Archive of Our Own ^beta

RULES FOR THE CHAT:

• Don't be a twat.

• Don't argue with mods.

• No, the mask won't come off.

Ghost_Protocol_ is now live!

Ghost smiles to himself as the chat starts flooding in, cheery greetings and welcomes back quickly clogging up the left side of his stream above his face camera. "G'morning lads," he greets, shifting his weight and settling more comfortably in his chair. "D'you like the new loading screen?"

His default stream startup used to be an enlarged image of his game of choice for the day, but now it's a little animated figurine; a rendition of himself, overly plump and squishy beneath his face mask and black hoodie with comfortable-looking plaid pajama bottoms, sitting in a field of gently swaying grass and flowers, nursing a cup of tea.

"Soap made it for me," Ghost tells the chat, grinning at the influx of exclamation points and praises for the new image. "Go make sure you tell him how good the editing was on the most recent video; he did that one."

'Soap' has been a well-loved favorite for his viewers for months now. He's been making little animatics of Ghost's chibi masked character with voice lines from his streams and videos, his creativity and sense of humor quickly catching Ghost's attention the first time he got the notification that he was tagged in someone's comment on one of Soap's videos. Ghost had liked the video and left a comment praising his work and it snowballed from there; soon Ghost was the first to see every one of Soap's videos, and eventually he felt bad that Soap was doing all of this work for free, so he'd commissioned a longer animation of his most popular video of him struggling through a classic rage-bait game. Even now the image of his plump chibi self stuffed in a barrel and wildly swinging a bat to try to get himself higher (and cursing out the narrator) makes him laugh whenever he thinks about it.

The numbers had been impossible to ignore - people loved Soap's cartoons, and he clearly has an eye for editing. Seemed only logical to offer him a more full-time position. Ghost isn't hurting for money between his retirement and disability checks, and the revenue he gets from his videos and streams.

An alert pops up, showing another of Soap's creations - little Ghost opening a present and making a delighted face when confetti spills out. "Thanks for the five gifted subs, Gaz," Ghost says warmly. "If you got a sub make sure to thank Gaz in chat, and enjoy your new emotes - also courtesy of Soap. Now, you know how much I loved this game and we've dabbled in randomizers for it, but today I'm going to be playing a rando that even I don't know the settings for. We're going to have to figure it out as we go."

He pushes the keyboard shortcut to transition to his screenshare, showing a full screen display of Hollow Knight. The chat migrates to a smaller box in the corner, moving almost too quickly for him to see, his facecam nestled into the classic bottom right position so he doesn't block the recently acquired items block or the popups in the bottom left corner.

"You can thank Soap and Gaz when this rando takes us twenty hours," he teases, eyes crinkling from the force of his smile. "I think they've got a bet for it going; let's see if I can blow their estimates out of the water."

Five hours later, with only shade cloak, one dreamer, and a recent items-block full of just 'grass', Ghost has to admit defeat for the day. "I'm sure I missed one bloody strand in Greenpath and that's where claw is," he laments to his chat.

A VIP user pops up; SgtSoap.

'Already callin' it quits Ghost?' the message reads.

"Laugh it up, Soap; yer gonna be cryin' havin' to edit this shit."

'Worth it' comes Soap's reply, and then he's distracted greeting those who address him in chat, thanking them for their praise on the most recent video and the emotes and chibi Ghost he designed.

Ghost's eye catches, suddenly, on an influx of users wishing Soap a happy anniversary. He tilts his head to one side, then leans in to scroll up in chat to see if he missed a message that would explain the anniversary chats, but can find none. But Soap is thanking them with his patented string of emotes and grinning faces.

"Alright lads," Ghost finally says, disgruntled without really understanding why. "That'll be it from me for today, we'll pick it back up on Saturday. Have a good night everyone, see you in the next one!"

He ends stream and triple checks that his camera is turned off before removing his mask with a sigh. For years he wore the damn thing and now he only puts it on for a handful of hours at a time on stream, but since retirement he's lost his endurance for putting up with the clinging, stiff cloth and his own breath against his face as much as he used to. He stretches his jaw, flexes his fingers which have grown stiff and tired around the controller, and twists slowly from side to side until he gets that satisfying pop at the base of his spine.

That done, he starts the storage transfer of his VOD and gets up to make dinner. One of the perks of having his own schedule and regular access to his own kitchen means he's been able to really get into cooking as a hobby; his fridge is never empty, and even though he hasn't mastered the practice of only cooking for one person, the food is good enough that he doesn't mind eating the same meal for three days straight simply because he made it, and it's good.

His phone pings with a message and he takes his attention from the pot of boiling water on the hob to check it; it's from Soap, he always messages Ghost after his streams. Sometimes just an update to let him know an edit is ready for him to proof and post, sometimes not. Tonight it seems it's the latter; Soap has sent him a picture of what Ghost assumes is his back garden, somewhere remote and gorgeous, with a landscape of rolling fields and faraway mountains, their peaks swallowed by low-hanging clouds.

"Any plans for the long weekend?" he texts.

Ghost sighs to himself. He hadn't made any plans - despite being retired and having all the time in the world to himself, most of his socialization is still through chat, YouTube comments, and the text chains he maintains with Gaz, Price, and others still in the service. And Soap, of course. His real-life social circle is pitifully small.

"Probably try to finish that damn rando," he replies. "Or just read all weekend."

Soap reacts to the rando comment with laughter, the bubbles popping up as he types up a reply. "Shame I won't be able to sit in on those; got a family event all weekend. Three days of wrestling niblings and explaining YET AGAIN what I do for a living to my nan."

Ghost bites his lower lip, idly adding stiff strands of spaghetti to the pot, stirring the noodles as they begin to soften in the water. He hesitates on asking - it's not really his business, he doesn't even know Soap's name, let alone has any right to ask about his family or his personal life.

But Soap did bring it up first.

"For your anniversary?" he texts back.

Soap doesn't respond immediately, causing a fissure of unease to curl itself at the base of Ghost's spine. Maybe he'd overstepped, asking - they keep their relationship friendly but professional. Ghost knows that Soap is Scottish, that he's an Alpha; he's heard his voice and obviously seen his art, but that's the whole of it.

Before he can work himself into a fit over it, Soap's reply comes through; "Sorry, didn't mean fer chat to derail like that. It's been three years since I retired, I guess some people knew that from one of my vlogs."

Ghost stills at that. He didn't know Soap had a vlog channel.

"No worries," he texts back. "Happy three years."

"Aye, thanks. Still kind of strange not being woken up at arse o'clock for some bullshit mission."

Ghost smiles to himself - he can definitely relate. "Yeah. Been almost five years for me and it still gets me sometimes."

"Here's to makin' it out," Soap texts, with another picture, this one of the same view but with a hand coming in from out of frame, toasting the scene with a bottle of…

"Strongbow?" Ghost teases. "Thought you'd have better taste than that."

"My mam refuses to stock anything worth drinkin'," Soap replies with a laughing emoji. "Yet another way Ah'm gonna suffer this weekend."

"Godspeed, Sergeant," Ghost texts before he can think better of it. "Don't get into too much trouble."

"Aye? You at a rank to be givin' me orders, Ghost?"

Ghost smiles to himself and turns off the stove, gathering his hoodie around his hands so he can carry the pot over to a strainer and dump the water before returning the noodles to the pot. He's using a jarred sauce today, nothing too fancy, but the smell already has his stomach rumbling as he stirs the chunky red sauce into the noodles and takes his phone back up.

"As a matter of fact, I am," he says.

"Oh???"

"Classified, Soap."

"!!! Yer cruel."

"Correct."

Soap sends a string of emojis, the little yellow faces grimacing and groaning at nothing, making Ghost chuckle.

"What if I can guess?"

"Nothing's stopping you."

"But will you tell me if I'm right?"

"Negative."

"!!! CRUEL!!!"

"Affirmative."

"Ach, Ah'll get it outta ye."

Ghost laughs to himself, shaking his head. "Is it that important? I'm retired, it hardly matters anymore."

"Maybe I just want the satisfaction of knowin' more about ye."

Ghost hums quietly. Soap has always been like this - respectful to a fault, but unashamed with his curiosity. First, finding out Ghost's name - not too difficult since Ghost himself has mentioned it once or twice while on stream, and signs off on his official business emails with his name. Then his birthday - also not too difficult since Ghost hosts a charity stream every year during his birth month to raise money for veteran affairs. Little things. His preferred drink of choice. His favorite color. His top five comfort meals.

It's always good-natured enough not to set off alarm bells in Ghost's head, and it's not like it's incredibly private information. Soap has never once hinted at wanting to see his face, or even asked his secondary gender, or the city he lives in.

Ghost doesn't make a secret of the fact that he's retired military, but he never answers questions about missions, where he served, even which branch he served in. Knowing his rank will make Soap the first person outside of Gaz and Price who are involved in both his civilian life and his military one.

And, strangely, Ghost wants him to know.

"I won't deny if you guess right," Ghost finally texts him. "But you only get five chances."

"Ah'll get it in three."

Ghost arches a brow, sets his phone down to dish himself up a bowl of spaghetti, and carries his phone and food to his plush, overly large sofa. The thing was a bitch to move into his flat but it's worth its weight in gold for being comfortable and perfectly molded after many years to the shape of his body, where he can rest in a way that doesn't cause his many, many aches and pains to flare up after sitting so long in his gaming chair.

"Don't you have a family gathering to suffer through?"

"Aye, but this is more important."

Ghost…doesn't know how to respond to that. People wanting to get to know him isn't new - both in service and out of it, the mask and general secrecy with which he carries himself through his daily life attracts the curious like flies to honey.

But this is the first time he actually wants someone to pry. He dares not investigate that too deeply, still prickly with the knowledge that Soap having an 'anniversary' and what that might have meant caused such a negative reaction in him in the first place. He shouldn't get attached. Shouldn't let himself think of Soap as anything more than his business associate and animator.

"Three guesses, then," he finally texts back.

"What do I get if I win?"

"Satisfaction in knowing something about me?"

He can practically hear Soap's huff.

"How about a trade?" Soap texts. "I get yer rank, you get my name."

Ghost stares at his phone, surprised by the offer. Ghost is more liberal with the use of his name - his files and records are so heavily redacted it's not like anyone can draw a connection between his life and the military just knowing that much, but he's never learned Soap's real name. Assumed it was one of those things Soap wasn't comfortable sharing.

But now he's offering to share it with Ghost.

That strange feeling rears its head again - discomfort mixed with anticipation. With longing. Wanting the pleasure of knowing something about Soap no one else in his online life knows.

"Deal."

Since he knows Soap is otherwise occupied he has no expectations for edits or any other work beyond making sure his VODs are ready and he's prepped for his next stream on Saturday, so that leaves his entire Friday free. Going from such a rigid military structure to a lifestyle where he can literally fill his hours any way he likes had been a rough transition, but one Ghost embraced easily once he allowed himself to. He lets himself sleep in, waking with the sunrise. Lets himself nurse his tea until it goes cold and not force it down still piping-hot. Lets himself spend all his morning reading, or watching TV, or guiding his aching body through the long stretches and exercises his physical therapist taught him back when he still went.

He hardly feels bored, finding comfort and solace in these small, mundane routines, and rarely craving any social interaction to entertain himself.

But his brain keeps snagging on Soap's challenge. On their last conversation - their interactions have been sparse since the sign-off the night before. He's busy, and Ghost has no illusions about his importance in Soap's life outside of work, so he tries not to let it bother him. Tries not to let the fact that he's bothered, bother him.

Sighing to himself, he takes his laptop and brings up the cast to his big flatscreen - one of his first indulgent purchases after retirement. He navigates to YouTube and to the search bar, which already brings up a suggested search of SgtSoap because, admittedly, Ghost visits his page often. He always makes sure to leave a like and comment on Soap's videos, wanting to show support even when the content is unrelated to Ghost's own channel.

The most recent video is an animation of his own stream, which he's already watched, so he ignores it. But he's curious - Soap mentioned having a vlog channel, one Ghost didn't know existed, and he wonders how accessible it might be.

Turns out, it's not hard to find. There's a link to it on Soap's 'About Me'. He clicks on it and feels an odd kick in his chest as rows and rows of thumbnails show up, all featuring…

Well, one of the most drop-dead gorgeous Alphas he's ever seen. Blue eyes with a subtle ring of Alpha red, dark hair shaved in a mohawk that couldn't possibly have been regulation while Soap served, a smile that could charm the habit off a nun.

"Damn," Ghost mutters under his breath, and clicks on the most recent video. It's a few weeks old - the timestamps on this channel don't seem to come with any rhyme or reason. It opens with a wide view of a kitchen counter top, the surface a dark mottled green and the cabinets behind it painted a complimentary off-white. The screen pops up with the title 'Cooking With Jen, Episode 5' and then in comes Soap, his arm around the shoulders of a willowy redheaded woman. Generic elevator music fades out and their voices come in mid-conversation, he recognizes Soap's voice and the same Scottish drawl of the woman as she shoves his arm off her and flicks him on the cheek.

"Get yer feckin' pits out ma face, ye bellend," she says. Ghost assumes she's 'Jen'.

Soap laughs and yanks gently on her ponytail, making her hiss and shove at him again. "'Bellend'? Talkin' like Callum now, aye?"

"Come off it," Jen mutters, rolling her eyes, though there's a blush on her cheeks at the mention of the other name - her boyfriend? No, Ghost spots the bright diamond on her third finger. Fiancé, or husband. "Ah dinnae ken why Ah put up wi' ye, bloody tosspot."

"Always a pleasure," Soap says good-naturedly, then turns to fix the camera with that winning smile, yanking Jen under his arm again despite her squawk of protest. "G'morning, suds and suddettes, and welcome back tae another episode of cooking with my marvelous, gracious, gorgeous sister Jen."

Jen glares at him, and Ghost laughs to himself when he sees her visibly struggle with clinging to her annoyed demeanor and letting Soap's compliments butter her up. "Well, that's true at least," she finally says, tossing her hair. She gives the camera a smile of her own, and Ghost can definitely see the family resemblance now - they have that same big, off-kilter grin that promises all sorts of mischief. "Mornin' lovelies, today we've got another request: I'm teachin' ma baby brother how tae make Shepherd's Pie!"

Ghost arches a brow, secretly pleased with the choice. His mum used to make Shepherd's pie at least once a week and even the smell of it is enough to take him back to their cramped, yellow kitchen, listening to her humming her old favorite songs as she beat the potatoes into a chunky mash, the dusting of cinnamon in the meat, the way it always sat heavy and warm in his stomach because he'd always eat too much of it and be useless until he slept it off.

"Entertain 'em while I get things ready," Jen says, pinching Soap's cheek in a way that makes him huff and bat at her hand. She grins and turns away, going off screen as Soap smiles at the camera. His cheeks are pink, more than just that pinch ought to have done.

"Since Ah ken the comments will already guess, yes this was another high on ma personal list," he explains, effortlessly charming and energetic for the camera. The space is well-lit with natural light and soft overheads. He looks good, comfortable in this space - maybe Jen's home, maybe his mother's, Ghost can't tell from the limited view he's given.

"Oh, aye?" Jen calls from off-screen, the sound of the fridge door opening and closing accompanying her words. "Another fer the tool belt of this mystery love of yer life, eh?"

Soap's blush darkens and he glares playfully off camera. But the words make Ghost's stomach tense. Love of his life? Is Soap mated? Courting someone?

He hates that he does it, but he pauses the video since Soap's head is conveniently turned, screenshots the image and zooms in on his neck. The slightly pinkened swell of his mating gland is on full display, and while the image is somewhat grainy, Ghost can't pick out any marks of teeth, new or old. No bruising either, like an Omega would leave behind if they were still in the courting phase.

That odd, hot feeling squirms unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach, making Ghost forgo his food and set it on the side table. After years of therapy both on active duty and after, he's unfortunately become very adept at picking up and thoroughly examining each of his emotions, encouraged to not lock things away and bury them deep like he used to when he was at work. Fear, grief, anxiety, envy - those were all ugly things, things that made monsters of men, that he kept thorough lock and key on so that it didn't interfere with his job.

It kept him alive, then, he cannot make himself believe otherwise. But now, as a civilian, he has to let himself feel things. Let his instincts tell him what his conscious mind cannot.

And right now, the thought of Soap courting someone sends a vicious, surprisingly sharp stab of jealousy right through his chest. Which is stupid - they barely know each other, and he certainly has no right to Soap's personal life. He doesn't even know Soap's real name - yet. If he has someone in his life, Ghost should be happy for him.

But he isn't.

He sighs to himself, kneads the feeling out through his palms across his thighs, and returns to the video, pressing Play. It resumes just where he left it, in time for Soap's cheeks to darken with a blush that spreads down his throat. Clearly Jen hit a nerve.

"Ah'm gonna marry him one day, just you wait," he mutters. Another sharp feeling, envy for this nameless, faceless person that has captured the attention and affection of such a charming, vibrant Alpha. Whoever they are is lucky as Hell.

"Ye havenae even met 'im face tae face!" Jen replies. "Ye dinnae even ken what he looks like!"

…An online relationship, then? It's not unheard of, especially in this day and age. He didn't figure Soap for the type, honestly, but that's just another indicator of how he doesn't really know Soap all that well. These feelings are foundless and have no place here, he cannot let them potentially interfere with their working relationship.

His fingers itch for his phone, but he forces himself not to reach for it. Soap's busy. Ghost has no right to his time.

Soap rolls his eyes at his sister who is still off-screen, then plasters on another wide smile for the camera. "Behave yerselves in the comments," he warns playfully, pointing at the camera. Ghost's fingers twitch again.

The comments.

He shouldn't, but he does. Damn him, he does. He scrolls down to the comments, most of them praises for how the food turns out and hoping Soap and Jen enjoy the meal. A few people who are asking if 'Jess' will join the videos any time soon.

Jess? Is that Soap's…?

No, Jen definitely used 'him', so did Soap. So whoever Soap's mystery partner is, is a man.

Almost as old as his earliest memory, Ghost knows when to pay attention to the little worm of instinctive curiosity in the back of his head. Some thread of a plot that needs to be picked at, some detail in a report that he knows he should chase down and uncover. He knows better than to ignore it these days, even though it makes him a little uncomfortable to be digging so deeply and intensely into Soap's personal life. This is exactly the kind of thing that worried him when he first started streaming - people get too invested, they draw conclusions about you that are incorrect, presumptive, they pick up on signs that you didn't know you were giving. Parasocial relationships and heavy reliance on you acting or behaving a certain way to feed into their fantasies.

But he's not using it to harm Soap, he reasons. He just wants to know. He needs to follow that thread.

He opens another tab and searches the 'Cooking With Jen' playlist on Soap's vlog channel, finding that on top of Shepherd's Pie, Soap has learned how to make spagbol, caramel slices, Cornish pasties, and…Yorkshire puddings.

That makes Ghost pause, fingers twitching on his keyboard.

These are all things he's mentioned as being his favorite comfort foods.

The timestamps tell him that each video came mere days after Ghost confessed that information, either on stream or to Soap - one of those offhand comments he makes to ease Soap's respectful prying, talking about their civilian life, shooting the shit between discussing edits or ideas for videos.

Every single one, without fail, has been one of Ghost's favorite meals he's mentioned.

He goes to the comments.

"One of these days he's going to let slip who this mystery man is," one commenter writes.

"Maybe he's shy? Doesn't like to be on camera?"

"31:45 Do you see how SOFT his eyes get when he talks about this guy? Me and who honestly."

He shouldn't.

He clicks to the timestamp on that particular video - something's in the oven, there's mixing bowls and smears of flour and messy baking utensils scattered about, Jen and Soap nursing some brew while they wait for whatever's cooking.

"Ah'll definitely need to perfect these. He's got a sweet tooth," Soap says idly, and Christ alive, his eyes are soft. His voice, quieter and raspier when he speaks, aches with unabashed fondness. He's staring at the oven with such a deep look of longing, and Jen is smiling at him in that soft, older sister way. The same way Ghost's mum used to smile at Tommy when he'd talk about Beth.

"These're a good first try," Jen tells him gently. "Plenty of time to perfect it, aye?"

"Aye," Soap says, a little sadly as he huffs a breath and takes a drink. "Aye, plenty of time."

Jen eyes her brother for a long moment. She opens her mouth, but the video cuts - a sloppy edit, Ghost has no idea what she said because when the video comes back, it's to them pulling out a sheet of shortbread, Jen talking bright and animated about applying the layer of caramel and chocolate on top before leaving it in the fridge to set.

Soap still has that soft, longing look in his eyes, and Ghost forces himself to close out of the video, feeling like he's encroached on something secret. Something he shouldn't have seen, even though it's been posted publicly for anyone to come across.

The timestamps match. The food matches. The question of this mystery man who has so thoroughly captured Soap's attention is a frequent topic of discussion in the comments, but he doesn't see any of the comments being liked or replied to by Soap - which is odd in itself as it seems he likes or replies to almost every comment otherwise.

He doesn't know what to do with this information. If he should even do anything. Soap hasn't made any overtures towards him, has been respectful, polite, and friendly without being flirty. It seems awfully presumptuous to think that these videos have anything to do with him - maybe Soap is just taking inspiration from Ghost's conversations, there's no law against that.

But that damn thread is tugging real hard at the back of his mind, and he can't let it go.

The idea has formed before he can stop himself and think about it. He takes up his phone and pulls up his and Soap's text thread, trying not to feel any kind of way about the fact that Soap hasn't texted him again. He's busy, Ghost knows he's busy, fuckin' Hell.

"Get a hold of yourself," he mutters to no one in particular, staring at the last message he sent. That agreement - his rank for Soap's name. He wants Soap's name, wants to know everything about him, wants to know if there's a world where the stars have aligned in such a way where all of this is real.

It could be messy. Fuck, it will be messy. If it doesn't work out - if Ghost doesn't live up to this version that Soap's built up in his head… If Soap is somehow too loud, too bright, too much for Ghost at the end of the day… He'd lose a friend, certainly. Lose the easy conversation and the feeling he gets knowing that Soap is someone who at least shares some of his life experiences, can sympathize and understand in equal measure. If they can't keep things professional he'd lose his editor, his animator.

Fuck. It'll be messy.

"The Indian place down the road is finally open," Ghost types to Soap. "Been craving a chicken tikka for months. Wish me luck that it's good."

He sets his phone down. Then, after a moment, he picks it back up to silence it.

After his Saturday stream - in which he finally completed that fucking randomizer because of course there had been one blade of grass in the Fungal Wastes entrance he didn't hit, which finally gave him claw - Ghost sends the VODs to Soap's email for him to work on when he's done with the long weekend, and loads up Soap's vlog channel.

He didn't expect a video straight away. It's been less than 48 hours since he sent that text about the chicken tikka.

'Cooking With Jen, Episode 6' features Soap and his sister. They're making chicken tikka masala. It was uploaded barely an hour ago.

The correlation is so blatant Ghost is honestly surprised Soap would be so brazen. Then again, Ghost gave no indication he's heard of or watched any of Soap's vlogs. Maybe he feels safe, confident that there's enough degrees of separation not to show his hand.

Soap is animated and lively in the video, and between him and Jen another woman - older, clearly their mother - flits between them, laughing and telling stories while Soap and Jen work. The editing is efficient and without flare, further indicating that the video was a rush job. Perhaps Soap hurried to get it done before he had to travel home, or more likely his laptop he takes when he travels isn't as robust as whatever setup he has at home.

It doesn't matter. Ghost's heart taps its beat triple-time as he watches them work, listens to Soap and his sister and mother chatter happily with each other, swapping stories and scolding each other for getting underfoot. A soft pang lands in Ghost's chest, another fond memory of his own mother, once him and Tommy were old enough to help in the kitchen. Tommy was more interested in eating the ingredients than using them. Ghost used to have to give him a bowl of extras for him to snack on so he didn't interfere with the making of the meal.

His phone chimes before he's finished with the video, and he glances at it and reaches for it when he sees Soap's name on the screen. "Alright, here's my first official guess," it reads. "Lieutenant."

Ghost stares at the word. Without thinking, he presses call. Soap picks up on the second ring.

"There's no bloody way you got it first try," he grumbles. Soap's laughter is bright and warm. There's noise in the background, shrieks of children at play and the clinking of glasses and mugs. He must still be at his parents' house, of course he is, Ghost shouldn't be interrupting his holiday weekend.

But Soap did pick up.

"Shouldnae underestimate me, Simon," Soap replies with another laugh. "Yer not old enough tae be a Captain and I reckon ye were an officer - Ah've seen the type." There's the sound of a door opening and closing, the background noise growing muted, the low rush of wind taking its place. "So Ah'm right?" he teases coyly.

"Fuckin' Hell," Ghost mutters. "But yeah, you're right." He pauses, swallowing hard. "So do I get your name?"

Soap hums, clicking his tongue as though deciding the issue. At Ghost's impatient noise, he says, "John. MacTavish."

The name pings, insanely, in Ghost's brain. Somewhere deep and buried, stored in the vault of information that he'll probably die with. "You applied to be SAS," he breathes. "Demolitions."

Soap's pause this time is much more surprised. "…Aye," he finally says. "Got ma knee blown tae shit before it went through though. Did you…?" He pauses, clearly weighing the impact of pressing further. "How'd'ye know that?"

"I was SAS," Ghost tells him. "You would have been on our team. I was…looking forward to it. Your record was - is - impressive."

"Ships passin' in the night, eh?" Soap says, sounding strained. "Ah would've…liked that. Workin' with ye." His swallow is audible. "Ah mean, Ah like workin' with ye now, can only imagine what a team we'd'a made in the field."

Ghost wets his lips, imagining just that. Soap at his side, fierce and gorgeous, guarding his six or in the scope of Ghost's rifle while Ghost guides him through an op. Quiet nights together with Gaz and Price around a table, playing cards and swapping war stories. An Alpha entering an established team with an Omega requires a scent sample to ensure no instinctive rejection. For the life of him, Ghost can't remember the particulars of Soap's scent, can only remember it being smoky and sharp like gunpowder and charcoal. Heady and gritty on his soft palate.

He's been silent for too long, long enough for Soap to let out a quiet, unsure rumble into the phone. It makes Ghost's shoulders loosen, a calm kind of certainty settling in his stomach. He could have known John MacTavish in another life, but he gets to know him in this one. One where they can be patient, friendly, without the risk of being shot at or worse. Unhurried, comfortable.

Ghost has had too much shit dealt to him to believe in things like karma and fate, but maybe this… Maybe this is the universe deciding to cut him a break. Give him a second chance. A consolation prize worth its weight in gold for all that has been done to him.

So he says, "That chicken tikka was pure shite."

"…Oh?" Soap asks, confused.

It wasn't. Ghost hasn't even had a chance to try the new Indian place he mentioned.

"Yeah," he says, and swallows. "Think you would do better?"

Soap makes a sound, completely without meaning to, Ghost is sure. It's a deep, rumbling chuff - the sound of an Alpha made incandescent with happiness. A purely joyful noise that does completely unfair things to Ghost's heartbeat.

"Aye," Soap rasps. "Ah reckon I could."

Ghost smiles, blushing despite himself. "I'll bring the ingredients and somethin' worth drinking, you bring the skillset. Deal?"

Soap huffs, but Ghost can tell he's smiling.

"Deal."

"So," Soap murmurs, once the plates are wiped clean by their hungry mouths and they're nursing proper brew on Ghost's comfortable couch. He came straight from his homestead, he told Ghost, with neither shame nor embarrassment, and made himself right the fuck at home.

He looks good in Ghost's home, and that charcoal-grit scent has filled Ghost's head with a pleasant haze.

"Found ma vlog channel, did ye?"

Ghost hums. He's not wearing his mask, refuses to in his own home when he's not on stream. It hasn't escaped his notice how Soap's pupils dilated the moment he saw Ghost, how he keeps sneaking glances like he's staring at something precious, how his face goes soft and affectionate whenever he thinks Ghost isn't looking.

"Wasn't hard," Ghost shrugs. "Not like you tried to hide it."

"Aye, true," Soap concedes. He pauses, then, biting his lower lip, a line forming between his brows. "Ah ken ma suds get a little excited in the comments but Ah…hope I didnae make ye uncomfortable."

"What, calling me the love of your life and how you're going to marry me someday?" Ghost teases, grinning at the deep flush that spreads over Soap's cheeks and down his throat. He wants to tuck his face into that space between his jaw and shoulder, feel the warmth for himself, but he resists. Ghost takes another drink. "I was jealous," he confesses.

Soap's eyes snap to him, widening.

"Hearing you talk about this mystery man. Not knowing who you meant at first," Ghost says. "When people in chat were talking about your anniversary, before you explained. I was jealous." His cheeks grow warm when Soap keeps staring at him, surprised and dark-eyed. Hungry, even though they just ate. "Then, when I texted about the Indian and you made it literally the next day…"

"Ma mam taught us tae cook," Soap tells him. "Taught us the importance of feedin' people. It's like…protection. Takin' care'a someone. I…" He clears his throat, looks away. "I wanted to be able to do that fer ma future mate."

The unspoken 'for you' is loud and clear.

"Johnny," Ghost whispers. Soap's eyes snap to him, flash dark and dilated at the nickname, the quiet intimacy with which Ghost says it. Ghost's cheeks go warm, he fights the urge to shrink down and try to hide from Soap's piercing, all-seeing gaze. "It was delicious."

"Aye?" Soap presses, leaning a little closer, braver.

"Yeah," Ghost rasps. "More than enough for your future mate."

Soap's eyes dip, briefly, to Ghost's mouth, then back up. He smiles. "And he hasn't even tried ma other fare, yet."

"There's always tomorrow," Ghost murmurs, fighting back a smile of his own. "And the day after…"

"One day at a time," Soap agrees, understanding in that effortless way he always has. Ghost can't possibly promise him forever, not right now. But what is forever but a series of dinners and breakfasts, of morning coffees and teasing about tea being the superior beverage, of long nights at their separate desktops doing their work before one of them gently coaxes the other to take a break? Of lips to foreheads and lighthearted bickering over whose turn it is to do the laundry, of handing off ibuprofen for migraines and aching knees, passing a roll of toilet paper through the door because of course one of them forgot to replace it?

What is forever but thousands of little moments just like this, of Ghost's heart hammering in his chest as Soap leans in and Ghost meets him, over and over and over again? Of hearing that unconscious happy chuff against his lips and answering it with a sweet purr of his own?

When Soap kisses him, it certainly feels like the start of forever.