Chapter Text
Ghost remembered the exact moment he knew Roach had died. He woke up in the hospital, still nursing a bullet wound, with luckily only scant burns. Pain had followed him in a straight shot through his body, an overwhelming sensation.
Price had come in. Or maybe he had been in there a while and Ghost had just now noticed.
But Price hadn't looked happy to see him. He looked like he had been crying and Ghost knew immediately what it was. Ghost didn’t want to ask. He wanted to bury himself in those pillows and never ever know the truth. That way, he could pretend. Pretend Roach was alive and well and somewhere else.
But Simon couldn’t put things away that easily.
"Roach..." His voice sounded shot. Hoarse and harsh. Probably rubbed raw from smoke inhalation. It made him stutter and fall over his words, something he thought he had gotten over as a child. They wouldn’t leave his throat, but he managed to say the name and from Price’s expression, it was more than enough.
"He's gone, Simon. We found his body along with his dog tags." Price sank to his level since Ghost was still laying down. “Burned in the same fire that almost took you.”
"How do you know... Maybe Shepherd just..." The look on Price's face made Ghost trail off.
"I took off his mask, Simon. It was him. I'm sorry, but he's gone." Price was gentle with him. So gentle. It was more than he deserved. He let him die.
"Ah..." Ghost needed to lay down. Maybe forever. He felt Price's hand on his shoulder but it was distant.
"Rest, Ghost. You're hurt."
"Can you get Johnny for me?"
"Yeah… I can get Soap for you. He already knows. Been helping me with arrangements." Price left and it was agonizing wait until Soap came. He sat next to him on the bed, gently tracing the new burns on his body.
Ghost didn't cry. He physically couldn't thanks to some injuries to his face, along with a lot of psychological stuff. But he felt it regardless. A burning behind his eyes and along his nose. He leaned heavily into Soap, into his lifeline.
Soap had clearly been crying. His eyes rimmed with red and there were small tear tracks down his face. But for Simon, he still held it together, not wanting to lose him to Ghost due to grief.
"I really am so sorry."
Ghost felt shaken. The idea of Roach.
His Roach.
Gone.
He hid his face in Soap's face and shook hysterically. Soap hugged him close to him, petting his hair.
"I know. I know." Johnny held him. "They think it was fast. He would've been dead before the.. the fire..."
"How bad is his body?"
"You're not going to want to see it." Soap told him gently. "I found it. And you're not going to want to see it."
Ghost continued to lay with Soap for a long time. But he knew already that he wasn't going to let Roach go this easily.
He would do something. Anything.
-
Ghost was discharged two weeks later. It was excruciatingly long. He counted the days slowly.
His bullet wound healed in 10 days. The perfect, typical timeline of a bullet wound. It almost made him sick.
One of the nurses offhandedly mentioned how lucky he was. That the burns were healing so well, stitching themselves back so easily. And that he avoided third degree burns. She seemed so surprised by it.
Ghost bit back a harsh word about how his gear was there to prevent those wounds or maybe a sharp retort about how having his Roach die was not by any means lucky.
His…
So he did the only thing he knew how to do.
Ghost went to a bar and started drinking. He made sure Soap and Price didn’t see him because he knew they would want to stop him and he wanted to put himself in a fucking coma. Maybe he’d get alcohol poisoning and die. If he kept drinking, he could die by morning from it.
Death didn’t like him though. He knew it didn’t. If it did, he would’ve died in Vernon’s grave. Or in the scorpion’s cage. Or by his dad’s hands.
Instead, he had to keep living.
He downed the bourbon and stared at the screen that was playing above his head. He wasn’t actually sure what was playing, but he hoped that between his tattoos, his mask, his size and also the fact he was clearly busy, no one except the bartender would pay him any mind.
The bourbon burned. After a moment, he ordered a virgin pina colada. He made sure the stupid umbrella came with it and he pushed it to the empty seat next to him where Roach would sit. Roach didn’t drink. Ghost had no idea why.
Maybe he was a flirty drunk? Or he had bad experiences with it?
Ghost got another shot and downed it too. The burn went down his throat and he could feel it in his stomach.
Someone sat next to him.
“Waiting for someone?”
Ghost turned to the man sitting next to him. He was… hmm. Tall. Older looking. He had a face similar to Pedro Pascal, if a bit taller with blue eyes. More facial hair like he didn’t have time to clean it up.
Ghost had daddy issues. Never said he didn’t. And right now, he was all alone. He had been dancing around his feelings towards two of his sergeants but one was dead and the other was not here.
This guy was giving him attention and he was maybe a little too drunk. All the wrong things.
A one night stand might help where the alcohol was failing.
“Not anyone that’ll show up.”
“Really? Stood up on a date?”
“No. He’s dead.” Ghost downed the shot, noticing the guy take the straw in his mouth and drink. His dark eyes focused on him. Dark brown around pupils. Something about them made him feel uneasy. Weren’t they just blue?
“Ah. Shame. What’s his name?”
“Gary. Though I never used that. Always called him Roach.”
“Military?”
For a moment, Ghost felt a skittering paranoia before remembering his dog tags were out. Laying on his chest. They were slightly burned. He knew how to clean them. Or even just get a replacement. But he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. It had burns just like him and Roach.
“Yeah. Military. You ever serve?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Don’t. Don’t let anyone you know join if you can help it.”
“If you could leave, would you?”
“No. I don’t have anything else.” Even Soap, Johnny, Sergeant MacTavish, as much as Ghost romanticized the soft idea that he’d have him, was so intrinsically tied to the military. Roach had been as well, but Roach was more intrinsically tied with being dead now. If he left, he’d have nothing. No family. No home. No one to know. He’d start over and at the ripe age of 28, he couldn’t do that. Didn’t have the energy for it. “That’s what the military does. It’s like a toxic partner.”
“I see. So your buddy Roach. What would you do to get him back?”
“Fucked up question to ask a drunk person that’s grieving.”
“I know.” The man leaned in. He smelled weirdly sweet. An overwhelming, almost toxic sweet smell. Ghost remembered being in the coffin. He didn’t know why but the smell brought him back.
“What cologne are you wearing?” He mumbled.
That man smiled and Ghost’s vision grew a tad blurry. Shifting around like he was black out drunk and yeah he hadn’t been counting his shots but he was a big guy and he doubted however much he had drank would’ve been enough. “I’m not wearing cologne, Ghost. You’ve killed a lot of people haven’t you?”
“Try not to think about it.”
“Saved any?”
“That’s the hope. I like to think I’ve saved more than I’ve taken, but I don’t let the numbers keep me awake.”
“I’m going to ask again. What would you do to get him back?”
Ghost thought about it. “I don’t know what I wouldn’t do.”
“You should go visit him.”
“He’s in the morgue. They said I shouldn’t.” His vision was blurring more like they were filling with tears.
The doctor examined his face, looking at him with scrunched eyebrows. A surgical mask covered the bottom half of her face.
“You suffered some horrible injuries. How did you drag yourself across Mexico to get here?” Her accent was thick. Undeniably Texan.
“You’re safe now, sweetie? Okay?” He could see it. The pity. He hadn’t seen himself yet. He didn’t know how bad the scarring was. Simon was not aware that he had died in that desert. Not yet.
He smiled. And this time, Ghost noticed that he had a few too many teeth.
“Go visit him and tell him how you feel.”
“He’s dead.” Ghost bit out. “I don’t know what sick fuck you are, but he’s dead.”
“Is he? Have you seen his body? Do you trust everyone that much?”
Ghost trusted Price and Soap. He did. Didn’t he?
No. No, he did not.
Ghost was suddenly moving. He went to deck the guy but he was gone.
Somehow, he did find himself walking to the morgue. It was attached to the base. He didn’t know why. The army hospital was right next to it. That was probably why.
He found himself looking through the different metal cabinets. Trying to find him.
Roach looked unbearably tiny. If Ghost remembered correctly, they had embalmed him, but not held the funeral yet. They wanted Ghost to be up and at em before they did it. The embalming kept him from rotting. But it didn’t make him look alive.
He shouldn’t be exposed like this. The thin sheet over him wasn’t enough.
Ghost grabbed a trash can and threw up. He blamed it on the alcohol and not the scent of formaldehyde.
Crying was never something he wanted to do before. But he wanted to now. He wanted a way to get all of these stupid emotions out of his body.
There was a rustling. Probably one of the attendants finding him here. That was going to be an awkward explanation.
A hand on his shoulder made him finally look up. See the pale flesh of Roach’s arm. Even paler than normal thanks to the embalming fluid now running through his veins instead of blood.
His head tilted unnaturally and his eyes had a whitish tint to them, but it was clearing as he blinked.
Ghost felt like throwing up again, but there was nothing to throw up. He stood up slowly, towering over him. Roach blinked a few more times before smiling at him. The scars on his face tugged slightly with it, just like they always did.
“Roach?” Ghost said slowly.
Roach raised his hands, his fingers trembling. Simon. He signed it. Like most people who used sign language, he had a special sign for the closer people in his life. Ghost’s was the sign for ghost where instead of holding an F sign, he held an S. It was an odd thing, but it was so clearly Roach.
Ghost wrapped his arms around him. He felt so cold from the cabinet.
“Are you cold?”
Roach nodded. He was also very naked. He looked like he was made of glass.
“Let me get you to my room.” Ghost slid his jacket off and put it on him. He tugged it so it covered as much of Roach as possible. Hysterically, he worried he’d get a cold.
Ghost pulled him along gently. Roach followed him, looking up at him with shaking legs. His eyes get drooping like he was tired and Ghost didn’t even think before trying to lift him before stopping. Roach felt so heavy in his arms. Way, way heavier than normal.
Apparently the embalming process added some weight. He instead just ushered him faster and gently put him in his own bed. Ghost wondered what this was. If it was some cruel hallucination or delusion.
Roach made the sign for him to lay down and Ghost did without question. He pressed into him, his freezing body leeching warmth from Ghost. Ghost didn’t care. He’d freeze to death if it meant whatever this was would last longer.
At some point, he fell asleep.
Soap yelling woke him up. He sounded horrified at first before something shut him up.
Ghost reluctantly pulled himself together enough to open his eyes to look.
Roach was standing up. Dressed luckily. He had Soap’s face in his hands and Ghost couldn’t see his expression but judging by Soap’s it was a calming one.
“I saw you die. You died. You were…”
Roach made the sign for Soap. It was the regular sign for soap but he made the sign for J with his hands. Just like on Ghost, it worked like a charm.
Soap pulled him close, crying quietly. Ghost noticed that Roach was still pale and he reached over, feeling his skin. It felt wrong. Not as cold as before, but more of an ambient room temperature.
Roach shoved them both away and rushed off to Ghost’s bathroom. He could hear him hacking something up. The sound of liquid falling from his mouth.
“How.” Soap looked at him. “Being dead for a few minutes can destroy a person’s brain. A few hours? They’re wrecked. Resuscitation is almost pointless because its a miracle if they even start breathing let alone have a quality of life. He was dead two weeks. Two full weeks. And that’s just counting the time in the morgue. That’s not even considering that he was next to your unconscious ass for who knows how long.” He was speaking so clearly, suppressing his accent as if using Scotts would make Ghost not be able to understand him. Ghost already couldn’t understand him. He didn’t get the question.
“I don’t know. I just… went down there. And he woke up.”
“What did you do Ghost.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Ghost. This doesn’t… make sense. He was dead a while.”
“I know. I don’t get it either. But he’s awake.”
“We’re…” Soap ran his hands through his hair. “This is fucking insane.”
Ghost stood up and grabbed him. He cupped his face in his hands just like Roach did. This was madness. Mania to the goddamn extreme. He knew, deep down, that he shouldn’t be taking this so easily. But they were all alive. After two weeks of being confined to a hospital bed, forced to do nothing but think and think and think about the missing part of himself, he didn’t want to think anymore.
He had his pieces.
Ghost was whole again.
Simon kissed Johnny, not lifting his mask to do so. He could feel Johnny’s lips through it and that was enough. “We’ll figure it out.”
Johnny stared at him. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to crush Ghost. Or because he also wanted nothing more than to have everyone alive and kicking. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
-
Roach had laid awake the entire night. He didn’t feel like sleeping. In all honesty, he was very confused. One moment, he had been shooting at an enemy with Ghost. Then he was alone, somewhere very cold with a sheet over his face. It was even more confusing when he stood up and his body felt like he was wearing his gear even though he was naked. There was also this chill down to his goddamn bones.
Roach kept having to get up to cough up all the embalming fluid. When he left the bathroom, Soap and Ghost were there. He felt lighter now. Finally having rid himself of most of it. Under his skin, he could see the very start of pink as his body tried to make more blood to replace what was drained.
Ghost left the room. Soap sat with him, moving closer. Roach leaned into him, still so very cold. Soap wrapped his arms around him.
“What happened?”
Roach didn’t fucking know. He made the sign for the idiot and Soap laughed, though he was clearly tense.
“Sorry for asking.”
Ghost brought back food. Other than the bacon, Roach couldn’t really stomach it. He did drink down the tea Ghost brought him though. It felt so warm.
Ghost sat on his other side and it felt so nice. They felt so nice.
They smelled really, really nice.
Roach blinked. Huh. That was weird.
During the night, Soap stayed in Ghost’s room, which he thought was cute. He couldn’t fit in the bed so the two of them had a small disagreement over who would take the floor and who would take the bed. Roach tried to offer and they glared so hard into his soul he thought he’d drop dead again.
After an hour of watching the two of them sleep quietly, Ghost managed to argue that he had the bed the night before so Soap laid next to him, Roach got… impatient. He was too bored for this.
So he got up and went outside. The smell wasn’t helping. His own body had the horrible chemical smell that a shower hadn’t gotten rid of, but his…
What were they? Friends he guessed. His friends smelled divine. It made him so hungry. He knew the kitchen wouldn’t have anything worthwhile but his card had a lot of money on it, like his friends, he didn’t really use it for anything, mostly just hoarding it all for retirement.
Roach found a diner and after looking through the food, he settled on a steak. The waitress didn’t know sign so he had to point to it. Luckily, the waitress had a good head on her shoulders because she held up her hand and pointed to her fingers, saying the different doneness so he could just hold up the finger he wanted.
She was nice. Short and accommodating. She put the food in front of him and he had took his mask off to eat it. He had asked for medium rare, but it was very well done. He thought of complaining, but the idea of having to both get her to realize the mistake without being able to verbally explain along with bothering her was … He decided against it.
Roach bit into the steak, not bothering with a knife because it was getting on his nerves. He sank his teeth into it. The inside was red.
Roach was in the diner’s kitchen, holding someone’s arm. Their body laid out on the floor with several giant chunks missing.
The waitress laid just a few feet away. Her shirt had been ripped open and he could see the empty chest cavity where her torso should be.
After a moment of thinking, he kept eating. Finally, he felt warm. Their blood replacing his own. He didn’t feel so hungry.
Their lungs tasted bad. He ended up skipping over them and going to the muscles in his chest. They melted like butter.
He’d have to order his steaks bloody.