Chapter Text
John “Soap” MacTavish woke up. This was a cause for celebration.
Now, on its own, this feat didn’t seem like anything remarkable at all. The Scotsman had woken up many times before in his young life, and would probably, hopefully, do so many times again.
What made this instance of those blue eyes cracking open so special, however, was the fact that before he awoke this particular time, Sergeant MacTavish had died. Twice.
Ghost hadn’t been there for it. He had been too deep in his own abyss. None of them had been awake for it, except for the medics and Kate Laswell, who had arrived at the emergency care unit in the foreign country after blatantly ignoring her superiors’ advice to stay put. According to her, she had barely had time to ask about her team’s status, before Johnny had flatlined the second time. The first time had happened on the way to the hospital.
When Laswell had told Ghost, she’d immediately been forced to grapple the large man back into bed, something neither of them had found very amusing.
“Lieutenant,” she hissed. “MacTavish is stable and in recovery. Stay put and rest as well, that’s an order.”
The two of them had worked together for a fair amount of time at that point, but had never actually interacted without the rest of the team involved.
It just so happened that Ghost was the first of four to wake, and suddenly he was conversing with the chief alone for the first time. Unfortunately, she had as little patience for his nonsense as Captain Price would have.
“I want to see him,” Ghost gritted out, guts twisting in discomfort simply from taking such an emotional tone with someone he didn’t know well.
They were both excellent at maintaining their professional masks in normal circumstances. Currently, they were both at the end of their ropes.
“And you will.” Her steely eyes softened for less than a second. “But if you start jumping around to find him, I’ll have the staff sedate you.”
The warning was said without any indication of a lie.
“He’s in capable care, Ghost.” Laswell removed her hands when the man finally sank back into his pillows, his mind running into a frenzy. Soap had died. Soap was alive.
He was being watched carefully. He looked up at his visitor’s deep sigh.
“I’ll talk to them about moving you to his room,” she concluded. Ghost felt a fondness he usually reserved for very few people when she hesitantly patted his good arm.
“Thank you,” he’d said as earnestly as he was capable of, and Laswell had smiled at him with a kindness that made his heart ache.
And so, when those brilliant, blue eyes finally blinked open, Ghost was there to watch it happen. He felt a bit like celebrating when they landed on him.
“You’re fucking shit at keeping your promises, Johnny.”
“-the infection, of course. Also a concussion, blood loss, some cracked ribs and some small cuts and bruises.” The doctor read from the list calmly. “Hypovolemic shock set in on the ride back and despite getting more fluids and blood in you, your heart still gave out. Luckily, we managed to get it beating again.”
The woman in the white lab coat looked over the edge of her reading glasses, gauging the sergeant’s response. Soap opened and closed his mouth a few times. Beside him, Ghost was tenser than a tightly coiled spring.
“And- and the second time?” Soap croaked.
“A seizure on the operating table, most likely due to head trauma. A right mess, but while temporarily lethal-” She put the clipboard down and gestured to him. “You once again pulled through. Clearly.”
Soap almost appreciated the nonchalance the doctor seemed to hold around the whole affair, the subject matter weighing heavily in his own brain. It didn’t seem like Ghost was a great fan of the way the woman spoke of his brushes with death, though, so Soap quickly thanked her in the hope she would leave. She nodded briefly and left unceremoniously.
The sergeant fiddled with the blanket, the silence palpable in the air around them.
“Guess I’ll be needing multiple graves?” he piped up hesitantly.
“What?” The balaclava moved when Ghost frowned.
“Cause I died twice?” Johnny grinned weakly, referencing Ghost’s earlier joke. The man sitting by his bedside groaned loudly and rested his head in his hand.
Luckily, Laswell returned to the room before Ghost could decide to kill the sergeant a third time. She hummed in greeting, before settling into the chair situated on the other side of Soap’s bed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“How are they?” Soap dared to ask into the somber space.
Laswell had been flitting between rooms since arriving. Her last time in Soap and Ghost’s ward, she had been uncharacteristically soft with the sergeant after he had come to. It only made sense to Soap after she had been whisked away to hear some news about Gaz and Price; Ghost had explained that she had been present for his second flatlining.
Laswell had been scared for him. That was new. Sure, Johnny enjoyed talking with the woman and often delved into friendly small-talk with her whenever she was around, but her reaction was always hard to read. As his superior, he’d always been worried he was crossing a line trying to befriend her. It seemed he had managed to get under her skin after all.
The time spent in the hospital, along with the many hours before that spent trying to keep the team alive from afar, seemed to have worn down her professional exterior. Seeing her tired and resting casually in a chair next to him, now that was a new side to Kate Laswell that Soap had never thought he’d be privy to.
“Laswell?” he poked again, this time earning her attention. “Price and Gaz? They’ll be alright?”
Her eyes flickered between the two men holding their breaths.
“It’s-” she started carefully. “They’re both going to live.”
“What’s wrong?” Ghost growled, never one for beating around the bush.
“Price’s leg is in need of some serious rehabilitation once he wakes. They say it’s pure exhaustion that’s keeping him under, that he pushed himself far beyond what his body can handle, but he’ll wake.” Laswell regained some composure while she talked, like she was giving a rapport. “He’ll be pissed, though. That leg is going to put him out of commission for longer than he’ll have the patience for.”
“That’s anything longer than one day,” Soap butted in, pleased when both his companions huffed in amusement.
“It’ll certainly be longer than that.”
“He’s gonna be a miserable old sod,” Ghost rumbled, almost fondly.
Soap chewed slightly on his bottom lip.
“Gaz?”
His heart sank when Laswell’s eyes turned down to her hands.
“He’ll live, he’s just-” She heaved a deep sigh. “They don’t know when he’ll wake. If he’ll wake.”
Soap clenched his fists to keep them from trembling. Ghost sat up even straighter, his presence so close it worked to anchor the sergeant.
“He’s in a coma,” Ghost stated rather than asked, still earning a nod.
“Yes. He suffered a brain hemorrhage,” Laswell elaborated. “When he wakes, the doctors suspect he’ll have some memory issues, although the severity is unknown.”
The heaviness sat in the air around them, almost suffocating. Soap swallowed harshly. He could feel eyes on him, but fixated his own stare adamantly on the blanket scrunched up in his hands.
Gaz was his best friend. It was different from his friendship with Ghost, for reasons he had a hard time putting into words.
As soon as Soap had met the other sergeant, they had instantly hit it off. The two young men had slotted together like puzzle pieces, teasing and plotting mischief, acting like school boys in ways that had Price sighing deeply to hide his warm smile.
Gaz might never wake. If he did, he might forget Soap and the 141 altogether.
A small hand patted his own. It was soft and cool, reminding him of his mother’s touch. He looked up at his chief.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply. Soap chuckled wetly, eyebrows furrowing.
“Ye didnae throw that rock at his noggin, chief,” he said bemusedly.
“I might as well have,” she murmured bitterly, retracting her hand. She paused at the realization that she had let something so personal slip to her subordinates, regret flashing over her face.
Soap opened his mouth to protest, but surprisingly Ghost beat him to it.
“Bollocks.” Two pairs of eyes landed on the masked man, who stared unflinchingly back. “And you know that.”
“Aye, ye bum’s oot the windae,” Soap joined in easily, before adding a redundant: “ma’am.”
The corners of Laswell’s mouth quirked slightly.
“I could have you fired for using that tone with me,” she threatened without venom. The skin around her eyes crinkled, before she again turned somber. “You’re right. We had no reason to believe that Graves survived Las Almas, or that he would plan such an elaborate trap.”
“Madman, that one,” Soap agreed, trying not to linger on the image of those wild, grey eyes boring into him, as Graves' finger had twitched on the trigger.
“Reminds me,” Laswell pursed her lips in annoyance. “I better update the suits on this whole thing, and hear what the search party found in Graves’ camp. Need anything from the cafeteria?”
She slung her bag over her shoulder as she stood.
“Naw, doctor’s still want me on their goo, sadly.”
“Tea,” added Ghost.
“I’ll see to it,” she said, back to being all business within seconds. Soap never understood how she and Ghost slipped into professionalism with such ease.
The door closed slowly behind her, soundlessly, and Soap sank back into his pillows, feeling twice his age.
“Letting an American make yer tea? How very brave of ye,” he goodnaturedly jabbed.
“She’s surprisingly good at it.”
“Must’ve gotten practice, being stuck with leaf water fanatics,” Soap mused. It was strange to think about Ghost and Laswell bonding and drinking tea in the days before he had woken up. The two seemed to get along surprisingly well. It was nice to see the lieutenant slowly letting more people in, Johnny thought.
“How copy?” Ghost mumbled, leaning forward and resting his good arm on the side of the bed. At the close proximity, Soap’s fingers twitched, wanting to hold that hand again, but he decided against it. He already wasn't sure where he stood with the lieutenant after this mess.
“Feelin’ a bit like I died twice.” he replied. Ghost tensed again at the reminder, but Johnny just smiled cheekily. “Guess I’m the Ghost now?”
“No way in hell I’m swapping.”
“What, something wrong with being called Soap?”
Ghost shook his head in exasperation, but Soap was pleased to see that glint of humour back in the dark eyes.
“Guess I’ll just come up with something else then, if Ghost is taken,” he continued musing.
“Sorry, Johnny, but I doubt you’re getting rid of your terrible callsign.” Ghost didn’t seem sorry at all. Soap wrinkled his nose.
“Double-O Dead? Lazarus? Jesus?”
Ghost’s groan only spurred him on, his mind desperate for the light atmosphere he had forced into existence.
“Spectre? Oh, shit, that’s kinda good, Lt.”
“You’re going with a synonym of Ghost?” the masked man asked, amusement slipping through. “Copycat.”
“Aye, alright, point taken. Guess I’ll keep being Soap,” he sighed dramatically.
“Good,” Ghost said. The statement held weight that Johnny wasn’t ready to dissect.
He was even less ready for the heavy hand grasping his own, yet with warm cheeks, he held on tight to the tether.
Price was the next to wake.
Soap had angrily insisted to come along to see the captain in his room, when they had gotten the news that he had come to, but both Ghost, Laswell and several doctors had chastised him on this endeavour. With a pout, the bedridden man had resigned himself to staying put. He wasn’t happy about it and let his lieutenant know in no small amount of complaints, but the sickly pallor still decorating his skin let Ghost know it was the right call.
Ghost himself had been torn. Going to see the captain meant leaving Johnny alone, vulnerable. Laswell soothed his worries with a practical solution.
When Ghost entered Price’s ward after Laswell had left the room herself, he calmed himself on the knowledge that the older woman would take his spot at Soap’s side while he was gone.
A tiny voice in the back of his mind mocked him for being so codependent. The last mission had really worsened his protectiveness of the young sergeant.
Price’s haggard face lit up at the sight of his masked visitor and Simon felt that warmth in his chest that had become a regular acquaintance.
“Ghost.” The single word was said with affection of which Ghost felt unworthy.
“Price,” he greeted in return, sitting in a chair by the captain’s bedside. It resembled the setup in his and Soap’s room. “It’s good to see you awake.”
“You too.”
After a moment of consideration, Ghost placed his hand on the captain’s forearm. The contact was nice. It grounded him, reassuring him that the man was alive and would be fine.
Price himself looked surprised at the action, but not unwelcoming. A lightly bandaged hand patted Ghost’s own.
“How copy, son?” The captain’s voice was scratchy.
“Me?” the lieutenant asked in surprise. “Solid. Mostly my arm’s fucked and my head is still off, but otherwise… good,” he finished lamely.
“That’s good,” Price said. He was observing his visitor carefully, as if searching for a lie, but he seemed satisfied with what he found. “That’s good, Simon. How’s Soap? Laswell didn’t say much except he’s a bit worse off.”
“Oh.” Ghost paused. “He died.”
“ What?! ” Price sat up at lightning speed before Ghost could elaborate and promptly groaned as he doubled over. Ghost cursed his own choice of words as he moved to calm his superior.
“He’s fine, he’s alive, I’m- Shit, I’m sorry.” Price looked at him with wild eyes as Ghost frantically explained. “He went into cardiac arrest, but they resuscitated him. He’s fine, sir.”
Price wheezed slightly, resting his head in his hands.
“Fuck, Ghost. You can’t do that to me.” The older man’s voice was wavering. “First Kate told me about Kyle, and now I thought-”
“I didn’t- That was terribly worded, sorry.” Damn his awful people skills and sense of social situations. This was exactly why Soap was so good to have around: The sergeant always served as a social buffer.
The two men shared an incredulous look, the past few days catching up with both of them at the same time.
Price laughed. It was a wet, broken laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, and Ghost felt something bubble in his own chest wanting to join in.
“Oh, Simon,” Price hiccuped, looking a strange mix of amused and mournful. “What a goddamn mess.”
“Yes,” was all Ghost could say, biting down the sounds threatening to escape him; he wasn’t sure if it would be laughter or sobs, and he wasn’t prepared for either.
“Soap flatlined? I-” the captain swallowed, something somber passing his face. “Shit. I want to see that stupid kid and kick his arse or give ‘im a medal or something.”
“Maybe both,” the lieutenant agreed.
Price smiled at that, but it was undercut by exhaustion lining his face in a way Ghost hadn’t seen since Chicago. His leg was heavily bandaged and elevated in a sling.
“Doubt they’ll let you go see him anytime soon, sir.” Ghost nodded to the leg and Price grimaced.
“I know. Kate gave me a timeline for recovery and I’m-” Price frowned, searching for a word.
“A miserable old sod?” Ghost supplied helpfully.
“Cheeky bastard,” Price grumbled, his next smile more genuine. “But yes, I guess that’s accurate.”
“I can sneak you out, if you want,” the large man in the chair supplied thoughtfully. “Give you a piggyback ride?”
“Don’t know if my pride can take more blows, lieutenant.” Price finally laid fully back down as tension bled out from his form. “It’s not off the table completely, though. Even without a leg and an arm, we might make it.”
They both shook their heads at the ridiculous mental image of them running down the hospital hallway like that.
“Maybe we should just wait for a wheelchair instead,” Ghost mused.
“That’s probably better.”
“You’ll have to be fast, if you want to beat Soap. He’s dead set on finding a way to see you.”
The same affection that had been directed at Ghost at his arrival settled on Price’s face again.
“Stupid muppet,” the captain sighed fondly. “Keep him put, will ya, Ghost?”
“Affirmative, captain.”
“Good man.” Price looked at him carefully. “You alright? Really, Simon?”
“What?” Ghost cocked his head, confused at the repeated inquiry. “Like I said, my arm’s fucked and-”
“Not physically,” Price interrupted. “I mean, with John. Soap. You almost lost him there.”
“I-” The larger man sat up stiffly, suddenly on guard. “We all did.”
“Simon.”
Ghost really didn’t like the knowing glint in the captain's eyes.
“Price?”
“Listen.” Price pinned his subordinate in place with the way he regarded him. “He’s good for you. The way you’ve acted since you met him? It’s good, son. Haven’t seen that side to you, not ever. Don’t-” Price faltered, searching for the right conclusion. “Just try not to run from it. You’re allowed this.”
Ghost felt as though a million bugs were running across his spine as the captain shed a spotlight on something so very private, so very hidden away and secret. He wanted to run. He wanted more masks on top of the one he was already wearing.
“I won’t say more on it, I promise,” Price hurried to reassure, sensing the discomfort. “Just- I just want you to know that it’s good . That’s all.”
Ghost swallowed harshly.
“I-” He knew there was no enemy with him at this moment, yet he felt as alert as on the battlefield. “Copy that, sir.”
“Okay,” Price breathed, still watching him as one would watch a wild animal. “Don’t worry about that now. Just wanted to know how you were holding up, what with our favourite fool apparently dying for a bit.”
Ghost forced himself to stay in the chair, reminding himself that while the subject matter felt precarious, this was Price . He was safe. Ghost let out a strained chuckle.
“It, uhm- I haven’t really processed that bit, I think,” he admitted. “Only woke up once it was known he would be fine. I think if I really allowed it to hit me…”
He trailed off, unsure.
“You might hunt down every person even remotely responsible and kill them slowly,” Price finished for him.
Ghost tightened his lips, concerned that someone knew him that well. In a way it felt good to be known, a treacherous voice whispered in a dark corner of his mind; that was Simon talking.
His reply was a curt nod.
“Well, at least that part is already handled,” Price huffed, closing his eyes briefly.
“Except Shepherd,” Ghost said, happy for the conversation steering away from his frayed heart.
“Shepherd?” Price looked more awake than he had the whole visit.
“Well, I guess he’s only partly to blame, if only for making Graves as unstable as-”
“Graves?” The captain blinked in confusion. “What’s he got to do with anything?”
Ghost stopped up.
“Laswell didn’t tell you?”
“I- No- We only talked for a few minutes, mostly about Garrick’s condition.” Price seemed to physically hurt when saying the young sergeant’s name, but he barreled on: “We didn’t really get to debrief. I wanted to see you, make sure you were all right.”
Despite the frustration at the incoordination of it all, Ghost still felt his lips curl into a smile at the captain’s admission. Luckily, the balaclava hid it.
“Well.” Ghost prepared for the long update it would take to catch the other man up. “It turned out to be a grave situation.”
Price’s eyebrows furrowed further. Soap would have laughed.
Ghost decided to go get Laswell to tell it instead.
Soap looked ridiculous when the captain was wheeled through the door by Laswell, the young man’s face practically splitting in two with how wide he grinned. Ghost’s heart did a strange jump at the sight, which he pointedly ignored.
No one mentioned the bright shine of the captain’s eyes when he finally saw the recovering Scotsman.
Laswell had told them that Price was haunting Sergeant Garrick’s room.
Soap thought that was ironic seeing as he was the one currently living with a man named Ghost. Maybe it would also be fair to say that Ghost had been haunting Johnny’s bedside, but at least the two of them were both awake and able to talk. Soap pestered the large man to eat the gross hospital food, and after the first couple of days, he had reassured the lieutenant that he wouldn’t suddenly go into cardiac arrest while the other fetched a cup of tea.
It seemed Laswell was less successful with the captain. Soap’s guts twisted at the thought of the older man keeping vigil all alone.
“Ghost,” he said firmly. The large man in the other bed looked up from his book. “We’re going to see Gaz and Price.”
“You’re still not going anywhere, yet.” Ghost’s eyes were stern.
“I’m going, Lt.” Soap insisted. “With or without yer help.”
“How exactly are you planning on overpowering me, Johnny?” Ghost asked with clear amusement. He was putting a napkin in between the pages as a bookmark. He laid the book on his bedside table, and Soap grinned knowingly.
“I won’t have to, will I?” he asked smugly. “You’ve already decided to tag along.”
“How’d you reach that conclusion?” Ghost cocked his head, a curious glint in his eyes.
“Ye put yer book away.”
Ghost huffed the closest he got to a laugh.
“Only because you’ll end up tripping and ripping your stitches if I’m not there to catch you,” the man deadpanned finally.
“My hero,” Soap chuckled.
They carefully sneaked their way through the hallways, Soap being wheeled by his masked guardian. The change of scenery from the usual four white walls, along with the slight rush of staying undetected, made Johnny liven up anew.
When they reached the room with the plaque saying ‘Kyle Garrick’, the rush gave way to anxiety.
Ghost must’ve sensed it, the increasingly familiar touch of his palm landing on the Scot’s shoulder. Soap leaned into the warmth with a slow exhale. They waited like that for a minute, until he nodded for Ghost to go. They entered Gaz’ room.
Somehow, Price looked worse off than the man in the hospital bed.
The beeping of the heart monitor filled the room in a well-known monotony, and Soap felt more at ease when he finally had eyes on his whole team again, even if they were a ragged bunch. Gaz’ face was peaceful, and if it hadn’t been for the setup surrounding him and the bundle of bandages around his head, a stranger would have thought the man was simply having a nice nap.
Of course, Soap knew this wasn’t how Gaz looked when he slept. The young man usually sprawled and moved around in his rest while snoring softly, mouth wide open. Soap had taken many pictures of the ridiculous positions he found the man in. When he’d show Gaz it would often result in a chase where empty threats were thrown out while the Brit tried to steal his phone.
It was unsettling to see Gaz so still. Soap found relief in the steady rise and fall of his chest.
When he and Ghost entered the room, their captain looked up from where he had been resting his head in his hands, elbows making dents in the sergeant’s maddress. He looked like…
“Shite, captain,” Soap broke the weird atmosphere. “Ye planning on carryin’ groceries in those bags under yer eyes?”
“You’re not supposed to be outta bed, sergeant,” came the quick deflection.
“Thinkin’ something about a pot and a kettle, sir.”
Soap ended his statement with a crooked smile, an olive branch to show that he and Ghost weren’t there to wrangle Price back to his own quarters. The other man visibly relaxed and gestured for them to come closer. Ghost pulled out an extra chair for himself, after situating Soap’s wheelchair at the bedside.
For a while they simply sat without words. Then Price cleared his throat.
“They’re shipping us back to England tomorrow,” he said, not looking away from the only pair of eyes not on him. “Laswell just let me know. She went to find you after she’d phoned her wife. She’s probably tearing through the hospital already.”
“Tomorrow?” Ghost’s low timbre was incredulous. “They don’t even want you two outta bed yet, and Gaz-”
“We’re not leavin’ without him,” Soap hissed, already prepared to fight tooth and nail.
“Of course not.” The captain looked up, tired eyes somehow managing to calm both men. “He’s stable. They can move him just fine. And clearly the rest of us can move around as well, even if we’re not supposed to. Laswell wants us back home with our own medics.”
Going home sounded nice, Soap decided after the initial surprise had settled. Ghost’s eyes darted over all three of his companions before he gave a terse nod.
Out of habit, Johnny lightly patted the other’s hand in reassurance.
“And-” Price continued, only a small glint in his eye showing he’d seen the display of affection. “Kyle’s mum will be able to visit him once we’re back on British soil. It’ll be good to have a familiar face around, in case-”
Price trailed off, once again transfixed on the unresponsive man between them.
“Dinnae worry, cap’n,” Soap said, quashing his own uncertainty. “We’re unforgettable.”
“Let’s hope so, son.”
They all startled when the doors swung open again. Kate Laswell’s expression was icy as she scowled at her team.
“You’re all impossible.”
The trip home was relatively painless. Ghost hovered like a worried hen mother, even if he was trying to hide it, but Soap reveled too much in the attention to call him out on it.
Laswell, who had stuck to Price’s side like glue, had finally unlatched from the man once he relented to sleep. She settled beside Ghost and Soap. While she smiled at the Scot’s initial pleasantries, she didn’t wait long to start planning the practical intricacies of their return.
“They’ll want to keep you for a few days, sergeant, but after that you’ll be sent on medical leave. Do you have a place to stay?”
Soap pursed his lips in thought. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“I have my flat,” he concluded hesitantly.
Returning to the empty place, this time with the added challenge of navigating his injuries, didn’t exactly fill him with glee. He hated hospitals but had gotten strangely used to the company that had followed him there.
Laswell didn’t look appeased either. Ghost shifted.
“How about your family?” the woman inquired. “You shouldn’t be alone, even if you’re cleared.”
“Aye, I have me mam an’ pa in Scotland, but-” Soap avoided eye contact. “I’d rather not bother them.”
Most people would have pushed the issue, but luckily Laswell and Ghost were both great at recognizing privacy. Laswell frowned in thought, but before she could continue musing, their third, otherwise quiet companion contributed:
“I’ll go.”
Ghost stayed unflinching at the sudden attention from the two others. Soap’s chest was tickling with something not unlike affection, but stronger. Laswell raised her brows and Ghost finally fidgeted slightly.
“I’m on leave anyways,” he explained. “I’ll just go with MacTavish to his place, make sure he doesn’t die again. If that’s okay?”
The last bit was directed at Johnny. The tone was a surprisingly unsure one, coming from the large man. Soap was probably nodding a bit too fast.
“O’ course, Lt.” he agreed, reaching over to punch Ghost’s free arm in a friendly manner. “It’ll be fun.”
If Laswell was curious about the flush in Soap’s cheeks, she thankfully didn’t say it, or even show it.
“Good. That’s settled then.” She clapped her hands together once, nodding to herself. “I’ll arrange your transport when the time comes.”
“Thanks, chief.” Soap was grateful, but something was still nagging him: “But I- I want to be there when Gaz wakes up.”
Laswell looked like she had already anticipated that issue.
“I know that, sergeant, and I understand.” She slanted her head slightly downwards in that way she always did right before making an annoyingly rational argument. “You know we have no idea when that will happen.” ‘If it will happen’ once again hung unsaid in the air. “I promise to let you both know as soon as there is any change, but until then, you will help no one by crowding Sergeant Garrick.”
Soap wracked his brain for a good response, but had to concede with a small nod. He was exhausted, turbulence rattling his injuries uncomfortably and he didn’t have the energy to pick a fight.
“How did you get Price to agree with that?” Ghost wondered out loud.
“I didn’t,” was the bitter response.
None of this had time to become a big issue. Sergeant Kyle Garrick woke up a few hours after arriving at their destination.
They were all in the sergeant’s room, despite Laswell and the medical staff berating them to stay in their own beds. Soap and Ghost had chosen to finally confront Price to get him to rest.
Ghost waited for his time to strike, while Johnny was going on some heavily accented tirade. That was usually how they convinced the captain to do things; Soap wore down his walls, getting him riled up and defensive, and finally Ghost would butt in with some calm, logical statement which would break Price’s resolve.
While he waited, the masked man watched Gaz’ lax face. He knew they were hypocrites, both him and his sergeant. They were both itching to stay by their captain’s side and keep vigil until their young friend came to. But saying Price looked peaky was mild, the man not giving himself the time he should to recover, and his subordinates were not about to wait for him to keel over.
It felt strange to watch their usual voice of reason be so... well, unreasonable.
He felt like a grim reaper in his skull mask, silently watching Gaz in this condition. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
So often had he acted as other people’s reaper, taking lives almost callously and without personal stakes. Yet now he wished for the power to do the opposite; the power to decide for someone to wake.
He was deep in those thoughts when Gaz’ eyelids fluttered, and so at first he was certain his mind was playing tricks on him. Then the heart monitor picked up, just slightly, while brown eyes started showing through thick lashes. Ghost almost jumped into action, his hand pulling at Soap’s shoulder, cutting off whatever the Scot had been saying.
“Ghost?” he asked, confused.
Soap’s stress and Price’s scowl both melted away when Ghost nodded to their youngest teammate. The captain hurried to summon the doctor, while Soap cautiously neared the waking man.
“Gaz?” After blinking a few times, clearly dazed, Gaz focused on the person talking to him. Soap continued, tone impressively steady: “Hey bud, don’t stress about this. Just take it slow, alright?”
Ghost knew Johnny was desperate for a glimmer of recognition from his friend, and held his own breath for him.
Gaz blinked once more.
“Soap?” he murmured with a thick voice, and the three men around the bed all sighed audibly in relief.
“Aye, that’s me.” Johnny’s eyes were shining with joy. “And yer name, mate?”
Gaz looked almost offended at the question.
“You don’t ‘member my name? You ass,” he grouched, making Soap laugh lightly.
“Ye got a good bonk on yer head, so humour me.”
“Ah.” Only then did it seem that the man realized he was in a hospital. “Well shit. Name is Kyle Garrick, but you call me Gaz. My rank is sergeant.”
With each word, relief painted Price and Soap’s faces. Ghost himself felt a weight lift from his shoulders. At the door, a doctor had stopped up just inside, carefully watching the proceedings, while Laswell stood waiting beside him.
Ghost moved forward with a glass of water to help with the scratchy sound Gaz’ voice held from disuse. The man looked up with a faint smile.
“Thanks, Ghost,” he said, as if the words didn’t remove another stone from every heart in the room. He gratefully drank the cool water, and his eyes cleared even further.
“It’s good to have ye back, mate,” Soap spoke again. Ghost could tell he was struggling to keep a lid on his emotions. “Had us all real worried there.”
“You look awful,” Gaz responded, eyes raking over Johnny’s bandages and trembling stance. “Sit down, idiot. You okay?”
Soap landed in the chair Price moved over with an exhausted huff. Gaz glanced up at the captain with a polite smile.
“Thanks, man,” he said casually, attention quickly back on Soap. “No reason to worry. Looks like you should’ve worried about yourself, honestly.”
Ghost tuned the last bit out, heart thrumming quickly in his chest as he regarded the way Price and Soap had both frozen in place. Price’s knuckles were white from his hold on the chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way Laswell closed her eyes in a broken expression.
The doctor decided to move, walking across the room at a fast pace, stopping before the newly awakened patient.
“Hi,” Gaz greeted with a smile akin to the one he had given Price.
“Hello, Sergeant Garrick,” the doctor replied calmly, his demeanor light despite the tension that had befallen the space around them. “My name is Doctor Lee. I’m the one overseeing your stay and recovery. I’ll need to ask a few questions, just like your friend did. Is that okay?
“Sure”
“What’s the last thing you remember from before you ended up here?”
“Uhm.” The young man’s eyes flickered over to Soap, who gave a reassuring nod. “I, uh- I’m guessing a mission of some sort.”
“True,” the doctor agreed amicably. “But do you remember it?”
“I- no,” Gaz admitted, face contorting in disappointment. “Not really. It’s all a bit fuzzy, sorry.”
“No need to apologize, sergeant. You suffered a brain hemorrhage after being caught in a cave-in. It’s natural to experience some memory issues afterwards, but usually things start returning after a while.”
“Usually?” Gaz swallowed nervously, and Soap placed a hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll figure it out, Gaz. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” came the quiet response. Thankfully, the eyes that looked from Soap to Ghost held resolve. Ghost hoped his own eyes conveyed his willingness to help, despite not being as close with the fellow Brit as Soap and Price were.
“So,” Doctor Lee tried again. “Last thing you remember somewhat clearly?”
The bandages around the sergeant’s head moved slightly as he frowned in concentration.
“A briefing,” he concluded. “I don’t- it’s not entirely clear, but I remember I had to cut leave short for a mission. I remember it because, well- Soap and Ghost were both being grumps, and even talked at the same time at one point. It was funny.”
Johnny looked up to briefly catch Ghost’s eyes with a small, cheeky grin.
“Aye, that’s right,” he directed at Gaz. “That was the morning of the mission, so very recent.”
“That’s good,” the doctor said while scribbling something down on his notepad. “Very good. I’ll come back to do some more tests later, but before I leave I have just two more questions in mind.”
The tension that had started to dim reared its ugly head once more. Ghost watched Price carefully, noting that his grip hadn’t let up at any point.
“Yeah, alright,” Gaz agreed, although he looked a lot more apprehensive at the prospect than he did before. “Go ahead.”
Doctor Lee shifted his body to the side, giving the sergeant a full view of the woman at the door.
“You know who she is?”
Gaz’ face brightened, recognition washing away some of the worry lines.
“Hi Laswell,” he said. “Didn’t notice you before now, sorry.”
“It’s good to see you awake, Kyle,” she responded with a tired smile. Her face mirrored the young man’s relief.
“That’s Kate Laswell. She’s my chief,” Gaz explained to the doctor in a sure voice. Another scribble was added to the notepad.
“Yes.” Ghost worried that the doctor’s head might fall off from all that nodding. “Very good. Last question, then.”
With renewed vigor, Gaz squared his shoulders.
“Go ahead.”
Doctor Lee turned to Price. The captain looked put together despite the dark bruises under his eyes, but to those who knew him well, the tight lips under the mustache gave away his fear.
“Do you know who that is?” the doctor asked the bedridden sergeant.
Brown eyes landed on the man they all knew Gaz regarded as a father figure and the look lacked any of its usual adoration and respect.
Gaz’ expression fell. Ghost knew that Price’s world did the same.
Soap didn’t leave Gaz’ side before the Brit’s mum arrived to take his spot at the young man’s side an hour later.
In that time Johnny enjoyed the other man’s company, pleased with his fast progress health-wise. Knowing that his whole team was going to survive this ordeal had placated the fear that had been gnawing at his heart since entering that cave.
Gaz seemed to be physically better off than the rest of them, but head wounds were tricky. Doctor Lee had already started talking about the possibility of seizures in the future.
And then, of course, there was the Price problem.
Price had given Gaz a soft smile and reassured him that it was okay when the young man had hesitantly admitted that he didn’t recognize the captain. Then the older man had stiffly limped out, wheelchair forgotten, causing Laswell to excuse herself before rushing after the retreating captain. Ghost’s expressive eyes had found Soap, and the Scot had moved his head mutely in agreement, causing the big man to leave as well.
Gaz had looked like a lost puppy, scrambling to understand what had happened.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Doctor Lee had warned.
So, Soap had talked with Gaz about everything except the things that caused the man’s expression to scrunch up in pained confusion. It was difficult not to press the subject of their captain. Some part of him couldn’t help but hope that the correct nudge would dislodge the boulder in Gaz’ mind and bring everything back to normal.
The pure frustration on the other’s face, sweat beading as he searched for recollection, had Soap pull back his selfish attempts.
Details about the mission seemed to come back, though, and Soap warmed himself on the knowledge that Gaz’ mind was working to repair itself.
“-the, uhm- the birdman? Shit, what was he called?” Gaz pinched his brow, before lighting up. “The Eagle.”
“Ach, he’s not even worth remembering.”
“Did you find him after all? I don’t remember him in the cave…”
“He wasn’t there,” Soap agreed. “We didn’t find him. He found us. Well, me and Ghost.”
“What?” Gaz looked distressed. “How’d you- What-”
“Eh, Ghost shot the bastard, it was fine.” Soap waved his hand with feigned nonchalance. Then he risked a question: “Ye remember Graves?”
“Phillip Graves?”
The world was a cruel place for letting Gaz remember the likes of Graves while forgetting Price, Johnny decided.
“Aye. He was birdie.”
Gaz looked about ready to have a stroke from that, so Soap quickly moved the conversation away.
“Anyway, s’not important anymore. Ghost got us out, and then we found you and Pr- Well, we found you and got us all outta that mess.”
“I- thanks, then.” Gaz looked a bit dizzy from trying to keep up. “Thank Ghost for Ghost, eh?”
Johnny smiled warmly.
“Aye.”
Soap couldn’t help feeling relieved when Winona Garrick arrived and started fussing, allowing him to leave Gaz in capable care. He was slightly desperate to see the others and his body was aching from being confined to the hard chair beside Gaz’ bed. Technically, he no longer needed a wheelchair to move around, so he hadn’t brought one with him, but exhaustion was pulling at his limbs and he stumbled slightly when moving down the hallway.
A strong arm caught him before he could trip and faceplant.
“Johnny? Everything alright?” Ghost’s low timbre was a welcome presence, and Soap unconsciously leaned into the larger man’s space.
“Gaz’ mum took over, he’s fine-”
“I meant with you.”
“Jus’ tired,” he tried to placate the other, although it seemed to lack its intended effect. “Why’re ye here?”
“Was just heading to check on you,” Ghost murmured softly, hand still helping the Scot stay on his feet. “Let’s get you into bed, hm?”
“Wanna see Price,” Soap protested, despite allowing the big man to lead him towards their new room.
“I’ll fetch him afterwards.”
“Okay.”
As soon as he hit the pillows, his heavy eyes betrayed his intentions to stay awake. The last thing he registered was his companion pulling his bed covers up and tugging him in.
In the end, it was such a silly thing that dislodged the boulder in Gaz’ mind.
“What’s that, Johnny?” Ghost asked the Scot one evening, before they would head back to see Gaz again.
Soap held up the teddy bear to let the other see it better.
“I couldnae help myself, Lt.,” he grinned sheepishly.
They had been stuck in the English hospital for three days, and Soap had gotten a little stir-crazy. In his boredom he had decided to check out the hospital’s gift shop, where he had fallen over the perfect present for their amnesic friend.
“Is that-” Ghost’s eyes narrowed as he inspected the object.
“A corgi in a crown? Aye,” Soap smiled wider. “Sure is.”
“Garrick can’t even remember that part,” Ghost reminded the other dryly.
“Maybe he will.”
“I doubt it.”
Soap gasped in mock offense, covering the teddy’s ears.
“You’re scaring Gaz junior.”
Ghost snorted and started walking ahead, leaving the Scot to scramble to catch up. Soap pretended he didn’t notice that the other walked much slower than usual, so that the sergeant could keep up with the pace.
Price was standing outside the door to Gaz’ room, watching the damn thing like it would somehow explode. From the other side came muffled sounds of Laswell and Winona’s voices chatting in what seemed like pleasant small-talk.
They had all agreed that Price should keep tagging along when they went to see Gaz. While the young sergeant seemed almost as sorrowful as the captain that he couldn’t recall him, he didn’t express any discomfort at having him near. It was both in the hope that the memory would suddenly be jogged as well as for the sake of Price’s sanity, that Laswell had forced the captain to join them.
“Hey cap’n,” Soap greeted gently, breaking the man from his trance.
“Soap, Ghost,” he smiled at the new arrivals. “I’m- I was-”
“We know,” said Ghost and patted Price’s shoulder. They had both stuck to the captain’s side in the last few days like a pair of newborn cubs. Price hadn’t complained once. “C’mon.”
Together they quietly entered the ward. Soap grinned at the sight of Gaz, who looked bright red at the conversation going on beside him.
“-should’ve have seen him, Kate,” Mrs. Garrick entertained the amused chief. “There he stood, stark naked as the day I birthed him-”
“-mum,” Gaz interrupted forcefully. “The others are here.”
Winona looked to the new arrivals, a wicked glint in her eyes.
“Guess I’ll just have to start over, then,” she chuckled, and Gaz groaned loudly.
“Talkin’ about yer graduation ceremony, eh?” Soap teased, and the man in the bed sent him a betrayed look.
“I wasn’t, actually.” Winona leaned forward in curiosity. “Haven’t heard this story.”
“Please, stop,” Gaz whispered.
Price and Ghost settled a bit further away than the rest, but still hung on to the words. Laswell leaned back in her chair with a quirked eyebrow.
“Well, can’t imagine why he hasn’t told ye,” Soap continued, absentmindedly placing the corgi at the foot of the bed before continuing: “He comes across as a real winner in that story. Barely anyone has ever streaked across the training grounds without being reprimanded, right Gaz?”
When met with silence, Johnny looked back to the young sergeant. His smile fell in an instant.
“Gaz?”
Gaz was crying.
“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” Winona moved closer to her son, stroking his short hair while mindful of the bandages.
Laswell had leaned onto her forearms, sharp eyes watching the scene. Both Price and Ghost had stood back up and were hovering nervously, unsure what part they played. Everyone watched Gaz, except Soap, who instead looked at the object of the young man’s full attention: the corgi plush.
“Gaz?” he dared question again. “What do ye remember?”
“I-” Gaz took a shaky inhale as more tears dripped down his cheeks. “I don’t-”
“Shite, sorry, mate,” Soap apologized, moving to remove the teddy bear from the other’s line of sight.
“No,” Gaz choked, reaching out his hand. “It’s so close. Please.”
Soap looked at the other people in the room for guidance, but they all seemed even more lost than him as to what was the right approach.
Selfishly, Johnny handed over the corgi.
Everyone waited in suspense as Gaz traced the thing with his fingers, expression strained as he searched his mind.
Finally, a sob broke loose from his chest:
“Price.”
In the next second the captain crossed the distance and wrapped the young man in an embrace, head bowed protectively over the sobbing form clutching to him.
Soap’s legs felt like jelly, but once again Ghost quickly had an arm around his shoulders to steady him, as they watched their team finally mend its last pieces.
They arrived at the flat on that next Saturday, late at night. Soap and Ghost bickered lightly when they had to figure out who should carry their bags inside, Soap gesturing pointedly to the sling around the lieutenant's arm. Ghost hit him back with some silly retort about him dying, which had become the man’s go-to for winning arguments.
Neither won in this instance, when the young private who had driven them interrupted them with a neutral expression to say that she had already carried their stuff inside. She saluted and drove off before either had the time to thank her. Soap cleared his throat.
“Nice lass, eh?” He punched Ghost lightly in his good arm, before heading inside, followed by his grumbling shadow.
It was nice, returning home after everything. His apartment was slightly dusty, but otherwise unchanged. Even his clothes still laid scattered on the floor from when he had changed in a hurry and Soap mumbled an apology as he rushed to pick up the clutter. Ghost stood still, seemingly scanning the place.
“I doubt there are monsters hidin’ in the corners, if that’s yer worry,” Soap teased, when he saw the other man looking battle-ready. “Only my shelves and my fake plant. I’d love to have some real ones, but I’m never home to take care of ‘em.”
Of course, the big man still did a sweep of the place. Soap rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips from the antics, while he started preparing the couch for its inhabitant. Ghost had insisted on claiming the lesser sleeping spot, despite Soap nagging him to take the bed for his arm. Once again, the winning argument had been: “You literally died. Twice.”
Ghost returned and stood awkwardly, watching the other man place down blankets.
“If ye prefer sleeping without yer mask, just let me know. I promise I won’t peek,” Johnny said, standing up straight when the couch was ready. Ghost huffed in amusement.
Then he removed the mask without fanfare, smirking at Soap’s flabbergasted expression.
“Might as well get some fresh air. Your place is clear.”
Soap quickly collected himself.
“Ach, course it is, I told ya so.” He tried not to stare at the other’s face. He’d seen it plenty of times during the last mission, but somehow the novelty never quite wore off.
He suddenly became extremely aware that he was alone with Simon in his own home, and his heartbeat picked up as silence stretched between them.
“Cactus,” grunted the bigger man.
“I- eh?” Soap scrunched his nose in confusion.
“You want real plants, but they keep dying,” Simon stated evenly, as if he had no idea why Johnny couldn’t keep up. “Get a cactus.”
“Oh. Right.” Soap grinned at the idea. “That’s a plan for tomorrow then, aye?”
“What is?”
“Getting some cactusses?”
“Cacti.”
“Exactly, just like I said. Solid plan. Another prickly addition to my home,” Soap joked, clapping the lieutenant on the back as he went past him to go prepare for bed.
“That’s the plan, then,” the other agreed slowly, looking after the retreating sergeant.
“Call me if ye need somethin’” Soap called. “Sleep well, Simon.”
“Night, Johnny.”
He was trapped in crushing ground. Dirt was filling his lungs, choking him, drowning him. His hands hurt, fingernails bloodied from the attempted escape. Roba’s laughter echoed around him, from everywhere and nowhere.
It was a coffin made of dirt and collapsed caves. It was only him and Vernon, but it wasn’t. It was also Price and Gaz and Johnny. He could hear them clawing for air as well, strangled sounds joining Roba’s voice, as they tried to call to him for help. They were broken already, bodies twisted, not yet aware that it was too late.
And Ghost could only dig and dig and dig and-
Simon lurched awake, gasping and heaving for the precious oxygen that filled his empty lungs. His eyes were stinging.
Within seconds he was breathing in that well-known pattern he’d been taught to calm himself, albeit shakily. Four. Seven. Eight. Repeat. He raised a clammy hand to his face, rubbing the nightmare from his eyes.
After a few minutes, he got to his feet, looking around the dark, unknown space. He could just barely make out the various items that made up Soap’s home, but with each object he spotted he felt more grounded: Picture frames he knew showed the MacTavish family, smiling sisters and an earlier family dog. The dusty guitar on the wall that he still hadn’t had the courage to ask about. Even that ugly, fake plant helped ease his mind.
With stealthy steps, he headed to the bathroom to splash some water in his face, before he would attempt to sleep again.
He froze when he passed the door to Johnny’s bedroom, the sound of a frightened whimper reaching his ears.
“No- No no, Graves, not- not them.” The door muffled the sound, but Simon could still make out the words. It seemed they were both haunted tonight. He hesitated, not wanting to invade Soap’s private space, especially in a vulnerable moment. His outstretched hand lingered near the doorknob.
“Not- please, not Simon -” The statement was almost a whine, and Ghost was already over the threshold and beside the thrashing sergeant in three long strides.
“Johnny,” he whispered, gently shaking the other man. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, allowing Ghost to see the lone tear that rolled down Johnny’s cheek, his eyes still tightly closed. “Johnny!”
It took a bit of nudging and raising his voice, but finally the smaller man returned to the waking world, almost colliding with Simon in his fast ascent. His face contorted in pain, the rushed motion no doubt pulling at his healing stitches. Ghost moved to hold him still before sitting at the edge of the bed.
“Hey, hey, you’re alright, Johnny.” If anyone at base ever heard that soothing tone from him, his hard-earned reputation would be ruined. But this was Soap, and for Soap he’d sound as gentle as a lamb, if needed. “Nothing but a nightmare. It’s over now.”
“Simon?” Soap’s voice was still unclear from sleep, expression disoriented as he took in his surroundings. His shoulders relaxed a little as his eyes focused. “Steamin’ Jesus.”
Ghost hummed, retracting his hand after a small internal struggle.
“How copy?” he asked.
“Bleedin’ mother o’ Mary, that was some wakeup, eh?” Soap smiled weakly, wiping his cheeks hurriedly when he noticed the wetness covering them.
“Sure was,” Ghost said. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Naw, it’s alright. Jus’ need a minute.”
Soap’s breathing slowed down, before he looked up at his companion as if noticing him properly for the first time.
“Why’re you awake?”
Simon scratched the back of his head, averting his eyes. He suddenly longed for the security of his mask. Not that it would help; Johnny had a skill to read him with or without the thing.
“Same as you,” he confessed evenly, his body’s residual tremble betraying him.
“Oh.” Soap blinked. Ghost felt a hand on his own, and looked down to see fingers interlinking with his. They’d have to address that new habit at some point. “Ye good?”
“It’s- It was an old one. Nothing I’m not used to.”
“Still not fun. Wanna talk about it?” Soap prodded carefully. Ghost rewarded that question with a raised eyebrow.
“If you talk, I’ll talk.”
Soap closed his eyes in defeat, lips twitching.
“Ye know I cannae resist that offer.”
“Yep.”
“Bastard.” Soap broke into a real smile. “Alright, then.”
When Johnny woke, it was unhurried, sleep clinging to him in a way it hadn’t done in months. Sunlight was warming his legs. Not that he was cold in the slightest to begin with; something big and breathing next to him made sure of that.
Memories of the night flooded back; of soft words and painful secrets revealed; of almost timid touches and finally a plea for the other to stay .
Soap cracked his eyes open, just enough to be certain he was remembering correctly, and sure enough, the sight that met him was his lieutenant’s handsome side profile. That should probably set off some sort of panic in his chest. All he felt was incredible fondness.
They’d have to address this at some point, Soap reminded himself. For now, he enjoyed the presence that had ensured the best sleep he’d had since before Las Almas. Maybe the best sleep he’d had ever.
He curled closer to the strong body beside him, ignoring his complaining aches as he reveled in the closeness of another. His eyes never left those striking features.
“You’re starin’ again, Johnny,” Simon murmured in a low gravel, eyes still closed.
“Aye,” Soap smiled, his cheek moving against the chest beneath him. “Not my fault you’re such a bonnie lad.”
Ghost’s lips quirked into a hint of a smile as well, which solidified at Soap’s annoyed grumble when the large man got out of bed.
“C’mon, sergeant. We’ve got plans, remember?”
Soap groaned, laying back to watch the other put on a t-shirt, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t ogling the man.
“I think I’ve figured it out, Lt.”
“Hm?” Ghost looked up in amusement. “That would be a first.”
“Awa’ n’ bile yer heid,” Soap muttered with a grin. “The nightmares before the mission, why I couldn’t sleep. I’ve figured out why.”
Ghost sat down at the edge of the bed, undivided attention back in place. Johnny basked in it as he spoke.
“Ye see, in Las Almas I only made it through ‘cause o’ yer terrible jokes and constant talking-”
“Think we did an equal amount of talking-”
“-and when we got back afterwards, my sleep was okay. Sure, Las Almas and Chicago made appearances still, but I could always fall asleep again. Until I came home. Knowing ye were right there, nearby, that was the only constant on those missions. Back on base I knew ye weren’t far away, either. But back at home…”
Realization dawned on Simon’s uncovered face.
“You’re blaming me for your insomnia? Hardly seems fair.”
“Ach, naw, just blaming my own brain,” Soap reassured. “Just, I only figured it out now.”
“Then why the one last night,” Simon mused. “You knew exactly where I was.”
Soap felt his cheeks heat, probably turning visibly red.
“Think I’ve gotten used to better standards during our hospital stay, Lt.” He laughed nervously, as the other man looked to the ceiling.
“That’s gonna be a problem,” Ghost mumbled, brows furrowing slightly.
They should really address their strange situation at some point. It hung unsaid between them, heavier by the minute.
“But-” Ghost started, before pressing his lips together. Johnny nudged him.
“I spilled my guts, Simon. Yer turn.”
“Fine,” rumbled the other. “It’s not just you who- who’s in that situation.”
Soap finally sat up, begrudgingly accepting Ghost’s helping hand when his abdomen smarted again.
“It did sound like those night terrors o’ yers are pretty common, when ye told me.”
“Yeah,” Ghost breathed. “Been fucking with my sleep for years. I’ve gotten used to it, used to running on next to no sleep. But here you are.”
Ghost gestured to him with an annoyed expression.
“Why’s that a bad thing?” Soap exclaimed indignantly.
“Because I’m not gonna be able to go back to how I slept before,” Ghost grumbled, glaring angrily at the thin curtains as if they had somehow offended him. “Not now.”
The sharp voice tried to hide a soft message, but Soap still managed to catch the unsaid words.
“Huh.” Johnny couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at it all. “Does that make it more or less of a problem?”
“Both.” Simon stood again, helping the sergeant to his feet. They looked helplessly at each other for a bit, although Soap had a hard time suppressing his cheerful grin.
“Breakfast, then?” he asked, unable to keep his joy under wraps. Ghost relaxed, his crow’s feet crinkling.
“Breakfast.”
In the end, it was a perfect Sunday. They slept in late, ate breakfast together and went to buy cacti. While Simon couldn’t buy Johnny a scotch, due to him still not being cleared to drink alcohol yet, he still bought him a coffee. In the evening they made dinner together and watched crappy tv.
And when they fell asleep, tangled in each other's arms, neither of them had any nightmares about graves or collapsing caves.