Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was pouring rain. Cold, but unfortunately not cold enough to freeze and make snow. Silent steps trekked across fallen leaves, never making a sound.
A man spoke into the radio on his chest, unaware of the shadowy figure behind him.

The man winced as a knife was stabbed in his neck. 

He fell quickly, the assailant behind him catching the body and laying him down gently, so as to not make the leaves crunch.

A gloved hand with worn down skeleton bones branded on them reached for a pistol, aiming it in the dark.
A flashlight shone in the direction of the gun.

A skull mask was reflected in the victim’s eyes before promptly collapsing as the trigger was pulled.

A train whirred by, he was back in the tunnel. A pool of blood under a sergeant. Red never looked good on him.
Bone-branded gloves checking for a pulse despite the obvious gunshot wound stemming from the skull. 

Tears came from sunken eyes. He blinked them away quickly.

“One KIA” were the words Simon Riley never needed to hear.

But it was a miracle. 

He never got the full story of how John MacTavish’s heart started up on its own while in the helicopter, because Ghost fell asleep.
He fucking fell asleep when his friend sergeant came back to life.

Ghost only realized when medical entered the helicopter, disturbing his slumber. A slumber he secretly never wanted to wake up from.

It was grueling. The sergeant was in and out of the world of the living and the dead for two weeks. 

Lucky bastard.

It would be another week when he opened his eyes, when Price was on vigil.

Ghost secretly wished he’d been there instead, been there the moment Johnny’s eyes opened.
Awake. Alive. Not the dullness he last saw.
Eyes blue like ice. But warmer than a summer lake. 

Fuck his eyes and his stupid Mohawk too. 

Ghost and Gaz got to visit him an hour later.
Soap was happy to see the three of them.

Ghost was so worried, but he wasn’t gonna let Johnny know that.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” was all the coward could muster.

Soap responded with a warm smirk that made one of his pretty eyes squint more than the other.

It was a cute quirk the lieutenant had picked up on.

Another week later, Johnny was up and walking. After taking a leave to be with his family, he returned more alive than ever, and Ghost wanted to keep it that way.

Price was confused when Lieutenant Riley requested more solo missions, but who was he to deny his best sniper?

Ghost forgot about the Makarov incident altogether, the Russian terrorist being MIA for months now. 

Until tonight.

Another train whirred by and Simon was back at square one. Makarov killed Johnny. 

No, Ghost killed Johnny. Had he been there just even a minute earlier, Makarov would be dead, and Johnny wouldn’t have a piece of metal lodged in his skull.

~ ~ ~

Ghost gasped awake, clutching his blanket.

He tried to get his bearings, but it was hard when there was blood smeared on his hands.

Who’s blood? He didn’t care, he just needed to get it off. Who the hell let him sleep with blood on his hands? Ghost knew the answer, it was him.

However, getting out of bed, the blood seemed to disappear. He blinked, still weary from the dream. It might’ve been a weird shadow in his room. Making him see things

He was clean… for now.

He rubbed his face, grimacing at seeing that he had slept in his eye grease, black smears on his hands now.

His brown eyes met the slit in the curtain. No light came through. Looking at the clock it read 04:55. 

The only light in his room came from the desk lamp he must’ve left on, working on his latest mission report. 

Noting that he wasn’t getting back to sleep, nor did he want to go back to sleep, he stretched his arms before doing his daily ritual of pushups.

It was comforting, being strong. He was built pretty well for someone who was skinny in his youth.

Over the years he had built up strong arms and legs and relatively large pecs. He was still a little too skinny to have abs, however whilst they weren’t ‘shredded’ they were toned.

After doing about 40 pushups he went to a plank position to catch his breath and work his core.

He closed his eyes, trying to purge the nightmare from his mind.

He really hadn’t seen or even thought of Johnny in… 2 months?

Has it been that long? A weird feeling settled in Simon. Longing? No.

He couldn’t long for a sergeant that nearly died. Ghost made the mistake of getting close to Johnny. And it nearly cost the Scotsman’s life.
He wouldn’t get close to him again, knowing now the sergeant could die and leave Ghost alone again.

He chose to be alone. For safety.

Simon exhaled, laying on his back to do some leg exercises.
He’d ask Price to send him on a solo mission again. 

He liked solo missions. No need to check fire, no need to rely on anyone except himself. He could be the Ghost. A myth. An infiltrator that’s not even seen. An angel of death.

Who was Ghost kidding? He was no angel. He was more akin to a savage wolf.

Was it twisted finding comfort in the death of others? No, it wasn’t, because it wasn’t comfort. It was a stress reliever. A coping mechanism.
The death of others was just a side effect. 

A needed one.

Simon took a deep breath after he finished his morning exercise.

He sat up, pulling off the hoodie he fell asleep in.
It was winter, and Simon Riley attracted the cold like famine attracts death. 

That was the partial reason why he wore so many clothes.
He tossed the hoodie into his hamper.

Stepping into the attached bathroom, he avoided his own gaze in the cracked mirror.

The crack was formed from a punch thrown a couple years ago. It warped his reflection, flesh and eyes and scars all jumbled and censored like a crime scene, and he liked it that way. 

He turned on the water in the sink.
Absolutely freezing it was here on base. Worse considering it was late November. The water was no different.
But the cold water splashed on his smudged eye grease did help him wake up more.

After some of the grease was washed away, and it never fully was, Ghost slid off his sweatpants and boxers before getting in the shower.
The one good thing about winter was that enough recruits complained about cold showers enough to make the water searing hot in winter.

He hissed as the near-boiling water hit his back, but damn if Ghost didn’t love hot showers.

It relieved aching muscles, it fogged up the mirror, and made him feel clean.

When he finished his shower he instinctively went to the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out the skull mask where he had sewn a mock upper face skull onto it.
He ran his fingers over it, finding contentment in the rough bone dragging over his fingertips.

He slipped it on. It curled around his features like a second skin and it made him breathe a sigh of relief.

He’d fix his eye grease later, after he went to Price’s office.

He slipped on a new hoodie, a skull on fire cheaply printed and chipped on the back, and some basic black sweatpants. 

He slipped on and laced his combat boots. It was the only shoes he really had.

He then put on his bone-branded gloves, giving him a sense of relief when he could no longer see his scarred hands from when he banged on metal bars and tried to push men off of him.

He shouldn’t think about that.

Looking at the clock it showed 05:20.

He wondered if Price was even awake yet, knowing the man wasn’t ever spotted until after six.

Ghost uncovered a pack of cigarettes stuffed under some of his masks, stuffing it into the front pocket of the hoodie.

He figured he could get a quick smoke before pestering the captain about his next mission.

Ghost double-checked the security of his mask before leaving the room. His room was at the far end of the lieutenant hallway, next to the window at the end of the hall.

He silently made his way down the hall and into the elevator. It being so early, he hoped the only other ones up were new recruits, out running some bullshit obstacle course that was nothing like a real warzone.

As expected, the elevator was empty, and he exited on the top floor with a small ding from the lift.

He made his way to a staircase that led to roof access. It was guarded by a door code that Ghost practically engraved into his brain.
He punched in the numbers, using his shoulder to push open the door.

He sighed with a mix of contentment and tension, pulling the pack out and the lighter he kept in the sweapant’s back pocket.

He lit up a cigarette, lifting up his mask over his nose, relishing the nicotine that hit his senses. He exhaled with less tension and more satisfaction.
The sun had barely begun to rise, casting red across stark clouds, angry and vile.
It was most likely going to rain today.

Ghost liked the rain. The way it seeped into everything.
Dead water. Washes blood and hides tears.

A flush of cold wind hit his body, making him inhale sharply as it hit his bare chin and lip.
His gloved hand met the scar on his lip as he took the cigarette out of his mouth to puff the smoke into the brisk air.

He hummed and frowned as his eyes wandered to the forest far outside the base.
He loved forests. They were quiet, full of life and death. Something he was missing.

If reincarnation was real, he’d want to be a wolf in the forest. Hunting, baring teeth, only finding peace in the moon and a good meal.

Seems Ghost was no different currently.

He took another drag, his exhale shaky.

He didn’t fully know why it was shaky, maybe you don’t need an explanation for things you burned long ago. 

Ashes look the same in the end, no matter what you burn.

While Ghost was deep in thought, the sun had risen a lot more now, blinding his eyes. But not really. The brown of his iris and his own training as a sniper could let him stare at the sun for hours.

Can’t say the same for people with blue eyes.

Blue like Johnny.

Ghost pulled his mask down quickly. He tossed his cigarette on the ground, stomping on it with more force than needed as he made his way to Price’s office. 

It was close enough to six that Ghost felt confident enough the old man was in there.

When he eventually arrived at the door he considered knocking or just walking in.

He opted for the latter, and it was the worst mistake he’d make today.

Price was in his seat, foot up on the singular corner of the desk that didn’t have papers strewn about. The man’s crow’s feet were on full display as he cracked a smile at Ghost. A devilish, sweet smile.

It wasn’t Price that made his heart stop, but rather who else was in the room.
A shorter man with big arms, a stupid Mohawk, and those fucking blue eyes.
The man he’d willingly been avoiding for 2 months.

Soap turned from where he stood with a toothy smile.
“Ah, the Ghost has come tae haunt the place. I’m glad you’re here, Lt.”

Chapter Text

Soap was never meant to be a loner. He grew up in a big family, so big he could never remember everyone’s name.
To be fair, he was always bad at names. But he could remember faces like no other. 

The same went for when Ghost took off his mask back in Las Almas.
Blonde hair so light it was almost platinum that curled on the ends and fell over his forehead and most likely his shoulders if it wasn’t for the man’s undercut.

Eyelashes were blonde too, barely seen from the shadow of his usual mask.
A crooked nose that must have been straight at one point from how unnatural it was.

A scar over the left corner of his lip, another under his eye and across his right eyebrow. Two more scars formed by his lips and spread on his cheeks. And one over his nose.

And brown eyes that looked like smoky quartz in the sunlight.

It was the first and last time Soap got to see Simon.

But he rarely saw him after his return from being on leave. The man always seemed to be on solo missions or holed up in his room writing reports.

And yeah, Soap had tried standing outside and fighting with himself if he should knock on the Lieutenant’s door, biting his nails in doing so. It was a bad habit whenever he didn’t wear gloves.

But the thought of pissing off Ghost and possibly not seeing him even more so because of it just sent him back to his own room.

But finally, after two months, Ghost was here in Price’s office, looking like he just witnessed a torture scene.

Maybe not the right analogy. Ghost would be smiling under his mask if that were true.

“Wha-… what’s going on?” Ghost said, looking to Soap, then to Price, then back to Soap.

Price’s smile finally lowered into a neutral expression.
“Laswell believes she’s found where Makarov is hiding,” his voice was calm, even with  delivering a sucker punch of information. 

The silence hung in the air like a swaying corpse.
Soap took a shaky breath, reminded of the scar on his left temple.
He couldn’t see it, but he still felt it.

He still felt it.

No one asked if he was okay, they just assumed he was, because he never made them doubt anything was wrong.

But God forbid if the pain of getting shot, experiencing total peace, then suddenly gasping and bleeding in a helicopter didn’t stick to his head as if his own mind was branded with hot iron.

Carved into his shoulders to bear.

“Where is he?” Ghost voiced Soap’s own thoughts before anything left his lips. He said it in that deep, threatening tone Ghost always used for interrogation.

The kind of voice that made Soap stifle a shudder.

Price brought his feet off the desk and rolled his chair closer.
“Reports have come out that Makarov has been spotted in Mexico.”

“How the hell did he get there?!” Soap’s eyebrows scrunched up.

Price simply shrugged, “The man has connections.”

“Are we going back to Las Almas?” Ghost asks, crossing his arms.

The question seemed to ease some of Soap’s tension, “Oh, yeah? Do we get to see Alejandro and Rodolfo and the Los Vaqueros again?”

Soap turned to Price, eyebrows still furrowed, but eyes like an excited puppy.

Price clicks his tongue, “Kate has contacted them, you will work with them again. But… but Makarov wasn’t spotted in Las Almas.”

Price’s eyes wandered to Ghost. Soap couldn’t quite figure out the emotion the old man had in his eyes. Sadness? Fear?
It couldn’t be. Price was a locked box of emotions.

But if Price was a locked box, Ghost was a locked house. The Scotsman was good at reading Ghost’s eyes now, but only his.

God how he missed those eyes.

“Makarov was spotted around Coahuila.”

Soap didn’t understand why Ghost suddenly went rigid, even less so as he failed to stifle the tense muscles.
Ghost wasn’t wearing a lot of his eye grease right now, and Soap watched as the smoky quartz hidden under a skull flicked back and forth in deep thought.

As if reliving multiple memories.

Price sighed, turning to Soap, “Soap? Are you in on this mission?”

“With all my heart sir, I’d love tae put a few bullets in that sonuvabitch,” Soap spat every word out as if they burned his mouth.

Soap looked to Ghost, who was still rigid, purposefully taking slow, deep breaths.“You with me on this, Lt?”

Ghost didn’t answer for a second.

Soap was worried he said something wrong. But the only one that hated Makarov more than Soap was Ghost, that much was obvious.

“Ghost?”

“Hm?” The taller man blinked as if he had just been woken up, “… Uh… What’d you say?”

“I said are ye with me? On getting Makarov? The two of us; like old times?” Soap cracked a devilish smile.
The thought of the two men burning Makarov’s corpse on the grave meant for Soap while they watched. Smiles big and pride in their hearts.

Soap thought his Lieutenant’s eyes would look beautiful reflecting the flames. 

Ghost blinked again, straightening the hood on his hoodie.

“Let’s… let’s go get this fucker.”

Soap was able to notice small details, that’s what made him such a good demolitions expert.

And he knew that reply was rather forceful.

But he didn’t question. Poking and prodding at the Ghost was like making fun of a dog with a weak chain around its neck.

One too many jabs and he’d break free.
Soap wasn’t willing to be the hand that got bit.

Instead he chuckled, lightly punching Ghost’s shoulder.

Price gave a nod to them both, “You’re dismissed, go get some grub.”

Soap smiled and gave a quick nod before walking out of the door. He was starving, but he felt so full.

He finally got to be with his lieutenant, on a mission of revenge (and it was legal, even better!)

His happiness seemed to blind him from the fact that Ghost hadn’t yet exited the Captain’s office. 

~ ~ ~

“You’re dismissed, go get some grub.”

Soap smiled and gave a quick nod before walking out of the door.

Ghost was on his way when Price cleared his throat.

“Not you, Lieutenant.”

Ghost internally recoiled, as if Price had wrapped a cord around his neck, forcing him back.

He took a deep breath before turning around. Ghost felt it was like prey turning itself over to a predator.

His brown eyes didn’t meet Price’s teal blue ones.

“I already know what you’re going to say,” he grumbled, “You’re gonna ask if I can handle this .”

Price clicked his tongue.

“Something like that. I know your ties to Coahuila might-“ 

“I can do this… Captain. Everyone that ever hurt me in that state is dead. Every building that my eyes even glanced at is burnt. Coahuila is dead, and soon Makarov will rot there too.”
Ghost hadn’t realized he was leaning over Price’s desk at that point, arms taut and tense as his balled fists rested on the table. His bone-branded gloves stretched to accommodate the tension in his hands.

Price was unwavering though. He always was.
One of the first people to not be afraid of Ghost.
Ghost wondered about Price’s family sometimes. The old man never talked about them much, but Ghost was no different.

But Price had become the closest thing to a father figure Ghost could ever get, which wasn’t much at all.

Why pry open another coffin regarding Price’s story when he was still struggling to get out of his own? Jawbone of his traitorous Major in hand and a desperation to breathe without inhaling a rotting body or dirt.

Simon Riley died in Coahuila, it was time to freshen the flowers with a new corpse.

After all, Ghost couldn’t think of a better place to bury the man that almost killed John MacTavish.

After that, there wouldn’t be anything else he’d lose sleep over.

At least, not for a long time.

But he needed this.

Price sighed, “Okay, if you think you’ll be fine, I know there’s no stopping you. I just wanted to make sure.”

“I understand,” Ghost stood with a firm expression.

Price tossed a file across his desk toward Ghost, the latter had since lifted his arms off the older man’s desk.

“File for this mission. Nikolai wanted in on this the second he heard Makarov was alive. He’ll pick you and Soap up around 1100 today. Fly you to Piedras Negras, the Coahuila border city. The Vaqueros will be waiting there and drive you to Saltillo, the state’s capital. Expect a radio call from Laswell so she’ll relay more information. That’s about all I have. You’re dismissed.”

Ghost picked up the file and left the room with a firm nod.

He zoned out as he made his way back to his room.
No way he was going to eat unflavored eggs and bacon harder than rocks.
He’d just take some snacks from Gaz’s snack stash that the Sergeant was so confident no one knew of.
He thinks Soap has one too, but the purposeful avoidance drove Ghost away from the Scot’s room.

But now… 

Ghost thought for sure he was walking the way to the Lieutenant’s hallway, thinking he’d raid the stash later, yet he stood in front of one of the four Sergeant hallways. The second one to be exact, with an old floorboard that curled up on one end, and was practically a ritual for everyone to stumble over once a week.

Ghost carefully avoided the bad floorboard and ended up standing in front of a room.

It wasn’t Gaz’s like he planned.

The nameplate said “Sgt. John “Soap” Mactavish” .
The “Soap” part was written in sharpie unmistakably in the Scotsman’s crude handwriting. Squished between his first and last name, the P meshing into the engraved M of his last name.

Soap was horrible about locking doors.
Ghost found that out when the gang returned from Chicago, after eliminating Hassan.
Ghost realized he put Soap’s phone in his bag, and they accidentally switched.

Simple mistake, really, they both had basic black phone cases.

Ghost had gone to Soap’s room and knocked on the door.
So when Soap didn’t answer, he checked the knob.

If it was locked, and truly, Ghost expected it to be, he’d just give the phone to Price.

But the knob was unlocked, and Ghost walked in on Johnny wearing headphones, dancing on his bed, and mouthing words to a song Ghost thankfully couldn’t hear.

Soap’s head turned and blue eyes moved to where Ghost was, eyes widened as he shouted. The man nearly fell off his bed as he collapsed on it, ripping the headphones off. His face was flushed deeper than a bowl of cherries.

“WHAT TH’ FUCK ARE YE DOIN’ ‘ERE?!” Soap’s Scottish accent thickened in his panic.

Ghost learned two things that day: Soap speaks in a thicker accent when panicking, and he was bullshit at locking doors.

At the end of the day, they switched their phones back. Soap later put an SAS sticker on his phone case so that they couldn’t switch their phones again.

Nowadays the sticker was worn, torn at the edges and scrunched up in a spot, but Soap always said it just gave his phone personality .

Ghost’s hand met the knob of Johnny’s door, hoping he was still right.

The knob turned, revealing the sergeant's room. It was so unlike Ghosts.
While the Brit tried to keep things relatively organized, Soap seemed to be quite the opposite.

Random clothes littered the floor. The bed was unmade. The bathroom light was left on. Sticky notes were on every wall.
It also smelled like Soap’s cinnamon/woody cologne he occasionally threw on when he wasn’t on mission.

Ghost read some of them. They ranged from all different things.

DO THE LAUNDRY

Do pigeons have feelings?

You should get ice cream at some point. You deserve it :)

CLEAN TOILET (it overflowed again ToT)

Cancel premium plan for that app you hate

However, one note that hung above Soap’s bed caught his attention.
It was bright pink, and wasn’t in a spot with the majority of them were.

Ghost gently pulled it off the bed frame, the crude font scribbled on it revealed.

Am I too much? Or not enough?

Something struck Ghost’s core. Like an electric shock it started small until he felt his whole body spasm while being dead still.
A sucker punch with waves like an earthquake.

What was Johnny referring to? A situation? His rank? He had always complained about being stuck as a sergeant for too long.
Ghost always thought it was because of his hotheaded nature.

But deep down, Ghost got worried.

Was Johnny referring to himself?

Ghost folded the note and stuck it in his back pocket, the adhesive sticking to his lighter.

He took a deep breath, deciding to ask Soap later. He opened the nightstand drawer. Lo and behold, snacks. He reached for some sour gummy candy.

Johnny had one hell of a sweet tooth, but he still had two other bags of the gummy candy in his drawer. Surely he won’t notice one missing.

Ghost opened the candy bag, relishing at the sour watermelon that sparked his tongue and made his brow furrow lightly under the mask.

He remembered he had to retouch his makeup before leaving, and quietly left the room.

It was a silent trek back to his room, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator now that the base was more active.

When he eventually arrived back to his room, Ghost sealed the candy bag with its pre-installed plastic zipper.

He dragged his backpack out from under his bed where he had tossed it after his last mission, falling asleep shortly after he returned later that day.
It felt so long ago, even though it was more like three days.

He put the candy in along with his usual essentials.

He tossed the cigarette pack back under his masks and put the lighter in his bag.
He failed to notice the note still attached to it.

After he was mostly packed, he went into the bathroom.

He pulled his mask off with a shaky breath.

He gazed up into the mirror.
Before his brain could even formulate his face shape he had already dragged his fingers across the open eye grease container by his sink, smudging dark makeup around his eyes.
He did it quickly, hiding his father’s eyes.

When he was done he washed the grease off of his gloves. He took another deep breath before heading to the closet to get into his tactical gear. 

“It’ll be fine.”

Whether that was for himself or someone else, Ghost may never know.

Chapter Text

Soap was putting on his tactical gear sometime around 10:30. He took most of his time after breakfast to clean himself up, straighten his Mohawk, brush his teeth, all the stuff.

It was strange however, when he entered his room and the sticky note he stuck to his bed frame was gone. He figured it fell under the bed.
After all, it was put there haphazardly.
To be honest, he probably should have just written it in his journal, but he was sleepy last night. And his mind wouldn’t shut up. 

Hence the sticky note. Fast, and he could look at it later.
Maybe it was for the best it fell under the bed.

Speaking of his journal, he stuffed it in his backpack. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt he needed it. 

He was distracted from his packing when Ghost texted him the plan.

It was the first time Ghost had texted him in a while. The man was more the kind of person to talk face to face, even if it was still very few words.

The text just said: “Nikolai is picking us up 1100. Be at helipad by 1045. Vaqueros pick us up after flight to drive to capital city of Coahuila.”

Simple, straight to the point. Soap found it cute how Ghost always had correct spelling but often skipped words. Unlike Soap, who for the love of everything didn’t use autocorrect.

“Ok ill bethere :)” Was Soap’s reply.

Soap finished packing, quickly lacing up his shoes.
He threw his backpack on and made his way out the door and towards the stairs.
He unwrapped a piece of bubble gum and stuck it in his mouth, tossing the wrapper in a nearby trash can before using his shoulder to open the door to the helipad.

As expected, Ghost was already there. And Soap gave him that little small smile he does where it just barely shows his teeth. Soap stifled a shiver as a cold gust hit his face.

“You made it in time,” Ghost stares at Soap with those brown eyes of his.

With the Brit’s now added makeup combined with the shadow of his mask, his eyes looked like dark charcoal.

“What? Ye surprised or something?” Soap’s smile widened.

Ghost shrugged, “Somewhat. I might’ve thought you got distracted again like the time I caught you danci-“

“Ye said ye were gonnae let that go!” Soap’s thick accent came through in his panic.

Brown eyes sparkled mischievously.

“You do know your face is redder than a bowl of cherries right now?”

Soap cussed under his breath.

“Stop embarrasin’ me, Ghost. We got some revenge to carry out.”

“And I’d love nothing more. A gunshot to the brute’s legs with a side of slow death sounds fulfilling to me. Maybe we’ll get takeout, mount Makarov’s head on a ship sailing to Russia.”

“You’re dark, Ghost. I think just burnin’ ‘im alive is best. Or maybe toxic gas, a taste of his own medicine.”

“Can we waterboard him first?” Ghost’s eyes widened slightly.

Soap saw it akin to a child asking for extra cookies with their lunch.

Soap chuckled, “Sounds like fun, Lt. Maybe we waterboard him with gasoline.”

“A man after my own heart,” Ghost’s eyes relaxed.

Ghost had said the same thing when Soap was stranded in Las Almas, surrounded by Shadows and barely any weapons.
Soap wondered if he should ask now what he asked then.

“You have a heart?” 

The words left Soap’s lips before he realized and he mentally cursed himself for it. The tone he said it in was almost like a knife was pressed to his throat. Like he had to say it. He had to.

Ghost simply shrugged, “I have a…”

Ghost’s sentence trailed off.

Soap blew a bubble with his gum quietly.
He expected Ghost to say what he did then, “A cold one.”
Soap knew differently, no one with a cold heart would wait for someone like him.
Cooped up in a church for hours while Soap, injured, weak, soaked from rain, wandered the streets of Las Almas. 

Suddenly Ghost turned to look at Soap again, “What do you think of my heart?”

There was tension in the Brit’s voice that Soap noticed Ghost had failed to hide.

Soap was caught off guard with the question. He paused for a minute, his eyes wandering to Ghost’s tactical vest, where just the slightest amount of his chest where his heart was was uncovered.

Soap’s finger moved to it. Ghost’s eyes widen slightly, but he didn’t move away.

Soap’s index finger pointed right where the tactical vest ended and part of his jacket began.

“I think it’s right here.”

It was a stupid answer, but Soap wasn’t done.

“And if it’s as cold as you claim it to be, I think you need to take another look again.”

Blue eyes met brown. Waves hitting rocks. Firmly. Gently. Making them lie down by still waters.

The sound of a helicopter pulled the two out of whatever trance Soap had brought them in. The Scot smiled as Nikolai’s familiar helicopter landed.

He instantly gave a kind glance to Ghost before quickly pacing over to it.
Once Ghost couldn’t see his face, he bit his knuckle.

The fuck was that?! Did he see how red my face was?!

~ ~ ~

The fuck was that?! Thank God Johnny couldn’t see my fucking red face under the mask. Fucking hell…

Ghost stood a little dumbfounded at what happened, but he was knocked out of it by Nikolai welcoming Soap and helping him into the helicopter. 

The kind Russian man looked to Ghost, “You coming, prizrak?”

Ghost was familiar enough with Nikolai’s Russian to know what he said was ‘ghost’ in his mother language.

Although Nikolai was Russian, he never, never would be associated with Makarov.
A good friend to TF 141.

Maybe a little too friendly with Price. But Ghost never snooped.

Ghost got into the helicopter, sitting next to Soap.

It was an old habit. After every mission they would sit beside each other.
Ghost bit his lip under his mask.
Luckily they were still a little far apart. Enough distance that made it to where Ghost couldn’t outright smell Soap’s cologne.

But oh, he still smelled it.

It seemed as if the weird… whatever just happened began to fade into an obscure memory.
Ghost put in the mental file in his mind under “Unpack Later: Do Not Open” .

Soap blew another bubble with his gum. It popped quietly and he used his tongue to get the pink candy off his beard.

Damn that tongue. A lip quiver was thankfully hidden under Ghost’s mask.

Why was he acting like this? 

Ghost took a deep breath, and did what he always did when he was in a sniper’s position. Or any stressful moment.

A memory that helped him relax and focus.

He closed his eyes, imagining the sun was on his bare face. The window was left open, because he had vomited out of it the night before.
His mother’s poppies getting the wrong kind of compost.

But it left the curtains blowing softly in the breeze.

The torn quilt smelled like lavender. The spray bottle full of it on his night stand was sprayed on his pillow and quilt after he wiped the puke from his lips with the sheet.

His mother gifted it to him to help him sleep.

Tommy had one, too, in his room. Simon definitely hadn’t poured some of Tommy’s in his own spray bottle because Simon used it more than him.

And his mother’s hand gently ran through Simon’s hair.

“Time to wake up, Simon.”

Ghost opened his eyes with a sharp inhale. How much time had passed? Usually the memory played out so quickly, to help focus. 

His head turned to the side. Soap wasn’t chewing gum anymore and was instead writing in his journal.

Ghost had seen Soap journaling before, really only twice. The first time was when Price was driving the Task Force away from a mission.

Gaz was in the passenger, napping.
And Price had his earbuds in. A clear sign that he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Ghost had watched the landscape go by for hours until he felt Soap’s elbow accidentally jabbed him.

“Ach, sorry, Lt.”

Ghost had turned to find Soap writing things in a notebook with a leather cover and yellowed pages.

“What is that?” Ghost had asked, leaning a little closer.

“Oh, it’s my journal. I got intae writing and drawin’ things as a kid, and never really outgrew it. Just something tae keep the boredom away.”

Ghost was too tired to pry. 

The second time, Ghost only glimpsed Soap journaling in the mess hall, but that was when Ghost was purposefully avoiding him, so he left the mess hall before Johnny could see him.

Soap noticed the awakened Ghost.
“Sleepy, are we?”

Ghost scoffs, “Just resting my eyes.”

Soap smiled, “Whatever ye say, Ghost.”

Nikolai turned around in his seat with a cocky grin, “We are almost at Piedras Negras! Get your shit together, men.”

Soap put his journal away. And that relentless curiosity that plagued Ghost like fog, wondering what Johnny was writing, dissipated once again.

Maybe one day he would ask.

Chapter Text

Soap pushed the side door of the helicopter. The morning sun hit his eyes. They were on central time, and combined with the four hour flight, it was probably around 0900.

A few familiar faces walked over to him.

“¡Viejo amigo!” Alejandro’s hand met Soap’s as the men pulled each other into a one armed hug, patting each other’s back.

“Alejandro! Good tae see ye, hermano.” Soap smiled.

Rodolfo walked closer, his thumbs resting in the loops of his tac vest.
“Didn’t think it’d be so soon you’d return.”

Ghost had walked over, Nikolai lifting the helicopter back into the air.

“Alejandro. Rodolfo. Long way from Las Almas, aren’t you?”

Alejandro smiled. It was a smile he often did, one that made him look crazed, but it was genuine, friendly.

“Sí, come, come, we will take you to the safe house in Piedras Negras,” Alejandro turns to walk towards a group of black jeeps.

“What’s it mean?” Soap asks.

“Huh?” Alejandro turns back slightly.

“Piedras Negras. What’s it mean in English?”

Alejandro laughs, turning to Rodolfo.
The latter turns his head, “Black Stones. Named after the coal deposits here.”

“Oh, Ghost! They make your makeup here- OH!”

Soap groaned as Ghost punched his shoulder blade.

“… why would ye dae that?!”

“Alright, children, calm down. It’s a hot minute to the church,” Alejandro shouts half-sternly, half-chuckling.

“The church?” Both of the Europeans said at the same time.

Alejandro simply smiles, getting into one of the jeeps.

Rodolfo gets in the driver's seat, “The safe house is underneath the downtown church; El Santuario Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. Our Lady of Guadalupe Sanctuary. There you guys can get any extra supplies you’ll need. It’s a four hour drive to Saltillo. We will arrive in the afternoon after we’ve left the safe house.”

Soap smiled, “A road trip! Sounds like fun.”

~ ~ ~

Damn, Ghost hated Coahuila.
Damn, how he hated being in a jeep cooped up with the man he wished he’d never see again.
Damn… he hated how Soap’s eyes always caught the light of the sun. How they just… no matter what expression he was making, no matter what time of day, there was always a little shine in those
DAMN
BLUE
EYES!

“Why’re ye staring at me, Lt?” Soap asked so gently, with that DAMN gentle smile of his where it barely showed his teeth.

“Lost in thought,” Ghost simply replied with a shrug.

“Ye thinking of Makarov roasting on a spit?” Soap asked, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

STOP LOOKING AT HIS EYES!

“I am now,” Ghost smiled under his mask.

Ghost saw Soap’s own smile grow.
Soap had gotten really good at reading Ghost’s eyes. Too good.

Ghost couldn’t say the same. He always struggled guessing people's emotions.

“I hope you’ll send me a picture of the dead bastard when you get him,” Alejandro cackled as he turned his head to the back of them.

“No,” Soap sat up straighter, “We won’t do that. We’ll send a framed picture that ye can put on your wall.”

Alejandro cackled again, “Great idea! Hermano, your enemy is my enemy.”

“We were worried when we heard you got shot,” Rodolfo chimed in, “Alejandro almost booked a flight until we heard you lived and were recovering.”

Soap shrugged, “God hadn’t prepared my bed yet. Neither had the devil.”

Soap said the words with a confident smile, but Ghost noticed the tension in his shoulders.

It might’ve been scary for Soap too, nearly dying.

Ghost imagined Johnny’s body in a coffin. Eyes still and closed.
Forever those blue eyes would be left sunken down and rotting.

He would be in a nicely pressed suit. White. Atypical for a funeral, but Ghost felt it was right.

A blue tie, blue likes his eyes. No shade could ever match.
No blue could catch the light like a fish in a net. A rabbit in a snare. Beautiful, but not nature's intent.

He’d hold a single rose in his hands.
No, a poppy. A flower for fallen soldiers. Like the poppies that grew outside his childhood bedroom window. Often getting unneeded compost.

The casket would close. It was a shiny black color, like the hole that would be left gaping in Ghost’s heart.
Johnny was unneeded compost. The dirt would not take him.

It would force him to breathe, force Johnny’s heart to surge back to life. Beating once again.
Beating on the roof of the coffin.

It was cramped. It was dark. A jawbone in hand and an insatiable need to breathe.

Bang

Bang

Bang

It wouldn’t open. His heart pounds faster. He was six feet under at least .

Bang

Bang

Bang

He tried screaming, only to get some dirt in his face. He dug, dirt getting under his fingernails, in his mouth, under his skin.

Eating his flesh from the inside out like termites.

Hurting his brain like an electric shock.

A blue sky, blue like the eyes that wander his mind, sewn to his heart.

When Ghost opened his eyes, he was outside a pink church.

Soap chuckled, “You really need to limit these power naps, Lt.”

No amount of dirt could hide the slight worry in Johnny’s voice. 

Chapter Text

The restock went by quickly. Soap swore he just blinked, and suddenly they were back in the jeep. The four of them loaded up on every gun that had at least one letter of the alphabet to complete the song, and a lunch that left Soap a little too full.

The church was gorgeous. Small with marble pillars. The safe house was under a trap door hidden in a closet in a private room.

He had watched as Ghost’s gloved hands with the branded bones on it effortlessly reloaded and checked the scope of an ISO Hemlock.
It was always so fluid how Ghost handled guns.

The jet lag was starting to kick in, and Soap felt his eyelids get heavy.

His arms went lax as his head slowly leaned back against the seatbelt.

His mind wandered to the night before, where his mind kept him up a good amount of the night.

Where he remembered getting shot by Makarov.

How his skull shattered in a broken star shaped pattern. How the bullet missed his brain by a miracle.

By the scarily peaceful feeling that filled his body after the shot fired.

How he fought to breathe. It wasn’t right he wasn’t breathing. Why wasn’t he breathing?

The faces he saw.
Price. He looked surprised.
Gaz. His eyes were so wide they could’ve fallen out of the socket.

Ghost. Blurry, fuzzy. The mask hid what he felt.

He wondered if Ghost— if Simon was terrified of losing him.

Or if it was just another KIA for him.

Soap was too tired to get out of bed that night. He wanted to pour everything out in his journal. The same feelings he mulled over countless times.

He was still scared nearly a year later.
Life was so delicate when you were on the other end of the gun.

What he did have near was a sticky note. He could write it down and put it in his journal later when he could properly confront it.

“Am I too much? Or not enough?”

Small words that plagued him. It was as if saying, “Was I better off dead?”

Obviously not. But it still settled in his heart like a weed hidden inside a flower bush.

Price hadn’t put Soap on any missions since the incident.

Ghost seemed to always be on one.

Gaz went on leave when Soap got back.

Why did it seem like everyone treated him like a wounded puppy now when he wasn’t?
Anyone can die. He wasn’t special.

Well… that was a lie.

As Soap’s sleepy mind wandered, he found himself back in secondary school.

He found himself silently crying in the bathroom stall, shakily pouring out wheat colored pills into his hand.

His mum always told him, “Ye’r a bawherr different, mah son, bit ye’r just as much a man as yer father an’ brother.”

He swallowed the pills with shame he shouldn’t have to bear.

Doctors had always given him a weird look. Especially military doctors.

It was embarrassing to explain every time that yes, he had an XY chromosome. Yes, he was determined male by the government and military. No, he could not reproduce. Yes, he needed his testosterone pills issued by his personal doctor.

It was infuriating. Exhausting. No one knew outside of doctors and his family.
Not even Price.

What would Ghost say?

His brow furrowed as body dysmorphia crept in like venomous vines, threatening to choke him. Threatening to display him to the world.

His mutation being framed and sold to the highest bidder.

While his mind was drowning, a hand reached up.

Ghost’s hand. Simon’s hands. His gloved hands. On his waist. Gently.

Brown eyes looking up, “Johnny, you’re beautiful.”

He shuddered, “You don’t think it’s weird?”

Simon shook his head, “No. I think it’s so sexy-“ 

“FUCK!” Soap yelled as Ghost slapped his arm, waking up from his dream.

“Guess I’m not the only one taking power naps?” Ghost said with a slight grin in his voice, “We're here in Saltillo. Laswell wants to talk to us,” Ghost’s voice returned to that serious, uncaring tone.

Soap got out of the Jeep, and entered the empty hotel the vehicles were parked by. It wasn’t fancy, it was built more like a condo with orange tiles making up the floor and warm colored walls.

“Alejandro, don’t tell me you and the Vaqueros bought out this whole place?” Soap asks with a smirk.

Alejandro smiles, “No. Laswell did. Or someone in the CIA. Who are we to deny free room and board, no?” He laughs.

Ghost slings his sniper rifle over his back before heading to the elevator.

Rodolfo notices, “Ghost? Where you going?”

“Upstairs. To a room,” he answered simply.

Alejandro smirks, “Well this is a rather small hotel. We had planned for you to… share a room with Soap. If you guys are okay with-“

“Aye, that’s fine,” Soap answered before he even felt his heart flutter at the idea.

God he had to stop being a pervert-

“Alright, you boys get settled. Me and Rudy will set up the radio down here in the lobby. Don’t keep the lady waiting,” Alejandro gave a pointed finger and a click of his tongue to the two before walking off with Rodolfo, who gave a smile at the Europeans before turning around and following Alejandro.

Soap turned to Ghost, who was holding the caged elevator door open with a firm grip, if it weren’t for the gloves, Soap would be sure his knuckles were bone white. His eyes swimming in pure frustration.

Soap worried for a second he went too far until a drop of surrender stirred the waters of anger and slightly dissipated.

“Get in here, Johnny,” Ghost said with a sigh.

Soap walked over awkwardly, standing beside Ghost with a sigh.

He had to ask, even if it would just piss off the lieutenant more.

“Did you want a room to be alone in?” Soap bit his lip, as his tongue betrayed him.

Ghost took a long sigh, “No, no it's fine. I don’t mind sharing, MacTavish.”

Ouch. MacTavish . 

Soap quietly nodded, controlling his breathing. Scared if he breathed too loud Ghost might stab him then and there.

Soap wouldn’t complain; whatever makes the Ghost happy.

~ ~ ~

Ghost threw down his stuff on the bed closest to the bathroom without a word. Soap eyed him but simply took the bed closer to the window.

He went into the bathroom, grumbling that he needed to take a piss.

He hated hotels. He’d rather sleep outside. He’d rather lie on a bed of nails.

But the worst thing was the mirrors.
A mirror on the adjacent wall, Ghost noticed it instantly. But this mirror wasn’t cracked like the one in his room on base. It had a bright light around the entire edge, giving his eyes a square shine.

He fucking hated it. 

After he avoided his own gaze and took care of himself, he exited the bathroom.

Orange walls and red carpet decorated the room. The beds looked too comfy, despite Simon knowing every hotel bed is firmer than a log.

His gaze went over to the white translucent curtains blowing in the breeze, the window apparently leading to a small balcony.

Soap was standing on it, his arms resting against the railing. The sun was setting over the brown mountains, their trees barren of leaves.

Blue eyes turned to Ghost with a smile,“Ghost, look at this pretty sight.” 

Ghost’s breath hitched a little.

Soap’s head turned back to the sunset, the light catching the edges of his figure.

Igniting him like a lantern leading home.

Ghost’s feet moved before he realized. It almost felt like floating.

He stood beside Johnny, looking at him with soft eyes.

“Yeah… pretty sight.” 

Chapter Text

The first thing Simon tasted was blood in his mouth when his heavy eyelids forced themselves open.

He was strung up by his wrists this time, his body lightly swinging. His eyes were bleary and weak, swollen red from the dirty water poured on his face last time he was awake.

Roba must’ve punched his nose by the way it burned across his face, hot blood seeping into his mouth.

His feet were just high enough off the ground that it was a chore to breathe.

This must’ve been what Jesus felt like on the cross.
Simon had stopped calling out to God when the Zaragoza poured boiling water down his throat some time ago. Maybe months, maybe only weeks. 

Did Jesus, in flesh and bone, feel this amount of helplessness? This amount of pure submission, yet spite, to not fall victim to Roba’s constant attempts at brainwashing?

“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

Oh they knew perfectly well.
They knew no amount of electroshock, waterboarding, burnings, punching, cutting, whipping, slamming, or even assaulting could ever break Simon.

So he became their stress toy.

All of Roba’s lackeys all looked and sounded the same after enough sleep deprivation, adrenaline overdosing, and head trauma.

“Hook him up.” “Bring him here.” “This is gonna be fun.” “Stay awake, cabrón!” “Aw, is the blanquito tired?” “What a waste of a man.”

But Roba was worse. Different. Made sure Simon looked at him as he tortured him.
Carved the cartel logo into his thigh over and over again, new scabs every day to remind Simon of his captor.

That wasn’t the worst he ever did, just the most repetitive.

Now Simon had a tattoo to cover the scar. But that was in the too distant future. 

Another lackey walked into the cell, striking Simon’s shirtless torso multiple times with a makeshift whip made out of belts.

The man spoke with aggression, but even if Simon wanted to understand what he was saying, he couldn’t find the strength to respond back anyways. 

He just hung there and took it.
God turned his back on him, disgusted by all the sin on his son’s body.

Blood made from dirt of the garden of Eden. Spilled in a dirty cell and for what?

Chest candy? No, Simon didn’t want a medal.

Hope? Of what? All of his so-called friends were brainwashed or dead as of now. His family had no idea where he was. They probably weren’t even worried.

Spite?

Yeah, that was it, spite.

Resisting authority as every human does.

The whip cracked again, Simon barely gave the man a groan.
The man stopped and turned to the cell door.

Roba entered, pushing a body to the floor. Their head was covered with a bag, and muffled yelling came from it.

Roba smirked, “Finally found something to break you, güero.”

His voice was like dry ice on hot skin. Burning with malice that steamed up the already hot room.

Simon merely averted his eyes with a scoff.
He heard Roba rip the bag off the person’s head.

“What the fuck is wrong with ye?!”

Simon widened his eyes. He knew that voice.

That Scottish voice that softened his eyes and was music to his ears.

He turned his eyes back to find Soap staring daggers at Roba.

“Ghost- what’d they do tae ye?” Soap’s blue eyes watered down into fear with still a hint of rage.

Roba picked Soap up by his shirt, “You’re gonna be my leeway, Scot. Get your pendejo to listen to me, or you die. I’ll tear your heart right out. Feed it to your little friend here, no scraps left behind. Don’t test me, wee babe.”
Roba licked his teeth, saying the last part with a purposefully bad Scottish accent.

“I’m not afraid of ye, fucking bampot! Let Ghost go! And do yer worst tae me-“

Soap’s blue eyes went wide, Roba’s fist darted so quickly into his chest Simon blinked and missed it.

Simon thought for a minute he screamed. Maybe he shouted “Johnny, no!!”

Or maybe silent tears fell from his eyes. Eyes so used to witnessing pain. They watered the ground.

Poppies. His mother’s poppies sprouted from the ground under his barely touching feet.

Roba cackled as he pulled out Soap’s heart with the most blood curdling scratch no man should hear. Rib bones broke with a disgusting crack, leaving the shocked Scotsman bleeding and spasming on the ground with a horrendously loud thud.

The poppies grew taller and taller still, threatening to envelop Simon.

Not soon enough.

Blurry faces dragged Soap away.

Ghost was sure he was to be put in a coffin destined for Simon later.

Roba turned to Simon, holding the terrifyingly still-beating heart.

He flashed a cold smile, his gold tooth shining sickeningly in the dim light produced from the Coahuilan sun.

The heart was brought to Simon’s bloody lips.

“Eat what you sow, boy. It’ll be the only thing you eat this week,” Roba cooed with mock kindness.

Simon shook his head, defiant. Not because he wouldn’t eat the heart, but because it was Johnny’s.

He didn’t deserve anything Johnny gave him.

Roba’s ringed fingers pried open Simon’s mouth anyways, forcing the lower half of the heart onto his tongue, embraced by his teeth.

Warm flesh, blood gushing out choked Simon as he struggled to breathe. Veins between his teeth and the threat of vomit in his throat allowed more tears to stream down his face.

“Johnny is dead because of you. Now consume what you chase after!” Roba’s laughter filled the halls as Simon blacked out again. 

~ ~ ~

Ghost woke up coughing and gagging. He partially lifted his mask to claw at his tongue with his gloved hands, being grateful there was no blood and no flesh in his mouth.

He tried to calm down, taking deep breaths.

Soap had come beside him at some point in Ghost’s awakening. It was dark out. He only wanted to take a short nap due to the jet lag.

“Ghost, ye okay?” His voice was kind, worried. He didn’t like it. Liked Johnny’s voice when it was the sarcastic and smartass voice.

Ghost merely grumbled, reaching up further under the mask to rub his eyes, thankfully Soap still couldn’t see much of the Brit’s face.

“I’m fine. Had a… itch in my throat.”

Soap lightly nodded. Those blue eyes weren’t convinced. But like the feeling to resist plucking a pretty flower, he left Ghost to not explain anymore.

“Well,” Soap backed away from Ghost a bit to give the man space to fix his mask, “yer timing is impeccable. The Vaqueros got Laswell on the line. We oughta get down there, now, before she pops a screw loose waiting.”

Ghost nodded, taking his fingers away from his face, “Okay, let’s go.”

The two men make it downstairs to the lobby. 

Alejandro and Rodolfo waved to Ghost and Soap as they exited the caged elevator, the two of them sipping on drinks. Rudy was drinking a sweet tea while Alejandro was sipping straight espresso.

Soap waved back with a grateful smile whilst Ghost simply raised his hand for a brief second at them.

The two made their way to the table where the radio was. They sat on either side of the table, Soap clearing his throat, “Laswell?”

“Oh, good, you boys are finally here,” The American woman’s voice came through the radio with some static, “Are you safely in Saltillo?”

“Affirmative,” Ghost said.

“Okay boys, here’s what we know on Makarov. Intel has said that he’s hiding here in Saltillo but we don’t precisely know where. Tomorrow morning, Los Vaqueros will drive around the north side of the city. Ghost, Soap, you’ll be together along with Rodolfo around the south. You’ll be dressed as civilians. Wherever Makarov is hiding, the jeeps will probably scare him to the south.”

“So we lie in wait,” Ghost sneers, “drive the prey straight to the hunters.”
Soap smirked, one of his eyes becoming smaller than the other, “So that’s when we can-“

“Calm down boys, I’m not finished,” Laswell sighed on the other line, “because Saltillo is a tourist town, you’ll need to capture Makarov before you can… legally carry out your revenge. Another thing, he’s wanted in America, Urzikstan, and Russia, but not in Mexico. Once you’ve captured him contact me. I’ll send CIA operatives to intercept you at the border where you boys can have your fun.”

Ghost’s and Soap’s eyes meet and they both let out a defeated sigh.

“Affirmative, Laswell,” Soap rubs his temples.
“We’ll capture him. Out here,” Ghost turns off the radio.

Alejandro hands Soap a cup of coffee and Ghost a tea. Spending time with them in Las Almas, they learned each other's orders.

Alejandro likes a straight black espresso.

Rudy likes warm sweet tea with a lemon slice and a lime slice in the bottom.

Ghost likes unsweetened tea.

Soap likes black coffee with sugar and a cinnamon stick.

Alejandro smiles, “So we leave at 0500 tomorrow, however, you two and Rudy will need to be dressed as civilians. I hear the shops around here are open late. Go with him.”

Soap takes a sip of his coffee, “But I got a t-shirt an’ jeans in my pack-“

“You want Makarov to recognize you, Johnny?” Ghost interrupted, “A t-shirt and jeans is your default outfit.”

It was meant lightheartedly, but the comment, the first part, sent a cold flash of subtle fear across Soap’s face.

“Oh… yeah, okay let’s go,” Soap got up, taking a long gulp of his coffee.

Fuck. Why’d he always screw up? He didn’t mean it like that. This is why it was best to avoid Johnny.
But he couldn’t. Not when they were paired up tomorrow.
Maybe he could stick by Rodolfo tomorrow. Or be completely alone. Stick to high places like he always liked. Easy sniper positions. Spot Makarov easily.

Yeah, he’d do that.

Ghost turned away from the group to lift his mask and down his tea in one big gulp before getting up to go back upstairs and undress out of his tactical gear. 

~ ~ ~

Soap’s eyes sparkled as golden lights lit up the night streets of Saltillo.

The air smelled of liveliness.
He smiled at Rodolfo and Ghost, who were a few steps behind him.

“Man, no one told me our revenge mission would be like a vacation! I’ve ne’er seen such a place!” Soap breathed in the atmosphere.

The sun was set long ago now and the sky had dark clouds in one direction, the other way having a half moon shine over the city. Music played from a live band a few blocks away.

Ghost caught up with Soap, “Careful sergeant. It’s not a good idea to be this open in a place where Makarov is hiding. The point is to buy civilian clothes and get out, okay?”

Soap sighed and dramatically rolled his eyes, “Ye’r no fun.”

Despite the reaction, Soap subtly moved to walk in the shadows of restaurant awnings.

Rodolfo came up between the two, “Hey, there’s a store ahead. We should go there.”

The two Europeans nodded.
The store was nothing fancy. A basic square building with an off-white paint job and a red awning.
Inside it was lit up with yellow lights hanging from wooden chandeliers.
It smelled of roses and cinnamon.

The two Europeans wandered around a bit, looking at the paintings on the walls instead of the clothes.

Soap’s eyes then caught a dark hoodie with a dia de los muertos skull embroidered on the back. It was on clearance, considering it was late November currently.

“Ghost, look,” Soap angled the hoodie in Ghost's direction.

The Brit looked over in interest. After giving it a glance he walked over.

“How much is it?”

“Ah…” Soap looked at the price tag, “It’s 149.99. In pesos.”

“How much is that in pounds?”

Rodolfo walked over, already holding a bag of the clothes he bought.

“I’m paying for you guys. You want that, Ghost?”

Ghost shrugged, “What’s 150 pesos in pounds?”

“Uhh… shit I don’t know. But 150 is cheap for an embroidered hoodie, trust me,” Rodolfo smiled.

Soap pulled out his phone. After typing for a moment he showed Ghost the screen, “It’s about five pounds.”

“Damn,” Ghost pulls the hoodie off the hangar, “I… think I want this. This okay?”

Rodolfo nods, “You’ll definitely look like a tourist. That’s not a bad thing. Soap, you found anything?”

Soap shakes his head, “You go pay for Ghost. I’ll meet you at the register.”

Soap started walking to another part of the small store. He found a stack of grey pants.
Checking the tags, the sizes were thankfully written in numbers.
He found his size and put it up to himself. There was a mirror nearby as he figured he could fit in them. Close by was a stack of baggy sweaters. 

He smiled to himself, his Nana used to knit him sweaters for the cold Scotland winters.
Maybe he should call her after the mission.

He tried a beige one over his t-shirt. It was a loose fit but very warm and comfy.

He took it off, grabbing the pants and meeting the two by the register.

“Here. I got a sweater an’ some new pants,” he smiled cheekily at Ghost, “Does that scream ‘Soap’ to ye?”

Ghost shook his head, “I’ve never seen you in a sweater. So no. Good choice, sergeant.”

He put a hand on Soap’s shoulder.

His heart fluttered. His stomach too. It shouldn’t have. But it did.

The last time Ghost touched him was when he died.

The masked man that made him feel alive. 

But perhaps those brown eyes of his, pitch black in the dim store, noticed Soap’s surprised expression.
And his hand left the contact Soap so craved.

Soap’s expression turned neutral again, the awkwardness evident on both of their faces as Rodolfo handed them each their bags with their clothes in it.

Rodolfo looked at his watch, “We gotta get back. Ale will worry if we don’t. You know how he gets.”

As a matter of fact, both of them didn’t know how he gets.

“‘Ale’?” Soap snickers, “Is he worried about his sweet Rudy?”

Rodolfo’s face went red, “WHO TOLD YOU THAT NICKNAME?!”

Both the Europeans paused before Soap burst into laughter. Ghost snickered loudly under his mask.

“Oh this is hilarious! How long have you guys been dating?” Soap asked.

“I don’t need to tell you that!” Rudy hid his red face as they exited the store.

“So you guys are dating?” Ghost lightly tapped Rodolfo’s arm.

“Mierda! Vete al infierno— both of you!” His face was burning now.

Soap put his arm across Rodolfo’s shoulders, “But if we go to hell we can’t see you kiss Ale~”

“I hate you both. Extremely,” Rodolfo walked faster to get away from them.

“Hey, we don't really mind,” Ghost caught up to him, “It’s cool that you got together. I hope you’re both happy.”

Rodolfo sighed as Soap caught up too, “Yeah, we are happy. Now stop teasing.”

Soap chuckled, “Oh the humanity! I might die if I can’t be a teaser!”

“I’d prefer that,” Rodolfo playfully rolled his eyes.

… Ouch.

Chapter Text

The sound of horses galloping filled the forest. Streams of red and orange leaves blurred by as the sun kissed Soap’s cheeks and hair.
It was a beautiful October morning.
A horse of rosy amber and a horse of deathly black whinnied as their riders took much delight in the ride.

Soap’s blue eyes met brown in the galloping blur. The smoky quartz that were alight with joy. No shadow of a mask hiding true intentions.

Ghost’s face, or at least a slightly fuzzy rendition of his face, smiled back at Soap.

The forest cleared into a cliffside. The horses slowed to a stop and their riders got off.

Soap walked to the edge, sitting down. His legs dangled over the edge, small rocks getting kicked off the ledge in doing so.

Ghost joined him, sitting criss-crossed on the edge.

The view was spectacular. Warm, fiery colors set the mountains of Scotland on fire in a beautiful dance of cold and warm.

The air smelled of rain as dark clouds formed overhead, the setting sun turning them a feisty orange and yellow dancing with dark grey.

A frosty wind made Soap’s jaw tighten so as not to let his teeth chatter.

“Cold, Johnny?” Ghost’s voice, unusually gentle, met Soap’s ears.

“Can ne’er be when I’m with ye, Ghost,” he smiled, his eyes softening at the reflection in Ghost’s eyes of himself.

Ghost’s hand gently met Soap’s “I love you, Johnny.”

Soap’s heart flutters and a fuzzy feeling settles in his soul. His cheeks turned the color of the forest.

“Stay… stay here forever?” Soap asked so quietly not even the wind could hear.

But Ghost could hear him.

“If you wish. I’ll be here as long as I can. And forever…” Ghost Simon’s hand brushes Johnny’s cheek, “Forever I’ll love you. Forever I’ll be with you.”

“Till death do us part?” The words escaped Soap’s lips. Along with…

Something else. 

Thorns scratched at his throat as Ghost seemed to fade away.
The blurry-faced man didn’t get a chance to respond before Soap was hacking up blood.

Purple hyacinths and red roses poured from his lips like poisoned tea.

Thunder rolled as the clouds overhead threatened to deafen him. Acid rain burned his skin as the voices in his head grew louder.

“Yₒᵤ’ᵣₑ ₛₒ bₗᵢₙd. Yₒᵤ ᵣₑₐₗₗy ₜₕᵢₙₖ ₕₑ’d ₗₒᵥₑ yₒᵤ? Wₕₐₜ ₐ fₒₒₗ. ₐ fₒₒₗ ᵢₙ ₗₒᵥₑ. ₜₕₑ cₒᵤᵣₜ ⱼₑₛₜₑᵣ ₙₑᵥₑᵣ gₑₜₛ ₜₒ ₕₐᵥₑ ₜₕₑ ₖᵢₙg.”

The thorns tightened more. His heart shattered and his ears rang.

“ᵢₜ’ₛ bₑₜₜₑᵣ fₒᵣ ₕᵢₘ ₜₒ ₕₐₜₑ yₒᵤ ₜₕₐₙ ₜₒ ₙₒₜ ₕₐᵥₑ ₐₙy ₑₘₒₜᵢₒₙ wᵢₜₕ yₒᵤ ₐₜ ₐₗₗ.”

You’re right. I’d die again if it meant he was happy.

“ₕₑ wₐₛ ₕₐₚₚᵢₑᵣ wᵢₜₕₒᵤₜ ᵤₛ.”

So I guess I have my answer…

I’m too much .

~ ~ ~

Ghost groaned as his phone alarm went off. He turned it off and grumbled as the digital 0400 on the lockscreen greeted him.

He looked over to Soap, deep asleep.
His eyebrows twitched and he grumbled, “Mm.. t-… to… -ch.”

Ghost got up, quietly making his way to the bathroom to shower and get changed in the clothes he bought.

His fingers ran over the embroidery of the orange, green and pink flowers decorating the skull on the back before he pulled it over himself. It was comfy, soft on the inside, but lightweight.

He took off his mask, avoiding eye contact in the mirror as he rinsed his face, the eye grease he used still in place.
It was the good waterproof kind.

When he exited the bathroom, Soap was sitting on the edge of the bed, pinching his nose.

“Mornin’ Johnny. Bathroom’s free,” Ghost started putting a holster on that his hoodie could hide.

“Aye,” Soap inhaled sharply as his hand moved away from his face. He shook his head and rubbed his temples.

“Headache?” Ghost asked.

Why do you care? No little headache he had was going to matter in the mission.

“Mm… aye,” Soap grumbled again, getting up with his clothes and walking to the bathroom, “but I’ll be fine.”

Ghost thought Soap slammed the bathroom door a little too hard as he disappeared inside.

Did he say something wrong? Maybe Johnny just had a hard time getting to sleep last night.

Well, that couldn't be true. That man could fully sleep on a bed of nails.

In fact Ghost had seen him fall asleep on many things.

On a hay bale, in a bush, in a tree, in the back of a moving truck, on his desk (not at his desk, no, fully lying on it like a bed), in a hammock that was only half pinned up, a window sill, even in a fucking box full of packing peanuts.

Could just be early-morning grogginess plaguing the Scot.

Maybe his coffee had kept him up.

Or maybe it was sinus, allergies, the Saltillo air.

But Ghost couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.

He put his favorite pistol in his holster and pulled the end of his hoodie down over it.

He had fallen asleep in his balaclava. Old habits die hard.
Since Soap was in the bathroom, he quietly pulled it off and put a basic black face mask on.

He also put a black beanie over his blonde hair, which had curled up with humidity. And even put on the hoodie over his hat for good measure. 

He was pocketing his throwing knives when Soap exited, looking better now that he washed his face and fixed his Mohawk. In the big, poofy sweater, he looked… cute.

Fuck.

Soap gave a gentle smile with sad, distant eyes. He went over to his bag to quietly put the holster underneath his sweater.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah, Lt?”

Ghost paused, “You know you can… talk to me… right?”

There was a pause.
The kind of pause where you know you fucked up.

“Yeah… I know, Ghost,” Soap went back to putting magazines into his holster.

~ ~ ~

Alejandro turned from his spot in the passenger seat to the three in the back, “Okay so you three will be dropped off at the bike shop. Rudy, you'll head towards the coffee shop. Soap, you’ll follow the crowd, give Rudy and Ghost updates since you’ll be looking for the bastard in those crowds. Ghost, you’ll go to the cathedral. It’s the heart of the city. I wouldn’t put it past this Russian of yours to hide in plain sight.”

“Hiding at a church? Just like old times,” Ghost states, “Good thinking, Alejandro.”

“Another thing, Soap,” Alejandro held his hand out to him. Soap took it.

“Hermano, if you feel unsafe,” Alejandro looked at Soap with sincerity, “head to the church. Stay with Ghost. We got plenty of Vaqueros all over town.”

Soap swallowed, “I appreciate it, Alejandro,” he squeezed the man’s hand before letting go, letting out a sigh.

Damn Alejandro, always reading people’s minds.

The Vaquero driving stopped the car, “We’re here.”

Alejandro smiled at the three, “Okay, stay safe, kick ass… and tonight we will throw a celebration, make Makarov the piñata, ah? Sounds good?”

“Aye, sir,” Soap smiled, getting out of the car.

“Thanks for the lift, Alejandro,” Ghost got out after Soap.

After another moment, Rudy got out.

Soap wondered if he kissed Alejandro goodbye.

“Okay, see you two when we catch our guy,” Rudy waved bye to the two as he started walking away.

“Ghost?”

“Johnny?”

“It’s still early. Cannae walk with ye tae the church until the crowd shows up?”

“Negative, Johnny. We gotta be as sparse as possible in order to catch Makarov. Rudy’s heading east, I’m going north, why don’t you take the south end until the crowd does show up?”

Soap’s exhaled sharply. He felt like he'd been stabbed with an ice pick and left to freeze from the cold dead words of the Ghost.
“Aye, sir,” he bit his lip. He was overreacting.

He stood in place as Ghost walked away. When he turned a building and Soap couldn’t see him anymore, only then did he turn around to head southbound.

Why would I think he’d be willing to put up with me? This sucks.

Soap was lost in his thoughts as the city of Saltillo slowly woke up.

He made his way through the crowd, and stores turning over their open signs. His sniper-trained eyes looking for the man that ruined his life.

The sweater felt too restricting. It wasn’t anything like the ones his Nana made.

“Nana, I’m cold.”

“What color?”

There would be a sweater on his bed the next day.

“I dannae have a Christmas sweater for school.”

“Snowmen or candy canes?”

There would be one at the kitchen table at 4am.

“Nana, what are ye crocheting?”

“Jest a project.”

The whole family would have new sweaters and blankets for winter the following week.

She smelled of cigarettes and leave-in conditioner, and everything she made smelled like it too.

She would only smoke outside, rolling her wheelchair out “tae prevent th’ wee ones fae becoming lik’ her” as she always said.

This sweater smelled like overwhelming anxiety and uncomfortable tightness, despite it being loose fitting.

Damn it, Alejandro was right.

“Johnny, sitrep?” Ghost came in through the earpiece disguised as an earbud.

Soap took a deep breath, “No sign of Makarov. You?”

“At the church. Bloody empty. Rodolfo?”

“I’m getting some coffee and then I’m gonna stay around the area beside the cafe.”

“Out here,” Ghost said, the line going dry.

Soap pulled at the collar of his sweater again. He let out a sigh. 

What a coward I am.

He pulled at the sweater again before turning around and walking northbound.

~ ~ ~

Ghost sighed as he sunk himself into the wooden pew. His eyes darted around. There were a few people taking pictures and praying.

No signs of Makarov or his lackeys.

His eyes caught the altar, decorated with Jesus and Mary. She held her son tenderly, her carved eyes full of honor and love.

His mind wandered, his eyes closing for a minute.

His mother held him as thunder roared outside.

“Sh, sh, Simon. This is how Mother Nature expresses her anger. She is not mad at you, nor I, but mad at herself. Her anger will make flowers grow, trees bloom. Spring is soon, my son.”

“I’m scared of her, mum.”

“Well, good thing I’m your mother and she’s not. Come closer.”

Simon opened his eyes, deciding to explore.

His sneakers squeaked against the marble floor, echoing off of columns. He went up some stairs to look out of a stained glass window.

The light reflected on his face in pretty colors as he watched people walk and congregate below.

His sniper-trained eyes scanned every person that walked by.

Makarov? No. Makarov? Nope. Makarov— that’s a woman with a kid— no.

Then his eyes caught someone coming from the south. A Mohawked man in a shaggy sweater briskly walking to the church.

Ghost scowled. He put his finger to the earpiece.

“Soap, why the fuck are you not in position?”

He didn’t get an answer. He grumbled as he made his way down the stairs.

His foot barely touched the last step as a bright light entered his vision and a blast knocked him over a pew.

His ears rang as the light blinded him. His head was ringing from the impact, and his back hurt from the pew laying on top of him.

In the singular crack of light from the rubble, he could see fire raging outside.

He shouted as he strained and forced the pew off of him, his bleary vision meeting screaming civilians. His mind finally seemed to click in place again, and the first thing he thought of sent adrenaline soaring through his veins.

Oh my god… Johnny!!

If his brain had the power to shout his thoughts, the whole church would shudder more than it has right now.

Ghost winced as his leg collapsed with a single step. His shoulder radiated pain, stabbing his socket.

He forced himself to get up and keep moving. His head throbbed as someone spoke in his earpiece. Who it was was anyone’s guess.

He forced his way outside, scanning for the familiar face of his sergeant friend.

He finally spotted him, limping towards the street.

“Johnny!!” Ghost limped towards him.

Weakened blue eyes meet a terrified Ghost.

Soap limply runs over, holding his side.

“Ghost- what hap-“

A car explosion catches them both off guard.

Ghost’s ears ring again as he tries to lift his head from the asphalt.

He pushed himself up with his good arm.
He saw Soap being dragged away by masked soldiers.

“N-no! Get your fucking hands off of him!” With newfound adrenaline, Ghost pulls out his knife and slits both their throats.

He barely has time to check on Soap before something strikes him from behind, sending him far from Johnny.
He groans as his bleary vision spots the culprit of what struck him. A bulky truck. He couldn’t quite make out what symbol was on the truck.

Soap was fighting off more masked soldiers. His blue eyes spotted Ghost.

“Go, Simon! Get out of here!”

The brunette knocked one of the soldiers down.

“Ghost- go !!”

He didn’t want to run, he cursed his weakened legs for doing so. He tried to look back to where Johnny was, but he was gone. But he kept running.

No-… can’t leave you… not again… never!

Yet for some reason, he ended up in an alleyway, bleeding into someone’s poppy garden, a faint voice telling him to stay calm, he’s on his way.

Or something… like… that… he was just… so… 

tired.

Chapter Text

Ghost screamed awake as pain ripped into his shoulder. He sat up, regretting the action quickly as his head became instantly dizzy.

Various hands helped lay him down gently. He let them, too pained to see who they were attached to.
Through bleary vision, he saw a window. The landscape blurred behind the glass. The layout of where he was laid appeared to be the backseat of a van.

He realized his shoulder was put back in his socket. At least it felt better now. But his leg still flared in unbearable pain and his heart ached.

“J-… John-“

Finally, a face appeared in Ghost’s vision. Alejandro’s. Probably.
“Soap is gone, Ghost. He was taken by men in masks.”

Ghost’s eyes widened. He stifled a grunt of frustration. It sounded more like a sad, quiet yowl.

No, he couldn’t be taken.

He wanted to scream, to claw his way out of the van and to hunt down the men.

Rodolfo’s face appeared now, his voice gentle, “They had an insignia with a snake on it. Laswell contacted us. It was a terrorist attack, and she said it was a done by group called Konni, based on the insignia we described to her. She said they’re Makarov’s lackeys-“

“I-… I know… who they are,” Ghost weakly rasped, “We got… caught off guard… this… was planned from the start-“

He tried to sit up again, but Alejandro gently pushed him back down.

“We’ll find him, Ghost. But you gotta recover first,” Rodolfo squeezed the Brit’s uninjured shoulder.

“No… time. We gotta-…” he winced, “I’m… fine.”

He panted and wheezed as the world spun.

Alejandro’s words seemed to fade, “Take it easy, Ghost…”
The world turned dark once more.

Thank God the gloom hid his tears.

~ ~ ~

Soap groggily opened his eyes with a weak groan. He hissed as a blinding light met his eyes and his heart thumped as he realized he didn’t know where he was.

His eyes widened as he realized his wrists, ankles, torso and neck were bound to a surgical chair in a sitting up position.

He tensed up as a door in the darkness opened and closed with a loud thud.

A blonde, ponytailed man with dark eyes and an eye patch over his left eye entered. He had butterfly wings tattooed on his neck and two scars across his nose and under his eyepatch.

He didn’t look like the soldiers that attacked him, in fact the man wore a white button up with the collar loose and dark suspenders.

He was smoking, a cigarette between his lips.

The mysterious figure smirked as he walked over and puffed out some smoke in Soap’s face as he took the cigarette in his hands.

“Dobroye utro, Scotsman.”
(Good morning)

Soap coughed as the nicotine and a hint of vodka hit his senses.

“Who the fuck are ye, then? Yer Russian. Are ye Konni?” Soap growled, forcing himself to seem unafraid.

“Oh- Jesus. Already asking questions?” He huffed a sigh of irritation as he puffed his cigarette, pulling out his phone. He put the device to his ear and smirked.

“Da. He’s awake.”

“Who is that on the phone?” Soap asked with enough force he hoped sounded threatening.

The blonde man sighed, “Who the hell do you think it is, mylo ? And what kind of name is SOAP anyway?!”

(Soap)

“Well, what’s yours?” Soap was surprisingly thankful the restrain on his neck hid his nervous swallow.

The man smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Viktor Babochka. The pleasure is all yours.”

The door opened again, a shorter woman with dark hair that curled at the ends entered. A strip of her bangs were dyed teal green. She had an eyepatch on her right eye with a white butterfly on it and a blue vest over her black button up.

Strangely, her visible eye was purple.

“Brat, Otets khochet tebya videt’.”

(Brother, Father wants to see you)

Viktor sighed, “Nu, eto slishkom mnogo informatsii dlya vraga.”
(Well, that’s too much information for the enemy)

“Quiet. He’s pissy. Go talk to him. I’ll watch the prisoner,” she sighed.

Viktor chuckled, handing her the cigarette and leaving the room.

She took a drag before walking to stand in front of Soap.

“You can call me Lakia.”

“Why’re ye telling me yer names? Seems rather stupid if ye ask me.”

Lakia sighed, puffing smoke out with it, “It’s important for you to know our names.”

“Strange answer. I’ve never heard o’ that before,” Soap’s eyes darkened.

“Oh, you will see. I promise you that,” she takes another drag.

Soap stares at her purple eye, “What’s that about?”

“Hm?” She puffs out smoke.

“Yer eye color.”

“Oh. Contacts,” she fiddles with the cigarette between her fingers, “But some people say I’m a witch.”

“Why‘s that?”

She smirked, walking over to him, “Because I’ve been told that I’m… scary.
She put the lit end of her cigarette on Soap’s chest. He stared at her through gritted teeth, attempting to not give a reaction. 

That’s what Lakia obviously wanted, because her eyes glossed over in disappointment.

“Huh. Not even a flinch…” her eyes sparkle maliciously.

She took another drag before exiting the room.

Soap took this time to let out a nervous and pained breath he was holding. He looked at what was around him. The room seemed empty except for him, but there were some boxes stacked in a dark corner.

Boxes with a Konni symbol.

Soap’s eyes widened.

Viktor entered again, running his hands through his hair. He was holding a syringe.

Every muscle in Soap’s body tensed at the sight. The liquid was milky looking, but the edges glowed with an unearthly neon green.

“Sleep tight, soldier,” Viktor smirked, holding up the needle.

Soap swallows, “What is that?”

Viktor darkly chuckled.

“Freedom.”

Viktor’s hand held Soap’s face, using his gloved fingers to keep the sergeant’s eye open.

“Wait!-“

“Keep your eye still.”

“No, stop!” Soap was fighting against the restraints, ruefully wanting to rip the man’s hand away, but couldn’t.

“What are you going to do to me?!” All semblance of fearlessness had fled his body as pure survival erupted in every vein in his body.

“Let me go! Stop! Please!”

Viktor simply rolled his eyes, bringing the needle closer to Soap’s cornea. In doing so, his eye focused on the needle, keeping the orb still.

“Finally,” Viktor spoke.

The needle was jabbed into his eye.

A scream rang out across the world.

A flower wilted.

A sunny day turned gray.

A dam broke.

And a wolf had been caught in a bear trap.

~ ~ ~

Ghost gasped awake, a heart monitor racking his ears as confusion entered his senses. Foreign objects were on his body and the room he was in was stark white. A hand pressed him down, but it wasn’t Alejandro or Rodolfo.
Surprisingly, it was Price.

“Price?! Wh-“

“You’re home, Ghost,” he looked at Ghost with gentle eyes, “You’ve been under for about a week.”

“I’ve what?!” He panics as he realizes he’s in a medical bed, wires and IVs attached to him. The heart rate monitor spikes again and he rips off the oxygen mask he was wearing.

“Easy!” Price puts a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, “Easy, easy, lad. Take some deep breaths, okay?” 

Ghost shudders as he realizes he’s maskless. His eyes full of fear and his lips trembled as he breathed unevenly on full display. He hated being maskless.
And Price knew.

“It’s okay, Ghost. It’s just me. Breathe. Four in, four out. Want me to do it with you?”

Ghost shakes his head no. He forces himself to take counted breaths, lowering his heart rate, the beeping in his ears slowing down with him.

“Where’s Johnny?” He asks threateningly. But because of his weakened state, it sounds more akin to a plea.

Price sighs.

“Well, we know Konni took him, which confirms our belief that Makarov was hiding there.”

“Where is that fucker now?! Where’s Makarov?! Where did Konni take Johnny?!” His heart monitor picked up speed again.

Price hesitated, his expression as genuine and gentle he could make it, “… We don’t know.”

Ghost’s heart crumbled. He hadn’t felt this hopeless in years.

Without his mask on to hide his feelings, not that it would matter, Price knew him better than anyone, the hopelessness on his face was evident.

His brown eyes misted like a bare forest on a winter morning.

“Now, that doesn’t mean Soap is lost,” Price changed the subject, “As soon as you're up and moving we are going to hunt down that bastard and get our sergeant back.”

Ghost pulled off the covers, setting his feet on the tile. Big mistake.

He hissed, his injured leg was in a brace.

“Careful, Simon. You messed up your leg badly, and it can’t heal properly unless you don’t use it for a few days.”

“How long is a few?” He looked at Price.

Price shrugged, “Well last time I asked the doctor was yesterday. And he said about five days without putting… any … strain on it. So probably four days now with no pressure. Speaking of the doctor, I should tell him you’re awake.”

The older man got out of his seat as Ghost sat back on the bed. Prince turned back to him as he opened the door.

“Stay put, I’ll be back soon. I’ll tell Kyle you’re up too.”

Ghost’s gaze met Price’s, his brow furrowed “Gaz? Why is he here? I thought he was on leave.”

“Was. He came as soon as I told him. Said he was getting tired of his family, anyway.”

Ghost watched as Price left.
The burning feeling in his throat finally broke. He silently cried, his lips quivering as tear drops flooded and stained his face. He covered his face, letting the tears stain his palms.

But something else boiled inside him. Something he recognized.

Pure, unbridled rage .

His tears suddenly had meaning.

He was angry.

Makarov took Soap once before. Nearly killed him. Makarov did it again. He could be doing ANYTHING to Soap right now.

Johnny was captured, and Simon was going to be one fucking hell of a liberator.

No one would DARE touch the sergeant ever again.

Even if it killed Ghost. A level of violence that had never been brewed in Ghost before. Fervent anger that teemed every edge of his skin and set his soul on fire.

Johnny wasn’t going to suffer if Simon had anything to say or do anything about it.

He set his mind.

He was going to rescue his Johnny.

The door opened, and Ghost looked up to see Gaz entering.

“Gaz.”

“Ghost,” Gaz pulled up a chair to sit across from Ghost.

“How are you feeling?”

“Vengeful. More so than ever,” Ghost’s voice dripped with malice. Malice, of course, not meant for Gaz, and Gaz knew that.

“Glad to see you’re okay. You had Price worried, you know.”

“He worries too much,” Ghost looked away.
Gaz had seen him maskless before, and frankly didn’t care, but it was still uncomfortable for Simon.

Gaz saw Ghost’s action and looked at the floor instead.

“Yeah, you could say that again.”

Price came back in with a doctor. Gaz got up, giving Ghost a gentle pat on the back as he left with the older man. 

The doctor spoke to Ghost. He barely listened, only clocking in the important things. Full recovery in four days with no strain, take these pain meds, he’ll be released in a few hours after a few cognitive and physical tests.

Said tests went by slowly but Ghost powered through. Thinking of Johnny, thinking of how many ways he could torture and murder Makarov.

When Ghost’s full awareness returned, he saw he was in Price’s car, and they were ordering fish and chips.

There was a hoodie beside him and his bone-branded gloves. He put them on, pulling the hood up over his head.

He felt better.

Call it stereotypical British of him, but damn if Ghost didn’t love fish and chips and a good black tea.

Which is exactly what Price ordered for everyone.

Gaz helped Ghost out of the car, crutches and all.

The three sat on the curb, eating fish and chips and drinking tea in tense silence.

A car pulled up in the parking spot beside them. Price smiled and set his food down.
Laswell exited the car as Price greeted her.

“Kate, I’m glad you came. How’d you get here so fast?”

She gave a brief shrug, “An ambassador was put on a flight here. I hitched a ride.”

She looked to Ghost, then to his crutches.

He glared, “Not a word, Laswell. I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear,” she walked closer.

Price sat back on the curb, “You said you got intel?”

“A rumor is not intel but it’s all we got.” She leaned against the car hood, crossing her arms, “Alex and Farah were on their honeymoon-“

“They got married?!” Gaz stopped.

“For fuck’s sake Gaz, they’ve been engaged for three years,” Price rolls his eyes.

“I know that but-“

“Back to the conversation at hand,” Laswell sighs, “They were on a cruise in the Baltic Sea. The cruise they were on is the kind that stops at different countries. A few days ago it stopped near St Petersburg. Alex and Farah decided to stay on the cruise those days for safety because… they saw Konni near the docks.”

Ghost’s eyes meet Laswell’s, "What were they doing?”

“Unloading cargo,” Laswell pulls out her phone, handing it to Ghost.

He looks at the photo. Konni unloading shipping containers from a small cargo ship. Unlabeled and discreet.

“We don’t know what they have in there,” Laswell continues, “or where it was taken to.”

Ghost hands the phone to Gaz to look at, “Wherever Konni are, Makarov is close behind,” Ghost relays.

Gaz hands the phone to Price, and Price sighs, “If Konni were unloading shipping containers in St Petersburg, that must be where Makarov is. Those things don’t transfer well unless they are staying there.”

“Which is highly suspicious,” Gaz says as Price gives the phone back to Kate, “Especially considering Russia doesn’t want Makarov there, either.”

“You don’t think Soap is one of those crates, do you?” Ghost asks, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

There was an air of silence, everyone letting out silent exhales. Nothing was said. Everyone knew.

“Well boys… I’ve booked you a flight to St Petersburg that leaves at 3pm Thursday.” Laswell informed.
“Commercial?” Price asked.

Kate nodded, “Unfortunately, yes. Can’t have America knowing that terrorist is still alive yet. I’ve managed to keep it mostly under wraps. The CIA operatives that were going to intercept you at the border in Coahuila have sworn allegiance to keep quiet.”

“Why can’t the whole CIA know?” Gaz asked.
Laswell sighed, “General Shepherd was replaced with a new operative. A three star general named Preston Hallen. He’s new, and doesn’t know shit about Makarov. What he does know: Graves and his Shadows can handle whatever he throws at them.”

“We are not working with them,” Ghost grumbled.

“Which is why we keep it under wraps,” Laswell repeats, “And Graves stays out of this. I’ll text you three your tickets. I’ve got to get back to America, or Hallen will start asking questions.”

“Kate?”

“Yes, Price?”

“Be careful.”

She nodded as she opened the car door, “I will.”

The three watched as the car pulled away.

Ghost used his crutches to stand up, “What day is it now?”

“Saturday,” Price responds.

“So I’ll be fully recovered by the day of our flight?” Ghost asked.

Price nodded, “You wanna go home?”

“I don’t want to go back to the base, Price. I can’t… be holed up in there.”

Ghost knew Price and Gaz could see his tense shoulders. 

“Where do you want to go?”

Ghost’s form shook. He bit his lip as hard as he could, trying to keep it together.

He felt like he was on a tightrope, but the rope was wrapping around him, strangling him.

He felt young and scared again. He felt weak.

Tears pricked his eyes, he couldn’t speak.

Price knew. He always fucking knew.

“Gaz, can you throw away our trash?”

Gaz hesitantly nods as he gathers the trash. As soon as he turned the corner of the restaurant, Price helped Ghost to the car.

As soon as Ghost sat down he burst into tears, and oh, how he hated that.
Hot fire streamed down his cheeks as blue eyes watched him silently, standing in front of the door to hide his breakdown.

He didn’t want those blue eyes, he wanted those blue eyes. Why was he being so childish?! Why was he sobbing?!

He wanted it to stop, he wanted it to stop, he wanted it to stop-

“Simon, do you need a hug?”

The voice was so gentle. Price had kneeled in front of the door now, appearing smaller than Simon. Gaz had returned to the car, sitting in the driver’s seat. He had a bottle of water for Simon.

Simon hadn’t realized how long he had been crying.

He took the bottle, sniffing.

“Not a word…” He replied softly. It was so unlike his usual voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Simon,” Price very slowly brought a hand to Simon.

When Simon took it, Price very slowly got in the backseat.

“Gaz, drive.”

“To where, Cap?”

“Just drive.”

Gaz nodded, “Yes, sir.”

Ghost tensed again. He whispered, “I don’t want to be babied, Price.”
“Then what do you want?”

Ghost thought for a minute, “I want… quiet. Let me… look out of the window. And… watch the landscape go by.”

His brown eyes met the window before Price could respond.

And he never did.

~ ~ ~

Ghost’s crutches met dead grass sprouting through cracked concrete. An abandoned terrace house overcome with vines and sun-paled brick greeted his eyes.

“Simon,” Price started, “Are you-“

“I’m sure,” Ghost replied.

He paused as he let the November wind hit his senses. It smelled of shit.
Manchester. Home. Well, not home anymore.
The birthplace of Simon Riley, nothing more than a word scribbled in a box on his SAS papers.

“We’ll see you Thursday, Simon. Call if you need us,” Price closed the car door, Gaz starting the engine.

As the sound of the car grew further away, he hobbled across the walkway.

Ghost used his crutches to push open the door. It was still unlocked.

It had been for seven years, at least.

But there it was, his mothers body, dead on the table. No. He blinked and she was gone. He didn’t bother to go upstairs. At least not now. Partly due to the crutches, but mostly because he didn’t want to see his brother dead on the bed, his sister-in-law dead in the bathroom,… his nephew dead in the-

He was distracted by the sound of a meow. His eyes met a cat on the kitchen table. It must have gotten into the house via the broken window. He limped over, cursing at using his crutches, but the thought of putting any pressure on his leg and compromising the future mission forced him to be stoic.

The sunlight illuminated the cat. He was a fluffy blonde cat with icy blue eyes. 

Ghost reached his hand out and the cat snarled.

“Tough guy. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The cat didn’t seem to believe him, and got up on his hindquarters.

“Are you hungry?”

The cat looked him up and down, letting a soft meow, but still ready to pounce.

Ghost hobbled over to a cabinet, opening to see if there was any canned food that hadn’t expired.

Unfortunately the cabinets were empty.

“We should get some food,” Ghost talked to himself.

He remembered when he was a teenager and his mother could never get enough sleep. He’d drive her to the grocery store so once a week she could nap on the car ride there and back. At some point, Tommy joined too.

The three could get away from his father once a week, pretending to be a normal family. He looked forward to it more than he’d ever admit.
He could wear dark clothing in the summer without being berated. He could choose the music on the car radio.

That was the closest thing he had to freedom before he left for the SAS.

He leaned his armpits on the crutches so he could hold his hands out to the cat again. This time, the cat hesitantly sniffed his hands.

He wondered if the cat could smell the blood and the mistakes left on his hands. Unlikely, considering he still had his bone-branded gloves on.

The cat crawled closer, and he gently picked him up.

“Oh, my bad, you’re a female,” Ghost stated as he lifted the cat.

He brought her to his shoulder to sit on so he could use his hands for his crutches.

She unsheathed her claws to hold onto his hoodie and purred as she nuzzled against his hooded head.

“You want a name?” 

She meowed.

“Okay uh… how about Goldie?”

She mewed, nuzzling his head again.

“Heh… Goldie it is.”

Despite feeling like shit, this little feline made him feel a little better. He hobbled back to the door, pulling money out from the abandoned family swear jar put on the hallway bookshelf.

Simon stuffed the money into his pockets and exited through the side door. 

There they were. His brown eyes met his mothers poppies, thriving even without her aid.

And five graves.

Marie Riley. Tommy Riley. Beth Riley. Joseph “Jacob” Riley.

Simon Riley. His face was empty.

Manchester believed him to be dead. For the better.

He hobbled away, praying to any God that could hear him.

“I hope they’re happier than I am.”

Goldie mewed as he made his way to the sidewalk. He hobbled in the direction of his local drugstore. He could get food for him and Goldie for the next few days.

Chapter Text

Ghost groaned as his phone alarm went off. He wearily opened his eyes and yawned.
He rubbed his eyes with another groan as he turned the alarm off. He heard a soft purr as Goldie came up onto the bed and nuzzled his face. 

“Mm… Goldie… I just woke up…”

She meowed again as he sat up with a sigh.

“If you gotta shit, just do it on the newspapers. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”

She meowed again and got off the bed. 

He couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping in his childhood bedroom again, so he had slept in the master bedroom. It was rather boring compared to his old compact room full of junk and anything he found cool before he enlisted.

He ran a hand along the back of his neck. He’d have to go back to the room anyway, to get clothes to wear. Price had called him yesterday, saying he had already packed Ghost’s things from the base, including his mock skull mask and his regular mask balaclava. But Ghost would have to be maskless until they got to St. Petersburg.

Ghost supposed that was fine, at least he’d be unrecognizable in Konni territory.

You don’t even know if he’s there .

The intrusive thought suddenly struck Simon and he swallowed the heavy words with dignity.
Soap had to be.

Ghost, despite being a stubborn arse, had for once followed doctor’s orders, and refrained from putting pressure on his bad leg.

For the first time in four days, he didn’t have to reach for the crutches.
Ghost gently swung his legs over, putting his weight on the bad leg. He hissed slightly, it was still sore, but at least it didn’t feel like he was getting shot every time even a milligram of his weight was put on it. 

He tapped his phone, blasting music as he awkwardly limped to his childhood bedroom.
Not walking normally for a while was definitely something he’d have to relearn to do.

He opened the door to his childhood bedroom.

He had filled his room with many things. Anything to block out the noise of his thoughts. Glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. Posters from wall to wall. Stickers and scratches on the wardrobe. A dent in the wall. His fist hurt all night the night it was made.

It was his paradise in hell. Not much of one.

He opened his closet to block out the memories. Luckily, the clothes currently in the wardrobe were from when he was on leave all those years ago, so everything still fit.

Black baggy cargo pants. A grey hoodie with a band printed on the back. He pulled the hood over his blonde curls.
He pulled out some basic grey socks.

Goldie’s meowing caught his attention as he put his socks on. 

He stared at her from under the hood.
“What?”

She cocked her head.

“Fuckin’ cat…”

He walks towards her, and she starts walking away. He walks down the stairs after her, thankful he doesn’t have to sit-and-slide down the stairs anymore to avoid putting pressure on his leg.

As he arrived at the kitchen, Goldie went to the spot where Ghost had put some newspapers for her business. He didn’t have time to buy a litter box for her, nor would it do any good, since he probably wouldn’t come back to this house.

When she did her business he threw it in the trash, lifting the bag out to put in the trash can out front.
He didn’t know if the trash truck would even pick it up, considering the house was fully abandoned, yet never for sale. 

Simon Riley was legally dead, but Price pulled some strings to keep this house from ever being sold.

As if the charming line of graves on the left side didn’t drive people away already. 

When Ghost returned back inside he got a mug for his morning tea. He poured hot water in the kettle and turned on the stove.
While he was distracted, Goldie had somehow found a way onto the counter, and walked towards the stovetop.

“Hey! Hey, no! Bad kitty!” Ghost lifted Goldie into his arms and she promptly hissed, extending her claws. He didn’t flinch as they pierced his skin under his hoodie.

“Oh yeah, yeah, hurt me cause I saved your fucking life. Little shit. I still love ya, though.”

He paused at his own words.
Over the course of four days Goldie and him had grown closer, the little cat being trusting of Ghost and Goldie making sure Ghost was getting taken care of too.
She nuzzled him when he had a panic attack two days ago. Yesterday she sat on his lap and purred deeply. She’d lead him to another room whenever he started to spiral to keep him distracted.

It was like she knew how broken he actually was, and was the golden glue that held his pieces back together.

Simon Riley, the Ghost, found something he was attached to.

Aren’t we forgetting something?

The kettle hissed and Ghost gently put Goldie down. He poured the water into the mug with the tea bag inside it.

Goldie had since calmed down and was weaving between his legs, rubbing her tail around his pants as she walked in a figure eight.

He grabbed a small plate to cover the tea and let it steep.
It was a trick his dad taught him. Even if he was the father from hell, his Dad still taught him a lot of things.

He stared at the mug for what must’ve been minutes, his mind wandering. He took the plate off and lifted the tea bag out.

He couldn’t even get one sip before Price’s car honked outside.
“Damn it.”

He downed the hot tea in two gulps, his throat long immune to boiling water from needing to drink his daily mug quickly in the SAS.

He quickly rinsed everything and dried it with a towel to prevent mold.

Why did it matter? He wasn’t going to return here anyway.

He gently lifted Goldie and opened the coat closet. Luckily his mom’s fabric baby carrier was still on the top shelf.

She had always wanted a daughter.
Don’t get her wrong, she loved him and Tommy unconditionally and as physically possible.

But every so often, when the boys would watch television or play with blocks in the den they’d hear her say:

“Would you boys ever want a little sister?”

Ghost would learn from his mom when he was on leave all those years ago that, after having Tommy, her body just couldn’t produce enough energy to have another child.

Two separate positive pregnancy tests that ended up in the trash can. 

But, oh, how she loved Tommy’s wife, Beth. Beth was the daughter she always wanted and treated her as such.

Beth was kind and gentle. Ginger hair she always kept in a braid. Blue-green eyes that could read Ghost like a book. The sister he loved dearly.

She was good for Tommy.

He barely knew her when Tommy first invited him to be his best man for the wedding. But he gradually got to know her.

She had heard of the broken house life Simon and Tommy grew up in. She had told him that Tommy regretted scaring Simon with the skull mask every night. Tommy had gotten it at a Halloween store for his friend's party, and thus tormented Simon when he saw his older brother’s reaction. She knew of Tommy’s descent into drugs and how Simon had quite literally kicked their Dad out of the house.

Simon sighed as Beth rubbed his back. He only replied with a quiet, “We’re broken. But we’re better. Tommy’s sober, Mom is happy, and Dad is gone.”

She nodded.

He remembered that night. When he kicked his father out of his life.

Tommy was high on the couch, crying as his father told him he hoped he was dead. His mom was trying to argue and how she started wailing as his dad hit her.
Simon couldn’t take it.
It was when he was on leave, he was stronger.
He pushed his father to the ground, kicking him before his father brought him down with him. Simon had pinned his father in a chokehold, punching him out the door.

“ENOUGH! You are NEVER going to hurt this family again!! If you even so much as think of fucking returning, I’ll put so many rounds in you the police won’t even be able to identify you! I’m not joking, Dad ,” Tears streamed down his face but he didn’t care, “ I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU COME BACK !!”

And luckily for him, he never saw his father again after he slammed the door.

His mom then brought him upstairs to treat his bloody nose.

“You didn’t mean that-“

“I did.”

“Simon-“

“Mom, he’s not a good person. Life will get better without him, I promise.”

She sighed, gently pinching his nostrils to help stop the bleeding.

That was the closest feeling to freedom Simon Riley ever got. Even including being rescued from Roba’s captivity, it didn’t compare to the weight that lifted off his shoulders when he woke up the next morning to find his father not gently kissing and worthlessly apologizing to his mom, and instead the house was full of tense, but peaceful silence.

He gently picked up Goldie and put her in the fabric baby carrier. She curled into it and purred against his chest, letting her tail curl through one of the leg holes.

He smiled.

Price honked his horn again. Ghost rolled his eyes.

“Fucking hell… I’m coming.”

He took one last look at the house before exiting. It was freezing when Ghost stepped out.
Combined with his week-long coma and four day recovery, it was already December.

Price had his window rolled down.

“Oh, are we bringing along a friend?”

“Yeah. Goldie. The little prick broke into the house when I entered.”

Gaz turned to the backseat as Ghost entered, sitting next to the backpack Price packed for him.

“Aw, she’s a cutie. You think they’ll let her on the plane without a crate?”

“Maybe. I don’t think she’d do well in captivity.”

~ ~ ~

• •       • — —   • •   • — • •   • — • •       — •   — — —   —       • — •   •   • • •   • •   • • •   —

~ ~ ~

The airport grew smaller in the view of the window seat Ghost had. Price took the middle while Gaz had the aisle. Surprisingly, the airport  believed Goldie was Ghost’s service animal.

Maybe it was due to all the scars on his face.

Price had passed Ghost a simple black mask to wear for his own comfort on the plane. He had put his hood back on with the mask and had his headphones on, blasting music he rarely had time to listen to anymore.

Goldie had abandoned the child carrier halfway through the terminal and found Ghost’s hoodie to be more comfortable.

He felt the vibration of her content purring against his bare skin.

Ghost’s eyes wandered to Price who had put a movie on. It was some cowboy movie with pretty boys. Gaz had fallen asleep as soon as the plane took off.

Gaz had a bad habit of falling asleep on aircraft. Soap too, but less so.

Goldie curled closer against Ghost’s chest.

They were above the clouds now. The morning sun casting the clouds in a warm golden glow.
“Goldie, look,” Ghost pulled the collar of his hoodie down so Goldie could see out the window. She meowed at the sight, pawing at the window.

Ghost cracked a small smile hidden under his mask, and decided to nap to make the flight go by faster.

~ ~ ~

There was a smell coming from the kitchen. It was a mix of cigarette smoke and pancakes.

He walked in to find his father gently hugging his mother as she poured batter into a pan, a stack of fresh pancakes out.

His father noticed his son.

“Simon! Good morning, did you sleep well?” The man picked up his small child.

Simon laughed in his father’s arms.

“I did, dad. I dreamed I was a superhero!”

“Oh, did you?” His father puffed some smoke out, away from his kid, “What power did you have?”

“All of ‘em!” Simon flexed his little arms with a prideful smile.

“That’s my boy!” His father set him down, turning to his mother, “Shall I get little Tommy, love?”

She nodded, putting the another baked pancake onto the growing stack, “That would be wonderful dear, thank you.”

As his father disappeared upstairs, his mother turned to him, “Simon, would you please get the glasses and fill them with juice for you and Tommy?”

“Yes, mum,” Simon bounded over to the cabinet. 

As he opened it he screamed as his body grew and he was in Roba’s captivity again. The smell of pancakes replaced with his own blood and rusted weapons. His vision swam again as he was back home with a snake coiled around his neck. He heard a gunshot and was soon alone, holding a sergeant bleeding from the head.
He was alone.

He was alone.

Johnny had been taken from him. Again .

Why did he grow close? Why did Price pair them up to find Makarov? Why didn’t he just call an air strike? Why was the world against him?

He was better off alone. Better off alone.
He took up solo missions. Not just to avoid Soap, but to hope that maybe… just maybe… a stray bullet might catch him in the head.

He fought every time. He didn’t want to die a useless loser. He didn’t want to be killed. He wanted to be a KIA. Or maybe better, an MIA.

No, then Price and Gaz and Johnny would hunt him down until their bodies gave out.
He wanted to be forgotten. But he wanted to be loved.

He wanted to freeze in the cold. But he wanted to stay in the warmth of his fri-… teammates.

Don’t. Grow. Close.

Anyone can die. He wasn’t special.

But there was something. Oh, definitely something brewing deep within Ghost.

An instinct long forgotten.

He bites. He bites the hand that feeds, the hand that takes. The hand that he wants to hold his.

He wanted his teeth to be removed so he couldn’t bite. But biting was what made him strong.

He bit his father when he cast him out.

He bit any enemy he faced.

He never bared his teeth, they were hidden by the mask.

But part of him wanted to bite. A good bite. One that says “I love you.”

Don’t be ridiculous. Why would Johnny ever love you? 

Ghost stirred as Price shook him awake, “Up and at ‘em Simon. We’re here.”

~ ~ ~

Ghost sighed heavily as he dropped his bag on the bed. He set Goldie on the bed too, who had taken position on his shoulders after they got off the plane.

Price had given him the honors of having a single bedroom, while Price and Gaz were to share just next door, a door attaching both rooms.

Unlike the hotel in Saltillo, this one didn’t have a balcony. Well it did, but it was quite literally a screened-in smoke room.

And damn, Ghost needed a smoke.
He rummaged through his bag, hoping maybe Price packed his smoke pack.
Price knew of his smoking. It wasn’t as bad as the older man’s cigar addiction, but he had smoked more often as of recently.

Surprisingly, there was a different, fresh pack in the bag with a note on it.

“Just something to take the edge off for you. Don’t smoke it all in one night, yeah? -Price”

Ghost opened the pack, pulling out a cigarette. He put it in his mouth and rummaged through his backpack for his lighter.

When he pulled it out, a pink note fell from it.

Ghost’s breath hitched. It was the note he had taken from Soap’s room.
The one that said “Am I too much? Or not enough?”

The one he was going to ask Johnny about later. Now, he may never get the chance.

No, he told himself, you will. You’re going to go rescue him. And you can ask when he’s ready. When… when you’re ready.

He stepped outside and lit the cigarette, taking a long first drag. He let his shoulders relax, if only slightly. It was absolutely freezing here in Russia, he didn’t want to smoke long.

The smoke room didn’t have much of a view. It was just the buildings across the street. Gray architecture with red bricks. It honestly didn’t look too far off from Downtown London.

He took another drag, leaning against the freezing wall.

He thought about Johnny. How, if they were right, and he was in Konni captivity, what they might do to him.

Starve him? Waterboard him? Assault him?

Ghost shivered at the thought. Soap didn’t deserve captivity. It was Ghost who did. He could handle it.

He’d disassociate, wake up to treat his own wounds, try to find an escape, repeat. He had a routine.

Johnny, as far as he knew, had never been in captivity. Well, he did go in as a prisoner to speak to El Sin Nombre. But he was never tortured.

He stomped on the cigarette, trying to keep his mind off it. He wasn’t going to cry again. He wasn’t going to break.

He attached the note to his lighter again. Maybe for safekeeping, or maybe to forget it was there.

Maybe the lighter would burn it in the middle of the night, turning it to ashes.

He entered back into the room, noticing Goldie had crawled in his bag, her tail curling out.

He softly smiled at the kitty, “What are you up to, love?”
He gently tapped her hind legs. She backed out of the bag, holding a bag of cat food in her mouth they had bought at the airport.

“Oh, hungry already?” He opened the bag, going over to the coffee station and pouring some of the food onto a coaster. He placed the food on the ground for her and she jumped off the bed to excitedly lick it up.

As Simon put the food bag back in his pack, his hand brushed something unfamiliar. He flinched, not sure what this unknown thing in his bag was.

He decided whatever it was, it might be Price’s. Might’ve put something meant for him in Ghost’s bag.

He reached in and pulled the object out.
A journal with a leather cover and yellowed pages. 

He gasped and dropped it.

Goldie looked up at the noise before returning to her meal.

Oh my god, this is Johnny’s journal.

How did it get in his bag?! Why was it in his bag?! Did Price do this? Why would he do this?! Should he look? No, of course he shouldn’t look. But… but Johnny wasn’t here. No, this might be the only chance he’d get to actually learn what the man was thinking.

He crouched down, picking the journal up with extreme tender care, as if he were handling a bomb.

He stood back up, sitting on the edge of the bed.
His thumbs traced the cover of the journal, he was hesitant. This was a major invasion of privacy, but if he never saw Soap again…

Ghost opened to the first page.

“This is the property of John “Soap” MacTavish! Do not proceed if you are not that handsome devil stated above.”

Ghost’s heart thundered in his chest but he had to know. Know what , there was no answer to that.
But he had to.

He turned the page.

“August 5, 2013

Guess who FINALLY got into the SAS? Me! That’s who! No need to lie about my age anymore. It’s a good thing mum got me a new journal on my 18th birthday. Now I can document all my military history here to look back on. Hey, future me, is it all it’s cracked up to be?”

“July 17, 2018

Aye, past me. It is”

Ghost flipped a few pages.

“March 30, 2014

I trained under someone called Captain John Price today. He’s gonna teach me to be a fully fledged demolitions expert and sniper “by the time he’s done with me” he says. I really feel like I’m finding my place here in the SAS. I was even thinking of getting a tattoo of the symbol on my arm. Some of the boys in my training unit want to get the same tattoo. But I’m terrified o’ needles. Eh, it should be fine.”

“March 31, 2014

I am in pain and the tattoo might be infected but soooo worth it!”

A few more pages.

“December 16, 2014

I joined Captain Price’s Bravo team today for a mission. We traveled to the Bering Strait to secure a cargo manifest for potential WMDs. I was able to retrieve the manifest, but the vessel was scuttled by Russian aircrafts, a whole shitload of ‘em, forcing us to retreat. I was the last to exfil, and I nearly fell to my death if not for Captain pulling me to safety at the last second. I owe that man my life.”

Attached was a drawing of a younger looking Price, Soap’s drawing. Ghost was surprised. He never knew Johnny was a drawer, much less really good at art.

“May 28, 2016

I nearly faced disciplinary action today for punching a military police officer. And also knocking him out. And locking him in his own vehicle. But he totally had it coming! The bastard was critiquing every single move I made! It seemed as if I exhaled too loudly he’d go off on me! As far as I know, no charges are being placed to avoid embarrassment for the officer, but Price says we need to work on my “hotheadedness”. I'm not a hot-head! I don’t have anger problems! I was just frustrated! Steaming Jesus I’m fine!! 

There was a doodle below of Soap with fire eyes flipping off a man in a vehicle with Xs for eyes. Ghost chuckled as he flipped through some more pages.

“April 6, 2019”

Ghost swallowed. He knew that date

“I was deployed to Verdansk, Kastovia today along with Price and some other SAS operatives and US General Shepherd. We had to stop this Russian terrorist called Vladimir Makarov and his inner circle of terrorists from terrorizing Verdansk Stadium. We managed to capture him, and he was brought to a helicopter where Shepherd, and this other guy, Price calls him Ghost, were waiting. Ghost was strange. The quiet type, wore sunglasses and a skull balaclava. His entire goddamn face was covered. I wonder what he looks like. But back to Makarov, the stadium was a distraction, and he actually ended up bombing the airport. Numerous casualties. I nearly killed him then and there, but Price stopped me. The captain says he’s gonna get me a therapist for my anger management issues. I don’t need one! I saw a catastrophe, and I had to bring justice! Why can’t Price see that?”

“October 1, 2024

You were right all along. We’re okay”

Ghost took a shuddering breath before turning the page.

“April 8, 2019

I can’t fucking sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Ghost. GHOST! I witnessed a freaking GENOCIDE and all I know is that this man has me in a chokehold. Maybe not the best analogy. He’s just so… mysterious. I want to get to know him better.”

There was a drawing of Ghost with his old mask and sunglasses. Arrows pointed to various parts of the drawing.

“Eye color? Unknown”

“Skull mask? Is he like… punk?”

“DEEP VOICE”

“Quiet yet terrifying”

Ghost swallowed. Johnny thought he was… punk? And constantly thought about him? He skipped some pages.

“October something something (I dunno what day it is now) 2022

So… I got paired up with Ghost again. Long story short, missiles in Iranian hands. Not good. But… Ghost. He had a new mask that’s got like… an actual skull on it. Well, I don’t think it's real bone… maybe. Anyway he has brown eyes. ARE YOU KIDDING?! A crime to hide those beauties under bloomin SUNGLASSES. As if you need ‘em mister-can-stare-at-the-sun-all-day. Uh, he was a little more talkative than last time. He probably still thinks I’m a crazy bastard. (Side note: I did get therapy). Maybe I can befriend him? He seems so cool.”

There was another drawing of Ghost, but with his favorite mask. The only arrow pointed at this drawing just said "BROWN EYES” . His heart thundered.

“November 2 (I think), 2022

So this American named Graves betrayed us and whatnot anyway I was left alone on the streets of Las Almas and… Ghost waited for me. He seems to be… warming up to me? Maybe? I don’t know I just want to be his friend. He is so cool. I want him to like me.”

Ghost’s heart stopped as he flipped over some more pages and landed on one that stabbed him where it hurt.

“November 21, 2023 - September 15, 2024

I was on death’s door. Makarov shot me in the head. The nurses say it’s a miracle it only fractured my skull because something about the angle— I don’t remember. Gaz and Price were happy to see me alive. Ghost seemed… indifferent. I’m wondering if he even cares about me.”

“October 17, 2024

Ghost has been avoiding me. I’m sure of it. Everytime I try to say hey, every time I wave to him, he flees. Or he’s on a solo mission. Did I do something wrong? I thought we were getting closer. I thought he said “We’re a team”. But… maybe I was wrong. I still have hope, though. I’ve come to terms with what I’ve been feeling for Ghost these past few years. But what’s scary is this feeling about him, a desperation to get to know him better, I might know now what this feeling is. And I think… no I know that…

I’m in love with Simon “Ghost” Riley.”

Simon closed the journal quickly. Goldie jumped at the noise skittering to the other side of the room.

Ghost was sure he stopped breathing. His cheeks were flushed under his mask and his heart fluttered.

“F-… fucking… hell…” Ghost put a hand to his chest. He felt as if he had been shot. He actually would prefer that.
The feelings he buried for years for the sergeant that tugged on his heart strings. The man who made him blush under the mask.

Johnny was in love with him. How was this possible?!

Worse yet… Simon is in love with Johnny too.

Simon pulled a pillow to his face, muffling his scream.

 “ FUUUUUCCKK!!! ”

Chapter Text

Ghost got out of the shower. He had put towels over the bathroom mirror the night before, to hide his reflection.

He hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. He ran a hand through his wet hair, trying not to think about the bombshell that left him barren as bones.

And yet, heat rushed to his cheeks and his heart fluttered anytime he imagined Soap’s voice saying “I’m in love with you, Simon.”

Goldie mewed as Ghost began to clothe himself.

“Alright, Golden Girl, you’re gonna stay with Nikolai today,” He gently picked her up and put her on the bathroom counter, “Laswell is probably gonna send us somewhere, and I can’t have you in danger.”

She whined.

“I know, girl, I know. But I need you to be on your best behavior and-“ Ghost stopped as he put his tactical vest on, “Fucking hell, I’m becoming a cat dad!”

Goldie purred. Ghost flipped her off.

“Oh, don’t you start, shitball.”

He picked her up, exiting the bathroom, and put her on the bed. He sat next to her as he pulled his boots on, “You’re a thorn in my side.”

She simply meowed and curled her head into his hip.

Price came in through the connecting door, wearing a heavy jacket. Ghost quickly pulled his hood over his bare face. 

He was carrying a jacket for Ghost and put it on the bed.

“You’ll want a jacket today; it’s fucking negative five out there.”

“Yeah, alright,” Ghost quickly pulled on a regular skull balaclava from his backpack as he was turned away from Price.

Price gently petted Goldie, “Nikolai called. He’ll be here soon. He’s even got a carrier for her.”

“She doesn’t do well in captivity,” Ghost started pulling the jacket on.

“Well I don’t think Nikolai would like her scratching him. She’ll be let loose in his house soon enough,” Price tried to comfort Ghost.

Gaz appeared in the connecting doorway, “Cap, it’s Laswell on the phone.”
Price waved him in, “I’ll put her on speaker.”

Gaz handed the phone to the captain, who answered the call and put her on speaker, “We’re listening, Laswell. What’s our plan?”

“Okay boys, Konni have recently been spotted guarding something around the Moika River.”

“Isn’t that the river we passed on the way here?” Gaz asked.

“Yes. There are rural areas around the river. Neighborhoods.”

“You think they’re guarding a house?” Price furrowed his eyebrows.

“It’s possible. I did some research and there’s a large abandoned manor that isn’t visible from the street, but is near the river.”

“Hiding in plain sight…” Ghost rasps.

“You boys get breakfast. I’m going to contact someone I know who has a drone to verify. You know I hate sending you boys on wild goose chases if I don’t know there’s an egg. You three will be the first to know if that’s where they’re keeping Soap… if they’re keeping Soap… and how to infiltrate it if that’s the case.”

“Thank you, as always, Laswell,” Price laments.

“Stay safe,” She hung up the call.

~ ~ ~

Nikolai came shortly after the call to collect Goldie. Surprisingly, the cat went with him willingly when Ghost told her it was gonna be okay. 

The task force then walked to a nearby cafe. Ghost’s mind barely registered the trip. He simply ordered a hot tea and sat with Price and Gaz at a small outdoor table.

The other two noticed how distracted Ghost looked, but both knew the masked man would be more pissed off if he was taken out of his clouded slump. 

He sipped his tea, his heart heavy. He spent too long avoiding Johnny, mentally and physically, that now strong guilt had seeped its way into his yearning.

The two seeds grew into a twisted vine that suffocated his heart until it stopped beating.

He and Johnny had that in common.
He should’ve embraced the man when he entered the room to see him conscious and sitting upright in the hospital bed.
Should have confessed his feelings then and there.

Should’ve pulled out his heart and fed it gently to Johnny, replenishing the man with fresh blood that he had lost in the train tunnel.

Why was he such an idiot?
He hurt Johnny.
And now he might never get a chance to heal that. To tell him he loved him.

He thought about the attack in Saltillo.
How Johnny saved him, how his body betrayed him. He guessed they were even now.

They were both alone.

Ghost’s mind conjured up a picture.
Johnny was shackled to the floor, starving and sweaty. Suffering in silence as he banged bruised hands against metal bars.
He hated that. He hated how vivid it was.

“… Am I right, Ghost?”

Ghost’s hooded head perked up at Gaz’s voice, “Hm?”

“I said the tea here isn’t as good as England’s.”

“Oh… yeah, it’s… rubbish,” Ghost’s head dropped down to stare at the table again.

He heard Price sigh, “You’ve gotta focus, Lieutenant. We’re just as worried for Soap as you are-“

“Why did you put his journal in my bag, Johnathan Price?”

The captain fell silent, and Ghost wouldn’t dare meet his gaze.

He already knew Price was giving a look of you know why, but he had to hear it from the old man’s lips.

“Simon,” He started, “About a month ago, Soap came to my room at an ungodly hour of the night. He looked awfully tired and pale, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare. He didn’t say much, just asked me to promise that if he were to ever die… to give you his journal. He wouldn’t answer any questions, and finally left after I promised. Every time I brought it up after he just… shut me down.”

“He’s not dead until I see a fucking body. Even then he’s cheated death before,” Ghost finally looked Price in the eyes, “I could’ve gone my whole life not knowing those man’s feelings. Because now… I can’t ever focus.”

“You read the last page didn’t you?” Gaz asked.

Ghost glared at Gaz, who promptly realized his mistake and ducked his vision into his tea cup.

“You… knew?!” Ghost looked to Price, who was averting gaze too, “You all… fucking KNEW?!”

“Simon, the first thing Soap said when he woke up was “Where is Simon? I have to see him. I need to know he’s okay.” If that isn’t love then-“

“I don’t love him! He’s just— fuck— what do you want me to say?! That I’m head over heels for him?! That he makes my heart thunder?! Makes my cheeks red?! That he makes me question if God is real, sending an angel to… love me… and that he… that I…”

Ghost put his head in his hands, “Fuck you guys… I… I reciprocate. Happy?!”

Price nodded, “That’s brave of you, Simon. But I need you to be focused as of right now. I admit what I did wasn’t… smart. But promises are never smart either. Can you concentrate and put your feelings aside long enough to ensure we can rescue him?”

Ghost paused for a long moment.

“I’ve gone on this long. What’s a few more hours?”

The three of them gave an understanding gaze, and went back to sipping their tea.

Ghost sniffled as he pulled his mask up to sip, but then set the cup down with widened eyes as he realized why he sniffled. He met Price’s gaze. Price had his brows furrowed. Gaz looked back and forth at both of them.

“Do you guys smell smoke?” Price asked what they were all thinking.

Screams were heard and they all turned their heads to a building across the street that had suddenly engulfed in flames.

“Fucking hell…” Ghost stood up, but Gaz was the first to move, running towards the burning building.

Ghost and Price followed soon after.

The three immediately disbanded, looking for people trapped in rooms. Their military instincts kicked into high gear, at least until the fire department could show up, they were the only help nearby.

Ghost burst into a room with two teenage girls holding each other.

“It’s okay, come on!”

The girls looked more scared as he reached his hand out.

He bit his lip under his balaclava.

“Ah… priyez… prize- fuck! What’s “come” in Russian?!”

The girls screamed as part of the ceiling caved in.

Fuck it, Ghost grabbed the girls arms to pull them out of the room.

“Downstairs! Now!” He let go of the frightened girls and made his way up the stairs, listening for anyone that needed help.
He ran into Gaz helping a wounded mother and son.

“Price is upstairs! Go to the floor above it!”

Ghost nodded, ascending the stairs with haste. Adrenaline pumped into his legs and his heart thumped into his ears. He found an old man collapsed on the stairs.

“Hang on, I gotcha!” Ghost hastily yet carefully put the old man’s arm over his shoulder. Price met him on the stairs.

“I got him, Ghost, go to the top floor.” Price took the old man on his back.

Ghost nodded racing up the stairs.

“Pomogite mne!”

Ghost heard the cry and ran into the room the scream came from. It was a young boy.

“Don’t worry kid, I gotcha,” His gaze looked to the collapsed window, a gaping hole in it, “We’ll take the fire escape, yeah?”

The kid was sobbing but clung to Ghost’s arms. Ghost kicked open the remains window, making the hole big enough for both of them. He ran down the fire escape stairs, holding the boy tightly.
When Ghost had gotten the boy on solid ground again, the kid ran to his mom.
Ghost’s eyes softened at the moment under his mask.

Price and Gaz met up with him as fire trucks showed up.

“Not bad, boys,” Price gave a smile.

Ghost gave a small nod, his eyes wandering into the crowd.

He did a double take. There was a strange figure standing between the fire trucks.

“Ghost?” Price looked in the masked man’s gaze’s direction, “… Oh my god.”

“What?” Gaz turned his head, “… What the hell?” 

The figure was facing away from them, dressed in a large trench coat, but they had an unmistakable Mohawk, albeit messy and frayed.

Simon felt his heart cave in, sinking to the pit of his stomach.

“That’s… that’s not him, right?” Gaz couldn’t even finish the sentence before Ghost took chase.

“Simon! Get back here!” Prince shouted.

Ghost ignored the captain’s yell.
The figure started running away as Ghost gave chase. His mind had a thousand thoughts and none of the potential answers made any sense.

The coated figure got onto a bike, pulling on a helmet and hiding his messy hair.

He sped off with the rev of an engine.
Simon stood there panting. 

“Simon!” Prince and Gaz caught up with Ghost, “What the hell?!”

“That… he looked like Johnny!”

“You scared a stranger that’s what you fucking did!”

Simon turned to Price with a glare, “You saw what I saw, right?! That was… that was…”

“I saw it too, Cap. It looked just like him,” Gaz spoke up, putting a hand on Price’s shoulder.

“I know what we all… think we saw but-“

“No buts, Price! At this rate we’re gonna lose him! We gotta get some wheels!”

“WHEELS?! Simon do ye fucking HEAR YOURSELF?!”
“Yes! Look, just down the road, look at that building, we can rent some motorcycles, we can-“

“Simon!”

“Cap!”

“Gaz! Stay out of this!”

“Can’t do that. I’m with the lieutenant.”

“You’re daft, the both of you!”

“We’re going after him, Price!” Simon started walking up the road to the rental.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Price grabbed Ghost’s wrist.

The masked man glared at Price, “This might be our only chance to rescue him!”

“You take ONE more step uproad and I’ll have you discharged! I’m not fucking kidding, stand down! That goes for you too, Garrick.”

“But Cap-“

“But nothing! We have orders from Laswell, we can’t just go follow some stranger that coincidentally looks like Soap without a plan!”

The three share a tense silence. Ghost looks defeated as Price lets go of his wrist.
He gives a sigh.

“I’m sorry, Price.”

Price’s face relaxes slightly, “It’s okay, just don’t-“

“It was an honor serving you, sir, “Ghost started running to the motorcycle place.

“Simon Riley!?”

Gaz was about to run after him when Price gripped his shoulders, “Oh, no, not you too. That’s Ghost’s decision but you’re staying with me, Garrick.”

Gaz was about to argue but seeing the rage in Price’s eyes diminished his idea. He watched Ghost enter the motorcycle rental place.

“Yes, sir…”

~ ~ ~

Ghost pulled on the helmet he rented that was just a little too loose for comfort. He sped off on the bike in the direction the stranger had gone.

God, he was crazy. What kind of moron chases a stranger?
What kind of moron chases a love he can’t have?

Maybe Price was right, this stranger that oddly looked like Johnny… was just a stranger.

But all of his doubts diminished when his cycle managed to catch up with the coated man.

The mohawked man sped up after turning his helmeted head upon hearing Ghost catch up to him.

Ghost sped up his own bike, watching as the stranger made a turn onto a one lane road.

Ghost turned with the stranger, staying hot on his tail.

The road twisted and turned, industrial skylines disappearing into rural districts. Ghost never faltered, keeping up with the stranger through the twists and turns. 

The stranger turned off the road to drive up a dirt path. Ghost followed.

What are you doing?

The stranger used the tires to kick up dirt and snow to get away, but he couldn’t shake Ghost.

Finally, the stranger put his foot down to turn the bike and slide to a stop. Ghost stopped his own bike.

He ripped his helmet off.

“Damn it, Soap, what’s with y-“

The stranger turned to face him and took his helmet off.
Simon’s breath hitched and his eyes went wide.

The stranger was wearing a dark mask with neon teal green lining it. He took the trench coat off to reveal tactical armor also highlighted with the same teal green. A box that glowed with the same color was attached to his chest and tubes protruding from it connected to his mask.

And he had eyes the same color.
High noon was gone, replaced with dangerous dusk.
Blue eyes no more, just an unearthly neon teal color.

But it was still him.
His Mohawk was messy and unkempt but it was still him.
He glared with mean new eyes but it was still him. A star-shaped scar on his left temple that showed it was still HIM.

“Oh Johnny… what… what have they…”

“Who th’ fuck is Johnny?” 

He spoke through the mask, his voice being amplified in a speaker and giving his Scottish accent a technological overtone to it.

Ghost softly gasped under his mask. He took a step forward, and the Scottish man pulled out a suppressed desert eagle pistol.

“Stay back, or I will neutralize you,” Soap warned.

“Johnny-“

“I am called Nautilus. I will not be called such a diminishing humanitarian name. I am a Konni commander, lieutenant of the great and mighty Vladimir Makarov, and I will eliminate you if I deem you to be a threat.”

Ghost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A million questions ran through his head. He couldn’t even focus on any of them.

The tactical vest hiding his gun and knife under his coat called to him. In any situation, he would be happy to participate in a standoff, but he couldn’t shoot him.

He couldn’t hurt Johnny.

Nautilus stood his ground. But after neither of them moved, he put his gun away.

“You do not attack. Therefore, you should flee. Under different circumstances you would be dead in the snow and dirt. If I see you again, I will not be so merciful, stranger.”

Simon simply stood frozen as Johnny Nautilus got back up on his bike, revving and speeding away.

“No… what the fuck?!” Simon’s hands gripped the top of his balaclava as tears welled up in his eyes. His heart burned and he wanted to wake up from this awful nightmare.

Simon pinched his wrist, and when he didn’t wake up, he got back on his bike, chasing after Nautilus. 

Nautilus looked back.

“So, you have decided to follow?” He shouted.

“To the ends of the earth, Johnny.”

“Prepare to meet your maker, unknown threat.”

Nautilus pulled out his gun, shooting at Simon.

Simon swerved, going onto the snow and maneuvering between trees.

He needed a plan. 

He gasped softly as a bullet struck a tree he just passed, it just missed him narrowly.

His pistol practically burned against him under his coat.

He sighed.
He could… disable Johnny, then they could figure out what was wrong with him. Getting Price and Laswell to… well study him wasn’t quite the right word but it’s the only one he could think of in this shoot-off.

The tires on Simon’s motorcycle were not liking the snow.
He sped up and unzipped his coat, pulling out his pistol. He was aiming for Nautilus’ tires, staying low on his own bike as he swerved back onto the dirt road. 

He revved his engine as he collided his bike with Nautilus, punching him in the process. Nautilus ended up dropping his gun.

Nautilus glared at Simon “You’re going to regret that.”

He pulled out his knife, and with one hand on the handle bars, began to slash at Simon.

Simon kept one hand on his own handle bars. He managed to grip Nautilus’ wrist and held it firmly.

Nautilus broke free of the grip somehow and stabbed the knife into the motorcycle.

Simon cursed as sparks flew out of his bike.
Nautilus let go of his own handlebars in an attempt to grab Simon’s pistol.

Simon, out of instinct, threw it into the partially frozen river the dirt road had trailed beside.

With no weapons left, Nautilus resorted to putting his hands back on the handlebars and kicking Ghost in an attempt to knock him off his bike. Ghost held firm, and with one hand he gripped Nautilus’ coat collar.

“Away ‘an bile yer heid!” Nautilus pulled the knife out of where it was lodged in Simon’s bike.

He let go of his handle bars and used both hands, ready to strike Simon with the knife.

Ghost’s eyes widened and he let go of his handle bars to grip Nautilus’ wrists.

“Johnny! Let go! I can’t hurt you!” Simon pleaded as he used his knees to steer the bike. It pressed against Nautilus’s bike, keeping him upright as well.

Nautilus growled as he struggled against Simon’s grip. He was winning, bringing the knife closer and closer to Simon’s throat.

The blade was uncomfortably close as Simon struggled, but something caught Nautilus’ attention. 

Nautilus moved his legs to one side, kicking himself off his bike.

When Simon faced forward again, he saw why Nautilus fled.
He was heading straight for a tree.

He didn’t even have a chance to think until a flash of white and red met his vision.
He gasped for air. He was burning up. He was freezing. His eyes were weary, but adrenaline kept them open.

A blurry figure came over, neon green highlighting their best features.

He felt himself being lifted. It felt like blood was running down somewhere, but he couldn’t differentiate from where. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was everywhere.
His limbs buzzed as he felt his body shiver.

He was being carried, thrown over someone’s back. The figure carrying him was walking too slow to care about getting him to safety.

“J… John…” was all Simon could muster before his body fell limp, slumped against a familiar, but new in the worst way backside.

Fuck… he still smells of his cinnamon and wood cologne.

It was too much. The adrenaline wore off and everything burned.

A tear escaped his eye as he faded away, hoping hell might have the real Johnny in it.

Chapter Text

Ghost blinked his weary eyes open. His neck was sore from hanging his head low. He didn’t bother lifting his head, it felt too heavy. 

He probably looked like a lily of the valley right now. If someone had tied a flower to a chair with tight chains that dug into his skin.
All of his tactical gear was removed, no surprise there.
The room was lit by the sun coming through a window to his right.

He slowly moved his eyes to where the soft sunlight filtered in, snow glowing light pink and yellow outside. He had to have been out for hours.

The room smelled of mint and metal and vodka. He heard a door open and shut. He didn’t bother looking up to see who it was.
He didn’t want to see God’s disappointed eyes, or the Devil’s delightful grin.

He didn’t want to know if he was alive or dead yet.

He had to have died from the crash.

Right, the crash.

Nautilus made him crash.

Nautilus.

Johnny.

He could see shined shoes step into his peripheral vision. It was a man from the way he spoke in thick Russian.

He closed his eyes, he had to have lost blood from how dizzy he felt.
He groaned lightly when a firm hand lifted his chin up swiftly, his head buzzing from the swift motion.

His bleary vision registered blonde hair tied back, an eyepatch, and butterfly wings tattooed on the man’s neck.

“Ugh, Lakia, I told you he’s lost too much blood-“ The man spoke to someone behind Ghost; from the way he lifted his gaze.

“DO NOT— say our… code names like that, Kicks. My code name is… Latvia, remember?” The voice behind him responded. Female.

“I just think it’s a little… okay, eto otvrashcheniye,” the man shrugged, still holding up Ghost’s chin.

“You know what: YOU are cringe. What da hell does KICKS come from? Your feet are weaker than Mama’s tailbone!”

“Can we please not argue in front of the prisoner?!”

“Oh, Da, I almost forgot,” The voice was coming from a blurry face as she came into view. Dark hair with a strip of her bangs dyed teal green. Eyepatch with a butterfly.

These two had identifiable butterfly traits.

The woman dragged over a metal table as the man dropped Ghost’s chin, his head slumping past his shoulders like a weighted wedding veil.

The sound of the table legs scratching on the hardwood floor made Ghost’s ears burn but he was too tired to react beyond an eye twitch.

The table was stopped in front of him. Something metal was tossed on the table from the way it clanged on the surface.

He slowly forced his gaze upward, his eyes meeting the object on the table.

A revolver.

Oh.

“I think you know what I’m going to say next,” The man picked up the revolver, “Have you ever heard of Russian Roulette?”

Ghost didn’t answer.

An unfamiliar hand yanked his chin up.

He wished that hand had stabbed his lungs instead, because he met Nautilus’ piercing gaze.

He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t with the other two Konni here. He just gave a weak look.

“Kicks asked ya a question. It would waste precious time if we had to explain the game,” Nautilus’ voice came through the mask.

Ghost sighed, “I fucking know roulette. I’m not stupid.”

“Ah,” Kicks clicked his tongue, “Well, see… this isn’t your average game of roulette. Some may argue, but fate has always been on my side.”

The blonde man picked up the revolver, putting one bullet in. He rolled the cylinder in his palm.

“So, let’s see what fate decides today. As luck could have it, we all walk out of here alive.”

“And if that’s the case,” Latvia sits on a plush chair behind Viktor,  “We drop you in cold river just outside. Sometimes… we have to make our own fate, da?”

“Keep yer head up an’ face the barrel like a brave man,” Nautilus dropped Ghost’s chin.

Ghost kept his head up.

His heart thrummed in his ears. He didn’t care what fate had in store, if he lived or died here didn’t matter, it was what would happen to Johnny if he didn’t get out of here soon.

One way or another.

Kicks rolled the cylinder again, this time across his tattooed neck, and put the barrel to his head with a smile. 

Click.

“Haha,” Kicks cocks the hammer, “Such a shame to ruin such a nice mask.”

He aims the barrel at Ghost.

Latvia crosses her legs, “It really is a cool looking mask.”

Ghost scoffed and stared at the end of the barrel, not daring to close his eyes. He wasn’t immune to the adrenaline of being on the wrong end of the gun. 

“Shoot me then, fucking dog,” Ghost spat.

“Oh! Talking dirty to me?” Kicks pulled the trigger.

Click.

Kicks laughed as he cocked the hammer, “Guess we aren’t ruining his mask quite yet, hm?” 

A quiet sigh escaped Ghost’s lips.

Kicks put the barrel to his head again, sticking his tongue out as he pulled the trigger.

Click.

“Damn, I thought for sure your head was going to get blown off,” Latvia chimed in.

“Oh you have such little faith, Lakia.”“Latvia,” She hissed.

“Oh, right.”

Lakia.

Ghost pocketed the information in his mind.
While the two Russians continued to bicker, his gaze wandered to Nautilus, who had been standing guard a few feet away from him.

When Kicks turned back to Ghost, he noticed the masked man’s gaze.

“Hm… let’s make this interesting,” Viktor smirked.

Ghost turned back to Kicks at the sound of his voice.

His eyes widened as Viktor pointed the revolver at Johnny.

The woman stood up from her chair, “KAKOGO CHERTA TY TVORISH’?!”

(What the hell are you doing?!)

“Relax, fruit kissel, fate is always on my side,” Kicks smiled maliciously.

Nautilus barely showed any facial expression at the barrel pointed toward him, but Ghost noticed how his back stood up straighter and his right foot was pointed to the door.

“Johnny…?” Ghost croaked.

Nautilus flared up at the name, walking over to Ghost.

He grabbed the back of Ghost’s balaclava in his fist and slammed his head into the table.

“Ah!”

“I told you, my name is—“

“Nautilus!” Kicks shouted, “You just gave our prisoner a goddamn bloody nose!”

Nautilus let go of Ghost, “I apologize, sir. He called me a name of which I have not ever had. Prisoners should respect their captors, lest they get punished.”

“I’m all for tormenting prisoners, ‘Lus, but… I have it under control,” Kicks spun the revolver in his hand.

Nautilus nodded solemnly as he started walking away. As his back was turned, Kicks aimed at Nautilus and pulled the trigger.

“NO!” Both Ghost and the woman yelled.

Click.

“See? I told you, I got it under control,” He cocked the hammer.

Nautilus had turned around at the sound of the click, resuming his guarding position and looking less tense.

“Ya tebya ub’yu!” The woman kicked the blonde man in the shins.

(I will kill you!)

“Ow! Whatever, sit down, this is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Okay, Ghost, you got a 50/50 chance now. Last chance to fix anything with the big man upstairs.”

“Makarov?” The woman asked.

Kicks paused, turning to the woman, “Kakoy durak seychas dayot informatsiyu zaklyuchonnomu?!”

(Who is the fool revealing information to the prisoner, now?!)

Ghost felt his heart stop. So it was true, Makarov was confirmed to be behind this. Not only that, he was freaking upstairs.

Johnny was actually under the control of the man that tried to kill him.

“You never tell me anything! How was I supposed to know you were referring to Jesus?!” The woman screeched at Kicks.

“It’s an English term!”
“There’s your fucking problem!”

“You’re a fucking problem!”

“Give me that!” The woman took the revolver and pointed it at Ghost.

Click.

“Damn it!” She threw the revolver on the ground.

Kicks smiled widely, “The frozen river it is!”

“No! He knows too much! Shoot him!”

“But fate says—“

“Kill him!”

“I want to drop him in the frozen river!” Kicks whined. 

“Okay! Okay fucking- GRAH! I don’t care what you fucking do just get rid of him!” The woman stormed past Nautilus and slammed the door.

Viktor rolled his eyes then gave a smirk to Nautilus.
“Bag him.”

Nautilus nodded, grabbing a fabric sack nearby and putting it over Ghost’s head.

Ghost never really believed in muscle memory, but he couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes and making his body limp and heavy as he could as Nautilus undid the chains around the chair and slung him over his shoulder.

Even through the fabric, Ghost caught a whiff of something.
It wasn’t his cologne, that was fading.

It smelled… herby. No, not herby it smelled like…

Fungus.

~ ~ ~

Ghost was too focused on controlling his breathing inside the bag to notice the cold until it seeped into his bones.

His teeth chattered whenever he didn’t grit them and he couldn’t stop his arms from tensing and shivering. 

He was still slung over Nautilus’ back, and could hear the sound of crunching snow in an odd pattern, two pairs of footsteps.
Kicks was walking alongside Nautilus.

The crunching snow stopped, and the bag was ripped off his head, freezing air striking his eyes. The sun was settling low now, turning the icy forest into a striking red setting.

Nautilus held Ghost by the collar of his hood precariously over the frozen river below. The hard ice would surely break his bones, and the cold river would give him a horrendous death of drowning and freezing. Especially considering his arms were bound behind him and his ankles were tied together, the chain still tight on his body.

Kicks gave a smile.

“Ghost, I hereby sentence you to one ungodly fall into hell’s coldest waters. When you get there, tell old Luci that Viktor says heya bitch,” He laughed maliciously.

Viktor.

Ghost’s eyes moved over to Nautilus.

“Johnny…”

Nautilus glared at him, “I spelled it out for you one too many times, prisoner, my name… is Nautilus.”

Ghost gasped as Nautilus’ grip loosened, and he free-falled.

Far too soon did his left side strike hard ice, hard as pavement. The air was knocked out of his lungs. A ringing in his ears and adrenaline shot in his body as he crashed into the freezing river. Shock overtook his body before he could fight it off, and water entered his mouth through the fabric of his mask. It was difficult to spit out the water with the fabric blocking the way.

He tried to lie on his back to float in the direction he thought was up, and forced his legs to kick the ice.

He didn’t have much time before his body could shut down.

He kicked the ice with enough force to get his head above water. He bit on the edge of one of the broken ice pieces through his mask and kicked his feet until he got part of his upper body on the ice.

He shouted as his body slipped off the ice and he was back underwater, and under ice.

He didn’t have much time left. 

He felt his ankles brush against the riverbed, he had been carried to a shallow part. He propelled his body forward, using his head to strike the thin ice.

He got his head above water and his upper half onto the snow on the river bank. 

Hot blood seeped onto his face and his mask was torn, small wisps of soaked blond hair peaking out. He used the ice that had floated onto the bank to cut the area on his mask around his lip. It cut his lip too, but he was able to cough out the water. Not nearly enough, he still felt water in his lungs and he was freezing beyond compare.

His body vomited as a last resort, but he continually coughed as he wondered if this was where he was going to die.

Maybe he was being delusional, but he could’ve sworn he heard the sound of a helicopter overhead.

Fate spared him the bullet. Fate spared him the river. Why couldn’t fate show some mercy?
Maybe it was.
His limbs were freed from the chains. He was being lifted, and a hateful yet grateful hope brewed in his freezing chest.

~ ~ ~

Ghost felt warm. He must’ve lost consciousness after he pulled himself onto the bank.
He was wrapped in many blankets and was wearing dry, loose clothing. An oxygen mask was put on him, warm air pumping into his dry lungs.
His chest hurt, but not badly. His ribs were probably bruised.

He recognized the ceiling of the hotel room.

A hand gently touched his shoulder, “Evening, Simon.”

Price’s voice.

Simon slowly moved his eyes to see the older man smiling gently at him.

Gaz came into view, holding a warm mug, “Hot chocolate, now that you’re conscious.”

Simon nodded, taking the mask off and taking a deep breath of normal air.
Price adjusted the pillows behind Simon so he could sit up. He took the mug from Gaz and put it to Simon’s lips.

Simon drank the warm, sugary liquid and felt some of his energy return. After a few sips Price put the cup on the bedside table.

“How long have I been out? How’d you even find me?” Simon asked quietly.

“You’ve been out for a few hours. It’s a little after one in the morning right now,” Gaz says.

“After you took off,” Price starts to explain, “We called Nik to track you down. He picked us up in the heli and after a few hours we found you shivering on the river bank.”

Simon heard a purr and Goldie bounded on the bed, Nikolai entering the room shortly after.
“He’s alive,” The bulky man chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed, “How are you feeling?”

Simon gently petted Goldie, letting her nuzzle his shoulder, “I feel fine. I’ve got information on Soap and… and what they’ve done to him.”

“Who’s they?” Price asked.

Simon took a shuddering breath, “Makarov is behind this.” 

There was a tense silence in the air. Gaz tightened his fists by his side. Nikolai gave an intense stare at the ground. Price bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes were aflame with rage and he fought to keep himself under control.

They all waited for Simon to continue.

“Soap thinks his name is Nautilus, they decked him out in armor and a weird mask. His eyes… glow green. It’s so weird. He says he’s… Makarov’s lieutenant. He’s working with two other Konni I’ve never met. They both have butterfly attributes. The woman, called Latvia or Lakia, I wasn’t sure which, had a butterfly on her eyepatch. Kicks, who called himself Viktor before he tossed me in the frozen river, has butterfly wings tattooed on his neck. He also wears an eyepatch. They kept me in what almost looked like an abandoned home, from what I saw. Might be the manor Laswell was referring to. And when Johnny was taking me to throw me into the river… he smelled like fungus. That’s all the information I could gather.”

Silence hung in the air again. It was less tense than before, like fog settling over a wheat field. 

Price cleared his throat, his voice dark, “I’ll talk this over with Laswell when she gets here.”

“When she gets here?!” Simon sat up and coughed. Price gently helped him lay back against the pillows.

“Yeah, she decided to come when I told her what happened to you. You know she doesn’t take no for an answer,” Price says more gently.

“But I thought she had to lay low,” Ghost protests.

Nikolai snorted, “Makarov hasn’t. Word gets around. Some true. Some false. But I’m sure CIA know that Makarov is back and bastardizing than ever.”

“And we’re gonna bloody kill him, by the book or not, but we are getting Soap back, and making sure that fucker doesn’t hurt him again. Now, rest, it’s late,” Price pats Ghost’s shoulder before getting up.
Ghost watched how tense the man looked. Not a fearful tense, but rather a deep, quiet fire burning a forgotten forest kind of tense that had the captain’s blood boiling.
Nikolai and Gaz followed Price into the attached room, likely to make sure he doesn’t blow a fuse, at least not yet.

Despite that, after a few minutes the captain’s muffled yelling was heard through the wall. Not enough to make out words, but enough to ensure Ghost knew the captain was furious as well.

Ghost took a deep breath, pulling Goldie onto his chest.

“We’re in deep shit now, Goldilocks.”

~ ~ ~

He felt like he was hyperventilating. He was nauseous, pulling off the mask and vomiting onto the floor. His muscles convulsed, and he looked into the mirror that had broken on the floor.

What is my name, again?

Am I dead?

Am I reborn?

Did I always have green eyes?

Why did the prisoner in the skull mask make my heart feel funny?

Before any of the questions could be answered, a hand forced the mask back on, and an earthy smell filled his sore lungs.
The thoughts faded into obscurity and he turned his gaze away from the reflection.

“My apologies, oh, great and mighty Makarov, for the mess I have made. I will go get towels.”

“You needn’t worry, Nautilus. I hope you aren’t feeling ill.”

I am.

“No, sir. Must’ve consumed something rotten.”

Chapter Text

As soon as the door closed behind Nik and Gaz, Price let the mask fall. His blood had overboiled and his rage was unbridled.

A manic horse coursed through his veins as he screamed into the nearest pillow he could grab.

“God fucking damn it!” Was loosely translated from the pillow’s muffler.

“Price-“

“Don’t you dare start, Nik,” Price tosses the pillow aside, “I have a right and a duty to be bloody furious! Makarov has stolen Soap from us TWICE!! And this time he’s gone and—” he slammed his fist into a pillow.

That pillow would be flat for a very long time.

“I know, Johnathan, but it’s early morning. Let’s all just go to sleep,” Nik tried to console. He walked over to Price, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“How can I sleep at a time like this?!” Price groaned in frustration.

“He’s just trying to ease ya, Cap,” Gaz approached and put a hand on Price’s other shoulder.

“I can’t be eased at a time like this, Gaz,” Price’s voice dropped from higher-pitched fury to low vulnerability. 

“I’m sure you can,” Nikolai moved up behind Price, wrapping his hands around the captain’s torso, “Come shower. You can take it out on me.”

Price sighed, relaxing slightly into Nikolai’s embrace.
Gaz had seen it before, he knew of their relationship.
He found it out by accident, but everybody seemed to know. No one cared.

Nikolai’s gaze shifted towards Gaz, “You’re welcome to join us.”

Gaz shook his head, “Not this time. Right now all I want is my brother in arms back. I think I might go to bed.”

Nikolai nodded, already dragging Price to the bathroom.

“Night, Gaz,” The captain called out before disappearing behind the door.
“Night, Cap,” Gaz said before Nikolai shut the door.

Nik pressed Price against the door, kissing him deeply.

“Fuck, Nik— already?!-”

“Use your words, Johnathan.”

Price couldn’t use his words because Nikolai kissed him again, gently yet aggressively pushing his tongue into the Brit’s mouth.

Price tasted of subpar coffee and tobacco. Perfection.

Nikolai’s hand tangled into Price’s hair, his free hand unbuttoning the captain’s shirt.

Price moaned softly into Nikolai’s mouth.

“You taste so good, luchik,” Nikolai pulled his lips away and moved it to Price’s neck, pulling the man’s shirt off.

Price tangled his hands into Nikolai’s dark locks, biting his lip.

“This is so selfish…”

Nikolai paused, cupping Price’s face, “Why do you say that?”

The captain averted gaze, “Simon barely survived drowning and… I’ve never seen Gaz so defeated and… Soap is under the control of the enemy. And we’re fucking making out in a hotel bathroom.”

Nikolai clicked his tongue, “It’s not selfish, because you need this. You’re as run up the wall as rest of them. You need a break, Johnathan.” 

“Nik…” Price’s eyes met Nikolai’s as he gently kissed the Russian man, “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Nikolai crouched, undoing the button on Price’s pants, “This is exactly what you deserve… and more.”

Nikolai undid Price’s fly. The captain’s eyes softened with a glint of lust coursing through them.

Nikolai smiled at the sight.
Price helped the process go faster by pulling his pants down, boxers included.

He was hard already, not fully, but enough to show Nikolai how much he wanted him.

Nikolai leaned his face against Price’s thigh, his lips gracing the base of the captain’s length.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Price shivered as Nikolai’s lips whispered into his flesh.

Nikolai’s strong, calloused hand started gently squeezing a tender spot on Price’s cock.

Price quickly covered his mouth to muffle a moan.

“Johnathan,” Nikolai cooed, “Don’t hide your noises from me.”

Price nodded, slowly dropping his hand from his mouth into Nikolai’s hair. The pilot began to slowly pump his fist around Price.

“Fuck-…” the captain bit his lips.

Nikolai looked up with a smile, as his hand dropped and his mouth replaced it.

Price throbbed in Nikolai’s mouth with a guttural groan.

“Nik… God…”

Nikolai smiled around Price’s cock, licking slowly and sensually, bobbing his head and drooling out of his mouth.

Price moaned at his pilot’s performance. His eyes were soft as he met Nikolai’s lustful gaze. 

“I’m obsessed with you, Nik,” Price muttered.

Nik smiled as he took his mouth off, “Thank God. If you weren't, this would be so awkward.” 

Price whimpered as the wet heat drew away from his cock, but his gut ignited again when he realized Nikolai was undressing himself. His strong arms and chiseled back gave Price a heavenly view.

The captain felt heat rush to his face; Nikolai was so handsome.
Nikolai turned around and smirked at the captain’s reaction.

The pilot pulled his pants off, leaving the boxers on for now. He reached for the shower handle, turning it on. Warm water began to sprinkle onto the porcelain.

“Get in,” Nikolai smirked.

No one had to tell Price twice.

~ ~ ~

Simon bit his bloody lip as he walked barefoot in the snow. His lips were chapped and the cold was not helping.

“Tommy!”

His teeth chattered after he called out his brother’s name. He gripped his jacket tightly.

“You win, okay? Give me back my shoes! Mum’s gonna kill you if I get frostbite. Then kill me after.”

He then heard his younger brother giggle behind a tree. Simon acted indifferent, so as not to let his brother know he heard him.

“Oh, where, oh, where are you? I’m losing feeling in my feet-” 

Simon gasped as he heard his brother scream. He instantly ran behind the tree, finding Tommy pressed against the bark.
A fox caught in a snare was snapping its teeth at his brother a few steps away. The wire dug and cut into the fox’s neck, blood seeping onto the snow.

“Simon!” Tommy gripped his brother’s arm.

“Sh, sh, sh, don’t startle it,” Simon carefully pulled his brother closer, wrapping his arms around him, “It’s snared, it can’t hurt you. Listen, we’re gonna back away slowly, okay?”

Tommy nodded, not taking his teary eyes off of the fox. Simon backed away with Tommy clinging to him.

The boys watched with horror as the fox struggled. Growls turned into whines as the wire cut deeper. Blood seeped into the snow, staining the frost a disgusting crimson.

As the boys backed away the fox looked at them with vulnerable helplessness before finally collapsing onto the snow.
Tommy cried softly into Simon’s jacket. 

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Simon wiped his brother’s tears using his jacket sleeve, “It’s not suffering anymore… okay? Go on ahead to the house, I’ll be right there.”

Tommy nodded, wiping his tears, “Your shoes,” he handed them to Simon.

“Thanks,” Simon put them back on, “Go on, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Tommy gave another nod before jogging away. 

After Simon got his shoes fully on, he heard an odd crunching noise.
His gaze landed back on the fox corpse and his eyes widened. 

The fox corpse was transforming itself into a large black wolf.

The wolf slid the snare off of its neck easily, no sign of damage on its neck.
It calmly approached Simon.

Simon fell back into the snow, terrified. His heart was pounding, and his mind screamed that this was the end.

The wolf’s teeth grazed gently over Simon’s neck before using his teeth to grip Simon’s jacket collar. It moved backward forward, helping the boy to sit upright.

The wolf let go of Simon’s jacket and sat on his hind legs, blinking slowly.

“Wh-what-”

“Simon Riley.”

Oh my god, that wolf just talked.

“Yes, I did.”

What the fuck?! Simon gripped the sides of his head, “You aren’t real. This isn’t real.”

“Of course it isn’t. Wolves cannot talk in the real world.”

Simon paused, his eyes lowered to look down at his boyish body.
The young, unscarred hands he now possessed were not the ones he knew to be decorated in bone-branded gloves.

“Yeah, this is a dream isn’t it? I’m not really a boy right now am I? This is a memory, everything was a memory up until… you appeared. Who-… what are you?”

“I’m you.”

“…What?”

“I’m what you wanted.”

Simon paused, his brow furrowing.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“That morning Price assigned you. The morning you couldn’t avoid Soap any longer. Before he assigned you, you went up to the rooftop to smoke. And internally you thought to yourself, ‘If reincarnation was real, you’d want to be a wolf in the forest. Hunting, baring teeth, only finding peace in the moon and a good meal.’ Am I wrong?”
“…But I’m not dead. I… I’m asleep in Saint Petersburg right now. Am I not?”

“You are.”

“Then why… are you referencing reincarnation?”

“Because you’re doing it right now.”

“I’m… what?”

“You’re reincarnating. The fox you saw die in the snare just now, that was Simon Riley. A troubled boy reborn as a ruthless sniper called Ghost. You created me, a dark wolf. Internally, eternally.
But no longer do you want to be a dark wolf. Ever since I was created by you, I was a sacrifice. If a stray bullet hit you, I would be the one to lick your wounds. To comfort you, and be your next life.”

“So reincarnation is real?”

“No, I’m not saying that. But you made it real, because the stray bullet was never meant for you, it was for him.”

Simon paused, looking at the blood spatter in the snow behind the wolf.

The shape seemed to grow in size, staining the frost like silken sheets.

“And ever since then,” The wolf continued, “I was no longer a sacrifice. I was a desire. I was what you fought for. But now…”

The wolf winced as crimson blood suddenly came in rivers from his mouth, staining his teeth.

“I’m no longer what you want. Some wolves stay alone, and that’s exactly what you wanted…”

The wolf paused, trying to find the right words as the blood dripped from his chin into the snow.

“You don’t want to be alone anymore, now, do you Simon?”

Simon’s heart was caught in his throat, “I…”

“You finally have a reason to live. You have no need for me. And that’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No… no!” Simon stumbled in the bloody snow, his body had become an adult again, scarred and maskless. He hugged the wolf tightly.

“He’s… he’s under the control of something evil! When we… if we… free him… will he still want me?! What if I need you?! What if I have to be alone again?! What if he dies?! Where will you be?!” He sobbed into the dark fur, blood pooling into his blonde locks.

“Where will you be when I’m alone again…” Simon reiterates.

A paw gently patted Simon’s back.

“You have such little faith, Simon. I’ve always been here. I’ve always been you. I’m just the version you don’t need anymore. You don’t have to bare your teeth anymore, soldier.”

The blood in the snow sizzled and from it bright red poppies sprouted everywhere around the two.

“Rest now, Simon. The future is bright. I promise you that. You’re stronger than most.”

“I can’t lose anything else! You’re… you’re my comfort,” He sobbed.

A paw turned into a hand, fur into a body. Simon looked up to meet blue eyes.
A perfect shade of blue.

“I’ve always been your comfort,” Johnny wiped Simon’s tears, “I know you can save me. I trust you. I love you, Simon.”

Simon coughed, his eyes shooting open as he stumbled to the bathroom, vomiting and sobbing into the toilet bowl.

He heaved as he gripped the porcelain. Goldie had rushed in after him, nuzzling his side with worried mews.

He took deep breaths to try and calm down his acidic throat and aching heart.
Despite what he just did, he felt lighter than he ever had. As if a weight was lifted off his shoulders.
He felt full of vigor, and despite his tears…

He smiled.

~ ~ ~ 

The four of them were all drinking coffee in the two-bed room. Well, Ghost was drinking coffee, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He most certainly preferred tea.

Goldie was drinking milk out of a bowl he had poured for her. Well, it was half and half from the lobby, but she still drank it.

The sun had risen, a light blue sky visible through the smoke room window.

There was a knock on the door. Nikolai set his mug down on the desk and walked to the door. He smiled as he looked through the peephole.

He swung open the door to reveal Laswell.
She looked almost unearthly. The boys had never seen her with her hair down, and she was bundled up to the tee.

“Thanks, Nik,” She walked in, shedding her coat. Nikolai took it from her and put it on a hook.

She sighed as she sat on the bed, eyeing Goldie.

“Who dragged the cat in?”

Goldie meowed kindly, nuzzling Laswell’s boot.

Ghost put his mug down on the bedside table. He got up from the bed and gently picked the cat up, sitting her on his lap as he sat back down on the adjacent bed.

“She’s my emotional support animal.”

“Didn’t take you for a cat-lover, Ghost,” Laswell gives him a gentle gaze.

“Neither did I, Laswell,” He scratched the golden cat behind the ear.

“Laswell, we got a plan to free Soap?” Price finally said.

She nodded, “Well… somewhat. I got your text,” she turned to Ghost, “Price texted me all the info you got.”

“And? Whatcha got for us?” Ghost asks.

“Well the names of the butterfly-branded Konni you met match the descriptions of a sibling terrorist duo known as the Babochka Twins. They aren’t directly tied to Makarov, as a matter of fact they aren’t even Konni. I’m assuming Makarov might’ve bought them out.”

“With what money?” Gaz asks.

“And for what reason?” Ghost questions.

Laswell shook her head, “I’m not quite sure. As far as records show, Makarov has only worked with the twins one other time. Verdansk Stadium and the Airport attack.”

Ghost paused, remembering that day. It was the first time he met Soap. Price gripped the head of the bed tightly, trying to quench his rage.

“Apparently,” Laswell continued, “The twins were behind the hot tip to go to the stadium, and employed some of their lackeys to destroy the airport. But since then they’ve been off the grid. Untraceable.”

“So they aren’t new to the game,” Price states.

“No, they aren’t,” Nikolai crosses his arms, “I’ve heard of them. They pulled a terrorist attack when I was in Russian Army. They are known for bait and switch. Saying they’ll attack one place and then end up attacking another place. They often express their dissatisfaction with the Russian government, which I myself understand, but they take it to the extreme.”

“You think they might betray Makarov?” Ghost asks.

Laswell shakes her head, “Makarov may be little in numbers but he is a powerful man nonetheless. But one thing I want to talk about is the fact you smelled fungi coming off of Soap.”

“Yeah, he smelled of fungus,” Ghost repeats.

Laswell nodded, “I did some research. There’s this fungus that can grow here.  A mushroom that can grow in Saint Petersburg. It’s called Panthercap. It’s poisonous but… when consumed it can cause… nausea, dizziness, muscle spasms and… hallucinations.”

Ghost stopped petting Goldie on the last word. His mind flashed over the tubes connected to Johnny’s mask. The tubes were connected to a box on his armor.

“There… there was a box on Johnny’s chest… tubes extended from it and it connected to a mask he wore. Is he being fed gas?” Ghost spoke slowly as he remembered.

“That sounds possible,” Laswell nodded. 

“What about the… green, glowing eyes?” Ghost asks as Goldie gets off his lap to nuzzle Gaz’s ankle.

“I wouldn’t put it past Makarov to have access to chemicals,” Nikolai grumbled. He flicked his eyes up when he realized everyone had turned to him, wanting him to continue.
“Well, the guy has connections, we all know that. He could’ve separated just the hallucinogen and put it into gas. Maybe the chemicals he’s using are making Soap’s eyes change color.”

“So… how are we going to rescue him, Kate?” Price asked.

“There’s uh, there’s something I neglected to mention, Price,” Kate bites her lip.

Price’s brows furrow, “Kate?”

She sighs, “I promised you that I would keep Graves and his Shadows out of this—”

“Oh, God!” Price slams the wall, “They fucking know, don’t they?!” 

“Well… yes. But here’s the thing; I quit the CIA.”

Everyone paused, staring at Laswell with wide eyes. Even Goldie let out a questionable mew.

“Kate… you what?” Price said quietly, walking over to sit next to her.
He rubbed her back, “I thought you loved working for them.”

“I did. I do,” She sighed, “But I was the only one who really knew what Makarov was up to. Without me the Shadows are going to scramble all over hunting for Makarov. And now that I’m no longer affiliated with them, I can help you guys with the connections I still have.”

“Isn’t that treason? You’re American,” Gaz asks.

“It’s not treason if I quit, and they don’t know where I am. Besides, Makarov is wanted in America anyway, quitting the CIA is gonna help you guys more than me being a part of it ever did.”

“Fair enough,” Price says.

“Another thing,” Laswell takes a deep breath, "I don't want you on this mission, Ghost.”
Ghost’s heart aches slightly at her words, but he nods. He knew the risks.
“Yeah, well, Price said I’m discharged anyway,” Ghost grumbled as Goldie jumps on the bed and curls up beside him.

Laswell widened her eyes, turning her head to Price, “You discharged him?!”

Price stopped rubbing her back, moving his hand to sheepishly scratch the back of his head, “It was in a heated moment, but…”

“Price,” Ghost pets Goldie as she purrs, “It’s okay. I’ve been thinking about it lately. These past two weeks I haven’t been a good soldier. I let Soap get captured, I’ve disobeyed orders, I’ve nearly died about three times and… and maybe it’s time to retire. It’s okay, really.”

Everyone stares at Ghost in disbelief. Ghost had always been the front liner. The one to volunteer for missions first. They never thought they’d see the day he would retire.

Price himself thought he’d bury Ghost in the spare grave at his house in Manchester. Price had told Ghost that many times. And Ghost was fine with it.
But now, Ghost would walk away from the army alive. It was an unusual comeuppance.

“What… changed your mind?” Price softly asked.

Ghost sighed, feeling a knot in his chest unravel, “Cause… I’m in love. Not a love where there’s someone worth dying for…”

Ghost lifted Goldie to his chest.

“… But someone worth living for.”

The air quieted into a solemn silence. Ghost silently stood up, carrying Goldie into his room.

“Keep 'em’ safe, Laswell,” He said before closing the door, so they could discuss their plan without him.

Ghost felt empty. He just cast himself out.

But he also felt full. He trusted his… friends. Yeah, he trusted his friends to save the love of his life.

He grabbed another cigarette from the pack Price gave him, setting a sleepy Goldie on the bed.

He quietly closed the door to the smoke room.

He took the lighter out, staring at Soap’s handwriting on the pink note before lighting the cigarette. 

He took a long drag, a soft howling sound graced his ears from the chilly wind.

Rest easy, Lieutenant. He’s in good hands.