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Soap was in Price’s office. It was his personal one, back at their main base. They were in between missions, with rare downtime, so Price was able to work out of his own office with all his things.
Soap had already spent some time in the office—briefings, meetings (personal and professional), or getting chewed out for misbehaving.
Soap was all alone in the office, though, and was taking advantage. He was rifling through the filing cabinets, looking for a particular file.
First it started out as curiosity about his own file—he knew the basics, and had seen a few rookies files, but didn’t know exactly what information they had included on his own. After finding it and cringing at all the old photos, his thoughts got caught on something else—someone else, someone who he thought about a lot more than he knew he should.
Soap had seen Ghost’s face exactly twice—once in Los Almas, on the ghost mission, and once when Ghost had opened the door without it on. And without a shirt.
Soap had been told to fetch him for a surprise early morning meeting, and after knocking on Ghost’s door and announcing himself, Ghost had swung open the door with a tired stare. He had only been wearing sweatpants, hair mussed; clearly having just gotten out of bed. It was a moment Soap thought about more and more, the reasons behind it purposefully unthought about.
Ghost’s face was ingrained in his brain at this point, but Soap still couldn’t help his curiosity. Surely Ghost’s files had a picture?
He was proven incorrect when he found it. His general measurements, as well as eye colour, were all listed, but the space meant for a photo was blank.
Soap flipped through the rest of the file, trying not to catch on any words on the pages. He was curious, yes, and maybe a little dumb sometimes, but he wouldn’t even consider breaching Ghost’s privacy like that. He felt a little hypocritical—not wanting to breach Ghost’s privacy, yet flipping through his personal file—but he knew his curiosity would keep driving him insane, and he’d never get another opportunity. He justified it in his mind, reassuring himself that it was fine as long as he didn’t read anything.
At the very end, though, his eyes caught on a document. All the others had been vaguely familiar based on Soap’s own file, the same layout, but the last one was unfamiliar. He meant to skip by, but his eyes caught on a word.
Marriage.
It was a marriage certificate—a photocopy, evident by the grainy signatures, but a certificate all the same.
Soap blinked. There, at the bottom, was Ghost’s signature. In the space for witnesses, there was Price’s signature.
Printed up above were the names. Simon Riley and—someone Soap didn’t recognize. Gary Sanderson. The name was printed in the spot for the groom, as well as at the bottom for the signature.
The name sounded vaguely American, and masculine. Paired with that and the fact the name was printed on the groom slot, Soap assumed it was a man.
He barely spent a moment on that fact—somehow, Ghost being married to a man was less surprising than Ghost being married in general. He tried to imagine his Lieutenant being close enough to someone to even consider marriage—as far as Soap knew, Ghost’s closest companions were the 141. Even then, there were still walls Soap was trying to climb.
He wondered, briefly, if this “Gary” had to convince Ghost to be the bride on the document—would Ghost have done it without complaint, or had it been an argument? A bet on who would be the bride, maybe? He wanted to laugh, but also cringe at the fact there wasn’t a marriage certificate for same-sex couples.
Soaps' brain caught up to him. He flipped back to the beginning, where the basic information on Ghost was. “Marital status” was marked with an N/A. He flipped back to the certificate. The date listed it as nearly eight years ago—the anniversary would be coming up in a little less than two weeks. If it was real.
Soap thought back to his file. Had his marital status also been marked as N/A? Did N/A mean something different in this circumstance? Usually when one had a spouse, their information was listed in the file for contact purposes; there was nothing about a “Gary”. If Ghost and whoever Gary was had split, why keep the marriage certificate?
Distant voices were coming down the hall. Soap was suddenly aware he was snooping through classified files in his superiors office.
He flipped the file closed and hurriedly stuffed it back—hopefully—in its right place, closing the drawer and flopping into a chair in front of Price’s desk.
Price himself opened the door and didn’t pause his conversation with the rookie following him as he spotted Soap by his desk. It was something unimportant to Soap about drills—he tuned it out in favour of trying to remember why he had been in the office in the first place, what he had been meaning to talk to Price about.
Thankfully the conversation dragged out for another half a minute before Soap was acknowledged, allowing him to get his head at least partially screwed back on right.
It didn’t seem to fully screw back for the rest of the day, though. Or the next day, or the week after that. He felt like something fundamental had changed. He didn’t think about Ghost any differently, or at least, in any large and noticeable way. But he found his mind drifting—how long had they been married? Why had they split? He found himself staring, like he was trying to somehow find the answers on Ghost's figure.
A day later, Ghost didn’t come out of his room. It was one of the days Soap had off—no training rookies, no drills, no paperwork (he was sure there was definitely some paperwork he could do—there always was—but refused to do it on principle. He didn’t want to waste his day off, after all).In the past, he had spent them tagging along with whatever another member of the 141 was doing. It usually ended up being Ghost, but he was nowhere to be found.
When he asked Price, all he got was that Ghost had the day off as well. Soap tried not to be hurt—they could’ve spent it together, but then his mind supplied that it was the anniversary. 8 years ago, Ghost married one Gary Sanderson, if the certificate was to be believed.
Maybe Soap’s initial assessment was wrong. Maybe Ghost and Gary were still together, and Ghost had booked the day off to go visit him.
But then why had Ghost’s marital status been listed as non applicable? Clearly his superiors knew. Price specifically had signed the certificate as a witness.
It made Soap realize how little he really knew about Ghost. Maybe he and Price had roots going back before the military, and he had gotten married before enlisting.
He continued to think about it for the next few days, after Ghost emerged from his room like normal without acknowledging no one had seen him the day before.
Soap desperately wanted to go back to get a more thorough look at the files, but even thinking about it made his gut twist in guilt. He had already breached Ghost’s privacy once, however brief it was. He didn’t let himself get anywhere near Price’s office, fearing he might try and sneak another look.
It finally came to a head the next day Soap had off. He had done his regular routine of seeing what everyone else was up to to try and tag along for a few hours. Soap could appreciate days off, but he could only spend an hour in his room scrolling mindlessly on his phone before he was restless. He had taken to bothering Gaz before he was threatened and shoved out of the room.
He wandered down the hallway towards Ghost’s room. It was cracked open, so Soap stuck his head in. He had learned that the cracked door meant Ghost was available if anyone needed him, but closed enough to garner privacy.
Ghost was hunched over his desk working on paperwork. The desk wasn’t that small, Soap knew, but Ghost’s hulking frame made it look cramped. He looked up when Soap softly knocked and waved him in.
“Come to bother me, have you?” Ghost asked, leaning back in his chair to watch as Soap sat on the foot of his bed.
“Gaz kicked me out,” Soap replied, settling back to lean against the wall. He had done this enough to know he was welcome on the bed if he kept his shoes off, a fact he took advantage of.
They idly chatted for a few minutes, and Soap let it naturally fade to let Ghost get some work done. Soap wasn’t that annoying (he liked to think). He was happy to simply sit in Ghost’s presence.
It allowed his mind to wander, though, and he found his thoughts straying to the one thing that had plagued them for several weeks now.
He stared at the mask Ghost was wearing, and wondered (again) if he had worn it with Gary. Or had Gary known someone else, a Simon free of the mask? Did he still?
It took Soap a second to notice Ghost was looking at him.
Soap blinked. “What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this quiet before,” Ghost said carefully.
“Oh. Just—letting you get some work done,” Soap replied uncertainly. He smoothed down the fabric of his sweats for something to do with his hands.
Ghost stared at him for a moment, then pushed his chair back to swivel it in his direction so they could look at each other properly.
“Alright. Out with it.”
“Sorry?” Soap had already slipped his shoes off when he sat down, so he pulled his legs up to sit cross legged.
“You’ve been staring at me for weeks now, Sergeant. Clearly something has happened.” Ghost paused, his finger tapping his knee. “Did I do something to upset you?” He asked finally.
“Oh—Oh, no, of course not,” Soap said hurriedly. “Something, uh, unrelated.” He stared at his hands, aimlessly plucking at his pants.
It was silent for a while. Soap chanced a look up and saw Ghost was still staring at him, an unreadable look on his masked face. Soap shifted uncomfortably.
He felt like he was being pinned by his gaze, like Ghost was a predator waiting for movement to strike a killing blow. At the same time, though, it made Soap want to confess. It’d get it off his chest, and maybe finally get him some answers.
But what if it ruins everything? a smaller part of his brain asked. He traced his finger along the seam of his pants along his ankle.
“Soap,” Ghost said, voice firm, but when Soap looked up his eyes were soft. He tilted his head slightly, invitingly, and Soap gave in.
“I looked at something I shouldn’t have. About you.” Soap ran his hand through his mohawk. He could feel it sticking up, but ignored it in favour of scooting forward on the bed towards Ghost.
Ghost waited for him to continue, crossing his arms. His expression didn’t change.
“I—I was in Price’s office, looking at files and I was just curious if yours had any photos you—y’know, without the mask—which I shouldn’t have done I know that, I’m sorry I was totally breaching your privacy,” Soap rushed out. He stopped, snapping his jaw shut. He wrung his hands together.
“Alright,” Ghost replied slowly. His tone was unreadable. “Is that all?”
Soap sighed softly, lowering his head to muss with his mohawk further. He sometimes wished Ghost wasn’t so perceptive, so they could let the conversation drop there. “No,” he said finally. “I saw a document. A marriage document.”
Ghost didn’t respond. He continued to stare, unmoving. His eyes were shuttered.
Soap anxiously tapped his fingers on his thigh. When he couldn’t stand the silence for any longer, he blurted, “were you married?”
Ghost leaned back in his chair slowly. His arms uncrossed to rest against the armrests, finger tapping idly. “I was,” he responded eventually.
Soap swung his legs back over the edge of the bed, feeling like he wanted to race around, or do jumping jacks to let out some energy—but he needed to know more. His mind snagged on the phasing of Ghost’s reply. “You aren’t anymore?”
Ghost looked down, watching his own finger as it slowly tapped. He didn’t move, but Soap could see the gears slowly churning in his mind. His expression, his eyes, were still unreadable, but his tone was hard when he responded. “No.”
They sat in silence. Soap wasn’t sure what to say—he couldn’t tell if it was safe to ask any more questions. What they would be met with.
Despite finally talking about it, Soap was still left wondering. He felt like he had taken one step forward but in the wrong direction—he wasn’t sure where to go from there.
When Ghost continued to sit in stony silence, Soap decided to try his luck.
“You got any pictures?” He asked.
Ghost looked up, taken off guard by the question.
“I want to see if you wore the mask during the ceremony,” Soap finished, trying to smile in the right way to show he was kidding, but it was like he could physically see the joke landed wrong when Ghost reacted.
He barely moved, but it looked like he was shrinking in on himself. Soap could see the walls being brought up higher behind his eyes.
“I didn’t wear it,” Ghost said, voice somehow vulnerable but incredibly hard. He was staring off in the distance somewhere near Soap’s shoulder.
“I know, I—“ Soap cut off when Ghost swiveled his chair back to his desk. He could still see him, his side profile, but it felt like another wall Ghost had erected between them and Soap wasn’t sure how to get over.
“What happened?” What happened to you? To him? Soap wanted to ask; hoped it couldn’t be heard.
A pen was poised in Ghost’s hand. He wasn’t writing. “He died.” He tapped the pen against the paper. “He was a loose end.”
Soap felt like a brick hit him.
Of course, of course Gary was dead. He felt stupid, and a little sick for not understanding sooner. It felt obvious, now, looking back, and he wanted to smash his nose into the dingy metal bed frame beside him until it broke—his nose or the bed frame. “Oh,” was all he could say.
Ghost didn’t respond.
Soap thought, maybe, he had been able to peek through the cracks in Ghost’s walls. He thought he made a hole; a large crack he could look through to really see Ghost. He realized then it had never been his—it had been Gary’s. A hole fit to this stranger's form. Soap had merely been looking at Ghost through the aftermath, after the hole had been roughly patched up. But the wall was back up, the hole blocked, the top higher than ever.
Soap tried to think of something else to say, but Ghost pushed away from the desk, stood up, and walked out. Soap was left alone in the room, and he couldn’t help but feel like he deserved it.
He allowed himself a minute or so to wallow in misery, then left Ghost’s room. He closed the door quietly behind him.
He spent the rest of the afternoon in his own room. He couldn’t bear sitting alone with his thoughts, but wasn’t in a good enough mood to inflict his presence on someone. So he started on the paperwork he was planning on doing the next day. He tried not to think about how pathetic he was.
After that, though, he wasn’t sure what to do—for the rest of the day, and with Ghost.
He knew to give him some time. He already fucked up once by pressing too hard. He knew he’d have to press eventually, though—he didn’t think Ghost would ever come to talk to him on his own. Soap would have to press. But maybe not when the wound was quite as fresh.
It was dark outside—the base was settling down for the night. The most noise was coming from the mess hall or the common rooms, but Soap avoided both.
He meandered down the hallway, intending to reach the gym to let out some energy, but his mind treated his destination as an afterthought. He was still thinking about Ghost, for the thousandth time that week.
Soap tried not to mourn his mistake, but it was hard. He thought since Las Almas, he and Ghost had been getting closer. He thought he had seen Ghost on the other side of the wall, through the crack, looking back out at him. And maybe he had been, but now the hole was thoroughly patched after Soap’s clumsy attempts at making it bigger.
Even just thinking about it made Soap want to rip out his mohawk. What kind of person was he that didn’t even apologize the moment he realized his mistake? Instead he had sat there, dumbly, and messed it up even more.
He passed by Price’s office. Light filtered through under the crack into the darkened hallway, and Soap stopped. Price had been a witness at the wedding, or at least the ceremony.
Soap was turning and knocking on the door before he fully thought out his plan. A grunt sounded from inside, and Soap opened the door. Price was sitting behind his desk, working on paperwork while smoking a cigar.
Soap took a few steps inside and closed the door before Price looked up at him. He put down his pen and gestured him forward.
“Alright, Soap?” Price asked. Soap didn’t know what about his appearance made him ask, but Price had always been perceptive. With both Ghost and Price on the squad, Soap couldn’t have more than a bad thought before either of them picked up on it.
“Aye. Just wanted to talk, if you had a moment,” Soap said, and sat when Price extended a hand towards one of the chairs in front of his desk.
Soap ran a hand through his mohawk. Price leaned back in his chair, giving him his full attention. The movement reminded Soap so much of Ghost he had to look away to gather his words.
“I saw something I shouldn’t have. About Ghost,” Soap confessed for the second time that day, albeit in slightly different words. He debated on lying, on making something up for the next part—he did get the information from snooping in classified files, something Price would not take lightly.
But Price tilted his head, thumb and pointer slowly stroking his jaw, and quietly said, “go on,” when Soap paused. All thoughts of lying left his mind with Price’s soft encouraging words, and he sighed in defeat.
He told Price what happened in a rush, ending with his head in his hands to tug on his mohawk. Price stayed silent throughout it all, looking deep in contemplation.
“So now you’re here, telling me this, instead of apologizing to him?” Price asked, and Soap winced.
“I don’t think he wants to see me, sir.”
Price went silent in thought again, stroking his mustache in such an old-man-like way it made Soap want to laugh.
Price sighed through his nose, then hauled himself up to dig through the filing cabinets behind his desk. He pulled out a file and moved to sit down in the chair beside Soap, instead of across from him at his desk.
Soap felt a weight lift off his shoulders. It suddenly felt less like an impersonal conversation between him and his superior. This was now a conversation between friends, sitting beside each other on equal ground.
The file was full of pictures when Price opened it, and Soap sat in silence, watching as he thumbed through them till he found the right one. He passed it over to Soap.
It was of a bright office, the focus on the two people facing each other in the middle. Soap recognized Ghost—he was younger, his hair longer, with less scars on his face. Beside him was a man Soap didn’t know, presumably Gary. He was a few inches shorter than Ghost, with cropped brown hair and large eyes and a smattering of freckles. He was smiling into the camera, his soft features matching nicely with the sweater he was wearing, a collar of a dress shirt poking out from the neck.
Ghost wasn’t looking at the camera, holding Gary’s hands. A gold ring glinted on Gary’s finger, and Ghost was smiling down at it. It was an open, vulnerable expression, like it was just him and Gary in the room.
Soap stared at it for a long while.
“The day they got married,” Price said from beside him, looking at a different picture in his hand. It was of the same day, but now both of them were facing the camera, Gary turned slightly and kissing Ghost’s cheek. His hand was holding the side of Ghost’s face, Ghost’s own hand holding it there. He had a dazed smile on his face.
“They didn’t have a ceremony?” Soap asked, looking back at the photo in his hand. They were both dressed nicely, but not like they had just come from a wedding ceremony to sign the marriage certificate.
“They didn’t want one. Just wanted to be together legally. Came slinking into my office, asking me to be a witness, all meek like I hadn’t known them their entire careers,” Price chuckled, but it was sad.
Another brick of realization hit. “Gary was in the military?” And then, “is that how he died?”
Price sighed deeply. “I’d better let Simon tell you.” He put the photo away, but tapped the one Soap was still holding. “I think he’s forgotten I have this. Go give it to him, will you?”
Soap hesitated. “I don’t think—are you sure?”
“I don’t want you moping around,” Price said, standing up and moving to put the file back. Soap caught the sly grin on his face. “Go talk to him,” he prompted again. “I have work to do.” He moved to sit down behind his desk.
Taking it as the clear dismissal that it was, Soap left his office.
He wasn’t sure where to go from there—it wasn’t quite late enough that Ghost would for sure be sleeping, but did Soap want to talk to him so soon?
He walked back to the hall where their rooms were while he debated it. He debated it again standing outside Ghost’s door, and then debating it pacing, and then standing again.
He was still holding the picture—it was the main reason why he wasn’t going straight to his room to go to bed. He couldn’t handle holding onto such a personal picture in his room—he already felt like he breached Ghost’s privacy too much already. And what if someone else saw it?
He didn't have any more time to choose before it was decided for him. Ghost opened the door. “Going to wear a hole in the ground all night, Johnny?” He asked tiredly, leaning against the doorframe.
He was dressed casually, his normal mask replaced with a black balaclava with faded skull markings. The dark makeup around it didn’t seem as dark, like it was smudged or worn off throughout the day.
Soap wasn’t even surprised Ghost had heard him outside his door. Man had super senses. In this case, though, Soap was a little relieved the decision on what to do was taken out of his hands.
“I—I have something for you.” Soap almost handed him the photo, then hesitated. “It’d be better in your room, um, alone, yeah?”
Ghost wordlessly opened the door wider to let Soap through, closing it behind him.
Soap hovered awkwardly as Ghost sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t say anything, just watched Soap stand there.
“Price gave it to me, just so we’re clear.” Wanted to be sure Ghost knew he hadn’t been rooting around in his privacy again. “Told me to give it to you.” He passed the photo to Ghost.
Ghost barely glanced at it before tossing it onto his nightstand. “Alright.”
Soap couldn’t speak for a moment. “You’re not even going to look at it?”
“What do you want me to do with it, Johnny?”
“I—I don’t know, it—“
“Burst into tears and thank you profusely for bringing it to me? Is that what you want?” Ghost pressed again, voice lacking any tangible emotion that it made Soap snap.
“Maybe I do want that! Would prove you actually have emotions under that mask of yours,” Soap burst out, louder than he intended. His jaw clicked shut when he was finished, and he and Ghost stared at each other for a long minute.
“Listen,” he said, softer this time. “I won’t pretend to understand, because I can’t—I’ve never had someone that close before. But I’m here to listen if you need it.”
Ghost broke eye contact first, sighing through his nose deeply. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and pointer, smudging the makeup even more. He suddenly looked tired again, like all the fight had drained out of him.
Soap moved and gently sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry for breaching your privacy. I—I’m glad to have found out about Gary, just sorry about how it happened.”
“Bound to happen eventually,” Ghost said, eyes still closed, fingers on the bridge of his nose. His voice was quiet.
“Still.” Soap laid a gentle hand on Ghost’s shoulder. “I’m here to listen, though. If you want. Or you can kick me out—no hard feelings. Just wanted to apologize, and give you the photo.”
Silence stretched on—Soap removed his hand, getting ready to leave, when—
“You were glad to find out about him?”
Soap smiled. “Of course.”
Ghosted tilted his head to look at Soap through his side eye. “Why?”
“I like learning things about you. Even the bad stuff. That’s what friends do,” Soap shrugged.
Ghost straightened a bit. Soap could tell his eyebrows were raised, even behind his mask. “We’re friends?”
Soap frowned. “I hope we—“ then he spotted the crinkles around Ghost’s eyes, indicating a soft grin hidden by the mask. “Oi—“ Soap laughed, shoving Ghost’s shoulder lightly.
Ghost swatted his hand away, pushing himself back onto his bed. He leaned back against the wall, legs long enough that they could hang over the side comfortably.
Soap wasn’t quite as tall (a fact he mulled over frequently), so he slipped off his shoes for the second time that day and settled back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Ghost.
Ghost had snagged the picture off the nightstand and was looking at it fully this time. His eyes were unreadable from Soap’s angle, so he let Ghost look at it quietly for a moment.
His eyes drifted throughout the room instead, examining his surroundings like he hadn’t done it every other time he’d been in the room.
Ghost’s room was exactly the way he presented himself to the world—dark, with little to no personal touches. His bed was neatly made, the nightstand bare. The only sign someone was living in the room was the papers scattered across the desk in the corner. It was messy, but also somehow looked organized—leave it up to Ghost to organize a mess.
Soap thought about his next day off—maybe he would go into the town nearby, to the small thrift store on the corner. He’d been there only once, but he’d seen simple photo frames. It’d look nice in Ghost’s room, with the photo—but simple enough it’d look fine tucked away in a drawer somewhere if Ghost preferred.
Maybe he’d find a silly photo of the squad to frame too. Less personal to display, but still holding meaning. Soap tried to think where he might have a photo.
“His call-sign was Roach.”
Ghost’s voice was quiet, but Soap immediately turned his attention back to him. He was still staring at the photo.
So Gary was military. That answered a few things—Soap resisted the urge to ask something, letting Ghost speak at his own pace.
“He kept surviving the impossible—after he came crawling back after a chemical explosion, someone called him a Roach, and it stuck.”
Soap remembered back to when his own call-sign was made—it had felt dumb, and extremely unmasculine, but once someone said it, it had already been passed on. He could only protest for half a day before he gave up.
“We were—he got caught in Russia, on a mission. He had been doing surveillance, but the enemy had caught on and—and eliminated the threat.”
When Ghost paused, with a slight hitch in his voice, Soap sat quietly. He carefully leaned over, bumping his head softly against Ghost’s shoulder. When he didn’t move, Soap properly rested his head against it, silent all the while.
“His last message was a warning, so I flew out to give some backup, but—“ his voice caught again “—the place was burnt down. The only thing we found was his finger, the—the left ring finger.”
Soap let out a soft breath at that. It was assumed Gary had been KIA—they never found his body. The finger was probably left as a message. He wondered if he even got a grave.
Ghost was clutching the photo so hard it was crinkling, so Soap gently plucked it out of his hands. “Tell me about this,” he said. No need to dwell on Gary’s death—Soap got the gist of it anyway.
Ghost took a shuddering breath, but it wasn’t as deep as it could’ve been, like he was careful to not jostle Soap still on his shoulder. “What’d Price tell you?”
“Kicked me out, told me to ask you.”
Ghost huffed a laugh. He shifted a bit, angling his body towards Soap slightly so he could see the picture Soap was holding. Soap could feel him lean into him, and thought maybe he’d rest his head on top of Soap’s.
“‘Course he did.” Ghost was quiet for a moment, both to them looking at the photo Soap still held up. “He was a witness. We didn’t have a ceremony, just went to the officiators office on our day off. Wanted to be bound legally.”
Ghost sighed softly, but it was thoughtful. He finally shifted and rested his head atop Soap’s.
“My aunt and uncle did that,” Soap said after a minute, just to contribute, to show he was listening. Ghost didn’t seem to be saying anything more, and Soap didn’t want to let him dwell on painful memories of the past. He wasn’t expecting a response, but when Ghost hummed in interest, he elaborated.
“Wanted to be married without all the fanfare. Were together for almost a decade, half of it in secret. When they told my mum they were getting married without the regular ceremony, she almost threw a fit.” Soap huffed a small laugh thinking about it. He had been in the middle of high school, trying to enlist early, when it had happened. He had felt his mothers rage from across the house.
“They told her she would either go and be one of their witnesses, or it would happen without her. She stopped complaining after that.” Soap gently ran his thumb along the edge of the photo in his hands. He imagined the office Ghost and Gary—Roach?—were in was similar to the one they had gone to. He couldn’t remember if there had been any pictures.
They lapsed into silence again, Soap thinking about his family back home. He thought it was a peaceful moment, reminiscing on old memories, but Ghost pulled away, sitting up straighter and pressing his back against the wall.
Soap sat up as well, but for different reasons. A ‘you alright?’ was on his lips, but then he took in Ghost’s face—as much as could be seen.
His black makeup was smudged again, clearly showing the tracks the tears made down his face. They disappeared into his mask, and were silent, but Soap was sure it wasn’t any less painful.
“Ghost?” Soap said, softly, reaching over to rest a hand on his shoulder, then up to his cheek. Ghost leaned into it, his eyes avoiding Soap’s gaze.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly, voice thick. He made no move to dislodge Soap’s hand, like he was desperate for any touch Soap was willing to give but not wanting to ask for it.
“Come here,” Soap murmured, coaxing him forward. He put the photo down beside him to draw Ghost in closer, hands now on his shoulders. He enveloped him in a hug, Ghost’s face tucked into the crook of his neck.
“Sorry,” Ghost said again, right into Soap’s skin. Soap could feel the wetness of his eyelashes.
Soap quietly shushed him, hand gently rubbing his back while the other cradled the back of his head. Ghost’s shoulders were shaking, quiet sobs wracking his body. Soap held him through it all.
“I never knew my distant family,” Ghost mumbled into Soap’s chest. It had been a quiet few minutes, after he had taken a few deep breaths.
“I didn’t even meet Gary’s family,” Ghost said, louder this time, the muscles in his shoulders tightening.
Soap scooted forward a bit to tangle their legs together, so he could properly wrap his arms around Ghost. The one hand stayed on his head, gently stroking where his hair would be under the mask.
“I’m sure they woulda loved you,” Soap murmured. “My family would love you, too—you could come meet them, if you wanted.” He wasn’t sure if it was the right response, but he knew his family would welcome Ghost without a second thought. A second chance with a family was maybe what Ghost needed—even if his and Soap’s relationship wasn’t quite the same. (Soap tried not to think—he refused to take advantage of the situation, even if he could feel Ghost’s walls crumbling around him. They would rebuild, Soap knew that.)
Ghost pulled back slightly to look Soap in the eyes. “They would want to meet me?” His voice was careful, but uncertain. Soap was sure he’d never gotten an offer like this before, except maybe from Gary—but since they had been married, the meeting of families was usually expected. This offer was a little out of the norm.
Soap cupped Ghost’s face in his hands, smiling softly. “Of course. I already told them about you when I last visited,” he admitted. He remembered the younger kids' faces, their wonder when Soap described the skull mask.
“Suppose I’ll have to meet them, then, tell them about your heroics,” Ghost replied. His eyes were closed, and he was leaning into Soap’s hands. He looked and sounded tired—Soap wasn’t surprised. Such an emotional release, paired with crying, would be tiring.
The makeup around his eyes was still smudged, with defined tear tracks carving a path under his eyes. Soap hummed softly in response, mind elsewhere—he had seen makeup wipes around somewhere. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumbs along Ghost’s cheekbones.
“Wanna lay down?” Soap asked softly, and Ghost grunted noncommittally, but shifted to lay on his back. He laid his head on his pillow, eyes opening to watch as Soap scooted forward to sit by his torso. Soap took a moment to find the thankfully non-wrinkled photo and put it on the nightstand.
Ghost’s makeup was thoroughly ruined and Soap couldn’t help but feel like it would be itchy when it fully dried. Ghost tugged on his hand, but Soap carefully extracted himself. “Hold on,” Soap said, climbing off the bed.
He went to the attached bathroom (the perks of being a lieutenant) and saw exactly what he was looking for on the counter. He frowned at the brand, and the other small amount of products cluttered on the counter. He really needed to introduce Ghost to a better skincare routine—later.
He sat down beside Ghost again, by his hip. He looked more awake, but still a bit drowsy. He blinked a few times seeing the wipes, then reached up and pulled his balaclava off.
Soap was taken aback—he hadn’t been planning on asking him to take his mask off, but it certainly made the job easier. He tried not to let it show on his face, though, just scooted closer while opening the bag of wipes. Ghost had already revealed so much, that taking off the mask must’ve not been a hard hurdle to cross. What’s one more barrier towards vulnerability at this point?
Soap touched Ghost’s—Simon’s cheek, tilting him to the side a bit. “Hello, Simon,” he murmured.
“Johnny,” Simon greeted quietly. They exchanged soft smiles.
Simon’s eyes fluttered closed as Soap began to wipe his face of makeup. With each wipe, his face cleared, revealing angular features that received less care than they should.
When it was all off, Soap threw the wipe into the garbage nearby. He didn’t even have to think about what he should do next—Ghost beckoned him forward. Soap scooted towards him, but wasn’t quite sure what Simon wanted. He thought he did, but didn’t want to push; Simon just huffed. “Lay with me, Johnny.”
Soap did. He laid on his back beside him, Simon turning to lean on his elbow so Soap could get positioned. Once he settled, Simon wasted no time sprawling atop him, head on his chest.
Soap was taken aback (again) but quickly settled in. His hands found a spot on his back and in his hair. Simon made a soft rumble at the action and Soap grinned to himself.
They lay in comfortable silence, Simon’s breathing getting deeper as he drifted off. When Soap felt the drag of sleep on his mind, he didn’t fight it.
The next morning, Simon slipped out of bed before him. It was at the crack of dawn, and Soap didn’t try to fight awake, just grumbled something. He was aware enough to hear Simon’s responding chuckle. He could feel the weight of a blanket that hadn’t been there before.
They didn’t see each other for most of the day, Soap busy drilling recruits. They exchanged a smile at dinner, in the mess hall, surrounded by others.
It was like nothing had changed, but Soap knew the foundation had shifted. The walls Ghost had rebuilt still had a few layers he had to scale, but now he was inside. There was a layer built around him.
When he showed up at Ghost’s door a few days later, two photo frames in hand, Ghost let him in. He had found a photo of the 141 (from Price) with a frame to match. It depicted Price reclining in his office chair, arms crossed as he slept. Several items, mainly things from his desk, were balanced on his sleeping form. Gaz and Soap were on either side, having a competition on how many items they could put on their captain before it all fell or he woke up. Ghost was in the background, Price’s signature bucket hat perched on his head. (Soap remembered he had been the one to put it on him—he had huffed, but kept it on, even when Price chased Soap and Gaz across the compound. He handed it over without a word when Price asked for it, but Soap had felt his smug aura from across the room.)
When the photo of him and Gary fit snugly into the frame and stood on Ghost’s nightstand, he smiled at Soap. It was soft, evident by the lines around his eyes, and Soap realized it was through a hole in his walls. A Soap shaped hole.