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Ghost knew, from the moment he woke up, that the universe had declared war on him personally.
First, the tea. Or- no, first was the cold water. The shower sputtered, coughed, and then hit him with a spray that felt like needles. He’d stood there anyway, jaw clenched, arms crossed, absolutely refusing to be driven out like a coward. Then he’d tried to salvage the morning with his favourite tea, only to find the last bag gone, an empty box mocking him from the corner of the cupboard. And finally, when he’d gone to the little lesser-use gym he preferred, the one no one bothered with, tape over the door, a sign: PIPE LEAK, CLOSED.
By the time he’d ended up in the main gym, shoulder-to-shoulder with every recruit and grunt with a pulse, his right eye had already started twitching.
It hadn’t stopped twitching since.
By the time training was over, two recruits were crying, one had thrown up in the dirt, and at least half the group looked like they were reconsidering their career choices. Ghost dismissed them with a flat, “Again tomorrow. Earlier.”
Someone whimpered.
Someone else muttered a curse.
Ghost didn’t care. Couldn’t. His irritation had condensed into something sharp and metallic inside his ribs. His skull felt too tight. His hands were flexing in micro-movements as though itching to grip something, someone, anything grounding.
Christ, he needed… he didn’t know. But he needed it now.
He stalked off the field, boots eating up the ground, each step building momentum like a missile locked on target. The corridors of the base blurred around him. He didn’t see faces, didn’t see officers, didn’t hear the murmured complaints from the recruits behind him.
He only knew one thing with clarity:
Johnny.
His body moved with single-minded purpose, turning corners without conscious thought, weaving through hallways automatically memorized from years here. His jaw remained set, mask hiding most of the murderous tension but not all.
He stopped in front of the door marked with the placard: SGT. J. MACTAVISH / SGT. K. GARRICK.
He didn’t knock.
He didn’t have the patience.
Ghost shoved the door open so hard it bounced off the stopper, crashing loudly.
Both men inside jumped.
Gaz nearly spilled his mug. Lucky fucker got his preferred drink it seemed.
Soap, seated at his desk, snapped upright so fast his chair skidded back with a squeal. Wide-eyed. Alert. He looked every inch like a startled puppy waiting for orders.
Ghost pointed at him with the precision of a sniper sight.
“Soap. With me. Now.”
Soap blinked once. Twice. Then shot to his feet.
“Aye- right, yes sir.”
His voice cracked on the sir.
Gaz stared, torn between concern and relief. Relieved, mostly, that Ghost’s rage was directed somewhere else. “Uh. Everything all-?”
Ghost didn’t even turn his head. “Not you.”
Gaz nodded so fast it was almost comical. “Copy that. Have a great… uh… whatever this is.”
Soap was already halfway across the room.
The moment Soap stepped into the hallway, Ghost grabbed his upper arm and marched.
Soap scrambled to keep up. “Ghost? You alright? You look like you’re about to-”
“Not here.” Ghost’s voice rumbled, clipped. “Walk.”
Soap shut up immediately.
Good lad.
The walk was silent and fast, Ghost radiating such intense don’t you dare energy that every soldier they passed plastered themselves against the walls.
Soap followed without one complaint, suspicion rising but kept behind zipped lips. Only when they reached the living quarters did he make a small sound - curiosity, soft and confused - low in his throat.
Ghost didn’t pause. Didn’t slow.
He stopped only when they reached Soap’s door.
Soap opened his mouth. “Ghost, what-”
“Quiet.” Ghost reached past him and wrapped his hand around the handle. “Really should lock your door, Johnny.”
Soap blinked. “Didn’t think I needed to-”
“You do.”
Ghost pushed the door open, crowding Soap forward with his body - big, warm, immovable - and kicked it shut behind them.
The click of the lock sounded final.
Soap barely had time to inhale before Ghost was already stripping the mask off. That alone made Soap swallow; the sudden reveal of Simon’s face was always a tiny shock. A privilege. A warning. A statement.
Ghost didn’t even bother setting the mask down gently. It hit the desk with a soft thunk.
Then he was on Soap.
He walked Soap backward, heat rolling off him in waves, until the back of Soap’s knees hit the bed. Soap hovered, breath caught in his throat.
“Okay,” Soap whispered, emotional wires crossed between arousal, tenderness, sheer confusion, and maybe a touch of fear. “Okay, big man. Tell me what’s going-”
Ghost didn’t let him finish. He grabbed Soap’s shirt hem and peeled it straight up.
Soap raised his arms automatically, obedient without thought, as Ghost tugged the shirt off in one smooth, impatient motion. It dropped to the floor.
The moment Soap’s torso was bare, Ghost’s whole body seemed to exhale.
And then he folded.
Just collapsed forward, face-first, into Soap’s stomach, knees slammed into the ground.
Soap let out a startled laugh, half because Ghost practically face-planted into him, half because the entire raging storm of a man deflated instantly, melting like someone unplugged him.
Ghost rubbed his face against the warm skin of Soap’s abdomen, nose pressing in, exhaling deeply. Shoulders loosening. Muscles uncoiling. Arms sliding around Soap’s waist like they’d been desperate for something to hold.
Soap blinked down at him.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, realization dawning slow and bright. “You… big stubborn bastard. You were touch-starved.”
Ghost growled, low. Not threatening. Embarrassed.
Soap bit back a laugh. “This whole time? All that barkin’? All that misery today?”
Ghost didn’t lift his face. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Soap teased, fingers automatically sliding into Simon’s hair. “Don’t point out the very obvious thing happening right now?”
Ghost’s response was to burrow harder, forehead pressing into Soap’s lower ribs like he wanted to physically merge with him.
Soap huffed a tiny laugh, gentle and warm. “Jesus, Simon… yer a big lad, y’know. Could have knocked me out."
Ghost mumbled something into Soap’s stomach.
Soap stroked his hair again, slower this time, letting his nails gently graze Simon’s scalp in that way he knew worked miracles. Ghost shivered, the kind that moved down the whole spine.
Soap softened.
“Rough day, hm?” he murmured.
Ghost made a noise like a wounded animal trying not to admit it.
Soap cooed, actually cooed. “Oh, sweetheart. Should’ve said something.”
Ghost finally turned his head just enough to speak, cheek pressed against Soap’s skin. “Didn’t want to… bother you.”
Soap blinked. Then blinked again.
“Bother me?” He snorted. “Simon, you stormed into my office like a hurricane and dragged me down here without explainin’ anythin’. Pretty sure you passed the ‘might bother him’ threshold about ten minutes ago.”
Ghost huffed into him. A reluctant, tiny almost-laugh.
Soap guided him back with gentle pressure. “C’mon. Lie down properly before your knees give out.”
Ghost didn’t argue. He never argued when he was like this, all the fight drained out of him and replaced with something softer.
Soap sat first on the edge of the bed; Ghost followed like a shadow, sprawling partly on top of him before Soap could even get settled. A massive weight draped over him, head resting on his stomach again, arms wrapped like iron bands around Soap’s hips.
Soap threaded both hands into Simon’s hair now, massaging at the scalp, slow circles. Ghost practically melted. His whole body relaxed inch by inch, the tension bleeding out of him in waves.
“Should’ve known,” Soap murmured. “You get all prickly when you’ve not had a good cuddle in a while.”
Ghost grumbled, voice muffled. “It’s not- wasn’t-”
“Say it,” Soap teased, scratching behind Simon’s ear like he was petting a very large, very grumpy dog. “Go on.”
Ghost shifted, arms tightening in warning. “Johnny.”
“Simon.”
A pause. Ghost’s breath warmed Soap’s skin.
“…I needed you.” The words came out rough, reluctant, but honest.
Soap’s teasing expression softened instantly. His chest squeezed.
“Aye,” he whispered, stroking slow and tender. “I’m here.”
Ghost didn’t speak again for a long moment. Just breathed. Slow. Deep. Heavy.
Finally calm.
Soap felt the exact second Ghost’s guard fully dropped. His body got heavier, his breaths deeper, forehead pressing affectionately into Soap’s skin with a little nudge, an instinctive movement, almost feline.
“Wasn’t avoiding you,” Soap murmured. “Had paperwork today.”
Ghost made a displeased sound. “Fuckin’ paperwork.”
Soap laughed. “Didn’t know you cared that much whether I was around.”
Ghost’s fingers curled into Soap’s hip. “I do.”
The simplicity of it hit Soap square in the chest. He swallowed, one hand sliding to cup the back of Simon’s skull.
“You could’ve asked, y’know,” he whispered into the quiet room. “You could always ask. Don’t need ta explode first.”
Ghost’s voice rumbled, so low it was barely audible.
“Don’t know how.”
Soap leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll teach you.”
Ghost stilled.
Then, slowly, he shifted upward, resting his chin on Soap’s abdomen so he could look up. His eyes were half-lidded, tired, softer than anyone else ever got to see.
“You’d do that?” he asked quietly.
Soap smiled, the scar on his chin tugging with the movement. “Already am.”
Ghost stared at him for a long moment. Then he let his eyes fall shut again, exhaling hard, head dropping back to Soap’s stomach like it belonged there. It did.
“Don’t stop,” he muttered.
“I won’t.” Soap resumed stroking his scalp. “Not unless you tell me to.”
“Never happen.”
Soap’s heart did a strange, full thing in his chest.
They stayed like that for a long stretch, Soap reclining against the pillows, Ghost draped heavy and warm across him. The room was quiet except for Simon’s breathing growing slower, deeper, more peaceful with each stroke of Soap’s fingers.
Eventually, Soap murmured, “Gonna fall asleep on me?”
“Maybe.” Simon’s voice was slurred with exhaustion he’d tried to outrun all day. “Warm.”
Soap chuckled. “You’re like a massive cat.”
“Dog.” Simon corrected without opening his eyes.
“Oh, aye? You sure?”
A low, pleased rumble. “Positive.”
“Big dog, then. One that forgets he’s big.”
Ghost hummed. Soap felt the vibration through his stomach, warm and affectionate.
Soap traced slow lines along the side of Simon’s head, gentle as sunlight. “Next time you’re feelin’ neglected,” he whispered, “ya can just come get me. Don’t need to pretend you’re fine.”
Simon grunted. “Not pretending.”
“Love, you made a recruit cry.”
A pause.
“…Accident.”
“And another threw up.”
Ghost grumbled into his skin. “He had a weak stomach.”
“Simon.”
“Hm.”
“You needed a cuddle.”
Another pause.
“…Shut up.”
Soap laughed, full-bodied and bright.
He bent forward and pressed another soft kiss into Simon’s hairline. “Alright. I’ll shut up.”
A comfortable silence settled over them, one that hummed with affection, warmth, and the quiet, unspoken trust that had been built between them over years.
Ghost finally relaxed fully, weight sinking completely onto him, arms loosening only so they could wrap more comfortably around Soap’s waist.
Soap brushed one last slow stroke through his hair and whispered:
“I’ve got you, Simon.”
Ghost nuzzled into him, voice barely a breath.
“…I know.”
Simon didn’t fall asleep, though he drifted near the edge of it. That heavy-limbed, warm-bodied place where his thoughts stopped being sharp and started being simple. He rubbed his cheek against Soap’s stomach again, slower this time, almost lazy. Soap could feel each long exhale blooming warm across his skin.
Soap brushed his fingers through Simon’s hair again, gentler than before. “You comin’ back to earth yet?” he murmured.
A faint grunt. Then: “Maybe.”
Soap smiled softly. “Good. Didn’t want to have to carry you to a psychologist and explain why my Lieutenant was having an emotional malfunction.”
Simon turned his head just enough to glare up at him. “Not- malfunctioning.”
“No? Then what am I lookin’ at?”
Simon’s cheek pressed back into his stomach, unwilling to lift his head. “Resetting.”
That… was actually sweet, in Ghost-language. Though he wasn't dealing with Ghost right now. This was Simon, through and through.
Soap’s chest warmed. “You can reset here anytime.”
Simon’s arms tightened around his waist, silent thanks.
After a moment, Soap shifted just enough to slide down the bed so they were lying properly, Simon still half on top of him. He instinctively followed the movement, sprawling like a man claiming territory. Soap chuckled low and adjusted him until he could cradle Simon’s head against his sternum, one hand cupping the back of his skull and the other stroking down his spine in long, soothing lines.
He made a low, utterly contented noise.
Soap grinned. “Big lad like you. Turns into a damn lap dog the second you get held.”
Simon mumbled, “Will throw you off the bed.”
“No you won’t.”
He didn’t argue because he couldn’t. Because he was entirely pliant, melted, safe, fully undone in a way he never allowed himself anywhere else. With anyone else.
Soap tucked a blanket over them both. “Next time, Si? Don’t wait ‘til the whole base knows you’re havin’ a hard day.”
Simon exhaled slowly, almost ashamed. “I don’t… I don’t know how to say it.”
“Aye,” Soap whispered. “I know. But I want you to try. Even if it’s just one word. Even if it’s just looking at me a certain way. I’ll learn your codes.”
Simon's fingers curled into the fabric of Soap’s trousers. A tiny, vulnerable gesture.
Softly, Simon said, “Didn’t want you thinking I was… needy.”
Soap’s hand stilled, emotion punching him in the chest. “Simon. You’re allowed to need things. You’re allowed to need me. I like bein’ needed by you.”
Simon’s breath caught. It so slight, but Soap felt it.
“…You do?” Ghost asked quietly.
“Of course I do.” Soap bent his head and pressed a kiss to Simon’s temple. “Means you trust me. Means you let me see you. That’s the biggest damn honour I’ve ever had.”
They'd been together for years but Simon’s and Ghost's demons ran deep. Assurances were part and parcel of being his partner.
Simon swallowed audibly against his chest.
“I’ll… try Johnny,” he said after a long moment, voice low, edges softened.
“That’s all I want.” Soap resumed running his fingers through Simon’s hair, slow and patient. “I’ll always meet you halfway.”
Simon hummed, the vibration low and grateful. He nuzzled into Soap’s chest once more and finally, finally let himself drift fully into sleep.
Soap stayed awake a little longer, stroking, guarding, loving him quietly.
When Simon fell fully asleep, his weight warm and trusting across Soap’s body, Johnny whispered:
“Good lad. You did so well.”
Ghost didn’t hear it but he felt it, deep inside, where the day’s anger had finally been replaced with something gentler.
Something like peace.
(Six Weeks Later)
It happened on a Thursday evening.
They’d both had long days. Mission planning, tedious briefings, two hours stuck with Price arguing about intel. Soap was sprawled on the couch of his small quarters, half out of his gear, boots still on, scrolling absently through his phone.
The door clicked open.
Ghost stepped inside.
Soap glanced up. “Hey, big man. Didn’t expect you-”
Then he stopped talking and really looked at Ghost.
Ghost wasn’t stormy. Wasn’t furious. Wasn’t vibrating with unspoken need like last time.
But he was tense. Shoulders set a little too stiff. Jaw tight. Hands fidgeting briefly at his thigh. Eyes tight behind his balaclava.
He closed the door softly. Tugged off his mask.
“Johnny.”
Soap straightened instantly, phone forgotten at his side. “Mm?”
Ghost- no, Simon stood there for a beat, staring, clearly working through internal computations.
Then, deliberately, he walked over and stood in front of the couch. Not looming, not intimidating, just present.
He took a breath.
Then another.
Then he said, quietly but clearly:
“…I need a reset.”
Soap’s heart nearly burst.
Not because he needed comfort but because he’d asked.
Properly asked.
Permission instead of force. Vulnerability instead of explosion.
His voice softened into something warm, coaxing.
“C’mere then, love.”
He hesitated only one heartbeat before he stepped forward. Soap reached for him, hands firm on Simon’s waist, guiding him down onto the couch.
Simon straddled his lap, heavy thigh on either side, and as soon as Soap’s arms came up around him-
He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for hours.
He leaned forward slowly, pressing his forehead to Soap’s shoulder. His gloved hands hovered in the air before settling on Johnny’s ribs, unsure.
Soap wrapped both arms around him fully, pulling him in, chest to chest.
“There you go,” Soap murmured, gentle and fond. “Good job askin’ for it. Proud of you.”
He made a low noise, half relief, half something like a whine.
Soap guided him further, ignoring the curl of heat in his gut at that particular sound, sliding one hand beneath the hem of Simon’s hoodie to touch warm skin. “Doin’ brilliant, Si. You tell me when you need me, and I’ll always come through.”
Simon’s breath shuddered.
“Hard,” he muttered against Soap’s neck. “Feels stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Soap said firmly, tightening his arms around him. “It’s brave. And it’s honest. And I want you to do it every time.”
He melted inch by inch, all the fight in him collapsing into trust.
Soap kissed the side of his head. “You want the full treatment?”
Simon nodded without lifting his face.
“Aye,” Soap said softly, guiding him down until he was stretched across him, head tucked under his chin. “Then lie down, love.”
Simon obeyed immediately, massive body curling into place, one leg thrown over Soap’s, arms sliding tight around his waist.
Soap stroked his back in long, slow movements.
“That’s it. You did so well askin’.”
Simon mumbled something that sounded like “shut up,” but the affectionate way he burrowed into Soap made it meaningless.
Soap smiled, kissed the top of his head, and whispered:
“You ask, I’ll always reward you, Simon. Always.”
Simon’s entire body relaxed instantly, like a switch flipped.
Peace settled over him.
And Soap held him close, proud and soft and so incredibly in love with the man who was trying so hard.
"Still not locking your door, Johnny."
Soap's surprised cackle didn't break the peaceful moment. It was perfectly them.