Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Let’s get ourselves a win, yeah L.t.?” Soap lightly punched his new commander on the shoulder, “Save you a seat, sir.” 

He bounded away, unperturbed by the massive man’s silence, a smile on his face as he rejoined the squad of marines aiding the mission. He’d heard a lot about Ghost before, the terrifying lieutenant that was more monster than man, but meeting him in person was honestly the highlight of Soap’s year.  

He bumped fists with his buddies before sitting down in the transport heli, the seat to his right empty. Private Mackey tried to sit down there, but Soap ushered him away, “Sorry mate, that one’s for the lieutenant.” 

“Really?” Mackey raised an eyebrow at him, “You kissin’ up to the boss already, sarge?” 

Soap chuckled, “Can't hurt to be in good favor of the Ghost.” 

Private Donnelly, seated across from Soap, chuckled as well, “I don’t know if that kind of tactic works on a guy like him. I've heard he’s stone-cold; that he only cares about the win—nothing else.” 

“Yea, I've never heard of him actually interacting with anyone before, outside of comm checks or mission-related stuff.” Mackey said with a shrug, “You were brave, approaching him like that off the truck.” 

Soap’s eyebrow raised, “Have you worked with him before?” 

“No,” Mackey started, “But I've had buddies assigned to him. And I've heard the rumors.” 

“What rumors?” Soap asked, inching closer to the edge of his seat. Ever since he’d been promoted to sergeant, he hadn’t been as active in barracks scuttlebutt, but he always craved to be in the know, taking any chance he could to learn the latest news and gossip. 

Mackey looked at the door once, then turned back toward Soap, seemingly afraid that Ghost would show up at any moment. “I've heard that he’s spent more time behind enemy lines than with the good guys. That he’s killed more people with his knife in close quarters than he has with his gun.” 

Soap felt shivers go up his spine, “Yea?” 

“Yea.” Donnelly cut in, leaning forward as well, as if Ghost could hear their whispering over the cabin’s deafening noise, “People say he wears the mask because of a mission gone wrong—the enemy caught him on their turf and tortured him, leaving gnarly scars all over his body. The mask is there for us, not for him.” 

Mackey shook his head, “No, I've heard that he wears the mask because his identity is classified—nobody’s ever seen his face and lived to talk about it.” 

Soap thought back to his conversation with Price, when he was putting together Task Force 141. He’d heard about Soap’s impressive skills and infinite potential, wanting him on the team almost immediately. When Soap had asked about the rest of the crew, Price had shown him a stack of files as his answer, names and callsigns in bold print accompanied by pictures pinned to each of the inside covers. 

All but one of the files, anyway.  

When Soap had asked about the mysterious, faceless man, Price had closed off, telling him that it was classified. Still, reading whatever information wasn’t redacted in Ghost’s file only left Soap with more uncertainty, and heaps of curiosity.  

He’d heard some of the rumors floating around the base when he’d first joined 141, some people claiming that Ghost wasn’t even real—that he was a story Price had invented to keep the rest of them in line.  

After meeting him, Soap still wasn’t sure what to believe.  

Soap listened as more theories were exchanged between his men, new members joining into the conversation with their own rumors to recite.  

“They say that there’s more than one of him—that Ghost is a team, rather than just one person. That’s why he can't show his face—because they can't let it get out that there’s multiple ‘Ghosts’.”  

“I heard that he’s not even a human—he’s some kind of alien, or maybe a robot. It’s why he avoids talking to other people, and it explains how he has so many kills under his belt. It’s just not possible for a man to do all that shit. It’s the only explanation.” 

“Well, I've heard that he wears the mask because they did human experimentation on him, trying to make him a super soldier; enhanced DNA and all that shit, but it went wrong and melted his face off, or something.” 

Soap smiled at that one. If that were the case, and they did try and genetically enhance the lieutenant, then they definitely succeeded, if the stories surrounding Ghost’s exploits and accomplishments were anything to go by. A super soldier? Soap would have no problem believing it, just from the sheer size and evident strength of the massive man.  

All voices hushed at once, and Soap’s gaze snapped to the ramp, where Ghost was ascending quickly, his pace urgent.  

Watching him stalk forward, Soap felt something coiling in his gut. Not fear, per se, but not too far off from it, either. Nervousness? Admiration? Whatever the case, his stomach fluttered with each step closing the distance between them.  

Ghost’s eyes passed over the seats dully, eventually landing on Soap, who had stood up and moved to the aisle, indicating to the seat next to the one he’d been sitting in.  

“Told you I’d snag a seat for you, sir.” He said with a smile.  

Ghost simply stared at him for a moment, unamused, before continuing to walk forward, taking the seat on the end, farthest away from the rest of the men. Soap quickly sat down next to him, the other shuffling ever-so-slightly away, ensuring that their arms weren’t touching.  

Ghost banged on the heli wall behind him twice, indicating for the pilot to take off when ready. The ramp closed and the cabin lights flicked off, leaving the men in relative darkness, only the red emergency lights illuminating the hold.  

Soap’s leg bounced with excitement, knowing that the man he’d looked up to ever since joining the task force was sitting right next to him. Eventually, the heli lifted off the ground, and they were headed out to Hassan’s supposed hideout.  

“And, we’re off!” Soap said, looking around at the men. Nobody met his eye, which was extremely unusual. Even the guys that he’d been talking to earlier wouldn’t look his way, and it took him a couple seconds to realize that it wasn’t him they were avoiding, but the lieutenant sitting next to him.  

It was jarring, not having anybody acknowledge his existence, and very uncomfortable, if he was being honest, but Ghost didn’t seem affected at all. Like he was used to this kind of treatment from the rest of the men. 

Interesting.  

Soap took it as a personal challenge to change that fact.  

He watched as Ghost checked his packs, then started to wipe down his gun, noting the expert way in which his deft hands handled it.  

“So, you prefer the ACR?” Soap said, looking from Ghost’s lap to his face. 

The man raised his gaze, staring at the wall for a moment before looking back down to his gun.  

Unperturbed, Soap continued, “Good gun. Nice and reliable. Don’t like its iron sights though. I prefer holographic, if I can get my hands on it. ACOG isn’t bad, either.” The other remained silent, so Soap pressed on, “What do you prefer?” 

The lieutenant grumbled, “Silence.” 

Soap’s eyebrows raised, “Oh, you prefer your weapons silenced?” 

“No, I prefer my helicopter rides silent, sergeant.” 

Soap let out a small chuckle, “Call me Soap,”  

The lieutenant looked over at him for this, his eyes narrowed as he observed the other man. “Why the hell would I call you Soap?” 

Soap shrugged, “Because, that’s just what they call me. Said I was an expert at cleaning house, and it stuck, somehow.” 

Ghost shook his head at him, “That’s stupid.” 

Soap laughed, “Probably. It’s grown on me, though.” 

Ghost sighed, “If I call you Soap, will you shut up for the rest of the ride?” 

Soap smiled at him, “No promises, sir. I’m a bit of a chatterbox.” 

From next to him, he could hear one of the privates agree with a quiet ‘That’s the truth!’, but when he turned, the rest of the men were still avoiding eye contact. He raised his brow at all of them, daring someone else to speak, before turning back toward Ghost.  

“Anyway, I have to tell you how much of an honor it is to meet you, sir. I've heard lots about you.” 

Ghost looked around the rest of the cabin, “I'm sure you have.” 

Soap’s chest clenched at the words. Had Ghost heard them talking about him? How was that possible, with him being outside the helicopter, where the blades and engine were the loudest? Soap shook the thought, not wanting to fall into the supernatural stories he’d been hearing all night. 

“All good things.” He was quick to say, quirking his head, “Well, mostly, anyways.” 

Ghost folded his arms over his chest, gun strapped to his vest and forgotten. “Hmm.” He hummed, leaning his head back against the hull.  

“Well, I—” 

“Sergeant, it’s going to be a very long ride if you don’t shut up.” Ghost interjected, “Try and rest before we get there.” 

Soap shook his head, “I can't ever rest before a mission—too keyed up, L.t.” 

“Then don’t sleep, and just shut up so I can.” 

Soap shrugged, a grin on his face, “Fair enough, Mr. Ghost.” The other looked at him with an unamused glare, and Soap furrowed his brow, “Would you prefer I call you something else?” 

The man’s eyes flicked over his face, then must've found whatever they were looking for, turning his gaze away from him once again and letting his eyes close. “Call me whatever you want, sergeant. Just shut up and do the job, and by morning, we won't have to worry about what to call each other.” 

“Right.” Soap said, his tone somewhat melancholy. The idea of this being the only mission he went on with Ghost gave him a toss-up of emotions. On the one hand, he secretly hoped that they would work together in the future. On the other, he really didn’t know whether or not he’d like working with Ghost in the first place, so maybe it would be a good thing, in the long run. He’d just have to wait and see how he felt about the man following this mission. Anything could happen, after all.  

Before he got too lost in his thoughts, Ghost piped up next to him, “And next time you’re gossiping about your CO, maybe think about switching your comms to a private channel.” he said, tapping his headset. 

Soap felt himself flush from head to toe, eyes widened with embarrassment. How could he have been so stupid ? What a grand first impression that was, talking about the lieutenant with him on the same frequency! 

He wanted to say something else, to apologize for what he and the others had done, but Ghost wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore, back to polishing one of his knives.  

Soap just sighed, berating himself internally. Good job, MacTavish.  

<-<--(:S:)-->-> 

The mission wasn’t exactly a success, but it wasn’t a failure, either. They’d found Hassan’s stolen American missile, though the bastard got away before they could find him as well.  

On top of learning Hassan’s previous whereabouts, Soap learned that the Ghost really did live up to his name, and was one of the coldest people he’d ever met. Insinuating that they could’ve caught Hassan if they would've left the crash survivors to fend for themselves was a real eye-opener to just how far Ghost would go to secure a victory. 

The difference in how many soldiers they were leaving with compared to how many had flown in was palpable. Where both helicopters had been packed to capacity before, the single remaining one was now barely 3/4 full, carrying the remnants of both teams. Still, Soap tried not to let it bring him down. They’d done good work today, and had managed to save one soldier from the crash, which had made the rescue worth it, in his opinion. 

Boarding their exfil chopper, Soap noticed Ghost sitting in the same seat he had been before. He walked over with a smile on his face and plopped down next to Ghost, who looked at him with a roll of his eyes.  

“There are plenty of seats on this fucking thing.” He said, looking down at his gun. Already, Soap had picked up on his habit of inspecting his weapons and gear before and after a mission.  

“Sure, but this one’s mine.” He said with a smile. The man next to him was quiet, and Soap sighed, “Sorry about the mission, L.t.” 

“Sorry about your friend in alpha team.” Ghost said, continuing to inspect his weapon.  

Soap looked over at the seat that Mackey had been sitting in previously, “I just met him on the truck ride over to base, right before this mission. He was a good guy, though. Makes me wanna put Hassan in the fucking ground.” 

Ghost shrugged, not making eye contact, “Could’ve been worse.” 

Soap sighed, “True. At least he’s got one less missile.” Soap said, leaning his head back against the wall, “Wish we could’ve caught the fucker, though.” 

“We’ll get ‘im.” Ghost said sternly, “Even despite Shepherd’s attempts to fuck us over.” 

Soap gave him a side-eye, “What do you mean?” 

Ghost hesitated, looking at him for a moment, “Laswell could’ve gotten some information from those missiles, if we hadn’t been ordered to destroy them.” 

Soap thought about it, “I guess. But, I get where he’s coming from, though. Can't let red tape get in the way of keeping them out of enemy hands. We couldn’t transport those outside of the country without openly breaking peacetime laws, and we certainly can't leave them here. Best alternative is to destroy them.” 

“Maybe.” The lieutenant muttered, gaze falling to the ground. Ghost’s tone was flat and distrustful, and it was a bit unsettling to hear. It made Soap wonder—did Ghost trust anyone ? 

Soap pressed on with a sigh, “Well, whatever the case, I can't wait for the day that we take Hassan down. He’s already gotten away with far too much, in my book.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Soap. We’ve got nothing to go on right now—who knows how far we’ll get before the trail goes cold.” 

Soap’s expression hardened, “We’ll get him, I’ll make sure of it.” he ducked his head to meet Ghost’s gaze, “I’ll do everything I can to end that fucker once and for all.” 

Ghost watched him for a few seconds, eyes flitting over his face before he sighed, sitting back in his seat once again, closing his eyes. “Get some rest, sergeant.” 

“Roger that, L.t.” Soap said with a smile. Of course, he had no intentions of ‘resting’, but he’d at least be quiet for the time being.  

His silence lasted about ten seconds before his curiosity won over, and he began to speak once again, “Before you fall asleep, can I ask about the mask?” 

Ghost’s eyes remained closed, “I wouldn’t.” 

“Fair enough, but what—” 

“ That’ll do , sergeant.” Ghost interjected, “Now please , give it a rest.” 

Soap sighed, doing as he was told. He lasted about ten minutes before he got bored, standing up and walking over to sit next to the other guys, his brain far too active to simply sit idly. Every so often, he glanced over at Ghost, who hadn’t moved an inch from when he’d left him.  

There was something so captivating about the man, even beyond the mystery of the mask. There was something deeper—an intelligence and a wealth of personality that Soap could tell was vastly unknown and unexplored. Soap wanted to get to the bottom of it, and fully intended to do so.  

Once Ghost was awake, anyways.  

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

The sergeant was unlike anyone Ghost had met before. Most of the men in their line of work lost their bright-eyed, bushy-tailed demeanors once they faced real warfare. Innocence had a short shelf life for soldiers like them, and from what Ghost had read about the sergeant, he certainly had the expertise to put him in the category of ‘seasoned veteran’ rather than ‘FNG’.  

The youngest to pass SAS selection ever; an experienced demolitions commando with thousands of field hours to prove his explosives-related competence; an expert marksman with a staggering count of confirmed K.I.A.'s under his belt. Ghost could tell he’d seen plenty of death in his time, and yet, he still hung onto that new-recruit air of naivety and enthusiasm.  

That, and he didn’t seem to be afraid of Ghost, which was completely odd.  

After speaking with the pilot and coordinating with local authorities, Ghost had switched his headphones to his team’s comm channel, his ears instantly flooded with talk of none other than Ghost himself.  

He had listened to the stories they all spun about him: how he was heartless, or that he wasn’t even human anymore, yet when he climbed aboard, Soap greeted him with a smile and a saved seat. And even after, the sergeant had proceeded to talk his ear off for most of the ride, seemingly unaffected by Ghost’s harsh words or unpleasant demeanor. Hell, Ghost had to pretend to sleep, just to get the guy off his back. 

He wasn’t accustomed to other people actually talking to him. Most of the time, he was sent on ops by himself, and during the few occasions that he wasn’t, the others were usually so uncomfortable around him that they simply kept the chatter to zero.  

Ghost didn’t mind—in fact, he’d grown rather used to it. So, when John ‘Soap’ MacTavish proceeded to carry on with him like they were old friends, Ghost had felt completely out of his element.  

As the sergeant sat on the other side of the helo, leg bouncing as he chattered away with the rest of the remaining crew, Ghost watched and listened to him silently, assessing how deep the shit he’d found himself in really was.  

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

In all honestly, when Ghost had heard from Laswell that he’d be going on another mission with Soap, he wasn’t thrilled. He wasn’t upset, per se, but he was definitely a little apprehensive. Soap was so utterly unusual that Ghost really didn’t know how to handle him and his quirks, which was what unsettled him the most.   

As he sat on the transport, ready to disembark, he didn’t even have to look up to know the sergeant was heading his way. He could tell by the overly-enthusiastic jogging footfalls that were getting closer and closer. When a form sat down next to him— directly next to him, even despite the number of seats available—Ghost finally looked over at the man, acknowledging his presence.  

Soap had a wide smile on his face, reminding Ghost so much of a puppy trying to play with its master, “Thought you'd seen the last of me, eh Ghostie?” 

Ghost glared at him, “Don’t call me that.” 

Soap chuckled, “Hey, you were the one who said to call you whatever I want!” he joked, “Which goes both ways, you know. You can call me anything you like as well. It’s only fair.” 

Ghost raised an eyebrow, “Anything?” 

“Anything.” Soap confirmed with a confident grin.  

Taking the opportunity to annoy the man in front of him, Ghost smiled behind his mask, settling back in his seat. He'd decided not to move seats purely on principle, not wanting to give Soap the impression that he had any power over his decisions.  

“Alright then, Johnny.” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.  

Much to his surprise, the man next to him gave a short burst of laughter, “Holy hell, I haven’t been called Johnny since I was a kid!” he shook his head, “Always drove me crazy.” 

“Good.” Ghost said smugly, turning to look at him again, “I figured as much.” 

Soap smiled, “Reading people must be a talent of yours, sir—you found a weakness I didn’t even know I had anymore.” He said, voice full of faint wonder.  

Ghost sighed, looking away once again, “If you leave me alone, I promise I won't call you that.” 

“Not a chance, sir.” Soap said, far too eagerly, “I’ll whittle you down eventually, and hell, you might even like me one day.” 

Ghost gave him a disbelieving side eye, “Not likely.” 

“We’ll see.” Soap said, tone chipper. He started in on a story of his childhood, one of the instances when his older brothers had called him ‘Johnny’ that had started his hatred of the nickname. Even despite Ghost’s coldness, Soap didn’t seem disturbed. Anyone Ghost had ever met would've given up at this point, but not Soap—never Soap, it seemed.  

His story was silly and pointless, and Ghost had made his displeasure known at hearing it, laying his head back in his seat and closing his eyes, doing his best to ignore the other man. Still, even despite his efforts, Ghost couldn’t help but listen, his mind hanging on every animated syllable whether he wanted it to or not.  

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

About halfway through the flight, and nearly ten ridiculous tales about Soap’s life later, Ghost’s radio sounded, a voice on the other end introducing himself as Colonel Vargas. As Ghost was responding, he got a ping on his military-issued cell, letting him know that Laswell had sent him a text. He grumbled in annoyance, wondering where these messages had been the whole time he'd been stuck listening to the sergeant ramble. 

“Sorry to cut this short, but I'm getting a message from Laswell. Here’s sergeant MacTavish—he’ll hash the details with you.” Ghost said, handing the radio over to Soap and standing, stepping just out of range. He could hear Soap as he walked away, talking into the radio.   

“Colonel Vargas?” Soap asked, which was followed up by the man on the other end.  

“Please, call me Alejandro.” The colonel said, just as Ghost rounded the corner. 

When Ghost was out of sight, he answered his message, which was a simple check-in from Laswell, one he probably could’ve just sent a message to while on the comms with Vargas. Really, he just didn’t want to talk right now, and Soap was, as he’d learned, more than willing to talk to anyone, anytime.  

He sent his sitrep quickly, though he remained where he was, noting the way he could hear Soap’s conversation from where he was standing. Taken over by curiosity, he waited and silently tuned in, unsure why he suddenly cared what they were saying.  

“Sounds good. We should be there shortly.” Soap said into the radio. 

“ I will be present when you arrive.”  

“Great. I look forward to meeting you in person, Alejandro.”  

“ You as well. Anything I should know in advance?”  

Soap contemplated this for a moment, if his silence was anything to go by, “The lieutenant that will be landing with me wears a mask. Don’t stare, and probably don’t mention it, either. He’s a little touchy about it.” 

“Noted. What else I should know about him?”  

Ghost was waiting for the moment that Soap said something cruel, something like what he’d been talking about with those men on the transport. Rumors, lies spread about him, dehumanizing him in every possible way. He was used to it, at this point, and he’d come to expect it from virtually everyone he worked with.  

So, he was vastly surprised when Soap didn’t say a word of it.  

“He’s a hardass, but he’s a good guy. Just act professional, and you'll be fine. He doesn’t bite, as far as I've seen.” 

Alejandro chuckled from the other end, “I like him already. We’ll see you soon, sergeant MacTavish. Out here.”  

And with that, the communication ended, and Ghost was left with his thoughts. He stayed hidden behind the wall for a few seconds longer than necessary, trying to digest Soap's words. He couldn't help wondering what set Soap apart from the rest. Why was he so different from all the other people Ghost had worked with? Why had he answered the colonel's question like that? Anyone else would've either said nothing, or painted Ghost in an eerie light. Soap, though, had called him a good guy . Ghost hadn’t been accused of being that… ever , if memory served.  

Finally, he rounded the corner and took his seat next to Soap, trying to seem as normal as possible—like he hadn’t just had a small internal crisis.  

“So, what did Laswell want?” Soap asked, holding Ghost’s radio out to him.  

“Just checking in.” Ghost said, tucking his phone back into his pocket, and accepting his radio back from Soap, tucking it away as well. “Got squared away with the colonel?” 

“Aye. Seems like a good guy. I can't wait to meet him.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes. Of course, Soap had already made fast friends with someone they hadn’t even met in person yet. This man was so unlike anyone Ghost had ever met before, and he couldn’t decide if it was annoying or intriguing.  

Soap spoke once again, tone light, “Oh! I was telling you about the time my brother tried to get me to eat a snail, right?” he laughed to himself, “The fucker managed to convince me that the French eat snails all the time, so it was fine! I was too young to realize that they had to be cooked …” 

Ghost sighed, sitting back in his seat and letting his eyes close, giving up on the prospect of asking Soap to shut up before he even tried. With the can of worms already opened, Ghost settled in, letting the sound of Soap’s voice drone through the air between them as they completed their journey.  

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

Unsurprisingly, Soap and Alejandro hit it off quite easily. The sergeant’s enthusiasm for both the mission, as well as his exposure to a new culture, was palpable. During the ride to Hassan’s hideout in their armored vehicles, Soap had curiously asked Alejandro and Rudy how to say certain things in Spanish, the two more than eager to answer his questions.  

It was entertaining, listening to the Scottish man attempt Spanish words, but more than anything, Ghost was just happy Soap’s attention had been taken off of him. Throughout the ride, he listened to Soap talk, always a constant source of noise in one way or another.  

And evidently, a source of laughter, as well. Ghost hadn’t really been paying attention to what Soap had said, but whatever it was had apparently been funny enough to have both Alejandro and Rudy bursting with laughter in the front seats. When Ghost remained quiet, Soap turned to him, a teasing tilt of his brows accompanying his smile. 

“Come on L.t., not even a chuckle?” Ghost looked at him blankly, and Soap sighed. “You know, they’ve proven that laughter is linked to a longer life. It’s the best medicine.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes, “You should probably check the job description, Johnny. ‘Longer life’ isn’t part of the perk package.” he gave Soap a side-eye, “Seems a bit pointless to waste energy on chasing it.” 

Soap looked at him with slight concern, though he was doing a supreme job of looking causal, to the untrained eye. Unfortunately, Ghost was anything but untrained. Before he could say anything, Alejandro spoke up, breaking the tense silence.  

“Alright, cut the chatter, soldados . We’re here.” He said, prepping his weapon and pointing ahead.  

Ghost and Soap followed suit, prepping their guns and readying for their raid on Hassan’s cartel hideout. Through it all, Soap was uncharacteristically quiet, and Ghost couldn’t help but feel like that was his doing. Though, he really didn’t mind. In fact, he figured that he should keep this situation in mind, maybe have some morbid things ready to say for the next time he needs some peace and quiet.  

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

It shouldn’t have been surprising, after everything Ghost had seen, that Soap was quick to become friends with their American ally, Commander Graves, as well. They were already bantering before Soap had even met the man in person, speaking unprofessionally back and forth to each other, as if they weren’t on an exclusive military channel. 

He tended to do the same to Ghost, but it was harder to keep it up with only one side of the conversation participating. Still, he continued to rib and joke over comms, a hint of teasing behind everything he said even despite Ghost's indifference. 

Worse yet, Ghost had found out, were the touches. It seemed like Soap was always touching someone, in one way or another. Brushing shoulders, patting backs, bumping fists… it was all so foreign to Ghost. So when the man continued to do it to not only the men around them, but to him as well, he was completely at a loss.  

Thankfully, Soap dialed back the touches to Ghost, apparently noticing his discomfort, though that didn’t seem to completely stop him. Always brief and never inappropriate, but still, definitely not something that Ghost was used to. Most men and women that he worked with avoided coming near him, and for good reason. Ghost wondered if those touches would be so freely given if Soap knew him better—if he learned his past and uncovered the beast that he truly was. Maybe Johnny would be just as scared as the others, and things would be normal again.

<-<--(:S:)-->-> 

Apparently, from what Soap had gathered, things were picking up on Price and Gaz’s end. Covert ops and sabotage as they worked with Laswell, who was their primary source of news most of the time. Without her giving them updates, or telling them where to head next, the members of the Vaqueros, Shadows, and 141 found themselves with a bit of downtime. They weren't allowed to lower their guard completely, but they were able to rest and relax for the time being. 

Soap found himself really enjoying Alejandro’s company. He was a great guy, and someone that Soap was thrilled to call his friend. He and Rodolfo had even taken to teaching Soap Spanish, and though he didn’t tend to brag too much, he couldn’t deny that he was doing pretty damn well with the new language.  

In their brief span of downtime, the small group of men, including himself, Alejandro, Rodolfo, and Ghost, had begun chatting idly with one another while they waited. Well, three of them chatted while Ghost sat with them, silently observing them from behind his mask.  

Their laughter died off from one of the stories Alejandro had told of him and Rodolfo from their days in basic training, where apparently, Rodolfo, or Rudy, as Alejandro called him, had nearly fallen off the cliff as they practiced emergency rock climbing.  

Soap turned to Rudy, “So, is that the closest you’ve come to death?” 

“No, amigo. The closest I've come was just a couple days ago, actually, before you two arrived. The cartel pinned me down, and Hassan set fire to the house.” He looked to Alejandro, “I was so sure I was going to die, but this cabrón came inside and dragged me out.” 

Soap raised his eyebrow, “Holy shit.” He patted Alejandro on the shoulder, “Good thing you’ve got this wee scunner watching your back, right?”  

Rudy chuckled, “Right.” he jerked his chin in Soap’s direction, “What about you?” 

Soap leaned back, taking in a breath through his nose as he recalled his worst near-death experiences. “Hmm, I've had plenty of dances with the devil, but one certainly does stand out.” he leaned forward in his seat, “Back when I was still new to demolitions, just barely graduated from academy, my teammate and I were in charge of rigging a small, controlled charge to loosen some debris. Just grunt work for the new guys, right?  

“Well, turns out, my partner made a mistake. Just a small little piece of metal no bigger than a shilling in the wrong place, but it ended up being an improper conductor that blew the charge before we were clear.” His face fell, looking to the ground, “I only survived because he was the one holding it, and I was behind him at the time.” Soap shook his head, “I'd never seen someone’s insides before, and I’d certainly never been covered in them until that day, either.” 

“ Santa mierda .” Alejandro said, leaning forward, “Sorry, hermano . That must've been hard.” 

Soap nodded, “It was definitely the best and worst lesson I've ever gotten from the field. Makes me triple check all my work, just to be safe.” Before the somber mood could hang over them any longer, Soap patted Ghost’s leg with the back of his hand, “What about you, Ghost?” 

For a moment, the man simply stared at him, and Soap was genuinely convinced that he wasn’t going to say anything. To his surprise, though, Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head toward the group.  

“I was buried alive by a cartel lord, in the casket of my superior. He'd betrayed me and my men by selling us to the cartel lord’s brainwashing facility.” Ghost met Soap’s wide eyes, “I barely managed to pry the casket open with his jawbone, weakened from months of torture and malnourishment. Nearly suffocated to death by the time I managed to claw my way out.” Ghost grunted, “This is the first time I’ve stepped foot in Mexico since then.” 

The entire room was silent, Soap’s mouth wide open as he tried to process what the hell Ghost had just said. There was so much to unpack in the man’s short statement, and Soap wasn’t quite sure if he really even wanted to. What kind of horrors had this lieutenant seen in his lifetime, if that was just one of the stories he had? 

Thankfully, Soap wasn’t the only one left speechless from Ghost’s story, both Alejandro and Rudy staring just as wide-eyed as he was. The silence stretched for an uncomfortable while, but thankfully, before it could get too bad, their comms sparked to life, the shared channel with Laswell ringing through the air.  

“Ghost this is watcher-1, how copy?”  

“Bravo 0-7 copies all. Send traffic.” Ghost responded, hand cupping his radio.  

“ We have the name of Hassan’s carrier. El Sin Nombre. There’s a meetup tonight—something about a mansion.”  

Next to Soap, Alejandro cursed in Spanish, and triggered his own comm, “I know where it is. A cartel hideout. I’ll ask around and see if my contacts can find any information about this meetup.”  

“Good. Keep me updated if anything else develops.”  

“Roger.” Alejandro said, standing and heading toward the exit, “I’ll see what I can find. Rudy, with me.” He said, disappearing through the door with Rodolfo on his heels.  

“ Ghost, the cartel is more deeply ingrained in this than we thought. Keep yourselves safe out there.”  

“Copy. Out here.” Ghost responded, standing up and grabbing his things. He looked to Soap, “Let’s armor up while we wait for Alejandro.” 

Soap stood and followed after him, still a bit boggled from Ghost’s previous conversation. Thankfully, his instinct drove him forward, acting on habit rather than brain power.  

<-<--(:S:)-->-> 

Once they met back up with Alejandro’s men and their new ally, Commander Graves, Soap and Ghost were stocked up and ready to fight, still not sure how the evening was going to go. They had watched the mansion of the Las Almas cartel for a while, tracking guard rotations, making note of guests arriving, and scouting the exterior for entrances and exits.  

They had decided that someone needed to get inside in order to find El Sin Nombre, since they wanted to take the cartel leader alive. As Soap thought about their options, he knew that it was essentially down to either him or Ghost. Graves would be in charge of their exfil, and Alejandro’s and Rudy's faces were likely known by the cartel. They couldn’t risk sending either of them in.  

So, naturally, Soap didn’t hesitate to volunteer himself.  

“I’ll do it.” he said definitively, making eye contact with Ghost, then quickly breaking it when he realized what he’d done. “We came here to stop a missile, so let’s stop it. I’ll offer intel in exchange for a meet with Sin Nombre. When their guard is down, we pounce”  

Alejandro eyed him with respect and awe, “Orale. Tienes juevos, cabron. If you make it in, you’ll need eyes and ears. I’ll go too.” 

Ghost turned toward him, and Soap prepared for retaliation. However, the lieutenant skipped over him completely, looking to Graves instead, “I’ll take overwatch, Shadow circles the target in a helo.” He said matter-of-factly, a tinge of what sounded almost like boredom in his voice.  

Soap clenched his teeth, a part of him displeased with Ghost’s response. Not that he had expected the lieutenant to thank him for volunteering, but he expected some kind of reaction. Resigned, he let out a small huff of air, grasping the neckline of his vest a little tighter.  

Just as he thought the interaction was over, however, Ghost finally looked his way, eyes lingering on Soap briefly before nodding to him. Soap nodded back, determination filling his chest at the deeper emotions he detected in the lieutenant’s gaze. Trust, confidence, and perhaps even a tinge of concern, if Soap wasn’t mistaken.  

The interaction was incredibly brief, but somehow, with that one look, Soap was imbued with new confidence as the team split up to prepare for their roles in the mission.  

Soap was thankful that Alejandro would be going in with him, and that Ghost would be watching out for him from a distance. Even despite his confidence, Soap could admit that he was a little nervous.  

Thinking back to their earlier conversation, where Ghost had revealed a tiny glimpse into the horrors he’d faced the last time he was in Mexico, Soap felt like volunteering for this mission was the least he could do for the man. Some part of him wanted to protect Ghost, even though he knew that the hulking beast of a man could more than handle himself.  

Still, even if this was just one mission where he could step up and take the heat off of Ghost, Soap was more than happy to do so.  

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

Going into El Sin Nombre’s mansion was just another mission, especially for the 141. Like any other operation, they were given a set of objectives, and their lives would have to be put on the line to get them done. Only, this time, it felt different. Ghost wasn’t happy that one of them had to go in there, but he was even less happy when Soap was the one designated to do it.  

The man was a good soldier, but Ghost was afraid of what kind of trouble that big mouth of his would get him into. Soap had quite the short fuse, and wasn’t great with authority on a good day, so if the cartel members pushed him in a direction he didn’t want to go, Ghost was afraid that the livewire of a sergeant would do or say something that could get him killed.   

That, and the fact that he would be going in without any equipment—no armor, no weapons, not even a radio—certainly didn't help to raise his optimism regarding this halfcocked plan. It would've been crazy enough to go on a mission without extra ammo or basic gear, but this? Walking into the waiting jaws of the enemy without any kind of defense? It was practically suicidal.  

Still, it was just another mission, and it was Ghost’s job to accept that it was necessary to get what they needed. He just hoped Soap would make it out of this in one piece. If only to avoid the paperwork his death would bring down on Ghost's head. No other reason in particular.

As Soap handed over his radio, gear, and guns to Ghost, he gave him a lopsided grin, “Guess the team will have to live without my excellent comms for a little bit, eh L.t.?” 

Ghost hummed in agreeance, “Not sure how any of us are going to survive without your constant jabbering.” He shrugged sarcastically, "Don't even know if you can go that long without pushing someone's buttons. Best be careful."

Soap rolled his eyes, “Very funny.” He hesitated as he handed over his vest, as if he wasn’t sure of his own plan anymore. Ghost could sympathize—it was a frightening prospect, going in alone like this. Who’s to say they wouldn’t just kill Soap the moment he showed his face, or when they were done with him? It was a reality they all had to make peace with, and it was a tough thing to do. Ghost was a hard bastard, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. Well, most of the time, anyways.  

He took the vest from Soap's hands and held it out for a moment, “This thing’s heavy, Johnny. Don’t make me carry it back to base when this is all over, understand?” 

Don’t die , the unspoken message asked.  

Soap seemed to get the message just fine, giving Ghost a small smile and a slight nod, “Copy that, L.t.” he huffed a laugh, “I’d hate to put you out.” 

“Good.” He hesitated, and for the first time in his life, he had the urge to reach out and pat Soap on the shoulder. He didn’t, but still, it was an odd sensation all the same. Instead, he just nodded to him, “I’ll be watching your back. If you need an escape, make it to the roof. I’ll have eyes-on up there, and Graves can pull you out in a pinch. Tell them what they want to know and don’t get compromised.” 

Soap’s smile fell, replaced with a steely determination, “Roger that.” 

“Good luck, Soap.” He said, then turned and walked away. He didn’t even bother looking back, not wanting to get too deep into the moment. They were soldiers—they did what they had to, and they accepted the consequences. Today was no different.  

Once he made it to his spot at the top of the ridge, he set up and watched on, waiting for everyone to get into position. Apparently, while they had been prepping, Alejandro had been hard at work, and got himself inside the compound disguised as one of the guards. It was impressive, and it made Ghost feel slightly better about Soap’s chances.  

Without the Scotsman chattering away in his ear, the comms were practically dead, and Ghost was at a bit of a loss. At first, he was grateful for the blessed silence, something he’d been deprived of as of late. As it dragged on, however, it felt almost uncomfortable, not hearing Soap’s voice at least every minute or so.  

He watched as Soap stepped out in front of the gates, and the guards shot at his feet. Knowing he couldn’t intervene, Ghost took a deep breath, keeping his finger on the trigger anyways. Just in case things went south too quickly. Luckily, however, they eventually put a bag over his head and carried him inside the gates, cutting off Ghost’s visual as he stepped into the building.  

Soap was on his own, now. At least until Alejandro could get to him.  

“I hope he makes it .” Alejandro had whispered into the comms, and Ghost couldn’t help but agree.  

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

When he saw Soap cornering El Sin Nombre on the roof through his scope, Ghost finally let himself relax a little. The mission had gone according to plan, and everyone had made it out in one piece, their hostage included. Not that he was concerned, but still, a mission success was a nice change of pace as of late.   

They eventually got back to Alejandro’s base, and Ghost reunited with the rest of them on the way to interrogate Valeria.  

“Looks like you made it, Johnny. Color me surprised.” Ghost said, stepping up to Soap.  

The man in question rolled his eyes with a grin, “Thanks for the faith, L.t.” 

“You must've told ‘em something good, if they decided to let you live.” Ghost said with a tilt of his head, “What’d you say?” 

“I just told them the truth, like Alejandro told me to.” Soap held his hands up in surrender, “I didn’t say a single thing about you, if that’s what you're worried about.” 

“I'm not.” Ghost replied without hesitation, words not even registering in his mind before he'd said them. Did he really trust Soap that implicitly? Surely he should've been a little concerned about what the Scot had shared with the enemy, and if it were anyone else, he probably would have been, but when it came to Soap, he found nothing but confidence in himself concerning the other man. Confidence and relief at his survival.

A grin grew on Soap’s face at the quick response, “Oh, so you were worried about me , then?” 

“Not even remotely.” Ghost countered, voice deadpan.  

“Good, because I would be offended if you were.” Soap said, giving another one of those signature fist bumps to Ghost’s shoulder, “I can handle myself just fine.” 

“That so?” Ghost asked with a tilt of his head, “Because from what I've seen, you’ve needed bailin’ out quite a lot.” 

Soap winked, actually winked, at Ghost, “Good thing I've got you watching my back then, eh L.t.?”  

Ghost had no words, nothing to respond to that with, but thankfully, he didn’t have to. Alejandro joined them, patting his hand on Soap’s back, a big smile on his face.  

Soap smiled back at him, “And it’s a good thing Alejandro watches my back, too, eh?” he clasped the colonel’s hand, pulling him in for a chest bump. “Thanks for saving me out there, hermano .” 

Alejandro nodded, “Anytime, my friend. You did great in there.” He jerked his head in Ghost’s direction, “We were lucky to have you watching out for us on that roof, Ghost. We would've been pinned there all night if you hadn’t helped.” 

Ghost shrugged, “I'm sure you and Johnny would've made it out just fine on your own.” 

Alejandro raised an eyebrow, looking to Soap, as if hearing him call Soap ‘Johnny’ was the strangest thing in the world. He shrugged, “Well, anyways, we should probably get in there. I'm a little eager to hear what that puta Valeria has to say for herself.” He said, marching off in the direction that Valeria had been dragged.  

Ghost and Soap watched him go, turning to each other before heading in the same direction as their ally. It was destined to be an interesting evening; that much, Ghost certain of.  

<-<--(:S:)-->-> 

The intel they’d gathered from Valeria led them to an oil rig, sequestered among the violent waves of the high seas. During the journey over, Soap and Ghost had sat down with Graves, someone Soap had been getting closer to as of late, and engaged in a relaxed conversation. Ghost, as always, was silent as they chatted, though Soap was just pleased that he’d even bothered to sit with them in the first place.  

“So, how’d you get involved with all this anyways?” Soap asked as he inspected his weapon, “I mean, how’d you even get the idea to create shadow company?” 

Graves shrugged, “I was in the military, back in the day. Shepherd was in there with me at the time, one of the commanding officers over the army—specifically, the marines.” 

“Why’d you leave?” 

“I wasn’t fond of all the… red tape, so to speak." Graves admitted with a grin, "The military is a fine organization, and I admire all the good things you folks accomplish, but with the constrictions of governments and the ideals of different nations, it’s impossible to do our jobs." he folded his arms over his chest, "As a private contractor, I don’t have to be bogged down by pretense and regulation. I can do what needs to be done; make the world a better place without wasting time or resources—government, or otherwise.” 

Soap nodded along, considering his answer. On one hand, it made sense. A lot of the time, Soap had found himself contemplating whether or not all the rules they had to follow were a good thing, like letting Hassan go right after catching him in Las Almas. In that respect, it certainly was a tempting prospect, being able to get things done without the brass breathing down his neck constantly. 

On the other hand, what Graves had said sounded dangerous. Without a governing hand to keep them in order, who’s to say that the shadow company, or any other private military company with such size, couldn’t just invade wherever they wanted and impose their own rules? 

Though, Soap knew very little about the PMC world. Maybe there was something that kept them in line that he didn’t know about. Maybe he was just ignorant on the subject, and needed to brush up on some facts before he made judgment calls like that. Clearly, Graves was a solid guy with his focus on doing the right thing, so maybe Soap's mind was just catastrophizing what PMCs were capable of doing. 

“Makes sense.” He conceded, “How’d you get roped in on this particular job? Seems rather lock and key for mercenaries to know so much about an international terrorist threat.”  

Graves smiled at him, though there was something almost sinister behind it. “Well, if I tell you, I’d have to kill you, son.” He said, slapping Soap’s shoulder teasingly. He stood, stretching his back, “Let’s just say that I've got good reason to want Hassan dead.” He nodded in Ghost’s direction, “Gorbrani was just the beginning—we need his star pupil dead too, if we want his work to end. Ain't that right, Ghost?” 

Ghost gave a grunt of agreement, though he didn’t say anything.  

Soap hummed, curiosity lighting up his brain on the inside, though his demeanor remained calm on the outside. “Fair enough. Sounds like he’s collected quite the fan club, eh?” 

Graves gave a chuckle, “You guessed it. by the end of this, it’ll be a fight to see who can kill him first, I’ll bet.” He said, stepping toward the doorway, “I've got to go over the plan with my men again. See you when the mission starts, Soap.” 

“Right.” Soap said, jerking his chin in Graves’ direction, “See you out there.” 

When Graves was gone, Soap thought back on their conversation. It seemed like with every answer he got from Graves, he understood the man less and less. He turned toward Ghost, who was also watching the doorway where Graves had made his exit.  

Soap considered him a moment, then cocked his brow, “So, you and Graves knew each other before all this?” 

Ghost nodded, “We’ve done a few missions together.” 

“Like when you killed general Gorbrani?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Wow.” Soap said with awe, “I never would've known. You two hardly talk.” 

“We hardly talked then either, Johnny. It’s just the job.” Ghost said, crossing his arms over his chest.  

Soap shrugged, “Yea, but the job is easier when you bond with the people you work alongside.” 

“If you stay professional with your coworkers, regardless of the job you're in, you destroy any temptation to bend the rules.” Ghost responded firmly, “Keeping emotion out of the work is the only way to run a military.” 

“Is that why you're so cold?” Soap found himself asking without really thinking first, cringing at himself as the words left his mouth. He was so worried that he’d upset the lieutenant, but thankfully, the man didn’t seem offended when he spoke.  

“One of the reasons.” He answered with a shrug. 

Soap cocked his head to the side, “But you don’t seem that cold to me, Ghost.” 

The larger man eyed him for a moment, something like a flash of confusion and shock in them before he spoke, “I could be colder, if you’d like.” 

Soap chuckled, elbowing Ghost’s side lightly, “No, thank you, sir.” He cocked his head, “And besides, I don’t chill easily.” 

Those eyes were scrutinizing him again, and Soap would've sworn that they got softer the longer he looked. Finally, the trance was broken as Ghost sighed, standing up and following the same route Graves had taken earlier. He paused in the doorway, looking over Soap’s form once more. 

“I guess we’ll see how well you handle the cold, since you didn’t pack a bloody jacket for a mission on the fuckin’ ocean.” he said sarcastically, gaze unimpressed as he took in Soap’s outfit. 

Soap smiled, “Ach, I don't need one. All I need is a t-shirt and a pair of pants. Anything else, and I get too damn hot.” 

From the way his eyes crinkled slightly on the sides, Soap was almost convinced that Ghost was smiling at him as he spoke. “I’d better not hear any complaining then. It’s going to be wet n’ cold out there.” 

Soap looked toward the window, where it was raining harder than he’d ever seen before, then looked back to Ghost with a sarcastic smile, “Thanks for the weather report, sir. I had no idea.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes at him, “Just make sure you’ve got yourself sorted before we head out. I want this op clean cut, regardless of the pressure we’re under.” 

Soap nodded to him, a little more serious now, “Understood.” He pushed his luck a little further, “Can I count on you to have my back?” 

Ghost stared for a moment, then sighed, “Only if you have mine, Johnny.” 

Soap smiled, “Always, sir.” 

Ghost nodded, “Good.” He looked toward the doorway, then back to Soap, “Watch out for Graves.” 

It was probably just Ghost’s way of saying ‘watch his back as well’, but for some reason, it almost sounded like Ghost was giving him a warning. Soap, not sure how to think on that, simply nodded, “Will do.” 

Ghost nodded back once more, then headed out, leaving Soap alone for the time being. As he sat in silence, he pondered on Ghost’s message. Surely, he wasn’t doubting Graves, right? From what Soap had seen, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe there was something he had missed. Ghost was quite good at reading people, as he’d proven when he’d picked Soap apart so easily.  

However, at the same time, Soap couldn’t help but think that if Graves wasn’t on their side, Ghost would've said something to him. Maybe he was just reading too much into the simple statement, but it was still concerning, nevertheless.  

Putting his thoughts aside, Soap went about doing final preparations for the mission. He couldn’t afford to doubt any of his teammates—they had to trust in one another if they wanted to succeed. That was just the reality of military life.  

He had to have faith in the men around him, no matter what.  

Soap was pulled from his thoughts as something was thrown in the direction of his head. He caught it easily, the fabric rustling noisily as it dropped into his lap. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was a rain jacket, but Soap found his eyes studying the tan piece of clothing anyways. He looked up, and despite the hunch . 

"What's this then, Sir?" Soap asked Ghost, the lieutenant still hovering in the doorway. 

"I don't care if you say you get too hot easily, just wear it, Johnny." Ghost huffed at him. 

Soap gaped for a moment, "Is this yours?" he asked, completely thrown off by the gruff man's gesture. 

Ghost rolled his eyes, "Some of us are smart enough to pack for the weather." he quipped, "That water's gonna be bloody baltic. Trust me when I say you'll need something fuckin' waterproof."

Soap smiled, and despite his normally obstinate nature, he found himself completely willing to do what Ghost asked. There wasn't a shred of hesitation when the words 'trust me' left the man's masked mouth. He weighed the jacket in his hand, already feeling warmer, despite not putting it on. 

He looked up at Ghost, "Alright sir, you win." he said, keeping the jacket in his lap rather than putting it with the rest of his gear. After it seemed like Ghost was content with his answer, the rebellious part of Soap's mind decided to step up, and he found his mouth opening again, "Can't stand long sleeves though. I'll likely roll 'em up anyways."

A glimmer of amusement flashed through Ghost's eyes, "Bloody insufferable git, you are."

"Takes one to know one, sir." Soap quipped back, smiling brightly when Ghost shook his head and walked away. 

His eyes were drawn back down to the jacket sitting in his lap, admiring its design. As he looked closer, he noticed that it was actually a lightweight waterproof pullover, and a nice one at that. It looked to be military issued, having the British flag patch on the shoulder, and was equipped with pockets in convenient places, clearly meant to be worn with a tactical vest. Soap decided to slip it on, despite the temperature on the boat being a smidgen higher than what he preferred already. 

The shirt fit surprisingly well, if a little baggy, but Soap didn't mind. He also noticed that there was a gaiter built into the neckline of the shirt, clearly meant to hide the edges of Ghost's mask. Just knowing that it was one of Ghost's shirts, and clearly one that he'd liked enough to modify himself, filled Soap with a strange sort of glee. Despite the fabric's thinness, the sergeant couldn't help but feel like he was wearing a thick suit of armor. It made him feel safe in a way he couldn't quite express, knowing that Ghost would literally be covering him during the upcoming fight. 

<-<--(:S:)-->-> 

Las Almas.  

So far, it had been one of the most chaotic places Soap had ever been. So much had happened from the time he and Ghost had arrived and stepped off that bird only a few days ago, and it was honestly a miracle that they'd survived it all.  

Looking back, it wasn’t hard to realize that Ghost’s words about Graves really had been a warning. The lieutenant had probably seen this coming, but for Soap, the shift in power had absolutely blind-sided him. He couldn't quite fathom just how quickly things had flipped a 180, and how many things had happened in such a short amount of time. Graves had commandeered Alejandro’s base, arrested the Vaqueros, and had openly attacked the men who had fought and bled alongside him just hours before.  

Soap still couldn’t believe that the bastard had actually shot him.  

Graves, the shadows, and the Narcos were all on a literal hunt for him and Ghost; the odds were so out of their favor it was sad, and yet… they had survived. They’d made it out, together. 

As they drove away from the town, Soap felt the pain of his gunshot wound throbbing, his aching bones and various contusions preventing him from getting comfortable in the old truck’s seat. The pain was considerable, but it was nothing compared to the pain of Graves’ betrayal.  

He had honestly thought of Graves as a friend. How could he have done this to them? After everything they’d been through together? 

Through it all, Soap thought about how Ghost had been the only one he could count on—the only one who had been there with him no matter what. Even as he had been walking through the town, praying that he would make it out alive, Ghost had been in his ear, with him every step of the way.  

Ghost had saved his life, in many ways now.  

Soap looked over at the subject of his thoughts, driving calmly in the seat next to him. “Thank you, for back there… just, by the way.” he muttered lowly.  

Ghost let out a heavy breath, not turning to look at him, “For what?” 

“Y’know, for sticking with me. It meant a lot, keeping me company over comms the whole time.” he chuckled, “Even though your jokes were shite.” 

Ghost let out a puff of air, and it almost sounded like laughter, “Yours weren’t any better, Johnny boy.” He paused for a moment, “And if I recall, they say that laughter is the best medicine.” 

Soap’s eyes widened as he remembered saying those same words to Ghost not too long ago. Had the man said all of those jokes to him because he knew it would calm him? It all seemed so… uncharacteristically thoughtful, especially coming from the masked killer.  

Ghost cut off his thoughts, “Besides, we both know that you're absolute shite with solitude. Fighting alone isn’t your forte, Johnny.” 

Soap gave a small chuckle, “Fair enough. I only made it cuz of you—because I wasn’t fighting alone.”  

Ghost shrugged, “It’s all over now. You made it. No need to dwell on what happened tonight.” The masked man jerked his head in Soap’s direction, “You're bleeding everywhere. Get that arm taken care of before you go into shock.” 

“Right.” Soap said, shaking his head clear of his current train of thought. Ghost was right—he needed to fix himself up before his wound turned septic. Swimming through flooded tunnels in the streets of Las Almas surely wasn’t good for an open bullet wound.  

He fished around in his vest, finding antibacterial gel and cotton, cleaning the area before getting out a needle and medical floss. Even despite his shaking hands, he managed to thread the needle and press the tip into his skin, sewing it closed as best as he could. The pain was immense, especially considering that he kept messing up, poking and tearing at his skin as his left hand trembled, causing him to hiss out in pain.  

“Your whole shoulder's gonna be shredded meat if you keep that up, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice sounded next to him, drawing his attention away from his bloody arm.  

Soap rolled his eyes, “Well, I'm not bloody left-handed! I’m doin’ the best I can, but this shite’s impossible! I'm drookit, cannae quit chitterin’, hauns all shooglie. Fookin' black as the Earl of Hell's waistcoat t'boot!” 

Ghost sighed, “I have no idea what you just said.” 

“I said ,” Soap interjected, annoyed, “I'm fucking soaked to the bone, shiverin’ my ass off, my hands won't stop shaking, and it's too bloody dark in here to see what I'm doing!” He huffed, “Like you’d do any better if you were in my shoes.” 

“I have. Many times.” 

“Aw, haud yer wheest and drive, ye right scunner.” Soap growled with a wave of his hand, hissing when he jostled his arm.  

Ghost looked over at him, “Want me to pull over?” 

Soap shook his head, going back to his stitching, “No, just head on. I’ll get it done.” 

Ghost did as he was told, continuing to drive as Soap continued to struggle. He was nearly halfway done with stitching up where the bullet had torn open his flesh, and he felt as though he was close to losing consciousness.  

As his eyes started to close, his hand falling away from its task, Soap felt something warm and firm take hold of his knee, giving it a harsh squeeze. He grunted and leaned forward, the discomfort bringing him back to consciousness.  

“Fuckin’ hell…” he hissed under his breath, realizing that it was Ghost’s hand holding him like that, the pressure intense.  

“No sleepin’ on the job, Johnny. Just breathe—you’ll get through this.” 

Soap sighed, shifting in his seat, “Right.” he went back to his task, and Ghost’s hand remained, squeezing harder when Soap passed the needle through his skin, the pressure distracting him from the pain.  

After a short bit, he finally finished up, sloppily tying off the left-handed stitchwork and rolling his sleeve back over the wound. He let his head fall back against the headrest, noticing the way that Ghost’s hand slackened on his thigh.  

“Thanks, L.t.” he said softly, the adrenaline wearing off now.  

Ghost gave a short nod, “Get some sleep, sergeant. We’ll be driving for a while yet.” 

Soap wanted to turn the offer down, but he was so damn tired. “Guess a little nap wouldn’t be so bad.” He said, settling back into his seat. He hesitated, looking at the other man, “Thanks again, Ghost.” 

The lieutenant turned toward him, eyes seeming to brighten for a moment before he turned back toward the road, "Nothin' to thank me for, sergeant.” 

“Just fuckin'—” Soap grumbled, “I know you could’ve left anytime, rather than wait in that church for me. But you stayed, anyways, and you got me out.” Soap rested his hand on top of Ghost’s forearm, the man’s hand still loosely holding his thigh, “I owe you my life, Simon.”  

The man looked at him for a short while, keeping his eyes off the road long enough to concern Soap slightly, before nodding to him and turning back. He seemed almost reluctant when he pulled his hand away from Soap, putting it back on the wheel. The space where it had just been suddenly felt very cold without the source of warmth, though Soap tried not to think about it too much.  

The cab was quiet for a moment before Ghost quirked his head, “For the record, you don’t owe me anything.” He gestured to Soap’s seat, “Now, shut up and get some rest. I’ll wake you when we stop.” 

Soap smiled and closed his eyes, “Sure thing, L.t.” 

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

Ghost hadn’t been expecting anyone to be at Alejandro’s safehouse. He was relieved to find Rudy alive, don’t get him wrong, but he honestly thought that all of Alejandro’s men had been taken when Graves had turned on them. Finding Rudy, safe and ready to get their friends back, was definitely a positive boost, for him and Soap both.  

They planned and prepped for several hours, Rudy stepping in and rebandaging Soap's gunshot wound with practiced hands. Ghost watched on studiously, not because he didn't trust Rudy, but mostly because he wanted to watch Soap's reactions and movements, to make sure he wasn't hiding any other injuries.

Not that he had to justify himself to anyone, but he was only watching Soap for his health and safety. There were definitely no other reasons that he'd felt so compelled to keep his eyes on the young sergeant ever since escaping Las Almas.

Once the plan was settled and they were geared up, they got into the armored truck and headed out under cover of night, navigating hidden side roads to avoid detection. On the ride over to the abandoned prison holding their allies, Rudy drove while Ghost and Soap continued readying their weapons and supplies. Las Almas had done a serious number on both of them, as well as their equipment.  

While they were rechecking their vests for the third time, Soap decided to speak up, breaking the tense silence of the armored car’s interior.  

“So, how’d you manage to get away, Rudy?” 

Rudy took a deep breath before answering, “I was lucky. When the shadows turned on us inside the base, they jammed our comms so we couldn't reach out to you guys. I managed to hide and sneak my way through the base, but I didn't have a weapon, so I couldn't take on the armored shadows."

Rudy gritted his teeth and continued, "All I could do was watch helplessly as they captured my men and hauled them away, killing anyone who they couldn't get to comply. I stuck around long enough to hear them talking about where they were taking Los Vaqueros, then hotwired one of their trucks and got away.” Rudy sighed, “I wish I could’ve done more.” 

Soap shook his head, “The fact that you got out meant that you were there at the safehouse to tell us where Graves and the shadows went. It all worked out—don’t beat yourself up.” 

“ Eso es verdad (that’s true).” Rudy said with a tilt of his head. He looked between the two men in the car, “How did you two manage to get away?” 

“They attacked Al at the security checkpoint outside your base. We couldn’t get to him in time before they knocked him out and cuffed his wrists, but it did give us a chance to escape. We fought our way through the streets, met up outside the church, stole a truck, then headed directly to the safehouse.” Soap said, simplifying the story quite a bit. Not that Ghost was complaining. He was very unprofessional over comms, had practically flirted with his sergeant throughout the entirety of the night, so the less Rudy knew, the better. 

Ghost gave a small huff, “Johnny was shot while he was making his escape. He managed to fight through the town on his own, bleeding out from a bullet wound, while I sat in the church the whole night. It was all him, not me.” 

Rudy looked over to Soap, “Impressive, Hermano .” 

Soap shrugged, “Eh, Ghost’s bein’ modest. He was with me the whole time, guiding me through the streets over comms.” He looked up in the rearview mirror, meeting Ghost’s gaze, “I would've died, if it hadn’t been for Ghost.” 

Ghost tore his gaze away quickly, the intensity too much for him to handle. “You would've been fine on your own.” 

Soap looked like he wanted to protest, but ultimately decided against it, shaking his head and looking down into his lap. Rudy was watching both of them closely in the rearview mirror, gaze darting to them occasionally as he watched the road.  

“Well, either way, I'm glad you two made it out, and I'm glad you had each other’s backs out there.” He shook his head, “I don’t know what I would do without your help to rescue Alejandro.” 

Soap smiled at him, “We’ll get him back, no matter what.” He met Ghost’s gaze in the mirror once again, “Then, we’ll make Graves pay for what he did.” 

“ A huevo .” Rudy agreed with Soap firmly.  

Ghost nodded to him, already feeling fiery anticipation burning through his veins. As he looked to the bandage wrapped around Soap’s arm, just barely peeking out from under his sleeve, his blood boiled. Knowing that it was Graves’ bullet that had inflicted that damage on Soap was all the reason he needed to make sure that Graves burned once and for all.  

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

Getting Alejandro back and killing Graves wasn’t easy. It wasn’t the hardest thing that Ghost had ever done either, but still difficult enough that Price’s unexpected appearance had been a major relief. Breathing came a lot easier when his friends were all reunited once again, all the people he hesitated to trust proving themselves to be dependable.  

Plus, hearing Soap tell Alejandro that only Ghost could call him Johnny brought him inexplicable relief as well. Why? He had no idea, but it definitely did.  

Maybe it had something to do with the way Soap and Alejandro got along. Ghost had noticed how compatible they were, and how much Soap cared for Alejandro—vice versa as well. Not that Ghost was jealous or anything, but… 

Well… maybe he was a little jealous. Soap was a good guy—anyone would be lucky to call him their friend.  

If Ghost had a little more pep in his step than usual while boarding their plane out of Las Almas and into Chicago, it certainly had nothing to do with the way Soap had patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. True, Ghost didn’t like physical touch from most people, but from Soap? It was different. Soap wasn’t most people, after all.  

The thought was a little scary, knowing that Soap was starting to mean more to Ghost than he even realized, but not terrifying, like most emotions felt to Ghost these days. Something about the wily sergeant was comforting, and just being around him was almost addictive, in a strange kind of way.  

He made Ghost feel human, which was something Ghost hadn’t felt in a long time. All he could do was hope that he could keep his sergeant safe.  

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

It was too fucking quiet.  

Soap was dead; he had to be. His sergeant was dead, and it was all Ghost’s fault.   

Ghost had heard gunshots—he could hear the impact of Hassan’s bullets embedding into Soap’s vest, right next to his microphone. He couldn’t see a damn thing, but he’d heard it .  

He was more concerned about what he didn’t hear, though. Soap was completely silent, through it all. Soap was never silent. Even during Las Almas, when he was supposed to be hiding and laying low, he was making jokes and poking at Ghost so casually. When he had directed Ghost using the CCTVs at the prison, he couldn’t stop his fucking mouth from running off the rails, even when Rudy was right there next to him, listening to each and every teasing comment or unprofessional jab.  

Now, after hearing absolutely nothing from the sergeant, Ghost couldn’t help but fear the worst.  

He waited with baited breath, hoping, praying that he could hear that annoying (endearing) Scottish voice just one more time.  

Please.   

Please, don’t be dead.   

Say something. Anything.   

Just don’t leave me, Johnny.  

Finally, after what felt like years of stretched silence, Ghost’s earpiece rang with a raspy voice.  

“Ghost… ” 

Ghost’s heart stopped, his breath quick as he replied, “Soap!” 

“Watch the window…”  

As fast as he could, Ghost scanned the building, looking for where Soap was talking about. Through his scope, he could see shadows moving inside one of the windows, most likely where Soap was talking about.  

He ran to the other end of the roof, setting his sniper rifle back up and readying himself for the shot. He could see Johnny, being walked backwards by Hassan himself. The sergeant was staggering, most likely in shock, or too breathless from bullets impacting his chest to fight back, getting closer and closer to the busted-out window.  

Soap was too close to Hassan for him to get a clean shot. Throughout the many years of his extensive training, Ghost had been taught that when it came to hostage scenarios, he couldn’t afford to risk shooting one of his own—it had been practically ingrained into his head not to take a shot like this.  

But, if he didn’t, Soap would die. That much, he was sure of. The rest was uncertain, but he knew that if he didn’t take the shot, Soap would be thrown out the window, and there would be nothing else Ghost could do to help him.  

He had to trust his training, rely on his skills, and hope that Soap made it out on the other side.  

He took in a deep breath, then fired the shot.  

Hassan’s head exploded and he fell to the ground, releasing Soap, who fell to his hands and knees. Ghost watched as the sergeant slowly sat up, his shoulders heaving with breath as he stared at Hassan, then looked up to where Ghost had shot from.  

“ Perfect shot, L.t.”  

Ghost breathed a sigh of relief, hearing Soap’s voice mostly back to normal making him feel more at ease than he’d been all night.  

“You called it, sergeant.” 

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

It had been a few days since Hassan’s death when the core members of the 141 met up at a bar, reunited once again. They’d been laying low, in a base outside of D.C., while the CIA worked their magic with cleanup and coverup.  

The man behind the whole entire shitshow they’d been living was finally revealed, and the team was able to peg their next target for elimination: Vladimir Makarov. The name was one that Ghost had been hoping he’d never hear again. Unfortunately, life in the military was seldom accommodating.  

Once information was shared and plans were made, the group split up, going their separate ways. Price, Gaz, and Laswell headed back to base, ready to make an actionable plan out of their theoretical one, leaving Soap and Ghost alone in the bar. They sat in silence for a while, nothing but the twangy blues music filling the space between them, which was concerning to Ghost.  

Soap had hardly said a word since Hassan’s death, hiding behind empty half-smiles and vacant looks. It was so unlike him, so unlike his usual fun-loving, boisterous, energetic behavior, and Ghost was a little worried for him. The past few days had been traumatic, by anyone’s standards, and Ghost was afraid that it was all crashing down on the poor sergeant now that it was all over.  

“You've been uncharacteristically quiet tonight.” He said, deciding not to mince words.  

Soap gave a dry chuckle, “I would've thought you’d be enjoying the silence. I know how much I drive you crazy.” 

Ghost eyed him for a moment, “That, you do.” He responded, hoping the double-meaning was lost on the other man.  

Soap tilted his head, “Then what do you want?” 

Ghost considered for a moment. He wanted a great many things, but mainly, he wanted to help Soap get out of his own head. Thankfully, he knew just the way to do it.  

Ghost put his hands on the table in front of him, turning a little to face Soap more deliberately, “Why don’t you tell me a story, Johnny?” 

Soap looked at him incredulously, “Seriously?” Ghost nodded, and Soap scoffed, “Didn’t you just say I drive you crazy?” 

Ghost shrugged, “I could use a little crazy about now.” He said, absently playing with a coaster on the table, “Why don’t you tell me what it’s like back home?” Soap looked at him with an unconvinced stare, and Ghost elaborated, “Start with your school. What was it like?” 

Soap chuffed with laughter, “You don’t want to hear about my schooling.” 

“Sure, I do.” Ghost interjected, “Go on.” He urged.  

Soap gave an amused shake of his head, “Alright, but just remember,” he playfully jabbed a finger into Ghost’s chest, “you brought this on yourself.” 

Ghost smiled behind his mask, “Fire away.” 

For the rest of the evening, while the sergeant regaled him with tale after tale, Ghost couldn’t help but notice that Soap’s smiles didn’t seem so empty, anymore.  

<-<--(:S:)-->-> 

It felt as though they’d been chasing Makarov for decades. In reality, it had only been a couple of months, but that was all it took to drive Soap insane. From the stories he’d heard Ghost and Price tell, the notorious Russian ultranationalist was less of a terrorist and more of a monster—something that crawled directly out of hell. It was their job to put him back under, which was definitely easier said than done.  

Thankfully, Laswell’s intel had pointed them in the right direction, and they had managed to track down one of his safehouses located in the mountains of Ukraine. One of dozens, Soap was sure, but still, any lead was a blessing at this point.  

Ghost and Soap had split up, acting as the welcome party for the infiltration team. Their jobs were, respectively, to soften up the forces stationed around the perimeter, and to plant explosives in key areas. By doing this, they would clear the way for their teammates to come in and, hopefully, take Makarov, or at least some of his men, down swiftly.  

As always, Soap and Ghost had swapped over to a closed comm circuit, meant only for their ears while they carried on. It was done under the excuse that they couldn’t afford distractions from the main comms while doing covert work, but really, it was just their way of bantering back and forth uninhibited, just like back in Las Almas.  

“ Targets eliminated on the north side, under the back staircase. Good place to plant one of your charges, I would say.” Ghost said after a short bout of silence. Probably not able to talk because he was too busy slicing throats, Soap figured.  

“Copy that. Just finishing up planting a couple charges around the base of the west wall. Should bring the whole side down, when the time comes to set them off. Too bad the lovely hydrangeas they planted there won't survive that blast.” 

Ghost chuckled in his ear, “ Why does it surprise me that you know flowers?”  

Soap smiled, “My intelligence just continues to baffle you; is that it, sir?” 

“ Something like that.” Ghost snarked back. “ Just finish up there and get on with it. No time to smell the flowers.”  

Soap chuffed, “There’s always time to smell hydrangeas, L.t.” he sassed, finishing his charge and standing, “Maybe that’s why you're so grumpy all the—” 

He was cut off when he felt arms wrap around his neck, locking him in a chokehold. He fought back, relying on his training as he hoisted his legs up, planting his feet on the side of the facility and using the leverage to throw both himself and his attacker backwards. The impact had the desired effect, the arms releasing him and allowing air back into his lungs.  

Without any spare time to catch his breath, Soap took out his knife and readied himself, facing his attacker with his knife poised. It was one of Makarov’s men, dressed in body armor and a mask covering his face. He pulled out a knife as well, mirroring Soap’s stance in preparation to fight.  

Soap quirked his head, “Oh-ho, you're gonna regret touchin’ me, mate. Should’ve shot me when you had the chance.” 

The guard levelled his gaze, “Boss wants you alive. Your friend, too.” He said with a thick Russian accent, then tilted his head with amusement, “Your beloved captain won't be able to resist.” 

Soap’s face paled with realization as the choppy sentences registered in his head, and he quickly reached for his comms, “Ghost, it’s a trap! Get out of there, now!” 

He didn’t have time to listen to Ghost’s reply, the guard lunging at him and forcing his hand away from his comm. The guard was annoyingly good at fighting, anticipating and blocking each of Soap’s moves with utter precision. Admittedly, Soap wasn’t as good at knife-fighting or hand-to-hand as Ghost, but he was more than proficient at it. This guy was just slightly better.  

As Soap thought about Ghost, his mind distracted for a mere millisecond, he found the guard’s blade too close to his face, only barely dodging it before it was stabbed into his eye. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough to avoid it completely, the tip slicing through his eyebrow and down toward his cheek as he pulled away.  

He closed his eye as blood seeped down onto it from the wound, and just like back in Las Almas, Soap felt a hopelessness send shivers down his spine. His breathing became ragged as he assessed the situation, knowing that he couldn’t win this fight. It was already close before, but now, only seeing out of one eye, he knew it was pointless to keep it up.  

His eye darted toward the explosive planted on the wall behind the guard, and he made his decision.  

“Ghost—stay away from the walls and make sure the others are safe!” he yelled.  

Ghost shouted something back at him, but before he could register what it was, Soap grabbed the detonator hanging from his vest and flipped the switch.  

Booms echoed around the safehouse, all of Soap’s work coming to fruition as debris erupted around him. The charges went off exactly as they were designed to, collapsing the walls with minimal flame—perfect containment with maximum damage, all while safely making way for an assault team to enter without getting burned. At least, that was what the charges were intended to be used for. However, using them to take down his attacker was a worthy cause as well, once the original plan was scrapped. 

It was all according to plan—his attacker was dead and buried in the rubble, and all was good. The only fly in the milk was the fact that Soap, too, was close enough to suffer the consequences of the explosion.  

Thankfully, he was far enough away that he’d missed the brunt of it, but he was still slightly pinned under rocks and debris, the blast knocking him backward and hitting his already-weakened head.  

Once his ears stopped ringing, he groaned, coughing up the dust that entered his lungs. He moved his arms, thankful that he could still feel them, but when it came to his legs…  

He struggled against the giant piece of concrete holding his left leg down, panic starting to rise in him as he found himself unable to even budge it.  

“Fuckin’ hell…” he grumbled, gritting his teeth and lifting with all his might. He tried to reach for his comm, but found that it had been smashed in the impact, his earpiece rattling with static feedback. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, trying to figure out what he should do.  

Think. Think . What would Ghost do?  

Before he could figure out the answer to his own question, he heard muffled shouting coming from inside the safehouse, getting closer and closer. Panic overwhelmed him when he realized that the shouting was definitely Russian, and that he had lost his weapon in the blast.  

His breathing came quicker the closer they got, trying to think his way out of the situation. With all his might, he yanked and pulled at his leg, trying desperately to get it unwedged from under the concrete. He grunted and cursed, pain erupting through his whole body as he tried to fight his way out.  

“Johnny!” a voice came from behind him, and Soap’s entire body felt as though it had been turned to jelly.  

“Simon!” he shouted back, “I'm here! My leg’s stuck!” 

In no time at all, Ghost found him, sliding in next to him on his padded knees. “I'm gonna get you out of here—stay calm!” Ghost said, setting his gun aside and putting his hands on the concrete pinning his leg down, “On three, I'm gonna lift, and you pull your leg out, alright?” 

“Right.” Soap confirmed, getting himself ready.  

“One… two… three!” Ghost grunted, hoisting the stone as high as he could. Soap hastily scrambled backward, stifling his shout of pain by biting harshly into his lip, groaning deeply instead.  

Thankfully, he managed enough strength to pull himself away, slipping out of the space and collapsing back on the ground with complete exhaustion. Suddenly, keeping his eyes open seemed to be the hardest thing in the world to do.  

“Johnny, stay with me!” Ghost scolded, “We’ve gotta get out of here before those fuckers find us.”  

Soap groaned weakly, “I don’t think I can walk, L.t.” 

“Slackin’ on the job, eh?” Ghost teased, reaching into his vest and pulling out a stim. He didn't hesitate as he jammed it into Soap's uninjured thigh, depressing the syringe's plunger until the fluid was gone. He threw the empty syringe away before hauling Soap up and over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, “Fine, I’ll do all the work. I'm used to it by now.” 

Soap gave a small chuckle, “Such a prick.” 

“Scold me all you want—just don’t go to sleep.” 

Ghost jogged away from the house, ducking away behind a derelict shed. He set Soap down once he was sure they were alone, checking him over for immediate danger. He must not have liked what he found, cursing under his breath and reaching for his comm.  

“Price, this is Ghost. I have Soap, but he’s injured. We need medevac.” 

“Copy. What’s his status?” Price’s voice rang out, Soap only barely able to hear it through Ghost’s earpiece.  

“Feels like a shattered tibia, probably a compound fracture, but I haven't confirmed yet. Severe laceration over his left eye, headwound and likely a concussion… evidence of possible internal bleeding.” 

Soap furrowed his brow. He’d gotten that many injuries from the blast? He didn’t feel like he was in that bad of shape, probably thanks to the stim, but who was he to argue with Ghost? 

Ghost continued, “Hard to say the extent, but he needs help, immediately.” 

“ Right. Get him to the RV point and wait for evac. We’ll take care of the fuckers responsible for all this.”  

“Copy.” Ghost replied, voice filled with venom, “Make it hurt.” 

“ Will do. Out here .” 

Ghost looked down at him, and the best Soap could do was meet his gaze with lidded eyes, even despite the stim. Ghost lightly jostled his shoulder, “Hey, no sleeping, remember? We’ve gotta mend this ankle so I don’t have to carry your heavy arse half a klik.” 

“Sorry, L.t.” Soap smiled, “I hate to put you out.” 

Ghost hummed, his attention turning toward Soap’s leg, “The only thing that could put me out is you dyin’ on me.” he grabbed his pant leg, pulling it up, and causing Soap to let out a cry of pain as the fabric dragged across his wounded leg. From what Soap could see, it actually wasn't a compound fracture, but the skin was marred and purple with unseen damage. Ghost met Soap’s eye after he'd apparently come to the same conclusion, “So don’t bloody die. Clear?” 

“Crystal.” Soap groaned, trying to fight through the pain. When Ghost managed to fit his shin with a makeshift splint, using some rebar from the collapsed building, he started to wrap it up tightly. Soap did his best to stay quiet, but the pain was nearly unbearable. He bit into the fabric of his vest's shoulder, whole body shaking as he fought through the pain. 

“You never finished telling me about that girl you were seein’ back home, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice cut through the silent air, reigning Soap’s attention back in.  

He huffed with amusement, “I thought you were asleep when I said all that. You were actually listenin’?” 

Ghost levelled him with a soft look, “Always, Johnny.” 

Something warm bloomed in Soap’s chest as he smiled back, “Where was I?” 

“You were telling me about how she took you to the jewelry store.” 

“Right.” Soap exclaimed, grunting and wincing when Ghost finished tying off his splint, “So, she took me to this fancy, super expensive jewelry store, and started dropping the most obvious hints ever, like… she wanted me to pick out an engagement ring on the spot.” 

Ghost chuckled, pulling antiseptic and bandages from his kit, “Fuckin’ bonkers.” 

“I know, right?” Soap agreed, “We’d only been dating for six days , and she was… doin’ this shit.” 

As Soap continued talking, he found his brain getting foggier and foggier, his speech slipping as he continuously forgot where he was in the story. At one point, he apparently stopped talking altogether, his thoughts running away from him and stealing his voice in the process. 

Looking up into the night sky, Soap almost couldn't hear the sound of gunfire in the distance. The pain was nearly gone, replaced with a numbness that rivaled even the stim's effects. One star in the sky seemed to shine brighter than the rest, and Soap found himself unable to drag his eyes away from it, that small pinpoint of light demanding every ounce of his attention. 

It seemed to get bigger and bigger, as though falling from the sky, but he wasn't afraid of the impending impact. He felt like he was floating, meeting the star halfway, welcoming the bright, beautiful light that it showered down on him. 

He just needed to get a little closer... 

“What did you do, then?” Ghost's words pulled him back, yanking him from the illusion. When Soap blinked, the stars were back to the way they were, beautiful, but stationary in the sky.

Soap gave his head a light shake, brain doing its best to bring him back into the present, “Uh… I don’t remember.” 

Ghost’s hands hesitated where he was dabbing the blood from Soap’s eye, “You don’t remember?” 

Soap blinked at him, “What?” he slurred, his vision slipping.  

A flash of panic was evident in Ghost’s eyes as he regarded Soap, “Hey, no sleeping, remember? Keep tellin’ me about your girlfriend.” 

Soap gave a weak grin, “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He chuckled, “I have you , Simon.” 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Ghost huffed a laugh, "We’ll have to fix that when we get out of here.” Ghost shuffled a little closer, “I’ll take you to a nice bar and we’ll find you a girlfriend, alright?” 

“Nah. S’not gonna work.” Soap chuckled, “Lasses are too scared to talk to me when you're around.” 

“Then I’ll hang back next time and let you do your thing.” 

“No,” Soap interjected, probably too quickly, “don’t. I don’t like it when you're far away… I like when you're close.” 

“Alright, whatever you say." Ghost said, his eyes crinkled with what looked like a gentle smile behind his mask, "We can do anything you want once we get back. Just promise you’ll stay awake, yea?” 

Soap leaned forward a little, taking Ghost’s attention off of his injured eye and directing it to his open one, “Anything I want?” 

“Anything.” Ghost confirmed, “You have my word.” 

Soap sighed happily, “I’ll hold you to it, L.t.” 

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

Ghost had never seen Soap so out of it before. His eye wouldn’t stay open, and his voice was so sluggish that he sounded like a drunkard. There was definitely something horrible going on inside Soap, whether it was internal bleeding or a concussion; hell, maybe it was both. Either way, it was terrifying to watch him get worse with each passing second, knowing that there was nothing he could do to help him.  

He just had to keep him awake long enough for evac. He had to keep him talking. 

He finished tying the bandage around Soap’s head and noticed that his eyes were closing again.  

“Johnny, keep those eyes open or the deal’s off.” 

Soap groaned, “Ugh, fine .” he said petulantly.  

Ghost double-checked his wrappings, making sure the splint was secure. “Alright, Johnny, we’ve got to get to that RV point and get you out of here. Think you can walk?” 

Soap raised his eyebrow challengingly, “Do I have a choice?” 

“No, you don’t.” 

Soap smiled at him, rolling his eyes, “Then I guess we should get going.” 

Ghost hauled him upright and draped his arm over his shoulders, helping him to steady himself as he grunted and cried out with pain. Ghost wrapped his arm around Soap’s waist and helped him hobble along, making their way to the cornfield, where the extraction point had been decided.  

Thankfully, Soap had stayed awake so far, not passing out as they continued to walk. Ghost could almost sense his mind working as he took in the field around them, his single uncovered eye darting around at the stalks of corn surrounding them.  

“Hey, L.t.” 

“What?” Ghost responded, tone light with worry at what Soap could possibly want to say.  

“Be sure you don’t tell any secrets in this field.” Soap said in a low whisper. 

Ghost furrowed his brow, “Why not?” 

Soap gave him a mischievous grin, “Because, there are ears everywhere.” 

Ghost groaned, shaking his head with amusement, “Fuckin’ hell.” 

“Never know when you're bein’ stalked.” Soap continued.  

Ghost couldn’t help the grin that spread behind his mask, “That was bloody horrible, Johnny. I've heard of corny jokes, but you take it to a whole new level.” He said with a chuckle. 

“I can do better!” Soap insisted, his tone enthusiastic despite his waning energy and slowed speech.  

“Let’s hear it, then.” Ghost urged, happy that Soap was still coherent enough to talk, let alone joke. Even if the jokes were bloody painful, it was still better than silence.  

Soap geared himself up, “What does corn say when you compliment it?” 

“What?” 

“Aw, shucks.” 

Ghost rewarded his horrible joke with a small chuckle, “Liar—that wasn’t better at all, Johnny.” he chuffed, “Do you have jokes for every occasion? Or did you just prepare these because you knew we’d be heading into a cornfield during this mission?” 

Soap grinned at him, “You know me too well, Simon.” 

Ghost shook his head fondly, “You know any more?” 

"Of course! Uh," Soap’s brow furrowed, his eyes barely more than half-lidded at this point, “Actually… I can't remember. My head’s all fuzzy right now.” He groaned, “It’s getting hard to think, L.t.” 

Ghost’s heart dropped, “I know, I know.” he looked around the field, eyes landing on a tattered scarecrow planted not too far away. “How about I tell one?” 

“Hmm.” Soap confirmed, form slumping in Ghost’s arms.  

“Why did the scarecrow get an award?” he asked, hands rubbing along Soap’s arms in hopes of keeping him awake. The other didn’t answer, so Ghost gave him a small shake, bringing him back, “Johnny, why did the scarecrow get an award?” he asked again with a bit more urgency.  

“Sorry…” Soap mumbled, eyes trying so hard to blink back open, “Wh-why, L.t.?” 

“Because he was out-standing in his field.” Ghost said, looking down at Soap, who was deathly silent, not even giving the hint of a laugh. “Johnny?” he called out, shaking the man in his arms. “Johnny!” 

The sergeant was completely still, mouth slightly parted and eyes closed, chest barely rising and falling with each stilted breath. Tears raged against Ghost’s eyes, threatening to fall as he looked down at Soap’s peaceful form.  

“ Johnny! ” 

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

Soap was comatose by the time they got back to base. He did, in fact, have internal bleeding from a rupture in his stomach, which introduced the threat of sepsis, and it turned out that he did have a concussion as well. His leg was in better shape than Ghost had thought, having an incomplete fracture of the tibia. However, the swelling and bruising was severe and the lack of blood flow while it had been trapped in rubble had caused skin discoloration and minor nerve damage. He was lucky that he’d gotten free when he did, otherwise he could’ve lost it.  

All Ghost could do was watch on as doctors did their work, hoping and praying that Soap would wake up. He sat by Soap’s bedside and held his hand, fingers practically glued to his pulse point, counting each beat of his heart.  

After the first day, Ghost had to leave. Not because Price had sent him away, or because he had somewhere better to be, but because he physically couldn’t handle the silence of Soap’s hospital room.  

Not too long ago, silence had been a dear friend to Ghost. He’d learned to live with it, and thrived in silent conditions, both on and off of missions. He preferred the quiet—he’d told Soap as much when they’d first met, and at the time, he truly believed it.  

Now, though, Ghost realized just how wrong he’d been. It wasn’t that silence was his friend—it was that he’d never experienced something that could properly drown it out. He’d never found someone or something that he actually wanted to listen to. Voices always grated on his nerves, music drove him crazy, background ambience was deafening. Everything always seemed to add to the noise in his head rather than drown it out, and it drove him crazy. 

Soap, though? Ghost found that he craved his noise, his chaos, his very presence. For the first time in Ghost’s life, he welcomed the disturbance of his peace—the gentle punches to his shoulder and the constant talking—and he missed it like hell, now that it was gone.  

Without Soap to fill his silences, Ghost realized just how suppressive they really were. Had his mind always been so loud? Had his thoughts always been so dark and intrusive? Had the silence really been so dreadful before, the pain of it simply gone unnoticed until now? 

How had he lived without Soap for so long? 

In an effort to chase the silence away, Ghost stooped to the lowest levels, listening to music and surrounding himself with loud environments. Things he never would've done before meeting Soap. Still, the noises weren’t enough, and he continued to ache. 

Would he ever hear Soap’s voice again? Would he ever get to hear another one of his silly stories? Would that perfect laugh ever have another chance to soothe Ghost's broken soul? 

Without Soap to keep him sane, Ghost reverted back to what he knew best—being a soldier. He trained and trained, until he ached down to his bones, then trained some more. He worked with new recruits, something he’d refused in the past because of their boisterousness, but welcomed now, hoping they could substitute for Soap's attention, just until he had the real thing back.  

Only, as the days passed, Ghost started to wonder if it really would be ‘just for now’. Soap’s condition hardly changed, his surface wounds healing nicely, but still remaining asleep. What if he never woke up? What would Ghost do with himself then? 

<-<--(:G:)-->-> 

Two weeks had passed, and Ghost was nearly transformed back into the cold, unfeeling man he’d been before his life had gotten tangled up with Sergeant MacTavish's. He hardly even visited Soap anymore, the sorrow and agony that seeing the radiant sergeant's practically lifeless form brought him was too much to handle. Each time he saw him, his hope waned more and more, until he’d eventually resigned himself to never hearing that deep Scottish brogue again.  

Johnny had walked into his life, tore Ghost apart, then put him back together better than he’d found him. Only, without Soap there to hold the pieces in place, Ghost had shattered once again, left to put himself back together as best he could. He hardly knew who he was without the sergeant by his side anymore, having almost forgotten what life was like before meeting the younger man.  

How could someone change his life so much after so little time? 

Ghost had been out with the recruits, berating one of the younger ones, probably a little too harshly, when a soldier ran up to him. Ghost had half a mind to put the young woman in a headlock for her mindless lack of caution around the skittish, feral animal that Ghost had become, but barely restrained himself, figuring that whatever she had to tell him must be important. Price was probably getting complaints about him from the recruits, and wanted to chew his ear off or something.  

“Sir, Price sent me to collect you, and to give you a message.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes. Yup, he was right. “What is it?” 

“All he said was, ‘He’s awake’.” 

Ghost’s eyes snapped toward her, his heart stopping momentarily. Without a word, he ran away from his group of recruits, hoping that they weren’t so daft that they couldn’t function without him.  

He outran the soldier sent to fetch him, and shoved past anyone who didn’t get out of the way. With his large form and growly, booming voice yelling at them to get out of the way, they really should’ve seen him coming. They were soldiers, after all. They either needed to toughen up and get more observant quickly, or they needed to be discharged. Immediately .  

That was just his pent-up anger and impatience talking, he knew. But if what Price had wanted to tell him was true, then he didn’t have time to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings.  

He had to get to Soap. He had to see that Johnny was ok. 

He burst through the medbay doors, bypassing the shocked woman at the reception desk, and heading straight to Soap’s room. The door was open, and when he stepped inside, Price was already there, sitting at Soap’s side, talking quietly. As soon as Ghost had entered, however, he turned around, his attention shifting to him.  

Price smiled and stood, “I’ll leave you two alone.” He stepped aside, revealing bright blue eyes, open wide and blinking up at Ghost with that familiar light, one that had been missing for far too long up until now.  

“Johnny.” he muttered quietly.  

A bright smile stretched across Soap’s face, “Hey, L.t.” 

As Price left the room, he patted Ghost on the shoulder, which snapped him back to reality. As the door clicked behind him, Ghost surged forward, wrapping his arms around Soap’s neck. Despite his urgency to hold Soap close, he was gentle, not wanting to hurt his sergeant any further.  

After a short moment of silence, Soap chuckled, wrapping his arm around Ghost in return. “Ah, so I take it you missed me?” 

Ghost didn’t say anything, just buried his face into Soap’s neck, holding him tight and listening to his breaths. Feeling his chest rise and fall, the thumping of his heart beating against Ghost’s cheek, pressed into Soap’s pulse point. Feelings, sounds, little signs of life that let Ghost know that everything was ok. Soap was ok.  

“I don’t have any jokes prepared for this situation, wakin’ up after a coma.” Soap gave a breathy chuckle, “Though, it does remind me of that one time when Gaz played dead. I've never seen Price that pissed before. Remember that?” 

Ghost remained silent, though he already missed the rumble of Soap’s voice beneath his ear, vibrating through his bones. He was probably acting too weird, holding Soap like this for as long as he had been. They’d never been this close before, so it was probably, definitely, not ok for Ghost to jump at his sergeant like this. Thankfully, Soap didn’t seem too upset about it.  

Still, Ghost figured that he should be at least a little decent, and pulled away, giving Soap some space. He hadn’t realized how tightly Soap had been holding him in return until he tried to move, the sergeant’s grip eventually loosening when he caught onto Ghost’s intentions.  

When they were apart, Soap averted his gaze, “Sorry.” 

Ghost tilted his head, “Sorry for what?”  

“I just barely woke up and I'm already talkin’ your ear off; already makin’ you want to leave.” 

Ghost shook his head, “No, no.” he cleared his throat, “You're not bothering me at all.” 

Soap gave him an incredulous look, “You know that you don’t have to be overly nice to me just because I woke up from a coma, right?” 

“I'm not—” 

“It’s all good. I can handle a little tough love, Ghost. I’ll shut up now.” 

“No!” Ghost said, probably too quickly, and far too desperately. Soap must've thought the same, if his shocked look of confusion was anything to go by. Ghost sighed, “Please, don’t stop talking. It’s been too damn quiet around here without your voice to fill the space.” 

A bright smile found its way to Soap’s face, “Ah, there we go. Finally, some solid evidence that you like me!” Soap shrugged confidently, “I knew it all along.” 

Ghost smiled behind his mask, “That you did.” 

Soap carried on for a while, talking and telling stories until his voice became hoarse, though never losing his steam. At one point, Ghost let his eyes close as he rested his head on his arms, propped up on the side of Soap’s bed. He was stunned when he felt a hand resting on top of his head, but leaned into it, letting out a soft hum. Soap chuckled at that, and continued caressing his masked head as he spoke.  

Eventually, there was a small lull in Soap’s voice, causing Ghost to open his eyes, looking up at the other man with concern. Soap wasn’t asleep—his hand was still moving on Ghost’s head and his eyes were wide open, staring forward at nothing, seemingly trapped in his head.  

Ghost leaned in a little, resting his chin on his arms, “You get lost?” 

Soap blinked a few times, “Sorry, I just…” Soap’s gaze slowly fell to the blanket in his lap, “I never thanked you. Fer, y’know.” he sighed, “You saved me… again.” 

Ghost furrowed his brow, “You saved me first. Me and every other man on that mission. We would've walked right into Makarov’s trap if you hadn’t warned us.” Ghost countered, sitting up straight once again.  

Soap’s hand fell away from his head, which Ghost was already mourning, but he didn’t say anything. Soap sighed, “You dragged me out of there, patched me up.” He shook his head, “I owe you my life five times over, now.” 

Ghost raised his eyebrow, “Wasn’t aware you were keepin’ track.” Before Soap could speak, he cut him off, “We’ll just call it even, after all the times you saved my life. We’re a team, remember? That’s what we do.” 

“A team…” Soap mumbled lowly, “Right.” 

Ghost tilted his head, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Soap shook his head slightly, “Sorry… my mind’s all over the place. It’s hard to think straight right now.” 

Ghost watched him with a tinge of concern, "You in pain?" he asked, already prepared to press the button and call the nurse.

Soap stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist, "No! Nothing like that. I'm fine."

The answer only served to make Ghost more curious. He leaned forward, trying to meet Soap's eye, "Sometimes it helps to say our thoughts out loud. Makes it easier to organize them.” 

Soap gave a mirthless chuckle, “Respectfully, sir, I don’t think you’d like hearing my thoughts.” 

Ghost leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, “Try me.” 

Soap levelled him with a nervous stare, as if he was sizing Ghost up. His cheeks were tinted pink, his tongue darting out to dampen his lips, eyes darting from Ghost’s face to his lap rapidly. He looked… nervous. Ghost hadn’t ever seen Soap nervous before.  

Ghost leaned forward, trying to catch Soap’s eye, “Hey, I won't bite. You know that, right?” 

Soap gave a nervous chuckle, “Right.” he took in a deep breath, letting it out in a drawn-out sigh, “I… I should probably just shut up.” He grinned, giving a huff of laughter, “My head’s all fucked up, y’know? Can’t really take anythin’ I say seriously.” 

“Johnny,” Ghost cut in, “just tell me.” 

Soap’s brows furrowed, as if he was already regretting something he hadn’t even said. “Alright, alright.” he finally met Ghost’s eyes, “Let’s just say that if I could cash in on that promise you made to me, back in the cornfield, that you’d give me anything I want if I stayed awake, I would ask for something pretty embarrassing.” 

Ghost blinked at him, words trying to register in his head, “What sort of embarrassing thing are we talkin’?” Ghost asked, hoping that he was sounding nonchalant. “You want me to sing you a song or something?” 

“It doesn’t matter. I lost out on that deal anyways.” Soap quickly cut him off, “I closed my eyes, remember? For a long fucking time.” 

Ghost tilted his head, “The doctors said it was a miracle you stayed awake as long as you did. In my book, that’s good enough to be a win in your favor.” 

Soap looked at him skeptically, “I don’t think that’s how it works.” 

“Well, I'm the one that made the deal up, so I can change the rules. And I say that you won, and you can have anything you want. As promised.” Ghost replied with a snarky tone.  

Soap’s cheeks flushed a little more, “Even if I wanted a kiss?” 

Ghost blinked at him, “You want me to kiss you?” 

“I didn’t say that! I was just… giving a hypothetical.” Soap quickly rectified.  

“Hmm.” Ghost said, grabbing Soap’s hand. Soap watched him skeptically, mouth parting slightly when Ghost lifted his hand toward his masked mouth. He pressed Soap’s knuckles to his lips, kissing them gently through the mask.  

Soap watched him with his uncovered eye wide open, cheeks flushed and breaths coming quickly. Ghost squeezed his hand, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Soap through his eyelashes.  

“A kiss like that?” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. He lifted his mask and kissed Soap’s knuckles once again, with exposed lips this time. “Or like this?” 

Soap blinked rapidly at him, “Uh…” 

Ghost lifted his mask off of his head entirely, holding Soap’s hand to his chest as he leaned forward, giving Soap plenty of time to move away before he gently pressed his lips to Soap’s forehead, then one more to his cheek, and finally, his lips found Johnny’s own. The kiss was soft and sweet; exactly what Soap deserved after every bit of hell he’d been through.  

He pulled away quickly, still close enough that their breath mingled, but a few respectable inches between their lips. “Was that what you wanted?” 

Soap blinked at him a few times, his lips slowly stretching into a bright smile, “Something like that.” 

Ghost tilted his head, “That doesn’t sound like you're totally pleased. I can do better.” He said, leaning back in. Much to his delight, Soap started leaning in as well, meeting him halfway.  

The first kiss had been nice, but this second one was blissful. Their lips moved perfectly together, slotting so beautifully, so softly against one another that it felt as though they were made to meet this way. As if it was their destiny to be pressed so close together like this. Ghost had never felt more complete than he did when he was kissing Soap, the man he’d fallen so suddenly and so deeply into love with long ago, not even realizing he'd lost his footing.  

They moved in perfect sync, tongues and lips dancing together as they shared a quiet moment of intimacy. Ghost’s only regret was that he hadn’t done this sooner, and that such terrifying circumstances were what forced him to finally cave into what both of them wanted.  

After a short while, he pulled away, hand cupping Soap’s cheek, fingers brushing over the bandage covering his eye. To think that he’d been so close to death, that Ghost almost wasn’t there for him, almost hadn’t been there during what could’ve been his final moments, it hurt so badly that Ghost felt as though he might burst.  

“Sorry you had to go through so much; nearly lost an eye and a leg, and all you got out of it was a lousy kiss.” Ghost said solemnly, “I wish I could’ve protected you.” 

Soap smiled at him, leaning into his touch, “You pulled me out and saved my life, Simon. That’s more than I could ever ask for.” He said, turning his head to place a kiss against Ghost’s palm. He continued, “And that wasn’t a ‘lousy kiss’—that was perfect . I'd do it all over again if that was all I got.” He eyed Ghost slyly, “Though, if you want to do something more than a kiss…” 

Ghost levelled him with an unamused look, “Johnny…” 

Soap laughed heartily, and Ghost’s stomach fluttered at the sound. “I know, I know. I'm just messin’ with ye.” He laughed some more, then raised an eyebrow, “Unless…” 

“Knock it off, sergeant.” Ghost said through a grin, lightly shoving the other man playfully, “Maybe—and this is a big ‘maybe’—I’ll take you out to dinner or somethin’ once you get out of here. And when you're healed, I’ll let you have anything you want.” 

“Anything?” Soap asked with a knowing smirk.  

Ghost couldn’t help but smile in return, “Anything.” 

“Yes please!” Soap said with a bright smile.  

“ Only ,” Ghost cut him off, “if you promise to behave and listen to the doctor, yea?” 

Soap rolled his eyes, “Yea, alright.” he looked at Ghost through his fluttering, long lashes, “Will you stay with me? Just for a little while?” 

Ghost smiled, “Of course, I will, Johnny.” he leaned forward, kissing Soap’s temple before sitting back in his chair, stroking Soap’s knuckles gently with his thumb, “Why don’t you finish that story you were tellin’ earlier? The one about the bloke on your team that tried raw habaneros for the first time?” 

Soap furrowed his brow, “You sure you want me to keep talking?” 

Ghost sighed deeply, thinking back to the unbearable silence that filled the air while Soap was comatose. He gave Soap a reassuring smile, settling back into the position he was in before, head laying on his arms, propped up on the side of Soap’s bed.  

“Your eager audience awaits.” 

Soap settled back against his pillows, giving Ghost a look that he didn’t feel worthy of; a look filled with so much love and care that Ghost nearly melted beneath its warmth, the ice of his heart steadily chipping away.  

As he picked up where he’d left off in his tale, Ghost let his eyes wander over Soap’s face, taking in every little detail as he carried on. His charming smile and laughter lines, eyes bright and filled with so much life, the life that Ghost had almost seen snuffed away from him not too long ago.  

It had been terrifying, wondering if the man he’d fallen in love with would ever wake up, wondering if he’d never hear his voice again. But now, being here with his Johnny, listening as he filled the room with his low voice and musical laughter, Ghost couldn’t help but feel like everything had worked out perfectly.