Chapter Text
It was supposed to be his nephew’s birthday today. He would have been… Fuck. Ghost couldn’t remember anymore how old Joseph was supposed to be. All his grief and trauma had been so muddled over the years. The details he desperately wanted to remember kept slipping like water through his fingers. But of course, the things he wished he could forget were always there in the back of his mind, ready to strike whenever he let his guard down.
And today, his guard was down.
Ghost sat in his room in silence, staring at the long-since faded and tattered piece of cardstock in his hand. His tactical vest had been cast aside from the bed, one of the little pockets still open from where he had pulled the paper out.
Joseph always loved drawing, and Ghost cherished this last little scrap he still had with his nephew’s handiwork scribbled across it, nonsensical crayon art, but beautiful nonetheless.
Bloody hell.
He needed to get out of his room and probably go join the rest of the 141 in the rec room lest someone get the bright idea to come and check on him. Soap was making a habit of that, and Ghost didn’t know how many more lame excuses he could use to brush away the concern before Soap would start to press harder.
Something about the way Soap asked how he was doing always made him hard to lie to. Ghost never had an issue brushing people off in the past. Hell, he could even dissuade Price's worry most of the time. But Johnny was different. It was impossible to say if Soap had slipped past his emotional barriers or if Ghost had let this man into his head. Either way, he wasn’t sure when it had started.
The thought had his muscles tensing and his eyes squeezing shut, but the crinkle of paper made his eyes flash back open.
“Fuck!” He had tensed his hand around the frail artwork, tearing it even more along the folds and creases.
Ghost gently set the drawing on the mattress and smoothed his hand over it to try and undo the damage. It didn’t help much, which brought a new wave of guilt that threatened to bury him. Ghost was the whole reason his family was dead in the first place, and now he couldn't even control himself enough to respect what little he had left of them?
His eyes started to sting, so he quickly re-folded the drawing, tucking it carefully into the pocket of his hoodie. He stood up and rolled his shoulders, taking a deep breath.
Just go to the rec room. Go and push it all down. Keep distracted.
Ghost didn’t have it in himself to leave the tactical vest haplessly discarded, so he moved it to lay neatly on the corner of his standard-issue mattress. He turned towards the door and adjusted his balaclava, ensuring it was still straight and secure.
For a few moments, the vestiges of guilt held him firmly in place, but he managed to put one foot in front of the other and leave for the rec room. Before making it within a few meters of the room, he could hear Soap and Gaz animatedly chatting about football, their voices echoing down the hall.
Soap was in the middle of telling the story of a perfect save he once made as his team's goalkeeper, ensuring they took home the victory, when Ghost quietly stepped into the room. He hoped his presence would go unacknowledged, if not unnoticed, but he couldn’t ever be that lucky.
Gaz and Soap were sitting on the sofa, but while Gaz's back was to the door, Soap's was not. And even though Ghost was certain his steps were silent and controlled, Soap’s eyes flicked over to meet his, cutting himself off mid-sentence as a smile broke across his face.
Price was sat at a small table just behind the couch and looked up at the sudden silence in the room, and even Gaz checked over his shoulder to see what had made the Scot stop talking so suddenly. Ghost did not miss the smile Gaz hid as he turned back around.
“Hey, Lt!” Soap waved Ghost over. “I was just telling Gaz about the highlight of my school football career.”
“The one where you-”
"Yes, the one where they were tied and down to PKs, and he stopped the last shot from going in, so they won." Price cut Ghost off.
At this, Soap put on perhaps the most dramatically offended look Ghost had ever seen. “Captain!”
"Not the first time any of us have heard that story, Sergeant." Price chuckled, which made Gaz start snickering.
“Oh, keep off it.” Soap crossed his arms, but his expression relaxed when he looked back at Ghost and nodded toward the empty spot on the couch next to him.
Ghost padded over but sat on the arm of the couch instead. To keep his appearance relaxed, he pulled a leg up onto the cushion and rested his elbow on his knee. He didn't even realize how close his boot was to Johnny's leg until the man gripped his ankle and turned to face him better.
“Ye play any sports in school, Lt?”
He just shook his head in response, trying to ignore how his shoulders bristled at the question about his childhood. Soap frowned a bit, just a whisper of concern brushing his expression. He inhaled to say something, which had Ghost’s gut clenching nervously, but Gaz pipped up to brag about his athletic victories.
“Besides, Soap, that PK save is nothing compared to-”
Price chimed in again, sounding even more like a tired dad. “Nothing compared to the half-court shot you made playing basketball with the marines in North Carolina.”
“How did you-?”
"Because all of you are always trying to one-up each other with the same goddamn stories." Price started to laugh at this, the rest of them following. Even Ghost allowed himself a little chuckle under his breath.
But Ghost was still half focused on Johnny’s hand resting on his boot, and now his laughter too. Somehow even Soap’s laughter sounded distinctly Scottish.
“Oh hey, I’ve got some new stories, actually.” Gaz smiled and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small stack of photos. “My cousin had her baby. So, she sent some pictures. Here take a look."
He passed the stack off to Soap, who removed his hand from Ghost’s ankle to take them. “Oh man, this makes me miss ma niece and nephew, ma wee cousins too.”
Ghost immediately stiffened at this, limbs feeling like they were freezing over, and Joseph’s little drawing in his pocket felt like a ton of lead threatening to cave in his chest. No one seemed to notice the tension Ghost radiated yet, as Soap started flipping through the photos.
He sat up straighter and planted his foot back on the floor. Coming here had been a mistake; he wasn't in the right headspace to be around people right now. But just as he shifted his weight to get up, Soap spoke up again.
“Hey, what’s this old photo?”
Soap's voice felt too loud in his ears, and he startled, glancing down at the picture in question.
“Hmm?” Gaz leaned over to see. “Oh yes. My cousin also found some old pictures of my mum on her wedding day and sent those along too."
Ghost’s heart tightened. The cold in his limbs felt so real, now seeping into his chest and stomach. Looking at the photo, all Ghost could see was his own mother. She had looked just like this in her wedding photos, so happy and excited. Before his father had lost himself entirely to drugs and turned into an abusive asshole.
Sometimes his mum had talked about what a loving man his father used to be, hoping to comfort her son. But that knowledge had always felt cursed to Simon like he was being teased with something he could have had if the world hadn't been so cruel.
Ghost felt Soap nudge him and had to suppress the urge to jump at the contact. His eyes slid to Soap's face. The man’s lips were moving, probably saying something, but the words weren't filtering into Ghost's brain.
Hoping it was a yes or no question, Ghost grunted something that sounded close to an affirmative and pushed himself up to stand.
“Forgot something.” He gritted through his teeth and swiftly exited the room.
The hallway felt too damn narrow, and he was nearly stumbling as he returned to his room. He slammed the door behind him, breaths threatening to turn into hyperventilation. He bent over to rest his hands on his knees, letting his weight lean against the back of the door.
“It's the fucking past. You're fine. Breathe, just breathe." He started to shake, feeling like all his blood had drained from his body, leaving him cold as stone. What was that bloody fucking breathing exercise he had seen Soap teaching to an FNG after the poor kid’s first mission gone awry?
“Come on, lad, just breathe with me. We're gaunnae inhale for four seconds, then hold and exhale for four seconds. Then hold again, and we'll repeat.”
Desperate to calm down at least a little, Ghost gave it a try. For a while, all he achieved were gasps, but then he managed to get a long deep breath in and hold it. The following exhale came easier, as did the subsequent iterations of this box breathing, or whatever Soap called it.
He was still trembling and making a conscious effort to pull oxygen into his lungs, but he managed to stand and make his way toward his small bathroom. It was times like these that made him perpetually grateful to Price for getting him such a private room.
Turning the light on to see his reflection right now would be an absolute mistake, so he left it dark and pulled the balaclava up and off, resting the fabric over the edge of the sink. He braced his palms against the metal basin and hung his head.
When the shaking turned to occasional tremors, he finally reached up to turn the faucet on as hot as the base's shitty water heater would allow. It wasn't an unbearable temperature, but when he stuck his fingers under it, it shocked his system just enough to make that phantom chill fade.
Ghost cupped his hands to let some water pool there, watching it overflow for a moment before he splashed it onto his face. Another few deep breaths. As he straightened up, eyes downcast away from the mirror, he reached for his bath towel hanging over the shower rod behind him and dried his face off.
He picked the balaclava back up but didn't put it on. It seemed it had gotten caught in the crossfire and was now damp. With his mind being clear again, he idly hoped no one thought much of his abrupt departure earlier.
And then, as if this was a goddamn sitcom with cringe-worthy comedic timing, there was a knock at his bedroom door.
“Hey, Ghost? Ye in there, mate?” Soap was on the other side, giving the door another knock for good measure.
“No.” Ghost responded loud enough for Johnny to hear through the door. He crossed back out of the bathroom and to his closet, tossing the damp balaclava onto the small pile of dirty laundry.
“Come on, Lt. I just wan tae make sure yer alright.”
Ghost sighed and grabbed a clean mask from the duffle at the bottom of the closet before crossing over to the door.
“Dinnae ignore me. I ken somethin’ is-” Soap cut off and looked up at Ghost as the door whipped open in front of him.
“I’m upright, aren’t I, Sergeant?” Ghost crossed his arms, feet planted shoulder width apart, and weight balanced evenly.
“Obviously, Lieutenant. But if that’s yer bar fer bein’ alright, we’ve got some work tae do." Johnny brushed past Ghost to enter the room, despite the blatant lack of an invitation. Ghost pivoted toward the man, who simply crossed over and sat on his bed, patting the open space next to him.
Anxiety bubbled around the edges of Ghost's frame again, but he was determined to keep himself composed. "What do you think you're doing?"
“Tryin’ tae teach my numptie of a friend that he can talk tae me when he’s got somethin’ on his mind.” Soap paused when it was clear Ghost had no intention of budging. “And tae tell him that this fell out o’ his pocket when he fled the rec room.”
Soap held up his hand, a small folded piece of paper sticking up between his index and middle fingers. Ghost's heart dropped, and he quickly patted at his pockets to try and feel for Joseph's drawing, as if it would suddenly rematerialize there.
He forced his posture to relax, arms falling back down to his sides. It wouldn't be the first time he out-maneuvered Soap. All he needed to do was choose the right moment to strike, and he could snag the drawing from Soap’s hand.
Tensions rose in the room, or maybe it was just the adrenaline in Ghost’s system. It felt like it had been quiet for several minutes now. So, when Soap went to say something in the face of his superior officer’s silence, Ghost lunged and reached for the little piece of crayon art. But the Scot had seen it coming and moved his whole arm away, striking his free hand out to block Ghost.
“MacTavish, hand it over.” Ghost practically growled through his teeth.
Soap grunted with the effort of keeping the bigger man back. “Not ‘til you tell me what’s- steamin’ jesus- ‘til you tell me what’s wrong.”
Ghost’s breaths started coming faster again, breathing heavily through his nose as he gritted his teeth so hard the pain radiated down into his jaw. He couldn’t talk to Soap about this. He needed to get that drawing back, to get that piece of Joseph back.
With the advantage of Soap already pressing into his chest, Ghost gripped the man’s wrist and yanked him closer, making another grab for the delicate bit of cardstock. But Ghost's panic made him sloppy, and Soap easily moved his hand away.
“Soap, that’s- Just give it-” Ghost didn’t know what to say.
In response, Soap just smirked and twisted his wrist to pull away. When he went to respond to Ghost’s stuttered starts of sentences, something in the lieutenant snapped.
“Fuck. Soap!” His voice was bordering on frantic, trying to grasp at the Scot. “I need that, please.”
Soap’s smirk vanished, replaced by confusion now clouding his expression. “Lt?”
“Johnny-” Ghost’s voice cracked, dropping to a whisper. “My nephew, please. It’s- It’s all I have left.”
Soap practically turned white with how pale he went, the confusion giving way to guilt. “Lt… Simon, I’m sorry.” He said on an exhale, handing the paper back over immediately and stepping back to give Ghost room.
Ghost took it, his heart beginning to calm again. He didn’t know what to say now, ashamed he let Johnny see him like this.
“I didnae even look- I didnae ken. I shouldnae hae- I’m so sorry.” Soap reached out hesitantly, but Ghost took a step back, his gaze dropping to the floor. Johnny let him have the extra physical space, but he needed to ask. This was obviously part of some more significant issue, whatever had bothered him in the rec room. "Talk to me, Simon. What's wrong?"
But Ghost just shook his head, unable to find the right words, or any words for that matter. So, Johnny took a chance, slowly stepping back toward Ghost, giving him every opportunity to pull away again. But he didn’t.
“Come, let’s just sit.” He reached out and gently took Ghost’s elbow, pulling him carefully over to the bed to sit him down.
They were both quiet for a moment. Ghost couldn’t bring himself to look up, not wanting to reveal any further emotion to his Sergeant. But Johnny just sat beside him quietly, his fingers fidgeting in his lap, trying to decide whether further physical contact was a good idea.
“Yer nephew… Ye’ve never talked about your family. Is he...?” Soap was afraid to finish the question, that saying dead would further trigger Ghost.
Ghost silently stared down at the paper still in his hand for the longest time, and Johnny was starting to worry the man had gone catatonic.
"Dead. Long time ago." The words were soft but harsh and definitely unforgiving. But the lack of forgiveness wasn't directed towards Johnny. It was… guilt. So much guilt.
Soap’s heart clenched. He had really fucked this up. “Ghost, I…”
"He's dead because of me. And I… This is all I have left of him." Ghost slowly unfolded the paper, tilting it towards Soap for him to see.
It was just a faded bit of childish crayon art, but clearly a cherished memory. A cherished memory Soap had used to tease and goad his friend with. “I shouldnae hae kept this from ye. I ken what it’s like to lose someone ye love.”
“Today should have been his birthday." Ghost's voice was still near a whisper, and he almost couldn't believe what he was saying. First, the emotional outburst, and now just sitting here, being vulnerable with his subordinate. But the anxiety of it was somehow leveled out with something akin to relief. He trusted Soap, and it made the admissions easier.
Soap’s eyes widened a bit. Simon was clearly struggling to keep his head above water, struggling to tread through the grief. He obviously had been trying to push it all down. The man was always stoic. Soap hadn't even noticed anything was off until… Until the pictures.
“Gaz’s photos.”
Ghost nodded. “Seeing all those photos, and then the picture of his mum… It all reminded-” He cut himself off. Talking about his own mum and the rest of his family was too far, too much right now.
“Joseph was supposed to be the latest generation. I never wanted a family. I’m not the kind of person that gets a family, even before-” Ghost had to stop himself again. “He was supposed to be the latest… Only to be the last. And it was my fault.”
“Simon… I cannae pretend to ken what ye’ve been through. But I ken who ye are, especially out in the field. Ye’ve always gone above and beyond to make sure we make it out of every mission. A few bumps and bruises along the way, o’ course, it comes with the territory. But I ken ye did everything ye possibly could hae.”
Soap thought back to Ghost guiding him through Las Almas, getting them both the fuck out of there, and Soap had long since written off the guilt he felt he had seen in his lieutenant's eyes. But this made him second guess that appraisal.
Ghost was quiet again, but he didn’t seem mad, just empty almost, and Soap’s heart was aching for him. “Can I- Is physical touch okay for ye right now?” Soap asked.
For just a second, Ghost thought maybe Soap was making fun of him. He knew he wasn’t exactly a cuddly guy, so his eyes snapped up to gauge Soap’s expression. And bloody fucking hell, he looked so concerned and so goddamned genuine.
Ghost felt himself nod, not really even aware he had made the decision. But Johnny wrapped his arm around his shoulders in the next moment, and the tension bled out of him.
“Thank you for telling me, Simon. I ken this is hard, but I’m glad ye told me.”
Ghost leaned into the Scot, letting him take his weight. He folded the drawing back up, tucking it safely away.
“Only Price knows.”
“And I willnae tell anyone. I promise, Lt. Ye can always confide in me.”
-
After letting some of his grief out to Johnny, Ghost had a significantly easier time getting through the day, even if he hated to admit it. He was afraid for Johnny to know him so well, too well, and that he'd see Ghost how he saw himself and leave.
Or perhaps, worse, Johnny wouldn't judge his jagged, ugly bits. Maybe he would accept him. Maybe something good could come from this. At least at first. But Ghost knew what happened to the people that cared about him, and he couldn't risk something happening to Johnny.
But he managed to make it to the evening without feeling like his past was swallowing him alive. So despite the anxiety about his relationship with Soap, he was alright. Well, alright enough.
“Ye ready to call it a night, Lt?" Soap pulled the taller man from his thoughts after giving his watch a quick check. "The world-building in this book is putting me to sleep."
Ghost shrugged. They were sitting on the couch together in the rec room again. Soap had been reading a sci-fi novel, and Ghost looking over a new file from Price on an upcoming mission.
“Good. I didnae want tae fall asleep on ye." Soap chuckled as he stood and stretched out his back, raising his arms as a series of pops ran up his spine.
“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny.” Ghost tucked the file under his arm as he got to his feet.
“Haud yer wheest. I’ve heard ye sound like yer bones are rattling around loose. Dinnae get to judge.”
Ghost chuckled under his breath, “Translate.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
"Much better." Ghost nudged Soap, and they left for the barracks. Their rooms were only a few doors apart, but they made it to the lieutenant's first.
Ghost grabbed the handle and twisted, going to push into his room without much thought. But to his surprise, Soap had stopped and leaned against the wall. Ghost turned his gaze toward the man, this slight confusion apparent in his eyes. Soap only raised his eyebrows expectantly.
That cheeky little shite.
“Goodnight, Johnny.” Ghost couldn’t quite find the energy needed for their usual banter.
A playful smile broke out across Soap’s face regardless, and he pushed himself upright, giving Ghost a pat on the should and letting his hand rest there.
“Try to get some sleep tonight, aye, Lt?”
That certainly contradicted Ghost's plan to avoid sleeping, or more particularly the nightmares that plagued him around grim anniversaries such as today's.
“That is the plan.” He lied right through his teeth.
That clearly did not convince Soap, but he exhaled and squeezed Ghost's shoulder before letting go.
“Remember, you can always talk to me. G’night, Simon.” Johnny turned and continued on to his own room.
Ghost watched him go out of the corner of his eye, feeling something soft that physically stuck him in place, but when he heard Soap’s door latch closed, he finally pushed into his own room, locking the door behind him.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Johnny.” Ghost whispered to his room as he crossed to the bed, tossing Price’s file on the nightstand.