Chapter Text
Mandatory leave. There were no words to describe how much he hated that term. He despised it with every fiber of his being. He didn't understand why Price always insisted on it, as if it would do Ghost any good. Price had to know by now that it didn't work that way. Still he kept insisting and Ghost had no other choice than to follow his orders. Begrudgingly.
That's why he was cramped into the back of a small cab, his duffle bag on his lap, watching through the window as the cab pulled into his street. Dread collected in the pit of his stomach. He sighed. Leave sucked for him for two reasons. Reason number one: He had no-one outside of the military and nothing to do. Reason number two: His thoughts tended to turn against him the moment he got too idle. Bad time guaranteed.
"You can stop here." The house his flat was in still was at least a 10 minute walk away, but he'd prefer the cab driver didn't know his precise address. He paid and got out, shouldering his bag as he made his way down the street, a cigarette firmly placed between his lips under his rolled up mask. Smoking wasn't the best habit he had picked up but he didn't really care enough to change anything about it. At least it helped in keeping him sane(ish).
The cigarette held all the way to his home, where he snuffed the glimmering rest out on the sidewalk and pulled the mask back down. The space in front of the house was in absolute chaos. Cardboard boxes and furniture were scattered across the meager lawn, blocking the path up to the front door. A single man stood in the midst of the chaos, his back turned to Ghost, shouting into his phone with an angry, scottish accent.
"Och ye only deliver to the doorstep, aye? Ah'll deliver tae yer fuckin' doorstep ye- aye hang up! That's wha' I thought!"
Ghost rolled his eyes and started to pick his way through the chaos, carefully stepping over some kitchenware that had fallen out of a broken box. He had almost reached the front door when the man spotted him.
"Sorry! Do ye live here?"
Ghost suppressed a sigh and turned around. "What do you want?"
If the stranger was intimidated by Ghost's tone or the black balaclava on his face he didn't let it show, just came closer with an easy smile on his lips and a slightly irritated shine to his blue eyes. His ears were pierced, the bottom lip too. The mohawk on his head should've looked stupid but somehow worked on him. He was very attractive and Ghost was annoyed at himself for noticing.
"Sorry," the stranger repeated. "Just got scammed by my moving company. Threw all my stuff out of their truck and drove off. Dae ye know anyone I can call to help with this shite? Tried a few numbers already but apparently half the city is movin' today and the earliest someone can be here is tomorrow mornin'."
"Don't know anyone."
"Fuck, thanks anyway, big guy." One of his hands came up and bumped against Ghost's shoulder once, before he stepped back into his chaos. The contact was brief but unsuspected. Nobody touched him, at least not outside of a life or death situation. Well maybe Price, but these touches were reduced to firm and short handshakes. Ghost stared at his own shoulder, puzzled. It still looked the same. But it felt different somehow. It was buzzing with the unfamiliar contact. He looked up to see the stranger back on his phone again, kicking a few of the boxes around with his shoes. The expression on his face was defeated. It didn't fit him well. He looked like a kicked puppy. Ghost sighed again and put his bag down by the door, heaving one of the boxes up, before he could change his mind. "Which floor?"
The stranger whirled around. "What?"
"Which floor?"
"Oh, ye dinnae have to help! I can manage somehow."
Ghost rolled his eyes. "Just tell me which floor." It wasn't like Ghost wanted to help him, but he hadn't been training today and a bit of physical labor would do him good. Also he really didn't want to enter his own flat and wallow in self pity. The wallowing could wait, at least for a little bit.
A wide and crooked grin spread over the stranger's face. It had the same blinding effect as the sun breaking through dark clouds. "Aye! Okay, wait, I'll lead." He grabbed another box and shouldered the door open, leading Ghost up the stairs. "Thank ye so much for helpin', mate. All my friends are back in Glasgow. Name is John by the way, but my friends call me Soap."
Ghost snorted. "What kinda name is Soap?"
Soap shrugged. "What's yer name?"
Ghost faltered on the next step and had to readjust the box in his arms. He blinked owlishly at Soap's back. He couldn't tell him the truth. Only a handful of people knew his real name and he liked to keep it that way. But he sure as hell couldn't introduce himself as Ghost either. He took too long deciding.
"It's okay if ye dinnae wanna tell me. I'll just call ye my mystery helper. Here we are. Home sweet home, at least soon."
Ghost suppressed a groan. Of course it had to be the flat across from his. Soap balanced the box on his hip as he unlocked the door and waved him in. The flat had the same, open layout as his own, with big windows flooding the living room in light. Ghost hated those windows. They were too easy to see through from the outside. He kept his covered up with thick curtains at all times.
"Just put it somewhere."
They placed the boxes in the middle of the room and went back down the stairs.
"I really can't thank ye enough. No idea what I would do without ye, keep terrorizing the moving company most likely. I think they already blocked my number. What moving company only brings yer stuff to the doorstep?"
"A shitty one."
"Exactly! At least now I know why they were so cheap. Ye sure ye wanna tackle this with me?" They stepped back out through the front door. Soap groaned. "This is gunna take ages. I dinnae even know where to start. Ah'm so sorry, please just tell me when ye wanna stop."
Ghost examined the situation in front of them. Quickly trying to draw together a plan of action. "We'll start with the big stuff," he decided. "Everything we have to disassemble before we can carry it up first, takes the most time, smaller furniture next and boxes last. You got tools?"
"Somewhere in this chaos." Soap scratched the back of his head.
"Good, find them and start disassembling, I'll move everything into sections so we can carry it up faster."
"Ye some kind of movin' guru?"
"No." But it really wasn't so different from every other mission. See the problem, find the most effective solution. Only this specific mission did involve much less blood and death than he was used to. He started to stack boxes, trying to guess how much weight Soap could carry based on his physique. He looked well trained, muscles bulging as he fought with the wardrobe. Must be going to the gym regularly or doing a job that required physical labor. He could probably carry as much as Ghost, depending on how good his stamina was.
By the time Soap was done dissembling the big pieces Ghost had everything sorted into careful piles, every pile roughly the same weight. They would be able to carry two to three boxes up with each trip, saving an immense amount of time.
"Let's take the couch first. It's from my gran and a bitch to carry. Heavy as shit."
Ghost eyed the mentioned couch. It looked old and massive.
"Right. Take the front, I'll take the back." With their height difference he hoped it would be easier to get it up the stairs like this. Ghost stepped up behind the couch and lifted, grunting as he realised how heavy it was. "You didn't lie," he gritted out and adjusted his grip.
"No idea why I didnae get rid of it already."
Getting the couch through the front door was relatively easy, the first flight of stairs too, it was after that that they encountered their first obstacle. The fucking landing. The couch was too long to go around the corner, no matter how they angled it.
"We'll have to lift it over the bannister. Think you are up to it?"
Soap grinned at him over the backrest. "Aye, I'm stronger than I look." Soap climbed up the first step and lifted. His T-shirt strained over his arms and chest as he worked the couch over the bannister, face turning red from extortion. Ghost lifted from behind, pushing the couch up and around. Sweat started to soak his back and the cloth of his balaclava. They scrambled up the stairs and did the same manoeuvre at the next landing, until they finally reached the second floor. By the time they let the couch down in the living room they were both breathing heavily.
Soap wiped the sweat from his brow. "The worst is over, I think."
The worst was in fact not over. After the couch they had to carry the parts of the wardrobe up, a very bulky armchair, the bed and even worse the mattress (Ghost had no idea why somebody needed a mattress that big), a desk and a dinner table, chairs and all kinds of other stuff. Soap had more furniture than Ghost had ever possessed in his whole life and also a shit ton of belongings. The flood of boxes they carried up the stairs just wouldn't lessen, even after Ghost's sorting system.
When they finally carried the last stacks of boxes up the sun was already setting and Ghost couldn't feel his legs anymore. Soap was complaining since the chairs, a never ending stream of profanities, mostly directed at the moving company. Since box-stack number 3 Ghost had a very strong urge to pay them a visit of his own and tell them exactly what he thought about their "only to the doorstep" policy.
Soap collapsed on the couch, kicking his feet up on a stack of boxes. "I really can't thank ye enough, how can I make it up tae ye?"
Ghost waved his question away, leaning in the doorway, unsure what to do with himself now that everything was carried up. "You don't need to make it up to me."
"Let me buy ye dinner at least! I am ordering, what dae ye want?" He pulled his phone out.
"That's really not necessary." See, and that's why he kept away from people. He had no idea how to navigate this situation or how to tell him that eating dinner together sounded like a literal nightmare. He would rather stab himself than take the mask off in front of a stranger, even if it were only up far enough to eat. He didn't want to give the poor guy nightmares with the scars pulling up his lips.
"Please?" Soap stared at him with big and pleading eyes, pouting slightly. "Or if nae that than anythin' else. Just name it. I won't be able to relax if I haven't made it up to ye in some way. Ye literally carried all my stuff up here."
"Half your stuff." He felt himself blush under the mask. He wasn't used to that much attention, at least not this kind. Staring and whispering of course, fear, but never gratitude. It felt weird. His stomach growled. Ghost sighed. "Fine, get the food. I don't care what." He would just turn away from him to eat. Or maybe he should pull his mask up on purpose and scare him away. The thought made his inside twist. So maybe not that.
Soap beamed. "Brilliant! Make yerself comfortable. I'll order Chinese. Cannae go wrong with that."
Ghost shrugged and pulled one of the chairs out of the chaos to sit down. He didn't really care about food, years in the military had trained that into him. He ate what he was presented with and that was enough.
"Food should be here in half an hour."
Ghost tried not to cringe. 30 minutes to try and force conversation. God, he would give everything to be back at base right now. At least nobody tried to talk to him there.
"So what does a scary guy like ye do for a livin'?"
Scary? He hadn't had the impression that Soap was scared of him in the slightest. "What do you think?"
"Hmm." Soap squinted his eyes at him, slowly looking him up and down. Ghost crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself from squirming. His face grew even hotter. He had no idea what was wrong with him. People watched him all the time. Why would this feel different?
"If I had to guess… military. Am I right?"
"How do you know?"
"Served too, for a while."
Ghost eyebrows rose as he mustered Soap, his mohawk, the piercings and the easy smile. Nothing about him looked like a soldier. "What unit?"
"SAS, 22 regiment."
Ghost's eyebrows rose even higher. "You are pulling my leg."
"I'm not, I swear! They kicked me out because apparently my 'complete disregard for authority' was a problem. Ye lock one officer into the boot of a car and that's what ye get for it." Soap rolled his eyes.
"You locked your superior officer into the boot of a car?" Ghost tried very hard not to laugh. "That's what got you kicked out?"
"Nah, I also lied aboot my age, was too young when I enlisted, someone caught on a few years later. Add to that a bunch of other shite. Been discharged for three years now. My captain tried hard tae keep me in but in the end even he couldn't pull strings anymore."
"Who was your captain?"
"John Price."
Ghost almost choked on his own spit.
"Ye know him?" Soap caught on quickly. No wonder, if his story was true he must have good observation skills. Not everybody made the SAS. And not everybody caught Price's eye.
"Yeah, I know him."
"Great! Say hi from me. I bet he still remembers me."
"I'll see what I can do. So 'Soap' remnant from your service?"
Soap smiled again. He smiled often, Ghost found. Or maybe he smiled a normal amount and Ghost just didn't know what normal was anymore? Hard to say.
"Yeah, it stuck somehow. Wanna tell me what they call ye?"
Ghost bit his lip. There was a high chance Soap had heard of him. People tended to treat him like a living legend, stories of his missions spreading from soldier to soldier. It was ridiculous and Ghost didn't like it, but it helped to keep people away from him. It would be interesting to see if Soaps demeanour changed if he knew, but the thought felt unpleasant at the same time. He didn't want Soap to treat him differently. Also if he told him now, who knew where the information would land. Nobody knew where he lived, what he looked like, what his name was and he wanted to keep it that way. Could he really trust him to keep the information about Ghost's address to himself?
"It's need to know," was what his brain decided on.
"What unit are ye in?"
"Classified," he answered quickly. Strictly speaking that wasn't true, but it was better to keep his cards close to his chest.
"I see, important guy, huh? Dinnae worry, I won't ask more."
"Thank you. Uh-" He cleared his throat, unsure where to stir the conversation from here. Hopefully the food delivery would help him out of his misery soon. "What do you do now?" That was a reasonable question, right?
"I am a pyrotechnician, mostly fireworks and events but sometimes I do stuff for movies too. If ye ever need somethin' blown up just call me." Soap winked at him, sending a weird flutter through his body. Ghost couldn't place his reaction at all. He shifted on his chair, uncomfortable. Were the 30 minutes over already? He really should've just gone to his own flat, eat one of the MREs he had stored there.
"That's why I moved here actually, was tired of drivin' down from Scotland for most of my gigs so I thought why not try livin' somewhere in the middle, see how it'll treat me?"
"Bet you regret that now."
"Nah, takes more than this to make me regret stuff. Also I got to meet ye, seems worth it."
The doorbell rang before Ghost had any chance to decipher what the hell that was supposed to mean. He didn't think that there was a single person in history who had actually been glad to meet him. At least not in recent years. Death followed wherever he went, whether it be his intention or not. People were better off giving him a wide berth. He had learned to live with the loneliness that brought, he preferred it that way. Mostly.
Soap chatted away at the delivery driver, exchanging more words with him than Ghost thought possible and carried the food containers over to him with another one of his wide smiles. He spread the food out on one of the boxes and dug two forks out of another. Ghost stared at the fork and the food and swallowed. Right. For a moment there he had forgotten about the food-mask dilemma. He tentatively grabbed one of the containers and a fork. Soap was already digging in with gusto.
"That's so good," he mumbled with a full mouth.
Ghost grabbed a few noodles with his fork and brought it up to his mouth, lifting the mask in a fast movement, making sure to cover the exposed part of his face with the hand holding the fork. He let the mask fall down again, chewed, took another bite. Soap didn't seem to care. Which was weird, because people always cared.
"Think I'll sleep like a baby tonight."
Ghost could barely understand him with the amount of food still in his mouth. "Probably won't be able to use any of my bodyparts tomorrow though. I can barely lift the fork." Soap talked on while they ate, randomly diving from one topic into the next. Ghost couldn't really follow him, too occupied by the mask and the food and the fact that he had somehow gotten himself into this situation. Very unlike him. But there was just something about Soap that made it a fraction easier to be around him than other people. Maybe it was the fact that he easily filled the silence with his own talking and didn't expect Ghost to answer at all.
Ghost put his empty food container down. "I should go." He stood up. His back groaned with the movement and his legs felt jiggly under him. He would definitely be suffering tomorrow.
"Oh yeah! Sorry for keeping ye. And thank ye again, so much!" Soap squeezed his arm, another unfamiliar gesture. "Just give me a call if ye ever need anything or knock or whatever. Oh!" Soap dove into a small box and rummaged around in it, resurfacing with a little card. "Here, my number is on there. Like I said. Just call. I'll literally do anything for ye. Ye saved my arse big time." Soap pressed a business card into his hands and gave his arm a second squeeze.
Ghost cleared his throat. "Thank you for the food and uh- good night." He fled before Soap could thank him another time, picking his bag up by the door and crossing the space into his flat with long strides.
His door closed behind him with a bang, leaving him in darkness. Ghost let his duffle bag fall to the floor and felt his way over to the fuse box. He flicked everything up and turned on the light. The single lamp in the middle of his living room came to life, dipping everything into flickering light. His flat suddenly seemed very spare and lifeless. Ghost toed his boots off and shuffled into the living room, sitting down on his couch. It had come with the flat like everything else in it, except the electric kettle. That one had been with him for many years, longer than any kettle should be in use, but he saw no point in getting a new one as long as it heated his water up. Even if limescale crusted up the inside and the power button only worked every second or third try. When he was seated and his heart had stopped racing he looked at the card still clutched in his hands.
The ridiculous company name made him chuckle slightly. Ghost took his phone out, fought a minute with himself and then saved the number before he dialled one of the other three numbers saved in his phone.
Price picked up almost immediately. "If you are calling already to ask to come back I am kindly telling you to fuck off."
"That's not why I am calling - but I would be ready to come back any minute. I wanted to ask if you know a John MacTavish, served in the SAS three years ago, went by Soap."
"Soap!" Price's loud laugh came through the line. "Of course I remember Soap, impossible not to, little shit. Excellent sniper and exceptional at demolitions, would've loved to recruit him for the 141, but he just got into too much shit. Why are you asking?"
"He moved in across the hall from me. Wanted to make sure he is trustworthy, no interest in getting killed in my sleep."
"He is a good one, don't worry. Loyal as they come. Hell freezes over the day MacTavish turns into one of the bad guys."
Ghost furrowed his brow. "You have a lot of trust in him."
"I do, trained him myself. Lots of potential, like I said, almost broke Gaz' record. You talked to him yet or did you get your information by stalking him like a creep?" He could hear Price's grin in his voice and rolled his eyes.
"We talked… Helped him carry all his fucking stuff up actually. No idea why I did that," he added more to himself than for Price.
"He has that effect, like a bloody puppy. Be careful, you might actually make a friend."
"I don't make friends."
"Believe me, if Soap wants to be your friend, he will be. Better accept your faith now. He might be good for you."
"I think you are getting senile."
"Fuck off." Price chuckled. "And tell him he still owes me 20 bucks." Price hung up, leaving Ghost behind in confused silence.
**
He had slept like shit. Not that that was a new development, but it sucked anyway. He had woken up at around 3am, throat hoarse from screaming and sweat plastering his hair to his head. He had showered and made himself a cup of tea, but his heart was still racing and his hands clenched the cup so tightly his knuckles were white. He still saw it, vague shapes every time he closed his eyes. Still felt it. The worst part was that he couldn't really remember what the dream had been about, he remembered blood and pain and absolute and primal terror. He remembered screaming and crying and panic clawing at his insides, but nothing more. His hands started to shake. He clenched the cup harder, staring down into the tea. Was that really all there was to his life? Panic and death? It felt pathetic and sad in this little moment, the sun not even risen, the city still asleep. He felt wrong and misplaced like a broken toy someone had thrown to the side and never picked up again, used and unloved. Unlovable. Unimportant. That's what he was, wasn't it? A toy to be picked up, a gun to be pointed at the next best problem. Not fully human, at least not anymore, not for a long time. It hurt to think like that, even more than the dream. He felt the seams unravel that so carefully held him together, felt his stuffing gush out, leaving him empty and hollow. He barked a self ironic laugh. One night. That's how long it had taken him to break down. One fucking night. He was so pathetic and he hated himself for it. Hated every tear and every sob and every tremble of his hands. How weak he was. A disgrace. Embarrassing. And he couldn't even remember what had started the spiral. He couldn't even do that. Maybe he really was too far gone. Maybe this was hell and every little, happy moment he so desperately clung to would be ripped out of his hands any moment now to be turned into a new suffering. Every shimmer of hope just another boot kicking him down. Every bright memory a ruin caving in over his head. He was clawing and biting and thrashing his way through the debris, leaving bloody fingerprints behind. And he was tired. So fucking tired. As long as he was at work he could forget about that, focus his mind on the mission before him, but here at his wobbly kitchen table there was nothing to distract him from the truth. He wasn't sure how much fight he had left in him, how many battles he could lose until there was nothing left of him to fight. And yet he was still here, slowly drowning in the ocean of his own sorrow but refusing to give up. He was still treading water, stoically keeping his head over the surface. It would be easier, he thought, if he would be ready to give up. But there was a part of him, how small and helpless it might be, that wanted to live and that wanted to get better. And that part kept dragging him, dragging him through every nightmare and from one moment into the next, searching for a little bit of peace and a little bit of heat to warm his cold bones.
He took a sip of tea. It was ice cold already. The clock on the wall read 6:30. Ghost sighed. He hated losing time like this. He dumped his tea into the sink and went to grab a fresh balaclava. Time to go for a run, hopefully clear his head a bit.
The air outside was chilly but not cold, the sun hadn't risen yet, the horizon still light grey as it waited for the first rays of sunlight. Ghost started running in a random direction. He felt the extortion from the day before in his bones, in the burn of his muscles. It felt good, the pain, the burn, the fight for every breath. His feet pounded over the sidewalk, racing his thumping heart. He ran until his body lost feeling and his legs felt like numb stumps under him, until all he could think about was the next breath, the next step, until all thoughts of fear and self-hatred were carefully wrapped up again and packed away. Only then did he turn around to head back home, sweat soaking his clothes and the world spinning around him.
Ghost pulled himself up the stairs to his floor, legs shaking, crawling onto the second floor landing and promptly collided with Soap, who was leaving his apartment. Ghost stumbled back, grabbing onto Soap's shirt for support. Soap yelped. They lost their balance and went down in a tangle of limbs. Ghost's back hit the ground hard. The air was knocked out of his body as Soap landed on him, one elbow uncomfortably digging into Ghost's side. His whole body was pressing into Ghost's, his weight oddly comforting. Soap lifted himself up and grinned down on Ghost, straddling his torso. "That's not how I expected my morning to go but I'm not complainin'. I was actually on my way to yer door, do ye have a ladder? I wanted to install my ceiling lights but I can't reach."
"Do I look like someone who owns a ladder?"
"Not even a step stool?"
"No. Just use one of your chairs." He had no idea why they were still on the ground. Soap showed no intention of getting up and throwing him off seemed impolite given the fact that Ghost had been the one to drag them down in the first place. He felt Soap's knees on either side of his body, the muscles of his legs straining as they kept him in position. The way Soap towered over him woke a feeling in Ghost he couldn't place. It made his head spin and his heart race, but not in a bad way.
"I'm not using a chair! That's too dangerous, what if it cannae hold my weight?"
"It can hold your weight when you sit on it."
"Standin' is different, the whole weight distribution, ye ken? Of course if I knew someone tall enough to reach the ceiling on their own…"
Ghost huffed. "Maybe that person would help you if you asked very nicely." He must've hit his head on the way down, there was no way he had just used that tone.
Soap's eyes crinkled at the corners, laugh lines lighting up his face like fireworks. "Would you please help me?" He purred the question out with a crooked grin. Ghost blushed furiously.
"Yeah." He wasn't sure why he sounded so out of breath all of a sudden. "But I'll have to shower first, get off." He pushed Soap off his body and jumped to his feet in a fluid movement, reaching down his hand to help Soap up.
"Come in when ye are ready, I'll leave the door open."
"That's not very safe."
Soap shrugged. "Not many people out there who can sneak up on me." And if that didn't sound like a challenge.
He was embarrassed to admit that he took one of the fastest showers of his life, putting on fresh clothes three minutes after he and Soap had parted in the hallway. It wasn't that he was eager to be back in Soap's company of course, only that something about him was strangely intriguing. Maybe it was the fact that he was the complete opposite of Ghost, bright and chipper, but still made no move of pushing his boundaries. He treated him as if they were old friends, rather than strangers, with a familiarity and confidence people rarely showed in Ghost's presence. So what if he wanted to look a little bit deeper into the enigma of John MacTavish? It wasn't like he would let himself get close to him or anything. He would leave soon enough anyway, off to new missions and who knew if he would come back after. There was always a chance he wouldn't.
Two minutes later he was pushing Soap's door open, careful not to make any noise. He slipped through the crack of the door and closed it slowly, before he crept down the hallway. Soap was making noise in the living room, music blared from somewhere. Ghost could hear the scratching of boxes being moved over the floor. He entered the room. Soap stood with the back to him, sorting through a stack of boxes, whistling off-key to the music. It came from a small stereo that had been placed on one windowsill. Ghost picked his way through the chaos, careful not to step on any wrapping paper or cardboard pieces and came to a halt right behind Soap. He leaned in. "Which light do you need me for?"
Soap jumped, an undignified scream leaving his lips as he whirled around, hands raised in a defensive position. He deflated once he saw Ghost and put a hand over his chest. "Steamin' Jesus. What the fuck. I think I saw god for a second there."
A smug smile tucked at Ghost's lips. He took a step back, giving Soap room to breathe. "That's why you shouldn't leave your door open."
"Noted. I lost at least one year of my life. A warning next time, please."
"Where would be the fun in that?" Weird, there was that tone again. Maybe he really was losing his mind? At least the meagre rest still clinging to sanity. "The light?"
"The light. Right. I put it somewhere. Wait." Soap scrunched up his face, his eyes scanning the maze of opened boxes and half assembled furniture. "I took it out of the box, realised I had no ladder, wanted to put it back in the box but got distracted by the carton with the CDs, wanted to put some music on so I went looking for the stereo, searched through my stuff, hit my elbow on the desk, got myself some ice… Aha!" Soap hurried past him in the direction of the kitchen, opened the freezer and under Ghost's disbelieving stare pulled the ceiling light out of it, presenting it with a triumphant grin. He pressed it into Ghost's hands, it was ice cold, and started to look around again. "I swear I had the electric drill a second ago."
Ghost's lips twitched in amusement. "Try your back pocket." The drill was hanging out of it, close to falling down.
"Of course! I put it there before I got the lamp. Here." He pulled it out and placed it over the light in Ghost's arms.
"Only the lamp in this room?"
"If ye could install the one in the bedroom too."
"Yeah, of course."
Soap beamed at him. "Great! Did ye have breakfast already?"
"No."
"I'll make some while ye work!"
Ghost looked up at the ceiling, where a bunch of cables were coming out through the plaster. They had different colours, that was good, at least he thought it was. He had never actually installed a light before and had no idea what to do next but it couldn't be much harder than placing an explosive charge. He eyed the lamp in his hands. The top piece looked as if it was supposed to go on the ceiling. He carefully separated it from the rest of the lamp, glad to notice that Soap had managed to pack the screws away with the lamp, and held it up to the ceiling. He had to stretch to fully reach and felt his shirt ride up his torso, air sweeping over the exposed lower parts of his back and abdomen. He cringed with the sensation, his first instinct to cover himself back up. He tried to remember if there was any gnarly scar tissue Soap would be able to see. For some reason he was afraid of scaring him. Or disgusting him.
"Oh shit! Wait!" There was a shout and then something clattered in the kitchen as Soap came charging out of it, almost barreling into Ghost. "Ah forgot tae turn the power off. Fuck, sorry, almost fried ye."
Ghost lowered his arms slowly. "Glad you remembered."
Soap was scratching the back of his neck, an embarrassed smile on his lips. "My thoughts are all over the place today, didnae take my meds, because I cannae remember where I packed them." He shrugged. "I'll turn the power off now."
"Thank you, would've been a very boring way to die."
Soap snorted. "Definitely wouldn't get a medal for that." He hurried away into the hallway, where Ghost knew the fuse box was.
A thought occurred to him. His lips twitched before he had even voiced it. "What does a barefooted man get when he steps on an electric fence?" He asked loud enough for Soap to hear.
"Don't tell me!"
"A pair of shocks."
Ghost heard a groan, followed by a suppressed laugh and smiled to himself.
"I asked ye not to tell me. That was bad. Power is off."
Ghost stretched back up and grabbed the drill to actually fasten the ceiling bracket this time. "Tell me a better one then," he said, surprised by his own boldness. Soap's presence seemed to loosen his tongue. He didn't know what to think about that. Didn't know if he liked it. He felt almost human in his company, almost normal. It was dangerous, an edge he shouldn't balance on, because he knew all too well what it felt like to fall over it.
Soap shuffled back into the kitchen as Ghost put the second screw in, hoping that it would actually stay in the ceiling. How embarrassing would it be if the light fell down the moment he put everything together? He would drive back to base immediately, no matter what Price had to say about it.
"Think I got one. Ye ready?"
"Hit me." He picked the light up and eyed the cables on its top. They had the same colours as the ones on the ceiling. Good, manageable.
"What kinda pants do clouds wear?"
"Don't know." He fiddled with the little black thing attached to the cables of the lamp, maybe the ceiling cables had to go in there too? It had holes.
"Thunderpants." Soap was wheezing over his own joke. The sound made Ghost grin more than the joke itself, he had to keep himself from laughing out loud.
"That was awful, try a better one next time," he said as soon as he was sure he had his voice under control. Ghost picked the blue cable from the ceiling and put it into the black thing on the blue light cable. There was a little screw on there, he unscrewed it on a whim, crammed the cable in further and screwed it tight again. That looked not wrong at least.
"Fuck off! The joke was good, ye just dinnae want tae admit it."
"If that makes you feel better." He picked up the second cable and proceeded with it like he had with the first one.
"It does."
Something in the kitchen started to sizzle and a mouthwatering smell waved over to him. His stomach grumbled. He couldn't remember the last time someone had actually cooked something for him that wasn't a heated up MRE or hastily thrown together food in the base kitchen. It made him feel warm in a way a fluffy blanket did or the welcoming smile of a close friend (not that he had much experience with those).
Once he had connected all the cables he fastened the light to the ceiling bracket and stepped back to assess his work. The light looked like it was supposed to. It also made no move of falling down. Ghost went to turn the power in the living room back on and flicked the light switch. The light came to life, coating the room in a warm shine.
"Ye did it!"
A proud grin tucked at Ghost's lips and he was glad that the mask hid the pleased flush that spread over his cheeks with Soap's praise.
He cleared his throat. "So the bedroom light too?"
"If ye could, I think I put it on the windowsill or maybe on the floor behind the door."
Ghost turned the power for the bedroom off and took the drill with him into it. It looked as if something had exploded in there. The mattress was on the floor, the pieces of the bed frame squashed behind it against the wall. Clothes, blankets and pillows were strewn everywhere, boxes opened and emptied out. Ghost snorted. How the hell had Soap managed to do so much chaos in such a short time?
The light was in fact on the windowsill and now that he knew what he had to do, installing it was fast and easy.
By the time he was done Soap had prepared breakfast, serving it again on some stacked up boxes in front of the couch. The smell made Ghost's mouth water, as he picked his way over to Soap.
"Wasn't sure if ye are the savoury or the sweet breakfast type, so I made both."
Soap had prepared a stack of pancakes as well as a heap of scrambled eggs and toast, everything carefully arranged on top of the boxes. Ghost's belly clenched uncomfortably and he lowered down onto the couch, unsure what to do with all this kindness.
"Thank you," he mumbled, trying to remember the good manners his mum had drilled into him an eternity ago. He hadn't used them in ages.
"Of course! As I said, I owe ye big time. I only have coffee, hope that's fine you look more like a tea guy."
Ghost had no idea where Soap would get that from, but maybe he was much easier to read than he had always thought.
"Thank you," he said again. He did prefer tea but any Caffeine would do, at least after a night like the one he had had. Ghost carefully piled a few pancakes onto his plate and drowned them in syrup, before he started the tedious task of lift mask - hide face - eat - lower mask - take new bite - lift mask - hide face - eat and repeat.
He felt Soap's gaze on the side of his head and kept his own eyes trained on his food, unsure what to do with the attention and afraid of the way Soap might look at him.
"So ye have a sweet tooth, huh? Noted. Are the pancakes any good? Used my ma's recipe."
"They are good."
"I am glad ye think that! I'll tell her. You should try her porridge, it's amazing." Soap plunged into a lengthy description of his mum's cooking and baking, going into great detail for every recipe, talking so fast Ghost barely understood him. It was nice. He liked listening to him and he liked that Soap did not expect him to answer. Ghost knew with a 100 percent certainty everybody else would've annoyed the fuck out of him by now and he would've never stayed and listened but with Soap it was different. Price had been right. He really was like a puppy. Bloody hell.
"I talked to Price yesterday," he said into a pause of Soap's ramblings. "He says you owe him 20 bucks."
"That fucker!" Soap wheezed, grinning widely. "Tell him I still have time to win the bet!"
"What's the bet about?"
"Classified." Soap winked at him. Ghost almost lost the grip on his fork. "So ye talked to Price about me?" Soap leaned a fraction closer, his voice turning from amused to something more husky. "Stayed in yer head, didn't I?"
There his fork went. All the way down to the floor, landing with an embarrassingly loud clunk, pancake and syrup spraying everywhere. Ghost bent down to pick it up, he could feel his blush all the way down his neck.
"Had to make sure your story was true," he said, trying to get some of his usual sternness back into his voice.
"And if it had been a lie?" Soap was still looking at him, his gaze intense, burning through the cloth of the mask, through Ghost's skin all the way down to his shrivelled up soul.
"I would've killed you."
"What makes ye think I am that easy to kill?"
"You couldn't fight me off."
"Try me." There was a new glint to Soap's eyes, an edge to his smile. Something dangerous and promising, like the blade of a knife scratching down your throat. The promise of a challenge. Intoxicating. Ghost felt trapped under his stare, his hands itching with the need to prove that he could overcome this challenge, to show Soap what he was, to demonstrate that nothing could fear him and that nobody got the better of him. Soap's smile widened, punching the breath right out of Ghost's chest. He wanted to succumb to him, wanted to bare his throat and show his belly. Wanted to feel the thrill of vulnerability.
Ghost averted his eyes and cleared his throat, his mind reeling with the need to run away and the desire to stay, pulling at him in different directions. "You needed help with anything else?"
"Oh no! That was it. Sorry, I dinnae mean tae take up yer time. Bet ye have more important things to do." Soap was back to his normal self, the glint of before gone.
"I… don't." Ghost shrugged. "Not much to do outside of base."
"I see. I mean I could use a hand or two, if ye are offering."
"I am."
They ended up assembling some of the living room furniture and sorting a few boxes away. Soap made him lunch and dinner. That night he slept well, too exhausted to dream of anything. The next day they tackled the remaining furniture, after that more boxes, appliances, things that suddenly appeared in Soap's flat and needed installing. Soap brought food to his flat, bombarded him with leftovers, again and again insisting that this was the least he could do.
By the time Price called him back to base two weeks after the start of his leave he was almost sad to go and almost felt as if he would miss spending time with Soap.
He pushed a short note under Soap's door before he left, just to let him know that he was gone.