Chapter Text
Lieutenant Riley’s first solo mission had been somewhere hot and humid.
Sent into the heart of a cramped, bustling city, he was tasked with locating and trailing a high value target. Sure, stakeout work wasn't the most interesting, but Simon had reveled in it, internally preening at the fact he had been hand selected for the mission. Believing he had finally made a name for himself amongst the swarm of other soldiers.
Yet for all that the op meant to him, he remembered very little of it. He couldn't tell you the target’s name, nor what illegal trade they specialized in. Not even remembering what was left of them after he reported back to base.
What he did remember, though, was the dog.
It was like clockwork, the way the large animal seemed to follow him the second he left his assigned apartment. Every routine walk taken around the city was accompanied by a shadow hovering just out of reach.
His first instinct was to try to befriend it. Easily making the decision to start carrying around treats in his pocket as a means to urge the dog closer. Call him a softy, but all he had wanted was to get the dog close enough to get it fed and taken care of. But it never mattered how much food he brought, or how gentle his words were as he tried to coax the dog over - it would always regard him with teeth bared and a deep growl.
Simon couldn't help but find it frustrating. It was clear the mutt was struggling, thick scars across the length of its muzzle and gashes down its legs indicating that it had been treated poorly for most of its life. It bothered him most on nights when he brought his med kit with him, sitting out on the street for hours when he should’ve been resting between patrols, just pleading for the dog to come to him. He was there each time, ready to help the beast, and yet it never let him.
It took weeks before the dog finally creeped up to him, and only then did he understand. Finally close enough to see the way its body shook, the way its tail was tucked tightly between its legs.
The dog was scared.
Something so simple that he should've guessed in hindsight, but that hadn't even crossed his mind. The dog was just so big, so intimidating with the way it carried itself that he had overlooked what might've been underneath. Even though Simon had done nothing to suggest that he would’ve hurt it, even though he had gone out of his way to try to help it survive, the dog only knew the harm past humans had caused. And who could blame it?
Simon ended up getting bitten, bad enough that he needed to stitch himself up out on those city streets. After that, he didn't wait around for the dog again. Deciding that temporarily befriending the beast wasn’t worth compromising his mission, that he couldn't risk getting mauled and taken out of commission when it was clear that his presence wasn't even wanted.
When he returned back to base, his mind wondered all too often of what happened to the dog that had kept him company. Still frustrated at the fact it wouldn't accept the help it clearly needed, how it treated every person like an enemy because it had never learned otherwise. How it was likely still out there, still bearing its teeth at any sign of help while it suffered alone.
And now…sitting frozen on the ground, watching as the door shut behind Soap on his way out, all Ghost could think about was how he was no better than that damn mutt.
He was such a coward. Lashing out again and again to- what? Was it worth it, if he couldn't tell who he was trying to protect more - himself, or those around him?
I didn’t need you when you were my sergeant, and I don’t need you now.
His heart tugged as the memory replayed in his mind. Who was he to say that to Soap?
Congratulations, seems like Price just gave you the go ahead to fuck your superiors now.
Ghost slammed his head back on the concrete wall, doing his best to silence the voices rattling in his mind. His hands shaking around the mask that had been haphazardly tossed his way.
Christ, he was such an asshole.
How long had it been since he let fear get a hold of him like this? Since he’d willingly use his words to bite and tear into someone who tried again and again to fix him?
Something tight wove itself around his lungs, constructing his breath as he tried to reason himself through everything.
He knew he was getting worse. That his mind was slipping with each shitty decision he made. As if that wasn't already evident from where he was right now - bleeding out in a jungle, for what?
Ghost couldn’t even remember the last time a mission going to shit had surprised him. After one too many hostage situations, close calls, and bullets that always seemed to graze him, he had long since stopped pretending as if his constant survival shocked him anymore. No matter what happened, he always made it to the other side, as if the universe herself was mocking him.
So it didn’t worry him when he had been left behind by his team, or when he was dragged across the battlefield and taken captive. At least not at first. Instead just assuming he’d get a few more scars added to his collection before getting free.
Being thrown in a cell and forced to watch as the other prisoners– fellow soldiers– were taken outside to be executed, though?
It rattled him.
Not because he couldn’t guarantee making it out of the situation alive; he had scraped by many situations with higher stakes. No. It was because for the first time in a long time, he realized that he had nothing to fight for.
When he was a child, Ghost fought to protect his family from his father. When he first enlisted, he fought to make a name for himself, finally free to carve his own path. When he had been betrayed in Las Almas, it was knowing that Soap was out there, needing a steady head, that kept him pushing through the Shadows that flooded the streets. Hell, he couldn’t even be broken by Roba, wanting revenge so badly that he endured everything for months on end.
No matter the situation, he always had something that urged him on.
But what was he supposed to do when the thing he was running from, was himself? When everyone he’d have fought to get back to, he had pushed away?
For the better, he reminded himself. He didn’t regret it…not after how he had treated them. Yet he still had never felt more alone, even if the downfall was one of his own making.
In the end, he fought for himself and his pride. Deciding that at the very least, ‘The Ghost’ didn't deserve to be dragged to hell by a mere jungle execution. That was what he kept telling himself, anyway.
What he had not planned for, though, was for none other than John MacTavish to appear once he had gotten free. He should have known better, that Soap would be reckless enough to put himself in harm’s way, just because Ghost was MIA.
And that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it?
Because who was Soap to come after Ghost, after everything he did to put distance between them? After the rejection, Soap had been all too willing to continue working alongside the other man, ready to overlook any trace of the actions that made him uncomfortable.
It was Ghost, who took the necessary step of pulling himself back. Of transferring units once he understood how hard it was to keep his distance. Trying again and again to stop himself from hurting someone he loved.
Ghost was so sure that he had been making progress, too. That each day they spent apart, his heart understood more and more that it wasn’t meant to be. He should’ve been better by now.
Yet seeing Soap again made him question if he had gotten past anything at all.
After everything he had put himself through, his heart shouldn’t have started beating with life the moment that they locked eyes. His stomach shouldn’t have dipped as soon as the familiar Scottish lilt filled the air. His eyes shouldn’t have stung as soon as he realized he was really there with him.
The months apart should have fixed him, but despite everything, he still loved him. He loved him, he loved him, he loved him-
But he couldn’t.
So he reacted with vile words. Spitting lies he didn’t believe in as the last-ditch defense mechanism kicked in. He had yelled at Soap. Screamed that he hated him, pushed him away, hurt him, all so that he would believe Ghost when he said they were better off apart.
Soap couldn’t be there, out in a battlefield that hadn’t officially settled yet. He couldn’t have traveled all that way to bring Ghost back with him. Because if he did, it would have meant that the life Ghost left behind, the relationship he ruined, the hurt he endured-
It would have all been for nothing?
No…No. Everything that Ghost had said was for a reason. Everything that he had sacrificed was so that the people he cared for stayed safe - even if it was from himself. Right?
But the way Soap seemed to flinch with every word Ghost snapped at him?
He was still hurting him.
The thought hit Ghost like another gunshot. Deep down, he knew that it would’ve been impossible to have a clean break. That the kind of monster he was couldn’t be left behind so easily. It was naive of him to think he’d do anything but hurt, and hurt, and hurt, and-
Ghost shut his eyes, desperately taking deep breaths to ground himself. He felt the gazes of the bodies around him, now all too cognizant that he hadn't yet moved the enemies that he had felled moments prior. He swore he could feel their judgment on him now, mocking him even after death. After all, how could he take on a room full of armed men with just his fists, but crumble so pathetically over something so trivial?
Shit- Now was not the time to lose himself. Ghost could fix this, he had to. He just needed to… Maybe he could try… He could…
What else was there to do?
Ghost had inadvertently attempted every one of his usual methods to clean up his messes.
He tried to push Soap away with his words, snapping and digging into his heart the same way he witnessed growing up. He tried to highlight everything that was wrong with him and his mind, everything that was too much for anyone else to deal with. He tried, multiple times, to pull back, disappearing across the world to give him as much space as he could manage.
So what else was left?
There was no stopping his heart as it beat out of his chest, no silencing the voices rattling in his mind. Ghost was supposed to be better than this, especially when it came to things he wasn’t allowed to care about. But all he could think about was how he couldn’t keep hurting Soap.
Air - he needed air. Ghost quickly brought up a shaky hand against the wall, using it to brace himself onto his feet. The wound in his leg ached now that the adrenaline had drained away, and every step sent shockwaves up his spine.
Pathetic. Weak.
By the time he reached the closest exit, he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his head. Not only that, but he could barely see as black creeped into his vision. Uncoordinated hands fumbled with the latch until he stumbled forward, feeling the rain on his skin as he made it out.
The tightness in his chest persisted, and he knew then that he needed to keep putting distance between himself and the compound.
This time, it would work. This time, Soap would see how ungrateful Ghost was, how he didn't care about Soap’s planned rescue. This time, Soap would realize that Ghost wasn't worth his time…and that he deserved something more.
If Ghost was of sounder mind, he would have laughed at how ridiculous he was being. Having no problem escaping certain death and wiping out the compound, but falling apart at the slightest exposure to his feelings. But he wasn't thinking much at all. Just desperate to slow his gasping as he hobbled to the tree line with his makeshift tourniquet that was barely holding on. Needing to just get a bit farth-
His leg buckled without warning, sending him tumbling as one hand slammed down onto the wet ground, the other wrapping around his torso. He couldn’t breathe, feeling as if the air had been sucked from his lungs.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped on impact. The admission that he had wanted to say for months finally slipped from him, though there was not a soul around to hear.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-
In that moment, Ghost broke. Months worth of pent up emotions pouring out as he curled in on himself, wrapping around his torso more and more. This was where he belonged, kneeling into the muddy earth below that accepted him when nothing else did. Feeling all too reminiscent of the night he dug himself free from his own grave, and how quickly he could be put in a similar situation again.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard his name being called, though he hardly recognized the sound. Any motes of coherent thought were too far gone, even the pain coursing through his body and any awareness of his surroundings had begun to slip away.
He threaded his hands through his hair, fingers wrapping around strands and pulling as he tried to control himself, to no avail. He was so fucking frustrated at his own thoughts, wanting them to go back into the corner that they came from and just stop.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
The sound of hurried footsteps filled the space around him, but he kept repeating the words in his head like a prayer. Plea after plea cycling through his mind as he broke down on the ground.
“-can’t do that to me, Ghost,” a voice cut in, “I thought they had taken you again.” They sounded hoarse, like they had spent the last few minutes yelling. “Why would you- oh.” There was a pause, likely at the sudden notice of Ghost’s condition. Fabric rustled as the person bent down, trying to make the two of them eye level. “Shit, you’re okay, Ghost. There’s nothing to be sorry for, you’re okay, Simon.”
Had he been speaking out loud? Ghost let out a whine in frustration as he recognized the voice of the intruder, immediately trying to press his head further to the ground. Of course it was Soap.
He couldn’t see him like this, not now. Not when his face would betray any semblance of the facade he had left.
A hand suddenly pressed lightly on his back, another one to his neck as he was guided into an embrace. Soap’s scent engulfed him immediately, his nose catching something familiar, something comforting. Something that felt like home.
Ghost couldn’t help but tuck himself further into Soap’s neck, giving into the moment of weakness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, this time purposefully directing the words towards the intended recipient. “I didn’t mean it. Any of it…" He trailed off, not sure if there was a point in saying more. But if not now, then when?
"I don’t know why I can’t stop hurting you,” Ghost added on, muttering the admission so quietly that he almost assumed it was in his head again.
Soap’s throat bobbed as he swallowed against him. “Simon, look at me,” the man asked as he pulled back. He waited patiently until Ghost unfurled himself and met his eyes before continuing. “Yes, you hurt me when you left, but that is it. I don’t know what you think you’ve done, but you haven’t. How ‘bout you let me take you to Gaz and we can get out of here, yeah?”
A sudden moment of clarity hit Ghost, who blinked away the last remnants of his panic like he had been doused in ice. “I’m not coming with you.”
“I’m not asking, Ghost.” Soap’s voice took a harsher tone. “We're taking you home.”
Lightning cracked overhead as the skies began to open up even more. Fat raindrops drenched the area around them, and the ground began to turn into a mud pit. But neither man moved, the two stubborn soldiers staring off against each other.
“Not my home anymore, Soap,” Ghost answered after a beat, ignoring the lump in his throat. “You know I have a new unit now.”
Soap’s face morphed into something of disbelief and anger. “Tell me you’re not seriously going back to them? They left you behind, Simon!”
“They did what they had to.” At least that part was true. Ghost never blamed them for not coming back for him, knowing that it was the best chance the others had at returning to base. One life versus many was an easy decision.
“Bullshit!” Soap had since lost the soft edge to his voice. “That never would have flown if you were with us and you know it. You belong with the 141, Ghost. With us.” The ‘with me’ went unsaid.
“Just drop it already,” Ghost gritted, “I will not be coming back after what I've done to you.” How many times could he say it?
Soap cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing as he set aside his anger for a moment. “What you've done? Last time I checked, I was the one that pushed you away.”
“You didn't push me away,” Ghost corrected, “You were setting boundaries with your CO…something I should have done months ago instead of fucking- “ He took a breath, preparing himself for the next part. “I can't keep coercing you into situations you go along with just to keep your career. I can't come back knowing that I'll force every interaction we’ll ever have. Like now. You don't have to be here, MacTavish. I wouldn’t have filed a report just because you didn't show up to play hero.”
If Soap looked angry before, the absolute rage that now appeared on his face had it beat. “You…do you even hear yourself right now? You can't honestly believe I'm here because of some fucking obligation to my superiors, do you?”
Silence fell between them as Ghost averted his eyes. Why would he assume anything else?
“…Do you?” Soap repeated.
“You were right,” the Lieutenant said. “I can't be the reason you don't have a career with the 141 anymore.”
“Steamin' Jesus, would you stop putting words in my mouth, Simon!” Soap finally snapped, running a stressed hand through his mohawk. Something Ghost knew he only did when he was trying to stop himself from exploding. “You don't see me holding Price's hand every time he's locked in medical, do you? I don't follow Laswell around with her favorite coffee to try to get in her good graces, and I sure as hell didn’t kiss Shephard’s arse when he was still around, did I? You’re a right bastard to suggest I can't just want you alive because I fucking care about you!”
Ghost went to open his mouth, but stopped himself. What was he supposed to say to that? That there had never been a point in his life to prove otherwise?
It wasn’t as if he grew up with much ‘care’ in his life. Instead having a front row seat to a man who valued not love, but power over everything else. His father was always happiest when wielding any sliver of authority like a weapon, one specifically designed to inflict pain just because he could. And growing up watching him just take, and take, and take from people who couldn’t fight back?
That same DNA was inside of him, festering like a blight he could never truly be rid of. It never mattered how he acted, or how good he desperately tried to be - there was no hiding who he came from.
So how was he supposed to respond to that?
It was when Soap’s eyes turned dark that Ghost knew he had missed his chance.
“You know what? No,” Soap said, giving no other warning before shoving at Ghost’s chest, forcing him to fall back into the mud around them. Soap wasted no time before invading the other’s space, throwing his legs over him so they framed either side of his torso.
Ghost was left breathless from the impact, his body not prepared for the sudden added weight, much less on the wound in his leg. “Soap, off.”
“What’s with your obsession of thinking I can’t make my own decisions?” Soap spat instead, paying no mind to his demand. He continued with his movements, pinning Ghost’s arms to his sides. If Ghost thought he was trapped before, he was borderline immobile now. The fight inside of him starting to drain away.
“Get off of me. That’s an order, MacTavish,” Ghost tried to command, though he couldn’t help wincing. Of course he defaulted to his authority. Monster.
“Nope,” Soap responded, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “Too scared to say no to my superiors, yeah?” He sat back on his heels to look down on the other man. “That’s what you think of me? That I can’t hold my own against you?”
Ghost let out another groan, still reeling at the man in his lap as he tried to wriggle his arms free and sit up. “Didn’t mean it like that, and you know it. You're one of the strongest men I've ever met, on and off the field.“
“So then you must mean I didn’t earn my spot here, right?” Soap sneered, “Youngest to pass SAS selection only because I let a few COs have their way with me? Just coasting my way to the top?”
Ghost made an offended noise, not catching the clear contradiction Soap was throwing at him. “You’re mental if you think anyone but you put you where you are, Sergeant. Don’t fucking give anyone else credit for doing that shit.”
“So who are you-“ Heavy hands shoved at Ghost’s chest, forcing him back down into the mud- “to tell me otherwise?”
Oh.
Oh.
“That’s not what I was doing,” Ghost immediately bit back.
“You’re the one suggesting that I’m only around you because I wouldn’t keep my rank otherwise.” Soap paused, his eyes narrowing at the other man, “So you didn’t mean anything you said, then?”
Despite the sound of heavy rain now down-pouring around them, a pin drop could still be heard. Tension so thick it could be cut with a knife as the two made eye contact with each other.
This was… this was exactly what Ghost was trying to avoid.
It was what he distanced himself for. What he jumped to fill the first vacant spot in another unit for. What he genuinely thought his life would end for. Because he would have rather been torn apart out there in the jungle than be forced to lie about the love he felt for the man in front of him.
But he’d do whatever needed to be done in order to protect Soap, even if it meant losing him.
So he cleared his throat. “We’re soldiers, it doesn’t matter what I meant. I will not put you in a position where I can abuse my command over you. I won’t,” he repeated.
Soap scoffed at him, his head shaking in frustration. “You’re still a man before a soldier, Simon Riley. Why do you get to believe you have all this control over me, huh? You haven’t forced me to do shit.”
What was Soap not getting?
Every conversation they shared seemed to go in circles, and it was just so...tiring. Frankly, Ghost was foolish to think they could ever come to an understanding when they did nothing but argue. Someone had to be the bigger man, to finally put an end to-
“Tell me you didn’t mean what you said,” Soap blurted out before Ghost could turn him away. “Tell me that I don’t actually mean anything to you, and I’ll leave you alone.”
There was so much emotion in Soap’s eyes, so many words going unspoken but showing plainly on his face. His chest was heaving, drawing in heavy breaths as if he had just ran drills. While he certainly was…vocal about how he was feeling, it was clear that he was still trying to school some of his features. Namely trying to cover up the quiver in his lip, the hitch in his voice.
Ghost supposed they were similar in that way.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I thought I told you to get off of me, MacTavish.”
“You told me months ago that you loved me,” the other man persisted. “And I’m telling you now that I love you back. I’m not giving up on this until you tell me that you don’t still feel the same.”
Ghost looked away, casting his eyes anywhere but at the man on top of him.
“To my face, Simon,” Soap gritted.
He couldn’t.
He couldn’t say that his heart didn’t still race when Soap walked into a room. That any day spent with the man by his side hadn’t been the happiest of his life. That he didn’t feel a little less alone in the world just by knowing him.
He couldn’t fathom saying any of that out loud - because it wasn’t true.
“I can’t.”
Soap grabbed his chin, using a surprisingly soft touch when compared to the argument they were in the middle of. He gently turned Ghost’s head so he was forced to look up at him, preventing him from taking his eyes off of the Scot again. “And why can’t you?”
A growl bubbled from Ghost’s throat at the question, feeling the hand on his jaw tighten as he thought of turning away. “You know damn well why.”
“Then why are you making this so difficult?”
Because it would never work, he wanted to scream. Because I would ruin you.
“Your career is everything to you, Soap,” he said instead. “You made that clear.”
There was so much sadness reflected in Soap’s eyes. So much regret. “You’re everything to me, Simon. That is what I should’ve made clear. Fuck the consequences, I’m done with playing by the books for everything. If I was discharged tomorrow, I’d…I’d bounce back. I could always find something else to do for work, but I would never- and I mean never- find anyone that makes me feel like you do.”
Soap traced his thumb back and forth on Ghost’s cheek. “I have never felt more loved than when you're around. You were never a backup plan for me, Simon, and I'm so sorry if I made you feel otherwise. These months apart made me realize just how much you mean to me… not that I didn't understand before, but Christ, it was so hard not having you by my side anymore.”
“Johnny, I-”
“And I’m not going through that again.” Soap said, cutting him off. “You want to run? Expect me to be on the next flight behind you. You want to retire? I’ll get my papers ready too. Because until you tell me that you don’t want me in your life, and until you mean it, I’m always going to have your six. You deserve to know what it’s like to have people in your life that are around you because they love you, Simon.”
Ghost’s mouth was agape from when he was cut off, though he still couldn't get sound to come out.
No part of him doubted the other man when he said he wouldn’t let him out of his sight again. A thought that should terrify him, knowing how much he could ruin Soap if he didn’t continue to fight for distance between them.
But laying down on the earth with the man on top of him, something finally clicked.
Ghost was so tired of running, of self-sabotaging everything he didn’t think he deserved. He was just so used to everyone in his life taking the hint for what it was, no one ever bothering to chase after him. And that was always what he wanted - a clean break that proved his thoughts right, that he wasn’t something worth keeping or fighting for.
But that was before John MacTavish.
What good would it do if he couldn’t succeed in getting Soap to give up? Was it truly fair to drag him along forever if the man refused to let him go? Where Ghost was an immovable object, Soap was an unstoppable force. Both too stubborn in their own right, determined to have things go their way.
No one had ever put in so much effort to keep Ghost in their life before…and that had to count for something, right?
Ghost was snapped from his thoughts as Soap moved his hands, releasing his chin in favor of cupping both of his cheeks. He sank into the touch easily, relishing how right it felt to give himself over to the Scot.
“Please,” Soap continued in a whisper, “Please give me the chance to show you what you mean to me.” He bent down, bringing their foreheads together, their breaths intermingling in the small space between. His hands were holding Ghost’s face so carefully in front of him, like he was something worth holding onto.
…Could he really have this?
“Please?” Soap whispered again. And Ghost knew then, in his heart, that he could never deny the man anything. That he may be the superior officer, but he was completely under Soap’s command. All he had to do was ask, and Ghost would have it done.
Why did that take him so long to understand?
It should be concerning, how far he would be willing to go for Soap - but maybe not all that surprising, considering he uprooted his entire life at the mere mention of Soap finding him uncomfortable to be around.
Maybe… maybe that was what he was missing. Someone who he could give all of his control to, who he could devote himself to- mind, body and soul.
He trusted Soap to call him out the second Ghost crossed a boundary. All he would have to do was tell him to step back, and Ghost would have listed obediently. So if Soap asked him to stay, would it really even be a choice?
“Okay,” Ghost muttered, feeling a gust of wind over him as it blew past. He almost wondered if Soap had heard him over the sudden roar around them, but then he felt the grip on his cheeks tighten as Soap pulled away.
And oh, did he have the most blinding smile on his face. Enough to forget, for a moment, where they were. That they were soaked to the bone with an angry, darkening sky overhead. All Ghost could focus on what how Soap was smiling… because of him.
“Okay?” Soap echoed, like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Not that Ghost could blame him, the decision had surprised him too… but it needed to be done. This time, he was determined to do things right. To prove to Soap- and to himself- that he could be something worth keeping. That he could have someone stay in his life without resorting to coercion. He owed it to them both to at least try, for once.
So he nodded into the hands cradling his face, bringing up his own to place on top.
“Simon, are you ser-“
The question was abruptly cut off as Ghost hooked his good leg around the other man’s and rolled, using the momentum to trade positions and toss Soap underneath him. He knew they must look ridiculous caked in mud, but he didn’t care.
Soap blinked owlishly up at him before Ghost cupped his face, returning the gesture, finally getting to do what he had wanted to all those months ago. It felt right, to feel Soap’s skin beneath him.
And when he pressed his lips against the other man’s, Ghost couldn’t understand how he ever thought he was better off alone.