Archive of Our Own ^beta

Presents.

You couldn't hold it for much longer. You cracked.

"Alright, alright! You win," You bent down and opened the sack, keeping the mouth wide open. Taking a step back you looked expectantly at everyone.

The boys just looked at each other, seeming to exchange their uncertainty. You sighed loudly, reached into the sack and withdrew a brightly-coloured something coated in wrapping paper. "They're gifts!" You said, making an excited motion with your free hand. "For you!"

Some went slack-jawed, followed by cheers and ‘thank you’s, a swarm of large men encircling you. Others showed stoic appreciation with a brief hum and a barely-contained smile (Price).

Despite their shadows encapsulating you, the room felt brighter, light. Cheery. Someone ruffled your hair, another picked you up and twirled you in their arms. When you regained your footing and the room stopped spinning, you smiled. Then faltered as you noticed a shadow of a man still sticking to the wall, not having moved since everyone first arrived.

"They're all marked with nametags so don't go opening anyone else's presents!" you called back to the group, trying not to let Ghost’s dark stare freeze you or your Christmas spirit.

"Presents - plural?" John's soft accent piqued, showcasing a childlike excitement usually stamped out by the very foundations the likes that the 141 worked for.

You nodded, and the room seemed to brighten more.

"And this is why you're my favourite soldier," said Price, patting your shoulder.

"Aw, that's not fair," said Gaz, smirking. "I thought I was your favourite."

"That was before (Y/N) showed some initiative."

Between the conversations, the rustling of wrapping paper, the passing of gifts, Ghost's silence drew you to him. The complete vacancy of his presence was...eerie compared to the joviality filling the room. You looked at each other, gaze interlocked, unable to look away. You offered him a smile, your heart pounding as it always did when Ghost was near.

The sound of tearing paper drew your attention away from him. Tailing it was a gasp.

There stood Alejandro, mouth agape and eyes wide with wonder. In his hands lay a jumper. But not just any jumper.

"This is-"

"A genuine, signed, 1986 limited edition The Who concert jumper ," you finished. You'd hand-picked each and every present, tracked them down and emptied your bank account to ensure that they came to the right people, their true forever homes.

Alejandro didn't say anything - couldn't say anything. He took broad steps towards you and threw his arms around you, pulling you tight against him. Warmth spread through you, filling you. You felt like a lava lamp long after Alejandro pulled away and pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

It might have been your imagination, but you swore you could see Ghost's grip on his forearms tighten, the fabric of the sleeve bunching.

After seeing how made up Alejandro was with his gift, everyone else tore into theirs. A wave of gasps and proclamations of "Just what I've always wanted!" and “Where did you get this?!”, followed by more ‘thank you’s and hugs filled the room. Soap got a vintage hardback collector's edition of Dracula, Gaz received a candyfloss maker (which he seemed marginally embarrassed about yet entirely grateful for), and Price, shocking no-one, received combat boots. Steel-toed, banned in 93 countries, super grip, compartmentalised combat boots. You showed him the secret sections in the heel and wherever else, perfect for hiding whatever suited him at the time.

The room buzzed with ecstaticity.

"Ghost!" Soap called, "Come and 'ave a look!"

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Oh no.

Ghost shifted, pushing off the wall and taking slow steps towards the sack. The room quietened as he drew closer, watching expectantly with bated breath. The reveal of the present would be an indicator of Ghost's nature, his wants and desires.

Or, that was what everyone thought would happen. Everyone but you.

Ghost's eyes remained half-lidded, as if he were trying to hide something behind the guise of disinterest. He peered over the lip of the sack. His demeanour didn't change.

There was nothing left inside.

When it became clear that Ghost wasn't reaching inside not out of stage fright but out of a sheer lack of need to, everyone turned to look at you. Rather than displeasement or anger, there was...confusion?

You looked at Ghost, not wanting to face the crowd behind you. But that made it no easier to face the behemoth before you. His eyes almost didn't meet yours. He was unreadable and unequivocally terrifying.

The room tensed, air thickening like lard. You had to cut the silence. Act now.

"Ghost," you squeaked, voice thin and weak. "Step outside with me for a minute, please?" 

After what may have been deliberation, he gave a slight nod, and with you power-walking ahead and throwing open the door, followed behind.

He wouldn't admit it, but he felt embarrassed. He hadn't expected to receive any gifts this year, as he'd never received one any other year, but something about being excluded made something in him stir. Uncomfortably.

His childhood had been a piss-poor one, each Christmas a punishment rather than a time for celebration, a reminder that he had nothing while every other child had something whether it be gifts, love, or just a family.

The door closed behind him, drawing him from his contemplation. His hulking form cast a long shadow over you. You swallowed thickly, then turned to look at him.

"I-"

"Did I upset you."

Ghost's question (or statement), oddly genuine, took you off-guard.

"N-no!" you said.

"Then what inspired you to display your disliking of me so publicly." This wasn't a question. It was an interrogation.

"Ghost,  you've done nothing to upset me." You wafted your hands in front of you as if trying to clear the tension thickening around you, suffocating you.

"Then explain that little stunt of yours-"

"I'm trying!" Your voice came out much louder than you'd wanted it to and you knew that the boys had heard it, too. You cleared your throat and looked down.

"Sorry," you mumbled. You reached behind you and, from beneath your shirt, you withdrew a package. It was neatly wrapped as all the others were, but this one was different. It had ribbon tied around it, creating a neat little bow at the peak. An envelope was held against the present by the ribbon.

"This is for you," you said, quietly. Your eyes flitted from Ghost's eyes, trying to gauge his reaction, to the present, scanning it for imperfections.

Too late to turn back now.

"I didn't want it getting squished or hurt by the other presents, so I kept it safe with me."

Ghost said nothing for a moment. Then: "You've had that up your shirt all day?"

He wouldn't admit it, but the urge to hold the package, to feel your phantom warmth radiating from it, flashed in his mind.

You nodded, swallowing.

"I didn't want to embarrass you by having everyone else asking you questions about..." you motioned with the package.

You held it out to Ghost, the weight of all it implicated too much for you to bear anymore. Your face burned under Ghost's gaze and silent judgement.

He seemed to hesitate, or rather made no attempt to retrieve the gift he was not yet certain was truly for him. Was this some cruel joke? The second chapter of a novel of cruelties you had bestowed upon him as his true gift?

You gulped, then decided to take some initiative, as Price had said. You reached for Ghost's hand and slipped the package into it.

“I didn’t get you anything.” Ghost said. It came out before he could stop it, as if dissuading you from giving him the gift. You just smiled.

“Doesn’t matter.” You folded your hands behind your back. “Merry Christmas, my favourite ghoul.” You cast Ghost one last soulful, smiling look before retreating into the common room, shutting the door behind you.

Your scent followed, vaguely tingling in Ghost's nose, just permeating the fibres of his mask.

He looked down at the package in his hands. It felt soft, malleable. Curiosity nipped at him, a branch of hope, something Ghost had long since assumed to be dead alongside the rest of him.

With mechanical hands, he pulled on one of the ends of the bow, watching the ribbon unfurl. He kept ahold of the card in one hand and undressed the package.

Soft material lay amongst the second skin. Upon closer inspection, Ghost saw that they were gloves. He moved onto the card. His breath caught in his throat as he read it.

To Ghost,

I remember you saying that your hands always got "bastarding cold" during missions, so I wanted to try and stop you complaining all the time, hahaha (I'm joking)!

Anyway, I took up three months' worth of crocheting classes to make these, so I hope you'll find some use for them!

Thank you for always looking out for me us,

Merry Christmas!

Love From (Y/N) x

Ghost looked over his shoulder, expecting you to be there. When he saw he was truly alone, he allowed the warmth exploding in his chest to hold his cheeks as he imagined you would, your hands soft and warm.

The icy loneliness of the Christmases he'd endured every year before now felt a little less daunting, the phantoms of his past unable to penetrate the shield you'd cast around him.

The human touches, the love and consideration you'd poured into these gloves, was palpable, as if you would be holding his hand every time he wore them. And every time he would wear them, he'd hear you, see you, feel you with him, soothing him in a way nothing and no-one else ever had.

Ghost re-entered the room soon after that. And beneath his heavy-duty, military-issue gloves, were yours, warm and snug against his skin, flesh beneath his shell.

Your eyes caught his, a shock of electricity fired between you. Something unspoken, but budding.