Work Text:
Amal means hope
If he was honest, he had no idea what he was doing by coming here. This was neither the place for kids nor was it really safe (truth to be told, he did not believe in any form safe places)… but the people here meant home. And he could not let her be around strangers anymore. Not after…
The small hands that grabbed his hoodie around his neck tightened in an unconscious motion. Tilting his head slightly, he adjusted his arm around the small body he cradled against his chest and let his eyes flicker over the mass of reddish curls that framed her head like a halo.
Still soundly asleep.
Good.
He took a deep breath, tried to collect his panicked, all over the place thoughts and willed his anxiety down. He needed help and knew that he would find it here. If not, there was no other place to go to.
Climbing the fence onehanded and sneaking into the base without being seen was easier than he had thought. Nearly effortless. It irked him – he would have to inform Price about their lack of security later. Avoiding the nightly patrols proved even less complicated and the military part of his brain was angry at that. But right now, that had no place in his mind, he had another role to fulfil now.
A much more important one.
The hallways of the building he broke into were empty and he avoided all spaces with cameras, his feet quiet against the clean shiny surface of polished stone.
Stopping at a staircase he worried his lower lips between his teeth. Where to go first?
His instinct carried him to a well-known door and he raised a fist, breathed in deep and knocked. Twice. Pause. Another sharp rap against the wood.
There was an immediate reaction, movement behind the door and the sound of something falling, a hollow ‘thud’ and a low curse. Ghost smiled lightly; he knew his knocking pattern had given him away.
The door was opened and a bleary eyed, still half asleep Soap stood in the frame, clearly disorientated and confused.
“L.t.? I thought you are on leave… why are you back in the middle of th…” His eyes had spotted the small body in Ghosts arms.
He blinked.
Blinked again.
“Wha…”
“I am sorry to wake you, can we come in… please?”
Soap registered a lot of things at once in that moment.
First: Ghost was not only holding a frigging kid in his arms, but he was also in civil attire – Jeans, sneaker, hoodie. Technically he only missed his gear, but he looked out of place.
Second: No mask, no eyeblack. Blond hair short at the sides, a mob of locks unprotected from prying eyes. That looked even more foreign.
Third: A bunny shaped backpack slung over his shoulder. He would not comment on that, he liked his life.
And a kid in his arms.
A kid.
He reacted on body memory alone, letting the taller man and his charge in because his brain had trouble keeping up with what was happening. At 3am.
Ghosts unguarded expression looked awfully lost and vulnerable. Soap was sure he had never seen his Lieutenant like this ever before. And he did not think he ever would.
Watching the pair step inside, he moved around them to close the door and realized he was only in his underwear. He would not mind if Ghost had been alone but there was a child, and he still possessed some general ounces of decency in him. Grabbing a pair of sweats and a shirt he played over the first awkward minutes of not knowing what to say before his eyes travelled back to the pair and he blinked sheepishly.
“That is a kid in your arms.”
“Observative as always, Johnny.”
“You have not… kidnapped… a kid… oh god, is this a corpse?”
Ghosts’ eyebrows shut up and he opened his mouth to retort something before Soap raised his hands in defence, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.
“Sorry, a bit confused here. Dreaming something weird I guess… too much steak yesterday, I bet…”
Ghost made a movement, careful not to justle the child in his arm too much and placed a short kiss on Soaps lips.
Soap blinked and stared hard.
“Okay. No dreaming. Okay.”
Ghost eyes dropped away, and he shook his head.
“I am sorry… this is… I didn’t know where to go and… shit, this is so messed up…” His voice was hoarse. Trembling.
Soap still stared, his brain trying to work around the picture that could very well come straight from any of his not-so-straight dreams, trying to make something out of Ghost with a child in his arm. The tenderness in the way he held the small body spoke from a form of affection, that could make him jealous.
He turned around, thoughts pushed aside, and started to straighten his crumbled bed, pulled a spare blanket out from a drawer, and patted on the sheets.
“Put her down here… she will sleep better in a bed than on your arms. And she will become heavy after a while.”
Soap felt Ghost hesitating before he came around and lowered the child gently onto the sheets, pulled off a thick coat and her shoes and wrapped the blanket around the girl, careful as if not to break her. They worked in silence – arranged the pillow, dimmed the light, and made sure that she was soundly asleep and well placed before Ghost all but collapsed on the floor next to the bed, head resting on his knees while his hand tugged at his hair.
Soaps eyes raked over her curls, the colour a mixture of red and blond, a wild mob on his pillow. Sitting down next to the big frame of Ghosts body, both with their backs towards the sleeping form, he let his body touch the other man gently.
“I need some kind of explanation here.” He carefully said, quiet and calm.
“Yeah… I know… but we will need Price and Gaz and probably Laswell as well. I don’t trust anyone else and… this is more complicated… and I…. fuck, Johnny. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Soap pulled Ghost into a tight embrace, cradled the larger body against his own, arms resting around his shoulders, hands rubbing soothing circles into the trembling man. There was so much distress and tension radiating from him that it was nearly infectious. Soaps stomach felt like an empty pit of nothingness.
“Okay. I wake them… Laswell is not here, but we can call her. Are you okay with this?”
Ghost buried his face deep into the crook of Soaps neck, trying to compose himself before he nodded sharply.
“Good. You make tea, I get the others. You are safe here… both of you.”
Another sharp nod and Soap placed a kiss on his Lieutenants short shaven hair just above his ear before he carefully untangled himself and stood up. Without the care for socks or shoes he left the room as quiet as possible.
Ghost heard him leaving, the faint ‘click’ of a door that fell in place and started to shake himself out of his stupor. He had no time for self-pity, the potential damage was done, and he now needed to collect the shards of what was broken.
The time it took for Soap to bring the other two men was enough for Ghost to pull himself together and to make tea in the small kitchen adjourned to Soaps rooms.
After they had moved buildings, the 141 had gotten the chance for bigger, more private lodgings. Thanks to the nature of their work and rank, they all had private bathrooms now and a tiny kitchen. The latter most important because often when they came from deployments in the middle of the night, the mess hall was closed and it was hard to even get a tea or coffee, much less food.
Ghost heard them coming, his eyes trained on the tea in his hands. Heard them whispering in Soaps sleeping room, probably staring at the sleeping girl before they joined him in the other room.
Nobody looked tired.
“She is my daughter.”
Various stages of gasping answered him, his eyes staring down into his mug. He felt them observing him, the scarred tissue raking from left ear to the right side of his face over his nose and nearly into his eye. The unfamiliar freckles they never see because the eyeblack keeps them hidden. He felt how they tried to connect his face to her sleeping features.
“I… it was…” He swallowed before he turned the mug in his hand in an aimless motion, just to do something. “It was a one-night stand, years ago… seven to be precise. Her mom only contacted me when she was due.” Worrying his lips, he tried to form coherent words for a story he had never told anyone before. His best hidden secret.
“The doctors had told her, that she would not survive childbirth… she still kept her. Wanted her. I was not around when she gave birth… deployed in Paraguay. The message of her birth and her mother’s death reached me when I was on leave afterwards.”
He felt heavy all of a sudden, the burden on his shoulders weighted down his tongue, made his voice slurry. Unsure. Wavering.
He hated it.
“When I came back, she was still in hospital, her mother had made sure that only I was able to retrieve her. They hunted me down through every diplomatic channel possible and put her into my arms. She did not have a name then… three weeks old and still…”
He swallowed hard.
“Her name is Amal. Amal Riley.”
Silence settled over them for a long second.
“I… could not keep her. She scared me. I was afraid of a fucking infant. What should I do? Spec Ops and father.” He laughed. It sounded bitter and grated on his ears, there was no joy in it.
Soaps sudden presence next to him helped, warm hands that wrapped carefully around his own that clung to his mug. Like a lifeline.
“But I was a coward. I could not give her up for adoption. I did not share any love for her mother but…” His eyes turned unbelievably soft. “She was so warm in my arms.”
Another long lapse of silence.
“It took a fair amount of money, bribing and forging papers, I called in some favours, and she was taken into a foster family. Everything legally blurry but… that time it was the only choice I thought I had if I did not want to give her up completely. I visited her every time I was on leave, we made trips together… I supplied her and the family that had taken her everything they needed, and I could give.” A low hum. “She knows I am her father. Knows that my work does allow me to be around all the time or to live together… she does of course not know that I am legally dead…”
His eyes burned and he felt anger rising in his stomach, acid in the back of his throat. His face closed off.
“I visited her yesterday, we wanted to go on a short trip to Scotland. But I… she was… different. Something felt off.” Ghost shivered in quiet rage and took a deep breath before he was able to continue.
“They had beaten her black and blue. Her foster father”, he spat the title like venom, “had touched her.”
The shift inside the small room was instant, the rage he felt crashed like waves into the others and he felt it mirrored by the men around. Soaps fingers dug into his joints nearly painful.
“I left her at a neighbour. Went back to the house. Took her things. Took her. Came here and broke in because… couldn’t walk in with her officially because…”
“Did you kill him?” Price cool voice cut through his words. Ghost slowly looked up, locking eyes with his Captain.
“Only nearly. I left a… message for the police.”
Gaz who had said nothing yet nodded slowly. “I make sure to take care of that, I have some friends who like to close open bills. Any special wishes?”
“Just send my regards.”
Gaz grinned, sharp and ugly before he leaned back against the kitchen counter, finally taking his mug of tea while Price made a satisfied sound at the back of his throat. A part of him was glad that Ghost had not sullied his hands in this, it was a matter messy enough.
“Are there official papers for her?” He asked then, voice still cool and professional. He knew as well as Ghost that this turned everything into an absolute chaotic mess. There was no sugar-coating it and he preferred to find a solution before the problem went out of hand. And into the hands of others.
“Yes. She has a birth certificate that states Simon Riley as her father, mother unknown and marked as deceased. It is in her backpack.”
The bunny backpack, Soaps brain threw in in a useless effort to lighten his own mood.
“I have no idea what to do now.” Ghost sighed and looked back into his rapidly cooling tea. “I acted on impulse alone… I know that a military base is not a place for a kid. But she has no living relatives, and I will not give her into the hands of foreign people and not back into care…” He stopped his rambling before it got out of hand.
“You will likely have to make a choice, son.” Price voice was hard but not unkind. “But not tonight and probably not tomorrow. We need to call Laswell and have her input on this. She might have an idea – for now we need to make sure that you both calm down. Does Amal need medical?”
Ghost looked at him for a long while before he nodded. “I want her checked… what damage was done to her. Just to make sure…”
A tiny voice disrupted their talk.
“Papa?”
Into the kitchen walked, her hair a wild curly mob of flamelike structure, face round and freckled, a sleep drunk Amal Riley. Her half lidded, dark brown eyes framed by equally dark lashes, skin nearly translucent. She looked like a fae.
All eyes snapped to her, and she blinked back, every batt of lashes waking her more before she realized that this was neither her home nor did she know anyone beside her father. Her brows furrowed in irritation and deep concentration. Ghost put his mug down fast, turning towards his daughter, face changing from soldier to father in the blink of an eye.
“Hey, princess. Sorry, did we wake you up?”
She scrunched her nose before she raised her arms and nearly climbed into his arms, wrapping around his bulky frame like a little spider.
“No. The bed is so hard. But it smelled like you, but you were gone…” Her voice was light, untroubled despite the rough edges of sleep still lingering.
Soap raised an eyebrow. This was his bed – how could it smell like Ghost when… when his brain provided him with an explanation a sly smile spread over his face.
“Do you wear my clothes when you visit her?”
Amal’s eyes travelled to Soap when he spoke, raking over his Mohawk and his face, fixating on his eyes.
“You are Papas kissing friend.”
Gaz nearly choked while Price hid his amusement behind a well-placed cough, patting the Sergeant next to him on the shoulder. Soaps smile fell from his face and morphed into irritated indignance. Had she just called him Ghosts kissing friend??
“Then you must be his family. He talks a lot about you.” Her eyes crossed the whole room. “Hm… Papa? Where is aunty Farah? And Missus Laswell?”
Ghost face turned into a deep share of red when all eyes snapped to him and he looked away, desperately trying to conceal how unwell that situation made him.
“Aunty Farah?” Gaz wheezed.
“Missus Laswell.”
“Anyway!”, Ghost turned around with her still clinging onto him. “Farah and Laswell don’t live here; you will maybe see them someday. Come on, let’s get you back to bed…”
**
It is a weird situation.
His two realities clashed in front of his eyes, merging into one when that was everything he had tried to stop from happening until now. It was his own fault, Ghost knew that. He had brought her here and had kept her a secret….
What did he expect would happen?
His brain had short circuited when he had seen her bruised, had recognized the tell-tale signs of abuse. All following reactions were on rage and instincts alone. It had taken all his willpower not to kill the whole family that had hosted her.
And now they sat in Soaps room, Amal on the bed drawing into the Sergeants notebooks, humming quietly while Price was in his office to call Laswell.
Gaz sat next to his daughter, commenting on her drawings, making her laugh.
It was 5am.
He felt his eyes burning.
Strong arms wrapped around him, a body moved into his line of sight, and he buried his face in Soaps shoulders again.
“Your kissing friend, eh?” Warm lips pressed a tender kiss against his ear. Ghost felt him grin before he heard a low chuckle.
“She is beautiful.”
Ghost hummed.
“Like her mother, at least what I remember….” Part of him felt bad for having lost the clear memory of the woman’s face who had given birth to Amal.
Soap scoffed.
“Simon, I have no idea if your eyes are partially blind, but she looks like your clone. A tiny clone and I am not sure about the hair but her face…” Another kiss. “I understand why you kept her a secret. And why you brought her here.”
Ghost made a small sound at the back of his throat and allowed himself to centre around his panic.
“I have no idea how to do this whole father-thing. Being one part-time is fine… but… I am a soldier. I have never been something else. What am I doing here?”
A burst of giggling childish laughter interrupted his rapidly darkening thoughts and both men turned around.
Amal lay on the surface of Soaps bed, rolling and roaring with laughter, her small arms holding her heaving stomach. Gaz was grinning like a Cheshire cat, lips tucked between his teeth, watching the child bath in absolute glee.
“What did you tell her?” Ghost sounded vaguely alarmed.
“Uncle Gaz says you scare the people you teach here. But you need to wear a mask for that because you are too nice otherwise.” That threw her back into a giggling fit while Ghost felt torn between feeling affronted and anxious. Amal did know about the mask or its purpose.
Next to him, Soap burst into laughter as well and he blinked, gaze travelling from one to the next before he huffed. It was not a bad story to go with.
“I wanna scare them as well!” Amal managed between her raucous laughing episodes. “I wanna scare them as well! Can we both wear a creepy mask, Papa?” Ghost expression softened and he stepped closer, ruffling her hair.
“Maybe.”
The laughter had made her sleepy again and after some water, a change of clothes and a quick goodnight to Gaz and Soap, she fell asleep in Soaps bed again, leaving the three men pulling back into the kitchen.
“Thank you.” Ghost looked at Gaz, honest gratitude in his face. The Sergeant smiled.
“No problem at all. My sister has two children, roughly the same age. I miss them… and Amal is a treasure. Happy to help, you know.”
Ghost made another round of tea, this time with the intention to drink it hot when a short knock on the door signalled the return of Price.
He looked tired.
“Is she asleep again?”
“Yeah, occupying my bed for the while.” Soap smiled and Gaz threw in: “Seems to be a Riley trait.” Ghost wanted to protest but felt too tired, so he just went with it. “At least she fits.”
A short round of chuckles echoed through the otherwise quiet room before all eyes went back to Price.
“So, Laswell?”
“On her way to the base, it might take some days though. She tries to pull some strings in the background. For now, Amal will officially have clearance for the base. A bit unorthodox and maybe a bit illegal, at least at this short notice. But…” Price gaze held a calculating edge.
“Amal Riley will officially be counted as a high valuable target for foreign terrorists. A special interest, a liability. That is why she will stay at this base, under close surveillance. A specialist for children in Spec Op and diplomatic families will arrive in some days or a week as well. They will check her, talk her into the new environment. You will get a room upgrade, Lieutenant, and will be off active field duty for the time it takes to find a solution for this.
Giving her into adoption is not a possibility?”
The question alone made Ghost growl, more like a wounded feral animal than a man. Soap gripped his hand tightly, thumb pressing into the soft inside of his palm, grounding him.
“No.”
The answer was sharp, half a bark.
“Then we wait what news Laswell brings when she arrives. Security is informed about the situation.”
“Recruits?”
“They will be briefed when they commence for duty. All of them will sign a secrecy warrant or leave base immediately.”
Ghost nodded. Some tension left his body then, shoulders slightly slumping forwards and he closed his eyes, feeling a final tiredness seeping into his body next to relief.
“Thank you.”
Price face was split by a sudden sly smile.
“I have some paperwork, so you don’t get bored.”
Ghost only answered with a low groan.
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