Chapter Text
Ghost vividly remembers the first time he read through the colour guide. He had been hiding from his dad in the basement, tucked into a corner as he clutched the cold pendant hanging around his neck in a tight fist. He had found it by accident while stomaching yet another punishment, all because of the very necklace he was reading about. He’d always wondered what the colours meant, but the only opportunities he got to even study the shifting colours were the times his mom snuck the necklace back to him. Simon wore it whenever he could, slipped it under his clothes to hide it, studied it in the middle of the night after his dad had gone to sleep. But there, in the basement, he allowed himself to unveil it outside the relative safety of his bedroom. Simon had stared at the pendant and its navy hue, which he saw meant his soulmate was happy. He wondered what his soulmate saw on their pendant.
His dad had chosen that moment to come down the stairs, and Simon had been too caught up in the colours to hide the necklace fast enough. He knew that his colour would be red as his whole body shuddered in fear, his heart in his throat and his hands shaking in front of him. Simon remembers being grabbed by the chain and dragged up to the living room, where his mom had screamed to go easy on him. His dad had not. Ghost still had scars on his cheek from the beating he’d gotten, and he still couldn’t bear to put the necklace on. It wasn’t a rational fear anymore – his dad was long gone – but each time he weighed the feeling of the pendant in his hand, he could hear his dad’s voice. If I catch you with that thing again, I’ll fucking destroy it. He had never threatened such a thing before, and after that, Simon had been allowed to keep the necklace in his room. It was a cruel joke, a sick reminder from his dad of everything Simon was never allowed to have.
Simon spent much of his rare moments of peace studying the pendant and all the different moods his soulmate experienced. They seemed overwhelmingly happy, and Simon envied them for most of his childhood. He wished he could put the necklace on and his colour appearing as a navy on his soulmate’s pendant, perhaps even an indigo once in a while, but he was aware of the actual colours that would represent him. So, he didn’t put it on, a constant fear of his soulmate and his dad reignited with every stolen moment he got. Simon kept it in his room, shoved under his bed between the colour guide and a knife he’d nicked from the kitchen.
He had dug the necklace and colour guide out when he finally left the house for good, his whole family dead and left behind to rot in the ground. He kept it with him and memorised the colours when he joined the military, but it wasn’t ever looped around his neck. It was contained to his hand and his locker, never leaving the barracks until he started working his way up the ranks. When he became Sergeant, he started keeping it in his pocket when he wasn’t on a mission. Now, as Lieutenant, Ghost more often than not kept it as close as he could without wearing it. Still, he never took it on missions that weren’t guaranteed to be basic info gathering or stakeouts.
Ghost always missed the weight of it during the missions he didn’t bring the necklace along. He would often be weeks without it, not knowing how his soulmate was doing or spending every opportunity available losing himself in the swirling colours. Sometimes, his soulmate would also go days or weeks without wearing it, and those were the periods Ghost hated the most. It was ironic, he thought each time he stared at the blank, see-through pendant. It was also during these days or weeks he considered putting the necklace on again, but he never did.
After killing Hassan, Ghost was reunited with the necklace once more. He held it in his hand now, watching as the blank space fill with orange and forest green. Part of him wanted to know what was bothering his soulmate, and the other wanted to hide the necklace far, far away before his dad could find him with it. Yet Ghost kept staring at it, and he kept telling himself it wasn’t warmer against his skin than it usually was. The change in temperature had to be from how long he’d been holding it, but deep down, he knew it meant his soulmate was closer than they’d ever been. Every other occasion he had poured over the pendant, it had been unnaturally cool to the touch no matter the temperature surrounding it.
His soulmate was within reach, then. Ghost wasn’t sure if he wanted to go looking, if he wanted to follow the pendant until it was practically burning in his hand. He wondered who he would find standing in front of him.
Ghost put the necklace away.
Soap caught Ghost’s eye as he entered the mess hall. He was sitting by the Task Force 141 table, animatedly telling a story to a handful of privates, lance corporals, and corporals, who had dared to break the unspoken rule of assigned tables. Soap didn’t seem to mind though, and neither did the other members of 141, all of whom were listening to his ramblings.
It was their first day on base after Laswell had managed to secure their spot as not-traitors, and all eyes were on them. Ghost hated the attention and was grateful for his mask, but Soap seemed to revel in it. He lit up at each question asked, and Ghost’s eyes were drawn to him with every wave of his arm or particularly loud sounds from his mouth in that Scottish accent of his. And as he sat down, Ghost’s eyes were determined to stay glued to Soap’s chest, where a blank pendant was swinging back and forth with every move. In the gravity of their situation, Ghost had never really considered the idea of Soap’s soulmate, just as he could not imagine Price to have one. But he was well aware everyone was assigned one – or at least had the necklace – and it was with resigned shock he acknowledged the one around Soap’s neck.
What kind of person would suit Soap? Who would be worthy of him? Ghost determined he wasn’t one to decide such a thing, and with a stab of his fork to the bacon on his tray, he expelled the thought entirely. Instead, he focused on Soap’s retelling of freeing Los Vaqueros from the Shadow Company. It was amusing to see his every attempt at dodging sensitive and classified information, and Ghost saw Price clench his cutlery whenever Soap came close to a slipup.
The audience were enraptured with Soap and his – from Ghost’s memory – overexaggerated retelling. He had just gotten to the part where Price and Gaz arrived to save their asses, and then Soap was speeding through the formation of Ghost Team. They had turned to Ghost at the name, who was in the middle of lifting his balaclava to eat a piece of his toast.
“What?” he rumbled and took a bite.
“Does he always wear a mask?” one private said to another in the silence that followed, and Ghost had to push down the laugh that bubbled up at the complete lack of volume control.
“Aye,” Soap answered for him. The private who had asked paled and apologised. “Sleeps with the bloody thing on,” he added, an attempt to lighten the mood. Ghost stopped chewing, remembered Las Almas and all he’d joked about with Soap to distract him from the hopelessness of their situation, and then he sighed.
The privates and different ranks of corporals looked between themselves while Soap remained unaware of what he had just accidentally insinuated. There was nothing the army loved more than gossip when there were no missions to distract them, and Ghost was certain this would become the next big thing. Soap, however, was completely oblivious as he powered on. Ghost figured if he played a fool – if he acted like Soap’s comment was to be expected from a fellow soldier who had been in the field with him – it might not spread like wildfire.
But Gaz was apparently determined to make that task exceedingly difficult as he jutted his chin out and crossed his arms. “In bed, ey?” he started. Ghost raised an eyebrow at him. Gaz smirked. “Kinky,” he whispered, but it was loud enough for those sitting closest to hear.
Soap, bless his soul, did not.
Ghost narrowed his eyes and pointed his knife at Gaz. “One more word, Sergeant,” he warned, and he knew it was the wrong choice of threat when Gaz only continued to smirk.
“Whatever floats your boat,” Gaz said and put his hands up in surrender.
“Price.” Ghost turned to his Captain. “Kick him for me, will ya.”
“Happily.”
Gaz yelped and rubbed at his shin under the table, and it was then Soap took note of the commotion happening around him.
“What are ye eejits–”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” slipped from Ghost’s mouth before he could stop himself. The voice in his brain screamed at him to shut the fuck up as he was reminded by an incredibly quiet mess hall that they were not, in fact, speaking over private comms.
Soap opened and closed his mouth before giving up altogether and returning to the waiting crowd, picking up where he had left off as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Ghost gave a smirking Gaz one last glare as he finished his breakfast, then he left before he could fuck up further.
No one dared to approach Ghost with questions regarding the newly spread rumour, but he could see they wanted to. It was written in the lingering gazes and restless wringing of hands, many privates even outright gawking at him for reasons other than being intimidated by the Ghost. But they sure as hell approached Soap, who was currently running training exercises and giving extra laps to anyone who asked him questions regarding Ghost.
Ghost leaned further into the shadows, his back hitting a wall as he stuffed a hand into the pocket of his trousers. His fingers instantly found the necklace, a luxury he usually reserved for evenings alone in his private room. He wrapped the chain around his middle finger, unwrapped it, rummaged around until his fingers touched the warm pendant. It was more than lukewarm now, close to his body temperature if anything. He had no idea how warm it would get when he eventually bumped into his soulmate. Would it burn him? Or would it be underwhelming compared to the image he had spent years cultivating? He guessed it would be the latter, but hopefully it wouldn’t matter in the face of his soulmate standing there, at last revealed after so many years.
The pendant was getting warmer, Ghost realised. He tightened his grip on it, the heat only increasing as it pressed into his skin.
“Ghost,” Soap greeted as he jogged towards him.
It was getting unbearable.
Ghost’s fist went slack and the necklace dropped back to the bottom of his pocket, where it felt like it was going to burn a hole in the fabric.
“Johnny,” he replied. His eyes immediately went to Soap’s necklace, which was as blank as it had been in the mess hall the other day.
“Have any brave souls asked ye about it?” Soap was right in front of him now, close enough for the tips of their boots to touch. Ghost resisted the urge to wholly invade Soap’s personal space, leave no gap between them.
“About what?” He knew exactly what.
“Haud yer wheesht,” Soap scoffed. “Ah ken you ken.”
Ghost simply arched an eyebrow.
“Don’t make me spell it out for ye,” Soap grumbled with a deepening frown.
Ghost breathed a laugh. “No one has asked me about it.”
Soap sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, tapping one foot. It brushed against Ghost’s at every rise and fall, and he shuffled his feet until they were no longer touching.
“The gall of these people,” he complained and gestured vaguely at the soldiers he was assigned to train that day. “I’ve had to reprimand seven of the numpties. Seven. I cannae believe –”
Ghost tuned Soap out as his fingers wandered back to the pendant. It was still warm – warmer than a mere above average as he had anticipated – and it felt as if it was trying to burn a mark onto his skin. He gladly pressed his palm against it just to see if it would do something, but all he accomplished was the stinging realisation that his soulmate was here, and it was Soap.
Johnny, who probably knew more about him than any other member of the military. Or anyone, really, the ones who had truly known him long gone. It was fucking Johnny, the man he’d spent hours trying to keep sane, one he had stuck close to ever since.
It couldn’t be. Ghost was not worthy, did not deserve a soulmate such as him. It was so glaringly obvious with one glance at Soap’s necklace, still blank after so many years. And still around his neck, even after so many goddamn years of Ghost being too afraid to wear it. The dedication and loyalty it took… no, Ghost was nowhere close to worthy.
Yet the pendant burned on, painful but substantiating, and so incredibly soothing in his grip.
“Ghost?” Soap snapped his fingers in front of Ghost’s face. “Earth to Ghost. All right?”
Ghost nodded and turned the pendant over in his hand. “All right,” he affirmed. “Been a long day.”
“Anything I can do fer ya?”
Ghost wanted to put the necklace on. He wanted to grab Soap by his and pull him closer, feel the warmth from Johnny’s pendant and see the colour indigo flood it for the first time.
“Get us a tea,” he said instead.
“Fuckin’ Brits,” Soap groaned, but he smiled, and hours later while Ghost was doing procrastinated paperwork, Soap knocked on his door with tea in his hand.
Later that day, when Ghost eventually took the necklace out of his pocket, it was an overwhelming forest green. He was sitting in his room, on his bed, feeling like his younger self as he stared at the pendant. Only now he knew who the colour belonged to, knew exactly who was – according to the guide forgotten at the bottom of his bedside table drawer – hopeful, relieved, or expectant.
“John ‘Soap’ MacTavish,” he whispered to himself, rolling the name around on his tongue with the new meaning settling heavy in the back of his throat. My soulmate.
What was he supposed to do now?
He couldn’t remember how old he had been when he’d stopped wearing the necklace, but Soap had been younger. Did he even remember the look of colour in the pendant? Had the necklace been reduced to just another piece of jewellery to him? If Ghost, after all this time, put the necklace on again, would Soap hate him for it?
Ghost placed it on the bed and paced around the room, pulling on loose skin around his nails as he tried to convince himself to go for it. His dad had been in control for far too long, and it was time for Ghost to let something other than fear lead him.
He clasped the chain around his neck before he could overthink it and back out. It was terrifyingly easy to see it hanging there again, the pendant warm through his t-shirt as a plethora of new colours mixed with the forest green. Soap had noticed, and Ghost waited for the red to overwhelm the other colours and take over.
It never did. The pendant remained a mess of yellow, blues, greens, and indigo, which meant he was predominantly happy. Soap’s pendant would be lukewarm just as Ghost’s, the colour most likely orange and red as Simon’s lightly shaking fingers lifted the pendant to get a better look. And Soap would realise, if he was half the soldier Ghost knew him to be, that his soulmate was close.
Would he do what Ghost couldn’t? Would he show up at Ghost’s door with the necklace burning in his palm, a finger pointed at him in accusation?
You, he’d say, and Ghost would slam the door in his face.
Simon unclasped the necklace and draped it ever so carefully on his desk, where he wouldn’t be able to see the colours from his bed.
“I thought they were dead!” was the first thing Ghost heard when he entered the common room to make himself a tea. It was empty save for Soap and Gaz, and Ghost had no problem singling Soap out as the one to have spoken.
“You’re telling me,” Gaz responded, equally excited, “that after decades of radio silence, your soulmate just… put the necklace on? Yesterday?”
Ghost filled the kettle with water and picked out a teabag.
“Aye.” Soap sounded close to proud, the bastard. “And – you’ll never believe this – the pendant was warm.”
Gaz gasped. Ghost filled his mug with three teaspoons of sugar as he waited for the water to boil.
“You’re kidding.” A pause. “You’re not kidding?”
Ghost turned just in time to see Soap shake his head. “Nae,” he said as a tiny smile spread on his face. “It was warm, wee less than thirty or so degrees.”
“That means they’re close,” Gaz stated, and Ghost held his breath while Soap nodded excitedly. “What colour?”
Soap nibbled at his bottom lip. “Orange, mostly.”
“Oh.” Gaz sat back in his chair. “Makes sense after so long that they’re nervous. Serves ‘em right.”
Ghost looked down at his shoes and the pocket in which the necklace was currently stashed.
Soap made a conflicted noise, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper. Ghost’s heart jumped painfully in his chest as it skipped a beat, and he snuck a hand into his pocket to feel the warmth emanating from the pendant.
“Ah dinnae ken,” Soap said. “Must be more to it, right?”
“Right,” Gaz drawled. Ghost hooked his fingers around the chain and pulled out the necklace. “Must be.”
This time, Soap did sigh, and Ghost watched as the pendant’s navy and forest green was corrupted by violet. “Wish I could talk to them.”
The kettle signalled it was done and both men turned to look at Ghost.
“Jesus, Lieutenant,” Gaz breathed. “When did you get here?”
Ghost didn’t answer. He filled his mug with water and stirred until the sugar dissolved, picking it up with the hand he still held the necklace in.
“Is that…” Soap started and squinted at the jewellery hanging from his fingers.
“Yes,” Ghost answered before either of them could properly ask.
Gaz whistled. “Wasn’t sure you had one, sir.”
“What? A soul?” Ghost retorted, his voice amused.
“Affirmative,” Gaz shot back.
“Do you know who it is?” Soap interjected. Gaz slapped his shoulder and scowled at him, but Ghost only chuckled at the question. He could still feel where the warm pendant had been in his palm.
“I do.”
The door opened and in walked two soldiers Ghost didn’t recognise. He nodded at them when they saluted, and then he was out the door, the look of shock on Soap’s face engrained in his brain.
He lifted the necklace and was surprised to find yellow.