Work Text:
Soap groaned as he sat against his bed frame, trying to sketch in his journal. His shoulder was throbbing with pain. He glanced at the small THC vial on his nightstand, a gift from Gaz who was tired of Soap's constant whining and moans about his shoulder after every mission. Soap sighed, eyeing the vial. It had helped him a lot, but he hated the taste—too bitter and lingering.
He was pondering ways to make it more bearable when a familiar, gravelly voice echoed through the halls. “YOU MUPPETS!!” Price yelled angrily. Soap immediately jumped up and rushed to the lounge room, where everyone had gathered in the hallway, witnessing Price scouring the fridge. “Where’s my chips and curry? I left it here last night, and now it's gone!” Price slammed the fridge shut, glaring at everyone. Price was already grumpy as it is, poor old man didn’t have time to rest.
“You muppets eat my goddamn food, and I’ll string you up!” he barked, making everyone scatter as he pushed through them, making the walk of shame back to his office with a handful of nothing.
Roach dashed into the kitchen after Price, rummaging through the cabinets. Everything came up empty, except for a half-empty box of pasta noodles, but clearly not what he was looking for. He stomped angrily, waving his arms before signing, “Where are my bag of pretzels?” with a scowl. “I hid them and everything.”
Gaz raised his hands defensively. “I swear I didn’t touch them, bug. I would never do that to you.” Soap awkwardly avoided Gaz’s gaze, turning to escape back to his room, only to bump into something—or rather someone. Ghost stared down at Soap, who had a face full of his tits.
“LT…fancy seeing you here,” Soap stammered, his face turning red as he awkwardly backed away.
Gaz stifled his laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth. Ghost’s usual menacing aura remained, ignoring Soap’s embarrassment of getting caught between his boobs and pushing past him.
Ghost grumbled as he searched the tiny kitchen. “…’ungry…more,” he muttered before stomping back to his office when he couldn’t find what he wanted.
Gaz gave Soap a confused look, clearly suspicious. Ghost was a big man—how did he maintain that bulk? Gaz sighed in frustration and approached Roach. “If it makes you feel any better, bug, I lost my box of Jaffa cakes too. I was really looking forward to them after we got back…”
Soap hummed thoughtfully. Jaffa cakes were good, though he wasn’t a fan of orange jam. Chocolate was strong; maybe he could bake some brownies…
***
Soap pulled the last batch of brownies from the oven, grabbing a few as he snacked on his way back to his bunk. He relaxed as the effects kicked in, lying on his bed and doodling peacefully. No more aches—just a sense of calm.
That was until Ghost practically crashed through his door. Soap scrambled up, alarmed. “GHOST!? IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT?” he asked as Ghost loomed over the foot of Soap’s bed, grumbling weakly.
“Ate your brownies…feel weird,” Ghost growled, clearly displeased. “What did you put in them?” Soap chuckled, shaking his head. “I put THC in them, sir. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist,” he clarified. Ghost looked up with a spaced-out, confused stare. “Weed brownies,” Soap added. Ghost froze, wide-eyed. “What?”
Soap laughed nervously, growing more concerned as Ghost’s breathing became rapid. “Hey! Hey! Solid LT?” Ghost shook his head, looking increasingly unsettled. His usual sharp, calculated demeanor was replaced by sluggish movements, as if he were weighed down. When Soap reached out to put a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, Ghost flinched and gripped Soap’s hand painfully.
Soap winced and pulled away. “It’s okay, sir! I’m not trying to do anything. Just—just lie down. Okay? I—I have snacks!” Ghost stared at him, unsure whether he was spacing out or trying to maintain his intimidating aura. Soap dug through his drawer and pulled out a bag of pretzels. Ghost cautiously took it, examining the already-opened bag with suspicion. He glared at Soap as if he were trying to poison him. Soap held his hands up defensively. “They’re normal! I promise!”
Reluctantly, Ghost began snacking on the pretzels. He remained tense and guarded, leaning away from Soap. Soap sighed and leaned back against the wall. “C’mon, LT, you trust me…right?” he said uncertainly. He wanted to say Ghost was his friend, but the truth was, Ghost was quiet and standoffish with everyone, including him—except in Las Almas, where things had felt different. Perhaps it was the blood loss that made Ghost seem more concerned for Johnny.
Ghost sat on Soap’s bed, mumbling with his mouth full of pretzels, “Do drugs normally, Johnny?” Soap chuckled nervously, still worried Ghost might break his hand. “For my aches, Ghost. I don’t hit a bong every day.”
Ghost nodded idly, starting to relax and slouch. He swayed a bit, losing the strength to keep himself upright, and his head fell onto Soap’s shoulder. Soap looked down in shock, his cheeks flushing bright red. He remained still, letting Ghost relax. Ghost looked up at him with his piercing blue eyes. “This feels weird…” he mumbled. Johnny chuckled. “I put a lot in, made it for the team. You deserve a little relief once in a while, eh?” Ghost hummed and buried his face in Johnny’s neck. Johnny held his breath, staying still as if any movement might scare Ghost away. “You’re doing pretty good for your first time… I MEAN—TRYING WEED!” Johnny stammered, his flustered words making the situation even more awkward.
Ghost groaned and shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Ghost, increasingly frustrated, eventually ripped off his mask, surprising Johnny. “H-Hey! Ghost! You took off your mask!” Johnny exclaimed, realizing the lieutenant had little control over his actions. Simon shoved his face back into Johnny’s side. “‘S doesn’t matter…trust ‘ou Johnny…” he mumbled.
Simon looked up at Johnny, who stared back, breathless. Simon’s brown eyes were soft, his Glasgow smile etched deeply in cheeks but he loved them. He loved everything about Simon. Johnny gently held Simon’s cheek, melting against it. He rumbled quietly, like a purring cat. Johnny smiled. “Secretly a cat, sir?” he asked softly. Simon hummed. “Simon.” he insisted. Johnny rolled his eyes playfully. “Okay, secretly a cat, Simon?” he repeated. Simon giggled—a rare sound that took Johnny by surprise. What had he done? This wasn’t Ghost anymore; he had somehow broken him! Simon looked up at Johnny, slurring, “Only for you, Johnny…only for you…” before promptly dozing off in Johnny’s lap. Johnny was left dumbfounded, a light blush spreading across his cheeks as he stared down at Simon.
***
Price, the hungry old man, eagerly devoured the tray of brownies. Gaz and Roach walked in, eyes widening as they saw the nearly empty tray. “Oh, brownies! Where’d you get these, Cap’n?” Gaz asked curiously, taking a piece and breaking it in half to share with Roach, who ate it eagerly.
Price shrugged. “Dunno, some lad made them…taste kinda weird though, but I’m starving,” he said with a hearty chuckle.
Gaz took a bite and instantly recognized the taste. “It’s a weed brownie, sir,” he clarified. Roach smirked and nudged Gaz’s arm, then signed to Price, “Forever weed brownie sir.”
Price froze, the brownie he was holding suspended in mid-air. His eyes widened with frightening realization. “The…what?”