Chapter Text
“Ah shit,” Soap muttered as he stumbled over the doorway of the pub. His reflexes were fucked, one too many pints leaving him helplessly toppling towards the spinning ground. As he tried to pull his arms up as quickly as he could to cushion the impact, his body suddenly stopped tipping over, leaving him bent towards the asphalt of the sidewalk, suspended halfway along his fall.
With a grin, he glanced backwards, finding Ghost staring down at him, holding him by the back of his shirt. It only took one strong yank, and suddenly, he was upright again, still unable not to smile stupidly at the other man.
“Thanks, LT.”
Ghost didn’t say a word at first, just steadied Soap by his collar like he was reeling in a fish. An ungloved knuckle accidently brushed along Soap’s skin as Ghost kept him upright, the contact on his neck making him shiver.
It was warm outside, warmer than it usually was in the middle of June, and Ghost had opted out of wearing his gloves to the bar. Soap felt like he was an idiot getting excited by a Victorian maiden’s ankle, but seeing Ghost’s hands always gave him thoughts. Thoughts he shouldn't have about a superior officer.
“Bloody hell, you’re a mess,” Ghost finally muttered, his voice rough through the mask.
Soap blinked up at him, still grinning, his cheeks flushed red from the heat and the booze. “Nothing new there, eh, LT?”
“Hmm. You’re usually a functional mess,” Ghost said, letting go of his shirt. “C’mon, you’re blocking the door.”
Soap immediately missed the contact, but obediently shuffled forward, making way for Ghost to leave the pub as well.
“S’ why I got you to take care of me when I’m not functional,” Soap noted, shooting the man a teasing smile.
“Careful, or I’ll just leave without you,” Ghost grunted. It was their usual set of banter – Soap getting shitfaced on the weekends he could, just like pretty much everyone else on base, dragging Ghost along to the pub, who acted annoyed but came along anyway every single time, and finally, stumbling home, with Gaz, sometimes even with Price and always, always, with Ghost in tow, who never drank enough to behave in any other way than he usually did.
Soap knew Ghost was making empty threats. The man had never once left him behind, not even that one time Soap really had drank too much, almost throwing up on Ghost’s shoes.
As the door swung closed behind the other man, the noise around them suddenly ebbed down. Soap only now noticed how loud it had been inside, soldiers yowling and laughing and drinking too much.
“Hey, I was being good – leaving early and all. Gaz’s still in there, probably ordering another pint.”
They were leaving early. Or maybe not early, but not as deep into the night as most of the other soldiers would, at least.
This had become a habit as well, leaving as soon as he noticed Ghost getting uncomfortable. The other man wasn't a fan of crowds, especially not of loud crowds, but still, he kept accompanying Soap to his outings anyway. He was a good friend, as much as he tried to pretend he wasn't. The least Soap could do in return was to not force him to stay until closing.
“Garrick's Price’s problem.” Ghost shrugged. “He’ll be fine, he’s not out searching for trouble whenever he's a few pints in.”
Soap opened his mouth and closed it again wordlessly before finally speaking up. “I'm not out searching for trouble. It just comes and finds me.”
They made their way through an alleyway leading to the main street, finding a few more soldiers there, smoking and getting some fresh air.
Soap recognized some of the people, but not all of them. Some weren’t soldiers, just men and women from town.
Who he did recognise however, was the little group of visiting marines smoking at the corner of the last building of the alleyway. Soap had never had a general problem with Americans. He had worked with enough of them before to know that not all of them were bad. But this bunch was grinding on his nerves since they'd arrived, clearly feeling like they deserved special treatment.
They were shooting glances at him, openly staring and laughing and fuck was it annoying. The marine closest to him was ogling a spot just above his head and Soap looked back, realising that they weren't staring at him but at Ghost with his mask and, bloody hell, that was even worse, wasn't it?
Because logically, he knew Ghost could take better care of himself than Soap ever could, that the man could crush these idiots under his heel, but despite how scary Ghost could look, he was a professional. He wouldn't beat these bastards up, despite how much Ghost hated being stared at.
So it was Soap’s duty to protect the Lieutenant's honor. That was at least what the pissed drunk part currently in control of his brain was telling him. The part that loved fucking up bad guys and blowing shit up. The part that lived off the adrenaline. The part that wanted nothing more than Ghost's attention.
“Oi, what you staring at, fuckhead,” Soap slurred at the bloke ogling Ghost the most shamelessly. Because yes, he’d wondered why Ghost wore it at the beginning, too. And maybe he’d done some staring as well, he'd admit that. Still did, probably – stare. But it was different when it was him. He wasn't trying to make fun of Ghost, after all. The opposite, really.
“Soap,” Ghost said dangerously behind him. And fuck Ghost was going to put a leash on him again, wouldn't he? Right when Soap was about to prove to him how good he could be, defending him.
“C’mon, LT,” Soap said, lifting his chin and taking a step forward. “Bloke’s got something to say, yeah? Go on then, mate, say it.
The marine snorted, his voice thick with mockery and the slur of too much alcohol. “Didn’t say nothin’, man. Just wonderin’ what kind of freak hides behind a mask when he’s off-duty.”
That did it.
Before Ghost could tell him to stay, Soap was already halfway there, stumbling a little, but fueled by the type of drunk that made him fast and reckless.
“The kind that could knock your teeth out before you can blink,” Soap snapped, closing the distance until he was right up in the bloke’s face. “You want to find out?”
“Jesus, let's all cool off a bit, yeah?” another marine immediately cut in, pushing himself in-between Soap and his newly acquired target.
Behind him, Ghost’s boots were silent on the pavement, but the air seemed to shift the second he stepped forward. Even without raising his voice, his presence alone demanded obedience.
“Johnny. Stand the fuck down.”
Soap turned, grinning a little too wide. “C’mon, LT. Just talking.”
“Yeah,” Ghost said flatly, “and now you’re done talking. As are you,” Ghost’s eyes focused on the bastard that had insulted him, his voice turning dangerous at the end, there. Soap could practically see the marine’s drunken confidence slowly ebbing away.
One of the other soldiers laughed again, however, it was decidedly nervous, now. The man that had pushed himself in-between the fight pulled the bastard begging for a beating away from Soap.
“Sorry about this, alright? C’mon man. We’ll head back inside.”
Soap glanced at Ghost who nodded his head to the side pointedly. The message was clear. Soap was to leave as well, heading back on their path towards base.
With a pout, Soap got moving, following Ghost’s silent order.
Behind them, he heard the marines talking among themselves as their voices slowly faded away into the distance.
“You're a goddamn idiot, Walters. Jesus.”
“What, the fucking rooster insulted me first. He called me a fuckhead.”
“Maybe because you are a fuckhead. Why do you always have to find the biggest guy to insult? Like seriously? The big guy with the skull face? You're lucky he didn’t-”
Soap couldn't make out the last words, fading away into the noise from inside the pub as the door was opened again.
He had half a mind to run back to give Walters his opinion on being called a ‘rooster’, but Ghost already looked too annoyed with him to get away with more.
“Thought you were trying to be good, Johnny,” Ghost said evenly, regarding him with that intense focus only Ghost seemed to manage to come up with.
“I was. They were talking about you behind your back. I knew they were. And then that fucker confirmed it.”
Ghost shook his head, a small disapproving movement. “People always talk. I don't give a shit.”
“Well I do!” The words burst out of Soap before he could hold them back. Ghost was still staring at him. “I mean-, we’re mates, aye? And they were idiots. Just how this goes.”
Soap could see Ghost opening his mouth behind the black balaclava, but he cut him off before he could say anything. “Don't come at me with tha' bullshit about friendship not being in the field manual. We’re friends. If ye like it or nae.”
Soap could feel more and more of his accent slipping through. Agitation and alcohol usually did as much.
“Wouldn't fucking make sure you get home without doing something stupid if we weren’t friends,” Ghost pointed out, grabbing Soap by his neck roughly again when he stumbled a bit too far towards the ditch next to the sideway.
Fuck, walking in a straight line was hard with everything bloody shifting like that. And Ghost’s hand on his neck again, guiding him, didn't help him focus one bit.
“You can get back at them without acting on damn impulse, Johnny,” the other man grunted. “In a way that won't have command on your bloody ass about it.”
Soap blinked, slow, sirupy thoughts trying to wrap around what Ghost had just said.
“Wait-, you're planning on getting back at them?”
There was a glint in Ghost’s eyes as he stared down at him, so dangerous, Soap couldn't help being entranced by it, not even trying to keep his staring in check.
“Bloke was causing trouble all week, pissing me off, honestly. Can’t discipline him, not when he’s not under my command, but there’s sparring training on Tuesday. With the Americans. Better way to settle this than in front of a pub.”
Soap suddenly felt stupid. Because of course Ghost had already had a plan. He always fucking did.
“Well, I didn't know about that, obviously,” he grunted quietly. “Give him one extra for me, then. For calling me a fucking rooster.”
Ghost shrugged. “Won't run him ragged for stating facts.”
“Oi,” Soap immediately barked and Ghost let out a deep, amused breath. “Oh, piss off,” Soap only muttered, without much bite in it.
He loved hearing Ghost chuckle like that. He got to hear it much too rarely.
“C’mon. Keep up,” Ghost finally noted, giving him a little push before releasing his neck, marching forwards faster, leaving Soap struggling to keep pace in his current state.
As they got closer and closer to the barracks, Soap slowly lost hope that the short hike would sober him up. He felt worse, somehow, stumbling more and more often and kind of disappointed in the fact that Ghost wasn't steadying him anymore, rather just telling him to watch his damn feet when he almost fell again.
Maybe he shouldn't have downed his last pint just before they had left, because the beer was showing its full effect by now.
They showed their ID’s to the guards posted at the base’s gate, who were long used to people coming in intoxicated on a Friday night.
“Want to do something?” Soap asked after they had passed the gate.
“Do something?” Ghost asked roughly.
Soap shrugged. “‘M’ not tired yet. We could head to the rec room. Or hang out in my room.” That...definitely sounded like Soap was inviting Ghost over to fuck. It hadn't been his intention. Not like he didn't want that, he just knew Ghost would simply say no, at best.
If Soap had learned anything about Ghost in the time he’d known him, then it was that the other man didn't do relationships. Nothing casual…and definitely nothing serious.
Maybe Ghost just wasn't interested, too focused on his job. Ghost was intense about work, constantly training, but in a way, pretty much all of them were. Sometimes Soap wondered if Ghost would be even capable of it – of a relationship. If he’d lost that ability when he’d started putting on the mask. Because Ghost didn't like sharing information about himself, didn't like to be touched – didn't much like most people in general, honestly. Soap had done a lot of work, getting to be the man’s friend. Anything more than that felt delusional most of the time.
Still, Soap didn't want this night to end just yet. Not when he had Ghost right here, spending time with him.
And…Soap knew there was something there. An energy between them, a bloody tension. He could feel it. The banter, the fucking flirting, Soap would give himself hope if Ghost was-, well, anyone other than Ghost.
“No. You need to go to sleep.” Ghost's tone left no room for argument and Soap sighed.
“You're no fun.”
“Don’t know what gave you the idea that I would be.”
Soap tilted his head in consideration, regarding Ghost. “The mask, probably. Makes you look too approachable,” he noted seriously before a smile split its way onto his face.
“Didn't you just threaten to beat people up for making fun of the mask?” Ghost grunted.
Soap rolled his eyes. “That’s different. I’m allowed to.”
Crinkles appeared around Ghost’s eyes in a sure tell of a smirk. “Are you?”
“Aye, I am. I'm different.”
It was true, it was different with him. It always was. Because Ghost didn't like to be touched, didn't even shake people’s hands when he met them, but Soap had worked his way under his defenses bit by bit by now. He was allowed more and he was proud of that, because maybe Ghost wouldn't ever bloody kiss him, but he also didn't even blink when Soap bumped his shoulder or grabbed his arm – didn't even comment even when Soap squeezed himself in that spot everybody else left empty next to Ghost on the couch in the rec room, his side pressing into Ghost’s.
Soap had all that bloody longing inside of him that he knew would never find a proper release, but there were these little moments, when he touched Ghost or yapped his ear off without complains when Ghost would have long told anyone else to shut up and fuck off, that made it all more than worth it.
“Remember. Sparring practice on Tuesday. Careful what you say," Ghost grunted, but the comment only made Soap smile. There was no universe in which being knocked around the sparring mat by Ghost could put fear into his mind. The opposite really. Soap knew he wasn't well adjusted, too much energy and impulse waiting to break through, and maybe, he should work on that, but he could never bring himself to hate facing off against Ghost with a cocky smile on his split lips.
“Aye, looking forward to it,” Soap only retorted, grinning, receiving a glance from Ghost he couldn't quite place.
When they reached the main entrance of the barracks, Ghost took point to unlock the door. “Watch the fucking step,” the man muttered when he pushed it open.
“You don’t have to babysit me, y’know,” Soap muttered, still almost stumbling over the first step anyway, hoping that he had concealed his clumsiness enough for Ghost not to give him shit for it again.
“You’d end up face-down in a ditch if I didn’t.”
“Romantic.” Soap grabbed the handrail as he worked himself up the steps, unable to keep himself from flirting. Not like it would seem like anything but banter.
“Not fucking trying to be.”
“Aye, I know, I know. Cold heart and all that. Big bad Ghost,” Soap mused, trying to focus on controlling his legs. He felt like he was in a goddamn obstacle course.
They reached the second floor that had Soap’s bed calling for him, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Ghost paused, tilting his head toward Soap’s room. “Go on. Before you fall asleep in the hallway again.”
“That was one time,” Soap protested. “And technically, it was a tactical nap.”
“Tactical my arse,” Ghost retorted, but he lingered, eyes flicking over Soap’s face like he was making sure he would actually make it inside.
“You sure you don’t want to hang out?” Soap tried again. It wasn't like he had any shame left after downing this many beers. He might as well ask twice. “I have bourbon in there, you know?”
“Johnny, get some sleep. And don't open that bottle, you’ve had enough for tonight. That’s a bloody order,” Ghost instructed, already turning to leave for his own room.
And fuck, Soap didn't want to see him leave. He usually had no problem containing his desire to touch the man and to keep him around at all times to a reasonable amount, but now he just-
It felt impossible. Like he might collapse if he let Ghost leave and went to his dark, depressing room with the damn military issued furniture on his own. He wasn't thinking when his hand shot out, grabbing Ghost’s wrist like he was on autopilot, letting his emotions take full control of his body.
For a few heartbeats, there was nothing, no reaction at all other than the fact that Ghost froze and slowly glanced back at him – staring at him in that way Soap couldn't get enough of. In the way where every single one of Ghost's thoughts seemed focused on him and only him. It wasn't much different to the way Ghost looked at a target just before a kill and the thought was somehow exhilarating.
Soap’s breath caught in his throat as he stared back, unable to look away from those brown eyes, always, always the most important part of the man. The only thing Ghost let freely show to the world – the only way to get a grasp on the man’s expression.
Soap couldn't tell what emotions they were reflecting now. It felt like Ghost was just waiting. Waiting for him to do what exactly, Soap didn't know.
To let go, probably. But Soap really, really didn't want to, feeling Ghost’s pulse on his warm wrist. Ghost hadn't actually told him to let go, hadn't shaken him off, either.
And Soap wanted to do something stupid, something really stupid – felt his body start to tremble at the thought of just pulling Ghost closer, kissing him right here and now, no matter the consequences. His heart was beating so hard, he could feel it in his damn rips, trying to break out, handing itself over to Ghost.
He imagined Ghost returning the kiss, engulfing him, pressing them together, just as desperate to get as close as he possibly could as he was, ready to fuse them together forever if it was in any way possible and fuck, the alcohol boosted, stupidly brave confidence almost won. Almost. Until the fantasy was replaced by the much more realistic scenario in his mind, one where Ghost shoved him away, frowning and confused. Not angry – Soap wasn't enough of a pessimist for that – never really angry at him. But bewildered, outright baffled that Soap was stupid enough to kiss his superior officer, one that had made it very clear he had barely any interest in friendship and definitely not in a relationship.
It felt like his stomach was wrapped in a tight fist, constricting everything up to his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Because why did he even let himself dream, still, knowing it would only end in fucking heartbreak. Heartbreak that would be no one’s fault but his own.
After just standing there, staring at where Ghost’s lips had to be hidden beneath the mask for what had felt like forever, the decision of how to proceed came almost instantly, now.
He pulled Ghost closer, looking down before closing his eyes fully, suppressing the deep, shaky sigh that wanted to leave his throat. With the arm that wasn't still holding onto Ghost’s wrist, he gave him a shitty one armed hug, comfortingly patting his back.
“Thanks. For not letting me fall on my face tonight and all,” he muttered, keeping his voice as steady as he could, trying desperately to play the previous moment off.
At least he was shorter than Ghost, facing the man’s chest rather than his head. He couldn't allow himself to look into those eyes again, not without showing Ghost too much, he was sure.
He could smell him, this close, his face almost pressed into Ghost’s shirt. The man’s scent was as comforting as it was making everything worse. That familiar cheap shower gel. The cigarette they’d shared outside the pub just a few hours before. Fucking tea. How the hell did Ghost always manage to smell like bloody tea? Did he carry that shit around in his pockets?
He was ready to pull back and make his way towards his room like a sad, wet dog left out in the rain, when suddenly, Ghost returned the hug hesitantly, patting Soap’s back a few times just as Soap had his a moment before.
“Never,” Ghost only said and Soap couldn't place the emotions in his voice. His tone hadn't been soft, exactly, but definitely not harsh, either. Just – contained. Empathetic but contained. Very much like Ghost himself.
“I-, goodnight,” Soap muttered without looking up at the masked face, finally bringing himself to take a step back when the other man’s grasp on him loosened. “Christ, I need to drink less, all fucking messed up,” he noted with a huff that sounded more nervous than actually amused.
“Just-,” Ghost paused. “Drink some water. Get an ibuprofen ready for tomorrow. Sleep,” he finally instructed quietly.
Soap shot him a shaky grin that managed to get some confidence behind it. “Aye, I know how to deal with a hangover, LT. Don't you worry.”
Just as much as he had wanted for Ghost to stay around a few minutes before, he suddenly couldn't stand being here anymore. He needed to take a breath. In his room. He needed to get to his room.
“Alright, sweet dreams and all,” he noted, aiming for a casual tone, giving Ghost a sloppy salute before turning around and pressing his lips together to keep himself from running. With even footsteps, he made his way along the corridor, forcing himself not to turn around when he couldn't hear Ghost leave behind him. His key was being stubborn when he tried to put it into the lock and he struggled for a torturous moment before he eventually managed to unlock his door, pushing inside and closing it softly behind him. Finally, he allowed himself to exhale heavily, pushing a shaky hand through his sweaty hair, just staring at the door while slowly backing away from it.
He wasn't about to cry. Shit, he wasn't about to cry only because he was drunk and he was a bloody overemotional idiot, he just wasn't.
So he didn't.
He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “Fuck, MacTavish. Stop being goddamn stupid. What the hell,” he muttered to himself, letting himself drop onto his bed.
Maybe he should cry. Watch the fucking ‘Notebook’ and listen to Celine Dion while he was at it, just go full clichée about something that had been obvious from 10 kilometers away.
Liking Ghost had been a thing for him for a long time now. But knowing that it was nothing more than a passing crush because it couldn't be anything more than that had been a thing for just as long.
And now, apparently, his mind decided to get goddamn beaten up about it. He knew that it felt like shit. His brain really didn't need to bring it up to him.
His hands gripped his thighs tightly as he forced himself to concentrate on his breathing – forced himself to calm down. It was hard, with his thoughts not wanting to focus, with everything so blurry and the walls still goddamn spinning.
This, too, would pass. He knew it would. A shitty hangover would greet him tomorrow and he would be embarrassed for a moment. Ghost would ignore what had happened, because nothing had actually happened other than a drunk man acting a bit weird and a short hug between friends, and Soap would ignore it as well, because that was the reasonable thing to do.
Everything would go back to normal. He would go back to normal – kind of bummed out about not having a chance with Ghost, but happy enough being his friend. The sappy version of himself that wasn't like him at all, really, would be gone and Soap would maybe try to drink a bit less in the near future. Maybe.
He let himself drop back, fully lying on his bed.
It was fine. He’d go back to normal. Things would go back to normal.