Chapter 1: Concrete and Snow
Chapter Text
"Ghost, how copy?" Soap's voice was loud in his ear.
They had gone most of the mission so far without any communication. Ghost made no move to turn him down.
"Copy, Soap." His voice was gravely from under-use. He couldn't actually remember the last time he said words, though he vaguely remembered that a couple of days ago Johnny had cornered him to have some sort of conversation. That was probably the last time.
"Sit-rep sir?" Soap's voice came through tinny over the comms, but that wasn't what was making the skin along his spine prickle.
Ghost's eyes widened slightly, "14 August 17, three clicks east of Krasnoyarsk Krai, Russia. Eyes on you. Something wrong, Sergeant?"
"Aye, dunnae ken Lt, feeling a bit put out s'pose."
"English, Johnny" Ghost frowned behind his mask.
"Something feels off, sir, I don't like it."
Ghost shifted for the first time in hours, scope sweeping over the harsh winter countryside, searching for the signs that Johnny was seeing on the ground that were making his Sergeant weary.
Their mission this time was a simple recon; get in, get out, avoid any casualties at the civilian employed compound. It was why Price and Laswell had decided that the two of them should be the ones to go on the OP. Ghost's stealth combined with Soap's speed made the perfect match up.
Ghost reset his sights on the Scot again, the other having pulled up another 50 meters through the snow. He was nearing the first building on the outskirts of the compound, a low single story that looked like it would barely be able to hold Ghost at his full height. There was a row of small windows along the top of the building, giving Ghost the barest hint of the inside of the building, but it looked like there was no one inside.
"Soap, how copy?"
"Freezing my arse off Lt, still feel a little wired. Did ye see anythin'?"
"Negative. Approach when ready, windows are high and narrow, it'll be hard for me to see ya in there Johnny, so make it quick."
"Aw, sweet to know ya worry about me, sir," Ghost could hear the smile that was pulling at his Sergeant's lips. "Don't worry sir, you'll be seeing my wee bonnie mug back in a jif."
Ghost ignored the comment and watched through his scope as his Sergeant finally reached the building, producing a set of lockpicks from somewhere in his kit, and got to work on the door.
"Soap"
He heard a huff through the comms to know he'd been heard. Normally, Ghost would tell off his Sergeant for that, that it was an unacceptable way of communicating to his CO, but Ghost wasn't going to say anything mission related and he knew that Soap knew that too. Ever since Soap had said he was nervous, Ghost had felt a tightening in his gut, not unlike the feeling just before he was sick. He needed it to be gone so he could focus fully.
"What's the pine say to the elm during Christmas?"
"Dunnae Lt, what?"
"Put your clothes back on, there's children’s presents."
"Not your best work, sir" Soap breathed behind a laugh and Ghost heard the soft click of a door being unlocked on Johnny's end.
"Still got a laugh, Sergeant" Ghost shifted again and swept his scope along the line of windows. Soap's tall figure he could see semi-clearly through the windows. Frosted glass, Ghost thought and clicked his tongue, harder to get a good read. His trained eyes flickered to a quick, almost barely there movement at the end of the building Soap had gone into, just the top of someone's head really, gone again from his line of sight in an instant.
"Be advised, movement at the far end" Ghost shifted on a sweep again, trying to figure out which way the figure was moving. "Unsure trajectory."
"Aye" Soap breathed and he heard the small click of what could be Soap's sidearm being cocked. “Heard it.”
Ghost watched the windows as Soap’s figure shifted lower, so Ghost was staring at just the peak of Johnny’s mohawk through the glass. He willed his heart to stay beating at a regular pace but if there was one man, there were bound to be more.
Soap had, either as a blessing or a curse, left his comm line open so when he made initial contact, Ghost was able to hear the sharp intake of breath and the thud of two bodies meeting. He sat, waiting, watching, as Soap’s grunts filled his brain. His fingers itched to put a bullet into whatever poor sod sounding like they were wailing on his sergeant. Blearily, he realized that Soap was taking more hits than giving, and that he was hearing quiet sobs come through the line.
“Johnny” Ghost’s voice sounded like a prayer, one he hoped would be answered, “How copy?”
The sobs quieted. Ghost knew they weren’t Soap’s, couldn’t be Soap’s, but his heart twinged nonetheless. “Solid copy, Lt.” Soap’s voice sounded hard, cut through like maybe he had been the one to be sobbing in the blizzard blasted concrete building.
“Alive, MacTavish?” Ghost knew his tone was sharp, cutting in a way he wasn’t normally with Johnny, even in Las Almas. “Need an exfil?”
“Not yet. Gotta find that info Price told us about” That made Ghost take in a breathy inhale. Soap didn’t sound physically hurt. Unfortunately, Ghost had experience of what Johnny sounded like, bullet riddled and winded, fighting for his life to make it back to him, alive, like he’d promised.
“Make it snappy, Johnny” Ghost gruffed but otherwise stayed silent. If Soap said he was solid, he was solid.
“Aye, sir” he could hear the smile back in Soap’s voice and it helped to settle the hairs that had risen on the back of his neck. “Building clear.” A beat. “Oh, an when I exit on ta other side, don’t shoot ma cargo, rog?”
“Repeat, Soap” Ghost frowned and focused his scope on the other end of the low building, where there was supposedly another door. That would make sense as to why another person was in the building without Ghost knowing about it because even though he heard Soap opening the door, he still couldn’t see the swing of metal. Not until Soap was a good couple of feet from the building did the door creak shut over the comms.
“I said don’t shoot him.” Soap’s voice held no room for argument, like he was giving orders to Ghost . “Poor lad’s been through enough.”
Ghost huffed out an “Affirm” and watched as another, slightly smaller man trudged out into the snow behind Johnny. Ghost narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything more. He trusted Johnny, and if he said the man was safe, he was safe. That didn’t mean Ghost didn’t have his finger on the trigger.
“Headed to the next building, Lt.” Soap called out as he made it to the next building down the line. “Givin’ him ma side arm, repeat, do not shoot him.”
Ghost barely controlled the growl that threatened to tear apart his throat, “MacTavish, there is only so much I can let you get away with and I’ll be damned if you give a civvi your fuckin side arm. No.”
“Not a civvi, but I cannae explain it right now” Soap’s voice snapped back at him. The figure that was close to him made a flurry of hand movements before Ghost could focus back on him. “Aye, but I cannae tell him,” came Soap’s voice, much more patient with the man than he was being with Ghost. It made something ugly twist around his heart and lungs, something that seemed far too close to his father for comfort. He shoved it down.
“Fine Sergeant” Ghost conceded, readjusting for what felt like the umpteenth time, “If he doesn’t kill you, I will myself.”
There was another flurry of hand movements. This time, Ghost picked out some of the motions, a butchered version of BSL, the only signs he could confidently read from it were ‘man’ and ‘same’. He tightened his hand on his rifle before Johnny’s voice was once again placatingly sweet, “Aye sir, that a bet?”
“A promise, MacTavish.” Ghost growled, “Get on with it.”
Soap wasted no time now getting into the next building, making quick work with the lock and slipping inside. Ghost watched as the other man slipped in right behind him, with all of the skill of someone trained in it. Maybe Soap had been right, maybe their intel was shit and this wasn’t a civilian employed base.
“Ah found somethin Lt.” Soap chuckled and Ghost was sure it was because of the other man in that building with him right now. He felt silly for wanting himself to be the reason. “Maybe I found ma new good luck charm too.”
Ghost clicked his comm off, leaning his head down against the snow covered ground and counted to ten; three seconds of a deep, sharp breath, held it for four, and then let the air pass slowly out of his mouth for six. He picked his head back up and put it to the rifle again, his skull mask clinking against the metal as he did. He clicked his comm back on.
“Grab it and get the fuck out then MacTavish.”
“Aye sir, meet at RV point in 30” came the immediate reply, like Soap didn’t know that Ghost was having a near panic attack at the thought of Soap flirting with someone else. How could he though, when the thoughts Ghost were having were ones he had been keeping a tight lock and key to for however long they’d existed.
Before he could think through the words, he was already spewing them, “Keep your comms open and take your side arm back. Don’t make me ask again or I’ll put a bullet in him. Keep your head on”
He watched through his scope as the other man handed Soap back the pistol with no fuss. Good, at least someone could listen.
The entire time walking back to the RV point, Ghost strained his ears for any little sound over Soap’s comms. He was still on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the strange man Soap had found to put a bullet in the back of his head.
In the same thought, Ghost was chastising himself. The reason he trusted Johnny so much was because he had a good head on his shoulders, albeit a little soft around the edges. This was a soft side showing its face. Normally saved for when Ghost was pushing new recruits too hard. Ghost thought on that for a moment longer, wondering what in the hell had happened in that first building to pull this kind of reaction from his sergeant, to make him so fiercely protective of this man that he would go to bat against Ghost of all people.
The crying , Ghost mused after a bit, the edge of the open field that was going to be there exfil point coming up to greet him, but why would that-
And very suddenly, Ghost understood why. Why Johnny had done everything like he had today, orders from Ghost be damned. Because standing there in front of him next to Soap and laughing like they were old uni mates, snow flurrying around and melting on to warm skin, was a dead man.
"Roach"
Chapter 2: Grease Paint and Reports
Chapter Text
Ghost wasn’t aware of his knees hitting the ground. His mind was pure static but it wasn’t the good kind, the kind he ran in the mornings to find, the peace and security that came with a quiet mind, no. This static was haunting .
“Ghost!” Soap’s voice was muffled in his ears, the pull in his gut, like a magnet, was the only thing that brought his eyes to find Johnny’s face, far closer than most people would dare be to him most of the time. It was a comfort right now, he needed something to ground him. “That’s it Lt., focus on me.”
And he did. He blinked once, then twice, matched his breathing with Soap’s until the ache he hadn’t realized had settled in his chest let up enough for his eyes to refocus. Johnny looked worried, but there was nothing else in his face, no pity like Ghost had semi-expected, no anger for an outburst he couldn’t control. He felt his eyes start to water and he closed them, letting a single tear run through the grease paint.
“Roach,” he started, eyes still closed, not wanting to look again to see the corpse of a man that haunted his dreams most nights, not sure if he could handle that.
“Aye, sir,” Johnny’s voice was soft, like he was dealing with a child who had made a mess and was refusing any help to fix it. “It’s really him, Simon.”
“Roach,” A whisper, a confession, and then he broke. There was no holding back the tears now, they flowed freely even though he kept his eyes shut tight. “Please.”
He couldn’t elaborate more than that but the two men, these two men, knew. They knew exactly what needed to be done. Johnny clicked his tongue once then a hand rested firmly on his shoulder, grounding in a way only human touch could be. On his left, he heard the crunch of footsteps, a soft whistle and another hand, one he thought he had lost a long time ago, placed itself on his other shoulder. He could feel new callouses along the skin but it was Roach .
Ghost’s eyes shot open and looked at the other man who had crouched beside him. His brown hair was shaggier. A long, curved scar ran from under his right ear down below where his jacket zipped up. It looked like it had healed wrong, the scar ripped in a couple places like branches from a tree. His eyes were the same Ghost remembered; bright, sharp, gleaming with mischief. He reached out an arm and dragged the younger man into his side, bringing the other up to cup the back of his head and push his face into the crook of his neck. He heard a sharp inhale from his right and felt Johnny’s hand move to steady them both, Ghost having almost dragged them over with the force he had moved Roach with.
“Where were you?” Ghost whispered, scared that if he talked too loud the man in his arms might disappear again, just another memory, the world’s worst kind of nightmare, the ones that gave him hope . “Where have you been?”
Roach hummed and shrugged his shoulders, seemingly content to let Ghost do whatever he needed in that moment to know he was real. Ghost took a steady breath and pushed Roach away again, the contact starting to make his skin crawl even beneath his many layers. “Sit-rep Roach. Full detail.”
Roach’s eyes widened and a grimace wrecked his face. Now with the full use of his hands, he told Ghost and Soap about where he had been for the last year and a half.
It was awful , he started, nose pressed up in a wince, Graves got me . Ghost felt a growl build in his chest. He tried his best to keep it down. He kept me in a cell for almost a year, Roach’s hands stuttered their movement but he pushed on, Took my tags about a week in. Knew he was going to say I was KIA .
Roach’s eyes were wet as they met Ghost’s. I didn’t want to leave you guys, by the time I got out I- he stopped, breathed, started again. By the time I got out, I didn’t know how deep it ran. Couldn’t get to you.
He glanced back behind Ghost while his hands still ran on with the story, Got the location of this place from one of Grave’s men. Supposed to be connected to higher up.
“Shepherd,” Soap’s anger travelled through his accent. Ghost realized his hand was still splayed out against his shoulder blade. He didn’t really want to knock it from there, so he didn’t.
Roach tilted his head, sharp eyes darting back and forth between the two, Shepherd? He repeated. The director?
“Guess it’s our turn for a story, eh Lt.?” Soap hand squeezed his shoulder lightly before it drifted away and Soap was standing up again. Ghost let his own hands fall from Roach’s shoulders where he had been holding the man, hands now burning with the prolonged contact.
“Aye, that it is Sergeant,” Ghost whispered, his throat dry. He hummed a little in the back of his throat and Roach was up, standing and holding a hand down for Ghost to use to pull himself up. He clasped it in his, the burning feeling worsening and his bones aching like they might break, even though he knew that Roach wasn’t even really holding him. “I-” His mouth clicked shut as he felt both eyes on him, waiting for his command, for… something . This was almost worse than pity. Ghost cleared his throat. “I’m going to radio for exfil, tell them we found a friend,” He patted Roach’s shoulder even though it made his skin crawl, “Soap can tell you the details.”
Ghost fled, feeling a little like a kicked puppy with his tail between his legs as his sergeant’s voice picked up again, telling Roach about the last half year, how the 141 had changed with Soap’s addition and about Las Almas. Graves. Shepherd.
Ghost didn’t stay close to listen. He kept the pair in his sights but retreated to the tree line, opening his comms back up to the channel Price would be waiting on. “Captain, how copy?”
“Copy, Ghost,” Price’s rumble was immediate, a slight hint of worry under lacing it. “Exfil was already dispatched. Should be to you in 5. Why the late report?”
Ghost looked over again to Soap and Roach. Roach was waving his hands in excited signs and Johnny was laughing, eyes sparkling in the dwindling light reflecting off the snow. “Pulled recon like you asked Captain, ran into someone.”
Price’s answer was slower this time “Do I need to take care of it?”
Ghost huffed and shook his head, even though Price couldn’t see him. “Think you might want to, sir. Full report when we touch down at base.”
“Alright son, be seeing you soon. Over out”
“Yes sir, over out” Ghost replied and clicked off his comms. He started to hear the telltale whirring of helicopter blades in the distance. He checked his watch. Approximately two minutes til exfil. Taking one last look around the forest to make sure their little trio was safe, he bent down and scooped some snow from the ground. Closing his eyes and pressing the snow in, he let the water drip down his face for a second before wiping away the snow and water and now grease paint. He would much rather have people think he’d taken a dive in the snow instead of the tracks of water that were definitely tear streaks through the paint.
The helo landed in a blast of snow that Ghost shouldered through, making sure both Roach and Soap were inside and secure before hauling himself in and shutting the door. When he turned back to the two, they were still heavy in conversation, Roach’s hands flying and Soap talking back with his animated glee. Ghost couldn’t help the small sigh that left his lips over a smile.
-----
“Aye, Lt., where’d yer paint get to?” Soap’s voice pulled Ghost from his not-quite slumber, his eyes snapping open to see the Scot’s head tilted at him. Roach had his head pushed against the opposite wall as Ghost was leaning against, either lost in thought or getting some shut eye.
Ghost rubbed his eyes with the backs of his gloves on instinct, probably wiping more of the grease around and fucking it up worse, “Had a little issue with some snow, Sergeant.”
Soap chuckled, “Ah can see that Ghost, ye want some help fixin’ it ‘fore we land?” Ghost’s eyes caught on the shiny tin in Soap’s hand, as well as a rag in the other. “Don’t want my Lt. to get all up in arms again ta second we land.”
Ghost had never been so glad for the mask until this exact moment. He could feel heat creep onto his cheekbones, the small possessive Johnny had used making his heart crank up like a jack rabbit’s. “If you’d like, Johnny.” It was the closest thing he could give to a yes without ripping his own teeth out one by one. Something about the cloyingly soft way Soap was looking at him was making him feel like they were filled with cavities.
Soap’s smile was bright as he shifted in the small craft, standing and shuffling into Ghost’s space. He shuffled his knees apart so Soap was standing in between them.
“Rag for excess water, gonna use ma fingers fer the paint,” he muttered, using the hand holding the tin to tilt Ghost face up toward his while he slowly moved the hand with the rag towards Ghost’s face, giving him a chance to stop this, a chance he should take, away from this moment that felt far too intimate, too emotional while Ghost was already feeling far too raw for his liking.
He grunted out an affirmation.
Soap gave a tiny nod and then the rag was on his face, soft pressure over his closed eyes that wiped away whatever water was left probably as well as the remaining eye black. His sergeant was gentle but firm as he moved the rag with purpose and all too soon, it was gone. Ghost kept his eyes shut. Johnny’s hand left his face and Ghost heard the tin pop open. He couldn’t help but wonder…
“Do you always carry eye black with you, Soap?”
Soap’s movements halted and Ghost peeked an eye open. The other man was stood, as stock still as he could in a moving aircraft, a lovely red hue pushing up onto his face from his neck.
“Awa’ n bile yer heid, Lt.,” He huffed after a moment's hesitation, hand going back under Ghost’s chin, “Now close yer eyes or I’ll stab you in ‘em.”
Ghost chuckled but did as he was told, eyes slipping shut just before Soap’s fingers were dragging across them, the grease paint heavy but welcome back on Ghost’s skin.
The Scot took his time, making sure the paint was thick, but not unbearably so, and reached into the spaces just outside of the cutouts, so that if the mask moved at all, Ghost was still covered. His heart hurt.
Once again, Johnny’s fingers left his face, and Ghost sighed softly from the lost contact. He opened his eyes and found Soap’s, watching him intently, “Thank you.”
Simple, easy words that looked like they made Soap flush again, “Tis nothin’ Lt.” He shuffled back to his seat and plopped down with a huff, “Would do it for any a us.”
No you wouldn’t , Ghost thought and it made him smile despite himself. Instead what he said was, “Of course,” and he looked back towards Roach.
He was alive. The thought sung like a canary in Ghost’s brain, shutting out most of everything else. Everything that wasn’t Soap’s intense gaze focused on the side of his head.
Normally, Ghost wasn’t afronted by Soap’s stares, in fact, he quite liked that certain attention. But this was…different. It felt almost hard. Ghost turned his face back front, but Johnny had already averted his eyes. Ghost clicked his tongue softly and settled back against the seat for the rest of the flight.
-----
The helo touched down on the ground and Ghost was on his feet, dragging a bleary eyed Soap and Roach to theirs. Once he felt like both men would be able to stand on their own, he dropped his hands and exited the aircraft, feet thumping onto solid concrete. He took a deep breath, slightly humid air going easily into his lungs.
“On me.” He shouted over the dimming roar of the helo blades. Both Roach and Soap stepped towards Ghost’s left hand side. He chuckled as they sent bewildered looks at one another before Roach’s lips were quirking up in a smile and he fell in on Ghost’s right. Soap’s smile back was tight. Ghost pocketed that detail for later.
He didn’t want to say that he ran to Price’s office on damn near the other side of the base, but it was an almost thing. He kept his strides long and quick; he could hear both men behind him doing little bouts of jogging to keep up. His quick strides and general demeanor meant any other base members that they came across on their path were out of their way in heartbeats. One recruit took a literal dive to stay out of the way. Ghost narrowed his eyes at that, but kept himself moving.
Price’s corner office was tucked neatly at the end of the 141’s barracks hall, directly across from Ghost’s own. It was very convenient. What wasn’t convenient, however, was the giant of a man in Ghost’s way.
He leaned against the wall near Price’s door, dark eyes behind a free-flowing mask watching Ghost and his two shadows approach. “Ghost,” the man rumbled in greeting.
Ghost was not the one that answered.
“König!” Soap’s smile was on his voice and Ghost fought the urge to look back to see it in full force again. “It’s good to see you, mate! Price in?”
“Ya,” was the only response, König still semi blocking the door. He eyed Roach wearily and Ghost had to take a deep breath. In through his nose, pushed out through his mouth.
“Reporting to Price, stand aside König,” he managed to keep his voice level and he heard a click on his left before Johnny’s hand was resting on his shoulder again, making the tension that had appeared bleed out of him. He forced another breath.
König grumbled something in German and took a half step to the side, the door free for Ghost to rap his knuckles on, “Sir, here to report.”
“Come in Ghost,” Price’s voice was faint through the door but Ghost heard and shouldered his way inside, leaving Soap and Roach out with the Austrian. Laswell was seated on the other side of Price’s desk. Ghost should have figured as much, König didn’t like running around very far from her unless he was specifically on a mission.
Papers were scattered on the desk between the two, files open to different faces that Ghost recognized from his mission debrief earlier. He frowned before his own words hit him square in the face. Think you might want to, sir. Shit, he had made it sound like they had killed someone on a simple info grab. His cheeks heated up in embarrassment and he cleared his throat before starting.
“Sir, mission success. No casualties.”
Both sets of eyes were on him, Price’s narrowed in a frown and Laswell’s questioning.
“Thought you had said there was something I was going to have to take care of, Lieutenant,” Price grumbled, reaching up to tug at the side of his mustache.
“I did, sir. He’s standing outside,” Ghost couldn’t help his smile as Price shot up, hands on the desk and face twisted into outrage.
“The fuck did you do to my Sergeant? I thought you said there were no casualties. Be straight with me Ghost or I will have you scrubbing the floors til your hands bleed, rank be damned!” Price yelled.
“We brought him home, John,” Ghost’s voice was soft, Ghost knew it was far softer than anything Price had heard from him before and it cut through the room until all that was left was silence. In that silence Ghost blew a sharp, short whistle and the door behind him opened. He watched as Price’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head and even Laswell’s widened slightly in shock.
He didn’t need to look behind himself to know it was Roach that had opened the door, shuffling into the almost too small room to stand at Ghost’s side. His voice though, was a shock that Ghost was proud to say he only blinked at.
“Sir.”
Chapter 3: Silence and Anger
Summary:
This is a bit on the short side, but the next chapter DOES make up for it, this one I just needed to progress the plot a bit <3
Chapter Text
It had officially been a week to the day from when Ghost and Soap had brought a dead man home.
After the three had debriefed their captain, Price had shooed Ghost and Soap away to go and rest while he himself took Roach to the medbay for a check-up.
Ghost had been grateful for the out, his skin had been crawling since before the helo ride and it had only been getting steady, if slowly, worse. He had spent the next three days tucked away in his room, writing the mission report, sleeping fitfully, and letting his skin breathe as much as possible. No one had bothered him (he suspected Price had something to do with that) and it had been perfect, exactly what he needed to pull his head back on, sift through all of his feelings about Roach being back and be ready to face the next mission that would inevitably be thrown their way.
On day four, he found himself in the mess hall for a late breakfast. Soap, Gaz, and Roach were posted at a table on the outskirts of the room that Ghost took note of as he entered. After making himself a tea and grabbing a small plate of food, he made his way over and took the empty seat next to Roach. The younger man had beamed at him, signed a good morning, and then had dove back into animated conversation with Gaz. The other Sergeant’s eyes flickered wildly as he tried to watch Roach’s rapid hand movements and Ghost huffed out the smallest of laughs at the sight. Soap was uncharacteristically quiet, seemingly content to sip at his coffee and watch the conversation between Roach and Gaz, even if it was mostly one sided.
Ghost frowned under his balaclava. Something was wrong with his Sergeant, but he couldn’t quite place what. It was only after Soap excused himself, something about being on training duty for the rookies, that Ghost figured out what it was.
Soap hadn’t looked at him once.
The next few days followed almost in the exact same way. Soap wasn’t necessarily avoiding Ghost, but the Scot had seemingly made it his mission to be around Ghost the least he had to be. Ghost tried not to let the lack of comradery get to him. He had worked alone for the longest time before Soap, and if Soap needed to withdraw for a bit, he was going to be the last person to judge that.
Instead, he filled his time with getting Roach caught up. On everything, really. He didn’t have to physically talk and the other seemed content to sit criss-crossed on the floor, fiddling with his newly granted side-arm (courtesy of a passed psych eval) as Ghost sat at his desk chair, signing away.
It was one of those nights when Roach had been over, when Ghost had walked him to the door to see him out, that the two of them were met with the elusive Soap, hand raised like he was wanting to knock on Ghost’s now open door.
Ghost felt his features soften and a smile stretch under his mask. Maybe he did need to talk to Soap and get the Scot back into the action. Just being near Johnny was settling his skin in ways he didn’t think were still possible.
“Price needs to see you, Lieutenant,” Soap’s voice was even, but strained. He still wasn’t looking Ghost in the eye, just at the spot right above his heart. Ghost knew there was anger underlying his tone. A hint of something else. Disappointment? “Said it was urgent, wants the whole team.”
Soap turned on his heels and darted down the hallway towards Price’s office. Roach tilted his head and looked back at Ghost, waiting.
“I’d assume you too,” Ghost grumbled and that seemed to spur the Sergeant into action, following quickly after Soap with Ghost taking just a moment more before following to lock his door.
His heart for some reason felt like it was thundering in his chest as he opened and closed Price’s office door, being the last man to enter from their squad. Soap and Gaz were seated across from Price and Roach had gone to stand behind Gaz’s chair. He leaned against the wall by the door, fixing Price with a steady gaze.
Price nodded where he stood, hands pressed flat to the desk where a map had been laid out, “Gentlemen, nice of you all to join us. We have an update on Shepherd.”
Ghost’s whole body tensed, like a gunshot had gone off along every single one of his nerves. Soap didn’t turn around, Ghost could still see him so he knew there was no way he was going to, but the click noise the other made calmed him, even without the steadying hand.
“Where, sir?” Soap’s voice was definitely angry now and Ghost could imagine his face turned to a sneer around the words, “Where does that bastard get to die?”
Price shook his head with a grimace, “Don’t know yet son. This one’s a recon on his last known whereabouts. Either he’s there, or we figure out where he’s gone.” His eyes flicked up to meet Roach’s. Ghost’s own eyes narrowed.
“Where, Captain?” His voice was gravely. It had been almost the fourth full day he hadn’t needed to talk because there had been no one to talk to . Ghost felt his heart twinge. He decided then that he would need to talk to Soap. Immediately following this meeting if possible.
“The Alps.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
A whistle, a click. A hand on his bicep, one low on his shin. He didn’t even realize he had made it to the back of Johnny’s chair.
“I’m going alone, Captain.” His voice was strained, he could hear it, he knew Price could hear it. He lowered his voice, hoping and praying that it came out as steady as he needed it to, “In and out, you know I can.”
It wasn’t Price that responded to him. Instead, the hand from his shin left and an angry Scot was in his face, pushing him backwards with a snarl, “Ya don’t get to go be a fookin’ ‘ero all the bloody time! Steamin’ bloody Jesus Lt, sit yer ass down and listen .”
Ghost blinked. It was the first time Johnny had locked eyes with him in a week. His eyes were deeper set than Ghost remembered, like he’d been getting the same type of sleep Ghost had been. He felt the tightening around his lungs, his heart, the creeping feeling to fight back. He tamped it down as best he could.
“Are you trying to give me an order, MacTavish?” He growled low. He knew he was posturing, but suddenly the room was too small, he couldn’t be big enough. His shoulders shook.
“Boys!” Price’s voice cut through the tension that had built between Ghost and Soap. “Heads on, listen up.” Ghost backed up against the wall again, mouth open under his mask to keep his laboured breathing quiet. His eyes flicked away from his staring contest with Soap and met Price’s gaze. The old man was tired. Ghost took one last breath.
“Sorry, sir. What’s the plan?”
Chapter 4: Apologies and Nightmares
Chapter Text
The plan was, apparently, immediate.
“Alright men, wheels up in 30,” Price finished up the debrief. “Gaz, take Roach for a full kit. Ghost, a word.”
Ghost didn’t respond, just let the rest of the 141 file out of the room as he stood at the side of Price’s desk, still looking over the maps, tracing the lines with his eyes until he felt he would be seeing them in his sleep.
After the door shut behind Gaz, Price was a demanding presence in the room, “I know you’re scared Simon, but if you keep your own head up your arse, it’s more likely this mission fails.” Ghost’s mouth twitched up in a grimace. He was right, of course, he tended to be. Price barrelled on before Ghost could respond,”I need you to make up with Soap.”
At that, Ghost snapped his eyes up to meet his Captain’s, frowning underneath his mask. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “Sir?”
“I honestly don’t care what the fuck happened, but it needs to be fixed son, because I can’t have both you and him in your heads. Apologize to him,” His words were gruff but Ghost could see the worry behind his eyes.
“What the bloody hell for?” Ghost heard himself say. He couldn’t stop the question, coming unbidden from the deepest part of his chest.
“What the-” Price stopped, seemingly dumbfounded by the genuine question. He was fast enough to smack an open palm against the side of Ghost’s head and retreat before the larger man could break any bones. “What the bloody hell for. Get out of my office. Be ready for take off in 25,” Price rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion.
Ghost only took a split second to recover, dipping his head in a single nod and muttering an affirmative, shuffling out of the room with his scowl thankfully hidden. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Price let out a grumbled, “Children, the lot,” before the door clicked shut.
Before he moved any further, Ghost took a deep breath. Three in, hold for four, out for six. He set his watch with a 20 minute timer and let his feet take him to Soap’s door. He knocked three times in quick succession.
The thud of something hitting the ground was muffled by the door, as was the pained, “Ah, bloody hell.” Ghost let himself have a small chuckle as Soap opened the door.
“Here to laugh, huh?” Soap’s expression was sour as his arms crossed in front of him and Ghost felt all the laughter leave his body in a second.
“Negative, Sergeant,” Ghost dipped his head, scratching at the base of his skull over the balaclava. “I seem to be here to apologize, but I don’t know what bloody for.”
Soap sighed and Ghost let his eyes shift up again when Soap dropped his arms. Ghost felt his fingers twitch with the sudden need to comfort. That feeling was far too foreign, so he forced his hand to stay at his side.
“Seems unfair to ya that ye’d ‘ave to apologize when I’m the sorry sod that’s been a right bawbag the past week,” Soap looked embarrassed as they made eye contact. “Ahm sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”
Ghost nodded, though he didn’t really know why it was now Soap apologizing. He couldn’t be sure but, “We all need time alone, Sergeant, you should know that I of all people would never fault you for that.”
Soap let out a dark chuckle, “Aye, sir, none of us could ever do it like you, though.” His eyes flashed mischief but just as quickly it was gone again. Soap held out his hand, “Let’s get ourselves a win Lt.”
Ghost clasped it in his own and nodded.
“Aye, let’s fuckin do this.”
-----
The aircraft dropped the team off at a safe house about 25 klicks from Shepherd’s last known location. It had seemed Laswell had been able to pull some strings with this particular set-up, the house itself was insulated and had two bedrooms with two beds each, as well as a fireplace. Being far enough away from their recon point, Ghost hoped Price would be lenient and let them burn a fire or two.
The recon aspect was going to be simple. Three days of a rotating set of two watching from a ridge overlooking the utilitarian compound. There was a narrow trail, just big enough for the ATV located in the shed to get by until they had to hoof it the last few klicks. Ghost settled his pack in one of the corners of the fireplace room.
“Alright lads,” Price sweeped a map out on the coffee table, laying out notes and pins and keeping the whole thing anchored from rolling back up with his canteen, “We’ll start watches on the hour. Should take half an hour to get to the watchpoint. Everyone know the schedule?”
The other four men all nodded. Shifts of 6 hours, Soap and Price on first watch, then Price and Gaz, Gaz and Roach, Roach and Ghost, and finally, Ghost and Soap before their cycle started over again. The man switching off would take the ATV back from the watchpoint to the safehouse, where the next would head out, leaving an hour of time where one man was alone at the watchpoint at a time. Not the most ideal situation, but because of the depth of the cold outside, Ghost wasn’t going to complain about getting his break in a warm space.
While Soap and Price finished strapping their various weapons and gear to their vests, Ghost went over to the coffee table, once again tracing routes to and from the watchpoint, to their secondary safehouse a little closer to the compound, to the exfil location. He liked the monotony of studying the maps, the geography and topography blending to recreate the map so Ghost had it in his mind at all times.
After a while, he looked up again to zone back into his surroundings. Gaz had taken up a position on the couch, deconstructed pistol being wiped down in his hands. Roach sat beside him, sharpening his own pair of throwing knives.
Ghost checked his watch. He’d been staring at the maps and notes and things for a little over 3 hours now. His eyes were getting tired again.
“Alright Sergeants,” his voice rasped like a file, “Get some shut-eye. Gaz, I’ll wake you when I hear Soap headed back in.”
“Yessir,” Gaz’s accent was thick, like he was already half-way asleep where he sat. Ghost rolled his eyes, watching as both Gaz and Roach stood, Roach semi-leading Gaz into the first bedroom. Roach signed a quick, Keep watch? Which Ghost nodded to before the other nodded back and the bedroom door was shut.
Ghost let himself settle on the couch, hands fiddling with his kit straps so they didn’t dig uncomfortably into his sides or thighs as he sat. Pulling out his sidearm, he got to work.
There was something blessedly methodical about cleaning a weapon. Whether it be a knife, a gun, or even the really bloody missions where afterwards he’d need to clean his own hands and scrub his knee pads and boots, Ghost loved to clean his weapons.
Slide back, lever down, pull the trigger, slide’s off. Push forward, pull up, guide rod’s gone. Hand out, muzzle to the ceiling, barrel’s in his outstretched palm. Ghost liked it, it was efficient. He still much preferred his Browning as compared to this new Glock the army had recently transitioned to. He laid his gun’s pieces on the table in front of him, pulled an already oily rag from one of his cargo pockets, and got to work.
As his hands occupied themselves with the cleaning, Ghost’s mind wandered. It was difficult, to not get caught up in the methodicalness of the task, almost hypnotic in the way the oily metal glinted back at him between every swipe of the cloth. A smile played against his lips at the sudden errant thought that Soap would probably not like to clean his weapons like this, until they gleamed. He’d probably do a quick once over, just enough to keep the hammer from jamming or the slide from sticking, but only just. Ghost clicked his tongue and resolved himself to make sure Soap was taking care of his equipment.
After his gun was reconstructed, he started to pull knives, one at a time, from various places across his kit. Fourteen in total now. He had had fifteen at one point, but he had never bothered to ask Johnny for the one that he had needed in Las Almas back. He had gone back for every single one, pulling them from the bodies, watching the last dregs of blood leave the decomposing Shadows. He’d gone back to base, filled the tub in his en suite with a mixture of bleach and water and sat scrubbing the blades until the matted finishes were their own version of shiny.
He had seen Johnny pick up that knife in Las Almas, his hand covered in his own blood as he wretched it free from the neck of a Shadow. Ghost had watched through his scope, transfixed, as his Sergeant had cut through another three, four, five, six Shadows to get to the church. Each slash of the knife sharp, precise, taking only the one to kill. If they weren’t in a life or death situation, Ghost would have been tight in his cargos.
As it was, Ghost wasn’t in a life or death situation at the moment, and as he shifted to get the next knife to polish, the crotch of his pants rubbed harshly against his steadily hardening dick. He paused with a sharp inhale. A quick glance at his watch told him he would have another hour or so before the rumble of the ATV was close. He sighed, slipping the next knife from the holster and carrying on.
Ghost knew this was a dangerous game, being even slightly distracted on a mission. But he was also reasonable enough to know that jerking off to his Sergeant covered in his own blood and killing people was probably not his most sane option for wanking material. He’d tuck it away for later, back on base where he would be able to take a few days away from Soap if need be, where the wires in his brain wouldn’t cross from the underlying adrenaline he always seemed to have on missions.
Ghost finished up the rest of his knives and stood, taking the few paces to the closed bedroom door and knocking twice. There was some shuffling behind the door, a quiet, “You’re good, mate” muttered by Gaz to a probably still half-asleep Roach, and then the door was opening to reveal the more rested-looking Sergeant.
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” He dipped his head in acknowledgment as Ghost stepped to the side so he could fully exit the room. “You headed to the sack? I can get Soap to wake Roach when he gets here.”
Ghost nodded with a grunted, “Affirmative,” before spinning and taking the few steps to the other bedroom. He didn’t bother stripping any of his gear, not even getting underneath the moth-hole filled blanket, and clasped his hands over his stomach. He let his eyes close, but his ears still listened to the house.
It had always been hard to truly sleep on missions, but he did drift, the flashes of light beyond the dingy curtain lending to the memories that always came to the forefront of his mind when he was in half-sleeps like this. His mom’s bright laugh, Tommy’s shiny red hair, the sunlight on the grass after it had rained and he had crawled his way out of that grave in Mexico. He frowned, shifted on the bed, tried to will his mind away from that.
Price in his goofy fishing cap and a line glinting in his hands, Gaz fiddling with an electronic part in the sunlight in Egypt, Johnny smiling brightly as he set off an explosive. The last one stuck, Johnny’s bright eyes turning to him, so so bright, like he was smiling just for Ghost. Another flash, Johnny’s face turned grim, Ghost felt his body twitch, wanting to reach out, to make sure his Sergeant was ok. His own hand was in his face now, blood glistening in the light. His eyes flickered back to Johnny, face now covered in red. Ghost’s hands were on him, running down to the hole some shrapnel had ripped in his gut. He looked down, more blood streaming from between where his fingers were trying to hold his man together. Johnny’s hand gently cupped Ghost’s jaw and forced him to look up again. His Sergeant’s face was rotting, skin sloughing off, tendons barely keeping his jaw attached.
“You’ll never save him,” when the rapidly decaying form in front of him spoke, it was all around him, drowning out his hammering heartbeat, the voice of Roba, taunting him, chilling him to his bones.
Ghost bolted upright in the bed, one hand jerking up and halfway unsheathing the knife strapped above his heart, the other steadying his suddenly moving body as his leg swung and his boot thumped to the floor. His breathing was shallow and as his crazed eyes took in his surroundings, the slightly fluttering curtains, the moonlight that slanted into the room, the soft rustling of another body on the other side of the door, the clang of a cupboard from the kitchen and a curse that followed, it started to slow again.
He let his eyes shift closed again. Three seconds sharp inhale, four seconds hold, six seconds out. Three seconds in, four hold, six out. Three in, four hold, six-
The creak of the door opening had him snapping his eyes open, hand finishing the unsheathing of the knife and throwing it in one fluid motion. It slammed into the wood of the door, not even an inch away from the top of Soap’s head.
“Aw’right there Lt.?” Soap’s crooked smile did nothing to deter the concern etched everywhere else on his face. “Normally woulda at least given me a shave there.”
Ghost blinked his eyes, his brain lapsing as he was already pushing himself up and grabbing at Johnny’s arm. Solid, real, alive.
“Y’alright Simon?” Johnny’s voice was low, letting Ghost grip tightly onto his bicep.
Ghost continued his breaths, letting the grip he had on Johnny’s arm ground him even more. His breathing slowed, deepened. He noticed Soap’s breathing along with him, slow, even, like he was willing Ghost to breathe with him.
“Nightmare,” Ghost managed to whisper, unsure if he even said it loud enough for Soap to hear him.
He knew that the other had though, when there was a slight pushback from Soap’s arm, leaning into Ghost’s grip, if only slightly.
The two stayed like that for a moment, maybe two before Ghost’s fingers twitched, aching from the strong grip he was keeping. He loosened them, accidentally brushing down the length of Soap’s forearm before pulling away.
Soap’s hand came up slowly to rub the spot, “Ach, Lt., gonna have bruises there now, yer none too gentle are ya?” Ghost’s face burned at the words, and once again, he was thankful for his mask.
“What did you need Johnny?” Ghost’s voice was rough but he forced the words to be steady. “Can’t have just wanted to sneak a peek at your C.O. sleeping,” He said it like a fact, but watched his Sergeant’s expression closely. The tips of Johnny’s ears were red.
“Nah sir, almost yer time for shift change. Price wanted me ta grab ya, said I’d be ‘least likely ta get killed’,” Soap used the air quotes as he reached for the dagger embedded in the door. “Though,” he said casually, pulling the metal smoothly from the wood, “Maybe he did have a point.” Johnny’s cheshire grin as he held the knife handle-first towards Ghost made his stomach turn with a warmth he tried to push away.
“Even I know that was a shit joke, Sergeant,” Ghost chuckled despite himself, taking the offered knife and shoving it back in the holster.
“Still got a laugh, sir.”
Kbelle75 on Chapter 1 Mon 03 Feb 2025 01:15PM UTC
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BramblesPatch on Chapter 1 Tue 04 Feb 2025 01:48AM UTC
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Whooo_Even_Kn0ws on Chapter 3 Mon 24 Feb 2025 06:41AM UTC
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BramblesPatch on Chapter 3 Fri 07 Mar 2025 01:23AM UTC
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