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Soap is the first to be sent on leave. They all managed to escape relatively unharmed which meant it was only fair that Soap got to leave first due to his gunshot wound. It is healing nicely and Soap doesn’t complain much about it.
Before he left, Soap had pulled Ghost aside and handed him a piece of paper. Soaps handwriting is barely legible at the best of times but the words on that note were written with care, “Don’t be a stranger, Lt.”
Ghost looked at the paper, Soap’s address scrawled onto it and he smiled beneath the mask, “Take care, Johnny.”
“You too Ghost,” Soap had squeezed his shoulder, “I better see you on Christmas Day, got Fiona whipping you a plate up.”
“I’ll do my best Soap.” Ghost had sworn and Soap smiled, nudging him gently before leaving, heading home for the holiday season.
The rest of the 141 disbanded a short week later. It’s rare for them all to get leave all at once, damn near impossible, in fact, but Price pulled some strings, insisting they all needed a break for mental health and Gaz was more than happy to comply with crying his eyes out to really sell their lies.
Ghost fumbles with the paper in his hands, sat on a train with his body pressed against the window. He knows Johnny wants to see him, he said it plain as day, but he can’t help but feel like he’s intruding.
It’s the 23rd, not quite Christmas, but close enough that it’s all anyone is talking about. He got the late train from London to Glasgow, wanting as much peace as possible despite the time of year. He considered going home first, wherever home may have been this time, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Soaps invite feels like his mission and he’ll be damned if his top priority isn’t the job.
The train, whilst busy, is relatively quiet and nobody yet is standing for a lack of seats. Someone was briefly sat next to Ghost but they left at the following station. He likes to think he scared them off. The peace he’s getting is nice. He has headphones on, music playing quietly. No one would’ve expected Ghost to be an Indie fan, but he is.
His black hood is up, a black face mask on the lower portion of his face, and his hands are stuffed in his pockets. The remaining eyeblack around his eyes from where he didn’t care to remove it properly stands out against his pale skin, giving him a vampiric look.
He’s more naturally suited for Halloween than Christmas is what his attire tells himself and everyone around him but he doesn’t care. He’s too consumed with his own thoughts to care enough about his appearance. It is odd realising that more of his face is visible. His brows, his forehead, his hair, the bridge of his nose. It feels wrong and weird but he tries to ignore it.
Constantly, his mind whirs. There’s something so mundane and domestic about this that he’s somewhat training himself for it. Running out into the line of fire is somewhat second nature now but Christmas? Seeing family? It’s foreign to him and he needs to prepare.
His stop is nearing, him a mere 5 minutes away and a further 20 away from Soap. His face is blushing furiously as he realises he referred to Soap as family to himself mere moments ago. He feels foolish as he climbs to his feet, swinging a large backpack onto his bag and squeezing the handles of his duffel bag as he yanks that over his shoulder too. Anyone else would complain but not Ghost. If anything the weight of his belongings is comforting; familiar.
Upon leaving the station, Ghost finds himself fumbling with his gloves as he swipes one off, needing his hands to use his phone. He types Soaps address into the maps, it beginning a route, and he starts briskly walking there, the monotonous voice in his ears interrupting his music and telling him when to turn and when to cross the road.
Scotland is bloody freezing. The sky is already dark, it being nearly 8PM, but Ghost can feel snow in the air. The pavements are damp with rain and he’s certain the temperature is soon to drop below freezing, turning the precipitation into ice. He is thankful for his thick jacket and his gloves but he regrets not wearing warmer jeans. It is bitingly cold.
He turns onto a street with quaint, 2 storey houses that look a little too homely to him. The voice tells him that at the end of the road, he will reach his destination and Ghost is surprised to find that Soap owns such a house. He got a vague story from him, he inherited some money, got a big house for when he was home and whatnot, but Ghost, at the time, didn’t care.
He rechecks the house number (14) and bites the inside of his cheek when he sees it. It’s wrong. He feels odd. There are rainbow Christmas lights outside, strung from the gutters, and in the front window he can see a tree, easily 7ft, decorated with lights and baubles and tinsel. There’s a car in the drive and as he walks past, he notices a child’s booster seat in the back.
He almost convinces himself he’s in the wrong place and that he should turn around before he’s even at the door but an unmistakable voice can be heard from inside. Soap.
He would recognise Johnny’s voice anywhere, he’s the only person Ghost pats a decent amount of attention to, and even when Soap is talking absolute gibberish on the other side of the door, he knows immediately it’s him.
Taking a deep breath, Ghost stands on the porch and squeezes his hand into a tight fist. He’s suddenly embarrassed, ashamed somewhat, and a little guilty. Quickly getting over himself, he knocks loudly on the door before he can talk himself out of it and he takes a minute step back.
“Who in the fuck is tha’ at this time?” He hears Johnny again. He chuckles under his breath a little and kicks a loose pebble from below his feet.
Soap answers the door in seconds, an unimpressed look on his face until he realises who’s on the other side, “Ghost? Shit, Simon, you came?”
“Yeah. I did.”
Soap just stares at him for a minute, a warm blush spreading over his cheeks before he comes to his senses and pushes the door open, gesturing for Ghost to enter, “Come in, Lt. Holy shit I wasnae expecting tae see ya. I hoped you’d come but, steamin’ Jesus, I wasnae countin’ on it.”
“Told you I would Johnny. I’m a man of my word. Bit earlier than we discussed but I figured you wouldn’t mind.” Ghost says.
Johnny smiles brightly and punches his Lieutenants arm, “Course ‘ah don’t mind. Fuckin’ good to see you Lt. Yer planning on stayin’ ‘ere then, aye?”
Ghost nods, shuffling his boots a little, “If that’s still okay, Johnny.”
Soap cocks his head at him and smirks, “Yer shy outta the field, Simon. Be yerself, it’s just me.”
Before Ghost can respond, a voice from in the room behind him calls, “Who is it John?”
Soap is suddenly blushing again and then cursing under his breath, “Forgot to mention, though, Lt. It ain’t just me. Fiona and her feller are here, so’s the little ‘un.”
“Already? I thought they were only coming Christmas Day?” Ghost asks, nervously shrugging the bags on his shoulder up further.
”I invited them earlier. Like I say, wasn’t exactly countin’ on ya Sir, no offence like, and I wasn’t copin’ right on my own. Told ‘em to bring they’re Christmas stuff here and spend the holidays with me.” Soap says.
Footsteps behind Ghost make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge and Johnny looks over his shoulder.
“John,” A woman, presumably Fiona, says cautiously, “And friend?”
“Fi, this is Ghost. He’s in my taskforce.” Soap says and Ghost turns to the woman.
She’s shorter than Johnny, around 5’8, and has a thick head of dark brown hair. Her eyes are a darker blue than Johnny’s but she’s still unmistakably his sister. He forces a smile though it’s behind his mask, “Simon is fine.”
“Haud yer wheesht yer the feller that pulled ‘ar Johnny outta Mexico, yeah?” She exclaims, bright grin on her face. Yep, definitely a MacTavish.
“That’d be me.” Ghost says quietly.
“Fuckin’ good to meet you then, ‘preciate what you did for him, he’s a waste of space at times.” She gestures to Johnny who pouts.
“I’m right fuckin’ ‘ere, at least talk about me behind my back, gobshite.”
“I do,” Fiona grins before turning back to Ghost, “You stickin’ around a while then, Simon?”
He nods, “Johnny invited me to stay a while, said I could spend Christmas.”
“Did he now?” She shoots Johnny a knowing look and he glares at her, “He’s a soft arse. Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled, good to meet you.”
Ghost nods, “Likewise.” She walks away and turns to Soap who is sighing exasperatedly, “Thanks for the heads up, Soap.”
Soap rolls his eyes, “I weren’t exactly expectin’ ya today Simon.”
“I suppose. You gonna show me around or make me stand here for the foreseeable with all my bags on my back?”
Soap jumps into action suddenly, nodding and dragging Soap through the house and up the stairs, pausing when he’s on the landing, “Shit. Fuckin’ bastard.”
“Easy tiger,” Ghost laughs, “What’s got you all riled up.”
“The beds. It’s a three bed house. My room, Fiona and Toms and Eilidh has one. I suppose Eilidh could share with Fiona and Tom-”
“Or I could share with you.” Ghost says flatly. Soaps face flushes but he nods, leading Ghost to his bedroom. He always wondered if the day would come where he’d get Ghost in his bed but admittedly it didn’t go exactly like this in his dreams.
“Thought you’d never ask, Lt.” Soap manages to joke. He tells Ghost to make himself at home, to fill the drawers with his belongings if he wants to and to knock himself out in the ensuite bathroom if he wants to freshen up but Ghost just sits on the bed.
He’s tentative, unsure, but Soap bouncing beside him on the soft mattress has him easing up a little, “It really is fuckin’ good to see you again, Si. I know it ain’t been long but leave, fuck it sucks when yer alone. Was goin’ damn near stir crazy.”
“I’m sure you were. Was a bit shit on base too, only had Gaz to keep me company and you know how he is.” Ghost comments and Soap lets out a chuckle.
“Yeah. Sure he’s having a whale of a time flirtin’ with some bairns wherever he is.”
“English, Johnny.”
“Yer in Scotland, Ghost, deal with it.” Soap says with a laugh.
Their discussion, however quiet, must’ve disturbed a certain someone as a timid knock comes from the door before a quiet ‘oof’ comes from the child that pushes it open.
“Eilidh? I thought you’d gone to sleep?” Soap asks. The four year old totters over to the bed and climbs up before her Uncle, staring at Ghost the entire time.
“Wuz playin’ dollies,” She yawns. Ghost has never heard a Scottish kid before and he isn’t sure if it’s adorable or irritating as all hell, “Aye Mister, yer got yer mask on inside.”
Soap turns to Ghost who is, in fact, still wearing his face covering and he sympathetically begins to explain, “He’s my friend, Elle. His name’s Simon and he always wears the mask.”
“Why?” She asks and Soap groans. That godforsaken word. Who the hell taught toddlers how to say why?
“He just does, lass,” Johnny says, “Just like how you always have yer hair in a plait, he wears the mask. Simon works with me.”
She gasps and her eyes suddenly light up, “He’s a superhero too!”
Soap goes to explain that they aren’t actually superheroes but Ghost interrupts, “That’s why I have the mask. To hide my face. I don’t want bad guys to know who I am.”
She giggles and claps her hands together, “That’s amazing! Have you been shot like Uncle Johnny?”
Ghost chuckles and nods, “A few times, yeah.”
“That’s so cool. You must be, like, magic, or sumthin’.” She mumbles as Ghost nods.
Johnny turns to her and nudges her gently, “Ay’ go find yer Ma and tell her you want hot chocolate or somethin’ alright?”
She nods and scoots off the bed, shooting out of the room as Johnny yells after her to not run down the stairs. Ghost chuckles.
Soap turns to him, “Yer good wi’ kids?”
He shrugs, “No reason not to be.”
”I s’pose. Cannae say I were expectin’ it though.”
“I seem to be exceeding your expectations a lot today, Johnny.” Ghost comments and Soap reddens a little. He’s always been easy to blush and Ghost takes advantage of that but he himself is quick to blush and he’ll be damned if he ever lets Soap learn that fact.
“Aye. Yer different off the clock.” Soap states.
“You still like me?” Ghost asks.
“Who said I liked you in the first place?” Ghost scoffs at that and Johnny chuckles a little, “Yeah, I still like ya. Like ya’ a lot, Lt.”
Ghost falls quiet, his eyes briefly drifting over to Johnny who is pulling off his shirt and balling it up, throwing it successfully into the laundry basket beside his dresser. He grins but leans back against his pillows, groaning a little.
Simon knows he’s staring and Soap knows it too but he is used to Ghosts instances of phasing out when his eyes are locked onto something so Soap just assumes it’s that. Ghost blinks and his eyes flick up to Soaps strong shoulder and he furrows his brows a little, “How’s it healed?”
“Hmm?” Soap asks, a little distracted and flustered under Simon’s watchful gaze, “Oh, that? Eh, could be better, could be worse.”
Ghost stands wordlessly and walks over to Johnnys side of the bed, inspecting the bullet wound. There is a chunk of flesh missing, a slight dip in Soaps arm where it should be, and the pink skin is rough and angry. He can see exactly where he stitched it back together and he sighs, knowing his shoddy work has left Soap with a pretty sizeable scar, “Sorry, Johnny.”
“Don’t apologise, Simon,” Soap insists, shaking his head, “Ain’t yer fault. Ya saved me and ya know that.”
Ghost nods and quietly slinks away. He looks to the door to the ensuite and he points, “Mind if I take a shower?”
Soap nods, “Be my guest. I’ll get ya a towel.”
Soap throws a fluffy towel in Ghosts general direction and his Lt stretches to catch it, holding it tightly. He nods a thankyou at Soap before stalking into the bathroom, gently closing the door.
Soap takes a minute to breathe. He leaves his room and heads downstairs, distracting himself by making a drink for himself and Ghost for when he gets out the shower. He’s glad he went shopping in time for Ghosts arrival for he has tea bags, ones he knows Ghost uses, and he can make him a drink he actually likes.
He stands staring blindly through the kettle as it boils, his mind drifting. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. In his house. In his shower. In his bed! He’s giddy at the thought. He thinks back to that night in Las Almas, it feeling like an age ago now when really, it was only six weeks, and he thinks about how his and Ghosts relationship changed that night. Not that they weren’t close before, just the jokes they make are starting to sound less and less like jokes and more like actual genuine flirting. Soap can’t tell if that’s true or whether he’s just praying that’s what it is.
“So, he’s allowed to call you Johnny too?” Fiona says, suddenly appearing behind Soap who jumps a mile and crashes his hands into the cups, stepping backwards with a frustrated grimace.
“I wish ya wouldnae bloody dae tha’, fuckin’ ell Fiona!” He snaps, his heart racing. He knows it’s all lighthearted sibling things but war has changed Soap. When he gets startled, his first instinct is to attack and he’s scared that one of these days, he won’t recognise the person fast enough before he’s plunged a knife into their neck. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he hurts his family.
“John,” She huffs, “C’mon, gossip with me! You’re the only one who ever does.”
“Nothin’ to gossip about.” He mumbles and he knows Fiona sees straight through him.
“You like him. Plain as the nose on yer face.” She states and Soap hushes her.
“Shut yer damn trap woman, bloody fuckin’ Jesus.”
She giggles and leans against the counter as the kettle pops and Soap turns his attention back to making the drink. He settles for a hot chocolate for himself because no matter how macho of a man he is, he’ll always be a kid at heart. “Ya didnae deny it Johnny. How long have ye been hot for ‘im for?”
“’M not.” Soap hums. A blatant lie.
“Yer’ve bought fuckin’ tea bags ya gobshite! Yer soft as bloody shit for the man, so how longs it been?” She presses.
His face is permanently red at this point, “Long enough. Nothin’ will happen, Fi. He’s my CO. Besides, his whole thing is not havin’ feelings.”
“Yeah, brother, that’s a shtick. Saw it in his eyes the second I met ‘im. The feelings mutual, I’m tellin’ ya.” Fiona insists and Soap clenches his jaw as he measures out a spoonful of sugar to put in the tea.
“Right, well, it still ain’t gonna happen. He’s my boss, end of. I ain’t gonna threaten his job ‘cos I got sum thing for my Lt.”
“You’re Lt, how romantic,” She teases and Soap groans, leaning against the counter, “Johnny, be a man and talk to the guy. Doesn’t have to be a heart to heart, don’t really take him for the type, but fuckin’ do somethin’.”
“Not happening’, Fi,” He says firmly. He grabs the cups to make his way back upstairs, “If something did, it’d be a Christmas miracle.”
She shakes her head at him and rolls her eyes, “Aye.”
When Soap enters his room, he hears the gentle pattering of water coming from the bathroom. He places the mugs down, one on each bedside table, and tries not to think about how domestic that appears. His bloody sister has really gotten into his head.
He slides under the covers, desperate to disturb the chill that has been deep rooted on his skin ever since he returned to Scotland, and he buries his head into his pillow. He just lazes for a while. Not trying to sleep but not exactly fighting it either. Needless to say, he’s a little delirious when Simon finally comes out of the bathroom and he isn’t sure if he’s dreaming or not when he sees him with just a pair of sweat pants on.
Simon’s a big lad, even without all his gear on. He’s 6’4 and he fills out his frame well. He’s broad and stocky and has prominent muscles on every visible surface. He’s not particularly sculpted, not like Soap, but it’s evident just from a glance that he’s not to be fucked with. He is built like a tank and Soap fucking loves it.
“Shit,” Simon mumbles, “Probably should put a shirt on.”
It’s then that Soap takes note of the now mask-less, half naked man in his room, about to share his bed and he lets out a low groan, turning in his bed as Ghost quirks a brow at him, clearly having heard it. He blushes.
“‘M tired.” He says quickly, hoping he can recover from the almost moan like sound that left his lips but Ghost just chuckles.
“If you wanted me to keep my shirt off, Johnny, that’s all you had to say.” Ghost crosses over to the bed and tentatively sits on the edge. He sees the cup of tea places on the table and smirks, “You bought tea?”
“Knew there was a chance you’d show up Lt, had to accommodate you somehow.” He says.
It’s only then that he too is apparent that he is shirtless. God if he has to share a bed with that man whilst they’re both shirtless he doesn’t think he will be able to contain himself.
“Think you’ve accommodated me quite well, Johnny. I’m impressed.” Ghost slides against the covers, his back resting against the headboard as he grabs the cup and sips on the tea, smiling at the familiar warmth.
Okay. Johnny thinks. It’s happening. He’s shirtless, I’m shirtless, if he carries on with the flirting, I’m saying something!
“Happy to help, sir.” He says. There’s something about him lying there, facing inwards as he mumbles to his superior officer, that is just so fucking crazy to him. He is close enough to see the rise and fall of Ghosts chest as he breathes, he could count the freckles that run down his shoulders, he could swing his arm around him and hold his stupid little waist. Soap is totally fucking gone.
“Why are you calling me Sir? We’re off duty,” Ghost quirks a brow before chuckling, “Unless that’s something you’re into.”
“Jesus Simon,” Soap mutters. If they were in the field, he would have no issue with that kind of flirting but the vulnerability of being in his own bed, shirtless and sleepy, is sending him crazy, “Ye cannae just say shite like that.”
“Why not?” Ghost asks, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“Because, Ghost, when it comes to you, I don’t know where the lines are. Sometimes I feel like we’re on the same page, others I feel like we’re in different galaxies. You sayin’ shit like that gets my hopes up and I never know what to do wiv’ myself afterwards.” Soap blurts, pouring his heart out to Ghost who places the tea down and stares at Soap.
He pulls back the covers and slides underneath them. His body heat, still slightly elevated from the warm shower, radiates onto Soap and the fucker almost lets out another groan before he stops himself. Ghost lies on his side, head resting on his hand as he stares at Soap. He smiles, “You think I’d fuck with you like that?”
“Seems like a joke you’d try and pull on someone, yeah.”
“Someone, maybe, but you’re not someone, are you? You’re you. You’re Johnny.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean Lt?” Soap asks.
“It means, Sergeant,” Ghost imitates, “That you’re different. You’re special. To me at least.”
Soap is silent and Ghost continues to speak, “You know I ain’t good at this stuff Johnny so I’m not even gonna try and pretend I am but I want you to know that I wouldn’t fuck with your emotions. What I say to you, I mean it.”
“Ya mean that?”
Ghost rolls his eyes, “The fuck did I just say to you, MacTavish? I’m not fucking with you. I care about you, an awful lot, and it’s the scariest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever dealt with but I’m tryin’, alright? I’m tryna be okay with the thought of workin’ with you and being with you.”
Ghost looks down at Soaps hand and he finds it with his own. He interlocks their fingers and smiles at their intertwined hands, “I want you, Johnny. I- I wanna be yours, and I want you to be mine.”
“How’d you know that’s something I want.” Soap asks, squeezing their fingers together.
“You think I’d have said something if I wasn’t sure? I’m not an idiot, Johnny, I’ve seen how you are with me.” Ghost explains.
Soap blushes but a smile touches his lips, “I really been that obvious about it?”
“Everyone knows. First night in Las Almas, Rudy asked me if I knew that you were in love with me. I told him yeah, I knew. He told me to grow a pair and tell you I loved you back. I asked how he knew how I felt and he said it was obvious, he saw it in my eyes. Naturally, he told Alejandro, who told Laswell, who told Price, who told Gaz and, well, now here we are.” Simon laughs and Soap muffles a groan burying his face in the pillow.
“Shit.” He laughs softly.
Ghost shuffles closer to him and lies down fully so he can look properly into his eyes, “I mean it though, Soap. If you want this, really want this, I do too.”
Soap can only nod. He feels embarrassed about how easily his feelings can be read so he tips his head forward into Ghosts chest and lets out a withheld sigh. Ghost chuckles breathily and brings his free hand to the back of Soaps head, massaging the base of his neck as Johnny smiles.
A sudden realisation dawns on him, “You love me?”
Ghost mumbles back, “What?”
“You said that Rodolfo knew that you loved me back. You love me!” He exclaims.
Now its Ghosts turn to blush. That damned blush that he’s controlled and hidden for so many years and now it chooses to break through and make itself known, “Maybe I do, so what?”
“Fuck, I must be havin’ a fever dream or some shit, this can’t be real.”
Ghost laughs. He pulls Soap close to his chest and Johnny can’t resist throwing an arm around Ghosts middle, his hand resting on the middle of his back and holding him close, “This is plenty real Johnny. But it’s nice to know you dream about me.”
“Away a bile yer heid, I’m havin’ a moment ‘ere ya’ pishin’ shit.” Soap grumbles.
Ghost shakes his head, “English, Johnny. Scots is fuckin’ useless.”
“Tellin’ ye tae stop tekin’ pish oota mae,” Johnny stops, pauses and breathes, “I told you to fuck yourself because I was having a moment.”
“I knew the go fuck yourself bit. That’s about it.” Ghost admits. Soap smirks and looks up at him, squeezing him tight.
“Look at you, learning how I talk already,” Soap giggles, “Like a good ol’ boy, aye?”
“I think you should go to sleep, Johnny.” Ghost smiles. He flicks the beside lamp off and Johnny whines. Any other time it would be embarrassing but he’s too loved up to care. He’s on cloud nine and he hopes he never comes down.
“Wanna keep lookin’ atcha!” He complains.
“Your face is in my chest, you’re not even looking at me.” Ghost retorts.
“Yer chest is nice, Lt. Warm.” He comments, earning himself a pinch on the back of the neck, resulting in another huff.
“You saying my face ain’t nice?”
“Fuck no, yer face is bloody perfect Lt.” Johnny yawns tiredly, “Honestly, I don’t care what I’m lookin’ at as long as it’s a part of you.”
Ghost chokes down a dirty joke and holds his Johnny close, “Goodnight, Johnny.”
“Night Simon.”