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The Best is Yet To Be (Just Play Pretend With Me)

Summary:

"Let's pretend we got someone to go home to.” Johnny knew- Ghost had shared with him, little by little, that nothing waited for him back home other than headstones with his name. Johnny hadn’t shared much- just that the 141 was all he had now. The 141 and a cold more often than not apartment in Glasgow.

Simon finally pulled his eyes back to his cards. “If this is to make me feel better about going back to Manchester, I’m not interested. Who would I even pretend to play house with? Who would be stupid enough-”

“I wouldn't say no. Same boat as you, aye?” For a moment, Johnny's blue eyes were cold and calculating, like he wasn't coming up with the usual stupid bet but instead carefully defusing a bomb. Like the outcome of it mattered. “If I win this hand, we play pretend while we're on leave. No harm to be had, promise, scouts honor. Best case, we ain't crawling up the walls alone in our flats, worst case, I drive ya up the walls with my charming personality and you drive me up the walls with your top tier comedy.“

Notes:

Not me, effed up after MW3. No beta, I've been typing this non stop since I finished playing. Sorry for typos. Not sure if I'll finish it, I really haven't felt like writing in years. I just needed some good vibes. But I got plenty to post in chunks for the foreseeable future. Most of it seems like mush and I'll need to work out a lot more of it, and its really weird just appearing in this fandom after lurking in it for a year. Posting an intro so I can try to commit to finishing it. No promises it'll finish my life is rly rly busy irl. If you like, please comment! I'm really shy, but I read everything people say!

Chapter Text



Half the time he was stuck with Johnny outside of a mission, it could never be taken seriously. Jokes and teasing and half hearted kindness that he himself wouldn't give a second thought to. Actively ignored, even. The Sergeant had talked his ear off time and time again, with jokes and banter, and his usual hot-headed remarks. Even before the early days of the 141, the few times their paths crossed were an instantaneous headache for Ghost.

Las Almas changed everything though. When comms were littered with the teasing he had learned to ignore, coming to find comfort in. Partaking, if only to help keep Soap’s bright light he radiated glowing. If only to keep Soap walking a little further, keep him talking a little longer, until he was safe by his side again.

It hadn’t stopped after that.

It continued for months. Give and take, jokes, and teasing, and maybe something a little more. Toeing the edge of something. Teammates interrupting their jokes, the two of them requesting their private com line, sharing their names with each other in casual conversation, but no one else being allowed the privilege. Sitting beside each other, close enough to feel the heat off the other, wasting the little bit of free time they had side by side, and their time that belonged to the mission glued to each other unless they needed to be apart. Eyes meeting and never backing down as they spoke. Somehow Ghost was the one telling stupid jokes out loud, little quips, always followed by the Sgt. chiming in, laughing through his earpiece as they glanced over at each other. 

They had a mandatory leave the next morning. Tonight, they shared one of Ghost's bottles of whiskey- a gift of Kentucky that Soap had grabbed him last time they were in a city centre. The bottle basically polished, allowing themselves one night to have too much, and signing up for a miserable flight back to their respective homes with a hangover they could easily avoid.

The company and shared words were worth the price though. 

Somehow as the liquor flowed, the conversations slipped from what they had been doing, what they could have done differently, to things the two of them only ever talked to each other about. Silly little nothings, as always, when it was just the two of them. Concerts in their areas, art galleries with new exhibitions Johnny was interested in, a show at the theatre that Ghost thought was too expensive but would still probably see just to get out of the flat for a bit. Things they never actually made it out to, just little ideas that they felt safe to share in the company of the other. Sometimes it flowed into talks of the harsh realities. How sleep would be hard to find on leave. The itching in their blood. How some sounds that never once sounded like gunfire now sounded too close, immediately setting them on edge in public. How they both hit their local gyms more than they probably should, just to quiet their bodies. To numb their minds with counting out reps.

Soap was off in his own world tonight though, not dwelling too hard on the usual. Tonight was something new. He had started the evening, shuffling through cards, nervous almost. He was always teaming with energy, always fidgeting or antsy, chewing on gum or leg bouncing as he tried to expend some of it.

Tonight was different, like there was something small and sad pulling him back.

As they chatted, the topic of married soldiers came up. Somehow veered off a conversation about Laswell. Soap piping up with questions- logistics behind it. If it was something feasible, how much a shared income would bring in, how leaves would work if a partner or kid was sick, how things had changed for a queer man in the military, if the pros outweighed the cons.

Ghost could feel he was working himself up to something, just getting through bare bone questions til he could work up the courage to ask what he really wanted.

“Is it something you ever want?”

Simon glanced around the room again, even though he knew they were alone at the little card table, the previous occupants vacating with haste when the two walked in.

“Long time ago, might have thought about it. “ When Tommy and Beth were his first shining example of things going right. And his last.

“Before Ghost, then?”

“Yeah.” He didn't need to go into detail ever with Johnny. Not unless he wanted to. And only Johnny could get away with asking things like that so casually. It scared him, at first. Now, it was relieving. To be able to say just enough. Just enough to say “Simon Riley was here”.

And Simon Riley certainly wouldn't go into detail about how maybe he had thought more about it, after Ghost too. 

He focused on his own hands as he shuffled the cards. “You think about it a lot?”

Soap gave a small sound in response, staring down as the cards were dealt in their makeshift two-man card game. “Guess I have been, yeah. S’gonna sound stupid, but sometimes when I’m out with someone I pretend a bit. What it would be like if they weren't just a hookup.”

Ghost ignored the bit of emotion that burned at his throat, chalking it up to oversharing instead of what he was slowly beginning to realize was possessiveness. “Waste of time, Johnny. Better just to get laid and keep your head clear.” 

“What's so wrong with pretending?” Soap mused, glancing through his cup before taking a sip and making a face. Always trying to visually remind Ghost that it wasn't a glass of scotch. 

“No point innit, is there? Its fake.” He bounced back, sipping his like it was smooth as silk.

“Alright, but what harm does it?”

Simon frowned from behind the mask, peering up from behind his cards. “Men like us shouldn't waste time thinking about things like that. Hope is a dangerous thing.”

“I think about it, though. “ A soft confession that he’s sure would never see the light of day if it weren't for who they shared their company with right now, the whiskey, and the exhaustion that was so deep set in their bones after their last mission. Soap gave him his usual thousand watt smile, teeth showing before he went back to staring at his cards. “If I had something to go back to. What a hypothetical family would say, if Price had to give em the bad news.”

Soap was still smiling, no ounce of sadness hidden behind his eyes at the mere possibility of him dying. Like it wouldn't turn Simon's world off its axis. 

“Dark thoughts. Reckon it doesn't do any good.”

The Scot looked curious for a moment. “It’s not always that. Sometimes I just wonder what it would be like to go home to someone. Lights on when I walk up. Come home tired, maybe they would run a bath for me, yeah? A cooked meal, not a sandwich I grabbed on the way home from the airport… Maybe we're both military- order takeout and pass out on the couch after a mission that went to shit. I think it's nice, thinking maybe I would be missed… Thinking maybe I’ll live long enough to find someone who would  wanna see me get home safe.”

Ghost held his tongue. Bit into the meat of it to keep his words bound.

I want you to come back home safe.

The nightmares where Soap didn't come back at all were all too familiar. Almost as frequent as the nightmares of family he wouldn't ever be able to go back to.

“Can't tell me you never ever thought about it?”

He had, too many times. When they did both come back, sore and tired from missions, scraping together a quick meal in the mess, or hitting the showers together, in separate stalls as the hot water soothed the bruises and aches. Dressing and quietly speaking as they brushed their teeth, or shaved away stubble that had grown in far too much while they were crouching along in some warzone. Enjoying those shared moments as if it were going home to a regular life.

He did wonder what it would be like to drive from the base together, somewhere other than a mission.

To sit down to a movie somewhere private, or with a book while Soap sat with his journal beside him.

Ghost still held his tongue, eyes off his cards and on Johnny's eyes. What the hell was happening in Johnny's brain that this was what was eating him up tonight? That he was sharing such soft tender thoughts. That he was confessing such fragile little hopes.

The Scot smirked, right hand fidgeting in his lap. “If you haven't, then let's change that.“

“I’m not gonna sit here and imagine a scenario where Price has to-”

“Naw naw, not the bad news. Let's pretend we got someone to go home to.” Johnny knew- Ghost had shared with him, little by little, that nothing waited for him back home other than headstones with his name. Johnny hadn’t shared much- just that the 141 was all he had now. The 141 and a cold more often than not apartment in Glasgow.

Simon finally pulled his eyes back to his cards. “If this is to make me feel better about going back to Manchester, I’m not interested. Who would I even pretend to play house with? Who would be stupid enough-”

“I wouldn't say no. Same boat as you, aye?” For a moment, Johnny's blue eyes were cold and calculating, like he wasn't coming up with the usual stupid bet but instead carefully defusing a bomb. Like the outcome of it mattered . “If I win this hand, we play pretend while we're on leave. No harm to be had, promise, scouts honor. Best case, we ain't crawling up the walls alone in our flats, worst case, I drive ya up the walls with my charming personality and you drive me up the walls with your top tier comedy. “

Simon ignored how it felt harder to breathe, like his lungs were being compressed slowly, sweetly, tenderly. He was definitely a few too many glasses in, mouth hanging open with unspoken words that wanted out and brain chugging too fast and too slow all at once. Soap always got silly, almost childlike, when they drank. The angry, fiery soldier he knew so well melted into someone that could find joy in the smallest stupidest things. Be excited about normal things. Laugh hard till tears pricked the corners of his eyes over half assed jokes or circumstances. Blue eyes wide and happy and warm when they said stupid shit like this. Except right now, with the stupid little bet laid out, he looked all too serious, like lives depended on it.

“And if I win?” He glanced at his cards, sighing. When it was the two of them, alone and safe like this, he couldn’t ever find it in him to crush whatever fire had started in Soap. Whatever little bit of joy that made him so much more human than him. 

“Well, what do you want?”

For it not to be pretend.

“Want a cuppa with every meal, just how I like it.” Something small, that could never give way to the big things he wanted. Enormous, all encompassing wishes that somehow his heart had learned to yearn for again.

“Ach, already make ya a bloody tea in the morning.”

“Fine, any time I ask. Any place.” His odds were good, no point in asking for something ridiculous when Johnny’s chances were so slim, and his little wish was so filled with hope. No point adding insult to injury.

Johnny's grin was back, teeth bared in challenge. “Deal then?” Simon met his grin, the mask never a barrier between the two of them. “Aint allowed to whine like a bitch when I win, Johnny.” He eyed his hand again and the dealers cards. A full house, off the bat. He knew Johnny would be good for the deal though, always was. Covered his menial tasks for a whole month last time he lost with the same winning smile (Not that Ghost wasn’t by his side through the whole thing, listening to him whine as he did his cleanup duty each morning).

“And you ain't allowed to back out, when I win, Simon.” Simon reached out his hand, to seal the deal. Johnny reached out as well, gripping his gloved hand hard.

Ghost didn't see the spare cards slip from Soaps lap, under the table. Honestly, should have been watching for it. managed to catch him cheating at least once every game night. But his full attention were on those pretty blue eyes, the way his somehow always soft looking lips pulled up, the way his cheeks dimpled from the force of his smile, the way his cheeks were round and full with colour from the alcohol and vulnerability.

He gave the Sergeants hand one more squeeze before laying out his hand. “Liked the last cuppa you made with honey-”

Johnny let go, laying out a royal flush. His teeth bared in something that rivalled what his enemies saw in their final moments.

“We going back to yours, or mine?”