Chapter Text
Ghost smooths a hand across the sweaty material of his mask, lips dry and chapped, he shields the sun from his eyes, gazing across the expanse of the training grounds. It's been a few weeks since Soap was injured during operation Kingfish but despite this he’s been throwing himself into work outs. Ghost often finds himself gravitating to the area, an unfamiliar feeling of concern blooming in his chest each time Soap strains under the bulk of the weights, the muscle in his injured arm trembling with effort.
He doesn’t interfere, mostly because he's not quite sure what he would even say, but it's soothing just to have the man in his sights. Their relationship has been complicated since the operation, or maybe it's only complicated for Ghost, Johnny never seems bothered, still flashing charming grins and lighting every room he enters. Ghost hasn’t had many close friends, if at all, so he reasons this is just the flare of uncertainty coming with a new friendship, something that requires boundaries as much as it requires the flow of conversation.
“You’re staring amigo” the drawl of Alejandro's voice has Ghost rolling his eyes, turning his attention to the man at his side. A sly smile on his lips Alejandro can only laugh, shifting the canteen into his other hand, clapping Ghost on the shoulder.
“He’s pushing himself too much.” Ghost responds, although Alejandro wasn’t asking.
“He’s a man. A very stubborn man.”
That Ghost can agree with, Johnny has been desperate to prove his worth, as though for some reason the 141 had lost their faith in his abilities because of an injury. All untrue, but Soap doesn't seem to understand that.
“Soap!” Alejandro calls, waving the canteen in the air. Johnny glances up, dropping the dumbbell at his feet as he jogs over to them, smiling. Ghost gazes at the sweaty vest sticking to his golden skin, bronzed in the swell of heat, his mohawk is longer and curling at the base of his neck.
“Thanks Amigo” Johnny chugs the water, each gulp amusingly loud in the still quiet of the camp. “tha fucking e teth” ’
“English MacTavish”
“Its so fucking hot”
“Better”
Johnny punches Ghost's arm with a lopsided grin.
“You've been hanging around here a lot recently L.T, hoping to scare the rookies?” Johnny cocks his head, swallowing the last of the water.
Ghost had recently been tasked with training rookies, and despite his mostly unwavering patience he had been stretched thin by the brash and aggressive youth. He had snapped at a few and since that point the training grounds had become a grave site.
He shrugs one large shoulder in response, smirking slightly.
“Am I not scaring you MacTavish?”
“Please,” he purrs, “I'd like to see you try.”
Alejandro clears his throat before Ghost can respond, raising a brow slightly in their direction.
“We’re having drinks at the bar tonight, if you two want to come”
“Anything in particular we’re drinking for?” Johnny asks.
“Ah penjo, we’re simply celebrating alcohol” Alejandro throws an arm around Johnny’s shoulders, “that is if you can handle it?”
“You want to bet? I'll out drink you for sure!” Johnny pauses and glances at Ghost, “you'll come L.T?”
Without hesitation Ghost nods, rewarding him with a smile Johnny follows Alejandro back to the base. Ghost watches the two walk away, the sway of Johnny's hips and the stamp of Alejandro's boots fading into the barracks along with their muffled laughter. It's only in the silence does he recognise the heat radiating off his cheeks as a flush. Tightening one gloved hand into a fist, he flexes his jaw, rubbing the thick material of his mask against his skin. Normally he wouldn't consider going out, preferring to sit in silence in his room but recently the silence had become deafening, crushing his chest and leaving his past all too visible in the peripheral of his mind.
Besides, Johnny asked him if he would come, it would only be polite to show up. Even if only for a few hours.
…
The bar is full with people, dulled lights spilling onto the sticky table tops and unrecognisable music crooning in the humid air. Ghost tugs on his plain mask, adjusting it to the heat, he can feel the thrum of the base in his bones as he moves between bodies, heading to a table in the back.
“Ahah, the man we’ve been waiting for!” Price yells, his face is pink from the alcohol, one hand wavering in the air, swooping the smoke from his cigar into the faces of his neighbours. Gaz recoils back, gagging slightly and nudging Price away from his face.
“Glad you could make it amigo” Alejandro calls, he’s squished between Rudy and Soap, who’s face down on the table. “Penjo, your lieutenant is here.” He shakes Soaps shoulder, grinning at Price's laughter.
“Who?” Soap slurs, lifting his face. He’s clearly been drinking, face flushed and eyes dilated. “Lieutenant!” he cries, smacking Rudy in the face with his elbow in his attempts to awkwardly side hug Ghost.
Ghost resists the urge to smack his hand away and pats his back instead, raising a brow at the others.
“I thought you said you could handle your alcohol” he murmurs.
“Handle what?” Soap pulls back looking confused, “No, no, i'm just pretending.”
“Sure you are Amigo!” Alejandro chuckles “He’s been whining about you all night”
Soap turns red, hitting Alejandro and furiously wrestling back into the booth.
Ghost smiles slightly, moving into the space next to Rudy and dropping the cool glass of his drink onto the table.
“Oooh isn't L.T. just incredible! He’s my idol, my hero!” Gaz croons, one hand clasped to his chest, the other pulling Soap in.
“I didn't say that!” Soap protests, yanking Gaz into a headlock. They scruff one another before Price drops his hand to the table.
“Settle children.”
“Your idol huh?” Ghost pulls his mask up to his nose, sipping the amber liquid, relishing in the pleasant burn.
Soap shrugs, having untangled himself from Gaz, “I said I want to be like you and I mean that” he mumbles.
Ghost freezes, a rush of cold crawling in his skin, he wants to beg Soap to never utter those words again, not when he can still feel the press of bloody hands against his skin and the rattle of his breath buried below ground.
“You want to be better than me Johnny '' He doesn't understand the feelings in his chest but the overwhelming urge to protect his friend is strong, even if it means protecting Johnny from himself.
The night blurs away into sparkling gold liquid and the bubble of laughter, by late evening they begin to head back, the icy cold sobering. The sky stretches away, a hue of purple and black, littered with fading star light.
Ghost walks slightly behind the group, eyes on Soap who is half being carried by Gaz as they sing together. He's jostled from his reverie by Price, cigar between his lips.
“Simon,” he murmurs, voice soft, “I've got a job for you, if you’re interested.”
Ghost blinks, a little surprised, Price has often cited a rule that work cannot be brung out on Bar nights, he supposes whatever this must be its urgent. He nods slightly in response.
Price flicks his gaze between Ghost and Johnny, a softing look in his eyes. It tightens when he stops, halting Ghost.
“I’m going to be sending you out on an undercover mission. We’ve got word from Laswell about a smuggling ring in a town not too far from here.” He inhaled, swishing the cigar smoke, “It's going to be…unethical I suppose but I wouldn't have asked you if I wasn't sure that we needed your expertise.”
Price hesitates, “It's a two man mission.” He nervously flexes his fingers.
“My partner?”
“Ah, well I've enlisted another expert in….a different field. You and MacTavish will be sent out tomorrow”
“Johnny? He doesn't normally do undercover missions, isn't he still recovering.” Ghost faces Price, “Should you be sending out a soldier that can be compromised?”
“You’re lucky Mactavish isn't around to hear you say that” Price shakes his head at him, “and this isn't the kind of mission that requires brute force.”
“Then what does it require?”
“You’ll see.”
…
Ghost is furious, he spends the night tossing and turning, unable to drift into sleep with Price's words ringing in his head. He keeps seeing Johnny’s face, pale and in agony merging with the flushed golden expression he saw that evening.
“Wha’ are you doin’ Johnny” he groans, mushing his face into the pillow. He hates to admit it but he doesnt think Johnny should be in the field, at least not yet. The man had recovered exceptionally fast but the trauma of being shot still shadows his face. It's not unusual, they’re in this line of work to be hurt afterall, Ghost can’t expect for Price to deny Johnny an opportunity at field work because of an injury that healed quickly.
He tries to think of anything else other than the pound of his heart when he had heard Johnny’s voice cracking through the radio transmitter.
“Ghost this is 7-1 how copy?”
He had been too busy hunkering into the shadows to respond, the pound of his heart lighting up his flesh as shadows ran past, their calls twisting in the night air. Minutes later he was able to find an alcove, trembling with uncertainty as he switched the radio on.
“Soap this is Ghost, how copy?”
The silence burning into his ear, he fumbled with the radio trying again.
“Johnny how copy!”
“Solid” The gasp of pain resounding in the quiet sent a combination of relief and chills. At that moment he desperately wanted to track down Soap, to ensure with his own mind and integrity that soap wasnt to bleed out on the floor down some unremarkable road, for his body to be thrown with animalistic violence into a pit of others. He could not stand the thought.
When his fingers had been prying the bullet from Johnny's arm he had felt trapped in his head, a musical monkey pounding against the walls of his skull, chanting below his breath, praying that each rise of Johnny's chest was followed by an exhalation of air from his lungs. Just to know he was alive.
The thoughts keep him up until morning, until pale sunlight creeps between the heavy blackout curtains. He rests in his room, cleaning his weapons as a respite from the hustle and bustle of morning wake up calls. He imagines he can hear the 141 laughing in the mess hall but he rarely if ever joins them, each time returning to his room to eat in silence. A routine that is beginning to feel claustrophobic.
By the time it's 8 o'clock he’s arrived at Price’s office before the others. It's open, cluttered with various papers and objects, a globe sits wonky on a shelf that looks one book away from collapsing, it smells of cigars and aftershave.
He drops into one of the two chairs facing the desk and allows himself a moment to breathe, listening to the sound of feet moving up the hallway. He would know that loud gait anywhere. Price and Johnny turn into the door, mid-conversation, Johnny's face bright with laughter.
“Morning Ghost” Price nods, settling into the oval shaped chair behind the desk. Johnny flops next to Ghost, stretching lazily and smiling in greeting. Price shuffles a few papers before folding his arms and leaning forward, despite the buzz they brought into the room his face is serious, brow curled into a frown.
“Listen boys, this mission isn’t going to be easy, it's why I picked the both of you. This isn't a day in and day out job, you’re going to be infiltrating an organised drug and weapons ring. According to some of Laswell's informants these people know what they’re doing, it's too complex to just kill one man and be done with it. We need information from the inside and that's something that comes with time and patience.”
He reaches into a draw, refilling around before dumping two large folders onto the table.
La Felicia is imprinted along the top in bold letters.
“The two of you are going undercover together. These files contain the information about your aliaisis.”
"Who are we going as then?” Soap asks, flicking through the folder.
“Husbands.”
Ghosts jolts, staring at Price incredulously, the shock below his mask is mirrored by Johnnys, whose looking at Price like he grew an extra head.
"Excuse me?"