Chapter Text
Laswell arrives three days after Amals first night at the base. Everything is only half legal so far, but she – and the rest of the crew – settle in easier than expected. They worked out a weird but working routine and it nearly feels like being family.
Amal sleeps with Ghost in his now suddenly too tiny room, he had found himself a spare mattress that he had put at the foot of (now) her bed to sleep on – sleep a strong word here, because he is mostly awake, watching her, thinking about too many things at once. There is a moment, deep into the night with nothing but her breathing sounds where he wishes for another normality.
It is just a moment, because despite everything that happened to this day, he does not regret.
Especially not her.
The three days with her, the incident in the gym pushed aside, are nearly normal. Homey. Cosy. She has them all wrapped around her fingers, the recruits obey her every wish and she is friendly, curious, and open about anything she does not understand. Asking questions, trying to follow their morning sports routine (she manages to run two laps today, speeding after the heels of the recruits who seem to run extra slow these days to give her something to be proud about) and she sticks to Ghost side nearly all the time. They had all seen the blue and yellow bruises on her arms when she ran around in a shirt the second day in the sun, anger boiling up again, but she was not talking about it… they would not push. The specialist would take care of that – they knew very well what violence did to the human brain, kids especially. Most of them had been there themselves.
Ghost had started to bury himself in some paperwork Price gave him to keep his head off the possible consequences Laswell would bring with her… at the same time he fears her arrival, he wishes for clarity.
And not only for himself.
When the day arrives, Amal is excited to be allowed to wait for the helicopter to touch down at the tarmac. She wears her facemask nearly everywhere now, so close to machines and noise her head is also covered with heavy Peltors she carries around proudly. She does know that this is not a game – but still there is joy and excitement to be allowed to wear military equipment. It makes her feel closer to her father, now that she can be around him.
Her eyes are big and curious as she watches the landing procedure, posture tense but in a giddy way. Typical childlike joy emitting from her tiny frame, she is nearly vibrating with concealed excitement.
Amal is wearing one of Gaz’s smaller hoodies because Ghost had not brought enough clothes and had no chance to buy new stuff, so they go with what they come up with. It looks like a dress on her, a belt holding the piece of fabric together in her midriff, so she does not stumble over it.
She very much looks like a weird gremlin with that unkept mass of hair that none of the guys had an idea how to deal with yet. Hairpins, brushes, and bobbles where not part of the base’s standard interior.
They wait in a safe distance when the heli touches down, the wind gust from the rotor blades nearly sweeps Amal off her feet. Ghosts strong and steady hand on her back keeps her from that. The side door slides open and Laswell peers out, eyes instantly fixed on the large form of her Lieutenant and the so much smaller body of his daughter next to him.
She reminds her of Merida distantly, the hair that needs some attention a strong factor in that resemblance. Amal holds Ghost hand and Laswell instantly thinks, that she is a powerful child. Everything in Ghost, how his body slightly leans into her direction, the softness in the way he is holding her hand, the missing eyeblack behind his balaclava… like a war hound willingly put on a leash.
That was something neither she nor Price had every achieved – nobody had ever reigned that man in. She knows that they were lucky that he was a good soldier and on their side. Simon Riley on the loose could always mean a (not so) small catastrophe.
The only one coming close to bring some kind of change to the distant and somewhat hollow, complicated man that was waiting on the tarmac, had been Soap. Laswell boxes her observations for now and leaves the heli as soon as she is cleared to do so.
When she finally approaches, Ghost greets her with hesitation. Amal – not so much.
“Hello! I am Amal, Papa said you are his boss and that I must treat you with respect. How can I call you? Can I fly with the helicopter as well? Will you stay? How come you are Papa’s boss? Does he behave when he works? Did you know that he did not tell Uncle Soap that he loves him, but me? I had to scold him for that – can you imagine? Can you scold him as well? And, if you are the boss, can you convince the people in the kitchen to cook sweet rice pudding? And can you order Uncle Gaz to eat more vegetables? He always shoves them over to Uncle Soap and thinks nobody sees it! And do you like math?”
Laswell blinks in surprise and slight irritation before she feels genuine laughter bubbling at the back of her throat. Amal had spoken more words in a single minute than her father would in a whole year.
“Hello Miss Riley. I am very pleased to meet you – you can call me Kate if you want.”
Amal smiles brightly at that, showing two missing front teeth.
“It is very nice to meet you, Kate!”
They shake hands – it looks very official from afar – before Laswell turns to Ghost. He is stiff, tense and obviously embarrassed.
“I never thought I would see you like this, Lieutenant.” Her smile is more a smirk, and he only groans, rolls his eyes before he fixes them on the helicopter, posture very formal, like a soldier standing in attention.
“I hope you had a calm flight. Thank you for coming.”
She eyes him sideways, observes the tense lines in his face and the dark circles under his eyes. When Amal tugs at his hand and he looks down, his face shifts into something entirely different. It is an expression she has never seen with him, his usual guarded eyes shining with absolute adoration. All his attention solely on her.
Laswell instantly knows that this girl is his whole world now.
“Thank you for your trust, Lieutenant. Let’s go inside.”
They meet the others in Price’ office, Amal disappeared into what was her corner by now, a makeshift area with everything she could entertain herself with when everybody was busy. She starts painting as soon as they arrive, busies herself with paper and pens, humming quietly and absolutely refocused into her new reality.
They watch her for a minute before Laswell demands attention.
“How is she fairing?”, she asks, watching the group around her while she rests her hip against Price’ desk. The other men stood around in a similar fashion, all arms crossed and leaned against some surface. Ghosts’ eyes are trained on his daughter who fills sheet after sheet with the colourful ideas that dance through her head.
“Better than initially thought.” His voice is quiet. He had taken his mask off as soon as the door was closed behind them, eyes tired and apprehensive. Tense. It pulls around the myriad of scars on his face, makes him younger and older at the same time.
Soap rests his hand on Ghosts arm und Laswell watches in slight wonder that the taller man leans into the touch and the tension gradually bleeds out of him. His eyes soften, his mouth parts slightly for a deep breath – he is oblivious to this change. She is not.
Interesting.
“I tell you everything later, Laswell. I promise. Tell me what happens now.”
She watches him, then Amal and sighs before she produces a manila folder out of her jacket and puts it on the table. It is unlabelled.
“Well. That depends mostly on you. The procedure is quite easy, the only problem we really have at hand, is your… status.”
“You mean that I am legally dead.”
Ghosts voice is hollow, and Soap shuffles an inch closer but this time the anxiety does not leave his body.
“Yes. Officially she is an orphan – technically she is not. Whatever stunt you pulled after her birth, throws her into a weird grey zone, a limbo that has no precedent till now. You are her father, there is no doubt about it, you made sure of that with registering on her birth certificate, but you are dead – have been so before her birth. It raises questions you somehow need to answer. The biggest decision you need to make though, is if you want to clarify your status. I would offer you the option of… making you legal again. Alive.” Her eyes bore into his.
“She would be your daughter in all the official places, and we could arrange everything here at base. You would not be the only single parent in service, it is not as rare as you think. A lot of military areas have family lodgings. Specialists that come from oversea or the continent and are ordered to work for the SAS often relocate with their families who then live in the same area. I would make sure she gets a special status to keep her safe if you decide to stay in service.”
Ghost goes very still; Price and Gaz exchange a short eye contact before they look back.
“But for that, Simon Riley needs to be alive again on all papers.”
She sees how Ghost tenses, lips a thin white line and eyes turning into a hard stare.
“Your second option is to drop out of service. We could forge you and her new identities, but you would be kept under surveillance due to the nature of your work. You would nearly be free to go wherever you want and do whatever you see it. We would arrange a pension until you are… able to work in a civil environment.”
Soap frowns and looks like he wants to say something, but Ghost stops him with the raise of his hand.
“Option three?”
Laswell holds his gaze while she answers.
“Option three is to give her up to adoption under a new name and she will disappear into the witness-protection program. She would be gone for good then and you can keep your status.”
They expect anger.
Rage.
Protest.
Objection.
But Ghost only watches her before his eyes flicker over to Amal. They see the moment his brain picks between the options and then the 141 observes the wall of a man turning small all out of a sudden. Tension leaves his muscled frame when his eyes turn soft, the lines around his lips loosen all their harshness. And when the scars in his face seem to disappear into the expression of somebody much younger the only one left is Simon, Ghost completely vanished behind the face of a near stranger.
Vulnerable, Soap thinks and feels how his heart clenches in his ribcage.
“I need to think.” Ghosts, no Simons voice is small, and they watch him leaving Soaps side, pressing a kiss to Amals head before he leaves the office without another word.
***
Soap finds Ghost just outside the building, leaning against the wall – still maskless in the shadow, a rare cigarette between his lips.
“Amal will scold you for smoking.”
Brown eyes snap up, tensing and soften in the fraction of a millisecond when they spot Soap.
“She is quite proficient at that, isn’t she.” Ghost answers with a low hum, voice muted when he plucks the cigarette from his lips, looking down to the ash at the tip. With a low exhale he blows the smoke out of his lungs, furrowing his brows slightly at the bitter taste that rolls over his tongue.
Soap says nothing, just closes the door behind him and comes closer, sitting down to the ground next to Ghosts feet with a slight huff, swirling up dust when his ass hits the sand. He plucks the cigarette from his superiors’ fingers, eyes fixating the buildings on the other side of the street. They are silent for a moment, Ghost listens to the deep in- and exhales next to him, breathes in the smoke like a second-hand addiction and just stares into nothingness.
His mind still races.
“You okay?”, Soap asks and silence answers him for a long while.
“No. Not really.”
Soap makes a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat and presses his body closer to Ghosts legs, sharing body heat and calmness.
“Is the idea being alive again so frightening for you?”
Ghost flinches as if he had been hit, his first instinct is to shut down, run away – leave the topic and his Sergeant behind. But he forces himself to stay.
To calm down.
Soap is not the enemy, nobody here is.
Only his own mind.
“Are you more scared to be alive or to lose her. Because I think that is the only important question here.”
Ghost feels… hurt. Seen. Transparent. Scared.
He sacks down the moment the question hits him really, his mind catching up with the implications of all that perspective entails. Of the fundamental change in his life that was already happening, but he could – could – just turn the time back. Could give Amal into loving hands… that where not his. And he would not see her again if he chose that option.
“Fuck.”
They sit in silence once again, Soap smoking the rest of the cigarette before he pushes the remaining tobacco out of the hull and pockets the stump. He presses as much into Ghosts body as he is allowed to, knees touching and his left feet locked behind Ghosts right ankle. He feels how the underlying anxiety and tension bleeds from him in waves, sometimes a small tremor whacks the strong body next to him and he technically knows this moment – was there when it happens in a shared moment of passion, but this was… different. Fear induced.
Human.
Next to him Ghost stares into nothingness, brown eyes like molten copper unfocused and the cogs in his brain clearly turning around in endless circles.
“I cannot give her up to adoption.” His voice is hoarse, dark, and wavering. “I just… cannot. She is… precious. My most precious.”
Soap snorts and shoves slightly.
“You sound like Gollum, you know.”
Ghost barks an inadvertent laugh, short and hard before he shakes his head, brows furrowed in irritation and underlying amusement.
“You are a nuisance, MacTavish.”
“You love me for that.”
Turning his head to face the man next to him, Ghosts expression sobers.
“Yeah. I do.” Soap swallows hard. Hearing it still turned his world upside down in a loop so fast that it made his head spin. “But I love her as well. When she stays, I don’t want to be forced to choose. She will always win that battle.”
A warm smile spreads over Soaps face but he raises an eyebrow.
“She better does. But I don’t know why you would think you’d have to choose between us. I told you times and times before: it does not matter what you pack and what you carry with you. I am here to support you with whatever you let me get away with.”
“But we never talked about… children.”
Soap snorts and rolls his eyes in slight annoyance.
“Simon. We never talk much to begin with to be honest.”
Ghost looks away at that, nods faintly and presses another heavy sigh out of his nose. Yeah, they kinda needed to work on that.
“It scares me, Johnny. Being a… full time father. Our line of work. But I cannot… don’t want to stop being either.” Soap wants to retort something intelligent to that but in the exact moment, the door next to them bursts open and Amal pushes through, giggling like mad and chased by a slightly unnerved Gaz.
“Why are you so fast?? COME BACK!”
She makes a sharp turn, like a cat hunting a bird and crashes full body into Ghost and Soap. Despite her height and weight, she manages to throw the Scot out of balance, and he falls to the side, taking Ghost with him, accompanied by an undignified yelp – and Amals nearly insane raucous laughter. It turns only louder when she tries to wiggle between the two massive, muscled bodies like an eel.
“Uncle Gaz is a snaaaaaaail!”
“Oi! I am not!” He protests loudly and stops in front of the human heap of limbs and Amals insane hair on the ground, eyebrows raised but grinning.
“Look. Your Dad has a date you just crashed.”
Her hands grip both men under her when she pushes herself up, unruly hair sticking into every direction when she stares them down.
“Have you been kissing?” She asks, her eyes narrowing to small slits and Soap has a flashback to her last inquisitory question round.
“No!” Ghost shouts immediately.
“Yes!” Soap calls at the same time, giggling which earns him a hard shove from his superior, not very intense because he had no real angle to do any harm.
And something in Ghost shifts at all that, clears the fog in his mind away and he is able to see clear. Maybe it is her laughter. Maybe it is Gaz. Maybe Soap in all his hidden sweetness and support. Most likely it is a mixture of all of that.
When they finally untangle, it is palpable that something is different.
While Soap helps the girl to her feet and banters with Gaz, brown eyes are trained on the scene before his eyes.
Amals smile is so radiant, open, and honest that his heart beats a tad faster. His chest feels like it could explode but not in the anxious way. There is no panic lurking behind that small being that is his charge. His daughter.
And something in all that feels right.
This is not a decision against something. But for.
For her.
Unapologetically her.
Always.
His eyes wander to Soap next who just pulls Amals onto his shoulders. Watches how she grips into the hair of his Mohawk with her tiny fingers a tad too tight, hears Soap wince in secret. But his eyes shine bright.
Another, totally different feeling settles in his chest next to the love for his daughter. Seeing those two humans together like this, pushed his reality into a corner he never thought would even think about. If he ignored the fact that they were at a military base just now, they would look like a family. Like father and daughter. Just the same as he looked with her.
Suddenly breathing felt harder.
He was wrong before. He would never be able to decide between the two of them. It would kill him.
This was a decision for something. Not against.
He watches Gaz then who has his eyes already on him. Feels those fond dark irises boring into his soul with an intensity that he must turn away.
There is so much softness lingering between those people around him, that he feels his airways restricting further.
Like a panic attack the bubble rises.
But it does not arrive in the wake of bile, acid, and destruction. No hollow feeling and coldness to hurt him.
Instead, Ghost feels warm. Full.
And for a short moment he wants to hold onto that feeling. He wants to be selfish, like he was with Soap. And he so desperately wants to protect.
“Made up your mind?”
Gaz voice is steady, clear, and warm when it reaches his ears and Ghost nods, only once.
“Thank you.” What a weird intonation his voice has. Alien. Different. Rougher. Softer at the same time.
He is finally able to stand up, feels calm and structured, centred even. He looks around and finds Soap and Amal jogging over the perimeter, following some recruits doing their laps. Amal cheers for them, voice bright and happy while she urges Soap to run even faster.
“Oi! Sergeant! Keep the recruits on track, I need to talk with Laswell and Price.”
Soap only winks at him before he continues to run after the soldiers, following the directions Amal shouts into his ear. She sounds like a small General and Soap seems happy to indulge her in this.
“I look after them.” Gaz says, pats Ghost shoulder once, and leaves to follow the pair.
Ghost is faster back in Price office as he had thought possible. He and Laswell look up from a stack of paper, faces carefully neutral.
“Are you okay?” Laswell blinks, slowly, always the calm inside the storm.
“Tell me what to do to make Simon Riley alive again.”
Price face splits into a toothy and disgustingly happy grin. He nudges Laswell who just rolls her eyes but smiles either way. She pushes the manila folder from before in his direction. There is a weird sensation bubbling up in his chest when he takes it, a heavy mixture of real fear and hope. He has no idea if this will work out, if he is able to build a future for a child and himself. And maybe Soap. He is not even sure how he will work around being deployed and leaving Amal alone of he continues working like before, heck he doesn’t know a lot of stuff right now. He stares into the dark pit of unknown things waiting in the near future and swallows. Takes the warm feeling from his chest and bundles it up, shoves it into his still beating heart like extra fuel. And jumps right into that void.
“Welcome back, Simon.”
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