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Soap hummed along to the music streaming softly through the speakers of his airport shuttle - some Sarah Mclachlan song from her Lilith Fair days. The melody had been etched into his subconscious from its frequent airplay during his youth, half-remembered lyrics scrolling through his thoughts like a broken karaoke monitor. Out of mind enough to require some effort to piece it all together, familiar enough to collect his scattered attention.
(Ironically, that renewed focus only served to weave fantasies best left alone for a time when their central star did not sit right beside him, knees touching his.)
Soap kept his vocalizations low in the hopes of hiding them under the hiss of brakes, engine roars, and other passengers' conversations. If not drowned out completely, at least the impact of his voice would be minimal, reducing any potentiality of Ghost's irritation with him. A lesson so learned after breaking Alejandro out of prison; Ghost’s patience for Soap's antics only extended so far.
A lesser of several evils, really, if Soap did not hum, he would surely thump his heels or snap his fingers.
Not for the first time did Soap wish he had his e-reader to occupy his thoughts, his hands. Past Ghost’s tall torso, he eyed his duffle bag on the luggage loft, three layers deep under everyone else's belongings. If only he could reach into his baggage without disturbing the people around them… not that anything on his TBR particularly excited him at that moment.
Soap had already finished his buddy read with Ghost the night before. A three-star book, or so he had reviewed it. The concept interested him, (although it did not add anything new to the child-inherits-haunted-family-home trope). And while the shifting perspectives and timelines had been done better in similar novels, it made for a captivating experience regardless of its characterization flaws and illogical motivations.
Soap kept those observations to his Goodreads account though. When prompted on his opinion, Ghost had offered a non-committal shrug and stated that it was sufficiently creepy to keep his attention. Given that level of nonchalance, he did not want to ruin the mood with unwelcome ramblings - which would have more than likely deviated to how he applied his methodical rating system to other books - especially while watching Halloween Ends .
No way in hell Soap would ruin the only semblance of a date he would ever have with Ghost.
Soap paused his humming once the shuttle came to their desired stop. He popped his fingers as other more hurried travelers raced their way down the aisle, stomping out any tune keeping him otherwise occupied. Ghost waited until everyone with the intention to deboard left their immediate vicinity before knocking his knee with Soap’s and pointing his chin towards the exit.
A tiny current of electricity jumped up each knob of Soap’s spine, a sensation he ignored in an attempt to shuffle into Terminal 5 with some sense of grace.
Printing their boarding passes and dropping off their checked luggage did not result in too much frustration. No longer concerned about an external threat to his entertainment equipment, Soap did shift some items into his computer bag at the last possible second. However, if that annoyed Ghost, he did not make his displeasure known. He simply waited, features from his clothed-nose up relaxed into a neutral, almost amused expression.
The universe balanced their previous ease out by making the queue for security checks an excruciating nightmare. Laswell had given them clearance, which should have expedited the process; "should" being the operative modifier. Not one of the officers seemed to know what to do with Ghost's paperwork, calling in superior after superior to examine every word on his documents.
At this rate , Soap thought uncharitably, this would have been faster with fake passports .
One of the more sympathetic agents - a woman with a tired smile - suggested, "You can go on ahead and wait for your partner in the terminal."
"Um…"
It took an extraordinarily long time for Soap to realize what the word "partner" implied in a civilian sense. He almost opened his mouth to correct her, but the words tumbled back down his throat the moment Ghost nudged the side of his arm with his elbow.
Soap peered up at Ghost. The taller man, blue eyes half-lidded with palpable boredom, cocked his head toward freedom. "Get me a tea, yeah? I'll meet you at the gate."
…and he could get himself a coffee, possibly a sandwich of some kind…
It suddenly struck Soap, then, how pedestrian this all seemed, how so fucking normal. Just a couple having some trouble at the airport, a situation experienced by hundreds of romantic pairs every single day. Even Ghost's mask - normally such a contrast to their surroundings - could not break this illusion. In fact, he could lose Ghost in a crowd of other men wearing black hoodies, cloth masks, and dark joggers, with a pair of bluetooth headphones strung around their necks.
As far as anyone around them imagined, they were vacationers (or… honeymooners) trapped by the bureaucracy of being foreign nationals on United States soil. His heart swooped at that. Wouldn't that be something?
"Johnny?"
Soap blinked. Oh, right. "Aye, I'll just -"
Suddenly, another agent exited an office just to the side of their security podium. Chest puffed, his bravado alone could have filled out his white uniform, proudly wearing the supervisor patch attached to the arm of his shirt like a badge of honor. His narrowed eyes and downturned expression landed directly on Soap and Ghost. Hell’s bells.
He walked twenty paces in their direction and barked, "You two can go."
Soap frowned. No, sorry for the inconvenience . Not even a, have a nice day . Just, you two can go .
Fucking prick.
They did as instructed, Soap grumbling to the audience in his head about how it wasn't their fault they were so difficult. Regardless, one obstacle down, they made their way through x-ray and down a veritable maze to find their gate. Despite the hiccup, most seats were quite empty. Made sense; their flight wouldn’t depart for another three hours.
"Food?" Ghost offered with a shrug and lifted brow.
"Food." Soap agreed.
Between bites of overcooked burgers, their conversation remained light. Soap sensed Ghost had no intention of tucking his mask beneath his chin for longer than needed, and so, he did his best to chew purposefully to keep his teeth and tongue from blathering too, too much. Even so, when he did throw a mindless remark into the air, half-expecting it to be ignored, Ghost paused to acknowledge him in some form. A comment. An agreement. A grunt. Always something .
It made Soap’s fingers and toes tingle each time.
Of course, something so mundane shouldn’t have made Soap feel that special. He knew a hopeless crush would tint any observations of its subject in shades of rose. Still, it was… nice having any sliver of his attention when most of Ghost’s colleagues had trouble being acknowledged outside of combat.
Hell, Soap hardly kept his ribcage intact the day before, lying next to Ghost, reading with him, watching movies with him. Such a taste of domesticity intoxicated Soap, distracting his foolish, skipping heart from the rational truth: Ghost only spent time with him because he had been virtually trapped at his side with nothing better to do.
That did not stop Soap from admiring the shimmering ocean of his eyes, the way his blonde hair curled beneath his dark beanie, the shape of his mouth as he spoke, the length of his limbs, his digits, how elegantly he moved such a towering body. His fingers itched for his stylus, for a way to capture those features before it was all too late. Make them his just for a moment.
“Mind if we stop by a bookstore on our way back?” Ghost asked, breaking Soap out of his depressing reverie.
Don't get excited by that 'we' , Soap scolded himself as he shook his head. "Not at all."
Several little bookstands and newspaper outlets marked the path toward their gate. Yet, Ghost passed each and every one of them without a second glance, feet set on an unwavering path toward some unspoken goal. Always so focused on the main mission, never deviating from his intentions. Knowing him, Soap had no doubt he had long since memorized the best shop to buy copies of books at this particular airport.
Once again, Soap's treacherous heart fluttered at the idea of Ghost matching his level of interest in books. Not like millions of other people don’t also fucking read. Is he going to swoon if he finds Ghost also watches football? Enjoys a pint every once and a while?
Actually, Soap might faint if Ghost deigned to share any form of art he had created with him… fuck, I am so stupid for this man!
Ghost’s stride did not pause until they were inside a proper bookstore. Not a stand. Not an outlet. An actual retail location dedicated to books. Wow, a bit of an amazing find. Of course, a large corner housed an assortment of travel-specific items (and a package of acetaminophen sounded like an appealing purchase to his throbbing arm). However, most of the space had been filled with all manner of hardcovers, paperbacks, magazines, and newspapers.
Soap grinned. Although he had long since made the switch to electronic books, that choice had not come easy. No e-ink display could rival the real thing. It merely came down to a matter of convenience. He traveled far too much to reasonably cart whatever collection of books he felt like reading that day, week, or month. For Soap, the ability to transport his entire library wherever he went? And add to it with a single button press? One hundred percent worth the sacrifice.
Still, Soap missed the feel of paper beneath his fingertips, ached to smell fresh ink in his nose. At least once every leave, he would visit Waterstones just to nullify his nostalgia for those antique used bookstores his mother would take him to on occasion. It never satisfied, not entirely. But it provided a temporary balm for that ever-present pang for cozy Sunday afternoons spent in the company of dusty old tomes.
Similarly, this small bookstore offered Soap that same temporary relief. He did not hesitate to start picking through familiar novels from each section, recognizing their covers from ads on his e-reader. Oh, some looked interesting upon further inspection; he made a mental note to keep track of such titles in case he wanted to add them to next year’s TBR. This year’s… well, Soap had some work to do in the upcoming eight weeks before the new year. He would have to start incorporating some audiobooks into his workouts.
Soap cracked his neck and glanced over his shoulder to find Ghost hovering near the top-ten table again. Or, had he ever left it? Hmm… Soap could not remember if he saw his partner venture farther than ten feet into the establishment.
Soap tip-toed to where Ghost picked one thick paperback, inspected its back cover for less than a second, then tucked it under his arm. He did the same with his next selection.
Really? That’s all it took? Did Ghost finish reading the description at all? Read the first few pages?
"That was quick," Soap joked.
Ghost shrugged. His attention did not deviate from the table before him. Yet, he walked a few steps closer to Soap. “I read just about anything and everything. I don’t really have a preference one way or another as long as it keeps me entertained. I find there’s generally a reason why something is considered a bestseller.”
Soap held his tongue at that. Ghost needed no lecture on how “bestseller” lists were carefully curated marketing ploys designed by publishing companies to push sales and did not actually reflect popular taste or quality. But far be it for Soap to poo-poo how Ghost selected his books. It worked thus far, hadn't it?
“Unless,” Ghost started. He glanced at Soap, stare gauging. “You have some recommendations?”
If not for their very public setting, Soap would have vibrated in his boots. Leashed by propriety, however, he pushed his excited energy down into his stomach - a helpful technique in the field - and pivoted on his heel. One by one, of the books he had read, he plucked his favorites from their shelves. By the time he completed his task, he had six books cradled in his arms.
Ghost quirked an eyebrow in his direction. Soap waved away his appraising expression by rolling his eyes. “Calm down, I’m just giving you a range of options.”
An almost relieved laugh puffed from Ghost’s mask. Soap snorted; the idea that he would purchase so many books, merely at his behest, both amused and exhilarated Soap. He did not realize he had that kind of influence over Ghost… not that he would take advantage of that power.
Right?
Right.
“So, here is what I have for you,” Soap explained as he placed his selection atop of an existing pile of the latest "it" memoir. He pointed to the first novel. “Aging Hollywood actress reminisces about the great loves of her life. There are a lot of twists and turns. I’m sure it would keep your attention, and it’s probably one of the best books I’ve ever read. I can’t say much more without spoiling some plot points, so -”
As he spoke, Ghost shuffled to loom over Soap. Above his shoulder, his eyes seem to roam over the elegant woman on the cover, rapt by her glamorous presence. No , Soap realized with a small start, not her . In his peripheral, he watched Simon’s intense blues land on the bridge of his nose every few words. And while Soap hadn’t expected to be ignored, to be listened to so intently? His throat dried.
“Um, so, anyway, this next book -” Soap peeled away his first choice. He continued to explain his picks, attempting to ignore the way Ghost’s heat radiated over the skin of his exposed neck. Upon interest, Ghost reached down to take Soap’s suggestion from his grasp. And, damn him, at times his hand would be so close to brushing against his own that it nearly sent Soap bolting out of the store.
Soap did not know how much more his heart could take of this!
They reached the end of Soap’s collection, at which point, Ghost settled on the first candidate. A wise choice, if Soap had to give an opinion. He wondered if Ghost would shed a tear on their way back to Heathrow. Maybe he should purchase some tissues just in case.
Soap snorted at his own private joke. Ghost, thankfully, did not seem to notice. Instead, he admired his intended purchase, turning the novel over in his hands to read its back cover.
Soap debated moving from his position. He should return the other books to their rightful place - and he fully intended to! But, Ghost was so, so close, centimeters away from his touch. He could get away with a nudge, a shoulder pat, or a brush against his arm. His skin tingled with possibility.
"I think you'll really like this one," Soap murmured. Automatically, without forethought or preamble, his hand came to rest against Ghost's back, settling between his shoulder blades. Soap shivered. So strong. So solid. And all at his fingertips.
Ghost nodded. Gaze meeting his once again, he stole Soap's last remaining breath like an accidental punch to the sternum after a sparring match. "I've seen this one a few times," the taller of the two replied beneath his breath. "Curious about it."
Soap mirrored his nodding. He swallowed a lump in his throat, made a sound of acknowledgment, then slipped away - if reluctantly. Regardless, no matter the distance he put between himself and Ghost, the imprint of his muscles remained on his palm.
After rearranging his candidates back to their original positions, Soap turned to find Ghost holding an unfamiliar paperback to his chest. “I’ll read your book, and you read mine. Deal?”
Was… Ghost proposing another buddy read? Hell yeah! Fuck his TBR. He can always listen to more audiobooks anyway.
"You're on, Lt.!" Soap grinned and reached out to take Ghost's pick. Instead, his fingers were pap-ed by its pages as though he were a naughty, thieving child.
"No cheating. I'll give it to you when we get back to the gate," Ghost, wow, actually teased . So, the man was capable of humor outside of life-or-death scenarios. A bubble of pure delight bloomed in Soap's chest.
Soap snorted. "Yes, sir."
Ghost made a vague motion toward other merchandise. "Want anything else?"
Uh, wait. Was Ghost planning on buying him the book? No. That couldn't be. That's part of the relationship package. Got to upgrade for that, sir.
Despite Soap’s inner monologue, his head shook on a rusted swivel. No. No, thank you.
Ghost's eyebrow rose, but wordlessly, he led them to the cashier. There, he bought Soap a bookmark and a package of gum of his own volition. He handed Soap those items as well as his new book. The new book that Ghost bought him. With his own money. For no good reason.
Pure fucking torture.
Thirty minutes before boarding, Ghost and Soap were welcomed by an awaiting storm of semi-organized chaos churning at their gate. Children ran between rows of seating while their parents mumbled tired demands for them to behave. Exhausted travelers leaned back against their seats, half-awake, staring despondently at the television sets displaying some form of news broadcast. A large circle of family members argued about their itenary. And, interspersed amongst those throngs of madness, businessmen and women fiercely guarded seats with available (and working) charging ports.
Soap looked for any two open seats together. Nope. None. Damn. I guess this is where we split up.
Despite the ridiculousness of it, a tiny hint of disappointment twinged in Soap’s chest. They would meet back up in London in less than ten hours! The idea of separation should not have bothered Soap. Yet, it did, so much more than it should have. Its sting that of ripping off a bandaid adhered to his very soul. Damn his stupid crush!
I’m not a goddamn teenager, Jesus. Get it together, MacTavish.
"Johnny."
Soap peered up at Ghost. His lieutenant pointed to an empty space against a free pillar. “Wanna sit?”
“Uh, sure,” Soap croacked. That works, too .
Ghost nodded. Then, as if absentminded, he placed his hand on the small of his partner's back, and Soap nearly launched out of his skin into outer space.
Holy hell! Of course, Ghost had touched him before. Right before breaking Alejandro out of prison, he punched his shoulder in an imitation of Soap's first contact with him. That left its own impression. But… not like this. This felt intimate. The kind of touch equivalent to holding hands or kissing on the cheek. Chaste, yet with a hint of a certain type of familiarity not shared between mere teammates.
Realistically, Ghost only meant to lead Soap to where he intended them to sit. In actuality, Soap knew he would feel Ghost's palm on his body for days, maybe weeks. Seared into his flesh like a brand.
Fuck!
Soap dropped to a sit with a pronounced plop, computer bag clattering beside him. Ghost mirrored him. "Alright there?"
I'm going to die…
"Solid," Soap replied.
"Right then," Ghost trailed off. He reached into his plastic bag and fished out his new novel.
"Good idea," Soap whispered to no one in particular, although Ghost made a soft sound in response. He unzipped his carry-on. But, in an attempt to retrieve his own new book, he had to pull out his tablet to remove it as an obstacle. It must have gotten in the way in his haste to accommodate Ghost's unexpected gift.
"What do you do on that thing anyway?"
Soap cocked his head toward Ghost. "My tablet?"
"Yeah. Saw you doing something on it the other day. Was just curious." Ghost shrugged. His gaze turned away from Soap and to the paperback in his hands. It should have conveyed indifference, and if not for the way his broad shoulders stiffened minutely, Soap may not have thought twice about it. As it was, Soap recognized Ghost's embarrassment.
Indecision gnawed at Soap. In turn, he chewed on his lower lip. Before he could overthink his next move, Soap turned on his tablet and opened his drawing folder. He nudged Ghost with the corner of his infernal device, handing it over for his superior to inspect.
"You draw?" Ghost thumbed to, presumably, the next sketch. Soap did not look. Could not look. Shame kept his unseeing sight locked onto his new book.
Anxiety bubbled in Soap's gut. The skin over his nose and neck prickled hot. "Aye, since I was a kid." He left it at that. An airport floor was not the place to discuss nights when his chest heaved until his fingers exorcized the demons from his mind.
"You're really good at it," Ghost rumbled. "I'm impressed."
"Thanks," Soap mumbled. At the same time, he thanked every god listening that Ghost did not comment on the pages upon pages of him. Of course, other subjects littered his virtual canvases: Price, Gaz, Alejandro, Rudy, and other various friends and family members. Animals and general scenery. Maps, inanimate objects, his favorite fictional characters. Nothing was immune to his artistic interpretation. Still, the amount of just Ghost sketches threatened to humiliate him.
The click of his tablet being turned off prompted Soap to open his hand and accept his device back from Ghost. He shoved it into his bag with a breath.
"Thanks for showing me."
Soap licked his lips and nodded. He understood, translating that sentiment into its basic truth. I am honored by your trust.
So, trust him MacTavish.
Steeling himself - for judgment, or amusement, or anything that would wound his spirit - Soap blinked in his direction. Ghost's visage betrayed nothing but pure interest. Soap's lips broke into a smile. "Anytime, L.t."
Inhaling, Ghost settled back against their pillar, bent his knee, and used the back of his thigh as a book rest. Meanwhile, the haze of his bashfulness cleared from his vision, allowing Soap to finally read the title of Ghost's gift.
Oh… Ghost bought him a nonfiction guide on the universe, focusing on astrochemistry.
Soap's heart punched the inside of his ribcage, over and over again. No way Ghost knew… he couldn't have known... could he?
Only once had Soap spoken about chemistry in his presence. Something about stellar nucleosynthesis. And he did not direct those thoughts to him. No, on their way to Hassan's hideout in Al Mazrah, Soap explained the origin of chemical elements to the marine sitting next to him. He couldn't remember why he had said it in the first place. Maybe in an effort to distract?
How had Ghost remembered when Soap did not? Unless… he picked it up at random. Or…
Ghost is making fun of me.
It would not be the first time a friend (or potential love interest) questioned Soap's intelligence. His persona often screamed "fucking moron". In all fairness, that was mostly by his design (outside of his unintentional social blunders). Being disarming had its advantages both on and off the field. Potential enemies were more likely to make mistakes when unaware of eyes observing their every move, gathering intel with every breath, calculating strategies based on every strength, every weakness. Plus, his stare seemed far less creepy if assumed to be blank. Therefore, he could not blame anyone for thinking he had only two brain cells and they competed for third place.
But, surely, Ghost was observant enough to see through that act. Or, deduced that Soap, a demolitions expert, had some understanding of chemistry and engineering, plus a mind to put that knowledge to practical use. Nevertheless, dummies did not exactly last long in their field, especially against the kind of odds Soap faced on a daily basis. Odds Ghost saw for himself not a week ago.
So… then, why?
"Why did you get this for me?" Soap cringed at how small his voice sounded.
Ghost flipped a page. "Don't think you'll like it?"
Soap shook his head. "No, just wondering why this one."
"I know you like that kind of stuff. Supernovas and all that," Ghost replied, still very much focused on his own page. "Bloody cosmic pyromaniac."
Soap coughed out a laugh. "How did you know?"
"You talked about it at one point." Ghost shrugged.
Oh… heat flared beneath Soap's cheeks.
Ghost had remembered, had selected this title for him on purpose, had seen him as something more than a useful buffoon.
Soap fell in love between the preface and the first chapter of his book. By the time their airline called for boarding, Soap knew .
This is it for me.