Chapter Text
The post mission come-down after Chicago hits Soap like a lorry belting down the M6. It’s only after transport drops him and Ghost off at sterling lines, Price and Gaz moving on to another American base to chase a lead on Markov, that he starts properly thinking about the several times he nearly died.
Ghost immediately disappears just like his namesake but that’s no surprise. Everyone who has ever worked with him knows that he only appears for missions, never seen on base except for briefings and shipping off. Soap assumes he has accommodation off-base. That or he really does hang upside down in a nearby cave like the rumours say.
Soap wouldn’t mind chatting it out with the big guy. It’s clear that Ghost has been through his own share of shit and could probably provide a sage grunt or even a shit joke. Not much but John has been soaking up any attention he can get from his lieutenant, his little crush has become a fully formed thing. It’s a little embarrassing especially as he hasn’t even seen the creepy fucker’s face.
Instead of thinking more about any of that, Soap takes a long warm-ish low pressure shower, eats about 5000 calories worth of finest army slop, and passes out. Only to be woken up every hour feeling like he’s falling from a skyscraper window. Great.
At 4am he gives up on the idea of real rest and heads to the rec room in the hopes of stealing someone’s Horlicks and chilling on the lumpy sofa for an hour or so. He has another hope. One that he always has when stationed in Hereford - ever since that first night. If, by some miracle, Riley is here then he’ll have everything he wants and needs. He’ll have a kind ear to vent to, someone who he can have a real crush on because they aren’t some legendary spirit, and he’ll for sure get that cup of horlicks. Riley always delivers.
Soap first met Riley on a night just like this one, both of them sleep deprived and hurting in ways that words couldn’t really describe. Riley had been tucked into a corner of the sofa, making his large frame look impossibly small. He’d been wrapped around a cup of tea and a battered copy of Frankenstein. They hadn’t even spoken properly that first night. Soap had simply made his own drink, taken up the other corner and used the other man’s very company to settle himself. At some point Riley had started reading out loud. The sad tale of a misunderstood monster read in a deep northern drawl had put Soap to sleep faster than any sleeping aid he’d had before.
After that they had sought each other out. Not just at night but when both of them were one base together they were practically inseparable. They’d have meals together, go to the gym together, and yes on those sleepless nights they would share Riley’s supply of hot malt drinks and chocolate hobnobs.
Soap could admit to having a crush on Ghost but he could never voice the depth of the feelings he has about Riley. He will call it a crush because admitting to anything else is a bit too much for him. The thing is both men are his type, admittedly his type is ‘big enough to chuck me about’ but there are other aspects. They are both sharp and dry, both kind in their own ways. The real kicker with Riley is the guy is an absolute looker. Sure Ghost might be too under the mask but Soap is sure he has nothing on the angelic beauty that Riley has going for him. All soft features and glowing golden curls.
The other appealing aspect about Riley is that he’s real. He has a name and a face, when asked he’ll give some details about himself. Enough that Soap knows that they are alike; always hanging around base because they have nowhere and no one else to go to. Soap knows that he likes old books and hates leeks. Knows that he had a rough childhood and had been a PoW. The scars tell some of those stories but Soap can’t hate them. They mean he survived.
The rec room is devastatingly empty when Soap arrives. No scarred angel, no horlicks, and no hope. He makes a sad cup of tea and totally doesn’t mope until dawn. He can admit that it would be a coincidence for Riley to just be there when he needs him. He knows the reality of their work and knows that it’s most likely his friend is probably stationed halfway across the world. He hopes that he’s okay, that he’s safe.
The next few days pass like that for Soap. Sleep is hard to come by but he manages, he writes up his report on Las Almas and Chicago as best as he can, debriefs over a video call with Price. When he asks after Ghost the captain just shrugs.
“You’ll be hard pressed to find him.” The captain admits. “Even I don't know where he goes.”
Price and Gaz don't have a timeline for when they’ll be back on British soil which means it’ll be no time soon. This isn’t the first time John has found himself isolated from his teammates, it’s pretty standard with the SAS and the 141. This is the first time it’s hitting this hard though, Grave’s betrayal adding to the baseline anxiety and loneliness.
He feels pretty close to something like a breaking point after that call, close to reaching out to the base’s therapist just for a person to talk to. The squaddies around him just don’t get it and the only people who do are out of reach. He makes his way to the canteen for a late lunch out of habit more than hunger, grabs an only slightly stale sandwich and sets up in a corner. There aren’t many people milling around this far into the afternoon but he glares at anyone who looks his way anyway, not wanting to be social.
“Careful now, if the wind changes your face will stick that way.”
As if he was summoned by Soap’s pure longing, there stands Riley. He’s looking a little worse for wear, gaunt in the way that only sleep deprivation can cause but smiling down at him none the less. Soap could hoot and holler from the figurative rafters about the return of his angel but instead he simply has to be a bit of a cunt.
“That what happened to your face?” He snarks back, smiling properly for the first time since he waved Ghost off on the tarmac. Riley barks a laugh as he sits across from him.
“Takes more than wind to carve this thing of beauty.” Riley replies dryly with only a touch of self deprecation. He gives Soap a once over before frowning. “You alright?”
From almost anyone else that would grate on him but Soap loves how Riley just cuts to the chase. “Last deployment was a bit rough.” He replies, happy to finally get it off his chest. He gestures to his arm, still partially bandaged up. “Got a bit shot, you know how it is.”
“Don’t I ever.” The blond replies, eyes flickering from Soap’s face to the gunshot wound. “Any lasting damage?”
“Only up here.” Soap jokes and taps his head. Gallows humour is very much his default. “Oh but you’ll never believe who I was partnered with.”
Riley stiffens slightly, barely noticeable if you weren’t watching him like a love sick hawk. With some effort he relaxes before asking “Who?”
“The Ghost.” Soap brags, “In the flesh. Was pure shitting it when I saw him rocking up. Mask and everything. Made a bit of my arse of myself trying to be his mate.”
“Sounds on brand for you.”
“Hush. He was cool about it at least. Pretty sound once you get to know him. You worked with him before?” Appetite suddenly back Soap tucks in to his sandwich as Riley mulls the question over. For a yes or no it seems to be a tricky answer.
“Once or twice” he almost grits out. “Can’t say I’m as fond of him as you seem to be.”
“No? You have to admit he’s a bit of a legend.”
“Bit of a wanker more like.”
There’s something defensive brewing in Soap as they talk and he doesn’t like it. Usually Riley and him agree on most topics, not like them to be so at odds.
“He piss in your tea or something? He might not be the friendliest guy but he basically saved my life more than once.” Riley looks like he’s about to retort before Soap marches on. “Plus he’s 141 and my partner so maybe watch it?”
Riley simmers at Soap’s defensive tone and a surprisingly fond smile makes its way across his face.
“You sound like you properly like him”
“Aye maybe I do.”
“Got a thing for blokes in masks is it?”
John’s glad they are back to teasing but that comment hits a little too close to the truth.
“Jealous?” He almost snaps back and is delighted to see a bit of red dusting the top of the other man’s ears. Interesting. Riley doesn’t really respond, just coughs out something that sounds suspiciously like ‘maybe’. Very interesting.
They chat a little more and settle into the easy comradery that they always have. John manages to wheedle out the story of one of the times Riley worked alongside Ghost and has to admit that on paper the masked man does come across as a bit of an ass. The mission the two of them had been on went south and Ghost had carried on alone, leaving the rest of the team in the dark. The objective had been completed and injuries were minimal, Riley admits, but the morale was low at being abandoned by their supposed leader.
“He did the same with me.” Soap says softly, trying not to lose himself in the memory of those cobbled streets. “He stuck around though, kept in contact.”
“Small improvement. Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks.” Riley smiles, tapping John on the hand when his eyes go a little hazy in thought. “Or maybe you’re just special.”
Ain’t that a thought but Soap can’t let it grow into something like hope. He’s suddenly tired of talking about Ghost, about how he disappears when needed. “Been sleeping like shit.” He says out the blue and Riley nods like he already knew.
“Me too.”
“No one has topped up the horlicks stash.”
“Should be a crime.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud and judging by how Riley’s eyes widened it certainly wasn’t expected. The other man doesn’t flinch away from his sudden honesty though. If anything he leans into it.
“Let me make it up to you? Rec room tonight?”
Soap doesn’t want to break whatever is happening here by telling him that there is nothing to make up for. There is a raw honesty behind Riley’s words that he can’t quite understand. Scared that he’ll say something painfully honest again, Soap only nods. Riley grins before standing and rapping the table twice.
“It’s a date.”