Chapter Text
Logically, Ghost knows he’s the odd-man-out (again) for being pissed that the 141 in placed on holiday leave. A couple months off will do the others good, let them regroup and recover before they’re chasing after Shepherd and the Russians across half the globe. It’s healthy - hell, it’s responsible and Price is nothing if not responsible when it comes to his men. Ghost isn’t like the others though and being on leave gives him too much time to, well, do fuck all but sit in his flat waiting for the Captain to call him back.
So, maybe Ghost needs to get some hobbies. Or friends. But Ghost doesn’t have many friends and the only hobbies he needs are the ones that keep him alive on the battlefield. He supposes he could fuck off to the middle of nowhere and hunt game, do something that will keep his mind off the fact that his life is once again spiraling out of the realm of normal. There’s an itch inside him that is practically begging him to bribe the Captain to let him stay on base. If only because if he’s not thinking of work, then he’s thinking of…
“Earth to Simon,” and just like that his thoughts are interrupted by one very annoying Johnny MacTavish. The very person Ghost is trying his best to not think about right now. If it were anyone else on base, the glare Ghost sends his way would be enough to have him watching over their shoulder for months, but the infuriating thing about Soap is that he somehow manages to just smile through all of Ghost’s warnings. Fucking bastard, made his cold heart thaw just a bit more. “You hear a word I said, Lt.?”
“I do my best to ignore anything that comes out of your mouth, Johnny.” Ghost tries not to smile beneath his mask, but finds himself losing the battle. Alright, so maybe there’s more to his sour mood than just being sent back to civvy life unceremoniously for a couple months. Maybe, if he’s going to be honest with himself, he’s also finding it difficult to imagine a life where Soap isn’t a nearly constant presence at his side.
“Yer breakin’ my heart.”
Ghost laughs, low and only for his sergeant to hear before reaching out to ruffle that stupid mohawk of his. Soap beams, like a damn puppy, and his heart might just grow a few sizes. Not that he’d admit it to anyone, including himself and most certainly not Johnny. He doesn’t deserve someone like him, certainly doesn’t deserve to be looked at like he holds up the sun, but a dark part of him thrives at the attention.
Bloody hell, he thinks, knowing he’s on the precipice of being completely fucked.
He’s not sure when it started - logically he knows it somewhere between their banter in Las Almas and killing Graves, but he doesn’t know that he’ll ever be able to pinpoint the exact moment Johnny had wormed his way into his heart and taken up residence like he owned the place. It’s infuriating, but it works. It works so well and Ghost knows that if he keeps on letting it happen, he’s gonna end up right back at the start this mess. Alone and adding Johnny to the long list of names of people paying the price for his mistakes - he doesn’t know that he could survive that. He barely survived once.
So, yes, if there’s one thing Ghost is positive of in his life, it’s that he’s completely in love with Johnny MacTavish. Practically obsessed with the man because how could anyone not be? He’s just as much of a force of nature as Ghost, puts everything he is into what he does but there’s still something there to come back to. Soap is a ray of sunshine, even when he’s bleeding in the dirt and something about his unending optimism and ability to endear everyone to him makes him remember what it was to be a man outside of the mask.
“I asked if you had plans for the holidays, Ghost.” Soap’s shaking his leg too damn much and Ghost has the urge to reach out and stop his constant moving. He’s known him long enough to know when he’s wanting to ask something and when he fully expects the answer to be no. It’s been harder to do as of late, but something about the shining blue of Johnny’s eyes makes Ghost resolve to steel himself against whatever it is he wants.
Now that he thinks about it, maybe a couple months away will do him some good. They’re getting too comfortable with one another. He should put some much needed distance between them. If he stays here, he might find it impossible to build the walls back up faster than Soap can tear them down - maybe if he’s gone, without any reminders of his sergeant, he’ll forget what it means to be Simon Riley again. He can slip back easily into what it means to be Ghost - it’s a fine idea.
“Out with it, Johnny. Don’t leave us in suspense.”
Fuck. So much for distancing himself; he’s off to a resoundingly strong start.
Soap nods and swallows, licking at his lips a few times. Ghost’s jaw tightens, he practically hears his teeth creaking from the strain because of course Johnny looks attractive even when he’s a nervous ball of energy.
“I was thinking, maybe if you don’t have plans to do whatever it is a scary fucker like you does when not,” Soap gestures vaguely around them and back to Ghost, “Well, you know: this. Maybe we holiday together. Of sorts.”
“Holiday. Together?” Ghost needs more than a moment to process what Soap just requested. His brain is firing off like fireworks, sparking in every direction and in that moment he wishes Soap wasn’t so goddamned good at reading him beneath the mask because rather than stop and give him a chance to turn down the offer, he’s charging forward as though he can change Ghost’s mind (and goddammit, Ghost knows he can).
“Of sorts,” he says, repeating himself like that explains anything. “It’ll be quiet. Well, mostly quiet. You got a clan of MacTavish’s eager to meet the man who saved my life - twice.”
“A clan of MacTavish’s won’t be quiet, Johnny, if you’re any example,” Ghost laughs, fingers digging into his arms as he tries to imagine how the hell Soap could have possibly prepared his family for someone like him to walk through their door. “It’s a tempting offer, but I don’t think-”
“You don’t even have to take off the mask.”
He’s been alone with Soap plenty of times, but this is different. This is uncharted territory and it feels a hell of a lot more intimate than late night conversations fueled by a little too much alcohol. He needs to say no, before he promises something that he regrets. Hasn’t he already determined that he’s supposed to be using this time to get away from MacTavish? He should be booking a private charter to Alaska, planning to rough it until Price gets him on a radio and he can finally focus on a mission.
And that is precisely what he plans to do.
…
Soap is one persistent bastard and when he puts his mind to it, he gets exactly what he wants. Or at least, that’s what Ghost learned in the final days before they were all due to go their separate ways. All big blue eyes and promises that it’d be good for the both of them has him standing at the doorstep of the MacTavish home, watching as Johnny fumbles for his keys and unlocks the door.
They’ve arrived a day early and Ghost has packed light - a couple days is all he’s promised. Once the week is out, he’s booking that flight to Alaska and not going to think about how his friend’s face had lit up when he had finally agreed to come to Scotland (out of his damn way, he’d be flying back to get his gear and for some reason that already makes him think he’s not being truthful to the both of them on how long he’ll really be staying). So, instead, he tries to think about how soon he’ll be far, far away from thoughts of Johnny and he might finally be able to burn away this heavy and pleasant weight in his heart.
“You need a hand, Sergeant?” Ghost asks with a chuckle as Soap tries to balance his luggage and kick the door open. It fails spectacularly and ends with both the bags and keys on the ground, as well as a still very much locked door.
“Haud yer wheesht!” Johnny gives another kick and kneels to grab at his keys when the door, unsurprisingly, remains locked. He wipes at his reddening nose and pulls his scarf a little closer after he shakes the snow from his hands. “Yer my guest, so you just sit back and keep looking pretty.”
“That an order, Johnny?” Ghost asks, amused.
“Aye, Lt.. Shouldn’t take you too much effort.” Soap says with a grin, finally getting the door unlocked and ushering them both inside.
The place is instantly foreign to Ghost because it’s a home - it’s not a place to rest his head and lay low for a few days. It’s an honest home with a fucking lit Christmas tree and family photos adorning the walls. It’s nothing like Ghost knows anymore and it makes him swallow back nerves that shouldn’t be threatening to tear into him like they are. Johnny, on the other hand, seems to instantly find his place in the normalcy, taking their bags and tossing them aside before reaching up to brush melting snow from his hair and remove his jacket. Ghost slowly does the same when Johnny reaches his hand out expectantly.
“Tea, Simon? Dunno ‘bout you, but I could stand to warm my bones.”
“Couldn’t hurt.” But it could and in some ways, it did. He already feels like he doesn’t belong here, darkening Johnny’s literal doorstep and intruding on what should be a happy time of year. His family is going to be terrified and he slowly tears his eyes off one of portraits to follow his host because if he’s stuck alone by the door, he thinks he might actually lose his mind. “You’ll need to remind me who’s who again.”
Johnny hangs their coats on the back of a chair and grabs the kettle, then seemingly remembering something, he stops and sets it down to reach into his discarded jacket pocket. He holds his wallet up like a trophy and tosses it to Ghost, who catches it with ease.
“Open ‘er up.” He says and lights the stove, back to the task at hand.
The photo is at the front, impossible to miss when Ghost does as Johnny requests. The younger man grins at him, proudly, “Tall one’s Brooke. Born a year after me, but she’s mother hen ‘round here since our parents died a ways back. Wee one is Ethan, the baby of the family, but he’ll deny it if you say a damn word.”
He comes around the counter to Ghost’s side and throws his arm around him, “The last unfamiliar face you’ll be meetin’ is Sophie. Just turned fourteen and is making it everybody’s problem.”
“How old is your brother?” He hardly looks like a baby, but if he’s being honest, Ghost isn’t good with kids. If Soap told him that he was born last year, there’s a strong chance he’d believe him - alright, maybe he was exaggerating, but he has no clue how he is going to make it through a week in a house with two children.
“Eight. Brooke’s practically raised him on her own since I enlisted.”
Johnny frowns and something Ghost is too familiar with enters his gaze: regret. It’s a crack in his armor, one that makes his brows knit together and a deep sigh push through his nose. It’s gone just as quick though and the facade of sunshine that replaces it is clunky, but not unwelcome (because Ghost will never be good enough to give Johnny whatever comfort it is that he needs). He knows better than to ask because the minute he starts asking Johnny to open up to him, he’s going to need to do the same. It’s only fair and Ghost won’t be able to play fair when it comes to that, even if Johnny doesn’t ask it of him.
“I’ll tell you about it later, Lt..”
The front door clicks open just as Johnny starts to pour them their glasses. Ghost feels a waive of nausea hit him so hard he thinks he might fall to the floor because he cannot believe he’s letting this happen. Meeting the family of the man he loves is not going to help matters, it’s too intimate. He already knowns that. It’s dangerous and he’s even more dangerous.
“John?” Brooke looks even more like a MacTavish in person (though really, he only has one to compare her to), even down to the shaved head - the primary difference is that it’s only one side shaved. Her hair is still long, but the color is dyed: unnatural. A soft blue to match the seemingly shared MacTavish eyes; eyes that look none to pleased to see them in her kitchen. “Ya eijet! Comin’ early when I just picked up dinner for three!”
There’s happy squealing that follows, Johnny’s name being almost sung as two little bodies come running into the room and latch onto the younger man’s legs and hips until he’s nearly falling back and onto the floor. Ghost reaches out and catches him, keeping him steady as he ruffles his hands into the hair of his other siblings. His eldest sister is still glaring at him from the doorway, bags in hand, until her attention finally seems to come to Ghost - who yet again, is feeling very out of place and like he does not belong.
“Ghost,” and she fucking smiles at him like she’s known him her whole life. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Woah! You really do got a scary mask!”
“It’s not that scary,” Sophie jumps in.
He feels someone tugging at his pants and nope, he cannot do this for a whole damn week. But just as quickly as the panic is overtaking him, Johnny grabs onto his youngest sibling and pulls him free, ushering both children away and kneeling to meet their eyes. His brings his hand up, pointing a finger in their faces as a warning before returning to Ghost’s side. His hand finds his shoulder, squeezing and giving him that understanding smile that only Soap can give. He’s overwhelmed, there’s too much noise, but he manages to find Johnny’s hand with his own and squeeze in return. His heartbeat begins to settle, achingly slow.
“Ghost, family. Family, Ghost.”
“I’m so sorry about him, Ghost,” Brooke says, setting down the bags of groceries and tugging gently at her brother’s ear with a fond smile. “Ethan, remember what we talked about. You can’t go grabbing people without their say-so. What do ya say?”
“Sorry, Mister Ghost.”
He swallows down the dread and nods at the child. Johnny is beaming through it all, giddy as can be, while Ghost works his way through a hundred emotions because holy shit, he wants to impress these people. These are his Johnny’s people and he wants them to like him. It’s new and if he thought the idea of meeting them was uncharted territory, then he’s just stumbled across the pay-dirt of uncharted territory.
“Call me Simon.”
He says it before he can stop himself, before he can argue with himself and let the moment pass. He’s right, he’s not good with people, but he can make an effort for Johnny. He can do anything for Johnny. So, if these are his people, then somewhere in that space Johnny has made his own, these people are his too. More names, he worries, to add to that growing list, but he tries to not let that thought claw it’s way into his mind. Not right now, but maybe later when he’s trying to sleep in this unfamiliar and pleasant home.
“Simon,” Brooke mutters, like she’s testing his name out and he realizes then that she doesn’t know his name. Johnny’s never told her, his own damn family, and he’s respected him enough to let him be the one who decides.
Brooke smiles and nods, her eyes glancing over at Johnny who is still looking at Simon like he’s a kid opening gifts on Christmas day. Simon looks at the younger man and smiles back, a real smile that only Johnny knows to look for beneath the thick fabric of his balaclava because shit, if this isn’t the weirdest day of his life in a long ass time. Maybe he’ll regret it later, but for now, it’s worth it because fuck, he’s never going to stop loving this man even if he tries.
“Well, seeing as I only bought food for the three of us,” she says, punching Johnny in the arm as she slips by them and begins to sort through her shopping bags, “I guess we’ll be ordering in. You like pizza, Simon?”
“Pizza!” Ethan throws his arms up as if he’s just won the lottery.
Simon shrugs, then nods because it’s probably rude to give such a shoddy answer when you’re being hosted by someone’s family. The second eldest MacTavish just smiles and nods again, motioning for the youngest of them to come assist her with the groceries. Then, as if remembering something, she adds, “John, please tell me you showed the man where he’s sleeping. Give him somewhere to escape these two monsters, if ya please.”
Johnny nods and pats Simon’s arm, cocking his head towards their next destination, “Right. Sorry about that, Lt.. Think you can stand bunking with me for another week?”
“Not likely,” he jests because Simon Riley will never admit that he wouldn’t have it any other way.