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“Laswell got a bit of info that a man has a bomb of sorts. Your goal is to defuse the bomb and get out without getting killed. This mission is a co-op. You two were the best choices. Everything good so far?” Price stands near the head of the table, the slideshow behind him flickering to different slides like a grandfather clock. A map on one, and poor quality images of, presumably, inside and around the building.
“Aye, sir.” Soap nods, leg bouncing in his seat, making a barely audible creaking noise every time his leg comes down on the poor chair.
Ghost, who had been standing near the door since the start of this meeting, only grunted his approval. Price didn't bargain for more out of the man.
“Good. Now, this man,” Price points to an image of a man as the slides switch, about 40 years old by the looks of it, a freshly shaven goatee and slightly receding hairline, with a scar across his cheek. “Is in charge of the operation.”
Soap snorts. “That's the man we're after?”
“Yes. You got a problem with that, Sargent?” Price tilts his head, hands folding together in front of him.
“Na, wouldnae dream o't, captain, it's juist—”
“Johnny thinks he looks funny.” Ghost finishes for Soap, shooting him a glare to shut up. Soap scoffs quietly and leans back in his chair, turning away.
“As I was sayin’, he’s got guards, cameras, and he could be armed himself, so be careful. All you need is the bomb taken care of, then him.” Price pauses just enough for a breath to pass over the group. “Now I expect this to only take a few days. You should be back before Christmas. Now get out.”
Soap and Ghost leave without another word, silence falling over the room as the door clicks shut.
“D'ye reckon we can manage it?” Soap asks, walking side by side with Ghost, who has his shoulders so tense, there nearly up to his ears.
“Of course.” Ghost grunts, Soap sighing loudly.
“What's wrang wae ye?”
“Nothing.”
“Will ye cut the pish an' tell me?” Soap pushes more, eyes narrowed on Ghost, watching for any sign, subtle or otherwise, that could help him decipher what was wrong.
“Nothing.” Ghost repeats, his tone slightly more threatening this time around.
“Bluidy cryptic wee nyaff.” Soap scoffs, dropping it… For now.
“What was that—?”
“Heard you two were going on a solo mission.” A voice neither Soap or Ghost recognized piped up from behind them, interrupting their conversation.
It was a newer recruit. Soap couldn't for the life of them remember their name, only the call sign “Kirby”.
“Aye, we are.” Soap nods his head, Ghost only blinking in response.
Soap was going to ring his neck if he had the chance.
“Oh! Well I wish you luck.” They bow their head politely and then take their leave, walking past the two of them, boots clicking against the floor in an almost merry way.
“They seemit nice.” Soap commented, looking back at where they had disappeared out of view.
“Mhm.” Ghost hums, beginning to walk again.
“Dae ye be this way?” Soap groans, shoving Ghost playfully.
“What way? The way I'm standing or the way we’re going?”
Soap snorts, slightly amused. “Ye know whit A mean, asshole.”
“Mm.. Not sure I do.”
“You suck.”
“Haven't heard any complaints yet.”
“That might change if you keep acting this way, asshole.”
“We'll see.” Ghost smirks behind his mask and Johnny rolls his eyes.
═══════
As soon as they got to the barracks, Soap followed Ghost to his room, plopping himself down on the chair Ghost must have had for decades, seeing that it was falling apart in nearly every way possible.
“Ye gonnae tell me now?” Soap tries again, spinning a pen he snatched off Ghost’s desk in his hands. It falls to the floor in only a few failed attempts.
Ghost picks it up, setting it down loudly on the desk. “‘M fine.”
“Dinnae gie me yer bull. We baith ken somethin's up.” Soap objected, leaning forward, staring Ghost down. It felt like an intense staring contest,
Ghost breaks the contest first, going to clean his knife. It had already been cleaned. He just needed something to do other than stare down Soap.
It stays quiet, Soap not pushing more, Ghost staying silent, the rag he was holding gliding over the blade, back and forth, side to side. Ghost had done it a million times just in front of Johnny.
It was methodic, how he did it. But Johnny knew it was a slight nervous tick he had.
“I’m not nervous.” Ghost suddenly says, as if reading Soap’s mind.
“Oh fuck off, ya mind reader.”
“I ain’t a mind reader.” Ghost objects, setting down the knife and rag, turning around to face Johnny instead.
“Tell that to the judge.” Soap laughed, folding his arms over his chest. Ghost rolls his eyes.
“I don’t have to tell anyone, because it’s not. true.” Ghost steps forward, and Soap matches him. It was a playful fight, if you could call it that.
“That's jist the kinda thing a guilty person wid say.”
“I swear I'm going to stab you one of these days.” Ghost shakes his head, already dropping the banter.
“Is that a promise?” Soap raises his eyebrows, a subtle challenge. Ghost knew it was.
Ghost shrugs his shoulders. “Might be.”
“Ah'll be haudin' ye tae that,” Soap grins like a mad man, the thought of Ghost pulling a knife on him a thought that got him more excited than he had thought.
“Kinky bastard.” It’s supposed to be mean. At least a little.
“Ye luve me fir it.”
“Debatable.”
“Ya wee nyaff.” Soap spits out, crossing his arms. And turning away.
“English, Sargent.” Ghost’s tone is low, a warning, really.
“I said you’re a bitch.”
“I take pride in it.”
“O' course ye would. Ye've got yer dick that far up yer arse already, what's a wee bit mair?” Soap teases, watching Ghost relax a bit.
“I could have it in your arse, but you’re being a brat.”
“Aye, I thought that'd mak' me mair temptin'.”
“Only sometimes.” Ghost comments, eyeing Soap.
“Could be wan o' thae times, yer just a pussy.”
“Really now?” Ghost is suddenly closer, pushing Soap back into the chair and boxing him in with his arms.
Soap just grins wider. He was winning. Ghost knew it too, but didn’t seem to be upset by it.
Ghost leans in, and Soap thinks he’s given in when he stops just short, still close enough where Soap can feel the warmth radiating off him and the faint breaths muffled by his balaclava.
“We should start packing.” Ghost pulls away, Soap mourning the loss immediately.
“You are the worst.” Soap grumbles, aiming a kick at Ghost’s shin. He misses, of course, but it was worth a shot.
“It's called a hierarchy, Sargeant. Some people simply don't have ‘fucking’ at the top of it.” Ghost points out, shrugging his shoulders as he takes a loadout bag out from a drawer near his bed.
“A real shame. Havin’ ‘fucking’ at the top is real fun.”
“And also a distraction when you need to get things done.” Ghost looks pointedly at Soap, the latter groaning in defeat, pulling himself up from the chair.
“Ye better make this up tae me, LT.”
“Make it out alive, and we'll see.”
“Fine, Fine.”
“That’s an order, Sergeant." Ghost’s voice becomes authoritative in nearly two seconds flat, and Soap’s body certainly has a reaction to it.
“Aye, Sir.” Soap manages out, excusing himself out of the room, hoping it's not blatantly obvious he's hard.
It is very obvious.
═══════
The packing had gone, as one would expect.
Ghost was done in nearly 2 minutes, everything he needed in a loadout bag.
Soap, on the other hand, had barely put together one outfit in 10 minutes.
Ghost had offered to help, but Soap insisted that he had it covered. Ghost, of course, didn't believe him.
“You have one sock in here.” Ghost pulls out said sock, looking extremely disappointed in Soap. An expression Soap was getting familiar with.
“Ane's better than none.” Soap shrugs, snatching the sock away and tossing it in his bag.
“Just get your arse in gear, Sargent.” Ghost grumbles, arms crossing over his chest, muscles flexing.
Soap would really enjoy running his–
“Sargent.” A warning. Soap sighs but gets going anyway, pulling out a real set of spare clothes, and setting them on his bed. He went around the room, collecting toiletries, a bit of spare ammo, per Ghost’s request, a pack of cards Gaz had gifted him for long missions, and sleeping gear.
“Happy now?” Soap grunted, zipping the bag up and sitting down on his bed beside it.
“Sure.”
“Ye are sae mean tae me, LT.” Soap pouts, breathing out of his nose quickly like an upset horse.
“I thought you liked that about me, Sargent.”
“A dae. Juist no i this scenario.” Soap corrects, dropping the pout.
“You’re a bloody picky little shite.” There's a bit of humor in his words. Soap's lips turn upwards a bit.
“A thoucht ye likit thon aboot me, LT.” Soap parrots, deepening his voice just a bit to try and mimic Ghost.
Their banter was easy. Just little words and teases to keep the moment light. Johnny always thought of them as an old married couple, arguing over silly things like how much butter the other put on toast and things like that. Things that don't really matter, but get them to argue over like it's going to change the world.
“We should train before we're set to go.”
“Ye act like our deployment is in the neist two minutes.”
“Better to be prepared than not.”
“Thats whit she said.” Soap laughs, Ghost shaking his head in both disapproval and fondness.
“Are you comin’ or not?” Ghost realizes his mistake a little too late, Soap already laughing.
“Not yet, but A sure as hell can be gin ye give me a second.”
“Bloody hell, Johnny.” Ghost groans, hating how he wants to take him up on the “offer”.
“Aww, come on. Just a wee bit of fun before we go?” Johnny's eyes turn pleading, begging is more like it, like a dog on Thanksgiving.
Ghost shakes his head. “Like I said, make it out alive and we'll see.”
Johnny groans loudly, flopping onto his back into the bed. “You’re the worst, Si.”
Simon raises an eyebrow, “Is that what we're doing now? Actin’ bratty to try and get your way?”
“Is it workin?” Johnny has a gleam in his eye. One that's both hopeful and dangerous.
Simon was falling into the trap he was laying, worse yet, knowingly.
“No comment.” Ghost says gruffly, trying to push the conversation in a different direction.
“Kill joy.” Johnny spits, sitting back up and looking bored.
“Are you coming or not?” Ghost repeats, heading towards the door.
“Fine. I’ll come.” Soap groans, sliding off the bed and landing hard on the floor.
“I hope not, that will be one incident report I’m sure Price will ring your neck for.” Ghost teases, opening the door before Soap can even fully register the words.
═══════
The deployment day had come quicker than Soap had thought. Sure, he knew the date—had even put it on his calendar—but it still felt like a slap to the face when Ghost woke him up at pretty much the ass crack of dawn, rushing him to get ready, and on top of that, insisting he drink tea instead of coffee.
Soap was sure they were going to die, Ghost first, by his own hands.
Once they got outside, Price was talking with Nik, who had a grin on his face.
“Twenty bucks says they're flirting and not actually talking about the mission.” Ghost nudges Soap with his shoulder.
“Why bet on somethin ye already know is true?” Soap jokes back, nudging him in return.
“Keep my men safe, you hear?” Price says in that authoritative tone of his, the one even Ghost shivers at. Nik laughs it off.
“You don't trust me?” His accent was thicker today, Johnny barely making out the words.
“At times.” Price shrugs, staring Nik dead in the eye. “Now are you going to get them there and back safely?”
“I wouldn't have it any other way.” Nik winks at Price. Soap tries not to laugh, Ghost “helping him out” by stepping on his foot.
“Arsehole.”
“Don't snort so loud then.”
“A didnae–”
“You boys ready?” Nik interrupts, a dangerous grin on his face that is both slightly concerning and thrilling at the same time.
“Come back in one peace, you hear?” Price taps Ghost’s shoulder, speaking loud enough for both men to hear.
“Aye sir.”
“Yes sir.”
“Good.” Price says before walking away, leaving them both in Nik's care. If you could call it that.
“Let's get this show on the road.”
…
They had arrived in almost no time at all. Nik was an excellent pilot, despite the few.. incidents.
“Break a leg!” Nik shouts as they both exit.
“Dinnae die on the way back!” Soap shouts back. Nik throws his head back and laughs, waving with two fingers to them, then closing the hatch.
Ghost and Soap walk side by side up to the base. If you could call it that.
It was a large tent in the middle with four outer, smaller tents. It looked.. barren, to say the least, but it was better than nothing at all.
When they stepped foot on the grounds, a man with an army looking hat and a scar across his bottom lip stopped them.
“Identification.” He said with a rasp to his voice, like he had been born and raised on cigarettes.
“We're with Task Force 141. Call sign Ghost.”
“And you?” The man prompts Soap.
“Call sign Soap, sir.”
The man nods his head in approval. “Welcome. Hope you really are our saving grace, like the captain said.” He says as he leads them both further to the base.
“This here is the medical tent.” He says, waving a hand to a tent near the entrance.
“That's the armory.” He says, pointing opposite the medical tent, to a much smaller tent, one that had been dusted with brown and black at the very bottom, no doubt from gun oil and dust.
“That's our sleeping quarters.” He points to one tent right beside the armory tent, only slightly lengthier in size, with the entrance shut with a rock preventing the flaps from moving with the wind.
“That's the eating tent,” he points to the last smaller sized tent, one that had loud talking and plenty of people inside.
“And this is our head tent. The headquarters if you will.”
And with that, the “tour” was over.
“Thank you, sir.” Soap says, Ghost nodding along in agreement.
The man nods. “Hmm. Now I'll let you do your part. Come back if you need anything, or if something goes wrong.”
“Will do.” Soap says as Ghost begins to move away.
“Ye coud try an be nicer.” Soap says as soon as they are out of earshot.
“Sure. Next time.” Ghost says dismissively, and Soap thinks back to his plan to strangle him.
“I’m startin tae fear tha yer dick got sae far up yer ass thon it's cloggit yer fuckin brain.”
“You would love my dick to be that long, Sargent.”
“Aye, but sadly, yer selfish ass took aw o't up yer own ass.”
“Cryin shame.”
“Mmhm..” Soap hums, nodding his head once, stopping once they hit the last boundary of the base.
A beat of silence falls over them. They both know the dangers of this mission. The lives that were at risk, not just at this base, but out in the civilian part of this town. No one knew what they were doing. The risk they were in. This wasn't broadcast to every inch of the world. No. This wasn't a war. But it still felt like that same burden that came with war on their shoulders.
“Johnny?” Ghost asks, a bit of concern bleeding into his voice.
“Simon.” Soap responds, looking him in the eye.
“Ready?” It's a simple question. But it feels like the answer to life or death. And maybe it really is, in a sense.
“Aye. Let's fucking kick their ass.”
“Right on.” Simon nods, and they walk the rest of the way, together.
═══════
The hallway back into the main part of base was loud. People seemingly crowding every single inch of the place, talking loudly and overall, everything was accompanied by a festive atmosphere.
Ghost felt like he was going to combust.
His shoulders were nearly up to his ears, body so tightly wound he might as well have been mistaken for barbed wire
Johnny was trailing behind, watching Ghost both like he was a bomb about to explode, and a hurt animal.
“Nice job, you two!” A rookie slaps Soap’s shoulder playfully, and he only smiles as kind as he can muster, picking up speed to walk side by side with Ghost.
“Ghost?”
No response.
“Simon.” Soap tries again, keeping his hands to himself for once, hoping the urgency in his tone is enough.
Simon turns his head, and Johnny breathes out slowly, releasing the bit of tension that had built up.
“Try takin a breath, Si.”
“‘M fine.” Simon grunts,
“Aye, an A'v got a pussy. Dinnae bullshit me.”
Simon snorts, and Johnny takes it as a small win.
“Come on, Si.” Johnny extended a hand to Simon to take. Not forcing. Just there. An invitation that could easily be taken, or declined.
Simon hesitates before slowly surrendering his hand, letting Johnny lead the way.
Johnny leads them away from the crowds of people as best he can, making his way all the way down to the barracks, where he stops at his door.
Johnny goes to pull his hand away, but Simon holds onto his hand tighter.
“A neit ma key, Si.” Johnny says softly, running his thumb over the back of Simon's hand.
Simon grunts softly before letting go.
Johnny grabs his key and unlocked the door, letting Simon inside first, who almost immediately throws his mask off to the side after taking it off.
Johnny had seen Simon mask-less countless times. But it was still surprising when he did it. It felt like he was trusting Johnny with so much more than just his face. It felt like he was opening a door to his past. Or his fears. And Johnny walked through every time, hugging and kissing Simon as soon as he entered. Because he would die before he let Simon feel unloved.
“Ye guid?” Johnny asks, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.
“Better.” Ghost nods slowly, approaching Johnny from behind. Creeping soundlessly up behind him, wrapping his arms around Johnny's waist.
Johnny turns his head slightly, as best he can, to try and see Simon. “Sure you’re guid?” He asks softly.
“Mmhmm.” Simon hums, placing a quick kiss to Johnny’s cheek.
“Ye better no be lyin tae me.”
“What? I can’t hug you anymore? Is that it?” Simon teases lightly.
“Am A no allowit tae be worriit ower ye?” Johnny returns, grinning softly.
“Well played.” Simon sighs, about to let go, but Johnny pulls him close again.
“Where are ye going?” He asks, wrapping his arms around Simon this time, pulling him in close, keeping them touching.
“No where anymore.”
“Ha-ha. Ye think ye're sae funy, huh?”
“Not to toot my own horn, but yeah. I think so.”
Johnny snorts loudly. “Toot yer own horn? A think you’ve been tootin it for a long time. Much more than tootin if ye ask me. Loud enouch tae make the walls o Jericho fall again.”
“Bible humor? Seriously?”
“Ma mum wad be proud o me for tha joke.” Johnny boasts, smirking smugly at Simon.
“Do I look like your mum?” Simon raises a brow Johnny can't see. But he knows it's there regardless.
“Na. She haed black hair, an she wis thicker than both o us combinit.. Dinnae tell her A says that.”
“How do you think I'll go about telling you?”
“Oh piss aff. She wasnae iver this mean tae me.” Johnny giggles, trying to dodge a playful hit from Simon. He fails.
Simon breathes out his nose slowly. “Cause you so clearly prefer her over me, why don't you go bother her?”
“Awww, dinnae say thon. A love yer company.” Johnny says as he places a few kisses to Simon's face.
“Mhmm..” Simon hums, sounding unsure.
“A mean it.” Johnny urges, kissing him for emphasis.
“Really mean it?” Simon asks, moving forward and placing both his hands on either side of Johnny's waist, backing him up to the wall.
“Of course, Si.” Johnny's breath catches in his throat as he says it, flushing a soft pink color.
“Prove it.” It's more of a demand. A subtle challenge hidden behind a command that Johnny is more than happy to follow.
Johnny leans in to kiss Simon, one of his hands coming up to hold his face, keeping it still.
“Oh fuck me..” Johnny whispers against Simon’s lips, kissing him deeper and trying to get closer.
“Is that an invitation?” Simon grins, pulling out of reach from Johnny for just a second.
Johnny nods a few times, “Yes. Yes it is, just.. please.” He begs, trying to pull Simon closer, but to no avail.
“Please.. What?” Simon prompts, trying to make this difficult for Johnny.
“Please do something. Please.”
“Well, because you asked so nicely..” Simon moves his hands across Johnny's torso and stomach, trailing further down until he reaches his belt buckle, giving it a form tug.
“Simon..” Johnny practically moans in disapproval, reaching down himself to try and make it go faster.
“Ah.” Simon tuts, moving Johnny's hand away. “We're doing this my way.”
“Your way is bullshit.” Johnny pouts, not truly meaning it.
“Should've thought about that before you teased and begged for me for the past few days.” Simon reminds, finally allowing Soap some mercy and undoing his belt clasp, but nothing more.
“Simon.” Johnny repeats, sounding more demanding this time.
“You had your fun. Let me have mine.” Simon says, undoing the button of Johnny's jeans and the zipper along with it.
Johnny moans quietly, biting his lip to stop some of the sound.
“Gonna be good?” Simon asks, looking at Johnny as his hand trails down, pushing past his jeans.
“Yes! Yes, I'll be good, I promise. Just please.” Johnny nods eagerly, bucking up into Simon's hand.
“Good.” Is all Simon says before continuing, letting them both bask in each other's pleasure, as promised.
═══════
The sun peaked through the curtains, waking Johnny from his rather nice dream, and even better sleep. It was abnormally bright, a sign it must have snowed overnight.
Yawning and sitting up slowly, his entire body felt sore, like every body part had been through the work out of his life.
“I thought you were dead. Shame.” Simon says, leaning against the wall to the right of the bed.
“Asshole.” Johnny grunts, sticking his tongue out and blowing raspberries at him.
Simon sighs softly before walking forward slowly. “Merry Christmas, Johnny.”
“Merry Christmas, Si.” Johnny returns, smiling as he leans in for a kiss.
“Now get your arse out of bed, I want a cuppa.” Simon mutters into Johnny’s lips with a smirk, Johnny finally hitting Simon square on his shoulder.
“Gae make it yourself, ye bastard.”
“You make it better. Besides, we have the day off and I planned to make the most of it.” Simon kisses Johnny again, and in nearly 3 seconds, he's up and out of bed, standing on still wobbly legs.
“Wow, you can stand. It's a Christmas miracle.” Simon teases, with Johnny aiming to hit him again after.
“Shut up.” Johnny hushes, walking up to Simon and kissing him yet again, this time slower, more passionate.
“Merry fucking Christmas.” Simon repeats, pulling away for only a second before leaning back down and pecking Johnny's cheek.
“Aye, merry fuckin christmas.”