Archive of Our Own

Ghost wasn’t a stranger to going undercover. He did worse things with less effort. However, this assignment had him itching to do literally anything else.

Six months of undercover work at an American casino, of all things. It made sense—they were suspected of running an underground operation, supplying drugs and the like over the border and into Las Almas. Price had promised to help the Vaqueros rebuild and establish further control over the city after all the shit with Shepherd and Graves had gone down. So cutting off a major supplier who had ties with Valeria was the least they could fucking do.

The casino owner was a piece of shit, with a suspected history of drug and human trafficking, yet he managed a clean record, save for a few accounts of assault. American authorities had no clue what was lurking under their noses—no suspicion meant no case. Price had brought in the 141 as soon as Laswell picked up the money trail. 

With Ghost having the most experience behind enemy lines, he was the first choice for recon. He would need to pose as a bouncer and gain the owner’s trust before they even considered moving in as a force. Unfortunately, the owner was a dodgy bastard and had a reputation for being ruthless with his employment choices. His staff, who most likely doubled as smugglers and protection, were either former military, mercs, or downright scum. However, due to recent events he had lost his main source of revenue while Valeria was taken hostage, and his employees were getting anxious with Mexican Special Forces breathing down their necks. The owner was desperate.

Enter Edward Harris. A former U.S. Navy Seal with a D.D. for disobeying a superior: the perfect alias for Ghost to infiltrate and locate the base of operations. With Laswell working her magic on the intricacies, his background check presented a defunct bag of shit that would blend right in. His only family living across the ocean in Britain made him a loner with no ties, meaning minimal risk. All of which is why the casino owner, Lucas Crawford, took one look at Ghost and hired him on the spot.

Despite the quick-hire, it’s been three months of piss-drunk, entitled upper-class Americans and horrendous ear-grating music. Three bloody fuckin’ months of returning to a run-down, rat-infested flat with neighbors who couldn’t seem to mind their own damn business. Three whole months – and not even a single hint of where the smuggling hub was. Ghost was no longer sure that the case of Old Forester bourbon Price had promised as consolation was enough. It seemed as though Crawford wasn’t, unfortunately, desperate enough to trust a newbie with his operation.

Communications with the 141 were slim to none, with only brief check-ins every few weeks to relay any critical updates. Ghost knew he was being watched, even outside of the job. It was progress – Crawford wouldn't keep tabs on someone unless he wanted to know he could trust them. So, Ghost played the part, giving him no reason to doubt his loyalty by executing every order with brutal efficiency.

The casino itself acted as more of a nightclub – Ghost assumed it was only called a casino to explain the constant flow of large money sums. It was a place where the high class could go to blow off steam and not give a shit about formality. He hated it. The neon lights casted glares onto every glass surface lining the floors and ceiling. A choice the designers should have been fired for at the first pitch. 

The club floor was an ample space filled with multiple areas for lounging and tall, standing-glass tables. A sizable wrap-around bar was located to the right. Purple and blue lights spanned the length of the counter above, making the empty glasses glow like individual lights. To keep up impressions, a section in the far back contained a few game tables and a row of slot machines.

Ghost tugged on the collar of his suit, the stuffy cotton material uncomfortably rubbing against his neck. The uniforms were just another downside of this god-forsaken mission. All security had to wear a black suit to maintain the image. The worst of it was that face coverings were not tolerated; he felt exposed and wanted to disappear into the long casted shadows of the club. 

The comms crackled to life in Ghost's ear with a grating shriek. "Harris, trouble at the bar, may need an escort out."

"Copy." Ghost could hear the shouting above the crowd, growing louder by the second. 

He got to the bar just as one of their regulars, in a drunken haze, picked up a glass and chucked it at the wall, shards spraying like shrapnel and shouting something about being cheated out of a few thousand dollars. Ghost couldn't give a shit, but the first rule of this job was to try and de-escalate the situation before taking more severe measures. 

The regular only got angrier when he saw Ghost and attempted to throw a weak punch to his jaw. He quickly side-stepped it and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back. Only easing up as he felt the bones groan under his touch and heard the regular shouting out in pain. 

"Fucking asshole! You probably broke my arm you dick– I'm gonna call the fucking police and report you for harassment!" The regular slurred the words almost to the point of incoherency. Ghost leaned down by his ear, keeping his voice low.

"Yea, mate? With the shite you pulled tonight, I wouldn't doubt the police want a statement. Might not be the best idea with the molly you've got shoved in your jacket pocket, but you can be the judge." 

The regular went silent, eyes widening before Ghost shoved him through the crowd and onto the street. He never was good at de-escalating anyway.   

The rest of the night went as smoothly as it could’ve – people tended to be more careful after witnessing a throw-out. Which, of course, only made Ghost's job easier, so he did himself a favor.  

"Harris, Boss wants to talk to you. He’s in his office." The comms scratched again, making his ears ring. So much for an early clock-out. He didn't know if he had the discipline to make it another three months like this. Ask him to sit behind the scope of a rifle for hours, or even days, and he wouldn’t bat an eye. This job, however, was testing every limit he had. Most of it was tolerable, but he was on the verge of sensory overload every hour and he wondered how long it would be before he snapped.

As much as he would deny it if asked, he missed the task force, the banter with them, and the way he could sit in comfortable silence while still feeling like he belonged somewhere. After Ghost Team was disbanded, he found it…not impossible to settle into working with others. Too many emotions were mixed up in the situation, and Ghost had locked them away in the deepest part of his mind. It was a start, at least. 

Ghost knocked on the door to Crawford’s office and entered after a few moments at the slight, "Come in."

"Harris! Good to see you, man. Look, I'll make this short," Crawford sat with his feet propped on his obnoxiously large desk in the center of the room, the picture of confidence and an all-too-friendly smile on his face,"I need you to ease up on the guests, alright? The aggression’s good, but you need to follow policy. For our sake, we don't need any attention from authorities, ya know?" He spoke with the slightest southern accent that reminded him of Graves. Ghost felt his eyebrow twitch. 

"Yes sir, won't happen again," Ghost tried to force any ounce of sincerity into his voice and inwardly cringed when it registered as flat, like usual. Crawford looked like he had to say something, mouth opening slightly before quickly shutting again.  He excused Ghost from the office, and it took everything in Ghost to not run from the building. He needed to get out of there, and more than anything, he needed his bloody mask back so he could breathe again. All he felt were eyes on him the entire walk back to his flat. 

That night he was supposed to contact Price but ultimately decided against it. There was nothing to relay. Nothing for weeks, for that matter, and the surveillance on his flat was only getting increasingly  constant as the days passed. 

As soon as he returned to the flat, Ghost all but tore his suit off in exchange for jeans and a sweatshirt and yanked his balaclava on. He felt the tension in his shoulders lessen as soon as the fabric settled. It was getting more difficult for him to not go insane. If there wasn't a development soon, he’d grab a car battery and get the information out one way or another. Ghost didn't see why he had to go undercover at all; Crawford was clearly a paranoid bastard that couldn't see past his own ego. Any accounts of his cold and calculating demeanor were clearly wrong.

Ghost settled back into the routine he’d established over the three months, putting the kettle on the stove to make tea and collapsing onto the couch to watch whatever shitty reality show was broadcasting tonight. He was antsy – felt like he was about to jump or maybe even tear out of his skin. 

The water on the stove started to boil, and the shrill sound of the kettle startled Ghost from his brief nap, causing him to instinctively reach for a gun he didn’t have. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost groaned and got up from the couch, feeling his knees creak.

He wasn’t allowed to carry any military-grade  weapons, but that didn’t stop him from having at least three knives on him at all times and a handgun shoved into the drawer next to the bed. The tea was subpar, not bad for an American brand, but it always left him feeling a little disappointed. 

After he finished his tea he settled further back into the couch, and soon, he was drifting off to the sound of the TV with an unrealistic hope he could get through the night without disruption. 

••••

Ghost ultimately gave up on sleep just as the sun started to leak through the dirt-caked window. He had woken up hours ago in a cold sweat and rushed to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. After collecting himself for a few minutes, he tried to lay back down on the couch in an attempt to fall back asleep with no success. 

He got up an hour later and left the flat, locking it and setting the alarm. If anything, he could at least go for a run and grab groceries before heading to work. Ghost wasn’t used to American food; it always felt like lead as it settled in his stomach and he had started running more to stifle the feeling.

Ghost wasn’t gone long, a couple hours at most, but when he got back to the flat he immediately knew something was off. The building was too quiet despite the locks still intact, and the alarm still set. He silently put the groceries down and slipped a knife from his boot, entering without a sound. He swept the place with practiced precision and found nothing but an open window in the bedroom. He never opened windows. 

He scanned the main room and stopped on the mug he had used last night. It had been knocked over on the table – water now staining the wood. Crawford must be getting desperate if he had ordered a search of Ghost’s flat. It couldn’t have been anyone else since nothing valuable was taken. Ghost quickly got ready for work and headed out with one last glance.

He felt the tense atmosphere as soon as he entered the club and headed toward the staff lounge. Another bouncer was in the room – Ghost briefly remembered his name was Anderson. 

“What’s goin’ on, mate? It’s usually a little rowdier by this time, yea?” Anderson jolted at the sound of Ghost’s voice.

“Jesus, dude. How about a warning next time?” He glared. “Boss said an important client was coming tonight, somethin’ about looking to sponsor the club.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“Just some stuck-up rich kid from overseas. Crawford never gave a name. He was downright sweatin’ this morning, though, should have seen his face.” Anderson huffed awkwardly before shuffling off to find something else to do. 

This was new. Ghost’s blood was thrumming with the idea of something interesting finally happening. Bloody hell, a sponsor showing up now couldn’t be a coincidence. He was sure it wasn’t just for the club; he knew Crawford was running low on manpower after news of Las Almas reached the border. If the break-in this morning was anything to go by, Crawford would  make a move soon. Ghost left the room without a word, making his way to the floor. 

Afternoons were slow, but never like this. They were usually Ghost’s favorite time. No one bothered him, and he could just lay low until the night crowd arrived. However today, half the room was closed off while a crew moved tables and lounges around to free some space. The slight thrum of voices echoed through the room, overtaking the sounds of maintenance. 

“Harris! There you are,” Crawford approached Ghost from behind, “I was hoping I’d catch you before things started to get crazy. But listen, I’ve got someone coming tonight that could potentially make us a shit ton of money. So, I need you to keep it in check, yea?” Ghost offered a slight nod. 

“If all goes well, then we need to have a talk in my office before you leave.”

About bloody time. Briefly forgetting his face wasn’t covered, Ghost willed his expression into something resembling neutral – other than the smug grin he felt forming on his lips.

“Yes sir, any issues I need to know about beforehand?” 

“No need for formalities man – you’ve been here long enough. Just don’t make a scene if anyone steps out of line and we’re golden. I’ll see ya ‘round!” Crawford patted Ghost’s back before heading up to his office. Ghost stopped himself from flinching away at the touch. 

The tense atmosphere dissipated as soon as the late crowd arrived. Ghost kept watch on the doors as people filed in. There was nothing out of the ordinary yet, but he wasn’t too worried about missing the client. Crawford was on the floor socializing tonight, so whenever he arrived, Ghost would know shortly after.  

The night dragged on and Ghost was beginning to think the client had bailed. There were so many voices flooding his ears now, and he was feeling the start of a headache coming on. The stimulation from the lights wasn’t helping either, and Ghost was getting increasingly uneasy by the hour. 

After a few excruciatingly long hours, he noticed a small crowd starting to gather near one of many lounge areas. Their laughter echoed over the constant thrum of the room as Ghost made his way over. Large groups usually weren’t good news in this line of work and he wasn’t about to waste possibly the one chance he had at gaining Crawford’s trust. 

Getting closer, he could hear Crawford’s grating voice telling a story that made the group laugh, albeit a little forced. One laugh stood out amongst the small crowd, and he felt his blood still – there was no bloody way. This had to be some hallucination due to the constant isolation of the past few months. Ghost pushed through the crowd more forcefully than he intended and stopped dead in his tracks. It took everything in him to mold his face into something that resembled disinterest.

There – sitting on a couch lounge next to Crawford, acting like he’d known the man for years – was Soap fucking Mactavish. Arm slung around Crawford in mock amusement. Fuckin’ hell. What the fuck was going on?  

Ghost suddenly couldn’t focus. He stood there gaping like an idiot for a few seconds before he was spotted by Crawford and ushered over with a drunken wave.

“Harris! Nice to see ya. Let me introduce you two!” Soap got up from the couch as Crawford did, walking towards him. Crawford turned to Soap and slapped a hand on his shoulder, “This is who I was talkin’ about earlier. James – meet Edward Harris – my head of security,” Ghost’s eyes shot towards Crawford briefly before locking eyes with Soap again. 

“Harris –meet James Grant, he’s our new sponsor so we’ll be working with him closely over the next few months.” Soaps eyes were locked onto Ghost’s, glinting with something he couldn’t read as he held out his hand. 

“Nice to meet ya mate. I’ve only heard good things about you.” Soap’s voice was raspy from laughing earlier and Ghost unintentionally grabbed his hand a little too hard. A jolt ran through him at the touch but he maintained eye contact and shook hands.

“Pleasure’s mine,” Ghost’s voice unintentionally dropped an octave. His hand felt heavy as it fell back to his side. “Was jus’ checking to make sure everything was good over here.” His eyes sliding from Soap’s intense gaze to look at Crawford. 

“All good over here, man! Why don’t you take some time and get a drink, hm? I’ve got Anderson keeping tabs, so how's about you go an’ take a little break?” Crawford’s southern drawl always came out when he was drunk and it took an enormous amount of restraint for Ghost to not punch him square in the jaw. 

“Yes sir, won’t keep you then.” Ghost turned quickly on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. 

His head was spinning. Too much was happening tonight. Why in the bloody hell was Soap here acting like a client? Why now, of all times? Crawford had called him head of security too, which was fucking news to him. Ghost had too many damn questions and no fuckin’ answers. He suddenly regretted not checking in with Price yesterday. He was so close to finishing this operation, he couldn’t afford to lose focus now.

Ghost got to the bar and downed a shot of whatever the bartender had given him – not caring what it was – and welcomed the familiar burn. He scanned the crowd looking for the signature mohawk which, he noticed earlier, had gotten a lot longer since the last time he had seen Soap. There was no way it met regulation. 

Almost on instinct, his eyes locked onto Soap’s again. Soap gave a slight nod toward the direction of the bathrooms before turning back to Crawford, laughing at something he said. Ghost stood up slowly from the bar and made his way there. Nobody noticed him leave. 

When Ghost entered, he did a quick sweep over the room and turned the work comms off on his side. The fluorescent white lights were an unwelcome change of scenery compared to the dark club. Five minutes passed before the door opened and Soap walked in, locking it behind him. He just barely managed to turn and face him before Ghost had him pinned roughly against the door. Whatever Soap had been about to say died with a small wheeze at the sudden contact.

“The bloody hell are you doin’ ‘ere?” Ghost barely kept his voice to a whisper, nearly growling the words out through his gritted teeth.

“You’re about to compromise this whole fucking thing. I’ve spent three fucking months. Three! I’m not about—“ Ghost was getting increasingly indignant. He pushed off Soap and took a step back, turning to set a quick pace along the floor and exhaling sharply through his nose. He turned again and shoved a finger to Soap’s chest, “explain. Now.”

“Nice to see ya too, Lt.” Soap seemed way too calm, hands up in mock defense and eyes wide with surprised amusement. It only made Ghost’s aggravation increase, which Soap – the perceptive bastard – caught onto and quickly morphed his expression into something more serious.

“Price set it up, which you’d know if you’d answer yer fuckin’ comms,” he said pointedly,  “local authorities were tipped off a week ago –we think it might ‘ave been Valeria – but they’re closing in fast. We’ve got two – three weeks at most.” 

“Why the fuck would Valeria compromise her biggest supplier? Makes no sense.”

“We think she made a deal. Help bring down the largest supplier in the area and—“

“—and they cut her some slack and look the other way – fuckin’ hell. How’d she know?”

“We don’t know,” Soap’s expression was stern as he ran a hand through his hair. Ghost flexed his hands as he locked onto the movement. “She’s smart, it was only a matter of time. ’s why we tried to lay low, if she had known any earlier, she would have gone dark immediately.” 

Ghost was so tired.

“Alright, what now?” He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ease the now-raging headache he had. Soap’s eyes scanned his face rapidly, like he was trying to memorize it – probably was. Ghost wanted to shrink away from the attention, feeling uncomfortably exposed.

“Price sent me in, got a background set up,” Soap’s brow furrowed slightly as he explained, “involved with a British firm, one that’s lookin’ to expand power overseas. I’ve been in touch with Crawford for a few weeks just in case somethin’ like this happened. He knows my background, knows I’m here for the real shite, and he won’t turn away from a sponsor. He’s losin’  men like flies. Intel says he’s got a drop scheduled near the border soon, we think it’s one last run for Valeria to ease suspicion on her end…two birds, one stone.” 

Ghost’s brow furrowed, “where’s the money comin’ from?”

“He won’t get the chance to find out – we’ve got the rest of the week to wrap this up before Valeria disappears and we lose our chance.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost ran his fingers through his cropped hair. It had gotten longer too, he realized. Not wearing his balaclava as often made it difficult to tell the difference. It resulted in him not needing to worry about the uncomfortable prickly feeling his hair usually made when it got too long. 

This mission was getting too complicated, and Ghost didn’t know how to feel now that Soap was here. “I think he’s makin’ a move tonight. Said he had to talk to me after hours if things went well.”

“Alright.” Soap just stood there, chest heaving slightly now that the tension had begun to dissipate – eyes jumping between Ghosts rapidly. 

“Spit it out, Sergeant.”

“Didn’ think I’d ever see you in a suit Lt. Looks good.” Soap gave Ghost a shit-eating grin before crossing his arms and leaning further against the door, the fabric pulled taut across his chest. Ghost quickly diverted his eyes.

He gestured lightly to Soap, ”least it’s not that fuckin’ getup. What are you even wearin’? You look like a right dick.” It was too easy to fall back into the familiar banter with Soap – he didn’t even know when it became familiar to begin with.

“Away an bile yer heid, I look good.” Soap let out a breathy chuckle and turned his head to the side, finally breaking eye contact. His warm exhale fanned across Ghost’s face. He took a small step back, realizing he had gravitated a little too close at some point in the conversation.

“I’ve been gone too long as it is Lt., here’s where I’m stayin’,” Soap slipped a piece of paper into Ghost’s suit pocket, “if ye can make it there under wraps we can plan our next step.” He lightly punched Ghost’s arm and left, leaving him standing alone in the bathroom.

Bloody hell.

The unexpected change in routine left Ghost on edge for the rest of the night. He couldn’t stop glancing in the direction he knew Soap and Crawford were. He had nothing better to do other than observe the two, making sure it wasn’t too obvious. He was right earlier; Soap looked like a right dick and he played the part to a tee. Laughing at everything Crawford said, oozing confidence with his arms slung across the owners shoulders in a mock drunken state. Ghost knew he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol the entire night, and Crawford was none the wiser, thinking he had Soap hook, line, and sinker. 

Soap took up as much room on that fucking couch as he could, jean-clad legs spread wide, and a silk button-down shirt left open most of the way, exposing his whole chest. Ghost scoffed. Out of anybody in the 141 it had to be Soap. He could admit he wanted a break from the constant isolation, but he would never have chosen Soap to give him that break. He needed to have a word with Price later.

Soap met his eyes from across the room once again and gave a knowing smirk. Ghost stood up from the bar and walked in the opposite direction. 

The rest of the night couldn’t have gone any slower. Soap had left an hour ago and the other patrons had begun clearing out not too long after. Ghost decided to make his way up to Crawford’s office. 

When he entered, Crawford sat slumped at his desk, all signs of his intoxicated state from earlier gone and face set in mild annoyance. An uneasy feeling settled in Ghost’s gut.

“Jesus, what a fuckin’ tool. I know I gotta keep up appearances, but I almost lost it. He’s gotta be the stupidest fucker I’ve ever met.”

Ghost felt his teeth grind, “You needed me?”

Crawford let out a harsh sigh, “right, right. You heard the little head of security bit earlier yea?” Ghost nodded.

“Congrats, you’re promoted. Duties are the same, you just get paid a little more to order people around a bit.” Crawford gave a slight chuckle. “Look, Harris, you’re a smart guy, I know you know about the break-in and I know you have an idea about what I really do.” 

Ghost held his breath. 

“If you’re lookin’ for some better pay I could use a guy like you. You’re downright ruthless in everything you do. You follow orders.” Crawford gave a slight pause and finally made eye contact for the first time since Ghost walked in. “Like a good soldier, right? Don’t wanna repeat past mistakes now do we?” Ghost felt sick at the smile Crawford gave. It showed too much of his teeth.

“No, sir.”

“Good man, I’ll give you the night to think it over. If you’re in we’ll discuss the details later. If not, we forget this conversation happened.” Crawford stood from his desk and ushered Ghost towards the door, his hand grasping tightly onto Ghost’s shoulder in an attempt to seem threatening. “Don’t give me a reason to regret this. You so much as hint that you’re goin’ to snitch and I’ll have to shut you up permanently. Can’t have you risking years of work.” 

Ghost gave a slight nod and left the room. It wasn’t until he cleared the building by a few blocks that he felt the hard tension in his body slowly ease up.

He couldn’t wait to kill this guy.

••••

After Crawford had dropped the news, Ghost knew there was no chance he was meeting with Soap tonight. Crawford would want constant eyes on him until he got an answer just in case Ghost wanted to run. 

He opened the door to his flat, settling down for yet another boring night, and grabbed his handgun from the drawer. It would likely be needed soon so he made sure to take extra care to clean it thoroughly. He stopped mid-process and grabbed his computer from the kitchen counter, leaving a brief message to Price so he could relay it to Soap: No R.V., too many eyes.  

He had no idea how they would wrap this up in less than a week. If push came to shove, he’d have to use his own methods in order to find the smuggling hub. Soap would just have to adapt if it came to that. He couldn’t risk losing the progress he had made over the last few months just because of a slight change in plans.

Soap had become yet another liability added to Ghost’s recently-expanded list. He affected Ghost more than he would ever like to admit. After Hassan, he had to distance himself from the sergeant, chalking their quick-forming friendship up to a shared traumatic experience. There was bound to be some sort of formed codependent companionship after that shit show in Las Almas. 

The remaining problem was that, now with distance, Ghost couldn’t stop worrying about Soap. It scared him, so he dealt with it the only way he knew how – he didn’t.

The first time they met, Ghost knew he felt a shift. Felt it when Soap strode up to him on that tarmac with too much confidence. Felt it when he smiled and uttered a quick, “Save ye’ a seat, sir,” slightly punching his shoulder and acting like he’d worked with him for years.

At first, he thought the confidence translated to the arrogance of a man clearly out of his depth, only to realize pretty quickly that his assumptions were completely inaccurate. It wasn’t even confidence he showed, it was pure unbridled passion. Soap gave everything he had, every time, in any situation. He’d been through his fair share of hell and walked out with that same easygoing smile on his face. He’d earned his right to be here. 

Ghost shouldn’t have doubted Price’s judgment in the first place, and Soap continued to exceed his expectations when everything went to shit in Las Almas and Chicago. 

He felt raw fear for the first time in years when he watched Soap get shot. It only got worse when he could do nothing but watch as Hassan drug Soap’s bloodied and broken body to the window. 

It was in Las Almas that he realized he would have set the city ablaze just to keep his sergeant alive. It was in Chicago when he realized he would kill for him. 

Ghost’s entire career was built on death, and until him he had only ever killed for the job – that thought alone left him uneasy. He tried to lock the feeling away as he finished cleaning his gun and settled back into his routine.

When he finally fell asleep, it was dreamless.

••••

Before Ghost left for work, he checked every room and window. He ignored the gut feeling to bring his gun, knowing it wouldn’t look good after everything that happened yesterday. 

When Ghost got there, he didn’t even bother to check in – heading straight for Crawford’s office. He heard yelling as he got closer. Crawford was frantically shouting at someone. 

This wasn’t good. He must have found out about the tip to the authorities. He would be even more paranoid now, which could delay his decision to lead them to the hub.

“Lucas, we can figure something out mate, there’s no need to panic, right? Let me talk to ‘em, pigs can easily be bought off.” Soaps' voice sounded from the room, causing a spark of anxiety to seep deep into Ghost’s chest.

“No, you fucking dick! You’re not understanding me – I’m supposed to have a shipment ready in 48 hours and if my client hears that the authorities are on my ass, she’ll fucking bolt.” Crawford was getting angrier. Something crashed against the wall followed by a soft curse from Soap. 

Ghost knocked on the door. “I don’t need this shit right now. Who the fuck is it?” Crawford bellowed.

“Harris, sir.” 

“Fuckin’ finally, get your ass in here and lock the door.” Ghost entered the room, which was clearly more disheveled than when he had left it yesterday. Papers were strewn about the place and objects were knocked over. Ghost quickly glanced towards Soap standing in the corner of the room, and his eyes locked onto the cut across his cheek, blood dripping down in rivulets. Shards of glass covered the floor from what used to be a vase. Ghost’s eyes slid back to Crawford. 

“I’m in.” Ghost’s tone was cold and he quickly reined himself in. Crawford’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied him. His expression rapidly changed into one of smiling relief. 

“Good man! First thing you can do is escort James back to his hotel. Stay clear of any cops yea? I’ve had enough shit to deal with as is. Afterwards you come right back here. We move tonight if we want to have any chance of closing this deal. I’ll contact my buyer.” Crawford waved his hand in dismissal and Ghost turned to grab Soap’s arm, which was quickly yanked out of his grip. 

“I can walk myself out, thanks.” Soap practically spat the words in his face, turning to leave. Ghost followed behind quietly.

The walk outside was filled with silence, and when they reached the street, Ghost broke it, “Where to?”

“Jus’ up tha road,'' Soap's accent tended to come out more when he was angry, his voice getting deeper with a slight growl. 

Soap brought them through the lobby and up to the hotel room. Ghost let out a small whistle, “I’m startin’ to think Price just wanted a chance to screw with me on this mission. You get the five-star hotel for a week and I get a shack for three months.” Ghost could see a little bit of the tension leave Soaps shoulders as he led them down the hall.

“Guess I’m jus’ the favorite Lt.” Soap used the key card to open the door and Ghost let out a small curse when he saw the room. 

“ ‘Course you get the bloody penthouse, too. This is bollocks. What do you even need all this room for?” 

“Keepin’ up impressions I guess.” Ghost could see Soap smirk from the corner of his eye and muttered a quick ‘bastard’ before shutting the door.

Soap's things were gathered around an oversized couch in the far corner of the room, including a small stash of assault rifles and pistols. Ghost thanked a god he didn’t believe in and chuckled, “What’s the point of a penthouse if you’re just gonna sleep on the couch?”

Soap switched weight between his feet almost in a nervous gesture, “Couldn’t take the bed, felt unnecessary – uncomfortable. Besides, who fuckin’ needs a king anyway?” He paused and then chuckled softly, “Actually scratch tha’ you probably do you muckle bastard.” 

Ghost changed the subject, “Crawford says he’s movin’ tonight, so I say we get in, find the hub, and relay coordinates. Stick to the original plan, just with a few changes. We need to contact Price, tell him what’s goin’ on.”

“Already done, told him to be on standby after your message last night. He’ll know what to do.” Soap looked like he wanted to say something more. Ghost strode over to the couch and picked up a rifle, inspecting it. Soap approached behind him, “Ghost —”

“I can go in first. Unarmed, and when Crawford and I move you can follow from a distance with the extra firepower.” Ghost tried to keep his focus on the mission. 

He knew Soap would want to talk eventually. Ghost had basically ignored him after Hassan. He didn’t want to have this conversation now, he needed to keep his head on straight but he could tell Soap was getting impatient. 

 “Ghost for fucks sake—“ Soap grabbed his shoulder hard and yanked him around. Ghost panicked and grabbed his wrist in an attempt to lock it. Before he could do damage Soap twisted and curled out of the hold. His eyes were wide, hands up in surrender, “Fuck! I’m Sorry I—I forgot. Wasn’ thinkin’ before I…” 

Ghost recovered quickly and Soap went quiet at his cold stare. “Clearly. You seem to do that a lot Seargent,” Ghost bit out a little too harshly. He knew that wasn’t the correct answer, but he couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. 

Soap’s apologetic features hardened again and he turned on his heel and disappeared into the bathroom. Ghost fell onto the couch with a heavy sigh as all previous aggravation had seeped away and left him feeling numb. He held his head in his hands, scratching softly at the scalp. 

After a few moments of silence, he stood back up and headed toward the bathroom. Soap stood at the sink facing the mirror, cleaning the cut on his face. 

“Are you alright?” Ghost tried to reach out to see the cut but Soap shrugged him off.

“Fine. Shallow laceration, doesn’t need stitches.” Soap’s voice was cold.

“Soap,” Ghost breathed out, towering over his sergeant. “Look—“

“Lieutenant, with all due respect, I want to wrap this shite up as soon as possible – jus’ like you. Crawfords expecting you soon. Ye should head out.” Soap didn’t meet his eyes. 

Ghost wanted to root his hands through Soap’s hair and fucking pull so he’d look at him. His hand flexed at his side. This was entering dangerous territory, and he didn’t want to deal with it now, didn’t have the time anyway. Ghost turned and left without another word.

Before entering the club, Ghost checked to make sure he had all his knives and adjusted the small earpiece he would use to contact Soap. When Ghost gave the signal they’d hold their position until reinforcements arrived and wrap this up without issue. Ghost entered Crawford's office. 

“Harris! Took you longer than expected, you ready?” Crawford got up from his desk and strode towards Ghost.

“Yes, sir.” Ghost responded almost too quickly. 

“Good!” Crawford gave an all too friendly smile.

Before he could react, Crawford stabbed a syringe into Ghost’s neck. Too late, Ghost knocked it from his hand, kicking his knee in before his vision became blurry at the edges. He faintly heard Crawford curse somewhere in front of him.

Ghost's body was already shutting down and he collapsed onto his knees, his breathing became panicked, increasing rapidly. He was able to touch his ear and let out a strangled ‘Johnny’ before his vision went dark.

••••

When Ghost came to, he was tied to a metal chair, hands behind his back and feet secured to the front legs. His head felt like it had been bashed against a wall and split open; he could feel crusted blood on his forehead, so he wasn’t far from the truth. It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the lights and he felt them burn in his sockets. He was surrounded by cold concrete walls. The only exit was a heavily reinforced metal door at the other end of the room. 

Ghost didn’t know how long he had been out, it couldn’t have been more than a few hours, his only indicator being a dry throat. He hoped Soap had gotten his message. Whatever Crawford had hit him with left his senses foggy and his fingers numb. The metal door in front of him opened with a loud groan and Crawford strode into the room. 

“Harris! Good to see you man – sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances, but you know how it is.” His voice dripped with blatant arrogance. 

“I gotta say you definitely had me fooled. Too good to be true I guess. I had some high hopes for you.” Ghost could tell Crawford was baiting him into asking questions. He stared silently at him, which seemed to tick him off more.

“Wanna know how I found out?” Crawford crouched down to meet him at eye level, “You’re buddy James, or should I say Soap, tipped me off.” Ghost’s eyes widened slightly. 

“Not directly, of course, but it wasn’t hard to bribe the hotel staff to drop a bug in his room this morning. I had my suspicions of him, but imagine my surprise when I heard your voice in that room too. You slipped up.” Crawford wore a smile that stretched from ear to ear and Ghost wanted to rip it off his face. 

“There’s a lotta drama going on between you two. It’s strange…you didn’t seem like the type.” Crawford tilted his head slightly, “felt more like a lone wolf sorta guy. Could have fooled me, although I guess you already did. Fool me once, right?” He took a knife from the holster on his hip and stood back up, looking down at Ghost. “I need to know who you work for and how much they know about this operation. We can do this without much hassle if you tell me now.” Ghost glared at him.

 “I’d hate to put any more scars on you, it seems like you’ve got enough as is.” Crawford grabbed his chin and drug his thumb across the deep scar that cut through his left eyebrow and went down towards his jaw. Ghost jerked his head from the grip and growled deep in his throat.

“Where’s Soap?” He spat out. Crawford stared at him blank-faced for a few seconds before answering.

“Dead. Had some of my guys meet him at the hotel. Gotta say it was nice watching him choke on his own blood, they took a nice video for me.”

Ghost chuckled dryly, “Ya know you’re a piss poor liar, mate, seems like that would be a problem in your line of work.” 

Concern flashed in Crawford’s eyes for a brief moment before he leaned close to Ghost’s face, “Listen here fucker I don’t know what you think this is, but—“ 

Ghost headbutted him square in the nose, and got sickening pleasure from hearing the solid crack. He’d definitely broken it. 

Crawford stumbled back with bloody hands holding his face. “FUCKING BITCH!” He shrieked into his hands, blood now overflowing and dripping onto the floor, “I’m gonna kill you slow.” The knife came down into Ghost’s upper thigh and it took everything in him not to shout. It felt like the air was knocked out of him as he grunted.

Ghost was about to cuss him out before the air went deathly still, almost as if holding its breath. The sudden sounds of an explosion echoed through the building, chunks of dust falling from the ceiling with the shockwave. Crawford whipped his head around to look towards the door. 

“What the fuck was that? Anderson report!” His panicked voice shook with fear as he spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Anderson!” The comms crackled alive.

“Here, sir! An explosion went off on the west side of the building. I’m going to check it out now. I haven’t heard anything from—“ Anderson let out a muffled shout, the comms going abruptly silent as the wet sounds of  choking stopped. 

“Anderson! Fuck.” Crawford’s eyes were wide as he stepped back and ran from the room shouting orders through the comms. Ghost heard the metal door lock into place, Crawford’s voice fading down the hall. The 141 must have found him, and from the sound of it, Soap was leading the charge. Ghost let out a pained sigh; the knife still sticking out of his thigh. He bent down to yank the hilt out with his teeth, but the metal door was unlocking again and Crawford entered holding an assault rifle.

He flinched as another explosion went off and placed the gun barrel against Ghost’s temple, he stood facing the door with a slight tremble in his hand. “I don’t know how fucking many of you there are, but at least a dozen of my men are dead. If you’re so important, they can walk in here and watch me put a bullet in your fucking head.” 

Another explosion blasted through the metal door just as the lights in the building went out, flickering occasionally. Ghost couldn’t see shit and Crawford was frantically shouting into the dark. 

“I’ll fucking shoot him if you come any closer!” He scrambled to turn on the flashlight strapped to his chest.

The flashlight flickered on and illuminated a figure just feet in front of him; wearing a red skull mask nearly identical to Ghost’s, and covered in a thick spray of blood. Crawford shouted in surprise as the gun was kicked away from Ghost, bullets just nearly missing and going into the wall behind him. Crawford was quickly disarmed, legs kicked out from under him and a knife embedded into the side of his head. 

Ghost let out a shaky breath. Adrenaline ran through him, thrumming in his blood and pounding against his skull. He looked up into the mask shrouded in shadow. Ghost couldn’t see into the eyes.

“Soap…” Ghost’s voice was barely above a whisper, coming out more breathy than he intended. 

“Sit-rep?” Soap was breathing heavily as he knelt down to start cutting through the ropes at his feet, hands also shaking from the adrenaline.

“Solid. Few bruises, a stab wound, no major blood loss, and maybe a concussion. Where’s Price? Gaz?” Ghost felt the rope on his hands fall to the floor, bringing them forward to rub at the raw skin. 

“Not ‘ere. I managed to plant a tracker on Crawford this mornin’, which led us straight to his main hub. Daft fuckin’ bastard. Most of the reinforcements were located there, so Price and Gaz took a small team to clear it out while I came to get you.” 

Ghost noticed blood leaking through the side of Soap’s shirt and the adrenaline quickly seeped into anger. “Of all the reckless shit you’ve done, Sergeant. This has gotta top it,” Ghost lashed out harshly, “You could have gotten yourself killed! I had it bloody handled!” Ghost cursed as the knife was yanked forcefully from his thigh. 

“We’re both alive aren’t we? And ye’ didn’t seem to have it handled when I walked in.” Soap bit out, jaw set tense. Ghost inhaled through his teeth as Soap quickly wrapped a bandage around the wound on his thigh and slipped a tourniquet further up. Soap pulled it tighter than Ghost thought was necessary. 

“Exfile is 5 mikes out and we’ve got about 10 minutes to get there.” Soap shoved Crawford’s discarded gun at Ghost and turned to walk away. Ghost’s hand shot out to catch Soaps wrist as he stood up. He glared down at Soap.

“We are not done with this conversation, Sergeant.” Soap’s eyes stayed firmly locked onto his, Ghost couldn’t read him. 

“Didn’t think we were, sir, but now's not the time, yea?” Ghost let go of Soap’s wrist like it had burned him.

“Right…Let’s go then.” He replied, void of the intense emotion he displayed earlier.

••••

Price, Gaz, and their small team were able to shut down operations without a hitch. Valeria had bolted long before the 141 had closed in and any leads on her were relayed to Alejandro and Los Vaqueros. It felt like a bittersweet victory compared to everything that went down. Nevertheless, Alejandro and Rudy assured Price that this was a major step in establishing control over Las Almas and promised drinks the next time the 141 came to visit.

The plane ride back to base was tense. Ghost had isolated himself into a corner after checking in with Price and a field medic about the stab wound. He miraculously didn’t have a concussion, so it was just a couple days of rest before he could be cleared for fieldwork again.

He could have hugged the man when Price pulled a spare balaclava from his vest. Yanking it on, Ghost felt more relaxed in that one moment than he had for the last three and a half months combined. He knew Price had clocked the hostility between him and Soap as soon as they got to extract, and thankfully, didn’t say anything. Gaz patted his back lightly, muttering a small ‘ good to have you back, sir ’ before sitting next to Price. 

Ghost was pissed. Pissed at Soap for being so reckless and pissed at himself for not being more careful. He should have known Crawford would be suspicious when the authorities were tipped off shortly after he gained a sponsor. He was arrogant but made up for it in paranoia. 

Ghost wanted everything to go back to how things were before this god-forsaken mission, ignoring Soap and routinely ignoring his own problems. He knew Soap wouldn’t let that slide, and Ghost, ultimately, wouldn’t either. He was still too pissed at his sergeant to care too much about it and prepared to lay into him as soon as they touched down.

Soap was the first to leave when the plane landed, storming down the ramp and across the tarmac. Ghost followed him out. 

Gaz watched the both of them angrily leave the plane and got up to try and smooth it over. Price stopped him with an arm across his chest. There was nothing they could do to make it better. They needed to work this out by themselves.

Ghost caught up to Soap pretty quickly and Soap just kept walking. “Fuck off, Ghost. Would it kill ye to give me five fucking minutes by myself!”

“That’s no way to address your superior, Sergeant. We’re having this conversation now, that’s a direct order!” Ghost bit out harshly, he hated pulling rank but he couldn’t care at the moment. Soap stopped dead in his tracks. He could practically see the waves of anger radiating off him as he turned to face Ghost.

“Lead the way… sir .” Sarcasm dripped off of Soap’s tongue which only made Ghost more aggravated. He roughly grabbed Soap by the arm and dragged him to his room, shoving Soap in, hearing the click of the lock as he shut the door.

“What. The. FUCK is your problem?” Soap spoke through gritted teeth. 

“MY problem? You’re my bloody problem sergeant! You put your life in danger to rescue one soldier. You could have compromised the entire operation! Price never should have sent you, I knew you’d find some way to fuck it up!” Ghost couldn’t stop the words from spewing out, too worked up to think clearly.

“Me? Fuck it up?” Soap chuckled dryly, “You can’t be serious – I’m not the one that got fuckin’ captured! I saved yer ass and you can’t fuckin’ handle it. Can’t see past yer own ego to even give a thank you! The mission went well, anythin’ else was out of our bloody control! You’re jus’ being a fuckin’ dick!” Soap started pacing the room. 

“It’s not even just now, Ghost. You’ve been actin’ like a right dick ever since Chicago. Steaming’ Jesus, I would have understood if you acted that way towards Price and Gaz too, but no, it’s jus’ me you have a problem with!” Soap yelled, arms moving violently with his words as he spoke. 

“I thought ye had at least warmed up to me a wee bit. Hell. You preached all that shite about being a team and then went right back to isolating yerself at the first chance!” Ghost saw nothing but red.

“You’re not a special case Mactavish! What? You thought we’d just buddy up after everythin’? That’s not how this fuckin’ works! I’m not here to make friends and I don’t give a shite about you!” Soap flinched back slightly at his words.

Ghost knew he’d fucked up, knew it as soon as the words left his fucking mouth. He wanted to scream or throw something. Soap stood with his back facing Ghost, shaking slightly.

Ghost was about to start apologizing before Soap turned and punched him right in the jaw. He paused in shock before the anger came back full force and tackled Soap to the ground. 

They grappled in a tangle of limbs on the cold floor, both fighting for leverage over the other. Ghost’s punches were harsh and Soap went for every place he knew Ghost was injured. At some point Ghost’s balaclava was ripped off. There was no coordination, every move fueled by emotion.

“Fuckin’. Hate you —” Soap grit out in between punches.

Ghost finally gained leverage, straddling Soap and pinning his hands to the floor above his head. Soap didn’t struggle, too tired physically and emotionally to move. Their chests both heaved, trying to get as much air in as possible, heavy breaths filling the tense silence of the room. 

“You…drive me…fucking insane Mactavish...” Ghost could barely get the words out in between gasps of air. Soap just stared at him, eyes flicking down briefly to his mouth before focusing on his eyes again. Ghost zeroed in on the movement. 

“Noted, now fuckin’ let me up Ghost.” Soap started to struggle slightly, voice getting nervous. Ghost’s grip on Soaps wrists tightened and Soap stilled beneath him, pupils dilating.

There were a few more breaths shared between them before Soap muttered a small fuck.

Ghost surged down at the same time Soap lunged up. The kiss was rough. All teeth and tongue, the both of them colliding against each other with the same aggression as before. 

Soap let out a slight groan when their lips met and Ghost wanted to fucking devour him. He could taste blood on his lips, and let go of his wrists – one hand now on the floor by Soap’s head and the other fisting into his hair. Soap’s hands were gripped roughly onto Ghost’s hips before quickly moving to his face.

Ghost pulled them both up from the floor, lips only parting briefly to take in gasps of breath. He crowded Soap back against the wall, mouth moving down to his jaw as he gripped the back of Soap's thighs and lifted him up, pinning his back to the wall and slotting their hips together. 

Soap’s hands gripped into Ghost's hair as he tilted his head to the side to give him better access. Ghost bit down hard, drawing blood.

“Simon…fuck,” Soap moaned brokenly against his cheek, voice dropping low and breathy. 

Ghost groaned against his neck and brought his forehead to rest against Soap’s. They were both breathing heavily, Ghost’s eyes focused on Soap’s now swollen lips. 

“Say it again,” Ghost begged, “please Johnny…please.” 

Soap leaned closer, lips just barely touching and they shared breath for a few seconds until Soap broke the silence, whispering into Ghost’s mouth, “Like when I call ye’ Simon eh?” He connected their lips again, this time much gentler than before and Ghost sighed low in his throat.

He broke the kiss and set Soap back onto his feet, “you’re goin’ to be the bloody end of me.” His hands gripping Soap’s hips like a lifeline. He couldn’t stop staring at his eyes, his hair, his face… him . 

Soap covered his face with his forearm as a flush spread down to his neck, “I’m still right pissed at you.”

“Likewise Sergeant. You’re a bloody idiot if you think I’m lettin’ this go anytime soon,” Ghost could see the resulting smile curl onto Soap’s face. 

When the adrenaline finally wore off his whole body ached and Ghost took in the damage he had done earlier when they fought. Soap’s lip was split open and he had several bruises forming on his chest, arms, and face. The bite mark had stopped bleeding – now dried, blood crusting around it.

Ghost was immediately hit with a wave of guilt, stepping back from Soap. “Fuck, I really did a number on you,” his voice was small.

“Ye should see yerself, pretty sure I opened that stab wound back up,” Soaps' voice was equally as small as he reached a hand up to Ghost's face, grazing over a small forming bruise. Ghost hissed slightly at the sting.

Soap had indeed opened up the stitches in his thigh and blood was slowly seeping into the bandages. Ghost began to register the pain again.

“Fuck Simon, let’s get ye to medical yea?” Soap grabbed at his arm in an attempt to lead him out the door.

Ghost panicked, “no – please,  no medical, I can’t fucking deal with that right now.”

“We need to get that checked out Ghost. It needs new stitches,” Soap’s pleading eyes glanced briefly at the bloody bandage, then back to Ghost’s face.

“Then I’ll do it,” Ghost’s head was pounding and his leg buckled under the pain. Soap caught him by the shoulders and guided him towards the bed.

“No Ghost, I’ll do it, yer in no state to do it yerself right now.” Soap sat Ghost down on the mattress and headed to the bathroom where he knew Ghost kept a medkit.

They sat in silence as Soap gently cleaned the wound and stitched it back up. Ghost couldn’t do anything but stare at his face, nose scrunched in concentration. 

“Why’d you come back for me?” Ghost whispered into the gentle silence of the room.

Soap scoffed in amusement, “I’m gonna blame that daft question on the blood loss, mate. Ye can’t be serious?” Ghost just stared at him and Soap let out a small sigh. “Ye did the same for me in Las Almas, ye stayed when ye shouldn’ ‘ave. We can call it even now.” Soap paused, voice getting small, “plus – we’re a bloody team and I wanted to. Wouldn’t ever leave ye behind and I know you’d do the same.” He chuckled, “as much as it’d pain ye to admit it.”

Ghost let out an exasperated huff, “Johnny you ‘ave no bloody idea what I’d do for you…It scared me – still does.” Another flush crept onto Soap’s cheeks and Ghost felt the urge to kiss him again. 

“Ye fuckin’ sap,” Soap chuckled as he finished wrapping the fresh bandage, “who knew The Ghost was a romantic.” It was Ghost’s turn to flush and he looked around the room for his discarded balaclava.

Ghost took a damp rag and began wiping the blood off of Soap’s face and neck. He grumbled just loud enough for Soap to hear, “you’re fucking annoying Mactavish, should have left you in Las Almas for all the trouble you’ve given me.”

Soap let out a laugh and leaned forward stopping just before their lips met. “Ye like me and ye know it.” 

Ghost could feel Soaps breath hot on his face and tossed the bloody rag to the side. “Don’t get cocky Sergeant,” he closed the gap between them in a gentle kiss. 

After a few moments, Ghost dragged Soap down to lay on top of him and broke the kiss. “ ‘M fuckin’ tired and we’ve got debrief with Price first thing tomorrow.” 

Soap didn’t move off the mattress, instead settling into Ghost’s chest and letting out a heavy sigh, “It’s so late I might as well stay here, ya know? No use going all the way across base back to my bunk.” Soap pressed into him further and Ghost huffed in amusement.

He was already beginning to feel the lull of sleep, all the tension in his body slowly seeping into the mattress. “Solid copy, can’t argue with that reasoning.” 

Ghost drifted into sleep faster than he intended, and as he fell into unconsciousness he heard Johnny mutter a small ‘Goodnight Simon.’

••••

The next morning, Ghost and Soap sat side by side in Price's office. 

Price let out a heavy sigh. “You two look like you’ve been put through a woodchipper,” his eyes softened slightly, “you’re not broken are you? You worked it out?” Price gave a knowing look towards them. Ghost knew nothing got past him.

Soap spoke up, “Aye sir.”

“Good man,” Price smiled softly before he met Ghost’s eyes, “it’s nice to have you back, Simon.”