove.
"Lookout Ghost, incoming."
"What does that…"
Glas shattered above him. He threw himself to the side and watched as a dark lump flew through one of the windows and landed on the ground with a thump. The head of the dead guard exploded like a watermelon.
"Exfil in two."
Soap followed a second later, catapulting himself through the broken window, bullets followed him in a wide arch. He came down hard and rolled, coming back on his feet. "Fuck that hurt."
More hostiles were storming their position, Ghost answered their fire with determination. Soap ducked into cover beside him. Blood ran down his left arm.
"Got a present for them." Soap took a grenade from his vest and threw it. The guards shouted but didn't run fast enough not to get caught in the explosion. Dust collected in the air. The smell of blood, metal and gunpowder was thick around them.
"Exfil in one. Are you two going to make it in time?"
"Negative. We'll have to secure our own ride."
"Copy that, get to the safe house. And be careful."
"Rog'." He turned to Soap. "We have to get to the cars, now!"
Soap nodded. Ghost jumped up and ran, bullets sizzled past him. His heart thumbed fast and hard. He got closer to the cars, took down two hostiles with his gun and another with a throwing knife. Soap followed close behind, covering his six.
"Ghost! Second to last car has the engine still running."
"Good eye." He ran faster. Someone stepped into his way. He took them down with the handle of his rifle, bone crunched under the metal.
He wasn't sure how, but he reached the car unscathed. He ripped the door open and jumped onto the driver's seat, stepping on the gas as soon as Soap sat down beside him. The tires screeched over the ground, the engine rumpled loudly. Hostiles jumped out of their way, opening fire on the car.
They breached the gates. Ghost accelerated further, racing down the road before them.
"You are hurt."
Soap waved his concern away. "It's nothing, only a graze. They aren't following us." He leaned back in his seat and placed his gun over his knees. "Could've gone worse, don't you think?"
"Could've gone better too." He reduced their speed once he was sure that Soap was right and there was indeed nobody following them. A speeding car would get too much attention. Silence spread between them. It wasn't uncomfortable. It never was with Soap. Ghost was used to all kinds of silences. The deadly ones, the scolding ones, the awkward ones, but he wasn't used to this one. The comfortable one. He wasn't sure how to deal with it. He wasn't sure what to feel about it.
"Why do bee's hum?"
"Why?"
"Because they don't know the words." He watched Soap out of the corner of his eye and caught the wide smile that spread over his lips. He never tried to hide his smile. Ghost liked to see it, he liked it very much. He would call it beautiful if this weren't a weird word to use for one of his teammates.
"That was awful."
"You thought it was funny. You smiled."
"Out of pity, Lt."
"Keep telling yourself that."
☠☠
They reached the safe house an hour later without incident. It was a small building on old farm ground, set between stables and a big barn with a carved in roof. A rotten fence surrounded the area. Overgrown farm equipment dotted the dirt road.
"Idyllic, reminds me of home," Soap said.
"Because you were raised by pigs?"
"Shut yer pus!"
"In English, MacTavish."
"Shut your fucking mouth!"
Ghost chuckled and parked the car behind the barn, killing the engine. The sudden silence pressed on his ears. He ripped the car door open, grabbed his gun and followed Soap over to the safe house. The door creaked on its hinges, as Soap pushed it open.
"Clear."
They entered into a small living room with an open kitchenette. Dust danced in the light that fell through dirty windows.
Two doors sat on the opposite wall. Ghost pushed one open and revealed a small bathroom, no shower but a toilet and a sink. "Clear."
"Clear," echoed Soap from the other room. Ghost went back into the living room and placed his gun on the small table. The couch creaked under him as he sat down and a cloud of dust rose out of the cushions. He coughed and grabbed his radio. "Watcher 1, how copy?"
Laswell's answer came immediately. "This is watcher 1, what's your status?"
"We reached the safe house. No injuries."
"I am glad. Sit tight boys, we'll pick you up in a few hours. Out."
"Look, we have snacks." Soap came out of the kitchenette with a package of dry rations. "Biscuit?"
"Fuck no, I hate these bloody things. Let me look at your arm."
Soap rolled his eyes. "I told you. It's nothing."
"Sit down, Sergeant. That's an order."
"Bossy." Soap grinned and fell down into the armchair, looking up at him expectantly. Ghost swallowed around his suddenly dry throat. "Take your jacket off."
"Buy me a drink first."
"Johnny."
"Sorry."
Soap wiggled out of his vest and his jacket and pushed his shirt sleeve up. He was right it was only a graze, a light one at that. The wound had already stopped bleeding, only dry blood stuck to his skin and contoured the form of his biceps. It would probably heal on its own if left alone.
"I will clean it and bandage it. Don't want it to get infected." No need to overthink this, right? It was better to clean a wound when supplies were nearby and there should be supplies here. They couldn't afford Soap getting an infection. That was all there was to it really. Not that he wanted to touch him or anything, that would be ridiculous.
To his surprise Soap didn't even argue. "Might be right, Lt., saw a first aid kit under the sink earlier."
Ghost went to retrieve it, before he turned back to Soap he took his gloves off and washed his hands under the cold water until it ran clear.
Soap still sat in the armchair when he came back, munching on one of the biscuits he had found. Ghost took out an alcohol swab and ripped the packaging open. A sharp smell rose into the air. Soap hissed as he pressed the swab against the graze and jerked slightly. Ghost grabbed his arm with his free hand. Goosebumps broke out over Soaps skin.
"Sorry," he mumbled under his breath. "It's cold here."
Ghost nodded. It wasn't that cold but he definitely wouldn't comment on that. Soap's arm was strong and firm under his hand and he could feel the muscle move beneath his skin. His heart started to beat faster, sending heat to his face and his belly. He could feel Soap's eyes on the side of his face. Ghost had never been so thankful for his mask as he was now. As soon as the wound was cleaned he threw the swap to the side and took a bandage out to wrap it around Soap's arm, securing it with a small stripe of tape.
He cleared his throat. "There, as good as new. Wasn't so hard, was it?"
"No, it wasn't."
Ghost turned his head to look at him. Soap was still watching him, his face much closer than Ghost had anticipated. Their eyes met. Ghost's breath caught in his throat. Soap jerked, as if he had to fight the urge to lean into him. Ghost could feel his heartbeat all the way down to his fingertips.
"Got a cut on my face too, I think. Maybe you should clean that too, so it won't get infected." There was a small cut on Soap's right cheek, already clotted and on its way to heal over.
"Yeah, maybe."
With a new swab in hand he took Soap's chin between his fingers and turned his head to the side to better access the cut. A slight blush spread out over Soap's face, but that must be from the sting of the swab. His stubble was rough under Ghost's fingers. He could feel his breath on the back of his hand. His belly clenched and a shiver went all the way down his spine. Suddenly his thoughts strayed, how Soap's breath would feel on his lips. Soap's hands on his own jaw. His strong arms around his body. He wanted to glide his fingers through his mohawk and pull them together until not even a hair could fit between them.
Ghost jerked back, heart racing. Soap stared after him and for a moment there was absolute silence, only filled with their quickened breath. Ghost stood up, gathered the first aid kit and brought it back into the kitchen. That had been normal, right? Just the leftover adrenaline of the fight and the relief that they both were still alive. Nothing to read into it, at least not now, maybe never.
"Hey, Lt."
Ghost couldn't bring himself to turn around and look at Soap. He nodded once to show him that he heard him.
"Where does a general keep his armies?"
"Where?"
"In his sleevies."
Ghost groaned. "Please shoot me so I don't have to remember that." Whatever awkwardness there had been between them fell away as quickly as it had come. He rummaged through the cupboards of the kitchenette and found a few old tea bags in the back of one.
"Fancy a tea?"
"Absolutely not."
Ghost shrugged. He filled a small pot with water, put it on the stovetop and watched until bubbles formed.
Tea in hand he returned to the living room. Soap wore his jacket again and was still snacking on the biscuits. One of his legs bounced up and down, the heel of his foot thumping on the ground every time.
"Stop that."
"I am bored. There is nothing to do here."
"Then sleep."
"I am not tired."
"Not my problem now, is it?"
Ghost kept to his tea and Soap kept to bouncing his leg, munching loudly on the biscuits and sighing every few seconds. If it were anybody else Ghost would have threatened to kill them if they couldn't stay quiet. But with Soap it was different. He let him get away with things nobody else had ever gotten away with. Ghost couldn't tell why. It had always been this way, since the day they had first met and Soap had fist bumped him on the shoulder as if it were normal, as if people touched The Ghost all the time. There was something about him that made it easy for Ghost to be around him, to talk to him. It was dangerous and scary and would lead to hurt one day. There was only this one possibility in his life. People he cared for got hurt. He was bad luck. That's why he had stopped caring about people. Until the 141, until Soap.
"Let's play a game."
"No."
"Truth or dare?"
Ghost let his head fall against the headrest of the couch. "I am not playing that. We aren't thirteen."
"So you pick truth, who is your favourite Spice girl?"
"I said I am not playing."
"Yeah but now I already asked, so you have to answer."
"I don't have a favourite Spice Girl."
"Don't be ridiculous, everybody has one."
"I don't." He had one. It was Mel C, but he would never admit that out loud ever.
"Now it's my turn, I pick dare."
"I dare you to shut up."
Soap laughed. "Should've seen that one coming."
Ghost drank his tea, and then another one and still no word from base about their pick up. Night turned to dawn. At some point Soap dozed off in his armchair, mouth wide open and drooling on his own shoulder. It was adorable. Ghost got a blanket to cover him. When the sun rose he could feel his own eyelids starting to drop. He thought about making another tea but the thought of getting up and doing it suddenly felt too exhausting. He hadn't slept in over 24 hours. He drifted off into a fitful sleep, as always his demons followed him all the way into his dreams.
This time he was Simon Riley again, young, innocent and about to be broken. He went into the house even though he knew he shouldn't. He knew every time and still every time he went. As if he just couldn't stop himself. As if the horror might vanish if he just faced it often enough. It never did. The door stood open and the thick smell of blood and death hung in the air. The floorboards creaked under his heavy combat boots. He dragged mud into the house, dirt and the smell of more death. Not that it mattered. It never mattered. He came too late. Every time, he came too late. They were dead. He didn't want to look but he did anyway. They were laid out in the hallway, bodies bloody and broken, mouths still open for a scream nobody would ever hear. Ghost took another step into the hallway. The door closed behind him. His brother was first in line, his nephew, his mother. On and on the hallway went and on and on the bodies lined up, family, friends, teammates long lost, long dead. All because he hadn't been able to save them. Because he had cared for them, cursed them. Tears welled up in his eyes, hot and sharp. They dropped down his cheeks like blood. He couldn't hold them in. He couldn't stop going forward. He couldn't stop looking. Dead. Dead. Dead. Tortured, murdered. Their reproachful eyes stared up at him, silent accusations whispered right into his ears. He had let them die. It was his fault. He was bad, cursed, poisoned, not worthy of love or forgiveness. Their ghosts followed him, cold fingers on his heart and his skin. They drank the tears from his face and etched his charges into the back of his skull. His body shook, tears and fear and remorse. And still he went on. Until his feet bled and the tears blurred the hallway around him. And on and on, shaking and broken and begging for a mercy that wouldn't come, that never came. Because as much as Death loved taking from him, he never laid a finger on Ghost. No matter how much he begged, no matter how hard he tried, in the end it was always in vain. He always woke up.
☠☠
Ghost jerked awake with a start and grabbed around himself blindly. His heart was racing and tears glued his balaclava to his face. His hand connected with flesh. One of the bodies. One of them followed him. Must be. He swung around, tried to get hold of the body and thrash it back to death. His fist crunched over bone.
"Ghost it's me. It's Soap. Stop. You are hurting me. Simon! Stop."
Ghost froze and blinked rapidly, bringing the safe house back into focus. It was light out. He had Soap by the neck, pressed over the armrest of the couch. A bruise was already forming on his cheekbone. Ghost ripped his hands off him and leaned back. His breath was coming fast and uneven. The drying tears around his eyes itched.
"Good morning, sir."
"Sorry. Thank you for waking me."
Soap shrugged and got back up. He rubbed his cheek absently "Don't mention it. We all have bad dreams. Wanna talk about it?"
"Negative." He would rather swallow nails. Better he forgot about it as soon as possible, until the next dream came.
"You could, if you wanted to. You can trust me." Soap's voice was unusually soft, mirroring the look in his eyes.
"I know. I trust you. But I don't want to. What time is it?"
"Around 7:30."
So he had slept for at least two hours. Not bad. He had gotten worse.
"Still no word from Base?"
"Nope. I was about to make breakfast, want some?"
"When you are offering."
"Always."
Ghost got up from the couch. His joints and muscles groaned and cracked from the position he had been sleeping in. He stretched and shuffled over to the bathroom. Locking the door behind him he ripped the mask of his face and took a big gulp of air. His hands shook and the scarred face staring back at him from the mirror was wide eyed and frightened, with blood shed eyes and deep, dark bags under them. Cold sweat broke out over his body. He shivered. His heart beat fast and faster, breath coming quick and shallow. He grabbed the sink with both hands and pressed his eyes closed. Stop. Stop! He opened up the tab and pushed the plug in with shaking hands. The water was ice cold. He dunked his head in as soon as the sink was full enough. The cold water shocked his nervous system and catapulted him out of his panic attack before it could take hold. Goosebumps broke out over his body. He kept his head in as long as he could, until his lungs were burning and the only thing he felt was the desperate need for air. He held on a bit longer then, just to see if he could, and resurfaced gasping for air.
He washed the sweat from his neck and his hair as best as he could with nothing but plain water and picked his balaclava back up. It was caked with sweat and blood. He wrinkled his nose. Wearing that would be disgusting now that he was cleaner. But not wearing it… the thought alone made his hands shake again. He would be too exposed, too open, vulnerable. The mask was like armour, it protected him and his feelings, kept his thoughts and fears and worries inside it's fabric. Made sure nobody could see and as long as nobody saw nobody would know how broken he actually was. Had he packed a new one in his backpack? He always packed one, but now he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember if he had actually done it. What if he went out looking for it and it wasn't there? Not now. Not today. Not after this dream. Focus. He needed to get himself back together. Push it down. Far down. All the way. Lock it up. Close the door. Throw away the key. He stuffed the mask into the back pocket of his cargo pants. There would be a new one in his backpack. He knew. Because he always packed one. He unlocked the door, went over to his backpack and grabbed the balaclava out of one of the front pockets. He put it on. And Soap hadn't even seen him.
"Do you want disgusting Muesli or disgusting sausages with beans?"
Ghost went over to the kitchen. Soap leaned with his hip against the stove, stirring a bubbling pot of very disgusting smelling beans.
"Is that the whole selection?"
"Trust me, you don't wanna know what else there is."
"I'll take the Muesli then, good luck with the beans." He shook the milk powder out into a bowl and poured water over it, stirring it until it was (mostly) clump free, before he added the Muesli and sat down at the kitchen table. He rolled his mask up to eat, just as far as he really had to. The Muesli really was disgusting, but it was fine. He was a soldier and would eat anything as long as it gave him nutrition.
Soap joined him a few moments later, shoveling the steaming beans into his mouth before they had time to cool down. Good tactic, that way he wouldn't taste them that much.
"So, still no word from Base. Think they forgot about us?"
"They just enjoy that you aren't there to annoy them. Would feel the same."
"Ah, don't break a man's heart like that, Lt. Here I thought we had something special."
Ghost shook his head and stuffed an extra big spoonful of Muesli into his mouth to avoid having to answer. The memory of Soap's face so close to his was still stuck in the back of his head.
"But honestly, I am not annoying you, am I?" Soap suddenly asked, eyes fixed on his breakfast. "I could stop."
Ghost furrowed his brow, unsure what to say. Unknown territory, his mind screamed in a shrill tone. His muscles locked up, readying themselves for a fight that wasn't there. Soap looked sad, worried, defeated. Why would he think that he was annoying him, when he was the best thing about every single day? Didn't he know that Ghost looked forward to his jokes, his grin and his ridiculous questions, like 'who is your favourite Spice Girl?' Of course he doesn't know, because you never told him. And he wouldn't now, he didn't know how to.
"Negative, Johnny."
Relief washed over Soap's face, so easily recognisable like every other emotion. He carried them with him openly and was not afraid to show them. It scared and excited Ghost at the same time.
"That's good, sometimes I don't realise and I don't wanna… Doesn't matter," he cut himself off. Ghost thought that it did matter, that if someone made him feel as if he couldn't be himself, Ghost would find them and squeeze the life out of them.
"Anyway, I really wish we had a shower here, could use one," Soap changed the topic and as always Ghost was too late to say something.
"Yeah, me too."
Soap halted his spoon half way to his mouth and pointed it at Ghost, spraying beans over the table. "Wait, do you shower with the mask on?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" He hid his smile behind another spoonful of Muesli.
"I would."
"I am not waterboarding myself everytime I take a shower. I am not that fucked up." Not yet.
"So you take it off, huh? Scandalous." Soap winked at him. Ghost pulled the balaclava down, before he could see the blush that spread all the way down to his chest.
They cleaned up after they ate and in lack of better entertainment went back to the living room.
Soap found a deck of cards somewhere. They played a round of Blackjack. Another one. A third one. Still no word from Base. Ghost turned to throwing his knives into every possible, available surface. Soap took his Journal out and started sketching. The sun rose high in the sky. Midday came and went. Ghost collected his knives, threw them again. They played another round of Blackjack, a second one, a third one. Ghost prepared lunch. Pasta (not as disgusting as it could've been). They ate, cleaned up. Went back to the living room. Played another round of Blackjack. Played a few rounds of poker. No word from Base. They ate dinner. Cleaned up. Sat back down in the living room. The sun was sinking again, late afternoon.
"I don't like this," Ghost said over his cup of tea. Soap looked up from the cards he had been shuffling for the last fifteen minutes.
"Me neither. Think something happened? Should we try and contact them?"
"Not sure. They wouldn't just leave us here, means they ran into a problem. Contacting them could turn out fatal, for them or for us. We don't know what's going on."
"So we are stuck here?"
"For now."
Soap groaned. "And we don't even have WLAN and I left my phone at Base. I could kill for some fucking Youtube."
"I could kill for some clean clothes."
"Don't get me started. I am disgusting. I bet I smell."
"You do."
"Fuck you. Think we can risk a trip to town, buy some clothes and some normal food? I have cash."
Ghost shook his head. "We should stay here, in case they contact us. We don't know what's happening, could be dangerous to leave the house."
Soap put the cards down. The look on his face was determined and Ghost already knew that he would lose to whatever argument he was about to hear. "If we have to stay here we need stuff, this safe house is equipped like shit. One of us should stay, keep an ear out for Base and the other one should go, preferably the one who doesn't wear a suspicious skull mask."
"I don't like us splitting up."
"Me neither, but it is the best decision and you know it."
Ghost leaned over the table. "I don't like you going out alone."
"I can take care of myself, big boy." Soap shot him a winning grin and got up, settling the argument even though Ghost was technically his superior. But then again the lines had been blurring for a while now. He watched as Soap collected his stuff and made himself look as unassuming as possible.
"Keep a low profile."
"I know."
"Don't linger."
"I know."
"Stay on high alert at all times."
"I know. I'll be back in two hours at the latest." Soap patted him on the shoulder once and left. Ghost's body locked up. He could feel the touch even through his jacket. The door fell closed and still he could feel it, tingling and burning. People didn't touch him. He did not let them. He did not want them to. It was terrifying. Set his body into fight or flight every time and then there he stood caught between both, waiting if it's going to be an explosion or an implosion. He wanted Soap to touch him. It was still terrifying. He still felt like running away, fighting back. But he wanted him too. Fuck, how he yearned for it, for this illusion of closeness and comfort. How he yearned to feel safe, to feel human.
Ghost cursed loudly. Bottle it up. Put it away. Focus. But there was nothing to focus on. Nothing to do but wait. He took his knives out and sharpened them, one by one, the movement stilled his trembling hands but not the thoughts going round and round, like a record on a record player, playing the same songs over and over. When the knives were done he turned to the rifle, taking it apart, cleaning every last piece and setting it back together again. And then he paced. Up and down. Up and down. The room was small, too small. Four steps to the door. Four steps back to the wall again. And it was fine. It was fine! Nothing would happen. It was just grocery shopping. It was fine. Nothing to worry about. He needed to get his shit together, but sitting around made him lose his mind. He needed something to do. Every second alone with his thoughts was a second too much. They screamed at him, broke free of the restraints he had put them in, rattled his brain loose and pounded against his skull. How he was broken beyond repair. Nothing without the mask, but nothing with it either. A tool, a killing machine. That's what he was, dispensable. And he liked it that way, he had always liked it that way. Go where they point him, do what they want him to do, kill who they need dead. But now he had all these feelings, all these things Soap had rattled loose with his jokes and his friendly claps and his audacity to treat Ghost like a fellow human being. And he didn't know how to handle it. His skin was too small for all of this, like a suitcase bursting at the seams. He didn't know how to feel, he didn't know how to be human. And he didn't want to know, except that he did.
And what if he didn't come back? What if something happened? He would end up in that hallway, with all the others. The thought made his knees buckle and a wave of nausea went through him with force. He grabbed the headrest of the armchair and held onto it. Tears burned in his eyes. Get it together. Push it down. Lock it up. Only that the lock was jammed. That the pile was so big, that there was nowhere he could push it to anymore.
Footsteps outside, faint but coming up the dirt road. His body went into action automatically, years of muscle memory kicking in. He grabbed the rifle and pointed it at the door, using the headrest as support. The gun felt good in his hands, familiar. He focused on the footsteps, the turmoil in him fainting away into the back of his head.
The door creaked open. The first thing he saw was the barrel of a gun. His finger on the trigger twitched.
"Honey, I am home."
Ghost's shoulders sacked in relief. "5 minutes past the time."
"Your watch is broken. I am perfectly well on time." Soap shouldered the door all the way open and carried three bursting bags into the room. He raised an eyebrow at the rifle but Ghost only nodded to the gun in his hand.
Soap threw the bags on the couch and put the gun back into its holster. "Respectfully, sir, you look like you need a hug."
How could he even tell?
"What?"
"A hug, do you want one?"
Ghost stared at him in open disbelief. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him. When he was a recruit? No, it must've been before then. When he had been a child probably, a hug from his mother or his brother, never from his father. Suddenly he didn't want anything more than a hug. He wanted to run away at the same time.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to overstep," Soap said at the same time Ghost said "yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"In this case, I am going to touch you. Be prepared." Soap came around the couch, slow, like one would approach a spooked horse. It was probably better that way, chances were high that Ghost would accidentally punch him if he moved too fast.
"You ready?"
"Yeah." No.
Soap circled his arms around his waist in a loose grip, Ghost could easily break out of, if he wanted to. Sirens started to screech in his head. His body locked up. Soap did not move closer, but he did not pull away either. He must wait for Ghost to do the next step, wanted to do it in his pace. It took a moment for the sirens to quiet down. Ghost lifted his own arms and put them around Soap. The movement brought them closer together. And the restraints broke. He held onto the back of Soap's jacket, his fingers dug into the fabric. Soap tightened his hold on him, leaning his head against Ghost's shoulder. He could feel his breath on the side of his neck and his heartbeat against his own chest. Carefully Ghost rested his cheek against the side of Soap's head and suddenly wished so desperately that he wouldn't be wearing his mask. A lump formed in his throat and his body folded around Soap's. And Soap held onto him, held him upright, held him together. He felt like band-aids on the cracks of his soul. Sobs threatened to climb up his throat, Ghost swallowed them with uneven breathing. They stood a while, just like this, until his breath evened out again and his eyes no longer stung.
"Johnny?"
"Mhm?"
"What do you call a shipment full of military-issued T-Rexes?"
"What?"
"Small arms."
Soap's shoulders shook with his laughter. Ghost could feel it all the way down in his chest. He grinned and stepped back. Soap patted his arm once, before he turned to his bags again.
"Wanna see what I bought?"
"Bring it."
Soap reached for the first bag. "I didn't know your size, but I took a guess. I bought you a black hoodie, black pants, black shirt, black socks, black underpants, thought that might be your vibe."
"It is."
Soap threw the things in his general direction. Ghost caught them and folded them over the armchair.
"I also got you some medical masks and a beanie, in case we need to hide between civilians. Oh and this, for sleeping." He grinned and took a big shirt out of the bag.
"I am not wearing that!"
"Would rather sleep in your day clothes? Who knows how long we are trapped here. But suit yourself."
"Fuck you, give it." It was a grey shirt with a small Chinchilla on it. The Chinchilla wore sunglasses. The text said "Chinchillin'"
"Stop looking at me, as if you wanna kill me."
"Not kill, maybe badly maim."
Soap rolled his eyes. "You love it and you know it. I got one for myself too, see." His shirt had a hammer on it and the text "This is not a drill."
"Why can't I have that one? That's fine!"
"I wanted to get it for you, but they didn't have it in size gigantos. It would look like a crop top on you… on second thought, care to swap?"
"Careful, MacTavish."
He had bought food too, bottled water, stuff to restock their first aid kits, toiletries, everything they would need.
Ghost made dinner out of the groceries (he did notice that Soap took seconds and thirds and did proud himself on that a little bit) and when they went to bed later (Ghost took the cot in the small bedroom and Soap the couch because "Don't be ridiculous Lt. half of you will hang off that couch") he actually felt fine.