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2 AM on the clock.
And Ghost is tossing and turning on his shitty mattress. When he manages to get some shut-eye, it's quickly interrupted by the visions.
Flashes of blood and agony—past memories he'd rather forget.
So after a particularly bad vision, Ghost decides to do what he usually does, when something bothers him. He finds a secluded corner and smokes. Just two or three cigarettes, he knows when to stop. He makes sure his balaclava is properly placed before leaving.
With his plan in mind, the man gladly ignores the curfew and finds his way to the training field, to breathe some fresh air. And corrupt it with nicotine right after.
As he steps onto the grass of the field, the crack of the dry leaves beneath his feet makes him flinch. Too loud. He's being too reckless.
He lifts the balaclava up to the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, continuing to walk until he can finally sit down on the benches. With a swift motion he knows it by heart, he pulls the cigarette with one hand and the lighter with the other.
Ghost ponders about the events of the day when he smokes, to stop thinking about the visions. This time, his thoughts wandered to his last mission. Or their last mission. Him and Soap. He tries to remember all the details - how was the weather, what time was it, how Soap could easily be dead if he missed the shot.
He instinctively squeezes his hands into tight fists, crushing his cigarette and dropping it on the grass.
Bloody Jesus.
The sound of leaves cracking interrupts his line of thought. His hand immediately reaches for his handgun. Only to turn around and find two tired blue eyes in the distance and a stupid grin he's too familiarized with. It screams John MacTavish, he didn't even needed to see the rest of his face to know.
As if the universe is mocking him, Soap walks over to where he is, his grin widening more and more. Ghost just stands still, sitting a bit straighter on the bench.
When he was within earshot, Ghost cleared his throat and spoke, words sounding too soft for his own liking.
"Can't sleep, Sergeant?"
He decides not to comment on the way Soap's eyes, for a brief second, dropped down to his exposed mouth.
Soap shows a toothy smile in response and sits down besides the taller man, making sure to stay at an arm's lenght distance. And for half a second, Ghost has the urge to slide just an inch closer. He doesn't, though.
"Aye, I've been a bit restless. And you? Can't sleep either?"
"Hard to keep our minds busy, hm?" He grabs another cigarette. He offers one to Soap as well, which he takes it.
Ghost takes the lighter to light up his cigarette, before awkwardly lighting up Soap's. They stayed in silence for a minute or so. And Ghost felt an uncharacteristic urge to say something. Bring up any subject. He convinces himself it's because it would be weird to sit in silence, just the two of them.
"So. Why're you restless?"
"I guess all that thing with Hassan. In Chicago. I... I mean, it was really close, you ken?"
Even though Ghost was restless about it too, he felt something tugging at his chest. Like it was his job to worry, not Soap's. Ghost didn't wanted him to worry at all... didn't wanted him to fear his life being taken. He would do an excellent job at that alone.
"...Look at the bright side, Johnny."
"What's the bright side o' that, Lt?"
Johnny says it with a breathless chuckle that feels almost like desperation.
Ghost forces himself to come up with something that makes Soap relax and doesn't betray how he feels about the situation.
"I came to your rescue like a bloody prince on a Disney movie."
"Aye, you arsehole. That you did. I dunno about me bein' the princess, though."
"Fits you perfectly."
They both took drags from their cigarettes, the smoke dancing in front of their faces. Soap looks away for a second, before looking back at the taller man, smirking. "Yer still haven't told me why you're awake."
Ghost wasn't one for small talk; that was obvious just by his presentation and behavior. But, for some reason, he didn't mind it if it was with Soap. Sure, he could be annoying at times, his seemingly endless attemps to get his guard down. To get him to open up. But Ghost wouldn't—at least, not yet.
"Just got a lot on my mind."
Ghost internally thanks Johnny for not asking more. He wasn't ready to talk about it. He could see in his peripheral vision that Johnny pouted, and Ghost learned a while ago that this meant he wanted to say something but chose not to.
A minute or two of silence passes by.
"Jesus, it's fuckin' baltic in here."
Johnny almost snorted himself at his attempt at small talk. Maybe he wanted to keep listening to Ghost's voice, no matter the subject.
But in the end, it didn't matter to Ghost why Johnny wouldn't shut up. He was okay with being annoyed by him right now.
"English, MacTavish."
"Fuckin' Brits. It means it's freezing." He repeated the sentence in a exaggerated British posh accent.
"Hm. And here I thought you'd be more original instead of talking about the weather."
"There's nothing wrong with talking about the weather sometimes, ye dafty. What'd ye want me to talk about, then?"
There was another pause, shorter than the last one, just enough time for Ghost to think of an appropriate answer. He's trying to read Johnny again, like he's used to.
"You never have trouble choosing a subject. You just say whatever's on your mind."
He knows there's something going on with the Scot, but he doesn't know if it's good or bad—If it's bad, he'll come up with a solution. But he can't think of a good reason for Johnny to be acting like this.
"I'm giving ye the honour o' choosing the subject today then, Lt."
Ghost noticed how Johnny avoided explaining his unusual behavior. He decided not to mention it. Instead, Ghost decided to play along, shrugging and looking around as if he could find something worth of conversation in the place.
"I dunno... Anything?" Johnny nods. A topic appears in his head, but he shakes it. "Forget it. It's dumb."
"Pretty please?"
Ghost lets out a huff of a chuckle. Now he was the one coming up with dumb small talk, just to please Johnny. This damn Scot. He took a drag from his cigarette before speaking.
"...what constellations you know?"
Johnny smiles, as if it wasn't the dumbest thing Ghost has said to him. Ghost was almost taking it back, before he was interrupted.
"Barely any. How 'bout ye?"
"Most of the ones that are visible in England." He pursed his lips around the cigarette, dropping his gaze to the ground. "Eh, shouldn't brought up something like this. It's... stupid."
Again, clearly avoiding what he said, Johnny let out a small chuckle.
"Dinnae ken you were into stargazing. Not that there's anything wrong with that."
"I'm not. Was when I was a kid, but I don't have time for it now."
"We have time now, don't we? Mind teachin' me some of 'em?"
It's kind of a personal thing about Simon, but that can't hurt to share.
"...Yeah. I suppose I can."
Simon tried to remember what he would do as a kid, when he snuck out to stargaze. He vividly remembers; finding a nice spot on the less populated side of his neighborhood and lying on the grass to watch the little twinkling dots on the sky. Instead of lying down, he just sits.
Soap immediately sits down next to him.
"Why'd ye sat down?"
"You'd have to crane your neck upwards. It's not comfortable." He clears his throat, avoids finding Johnny's gaze and keeps his own fixed on the sky. "Which ones do you know specifically?"
Johnny also looks up at the sky, doing a little pout while he's thinking. Not that Ghost noticed that particular detail about him, of course not.
"I only ken Ursa Minor. I learned it for localization, mostly."
He points at the brightest star in the constellation.
"See? I know that the last star in the tail o' Ursa Minor indicates North."
"That one's called Polaris. Yeah, that's right."
Johnny chuckles softly, and Ghost knows he enjoys being right, so why not give him that satisfaction. Shortly after that exchange, he leans towards Ghost, but still eyeing up the sky.
"So, tell me what's yer favourite one."
"Look, right below Polaris. See that shape? It's Ursa Major. Some people know it as Plough."
"Plough, huh. I don't think I'm looking at the right one. Where was it again?"
Ghost sighs and scoots closer, so he can point to the stars from Johnny's point of view.
"Try to see the bear. That's the head. Those are the legs."
After a couple seconds of no answer from Johnny, Ghost slowly lowered his head to look at Johnny. He expected to find him still analyzing the constellation, but he finds Johnny looking straight into him, as if looking for something.
Ghost stares at him back and whispers. He's not sure why, but it feels appropriate.
"This might be boring to you."
"It's not. But I'm thinkin', yer not the kind o' person I'd take for a... well, a stargazer."
Johnny whispers back. Again, they don't know why they're doing it, it just feels appropriate.
"I'm full of surprises, Johnny."
"That's for sure. Just wonderin' why, though."
Simon looks down to his fingers that are still holding his forgotten cigarette. Of course Johnny wanted to know why. He always needs to know everything.
"It's disappointing, I'm afraid. They just remind me that there's more out there, y'know? Besides all this fighting that seems endless. Stars are still up there, reminding us that there's much yet to explore. That there's more to live."
Johnny doesn't respond to that immediately. Simon keeps looking at his cigarette, as if it's his escape route to the new, uncomfortable exposing he's feeling right now. He almost apologizes before Johnny speaks up.
"That's... Hell, that's not disappointing, Lt. If anything, it's a... noble reason."
Simon let out a hum in acknowledgement. He also took one last puff of his cigarette, before throwing it away and smashing it with his boot. He noticed that Johnny's cigarette was also smashed on the grass, right next to his one. And by the looks of it, it was long ago. He almost got mad at him for wasting a perfectly good cigarette.
They stood in silence, one more time.
Johnny broke it, one more time.
"I like when yer speak what's on your mind, Simon. I like that side of ye."
Simon turns to look at Johnny again, unsure of what to answer. The Scot looks back at him, pupils blown wide.
"No, you don't."
It's true. No matter how understanding Johnny might be, Simon is too fucked up for anyone to actually like him. He's a violent dog, biting at the hands that feed him.
"Aye, I do."
The night air seemed static, and the tension on Simon's shoulders was growing exponentially.
"Maybe it's time to go to bed. You're talking more nonsense than usual."
Ghost says, putting one hand on his knee to get up. He immediately stops when he also feels Johnny's hand on his knee.
"Let's stay... a tad longer."
"Johnny..."
"Simon. Please? We can talk about the stars if ye want."
Simon tried to warn Johnny. He can tell they're both on dangerous territory right now. Because it's safer if they just joke around, nothing more. No one gets hurt, or disappointed.
But Simon would be lying if he said that he doesn't ache for more. For Johnny to keep talking to him a little more. For Johnny's touch on his shoulder to linger a second more.
Simon is still not sure if he's doing right by sitting back down. He starts doubing himself even more but Johnny's whispering takes him out of his trance.
"...What are ye thinking about?"
"Something I shouldn't think about."
The air stilled and the tension felt like a cord pulled taut, waiting for someone to snap it and finally give in.
That was Simon's fear.
His eyes are glued to Johnny's face, but he takes note of the hand slowly creeping around the grass, getting dangerously close to Simon's own hand.
"...Can I guess?"
Simon want to break eye contact, but he doesn't dare. He's being pulled in, like a magnet and a piece of metal.
"Go ahead."
Johnny's index finger touches Simon's pinky as he leans forward, his gaze now moved to his lips.
Everything felt so slow, but insanely quick at the same time.
He leans forward too, just a bit, hoping Johnny will meet him on the way.
And he does, their lips touching in such a gentle way, Simon didn't even knew he could be this soft. It was just a peck at best, but it carries such weight that he doubts Johnny can understand half of it. Nor is he sure he understands it himself.
When Johnny pulls back, he's still staring at his lips in silence. The voice inside Simon's head chanting that he doesn't deserve this, is getting louder.
"Was that a good guess?"
"...Pretty on point."
Johnny grins, but Simon keeps his stoic expression. There's extra tension on his eyebrows.
"Mmm... I've been wantin' to do that for a while, now... uh, Simon, what's wrong? Ye wanted it too, right?"
He doesn't want to upset Johnny. Simon wanted to do that, too, but he's still unsure about this. He's too afraid of the future.
Johnny pouts. Simon knows he wants to say something, but the dejected look the Scot has now makes him want to reassure him.
"Yes. That was just new territory."
"Well, that's okay... We don't have to rush anything."
That's good, because what Simon needs most right now is time. He wants Johnny, that's obvious to him now, but he can't make rash decisions just because of a kiss. It may not even mean anything to Johnny.
Ghost stands up.
"...I need time alone. To think. Goodnight, Soap."
"Okay. Take the time you need. We have plenty, anyway."
"Yeah. See you tomorrow."
"See ya."
He promptly ignores the slight edge of hurt in Johnny's voice. It's better to not know, anyway.
With that, Ghost retraces the way he came from, back inside.
When he enters inside the building, he notices from a window that clouds covered the sky, and the stars aren't visible anymore.