Chapter Text
Soap had everything perfectly planned. He had the weekend off to travel to Scotland, the hotel and wedding presents were arranged and his suitcase was already packed, all he had to do was come up with a good excuse for coming alone.
A change in the duty roster, a sudden flu or whatever. No big deal, his family could meet the man he was seeing some other time.
Except that he wasn't actually dating anyone. Making up a fake boyfriend was more a means of keeping his family and their questions about when he was going to get married off his back. The only problem was that his younger sister, Izzy, was getting married in a week and his family insisted that Soap bring his boyfriend.
“Ye still haven’t told us his name. We’re all so excited, cannae wait tae meet him,” said his mother cheerfully on the other end of the line. Soap had been trying to pull his head out of the noose for the last fifteen minutes, trying to convince her that it would be better to come without a plus one. It wasn’t really working, Ayleen MacTavish was a very persistent woman and the noose around Soap’s neck was tightening by the second.
“I’m not sure bringing him along is such a good idea,” Soap replied evasively. It was pretty hard to bring someone who didn’t exist as a date to a wedding, but he couldn’t tell her that. He felt a sudden urge to bang his head against a wall. How was he going to get out of this lie?
“Dinnea go shy on us now, John. Even yer father got around the idea o’ meetin’ him.” Soap stared out of the window of his room in the base dormitory, as if the answer to his problems lay somewhere outside in the dark.
Hearing that his father seemed to have overcome his own bigotry was…strange. It had been a rocky road between them ever since he’d come out, but that didn’t change the fact that Soap couldn’t just magically make a partner appear. He was also convinced that his father wasn’t as excited to meet his son’s boyfriend as his mother made it out to be. Davie MacTavish wasn’t exactly the most tolerant person, nor was he known for being insightful or willing to change his ways.
“Aye, I’m glad but—” Soap began, but was interrupted by a baby crying in the background.
“Oh, sorry, John. Ah gotta go, Fia just woke up,” his mother said apologetically. Soap heard her shuffling around and cooing something to his little niece. “See you and that lad of yours on Friday.”
Then the line went dead and his mother was gone. This had turned out exceptionally badly. Well, not really, but now his mother was expecting him to bring someone, and his ability to talk himself out of this mess without exposing his lie had shrunk to a minimum.
Soap sat back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Only a miracle could fix this now. Maybe inventing a non-existent partner hadn’t been his finest moment, but it had certainly satisfied his mother enough to stop berating him and tell him to settle down. He was only twenty-eight, for Christ’s sake, why the rush? Besides, his line of work wasn’t exactly the most family-friendly, nor the one with the highest life expectancy—he’d be fine on his own for a while longer.
***
Once you get used to living among military personnel who can be deadly efficient and professional when on duty, but casually tell the most ridiculous and inappropriate jokes known to man when off the clock, most things don’t faze you anymore.
However, what Ghost overheard coming from the kitchen brought him to an abrupt halt in the doorway. It wasn’t particularly out of line, not even one of the thousands of inappropriate remarks dropped around every day; it was just so unexpectedly outlandish that it genuinely took him by surprise—no small thing when dealing with The Ghost.
“Mate, I’d love to be your date,” Gaz was saying to Soap, “but I’m on training duty with the rookies all weekend. Sorry.”
Date? Ghost wasn’t sure if he had heard that right.
Gaz stood in the kitchenette of their team’s communal living quarters, cooking what appeared to be some sort of soup. It smelled delicious.
Soap, who was beside him, was gently pushed aside as he blocked the cutlery drawer. He absentmindedly ran a stressed hand through his hair, but Ghost suspected that the restlessness had more to do with being stood up than being unceremoniously moved.
“How am I supposed to find a date in a matter of three days?” Soap asked in frustration. Gaz shrugged helplessly as he continued to tinker with his food, adding what should be considered an illegal amount of salt.
Was this Soap’s strange way of asking Gaz out? No, Ghost didn’t even want to think about it - not only would it be against every military regulation, but the very thought left him with a strange feeling that he’d rather not think too much about. Besides, Gaz and Soap were just friends, right?
Before he could think twice, Ghost spoke up, “I’m free.”
Soap and Gaz turned around a bit startled, they hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen as it seemed.
“Like a fucking ghost,” Gaz muttered to himself before turning back to his food, which was starting to bubble suspiciously.
“What?” Soap replied at the same time. He was staring wide-eyed at Ghost, almost as if he had seen a real ghost and not his commanding officer.
Ghost crossed the room and leaned against the small table in the corner.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m free this weekend,” Ghost repeated. He was already unsure if it had been a good idea to say anything. Looking back, he probably should have kept quiet. At least until he had figured out what exactly was going on, but his mouth had been faster than his brain.
Judging by the look Soap gave him, the Sergeant wasn’t sure either. He shifted uncomfortably and looked back at Gaz, who offered no help, too preoccupied with his cooking. Or maybe he wanted to leave them to deal with the situation themselves.
“Care to explain what’s going on?” Ghost asked after the silence felt like it was about to crush him. Soap nodded quickly, like he just remembered why he was here in the first place.
“Er, well, I sort of told my family I was in a relationship so they wouldn’t give me all that ‘time to settle down’ bullshit,” Soap began to explain, his cheeks turning redder by the second. For a trained soldier, he was terribly bad at hiding his embarrassment. “And now I need a date for my sister’s wedding on Saturday, or my lie will be exposed.”
Ghost didn’t know whether to laugh or shake his head in disbelief. Making up a fake relationship seemed like a lot more trouble than telling your family to stop bothering you with their questions could ever be. But then again, what did he know?
There was also a part of him that was relieved to hear that his teammates weren’t secretly in love with each other. It was all just an elaborate ruse, nothing serious. He could help with that.
“It’s your lucky day, MacTavish. You’ve got a date,” Ghost informed Soap, deciding to throw every ounce of professionalism out the window. Staying tactical be damned. This was just pretending, after all.
Soap’s reaction, a sound that alternated between relief and distress, caught Gaz’s attention, causing him to shoot a quizzical look with a raised eyebrow. Ghost noticed Soap’s strange behaviour as well.
“You’re blushing, mate,” Gaz teased the other Sergeant with a sheepish grin.
“Haud yer wheesht,” Soap retorted, slipping back into his Scottish dialect. Gaz simply waved him off and Ghost watched the scene with amusement. Life on base was never dull, especially with the two of them around, and Soap was—indeed—undeniably blushing.
“Thanks, Lt,” Soap managed to say after regaining his composure. “Hope you own a decent suit.”
“Bet on it.”
***
Ghost wasn’t a bad driver, he was just a lot more reckless than he needed to be. Sloppy turns, forgotten indicators, ignoring the speed limit…the list went on. Soap knew this, he’d been in the car with him often enough and it didn’t usually bother him, Ghost never made it feel unsafe despite his apathy for traffic rules.
They had agreed to take Soap’s car—a white Audi Q7 that Soap was particularly proud of as it was the first car he had bought with his own money—but Ghost had insisted on driving, muttering something about feeling safer that way. Soap had skilfully ignored the comment and agreed to let the Lieutenant take the wheel, knowing that it had nothing to do with his own driving skills but rather Ghost’s need for control.
He came to regret that quickly.
“This isn’t your fucking jeep, slow down,” Soap hissed as Ghost roared along the M6 at around 100mph, despite the 70mph speed limit. “You’re gonna get me a ticket.”
For a moment, Soap felt like his mother, who had shouted the exact same thing at him when he was seventeen and taking driving lessons from her. He had blissfully ignored all her advice and warnings to slow down, of course. Oh, what a fool he had been.
Unlike Soap’s seventeen-year-old self, Ghost had a bit more sense.
“Okay, okay,” he muttered, and did indeed slow down a little.
It wasn’t that Soap didn’t trust Ghost with his car—he probably had a little too much trust in the other man—Ghost obviously knew what he was doing, even if he went a tad overboard. Soap’s main concern, however, was the speeding ticket, which he could well do without. Those damn things were pricey as hell.
The question of how Ghost managed to get a driving licence with his driving style—if he actually had one, which Soap fervently hoped he did—or if he even had a valid ID under his government name, was another question that had crossed Soap’s mind several times over the past few years of working together, but he had never dared to ask.
“You’re staring again, Johnny,” Ghost said, a little amusement in his voice.
Soap blinked at him, realising that he had in fact been staring at his lieutenant for the past minute without realising it. He had become slightly distracted in between scolding Ghost for going over the speed limit.
“Can’t I look?” Soap replied, trying to play it cool while fixing his eyes on the road in front of him. Better stay focused now.
“You’re not looking, you’re staring. There’s a difference,” Ghost deadpanned.
“Maybe I like staring at you, Lt.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to slap himself, worrying that he had crossed a line, but the other man only chuckled slightly.
Ghost was nonchalantly holding the steering wheel in one hand, and without wanting to, Soap found himself looking at him again. He needed that image of Ghost in the driver’s seat of his car imprinted in his mind.
Ghost had swapped his usual balaclava for a simple medical mask, opting for practicality and avoiding the risk of being stared at or fined for covering his face in public. However, he had discarded the mask after about an hour into the journey, much to Soap’s delight.
A sharp jawline, blonde strands of hair that had grown long enough to fall across Ghost’s forehead, and lengthy scars that covered parts of his face—all these features caught Soap’s attention.
Soap had seen Ghost without a mask quite a few times now. It had become more common over the past few months, as Ghost alternated between wearing his balaclavas and a medical mask, or occasionally leaving them off altogether.
The first time Soap had seen Ghost without a mask was in Las Almas. And then again a week later, when Ghost sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast without a cloth covering his face, it had almost given Soap a heart attack. It had felt too intimate, like something he wasn't supposed to see. But he soon got used to it, as it happened more often, and he found himself strangely happy to be able to admire all of Ghost now. That feeling didn’t change, no matter how often Ghost walked around without a mask. Soap couldn’t get enough of looking at him, to the point where Price had raised his eyebrows and given Soap a questioning look during one of their briefings.
Keeping it professional hadn’t worked so well, and fake dating certainly wasn’t going to help his case of ‘massive crush on superior’, but he wasn’t going to turn down the chance to pretend there was something between them for a few days when the perfect excuse was right in front of him.
Originally he hadn’t wanted to ask Ghost, fully aware of the heartbreak he would cause himself, which was why Gaz had been his hope. Well, faith was certainly laughing in his face now, but what the hell. Soap would take it.
“You’re doing it again,” Ghost said dryly, not even fifteen minutes later. Wonderful, Soap was really good at keeping it together. He scolded himself inwardly. Ghost was going to get weirded out sooner or later.
“M’ just thinking and you’re in my line of sight,” Soap replied, pulling back to stare at the passenger compartment instead. Very convincing, he thought to himself with a quiet sigh.
How was he so good at infiltrating enemy bases and taking out dangerous criminals if he couldn’t even hide his feelings for Ghost? Highly skilled and efficient in the field, terrible at going a minute without ogling his lieutenant in everyday life. He had caught it really badly.
“That’s the weakest excuse I’ve ever heard,” Ghost huffed, confirming Soap’s fear that he wouldn’t buy the poor excuse - which, in retrospect, wasn’t really surprising. They were three hours into their seven-hour journey and Soap was already acting like an idiot.
“Not my fault if you don’t believe it,” Soap grumbled as he made a show of looking out the passenger window. He watched as other cars passed them. One of them had a large golden retriever in the back seat, staring out the half-open window in Soap’s direction. Soap wasn’t a big fan of dogs, but he could live with them outside of missions. In the field they were nothing but trouble, which didn’t help his dislike of them.
“What were you thinking about?” Ghost asked and Soap turned back to him. Ghost’s posture was so casual, his demeanour so relaxed, that he resembled the typical dad driving the family car in every teen movie. Soap wanted to punch him in the side and kiss him senseless at the same time. Maybe not while driving.
“I was trying to come up with a cover story,” he replied instead, before he could do anything stupid.
“For what?” Ghost turned his head briefly to look at Soap.
“Our fake dating thing?”
“Right. So what’s your verdict?”
Considering that Soap hadn’t really thought about it until that second, he didn’t have much to present.
“We’ve been dating for ten months and met at a bar on base?” Soap suggested the first sensible thing that came to mind.
“A bar hook-up, huh?” Ghost teased with a grin on his face. Making fun of Soap seemed to be his favourite activity, judging by how often he did it. Not that Soap couldn’t handle it, he found their banter rather amusing, but at the moment he couldn’t think of a good comeback.
“Well, we dinnea need to mention any specifics, do we?”
“Certainly hope not.”
His family had to make do with the fabricated story of their meeting. The weekend wasn’t about him, after all—his younger sister was getting married, and that was supposed to be the main topic of conversation. But knowing his family, he expected to be bombarded with questions anyway. Poor Ghost would have to deal with that too.
***
Halfway to Edinburgh, where the wedding was to take place, they stopped at a motorway service area to refuel and have lunch.
The site was filled with the usual array of fast food chains and convenience stores, bustling with people rushing to grab something to eat before continuing on their journey. In the middle of the hustle and bustle, Soap and Ghost spotted a decent looking cafe.
“My treat,” Soap announced, gesturing for Ghost to follow. Ghost wouldn’t refuse that offer.
Foresighted as he was, Soap chose a table at the back of the cafe, one with a good view of the exits. It wasn’t uncommon for military personnel to have a preference for this type of seating, and Ghost was someone who felt it in every fibre of his being. Something that had been drilled into him from day one on the battlefield, something that he probably wouldn’t get out of his system even years after retirement—if he ever made it that far.
The Sergeant also offered Ghost the seat that allowed him to put his back against the wall, which Ghost accepted with immense gratitude. Even here, in a place where he theoretically knew he was safe, he couldn’t turn off the alarm bells that went off in his head whenever he sat in a way that might make him an easy target.
They had never talked about it, but either Soap experienced something similar and knew how to deal with it, or he had noticed Ghost’s discomfort when they had been out together before. Either way, it was a nice and much appreciated gesture.
When the waitress came over with the menu, Soap ordered a sandwich and a coffee, while Ghost opted for a bagel and an Earl Grey. Soap had muttered something about ‘fucking Brits’, which Ghost chose to ignore. There was no point in arguing that they were both—technically—British. Soap would probably shoot him for saying that out loud.
When their meals arrived, they ate in silence for a while, and Ghost couldn’t help but steal a few glances at the other man every now and then.
“Shit,” Soap suddenly blurted out, dropping his food back onto the plate. Ghost looked at him in confusion over the rim of his teacup. “What now, Sergeant?”
Soap seemed to be going through the five stages of grief simultaneously before he replied, “We’ll have to share a hotel room.”
Ghost had expected more tragic news.
“They’ll ask questions if we stay in different rooms, won’t they?” Soap continued, now talking more to himself than to Ghost.
Ghost gave Soap a ‘so what’ shrug. “It’s not like it would be the first time we slept in the same room,” he said dryly. “There’s surely a sofa.”
“Which I’ll have the pleasure of sleeping on,” Soap groaned as he went back to eating his lunch.
“Obviously.”
It was neither the first nor the last time they would have to sleep in the same room. Missions had demanded more of them before and if Ghost wasn't so keen to keep things professional, he might even have been happy with the arrangement. Not that he would ever admit it.
Soap was sitting across from him, a half-eaten tomato sandwich on his plate and currently pouring far too much cream into his coffee. Ghost couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It felt strangely normal, so mundane, and Ghost was overcome with a desire to experience this every day—which he more or less already did. He often ate with the other team members, either in the mess hall or in their own little kitchen around the too-small-for-comfort dining table. But this was different. It was just him and Soap. The base and their work seemed so far away, like a dream.
“Are you gonna to introduce yourself as Simon or Ghost?” Soap asked after they had delved further into their fake dating story. They had settled on the bar encounter as their meeting story and decided not to reveal more than the fact that they were in the same regiment - which was as much as they could reveal anyway. Keeping people outside their unit in the dark about specific details of their work was a necessity. Often the better choice was to say nothing at all.
Ghost debated for a moment.
“Simon,” he decided. If Soap was surprised by this, he hid it well. He simply nodded and twirled the cup in circles before him.
Wearing a medical mask or having a scarred face would stand out enough, Ghost didn’t need to add any more weirdness to the mix when he wasn’t sure how the MacTavishes would react to someone like him (supposedly) dating their son.
“Spit it out, Johnny,” Ghost said after Soap had been silent for a little too long, and began to irritate him with the noise the mug was making on the wooden table. Soap stopped moving and looked up.
“My dad can be a bit intense,” he warned. The flash in his eyes suggested there was more to it, more he wanted to say, but Ghost didn’t want to push him.
“I’m used to being around intense people,” Ghost said, trying to comfort him, but he wasn’t sure it was working. Ghost had indeed dealt with some rather unpleasant people during his military career, as had Soap and many others in their line of work. Power-hungry fools, conniving opportunists and people of questionable morals seemed to appear in every rank and position.
Soap huffed slightly at Ghost’s comment.
“We didn’t really get on after I came out. My mother says he’s different now and excited to meet…well, you, but I don’t quite buy it.”
There was a hint of sadness in Soap’s expression, which he tried his best to conceal. Ghost only caught it because he was so used to watching Soap closely that he noticed even the tiniest change in his demeanour.
They’d never talked much about their families. Sure, Ghost knew a few things about Soap’s past, but he always seemed to avoid the subject and Ghost wasn’t going to probe him. He wasn’t exactly keen on talking about his family—or the lack thereof—either.
“Okay. We’ll handle him, don’t worry, Johnny,” Ghost promised, and it took all his strength not to reach across the table and hold Soap’s hand in a gesture of reassurance. He knew his words could only go so far and he had never been particularly good at comforting others. He usually used humour and dry jokes as a means of grounding, but that wasn’t appropriate in this situation—but neither was holding his subordinate's hand.
Well, fake dating was most likely inappropriate too, but he didn't need to add an extra layer of inappropriate things on top of that.
“Thanks, Lt,” Soap replied and the smile he gave him warmed Ghost’s heart.