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Ghost didn’t like to be touched. Anytime he felt someone’s fingers brush his skin, it brought into sharp reminder the hands that had clawed at him like predators, taking every scrap of dignity he had left. Even if someone just grabbed him jovially or tried to push him to where they needed to go on the field, human contact felt like he was being tazed. So he did what anyone else would do in his situation– he wore as much clothing as he physically could and stayed away from people. It worked for him. Sure, he was a bit lonely, but what soldier wasn’t? Loneliness and isolation kept the memory of bruising grips and tearing fingers easier to lock away.
People around base quickly learned not to touch him. The first time a recruit clapped a hand on his shoulder after a training session, he accidentally broke two of his fingers. Ghost hadn’t meant to, honestly, he just wasn’t expecting a touch and reacted faster than his brain could stop him. From then, no one touched The Ghost. He became almost as ethereal and intangible as his name suggested— just a phantom haunting the halls of the 141’s base between missions.
There was one person who hadn’t gotten the ‘don’t touch the lieutenant’ memo in the months since he’d been around. Johnny MacTavish. Touch seemed to follow the man around like a stray dog. It was everywhere; a fist bump before a mission, knocking knees on transport vehicles, tapping shoulders to get someone’s attention rather than just speaking like a normal human. It was infuriating, and Ghost didn’t know how he hadn’t broken something on his sergeant yet.
In the months that they’d been working together, Ghost had gotten somewhat accustomed to the easy touches Soap used constantly. He didn’t like them, but they didn’t make him nearly jump from his skin and hit the nearest soft body with a closed fist. Complaining to the Scotsman about the touch hadn’t worked, since the shorter man didn’t realize he was doing it. So Ghost just set his jaw anytime Soap was around, knowing he would be touched at least once during the conversation.
It only took one misstep for things to go wrong, as things often do. Their intel wasn’t necessarily bad, but Laswell didn’t have the full scope of the terrorist cell the 141 was sent in to neutralize. She had severely underestimated their numbers, leaving the team scrambling to eliminate everyone and escape unscathed. For the most part, they succeeded. Soap and Ghost cleared buildings with ruthless efficiency, taking down hostiles left and right and double-checking for hostages on their way. It was fine. Ghost was fine until he wasn’t. One of the enemy soldiers had rigged a small trip mine to a door, sending shrapnel blowing both operatives off their feet as they pressed forward. Soap had been behind Ghost with his SMG at the ready, leaving the masked man to take the brunt of the explosion.
“Fuck, Ghost! This is Bravo 7-1, requesting medevac. Ghost is down, I repeat, Ghost is down,” Soap shouted into his comms as he hauled the larger man to a sitting position near the ruined door. His plate carrier had taken most of the damage, but there was shrapnel embedded in the skin of his shoulder and collarbone, frighteningly close to his throat. Ghost was bleeding fairly heavily, the red liquid staining his black gear and dripping onto Soap’s jeans.
Soap wasn’t a medic, but every member of the 141 had field medicine training. He knew the first thing he had to do was stop the bleeding, otherwise Ghost would be gone before evac could come for them both. Quickly relaying their position to Price, he stripped off his gloves and adjusted the taller man on his lap before taking a deep breath of his own. He knew Ghost didn’t like to be touched, hated it really, but he had no choice. It was either clamp his hand over the wound or lose his lieutenant.
Ringing and muffled talking were the only things Ghost could hear as he slowly blinked back to consciousness. He wasn’t standing anymore, there was something soft underneath him instead. Panicked blue eyes were looking down at him, flicking between his face and the general direction of his neck. Ah, he was on the ground with Soap then. He had to get up, fuck that hurt.
“Stay down, sir. I have to stop the bleeding,” Soap’s worried voice barked at him. Bleeding? That would explain why he was in so much pain. Fine, he wouldn’t try to get up for now. Relaxing as much as he could while his body felt like it was on fire, Ghost kept weary eyes trained on his sergeant as the man took off his gloves and grabbed the IFAK from his thigh. One of Soap’s naked hands reached for his neck, palm open to grab him. The flinch and attempted block were pure instinct– people usually didn’t reach for Ghost’s neck with good intentions. His arm didn’t get very far, the pain pinning it to his side as he did little more than shudder and grunt out a protest.
“Ghost, please, you’re bleeding. I have to stop it, let me help you. I know you don’t like it, I’m sorry.” There was kindness in the sergeant’s eyes; for the first time, Ghost actually knew that he wouldn’t be touching him if he didn’t have to. Blinking his eyes in some form of consent, the lieutenant tried to relax his body so Soap could reach him better. He couldn’t stop the trembling coursing through him at the prospect of naked hands on his skin, but that was unavoidable.
At the small sign of agreement, Soap reached back down to Ghost’s neck, pressing his palm tightly against the wounds. They didn’t look too deep, but the location scared him. With the dark fabric still covering the lieutenant’s skin, it was impossible to tell if any major blood vessels had been hit by the shrapnel. All he could do was put pressure on the skin and hope that evac got there soon. Soap couldn’t lie, he felt a bit guilty touching Ghost, even though it was necessary. The man had serious issues with human contact, even though they were friends. It was just one of the things that made him The Ghost. Still, Soap listened for any sounds of discomfort beyond the slight hisses of pain that were to be expected after a shrapnel wound.
Ghost had fully expected the usual painful electric shock to hit his skin as soon as Soap touched him with his bare hand, but it never came. Maybe it was distraction from the agony from the metal lodged in his chest, but the palm wrapping around his collarbone and pressing on the top of his pectoral didn’t feel like lightning striking him. Rather than being something he wanted to curl away from, Soap’s warm palm was grounding– a reminder that he was alive; the mine hadn’t taken him out. Fuck, his entire body hurt. He was so tired, and Johnny was surprisingly comfortable to lean on. Surely he wouldn’t mind if he closed his eyes again.
“Hey, no no no, Ghost! Simon! C’mon, L.T., open your eyes,” Soap begged, but his voice sounded far away. Too far to reach. There were more voices now, steady ones talking to the sergeant about evac and an infirmary. No, he didn’t want to go there. It smelled like alcohol and reminded him of his father. He couldn’t get enough words out to tell Soap he didn’t want to go.
Ghost felt gravity release him as he was lifted, more hands gripping him and hauling him outside. The foreign grasps were jarring, the familiar thread of panic starting to seep through his dazed state. Right before the fear could overwhelm him, the warm hand squeezed his shoulder again. The hands weren’t Roba or Vernon; it was Soap. The world went black and Ghost vaguely heard a voice calling his name as the hand around him clenched tighter than ever.
_______
It had been about a week since the explosion on the field. Ghost was cleared to leave the infirmary after two surgeries, but active duty was still a few weeks of rehab away. The shrapnel had frayed a tendon in his shoulder and nicked a chip from his collarbone, leaving his arm virtually useless until it healed. Neither he nor Soap had realized a piece had gotten lodged in his leg as well, a half-inch shard resting in the muscles above his knee. Ghost had been given crutches by the med team, but he had yet to use them. He felt broken, and he was going insane just sitting around the base.
Along with the physical pain that came with every step, Ghost also had to deal with the sting of his pride as he watched the rest of his team continue their missions. Sure, it had only been a few days, but time moved slowly when you weren’t killing people and running for your life, apparently. There were only so many times Ghost could wander around the base, he couldn’t train in the gym, and going to the common room to socialize sounded more torturous than clawing his own eardrums out.
His only solution with any form of longevity was stealing as many of the books from the rec room as he could to bring back to his room. The 141 base didn’t have an extensive library, but Price and Laswell did their best to keep things well-stocked for times like these– periods when operatives were either injured or off-duty and in need of distractions. In the few days since he was shooed out of the infirmary, Ghost had already devoured three separate books. It was time to swap them out for something new before he hid in his room for a while again.
Getting to the rec room was easy; Ghost had already returned the books that morning, so he could brace against the wall as he hobbled down the halls. While he wouldn’t debase himself enough to use the crutches medical gave him, there was no denying the wound in his leg hurt. Every step sent stabbing pain through him, his knee wobbling as the muscles fought to keep his large frame upright. Ghost grit his teeth against the discomfort, grabbing railings and chair rails to help him along as he made his way to the rec room.
The space was thankfully empty, the recruits still stationed on base all out for their daily training exercises. Ghost hobbled his way to the bookshelves, leaning over with a grunt to peer over the titles written across the worn spines. Price had stocked several classics on the team’s last leave, the lieutenant picking up Don Quixote from the shelf. He had vague memories of reading it as a child for a school assignment, but it had been a lifetime since then. After adding a few more texts that looked interesting enough, Ghost turned to make the trek back to his barracks. His leg was smarting, every beat of his heart sending another shock of pain coursing through the wounded thigh.
With his one good hand full of books, it was harder to grab furniture and railings to make walking easier. While he was in the buildings, Ghost could at least partially slump his good shoulder against a wall as a brace, but the courtyard would be an issue. It wasn’t large, maybe 100 feet from the main building to his barracks, but the distance may have well been an ocean with an injured leg. The lieutenant took another deep breath, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurt before starting to walk across the open space.
It didn’t take long for the pain to become overwhelming. Ghost’s vision was turning red, his legs only still moving out of sheer instinct and stubbornness. One foot, then the other. Keep going. That’s all. Fuckin’ hell, he couldn’t do this. There were black dots on the edges of his eyeline and the lieutenant could feel his head starting to spin. If he passed out in the middle of the courtyard he would never forgive himself. Right before the pain and desperation to keep moving sent him toppling to the ground, a strong arm wrapped around his waist and hauled him upright.
“I got you, L.T.. Can I help you? Please let me help you, Simon.” Johnny. He didn’t know when the rest of the team had gotten back, but Johnny was the only thing keeping Ghost from dropping into a pile on the gravel. All he could muster was a shaky nod, the agony shooting through his limbs too prevalent for his mind to conjure speech.
“Here, let me take these,” the sergeant whispered gently as he grabbed the books from Ghost’s arm, transferring them to rest under his own before adjusting his grip on the other man’s waist. “Is this okay?” Another nod. Ghost couldn’t care less about touch right now; he just needed to go back to his barracks.
The pair hobbled their way across the remaining courtyard to the bunkhouse, one of Soap’s strong arms protectively wrapped around Ghost’s back. He was careful to step in sync with the taller man, allowing his weight to completely support the other’s wounded leg. The longer they walked, the clearer Ghost’s vision became, the overwhelming pain subsiding as his full bulk wasn’t resting on his bad knee. He might be a stubborn bastard, but even he could admit that Soap had come at the exact right time. There was no doubt in his mind that he would’ve collapsed in the yard without his help.
Ghost’s door creaked softly as the two walked through it, Soap gently setting the books on the desk before helping his lieutenant settle onto the bed. He looked slightly uncomfortable, still in his fatigues and full kit, dirt and blood from the mission staining his skin. Just like before, his hands were ungloved, the palms having been pressed against Ghost through his shirt. While the lieutenant couldn’t say he enjoyed touch by any stretch, it wasn’t so awful when it came from Soap. He knew the other man wasn’t trying to hurt him.
“Alright, Ghost?” Johnny shifted on his feet, unsure of where to look. It would almost be endearing if Simon wasn’t so bloody tired all of a sudden.
“Alright, Soap. Uh…thanks. Probably would’ve passed out in the lot if you hadn’t come along,” the lieutenant mumbled, his voice quiet beneath the balaclava.
Johnny smiled gently, the look making Ghost’s shoulders relax minutely. “Nah, you woulda’ found a way to crawl back. Stubborn fucker.” There was no heat in his words, only slight teasing as he tapped Ghost’s shoe with his boot lightly. Nodding once more to the now-silent room, he turned to leave, hesitating once to toss a look over his shoulder at Ghost. The lieutenant didn’t notice, exhaustion quickly taking over him as he fell back onto his bed.
____________________
Physical therapy and rehab were a bitch, but Ghost was finally on the field again after almost two months away. His shoulder still bugged him when it rained, and he couldn’t run as fast as he could before the blast, but at least he wasn’t struggling to walk with every step now. Ghost didn’t think he’d be so happy to eat an MRE in the back of an APC as he was his first mission back. The 141 was on its way out, heading to some top-secret Russian base to try to find info on Makarov. The mission would be a tedious one, a couple weeks of camping in tents and daily recon before they went back to base. After so long spent cramped within the same four walls, Ghost could almost cry with happiness. Almost.
It didn’t take long for the weather to turn, clear cold sunshine turning into blustery wind as a storm front blew in. What was already shaping up to be an annoying mission was now going to be nearly unbearable with every cloud that darkened the sky. Recon would be useless in a blizzard, so Price ordered the team back to what was serving as their makeshift base. They didn’t have actual buildings, just reinforced tents set up in a secluded area of rocks that the wind couldn’t reach. The captain and Gaz were together, leaving Ghost bunking with Soap.
After what happened in the courtyard following his injury, the lieutenant found himself softening up more around Soap. He didn’t think he’d ever fully let his guard down, but it was becoming easier to not consistently be on edge. Rather than feeling like he had to be hypervigilant around his sergeant, he felt like he could relax and trust the other man to watch his six. He’d die before letting Soap know that though.
MREs were never considered fine cuisine on the best of days, but when the wind was so cold that the heating pack could barely keep up? They were tolerable at best. Ghost and Soap ate in silence in their tent, the air too chilly to be anywhere else. Dying sunlight shone through the side of the canvas, casting strange shadows through the blowing snow. Neither man spoke once their meals were finished, too exhausted from climbing mountains and stomping through snow finding vantage points to hold a conversation. As the last vestiges of dusk slipped over the ridge, Ghost climbed into his sleeping bag, groaning heavily as his knee smarted from the cold. The wound there might be healed over, but the damn Russian cold wasn’t doing him any favors.
Sleep came easily, despite the raging wind howling mere inches from the lieutenant’s head. With his woolen balaclava secure over his face, he was warm enough, the only cold spot being his eyes and the bridge of his nose. It was as close to comfortable as he could get while sleeping rough. He could vaguely hear Soap shifting in his own sleeping bag, seeming to struggle to get comfortable or warm. Soon enough, heavy breaths filled the tent, a soft chorus lulling Ghost into sleep.
Howling. All he could hear was the howling. His wrists were bound, stuck in the chair he’d been in for almost a week now. There was a piece of fabric covering his eyes, the rough cloth scratching his bruised skin. Without his vision, it was impossible to tell what was coming, who was around, whether he was even actually awake.
The howling and snarling got louder, accompanied by the sound of rough claws on the cement floor. His blindfold was roughly ripped off, leaving him face to face with Manuel Roba once again. Fuck, the man was ugly. If Simon didn’t value his tongue, he’d spit on his face. He had tried that once before and received a very nasty burn from a hot poker shoved in his mouth, accompanied with a promise of the next one being a knife. No thanks.
Roba wasn’t alone. With him was a hound, snarling and spitting and pacing. The dog was thin and obviously starving, eyeing Simon like a piece of meat. Fuck, Roba wasn’t really going to do this, was he?
“Vamos.” With that one word spat in his face, the dog was let off its leash and tearing into his bound body. Simon couldn’t help but scream. The pain was too much, flesh rending from bone, blood coating skin. He couldn’t pass out; the darkness wouldn’t come. He wanted to di–
“Ghost, Simon, wake up!” That wasn’t Roba, was it? “Come on, mate, snap out of it!” A hand gently shook him, and no, that definitely wasn’t Roba. Roba never touched him with any sort of gentleness. Brown eyes snapped open in panic, meeting bright blue ones furrowed in concern.
“Johnny?”
“It’s me, Simon, I’m here. It was just a dream, aye?” Ghost couldn’t do more than nod, too focused on the hand still holding his shoulder. Against his slightly chilled skin, Soap was like a furnace. The one small point of contact was burning away the nightmare from his mind, leaving nothing but a bone-deep weariness. As Ghost’s breathing slowed and his heart rate started returning to normal, Soap stood from his crouch to walk back to his own sleeping bag, knowing that his lieutenant didn’t like touch more than necessary.
“Wai-Soap, can you just stay for a minute?” The request took the sergeant by surprise. Every time he had touched Ghost, it had been out of sheer necessity and the moment was over as soon as it had begun. Never had the older man asked him to stick around.
“‘Course, L.T., anythin’ you need,” he murmured as he sat back down. Soap took his hand off Ghost’s shoulder, choosing instead to sit close enough to his sleeping bag that the other man could feel his hip through the fabric if he needed. The last thing Soap wanted to do was overwhelm him, especially since it was obviously a big step for Ghost to actually ask him for something. As the lieutenant rearranged his limbs into a more comfortable position, Soap took the opportunity to sneak a glance at him.
Ghost was over six feet of packed muscle, built like a weapon, and used like one by their higher-ups. The years of wear had left him scarred under his gear, lines and circles that Soap had only glimpsed on occasion. Right now, he looked small and vulnerable. For such a giant of a man, he was curled into a tight ball, arms and legs tucked up near his chest in a mockery of the fetal position. The obvious attempt to protect himself even in sleep had Soap’s heart tightening. Knowing that this man, a feared killer who could take care of himself at a moment’s notice and slept with multiple weapons within arm’s reach, had asked him to protect him as he slept was a heady thought. Soap vowed to never take that trust lightly.
For the second time that night, Ghost closed his eyes and tried to find sleep. The wind was still howling, bringing images of the hound back to the forefront of his mind. Before panic could overwhelm him again, Soap shifted minutely and the warmth of his body soaked into Ghost again. The way he was curled up, his shins were pressed against the side of his sergeant’s hip in a long line of contact. It was innocuous, but he could feel the grounding touch without the terror of it being skin-deep. When had touch become a comfort? Ghost didn’t know, but as sleep overtook him and nightmares were replaced by the warmth and peace Johnny brought, he couldn’t find it within himself to care.
_________
The mission was finally fucking over. The blizzard had added an extra week to the 141’s time in Russia, leaving them all exhausted and short-tempered as they waited for exfil. Nikolai was on his way with the helo; he’d take them out of the mountains where they could board a military aircraft and head home. By nightfall, the team would all be in their own beds with a warm meal in their bellies. The hours couldn’t crawl by fast enough.
Loud metallic thumping echoed over the valley as Nik rounded one of the peaks, already starting his landing maneuvers. Ghost shrugged his rucksack on, grimacing slightly as it slid over his bad shoulder. The strap sat right over the new scar, sending sparks of pain radiating through his collarbone and arm. There was no way to adjust it without sending the heavy pack off-balance and putting pressure on his bad leg, so Ghost just steeled his jaw against the discomfort.
Ever since the night in the tent, Soap had been keeping a bit of a closer eye on his lieutenant. He had no doubt the man could take care of himself, hell, he’d been doing it since before they met. But that one moment of vulnerability had made things…softer somehow. Now, he was taking every minute he could to make sure Ghost was okay. Physically, no one had gotten hurt on this particular mission, but Soap couldn’t get the sounds of the other man whimpering and shouting in his sleep out of his head. So he found himself always watching from the corner of his eye to make sure he was alright.
Right now, he could see Ghost flinching and shifting as his rucksack came to rest over his old shrapnel wounds. It had been a couple months since the bomb blast, but Soap knew from personal experience that injuries that deep ached for a while. Chances are, Ghost’s new scars still smarted, especially with this weather. The added weight of the pack probably wasn’t helping anything. There was no way for Soap to fix the problem, but he couldn’t stop wishing he could. He’d carry Ghost’s rucksack next to his if it was possible, but his lieutenant would never let him. Thankfully, Nik was about to land, and neither of them would have to bear their burdens for long.
All four men on the ground ducked their heads against the onslaught of wind and snow as Nik landed. Loud greetings were exchanged between Price and their pilot friend as everyone clambered in, rucksacks being stowed carefully so nothing shifted during the flight. Ghost flopped heavily in his seat, his entire body sore from the cold and general lack of use while he was on medical leave. For a first mission back, it wasn’t bad, but he still was looking forward to a hot shower and a hotter plate of food.
The plastic of the bench seats creaked as Soap sat next to his lieutenant, groaning under his breath as his knees complained from the weeks of stomping through snow drifts. There weren’t many seats in the helo, and he’d rather sit next to Ghost than Gaz. He liked Gaz, but the man liked to chatter when he was tired, and Soap couldn’t handle that right now. If there was one thing he could always rely on his lieutenant for, it was silence. After this hellscape of a mission, all he wanted was to relax and rest in that peaceful quiet as they made their slow way back to the base.
Nik shouted a warning before lifting the helo off the ground smoothly, years of experience showing in the easy takeoff. Price was sitting up front with him, their quiet conversation barely audible over the sound of the chopper blades. Across from them, Gaz was fiddling with something on his sat phone, apparently too tired to even try to talk. For lack of a better term, it was peaceful in the metal cabin. Soap could slowly feel the warmth soak back into his bones, the icy Russian cold being replaced by the dry heating of military aircraft. Between the rhythmic sounds, the heat, and the overwhelming exhaustion weighing heavy on his eyelids, it was getting harder and harder to stay awake. They’d be in the air for a few hours, so surely no one would mind if he leaned back and shut his eyes, right?
Forcing his eyes to stay open was becoming more and more of a challenge for Ghost. He didn’t want to let on just how tired he was, but he was definitely looking forward to sleeping in a bed rather than a sleeping bag tonight. With a soft thump, he let his head fall back against the wall, a deep sigh coming from his chest. It was good to be back on active duty, it really was. In an attempt to stave off the sleep that wanted to overtake him, the lieutenant lifted his head again and looked around to see what the rest of his team was doing. Gaz was scrolling through his phone mindlessly, his own eyes drifting shut every few seconds. The captain was talking to Nikolai up front, their old friendship making conversation easy. Finally, his gaze turned to Johnny.
Soap had his arms crossed over his chest and his head leaning back against the steel wall of the helo. His blue eyes were closed and the ever-present furrow in his brow that wouldn’t leave this entire mission had finally smoothed out. His breathing was slow and even, telling Ghost that he was fast asleep. Good. His sergeant hadn’t gotten enough rest the past few weeks. Some part of the lieutenant felt guilty for waking Soap up in the middle of the night with his dreams. He shouldn’t be weak like that anymore, shouldn’t push his vulnerability on anyone else. But Soap had been so insistent upon helping that it felt wrong to push him away, and even Simon’s cold heart couldn’t deny that having him there calmed him down.
A sharp turn from Nik had Soap’s head sliding from where it was leaning onto the clothed surface of Ghost’s shoulder. The weight of his skull was heavy, his temple pressing onto the lieutenant’s covered collarbone. Ghost couldn’t help but freeze. Sure, he had become more lax about allowing Soap to touch him recently, but this was different. His sergeant was asleep on him. Completely vulnerable, completely trusting. Fuck, he couldn’t move or he’d wake him up. Johnny needed to sleep, he couldn’t do that to him. Ghost tensed all his muscles in an effort to stay still, causing a slight tremor to run through his body. Even he couldn’t tell if it was from his bracing or anxiety.
Ghost was broken from his shocked stillness at the sound of a soft snuffle. Soap was stirring slightly in his sleep, head shifting to find a more comfortable position. If there were any muscles in the lieutenant’s body that weren’t rock solid yet, they turned to stone the second the other man started moving. The moment didn’t last long, Soap apparently finding a more acceptable place for his head to rest and letting out a quiet sigh as he drifted back to sleep.
Every single one of Ghost’s senses was trained on his sergeant. His ears were straining to hear the soft noises he was making, from sighs to his even breaths. He could smell the scent of Soap’s shampoo and aftershave, muted from the weeks abroad but still warm and clean. The warmth of his face was bleeding into Ghost’s shoulder, radiating heat through the area. Ghost could taste the metallic gunpowder that seemed to surround them both, the stains from Johnny’s weapons cleaning still on his hands. Mostly, however, he could only focus on what his sergeant looked like. He was completely at peace, the hard lines of tension washed away and replaced by serenity as he slept. The touch of Johnny’s head falling on his shoulder had startled Ghost, but he didn’t want to give it up.
Fly slower, Nik.
_______________________
The ride back to base didn’t last nearly as long as Ghost wanted. The rush of emotions ranging from ‘someone is touching me, I need to panic’ to ‘fuck, Soap is touching me, I can never move again’ had him reeling. He hadn’t experienced any sort of emotional depth in decades, too afraid of vulnerability to open his heart to anything. If he was honest with himself, Ghost still wasn’t sure what he was feeling, all he knew was that he wasn’t dreading physical contact as much anymore. His skin didn’t feel like lightning with every touch, something that hadn’t been true for years.
Throwing his rucksack into a corner of his room, Ghost sat heavily on his bed and hung his head between his shoulders. Fuck, he was tired. The weeks of sleeping in a cold tent had his shoulder aching, no amount of massaging seeming to soothe the pain. At this point, he didn’t even care whether he made it to dinner or not. The only things he wanted were a hot shower and sleep.
As Ghost showered, his mind drifted once again to the easy touches from Soap on the mission. The first one after his nightmare had been so soft, so careful. Johnny was mindful of his boundaries and respected his space the whole time. That was something Ghost had never gotten before. In the helo, the touch was completely unintentional. Soap didn’t mean to fall asleep on Ghost’s shoulder, it just happened. And he let it. Come to think of it, he didn’t mind it. Turning the water off, the lieutenant’s mind spun at the realization that he didn’t mind the touches. At least he didn’t mind Johnny’s touches.
By the time he had gotten dried off and dressed, the exhaustion from the mission was weighing heavily on Ghost’s shoulders. His tiredness beat out his hunger, so dinner could wait. Tossing his blankets back, the lieutenant climbed into his bed and took up his usual huddled position. As he drifted off, all he could think about was the warm press of Johnny’s side against his shin. Even warmer than his blankets and the base heating.
The next day had Soap and Ghost running PT for new recruits before testing out some demolitions they’d be using against one of Makarov’s facilities. Ghost hated dealing with the rookies; their inexperience was grating on good days and infuriating on bad ones. Today was a bad one. This particular batch looked like they’d never seen a gun before, much less fired a round. Every shot was missing the bullseyes, many missing the targets completely. Soap had a hand pressed to his temple, the glare on his face leaving no doubts about his satisfaction rate.
“Fuckin’ hell, where did Laswell find these idiots?” Ghost just shrugged in response to Soap’s question. To him, all the recruits were idiots. They didn’t become anything other than idiots until they were good enough to be in the 141. Soap snorted, standing up from his bench and walking toward the range. Ghost followed him, staying only a few paces behind.
“Alright, cease fire!” Soap blew his training whistle and shouted the instructions to the rookies. All but one lowered their rifles and flicked on the safeties, looking expectantly at the pair of officers for their next instructions. The one recruit who didn’t was still firing downrange, earmuffs on and apparently blocking out all sound. Ghost took one step forward, intent on correcting the FNG again before the kid suddenly spun around, finger still on the trigger.
Three things happened at once. A final shot rang out, the loud crack seeming to split the air in two as the recruit turned too fast. Soap jumped back lightning-quick, going from looking at the recruits to facing the training facility again. Finally, Ghost felt a heavy weight hitting his chest, the air rushing out of him as he was knocked to the ground. Johnny’s weight settled on his torso, arms coming to brace him against the ground as they fell.
There was no oxygen in Ghost’s lungs. Soap was so close. His face was mere inches from his own nose, eyes trained on his to make sure he was uninjured. If he focused, he could feel the warm breath coming from his sergeant spilling onto his balaclava. Fuck, his heart was beating out of his chest. It would only take the smallest reach and he could k–
The arms bracing Soap’s weight collapsed and the sergeant fell limp against Ghost’s chest with a groan. The sudden movement shocked Ghost, his head coming up to look at the man laying against him. When he saw blood coating the back of Johnny’s grey shirt, cold dread replaced the warm affection that had been blooming in his chest.
“Help me get him to medical, now!”
______________________
The hours crept by with mind-numbing slowness. Ghost sat in the waiting room of the infirmary while Johnny had surgery to remove the bullet lodged in his shoulder blade. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, but there was no such thing as a good gunshot wound. When the main surgeon came out to tell him that Soap was out of surgery, Ghost couldn’t breathe deep enough. It was all he could do to not run down the hall into his room, rather opting to walk like a somewhat civilized person.
The doctors had left a chair in the room for Ghost, which he promptly pulled next to the bed and collapsed in. Johnny looked so pale, so worn. He was supposed to look vibrant and happy, not be stuck in a too-white hospital room. One of his hands was laying on top of the bedspread next to Ghost, the IV drip connected to the back. Without thinking, Simon took one of his gloves off, putting the skeleton-patterned fabric on the bedside table. Once his hand was bare, he softly grasped the palm in front of him, gently tracing over each finger.
Johnny’s hands were beautiful, he thought. His own were scarred with rough lines long the bones where Roba had traced a skeleton pattern in. He’d needed reconstructive surgery on his tendons when he got home. Of course Soap’s hands had scars, but they were so clean compared to his. So pure and whole like the man himself. Even when he was laying in a hospital bed, Soap was unimaginably warm. The warmth suffusing from that one palm made Ghost feel like his heart was melting, the walls he’d been building up for years dripping away like wax under a flame.
“Simon?” The small voice had him jerking his hand back on instinct, panic starting to rise in his chest.
“I’m sorry, I’ll go-” “Stay? Please?” Ghost was terrified. He felt like a caged animal, his heart rabbiting against his chest, but how could he ever deny a plea like that?
“Of course, Johnny,” he whispered, taking his seat on the bed back. When Soap reached his hand back out, Ghost gasped and looked at him in shock for a moment before grasping it. He went back to his soft study of the fingers and bones there, allowing his thumb to trace soft circles on the back of Soap’s hand. The skin there was soft but worn, with a few freckles and small scars from what looked like burns. Demolitions, probably.
While Ghost focused on Soap’s hand, the sergeant took the opportunity to study his elusive lieutenant. The mountain of a man looked so small right now, curled up on his bed holding his hand. Simon had become a place of comfort for him in the past few months, and it seemed like the feeling was mutual. Hell, Soap had woken up from anesthesia to Ghost petting his hand and looking about two seconds from tears. Soap had always been an impulsive man. It had gotten him in trouble so many times, but it had also worked to his benefit. He never really knew what the consequences would be until after he took the plunge. So it was time to jump.
“Simon, can I hold you?” All his cards were on the table, all his eggs were in one basket. His heart was out in the open, and he was handing Ghost a knife.
“Please.”
Even with the pain radiating through his shoulder, Soap opened his arms in invitation, allowing Ghost to crawl into the narrow hospital bed with him. It wasn’t a comfortable fit, both men far too broad for one of these beds on their own, but it was comfortable. It was safe. Ghost could hear Johnny’s heartbeat under his head, the sound too alive for this to be a dream. He hadn’t lost him, the recruit hadn’t taken him away. Ghost wasn’t dreaming, he was letting touch in. He was okay.
A trembling hand in a skeleton glove reached up, pulling off his balaclava from the top. Ghost’s hair was mussed from being smashed all day, the blond curls slightly flat and messy. Soap couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of his lieutenant’s face. Sure, he’d seen him before in Las Almas, but he was so drunk on adrenaline and stim shots to remember much about that. Now, he could fully commit Simon’s face to memory, and he was stunning. The hand without the IV line came to cup the lightly-stubbled jaw, thumb stroking Ghost’s strong cheekbones. Honey-brown eyes met his, nothing but trust in them. Time for another leap of faith.
“Simon, can I ki-”
“Please, Johnny.”
Those two words were all it took. Without the mask to keep them apart, Soap used his grip on Ghost’s jaw to pull him in and connect their lips softly. Simon’s mouth was soft, slightly chapped from the fabric rubbing against it, but warm and perfect. As Soap tilted his head slightly, he felt a slight gasp sweep across his lips. He used the opportunity to suck Ghost’s bottom lip between his own, putting light pressure there as he squeezed the back of his neck with his hand. He wanted there to be no more space between them. If their bodies could fuse together, he would be happy.
Ghost didn’t know how long he and Soap exchanged lazy kisses, but he never wanted it to stop. He didn’t need to breathe, he had Johnny to sustain him. Every chaste kiss and gentle nip to his lips had him trembling, the absolute adoration evident in every one of Soap’s movements. After a particularly loud gasp, Johnny dipped his tongue into Ghost’s mouth, gently exploring and coaxing out more noises. Ghost was in heaven. He had never felt so cared for, so taken care of, as he did in Johnny’s arms. Holding the sides of his neck and feeling his pulse quicken just reminded him how alive they both were.
After what could’ve been hours in Ghost’s eyes, Johnny pulled back and looked at his eyes with a soft smile on his face. Simon was dazed; Soap was the sun, and he could do nothing but orbit around him.
“As much as I’d love that to continue, I think the doc would kill me. Let’s just rest, aye?” The gentle look in his eyes had Ghost nodding mindlessly. He’d agree with anything that came from that mouth. Soap laid back down, arranging his wounded shoulder in a comfortable position before beckoning Ghost to lay down with him. As Johnny’s breath evened and Simon felt sleep coming for him too, he couldn’t help but register the positioning of their bodies one last time.
Every inch of him was touching Soap, both bare skin and covered. However, instead of lightning bursting through his skin, all Simon could feel was radiant warmth and peace coursing through him. He was safe with Johnny.
Johnny had him.