Work Text:
Ghost didn't know how he had gotten here.
He remembered Graves motioning him to stand up, participate in some joke that had half of the room laughing.
Everyone was relaxing around him, Soap with his legs in Alejandro’s lap, everyone scattered around the room after the mission. It was calm.
Supposed to be, at least.
But he didn't realize what was happening as he stood in front of the room until he felt a shift of cloth against his face, everything going dark before cool, fresh air touched his cheeks.
Touched his face.
His mask.
"See, how bad was that?" Graves said, that grin still in his voice. The room was silent.
Ghost could feel everything. The ache in his joints from the dive he had just taken into the river, the soft cotton of his shirt brushing against his chest, the feeling of the chilled air on his ears.
He could feel everyone's stares. He could feel the burning gaze of all of them on his cheeks, his scars jagged and stark against his face. He could see Soap staring, shock and horror palpable as he was frozen, feet now planted on the floor.
He could barely recognize what was happening, but he could hear shouting. It was all in the background, muted by the static that filled his ears. His chest felt tight, like someone was suffocating him.
He turned to face the man still gripping his mask, but couldn't lift a hand before Alejandro was up, fist flashing beside Ghost's head before it made contact with Grave's nose, the ferocity of the punch making the man stumble backwards.
Ghost didn't remember how he was back in his room, but he knew that's where he was now. The position he had curled himself into on his desk chair wasn’t the most comfortable, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He could only feel his knees pressed against his chest, face pressed against his palms, eyes shut as tight as they could. His mask was still in that living room, probably gripped in Grave's hands like a trophy.
Ghost felt moisture on his hands, soaking into the black of one of his painted balaclavas he had tugged on at some point. He refused to examine it, to think about the fact that he couldn't stop crying, his hands pressed hard enough into his eyes that lights danced in the blackness.
He was an idiot. For crying like this, for letting anyone get close enough to him to grab the mask, for not killing Graves as soon as it happened.
For letting Johnny see the hideous monster he was under it.
Soap would never look at him the way he used to now. He would never make jabs about Ghost taking his mask off, jokingly flirt about how pretty Simon must be.
His scars ached harshly as his face further tensed.
His feet were on the floor in a flash, hands pressing against the wood in front of him as someone slinked into his room. “Unless you're about to die or Hassan is just outside of the fucking building, I suggest you leave." The words came out gruff, watery from the tears that were still welling in his eyes.
"Graves is in the medic station. His nose is smashed, and he has two cracked ribs. I don't think anyone would say anything if he was found with a broken arm or two, either."
Soap. His voice was soft, that Scottish lilt just barely heard in his voice as he walked forward.
Bold. He had to be bold to still be in this room with Ghost. He relaxed a little at the understanding that it was just Johnny, but he couldn't help the tightness that still resided in his chest as he waited for that final blow to fall, for the man to make some pitying comment or to apologize, to run away as soon as this conversation was done.
"He'll be dead, if I see him." Ghost knew his voice cracked, but he couldn't hold it in. He saw through tears blurring his vision that water fell on the documents in front of him. He quickly wiped them away, clenching his teeth as he tried to shut the emotions out.
"None of the 141 would blame you. That guy is fucked up." Ghost heard something fall on the desk, fluttering the pages under his arms. He turned his head, breath hitching as he saw the white skull, folded as best as it could be, laid on his desk.
He felt his chest tighten further, his throat constricting, refusing to let him get a breath in without tears leaking down, soaking the cloth of his balaclava further.
"Simon-" the name broke something in him. He felt his whole body heave, all of the breath leaving his chest as he sobbed. He stood, the chair falling as his hands tightened into fists, landing on the desk with a harsh thud.
"I'll kill him." He couldn't stop the tears from falling as the words tumbled out. He felt his whole body quake, anger and shame and sadness swirling in his head.
He felt a hand on his arm, gentle and grounding. "Do I need to leave?"
The words felt like a punch in Simon's chest and before he could stop himself, he was speaking, head shaking back and forth. "No- please-"
He felt that hand squeeze softly, reassuringly. "Okay.”
They stayed like that for a moment, the silence stretching between the two only being broken by soft intakes of breath and hicks as Simon cried. It took him to register that the hand that had been resting on his arm was gone, the weight missed.
He jerked hard as he felt arms wrap around his torso, hands flat against his chest, Soap's thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his stomach. He rested his head on Ghost's back, Mohawk just barely brushing the back of Simon's balaclava.
The tears kept rolling, his breath heaving, sweat now soaking into his mask from the heat of the black cloth. "You're going to overheat, Simon. And you're shaking like a leaf, c'mon."
Ghost was spun quickly, his hands grabbed before he was led over to his bed, softly pushed to make him sit, springs and frame groaning at the weight of him.
Johnny stared at Ghost's face, eyes scanning the waterline now formed on the cloth, the redness around the lieutenant's eyes. "You- god, I'm not good at all of the tiptoeing around. Graves got two good kicks in his ribs for what he did, and he should have a bullet in the head." Soap took a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. "But you have nothing to be ashamed of."
Ghost felt everything go quiet. The ringing in his ears and headache that began to pound in his head the only sounds in the room.
"You saw- Johnny, I look-" Soap took a step forward, bending at his knees to make eye contact with Simon.
"We're all covered in scars, L.T. I don't need to know what happened, or what fucker you killed for giving you Glasgow scars, but," Soap brought a hand up, resting it on Ghost's cheek, thumb grazing over the cloth covering those exact scars.
"I'm not taking back what I said over comms all those months. I think, if anything, I was right. Simon Riley is one attractive motherfucker."
Ghost knew he was bright red under his mask, embarrassment at the comment leaving him frozen.
"Don't take well to compliments, huh?" Soap asked softly, thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the raised flesh under his mask. Ghost shook his head softly.
"Not many people see my ugly mug, none are stupid enough to compliment." Soap scoffed, rolling his eyes at the reply.
"There's that hard-ass." He moved from in front of Simon to sit beside him on the cot, their thighs pressed against each other.
The silence was peaceful, calming as Ghost's breath slowed, heartbeat steadying. Soap didn't say anything as he felt the lieutenant's head fall on his shoulder, resting there.
"No one but Price had seen my face, at least not before tonight. Not since I was recruited." Soap didn't say anything, brows furrowed as he listened to Ghost's story.
"When I was younger, my dad," Simon's breath hitched slightly. "My dad didn't like emotion. It was a weakness, made you lesser than. He would force me to do just about anything so make sure he beat that part of me out. After one night... I couldn't stop crying. I think, after I talked to Price, I had a panic attack." Soap couldn't help the tightness in his chest, the pain he felt as he listened.
"Dad took it upon himself to... rectify. Said I needed a smile to fix all my crying."
Ghost's breath was quickening again, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill and soak into Soap's shoulder, but he felt it would be okay. It was Soap.
He pulled away from his friend, hands reaching up to quickly fold his mask up, far enough to balance on the edge of his nose. Soap felt his breath catch as he saw Simon's face. His lips, light scar tissue running along the middle of them, quick and clean like a knife had sliced through.
And then he saw it. The scars were jagged, the tissue raised and a soft red, cutting their way down slightly before making their way back upward, trailing up to reach mere inches from his ears.
He could see as Ghost's jaw tensed, his hands still holding the mask, a slight tremor running through his entire body. "He didn't do it in one slice. Multiple," Ghost felt bile rise in his throat. "He said he had to make sure they were even."
A shudder wracked his body as he felt a hand come to rest on his back.
"I know you don't want to hear it. I know it makes no difference, but I hope you killed him. And I hope you have some peace about it." Soap raised his hand, eyes darting to meet Ghost's, a question burning in them. The lieutenant nodded, breath held as his gaze followed the hand rising before resting on his cheek.
Soap let his thumb run softly over the raised flesh. "Do they hurt?"
Ghost nodded, unconsciously pressing into the contact. "They didn't heal right. Dad wouldn't take me to the hospital, even after he sobered up. My- my mom did the best she could with stitching. They ache a lot, sometimes I accidently bite some of the scar tissue on the inside of my mouth."
Ghost felt a rush of gratitude he would never be able to articulate when he realized Soap was not going to make the comments he most feared. It was curiosity and concern that led his questioning.
Maybe something more.
Ghost finally took a deep breath reaching his hand furthest from Soap to grip his mask, pulling it fully off of his face, letting it fall softly behind him. He watched Soap, weariness about this situation still creeping up.
He only looked on with admiration.
“See, look. Your sweating like a madman, Simon.” A hand crept up, still apprehensive, before wiping away some of the sweat still beading on the lieutenant’s forehead. The touch sent a spark through Ghost, his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t help but press into the touch slightly, head falling forward before he could stop himself.
“C’mon, scoot back. I’m comin’ up.” Soap had no shame as he crawled onto the bed, legs bracketing his lieutenant’s, arms wrapping around Simon’s torso before he pulled. Ghost huffed as he slid further back into the bed, back bumping against the sergeant’s chest.
He could feel how tense he was, his shoulders aching from it. Soap seemed to hesitate again, his hands leaving their place, pulling back. “Is this too m-“
Ghost didn’t let him finish, shaking his head quickly. He felt like a lump had formed in his throat again, his breathing a struggle.
“No- no. Just- been a while since I’ve had anyone huggin’ me. Or touchin’ me at all, other than medics.” Ghost knew his voice came out strained, his brows pinched together as he tried to work past the lump in his throat.
Soap didn’t reply, simply moved his hands. One slid back to Ghost’s stomach, resting on his ribs, the other reaching up to run through Simon’s hair, nails scratching comfortingly against his scalp.
Ghost felt the tension in his body leak away slowly, his back pressing further into his friend’s chest. His mind was blank, quieted finally.
Soap was the first to speak.
“You should take it off more often.”
Ghost barely registered the words, mind fuzzy as he relaxed against him. He blinked slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Why? You like my ugly mug that much, Johnny?”
It was Soap’s turn to blush, a shy grin on his face. “Already said as much, L.T. I like your face quite a lot. And I think you could use more face to face.” Ghost smiled, one side of his lips quirked up.
“Maybe I will, Soap.” The sergeant nodded, hand running through the front of Simon’s hair, raking it back.
Ghost knew he would be bombarded with questions and concern and too many gazes as soon as he left this room, mask or no. But with his back pressed against Soap’s his head resting softly on his Sergeant’s chest, he let those be distant worries.
“Thanks, for this.” Ghost said softly, eyes closed.
“Any time, L.T.”