Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

--

Ghost stood with his hands folded behind his back, looking through the one-way mirror and into the interrogation room. Inside, sitting in a solitary metal chair was Soap. Or- not Soap, but whatever remained of him.

The man Ghost knew, the man he loved, wasn’t there anymore.

Beyond the glass, Soap was anything but still. He twitched at the smallest noise: a door closing or footsteps passing by the door. It was nothing like how his Johnny moved. His Johnny was always in motion, too, but it was different. Even when anxious, his movements were rhythmic and fluid, like he was moving to one of the silly songs Soap hummed when he thought no one was listening.

Everything this man was was a mockery of his Johnny. Ghost inhaled deeply, trying to bury his feelings deep inside his chest. Johnny brought him back to life, and it nearly killed him again when he died. Makarov shot Johnny point blank, and they hadn’t been able to secure his body in time.

Makarov did this.

Makarov’s men stole Johnny’s body before it could go cold and turned him into this unfeeling thing. It didn’t matter that they sported the same haircut or that Soap wore his Johnny’s clothes. No. They weren’t the same, no matter how similar they looked.

It’d been three days since the 141 captured him, and they were no closer to finding answers now than they had been in that burned-out building in Russia. They’d had a funeral for Soap, for fuck’s sake. He was dead. He had been dead.

Ghost shook his head and buried his face in his hands, trying not to scream as he recalled the moment for the hundredth time. They’d fought through a hoard of mercenaries, only for a masked assailant to get the drop on them, knocking Price out and killing one of their other SAS soldiers. Makarov slithered out from beneath Ghost’s boot again and instantly made months of work worthless. 

Well, it wasn’t completely worthless. Ghost opened his eyes to look at Soap again. No. Unmasking Soap was something. They’d seen him before, Makarov’s newest pet assassin. But this time, during the fighting, they’d gotten close, and when Ghost knocked the mask off, underneath, it was Johnny.

“Soap?” Ghost had asked, frozen in place and dropping his ready stance. All his training fell to the wayside in the face of his partner.

“Who the fuck is Soap?” was the man’s reply. Even his accent was wrong, and if it hadn’t been for Gaz shoving Ghost out of the way, Ghost would have been dead. If not for Gaz, Ghost wouldn’t have to see the love of his life slowly starving himself to death.

Whatever Makarov did to him must’ve been brutal. Ghost shivered, remembering the things Roba put him through all those years ago. Johnny was strong, but Ghost saw the barely scabbed wounds and scars beneath Soap’s clothes. The doctors scanned his brain and explained how Makarov’s bullet may have changed Soap irreparably. 

“Only time will tell,” they said.

The problem was they didn’t have time. They needed Soap to talk because fucking Makarov was still running rampant with more missiles. It wasn’t just that Ghost needed his Johnny back. No, the world needed him, too.

Ghost inhaled shakily and touched the glass. He couldn’t feel the chill through his glove.

With Soap refusing food and the looming threats, they had no choice but to move to more extreme measures. Either Soap would remember who he was and help, or the world would burn. Either Soap remembered he was Johnny, or he’d starve himself. No one would come for him here. Makarov discarded his toys like cigarette butts, always looking for the next hit.

Pain wouldn’t work. There was no reasoning with him. Gaz and Price both tried appealing to the human underneath the mask. Laswell, the most skilled interrogator they had besides Ghost, couldn’t make him budge, nor could the other interrogators they tried.

It was down to Ghost.

Thus far, he hadn’t managed to step inside the room. He’d only seen Soap from behind the glass, unable to bear the man seeing him despite watching him silently for hours. Simon didn’t know if he could stand that blank expression again. Soap looked beyond him like their year together hadn’t mattered.

Ghost released another breath slowly, looking down at the box he had brought. It was something the doctors suggested to help Soap’s memory. It might not work, but showering Soap with familiar things might bring him back. Gaz tried many things, and his sketchbook hadn’t worked. Johnny’s playlist over the speakers hadn’t phased him. The smell of his favourite foods appeared to nauseate him if anything.

Ghost’s turn at interrogation (or whatever this turned into) was their last ditch effort, and it sickened Ghost.

Behind him, right on schedule, the door opened. He didn’t need to turn to find out it was Laswell; he recognized her gait. The woman met him at the glass. “The building is secure,” she promised without looking at him. The red, blinking camera light in the top corner of the room was dark.

Ghost glanced at her and caught her dour expression before grunting an acknowledgement.

“You don’t have to do this, Ghost,” she said. “We’ll find-”

“No.” Ghost cut her off. They didn’t have any other ways, not in time to stop Makarov, not in time to ensure Soap didn’t kill himself. They couldn’t hold him like this forever. “I’ll call you when I’m through.”

“For what it’s worth,” she began lifting her hand but dropped it back to her side. She knew better than to pat Ghost’s shoulder like he knew she wanted to. Other than Price, no one alive knew him better. His Johnny was dead. Laswell cleared her throat and tried again. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Ghost.”

He grunted again, and Laswell left them alone.

It was good that he was already a monster and his Johnny was dead. If this didn’t work, Simon didn’t think he would survive.

--

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

--

When Ghost found the courage to move, he set his jaw and clenched his hands tight enough around the small wooden box to make it creak. He took a steadying breath before opening the door and walking in like he would any other interrogation. He kept his head held high and focused anywhere but on his mark.

It wasn’t so different from a scene. Ghost needed to maintain control.

Ghost locked the door behind himself and headed for the table, placing the box down carefully and turning toward Soap. The room was fairly barren, with grey and blank walls, a mirrored window and a single door. Beyond Soap’s seat and the metal table, an old computer chair was available for the interrogator.

When he turned his gaze to Soap, the man glared at him without recognition. A mask covered the lower half of his face. Well, it was less of a mask and more of a muzzle. Ghost heard his voice through it a handful of times; while he could speak, it muffled him. He was almost glad because it meant he didn’t feel the full force of Soap’s stormy expression or have to hear the abomination of his accentless voice.

Strangely, the muzzle was the only thing he seemed to need; each time they left his hands free, Soap would cover his face with them or his shirt. Eventually, Laswell offered it back as a show of good faith, not that it’d gotten them any in return.

Here and now, Soap refused to speak, and the silence was already grating. He missed Johnny’s chatter. No matter. Ghost returned to ignoring Soap as he unlocked and opened the box with a small key that he kept on his dog tags. It was Johnny’s key, which unlocked both this box and the man’s collar. The one Johnny trusted him with in the months after Las Almas when their relationship moved from friendly to intimate and when Johnny’s persistence broke through Simon’s fragile barriers.

“Do you remember your words, pup?” Ghost asked, reaching into the box and stoking the bright red collar. He’d only opened the box once since his Johnny died.

When he glanced over, Soap hadn’t moved. They based their BDSM contract on passive consent, and Johnny was a yes until it became a no. Ghost knew this was never the circumstance either of them meant when they signed that agreement, but he held onto it. Ghost could punish himself later, whether this worked or not. He had to try. He couldn’t not try.

“I don’t hear red,” he continued, straightening as he pulled the collar out and turned so Soap could see it. Beyond a slight narrowing of his eyes, Soap didn’t react. “If you cannot speak, your signal is three taps on me or the floor.”

They’d gone over these rules tens of times, before every scene and sometimes even again in the middle when Johnny needed reminders of his words: the stoplight system. He stepped closer, and if Ghost hadn’t been watching for it, he wouldn’t have seen the slightest tension slide down Soap’s spine. Soap wasn’t expecting this. Good. If he could unbalance the man, he would be more likely to give in.

Ghost wrapped the leather band around Soap’s neck and pulled it two notches too tight, watching Soap twitch and try not to squirm before loosening it to the usual place and locking it. “Anxious, pup?” he teased, sliding two gloved fingers under the band to check the fit before pulling tight again. “You should be.”

He jerked his hand, forcing Johnny to move with him or be choked even worse.

“You’ve been a bad dog,” Ghost growled, lowering himself to Soap’s ear. “Biting and barking. Did you forget all the work we’ve done?”

Soap wheezed.

“It’s all right, pup,” Ghost continued as he released the collar and returned to the box. Inside were a few of their other toys, but he’d need only one to start them off. He grabbed the collar’s matching red leash and folded it carefully over itself a few times before slashing it like a whip. The noise satisfied him, but the twitch of Johnny’s eyebrow was better.

“I’ll remind you of where your place is.”

The next time Ghost brought the makeshift whip down, it was on Soap’s thigh. Through the thick cargo pants he wore, it wouldn’t cut; hell, it would hardly bruise, but the sound made Ghost’s neck prickle. Soap’s sharp inhale sounded like it should.

He brought the leash down again, ensuring he hit the same place before switching to the other thigh and hitting him twice more. Soap took it as well as his Johnny would. Before Johnny, Ghost had never seen the appeal, but he taught him to enjoy impact play. Watching Johnny take all that hurt and use it, Ghost inhaled shakily, the adrenaline already rushing into his veins. It was a thrill like no other.

Five, six.

Still, Soap didn’t make a sound.

Seven. There! There it was. The smallest hitch in Soap’s breathing came first, and a pained gasp followed the eighth. “Two more, pup.”

Soap finally met his eyes then, glaring. That was good. Ghost could work with anger. His Johnny would glare at him before melting and turning sweet enough to rot his teeth. Ghost would do anything for him, even if it meant this. If he could make Soap’s body remember him, then maybe, just maybe, the rest of him would start to remember, too.

“Fucker!” Soap swore as the ninth lash hit.

“Did I say you could speak?” Ghost challenged, and when Soap didn’t answer or meet Ghost’s gaze, he grabbed the man’s chin and forced him to look. “Unless it’s red or Makerov’s location, I don’t want to hear it. Nod if you understand.”

Ghost had to wait, but once Soap realized that Ghost had nothing but patience, he relented and nodded once. Relief flooded Simon. Soap understood him, and he could speak if he chose to. He wasn’t saying no and had his word or signal if anything Ghost offered became too much.

Again, it wasn’t the consent he wanted, but he would grasp at this straw until it crumbled.

“Good boy,” Ghost praised, lowering his hand to thumb over the collar. He’d always loved how red stood out against Soap’s skin and lived for the days he could make Johnny blush almost as dark with his praises. He’d never wanted to make the man cry more than he did today. Soap had so many tears to make up for.

With another pat on his cheek, Ghost stepped away and straightened.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of your punishment,” he said, circling. “We’ll start again.”

To his credit, Soap didn’t flinch. The strikes returned in a burst. This time, they were peppered on his thighs, the man’s calves, and the sides of his legs. The lashings were sharp stings and laid-in bruises that would disappear within a few days. In their past life, the bruises would be enough to make Johnny sore but not immobile. Simon would press into them at night and tease gasps from his lips as he laid into his partner, soft and sweet until their next scene.

Simon loved the dichotomy of their relationship. Johnny would take it all from the possessive, demanding beast Ghost could be to the most gentle lover, carding his fingers through Soap’s freshly shorn hair. Fuck, he missed Johnny like he would a limb.

“Ten,” Ghost said on his last strike. That made nineteen total. Soap had, of course, taken more on occasion, but it still made the man sweat. He sat hunched forward in the metal chair, with a light sheen of sweat building on his brow. Ghost unravelled the leash and clipped it to the collar without ceremony. “Behave.”

Rounding the chair, Ghost unfastened the chain, locking Soap’s cuffs on the chair before grabbing him firmly and helping him rise without taking the manacles off. It was awkward, but soon, Soap could stand on wavering legs. It’d hurt to stand after sitting in one position for so long, and more so after the recent strikes, but he didn’t allow Soap to fall and relished in the pained little ‘huff’ noises he made.

Instead, Ghost stepped closer and wrapped the leash around his gloved fist. He was only wearing one of his usual short-sleeved compression shirts, forgoing a jumper and wished he’d taken the time to remove Soap’s thick leather jacket. But it was cold in the interrogation room, and Laswell’s guards left it on him after allowing Soap to shower earlier. They only gave him his old clothes to wear, taking the ones Makerov gave him away. Again, they kept trying familiar items, thinking it would bring their Johnny back.

Ghost swallowed and brought his masked face to Soap’s neck. He smelled like himself, too. Instead of the generic shit the base supplied, Johnny always preferred fancy soaps, and when Gaz entered the tomb that they’d left of Johnny’s on-base room, Gaz only brought the things he thought would spark memories. He chose wintergreen shampoo, making Soap smell of the forests and petrichor.

When Soap fidgeted, Ghost moved and floored the man. It didn’t take much in his weakened, doe-legged state. A knee pressed against the back of Soap’s bad one made him buckle. Ghost wasn’t so fucked in the head that he let Soap’s knees crack against the concrete. No, he helped the man down with his hold on his arms. Like with the lashing, he always avoided Soap’s true sore spots, including the bullet wound from Las Almas and an old stab wound from his early SAS days.

Ghost stepped in front of him and, with a sharp tug on his mohawk, pulled Soap’s face against his groin. “You haven’t earned this,” Ghost taunted, pressing his hips forward and rubbing himself against the muzzle. “Have you, pup?”

Soap tried to pull away, but Ghost only tightened his hold.

“Stubborn,” he spat and released Soap’s head only to shove him to the side, making Soap crumble from the unexpected force. He instinctively tucked his chin before it could slam into the ground, but Ghost could see it hurt. Soap would have another bruise on his arm, for sure.

Still, he kept moving. Ghost kicked Soap onto his belly with his boot, and with the leash, he tugged Soap’s neck into an arch. The man writhed on the floor, squirming as he tried to right himself or take the pressure off his throat.

“On your knees,” Ghost ordered, letting off the leash just enough to allow him to move. “Seems I need to remind you of your manners. I’d make you lick my boots, but you haven’t earned that either, have you?”

Soap huffed and glared over his shoulder, making Ghost smirk behind his mask. Oh, his Johnny was still in there. He knew it now and tightened his grip on Soap’s leash. His arch was almost perfect, and he tsked before kicking his feet further apart and pressing his boot into Soap’s ass. 

“There we are,” Ghost cooed in a mockery of kindness. The voice he knew always made his Johnny’s blood hot with embarrassment. “Perfect for me.”

Soap tried to escape, but Ghost tugged his leash and pressed the heel of his boot into Soap’s ass, angling to put pressure against his balls. Soap momentarily whined before cutting off the noise with another huff.

“Don’t worry, pup, I haven’t forgotten how much you like that.”

Keeping the leash taught, Ghost removed his boot and squatted behind Soap. He rubbed from the man’s bad knee up to press into the blooming bruises on his thigh. Soap fidgeted but couldn’t buck Ghost off between the cuffs and collar. Ghost’s hand trailed up, teasing his hip crease before tracing between his legs.

“This stops if you want it to,” Ghost reminded Soap. “Say red or tap, and it’ll end like always.” He waited. When Soap didn’t safeword, relief flooded Ghost’s veins. “Good boy,” Ghost praised again.

Soap earned the hand on his cock, and Ghost laughed when he found it hard and straining against his cargo pants. He leaned close as he tugged Soap’s head back to speak into his ear. “Your body remembers, doesn’t it?”

Soap didn’t reply verbally, but his body did. Ghost heard the man’s throat click as he swallowed and shut his eyes tightly. Ghost didn’t stop caressing him roughly through the fabric, making the younger man fill out in his pants. He felt huge like this, looming over his lover. Soap wasn’t a small man, but Ghost was bigger.

“You want more, don’t you?” he teased, flicking the button and unfastening the zipper. “Greedy little thing.” Ghost gripped him over his underwear and gave a few strokes, causing Soap to hiss as he tried to maintain his silence. “That’s it, isn’t it? You need it. You need me.”

Ghost dropped the tension on Soap’s lead and let him breathe as he released Soap’s cock and straightened. With his boot, he shoved Soap over onto his back and could almost feel Soap’s glare now. If looks could kill, he mused as he circled Soap again. His cock poked out from his pants, red and leaking. Ghost couldn’t help but stiffen in return.

He stepped closer, menacing, and Soap scrambled away, only to find himself trapped against the wall. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go, and Ghost reminded him of his tether with another tug on his lead.

“You’re with me unless you have something to say?”

Soap stayed quiet, and Ghost dragged the interrogator’s chair closer before sitting down. The old wheels squeaked and whined as he dropped heavily. Ghost leaned forward and, with one sharp tug, pulled Soap’s pants down below his ass, showing off his straining cock even more. Soap’s boots would stop Ghost from disrobing him entirely.

He sat back in the chair, his eyes feasting on the sight before him. Soap’s cheeks were red above his muzzle, and his breaths strained. With one boot planted, Ghost brought the other up to step on Soap’s thigh. The man tensed unbelievably tight and looked away, refusing to meet Ghost’s eyes as he watched his chest quickly rise and fall while Soap tried to catch his breath. He grinned.

“Poor puppy,” Ghost cooed while grinding his boot into the man’s groin. Soap was always a glutton for punishment. He pressed harder before lightening up and tracing the length with the rough boot leather. “You need reminding of your place. It’s here, pup, at my feet.” He increased the pressure, making Soap gasp. “Under my boot.”

While toying with Soap, Ghost’s mind spun. His body knew Ghost. It must, to trust him like this, with his pants pulled down his thighs and cock fully hard despite the rougher treatment. It’d taken so long to get to this point where they could indulge their darkest desires together. Johnny needed to hurt but couldn’t trust anyone with this kind of power, and Simon needed to control while always knowing the pain could stop with a simple word or action.

Johnny was the one truly in control. He kept Simon’s heart in a stranglehold.

He would bring Johnny back.

The release of pressure on Soap’s balls sounded painful, and when wetness grew at the corners of Soap’s eyes, Ghost tsked again. “Crying already, pup? We’ve only just begun.” 

--

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 

--

Ghost allowed Soap to come down and enjoyed the picture he made, panting for breath on the floor. His forehead shone, and a few drops of sweat trickled down his forehead. Soap’s eyes fogged with that familiar lust Ghost always knew lurked beneath the surface of his Johnny. Those perfect baby blue irises almost disappeared behind his pupils.

When Ghost’s gaze traced lower, he saw the tremble in Soap’s abs. It made Ghost salivate behind his balaclava. He chose the hardshell today and was already considering removing it as it was heavy on the bridge of his nose and didn’t allow him to smell his partner. Johnny always liked seeing his face in times like these, and familiarity was the point of this exercise. It would be one more piece of their relationship slotted back in place.

But then Soap blinked a few times, forcing the haze away. No. There would be a better time to remove the mask. Ghost had work to do first.

“Stay,” he ordered, standing to fetch the small rubber ring from their box. He lingered, allowing the anxiety to build in Soap before returning to find him unmoved. “So, you can listen.”

Soap didn't answer and continued to watch Ghost, still breathing heavily.

Only when Ghost knelt beside Soap to slide the small silicone ring on did the man try to escape. He attempted to headbutt Ghost but didn't get far before Ghost pinned him with his knee on Soap's hip, viciously digging into the soft joint. He tugged Soap’s leash with his free hand and waved the ring before Soap’s nose.

“Spoke too soon,” Ghost commented, forcing disappointment rather than anger into his tone. “Bad dogs don't get to come. You know that, puppy.”

Soap swallowed thickly, and his leg twitched at the pressure, but he didn't try to escape again as Ghost fit the tight ring onto his cock. A bead of precum dribbled down the length, and Ghost thumbed it away.

“Pretty, boy,” he said, and the praise deepened Soap’s blush. “Oh, you still like that? You like it when I call you pretty?” Ghost stroked the bare skin above the muzzle with his knuckles. “You've always been a beautiful pup; I’ll make you remember.”

He wanted more. He wanted to be back inside his lover, but—not until Johnny returned. While he could see the change in him, this man wasn't his partner yet.

Ghost took his time taking Soap apart with his hands. He knew the right amount of pressure to apply to cause pleasure and pain but not injury and when to release his knee so he wouldn’t damage Soap’s hip. Soap took it all with small gasps and whines and without further swearing as he might’ve done before. Ghost dearly missed the Scottish insults.

The third time he brought Soap to the edge, Soap’s eyes slammed shut, and he moaned so loudly that Ghost teased the entire base would hear him. “Is that what you want? You want everyone to come and see you like this?” He gestured to the mirrored window. “You want the others to watch me take you apart?”

Soap’s answer was another trickle of pre-cum leaking down his shaft, and Ghost laughed. He knew better than anyone what it was like to rely on a mask, but it was still tempting to remove it so he could press his fingers onto Soap’s tongue.

“Desperate for it,” he said, gathering the cum on his fingers before sneaking it under his balaclava to taste instead. It was horrible, and he spat it out, hitting Soap’s face in haste. Ghost pulled away, grimacing. “Disgusting. The fuck did they feed you?”

Soap's expression shifted for the first time since Ghost entered the room, and Ghost froze, realizing what he’d done. When he lifted his hand, intending to wipe the spit away, Soap shrunk back from his touch as if expecting Ghost to strike him.

“Easy, puppy,” Ghost soothed. “Too much?”

A wide-eyed stare and whimper met him head-on, and Ghost’s brow furrowed. In the heat of Soap’s ruined orgasms, it’d been too easy to forget what he was here to accomplish. Ghost knew he was supposed to bring Johnny back by any means necessary, even if that meant sex, but he was supposed to try to convince Soap’s body that he was safe. 

He was failing.

“Right,” Ghost nodded, relaxing on his haunches to give Soap more space. “Let’s try something else, pup. Unless you want to stop?”

Ghost waited for acknowledgement, and Soap tested his patience as they locked into a staring contest. If his Johnny flinched like that or didn’t offer a green, it would've been an immediate end to their activities, and Soap's flinch now was a blatant yellow. As much as Ghost wanted to stop, he still needed that information and his boy back. He had to keep pushing because it was the only way to bring Johnny back when nothing else moved him- not friendly faces, sights, or sounds. Ghost couldn’t allow his Johnny to waste away.

Makarov stole him from them, but Simon could still see Johnny through the cracks in his facade. He needed to push a little more because, as much as their scenes could hurt, they always worked to bring Johnny back to earth. 

More pain or degradation wouldn’t help, not today, and Johnny always trusted Simon to know when to adjust his approach. Simon needed to prove he deserved that trust today, stopping without Soap’s words and giving him what he needed.

When Ghost moved his hands, Soap lost the staring contest and watched with rapt attention. He removed his gloves and tossed them to the side.

“We can stop here,” Ghost reminded him, reaching out slowly enough that Soap could move away if he wanted to, and Ghost would respect it. He didn't. Soap allowed Ghost’s gentle fingertips to land on the side of his neck, the first bare-skin contact they'd shared since the day Johnny died. It made Soap shiver. “You don't need to tell me to stop, Johnny. Not this time.”

His thumb softly traced the collar, and Ghost pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with his free hand and then used it to wipe away the wad of spit and pre-cum.

“That's better, isn't it?”

Soap relaxed into his hands, and Ghost took his time relearning the beginnings of crow's feet by Johnny's eyes and finding his new scars. He could feel the little goose pimples on his nape.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, still soft and gentle. Soap hesitantly nodded. “Good boy, thank you for telling me. You want it off?”

Again, he nodded, and Ghost easily removed the ring from Soap's fading erection.

“Better?” he asked, but Soap shook his head and butted his masked chin against Ghost's forearm. “You want this off, too, pup?”

He whined and pressed harder into Ghost’s touch as he unfastened the muzzle, making hearing his noises and his breathing easier. Ghost didn’t like how it was still laboured, and he gently cradled Soap’s bare face in his hands, massaging his jaw with his thumbs. Ghost could see all the changes in his partner without the offending cover. Yes, there was the new bullet scar above his ear, but his face changed too. He looked gaunt, and his lips were chapped like he’d been chewing them raw.

“You’re so good for me,” Ghost told him. Soap shook his head and looked away, but Ghost knew this was working more than the rest. He pulled off his mask and touched Johnny’s face again. With a gentle tug, he waited for Johnny to meet his gaze. “Look at me, love.”

Tears welled in Soap’s eyes, and his lower lip trembled.

“There you are.” 

Ghost smiled softly. It wasn’t an expression he offered often, not even to his Johnny, but it had the intended effect and made Soap relax into his grip. Simon leaned forward and gently kissed the corner of Soap’s mouth. Soap chased him as Ghost leaned away, but he stopped him with another careful hand. 

“Soon, love,” Simon promised. “But first, tell me who you belong to.”

A tear trailed down his cheek as Soap opened his mouth and tried twice before he could form the words “You” and “Simon.”

Ghost rewarded him with another kiss, allowing Johnny to kiss him back as he wiped away the tears. He felt the man struggling against his restraints to try and get closer to him, so Ghost quickly adjusted their position and pulled Johnny into his lap after sitting on the cold floor. As much as he wanted to get carried away with his partner returning to life before his eyes, the mission and all those millions of people relying on them came first.

Adjusting them again, he let Johnny’s head rest on his chest and over his heart. He pulled the man’s pants up, too, leaving him less exposed to the barren room. Oh, how he wished they were back in their flat now or at least one of the on-base rooms instead of this lifeless space. Ghost wanted their cozy blankets and mismatched artwork. After making him a hot chocolate and dinner, he could tuck Johnny into bed.

Instead, they were here. Simon rocked Johnny carefully and soothed his tears away with soft, rumbling praises, reminding Johnny of how good he was and how much Simon missed him.

“Simon,” Johnny sniffled after a while, burrowing into his chest.

“I’m here, Johnny,” he replied, stroking his hair and caressing his face. “We can go home soon, alright? Just tell me where Makarov is.”

Johnny’s throat clicked as he swallowed. “You won’t leave me?”

Simon leaned back, allowing Johnny to see his face as he replied seriously. “If I have my way, I’ll never let you out of sight again. The others will handle it. I promise.”

When Johnny nodded, Ghost called Laswell and let Johnny speak to her directly. This time, they would bring Makerov down for good. It was only a matter of time.

--