Chapter Text
Ghost didn’t believe in soulmates. That much Soap knew. The man was covered head to toe constantly and never made mention of anyone special in his life. He kept to himself.
Any mention of soulmates had him leaving the room.
Everyone had to have their soul marks registered, especially in the 141, but Ghost appeared to be an exception.
Okay, yes , he shouldn’t have looked at Ghosts file, but Price had offered for everyone to look at each others and Soap had requested to only look at one. So really it was Price’s fault.
Anyways, Ghost had said he didn’t believe in soulmates, despite Alejandro and Rodolfo being mates. That one hadn’t been much of a shock after how far the two went to save each other during the mission.
And Soap was happy for them, genuinely. It was frowned upon for fraternization between ranks, especially in their delicate line of work, but the two blended together so seamlessly that it seemed their superiors didn’t care.
The method of soulmarks was a difficult one. It could appear at anytime in your life, though most often right after you met your soulmate, and could be anything. It could look like a tattoo, a picture, a name.
The chances of finding it and putting together who it was were astronomical.
And yet.
Here Soap stood, with a scrawled S.R. over his heart and a sinking in his stomach. There was a tiny picture of a skull underneath like it wasn’t enough that he knew who the initials likely belonged to.
Just another reason to never take his shirt off. As if the scars weren’t enough. He was proud of his body now, body the remnants of his transition still bugged him from time to time.
Price knew about both. Had pieced it together after looking through his file a few times, but hadn’t done more than give him a solid shoulder pat and reminded him to come to him if he needed anything.
Alejandro and Rudy had their suspicions about the soulmark, had seen the way Ghost lingered around him and decided that was enough. They were a bit loud about it too, a bit too obvious to the point that Soap cringed at their attempts to coerce him into telling them more about his soulmate.
His answer was always the same, it didn’t matter if their marks didn’t match up.
And that happened sometimes. People fell in love with other people despite their matching marks, they could fight like any other couple, maybe only destined to be together for a short time. It was weird and complicated but it was a rule that you’d be in physical pain if your soulmate rejected you after you’d met. Some thought that pain was worth it, just knowing someone was out there and made for you. Some would die within hours of their mate, driven by pure heartbreak.
But Soap still loved the idea of someone out there, able to meet him at every level, loving him in his entirety not just because they were destined, but because they wanted to.
So he started experiencing the phantom pains the first night they’d all gone out as a team.
All crowded around a table, sipping at their drinks until they were well and truly drunk. Price had found a place within walking distance of their current base and had the place cleared, just another perk of being Captain, he’d get what he wanted. Apparently the bartender liked them well enough, if the steady stream of alcohol with little chatter was enough to go by.
The teams attention had been on a football game in the corner, but that had long since ended.
Now it was a ridiculous movie about soulmates that would surely end in the two together at the end, a favorite trope in the media. No matter what, they’d always get together and everything would be peachy and work out.
Half of the table was currently discussing soulmates, which was when Rudy and Alejandro linked their hands together and said they’d already found theirs, a matching set of roses on the palms of their hands. They were beautiful and intricate and played all up and down the inside of their fingers.
Soap’s heart was fit to burst out of his chest at how proud he was.
Price had admitted that he didn’t have a soulmate, a romantic one at least, but had always found people that had a mark for him platonically. Gaz had multiple soulmarks and even had one for Price, the other two I found as of yet. But he was still young and had plenty of time, the rest of the table was quick to remind him at his downtrodden look.
Then all heads turned to Ghost, whose mask was half up so he could sip at his drink, face twisted in a grimace as eyes weighed heavily in him. His skull mask was still affixed to his mask and got slightly in the way, Soap had noticed the way his eyes crinkled in frustration when the teeth would clack on the rim.
Which meant he also noticed when Ghost frowned heavily and murmured, “Not really my thing.”
“Oh,” Gaz said with his brows raised. “So you haven’t got one then.” He slapped Price on the shoulder and grinned.
“I do.” Ghost interrupted, taking another long sip from his nearly empty glass. “Just think they’re rubbish.”
Soap felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. He watched Rudy’s hand tighten on Alejandro’s as he shot a sympathetic look towards Soap, who quickly looked away.
He didn’t need to see the understanding in his eyes, the known pain.
His heart thudded heavily in his chest as the eyes at the table, Ghosts included, turned to him.
He didn’t know what to say. Tell the truth and have Ghost reject him outright or lie and say that he didn’t have a mark.
Which very few people at the table would believe, maybe Gaz would take it.
Instead, a sharp shock of pain had him gripping his left pec and wheezing slightly, standing quickly and excusing himself as he rushed to the bathroom. The pain increased for a moment and then stopped once the door closed behind him, leaving him panting and shaking as he gripped the edge of the sink. He knew the pain would come, but he didn’t think it would be so soon.
The pain only ended up getting worse as time went on. He could still do his job, nothing would take that from him, but it made it just a touch more difficult to line up a shot when it felt like his heart was aching and his lungs would seize up from it.
After one particularly bad mission, Ghost had approached him, well scared the shit out of him by coming up from behind and planting a hand on his shoulder.
“Good christ , you’ve got to start making more noise, L.t.”
Ghsot huffed at that, “What’s wrong with you?”
Blinking away his own surprise, Soap just sorta shrugged the hand off, “Don’t know what ya mean, I’m fine.”
“Bullshit, Johnny. You’re slower, could’ve gotten yourself killed if you hadn’t gotten that shot off.”
And Soap knows exactly what he’s talking about. He’d been tackled tot he ground by surprise and barely had enough time to get his pistol between them, firing off a few rounds into his attackers gut, hyper aware of the knife that grazed off his chest, leaving a nice divot in the skin. Ghost had pulled him off the floor and worried over him for a moment, even as Soap assured him he would be fine. It was the closest he’s come to dying since Graves and he really didn’t want a repeat of all that.
The blade had scratched through the S.R. on his chest, but the mark stood strong throughout the eventual scarring that would take place. And hell it was hard enough getting Simon to be out of the room while he got it patched, now the man was insisting on checking it himself.
He couldn’t find a real reason to refuse, coming up with a lie that the medic recommended he keep it covered so the stitches wouldn’t reopen.
That seemed to satiate his desire for the moment, but he knew as soon as it was healed, he’d be in for it. Ghost always fussed over and demanded to see the injuries others sustained under “his watch”, likely something about feeling responsible for it.
The bullet hole from Graves’ men was one of the worse ones, Ghost had kept the bullet after he’d dug it out of Soap’s arm, placed it on a shelf in his room next to a box that no one was allowed to open. It weirded him out but he kind of got it.
Ghost had basically become his personal medic, ensuring he did his exercises, changing the bandages and cleaning it off when Soap would let him. Not that Soap didn’t thrive under the attention, because he absolutely did, it was just killing him to be so close to the other.
Ghost also had a bit of a staring problem, meaning that he stared. At Soap. A lot.
Sent a lot of mixed messages, like now, where his eyes were boring into Soap’s as he stood less than a foot from him. It had heat creeping up Soap’s neck and cheeks and him ducking his head away from the penetrating gaze.
“Wasn’t meaning to, L.t.” Soap’s chest ached as he said it, the pain returning in a dull but persistent ache as Ghost got even closer, unintentionally or intentionally towering over him. “Happens in our line of work.”
Ghosts brow furrowed, Soap could tell from the angle of his eyes, clearly displeased. But before he could voice his complaints, Soap slid out from between him and the wall, “Got some work to do, L.t., I'll see you.”
He nearly ran back to his quarters in his haste to get away.
The pain only got worse from there, spreading from his chest to his whole body until he could barely stand without wincing. Price had sat him down in his office and demanded an explanation or have him be benched for the time being.
So he reluctantly told him everything. If there was anyone he trusted on this earth, it was the 141 and their captain.
“Oh, son…” The captain said as he settled back in his chair. His face looked solem and lined with a tiredness that seemed to seep into his very being. “Have you told him?”
“No.” Soap rubbed his hands over his face and sighed, feeling his muscles ache with the tension they’d been carrying for weeks now. “You know how he feels about it, seems like there's no point.”
“Soap… you do realize what this means?”
Soap looks into Prices eyes, a sad smile set across his face, “Aye. Just sorry it had to happen this way, sir.”
Price sighed yet again and steepled his fingers together, looking torn and already like he was greiving, “Now I can’t tell him myself, but I really think you should. Worst case scenario, you’re in the same boat as before-“
“But then I’d know .”
He’d live his short period of time knowing that Ghost didn’t love him back instead of having this tiny flame of hope. It was barely there but he was cupping his hands around it and soaking in its warmth. It was the one thing he had and he would e damned if he were to give it up.
A sort of understanding came to Price’s face and he stood, crossing the room quickly and placing a hand on Soap’s shoulder, which Soap gladly took hold of as he stood. The human contact was nice and that flame grew just a bit brighter as hope was fanned into it.
“And if he asks?”
“Just don’t tell him it’s him.”
He lasted another week before he finally collapsed. Honestly he was surprised he made it as far into the mission as he did, they were already awaiting exfil when his knees gave out from under him.
Ghost called out for him but he thudded to the ground hard and could feel his body twitching in aggravation as Ghost slid an arm over his shoulders, positively shaking in his Lieutenants grasp.
“Johnny? You hit?”
Weakly pushing the other mans arm off him, he struggled to get to his feet, managing to plant one foot on the ground before the pain dragged him back down, collapsing onto his side and curling up to attempt to stop the onslaught of pain wracking his body.
“Johnny!” Ghosts hands were like brands as they moved over him, searching desperately for a bullet hole or anything that could be fixed by a medic, but finding nothing.
The last thing he remembered was that fucking mask in his face as his vision went hazy at the edges, Ghosts eyes wide with concern as he slapped him a few times, calling for Soap to stay with him, just a little longer.
Then he woke up to the blinding lights of the med room, with the level of pain down to a full body throb. He felt hazy, like he’d been drugged or something and the soreness in his arm told him that they’d drawn blood.
He scoffed at the empty room and scanned it, they had him on an IV drip that was steadily pouring pain killers into his veins, which was probably the only reason he was conscious.
He heard footsteps outside his room and sat up as best he could, suppressing a wince as the nurse entered and picked up his chart.
They said they couldn’t find any physical cause for his symptoms, but got the go-ahead from Price to keep him doped up until he woke.
The nurse finally looked up from their clipboard, “But you already know what’s wrong, don’t you? Old wives tales have some merit to them, Sergeant.”
Soap took a deep breath in in spite of the strain it put on his lungs, “Aye, I ken.”
“And you know we can’t fo anything for you. It’s on you and your partner.”
“Aye.”
“Excellent.” They did not sound happy by the news at all. “You’ve got a visitor by the way, they should be in momentarily.” And with that they flipped their chart back, took a few notes and left the room with a swish of their coat, leaving Soap to stare at the ceiling.
He was not excited for Price to officially make him take leave, the military was all he had known and all the structure in his life, who was he without it.
Evidently he didn’t have time to wonder as he heard another pair of footsteps heading his way.
What was a surprise was that it was not Price who opened the door and slammed it behind them, but Ghost. Still clad in his mask but drawn down to his civvies.
“Price told me.”
Soap felt his heart drop and his jaw follow along with it.
“Who is it?”
Oh thank fuck, Price is still a loyal bastard.
Soap smiled sadly from the cot he was on, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact. “Doesn’t matter at this point. I’m dead regardless, they don’t feel the same.”
Ghosts fist smashes into the side table, sending the things on top scattering, rage clear on his covered face. “Who. Is. It.”
“L.t.,” he says warily, not scared of Ghost by any means, but terrified that he’ll find out.
Not now, please not now. He begs the universe, cursing it for putting him in this position. “They cannae fix me. You cannae help, it’s just how it has t’ be.”
“No it isn’t!” Now he’s a little scared. Ghost doesn’t yell, only raises his voice to be heard over gunfire or clearer on the comms. He’s always in control and steady, but he’s clearly shaken now. “I’ll find them. I’ll make them love you.”
Soap barks out a wet little laugh, “S’ not how love works, Ghost.”
“I’ll make it work- just tell me.”
“I can’t!” He’s fully sat up now, pain raising by the second and already he’s feeling winded. “I’m sorry, but-“
“Is it Gaz?” Ghost sounds on the verge of frenzy, like he’s desperately reaching for anyone that he can think of. “Price?”
“No and no. Look, L.t-“
“Stop. I dragged your lifeless body to the back of a heli and had to sit there for half and hour wondering if you were going to die there. You owe me this much.” Ghosts fists clenched by his sides, obviously itching for something to do or someone to hurt in retaliation.
Ghost cared about him. And maybe that would be enough. Not enough to save his life but enough for it to pass by.
Soap didn’t answer, instead fumbling with the edge of his shirt until he had it pulled over his head with a groan, he reopened his eyes to see Ghosts hands extended like he wanted to help but couldn’t bring himself to step any closer.
He motioned for his to get closer, then took one of Ghosts gloves hands in his own, smiling when the other twined their fingers together in response. “You’ve been wanting to see my scar.”
Ghost nodded once, eyes locked on the bandage that was unneeded but still covered part of Soaps heart, like it was the final answer to a life long question.
Soap squeezed their hands together once, then reached up with his free hand and tore the bandage away.
And there it was in all its glory, a raised pink and white line with an S.R. over it.
Ghosts hand loosened from his own and dropped away fully.
Soap didn’t look up, instead keeping his eyes locked on where Ghosts hand lay on the bed. “It’s you, Simon. It’s always been you.”