Chapter Text
Soap took a long look at his next opponent, reading each muscle, every slow move, and the intentions behind his steps. The enormous man, his superior, his friend... bends his neck to the left, sending out a couple of loud cracks in quick succession.
“Come on, Johnny boy…” The deep British accent sounds from behind the balaclava as a large hand waves Soap on. Soap flashes a bold grin, his hands flexing.
Soap takes a slow breath through the smile, trying to ignore the cute pet name. It’s a well-known fact that there is almost no one who can call Ghost anything else but Lieutenant or Ghost, and it’s similar with Soap. People call him Soap; few can call him John. There are a very few that have called him Johnny without being berated for it. But no one calls him Johnny boy. No one, but Simon “Ghost” Riley... Not if they value their teeth in their mouth.
Soap hops on the balls of his feet a few times, getting ready to spar with the most intimidating man on base. “L.T… get ready to have ye arse handed t’ye by a Scot.”
Ghost doesn't reply, just crouches lower, hands at the ready, and with something in his eyes that Soap thinks could be excitement. Soap likes seeing him like this. The pressures and dangers of missions lifted from him, body less tense and free from the heavy equipment. Soap knows it was a little strange, but he enjoyed seeing ghost in t-shirts, even more so in singlets. He knows its because it’s a sign the man was as ease. It was nice, compared to the inflexible Lieutenant with too much riding on those shoulders.
Those shoulders that are bare now, tattoos on show over bulging muscles that Soap knows had to take a long time to cultivate, and constant maintenance. Soap knows, because he does the same thing, daily.
Soap pulls his eyes from a particularly interesting tattoo that reaches down the front of Ghosts right shoulder, disappearing under the black fabric of his singlet. With a sudden steel, Soap lunges, his fist aimed for the large man's left side. Dodged. Then another.
“I think it's your arse now, Johnny...” Another punch dodged right before Ghost fakes a kick, then sends a fist into Soaps core. Soap grunts, his stomach lurching as it takes the hard impact. Even those his core is engaged, naturally, as he fights, Ghost is a strong and very fast fighter. It fucking hurt. He hears some of the men watching groan for him. “…that will be handed…”
Soap is used to this kind of pain, like they all are, and recovers almost instantly. With a short breath, Soap drops, sweeps his leg out and knocks the hulking man off his balance. He slides forward on the ground as the man stumbles, catching his leg and swinging his legs up between Ghosts, kicking the man's pelvic bone as he hits his knee out.
With cheers from their fellow soldiers, Soap laughs as he flings himself on top of the Lieutenant and delivers a few jabs to his ribs. Soap is good at grappling. Ghost is yet to acknowledge it, but Soap is better than the older man.
Even so, the advantage of Soaps skills was short lived as Ghost grunted through the hits, eyes trained on Soaps, then grips the man’s neck with one arm, yanking him so close they almost hit noses. Soap grunts, his reflexes trying to push himself away from the man under him, instead of delivering a hit forward, to bloody the balaclava-covered nose with a head-butt.
Ghost lets out a low chuckle. “You ready, Johnny?”
Soap feels his gut twist, almost like he was excited. He did enjoy a good fight, though with Ghost, it was almost like he didn’t know what happening, what was going to happen. He kind of loved it. “Give it to me, big boy.” Johnny says, deciding to change his usual “ol’ boy” to try and psych the man out. Instead of anger or irritation in Ghosts eyes, Johnny saw confusion and a little panic. That was new.
Though much like his moment of owning the upper hand physically was brief, this too, was short lived. Ghost makes his move, his other arm, which was pinning Soaps wrist to floor beside him, pushed the smaller man’s arm up and past his own head, causing Soap to lose his leverage and fall onto Ghost. With a few quick moves, a grunt from Ghost and a pain—filled laugh from Soap, Ghost had now pinned the Scot to the floor, he delivers a few hard hits to the gut.
“Come on, Soap!” A marine calls out from more than a “safe” distance from the fight.
“The mans out. Even with Soap’s moves, as if he’s getting out from under the Lieutenant.”
Soap hears the spectators calling out cheers and doubts, his pride being simultaneously fed and bruised.
“Haud ye Wheesht, the lot o’ ye!” Soap calls out, his accent thicker now that he has a challenge on his hands, his breath coming out in rushes, his heart beating faster with every second he strains to flip Ghost off him.
Ghost is peering down at him and suddenly the man’s forearm is against Soaps throat. He leans closer as Soap moves under him, trying to find something to lever him out. If he could just kick his leg around Ghosts... “English, MacTavish…”
Soap hates it when he says that, and Ghost knows it. Undoubtedly the reason he does it so often.
“Aye, it was English, Sir…” the sarcasm coating the last word was not lost on Ghost.
Ghost snorts and shakes his head slowly. “Brat.” He moves up and reels back a punch, lining it with the man’s side. Soap grins suddenly, and Ghost falters, for only a second, but that’s enough for Soap to send an uppercut directly to his superior’s chin.
Now Soap is clearly smaller than Ghost, like most people, but he is strong and skilled. Soap hooks his leg around ghosts, using the sudden lift of the Lieutenants arm to pull it up and under his own.
Soap grins as he flips them, once again holding ground over the man who is still letting out some curses in a thick English accent. Soap can’t help but look up at the man who dared to doubt his skills. See, look who’s on top now, lad!
As if the group knew how pleased Soap was with himself, a new, louder round of cheers come from the onlookers. Soap feels a hit of confidence as is muscles strain to keep Ghosts angered wiggling down.
“Fuckin’ little mongrel!” Ghost growls, his arm slipping out of Soaps grip, only to be locked under his thigh, now far more restrained.
Soap leans down, so close that he could count the light lashes that line the Ghosts eyes if he cared to. “Guid gear comes in sma' bulk, ye Ken?” With a wink, Soap wiggles a little, until his body finds the perfect purchase on Ghosts body. You’re not going anywhere now, big boy.
“You gonnae tap out, or…?” Soap gives him in impatient look. “I don’t have all day, L.T…”
Ghost shakes his head, as if it was only meant for him. Soap only grins back. With a slow breath, Ghost tenses and with a grunt, tries to through Soap off. Soap moves with him, his legs turning, body spinning and arms locking around Ghosts straining form. Soap knows his moves. They’ve done this enough times now.
Something is wrong.
Soap tried to reach Ghosts knee, meaning to bend it and hold his leg closed together, eliminating it’s use. Though his grip is too far down. Soap faulters for a moment and it’s all Ghost needs.
Ghost in on him, in an instant, pushing him down until his chest is flush with the mat. Soap swears, his teeth clenched as Ghost crushes him, his weight a pressure Soap has no hope of throwing off now he was face down.
“You’re gonnae tap out…” Ghost says, mimicking Soaps accent -badly- as he brings his face so close that Soap can feel the fabric of the balaclava on the edge of his ear. “…or…?”
Soap laughs, as well as he can, with over 100kg pressing down on him. Soap knows he shouldn’t say it…but he does... “Steamin’ jesus, L.T! You getting’ fat in your old age?”
Ghost lifts, much to the disappointment of the watchers, and the relief of Soaps lungs. Ghost kicks Soaps thigh. “Get up, fucker.”
Soap ignores the shameful sting at being bested, then handed a lifeline by Ghost. He shakes it off, jumps around a little. “You need to watch what you eat, ol’ boy.”
Both standing now, they face each other, eyes trained hard on their opponents’ movements. They spend a few too many seconds staring, waiting for the first move to strike. Ghost seems relaxed though, and Soap seems confident again, as they slowly circle one another.
“How the Jaw, L T?”
“Been better.”
Soap flashes a shit-eating grin at Ghost, who only shakes his head slowly.
“Aye, I’d wager you taste some copper right now, then?” Soap asks, licking his lips to mock him.
“Don’t be cocky, Soap. Don’t look good very on ya..”
Soap snorts out a laugh. “I look great. Don’t even need a mask.” He winks at Ghost, and he doesn’t miss the flash of anger in his superior’s eyes. There we go. He’s pissed off now. Soap really knows how to push the Lieutenants buttons when he wants to.
Ghost jabs out, his fist almost hitting Soaps cheek as the Scotsman dodges narrowly. For such a large guy, Ghost can move quickly and silently. It was almost inhuman how he can with his size. Yet another fact that people thought to be the origin of his nick name.
Soap parries to the side and lands a hit to the Lieutenants ribs, earning a low grunt. “You’re off today, L.T…” Soap baits, dodging another hit. “Come on, give me something to chew on.” Soap hops a few more times, his confidence and snarky remarks seeming to come easily despite being pinned only moments ago. As per usual, people can only be impressed with the Scots confidence.
Ghost lifts his leg again and Soap moves, dodging the punch he was so sure was coming after that same fake-out move he’d already used. It didn’t. Soap loses his breath, the air being kicked out of him as heavy boot hits his guts, though the too-late grip soap held it with. The moment he keels over, a punch hits his ribs takes what little air was left in his chest.
Retreating to the edge of the ring, Soap uses the mere seconds to try and recover enough to take a swing. He watches Ghost move closer, until he was in punching distance, and he coils up. Soap swing, and he makes contact with Ghosts cheek. Surprising both of them. Ghost really was off.
The man’s head whips to the side with the impact, but it barely shakes him. He is on Soap in seconds and the two lock into a grapple again, standing this time. Once again, Soap is the more talented grappler, though he was short of breath and hurting. And Ghost is pissed, and just so fucking large.
They grapple, hands, arms, and even legs, getting twisted as they fight to down the other. The watchers laugh and cheer while the two plant future bruises on each other through closed fists, sharp elbows and solid knees.
With once last attempt, though pain and blood, gritting his teeth, tasting his blood on his tongue, Soap grips and pulls, twisting his body around Ghosts. He kicks off the man’s leg, lifting himself up and swings his thigh around Ghosts shoulders, his fully tattooed arm locked up between his own head and Soaps inner thigh.
With a turn on his hips, kicking Ghosts thigh once, he is up, and then, they are both down. Soap laughs as he pins Ghosts, hearing, feeling, the man accept defeat.
Though it’s Ghost. He sits in silence, torment and pain, for longer than needed, before his sweaty hand taps Soaps thigh twice. Soap stares down at him, as he stares up from under his legs, nothing but a bloodied mask between his legs on ghosts face... Soap almost wants to tease him about it. Though something felt a little too…much…
Soap releases Ghost, his legs loosening Ghosts shoulders, his arm and his iron grip lets go of his wrist. “Finally.” He lets out breathlessly, smiling crookedly at Ghost, who is still laying on the floor, but not propping himself up on an elbow, his eyes still locked on Soaps.
With a few deep breaths, moves to offer Ghost a hand. “A fucking good fight, as usual, L.T.”
Ghost takes the help, standing beside Soap and nods once. “You’re a hard bastard to pin down, Soap…” Ghost nods at him. “Your mouth okay?”
Soap licks his lips, tasting more blood. “Sure. Is your nose?” Soap reaches up, stopping only when Ghost flinches back from the attempt to touch him. “Sorry.” Soap meant for the hit, not the move to touch him. Ghost though the other way.
“It’s okay…” Ghost wonders if the man was going to try and touch him again. He doesn’t. “Okay, shows over.” Ghost addresses the people around them. “Unless you want to try us next?” Ghost turns to face the men, who all scurry off with nervous laughs.
Soap laughs loudly. “Ever the people person, you are.” Eyeing Ghost, Soap rubs his mouth, feeling the hot burn where one of ghosts his with his elbow connected to his mouth and split the soft flesh on the inside of his bottom lip. That’s only to hurt for a bit.
Ghost shrugs. “Not going to pretend for anyone.” He turns his eyes to Soap once more. “You need to wash your face…” His eyes roam down. “Everything. So sweaty…” ghost said, as if he was looking at something disgusting. As if he wasn’t just as sweaty.
Soap snorts. “Okay. Meet you there since you are just as boggin’.” Soap slaps his hand on Ghosts shoulder. “Ew.” He makes an effort to sound sarcastic as he walks off, hoping the joke comes through.
When a wadded up piece of fabric hits the back of Soaps head, he grins, knowing Ghost knew he was playing.
…
Soap snorts out a laugh as he eyes the bigger man while he removes his shirt. He can see the bruises already. They are going to look like fucking dalmatians after that fight. Soap can almost hear the chiding Price is going to give them for going to hard once again.
“You wanna stop laughin’ before I come over there and finish the job.” Ghost looks at him sternly before moving to strip his pants.
Soap looks away, just before he got yet another serve from his superior. “Solid Copy, sir.” Ghost doesn’t often use the communal showers, as he doesn’t much like stripping himself down in front of others. A biproduct of hiding even his face from others, Soap supposes. He has never asked, and Ghost has never provided a reason. Soap was just glad that the man was comfortable enough around him that he wasn’t worried about such things.
Ghost is naked from chest down, his balaclava still covering his head and neck, as usual. “Don’t be smart arse, Johnny.” He steps into the steaming water next to Soap, his eyes heavily lidded as the hot water beats down on his sore body. “How’s your chin?”
Soap shrugs of his briefs and steps into his own stream of water. “Still talkin’ aren’t I?”
“Always.” The flat tone of Ghosts voice makes it hard for Soap to keep a laugh from escaping. “You feeling good about the break?” The 2 week break was more or less forced on then. Neither of them taking any leave through the year always lead to mandated leaves being placed on them. Price decided that the 141 needed it. So they are all on a short break at the same time. Soap is only a little happy about it. Mostly he is pissed.
“No.” No surprised there.
Soap nods as he leans back to let the water run over his face. He loves showers, loves the moment of clear and calm. He doesn’t hear orders or gun shots, planes, bombs, sneaking steps or blades biting through flesh.
Dropping his head out of the steaming water, he shakes the excess off and looks over to Ghost. “Got plans at least?” soap doesn’t know why he is asking. Ghost wouldn’t plan anything. Soap isn’t even confident that the man has done anything else but work for the last who-knows-how long, and the time in between would have likely been him waiting for the call to come back for the next job.
No answer. Soap chalks it up to being sore from the fight, pissed at Soap antics, and probably hungry. Soap decides to keep his mouth shut for once and let them shower in silence.
He doesn’t look at Ghost, and Ghost doesn’t look at him. It’s not unusual. Ghost doesn’t talk all that much in the first place, and almost never does when others are in the showers with them. Even so, Soap likes the times they get to drop their guard. Though Ghost is almost always battle ready. Even now, Soap can sense the slight tenseness in the man. Though it was still probably the most relaxed Soap has ever seen him. He tries not to feel bad at how wound up the man is, at all times.
Even when they have had to sleep near one another, on missions or long trips to far off lands before entering the usual dangers of their job, it was evident. While sleeping, Ghost still held himself in a tense and pressured way. Soap wound have been impressed had he not known what it was like to have bad sleeping patterns. The man must have terrible dark circles under that black paint.
It’s a rare and strange sight, Ghost sleeping. You wouldn’t think it would be. A man, sleeping. People sleep. But there is something about Ghost, the air around him, the way to moves and speaks and fights and kills. Like he doesn’t have the same needs, like normal people do. It’s like he isn’t really human. Not to mention that mask. No one sees his face. Well, almost no one.
Soap has seen it, twice now. Once when heading to rescue Alejandro and once when Ghost got a knife to the face while helping Gaz out of a tough spot. Soap patched him up that night and he could read how uncomfortable Ghost was with being open to Soap, his face being touched. Soap tried not to feel hurt that the man clearly disliked the contact, that there was missing trust, or something of the like, between them. He knows there is more to it, and if he is to know, Ghost will tell him. If he is to spend their entire relationship never knowing, then that’s Ghosts call as well.
“Johnny?” Soap blinks, the thoughts of that night, Ghosts frowning, bleeding, exhausted face under Soaps shaking fingers disappears from his mind and he turns to see the man himself. He was facing the wall, like he usually does when showing, balaclava now missing from his head…
Soap turns his eyes away, knowing that it would make the man less uncomfortable with having it off. It’s not something Ghost usually does. Actually, he never does. Though the fact that Soap may have broken the mans nose, that he definitely made him bleed under that mask, was reason enough to take it off.
Is his face the same as it was a couple of months ago? Soap frowns. Of course it was, surely. No one changes so quickly. Unless more injuries, worse that Soap has seem so far, has caused more scars, misalignments of features. Soap wants to look. He knows he can’t. So he doesn’t.
“Sorry, what?” Soap runs his hands across his head, pushing water out of his hawk.
“I ask you if you were heading to bed after this?”
“Was gonna go catch up with Gaz. Wanted to get a few drinks.”
“Hmm.” A classic Ghost non-reply.
“Wanna join?” Soap offers, despite knowing the answer. It rarely ever changes.
“No.”
“Your loss, L.T.” Soap still feels a little sting of rejection, even after all this time of similar outcomes. Soap tries not to laugh at his own pathetic reactions.
Silence falls over them again and doesn’t break until they are out and dressed. Ghost faces him now, pants on and balaclava in place. Soap swallows thickly at the slight. Enormous man in nothing but pants and a balaclava. There is something both scary and erotic about that. He briefly wonders if the women he’s been with thought the same. He almost hits himself. Why the fuck are you wondering that, you eejit!
Soap frowns deeply, shaking his head. He clears his throat and grabs his towel and sweat soaked clothes. “See ya later then, L.T…” He makes a b-line for the door, not even acknowledging the Lieutenants low “Bye, Johnny.”
Ghost watches the man leave, still seeing the forming bruises through his clothes, the blood that is not washed from his mouth. Ghosts gut turns as he collects his sweaty gym clothes, towel and phone before heading straight for his quarters, aching to lay down and try to push all thoughts out and exists in a moment of nothing, for a long as his cruel psyche would allow.
…
Soap walks into the bar, located a few blocks from their base. It’s a public establishment, though being so bloody close to the military base, it was frequented by the force so much that they made up 90% of the patrons on most nights. The other 10% were either close-living locals and/or people looking for a quick fuck with military personnel.
He sighs heavily, both glad and apprehensive to smell that thick stench of alcohol, smoke wafting in through the windows and layers of perfumes and colognes that clash like he walked into a cheap drug store selling scents at the front.
Soap scans the bar, seeing others from their base, higher and lower ranks, and a few civilians. The usual crowd. He spots Gaz drinking something straight, his eyes closed as he downs a few long gulps. Soap swears under his breath. The sergeant isn’t usually so…sullen. Is he in for a long night then?
He starts making his way over. Soap can drink. A lot. If he is indeed in for a long one, it isn’t the marathon of drinking that worried him. It’s more about what tomorrow will bring. He loves a good time, but he was a bit of a sucker the next day. He rolls his shoulders, psyching himself up like he was going into some sort of battle.
“Sergeant.” Soap speaks, taking a seat on a stool next to the man. “How goes?”
“Hey, Soap.” He downs the last few gulps of his drink and sighs loudly, clearly very satisfied with it. Soap tries to read him. Was he pleased with the drink? Or pleased with what the drink promised. “Just getting some much-needed help from this good friend.” He holds up the empty cup. So it was the promise, then. “Want a scotch?”
“Always.” He nods at the bartender and gives the man his order, Gaz tacking on another for himself. “So?”
“Hmm?”
Soap eyes the man. “You okay, man?”
“Yeah…” Gaz looks at his brother in arms. “Not feeling like trauma dumping tonight, John…” He shrugs. Gaz doesn’t often use Soaps real name. Soap pressed his lips together tightly, flinching at the fresh wave of stinging it brings on from his new wound. Thanks, Ghost. “Nothing new anyway.” Gaz continues, not noticing Soaps little painful jolt. He thanks the bartender for his refill and downs a little more before Soap has time to taste his own.
Soap nods a thanks at the bartender before turning back to Gaz with a little worry in his eyes. “Kyle, if you need anything…” His tongue prods the split in his lip unconsciously. He flinches again.
“Nope. Tonight, lets drink and forget about work, okay?” Gaz sighs into his glass before taking another sip. “Cap gave us this time off, lets enjoy it!” Gaz finally takes Soap in. “Oh..fuck, man. What did he do?” Gaz laughs darkly, dropping his glass back to the table softly, forgetting about the sad toast he was giving. “Miller told me you and Ghost were having it out again.” Gaz’s eye thin as he looks over Soaps face, his neck, then down his body. “You never learn, man…”
Soap gives him a hard look. “Have more faith, you ye.” Soap wants to smack his mate for the lack of faith in his ability. “I got him good.”
Gaz laughs. “Yeah, I was told. Blood and all. You know, I’m not sure how many men there are who have made Ghost bleed and are still living.” Gaz pats Soaps shoulder heavily. “You’re one of the lucky ones. Even if your face is a little swollen and you turn into more bruise than not by morning.
Soap laughs, knowing his words were all true. Soap looks down at his bruised knuckles. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t like fighting so much, his hands are almost always a little tender. “I know… Though I think I really got to him today… He seemed pissed.”
“That’s because you love pissing him off.” Gaz shrugs Soap off. “Stop trying to make him snap. You don’t want to ruin a good thing by being a smart arse, man.”
Soap nods, watching his busted fingers grip his glass, listing it up to take a sip. The good scotch leaves a familiar burn in his throat, and a less familiar sting as it invades the raw gash in his mouth. Soap hisses loudly, licking at it.
“You okay?”
Soap nods. “Mmm.” He moves his tongue away, realising it was only serving to hurt him further. “Ghost busted my lip…” Soap laughs softly, darkly. He really doesn’t learn. “Nothing new.”
Gaz only shakes his head, not bothering to comment because they both know he was only going to tell Soap he was an idiot and to stop provoking the Lieutenant so much. Nothing new.
“Weird being on leave though…”
Soap nods. That’s three of them off at once… What’s happening? “They aren’t moving fast against Makarov then?”
“Nope. He’s been hidden for a while now. Pretty much on the back burner…” Gaz shrugs. He is a big dude…they will want to do this right.”
Soap nods. Since finding out that Makarov was rearing his head again, he has done his research to get up to date with it all. Like most higher ranked, and soldiers in specialist units, Soap knew about Makarov. Though back before Makarov went dark, when he was still a person of great interest, Soap was still new enough to the military that he wasn’t exposed to him nearly as much as now. So he wasn’t as well versed in the Russians early activities. He needs all the information he can get.
Soap isn’t stupid and he knows how the military works. Of course he was supplied with stacks of files and intel on the man, his group and his past crimes and activities Though he knows there was likely more redacted and buried information than what was being offered to him. Though more than that, there was something about this job that he found particularly frustrating, almost eliciting some anxiety.
So, he had asked around, even asking Ghost. Though that didn’t go down well at all. Soap thought that the look he received might have actually taken a few years off his life from pure fear for his own safety. That kind of reaction from Ghost was rare. Very rare. Though that only fuelled Soaps need to find out more. The kind of reaction was not like ghost. It was almost an emotional response, not a logical, strategical response, like all others that the man ever gave. Knowing something about this was close to Ghost made Soaps skin inch with need to know more.
Soap swirls his drink a few times, weighing up his next move. “Gaz…you know much about Makarov? What happened? Ghost, he-”
“Don’t ask the Lieutenant about it, Soap. It won’t end well.”
“Already did.” Soap can see Gaz slump in his seat from the corner of his eyes. “…and it didn’t.” Soap drinks, ignoring Gaz’s hands as they lift in frustration. “He all but slit my throat. I knew the man had a killer stare, but it was next level that day…”
Gaz snorts out a laugh. “You’re askin’ for it, John, I swear.” He pats his shoulder heavily. “How you get away with the shit you do with the Lieutenant, I will never understand.” He laughs again. “Some bruises and a split lip…” Gaz laughs again. “Men have died for a lot less than then shit you pull with him…”
Soap laughs half-heartedly. People are so scared of Ghost. Soap can see why. The man was intimidating, even when he doesn’t try. He was cold and ruthless. Though Soap knows he is still only a man, and men have feelings. Soap has seem some. It’s true, Soap likes to push his buttons, like to see flashes of emotion in his usually serious eyes, and wishes he could see it on his face. Though it was more of a way of trying to prove to himself, and to Ghost, that he was human. That he can act human.
Soap decides to drop the topic, since Gaz wasn’t keen on talking about work, clearly. “How’s the girl?”
“Lisa?” Gaz’s face softened. “She’s great, man.” He smiles into the glass and takes a sip. “Miss her…bad.”
Soap feels a little bad for the man. It’s rough having a loved one home while you’re…well…almost never home. And might never make it back. It’s part of the reason Soap doesn’t date. He just…has nights. Nights to enjoy and forget by the morning. It’s a sad, lonely life, but it beats the hurt that a life apart gives. Soap isn’t strong enough for that, not anymore. Soap nods softly. “Well, you’re off duty for a bit? Why don’t you go visit her?” She isn’t even far away. Gaz could go see her tonight and be back for lunch tomorrow.
Gaz sighs. “Can’t. I…like her…” He shakes his head. “Scared that it’ll be a problem…you know?”
Soap nods again. He does. He’s broken relationships with good, loving people in fear he will leave them for good on a mission one day, leave them with the pain and grief of a dead partner. It was easier to leave them then live with the thought of dying on them. It’s the life they live. The sacrifice they make. Soap has just moved to sacrificing the option completely, in favour of hurting them if, when he dies.
“Pains of the job, right, mate?” Soap says, hoping he sounded less tortured than he feels on the subject.
Gaz nods. “She’s…perfect dude…” He downs his drink for the second time in since Soaps arrival a few minutes ago. “Times like these I wish I led a far different life…”
“You and me both, man…” Soap tries not to think about a life without the dangers and pain they faced, with the prospect of a healthy relationship and a family on the way. Before he started feeling sick, he forces the thoughts away. This life is the one he wants. He has wanted it the moment he visited Matt, his cousin, all those years ago. He might wish for creature comforts, but this is the life Soap is meant for. Battle. War. Fighting.
Soap stares down the length of the bar, not really seeing the other patrons or the bartender, not even the bar itself. He is sent back into memories, missions, gun fire and pain. He is seeing fallen allies, and injured teammates. He closes his eyes, wanting them to disappear, but it does nothing but make them more vivid. Soap knows it isn’t happening. He knows he is in a bar with a mate, and many other soldiers, but he can’t stop the fight or flight response rising in him. He opens his eyes, trying to focus on something, anything to calm him down. He takes a slow breath. This is the life he wants…
Looking through the crowd, his drink…his hands. A mistake. The bruising and little cuts on his knuckles from fighting turns his gut and the back of his neck tingles with nerves. His hands start shaking. His fight with Ghost. It was Ghost, not enemies, which causes the bruises. He wasn’t in battle. It was Ghost.
Ghost…
Simon.
Soap feels his hands shudder to a stop, his eyes start to focus again. He recalls the moves, the quips and looks from his superior. He focuses on the man’s voice in his head, and after a few long breaths, Soap was able to calm himself down.
“Dude?”
Soap jumps, his heart rate rising again for a moment. “Sorry, was just thinking about things.”
Gaz nods. “Do you think we’ll be called back on duty early?”
Soap shrugs. “Maybe. Wouldn’t mind a week or so break though.” He sighs, moving to clink his glass against Gaz’s. “Let’s enjoy, without talk about work…?” Gaz only smiles, hitting his half-gone drink on Soaps.
…
The two chat lightly after that, even laughing as more drinks flowed and their demeanour relaxes. They drink for hours and stumble out with bellies full of liquor and heads too loose to walk in a straight line.
It’s been too long since Soap has had a good drinking session, and the inhibited state was a welcome existence in his stressed life. He welcomes the lack of coherent thoughts and unclear vision.
The two stumble to the side walk, laughing at each other’s miscoordination while they head back to the base. They will likely get a talking to tomorrow, despite being on leave and right now, they really couldn’t fucking care less.
Soap watches the man take the corner of the street far too wide, almost running into another person who wanders the streets past midnight. Surely another person dulling their senses with booze. Soap laughs, choking out an apology to the man who looks at him like wasn’t speaking English. Chances are that he wasn’t. Soap can hear Ghosts “Speak English!” Like he was right there with him. Soap laughs again.
“Yer fooking mad wae it, man!” Soap belts out as Gaz, clapping the drunk sergeant on the shoulder a few times.
Gaz laughs too, though not really understanding the Scot’s slang, he understood it enough. “Help a brother out, would ya.” Gaz throws his arm over Soaps shoulder and claps his chest with his other arm. “Good man, MacTavish.
Soap clears his head as best he can, trying to focus enough to make it through the base to his living quarters that he temporarily shares with another, Sergeant Max Collins. He passes other soldiers, giving nods and missing the looks of recognition and humour on their faces.
Gaz was long gone, moving down different halls to his room and as Soap comes up on his, he finds his roomie outside, on the phone. He nods at Max and he gives a salute and a strange look while still chatting into his mobile. Soap don’t pay the strange move much mind and fumbles with the door for a moment, pushing it in roughly and stumbling through the door. He is ready for his bed, ready for a break and as he looks over at his area, he knows he isn’t getting it tonight.
“L.T!” He laughs. “Just who I wanted to see!” He meant to sound sarcastic. He didn’t and he frowned deeply.
“Glad.” Ghost says flatly. “How was the bar? I see you had a good go at it...”
“What?” Soap groans, moving past the large Lieutenant. “Am pure done in, mate. Is there something you need? Or can I get to sleepin’?”
Ghost turns on the spot, watching as Soap moves around the room, taking his shirt off roughly, dropping his pants and shifting around for something to sleep in with almost no coordination. It would have made Ghost chuckle under his breath usually, to see the usually skilled and careful man fumble like a blindfolded toddler, though not tonight.
Ghost looks over Soaps bare torso, seeing the bruises already blooming across the mans skin. A particularly bad one of the man’s ribs. Ghost feels a small a little bad for that one as he rubs his fist, recalling the hit that would have caused it.
“Thought I’d check that you got back in. Surprised they let you…you can barely stand.” Ghost walks closer and picks up a folded shirt that was apparently invisible to the drunk man. Ghost sighs and throws it at the sergeant. “That sore?” He asks, moving to poke the bruise on Soaps ribs. Ghost tries not to laugh when Soap drops the shirt.
Soap groans, low and slow at the touch and the two jump at the sound. They eyes meet and Ghost is the first to look away, reaching down to pluck the shirt from the ground.
Soap almost feels like he did something wrong. Ghost never looks away first, or at all. That doesn’t keep the sarcasm from Soaps voice though. “Aye, it’s fookin sair.” He bends over, cupping the bruise for a moment before snatching the shirt Ghost hands him -no more throwing- and stretching it over his head.
“See that one I understood.” Ghost says, teasing him about his speech once again. “Johnny, I-“
“L.T…” Soap glares at him as he shifts the green shirt down his body before letting his arms fall heavily at his side. “It’s past 3, ya ken? Bit late for a chat.”
“Understood.” Ghost stands straight, as if at attention. Soap reacts instinctively, standing to attention as well. “Get some rest, soldier.” Ghost backs out, like they were in the midst of a job, as unfeeling and serious as ever.
Soap gives the man an irritated ‘hmm’ as he watches him head for the closed door. Not wanting, and not capable, to dissecting the odd visit, Soap moves to crawl into his bed, closing his eyes before the room spins too much and makes him sick.
It felt like hours and also mere seconds pass before Max walks back in, the guarded look in his eyes unnoticed by Soap. Max says something, but Soap doesn’t really hear him. Apparently not important enough to be repeated, Max doesn't speak again, moving to turn the light off and get into bed. Within seconds of the lights being turned off, the red glow from behind Soaps lids fading, consciousness starts slipping from him.
The image of Ghost’s panicked look as his finger leaves Soaps damaged side clouds his mind as he falls into a deep sleep.