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Ghost has always been an observer, throughout all his life or at least the parts he could remember.
He would notice things others wouldn't, would pick up on bad energy, notice the slightest flicker of emotion across someone's face in an instant. His mind always deemed it as important, being able to tell what others thought about him and other things, how their brains worked.
That skill only proved itself even more important in the military, only once failing him that one time he was betrayed. At least the first time, the second time with Graves and Shephard? He saw that coming a mile ago. Something about those two never sat right with him, a feeling in his gut whispering to him not to trust, not to get comfortable, and it was right.
But when it came to this? He didn't know what to do. Because Soap was an enigma, something special. He wasn't as easy to read as the others, proclaiming himself to be an open book through and through, and yet some of the pages were glued shut tightly, no tearing and prodding making them give in.
Before they got together, and even some time after it, Soap acted weird around him, seeking his presence and yet tensing up when he was too close, touched him too long. He just took it as the scot being awkward, being scared to mess up or something, so he let it slide. Sometimes he wondered whether it was his fault, if it was because he was too intimitading, too cold, too harsh, but Soap never seemed to mind that, and when it stopped and he couldn't feel him tense when he touched him anymore, he let it slip his mind.
But now, since a week or so, he could see all of that resurfacing with Soap, coming back seemingly out of nowhere.
His weird behavior started out as just some tension when they were alone together, something Ghost just wrote off as exhaustion after a long day, build up from the stress of their jobs. Then came those flinches again, the way his eyes widened just the tiniest bit when he hugged him, hands instinctively gripping his when they wandered over his hips and only seconds after letting them go, as if reminding himself that he was safe. It was worrying Ghost, and each time he asked him what was wrong, if he did something to upset him, Soap just shrugged it off "It's nothing, don't worry Si." He says, but it doesn't ease his worries one bit.
Simon wants to prod, wants to pin him down, force him to say what is wrong so he can fucking do something about it, so he doesn't feel so damn helpless anymore.
But it wouldn't be fair. He also had some topics he never unpacked, that he put in a little box, locking it and putting it in the furthest corner of his mind, throwing away the key so it never opens up again. And Johnny respected that, even though he often reassured him he could talk about anything with him, and sometimes expressed how helpless and useless he felt doing nothing, he never prodded.
It made him feel so damn guilty, realizing that this is how he made his Johnny feel so often, and he swore to himself that he would try to open up more, let Johnny help more. But only after he figured this one out, figured out what was going on.
With that in mind, Ghost let the cigarette in his hand fall to the ground, stomping it out before moving to enter the base again. At this point they really should place an ash tray here somewhere, he was well aware he wasn't the only smoker at their base. The many cig buds scattered on the pavement were quite obvious proof of that, though he is glad that he always gets left alone when he decides to smoke here instead of on the roof.
The door to the base drops shut with a heavy thud and he tries not to shudder at the sudden cold in the base. It was a complete opposite to the sunny patch he warmed himself in while he was standing outside, almost like a cat perching itself on a window sill on a sunny day.
Determined to finally confront his teammate and lover, he set a brisk pace towards the scots room, walking with purposeful and long strides. He wanted to get this over with as quick as he could. Not because he was eager or excited to do so, no, it's because he despises confrontation with his whole soul and being, always did. Confrontation meant received defensiveness, leading to harsh words, which in turn brought up arguments and feelings, and he wasn't necessarily great with those.
But, he wanted this to work, wanted desperately to finally be content, or dare he even say happy, for once, able to be vulnerable around someone that understood him to a level no one else ever could. He wanted, no needed, Johnny. And so he marched on, the few soldiers that didn't go home that weekend and were hanging out in the halls taking a step or two out of his way.
After passing by a few familiar doors, including his own, he finally got to Soap's and was just about to knock on it when a weird noise made him stop all his movements. It sounded like something falling to the floor, most likely the cup of pencils Soap kept on his desk, and was followed by.....a moan? Or a whimper? Something in between that. He felt his heart drop, hurt overtaking his body, and yet he couldn't move, couldn't bring himself to stop listening.
Simon could feel his resolve shattering, Ghost already taking his place and building up his walls again brick by brick, and now it wasn't just the broken heater system at their base making him feel cold.
Not sure how long, but he stood there for at least a minute or two, listening to the whispered words that he couldn't quite make out through the door and the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He definitely knew it wasn't Soap's voice though, no, it was too deep for that. When he heard the sound of clothes rustling, he already turned to leave, feeling his grip on his anger crumbling and needing to escape. He just needed to get out, smoke a cigarette.
Or two.
Or three.
Or the whole pack, maybe even something stronger. Or go to the gym, smash his fists into a punching bag until the skin over his knuckles split, until there is blood oozing from his wounds and fabric fibers climbing their way into them, all the while imagining it was Soap or the man he was with right now. He just couldn't fucking believe Johnny out of all people would do that to him. Sweet, honest, lovely Johnny, who always told him he loved him more dearly than anything else, who always kissed the scars he was insecure about to make him love himself, who treated him softer than a man his size and his rank should be, his fucking Johnny.
Well never fucking mind that now, huh?
It's not a big deal, none at all.
He didn't even need that idiotic scot in the first place.
Or well, that's what he was trying to tell himself while he was working on building up the walls around him again, prepared to stalk to his room and let each of his steps morph him into Ghost again, rip Simon from him bit by bit like he did so many years ago.
That was the plan at least until he heard something that made him freeze.
A muffled "Please stop" reached his ears, but Soap's voice wasn't laced with lust or anything similar, no it sounded desperate and scared and he immediately spinned around to press his ear against the door. He didn't care what he looked like right now, standing like that against a door and eavesropping like a nosy bitch. When he heard quiet sobs, most likely muffled by a hand or something, he said fuck it and took a step back, his foot meeting the spot above the door knob soon after and breaking the door.
Simon would've sobbed at what he saw, at the way the man who they have called a guest at their base, an old Captain of Johnny's, was pressing said man into his desk, holding his hands in a tight grip with one hand and holding the other over his mouth. And God, how he looked at him, his eyes and cheeks wet with tears, face flushed and sporting a big hand sized print on one cheek, fear and relief showing on those pools of blue.
But that wasn't Simon who kicked down the door and started making his way over to the Captain, who grabbed him by the neck, the nails of his glove less hand digging into the flesh there as he ripped that disgusting scumbag off of Soap and threw him onto the floor. If this was Simon, he would've immediately ran to his lover to check on him, to comfort him and make sure he was okay. But this was Ghost, and he was too busy kicking the man on the floor from being on his fours to laying on the ground sideways, taking advantage of the way his ribs were exposed so nicely and gave them a few strong kicks, sure to have broken something. Crunchy.
It wasn't enough though, he needed to feel the crunch of bones breaking under his hands, to feel that blood on his knuckles, the one from his own mixing with that pathetic man's. And so he gave him another firm kick, effectively turning him over and immediately slamming his knee down into his stomach. He kept it there as he grabbed his collar with one hand, the other being busy with throwing punch after punch into that disgusting face, hearing and feeling the nose break as it started bleeding heavily along with his lips, teeth colored with red.
Felt so fucking good, maybe a bit too good, but he didn't care, he wanted to destroy every single bone in this man's body, let it all heal afterwards, just to do it again. Break the body and the mind. Wanted to submit him to the most gruesome torture methods he wouldn't even wish his enemy's to undergo, because now it all made fucking sense. This was in no way the first time something like this happened between them, and it made Ghost sick to the stomach, and he just about thought about ribbing open the other man's stomach when there was suddenly a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away slightly and only tightening it's grip when he tried to escape to land another punch on the now passed out man under him.
Over the racing of his thoughts and heart he didn't register Soap's sobbing in the background, neither did he hear Gaz and Price calling his name and frantically asking what was going on. But now that he was back in the moment, he finally looked over to Soap, seeing how he curled himself up in a corner in the room, his state making Ghost want to pull out one of his hidden knifes to stab the man responsible for this.
Johnny looked like he was trying to make himself appear as small as he possibly could, trying to hide that open belt and the slightly undone shirt, his usually tidy hair more messy than he had ever seen it. His body was shaking as loud sobs escaped his mouth, the hand he pressed on his mouth doing nothing to contain his cries. God, how should he explain this to Price?
"Ghost, what the hell is going on?" He heard the man yell, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Soap, and so he slowly stood up and made bis way over to him, watching Gaz try and fail to comfort him. While he did that, he shot a look to Price and Gaz, saying he would explain later, before reaching his love and kneeling down softly. Gaz took that as his cue to join Price in dragging the unconcious man out of the room, even being so kind as to close the door to give them some privacy.
Price was smart, and he knew his men, Simon being the one he has known the longest out of the three. He knew that when Simon snapped and disobeyed, did something reckless, he had a damn good reason to do so. That didn't mean he wouldn't still get a scolding for this, this shit would mean even more troubles and paperwork for him but he would wait until Ghost explained, then he will decide on the punishment he's going to give him.
As slow and careful as the masked man could, he tried to call John's name while extending a hand to touch his shoulder, but the man still flinched and tried to burrow himself even further into the wall behind him. He was scared, scared of him
"Hey it's okay. It's me, Ghost."
"I dinnae want Ghost, I want Simon!" John managed to choke out, hugging himself tightly.
In any other situation he would've found that sentence adorable, but right now he hurried to take his mask off while also trying not to startle Soap with any sudden movements. When he finally pulled it off, he layed the mask on the ground and tried again, his hand coming to rest on Johnny's knee. Another flinch.
"Look at me love."
He just shook his head, his eyes staying tightly shut as if he was trying to keep the tears in with it, but they still flowed freely over his face, soaking his eyelashes and a bit of his beard, some dripping onto his shirt. He didn't want to look up. He didn't want to see Ghost, didn't want a skull looking back at him or to see the blood on him. The blood of that bastard. All he wanted was Simon. He just wanted Simon. Just Simon.
"Please look at me Johnny. It's Simon, I swear."
That finally seemed to convince him, as he slowly opened his eyes and directed his gaze to him, and for a second they both just looked at each other. Simon was looking at his face, at his neck, at his wrists that were littered with bruises and it took everything in him not to let the anger that crawled its way back up to show on his face. John was studying his face, eyes wandering over his features, looking into his worried eyes before landing on his bloodied hands. He felt bile rise up his throat and quickly looked away, instead throwing himself at Simon.
Suprised, he almost tumbled down with Soap but managed to stabilize himself and hugged him just as tightly. His knees were starting to complain, but he didn't care. He would stay down on the ground, the both of them kneeling and holding one another, his hands rubbing soothing patterns on his back, forever if it meant making the other feel at least slightly better.
Only when the sobbing seized and turned into small and few sniffles did he dare to push away the man he has been holding for who knows how long, his hand cupping his face as he used his sleeve to wipe his wet cheeks.
"You okay?"
"No, not really"
'Yeah, dumb question' he thought to himself, trying to think of anything else to say.
"Wanna go lay down?" He asked when he saw how Soap's eyes were starting to droop a little bit, probably exhausted from all the crying and the situation in general. When he received a nod, he stood up and took Soap up with him, putting a comforting hand onto his back and guiding him to his cot. After helping Soap lay down, he wanted to go get the chair from his desk, but was stopped by a hand gripping his tightly. Soap was looking at him with those fearful eyes again, so he interlocked their fingers and gave them a soft squeeze.
"I'm just gonna get the chair real quick okay?" Simon said and tried to move away again but was pulled closer to the bed instead. Soap didn't say a word, but he still understood what he wanted from him, however he hesitated, not wanting to make Soap feel uncomfortable after just having his personal space invaded by that piece of shit.
"You sure?" Soap nodded at him and scooted over to make space, almost annoyed by how Simon treated him like a fragile thing, even if he kind of was just that at the moment.
With that, Simon finally joined him on the bed, keeping his hands to himself but still openly staring at his love, who was laying on his side just like him and staring back. He was just about to talk again, wanting to ask about the man, why he didn't tell him, and apparently he could sense that, because John just burrowed himself in the others chest and closed his eyes, hugging him tightly.
He took that as a sign that he 1. Should shut up and 2. was allowed to touch him, so he instantly started running his hands through the scots hair, scratching his scalp with his black nails just the way he liked it. In response, he could feel Soap start to relax against him, his breath starting to slow at the way his partner drew patterns on his upper back.
And they spent quite some time just like that, both holding each other in peaceful silence, trying to forget what happened in this room just an hour before. It would take some time until John was really himself again, but Simon would help in any way that he could.
As John was dozing off, slipping into the comforting void of darkness and feeling sleep overtake his body, Simon was thinking. Thinking of how to explain himself, explain the whole situation, to Price, so he doesn't get fired for beating someone up, especially someone that was a guest and of higher rank than him. He wouldn't really care that much if he got fired. Sure, he wouldn't have a purpose or task anymore, and his Time would be spent consumed by dark thoughts and even worse memories, but it would be worth it. But, he wouldn't see Johnny anymore, and he's not quite sure how he would handle that.
With a sigh, he looked over at the alarm clock, reading the time. 8:36 pm, he would need to hurry up if he still wanted to talk to his Captain. As quietly as he could, he slowly slipped out of the bed, tensing up as Soap stirred a bit before simply turning around and hugging the small dog plush on his Bed. Ghost got it for him once, before they were together, to mock Johnny's hate for dogs. That was before he found out that he had a damn great reason to hate them, seeing as one caused that scar on his chin that he loved to run his hands over. When he did find out, he apologized, but Soap just laughed it off and said he still found the plushy adorable, so he kept it.
Shaking his head, he focused on now and on his task again, putting his mask back on and making his way to the door, stepping out of the room as quiet as he could. Soap was more of a deep sleeper, but he still didn't want to risk waking him up. Besides, he would probably be back soon anyway. Or at least he hoped so, maybe Price would have a long ass lecture for him again, he wouldn't be surprised.
Only one way to find out.
He knocked on the door to Price's office, almost immediately hearing a "Come on in" from the inside and following the order. The frown on his CO's face was already a bad sign, and when he saw him put out his cigar and mention to the chair in front of his desk, he knew he wouldn't be returning to Johnny all too soon.
"Simon Riley-"
"In my defense-"
"Nothing in your defense! Do you know how much paperwork I have to do now? You could get fired, I could get fired, they could shut this whole base down and it would only be because my men cannot behave themselves like some goddamn animals. God what am i supposed to do with you all-"
And it went on like that for a loooong while, Ghost just staring at Price with an indifferent face. He knew Price would listen to him once he calmed down, he always did, so he just let him get this out of his system, and when he deemed him calm enough he finally told him his side of the story.
"Oh." And he could already see the cogs turning in his brain, the Captain himself wanting to do what Ghost did to that pathetic excuse of a human being, maybe even double it. He looked like he aged 10 years just by hearing about what happened to his Sargeant, his friend and someone he regarded as a son, under his watch, in his base. A heavy sigh, and then he sent Simon away, telling him to take care of his boyfriend teasingly. He was such a dad, always teasing the both of them every chance he got, embarrassing them by telling stories of the past. All in good fun of course.
Ghost said his goodbyes and hurried back to Soap's room, hoping that he was still asleep so he didn't have to explain where he had been.
Luck seemed to be on his side for once, because Soap was still laying in bed, soft snores escaping his slightly open mouth as he hugged the small plushy tightly. The view was so adorable, Simon couldn't help but take a picture, even though it was dark, the only light source being the moon and the small lamp on Soap's desk, he still thinks it turned out really nice.
His fingers and lips itched to have a cigarette to hold, craving to inhale the smoke into his lungs, but he fought the urge. He didn't feel like leaving Soap's side again so soon, and neither was he in the mood for the biting wind he could hear through the thin walls, so he decided to stay. Sighing for what felt like the hundred time today, he finally stripped himself of his gear, leaving him in only a t-shirt and the joggers he wore to training today, his mask discarded as well.
The cot dipped and creaked slightly under his weight, but only when Simon pressed himself against Soap's back did the other stir in his sleep. He turned around to face him again, blinking his eyes in the cutest way ever. "Where were ye?" He murmured, accent thick and sleep lacing his voice. Simon just smiled at him softly, his hands wandering from his back to his face, fingers tracing over those cutely furrowed brows, then going over his nose to his cheeks, softly following the cheekbones to his lips and then to his chin, kissing the scar on it so gently that John could barely feel it. He delighted at the small frown turning into a sleepy grin, amazed at how he got so lucky, and planted a kiss on Johnny's forehead before pressing it against his chest.
His hands laced his hair again, playing with it and rubbing soothing motions into his scalp and neck, pressing a kiss on his head every now and then. He could do this all night, probably will too. Simon can't sleep, too many thoughts in his head, too much worry for Soap, but he still stays there, comforts Soap even in his sleep.
In that moment, it was just the two of them that mattered. The way their heartbeats and breaths mixed together, the way Johnny's arms tightened around him every now and then, how he would shift slightly and then sigh in content.
And when morning would come, and the subject would inevitably come back up again, he would still be there. Would still hold Soap, would run his hands through his hair, would kiss him, would reassure him time and time again that they would be okay, would do anything and everything in his power for him to be alright. And if he was the unlucky one to die on duty first, the one who's casket his team would have to carry through a funeral devoid of any guests other than them, then he would just come back as an actual Ghost. Would haunt him, would watch over him like he always did.
He would always be there for him.