Chapter Text
Ghost loved watching Soap. The man, compared to himself, was so openly human. There was always something new Ghost could learn when he interacted with Soap. Every time he discovered a new aspect of the curious man Ghost dedicated that knowledge to the ever growing file labeled ‘Johnny’ in his mind.
Most of the information was good. Like the fact that Soap was very sensitive to certain kinds of sensory input. Especially smells. Ghost discovered this one day when he was trying to figure out a smell on the field, holding out a piece of soiled gear for Soap to smell.
The man had leaned in, paused, and made the most dramatic face of disgust Ghost had ever seen. Soap had backed away instantly, fighting off a gag. For a moment Ghost was certain Soap was actually going to throw up.
He didn’t. Instead, as if nothing had ever happened, he leaned back in to smell it again. The reaction repeated and Ghost had to pull the item away from Soap sharply as he went in for a third time.
“MacTavish, what the actual fuck was that?” Soap looked up at him with very obvious, genuine confusion.
“Lt?” Ghost was going to get whiplash, he was certain of it.
“That fuckin reaction. The fuck was that?”
“Oh! Ye wanted me to smell it, yeah? I was tryin to figure out what it was but I don’t think I recognize the smell.” Ghost narrowed his eyes incredulously. Did Soap really not realize how visibly he’d reacted? He did his best to brush it off as a one time thing.
But then Ghost had gotten his hands on a candle in a safe house, and out of boredom, had brought it to Soap to smell. It was just a gently floral scented candle, nothing too strong, but Soap’s reaction almost made home regret his decision to have him smell it.
Soap had practically shoved his nose into the damn thing and pulled in a deep breath. Almost immediately he turned his head and began coughing like he’d just breathed in dust.
“Johnny?” Ghost was legitimately concerned as Soap fought for his breath. Soap just waved a hand back at him in dismissal, as if nothing was wrong. A couple moments later and he’d finally caught his breath.
“Not the worst smell, Lt, but I personally prefer fresh or citrus scents.” Ghost could only blink stupidly at the Scot.
“You didn’t… hate that smell?” Soap shook his head, that same genuine confusion crossing his face again.
“No, sir.” He responded, as if Ghost had given him an order to follow rather than a fucking candle to smell. Soap turned back to his watch, unphased by what had just happened.
Not too long after the candle adventure, Ghost had found a lemon scented hand lotion in the kitchen. The memory of the candle reaction and Soap saying he liked citrus smells popped into his head, and, without hesitation, grabbed the bottle and brought it to Soap.
“Smell.” Soap startled, looking up from his papers to see the lieutenant holding out a mystery bottle for him to smell.
He did so without question, of course.
Ghost found his reaction to the citrus smell to be much more favorable but equally confusing.
Unsurprisingly, Soap leaned over and stuck his nose right against the top of the bottle and breathed deep.
What did surprise Ghost was Soap’s eyes practically rolling into the back of his head as he breathed in the citrus smell. The bottle was snatched out of Ghost’s hands as Soap reclined back in his chair, taking another deep breath.
Ghost couldn’t help but chuckle at the response.
“Need a minute, Sergeant? I can leave if you want some alone time with that bottle.” Soap blinked his eyes open, nose still pressed to the lid.
“On second thought, give me that back. You’re gonna catch something with that shoved up your nose.” Soap frowned at him but let Ghost take the bottle.
If a little lemon scented candle somehow found its way into Soap’s possession a couple days later, no one was the wiser. Though, Soap did notice that Ghost much more frequently shoved things in his face to smell, just to gauge his reaction to it.
The smells weren’t the only thing Ghost had noticed, though.
Anyone near the 141 could say that John MacTavish had a serious problem with sitting still. It was a mystery to most how he managed stealth missions.
Ghost got a little clue early on in their partnering, watching the man through the scope of his rifle. Soap was efficiently working his way through an enemy compound when he’d needed to hide out on a rooftop to wait out a guard rotation.
It was nearing the end of the rotation when Ghost got his eyes back on his Sergeant, who had remained suspiciously quiet over the 15 minutes. He’d never risk exposing them, Soap was incredibly well trained, but with the safety of his position Ghost had been, admittedly, expecting a couple of comments.
Instead, Ghost was watching as the man’s hands moved quickly. Soap’s eyes were still trained on the moving guards, and he could tell by Soap’s posture that he was indeed focused on the task at hand.
His hands, however, were moving subtly but fluidly in what took a moment for Ghost to recognize as British Sign Language. The signs were too hidden and vague to truly get a grip on what Soap was rambling about, but he knew for a fact it was sign language.
“Got something you wanna say, Soap?” Soap looked up as Ghost’s voice crackled through the comms, scarily close to where the man was posted.
“Ah, no sir, just keepin my hands busy. Did you notice that certain uniforms mean certain weapons?” Ghost looked back down at the guards.
“What do you mean?” He hadn’t actually noticed that, he’d been busy watching Soap most of the time.
“Watch the colors of their uniforms with the kinds of weapons they have. Guns don’t vary much, but the explosives they carry, or lack of, does. Isn’t the most useful information, though.” Sure enough, as evening set, Ghost had picked out the correlation.
“Good spot today, Johnny. It may not affect our approach, since they seem to be paired up fairly evenly, but we will know what’s coming our way when we go in. That’s good knowledge to have.” Soap grinned at the earned praise. They managed the rest of the intel gathering without incident.
As they met up at their RV point, Ghost signed his greeting rather than speaking it.
‘You know BSL?’ Soap immediately launched into sign, bouncing excitedly as he stepped towards Ghost. It was evident that Soap was fluent, the signs now much more clear and thorough.
‘Never knew you could sign, lt!’
‘Had a teammate who was losing his hearing, I learned it for him.’ Soap promptly tucked that little bit of information into his mind.
‘Oh, look at you, ya softy.’
‘Watch it, Johnny.’
They spent the rest of the night in pleasant silence, waiting for pickup.
‘Why did you learn?’ Ghost questioned after a comfortable lull in the conversation.
‘It came naturally to me, a friend once taught me a couple of signs and I realized it was pretty easy. Lets me talk and keep quiet at the same time, but I don’t use it on the field frequently.’
‘Impressive, Johnny.’ Soap smiled brightly at Ghost, like a light in the quiet darkness of the safehouse.
Not long after that Ghost had been able to pick up on many more of Soap’s little fidgets. If he had to listen to anyone or anything for more than ten minutes, he’d end up chewing on the closest thing he could get his hands on.
Ghost had pulled many nearly-burst pens from the man’s mouth mid debrief. It was a mystery to him how Soap hadn’t been poisoned yet, given how little thought apparently went into what ended up in his mouth.
Soap was also notoriously terrible at sitting in a chair, or any surface for that matter, normally.
If they were in the kitchen, Soap could usually be found perched on the counter or tucked backwards in one of the kitchen table chairs. It never seemed comfortable given how large his body was compared to the chairs, but regardless of how Soap initially sat down, he’d inevitably end up contorted into some weird position.
The best thing, in Ghost’s opinion, was when Soap’s accent would become completely unintelligible after long missions paired up together.
The first time it happened, both Soap and Ghost ended up confused, with Ghost unable to understand a thing that came out of Soap’s mouth and Soap not knowing why he was stumbling over his words. It wasn’t until Soap said something distinctly British that they realized he’d started to subconsciously copy Ghost’s accent.
Ghost would never admit it out loud but it always brought him comfort when Soap’s accent slipped into that terrible impression of his own voice. He did tease the man relentlessly about it, though never in the presence of other people.
Not all of Soap’s quirks were pleasant or positive, though, and Ghost found out about most of them in rapid succession. Ghost hated pointing out the bad habits to him. Soap would never get offended, he knew it came from a good place, but Ghost knew he couldn’t help but take it as a scolding or reprimand.
It had taken months of watching Soap to realize he was able to put up a very convincing front of social confidence and optimism. Most of it was real, yes, but Ghost could tell when it was starting to get too hard for Soap to keep pretending.
It started with the boredom. Soap was prone to bouts of severe, unfixable boredom. The first time Ghost had ever seen Soap cry was when he found him alone in the kitchen at 2 am, days into one of the episodes.
It was dark, Soap’s face hidden by the shadows as Ghost silently greeted him. He knew something was off when Soap didn’t verbally greet him in return, he just nodded and dropped his head back down, sniffling as he did so. Red flags immediately raised in Ghost’s mind.
“MacTavish?” By Ghost’s tone, it was clear to Soap that the lieutenant was demanding an answer.
Soap couldn’t do anything but sob in response. He saw Ghost flinch, felt guilt rush into his body as he struggled to verbalize his feelings to answer the order until strong, warm hands rested on his shoulders.
“Breathe, Johnny.” Soap did his best, finding it easier to try and regulate himself under an order from Ghost.
“Sorry sir, just having a rough day. Don’t like laying low, feel like I’m useless with nothing to do but train.” Ghost hummed in response. Soap was always on the move, always ready to go, and he had no ‘off’ switch. Ghost knew what it felt like to sit and fester in that boredom between missions.
“On your feet, Sergeant.” Soap didn’t protest, just stood and followed, subtly pulling the sleeves of his shirt down.
It hadn’t stopped Ghost from noticing the massive red marks on the back of Soap’s arms. He didn’t mention it, though, it was obvious that Soap was out of it and he’d need to get the energy out before he’d be able to talk or think with some clarity.
Ghost led them to the obstacle course, bathed in bright moonlight.
“Sir?” Ghost sauntered up to the starting line, Soap’s eyes tracking him.
“Beat me.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. It was likely that Soap couldn’t beat him, few ever could, but he knew how much better Soap would feel after getting all that antsy, stressed energy out.
Even just the order seemed to relax him, easing the tension that tightened his posture, the barest hint of cheekiness glittering in his blue eyes as he stood next to Ghost.
“You’re on, lt.” Ghost was surprised to find that Soap beat him on the first go around. He’d barely broken a sweat, bouncing his weight back and forth as he waited for Ghost to ready himself for the next round.
They went at it for hours, sometimes shifting the equipment around to shake it up, until Soap was finally tired.
Ghost was finishing up moving a piece of equipment back to where it belonged when Soap shuffled up to him, sheepish smile and a light blush dusting his cheeks. Ghost stood, turning to acknowledge him.
“Thanks, lt. For workin with me. I was goin crazy, like my nerves were on fire.” Ghost just shrugged.
“I get it. You’re not the only obligatory adrenaline junky here.” Soap sighed in relief, glad Ghost didn’t seem to be judging him for his outburst of tears earlier.
“Let me know if you ever need a partner. I’m more than happy to run the track with you. You put up a real good challenge for me today.” Soap beamed at the praise and Ghost had to turn his head and look away, sure Soap would be able to tell he was blushing under such a reverent gaze.
As Ghost would find out in the future, the course was usually enough to get Soap out of his slump. Less often, as he would quickly find out, Soap would sit in that boredom for a little too long before asking for help (if he even asked for help), the track just a quick fix until the next day Soap would be well hidden away from everyone else, and Ghost would hunt him down.
It had taken a while for Ghost to find Soap the first time. He hadn’t been at lunch, and Price just gave Ghost an unreadable look when he’d asked where Soap was at the start of training. Fuck it. He thought, ditching training to find his Sergeant. If Price wasn’t going to help him, and he obviously knew something was going on, he’d go find the man himself.
Soap was in an office, which was unusual, and alone, which was even more unusual. His legs were tucked up close to his chest, scratching relentlessly at the red spots Ghost had noticed on his arms the previous night. His fingertips were red from blood that oozed from the wounds.
“You better have a good explanation for doing that, MacTavish.” Soap shoved his hands up his sleeves before Ghost had gotten three words into his sentence.
“'s nothin, sir.” Bullshit, there was no way to hide the blood on his hands or the traces of it on his sleeves.
“That’s obviously not nothing, Sergeant. Show me your arms.” Soap held his arms up reluctantly, unable to refuse the order, gaze turned away as Ghost gently rolled his sleeves up. The wounds were fairly deep, obviously they hadn’t just been red marks yesterday.
“You do this to yourself?” Soap couldn't even bring himself to lie to Ghost.
“Aye sir. Bad habit. Won’t happen again.” He waited for the scolding, eyes still turned to the ground, when Ghost suddenly turned and walked away.
For a moment he panicked, unsure how to read Ghost’s reaction until he noticed that he’d just gone to grab a first aid kit. Ghost brought it to the desk, sat down, and began to clean the wounds.
Soap watched in confusion, unsure why Ghost was helping him rather than calling him weak, a liability. That's what he was, wasn't he?
“I can do it, sir. I don't wanna bother ye with all that work.” Ghost shot him a quick glare, effectively silencing any further attempts at protest.
“You’re to see medical about this tomorrow, Johnny, and that's an order.” Somehow this felt worse than the anger he’d been expecting. This felt too close to pity, and pity hurt.
“Aye sir. Sorry for bothering ye-” A sharp grip on his fingers stopped him from saying anything else, Ghost’s sharp glare returning.
“You apologize again, I make this worse.” Soap just sat quietly and stared down at Ghost’s hands as he tended to his wounds.
“Aye.” He whispered, voice shaky with emotions he was trying to hold back. He didn’t deserve this kindness, Ghost cleaning his wounds and wrapping them, like there was reverence in his touch, something warm and gentle in the way he held Soap’s arms.
“Told you to come find me when you can't get rid of the boredom, Johnny.” Soap turned his gaze further away, as if it could hide him from Ghost’s keen eyes, ashamed.
“‘m sorry, lt.” Ghost wanted to be angry, he did, but he just shook his head and sighed.
“Don’t apologize. I’m just… worried. Never seen you like this and this ain’t healthy, Johnny.” He left it at that, knowing full well he’d probably gotten the ‘infection and sepsis’ talk from Price several times before. He didn’t even want to think about the fact that Johnny had called it a habit, how he’d done this to himself before.
Soap watched as Ghost finished wrapping his arms.
“Tell them to wrap these tighter and tape it tomorrow. The tape usually makes it harder to pick.” Soap dared a look up, freezing under Ghost’s heavy gaze. Neither of the men said anything else, Ghost ruffling Soap’s hair as he dismissed him to his quarters.
They’d been dancing around that tension for months. The lightning that cracked through the air between them. It was a dangerous game to play, but both men were too stubborn to back down, and neither totally willing to let whatever was building go.
Ghost was pleased to find that Soap had in fact gone to medical to get his arms wrapped the following day. Unfortunately, his mood had only seemed to worsen. And now he was actively avoiding Ghost, or trying to.
He’d caught a glimpse of Soap in passing at lunch, but despite the man’s efforts to hide from the Lieutenant it hadn't been hard to find him.
“You're not usually one to sulk, Sergeant.” The glare sent his way had Ghost’s blood running cold. Soap’s usually bright and open eyes were shuttered closed, blocking Ghost out of whatever was going on in that head of his.
It seemed to take the man a minute to process who was at the door, and he did not seem pleased.
“Fuck off, Ghost. Not now.” Soap sounded thoroughly angry and Ghost could see the white knuckled grip he had on his knife as he cleaned it.
“Are you going to tell me what's wrong or am I going to have to drag Price into this.” The Scot growled, low and deep, in response as he stood and stalked towards Ghost.
“This isn’t yer problem to begin with, so get yer nose out of where it doesn't fuckin belong.” Ghost hated himself, just a little, for the way his body heated at having Soap’s anger directed at him.
“No. I’ll stay right where I am. You are my business, Sergeant, and if there's something that's going to get in the way of your performance I will know about it.” Ghost barely had time to dodge the rage filled swing thrown his way.
“I’m not fuckin’ broken, don't you dare talk to me that way.” Soap didn’t let up, pushing forward until he had Ghost backed up against the wall of his room. His chest heaved with the effort it took not to swing again, instead fixing the man with a very frightening glare.
“I never said that and you know it.” There was a tense moment of silence before Soap turned to walk away.
Ghost would be having approximately none of that.
He grabbed Soap by the back of his belt and before he could get too far pulled him back, stepping to the side to slam Soap into the wall, right where he’d just been.
“You’re gonna fuckin talk, Johnny, or Price will be hearing about this.” The threat of Price’s involvement seemed to at least pause the anger, something in Soap’s eyes faltered, opened, just for a moment, before it shut right back down.
“Why?” He spat, “So ye can send me to medical for a fuckin psych eval? Think I’m a fuckin liability?”
There was more sadness in his voice than anger, Ghost realized. He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of reel of self deprecating thoughts were going through his mind to so thoroughly convince him he was broken.
“No.” The firm certainty in Ghost’s voice stopped Soap in his tracks.
“No…?”
“No, Johnny. I just want you to tell me what’s going on so I can help you. We’ve all got more than a few screws loose here, we wouldn't be here if we didn't, but I’m not going to let you dig yourself into a hole you can’t get out of.” Soap’s face was oddly blank, still processing what Ghost had said. He could see the voice in his mind fighting tooth and nail behind his eyes, though, the only clue that Soap hadn’t totally checked out.
In a moment of bravery, or maybe stupidity, Ghost let his hands rest on his cheeks. Soap’s eyes turned up at the contact, unfocused as they tried to find Ghost’s.
“Johnny.” Soap’s weight suddenly leaned forward into Ghost, a soft whine sounding from the back of his throat.
“Simon…” The fear and exhaustion in Soap’s voice broke Ghost’s heart. Soap was an incredible soldier, one of the best. Not only that but he was a good person. Kindness came natural to Soap, giving up free time to train recruits or cheering up his crew. Despite his normally loud demeanor, Soap could be so gentle and tender when someone needed comfort.
Without thinking, Ghost let go and wrapped his arms around Soap and pulled him close, one hand resting around his back and the other on the back of his head, guiding Soap’s head to rest on his shoulder. He could feel tears soaking through his shirt, knew he’d made the right choice.
“I…” Ghost hesitated as he started to speak, worried he might set Soap off again. “Johnny. I think maybe you’ve worked yourself into a really bad headspace here. We talked a little about you getting bored, yeah?”
He could feel Soap nod his head, sniffling quietly.
“Is this because it got worse?”
When Soap looked up he was greeted by that familiar bright blue, though he’d never seen Soap look so sad. He could see Soap trying to form the words he wanted to say. He stayed quiet and close, giving Soap time.
“It… spirals. It starts with the boredom, and if I don’t get it to go away it just works up until it's this… anxiety eating away at me. It hurts, physically, like there’s something in my chest that doesn't belong there.” Soap laid his head back down against Ghost’s chest, letting his eyes slip shut.
“Don’t have the right words for it, sorry.” Ghost still understood. He knew what it probably felt like, remembering times when he just couldn't get that buzzing feeling out of his nerves and nothing worked, nothing helped, and he’d end up sitting in his quarters having a stare down with the wall as he debated finding his rifle.
“That’s ok.” He ran his fingers through Soap’s mohawk, unable to push down the rush of affection and possessiveness.
“Why don’t we go somewhere different. Get out of your room and maybe into the sun?” Soap nodded weakly as he reluctantly pulled himself away from Ghost’s warmth. Slipping between his nervous thoughts and the comfort of Ghost’s familiar presence was tiring.
“Okay.” He followed behind Ghost, at his heels like a puppy, and the urge to reach back and hold Soap’s hand was difficult to resist. How badly he wanted to give him that physical point of connection, remembering how easily Soap had leaned into his space.
Soap was a very independent person. He could hold his own on the field and had proved it countless times. Seeing him like this, so tired and sad he seemed small, made Ghostwant to pick him up, carry him to his room, and curl up around the man. That was not a train of thought he had any mental space to entertain, so instead he continued to lead them outside to a little clearing on the far side of the base.
It was sunny out, warm and quiet. He let Soap wander and pick where he wanted to sit and followed him.
“This hasn’t happened since I started working with ye.” Ghost looked over to Soap in surprise, watching as he wrung his hands in uncharacteristic anxiety.
“Used to happen a lot as a kid, except I’d get angry and lash out. Now it’s all… internalized. Get this little demon in my head, talkin to me like the bullies used to. I don’t- I don’t actually believe it? Not really, but it gets really bad.” This was very new information to Ghost. He didn’t know Soap had been bullied as a kid.
“I know I’m good enough. I know I’ve proved it, I’m not a liability anymore. But those eyes that stared down at me, casted me out, it’s hard to argue with that, y’know?” Ghost nodded, listening quietly. Being outside seemed to clear up Soap’s mind fairly quickly, noting that information and committing it to memory.
“This is the first time I’ve… picked at my skin since we started workin together. I was a year and a half clean.” The shame in Soap’s voice was clear as day.
He turned to Ghost, eyes rimmed red with tears he refused to let fall again. Despite that, though, Ghost could see some of that brightness returning to his eyes.
“Today is day one, then, Johnny. You don’t have to hide it, when it gets hard you come to me and we’ll figure something out.” The smile Soap gave him was so soft and tired.
“Could… could I lean against you, Ghost? Just for a little. I’d like to stay out here for a bit if that's ok with you.” Ghost nodded, putting one arm up on the back of the bench to open up a space for Soap.
The man very quickly curled up against his side, head resting against his chest and knees tucked up so they touched the side of his thigh. Instantly he saw most of the tension bleed out of Soap’s posture.
Ghost would be more than willing to sit there for as long as his Soap needed, for minutes or hours or days, if only to see him happy again. He knew Price was going to hound him until he spilled why he’d ditched training, but that was a concern for later.