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If you were looking for Ghost, you’d almost always be able to find him with Soap, and the same could be said for the reverse. Soap was almost always found with Ghost, and Ghost was almost always found with Soap. They were glued to the hip, one unable to be without the other: like pepper and salt, sugar and cream, clouds and rain, and so forth. It wouldn’t be fair to equate the pair to yin and yang, as one was not the light and one was not the dark.
Many make that mistake, assuming that Ghost is the shadow, the darkness and that Soap is the light, the shining sun— but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Sure, they’re different in many ways, and they do balance eachother out and complement each other, but they weren’t darkness and light. The better equivalent would be complimentary colors, each color its own light and hue, capable of standing on its own, but made brighter with a friend. That was Ghost and Soap.
The two were a well rounded pair and a damn good team if anyone had anything good to say. A force that even heaven and hell wouldn’t dare reckon with. On the surface, they were just that, a sergeant and his lieutenant. A healthy professional relationship, perhaps a shared drink or two, but nothing beyond a casual greeting and salute. Others would tell you that they were great friends outside of their work and could often be spotted sharing a cigarette outside when everyone else had gone to bed, or sharing tea and coffee at the crack of dawn before the wake up call
And maybe there was something beyond that. Very few speculated such, and while they weren’t necessarily wrong, they weren’t right either. Soap certainly wished there was more.
There was a threat of such truth. An imbalance and abuse of power, corruption, black mail: Fraternization. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing in the military, but was generally frowned upon, especially if such a relationship could compromise a mission or trust between team members. The 141 knew Price turned a blind eye to much, but he only had so much power.
It wasn’t Mactavish’s fault that he fell for tall, dark, and mysterious. He hadn’t seen Ghost’s face yet, but he was hopeful that he could replace mysterious with handsome. All John knew was that Simon had lively eyes, a golden hazel color with long eyelashes.
Plus, Ghost started it all with his jokes, and that voice , so who was really to blame here?
The line he’d been drawn too close to the shore, drawn shallowly with a short stick in the sand. A quick punch to the shoulder and a promise. Fleeting touches and glances, shared stories and jokes that moved the line closer and closer to the shore’s waters. It had been washed away soon after, leaving no trace of the line they’d drawn in the sand, the line they’d drawn between each other. The only thing between them now was each other, their fear.
Their chemistry was organic, methodical- warm like the sun’s light peaking through the curtains on a late Sunday morning. Cool like a June’s midnight after a storm had passed by. Pleasant as an evening with friends and family around the fireplace, recanting tales of each other. It was everything the world could give them, everything they could make it to be. It was everything, but he wished it could be more.
But it couldn’t have been more.
Price didn’t care what his boys did in their free time, but he did care if they weren’t careful. If they were caught. Ghost would get slapped with a fraternization charge and either be moved to a different task force or be discharged for abuse of power over his sergeant. And that was the last thing they wanted. They couldn’t risk it all for a fleeting moment. They couldn’t be greedy, not yet.
And maybe Soap had just daydreamed it all- the glances, the touches, the gifts, the words- maybe he was a dreamer. It made it easier to face the reality than know that Ghost wanted the same of him. It made it easier walking to his room alone after a shared cigarette under the stars. It made it easier to pretend that it was just them playing pretend and making animals from clouds than falling deeper into the pit of his heart.
Neither of them said anything. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Well, that was until Soap was promoted to lieutenant.
After some years of his service, someone thought it was high time to reward and promote him. Price was the one to break the news and congratulate him. After all the formal proceedings and ceremonies, Task Force 141 had a personal celebration at the nearby bar. It was a small bar near their base, not very popular due to where the entrance was. You’d need to know the know to even know it was there, easily blending into the red brick landscape that was British architecture.
Soap, Gaz, and Price had gone on ahead, Ghost having said he needed to take care of something and he’d be right behind them. Gaz suspected that Ghost probably wanted to drive his own car to the bar, just in case he wanted to leave earlier than the rest of them did. That sounded more like it as Ghost never really stayed out later than necessary unless it was mission oriented. The idea upset Soap a little, the thought that Ghost would want to leave his promotion celebration early, but he kept it to himself. He could rag on Ghost about it later anyways. Then again, prior to leaving, Ghost had told Soap he had a surprise for him.
Laswell couldn’t make it unfortunately, having gotten caught up with some problems in America. She did, however, send her congratulations in the form of a bottle of scotch.
When the team makes it to the bar they settle down and share a few glasses around the table, retelling stories about Soap’s success and awkward moments just to ensure that the man’s ego didn’t grow too big. Gaz threw in a few punches to Soap’s pride, reminding him that he never beat his score and probably never will. Soap threw back some jabs, metaphorically and literally before getting a swat to the back of his head by his captain to behave. He waved his two terrible friends off with a laugh before dismissing himself by stating that he was going to get the bottle of scotch open.
They’d given the bottle to the bar prior to sitting down. Typically the bar doesn’t allow people to bring in outside liquor as theaters don’t allow outside food or drink, but Price had called ahead and told them of the news, so they allowed it this once under the condition they monitored and served the drinks. The bar could get into legal trouble if they let customers serve themselves with their own liquor, as bartenders are legally responsible for their customers, to some degree.
Soap politely called the bartender over, asking for 3 glasses of the scotch they’d brought in, claiming that they’d need a 4th soon for a latecomer. She nodded and left the front, going to the cold box to grab it.
While Soap wiated, resting his hip against the bar, only partly sitting on the stool as he wasn’t staying long, someone made the decision to sit next to him. John glanced over, not so out of curiosity, but from habit. There were plenty of open seats around them, so it wasn’t as if the barstool next to him was the only one left. Plus, the way John was sitting was a clear sign he wasn’t staying. So what was this guy’s deal?
The man was large, broad shoulders and hips, big hands with fingers that looked a little crooked. A sign of multiple breaks over some years. He had a faded brown buzz cut, brown eyes, and some noticeably strong features. His brows were slightly more pronounced, creating a shadow over his eyes from the overhead lights and his jaw was sharp. There was a little stubble but not much. His lips were on the smaller side, not thin however. A particularly nasty scar was running through it. With the cauliflower ear, crooked nose, and scars, Soap got a bad feeling. Either he was military like him or did paid fighting— not that John was judging him.
The stranger must have caught him staring because a grin grew on his lips. Soap smiled back as a courtesy, watching as the bartender gathered some glasses for his drinks.
“Having fun?”
A talker then. Soap couldn't say he was surprised, having gathered the stranger was either a talker or the strong silent type. The British accent didn’t surprise him either, as every other person in the building was British. Shame. he had a nice voice though, it reminded him of his lieutenant.
“Yeah. You?” He asked vaguely, not particularly interested in getting too deep into a conversation he wouldn't be able to escape. Just be polite until he could leave.
“I’m about to.” The man said, grinning as he asked for a drink. The man leaned a hint closer to him, turning his head ever so slightly to give John a wink. Soap frowned a little, recognizing the tone in his voice and his body language. He only nodded, replying with a simple “Aye”.
He could tell that the man was trying to be nice and sweet, and maybe if Soap’s heart hadn’t belonged to another, then he would have attempted to be friendlier and perhaps get to know the man better, but alas this wasn’t the case. Not only was his team waiting on him, he wasn’t in the mood for Ghost to see him chatting it up with another man. Soap was loyal to his lieutenant, even if the man didn’t know it. But apparently his answer wasn’t enough for the stranger.
“What’s wrong? You were chatting up a storm earlier.” Oh—so the guy had been watching him. John didn’t know why he hadn’t sensed that prior, and it was a little creepy. There was an undertone of concern and worry in the stranger’s voice, but Soap couldn't quite pin it, so he ignored it. John had to bite back a snarky remark. The man was just trying to start a conversation and couldn't pick up a hint.
”Just waiting on my scotch.” He said, treating one of the glass frames behind the bar as a mirror to see if his team was watching. They weren’t.
”Bourbon is better.”
”Objectively.” Soap said with a huff of a chuckle, shaking his head as if he were disappointed. The bartender slid the glass of bourbon to the stranger and the man took it and swirled it before taking a sip, humming in glee. He then asked;
“So, what’s the plan?”
What plan? Who was this guy and what was his deal? Soap, still trying to be friendly as his mama didn’t allow for disrespect, responded as kindly as possible.
“Not much. Waiting on someone to join me and grabbing drinks for the team. Gonna have my scotch, drink some water, and head back to base. Maybe see if I can get a cigar to end the day.” He explained, hoping that the man would get the idea that he had no time for the stranger’s antics and that he wasn’t alone here. However the stranger frowned at the mention of waiting on another.
”Seems like a piss poor way to end a day of celebration. And who would that be? If they aren’t here already, they probably aren’t worth the time.”
Soap resisted the urge to look over and glare at him.With a huff he responded in kind. “That’s a need to know basis. And I can't do much because I have work tomorrow.” He's worth more than you.
The stranger simply hummed disapprovingly, staring down into the swirl of amber in his glass. The bartender set down the 3 glasses in front of John, telling him that he’ll get the bottle back when their tab closes.
“Who says you have work tomorrow?” The man said with a deep chuckle. It wasn’t a dark chuckle, but it did send a shiver down John’s spine. There was no way in hell he was starting a fight just when he’d gotten a promotion. The time he locked an officer in his own car was recounted in his mind. But the implications were clear. It was time to leave
“My Captain says so.” He says in a sarcastic matter-of-fact tone, thanking the bartender as he pulled out his wallet for a tip but the man next to him already laid down 15 pounds for the woman.
“I got it.” He said, his voice smooth like pea gravel. A gentleman and a creep. Awesome.
“Aye, thanks…”
“Anything for you.” He says, standing up with his glass. He towered over Soap.
“After you’ve had your fill, wanna come-“
“Gonna cut you off right there.” Soap says, interrupting the stranger, finally cutting the man off. “I appreciate the gesture but I’m not interested.”
He picks up the 3 glasses, balancing two in one hand. “I already have someone and I’m waiting for him. So if you’ll excuse me, my team is waiting for me.”
The stranger looked a little surprised and confused, clearly shocked enough to not follow John to the booth. He was thankful for that. Soap set the glasses down on the table before collapsing next to Gaz, letting out a heavy sigh before swirling his drink, taking a moment to taste it, taking his time to enjoy it without the towering creep over him. It was good.
“Its got a good pallet. Should send a thank you card to Laswell.” He commented, looking up at Price, about to take a sip but he paused.
Price wasn’t looking at him, he was looking over at the man who was still standing at the bar, having not moved from the spot where John had left him. Price then slowly turned his attention to Soap, looking very confused.
“What did you say to Simon?”
Soap paused, the gears turning in his head. It took him a second to react.
“….thats Ghost?”
Price nodded his head.
“…You’re Simon!?” Soap half shouts across the room.
Simon awkwardly pursed his lips before half-way raising a hand to wave. “Hey Johnny.”
“Jesus Christ and Mother Mary I thought you were-… just get your ass over here.” Soap said, running a hand down his face, feeling embarrassed.
Simon didn’t move. John let out a groan, rolling his eyes.
“We’re the same rank now-“
“I have seniority over your ass.” Simon pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest.
“…get over here sir .”
“Damn straight.” Simon walked over, directing Gaz to sit next to Price so he could slide in next to Soap. But before he did that, Simon reached down and grabbed John’s mohawk, pulling his head back, forcing John to bare his neck up to him. He looked down at him, smiling at the sight.
”Ghost-“
”Simon.” He corrected, setting his drink down before taking John’s glass from his hand and raising it to his mouth.
“Oi- that’s mine.”
“Objectively. Congratulations Johnny.” He said, taking a sip of the scotch before leaning down and kissing him. John could taste it on his tongue, and it tasted sweeter than before.