Chapter Text
Ghost is fucked.
He’s faced war, torture, and betrayal. He’s faced off with death and dared to spit in its face. He’s an accomplished assassin for hire with a blood trail miles long. Ghost has been kicking and fighting, internally screaming his entire life, but when faced with John MacTavish, he falters.
It all started because of a bounty. Ghost tailed the man all the way to a small tavern on the edge of town. It had a handful of rooms available to sleep the night in, a bar and seating for people to gather. Warm and inviting, the patrons are loud and lively. If Ghost had to put a singular word to the place, he would say it’s rather charming. Not somewhere he would find himself lingering at but he can see the appeal of it.
There seemed to be an event of sorts going on so there were enough people mingling around for Ghost to blend in with the crowd. His mark walked to the end of the bar took a seat and immediately started yapping away to the barkeep. Ghost waited a minute before sitting a few seats down from him, unrecognizable in his plain-clothes and face mask. He listened in, hoping his mark would say something worthwhile.
“What can I get ya?”
Ghost looks up from the bar top he was staring intently at to the barkeep that addressed him—a different one. The first thing Ghost notices is his ridiculous hair, then his striking blue eyes. It’s weird, the second they make eye contact Ghost feels like he can’t breathe.
Laugher erupts from a group of off duty soldiers in the corner loud enough to turn several heads, then there’s yelling on the other side from a different group. While all of this is happening, his mark is talking and handing something to someone that had taken a seat next to him in the second it took Ghost to look up at the barkeep. Ghost is good at what he does, but he can’t help but feel a tiny bit overwhelmed in that moment with so much noise in the background. And for some reason, he can’t for the life of him look away from the man in front of him.
His mark yells something at his acquaintance. Ghost didn’t hear a word of it.
The barkeep had said something while all of Ghost’s senses were going haywire, and Ghost ends up staring at the man nonplused and silent. He hopes his silent staring is enough to make the barkeep walk away. But then Ghost wants to hit himself because who sits at a bar to not order at least a water?
The bartender winks at Ghost. And what? Why did he just wink at him?
He’s clearly waiting for an answer from Ghost, who glances to his mark just as they stood up moving to a table across the bar; too far for Ghost to hear anything, fuck. He glances back to the barkeep looking him in the eye and confidently nods. The man’s smile was just beginning to slip away at Ghost’s silence, but it brightens right back up at his response, his entire body lifting with it.
“Be right up!” He turns away to fiddle with a couple of glasses and several bottles of colorful liquid.
Interesting. Ghost wonders what he just got himself into.
While the man is mixing liquids around Ghost glances over his shoulder. Thankfully his mark is still at the table, gesticulating wildly to his buddy, most likely gossiping from what Ghost has learned of the man in the week he’s been tracking him.
Turning back to Ghost the man presents him with a fizzing blue concoction. Ghost looks at it and then slowly back up to the barkeep.
“Well go on then, try it!”
By the Gods …
Faced against a man with strange hair and a bright smile, and all of his senses and years of deadly training are gone, swept with the wind. Ghost should find himself a den full of wolves to lay in. Let them eat him alive, he deserves it.
Pulling the drink close Ghost can smell it through his mask. It’s acrid with a ting of sweetness. Ghost wrinkles his nose when the fumes sting his nostrils, the damn thing nearly makes his eyes water. He wonders if this is an attempt at poisoning him.
Tossing a coin onto the bartop Ghost stares past the man’s shoulder to the bottles behind him, trying in vain to see if anything was labeled. The man was staring at him raptly, arms crossed brow raised.
Ghost snaps, “What?” irked by this entire situation.
The deadpan look he’s given only annoys him further, the barkeep huffs out, “you agreed to try out my drink. You drinkin’ it any time soon? Within my lifetime preferably. I’ve got a bar run.”
A bar to run? With that attitude?
“Not drinking with an audience.” Ghost responds petulantly.
The barkeep’s expression is all confusion and exasperation, with a great sweep of his arm he gestures to the entirety of the tavern. As if to say without words, well than?
Ghost scoff, stand and snatches his drink taking his leave to sit elsewhere.
“Let me know what you think!” the man says as he walks away. Without looking Ghost raises the drink in mock salute behind him.
At least now he could find a seat closer to his mark without seeming too suspicious. Away from people shoving strange drinks at him.
He was correct about his mark spewing gossip. Loose lipped, he has no problem spilling the sordid dealings of his family members to his acquaintance and all those with decent hearing sitting around him.
Ghost looks down into his blue drink. Upon closer inspection it wasn’t just blue, it has a bit of green in it as well. The colors swirled oddly together like the liquids didn’t mix completely. Beyond his better judgment he takes a sip and shudders, the liquid viscous and extremely sweet at first, but when it reaches the back of his throat it gets extremely bitter. The liquid coats his throat, the single sip feeling heavy in his stomach. Ghost bangs a single fist on the table as he coughs and gags, he thinks, oh fuck this is it. His mark, literally just a table over, looks his way in disgust pulling out a rag to cover his mouth. He whispers something to his companion and they’re both out the door a second later.
The bitter taste isn’t leaving coating his mouth and throat with such a vile taste he can’t even think straight. but he has no other drink to wash it down with and he needs to continue tailing his mark. Composing himself, he sends a nasty glare to the unaware barkeep as he leaves the tavern.
Ghost gathers all the dirt on his mark that he was paid to track. It was miserably boring work. He knew it would be when he was handed the contract, giving a long look to Price when he assigned it to him. Price shrugged and said they both knew how this was going to end.
In blood of course.
The contractor, a wealthy duke, was notorious for going back on his word regarding what he wanted done. Ghost was hired to obtain information on the mark—another wealthy duke; a cousin. Now that Ghost had all the information in hand he had a feeling that when it was handed over that wouldn’t be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
The anger on the duke’s face as Ghost gave him the details was apparent in the way his faced turned a concerning shade of purple; face all scrunched up oddly. It was no surprise when he ordered Ghost to kill the cousin. At an additional cost of course. Ghost was ready for it, knives and scimitar sharpened and ready.
If only it was that simple. There must have been a rat in the duke’s company because when Ghost got to the marks known location there were too many guards at the ready, clearly prepared for an altercation. Ghost groaned because of course.
He was going to charge even more for this.
A simple hit turned into a blood bath; Ghost snuck around as much as he could, stabbing backs and causing confusion. But when the guards slowly started disappearing the rest of them were on high alert. With the numbers of guards down by half Ghost had a better chance of taking all of them on. They were brutes with no finesse, clunky and slow because of their heavy armor. When he made it to the duke, hiding away in his home, the slippery bastard ran.
He ran really fucking fast.
Ghost gave chase.
The duke took him through the city, tossing people aside, jumping over stalls and crates, dodging into alleyways. Ghost managed to keep up, never that far behind. The man had to run out of stamina eventually. Hopefully before Ghost did. Ghost has stamina sure, but he wasn’t lithe and quick, he was bulky and efficient. And even with light armor on it still weighed him down when on a full tilt chase. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep chase like this.
Ghost internally cheered when the duke clipped into a wall while turning into an alleyway causing the man to fall into a heap. Ghost wasted no time pouncing on the duke, swiftly stabbing him in the chest. Ghost was pissed and tired, it was late with nightfall creeping on in. Ghost didn’t think much about luck, but he was grateful that the roundabout chase led him near his contractors location in the end. Heaving the body up onto a shoulder, Ghost trekked his way to deposit it at the dukes polished feet. When the man sneered and asked what took so long, Ghost snapped, “It seems you have a pest problem my lord,” he seethed. He gave him the details of what happened and the extra work he had to do to secure the kill.
He gets paid what he’s due, and plus some.
By the time Ghost is handing Price the finished contract and cut of the gold it’s late. The sky is full with heavy clouds. The torchlight in the city streets sizzle as sparse rain droplets splatter down. Ghost is dead on his feet, but his home is far enough that he doesn’t want to walk the entire way in what is sure to be a torrential downpour. He remembers the tavern from the previous night, warm and inviting. Ghost is already walking towards it before he’s even fully made up his mind.
He's soaked through when he makes it to the tavern, correct about the rain turning into a storm.
Despite the aches in his body and the heaviness of his eyes, his mind was still running fast. A constant buzzing of endless trivial thoughts of what-could-have-beens, what he could have done better, the why of it all. When he closes his eyes, he see blood. Always so much blood, of the people he’s hurt and killed. He can feel all of it drip off him in rivulets. He feels as if he can never get clean enough, no matter how raw he rubs his skin.
The same man from the other night was in the same spot from before, as if he never moved. He spots Ghost as he opens the door, glaring for a moment but it breaks into a stunning wide smile and he greets him. But when Ghost takes the same seat, shoulders slumping, dripping water all over the place the man frowns crossing his arms over his chest giving Ghost a stern look.
“Gods, what is it?” Ghost says exasperated and tired, he glares back at him, “What’s with the face?”
“You never gave me your thoughts on the drink!”
With no hesitation Ghost says, “Pure shite mate, consider a new hobby.”
The barkeep splutters cussing him out in a language he doesn’t understand, “Excuse me?”
“It was honestly undrinkable.” Ghost blandly stated, “Bitter as fuck. Only took a sip I’m sure if I had more than that it would have killed me.” And Ghost wondered in that moment, did the barkeep not sample the drinks he was giving out to people?
The barkeep takes the criticism in stride despite his protests, he hums in thought as Ghost taps his fingers in a nonsensical rhythm on the bar. The Tavern was quiet compared to the night before, not as many people and those that were here were quietly talking amongst themselves. He assumes the weather sent most back home. The only other person working was someone cleaning up the water Ghost dripped in. Ghost felt a throb at his temple the same moment his knee twinged with an old ache. Maybe he should have gone home after all.
He was drawn out of his internal cataloging when the barkeep spoke a bit too loudly in the quiet, “Ok! How about I make you a new drink? I think I can tweak it a bit make it less bitter, yeah?”
“How about a normal drink?”
After some more unintelligible muttering the man stomped off to the other end of the bar to hopefully get Ghost the normal drink he asked for.
Placed in front of him was an average looking tankard with an unassuming pale golden liquid inside it. Ghost sniff it in suspicion, to which the barkeep scoffed at, “Just drink it!” Ghost thinks about standing up and sitting in a shadowy corner of the tavern to drink in peace. But in that very exact moment getting up needed to use more energy than he was willing to expend just then. Instead, Ghost unhooks his mask letting it hang from one ear. The barkeep says nothing when he takes in his face, doesn’t even visibly react. Ghost sips at the drink and the taste is immediately sweet with honey followed by a familiar normal bitterness that comes with an assortment of other brews. The balance of flavors here is much better, much more enjoyable.
A proper ale.
The barkeep stands waiting. Ghost toasts him and the man smiles.
“Much better.”
“Glad I could appease,” he leans in toward Ghost both of his hands holding him up on his side of the bar. Ghost sits up straighter, and there it is again. Ghost feels like he can’t breathe staring into icy blue pools, like he jumped in a lake of below freezing water, the breath knocked right out if him. He’s a man drowning but he can’t look away.
“Soap!”
It takes all of Ghost’s training to not flinch.
Looking over, the man who had been cleaning up the rainwater is at the other end of the bar looking rather stressed his eyes pleading, clearly in need of help. A patron is standing on the other side of him—a behemoth powerhouse of a man that would have had Ghost keeping a side eye on him had the man not been drawn in on himself. Tears streaming down his face, hands fisted together held close to his chest, as he whimpered and sniffled.
Soap.
Soap? Is off to help his coworker and Ghost is left alone with his thoughts once more, but instead of the constant loop of death, blood, and terror he’s left with thought of wild blue pools, a kind yet fierce face, and odd but soft looking hair. Ghost takes Soap’s absence as an opportunity to make and escape to a shadowy corner to savor his drink in peace and try his best to not fall asleep. the warmth of the tavern staving off the chill of his wet clothes making the task more difficult than it ought to be.
Soap stops by—Ghost isn’t sure how much time later, picking up the empty tankard and lightheartedly kicks Ghost boot.
“Looking to stay the night? Got a fresh room for you with a warm bed if ye need it? I’ll even give it at a discount for trying my experiments.” He says with a wink and Ghost who most definitely was not about to doze off, can’t help the flush that rises to his cheeks, grateful that he replaced his mask over his face. What is it with this guy and winking??
“Discount?” Ghost asks rising from his painful slouch, bones creaking and popping along the way.
“Felt bad for you, looking like a sad wet dog who’s been kicked too many times.”
“Piss off.” He did feel like a sad wet dog but he’s not going to admit that out loud. “Fine. Yeah, I could use a room.” He sure as hell didn’t want to trek it back all the way to his home.
Soap pulls out a small booklet and a piece of graphite from the apron he has wrapped around his waist, “Name?”
Ghost stares blankly at him.
“It’s for the ledger you numptie,” he taps the wrapped graphite against the notebook “have to keep track of expense ‘an all that.”
“Ghost. You the owner?
Soap pauses, “Uh, Ghost?”
“Uh, Soap?” Ghost copies right back at him.
Soap looks unimpressed, “My name’s John, Soap is what people prefer to call me I suppose.”
“Ghost is what I prefer to be called.”
Soap nods and jots it down in his little book completely filled with messy scrawl, and he answers his question, “Yeah, this place is all mine! Had it on my own for a while now. It was rough at first but it’s not so bad, me ‘n Gaz got it mostly handled.” Soap starts walking to a set of stairs leading to the rooms, “C’mon then this way.”
One foot on the stairs and Ghost’s stomach rumbles. Loudly at that, he’s sure the queen all the way in her Castle on the other side of the city heard it. Soap stops three steps ahead and looks over his shoulder to Ghost who was just going to ignore it.
Before Ghost can get a word in, Soap is brushing past him, “Hold on a minute!” down the steps, past the bar, and into the back area of the tavern. Soap is back in a blink and Ghost suddenly has a plate of warm food in his hands overflowing with spiced meats, roasted potatoes, and bread. Ghost instantly starts salivating when he gets a whiff of it, his stomach screaming at him.
Ghost gets shown to the second to last door in the short hallway. Soap takes a key out of his pocket, unlocks the door and hands it to Ghost who nods his thanks when it’s dropped into his palm.
The room is small but it has a big enough bed piled with more than enough blankets and a small table in the corner. Eyeing the bed Ghost is really feeling it now, it takes everything in him not to teeter and succumb to his aches.
Taking several coins out from his pay for the hit on the duke, he hands what is probably way over the amount of whatever Soap was going to charge him. He grabs Soap by the wrist and deposits the gold into his hand. Ghost gets wide eyed look before he closes the door to the room in man’s face, firmly locking it. He pushes the table in front of it—not that it would do much if anyone tried to break in, but it still made him feel better.
He takes off his damp clothes, laying them flat on the table and floor, sits in the middle of the bed scarfing down the food and promptly falls back into the pile of blankets when he places the empty plate to the side. He’s out like a snuffed flame before he’s fully laid down.
Ghost finds himself coming back to the Tavern a few more times since that second night. Always when he’s finished bounty hunting. Each time Soap is there. He quickly figures that Soap doesn’t know what taking a break is.
It’s all that I’ve got. He said when Ghost questioned him about it. Soap doesn’t need to say much more than that. Ghost understands. It’s not like he has much room to talk. They quickly moved on to more comfortable topics after that.
Each time Ghost visits he’s in different levels of dishevelment. Soap’s seen him shirt ripped to pieces, bloodied, limping, once he lost a boot his with his pant leg half gone, he always wonders how he’s going to come in next. Soap lets Ghost know, “You come in with your arm in hand I’m not putting it back on you.” Ghost rolls his eyes.
It’s been a while since his last visit. Ghost having picked up a few bounties that took him out of the city.
It was a rough several weeks. Oddly enough, in the time that he was away he found that he missed the presence of a certain tavern owner.
None of the bounties were easy to track or to catch, and a lot of the contractors wanted them dead. So, it was a lot of hard work. Dirty, bloody, tiring, hard work.
When Ghost walks through familiar tavern doors he looked a fright. Rumpled and limping Ghost was a sight for sore eyes; the visible portion of his face bruised all shades of purple, bits already a sickly yellow. The sclera of his right eye was a shocking bloody red.
Taking a seat at the bar, Ghost plopped in his usual seat waiting for Soap to materialize in front of him like he usually did. It didn't take long, Gaz having ran to the back when Ghost walked in.
He blinked at Soap when the barkeep stood in front of him hissing in the state he walked in as.
"What in the hell happened to you?" he shoves a drink in front of Ghost, raising a hand to stop him from paying, "It's on the house you look like you need it."
Ghost squints at him but slips his face mask to his chin and raises the drink to his mouth taking a long slurp. Damn that hit the spot, rubbing the back of his hand to his mouth he raises his mask back up. Ghost shrugs in response to Soap, "Just the risks of the job."
"What is it exactly that you do?"
"Oh,” Ghost just realized that he never told Soap, assumed that he knew. Thinking it was obvious considering he’s walked in his full getup before sans the skeletal mask, “well I take a few bounties here and there, nothing too crazy."
Soap looked a little incredulous at that, "Uh huh ok yeah sure." He nods, tilting his head a bit, shrugs. Ghost isn’t sure what Soap is choosing not to believe, that he’s a bounty hunter or if he doesn’t believe that he’s just a bounty hunter. He’s not going to go into detail if not asked.
There's a nervous looking man that had been sitting two seats down from Ghost's usual spot when he walked in. The scraggly looking man was in the process of trying to slip away without being noticed and failing spectacularly since the stool he sat on squeaked with every movement. It was quite comical, Ghost struggled to keep his grin from showing in his eyes.
The man on the stool must have thought it wasn't worth it because when Ghost mentioned the word bounty, he tossed himself off his seat, limping worse than Ghost, a clatter out the door.
Ghost pointed to his unfinished drink knocking to the bar top, "watch that for me?" Soap nodded with a smirk, "be back real quick." He stood up calmly taking his time, his own limp still prominent, he walked right out the door. Soap looked over at Gaz who had been nearby sweeping the floor, the both of them blinking at each other.
Later that same night Soap was messing around with another one of his concoctions; just to humor himself. It was another calm night in the tavern, with business being slow Soap liked to keep himself busy. He turned to reach for something underneath the bar and jumped out of his skin, yelping loudly in the quiet. Both hands clutching at his chest.
There peacefully sitting at the bar was Ghost.
"What the fuck?!"
"Bit jumpy, aren't you?" the man was a smartass, Soap was quick to learn early on.
Soap drops his hands onto the bar heaving a bit, "How long have you been there?" he didn't hear the tavern doors open or when Ghost sat down in the creaky stool, didn't feel his presence at all, "Why didn't you say anything you eejit?"
Ghost half shrugs not giving an answer.
He had been sitting there for a good ten minutes or so just watching Soap, admiring the way his back muscles flexed underneath his shirt, the way he hummed and wiggled his hips messing around with whatever foul drink he was making next. You couldn't pry that out of Ghost though, and especially not to Soap himself. He barely wanted to admit to himself, he couldn’t help the long looks when the other man wasn’t looking.
“Whatever.” Soap says. Ghost was a bit odd but he liked him for it. He could do without the jump scares though.
Taking his work from the back bar Soap places it in front of Ghost so that they could face each other as they talked. If tonight was a night he wanted to chat. Ghost has been stopping by a lot more recently, sometimes he’s a chatterbox full of quips and jokes, or he’s quiet. Soap doesn’t mind either way he’s glad Ghost stops by at all. He likes being in his presence, he was calming to be around. He mentioned this to Gaz one night and his friend was adamant that Ghost was actually quite scary to be around; extremely intimidating. Soap defended him, “Nah, he’s nice to be around! Just gotta look past the blood is all!” Gaz was unmoved, “Looking past the blood got it. And all the sharp weapons strapped on to him too? And the fact that he kills people for a living?”, Soap had made an argument back that they don’t know if he actually kills people for a living, but that if he did it was a weak excuse. Not when the King and Queen literally employed people and had armies to do the same.
Currently Ghost sat quietly, watching Soap as he mixed different liquids around with seemingly no measurements. He didn’t note anything down, it all looked like pure guess work to Ghost. He couldn’t help but grimace beneath his mask.
Soap looks up and can tell the type of face he’s making with how the visible part of his face is scrunched up. And by the glint in his eyes. Fear? Distress? Whatever it was Soap took offence.
“This one is going to be good!” Soap tries to ease his worry. “I promise.” He can admit that his past experiments weren’t the best, but they couldn’t have been that bad? Not so much so that this man who presumably feared nothing was scared of a little sip.
Damn, Soap thought, maybe they are that bad.
“Yeah right.” Ghost says, not looking too excited at the thought of trying another drink, “How many of these have you forced on me now? None of them have been good.” Ghost scowls at him, “Sorry but I think it’s time to move on to a different hobby.”
Soap ignores him and divvies up the drink into two cups, placing one in front of Ghost.
“I don’t want this.” Ghost pushes the cup away from himself.
Soap shrugs, “Well too bad I need someone else to try it and Gaz isn’t here.”
Ghost points to the other side of the tavern, “He’s literally right over there.” Gaz is sat with a group at a round table playing a card game. The game is looking intense, a lot of mixed emotions on the faces of the players. Gaz is looking mighty smug.
“He’s busy!” Soap pushes the drink back in front of Ghost, “Now drink.”
The drink looks innocent enough, a rosy pink hue, like extremely watered down wine. It also didn’t smell bad when Ghost sniffed it. Looking up at Soap from the drink Ghost remembers why it was he kept on drinking his foul concoctions. Soap is looking at him with so much hope in his face that his shriveled-up heart grows twice in size. He curses to himself. He’s stronger than this! Or at least he usually is. But Soap. Oh, Soap. He doesn’t know the pull that he has on Ghost. The only reason why he continuously keeps coming back to the tavern that is so out of his way.
Ghost realized that weird fuzzy feeling he was getting when he was around Soap was that he, in fact had feelings for him. He came to this conclusion one night lying in his own bed at home. He was in that stage between being awake and asleep, his thoughts running from him. Going from thinking of the errands he needs to do, to thinking of Soap, to think of how he wanted to go to the tavern right then. He startled himself fully awake. Trekking across the city to Soap’s tavern would take an entire hour, maybe more, and he was willing to do it in the middle of the night just to see Soap. Who was probably—Hopefully—Asleep. He then thought of all the times his mind wandered to the man, too many to count by now.
He has no idea what to do with this newfound knowledge of himself. So he shoves it away and hopes for the best.
He didn’t end up going to the tavern that night, as much as he wanted to, he stayed home and when he woke up accepted a contract from Price that took him out of the city and into another for nearly a month.
Sighing Ghost drags his mask down, bringing the drink closer peering into it, apprehension simmering in his gut.
Soap leans over the bar to tap their cups against each other, “Cheers!”
They down their drinks as one and Ghost is pleasantly surprised. The drink didn’t taste terrible? It was actually quite nice, sweet and tasting of apples. Ghost went back for more.
Ghost hums his approval, “Not bad.”
Soap grins happily, he looks so proud of himself. Ghost gets that fluttery feeling in his stomach and pays it no mind. It’s only when he’s getting ready to leave that his stomach cramps up something terrible. He looks over to Soap who was wiping the bar down or was supposed to be. He paused mid wipe, looking pale with sweat gathering on his brow.
Shoving his face into his hands Ghost groans, “Goddamnit Soap.”
The drink wasn’t so pleasant after all.
The next time Ghost goes to see Soap it's just as the Tavern doors are opening and he comes face to face with a startled Gaz.
"fuck mate!" He hops back dropping a potted plant he was planning on placing on top of a barrel outside. The pot shattered to pieces.
Ghost barely twitches. He's just standing there staring blankly ahead. It's hard to tell if he was injured or not.
Gaz takes a step back to let him inside, but Ghost continues to stand at the entrance, staring at the broken pot. Hesitantly Gaz taps Ghost on his arm nodding his head inside to the tavern when Ghost looks back up to him.
Thankfully he follows.
The little he could see of Ghost’s face looked unfathomably pale, dark heavy circles under his eye peaked from above his mask, and his eyes themselves had a glassy look to them. Ghost is notorious for coming in all sorts of physical states, limping, bruised and bloodied, but he's never looked more dead on his feet.
Gaz has been around for most of the times Ghost had visited the tavern. He’s always doing some sort of work, so they've never really had a one-on-one meeting yet. Despite seeing each other plenty; but Gaz hadn’t wanted to interrupt whatever Ghost and Soap had going on. From what Gaz has witnessed of Ghost, he's stoic and scary sure, but he's constantly chatting with Soap, trading horrendous jokes, and he even tries his nasty drinks so that’s a million points to the man for that alone. He can overlook his job of murder if he makes Soap happy.
Gaz ushers Ghost to the table he usually takes in the corner whenever he's not sitting at the bar, "drink?"
He responds, it's just a barely there nod of his head, but a response nonetheless which Gaz is grateful for. Biting his lip Gaz isn't all that sure how to handle this, doesn’t know what it is that Ghost wants or needs. He gets the feeling he isn't going to be all that responsive at the moment. But it doesn't take a genius to realize Ghost only really has his eyes set on one certain Scottish man, probably who he’s looking for right now.
"Soap's out in the market this morning getting supplies and putting in orders for the place," Gaz waves a hand gesturing to the Tavern in general, "he won't be back for a bit but you're welcome to wait here if you want?" Ghost softly nods, eyes not meeting his.
"I've got to finish opening up but if you need anything let me know."
Gaz drops off a drink—no charge—for Ghost, leaving it on his table and goes on finishing with the Tavern. It's not something that takes entirely too long, he puts down the rest of the chairs, makes sure everyone who rented a room is ok, and takes care of the shards of pottery outside, picking up the poor unhoused plant.
When he goes back to check on Ghost, he’s still staring into nothing, the drink untouched.
"C'mon, you look like you need a bed." Ghost gets up with no further prompting, "I'll get ya all set up." Gaz leads him to the room that Soap has pretty much reserved just for Ghost at this point. Just in case Gaz, ye never know, he had said.
Unlocking the door, Gaz hands the key over to Ghost, "Give me a moment I'll be right back!" He leaves, going to the kitchen area behind the bar fixing up a plate of cheese, fruit and dried meats, dropping it off on the small table in the room, "If you're feeling peckish."
Ghost reaches into a pocket on his side, picking out some coins but Gaz quickly steps back and out of the threshold of the room, hands out in front of him as if to ward off Ghost's advances.
"Noo, nope!" he says insistently, "No charge!"
Ghost tilts his head and steps closer.
Gaz steps back, "At least not yet?" Gaz really didn't want to charge the guy when he was the one who brought him here in the first place.
Before Ghost could shove the coin onto him, Gaz makes his escape by going back to the main floor, taking care of the tavern in Soap's absence.
A while later the man himself comes back moaning and groaning about corrupt merchants as he walks through the doors. Gaz pulls him into the back room as soon as he’s within reach.
He goes tense instantly alert, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!”
Soap looks at him unimpressed.
“Nothing with the tavern! It’s just,” Gaz doesn’t really know what’s going on with Ghost and he doesn’t really know how close the two are, despite the disgusting lovesick looks they give each other. Soap although mooning over the other man always changes the topic whenever Gaz tries to ask him about Ghost. But he’s not blind! It’s so beyond obvious they have feelings for each other and are being idiots about it. “Ghost is here. He’s doesn’t look like he’s doing well.”
His unimpressed look morphs into instant concern.
“Set him up in his room.” Soap gives Gaz a pointed look but lets him keep talking, “He didn’t look injured, if he is he’s hiding it he’s it well. But he looked really out of it, pure miserable, didn’t say a word to me. Also didn’t make him pay.”
Soap nods as he talks, the look of concern never leaving his face.
“We’ll let him be, he’ll come out when he needs to.” Soap claps a hand to Gaz’s back, “Don’t worry about it, and thanks Gaz.”
It’s well into the night and Ghost has yet to come out.
Soap figures that what Ghost does is both physically and mentally tiring, and he must have hit his limit for both. He wouldn’t be shocked if he was still sleeping—if he had fallen asleep at all; for all he knows Ghost could have drifted off to sleep just moments ago. Soap only hopes that he’s ok with whatever is going on
Soap’s sitting behind the bar as per usual, dozing off when knocking on the bar top shocks him to full awareness, nearly tipping over in his scramble to consciousness.
“Sleeping on the job?”
Stumbling off the stool Soap straightens up, “Ah, Ghost! Heard ye came in earlier.”
He nods and they both stand there in silence; it’s only a little bit awkward. Soap is about to ask him if he needs anything, a drink or food, but Ghost speaks first.
“Been comin’ here a while now. I know this is your place and all but is it really just you and Gaz running the tavern?”
Soap sighs, grabs two glasses and a bottle of the harder booze and walks around the bar taking a seat next to Ghost. He pours them each a shot, Soap downs his immediately while Ghost turns the glass around in his hands.
“Yeah, just me ‘an Gaz right now.” He pours himself a few fingers, and sips at the drink, “Wasn’t that way at first though. The tavern was my Mam ‘n Paw’s first. I practically grew up here, rather than at home. They ran the place with Gran, and I helped from time to time. I was actually about to join the kings army but then.” Soap pauses.
It’s been a long time, but the grief never left, he’s just learned how to live with it. “Gran got sick and passed so I stayed to help them for a while. A while became a year then two.” Soap pauses again to take another sip grateful for the burn of it, then asks Ghost, “Not sure if you were around here back then, but you heard about that incident at the market years back now? The murders?”
Ghost who’s been paying rapt attention to Soap as he spoke, nods, understanding in his eyes. He lowers his mask and takes the shot Soap gave him, knocking his glass into Soap’s and Soap pours him some more.
“After that well, I was a right mess. I didn’t know what to do so the tavern was closed for a while. Eventually I realized I didn’t want to leave any of this behind, this is all I have left of them. So, I started over, opened back up with the help of Gaz and some others who could spare the time for a while to help, just to get me off of my feet. Gaz stayed though, he’s a real mate that one, don’t know what I would do without him.” Soap looks up from his drink and over to Ghost, shrugging, “Never got to hiring more help, been too busy.”
That bit at the end about being too busy kind of sounded like an excuse to Ghost, but what did he know?
Ghost shrugs back, “You should really consider looking into getting some more help around here. Then you’d finally be able to sleep in your own bed for once.”
“God, you sound just like Gaz.” Soap groans.
“Two smart people telling you the same thing? Think maybe you should listen to them.”
Soap grumbles and takes another sip. A more comfortable silence settles between them with none of the awkwardness from before. Warm and buzzed Soap wants to lean into Ghost, it takes everything in him to hold back, so he breaks the silence instead.
“You ok?”
Ghost pulls his mask back up after one last sip, he’s silent in thought and Soap lets him think. After a moment he shake his head no, and Soap’s heart aches. Ghost doesn’t elaborate and Soap doesn’t ask, just knocks his shoulder into his and nudges their knees together. Giving into his need to touch; Soap has a feeling that Ghost needs it just as much as he does. When a thigh presses firmly back into his Soap can’t help but smile.
“I’m here for ye Ghost, whenever ye need me.”
“Sap.”
“You know it.”
Someone is knocking on the back door leading to Soap's room and it. Won't. Stop.
Soap was having a rare night off. Gaz and Ghost having finally convinced Soap to hire extra help in running the tavern, "You're going to run yourself into the ground with the way you're going Tav!" and he was right. As per usual. Ghost actually came in one day dragging someone in by the scruff. “This is Roach,” Ghost introduces, “Roach this is Soap. Soap, you need help and Roach needs a job, take him.” Roach was looking miserable practically hanging from Ghost’s fist. Soap took pity on him, so he hired the poor lad. He was quiet most of the time, but he fit in just fine and worked hard. Soap was genuinely grateful Ghost dragged him in.
So of course, on his night off he was going to take the opportunity and sleep the full night through. Or at least try.
He took a brief moment to smother himself with his pillow before stumbling out of bed. Grabbing a knife, he was ready to threaten off whatever miserable drunk had mistaken his door for the front entrance. Ripping the door open he stumbles back his soul leaving his body; death himself stood at his door. The face of skeleton looking at him right in the face, they were mid knock almost punching Soap in the face.
Soap’s brandishing the knife in front of him as if he would even stand a chance against the imposing figure. But then he takes in the rest of them and realized, holy shit it’s Ghost, and he’s about to tell him off for waking him up just to scare him, but he takes a good look at the man.
He’s a mess.
More so than usual. He’s so bloodied up Soap isn't sure if it's coming from him or if it’s from one of his unfortunate targets. With the way Ghost is barely holding himself up it might mostly be the former, a bit of the latter. He's hunched over and wobbling and slowly falling; Soap catches him as he plumets forward and wastes no time in dragging him inside to his bed. Soap tires to lay him down gently but he's fucking heavy, he more so flings him into a heap on his bed. Ghost groans in pain, writhing with it, and Soap apologizes profusely hovering over him.
"Where is it big guy?" Soap is pretty sure he can tell where he’s injured, Ghost’s side shining with fresh blood. Soap’s heart is pounding brutally in his chest, and his hands start sweating. He’s alarmed. Ghost has come to his tavern with all sorts of injuries, bleeding wounds and broke bones, but never anything life threating. Soap steels himself rubbing his palms on his thighs, Ghost came to him — God knows why he would, but Soap would help him to the best of his abilities.
Ghost is trying to grip the slippery chest armor; his tugs are weak and no doubt causing him more pain. Soap gently removes his hands from the armor and goes about removing it himself. There are straps on the side of it, he starts with those. Then comes trying to take the chest piece off.
“C’mon lean up a bit for me.”
It’s low and thin, but the whine that Ghost lets out as he gets lifted makes Soap want to hug the man close to his chest. But without his help it would have been nearly impossible on his own. He takes off the armor— as well as his shirt— as quickly as he can without causing him any more pain, a nearly unsuccessful task.
With the chest plate and shirt out of the way he has a better view of the wound in his side. It’s bleeding freely down Ghost’s side, bright red dripping into the white sheets of his bed. Soap cringed at that, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be replaced. Cleaning the wound with some water and gauze he could see that he’s been stabbed, the gash around 4 inches in length. It wasn’t a pretty sight but after further inspection it wasn’t all that deep, as if Ghost had jumped away as he was getting wounded. Another pass with the gauze and Soap was pleased to see it was already clotting up, the bleed a small trickle.
Soap sighs in relief, the likeliness that anything important was nicked was low. It still definitely needed sutures and must hurt like a bitch.
Applying pressure to the wound with the gauze, Soaps asks Ghost to hold it while he gets what he needs to close the gash.
Dragging his desk chair over to the bedside Soap settles in and starts off with the first stich. As Soap is focusing on his work, Ghost rips off that horrifying skeletal mask, clutching it in a fisted hand. He’s looking at Soap, wide eyed and a bit out of focus. Soap gives him a sympathetic look, patting the hand closest to him that he’s placed on his stomach.
Soap, despite knowing how to suture isn’t sewing people shut up on the regular so he has to take his time. By the time he’s done Ghost’s eyes have gone to staring at a point over Soap’s shoulder, bleary and droopy.
It seems a bit unusual to Soap that a stab wound would have Ghost so out of it, especially with his insane pain tolerance.
Applying a healing salve on the freshly sutured gash, he asks Ghost if there were any other injuries, he should be aware of.
Ghost comes back into focus with a grunt. Brings his hand to his temple, grazing it and winching. Soap winches back, finally noticing the dried blood and bruising at his temple, likely what was causing that hazy look in Ghost’s eyes. Honestly the head injury had to hurt worse than his side.
Soap takes a clean rag and gently dabs at the dried-up blood, Ghost flinches away and Soap croons in sympathy. The cut here isn’t deep enough to be sewn shut, and other than putting some salve on it he can’t do much more.
Ghost looks like he’s about to fall asleep with the way his eyes keep on drooping, but the twit is fighting it; snapping his eyes open every other second. The time his eyes stay shut gets longer each time they close.
“Ghost you should rest.” Soap says gently.
And Soap can’t believe it but, Ghost pouts. He can’t help but crack dappy smile over that. He itches to grab his sketch book so that he could draw the expression and million times over— he’d have to commit it to memory. He’s seen plenty of Ghost’s face by now, but he can never get enough of it. Ghost is so expressive underneath that facemask of his; it’s probably one of the many reasons as to why he keeps it glued onto his face.
Soap wants to run his fingers through his hair so badly. He’s never felt so fond of someone in his life. Sure, he’s had a crush or two in his youth, puppy love at most. The very few relationships he was in never lasted very long, not when his heart wasn’t in it. They were all mostly for show, to appease the people around him. Eventually he settled with the fact that he would be spouseless; unfettered. It never bothered him, unlike his mam who had taken all the worry for him.
But he’s never felt this gushing overwhelmingly tender fondness for anyone before. Not until Ghost came along.
Instead of carding his fingers through his flaxen hair Soap put on a thin layer of salve at his temple and settles for this touch; the closest he’s been to Ghost yet.
Ghost looks Soap dead in the eyes and reaches up, tugging at his wrist.
“No.”
Soap hesitates, “But you need-”
“I think I love you.” He slurs, so blatantly and out of the blue that Soaps eyes are practically bulging out of his head when he processes what he just heard. His heart stutters, then drops. He can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes him, the sad smile on his lips. Ghost is so out of it, it has to be a joke. A very bad, not funny joke.
Soap takes his wrist back, crosses his arms over his chest, “Go to sleep Ghost,” he gets up and starts tugging off the rest of Ghost’s minimal armor. The vambraces are first, then his boots. He also takes the skeletal mask setting it aside—tries not to shudder when he touches’ it, because was that real?? Ghost what the fuck—and drags a blanket from the foot of the bed across his body, tucking the big lug in.
“We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Ghost gives him the saddest, wettest puppy dog eyes Soap has ever seen.
Soap is a weak man; he can feel his legs nearly give way. Almost goes as far as to clutch his chest and fall to his knees. He already knew he would do anything for this man, but Gods that face was a weapon. Soap would face every demon, make empires fall, build a life with him if he was ever asked for anything with that forlorn, yet gorgeous expression.
“Morning,” Soap stammers, “In the morning. Sleep.”
Ghost nods, and all it takes is letting his eyes close and he out like a light.
When Ghost wakes up, he’s in an unfamiliar room. He blinks the grogginess away from his eyes and goes to sit up but immediately stops the motion when both the pain in his head and side hit him at once. He groans loudly in the empty room, putting his arm over his eyes he questions his life choices. He could have been a farmer, a blacksmith, anything other than an assassin and thug for hire. That’s also when he realizes he’s in an unfamiliar room, both without his mask, shirt or weapons.
He removes his arm from his face and slowly takes a good look at his surroundings. His eyes first catch onto the pile of armor and weapons in the corner, clearly his, sitting in a neat pile all clean and shining.
Observing the rest of the room it seems familiar to him, it takes him a frustrating full minute of scrunching his face up and thinking, to realize that he’s in Soap’s room, in his bed. His bed that has dried up crusted blood in the sheets. He cringes at the state of it, he would have to get the man new sheets. An entirely new bed preferably.
Soap himself was nowhere in the room, the only evidence that he slept there was a sad-looking pillow and a few blankets strewn over the floor next to him.
Fuuuck. He felt bad. He took his bed, absolutely ruined it and made the man sleep on the hardwood floor. No doubt worrying about him the entire night.
The events from the night before are slowly coming to Ghost.
He remembers clearly, his mark and how much of a pain in the ass they were. They were slippery and when it came to skill were well matched with Ghost. Not a normal mark by any means, usually he didn’t take contracts against other assassins. Not anymore. It wasn’t worth the hassle or the pain, he didn’t have anything to prove, and he didn’t need a mark on his own back. But the assassin in question was a pest, ex-communicated from his guild. This hit was a favor asked in from Price himself, everyone else who tried to kill them was dead or heavily injured. If he didn’t owe Price, he would have said no.
He tracked his mark to an abandoned hut in the forest; they were waiting for him. The fight, as much as it pained him to say, was very close. They got Ghost in the side with dirty move, smashing the butt of their sword against his head, almost knocking him out, it left him stumbling around like a drunk. Ghost only got the bastard because they started monologuing literally over him, Ghost took the opening and gut them with a dagger mid-sentence.
Everything gets hazy after that. His head was pounding, he remembers throwing up a few paces away from the body. Nearly fell there right next to them, but it seems he somehow managed to drag himself all the way here to Soap like a dying dog.
Pinching the bridge of his nose he sighs in frustration, can’t help the embarrassment heating up his face. He’d have to send a note by courier to Price sooner than later about the body.
Dropping his hand to his stomach he scratched near the neat stitching on his side. Soap did a damn good job with them.
Ghost notices a cup next to him on the bedside table with note screaming at him, DRINK!!, and he realizes how thirsty he is, mouth dry, he smacks his lips and squints at the cup. Carefully he props himself up on his elbows and reaches over picking it up. It looks like water. Thank God. He really couldn’t stand one of Soap’s concoctions right now.
He's downing half of the drink in one go before realizing the bitter taste in the back of his throat. He chokes mid chug, the liquid spewing out his mouth and nose. Of course, that’s when Soap walks in.
“Ghost!” Soap rushes to his side lifting him up more to help clear his airways, rubs his back while Ghost gets a hold of himself. Ghost had never wanted to get tossed over a bridge onto a pile of upright javelins more than in this moment. Soap grabs the mug from his fist and investigates the cup, face full of worry.
When his coughing fit subsides, Ghost groans, the pain in his side worse, and the pounding in his head near blinding. He glares at Soap, “The fuck was that?!”
“What?” Soap glares back, has a split-second thought of just letting Ghost go, so that the man flops back onto the bed; but then he immediately feels guilty. Soap gently props him up against the few pillows that he has, “This? It’s just water!” he waves the cup sloshing the small amount of liquid left, “With some medicine.”
Ghost looks skeptical “Medicine?”
Rolling his eyes Soap gestures the cup towards Ghost, “What? Don’t like taking your medicine? Need helping drinking it? Oh, you poor thing.” He wiggles the cup closer to Ghost’s mouth.
“Oh, piss off!” Ghost snatches the cup from his hand throwing back the rest of the drink like a shot, straight down his throat.
Soap snickers into a fist, and Ghost can’t stay mad at him. Not with the way his heart twinges at his mirth, even if it’s directed towards himself.
Grabbing the cup from Ghost, Soap places it back on the side table, clears his throat and asks, “So, how’re you feeling?”
“Like I got stabbed and hit in the head with a sword.” Was Ghost’s immediate response.
Soap nods his head accepting the answer, then shifts on his feet. He didn’t want to stand so he grabs the chair from he had put back in front of his desk and sets it next to the bed.
“You remember anything from last night?”
Ghost goes to shake his head, because he honestly doesn’t remember much after the fight but it’s as if Soap asking thrusts the flood gates of his mind wide open. He shoots up from his slump against the pillows and tries to slide out of it, “I need to leave.”
“The hell you’re not!” Soap shoves his legs back under the sheets, “I don’t want to drag your ass back into bed when you keel over, you’re fuckin’ heavy.”
“I’m not going to keel over; I’ve dealt with worse than this!” Ghost wants to shove his way out the bed and out of the tavern, and all the way out of the city.
He said, I love you.
To Soap!
He’s about to shove he way past Soap but a wave of dizziness hits him, and he wobbles while sitting in the bed. He looks over to Soap who’s looking both smug and guilty.
The fucker drugged me!
Ghost is laying back down without even realizing it, his world spinning, his eyes already relaxing.
“You need your rest, Ghost. I’m not sewing you up and second time.” Which is a boldfaced lie, Soap would over and over again if he needed to.
Ghost wants to say something smart back, but he blinks once then twice and then he’s snoring into Soap’s pillow.
Soap lets Gaz and Roach know that Ghost is here, but that he’s injured and sleeping it off.
“Oh?” Gaz looks puzzled, “I didn’t realize he had come in. Must have slipped by us?” He looks to Roach who shrugs looking at the staircase just as bewildered.
Soap shuffles on his feet, “Uh, he’s in my room.”
Gaz’s eyes widen expression then immediately turned into a pleased squint, his eyebrows waggle. Soap shoves a hand in his face, his hand gets quickly knocked away.
“Ach, please! He’s injured Gaz!”
“He in your bed Tav? Got ‘em all to yourself? About time really.” Gaz smacks him on the back knocking him around.
“What part of, he’s injured, don’t you understand?” Soap can’t help the flush that rises from his neck spreading out to his cheeks.
Roach all the while is looking between the two of them, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
Soap huff, shoving Gaz away, “He’s doing fine by the way since you’re both so concerned.”
Shoving him back Gaz says, “I’m sure if he wasn’t ok that would have been the first thing out of your mouth.” But Gaz is a good guy after all and asks, “Did you need help with him?”
“No, he’s doing fine.” Soap shakes his head, “Just wanted to let the both of you know that I’m going to be in and out for a bit. Got to check up on him ‘n all that.”
Gaz tells him not to worry about it, “We’ve got it all handled, if anything you’re not far. Go and take care of your man!” Roach nods enthusiastically giving him two thumbs up.
“He’s not my man!” Despite how much he wishes Ghost was. Soap can’t stop thinking about what Ghost had said in his delirious state. The I love you, played over and over in his head, he didn’t want to stop thinking about it, even if it was a blunder on Ghost’s part. Soap didn’t think he was anything special, just a guy who gives him a space in his tavern and pours the drinks. What’s there to love about that?
Soap heads back to his room with a plate of food and fresh water. Ghost was already sitting up, arms crossed, attempting murder with his eyes. Soap shrinks back a bit, shoulders hunching. Smiling sheepishly he shows off his peace offering, “Am sorry Ghost.” He gives him his best innocent look.
Ghost says not a single word not budging in his posture or stare.
“I’ve not put any type of medicine in this I swear!”
Ghost lasts another minute before his softens up a bit, not immune to Soaps pouting and sad blue eyes. Weak, weak, you’re so fucking weak Ghost, he berates himself.
Taking the offered plate, he sets it in his lap and looks inside the cup of water; it looks clear, but it did last time as well.
Soap sits in the chair that he hadn’t bothered moving from his bedside, pulls out a sachet and shakes it in Ghost’s view. “Medicine’s all here. If ye feel like taking it, just a pinch.” And he places it on the bedside table. Ghost finally drinks from the cup, gulping it all down placing the empty cup right next to the sachet.
As Ghost starts on the plate of food, Soap leans in to check on the stiches. They’re still looking good, no blood, and the skin isn’t too inflamed, just a bit pink. Soap’s pretty optimistic that it’s not going to get infected.
“I’m sorry.”
Soap looks up to Ghost not expecting him to break the silence so soon.
“For coming here like I did,” he pinches a sheet, “And for ruining your bed.”
“No Ghost, I’m glad you did. Can’t imagine you dying in a ditch somewhere.”
“I wouldn’t have died from this,” He scoff, “I could have gone elsewhere I’m not sure how I ended up here.”
“Oh.”
Damn. Ghost didn’t mean for it to come out like that.
“No, I just. I don’t. I hit my head, or rather got my head hit.” Gods, Ghost is really fumbling right now, going on like a half-wit. Soap’s face is looking so crestfallen, getting sadder with each word Ghost spews out.
“What I said last night,” Soap is looking down at his side not meeting his eyes, “That I love you.” Ghost feels like he’s swallowed a pile of stones but he speaks on.
“I do care for you Soap, a great deal. I care for you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone else, I don’t know what to do about it. You’re all I think about when I’m away and it’s fuckin’ distracting.”
The smile on Soaps face is so bright, Ghost feels like he has to squint from it.
“That why you got stabbed? Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ma pretty face?”
Ghost flushes, goes to say no but Soap is guffawing in his face, “Aw please don’t tell me you getting stabbed was my fault in some weird way.”
“No Soap,” Ghost sounds so miffed and Soap finds it so funny how he’s so easy to tease, “it wasn’t your fault, just had an off night is all.”
Looking at Ghost fondly Soap speaks softly, “I love you too, ya dafty.”
Soap leans in slow and gently touching his forehead to Ghost’s, rubbing the tips of their noses. Finally running his finger through incredibly soft hair. When Soap looks at Ghost, he smiling so sweetly he can’t help but touch his chapped lips, Ghost kisses his fingertips looking up at him through his lashes.
With Ghost looking at him like that he can’t forestall any longer and Soap captures his lips with his own.
It’s not much of a kiss with how much they’re both smiling, teeth striking against each other.
Still, it was perfect.