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A broken nose. A fractured rib. Several broken fingers.
None of it had ever deterred Ghost from showing up to work, motivated and confident as always. They tried to put him on mandatory leave several times, but it was all in vain as he showed up fully dressed and ready on the field every time.
Whether it was bloodthirst, patriotism for a country other than his own, or a lack of identity outside of work, nobody knew. But Ghost's convictions and beliefs were always ones hidden in a mist of rumours.
Yet, all it took was one fateful day to shatter any illusion of the man Ghost presented himself as.
There was no doubt he held a strong fondness for the Sergeant – Everybody did. But Ghost's relationship with him especially crossed a fine line between what was acceptable in their career and what wasn't. Nobody ever mentioned it; Both were great at their jobs, so replacing them over an inappropriate workplace relationship felt like a waste of two perfectly fine killing machines.
Gaz especially felt sympathetic towards the man – not only because he too would miss Soap’s insides, though it was a contributing factor. But because that day, they'd lost more than just a pocketpussy. They’d lost a coworker. A brother in (war) crime. A friend.
Mostly a pocketpussy.
Cheap wine and chocolates wouldn't bring Soap back, but Gaz refused to stand around and do nothing while Ghost was mourning in silence. He wanted to offer his Lieutenant support that he would never seek out himself; The box of condoms in his back pocket was only there just in case.
Gaz knocked on the door of the shady, rundown motel in the middle of nowhere. Even in the dead of night, he was sweating profusely. He waited, but when no response came, he allowed himself entry. “Ghost?”, he asked carefully. “Are you there?”
A silent click made his heart skip a beat. In the dark, he could still make out the faint outline of a gun pointed right where he stood. “Lieutenant, it's me! Kyle!” He put up his hands with the grocery bag visible.
“Sergeant?” Ghost took a sigh of relief. Hesitantly, he lowered the gun. “What are you doing here?”
Gaz briefly looked around, in search for a light switch. When he couldn't spot one, he shut the door behind him before taking a seat on a metal folding chair. “I'm sorry, I know you probably need some time away from everybody, but.. I just can't help but worry about you, Lieutenant”
Ghost was quiet. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot, as if he was waiting for the man to give a better excuse for disturbing him in his mourning. His grip on the gun was weaker, but remained in his hand, safety turned off, regardless. For a few moments, Gaz considered just leaving the bag on the floor and finding his way to the door. He had expected to feel a little unwelcome, but not this much..
A deep sigh broke the silence. “I'm.. happy to see you”
Gaz looked up from his lap. He couldn't hold back the soft smile that crept onto his lips. “I'm happy to see you too. Even though I can't see you at all, actually” He shrugged, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. “For better or for worse”
Ghost huffed. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing” He retrieved the bottle from his grocery bag, handing it to the Lieutenant. “How have you been?”
“When you lose everything,” Ghost sighed, thanklessly accepting his gift, “There's not much else to do but your best to move on”
Gaz nodded, all too familiar with the concept of grief. “I remember when my mum passed away”, he said. “She was sick for a long time, you see. Everybody saw it coming, and yet..”
“I remember losing my childhood friend too” He paused, squinting his eyes. Ghost sighed deeply. “The day Goldie died, I became.. a shadow of my former self”
Gaz paused. “Goldie is..”
“My pet goldfish, yes” Ghost looked to the floor, his voice cracking lightly. “I miss him every day. You know, I thought I had learned to forget the feeling. But when Soap was shot that day..”
“Alright man” Gaz pursed his lips. The lonely motel room fell silent for what felt like ages, if not for the sad buzzing of an old AC. Where the hell did he find this place, he thought. Surely, there had to be nicer motels in Vegas..
There was a vibrating sound coming from Ghost's pocket. Before Gaz could question how big of a freak he was, the Lieutenant had already retrieved his phone. A small, dim light revealed the face of a sad, broken man. There was no mask to hide behind, no warpaint to obscure his features. Still, when he looked at the screen, those sad, droopy eyes gently lit up.
“Heh..”, Ghost chuckled. It was the first time Gaz had seen his lips make that shape.
“What is it?”
“Look at this”
Gaz tilted his head, when the Lieutenant shook his phone in front of his face. IIrritated, the Sergeant took a look at the tab his superior had opened.
“John Mactavish funeral funds” he read out loud. “Funeral- Ghost, we didn't have a funeral”
“We just surpassed thirty thousand”, he ignored him, a toothy grin on his lips. “Isn't that lovely?”
“You- You were there when we spread his ashes..! Why are you raising money?”
Ghost huffed. “Come on now Gaz, don't be such a negative Nancy” He rolled his eyes, leaning further into his seat. “I started the fundraiser before we cremated him”
“John lit up every room he entered - both with bullets, and his smile”, Gaz read. “With hundreds of kills under his belt, it is safe to say America has lost more than just another common slu- Ghost!”
He looked at the Lieutenant, disgusted, but the man only made circling motions with his hand. “Go on, keep reading”
“Why would you- ugh” Gaz kept reading. “Friends and family would describe him as a good man, often calling him nicknames like Sunshine..”
“See?” Ghost nudged. “That's a nice description”
“Why on earth are you raising money? Do they not pay you enough?”
“It's not the money, Kyle. It's the message”
There was a moment of silence between them, as the Sergeant let the words replay through his mind. Before Ghost could continue, he looked back to the phone and scrolled down to the comments.
“This story breaks my heart”, one comment read. “As a Veteran that has lost both my legs in the war after slaughtering several families in the Middle East, it's always sad to see a younger comrade go”
“Can you believe it?”, Ghost added with a hearty laugh. “There are so many people willing to help! If this doesn't make you regain hope for humanity, I don't know what will”
“Ghost, I-” He was searching for an adequate way to express his disgust. For a moment, he considered throwing up on the shabby carpets, but it smelled a lot like somebody had beat him to it – or maybe Ghost just didnt wash. “You don't need any of this.. you need to refund these people immediately”
“I would, trust me” He put a hand over his heart. “But I need it for my medical bills, you see. That's what my caretaker said, and besides, Soap would've wanted it”
“Caretaker?” Gaz got up from the chair, pushing it back a little harsher than he wanted to. “What bloody caretaker? What's their name?”
“You know..” Ghost tilted his head. “My caretaker”
“Man fuck you” Gaz checked his pockets and zipped up his jacket. He took the bag with his chocolates.
“Fuck me yourself, coward!”, Ghost yelled as his colleague stormed out of the motel room. “Try to stop me, I dare you!”
“Hey there hot stuff,” purred a seductive voice. “Lonely on a Friday night?”
“Hm, you could say so..” Ghost looked up from his phone, right into a pair of mismatched eyes. He paused. “Makarov?”
“Riley?” The Russian froze. “What are you doing here?!”
“Why are you dressed like a stripper?”
They looked at each other for a moment, both unsure what to do or say next. Makarov fixed his posture first.
“Well excuse me” He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head slightly as if he was looking down at the man before him. “But terrorism doesn't exactly pay a livable wage”
“So you resorted to stripping?”
“Stripping is a job like any other, dipshit” He shifted his weight from one hip to another. “I know damn well the military is not paying you enough to blow all your money on Vegas hookers”
A third voice chimed in. “What's going on here?”
“Osya, can you believe it? One of Price’s men's here”
“Holy shit, Allen? Is that you?” Ghost got up, taking a better look at the bartender's face. “We thought you were dead!”
“I am dead”, Allen assured. “Drop dead gorgeous, that is”
“That's true”, Makarov agreed with a nod. “I always liked blondes with green eyes”
“What the-”
“It's good to see you, Simon” Allen pulled the man into a quick bro-hug. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, you know.. Drinking away the sorrows”
Makarov furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh that's right” he snapped his fingers, pointing them at Simon. “I shot your man”
“Jokes on you, I raised thirty thousand dollars over it”, he snapped back.
Makarov furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”
“Boom, Makawhore” He showed him the fundraiser.
Makarov and Allen looked at the screen. Their faces went from confused to disgusted within seconds. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”, Makarov muttered after a long pause.
“And you know what the best part is?” Ghost gave him no time to guess. “I got hella bitches in my DMs now. Most are calling me a loser and a felon, but guess who's not responding”
Allen pursed his lips. “You need to get help, man”
“What's that? Can't hear you over the sound of thirty thousand dollars in my personal bank account” Ghost chugged down the last sip of whiskey in his glass and got up from his booth. “See you in federal court, losers”