Chapter Text
“You’re fucking kidding me, Price.” Ghost could barely suppress the growl creeping into his voice. “You can’t be serious. Six months? Six fucking months?” Price sighed. He stopped shuffling through his filing cabinet and turned to look at Ghost.
“‘Fraid not, son. You need a break. Even Laswell agrees, and she’s practically the living definition of a workaholic.”
“But six fucking months…what the Hell am I supposed to do for six months?” Ghost chose not to mention that he technically didn’t have a place to stay, since there was absolutely no way he’d stay in that home in Manchester for six months.
“Not my problem. It’s your break, so you get to choose what you do with it.”
Ghost groaned. “Price, for fuck’s sake–I’m not some fucking rookie! I don’t need a break, I’m fine!” He was practically begging at this point.
Price turned back to his cabinet. “This isn’t up for debate, Lieutenant. You’re going on leave for six months, whether you like it or not. Now get out of my office and start packing. You’re leaving the day after tomorrow.”
Ghost sighed, realizing there was no way out of this. “Yes, Sir.” He turned to leave, but before he could, Price put a hand on his shoulder.
“You know I’m not doing this to spite you, son. I know you feel fine, but everyone needs a break. Even the Ghost.”
Ghost sighed again. “I know, Price. I just…” He trailed off.
“I know, son. I get it, I do. But this is for your own good.” He turned, a sign of dismissal, but not before calling over his shoulder, “Oh, and Soap’s on leave as well.” Before Ghost closed the door, a little harder than he meant to, and made his way to the mess hall.
~
“Aye! L.t.! Over here!” Soap called out, waving his arms.
Ghost rolled his eyes, crossing the crowded mess hall in a few long strides. “I can see you just fine, stop waving your arms around like a damn jellyfish.” Soap chuckled.
“I can never tell with that mask you wear all the time,” he teased as Ghost sat down next to him. “Anyway, heard Price is forcin’ you on leave too.” His tone shifted to a quieter, more serious–almost concerned–tone. Ghost simply nodded, not looking up from the table. “Do you, er…know where yer gonna be staying, at least?” Soap didn’t say it, but Ghost knew exactly what he was implying. He was one of the only people whom Ghost had told what had happened.
“I didn’t tell Price. Not that it would’ve made a difference if I had,” Ghost muttered. “I’ll probably just find some cheap flat to squat in for a few months.”
Soap grinned, probably a little wider than he meant to. “That’s, er, that’s why I brought it up.” Ghost looked up from where he’d been burning holes into the table. He didn’t say anything, so Soap hurried on. “I was wondering if ye’d like to stay with me.” Ghost stared at him.
Soap’s ears flushed. “I-I mean, you don’t have place to stay and all, so I just thought that, y’know–saving money and everything–”
“Johnny.” Ghost cut him off. He sighed. “...Fine. As long as there’s two beds.”
~
“You excited, L.t.?” Soap grinned, practically bouncing on his seat. They were sitting in a cramped, stuffy airplane, their shoulders pressed together because of their bulky frames. Soap, of course, didn’t mind. Or notice, Ghost mused.
He sighed. “Yeah, bloody mental over the fact that I’m gonna be stuck in this tiny seat for the next 10 hours.”
Soap chuckled. “C’mon, L.t., most of it’s overnight. It won’t be that bad.” Ghost rolled his eyes.
“You’re also a lot smaller than me. And I don’t fall asleep in public easily.”
“Hey, I’m only like three inches shorter than you,” Soap whined, punching Ghost’s shoulder playfully.
“Uh-huh. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sergeant.”
“Away ‘n’ bile yer heid.” Ghost chuckled, a rare sight. He didn’t need Soap to translate; he’d heard that line in particular enough times to get the gist of it.
Despite the jokes they’d been exchanging, Ghost sighed. He hadn’t felt the weight of his balaclava since he’d pulled it off in the taxi that morning, and the scars covering his face itched unpleasantly. He hated traveling for this reason; the feeling of eyes constantly watching and judging his every move for something he couldn’t control was almost too much to bear. He desperately wanted to reach into his backpack to pull it back on, but knew it would cause more harm than good.
“You alright, L.t.?” Soap asked, reminding him that he was still in public. Ghost looked up, realizing that he must’ve looked distraught burying his face in his hands.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m…I’m good. I just really want to put my mask back on.” He sighed again. “Feels like everyone’s looking at me and I can’t stand it.”
Soap put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I get that, L.t. I…I’m sorry.” He paused for a moment, considering what to say next. He decided to make a joke, hoping that it’d lighten the mood. “Besides, if I catch anyone staring at you, I’ll punch ‘em in the nose.” Ghost didn’t laugh, but Soap saw the corners of his mouth turn upward slightly. Progress.
“Attention passengers, we are now preparing for takeoff. Please fasten your seatbelts, adjust your seat to the upright position, and stow your tray tables.” An announcement rang over the speaker, and Ghost felt the plane rumble to life beneath him. He settled back into his seat, ignoring the safety video playing on the small screen in front of him.
Soap patted his shoulder again before settling back into his seat, opening a book titled Tarka the Otter and humming slightly to himself.
Ghost sighed. Hopefully this won’t be too bad. It’s just 10 hours, I’ve spent way longer in a trench before. He paused. Though I was wearing a mask…
~
Ghost must’ve dozed off at some point. He was suddenly jolted awake due to something warm squeezing his waist. Probably the damn seatbelt, he grumbled, slowly blinking himself awake. He stretched his weary muscles, sore from having been stuck in that damn seat for several hours, when something beneath him–it sounded like it was coming from the seatbelt–groaned at the sudden disturbance. He looked down and nearly choked on air.
Soap’s arms were wrapped around Ghost’s waist, his face pressed into Ghost’s side and his trademark mohawk hanging messily around his head. Ghost forgot how to breathe for several seconds.
When he finally remembered that he needed air to survive, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He gently prodded Soap, not wanting to wake him up but knowing that if this continued for the rest of the flight that Ghost would die of lack of oxygen. “Soap,” he muttered. “Get off me. I can’t breathe.”
Soap groaned again, though this time Ghost caught a few words. “Shaddup, m’comfy.” Ghost promptly forgot how to breathe again. However, Soap didn’t give him a chance to remember as he moved his head from Ghost’s side to his lap, one arm wrapped around Ghost’s waist and the other beneath Soap’s head, with his face pressed into Ghost’s waist.
Ghost felt warmth slowly climbing up his neck, settling onto his face, which he was sure was bright red. “MacTavish,” he prodded him again, more urgently this time. “You’re being weird. Get off.” Soap ignored him. He groaned quietly. Looks like I’m stuck like this. God damn it, Johnny. He settled back into his seat, pausing for a moment to decide where to put his arms. He opted for crossing them over his chest, closing his eyes. Before he knew it, he’d dozed off again.
~
Ghost woke to a flight attendant tapping him on the shoulder. “‘Scuse me, Sir. We’re about to land, please adjust your seat.” He stretched, this time aware of the sleeping Scot whose head was still in his lap.
“Sergeant,” He grumbled, shaking his shoulders. “Get off, we’re landing soon.”
Soap mumbled in protest. “But m’comfy, Sir…c’mon, just five more minutes.”
For fuck’s sake. Ghost pinched the bridge of his nose. “Get off, Johnny. Don’t make me pull rank on you.”
Soap blinked, suddenly very aware of where he was laying. His ears turned a very noticeable shade of red. “Oh, uh…” He quickly sat up. “S-Sorry, L.t. My fault.” He wondered for a moment how long they’d been like that, before realizing that probably wasn’t what he was supposed to be focusing on just then.
Ghost sighed. “It’s…It’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “Did you, er…did you at least sleep well?”
Soap flushed. “Yeah, er…b-better than I have in a while, at least.” He tried for a weak smile, though he was sure it looked more like a grimace.
“Attention, passengers.” An announcement rang over the speaker, interrupting their awkward mumbling. “We are now preparing to land. Please make sure bags are stowed underneath your seat, seatbelts are fastened, seats are in the upright position, and tray tables are stowed. Welcome to Scotland!”