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Captain McTavish isn't sleeping well and that's not anything new.
He has dark, permanent circles under his eyes on a good day, of which there aren't that many to begin with.
Ghost isn't one to judge, because as much as he avoids looking at his own face, he knows the commitment to avoid nightmares affects him as well.
What is new however is the lack of eating. And that's a problem.
Soap eats well, takes care of his body. Bosses the entire squad around to do the same, makes sure nobody forgets.
Just so happens Ghost forgets most of the time and it's been a week since he last got dragged to the Mess Hall and fucked off after grabbing something to privately eat in Soap's office.
Between that and the sheer amount of paperwork the Captain has to finish before their next move? It's worrying to say the least.
So here he is. Balancing a meal in each hand and a thermos full of coffee awkwardly tucked under his arm, digging uncomfortably into his ribs.
He can't exactly knock like this, instead uses his elbow to carefully press the door handle down without dropping everything.
"Capt'n." He announces himself.
"Ghost," Soap replies and looks up as he comes in, kicking the door shut behind him and walks up to the desk.
Soap wordlessly blinks up at him as he puts the trays down on some of the paper littering the space and Ghost critically eyes him from behind tinted glasses.
The Captain's eyes are glassy and half lidded, with circles much deeper than usual. It makes his scar stand out, milky white against the purple bruising.
A pen is barely holding on between relaxed fingers and his posture is slumped, leaning heavily on his arms to keep himself upright.
It causes a pleasant ache in Ghost's chest. Soap can hide even the worst exhaustion and injuries with alarmingly little effort, and in fact does so all the time in front of the team. He's always strong for them.
But not here, not when it's just him and Ghost.
It's the most vulnerable a soldier like him can be and Ghost fucking revels in it.
"Brought you something." He sets the coffee aside and gestures loosely to the trays, keeping his gaze on Soap's face as he looks down.
His eyebrows rise, finally noticing the food.
"Ah." His mouth twitches. "Would ye look at that."
Ghost rolls his eyes at the pleased tone.
"What's the special occasion?" Soap continues and pulls his tray towards himself.
"Nothing. Just wanted to spend some time with you is all."
Now Soap's tired eyes crinkle at the corners. "I see." He's wise enough not to say more than that.
They don't share a lot of official meals together. Soap eats in the Mess to socialize with the team and Ghost hates being watched while eating.
It's different than in the field. Too many bad memories involving dinner tables, too self conscious of the noises he makes, of where he looks. Bracing himself for an outburst that never comes. Startles at every loud laugh.
Ghost sits down at one of the chairs across from Soap and lifts the edge of his balaclava over his nose. He stiffly stabs some scrambled egg and brings the fork to his mouth, firmly staring down at his tray.
Swears he can almost smell the alcohol.
It's easier with Soap, but far from perfect. Ghost's shoulders are taunt under his jacket and he can't bring himself to look at his Captain. Being hidden behind glasses doesn't lessen the intensity, his body feeling like a raw nerve, exposed and sensitive.
"How did training the recruits go?" Soap clears his throat. "I realize we haven't talked in a while."
"It's fine," Ghost waves him off. "Was alright. Even took a few notes."
"Oh?" Soap sounds surprised. For good reason.
"Yeah, well." Truth is, it's one less thing for Soap to keep track of at the moment.
Ghost is simply supposed to be there to be intimidating and leave evaluations to a more mentally sound person. They never said it out loud, but it's heavily implied.
The only thing they keep him around for - that and his skill with guns and hacking.
Judging by the way Soap straightens in his seat that little detail isn't lost on him.
"I trust your judgment," Soap says without missing a beat and continues eating as if he didn't just drop a bomb in the middle of the room, leaving his companion stunned.
Ghost ducks his head and tries very hard to ignore how fiercely those words hit him.
They finish their meal in silence and Ghost waits patiently until Soap is done before getting up and stacking the trays.
Their eyes meet as Ghost tugs his mask back into place, still a bit speechless.
"Bye," he says and turns to the door.
Soap hums and watches him leave.
----
The coffee barely helped him through the day. As of right now Soap is beyond exhausted and nodded off twice standing in the shower.
If not that, the surprise visit from Ghost this noon definitely told him he's overdone it. It's both an offering and a warning.
One of Ghost's worst traits is his lack of care for his own needs. Medical is always a struggle, that man couldn't give less of a shit about his body.
He's always a bit unhinged, but a headache from dehydration can easily turn his snarky Lieutenant into a extremely reactive dog.
For him to go out of his way to check on Soap is a very clear sign.
It's time to get his shit together before it'll start affecting the team. They rely on him to keep his cool, be a stable foundation in all this chaos - if he spirals, they spiral.
Soap sighs as he decides to stay in the barrack instead of heading back to his office. He still has things to do, but it's past midnight and he clearly neglected too many things already.
He opens the door to his room and doesn't bother to put on the light. He already knows what he will find. It smells like home.
Three steps take him to his bed and his knees crack as he heavily sits down to take off his boots. He slowly pulls off his shirt next, then sits there for a moment longer, head in his hands, just breathing.
The back of a hand lightly brushes along his spine.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake ye," he mumbles into his hands.
"Don't be. I was waiting for you."
"I know."
The hand continues caressing his back in a gentle pattern, fingertips lightly brushing along his ribs.
"Come to bed," Simon says and takes hold of his arm.
John lets himself get pulled close and lifts the covers to slide in next to Simon's clothed body. His companion prefers to be as covered as possible most of the time, which makes him nice and toasty as John loops his arms around him and buries his face in his bare neck.
It's easier to keep the mask off in the dark, but it's still a relatively new development.
John doesn't mention it, just breathes in the smell of gunpowder on Simon's skin and relaxes into the embrace.
Fingers dance up his neck to his trimmed hair, gently scratching against the scalp. John shudders and presses a soft kiss to the heartbeat he feels fluttering against his lips.
"Sleep." Simon whispers and entwines their legs.
Before John slips into unconsciousness he feels a warm pressure against his temple.