Chapter Text
The first light of morning filtered through the safehouse windows, casting soft shadows across the room. The air was crisp, the quiet stillness of the early hours wrapping the space in a sense of calm. Soap and Ghost, still entangled in each other on the couch, began to stir, the peaceful sounds of their breathing gradually giving way to the grogginess of waking.
Ghost was always the first to wake—his senses sharp, his body trained for constant readiness. As his eyes flickered open, he quickly surveyed the room, his gaze landing on Lupus sitting in the chair across from them. The man hadn’t moved since the night before, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. His posture was stiff, as though he was fighting the pain in his body while retreating into his own mind.
“Soap’s gonna chew your ass for leaving the bed, y’know,” Ghost murmured, his voice low, still laced with the remnants of sleep. He spoke to no one in particular, but the words were meant for Lupus.
Lupus glanced over at Ghost, a faint, tired smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. With a snap of his fingers next to his own ear, he gave Ghost a quick, playful glance. “Really? Is he going to be that upset?”
The comment hung in the air for a moment before Soap began to stir, his body slowly moving, his brow furrowing as his eyes opened to meet Lupus’s gaze. The sudden shift in his posture was enough to send Lupus into a slight panic. He could see the tension in Soap’s eyes before Soap fully awakened, the familiar scowl starting to form as he pulled himself from the couch with a grunt.
Soap groggily stood up, clearly still not fully awake, and made his way toward Lupus. The first words out of his mouth were unintelligible at first, his thick Scottish accent bleeding through in his sleepiness. “Yer aff yer heid,” he muttered as he walked over, a finger pointing at Lupus’s chest. His voice was low but firm, more confused than angry, though the frustration was evident. “Yer off yer heid, ye daft bastard.”
Lupus blinked, momentarily puzzled by the words. He had no idea what Soap was saying, the accent thick, and the words muddled together in a way that made them impossible to fully grasp. He tilted his head slightly, clearly lost in translation. "What?" he asked, genuinely trying to understand the Scotsman's ramblings.
Ghost, still lounging on the couch, barked a laugh from the corner of the room. "English, MacTavish," he called out, his amusement clear in his voice. "He doesn't understand your Scottish, mate."
Soap’s head snapped toward Ghost, his face reddening at the mockery. “Aye, I know," he shot back, “but the lad here needs a bloody translation.” Soap threw his hands up in exasperation, and for a moment, he looked like he was going to storm off. Instead, he threw his arms wide and yelled at Lupus, “He’s off his fucking head, is what it means, Si!"
The sound of Soap’s frustrated shout echoed in the room, and something about it—the mixture of irritation and protectiveness—made Lupus pause. The words clicked, finally making sense in his tired, disoriented mind. Soap’s concern was obvious, even though it came out in frustration.
Lupus, for the first time in a while, couldn’t hold back the small chuckle that escaped him. It was quiet, barely a laugh, but it was there—half held back, unsure of itself, but a laugh all the same.
It was enough to make Ghost’s smile widen, his eyes crinkling at the edges in the way they only did when something amused him beyond the usual stoic calm. Ghost let out a soft, relieved laugh of his own, leaning back into the couch. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh since… well, since ever,” he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.
Lupus, still leaning back in the chair, glanced at Soap, who was still holding his ground, though the tension had begun to melt from his face. His scowl softened as he saw the flicker of amusement in Lupus’s eyes. “Aye, ye bloody daft bastard,” Soap muttered, though the irritation in his voice was more playful now. “I’m glad you’re finally awake. You’ve had us worried sick.”
Lupus’s smile remained small, but it was a smile, something he hadn’t expected to find after the pain, the mission, the isolation. For the first time in a long while, he felt something like peace—something like belonging.
“You should be resting,” Soap added quietly, his tone softer now as he stepped closer to Lupus. “You’re lucky we found you before your stupid ass decided to wander off.”
Lupus nodded, still a little groggy from the sleep, his body aching, but the warmth of Soap and Ghost's presence was unmistakable. “I’ll rest when I’m able to stand on my own, MacTavish,” he said, using Soap’s last name with a teasing edge. “But… thanks.”
Ghost shifted on the couch, his arms folding across his chest as he regarded Lupus with a knowing look. “Just don’t push yourself too hard, alright? We’re all here. No need to run off again.”
For the first time, Lupus didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. The team—his team—was here. And as Soap and Ghost continued to bicker gently over who was really in charge of Lupus’s care, he let himself relax for just a moment longer.
The pain was still there. The mission was still fresh in his mind. But for the first time in a long while, Lupus felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as alone as he had always thought.
Lupus sat back in the chair, his eyes still tired but now carrying a spark of something different. The usual coldness, the wall he had built around himself, was still there, but for the first time, it felt like a crack had appeared in that ice. His gaze met Soap's, and despite the fatigue and the pain that still clung to his body, something playful flickered in his eyes—a rare sight.
His voice was quieter, the usual Midwestern drawl that typically was soft and barely noticeable now heavier with a deeper accent, as if it had been waiting to break free all this time. “Well, if you're gonna nursemaid my ass,” Lupus said, a soft smirk curling at his lips, “mind making me a cup of coffee? Or should I get up and let ya flatten me like a first-time calver?”
Soap stopped mid-step as he turned toward the kitchen, blinking in surprise at the boldness, the humor that Lupus had just tossed out so casually. For a moment, Soap was taken aback, but then a smile tugged at his lips—genuine and surprised. He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath, nodding at Lupus as he gave an exaggerated look of mock-seriousness. “You stay right there, mate. I’ll make sure that ass doesn’t get flattened,” Soap said, shaking his head and walking toward the kitchen.
Lupus leaned back in the chair, the soft groan of pain from his body fading slightly into the background as the warmth of the moment settled around him. It was a quiet, rare moment of levity—a kind of normalcy he hadn’t known in so long. Even with the ache still pulling at his ribs, the exhaustion pressing at his mind, this felt... different.
As Soap moved into the kitchen, Lupus's gaze drifted over to Ghost, who had been silently observing the interaction. Ghost’s usual stern expression softened, his eyes still trained on Lupus with a quiet intensity that wasn’t lost on him. For a brief moment, there was a stillness in the air, the kind of moment that almost made Lupus feel exposed. His guard was still up, but he had let some of it slip in front of Soap—what did Ghost see? What was it that Ghost was thinking?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silent observation, Ghost spoke, his voice softer than it usually was. “This is the first time I’ve seen the real you. Why’s that, mate?”
Lupus’s body stiffened at the question, his eyes momentarily hardening as he caught Ghost’s gaze. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. It was the kind of question that cut through the quiet layers he had built over time, the kind of question that made him feel like a stranger in his own skin.
But Ghost didn’t look at him with pity, or with the usual careful detachment that Lupus had come to expect from others. Ghost’s eyes were simply... curious. There was a softness to them, a gentleness that Lupus hadn’t expected. It wasn’t like Soap’s teasing or the playful jabs; this was different. This was a quiet understanding, one that asked more than just an explanation—it asked for trust.
Lupus swallowed, his throat dry as he turned his head slightly to look at the ceiling again, his thoughts swirling for a moment. The words that had been locked inside him for so long suddenly felt like a weight he wasn’t sure he could bear.
He had never been one to share much, never been one to open up. Even before the war, even before everything had gone to hell, he had learned early that it was better to keep his distance. But now, with Ghost’s unspoken patience pressing him to answer, it felt... different.
After a long moment of silence, Lupus finally let out a slow breath, his voice quieter than before, tinged with something raw and reluctant. “I’ve been through too much to let people in. It’s not safe. And I’m not... I’m not the same man I used to be. I’ve been living with that for too long, keeping my distance, because it’s easier that way.”
He paused, his eyes flicking to Ghost, and then back down to his hands resting on his knees. “But... you guys have made it harder. To stay distant, I mean. You’ve made it harder to not care.”
There was no grand declaration. No deep confession. But it was something. It was the first step Lupus had taken in years, letting someone see a part of him that he usually kept buried deep under layers of cynicism and coldness.
Ghost didn’t respond immediately, the weight of Lupus’s words hanging in the air between them. He simply watched him, his gaze never leaving his face as if absorbing every bit of what had been shared.
Finally, after a beat, Ghost let out a quiet exhale. “I get that, Si. Trust me, I do. But we’re not here to make it harder for you. We’re here because we want to be.” He paused, his voice steady, “None of us are perfect, but we’ve got your back. You don’t have to do this alone, Lupus.”
Lupus didn’t know how to respond to that. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he simply nodded, the weight of those words settling on him more than he expected. There was a part of him, deep down, that knew he didn’t have to be alone. But another part of him, the part that had spent so many years pushing people away, resisted the thought. It wasn’t just about survival anymore—it was about letting go of the walls he’d built around himself, and that was something he wasn’t sure he was ready for.
“Thanks,” Lupus muttered, his voice quieter now. He couldn’t say more than that—not yet. But the sincerity in Ghost’s eyes, the quiet offer of support, lingered in the air like a promise. It was a promise that Lupus wasn’t sure he was ready to accept, but in that moment, it felt like the first real thread of hope he had seen in a long time.
From the kitchen, Soap’s voice cut through the silence. “Aye, don’t get too comfortable in that chair, Lupus. You’re getting a cup of coffee, and you’re staying put while I make sure that shoulder of yours is fixed up properly.”
Lupus glanced at Soap, the familiar teasing tone pulling a small smile onto his face. “You sure you’re not going to flatten me like a first-time calver?” he teased back, his voice still soft, but with a playful edge.
Soap laughed, a sound that felt like a weight lifting from the room. “Aye, you’ll be fine. Just don’t go making me get the belt.”
For the first time in a long time, Lupus allowed himself to relax—just a little. There was still much to be dealt with, and the road ahead would be hard. But for tonight, surrounded by the people who had slowly become his unexpected lifeline.