Work Text:
Soap’s making so much noise fumbling around in his bag, he can tell without looking that Ghost is staring right at him with a raised eyebrow. He finally finds his eye drops and lays back in bed, putting them in and blinking slowly.
“You alright, Johnny?” Ghost asks from his bed next to Soap.
Soap peeks over. Ghost’s mask is already on.
“Peachy, Lt.” Soap offers a smile.
“Briefing in 30, Soap,” Price pats his leg as he walks past, always the first to the bathroom.
“Yes, sir,” Soap grumbles and pushes himself up.
He feels annoyance growing but shoves it down. It’s his own fault he stayed up late anyway.
Ghost really only takes his mask off when he sleeps, so Soap spends many squinty-eyed nights trying to capture his likeness onto a page.
He can barely remember the first time he saw Ghost with his mask off. When they worked with Los Vaqueros as Ghost Team. So much happened afterwards that by the time Soap sat down to try and print his face on paper, most of the specific features had disappeared from his mind.
But Soap remembers he was beautiful. In a gentle, rugged way. With the same eyes Soap had seen every day since he’d known the guy.
Suffice to say, Soap was hooked. He and Ghost had already taken to sleeping in beds next to each other whenever they were off base, it was only too easy for Soap to spend a few hours straining his eyes after Ghost went to sleep to scribble whatever he can see into his notebook.
Ghost caught him a few times. And Soap can deal without the memories of looking up from his notebook and seeing eyes open and looking at him.
Thankfully, Ghost never caught on. He just mumbles about Soap needing to stop writing in his diary and go to sleep.
Speaking of said ‘diary’, Soap makes sure his sketchbook is shoved deep into his bag before starting to get ready. They have one more day left. One more day of Soap sweating his ass off in the desert and one more night of fighting shame as he stares at Ghost until midnight.
Soap forces himself to get ready and rubs his face while he searches for an MRE.
“Tough night, Soap?” Gaz asks.
“Just ready to get the hell out of here,” Soap mumbles, sniffing his food.
“Amen.” Gaz raises his spoon.
“Soap!” Price’s shout echoes down the hall.
Gaz looks at Soap with wide eyes.
What the fuck did I do now?
“Sir,” Soap says as Price enters the room.
Price walks leisurely over to Soap.
“Your bag...” Price sniffs, holding up said bag. “Are you possibly able to put it somewhere it won’t be bloody tripped over?”
“Yes, sir,” Soap says, nodding promptly.
Price drops the bag into his arms and Soap takes it with a grimace. He watches Price leave again.
“Damn,” Gaz snorts.
“Haud yer wheesht.” Soap mutters, shoving his hand in the bag and rummaging around. He breathes a small sigh when he pulls the book out from where it had remained in his hiding spot.
“What’s that?” Gaz asks, suddenly right next to Soap.
“Ach, nothin, just-…” Soap scrambles to get it back in his bag.
Gaz catches it just before it goes in.
“Mate, I’ve seen you with this all the time, what’s in it?” Gaz starts to open it.
“Just stupid drawings, give it back.” Soap snaps his fingers and holds his hand out.
Gaz’s eyebrows raise. “Don’t snap at me, bloody hell.” Gaz shoves the book back.
“Sorry,” Soap says. He curses himself for overreacting but takes the book quickly.
“You’re alright…” Gaz says, crossing his arms and looking warily at Soap.
Soap throws the book in his bag.
“Better put this somewhere the Captain won’t kick it,” Soap mutters, shuffling the bag between his hands.
He turns quickly, and runs right into Ghost as he’s just walking in.
“Johnny, what the fuck?” Ghost exclaims.
Soap feels one of his hands slip and everything in the bag clatters out.
Of course, I didn’t close it, Soap thinks, what a fucking mess.
“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap huffs, immediately starting to pick up clothes and toiletries.
It takes him too long to realise the silence in the room. Too long for him to look around and see his sketchbook open on the ground with Ghost’s face staring up at the ceiling.
Shit.
Soap sees Gaz gaping and he looks over at Ghost, bracing himself.
Ghost glances between Soap and Gaz, then back at the page. “What’s this?” He asks, his voice scarily quiet.
“Jesus, I-, sorry, I-, uh.,” Soap stammers, practically crawling over to the book and picking it up.
Ghost stops him as he’s standing.
Soap can’t do anything but let the book be taken from him, eyes set on Ghost’s face as he takes a closer look.
Soap’s eyes meet with Gaz, who looks scared shitless for him.
“What…?” Ghost mumbles barely.
Soap gives a small chuckle, trying to cut the tension. “Thought I was a bit better than that.” He crosses his arms. “It’s uh-, it’s you, Lt.”
More silence. Until Ghost breathes in slowly and the book thuds closed. Ghost wordlessly hands it to Soap.
“…Ghost?” Soap asks, but gets no response.
Instead, Ghost heads out, passing Price as he leaves.
“Ghost, you alright?” Price asks, receiving only a grunt before Ghost enters the bathroom and shuts the door.
“What’s happened?” Price asks.
Soap looks at Gaz, who shrugs.
“I don’t know,” Soap answers honestly.
Ghost sleeps with his mask on that night.
Soap feels like shit.
-
Ghost is out of bed already when Soap wakes up.
Contrary to what Soap thought, he didn’t get a better sleep last night. He’s traded staring at Ghost for laying awake and considering all the ways he might have pissed Ghost off by drawing him without consulting.
Soap’s getting his bag together when he gets a nudge in the shoulder from Price.
“What’s going on with Simon?” Price asks.
Soap sighs. “I really have no idea.”
“Soap,” Price says, letting the silence hang until Soap turns to look at him. “What happened?”
Soap can’t get anything past Price, he’s not even going to try.
He slowly reaches over to his bag, keeping his breaths level as he searches around to get his sketchbook. He hasn’t touched it since yesterday morning.
His shaky hands give it to Price, flipped to the page Gaz and Ghost had seen.
“He saw it,” Soap said, running a hand through his mohawk nervously. “And… and he hasn’t said a fucking thing to me since.”
Price looks at the drawings intently. “These are good…”
Soap feels his face heat up and he gently takes the book back. “Thank you, sir.”
As Soap puts the book back in his bag, he huffs. “I just-, I need to make this right, Captain, I know that. But I have no fucking clue how.”
Price sighs, putting his hands on his hips and screws up his mouth as he thinks.
“Ghost likes you, Soap.” Price says.
“What?”
“More importantly,” Price ignores Soap’s exclamation, “Ghost trusts you. He’s got a lot of shit going on, Soap, and I know you’re worried about saying something wrong. But if anyone can get through to him, it’s you.”
Fuck… Soap thinks, sitting down on his bed. “Yes, sir.” He mumbles.
“Go on, Soap,” Price says, leaving him with a pat on the shoulder.
“Thank you, sir.”
Soap finds himself standing in the hallway, listening to Ghost collecting his things in the bathroom.
Just go for it, Soap tells himself. Just fucking go in.
He launches himself into the doorway and a couple seconds later, Ghost notices him and freezes.
“Ghost,” Soap says.
“Soap.” Ghost nods at him.
It looks like Ghost’s about to leave so Soap steps a bit closer.
“I just wanted to ask how you were doing.” Soap leans awkwardly on the sink.
“Fine,” Ghost says.
They stare at each other.
“I’m sorry,” Soap blurts out.
Ghost’s gaze falters and his eyes dart to the ground and to the hallway before reaching Soap’s face again.
Soap reaches behind him to close the bathroom door. “I didn’t think, alright? And I can imagine you’re feeling-.”
“You don’t have to apologise, Soap.” Ghost crosses his arms.
Soap scoffs. “Of course I bloody do.”
“No, you don’t.” Ghost picks up his things and looks like he’s about to push past him.
“You know what?” Soap steps to block Ghost. Ignoring the glare Ghost throws at him, he continues. “I’m not an idiot and I’m not an asshole. I can see there’s something up and I know it’s to do with what happened yesterday and I-. I care about you, Ghost, and we’re going to stand here and talk about this like grown men, alright?”
Ghost stands towering over Soap for a few seconds, but Soap doesn’t waver.
Slowly, Ghost takes a step back.
“You got that?” Soap asks.
Ghost sighs, walking away and sitting on top of the toilet seat.
Soap leans against the door and lets him think.
Soon, Ghost speaks. “You wanna know what, Johnny?”
Soap relaxes a bit more at the nickname, realising he hasn’t heard it since yesterday.
Ghost stares at his hands. “Until yesterday, I… I hadn’t seen myself for a long time.”
Soap keeps his mouth shut.
Ghost stands up and turns to face the mirror.
Soap watches in awe as Ghost reaches and tugs the mask off of his head.
There, in the bright light of the bathroom, Soap sees Ghost’s face again. He sees the freckles and scars that he’s never caught in the darkness he usually surveys Ghost under. He sees a shadow of stubble under a sculpted nose that leads up to the blue eyes Soap’s seen so many times.
Those eyes start to shine and glisten and Soap realises Ghost is beginning to cry.
Soap’s eyes widen. He’s only ever seen Ghost cry once and it was when they’d been caught in tear gas.
“I look like my bloody father,” Ghost chokes out, ripping his eyes away from the mirror.
Jesus christ, Soap thinks, taking a tentative step towards Ghost.
Soap doesn’t know much about Ghost’s family, he doesn’t like to talk about it. But he has the idea that Ghost’s father wasn’t so nurturing.
“Ghost…” Soap says, resting a hand cautiously on Ghost’s shoulder.
Ghost mumbles to himself, “thought I was going fucking bonkers, seeing you drawing him in your bloody notebook but it’s me, fucking hell.” Ghost backs up and slides down the wall, sitting with his hands over his head.
Soap swears to himself and follows Ghost to the ground.
“Look at me, S-.” Soap sighs and squeezes Ghost’s shoulder slightly. “Simon, I know you."
Ghost chokes back a sob and takes a shaky breath.
“I do, alright? I don’t know your father but I know you, and I’m one hundred percent sure you’re ten times the man he is, alright?”
Ghost groans, gritting his teeth. “God, I hate him,” he seethes.
Soap winces and nods sympathetically.
“I haven’t seen him in years and I’m still-,” Ghost huffs, “I just can’t bloody get over it already.”
“Not really something you just get over…” Soap rubs his palm across Ghost’s back comfortingly.
A few more shudders wrack through his body before Ghost’s breaths start evening out. He manages to lift his gaze to glance at Soap.
“To be honest, Johnny,” he pants, “it feels like I’ll never get over it…”
Soap clenches his jaw. “Don’t say that, Ghost.”
Ghost chuckles dryly. “I just did.”
“Yeah well don’t ever say it again.” Soap nudges his side. “I’m not saying it’ll be tomorrow but you will get over it. He won’t always have this… power over you.”
Ghost gives him a curious look, like he knows this Soap is speaking from some kind of experience.
“It’ll get better, is what I’m saying,” Soap finishes.
Ghost watches him for a second, Soap realises yet again that he’s looking at Ghost’s face. Fatigue, grief, and curiousity all laid out for Soap to take in.
“Thanks, Johnny,” Ghost mutters. He moves his foot to tap against Soap’s.
“No problem, Lt.” Soap nudges Ghost’s foot back.
Soap looks at him now, with stray tear droplets hanging from his eyelashes and the muscles in his jaw slowly unclenching.
Wish he knew how bloody amazing he is, Soap thinks, and beautiful. He blushes although he hasn’t even said it aloud.
Soap is going to do everything he can to help Simon. Everything and anything.