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There were nine days until the 141’s yearly holiday leave.
It was a fact Soap was all too familiar with, countdown scrawled in the margins of his tattered journal, graphite scratched through each date until only single digits remained. Though as the tally grew, so did an immense amount of apprehension.
This was the year he’d finally ask Ghost to accompany him.
After spending every waking moment together— whether it be in their downtime on base, or small moments that passed between them on missions— it only made sense that the invitation should extend off duty. He knew Ghost would say yes, if asked. There wasn’t much these days that the masked man would deny him.
The one hold up? The question meant a lot to him, probably more than it should. Ghost was his lieutenant before anything else, and Soap knew the invitation would push past that boundary. He wanted to take Simon back to his family, to show him around his hometown and exist together on their own terms, but there was no way to know if Ghost understood the weight of what it would mean if he said yes.
So Soap procrastinated, waiting to find the perfect opportunity. He ran the question through his head again and again, even as he sat through their latest briefing.
Conveniently, he and Ghost were to be sent miles offshore to a cargo ship known for smuggling weapons between countries. According to Price, they have reason to believe that the database onboard contained crucial intel on the smuggler’s shipping patterns and where they’ll be coming to port next.
Also according to Price, Ghost had personally selected the sergeant to accompany him— a fact that left him reeling for the remainder of the meeting.
…He had to ask Ghost before the mission was over.
—————————
“Hey, L.t., where does a snowman get their weather report?”
Soap was leaning in a doorway when he asked the question, standing guard as he cupped his dry, cracked hands in front of his face and blew a steady breath over them.
They had managed to make it to the ship in one piece, though Price neglected to mention how fuckin’ baltic it would be outside. The bridge offered some reprieve, lowlight and stale air welcoming them as they escaped the worst of the wind.
“And here I hoped your tongue had frozen on our way in,” Ghost remarked with a hint of amusement. He had shrugged off his pack, and rooted around in it to fetch the blank flash drive.
“C’mon, sir, we both know you’d miss my haverin’ too much for— Och, get over here, I found our access point.” Soap snapped his finger at the topic change, pointing at a dashboard in the corner of the room. “And the answer was ‘the winter-net’, by the way.”
“Even worse than expected,” Ghost huffed, gloved hands rapidly entering commands on the terminal in front of him as he worked to get the device set up.
Watching him, Soap couldn’t help but be reminded of the promise he made to himself. Still trying to figure out how to best bring up a topic that had the potential to destroy the friendship they had fallen into.
“Ghost?” He asked after a moment of silence, keeping his eyes busy on the space in front of him.
Just do it already.
“Would you still have stayed behind that night in Las Almas– if that shit had happened when you were with a different sergeant?”
“Wondering if you had special treatment, Johnny?” Ghost hummed as he initiated the download process before turning away from the console. He stepped up to the other man, close enough for their breaths to entangle, and for Soap to see faint smile lines emerge in the corner of his eyes.
Soap swallowed the lump in his throat. “And if I am?”
Before Ghost could respond, the ground lurched beneath them.
Hard.
Both men lunged at nearby chairs for stability, Soap’s fingers digging into the worn fabric as he looked at Ghost, though the man was already staring back with wide eyes.
All at once, the lights flickered off, leaving moonlight to flood the space from the windows that wrapped around the bridge. They came back moments later— this time bright red and accompanied by blaring alarms.
Shit.
“Bastards put a failsafe in the database,” Ghost said, having gone back to frantically typing on the keyboard. He slammed a fist on the dashboard, cursing– “Dammit!”
Soap blanched. “How much time do we have?”
“A few minutes, tops. Looks like they couldn’t prevent downloads from happening, so they went with the next best option.”
“Sinking the ship?”
“The easiest way to get rid of the evidence.”
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.” Of course their last mission of the year had to go from bad to worse.
“Evac will be here soon,” Ghost promised. “Head topside, I'll join once the download finishes.”
“Like hell I’m leaving without you, sir. We go together, or not at all.” Neither of them knew the extent of the trap they had sent off. With how unstable the ship was, there was too much that could go wrong for him to consider splitting up.
“Johnny, that’s an order.”
“Reprimand me when we get back, then.”
Ghost held his gaze for a moment, clearly ready to double down on the demand. But the blasts were getting more frequent, smaller charges popping off all across the ship. It was a matter of when, not if, the vessel sunk to the ocean floor, and they didn’t have the time to spare. So he let it be.
When the computer finally beeped, Ghost was quick to yank the flash drive free and stuff it back into his pack. “Alright, let’s—”
A loud boom cut the man off, steel groaning loudly as the ship violently lurched to the side.
Soap was thrown off balance, falling backwards as he was sent sliding down the length of the room. His eyes widened at his trajectory— moments away from hurtling through a large window— and Soap realized there would soon be nothing between him and the sea.
Desperately, his hands scrambled to find purchase, but it was no use. Dozens of shards sliced at Soap’s uniform as the glass shattered around him.
He was in free fall.
Helpless as he plummeted more and more and—
A firm pressure snatched around his hand, his body pulling taut as Soap was caught in suspension. Heaving, he looked around with wild eyes, slowly processing the fact he was dangling twenty-some meters in the air instead of succumbing to the vicious, swelling waves.
Looking up, Soap saw his savior— Ghost— above him, somehow balancing on the frame between two broken windows. His arms were both reaching out, desperately holding onto Soap with one, and gripping onto the backpack with the other.
“Just hang on, I’ve got you,” Ghost yelled, voice strained from the weight. Blood was running his forearm, likely from the mad dive he must’ve done in order to catch Soap in time.
Now, Soap wanted to believe him. God, did he want to believe him. But with how much effort it was taking Ghost to hang onto everything, even the best trained soldier couldn’t hope to keep this up for more than a few minutes — and Ghost was the best.
His eyes shifted over to the bag, wincing at the single strap left in the lieutenant’s grasp. If they lost the flash drive, this would all be for nothing. They’d lose the trail of the smuggling ring all together, undoubtedly failing one of the most important missions that’s been assigned to the 141.
It was obvious what had to happen.
“You need to get that back to Price and Laswell,” Soap shouted over the roaring of the ocean beneath him. “I can swim, Ghost, it’ll be fine. Just head for the helo and make this count, yeah?”
“Stop,” Ghost barked. His grip tightened at the statement, nails digging into Soap’s skin. “I’m not dropping you, and you’re not letting go. Exfil will be back for us any minute, just hold on.”
“I don’t have much of a choice, Simon,” Soap confessed. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, his fingertips were slipping more and more every second.
“It’s alright,” he continued, reassurances spoken over Ghost’s protests. “It’s not your fault, it’ll be okay.”
Just when their last sliver of contact threatened to break away, Soap felt a rush of air against his neck as something zoomed past him. Confused, he looked down, only to watch a familiar black backpack splash into the waves below.
The next thing he knew, Soap felt a second hand grasp at his tac vest, pulling him up enough to reset his grip.
He flicked his head back up in disbelief, only to see Ghost hanging above him like a bat. Legs now wrapped around the window’s frame, and letting his body dangle freely beneath as both hands held Soap in place.
“Ghost, what did you do!”
“Forget about the mission, Johnny,” Ghost ordered, and for the first time that night, Soap could hear the fear behind his words. “We’re going to pull you up on three, got it? Stay with me.”
Okay, he could do that.
Soap’s muscles burned as he began to curl his body up towards Ghost. At the same time, the other man was performing an inverted sit-up, and they worked together until Soap was close enough to reach his fingers around the ship’s beam and grapple it. He groaned under the strain, but with all the strength he had left, Soap hoisted himself up onto the wrecked bridge of the ship.
Wasting no time, he turned back around, holding out a hand to pull Ghost up with him. The man groaned as he twisted around the beam, but followed suit as he crawled into the destroyed room.
“Don’t ever ask me to do that again,” Ghost grunted as soon as they were settled. The two of them were slumped against a wall, legs pressed up against each other despite the vast empty space around them.
Soap weakly cocked his head to the side, briefly wondering what Ghost meant, before— “We needed that data, Simon.”
“And I needed you alive.”
Oh.
Oh.
It was silly, how one word had the ability to render Soap speechless. He knew Ghost liked him, the man said as much back when Graves was after them.
But needed?
This, coming from the SAS legend who was known for completing a mission, no matter the cost? Who had endless rumors insisting there was a long list of people he’d left behind, simply for the sake of another win?
He wondered how those gossiping soldiers would react, if they learned how easily Ghost tossed aside their main objective to spare the life of his subordinate.
Of course, it was more complicated than that.
Soap was honored to be one of the few people who knew that Simon was more than the moniker he adorned. They were drawn to each other, it seemed. An invisible pull that kept them firmly planted in each other’s orbits.
It’s how Soap knew he would have done the same without hesitation. Even if it cost him his career, prioritizing Ghost’s life was a no-brainer, and he would have been just as pissed to hear him willing to sacrifice himself.
Simon was... everything to him.
He had Soap wrapped around his finger since their first mission together, and would continue to long after they’re both in the ground. Whatever path Soap followed in life, he knew it would always lead back to Ghost.
And that was enough for him, but—
Needed.
Soap rested his head on Ghost’s shoulder, a soft grin pulling on his lips when the other man shifted to accommodate him. Off in the distance, their helo approached, and the last of Soap’s tension finally seeped away.
Maybe he had the answer to his question, after all.