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“What’s it going to be then, eh?”
Ghost had to say it twice before Soap heard him, a sign that something was indeed wrong. He’d had a feeling for a while that Soap was hiding something, a creeping wrongness infecting the once cheerful presence in Ghost’s life. At first Ghost had blamed himself, spiraling into self-loathing and self-depricating thoughts that tasted like grave dirt and sat heavy on his chest. As time went on, though, he had to admit that even his wretchedness couldn’t be the sole cause of what was going on in Soap’s life to cause… this. Whatever this was. It was hard to put a name on it, to fully grasp what was wrong with Soap, despite Ghost knowing there was something wrong with him. Gaz and Price saw it too, though they seemed less worried for some reason. He knew Soap wasn’t talking to them any more than he was talking to Ghost. He might have done some reconnaissance when he couldn’t get Soap to open up to him anymore and found that instead of spending time with others, he just went to his bunk alone. He didn’t even go on his personal phone, something else Ghost may have checked purely for recon purposes. He needed to know if Soap was reaching out to anyone, but he wasn’t. He was isolating himself and that wasn’t like him. It was weird and Ghost fucking hated it. No matter how much all of this bothered him, though, they were still on a mission, behind enemy lines, and Soap seemingly wasn’t paying close attention to him.
“I heard you the first few times, Ghost, I was just thinkin’ is all.”
“Then fucking say something like it, than staying silent. Fuck’s sake.”
Soap flipped him off and went back to scouting through his lenses while Ghost studied his body language. It was like looking at a stranger, only worse because Ghost could actually read a stranger’s body language better than Soap’s at the moment.
“I’ll take point with you on overwatch, clear the building, eliminate the target, blow the building.” Soap’s analysis was quick, efficient, and within mission parameters. Ghost felt his heartrate accelerate.
“Rog.” He went to get into position and then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Soap pull out a mask. It was a red half skull, like Ghost’s in every way but the color, and finally Ghost understood the dread that had been creeping into his body since Soap’s behavior had started to change. He was turning into a ghost.
“What’s it going to be then, eh?”
Yeah, good question, bloody fucking Brit. It was the question that had been plaguing Soap for months, ever since he realized he was in love with Simon and could do fuck all about it. It wasn’t even just Simon. He loved everyone he had met since joining the 141, though in a slightly different way, but still in his typical too much, all encompassing, over-the-top way that made people like him at first and then get sick of him just as quickly. He had felt it start to happen with Gaz and Price and knew it would happen eventually with Simon, but he refused to be transferred again. Not this fucking time. Soap would not be left, he would not be rejected, he would not be forced to grieve in silence while pretending to be happy in a new place with new people. He would figure out a way to fucking stay this time, even if he had to rip off his own skin to do it.
Luckily, he wouldn’t have to go that far. He just had to pull away until he could calibrate himself correctly. That was the issue. He had been bouncing around so much, so isolated in so many ways, so unsettled and so fucking alone that his energy was off, he wasn’t calibrated to the right frequency. He would find it, he fucking had to, but he had to go the opposite way first. It was like how you couldn’t tell what a comfortable volume music should be after you blasted a song at top volume. First you needed to go all the way down before finding that just-right middle spot, then it would be all right. Then everyone would be comfortable and no one’s bloody ears would be ringing.
The mask was supposed to help. Simon hadn’t seen it yet because he had been grounded for a while. Soap had been with Gaz and Farah on a series of other missions. During the initial one, the air quality and partial submersion required constantly wearing their respirators and Soap had found it easier to manage his tone and face with everyone throughout the mission. He was less chatty, could hide his facial reactions better, and mask his tone when he did have to respond. Overall, he found it required significantly less energy and was less draining to wear the mask throughout the mission than having to manage all that while in debrief or in the mess. After that, he made the skull mask and had started wearing it most of the time. He got it now, why Simon wore it so much. Soap could still read him like a book, but that wasn’t Simon’s fault. Soap had just always found him easy to read, which made it easy to get to know him and, ultimately, develop these stupid fucking feelings for him. The mask would help with that too, though Soap was such a fucking sap for making one that matched Ghost’s mask. He couldn’t help it though: he loved the man so fucking much.
Plus, if he were honest, it was scary as fuck if you weren’t expecting it, seeing a skull pop out of the darkness looking like death itself. Soap liked that aspect of it, one hundred percent in a sexual way, especially because it was super fucked up. He liked that it was kind of fucked up now that he had his own mask too, but most of all this was filed away with the rest of the feelings he was ignoring for now.
“What’s it going to be then, eh?”
There were so many things he wanted to say, so he didn’t say anything until he could only say what mattered. He didn’t look at Ghost so he couldn’t see how his words landed. He couldn’t bring himself to confirm for himself whether or not Ghost noticed that his behavior had changed at all. This was all too hard on him as it was, he didn’t think he could take knowing what Ghost thought of anything.
They established the mission protocol, he donned the mask, and took off for the building. He knew Ghost would have a reaction to the mask. It was part of why he was glad he hadn’t worked with him until now. The mask helped and he didn’t want Ghost’s reaction to it to taint that. Soap was trying to separate himself from Simon, from all of them, so that he could be the person they wanted him to be. He couldn’t do that if he let their reactions hold so much power over him. He let that thought soothe the anxious knot in his gut that always seemed to be there as he picked his way carefully towards his infiltration spot. He couldn’t hear Ghost in his comms, but that wasn’t anything new. The silence between them was, though, and Soap knew that was on him. Usually he’d be chattering away, flirting, and generally making a nuance of himself while he was still out of range of the enemy. Ghost would always oblige him, would always meet him quip for quip in a way that had never made him feel like a nuance, but Soap knew he was. It was only a matter of time. There was a pattern to these things, a common denominator, a center to the overlapping venn diagram that was Soap’s life, and it was always, always, him. What’s it going to be then, eh? Truer words and all that. Soap had made his choice for now.
Ghost was watching Soap move with ruthless efficiency through his scope with mounting dread. I wanna be like you when I grow up. Fucking hell. What was going on with him? This was like one of Ghost’s nightmares come to life, except worse because he didn’t know what had happened to dim Johnny’s fire so much that he would become a ghost. The mask was startling and Ghost was pissed no one had mentioned it to him before now because it was clear Soap had been using it for a while. He would have stern fucking words with Price because of anyone on the team, Price would know what it meant when someone donned a fucking mask. And Soap of all people, that was such a… Ghost could hardly wrap his head around it all. He hated to admit that seeing Soap in something that was clearly an homage to his own mask was also extremely arousing. His feelings for Johnny were his own hell to wade through, his own obsession to manage, and not something he needed to think about when laying on the ground watching the man himself commit acts of brutality.
Ghost wanted to say something to Soap along the lines of, “there’s really no need for that amount of violence” but the fact of the matter was that Ghost had done similar things when he needed to work something out of his system. He would be a hypocrite of the highest order if he told Soap to rein it in, especially since they were authorized to burn the evidence after the fact. Soap had covered for him in reports plenty of times, covering up for the fact that Ghost had unleashed himself on enemies in ways that were disproportionate to what the mission, and the law, allowed. He didn’t really have the moral high ground to turn around and tell Soap not to do the same. You should wanna be better than me, Johnny.
He should tell Soap though. He didn’t want Soap to become like Ghost, including the senseless acts of violence that didn’t bother him as much as they should. He liked that Soap, Johnny, was better than him. It made him want to be better, to strive for better. Seeing Soap on his level made him taste mud, made him smell decay, made him want to throw up.
“Want to rein it in a bit there, Sergeant?”
He saw Soap kneel down to retrieve a knife from the man he had just—for lack of a better word—murdered, before the red skull turned in his direction. It was fucking eerie seeing that featureless face instead of the expressive one he had grown to love so much.
“What was that, Lt?”
Fucking hell. He had to tread so carefully now. “I said, you should rein it in a bit, Soap. I know we’re authorized to blow the building, but you don’t have to be so bloody brutal about it first.”
Silence. He was watching Soap’s face instead of his six, but he couldn’t look away. They were having a stare down over an impossible distance and Ghost was going to blink first. He didn’t know how Soap knew he blinked first, but somehow he did because Soap shrugged, wiped his knife on the dead guy’s jacket, and twirled it into his pocket.
“Roger that, Lt.”
He had never been scared of Soap in all the time they had known each other. In the most literal of terms, he wasn’t scared of Soap now. The whole interaction was so creepy though, so eerily like talking to himself, that a shiver of deep unpleasant wrongness ran down his spine and he felt like ants were crawling all over his skin. He wanted this mission over with. He wanted to talk to Soap, to shake him or slap some sense into him or something. Instead, Ghost adjusted his sights and followed Soap around as he slightly-less-brutally murdered their enemies.
Once the building was nothing more than ashes, Ghost was able to breathe a bit more easily. Soap had quickly and very fucking quietly achieved their mission objective and if it had been any other operative, Ghost would have recommended them for a commendation or something. Now, all Ghost wanted to do was check for brain damage or call for an exorcism or something else sufficiently dramatic. It was driving him insane watching someone he had basically memorized over the course of the years turn into a stranger essentially over night. But it wasn’t over night and that was what was driving Ghost mad.
He watched over Soap as he made it back to the treeline, then packed up his gear and covered up his sniper’s nest as much as possible. They would RV in the woods and then make their way to a safe house before exfil the next day. It was supposed to be a nice little reprieve from base, but now it felt like it would be a night of awkwardness and tension. Ghost didn’t know what he would say or do if Soap kept the mask on the whole time. Fuck, what if he kept the mask on?! The thought was so alarming he almost tripped over a root and ran right into Soap as their paths converged.
“Steamin’ Jesus, Lt! Almost gave me a heart attack!”
Ghost looked up into blue eyes that stood out even more behind the red skull face that surrounded them and his heart dropped into his stomach and out his ass. His mouth tasted like grave dirt and all he could smell was rot.
Soap was pissed. Not that he had any right to be, but he was pissed nonetheless. Ghost had no right to call him out on his shit when Ghost himself had done the same fucking thing countless times and Soap had always, fucking always, covered for him. But then, Soap’s stupid fucking feelings for the man made him do stupid fucking things kind of constantly, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that this one-sided feels fest would result in Soap not getting back what he gave. It was fucking always like that anyway. He gave and whoever took and it was always disproportionate and he pretended not to notice or care.
His last squad was the worst though.
His captain… best not to think about him. That man got what was coming to him even if Soap could never tell anyone that was why he was transferred. It hurt, though, to think about Price or Simon doing something similar. Not that he thought they would, necessarily, but he didn’t want to find out.
He tried not to stomp too hard through the woods, though he was fairly certain that all the enemies within a few dozen miles of their location were dead. It was just so unfair of Ghost to call him out like that. Soap had so few outlets now and the knot in his stomach just wouldn’t go away. Some days he wanted to cut it out just to see what it was made of, but he knew it wasn’t a physical thing. He tried to train or boss rookies around or study something new, but nothing would relieve this fucking pressure in his gut and he just wanted relief.
Soap was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t catch Ghost who had stumbled out of the woods and straight into him out of nowhere.
“Steamin’ Jesus, Lt! Almost gave me a heart attack!”
The look in Ghost’s eyes when they connected was like nothing Soap had ever seen before in the entire time they’d known each other. Soap made a study of Simon’s eyes because they were expressive and constantly visible, so he knew every single expression in them and this was new. This was pure fucking terror.
“Ghost?”
Nothing. The man in his arms might as well be a statue for how still and unresponsive he was. “Simon?” Still nothing, so Soap took his mask off and placed Ghost’s hand on his cheek. He knew that Ghost sometimes had flashbacks to his time in Mexico and part of that was seeing skulls everywhere. Maybe knowing that Soap’s face was real would help? He felt Simon take in a gasping breath and let his muscles contract before releasing one by one. His eyes searched Soap’s face and his thumb moved softly along his cheek before Ghost shook his head once and straightened out of Soap’s arms.
It was surreal watching Ghost come back online, like whatever had him spooked had been filed away with the rest of the horrors that plagued the mind of Simon Riley. Soap wished desperately he could have the privilege of knowing him that deeply, but it would be impossible. The sigh Soap let out was rough. His heart hurt, but his anger was—luckily—on the heels of his never-ending, self-inflected heart break.
“Let’s get a move on, Lt.” It was a growl more than anything and he definitely should not be giving orders, but Ghost didn’t seem inclined to say anything.
Their hike to the safe house was tense and silent. Even their footsteps were silent, which was honestly how it should be, but it was so not like them that Soap felt itchy. This was what he wanted though. He needed to calibrate to a new frequency, so he could figure out how to become the right kind of person for this team. He wanted to stay with them so fucking badly that he would do anything, become anything, to do it.
Ghost checked the perimeter while Soap cleared the inside of the two room cabin they would hole up in for the night. Truth be told, it was kind of his dream to spend the night in a cabin alone with Simon, but he knew this night would not turn out like those fantasies. He tried not to be disappointed by that fact. Simon didn’t owe him anything, including reciprocated feelings, but somehow it still stung that they would have all this privacy and it would be wasted on trading off three hour watch cycles.
Soap had finished unpacking their bedrolls by the time Ghost came in. He didn’t look rattled, but it was hard to tell immediately in the low light of the cabin. It wasn’t safe to light any fires or lamps, so they had to use low vis green or red light sticks once it got dark.
“You want some grub?” He wanted to be the first to break the silence between them. Act like everything was normal. He was in control.
Ghost didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he prowled over to Soap’s pack, snatched his mask from his kit, and slammed it into Soap’s chest. “What in all the fucking hells is this, Johnny?”
That was not how Ghost had planned to start the conversation, but seeing Soap standing there acting normal had fucked him up so completely that he lost it. He just fucking lost it. All his carefully constructed thoughts from the hike over and his perimeter check went out the fucking window and he lost it on Soap. Seeing that mask was like seeing his reflection, but distorted and warped because it was on the man he loved and adored. This man who was deteriorating before his eyes, had been for months, and he missed it somehow. He was mad at himself, and Price and Gaz for sure, but Soap too for whatever this was. This performance, this transformation, and yeah his anger was misdirected, but it also wasn’t in some ways. Maybe starting a fight wasn’t the healthiest way, but it might be the fastest way to break through to whatever was going on with Johnny.
“Oh aye, you’re one to talk, Ghost!” Soap had the fucking nerve to smack him upside his head. It mostly hit the mask, but the gesture made his point loud and clear.
“That’s exactly my fucking point, Johnny. I told you to be better than me. This—” he gestured to the mask again “—isn’t better than me! What’s going on with you?”
Soap looked away from him enough for Ghost to watch his jaw clench and unclench like he was chewing up and swallowing all the words he wanted to say. Ghost fucking hated it. He hated how quiet Johnny had become. He hated this version of him, so he pushed him. “I said, what the fuck is going on with you?”
Soap only stumbled back a bit, mostly because he wasn’t looking directly at Ghost when he pushed him. “Don’t fucking push me, Ghost.”
“Yeah?” He pushed him again. “Answer the question then, Soap. Need me to make it an order?”
“Fucking hell, Ghost, stop! You can’t order me to answer a question like that! You fuckin’ worried about my state of mind, send me to psych, but that would be fuckin’ rich comin’ from you anyway, all the fuckin’ times I’ve covered your sorry arse for doin’ the same fuckin’ thing!”
Oh, now they were getting somewhere. Soap had every right to call him out on his shit. Moreover, it was exactly the kind of thing Johnny always did and was the longest he had spoken to Ghost in what felt like forever. “It wasn’t just today though, was it? No, something tells me you’ve been going off the rails for a while now.”
Soap looked affronted, as well he should. Ghost accusing anyone of going off the rails was laughable, but this was brute force, not precision. “What the fuck are you on about?” He had tried for casual and missed by a mile. It was so unlike Johnny to misstep in a social interaction that Ghost almost wanted to back off, but he couldn’t. Whatever was going on needed to come to light because he knew, he fucking knew from the taste in his mouth and scent in his nose, what it cost someone to bury it all down like Soap was doing in front of his eyes.
“I’m talking about you, Johnny, and this mask and the violence and whatever else you’ve been doing that no one has caught you at yet. I’m putting a stop to it now before it gets out of hand, because I will not let a good soldier go down this path.”
People tended to forget that “brute force” didn’t always require touch. Ghost had interrogated plenty of people he had never laid a hand on. Soap had apparently forgotten that fact because his mouth went slack and he looked truly shocked at Ghost’s insinuation. Then the true shape of the power move Ghost had just pulled formed before Soap’s eyes and he looked briefly heartbroken before Soap quickly and swiftly grappled Ghost to the floor.
“You fucking asshole! You mother fucking piece of shit asshole!”
Soap was straddling Ghost on the floor and screaming at him while he punched uselessly at his body which was still covered head to toe in gear. It was likely hurting him more than it was hurting Ghost but he didn’t care anymore. Ghost’s betrayal, what he had said, overshadowed everything else, made his ears ring and his body feel hot and cold at the same time. He couldn’t think, couldn’t see, could hardly breathe, with the pain of it and all he wanted to give that pain back to Ghost in whatever way he could.
“How fucking could you! How could you fucking say that to me! After everything I’ve done for you! After everything we’ve been through! Fuck you! Fuck you, Simon! Fuck you!”
He was still hitting him, and Ghost was defending himself expertly, though not hitting him back which was a shame because a fight would actually be nice right now. Maybe he could get Ghost to kill him and put an end to this, finally. Soap felt like being killed by Simon would be one of the better ways to go out, if only because he knew it would be done right and Simon would have to be close to him to do it. He was sick like that, imagining the man he loved killing him just so they could finally be close, just to have Simon’s hands on him in an intimate way, even if it was one time.
Just as quickly as it had sprung up, the rage that had propelled him to attack Ghost ebbed out of him. He punched him one last time before staggering to his feet and dragging himself to the bathroom. Soap didn’t bother locking the door. Nothing would stop Ghost from getting into a room he wanted to enter, so he just washed his torn and bloodied knuckles and waited for whatever came next. He was crying, though, which was a bit of a shock. Must be the adrenaline.
“I didn’t mean it, Johnny. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Away n' bile yer heid.” It was an old joke, though said without much feeling. He felt like he was dying.
“I was just trying to get you to talk to me.”
Soap sighed. “About what, Simon? The mask?”
“Yeah, but not just that.”
Soap looked away from his ruined hands to the bathroom mirror and gasped. Simon was looking back at him, bare faced and vulnerable in the fading light of the cabin. He was slightly bruised from Soap’s attack, but all in all no worse for wear. He mostly looked concerned and heartbroken, a look that matched Soap’s in many ways, which didn’t make any fucking sense.
“What are you on about?”
Simon took his elbow and walked them both to the dining room table where their med kit was already laid out. He took Soap’s hands and started gently cleaning the wounds on his knuckles. Simon hadn’t said anything, so Soap took the opportunity to let his eyes roam over Simon’s face. It was a feast for the eyes, a collection of scars and discoloration, patchy hair and skin that Soap was sure that Simon thought was off-putting, but Soap found absolutely breathtaking. Simon was a warrior, and he had a warrior’s body for sure, but he was also this, gentle and kind and so incredibly smart that Soap was sometimes left dizzy with how much brain power it took to keep up with him. Simon was worthy of the love Soap felt for him, despite never getting to fully express it the way he wanted to.
He felt Simon take in a deep breath before sighing gently. It wafted against the slightly damp skin of Soap’s hands. The atmosphere between them was so different from the two minutes prior.
“You’ve been isolating yourself for months.” Soap stiffened at Simon’s quiet, damning words laid out like a mission brief. “You don’t talk to anyone, even on your phone. You don’t hang out with anyone, you barely spar with me, let alone anyone else. And then the mask… fuck Johnny, the mask. Seeing it…”
Throughout Simon’s little speech he had been staring at Soap’s hands, but now he looked away. He was likely trying to hide his face, but Soap felt shame course through him for some reason. “What about the mask?” It was an unfair question. Soap thought knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it anyway. Ghost had been unfair to him before, pushing at buttons he didn’t know Soap had, but this was a button Soap had known Ghost had and had pushed it anyway.
“It was like one of my nightmares.” Simon had whispered it to the ground, still looking away from Soap. He wanted to reach out and turn Simon’s face towards him but he didn’t. He didn’t have that right.
“I’m sorry, Simon. I was just—”
“I know what you were fucking doing, Johnny, I just want to know why!”
Soap jumped at Simon’s sudden ferocity. They were making eye contact for the first time in years without barriers between them and it was scary in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Back then there wasn’t so much history between them, so much knowledge, so much potential to hurt each other, intentionally or otherwise. Back then he just got to look into the face of the man he was going to love. Now it was so much more than that.
Simon felt flayed open, which was interesting because he had actually been flayed open once and it had felt nothing like this. It felt like Johnny held ten times as much power over him now than those people had back when his literal insides had been open for everyone to see. He was sitting at a table, whole and alive, but he felt raw and exposed. It was deeply unsettling and he hated it. He also still trusted Johnny more than anyone else on the planet, even Price, so Simon guessed there was no one else who should be in this room with him right now than this man.
He saw Johnny deflate, something resigned taking over his body before he clenched his fists. The movement made his beat up knuckles bleed again, so Simon started up the task of patching them up while Johnny did whatever he needed to do to start talking.
It took about five minutes before Simon felt him draw in the breath of confession. “Did you know I was transferred fourteen times before landing here?”
Simon stopped wrapping Johnny’s knuckles and looked up at him. He had known, it was part of Johnny’s record, but something about the way he’d said it made it sound like “transferred” meant something else. “I did.”
Johnny nodded and looked out the window beside them. “I asked someone once if it was common to be transferred a lot and they told me ‘it depends.’ I didn’t really know what that meant until later. I was transferred initially due to ‘personnel’ requirements and then later for my skills in demolitions.”
Something about the way Johnny said ‘personnel’ and ‘skills in demolitions’ made it sound like there were scare quotes around them and it had alarm bells going off in Simon’s head. He finished wrapping Johnny’s hands, but he didn’t seem to notice. He kept looking out the window, so Simon just kept holding his hands lightly enough that Johnny could pull them away if he wanted. He didn’t.
“My last squad, the one I made sergeant in, was where I was the longest before the 141. I thought…” He took in a shaky breath before letting it out slowly and turning back to meet Simon’s eyes. “I thought I found my team, you know? But my captain, this was Captain Lawrence, he wasn’t who I thought he was when I first got there.”
Simon didn’t know Lawrence well. He’d heard that the man had been forced to retire after a career ending injury during an op gone wrong before Johnny was transferred to the 141. “How long were you with them?”
“Four years. They were… they were different from the 141. I didn’t fit in, but I wanted to and Captain Lawrence encouraged me to try. He called it ‘assimilating into the culture of the squad’, whatever that meant. So I tried. I didn’t want to get transferred again, so I did whatever I could to fit in with the rest of the team. They were all these macho alpha pricks like Graves but worse and I hated every second of it but I hated bouncing around more. Lawrence, he showed me my file one day when I met with him to tell him that I was struggling and maybe needed to find somewhere that was a better fit for me. It was… god Simon, it was awful.”
“What are you talking about?” Simon had seen Johnny’s file. It was full of accolades, commendations, and glowing reviews of his performance.
Johnny’s eyes widened at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean your file is nothing but glowing recommendations on your accomplishments.”
“Sure, but it’s also filled with comments about my behavior and personality! About how annoying I am and how no one wants to work with me because I can’t read a fuckin’ room and shut the fuck up when I need to! It’s full of team after team talking about how impeccable my work is but how intolerable I am!”
Johnny was panting, eyes wide and bright. Simon was starting to see a picture forming. “I… I didn’t see any of that when I reviewed your file. Price didn’t mention it and it’s not in there now.”
“What?” Johnny was still panting and looked on the verge of tears, but confusion was tinging his expression. Simon gave Johnny’s hands a little squeeze which made the man jump and stare down at their hands before looking back at him again.
“Price would have mentioned something like that to me because he knows me and he knows what sets me off. If there was something like that in your file, something that would have potentially caused friction between us, he would have made a point to tell me about it specifically so I could either prepare myself or we could look at another candidate. But nothing like that came up. I’ve looked at your file Johnny, more than once. Nothing is there.”
Johnny’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air and then he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “That motherfuckin’ piece of shite!”
Simon could guess who Johnny was talking about. “Lawrence, I assume?”
“That bawbag got what was coming to him, but I wish I had known about this at the time so I could have made it more personal than it already was!”
“What are you talking about?”
Soap sighed. Might as well finish the story, even though he wanted to break everything in this stupid fucking cabin. Lawrence had manipulated him, which wasn’t a surprise, since he had manipulated Soap from the beginning. It was just that last piece of manipulation had been so personal, so completely and utterly believable, that Soap hadn’t known it was a manipulation until right now. It had played on his insecurities so perfectly that it hadn’t even fucking occurred to him that it was a lie and he hated himself for believing it for so long. For letting the lies of that fucking asshole, that rapist piece of shit, infect his brain enough to impact his behavior to this fucking day. He almost ruined his friendship with Simon, he probably ruined his friendship with Gaz, and likely lost Price’s trust. All because of Captain Peter fucking Lawrence.
“After that meeting, I fell in line because I thought this was basically my last chance at being on a team. I didn’t want to join KorTac or anything, I wanted a squad, so I did what was expected of me. For a while, it was fine… not great, but fine. I liked feeling settled in one place and feeling like these men had my back, but I hated feeling like I was carving off pieces of myself to do it. I had this never ending ache in my stomach, so I trained harder, kept carving pieces of myself until I was smaller and smaller, and then one day I made sergeant. Going on missions with the squad as a sergeant was different. They treated me better, like more of an equal and I felt like maybe I could stop carving at myself so much.”
Soap wanted to pick at his cuticles but Simon was still holding his hands so gently that he didn’t want to pull his hands away. He braced himself for the next part.
“That lasted until I started to notice some things. I was leading missions, but they were different then the rest of the squad at first. That was to be expected, I was a new sergeant. My teams were mostly rookies or solo ops and this went on for a year or so. I didn’t want to rock the boat, though, so I didn’t say anything, but I did notice that the rest of the squad would alternate going on missions together. Sometimes Captain Lawrence would go with them. Then they… the, uh, the last mission before I transferred to the 141 was all of us, the whole squad.”
Fuck, Soap needed to take a breath or he was going to hyperventilate. He was staring off into space, so when Simon squeezed his hands, he was reminded to look into those eyes he loved. They were filled with concern and barely banked anger on his behalf, which gave him some courage.
“We were sent to a village in South America. Bust up a drug trafficking ring, gather some intel to track the buyers, blah blah blah. It seemed excessive to have the whole squad there for something so straightforward so I was poised for something bigger, Konni or like something at that level. Instead, once we were done, Lawrence led the squad to the village, the one we were supposed to protect from the drug traffickers, and started demanding their women at gunpoint.”
He was going to vomit. Soap had almost vomited back then, but his rage had suppressed his disgust enough to allow him to act. He was thankful for that.
“From the way the squad was acting, how casually they followed Lawrence’s lead, I knew instantly that this was a regular thing. This was why they wanted me to fall in line, why Lawrence insisted on me getting with the program. They routinely went into these villages and gang raped women and girls, Simon, terrorizing them more than anyone we’ve ever hunted down before. I didn’t even think about it. I pulled my weapon and shot Lawrence through the back of his knee and through his dominant hand. The rest of the squad pulled their guns on me, but by then I had ducked behind a truck and called for exfil. They had no choice but to make up a story to explain Lawrence’s injuries, something about an enemy that had been hiding out in the village that we had missed and caught us unawares. I blackmailed the squad into corroborating the story, mutually assured destruction, and requested a transfer as soon as the debrief was over. I guess Price and Shepherd had had their eyes on me anyway, so the timing worked out and the rest is history.”
The rest is history. Did Johnny even know what the fuck he was saying? Almost immediately following that mission—a mission where Johnny stopped his fellow soldiers from committing unspeakable acts of sexualized violence on a group of civilians by shooting his captain who had manipulated him for years—he followed the 141 on that wild goose chase for Hassan. A mission where he was betrayed, shot, heard his fellow soldiers commit unspeakable acts on civilians, and was almost thrown out of a fucking high rise window. He’d had one, maybe two days to rest in between those missions, given the timelines. Simon wanted to fucking scream at the injustice of it all. And he wanted to fucking murder Peter Lawrence, but that could wait.
“Simon? I know that was—”
Fuck this. Simon took Johnny’s face in his hands and pressed their lips together. It was a bit of a risk, but after all that, he mostly didn’t care. Johnny was the bravest, most honorable man he had ever met, with an iron fucking will to boot. Simon would cross this line for them, he owed Johnny that much. Johnny let out a sigh and then a little whimper that had Simon pulling back so he could see his eyes.
“Was that okay? I thought…”
“No, no it was perfect, I just… fuck Simon, I thought I was going to lose you, lose your trust and your friendship and then you fucking kiss me instead. It’s just all so overwhelming.”
Yeah, he could see that. Maybe they should sleep or eat or something: it had been a long fucking evening.
“Yeah, yeah of course. Let’s slow things down a bit then, yeah?” He stroked Johnny’s face tenderly because he was so perfect to Simon. “Let me say this, because I owe you honesty after you gave me so much: I love you. I have for years, because of course I have. And I mean this romantically, in case the kiss wasn’t clear enough.”
Johnny laughed, a little wetly. “Oh, he still has jokes. Great.”
That made Simon smile for the first time in perhaps days. “Only the best ones for you, love. We can do this however you want, but you’re it for me, Johnny.” That brought some of the light back to Johnny’s eyes. Some, but not all of it. “I want to be clear though: I want all of you, not whatever shape you’ve carved yourself into to make yourself smaller, more palatable, more… whatever you think is more desirable for me, for us. I want all of you.”
He heard Johnny suck in a breath and hold it. “I don’t think I know how to do that anymore, Simon. He got in my head, that stupid fuckin’ wanker, and now I’m… I don’t know what it means, to… to be that big anymore.”
Fuck, that made his heart hurt. Simon’s heart had literally been on display and poked and prodded by sharp implements and none of that compared to what Johnny had just made him feel. Fuck, maybe we’re doing torture all wrong.
“Johnny, love, that’s okay. We’ll figure it out together, okay? I’m still healing from stupid wankers who got in my head too. I still…” Oh fuck, should he tell him this part? Christ, Simon was such a coward for even considering hiding away from ugly truths after Johnny had shared all that with him. “Sometimes, when things remind me of Mexico or the nightmares are bad, I taste mud or grave dirt in my mouth and smell rot, that decay smell that’s sweet but also nausea-inducing. It’s what my grave with Vernon smelled and tasted like.”
Before he knew what was happening, Simon had a lap full of Johnny and was being hugged like he had never been hugged before.
“Steamin’ Jesus, Simon, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry. Did my mask do that to you?”
“Yeah, but mostly because I was scared you were turning into me. It was also kind of hot.”
He felt Johnny chuckle, since his face was buried in Simon’s neck. “I feel like a pervert for finding the mask so hot, but I can’t help it. It’s fuckin’ sexy.”
They needed to change gears or having Johnny in his lap talking about their, apparent, mutual mask kink would get Simon hard fast, and he didn’t want the night to take a sexual turn. He wanted to take care of Johnny, his beautiful, brave Johnny, who had thought for years that he had been rejected for being himself and had been making himself smaller as a result. Fuck, he was going to kill Lawrence.
“C’mon, love, let’s get some food and go to bed, yeah? It’s been more than enough of a day for both of us.”
What’s it going to be then, eh?
Soap woke in the morning feeling wrecked and hollowed out, but not scared, which he had to take as a win, all things considered. He and Ghost had traded off watch shifts, so they hadn’t cuddled like Soap had wanted, had needed, after their conversions, but so it goes. Exfil was quiet, quick, and uneventful. This time, it didn’t seem like Ghost took his silence as the harbinger of doom that it had been previously, so they sat companionably in the transport back to base. The post-op routine grounded Soap, which let his brain process the new information Simon had given him about what Lawrence had done, the new manipulation he now had to unpick from his life when he had been sure he was already free of the man. That’s not totally true though, is it?
Fuck, he hated to admit it, but back-to-back betrayals on top of those cruel fucking words had really done a number on Soap in a way he hadn’t really been allowed to process. Lawrence couldn’t have known what he was setting Soap up for, likely because he had thought Soap would stay on with them and not literally shoot him in the back, but laying it all out for Simon had painted a sorry picture of his life. It wasn’t his fault, even his level of insecurity couldn’t account for Lawrence and Shepherd’s machinations that were years in the making, but he felt… not responsible, just complicit. He didn’t really know what to do with those feelings… or most of his feelings, really.
Once he was clean and mostly put back together by medical, who had a lot of questions about the state of his hands, Soap could only stare rather blankly at the world around him. He and Simon had confessed their feelings for each other, right? Amidst all the chaos of Soap admitting to a whole host of crimes, no matter how justifiable his motivations were, and Simon talking about hallucinating about being buried alive, they had admitted to being in love with each other. It was absolutely mad and so very much what he had come to expect in his weird little relationship with Simon that it made its own twisted kind of sense. Of course Simon would admit to loving him in the same breath as he talked about everything that made him Ghost. It was part of what Soap loved about him. It was part of what made him so fucking sexy. They were so fucked up and luckily they were the right kind of fucked up for each other.
Soap’s door opened without his input and Ghost slid in, locking it behind him before joining Soap on his bed. He was showered and dressed down, both on a week of recovery from the mission despite it not being all that strenuous. Price just didn’t like their overtime to pile up too much.
“You got a key to my room I don’t know about, Lt?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well, that explains a lot then.”
“You mad about it?”
“No. Saves me the trouble of gettin’ you one. If I wanted privacy I woulda hitched myself to a different carriage.”
That made Ghost laugh, his eyes crinkling behind the mask, the soft huff of laughter pulling the fabric in then out again. These little details all added to the mental files of things Soap noticed about Ghost, consciously and unconsciously.
“You doin’ okay, Johnny?”
“Not really.” He wanted to say more, but he didn’t have the energy or the thoughts to put into words what was happening in his brain and body, so he couldn’t.
“Can I ask, what made you think we didn’t want you here anymore?”
Soap sighed. He’d forgotten that he hadn’t told Simon that part the night before. It was embarrassing now after everything. It seemed so small, so petty, so blown out of proportion in the scheme of things, but it hadn’t felt that way.
“It seems so dumb now. Now that I know Lawrence lied about my file and all that, but at the time… well, anyway. Remember that op like nine months or so back, we got sent on that wild goose chase? Bad intel after bad intel, weeks of country hopping until we were ragged and sleep deprived?”
He saw the moment Ghost remembered what happened and then he looked away again. Soap sighed. It was so stupid.
Ghost whipped his mask off and took both of Johnny’s hands. “Johnny, Gaz didn’t mean it, you know he didn’t mean it.”
“I know. He was just tired and frustrated and looking for a target. He couldn’t take it out on Price because he—”
Even now, Johnny wouldn’t betray Gaz’s trust despite feeling the sting of Gaz’s words months after it happened. Johnny’s honor truly knew no bounds. Simon kissed him briefly before pulling back. “Because he’s been with Price for a long time and couldn’t take his frustration out on his boyfriend and captain. He couldn’t take it out on me because I’m his superior, though that’s not saying much, but also because he knows I’m on a hair trigger sometimes and didn’t want to put me in a situation where I could hurt him or myself. So he took it out on you because you were the safest option. He just didn’t know how deeply he was hurting you.”
Johnny just sighed, a little wetly and a little brokenly. “Yeah, I mean, I guess. But I didn’t know how not to hear it afterwards, you know? ‘What the fuck good are you even for? We were a three man team for years and were fine. I didn’t ask for a nattering wanker teammate to make missions like this even worse.’ It was just everything I didn’t want to hear from him, you know? He apologized, tried to make it up to me, but I couldn’t unhear it. Especially with everything I thought was already in my file, I thought… I thought between my feelings for you and Gaz hating me now that I would get transferred if I didn’t change. If I didn’t shape up and get with the program.”
Simon tried to bank his fury, but it was hard given how much he still wanted to fucking kill Lawrence. That would have to wait though, if only because Johnny needed him to stay in the present and not fantasize about all the ways he could peel a man’s skin off his body. Simon felt guilty though. They had made a right mess of things, letting their team dynamic slip in ways he hadn’t realized due to their heavy workload and general lack of interest in mental health management. Johnny had been suffering for a long time and they hadn’t realized, which wasn’t totally on them, but when they had fucked up, they hadn’t repaired the damage. He needed to talk to Price, not just about Johnny, but about the team as a whole. It wasn’t enough that they were coupling up and felt loyalty to each other beyond military service, they needed more cohesion as a team so small hurts like this didn’t fester and grow. And Simon needed to not be such a fucking hypocrite and work on his own shit too.
“Johnny, love, there’s a lot we need to work on as a team, individually, and as a couple.”
“I know. I was thinking about that earlier. I’m ashamed at how much I let Lawrence get in my head.”
“It happens, I know better than most how it can happen and I don’t think less of you for it. You can always talk to me about these things. I won’t judge you or think badly of you, I promise. I love you, I support you, I want you in my life in whatever way you want that to look.”
Johnny looked flabbergasted, probably because Simon was being so open and honest about his feelings. The thing people always seemed to forget about Simon was that once he had an objective, he fucking went for it, ruthlessly and efficiently. He wanted to be with Johnny, which meant communicating emotionally and being honest and straightforward. There was no need to prevaricate now that they were on the same page.
“Fuckin’ hell, Simon, you sure do know how to woo a guy. I want that too, thank you. And likewise. I’ve already decided to see psych about all the stuff with Lawrence, the stuff I can talk about anyway. And if… if it’s not too much, I was wondering if I could see my file. It’s not that I don’t believe you! I just want to see it for myself.”
“Of course, it’s your file. You’re entitled to that information more than anyone else.”
He hoped seeing the actual words on the page would help Johnny put some of the lingering insecurity behind him and start to heal that part of his life. It pained Simon to know how much that fucking asshole had hurt him. Though he knew Lawrence had likely just seen Johnny’s insecurity and deep need to be settled with a group and exploited that. He focused back on Johnny, on his exhaustion, and pulled him into his arms.
“Let’s go to bed.”
They made out for a bit because they both wanted the intimacy it brought and the confirmation that they were together romantically. Once Johnny was asleep, though, Simon’s mind spun. After a couple of hours, he made a decision and snuck out of Johnny’s room and made his way to Price’s quarters. He didn’t feel too bad about waking him and Gaz, they had both been grounded while he and Johnny had been on their emotional rollercoaster of a mission, so they’d had plenty of alone time. Price still looked pissed at him for interrupting what was clearly a deep and contented sleep.
“Simon.”
“Your office, ten minutes.”
Price didn’t get a chance to argue at Ghost giving him orders since by then Ghost had stalked off in the direction of their offices. They needed to talk and Ghost needed permission to go kill a motherfucker and they couldn’t do either of those things in a hallway. Ten minutes was a lot of time to give Price, though, so Ghost ended up pacing the office for five minutes wishing he’d just dragged the man down the hall in his pants and undershirt, though it would have been mortifying for both of them after the fact. When Price got there, he was glad he’d given Price time to sort himself out. He was less sleepy and therefore less gruff with Ghost’s late night wakeup call.
“What’s this about?”
Ghost stopped pacing but didn’t sit when Price did. “Why didn’t you tell me about the mask?”
“Ah. I wondered when this would come up.”
“Fuck you, John.” He went back to pacing.
“I figured it wasn’t on me to tell you. I was concerned, we all were, but—”
“But what?”
Price sighed. “But I dunno, Simon, I guess I didn’t know how to get through to him once I saw it. He was already pulling away and then I saw that and I just… I got scared I was going to lose him if I pushed too hard.”
“Fucking hell.” Ghost flopped onto a chair and whipped off his own mask. He couldn’t talk about Johnny’s mask and have his on at the same time. It felt weird and he needed to run his hands over his face for some reason. He needed to feel real and get the taste of mud out of his mouth. “Do you know about his old squad?”
Price perked up at that, his senses on high alert for danger. “With Lawrence?”
“That fucking prick.”
“I know a bit. Soap never seemed like a good fit, part of why I was scouting him, along with his skills. Why?”
Ghost gave him the rundown, Lawrence’s manipulation, the squad’s culture, their war crimes, Johnny’s bravery. Ghost watched Price take in the information like a mission report, putting intel and timelines together in that way he had that made him one of the best operators in the SAS. His eyes widened slightly as he understood the gravity of Johnny’s back to back betrayals.
“Is that why—”
“No, well not entirely. The proverbial straw was Gaz.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“He didn’t mean it.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t, given everything.”
They sat in silence while the weight of everything Ghost had laid out sank in for both of them. Johnny had been sitting with so much pain for so long. Ghost knew what that was like and he hated to know that someone who was better than him in every way had carried that inside and let it rot away.
“Things need to change, John. We need to be better, as a team. I know it’s hard with the four of us and two couples at that—”
Price raised an eyebrow at him but Ghost waved him off. Not really the time for that, though Ghost did shoot him a little smirk.
“—but we need better trust, better communication, so this doesn’t happen again. It wasn’t anyone’s fault necessarily, old hurts and insecurities are our own to deal with, but we can’t be pushing each other’s buttons blindly like that.”
It was objectively a weird thing for him to say, he knew it because Ghost had historically preferred to work alone and not work on his own shit to better adapt to team dynamics. But everything was different because the mission was different now. The mission was keep Johnny and in order to complete that mission he would do anything and everything he had to and that included fucking teambuilding or whatever the fuck.
“You’re right, though I’m surprised.”
“You shouldn’t be. I love him.”
“Ah, well, that makes more sense.” Price smirked, the bastard.
“One other thing…”
“I’ll give you a week. Let’s say you’re on a solo op, gone dark, off the books, you get caught, leave a mess, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“Rog.”
Soap woke up twice. Once when Simon left and once when he came back. He’d ask about it in the morning, but mostly he was just grateful that he came back. They had a lot to talk about, a lot to think about, a lot to manage, but in the safety of Simon’s arms none of that mattered. Soap felt himself melt into the warmth Simon produced, felt the man kiss his head and then his nape, felt him whisper “I love you” and felt himself smile as he fell back asleep.