Work Text:
Ghost is never sure if he breathes sometimes, or is even alive for that matter. His mind always holding one objective per mission. A million possiblities pass by his mind in the blink of an eye, it never stops.
It's never quiet.
Except, when there is a clear mission to execute perfectly.
It's all Ghost knows now. Fighting physically, so he doesn't have to fight the losing battle that rages within his mind. Constantly, worried over the thousands of "what ifs."
What if a sniper is on top of the one building they didnt clear?
What if I can't react fast enough to save my men?
What if... this the fight I don't walk out of?
Lives are lost nearly every mission, mostly underclassmen. That was a given.
It shouldn't be, but it is. They all walk onto the battlefield knowing full well that they might never walk back into the arms of their families. Fear makes them strong.
So, what of Ghost?
No family to go back to. No friends to rely on enough in fear of losing them or being betrayed. No place to call home outside of 141. So what's there for this terror of a man to fight for?
Ghost fears the answer to this question, always opting to run himself to exhaustion rather than confronting his tainted mind. The recruits fear those days, mainly because it means ten laps around the base then onto the obstacle course. Thank the gods that the sergeant always reminds Ghost to make them stretch.
He has a tendency to forget things in that state.
Like the fact that he, himself, and his subordinates are human and have basic needs. Human...
What a strange word.
Nonetheless, that doesn't stop Ghost from ruining his body with exercise whenever that one question arises again. It's so dumb to fear words of the mind. Stupid actually. They have no real grounding in his reality, yet they still dictate his emotions and his everyday life. Pathetic really.
And there it goes again. The insults from his psyche. Which he also found to be one hundred precent true. Otherwise, what would he have to gain from lying to himself? Nothing. Only the truth. Always the truth.
Maybe his blatant honesty is the thing that always made his comrades trust him as much as they do. Despite being a murderer. Despite his emotionless stares that share nothing but hostility. Despite the grating voice that causes his men to flinch every time he speaks. Fear is what keeps them alive after all.
A sharp breathe makes him inhale as he suddenly realizes he wasnt breathing as he, for once in a long while, let his mind wander. What a dangerous thing to do.
Taking a deep breathe, Ghost looks at the ground to realize that his lit cigarette is now sizzling on the snow, melting the pristine substance and staining it with ash. Must have fallen from his fingers when he spaced out.
Stupid..
"Fuckin hell." Ghost picks up the cigarette, and goes back to leaning against the brick wall of the building he stays in on base. Mainly for the higher ups. The cigarette was practically useless now, soaked in the place where smoke and a harsh red light would always emit. He only took a single drag from it too. What a waste.
Pocketing the soiled stick, Ghost turned to head back to his room where he planned to stare at the wall, forcing his mind to be silent until unconsciousness took over. He almost always never got sleep on these nights, but maybe he'd get lucky? Who knows.
"Why you out here, Lt?" God is merciless...
"I should ask the same of you, Sergeant." Ghost crossed his arms, leaning away from the wall.
"Just needed a breather with a short walk. Couldn't sleep." Soap answered smoothy. Soap then glanced down at Ghost's lower half of his face and asked, "What about you? All on your lonesome like some bum on the street." He smirked.
Ghost lifted his hand and pulled his mask down just as the edge of his mouth twitched upwards slightly. "Oh fuck off, Mactavish. You're out here too, you bullock." Not very like him to forget to pull his mask down. Maybe Soap wouldn't ask.
"Wanna walk with me, sir? Lady could use some company on a dark night like this." His teeth were as straight as ever, especially with his lips curled into a smile.
" 'Lady', my arse." Ghost said, turning away from the building and walking down the sidewalk without answering. Soap jogged to catch up as the tall man managed to get a good distance in just a few strides. Or maybe he just wanted to take advantage of the Scot's height.
Soap didn't need a straight answer. He knew. He always knew what Ghost meant... and that was terrifying. "What don't want me to be your lady? I'm hurt." He dramatically placed a hand on his chest and used the other to wipe the edge of his eye, wiping a fake tear.
"If you're so wounded by my comment, go to the infirmary. Sure they'll fix your attitude as well." Ghost's comebacks falling from his mouth so fast it left Soap breathless. Literally. The man laughs and nudges the taller man softly.
His touches were always so soft like Ghost was suddenly made of glass. It was dangerous touching broken glass, and perhaps Johnny knew that. Or maybe he didn't want to damage the glass further. So many uncertainties.
"Away and bile yer heid!" Soap responded after his laugh.
Ghost remembered what it meant. Of course, he did. "English, Mactavish." But he is indeed an asshole. A petty one at that.
"Sorry, sir." Soap recalled the mission. Despite the terror and anger he felt the entire time, the banter and terrible jokes managed to ease his anxiety and make it one of his most memorable nights. "Let me translate, 'Go fuck youself'."
Ghost's eyes softened behind the mask, without noticing. "Much better."
They walked in silence, Ghost letting his eyes close occasionally knowing this route like the back of his hand. He's done it for years over and over again, while running. Hundreds of times.
Soap, on the other hand, kept his eyes open choosing to stare up at the dark sky. He missed the stars. The light pollution of the base had the tendency to dim the Mother moon's children. Hiding from light as they always did during the day.
Peaceful.
Oh.
Ghost's eyes suddenly shot open. He listened.
Nothing.
It's quiet.
Except for the calm and collected steps they took in sync. The small breathes they let out as the cold air hit their lungs and came back out as puffs of white.
Maybe he was lucky tonight...
Soap's coat rustled as he dug through his jacket, looking for something. Ghost glanced over, watching the Scotsman fumble as he looked for something before cursing softly. "I forgot my fuckin gloves." A sigh.
Ghost looked down at his own hands. Covered in gloves. Probably too big, but...
Soap's eyes widened slightly as Ghost held out his gloves he was just wearing. The multiple scars on his hands caught his attention. Especially the small lines on the back and front of his hands, indicating something was run through them. "No.. Ghost you don't have to do that."
Soap stopped walking, looking at the gloves as Ghost stopped as well searching Johnny's bewildered expression. "No, I don't. I want to. So take it."
Small sentences, same as always. Straight to the point. That's Ghost for you.
Johnny smiled gently. Fuck. "Thank you..." He reached up, his fingers brushing the Lieutenant's hands making him shiver lightly. It's not cold tho. He knows that.
Not to him at least. Ghost doesn't shiver.
"Simon." Ghost said, his voice coming out surprisingly soft even shocking himself. That voice that makes his recruits flinch is capable of being soft? You learn new things everyday. "My name's Simon, Johnny."
"I know, Simon." Johnny slips on the gloves, the bones on the back of them were crinkled and faded. They smelled of gunpowder and copper as he lifted his hands to breathe into them to warm them up. "I hear you, word for word, 24/7."
Johnny is a dangerous man.
"Good man." Simon said. His hands feeling warm as ever, even with the snow crunching beneath their feet.