Chapter Text
“This is Shadow-1. Going explosives on bridge entry,” Graves announced, his voice echoing from Ghost’s left-hand side to his headset. He pulled out the detonator, and as he began the count down, Ghost kept a steady eye on Soap. He wasn’t far enough away – maybe even teetering on the edge of getting hurt by the explosion – and it bothered Ghost enough to push an order of stand the hell back to the tip of his tongue, but then Graves was leaning away to hide his head and vital organs, and Ghost knew it was probably too late. He watched as the explosive was activated and blew out the lock, not at all surprised when Soap had to endure the pain of it to stay focused and ready.
Ghost rushed forward with practiced feet and hands tight on his weapon. He took the decision to enter first, cutting Soap off as he tried to sneak ahead. It was clear, something he was milliseconds away from announcing and then motion Graves and Soap forward when the latter powered on with no guarantee of protection. Ghost gritted his teeth. He could bring it up later, right now he had to follow his reckless teammate and ensure he stayed alive.
And, despite all odds, Soap did. He was skilled, which seemed to be a perfect combination with his absolutely horrid tendencies to disobey and often blatantly ignore standard protocol to bloody wait for the go-ahead. Yet he always survived despite the circumstances. It infuriated Ghost, this constant game of will he won’t he, but there was no denying Soap’s efficiency when he let go and allowed the years of training and experience to take over. It was a delight to watch him clear the room, and Ghost almost had to kick himself into gear when there was only one enemy left.
They split up somewhere on their way to the bridge. He wasn’t sure where Soap or Graves were, but as he shot down an enemy around the corner, he knew he couldn’t afford to ponder. Life or death, he reminded himself and pushed forward.
He was relieved when Graves appeared next to him with a light pat to his shoulder as confirmation of his identity and wellbeing, and as they made their way through the hallways and floors, he pushed down the question of where Soap was. The bridge was their rendezvous, and Ghost knew Soap would be there, so there was no point in worrying. Still, as his Lieutenant it was his responsibility, and he’d rather not have Soap’s death on his conscience – though he wasn’t sure if that existed anymore. Perhaps his shoulders would be the one forced to bear the weight.
As expected, Soap was present and unharmed like he always was, and by the looks of it, he’d cleared the room of half a dozen enemies by himself. Ghost took the massacre in with muted shock, wishing he could’ve been there to witness it.
“Alright, Eyes on the controls, tappin’ in…” Graves said. Ghost doublechecked the room in case anyone decided to make a surprise visit, keeping one ear trained on Graves’s progress. “Fuck,” caught Ghost’s attention, and he turned to dedicate his concentration to the situation at hand, but he kept his gun raised and at the ready. “We can’t disarm it.”
“Why?” Ghost barked, lowering his weapon at the despair of this new development.
“It’s too late,” Graves yelled back.
“There’s no abort code?” Soap chimed in with his now familiar Scottish accent.
“Yeah, well that window’s closed on that, boys…” Graves explained, apparent frustration in his voice and phrasing. Ghost heaved a sigh in agreed frustration and changed location to keep an eye on the door. “Gold Eagle Actual, this is Shadow-1 – missile’s in boost phase about to burn, how copy?”
“Solid, Shadow,” came Shepherd’s response over the comms. “If we can’t disarm, then we detonate.”
“Roger that, Actual. Stand by.” Ghost got a bad feeling as Graves called on Soap to get on the controls. “Now the clock is ticking. So we gotta move, brother. Alright?”
Soap opened the case, then said, “I’m in!”
“Actual – We’re on the con, what’s the order?” Graves asked, and Ghost moved closer. If no other enemies had appeared yet, he had doubts they would later.
“Input the DAL code and let the payload strike.”
“What’s a DAL code?” Soap queried. Ghost thought it slightly foolish to ask for definitions in such a pressing situation, but he had yet to see if it was necessary for Soap to know.
“Detonate-After-Launch,” Graves explained. Ghost concluded it was not, in fact, need to know, but kept his opinion firmly to himself.
“We’re gonna take out the oil rig with the missile,” Shepherd continued.
Ghost dropped his secure grip on his weapon completely at that information, meeting Soap’s eyes as he voiced their shared concerns. “Alejandro’s back there with the Shadows.”
“All Stations,” Ghost said into the comms, unsure whether his own voice rested on the edge of desperate. “Clear the rig now, I say again – clear the rig!”
“Roger – what’s the count?” Alejandro answered. Ghost glanced back at Soap in relief.
“One minute,” Graves informed.
“Copy, on the move!”
“Alright, Soap, get on the controls,” Graves instructed and directed them back to Shepherd’s orders. Ghost took his gun into both hands once more, nerves still shot sky high but a sense of control reinstated. “We need it in diagnostic mode so I can bypass the login.”
Ghost allowed himself to zone out Soap and Graves’s task as he instead squinted out the rain covered windows, searching the waters for any sign of Alejandro and the Shadows. It was too dark and turbulent to make out anything beyond the waves, but thankfully – or perhaps unthankfully for Alejandro and the Shadows – Soap and Graves made quick work of assigning a new target to the missile.
“Let’s enjoy our handiwork, Sergeant,” Graves said and moved to get a clear line of sight on the rig. “All stations – prepare for the boom!” Ghost detested the poorly hidden amusement in his voice, but he nevertheless positioned himself next to Graves to view the incoming destruction.
“Missile away…” Ghost remarked glumly, watching with bated breath as it launched only to turn 180 degrees and head for the oil rig.
The impact was blinding, and the shockwave hit hard enough to make Ghost stumble and bend forward to catch himself if he were to fall. He noticed Soap was in a similar state, meanwhile Graves stood as if nothing had happened.
“Look at that big bad beautiful shit!” Graves exclaimed and went to stand directly in front of the windows. Ghost followed suit and noted out of the corner of his eye that Soap did, too.
“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” was Soap’s far more subdued reaction.
“Alejandro, you okay?” Graves asked, and Ghost found he was a little surprised he’d cared – or at the very least remembered – to check in.
“Holy mother of God – that was fucking crazy, man!” Alejandro practically laughed into the comms.
“You safe?” Soap probed.
“Affirmative, you?”
“We’re good here, hermano.” Ghost wondered if Alejandro ever found Soap’s less than adequate Spanish pronunciation entertaining. Ghost certainly did; it made it impossible to question Soap’s Scottish roots.
“Gold Eagle Actual, Shadow-1. Good hit. Good hit. Missile and rig destroyed,” Graves reported.
“Copy that, Shadow-1. Good work. Get off that X and go home,” Shepherd instructed. “Soap, Ghost – thanks for a job well done.”
Ghost ignored Graves’s attempt to catch his attention and continued to stare out the window, watching as the rig burned and collapsed.
“Roger that, Actual,” Soap answered in Ghost’s stead, and Ghost could feel his eyes on him as well.
“We’re RTB, men,” Ghost stated, his tone dry to even his own ears. He turned his back on Soap and Graves and walked away, eager to get off the water and onto solid ground.
The ride back to shore was filled with just as much water as their ride to the rig had been, and Ghost resented every second of it. The mask clung to his mouth and chin in awkward places, often getting close to choking him if he opened his lips to speak or breathe. Eventually he took to holding the mask aloft, placing faith in it to stay in place whenever the boat jostled him around and moved his grip. The last thing he needed was the bottom half of his face to get accidentally revealed when he was already wet and disgruntled. If that were to happen, he wasn’t sure anyone else would notice – they were all occupied with holding onto the boat and not throwing up over the side – but merely the thought of his teammates’ faces if they did… He imagined Soap who was currently sitting across from him, a hand to his mouth as he stared unabashedly. The prick would no doubt jump at the chance to mock Ghost, perhaps not for his features but definitely for letting it happen. Though Ghost would never let it happen, he’d rather betray his team than purposefully let the mask slip. And he would certainly much rather breathe in an unhealthy amount of seawater than admit defeat to Soap, whose eyes were pinned on the fingers that were pinching the fabric to keep it away from Ghost’s mouth.
A dangerous smile spread on Soap’s face, and Ghost dropped his hand. The mask fell back heavily, weighed down by the amount of water it had absorbed. Ghost drew in a breath to sigh, but only began coughing when drops of liquid came flying into his throat. Soap’s smile dissolved into small twitches of sparsely hidden laughter, and Ghost promised to strangle him to death if it was released to make itself known beyond the two of them. Soap seemed to understand as much when their eyes met, yet the twitching evolved into full-blown laughter everyone on the boat turned to stare at him for. As Soap leaned forward to cover his dopey smile between his knees, Ghost’s foot shot forward and kicked his shin. It only served to break Soap down further and make their fellow soldiers glance between them, looking at each other as if they knew something Ghost and Soap did not. Ghost gave those closest to him warning looks.
“Soap,” he shouted over the motor and waves. He could do this over comms, but there was no need to drag everyone into this or create a private channel for one simple order. “Pull yourself together, Sergeant.”
“Aye, sir,” Soap was quick to shout back, then he held his index finger up until he was ready to sit up straight and was no longer laughing. Ghost was prepared to leave it – to let Soap off the hook instead of giving him a scolding – but then he just had to open his mouth. “Remember to breathe, L.t.,” he joked with a cheeky wink, and Ghost’s fingers twitched.
The people who had heard motioned at Soap to cut it out, trying urgently to signal his doom with their eyes and prepare him for the worst. Ghost thought him stupid to ignore it, though ignore it he did, and as Ghost deliberately straightened to his full height in spite of them both sitting to stare down at Soap, he continued to smile. It was like he wanted this to happen, had laid out all the correct pieces of the puzzle to get here. He wanted Ghost to react. Ghost let his shoulders sag.
Soap’s smile fell at the lack of anger or evident disappointment from Ghost, and Ghost celebrated with a weak attempt at a smile. He watched as Soap curled in on himself to keep the warmth locked in, finally directing his eyes to the water around them and the approaching shore. Ghost rested his chin on his vest and let gravity carry the mask away from his mouth, breathing in blessedly clear air as he gathered his mind and its fleeting thoughts. What Soap found so immensely amusing about getting on Ghost’s nerves he wasn’t sure, and he even feared he might discover the answer someday. It would probably be the same uttered explanation he’d heard a million times before of the mask and the mystery and so on, but with Soap, he hoped it would be different. He knew it probably wouldn’t be.
He also didn’t know what he hoped for. That it was all motivated by an unexplained urge to antagonise Ghost just for the hell of it? Did he hope Soap saw something in Ghost beyond the hulking intimidation everyone else saw that he had deemed worth his attention?
No, Ghost decided firmly. That couldn’t be it. He saw Ghost like everyone else, and it was exactly how he should see him.
Setting foot on solid ground for the first time in hours snapped Ghost’s mind back to reality, and somehow everything he’d thought felt distant to him. He concluded it must have been the seawater driving him to the brink of insanity, and now that he was free of it, he could approach everything as he normally did.
“Ghost, Soap,” Alejandro called from a car where a Shadow was already getting into the driver’s seat. “With me!”
Soap patted Ghost on the shoulder before jogging over, bumping his fist with Alejandro’s before tugging a door open and falling into the backseats. Ghost stood frozen by the boat as Soap wrangled his soaked sweater off without ever removing or disrupting the tactical vest. It was impressive, in a way. Entrancing, even.
Ghost shook his head and looked down as he took the first few steps away from the boat and the water. He decided he’d stay as far away from water as possible for the foreseeable future, cursing at himself as he had to fight the irregular rhythm of waves his body wanted to sway with that were no longer there. He nodded at Alejandro when he got close enough, a death grip on the holstered gun on his chest to steady himself as he rounded the car and got in. There, Soap greeted him with an unreadable flash of teeth, and Ghost was left staring at his side profile. It reminded him of their first drive through Las Almas, where he’d perhaps stared a little too hard for a little too long. Soap hadn’t seemed fazed by it, however. He had met Ghost’s eyes and said something about kids and balloons – Ghost couldn’t remember it clearly, he’d been too busy noting down every single thing he noticed about Soap, though he still wonders what for – then moved on without ever faltering. Ghost had looked away then, too.
When Alejandro’s door was slammed shut and a car radio was switched on to play in the background, Ghost forced his staring over to the back of the seat in front of him. Soap had closed his eyes and was dozing off already, and so there was no reason for Ghost to keep such a close eye on him. There never had been, but he chalked it up to residual nerves from the mission. It had become an annoying habit to pay extra attention to Soap whenever he was in Ghost’s vicinity due to the sheer rarity of such an occurrence while in the field, and now Ghost discovered he had problems turning it off afterwards.
The probability of Soap running off on a suicide mission while sleeping in a moving car was so astronomically low that it was laughable, yet the paranoid voice in Ghost’s head told him if anyone could do it, it was Soap. He glanced over. His eyes were still closed, his arms still wrapped around himself like a blanket. His chest was moving slower than Ghost had ever seen before despite his close study of Soap through the short but intense time they’d worked together, and he knew he didn’t need to be worried or imagine him jumping out of the car to somehow hunt Hassan down alone. Although he wouldn’t be even slightly surprised if Soap succeeded – came back with Hassan’s tags as proof, covered in blood. Confident and more than justified in his confidence.
Ghost flexed his fingers and leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out as far as he could in the cramped car. His knee touched Soap’s, and Ghost flinched away before he could settle into it and enjoy the comfort of a teammate’s warmth. He held his breath and listened through the music for Soap’s breath, then closed his eyes when he found it calm and deep. Ghost allowed a haze to seep into his bones, not quite sleeping but close enough to refill his reserves of energy.
A sudden jostle of the car and Ghost opened his eyes, blinking the fogginess away as he tested his grip strength and sat up. A Spanish song was playing on the radio, and the unfamiliar language was enough to sharpen his mind into paying attention. The language barrier didn’t stop him from understanding that the song was nearing its end, and as the last few notes played, the intro to what Ghost guessed was a news report interrupted the peace the piano had lulled him into. A man’s voice said something, and Ghost decided it was time to focus elsewhere. Like on Soap, who was still sound asleep and none the wiser of Ghost’s heavy gaze. He moved with the car, sliding to the left and right with every turn or correction. Ghost wondered how he’d stayed sitting with his lack of seatbelt, but he was nonetheless grateful he hadn’t ended up on Ghost’s side of the backseat.
Ghost’s eyes drifted to the window behind Soap. It was dark out, and it was only broken by the periodical stream of light from the lampposts dotting the side of the road. Ghost turned to look out his own window just in case Soap woke up. It wasn’t as if he ever commented on Ghost’s staring, but Ghost rather liked having plausible deniability. Besides, it was easier to watch the little scenery he could catch out the closer window.
The odd glimpse of forests and open plains were disrupted by an illuminated warehouse. The car was driving slow enough for Ghost to make out the deteriorated state despite the dark and flickering light that illuminated the side of it, where a giant target had been tagged onto the dirty concrete. Ghost watched it drift past his field of view, strangely enough mesmerized by the sudden break of pattern. It wasn’t a rare sight to spot an abandoned warehouse – especially considering they were closing in on Las Almas – yet Ghost had latched onto it, treating the sight of it as that of a fox or deer.
Ghost closed his eyes and pictured the target, blinking in and out of existence at the light’s mercy. Ghost wouldn’t even have known it existed at all if it hadn’t been for the coincidence of what he assumed was a pothole forcing him awake and the dying lamp, fighting to keep the warehouse out of the dark. And it was all so frighteningly familiar to Ghost. He opened his eyes to his knee centimetres away from Soap’s, and he wanted to push them together. He could blame it on a coincidence, claim it had been a bump in the road, just like how their first meeting had occurred. They would have never met without a series of bizarre coincidences, and even just trying to lay all the events out into a comprehensive path right into Soap’s arms was practically impossible. Ghost didn’t even know where to begin.
“What’s the count?” Ghost asked Alejandro, who met his eyes in the mirror. Ghost needed to get out of the car if he didn’t want to fall down a hole he’d never be able to claw his way out of.
“30 minutes or so,” Alejandro answered before he went back to observing the road ahead.
Ghost knew that would be too much time; he was already digging. But there was nothing else to do seeing as he couldn’t jump out of a moving car, and so he was stuck to either stare out the window or at Soap. Maybe his fiddling hands would eventually become interesting.
To seem wholly unbothered, Ghost chose the first option. He mostly saw his own reflection as he squinted at the glass, but studying the imperfections in his mask was better than helplessly trying to connect the dots between himself and Soap. Though it was inevitable, he supposed, to stumble onto the thought of where their meeting had become an unavoidable part of the future. Was it when Ghost became Lieutenant? Was Price at the heart of it all with his creation of taskforce 141? Or perhaps simply them joining the military had set it all into motion.
Either way, it was pointless to think about. They were here, in the same car after completing another mission together, and Ghost could not escape his annoying Sergeant. And Soap wasn’t even Ghost’s Sergeant, they just happened to get teamed up. Another bloody coincidence.
Something hit Ghost’s shoulder on a particularly long turn, and when he instinctively spun around to protect his side, he was met with Soap’s mohawk tickling his mask. He briefly wondered how it would feel without the hard plastic there to obscure the sensation, but he was quick to shrug the thought off, effectively shrugging Soap awake in the process. He regretted it as Soap stirred and yawned, a hand landing dangerously close to his thigh. Ghost waited with bated breath as Soap rubbed an eye and cuddled closer, then he seemed to comprehend what he was leaning against and launched himself to the other side of the car. Ghost breathed in and held it as Soap looked at him with wide eyes.
“Sorry, L.t.,” he muttered after a while. “How long was I out?” Soap gestured wildly at Ghost’s shoulder.
Ghost was tempted to fuck with him, but he already looked terrified enough. “A few seconds,” he answered, and Soap sagged against the door.
“Thank fuck,” he grumbled before getting back to his seat. Ghost took note of the fingers that picked at his cuticles and Soap’s flushed face, disgusted to find himself almost proud at being the source of Soap’s reaction. He made him nervous, and it wasn’t the typical type of nervous any soldier felt after they’d embarrassed themselves. No, Ghost could see there was something more hidden beneath the surface – beneath Soap’s blush-red skin. And while it was immensely entertaining to see the Sergeant like this, Ghost couldn’t stand to let him dwell in the awkwardness any longer.
They passed a gas station, and as the price was advertised in neon red, Ghost knew exactly how to break the silence. “Air used to be free at the gas station,” he started, glancing at Soap when he turned to look at him, “now it’s £2. You know why?”
Soap lifted his eyebrows before furrowing them. Ghost could tell he was trying to figure the answer out so he wouldn’t have to ask. “No, why?” Soap relented.
Ghost grinned beneath the mask and met his eyes. “Inflation.”
Soap groaned and threw himself against the seat as Alejandro laughed. “Good one, hermano,” he praised and twisted to properly integrate himself into the conversation. “What do you call a Hispanic driver who lost his car?”
“Not you too,” Soap complained, but he smiled.
“What?” Ghost prompted.
“Carlos,” Alejandro finished, and Ghost’s small laugh was overshadowed by Soap’s second groan, this one louder and more amused than anything else.
Then, as Ghost prepared another joke, the car came to a stop. Alejandro was the first one out, followed closely by Soap and Ghost, who stalked towards the front of the car.
“What’s this?” Alejandro asked with an arm thrown out to exaggerate his point.
Graves looked close to punching someone as he shut the car door and – Ghost noticed sullenly – had a finger dangerously close to the trigger. “This is the immediate future,” said Graves with a few steps closer. “Step away from the gate.”
Ghost took note of the Shadow getting out of the driver’s seat behind him with his weapon clutched tightly to his torso. Ghost inched his hands towards the knives placed strategically around his gear.
“What?” Soap interjected, incredulous.
“You heard me,” Graves affirmed with a firm but quick nod.
“You’re crazy, this is my base,” Alejandro objected. There was no anger yet, he seemed almost dejected to Ghost, who kept to the shadows with a hyper awareness of every Shadow in his proximity. He had a feeling this was going to go south.
“It’s not a base.” Graves leaned even closer. “This is a sizable covert facility –” he continued and took his time between each word, driving the condescendence behind them home. Ghost glared at him, feeling the anger begin to fester inside Alejandro. “– and I admire it. So, I’m taking it.” Graves shot them all considering looks as he mulled over the fantom snuff beneath his top lip, and Ghost wanted to punch his teeth out. “You boys have been relieved. Thank you for your service.”
“No, no, no. I don’t take orders from you,” was Alejandro’s predictable answer to Graves’s frankly outlandish claims.
“Didn’t Valeria say that?” Graves asked. Ghost sensed the implications behind it before he – unnecessarily, he might add – decided to venture deeper. “Now that makes me wonder what else I don’t know about your affiliation with a drug-lord.”
“What the fuck did you just say to me, pendejo?” Soap dashed forward to clamp a hand on Alejandro’s shoulder to disengage him.
“You’re out of line, Graves,” he announced, surprisingly calm.
“Don’t do that,” came Graves’s immediate response with a finger up as if to scold them. “Don’t… do that.” A small shake of his head in disapproval. Ghost had to lock his body to not run in and grab his vest and punch him unconscious. “No one needs to get hurt here.”
Ghost couldn’t stick to silence any longer. “Are you threatenin’ us?”
“Soldier, I don’t make threats,” Graves responded and stared past Soap and Alejandro right at Ghost. He wasn’t scared of his reputation or looming figure, and it intrigued Ghost. Was he foolish or clever? “I make guarantees, so let’s not do this.”
Foolish, Ghost decided.
“I’m calling Shepherd,” Soap butted in and turned back to the car. He made it parallel to Ghost before he was stopped dead in his tracks by Graves.
“General Shepherd sends his regards. He told me y’all wouldn’t take this well.”
“He knows about this?” Ghost quired, his voice wavering for the first time since this shit-show started.
“He’s put me in command of this operation from here on out. So, y’all need to stand down.” Ghost looked over at Soap, who was looking right back at him. He gave the order to be prepared with his eyes. “It’s time to let the pros handle this.” Real fucking foolish, Ghost concluded. The pros, he sneered. What a joke. “And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation? It’s not. I’ve got my orders and now you have yours.”
“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón?” Alejandro exclaimed, the anger finally building into rage. “My men are inside!”
“I’m afraid not,” Graves said and went back to chewing on the snuff. “Your men have been…” Ghost imagined he turned it over on his tongue as he thought of the best possible way to phrase whatever came next, and his hand twitched next to a blade, “detained.”
The rug was pulled out from under Alejandro’s feet and the last straw from his hands. He went in headfirst with little thought dedicated to strategy, and Ghost watched on as he was caught by a prepared Graves who threw him against the car. A Shadow pulled out a zip tie and constricted Alejandro’s hands as Soap yelled, “Graves, what the fuck?!”
At the first few shots, Ghost elbowed the Shadow behind him and drew the closest knife he could reach, stabbing the Shadow in front of him in the throat. He noticed something moving in his limited peripheral vision, and he threw the blade with practiced hands, making solid contact. He moved on, diving behind the car just in time to see Soap fall to the ground with a pained scream.
“Go, Johnny, get out of there!” he instructed, his left eye blinded by a red light from the car. Still, he could make out Soap on the ground, not moving despite a clear order from his superior. He tried again. “Soap – Go!”
Nothing. Soap stayed down beneath a Shadow, and it was then Ghost saw the light reflecting off the liquid seeping out from underneath Soap. He reasoned it had to be water and it was red from the light. Soap had landed in a puddle and the Shadow was too heavy. He was stuck, not dead. Soap – indestructible, insubordinate, irritating Soap – could not die here, on the road, at Graves’s hand. It wasn’t his fate. It couldn’t be. Ghost wouldn’t allow it.
“You there, Ghost?” Graves asked, but Ghost barely heard him over the river of blood in his ears.
The puddle was spreading, almost close enough to touch.
“That was a big mistake, brother,” Graves continued, and Ghost needed to move. “It did not have to be like this.”
Ghost couldn’t move. A mountain had settled on top of him, constricting his breathing and breaking ribs. It wasn’t water and it wasn’t red from the light.
A single shot ran out and searing hot pain raced up Ghost’s leg.
So, this is how he dies. At least it was next to Soap.