Chapter Text
When Ghost had invited Soap home with him for their extended leave, Soap had been taken aback.
After finally cleaning up all the loose ends they could find in relation to Graves and Sheperd, with the latter still missing, Laswell had more or less kicked them all off base.
“We can’t run our best soldiers into the ground,” she’d said.
No one had been happy about it. Task Force 141 was made up of men who didn’t know how to take a day off, much less two whole weeks . But when Laswell made clear that it was either stay on base and do nothing or go home and do nothing, everyone had chosen the latter. Price was going to visit some old friends, Gaz was going to see his parents for the first time in a while, and Soap…well, it was summertime and all his sisters, nieces, and nephews were away on holiday. The only thing he could do was to just go back to his sad and empty flat and drink himself into a stupor every night to distract himself.
He’d been in the midst of shoving what little civilian clothes he’d brought with him into his only duffel bag when there was a knock on the door. He opened it to see Ghost standing there with a backpack slung over one shoulder and nothing on his face except a plain black surgical mask. This was the most exposed Soap had seen him since the formation of Ghost Team back in Mexico.
His hair was a little longer now, blond strands beginning to curl slightly at the top of his head. There was also no evidence of his signature eye black, making his eyes look rounder and softer against the set of his white-blond eyebrows.
“Ready to get the hell out of here already, Lt.?”
“I’m ready to sleep for more than two hours at a time,” was his snide response.
Soap smiled and shook his head, leaving the door open as he returned to his bag to finish packing.
“Heading home?” Soap asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“Same.”
“Where’s home?”
The question almost made Soap laugh. Almost. But thinking about his flat, where the one plant he’d bought last time he was home had probably turned to dust on the windowsill, he didn’t have it in him.
“Come on, Lt., you know the answer to that. Scotland forever.”
Ghost was silent behind him, leaning against the doorframe. If Soap turned he would have caught the way his grip tightened on the shoulder strap of his bag.
“Anyone waiting for you?”
This time Soap did laugh- a hearty, full-bellied one. Did he, Soap MacTavish, have anyone waiting at home for him? Did he, John MacTavish, have anyone waiting on the couch, worrying over him? His sisters, maybe, but the nature of his job meant he’d grown apart from them.
What a silly question, to come from the man whose hickeys and bite marks still adorned a great majority of his cloth-covered skin. The same man who’d confessed to him his soul-crushing fear of losing him, under the moon of that first night back from Mexico. The same man who’d bought him a bottle of his favorite tequila at the bar to celebrate another mission under their belts. The same man who’s bed he’d left earlier that morning to pack his bags and go home to the person he had waiting on him who didn’t exist .
There would be no one waiting for him back home, now or anytime soon. Soap’s person was here . He’d realized that after Mexico. He’d thought Ghost had, too.
“No, no one is waiting for me, Ghost.” He threw some more socks into his bag and zipped it shut a bit more aggressively than he meant to.
And even if there was, they wouldn’t stick around for long after I told them what happened between us, he thought.
“Come with me, then.”
Soap felt his breath freeze in his lungs, the particles suspended in time, waiting for his brain to catch up with his ears.
“With you?” He choked out, turning to find that Ghost had entered the room and now stood behind him. He had to tilt his head back slightly to meet his eyes. Ghost blinked slowly and the ever present tightness around his eyes slackened, giving way to the soft look that Soap had yet to refuse.
“Come home with me, Johnny.”
“Okay.”
So yeah, Soap had been surprised at his proposal, but now that he sat in the back of a taxi, with the city fading away behind them, he couldn’t have been more pleased.
When he’d first detected the subtle shift in his and Ghost’s- “Drop the call signs, Johnny, we get to play civilians now”- relationship, he’d been worried. Military relationships could already be strained enough, with one partner always leaving without the promise of coming back. With both of them on the same task force, though, there were pros and cons. Fortunately, they could look out for each other. In fact, it was practically in the job description. Unfortunately, given the “special” nature of their missions, the risk of death was much higher than almost all other soldiers.
Johnny tried not to think about it too much, though. Simon didn’t seem like the type to care for labels. There was certainly something going on between them, but whatever it was, Johnny could only speculate. He was only a man, and the sex was good- more than good. But he felt something else lurking beneath the lust and reluctantly accepted friendship- something heavier, something serious.
Instead he focused on the slow change from skyscrapers, to houses with white fences, to tall trees that hugged the sides of the road. It was almost two hours before the taxi stopped at the mouth of a long, winding driveway. Simon told the driver not to drive up it, to let them out there, then he paid the fee and they got out with their bags.
Johnny hadn’t encountered such a strong smell of nature since he ran through the forests of northern Scotland with his sisters, pushing them into creeks and then collecting flowers for their hair. In the midst of the bombardment of childhood memories, Simon almost left him behind.
He jogged to catch up. “I should have guessed you’d be a man who enjoyed quiet and seclusion.”
Simon rolled his eyes, but without the usual coverage of his signature balaclava Johnny saw the way the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.
“Not the quiet- just the seclusion.”
As they approached, a wooden house came into view. It wasn’t too big, but it wasn’t small either. Johnny could see that it had two floors, with big windows, a porch that wrapped around to the back, and hanging pots of flowers in front of the door. There was a truck parked off to the side, next to a smaller car.
Johnny’s foot touched the bottom step leading up to the porch and he flinched at the sound of barking coming from within the house. His heartbeat picked up and he glanced at Simon, but the Brit was unphased. Simon never told him he had a dog. The person he was texting in the taxi must have been the pet sitter.
Simon reached into one of the pots of flowers and took out a spare key. He’d barely opened the front door a crack before a German Shepherd came barreling out onto the porch. Johnny watched as Simon took a knee to greet the dog, scratching behind its ears and patting its sides fondly.
“Missed you, too, girl.”
The dog turned her attention to Johnny next and he unconsciously took a half step back, but she only sniffed around his feet a little before dashing back into the house. Simon followed her in.
The foyer of the house was round, with a staircase on one side, a hallway that led deeper into the house, and the living room on the other side. Now that he was inside, Johnny picked up on the smell of freshly-baked bread and the sound of soft music. The dog disappeared down the hallway, nails clacking against the wooden floor. Before he could fully wrap his head around the fact that they weren’t alone in this house, a woman appeared in the hallway, drying her hands on a dish rag.
The dog brushed against your legs and you smiled and Johnny had never seen anything so lovely, except maybe Simon’s eyes that night in Alejandro’s safe house when he’d told him that no one fights alone .
You tucked the rag into the waistband of the half apron you wore, and followed the dog back down the hallway to them. You were about average sized for a woman, but compared to them, you looked small, delicate.
Johnny watched you lock eyes with Simon and loop your fingers through the ear band of his surgical mask. You pulled it off of his face, gentle in a way Johnny had never been when removing Simon’s masks- he’d always been a bit rougher, definitely more desperate. Your fingers brushed the light stubble along his jaw as you whisked the mask away into the back pocket of your jeans. Johnny’s fingers itched at the phantom feeling.
You stepped away from Simon, and then your eyes were on him. “You must be John.”
He nodded dumbly, and stuck out an awkward hand to shake yours. His name sounded like the nostalgia of morning doves on your lips. There was a glint of something he didn’t recognize in your eyes before you took his hand in both of yours- they were soft, warm.
You told him your name, and that it was nice to meet him, and that you’d made up the guest bedroom for him. He hadn’t had a bed made up for him in years .
“Go put your things down. Dinner will be ready soon.”