Chapter Text
“We don’t know much about what we’ll find in that room, they've got all the doors and windows locked tight, all our watchers haven’t managed to get any close ups on the information. But we're gonna set up a…” Price’s voice goes on, and on.
Ghost is the one that helped him set up the presentation, why he has to sit in on all the information just regurgitated back at him for an hour, he had no idea. Gotta look united as a team, probably something Price would say if he asked.
But Ghost is fine to wait it out, just stare at the blur of pictures projected behind Price's hat, let his familiar brogue lull him into a fuzzy half awareness as his mind turns off for a few minutes.
He’s perfected the art of zoning out while still seemingly paying avid attention, the trick is to cross his arms and harden his eyes, so that when anyone spares him a glance, they look away before they can see the unfocused glint behind them.
Works a damn treat. Ghost is not quite sure if Price has caught on yet.
But of course he can never get enough of a reprieve from the monotony. Ghost’s chances of getting though this meeting without having an aneurysm, fly right into the fucking wall. All with just a little piece of paper bumping against his glove.
He doesn’t have to look down, he knows what he’ll find. The sergeant was only officially recruited to the 141 three weeks ago, and Ghost is about ready to grip him by that stupid mohawk and slam his face into the wall, on the spot over there right next to his patience.
He feels the paper nudge against his hand again, has to take a deep breath to calm himself, he is in a room with half a dozen other soldiers that need to be paying attention after all, but that paper just flaps against his fingers again. Maybe he can get some payback, get the man to his left in a little trouble during his first briefing.
Ghost unclenches his grip around his bicep and snatches the sticky note without looking at it, then he pulls it up in front of his face, an obvious movement to everyone around. Most eyes in the room flick to the note and away, all except for Price’s.
Of course the bastard doesn’t care.
What was all that shit about a united front, Price?
Ghost just sighs as he gives in, the little pink note has a mess of writing in black pen at the top and a little cartoon ghost in the bottom corner, it actually takes him a second to figure out how to read it.
‘Do you always daydream during briefings or is this one special’
Shit.
Ghost just puts the sticky note on the table in front of him and retucks his arm against his chest. He hears a little annoyed huff next to him and doesn’t even try to hide his amusement at the sound.
Price continues his speech, not even glancing across at Ghost, as he settles his eyes back just to the left of the oil stain on the outer brim of his hat.
Then he feels another bump of paper against his hand. Good fucking god this man is persistant.
He grabs it immediately this time, no need for him to be in Ghost’s personal space for any longer than necessary. This second note is mostly the same, except this time the little ghost is sporting a rather impressive frown, glancing at the creator he finds a pretty close match.
‘its rude to ignore people ya know’
Ghost just sets it down next to the other and recrosses his arms. The following huff is more of a scoff and Ghost feels his grin grow just a little.
The next note comes much faster than last time and with a much sadder looking ghost.
‘Ghooooost”
It goes next to the others.
The note after that is just the small ghost with empty space around it, this time with tears streaming down from its wide beady eyes into a puddle underneath.
Ghost snorts at the ridiculous little face, placing it next to the others and ignoring every eye in the room on him, they all turn away before he looks back up.
It takes Ghost a minute of watching Price’s mouth move to realise that he hasn’t gotten another note in suspiciously too long.
He flicks a glance to the man in question, only to see his blue eyes wide and smug, looking straight back at him.
Ghost doesn’t know how to feel about that.
___
“He’s a good soldier Ghost. Just takes a little getting used to.” Price says, Ghost doesn’t really appreciate the knowing look in his eye.
“A little? I can barely walk one step in this place without the man running up t’ bump me on the shoulder. He’s a pest.” Ghost complains, looking down at price from his stiff stance in front of the Captain’s desk.
“He’s friendly.” Price tries.
“He’s getting on my nerves.” Ghost warns back.
Price sighs and leans back in his chair, fixing Ghost with his most ‘i’m not taking your bullshit today’ look and Ghost returns his own in kind.
“You can’t keep accusing every new soldier that crosses paths with the 141 of being insubordinate, incompetent, or just annoying.”
“I do not-”
“Do I need to remind you about your behavior when Garrick first arrived, lieutenant.” Price asks, his thick brows raised with too much satisfaction.
Ghost looks away. “Gaz was a little shit when he first arrived.”
Price chuckles deeply. “Aye, he was. Doesn’t change the fact that you questioned him at every turn those first few months. Give it time, Ghost. Maybe you two can bond over your MRE’s and a hot coffee when you ship out friday.”
Ghost narrows his eyes. “I’m meant t’ partner up with Garrick for the stakeout.”
Price tilts his head in faux ignorance. “Change of plans, I went over this during the briefing as I’m sure you remember.”
Sneaky prick.
Ghost crosses his arms tightly over his chest, eyes firmly locked on Price’s, he can’t exactly argue unless he wants to get written up for slacking off, but the current worst thing he can imagine putting himself through, is being stuck in an enclosed space with MacTavish for two days. But of course that’s exactly what Price is gonna make him do, the bastard.
“If that’s all Lieutenant.” Price gives one last chance for argument, though the smirk under his mustache shows he knows Ghost is rightfully cornered.
“Yes Sir.”
“Good, you’re dismissed. But Ghost, play nice.” He warns, Ghost just turns away and leaves.
He makes his way to the mess, gets there a little late for lunch after following Price to his office from the briefing. But Ghost kind of prefers it this way, shorter cues and less noise.
He takes his tray of mac ‘n’ cheese over to his usual table, it's always a bit soggy if you don’t get in fast enough, but Ghost couldn’t care less. He can picture the stack of paperwork sat on the center of his desk he needs to finish before Friday. He's hoping to get it over with tonight so he can spend tomorrow afternoon in bed watching ‘nailed it’ till he passes out.
He rolls up his mask and gets an impressive three bites into his pile of mash, before a well built chest blocks his view of the back of some new private and his poorly blended fade.
“Hey Lt, this seat taken.” Soap asks.
Ghost looks pointedly up and down the row of empty benches on both sides of him. “No.”
Soap plops down, lining up his fork and spoon carefully but not yet picking them up. “I’m looking forward ta friday, Sir. Though I'm bummed the first time I get ta see ye in action will be stuck behind a pair of binoculars.”
“And why would you be watchin me through binoculars Sergeant.” Ghost asks flatly.
Soap’s eyes widened, “What, no no, thas not…” He must see Ghost's amusement because he just rolls his eyes, “Ye know what I mean, we'll be sittin’ next to each other lookin’ outta the binoculars, te stare at a house fer two days.”
“No, we’ll be takin turns.” Ghost says behind his next spoonful of mash.
“Ye won’t be keepin’ me company while I'm doin my shift? That’s just mean Lt. How will I pass the time?” Soap sounds like he’s pouting, Ghost doesn’t look up to check.
“You’ll cope.” Ghost responds before moving onto a spoonful of predictably soggy macaroni.
“Aye.” He says solemnly, “I suppose I’ll just have te make up for it by keepin’ ye company when it’s yer turn.” Ghost does look up at that and Soap just winks at him.
“You think cornering me when I'm physically unable t’ walk away from you, is a good way t’ get on my good side MacTavish?” Ghost bristles at the promise in the man's eyes.
“It’s worth a try.” Soap says with a shrug.
Ghost just sighs and looks back down at his tray, focusing on shoveling the food down, barely chewing it once before swallowing.
Soap chuckles, a little unnerved, “Yer gonna choke.”
“Got shit t’ do MacTavish.” Ghost responds between spoonfuls.
Soap seems to notice his time running out, “I can always bring a pack of cards te entertain us, ooh, do ye like monopoly Sir?”
“Monopoly.” Ghost says flatly.
“Aye, got the Scotland edition.” He grins.
“Why the fuck did they make a Scottish monopoly board?”
“Why not? They got plenty ‘o’ one's fer you Brits. Besides, mine's the best version.”
Ghost scoffs, “Fuckin unlikely.” Before scooping up the last mouthful of mostly just cheese sauce.
“I ain’t gonna bring it if yer not gonna be appreciative Sir.” Soap says sternly.
“Then were both on the same page.” Ghost pulls down his mask and stands up.
Soap fumbles a little, “Will I see ye in the rec room tomorrow, some o’ the lads wanna play some cards before I ship out.”
“I got plans.” Ghost says, turning away to dump his tray.
Now he just has to get through the paperwork and he can spend his last day before being stuck with Soap, doing exactly what he does before every mission.
Absolutely fuck all.
___
Ghost stares at the bubbling water through the foggy strip of clear plastic on the side of the kettle. He’s decided he feels like a cup of tea, purely because he’s craving something warm and soothing to combat the drafty chill in every room of this apartment, no other reason.
When the kettle clicks, Ghost picks out one of six teabags he was allotted for this mission, but oh no, he forgot to wash out the mug from his last cup. Darn, he'll just have to postpone switching out shifts with johnny on lookout a little bit longer.
He carefully scrubs the mug with the sponge, rinses it three times, dries it thoroughly, the tea towel is not very absorbent, before placing in the teabag and pouring in the water. He lets it steep until the water is a deep reddish brown then scoops out the teabag, pours in a small packet of UHT milk and mixes it together thoroughly.
Ghost looks at the mug of steaming tea, nothing left to do but go out into the second bedroom and let Soap know his shift is over.
Fuck it.
Ghost picks up his tea and makes his way down the hallway to the open door at the end.
Soap is sat on one of the two kitchen chairs set up in front of the pulled blinds, the only furniture in the room. He peers out of binoculars stuck between two slats before looking down to write something in the notebook on his lap.
“S’time Sergeant.” Ghost calls from the doorway.
“Christ.” Soap jumps, placing a hand over his chest, “How the fuck are ye so quite, scared the life outta me.”
“One can dream.” Ghost responds, walking over to the man.
“Funny.” Soap scoffs, standing up to let Ghost take his place.
Ghost sits down and tries not to let his agitation show as Soap just moves to sit in the chair next to him. Ghost knew that was why the man had insisted upon bringing both chairs from the kitchen table into the room, though at the time he had made some excuse about wanting a footrest.
Ghost places his tea by the leg of his chair, picks up the binoculars and looks out at the house across the street they are meant to be watching.
It feels wrong to call it a house, it’s an obnoxiously big ugly thing, made up of three apartments with outdoor stairs to each floor, similar to the one they're sat in now. But those are all owned by the same group, they seem to go in and out between apartments like they know no one is dumb enough to try to stop the activities going on inside.
It was maybe true for a time, but when they moved on from dealing in powdered drugs, moving up to dealing in powdered explosives, now they are practically just asking for it.
“The last delivery was made at 0800, been quiet since then.” Soap says, leaning back in his chair.
Ghost hums, flicking between the windows for movement, most of the lights are off in the house now, it’s just past 1200, Ghost guesses most business is being kept inside during daylight hours.
“I always picture the head of criminal organizations te be dressed in black suits and sunglasses. Or maybe a tac vest with a spooky mask.” Ghost keeps his eyes forward. “This lady is crazy if she thinks Cheetah print is intimidating. Really ruining the image of crime lords I got in my head.” Soap muses.
“D’ye think-”
Ghost stops listening, maybe if he just doesn’t answer, the man will shut up.
Ghost picks up an easy pattern, check all windows for movement, two people carrying around boxes in the living room on the first floor, write in the notebook, check the doors for movement, check the street for movement, note nothing out of the ordinary, repeat.
It’s soothing in the way mindless repetition usually is, he leans back to take a sip of tea, a little bitter for his liking, then leans pack in and repeats.
“Are ye always such a grumpy bastard?” Soap says in a huff.
Ghost does smirk at that.
“So that's the thing that finally gets yer interest, bein’ insulted.” Soap’s voice is delighted.
Ghost forgot to pull his mask back down after finishing his tea, Fuck.
“I just think it’s amusing how easily you work yourself up.” Ghost responds, it’s too late now to pull the mask back down so he carefully keeps his head tilted towards the window, blocking at least half of his exposed jaw from Soap.
“Oh yer helping me along just fine.”
It is very hard not to roll his eyes.
“Anythin’ of interest out there?” Soap asks then.
“Negative. Noone in or out since I sat down.” Ghost responds simply.
“Must not be openin’ hours.” Soap says.
Ghost just hums.
“Why the mask?” Soap asks then.
Ghost scoffs.
“What, is it some big mysterious secret?” Soap says in a mocking tone.
Ghost side eyes him.
“Ye walk around with a spooky mask, barely lift it enough te eat, probably sleep in the damn thing, is there a reason fer it or do ye just wanna look intimidating, cause let me tell ye sir, ye are plenty intimidatin’ all by yer tall brooding lonesome.” Soap inhales heavily once he’s finished.
“There is a reason.” Ghost says slowly.
“Why do ye wear it?” Soap sits forward.
“Ta hide my face.” He responds.
Soap frowns, “Not very creative.”
“S’the purpose of a mask, doesn’t need t’ be creative.” Ghost argues.
“Ye got a big bloody skull on the front of it, don’t try te tell me it’s just a fashion choice. They don’t give em out like that with the rest of the gear.”
“Nah, made em myself.”
“Ye into arts and crafts, Lt?” Soap sounds practically giddy.
“I’m excellent at paper mache.”
“Let me guess, ye make a bunch a skulls to sit on yer bedside table at night.”
“Think I made a pencil holder once in elementary.”
“Oh really, ye still got it?”
“Fuck no, tossed it, couldn’t even sit flat on it’s own, all the pencils just fell out of it.”
Soap bursts into a loud hearty chuckle, tipping his head back with the effort, Ghost himself lets the corner of his lip rise, the one facing the wall.
“I did pottery, made a little bowl and spoon, one of them pinch pots, painted it bright yellow.” Soap chuckles harder at the image.
“Yellow?” Ghost cringes.
“Used te be my favorite color as a lad, it was more of an orange once I put the paint on the clay though, was that cheap thin stuff that schools always have.”
Ghost looks over at Soap, he tipped his head back to lean against the chair, his legs spread wide and arms resting lazily against his stomach, his mouth is turned up in a delicate smile, matching the soft thoughtfulness in his eyes.
“My Ma still uses it to keep the sugar fer her tea. Thought about throwin’ it out many times, used te be embarrassed when she kept showin’ it off te guests, tellin’ em that her son made if for her.” He turns his eyes to meet Ghosts, “Even when I was well into college. She probably still does.”
Ghost hums quietly, Soap looks relaxed despite the chair Ghost knows intimately now, how it must be digging into his arse after being seated for over seven hours now. But he doesn’t seem to mind, looking perfectly content to share this small space.
Not many people ever look like this around Ghost, sure he’s been in the rec room and found soldiers laying about, a few so comfortable they fall asleep on the floor, but that’s nothing like this.
Soap is smiling at him, or smiling towards him while thinking of his family, Ghost doesn’t care about the difference, just letting himself look his fill of the soft blue eyes looking back at him.
“Yer lucky ye never brought that pencil holder home, once parents get their hands on things like that, ye’ll never be able te get rid of it.” Soap laughs lightly to himself.
Ghost pulls down his mask and looks back out the binoculars, restarting the pattern, check the windows for movement, no more movement in the living room on the first floor, write in the notebook, check the doors for movement, check the street for movement, note nothing out of the ordinary, repeat.
“Has the Cheetah print woman come back yet, I’m dyin to see what shirt she’s got on under that coat. Who wear’s leather shoes that color, really.” Soap starts up again.
Ghost looks over to see him looking up at the ceiling, seeming content that Ghost won’t be contributing any more to his thoughts.
Ghost just looks back out the binoculars.
Check the windows for movement, check the doors for movement, two men standing outside the back door on the first floor having a smoke, write in the notebook, check the street for movement, note nothing out of the ordinary, repeat.
___
“Alright, imma go get a coffee, then we can switch.” Soap says through a long stretch.
Ghost looks down at his watch, it’s five minutes to 1800, he doesn’t know when it got that late.
Soap had sat next to him almost the whole shift, he’d gotten up twice to take a very loud piss, and once to get them both an MRE, every other time he stood up it was just to stretch and stride around the room, his legs must be killing him after being seated for such a long stretch of time.
“Alright, move yer arse.” Soap walks back in with a mug of coffee sloshing dangerously close to the edge. Ghost gets up and does a much needed stretch himself, Soap bumping him out of the way with his hip so he can claim the chair.
“How’re the legs sergeant?” Ghost asks when Soap groan as he sits.
“Lil stiff, nothin I can’t handle.” He waves his hand like he can brush Ghost's concern from the air.
“Yeah right, I better not hear a single complaint about it tomorrow. However sore your legs are is your own damn fault.”
“Don't you worry about me Ghost, you just get yourself some rest, Aye.” Soap dismisses, waving his hand more aggressively in the air.
Ghost leaves with a little “Night, Sir.” Trailing down the hallway behind him.
He goes through his nightly routine, wash his face, brush his teeth, clean his knives, put a glass of water next to his bed, currently his ‘bed’ is reduced to a mattress on the floor. Line his boots up by the door, take off his pants and get under the covers.
He’s got his watch set for ten minutes before their shift change, that leaves him just under five hours to sleep, it’s more than he usually gets and tonight is no different. He doesn’t know how long it does take, maybe somewhere around the hour mark, but the sound of soft shuffling and low humming is oddly nice as it echoes through the wall.
A much nicer sound than the beeping of his watch.
Ghost groans and rolls over to pick up the offending object and fumbles a bit to stop it beeping.
He sits up and cracks his back, the popping aiding to loosen the stiffness ever present along his spine, which he knows will just get worse after sitting in a chair for another six hours.
Ghost gets up to start his morning routine, which while he’s away from base is mostly just taking a piss and making a cuppa.
“You’re looking chipper.” Ghost says when he sees the exhaustion pulling down at every inch of Soaps face.
“Jesus.” His hand flies to his chest, “Are ye tryin’ te give me a heart attack?”
“Not right now.” Ghost offers.
Soap snorts and gets out of the chair, it takes him a little longer to stretch out his muscles and the second he drops his arms back down, he looks like he may fall asleep the moment he shuts his eyes. Whether or not he’s still standing while he does.
“Alright, get out, you’re not sitting in this time.” Ghost orders, very sternly pointing a finger at Soap’s chest.
“Don’t need ta tell me. As pleasant as yer company is, my arse went numb three hours ago. It deserves a lil rest.”
Ghost watches Soap leave with a yawned “Night, Sir.” Then settles in his chair and sets his tea by the leg, settling into his shift.
It all passes much slower this time, Ghost is used to the slow drag of these kinds of missions, just staring straight ahead, keeping his body so still that his blood thickens in his veins with the stillness of his muscles.
The only thing that disrupts his endless pattern of observation, is the soft snores that echo down the hall, occasionally deepening to a throaty rumbled groan before softening out.
Ghost does find it very amusing when the quiet beeping of a watch causes the snoring to turn into a sharp snort then a long wail until the beeping stops.
Soap either has very poor hearing, not unlikely given his appreciation for explosives, or massive feet, because the sheer volume of the man's footsteps as he stomps through the place. You’d think they weren't on a mission with the pure objective of keeping hidden.
“Mornin’ Lt.” Soap mumbles through the door, stomping over to take his seat beside Ghost.
“Morning.” He responds.
“That mattress should be set on fire, I woke up and still can’t feel my arse.” He leans forward, probably to relieve a little of the pressure, sticking his nose in the steam of his coffee.
“What did I say about the complaining MacTavish?” Ghost shoots him a stern look, Soap just grins back.
“Ye said I can't complain about ma legs, but ye didn’t say nothin’ about my arse, Sir. I’m actually a little insulted.” He follows up his mumbling with a long slurp of coffee. “Tha’s good.”
Ghost shakes his head and turns back to the binoculars, his eyes are bone dry and it’s taking a lot of effort not to rub at them. He doesn’t feel like trying to rinse out his eyes if he smears eye black into them. It’s not a very pleasant sensation.
“I was gonna make ye a tea but i dont know how ye like it, wasn’t gonna waste one of yer bags by fuckin it up. But I'll make ye one when I get my second cup of this.”
“Don’t bother, I'll get one later.” Ghost says.
“I might as well save ye the trip Ghost, i can just bring ye tea in here with me when we switch.”
Ghost gives him a bland look, “The second it’s 0600, i’m getting in a workout.”
Soaps eyes widen slightly, more focused “There's plenty of floor space in here, Lt.”
“Not happening.”
“Och, such a tease.” Soap grumbles through a smile.
Ghost opens his mouth to respond but something blocks the flickering porch light across the street drawing his eye. “Bloody hell.”
“What?” Soap asks. Ghost can hear him getting up to peer through the blinds. “That is not supposed to be there is it.”
“No, it’s not.” Ghost watches the box truck slow to a stop on the street, two men dressed in typical delivery uniforms jump out, met at the gate by a woman with a hideous Cheetah print cardigan.
“Cheetah print over cheetah print is just vile.” Soap murmurs against the hand he's using to hold open the blinds.
The woman and the tallest delivery driver shake hands, the driver talking while waving towards the truck. Ghost turns his gaze to the front door of the bottom apartment, soon two people come out carrying boxes. The boxes that Ghost saw two people sorting in the living room. The boxes thas Soap saw them packing full with taped up bricks of powder. Presumed bricks of explosive powder.
“That is alot more goods than the anonymous tip implied.” Soap's voice sounds just as uneasy as Ghost feels.
The boxes get put in the back of the truck, the shorter delivery driver follows the other two back inside, they all come out a second later with another box each. Ghost didn’t count how many boxes were moved back and forth in the living room, but he did note down that it took them twenty minutes till they went out for a smoke break.
“Sergeant, get on the coms, radio this in to Price.” Ghost commands, handing the notebook over to Soap.
“Yes, Sir.” Soap quickly complies, hurrying out into the kitchen where they set up their radio on the small table.
Ghost just watches with growing anxious anticipation as box, after box, gets loaded into the back of the truck.
___
Everything that happens next is just a fucking mess.
Price immediately sends out a team to track down the truck, that much explosives in anyone's hands is too dangerous to really comprehend. Then a team is sent to infiltrate the apartments, they had planned it all out for after Ghost and Soap’s stakeout, but if they don’t get in now, word will quickly come that the delivery never arrived and all hell will break loose.
Very quickly three swat vans arrive to the scene, half a dozen from each combing out to secure the area. After that it’s all a mess of gunshots and people littering the ground, varying from handcuffed against the curb, to unconscious on the grass, to bleeding out on the pavement.
It’s twenty minutes of shouting and banging, followed by an inexplicably eerie silence.
Throughout all of this, Ghost can do nothing but watch through his pair of fucking binoculars.
“Ye don’t like bein left out do ye Lt.” Soap says from his chair. Neither of them have moved since the call to Price was made.
“Could've gotten this over a lot faster if I had.” Ghost responds gruffly. And it’s true, he would have gone in there the second the box truck arrived if he had all his gear with him.
They were meant to go back to base before coming back with a team to infiltrate, all Ghost has with him here are his knives and a few guns. He would have gone in anyway but he knew Price would never allow it.
“I don’t doubt it.” Soap says very doubtfully.
Ghost spots Price pull up in a truck, he hops out and gestures to their apartment for Ghost to come out.
“Let’s go.”
They both pack up, it takes less than ten minutes, then they're heading outside and down the stairs, right into the chaos.
“Good work Lieutenant, Sergeant.” Price greets, walking toward them.
“Did fuck all.” Ghost argues, stopping in front of the man.
“He’s just upset he didn’t get a participation trophy.” Soap explains to Price.
Price chuckles deeply and pats Ghost on the arm, “There's always something else.”
They talk for a while longer, Soldiers around them gathering up the apprehended persons and load them into the back of different vehicles. Noone yet touching the bodies.
It doesn’t take much longer until they’re allowed to leave. Ghost manages to get in one of the trucks back to base without Soap, the man pouting at him through the window as Ghost drove past did send a pleasant tingle down his spine.
But of course even after being stuck with the man for two inescapable days, if he’s not got the man right in front of him, he just becomes the topic of conversation with the men around him.
Fucking brilliant.
“He’s not exactly what I expected, Ray had been going on about him ever since they worked together on that mission back in Manchester.” The soldier behind Ghost says. He doesn’t remember the man's name, but he will keep in mind not to assign him to any stealth missions in the future, he is pure shite at whispering.
The other soldier is certainly better, but with no other noise in the truck beside the roaring engine and crunch of gravel under the tires, it doesn’t take a lot of effort to eavesdrop.
“Ray goes on about every man with ‘gorgeous baby blues’ he sees. MacTavish isn’t the first and as much as I beg him to stop, he won’t be the last.”
“It’s not just about his eyes this time mate, didn’t he tell you?” The Soldier managed to be quieter this time, but Ghost is just interested enough to not tune it out.
“Tell me what?”
“There were rumors going around at his old base.”
“What rumors?”
“The kind of rumors Jay has been very excited to test out.”
“Stop being dramatic Connor, what fucking rumors?”
“The kind of rumors that Jay can’t stop talking about.”
“Oh god, do I want to know.”
“I don’t think anyone ever wants to hear about Jay's fantasies.”
“Good point. But I'm too interested now.”
Ghost just starts to unfocus his eyes, he’s already sick of their voices, except…
“Jay said, MacTavish had a bit of a reputation as a certain Bunny.”
Ghost’s breath catches in his throat.
“I swear to god if you don't start making some sense i’m gonna slap you.”
“What, are my story telling skills not good enough for you?”
“I will hit you connor.”
“You hit me and I-”
“I’m gonna put my boot up both of your arses if you dont get to the point private.” Ghost yells over the seat. The driver swerves a little at the sudden noise but Ghost doesn’t spare her a look.
Both men turn wide eyes to him.
“Oh, um, sorry Sir, we weren't-”
“What were you going to say?” Ghost orders.
“Um well.” The Man, ‘Connor’ looks about ready to piss himself, his mate seems torn between laughing or sinking back into his seat.
“I will not ask you again.” Ghost says lowly.
“People called him a Barracks bunny.” Connor rushes, his face turning a deep red the moment his mouth closes.
Everything in the truck becomes silent.
Well isn't that interesting.