Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ghost hated this.

It’d been four hours since he had been officially on leave and he had decided he hated this.

He knew why it was happening; in some deep, logical part of his brain he knew that if he’d been in Price’s position, if he’d seen a subordinate with the kind of injuries he was sporting, he would have ordered medical leave and would not have accepted any arguments. It’s hard to be objective when it’s your own body.

He gently shut the front door behind him, letting his duffle drop from his shoulder and gingerly leaning his cane against the wall, shifting his weight fully onto his good leg as he looked around. The house is pristine; a nondescript, two-bedroom in the middle of a midsize English town. Perfect for laying low, which is exactly what he was supposed to be doing.

He didn’t mourn for the loss of his apartment; he didn’t spend enough time in it to consider it his own. Still, it was strange to find himself in what was essentially a stranger’s home, having to pretend it was his own. Having to pretend everything was alright.

When everything wasn’t.

After Hassan, the taskforce had spent months gathering intel, surveying different safehouses and rundown bases, looking for any piece of information that could tell them where Shepherd was hiding. They had narrowed down his location to a small town in the outskirts of Lima, and while entering the house their intel pointed as Shepherd’s new base of operations, everything had gone to shit.

In retrospect, it was very clearly a trap. Everything had gone too well, and it should’ve raised suspicions. But they were tired, angry, and eager to get him. And they’d been easy to play with.

Ghost was the last one out of the building, and the one worse for wear. Gaz had been with him, but had managed to get out mostly unscathed, save a bullet graze on his arm and a nasty shiner on his left eye. Ghost, on the other hand, had been lucky enough to get a knife to his side and a bullet on his thigh. He was still angry and embarrassed to have been hit so bad. Still, he made sure to return his pain tenfold, before he had no other option but to escape.

The plan was in shambles, the taskforce in disarray. Their intel had been wrong from the get go, and they had been too easy to spot. Clearly, Shepherd still had friends in high places. Friends who, incidentally, were not above accessing the files of the operators’ last known addresses. That was the last piece of the shit puzzle they now found themselves in. Price called them all into his office, one by one. Handed all of them a piece of paper with coordinates for safehouses spread out through the UK. All of them had one way of contacting him, for emergencies. They had no way of contacting each other. Gaz had shot him a sympathetic smile after they went their separate ways. He knew the sergeant would be back by Price’s side soon enough, planning their next steps. Ghost, however, was not as lucky. So now Ghost found himself in a strange town, in a strange house, having to walk with a cane and having to pretend he wasn’t a mercenary for at least six months. Peachy.

***

Ghost let out a hard sigh, looking at the trunk of his car, doing the math of how many trips it would take him to get everything inside.

Maneuvering around town to find the grocery store wasn’t hard. Trying to log weight that normally would not have him even breaking a sweat with a gunshot wound to his thigh, as it happens, was not as easy. He wished they would have shot him in the arm, instead.

He hooked several bags on his left arm, playtesting the weight for a few seconds before finally straightening up. He had been correctly assessed as stubborn several times throughout his life; he was aware that he could have done a first trip with half as many bags, given that he also had to walk up a few steps to get to his front door. He still tried.

Aided by his cane, which he begrudgingly had accepted back at the hospital, he slowly made his way up his front porch, only to spend a few seconds fumbling with his keys, resting his weight on his good leg while trying not to drop the bags hooked on his arm.

“D’ya need help?” His head shot up fast, his hand tightening around his keys, knowing very well he could not do much with them if a fight broke out, but still willing to try.

A man was standing on the sidewalk, a few meters away from him, on the other side of his car. He had an apologetic smile on his lips, clearly realizing he had startled Ghost. The brit assessed him: he was shorter than him, probably around 5’9’’. He was fit, but not overly bulky. He had bright eyes, but Ghost could not make out the color in the distance. His hair was cropped short on the sides, but had a slightly overgrown mohawk, unstyled, falling on the side of his face. He was dressed in casual wear; the way he held himself told Ghost he was not a threat – at least not yet. A split second later, he realized the man was not alone. Clinging to his leg, face half hidden, was a little girl. Her eyes were big and just as bright, and while she was trying to hide, her eyes were focused on Ghost. He didn’t know what to do. He managed to settle himself and shook his head.

“Thank you, but I’m good.” He managed to unlock the door, heaving it open with the cane and placing the bags unceremoniously on the hallway, before turning back around.

“Ye sure? Ye still have a lo’ left behind.” Scottish? Huh.

Ghost brushed him off, slowly making his way back to his car, still a little wary, but trying not to come off as rude. He was supposed to be laying low. “I’m okay. It’s good exercise.”

The man did not seem completely convinced, clearly still trying to be of help. He still plastered a wide grin on his face, shrugging his shoulders as a response. “Suit y’self. Name’s Johnny, I live right next door.” He stuck out his hand, and Ghost only hesitated for a split second before taking it.

“Sam,” he offered, not adding anything else. The scot didn’t seem to think anything of it.

“Right. This right here is my daughter, Daisy,” Johnny added, pointing to the little girl, who was still clinging to his jeans but no longer hiding. When Ghost looked down, her eyes got impossibly wide, a small smile making an appearance. Huh, Ghost thought. He was not used to children having that reaction to him. Or adults, for that matter. But Johnny didn’t seem intimidated by him, and neither did his daughter.

“Nice to meet you”, Daisy said, her voice soft but clear. Ghost bristled, but gave her a nod, unsure. He moved his eyes to her dad, who was studying his face. He felt uncomfortable under such scrutiny, itching for the skull mask that was currently stuffed into his duffle. He was wearing a surgical mask instead; more inconspicuous in a suburban setting, and the only disguise he was currently able to use. He felt exposed.

“Well, if you need anything – just knock”, Johnny said, still sporting that brighter-than-life grin, and honest to god winked at him. Ghost couldn’t do anything but stand there, his arms awkwardly hanging by his side, watching the shorter man take his daughter’s tiny hand in his and walk back inside. Who would’ve thought that Ghost, the mercenary, the ruthless killer, the silent menace, would’ve been so completely thrown off guard by small neighborly pleasantries.

It was going to be a long six months.

Chapter Text

Ghost was trying. He was really, really trying to be the kind of person that could just relax, pick up a hobby, enjoy time off while an injury healed.

Unfortunately, he was most definitely not that kind of person. Being idle was going to his head; he had no idea on how to pass time. He only knew one thing, and that was the military. The taskforce. His job. That was what he was trained to do, what occupied his mind constantly, what kept him active, interested and somewhat sane. 

But this? This semblance of normalcy? He had only been in the house for two days and that was more than enough to have the dark thoughts he normally kept at bay come creeping back in. 

He had gone on walks three times already – incapable of jogging or even walking at a normal pace, he instead let himself walk around different blocks in the neighborhood, both to try to keep as active as he could, and to scout the neighborhood for potential threats. 

But there were no threats. Everything was disgustingly calm and easy. It put him on edge. 

It was houses; small, middle-class houses, small, middle-class families going from and to; taking the baby out for a walk on the stroller, going to the park and watching the kids cry with laughter as they chased each other, going to visit relatives or neighbors, always with a smile on their face. 

Ghost didn’t know how to act. He had not been raised in such an environment– no contact with the neighbors, no carefree visits to the park. He knew, in theory, that functional families had these sort of routines, but he had never seen it up close. He had gone from dysfunctional family to dysfunctional army. He didn’t know anything else. And so, he studied. 

He sat on a bench in the park, far away and with a book on his hand so as to not seem creepy, but he watched the families intently. He tried to understand how it worked. How fathers seemed to now be incredibly involved. How children didn’t shy away from physical contact, seemed to revel in it. It was all strange. 

As he watched and pretended to busy himself with the book he had barely cracked open, he saw his neighbors approach. The little girl– Daisy , he reminded himself – ran to the swings, arms flailing around and maniacal laughter exploding from her little chest. Her dad – Johnny – walked behind her, a soft smile on his lips that told Ghost this was a recurrent situation, and that Johnny was more than used to his daughter’s explosive energy. He caught up to her just as she planted herself in front of a swing, arms up and now stiff, clearly waiting for her dad to pick her up. He did just that, sitting her down and making sure that she was correctly positioned before walking around her and placing his hands on her back, ready to give her an impulse. Before doing so, he stopped, noticing Daisy’s eyes had trailed away, moving from the other children to the faraway benches. 

Directly to Ghost. 

Ghost watched, utterly confused, as the little girl spotted him, and waved wildly. 

He blinked. Surely, that was not meant for him. Children did not wave at him. Children cowered behind their parents and cried at the sight of him. Yet, he was acutely aware that he was the only one in that part of the park. He had checked. Profusely. So, clearly, that wave was meant for him. 

He watched as Johnny followed his daughter’s gaze and settled on him. There was a questioning look on his face that made Ghost squirm. He, once again, felt exposed. Johnny, to his credit, clearly didn’t think it was weird that his daughter was waving to their giant and menacing new neighbor. His mouth broke into that beautiful ( beautiful? ) grin again, and he waved, too. 

Ghost had to remind himself that he was pretending to be a civilian. He was pretending to be a normal man, and was not on a scouting mission. He was not in danger. He had not been made . He was just being acknowledged. So he slowly raised his arm and gave a tentative wave. He felt incredibly stupid, but that small gesture seemed to be enough, as Johnny gave him a nod and redirected his daughter back to the task of swinging. 

Ghost left the park quickly after that. 

***

A few hours later

Ghost settled on the couch, closing his eyes and enjoying the soft vapors coming from the cup on his hands. Tea was a small pleasure he allowed himself, something that grounded him, that cleared his mind and gave him a small reprieve. 

He was aware that six months doing nothing but going on slow walks and drinking tea was not sustainable. He was surely going to completely lose it, with no contact with his team and with nothing to keep his mind entertained. 

He wondered if they had gotten back to base already. Were Price, Gaz and Laswell back at it? Did they have any leads? Were they going back on missions? Had they found anything definitive? Would they get to Shepherd before Ghost was healed enough to join them on the mission? A small part of him wished they wouldn’t. He wanted to be the one to put the bullet between the general’s eyes. 

A faint knock to his front door stopped his train of thought. It was soft enough that someone else might have missed it, but Ghost was always on edge and highly aware of any changes to his environment. He slowly placed his cup back on the coffee table and stood up. He collected his cane from where it rested against the couch. His gun was under his pillow, and he didn’t have enough time nor could he walk silently enough to get it. So his cane was going to be his only weapon to defend himself. Wonderful. 

He walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Nothing. 

He took a deep breath and slowly turned the knob, the door creaking as it slowly opened. 

It wasn’t Grave’s Shadows. It wasn’t the Russians. It wasn’t a trap. 

It was Daisy. Tiny Daisy, clearly struggling as she held a baking pan over her arms. 

Ghost was stunned. Surely, this toddler had not baked food and come all the way to his house alone–

He looked up to the sidewalk and saw Johnny there, a sheepish smile on his face as he slowly approached the door. 

“She wanted to be the one to bring you this – I argued she couldn’t carry it, but what can you do?” He shrugged, coming to a stop behind his daughter. 

Ghost focused on the girl again. She was clearly straining, but was trying her best to pretend that she was doing fine. Ghost gingerly grabbed the pan and she immediately dropped her arms to the side with a big sigh, then shot him a radiant smile. “Scones!”

“We– uhm.” Johnny started, his face now softly flushed. Was he nervous? “ Daisy said that her teacher taught her that it’s nice to bring food to your neighbors and she’s right so – we made scones.”

Ghost moved his gaze from where it was fixed in the scot’s blue gray eyes and looked down to the pan. There, about a dozen scones sat, not warm, but still smelling delicious. 

Ghost was frozen in place. What was he supposed to do? Just thank them? Close the door? Was he supposed to let them in? Into his sterile, cold home? 

Daisy shifted, clearly excited. Ghost figured a normal person would invite them in to share the scones. So he did. 

“Thank you. Would you– would you like to come in?”

His neighbors’ reactions were so different it was almost comical. Where Daisy clapped her hands excitedly, rocking up to her toes in her eagerness to come inside, Johnny was frozen in place, his eyes wide as he clearly did not expect the invitation. He sobered quickly enough, though, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder as he shot Ghost that devastating ( what? ) smile once more. 

“That’s very kind of ye.”

Ghost silently moved away from the threshold, letting them walk inside. Daisy immediately moved to the small dining room table and climbed one of the chairs, her little legs swinging as she waited for the adults to join her. 

She really is something , Ghost thought. 

Johnny looked around, before unceremoniously taking the pan from Ghost’s hands. Ghost stood there, by the door, as he watched Johnny find a kitchen towel, use it to place the pan on it, then turn around as he was trying to find something else. 

“Do ye have any plates?” 

Ghost wondered if this was a normal thing for them. Worming themselves into people’s places, with their warm and inviting personalities. A small part of him wondered if this was just with him. 

“I– yes.” He disappeared into the small kitchen and brought back three plates. He fetched his still warm cup of tea from the coffee table, and then paused. He had to offer drinks. What did kids drink? Cocoa? He had none. Tea? No, that was crazy. Right? Did toddlers drink tea? “I have, uhm, tea, and I can make coffee, or–” His gaze drifted to Daisy, who was watching her dad from the corner of her eye, trying to see when he was distracted enough to snatch a piece of a scone. 

Thankfully, Johnny understood Ghost’s dilemma without him having to say anything. “Do ye have any milk? She can have that. I’ll take some coffee, if that’s okay.” Ghost nodded once and vanished to the kitchen again, feeling more comfortable with clear instructions on how to proceed. He came back with a glass of milk for Daisy, a mug of hot coffee for Johnny. He placed both objects on the table and once again, felt out of sorts. “I can bring sugar, or milk, or if you–”

“Black is fine.” Johnny interrupted him, clearly noticing his nervous rambling. 

Ghost sat down, his eyes casted at the table. He was a ruthless killer. He knew countless ways to maim a person. He felt no pity, no mercy as he took down his targets. And yet something as simple as making coffee for someone made his fingers twitch nervously.

Johnny took it upon himself to distribute two scones for him and Ghost, and one for Daisy. She opened her mouth to immediately complain but Johnny shut her down with a pointed look. “Yer tiny”, is all he said, and she pursed her lips, weighing her options of either arguing, or listening to her dad. 

“Tiny,” she mumbled, softly nodding in agreement as she reached for her scone, taking a small piece and immediately stuffing it into her mouth. 

Ghost watched the interaction silently, being distracted from his own thoughts. It was short, but it disclosed their relationship dynamic so easily. He found that he didn’t hate having strangers in his space. He wasn’t sure if it was because they seemed non-threatening, or because he didn’t consider this house his space yet, but he decided he could afford to enjoy the moment. 

“So – what brings ye here?” Johnny broke the silence, taking a sip out of his mug, his eyes laser focused on Ghost. He felt his breath stutter but powered through. 

“I– got injured. Was told a change of air would suit me. So–” He gestured vaguely to his surroundings, before taking a hold of his cup, squeezing it like it was his lifeline. 

“Ah. Makes sense. Military, yes?”

Ghost eyes snapped from the cup to the scot. His heart rate immediately spiked. Had he been too comfortable? Had he slipped? Had he–

“Ah worked in a military hospital for a few years. Ah kno’ the type.” Johnny, once again, saving him from a spiral. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it purposefully, or if that was just his nature. A natural caregiver. 

“Ah’m a nurse. Ah kno’ ah don’ look it–” He joked, enjoying the giggle that came out of his daughter as if he’d told the funniest joke ever. “Ah work at the town clinic now. Less hectic.”

Ghost nodded minutely, trying to assess the man again. He had been right, he was a caregiver. And he’d worked in a military hospital. So he was probably used to people like Ghost – people so haunted by their own past that they became more of a shell than a human. 

He watched him as he helped his daughter with the glass of milk, patiently letting her try on her own but with a hand readily at the side to help her heave the glass up if needed. Ghost let his eyes trail down his body, trying to find any indication that the man was anything but what he said he was. From what he’d seen, he was tender, amiable, caring. He obviously kept in shape– it had probably come in handy when he was working with rowdy army men, and now was most likely part of his routine. Ghost’s eyes moved to his biceps, watching as they shifted as the scot sat back on his chair, picking up his mug again. The way that they strained against his t-shirt was– 

No. None of that. That won’t help.

“Is it just the two of you?” The question slipped out before he had time to stop it. He had been so preoccupied with Johnny’s arms that he felt he’d been too obvious and had to redirect.

“Aye. Daisy– her mom passed when she was one. It’s been just us for the past two years. We moved here so that Ah could have more control over ma’ hours, spend some time with her.” Johnny’s eyes were loving as he looked at his child, who was completely uninterested in the adult’s conversation, more focused on getting as much scone in her mouth as was humanly possible. 

Ghost didn’t know why he felt annoyed. Of course Johnny had had a wife. He had a kid– it was not hard to do the math. And yet– 

He shook his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. What was he trying to accomplish? He was there for only six months. He was pretending to be someone he was not. These people thought his name was Sam, for crying out loud. Why did he care whether his neighbor was straight or not?

At night, as he was doing the dishes, Johnny and Daisy long gone, the silence brought back the self-deprecation. It didn’t matter that the girl was adorable. It didn’t matter that the scot had soft eyes for him, basically invited himself to his house and looked like he was carved out of marble. He had no business entertaining any sort of normalcy. He just had to survive the next few months until he could be back at base, thinking of nothing at all, going to bars every now and then to satisfy his cravings and then slip back into his routine. 

If he pictured gray blue eyes as he fell asleep that night, well. That was between him and the pillow.

Chapter Text

It’d been two weeks since the scones situation (that’s how Ghost had decided to refer to it in his head) and he couldn’t get the scot out of his head. It was annoying, really. 

He kept walking– more than he should, probably, if the soreness on his thigh was anything to go by– but he held a stubborn hope that he’d somehow heal faster if he kept moving. 

He walked into virtually every store around town. There were some that were usually crowded and had incense burning all day long; he quickly learned to avoid those. Those with the fluorescent ceiling lights made his head spin. His favorite had been, surprisingly, a small hobby shop run by a twenty-something girl with dyed hair and a no-nonsense air about her. Her store was dimly lit, and had no incense burning, but an air freshener that dispensed something that smelled like eucalyptus. It was quiet, and usually empty. He found it comforting. 

After three times of coming in and only looking around silently, he decided he had to buy something, at least to support the store; but also because he was acutely aware of the owner’s eyes following him everywhere and he was sure she was a breath away from kicking him out for wasting her time. 

He ended up picking a leather journal – he had never been much of an artist, every creative bone in his body buried in an unmarked grave a long time ago. Writing, though? Writing he could do. He logically knew he couldn’t be too specific in his writing– most of the thoughts swirling in his head counted as highly confidential– but he could at least try and make sense of them, and then burn them.

After getting home, he settled into the couch with a steaming cup of tea and the journal in his hand. He’d bought a pen, too– he had half a thought to be embarrassed that he didn’t own a pen, but then again, he didn’t own much. 

He cracked the binding, staring blankly at the first page. The pen skated around the page, not leaving any mark. Was he supposed to write his name down? No, that was immediately out of the question. Should he start with a “Dear Diary”? That made him feel like a pre-teen. 

In the end, he opted for openly word-vomiting on the page. He wrote about Las Almas; he wrote about Graves’ turn, about Shepherd, everything. He kept everything fact-based, tactical. Feelings weren’t necessary. Worries were a hindrance. If he wrote them down, he’d make them real. 

He wrote about being stabbed and shot– He wrote about Price’s worried look on his face and joked that the old man had aged ten years in three months. They probably all had, in one way or the other. Betrayal will do that to you.

That brought him to the present day, and he started describing the house, the town, the people. Without realizing, his thoughts veered towards the house next door. 

He started describing Daisy. He had only had a few interactions with the little girl, but he was sure she was a firecracker. Too much energy and character inside such a tiny body. A small smile drew itself on his face as he pictured what she could grow up to be. A boss, for sure. He could not see that girl taking orders from nobody, not even her own dad. 

And her dad… 

The pen stopped its dance, but stayed pressed to the page. Ghost’s mind wandered as he thought about the scot. About those bright eyes, about that stupid, messy mohawk that seemed to grow at an alarming rate. The knee-buckling grin he usually had plastered on his face, how it seemed to turn soft as he looked into Ghost’s eyes, seemingly reading him easily. How he jogged by his door early in the morning, before he headed to work. How sweat dripped down his face but he didn’t seem to mind it, incredibly focused on his own pace. How he seemed to think his daughter hung the moon, how they seemed to be thick as thieves, how the girl seemed to be incredibly polite and smart, a testament of how good a dad Johnny was. 

That thought seemed to rock Ghost so hard he came out of his trance. He looked down, to see the ink of his pen had permeated through the page. He dropped his journal, upset with himself. Of course he would lose control of his thoughts and ruin the one thing he had allowed himself to own. Of course he was so focused on what was going on next door that he would lose track of himself. Of course he would be so fascinated by a man so breathtakingly beautiful and smart and yet so tender, so kind, so attentive to his child. Such a good, honest person, and so good to Ghost, while Ghost was–

Ghost heaved a heavy breath, leaning back on the couch. His eyes opened wide, and he tried to school himself back to calm, but the anxiety licked at his throat, and refused to let go. 

He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what it was that had tipped him over the edge. But he had to move. He had to–

He stood up quickly and made to move to the door, forgetting about his injured leg. He let out a pained shout and stumbled, barely managing to hold himself upright by clutching the back of one of the dining chairs. 

He felt his hands trembling as he pushed himself upright. He could barely move, but he had to leave. Had to get out. The walls were closing in. 

He snatched the surgical mask off of his face as he hobbled to the door, wrenching it open and only making it a few steps before he collapsed on his stoop. He tried to get his breathing under control, holding a hand over his face to gain a semblance of privacy, although he knew he was very much on display. 

He lost track of time, rather focusing on regaining control. He inhaled for four, held for four, exhaled for four countless times, holding to the technique like a lifeline. 

He didn’t notice being approached until the other person sat next to him, and his head shot up in fear. 

It was Johnny. Just Johnny.

The other man must have noticed the panic in his eyes because he simply shrugged, trying to make himself as small and non-threatening as possible. “Just here for support. Don’t mind me.”

Ghost found he didn’t mind the presence. If anything, he found it comforting. The scot, true to his word, did not say anything, nor did he try to touch or guide Ghost in any which way. He was just there.  

And it helped. 

After a few minutes had passed, and Ghost was visibly more calm. He finally straightened, resting his hands on his knees. 

“Rough day?” Asked the scot, and Ghost breathed out a semblance of a chuckle. I’ve been shot at for hours on end but yeah, I had a panic attack while journaling. A rough day. “Come on.”

His head shot up at that, watching the other man stand up and offer him a hand up. He just blinked at him, confused. “Daisy’s been asking about ye, and I can make a mean spaghetti.” Ghost was lost, but found himself taking the offered hand and heaving himself up, silently. Johnny walked past him into Ghost’s house, grabbed his cane from where it rested on the coffee table, and came back, closing the door behind him. He offered the cane to Ghost and then walked down the stairs, waiting for him as if this was normal behavior. As if they’d done this a thousand times.

Ghost went with him.

As they walked into the house, John called out “Pumpkin? Misbehavin’?”

Ghost looked around, spotting the girl in what was clearly the living room. She was sitting on a tiny pink table, a tiara on her head. There were three other chairs around the table, all occupied by various stuffed animals. She froze as she heard his dad, gingerly placing a teacup back on the table. “Never!” Was her response, but didn’t seem genuine, more like routine. It was clearly the way they addressed each other when Johnny wanted to know where in the house she was. 

It took her a split second to realize her dad had not come alone. When she spotted Ghost, she shrieked excitedly and jumped out of her chair. “Mr. Sam!” She called, coming to meet them at the door. Ghost stood plastered to it, still unsure around a child so completely immune to his regular threatening demeanor. 

Daisy came up to him, craning her neck to look at him, smiling widely. How she was not scared by the scars on his face remained a mystery. She took hold of two of his fingers – all that her tiny hand could hold– and tugged him to come back with her. “Ah’m having a tea party! Come, Mr. Sam. Tea is warm.” Ghost was helpless, looking up at Johnny with a bewildered look on his face. Johnny only shrugged, chuckling softly and pushing him to join his daughter. “Ah have dinner to work on. Ye have a party to go to, it seems like.”

Ghost didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He understood the general concept – be served fake tea and fake biscuits, pretend they are the most delicious things. Engage in conversation with the child and the stuffed animals. It all seemed easy enough, but he felt clumsy and awkward, trying to fit himself in the world of a child while being so overwhelmingly huge . 

He decided on sitting on the sofa, as close as he could be to the tea table. If he tried to sit on one of the tiny pink plastic chairs it would not end well for anybody. He took the cup that Daisy offered, and under her scrutinizing gaze, pretended to take a sip. “Mmm,” he mumbled, hoping that was the right reaction. “Delicious.” Daisy beamed at him, and he relaxed minutely. He was doing fine. He could manage this. 

About half an hour later, filled with sipping air, nodding dumbly at teddy bears, and Daisy’s exploding laughter, Johnny appeared, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. It was all painfully domestic. 

“Dinner is done. Do ye mind if we eat on the sofa? Daisy has been asking for a movie.” Ghost obviously did not mind, but he realized that was a normal question normal people made. He was a guest. He shook his head.

“Pumpkin, off you go. Get those hands clean, please.” Daisy sighed and rolled her eyes at Ghost, as if Johnny was inconveniencing her. It was adorable. 

As she went to do what she was asked, Johnny disappeared again, coming back with two plates. Ghost stood up to help, but Johnny placed the plates on the coffee table and gently pushed him back onto the sofa. “Dinnae even think abou’ it. Ah can carry a few plates by ma’self.” Ghost put up his hands as a peace offering, and Johnny only chuckled at him on his way back to the kitchen. 

Everything was calm, including the thoughts inside his head. After finishing the incredibly tasty dish (Johnny had looked at him with a smug smile on his face every time he made a sound of appreciation), he leaned back on the sofa and focused on the TV. He only knew enough to recognize the movie as a Disney princess movie, but did not know much else. Daisy, however, was reciting the whole thing by heart. Even Johnny mouthed along to the songs, but pretended not to when he felt Ghost’s eyes on him. 

When he came to, the credits were rolling. He sat up, wide eyed and panic starting to rise, but Johnny placed a warm hand on his thigh. It grounded him. 

“Yer okay. Ye dozed off for a few minutes.” Johnny offered him a soft smile that told him it was nothing to be embarrassed about, but Ghost could not handle it. He stood up quickly, grabbing his cane, trying to make an exit, but found himself frozen in place. Johnny watched him with an amused look on his face, and he noticed that Daisy, too, was giggling a little at the situation, even if her eyes were heavy with sleep. 

“I– uh– sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“Sam, breathe. It’s not a big deal.”

Ghost didn’t know what to do with such understanding. He felt awkward and out of place, and Johnny’s softness made him want to kiss him stupid. 

He didn’t. He nodded dumbly, saying his goodbyes, thanking Johnny for the dinner, and escaped as quickly as he could. 

Johnny shared a look with his daughter, who exploded into giggles again. “I like him. He’s silly.”

Chapter Text

Ghost couldn’t tell if he was being punished or rewarded. Every day that passed, every single wave from across the park, every invitation for dinner, every soft hand landing on his shoulder when he inevitably ran out of the house in the middle of an anxiety attack– it was all too much. 

Johnny was too much.

He was too kind, too curious, too sweet, too perceptive, too giving, too trusting, too handsome, too earth-shatteringly hot, too normal, too straight–

He had finally given up and started journaling about his daily run-ins with the scot and his daughter. He found that re-reading his thoughts helped him discern what was actually an astute observation, and what was probably an overreaction based on anxiety and fear.

He had now been there for six weeks, and his neighbors had slowly but surely become his source of comfort. He still had not heard anything from Price; he knew that the captain would reach out if there was anything he needed to know, but that knowledge provided only a small comfort. Without a lifeline to his real life , as he called it in his head, he had no option but to turn to his new one. 

Ghost was not a man to get lost in small comforts. He could go months sleeping on rocks, surviving on dehydrated vegetables and small rodents. He could spend countless hours completely still, not even his breathing giving away his position. He was not one for small talk, for hobbies, for relationships other than the extremely professional and necessary for his line of work. 

And yet. 

And yet he found comfort right next door. He found that all of these things he thought he didn’t need; the companionship, the small jokes, the warmth of a homemade meal and the soft physical touch of another– all of these things warmed him from the inside and made him sleep better at night. 

He still wrestled with his own thoughts. That dark, excruciating, suffocating thought of undeserving crept at him during the night, after he had settled in bed and his muscles let go of the tension of the day. Once he was half-asleep, his attention wavering, those thoughts came back full force. 

The pain and the cold threatened to destroy this small microcosm he had built for himself, where he was safe, warm and content. Not happy, not yet. He wasn’t sure if he could ever be. But content? Yes. Entertained, cared for, acknowledged and appreciated. But those voices whispered to him; those voices that sounded much too like his father for his liking. Those voices that told him, time and time again, that he was only good for one thing– for killing. He didn’t deserve normalcy; he didn’t deserve appreciation and comfort, because those feelings were reserved for humans, and he was anything but. He was a cold, hollow husk of a man, whose worth and existence began and ended with the barrel of his rifle. He was only as necessary as his skills with his knives. He was kept alive with the sole focus of making life drain out of others. 

How dare he entertain being worthy of Johnny’s love?

Johnny who was so naive, so full of life, so whole . Who wasn’t plagued by memories of victims when the sun went down. Who had a life worth-living, a child under his care, and gave so much of himself to others, and deserved so much more in return. Something Ghost could not give him. 

Ghost rubbed his face furiously when he realized that it was wet with tears. He took a few deep breaths and dug his fingernails on the palms of his hands, trying to bring himself back from the brink. It was never easy. The longer he let those thoughts roam free, the more difficult it was. 

And yet as he tried, he felt the phantom presence of a warm hand on his shoulder. That soft hand that handed him a plate of food every now and then, that curled into a fist and playfully punched his shoulder when he made an awful joke. That hand that helped ground him when he tried to keep his breathing under control. That hand that belonged to the man that Ghost most decidedly didn’t deserve, but whose mere memory helped him come into the light.

Ghost, maybe by design, maybe by because the army had forced it into him, was always an early riser. He climbed out of bed usually before the sun was out, and made himself a cup of tea. As part of his new routine, he tried to journal a little as he had his breakfast, trying to get ahead of his thoughts, straightening them out before they had time to scramble. After he finished, he would either do a few PT exercises, or take his normal walk around the neighborhood. 

That was why, when someone knocked on his door at around 7 AM, he was up and at it. 

He moved from the kitchen to grab his cane– once again not his preferred weapon but the one closest to him– and opened the door with a distrusting look on his face; a look that changed immediately once he saw Johnny and Daisy on his doorstep, the man looking disheveled and anxious. 

“What’s wrong?” Ghost immediately asked, looking past his neighbors and making a quick check of the street. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Ah’m sorry abou’ this– There’s an emergency at the clinic and ah have to run. Do ye– Do ye think ye could take Daisy to preschool? It’s by the fire station, ah’m sure ye’ve seen it– If ah take her ah’ll be late.” Johnny blurted out all of this hurriedly, his accent stronger as he was clearly anxious. It took a second for Ghost to understand but he immediately nodded.

“Of course. I can–” He choked a little. He had agreed so eagerly . “I can take her. I’ve seen it. ‘The Magic Tree’, right?”

Johnny nodded, relief washing over his face. “Aye, that’s the one. Thank ye, Sam. Ah owe ye.” With that, he squatted to look his daughter in the eye. “No funny business, Pumpkin, arrite? Don’t make it harder for Mr. Sam. Be good.”

His daughter, to her credit, nodded solemnly at him before planting a wet kiss on his cheek. “Will be good. Ah promise.”

Johnny straightened up and placed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. Ghost tried not to squirm. 

“Thank ye so much, Sam. Teacher is Miss Gemma. She’ll be waiting at the door.”

He left hurriedly, and Ghost stared after him. He was only pulled out of his thoughts by Daisy clearing her throat obnoxiously, regarding him with an all-too-knowing smile. This child knows too much.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked dumbly. The girl made a half turn to show him her backpack and nodded, stretching out an arm for him to take his hand.

And so, they walked. It was only a couple of blocks to the main square, and then two to the left to the preschool. Ghost had canvased the entirety of the town– it wasn’t too hard since it was  small– and walked with purpose. He noticed, with a soft smile on his lips, that Daisy also knew the way, and was treating him like he didn’t. 

She smiled at every person that walked by them, tried to pet every dog, and ran her tiny hand across the bark of every tree trunk. Ghost observed her silently, trying to see Johnny in her features. She clearly had his dark hair, but her eyes were a soft brown. Her nose was more button-like and her cheeks chubbier, but the look of concentration in her eyes as she made him stop so that she could jump over a fallen tree branch– that was all Johnny.

Ghost wondered what Johnny’s wife had been like. Wondered how much Johnny thought about her, if he talked about her to his daughter. Was she aware of what had happened? Did Johnny go on dates, or did he stay away from romantic interaction? Was he even ready to be with someone else?

As lost as he was in this train of thought, they made it to the school in record time. As parents and children shuffled about, Daisy pulled him to who he guessed was Miss Gemma– something the little girl quickly confirmed as she called out to her. 

“Miss Gemma! G’mornin’! This is Mr. Sam.” She gestured to him, her eyes bright with excitement. The teacher looked up at him, a spark of recognition in her eyes. Surely, Ghost had not interacted with her before. And yet she looked at him like she knew him. What–

“Ah, Mr. Sam! You must be Mr. MacTavish’s partner. Daisy has not stopped singing your praise.”

The world stopped rotating on its axis. 

Partner? Partner? As in—

She had to be mistaken. Why would she think Johnny and him were together? Had he said anything? Surely he couldn’t have. Did Johnny think they were a couple? What would have given Johnny the idea that they were–

That he was–

He looked down at Daisy, who giggled and disappeared into the school. That little–

“I’m sorry,” the teacher backtracked, clearly seeing his discomfort. “Daisy talked about you a few weeks ago and said you were her dad’s new boyfriend and I took that at face value.” She was clearly apologetic, thinking she had offended him. He snapped out of his thoughts to shake his head and reassure her as best as he could that it was fine, that he wasn’t, no not him, Johnny was his friend, and Daisy was–

Well, Daisy was somehow trying to play matchmaker.

A few hours later, as he was talking out the trash, he felt a presence behind him. He turned to see Johnny, his eyes wide with horror, his face red as a beet.

Ah.

“So, Miss Gemma asked to talk to me today at pick-up–”

“It’s no problem.”

“No, wait, because ah- ah didn’-- Daisy– Ah don’t know why she thought– We’ve been spending so much time together and she– no’ that there’s anything wrong wi’ it, ah mean, ah like men too and Daisy knows, but–”

“Johnny.” The scot stopped his rambling and looked up at Ghost with huge, apologetic eyes. Once again, Ghost had the impulse to just kiss him stupid. This man, wracked with guilt and embarrassment about something his daughter had said, thinking that his relationship with his neighbor was ruined. Thinking he had offended him, that his daughter’s eagerness had made him feel uncomfortable and uneasy, that he would retreat back to his shell. He had no idea how Ghost’s heart had been singing all day. 

“I don’t mind. Really. It was sweet. I was honored.” The last part slipped before he could stop himself and he now felt himself flushing. Now this was really embarrassing. 

“A– thank you.” He could see Johnny trying to make sense of what he’d said, searching his eyes for more meaning behind them. His skin started to burn. 

He shot him a quick smile and made a quick getaway. In the safety of his home he took a deep breath. He didn’t know what to make of the interaction. What was Johnny looking for? 

Ah like men too and Daisy knows

Surely he didn’t need to explain himself to Ghost. But clarifying that he did, in fact, like men, and that it wasn’t something Daisy had made up–

That means nothing , Ghost chastised himself. That doesn’t mean he likes you.

Ghost shook his head, trying to keep the dark thoughts at bay. Every interaction he’d had that day had left him utterly confused. And yet, this last one–

Confused and hopeful.

Chapter Text

Ghost was drowning in his thoughts, and, for the very first time in a long time, it wasn’t terribly painful, only nerve-wracking. After the awkward encounter where Johnny clarified his sexuality, Ghost could not help but to over-analyze every single new interaction he had with the man. 

He knew it was ridiculous– just because Johnny liked men he didn’t necessarily have to like Ghost – but he still could not help but to hyperfocus on every word, every gesture, every miniscule reaction he got from the man. He poured them over his journal at night, going over their daily interactions as if he was analyzing intel from a terrorist cell. 

Johnny smiled at him a lot , he had realized. He was, by nature, a very easy-going and smiley man– the handful of interactions he had witnessed between the Scot and the other members of the community proved that. However, those smiles seemed to be a knee-jerk reaction, almost mechanical; the smiles directed at Ghost seemed genuine, warm, inviting. 

Ghost had gotten progressively better with physical touch. He had never been fond of people crossing the invisible boundary of his personal space, always choosing to stay back, stay hidden, always alert but further than arm’s length. Johnny, however, was a toucher: Ghost wasn’t sure that the man even realized how physical he was. Sure, he was incredibly affectionate with his daughter, with hugs, and kisses, and the occasional raspberry to her tummy that made her collapse in fits of giggles. He was also helpful whenever Ghost’s anxiety got the better of him, with a warm hand on his shoulder or on the small of his back, either squeezing gently or drawing small circles to distract Ghost and ground him. But he also pressed his hand to Ghost’s back when he had to walk by behind him, even if he had plenty of room; he’d place his hand on Ghost’s forearm as he told a story, as if to make sure Ghost was still there and listening to his ramblings; he’d slap his thigh whenever Ghost made a deadpan joke, leaning back into his seat and then falling forwards, almost always pressing his forehead to Ghost’s shoulder before straightening back up. 

It was intoxicating, and Ghost was addicted.

Even though he wrote, and analyzed, and pondered, and spiraled about those small details, he still didn’t know what to think of them. Ghost was unequivocally incapable of thinking someone like Johnny could like someone like him . The Scot surely had to have a line of suitors ready for him. If he was single, it was by choice. Maybe he was already dating, and was just cautious enough to keep that life separate from his daughter. 

Even if Ghost allowed himself to hope that he could ever achieve something romantic with the other man, there was still a part of him that did not allow those thoughts to bloom. Even if he had made progress with his mental health, a lifetime of darkness did not go away so easily. Johnny’s eyes and smile were like bright beacons, but yet, Ghost could only make baby steps towards the light. 

Ghost was roused by an incessant noise, and for a split second he was entirely confused as to where he was, and what was happening. It took a split second for his eyes to adjust to the light coming in from the window and zero in on a small light flashing on his coffee table. 

His phone. 

His phone was ringing. 

He jumped off the couch where he had been snoozing, snatching the phone quickly, sliding his thumb up the screen to pick up.

“Son.”

Ghost had conflicting reactions to hearing Price’s voice after three months. A part of him was relieved– hearing his voice meant that Price was alive , and whether he liked it or not, he had come to enjoy the man’s presence in his life. He was strong, competent, reliable, and trustworthy. Those were characteristics that seemed to be less and less common in his line of work. 

Another part of him felt worried. His stomach turned as he realized that if Price was calling, it meant something had happened. As per usual, his mind jumped to the worst possible thing. Gaz, dead. Their base, bombed. His identity, displayed on every major network. 

The last part of him, and this was the part that Ghost most desperately wanted to squash, felt envy. If Price was calling, he could have news. If Price was calling, there could be missions happening at that exact time. If Price was calling, they could have killed Shepherd already. 

And he was playing house in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere while nursing a fucked up leg.

“Sir.” He schooled both his voice and his features back to his cold, distant demeanor. He hoped the act was good enough to translate over the phone. 

“I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself.” There was concern in his voice, sure, but it was also laced with authority. Price very well knew that Ghost had to be forced into not being self-destructive. 

“Yes, sir. Is there news?” He quickly changed the subject, not wanting to go down the rabbit hole of his recovery. His leg would heal, whether he put any effort in or not.

“Yes. Our intel finally paid off. We have Shepherd.”

A chill ran down Ghost’s spine. They had him. They had him. He realized he couldn’t speak.

“Gaz is working on interrogation right now. We haven’t gotten him to talk yet, but we will. I wanted to keep you updated.”

There was bile in his mouth. His fingers had tightened without him realizing and he was close to crushing his phone. 

“So far, we have not received any information that would suggest his allies know where he is being kept. Laswell is working on keeping it that way. We believe we have a solid few days to break him.” Ghost was vibrating. He could barely focus on Price’s words. “I will call back as soon as it’s safe enough to do so. And Simon ,” the use of his name snapped him out of his daze, and he grunted to confirm he was listening. “I know you. Do not think for a minute that you can pack up and come back. We’re not at the base and I have very pointedly not shared our coordinates with you for a reason. I know you’d want to be here, but you can’t. You are hurt. Do not try to force my hand on this, because you will not be able to. I will call back.”

And with that, he hung up.

Ghost dropped his phone on the coffee table unceremoniously, body swaying softly as thoughts swirled around his head. 

All of their hard work, their scrambling after the betrayal, the risks they’d gone through, the months of intel gathering and persecution, all of it had led to that moment: to catching Shepherd and making him admit to his crimes. 

And he wasn’t there. 

He wasn’t there to threaten him, he wasn’t there to put the fear of God into him as he drove one of his many knives into non-vital parts of his body, watching him squirm, watching him battle with himself, choosing his honor or his life. He wasn’t there to listen as he inevitably blabbered, as he pleaded and wept to be spared. He wasn’t there to be the one to finally slit his neck, the blood gurgling out of him the satisfying end to an entirely too-long nightmare. 

He wasn’t there because he’d been eager, stupid and careless. Because he’d let a fucking Shadow , a pathetic excuse for a soldier get the drop on him. So much for the terrifying Ghost. The phantom. The unkillable beast. 

Brought down by sheer dumb luck.

So much for his unmarred reputation. 

Ghost, blind with rage, picked up a dining chair and threw it against the door. It bounced back, the back of it breaking apart. 

He didn’t notice.

A few hours later, he was still on the couch, unmoving. His eyes were focused on his phone, watching it silently, willing it to ring. He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear. He just wanted to know something. 

A knock on his door pulled him out of his trance. He looked up in the direction of the sound, a frown on his face as if he’d forgotten he was in a house, a house with a door that could be knocked on. He decided to ignore the sound, focusing back on his phone, but after a pause, the knock was there again.

And again.

Ghost balled his hands into fists and hobbled to the door. He grabbed the broken chair with a hand and threw it haphazardly behind himself, not caring where it landed. 

It was Johnny. 

Sweet, beautiful Johnny. 

“Ah came by to invite ye to dinner. Daisy made artwork in class and she wants to show it to ye– are ye okay?” Johnny had finally looked into Ghost’s eyes and seen the storm swirling inside of them. 

Ghost could not do this right now. 

“Sorry, can’t.” He made to close the door but Johnny was faster, pressing a hand on it to stop him. Ghost looked up, half surprised that the Scot was still there. 

“What do ye mean, ye can’t? What’s going on?” Johnny could really read him like a book. It was incredibly unnerving. He was now frowning at the look on Ghost’s face, looking around for any sort of answer to his question. His eyes landed on the broken chair behind Ghost, and his frown deepened. “What in the world–”

Ghost wanted nothing more than to make that frown disappear. It didn’t belong on Johnny’s face. Kind, warm, bigger-than-life Johnny was frowning, and it was entirely his fault. 

It was his fault that he had gotten comfortable and allowed Johnny and his daughter to come into his life, a life that had nothing more than pain, sorrow, blood and death. How could he have been so reckless as to involve civilians? Even if they didn’t know his real name, they’d seen his face. They knew he was military. It could be far too easy to find them. To use them to get to him. 

He had to get Johnny away.

“I just can’t, John. It’s not that hard to understand.” Johnny visibly flinched at the name and Ghost hated himself for it. But he couldn’t have him here. He needed to put some distance between them. 

“It’s actually pretty hard to understand, since ye’ve never acted like this before.” Johnny, to his credit, quickly went from hurt to angry. He shouldered the door to open it further and walked in, easily getting into Ghost’s space and looking up at him with defiant eyes. “What. Is going on with ye.”

Ghost gritted his teeth and walked back, unable to stand the woody smell of Johnny’s cologne, and the warmth of his chest. “Nothing that concerns you. Please leave.” He was trying his hardest to keep his voice level, even though he could feel the bile creeping up his chest.

“Is it work? Did something happen?” How did he manage to read him so easily? Ghost squirmed, closing his eyes, feeling Johnny crawling under his skin. 

“Stop. You know I can’t tell you anything. I never should’ve even talked to you. It’s not safe, it’s not even– I can’t handle you right now. Please go.”

There was a fire in Johnny’s eyes. If the situation was any different, Ghost would have been enamored with it. As it stood, it made him sick. 

“Ye cannot just push me awae. This is– bullshit, Sam, it’s bullshit.” He raised his hands, tugging at his mohawk. “Ye can’t just do this after you spend three months with me and ma’ child, making me feel comfortable and safe with ye, making me trust ye enough to feel like ye could be a permanent part of our life, that ah could easily lov–'' Johnny cut himself off, heaving, face flushed and eyes swimming with tears. Ghost knew what he’d been about to say, but he could not stomach it. He could not have it be real. He needed to push Johnny away, needed to hurt him so that he could be safe.

“Sam’s not my real name.” 

There was nothing warm and comforting in Johnny’s eyes as he left.

Chapter Text

Ghost let out a heavy breath and banged his forehead against the wall of the shower. It had been two weeks since his outburst with Johnny and even though he should have felt relieved that all ties seemed to be cut and he didn’t have to pretend anymore, he couldn’t get the man out of his head. 

He knew he had hurt him. He had done the last thing he wanted to do in this entire world. He knew that Johnny wouldn’t go willingly, that he was so stubborn and fiery that he would never leave him on his own. He could see through Ghost easily, could see his real intent. He could see that everything he had said was an excuse. 

So he had swallowed his own heart and had gone about his life, pretending to not know his neighbors. Johnny flat out ignored him– they had crossed paths once or twice on the street. Ghost had not realized how much they saw each other only because the Scot had willingly and consciously let him into his life. Now that he had been pushed out, he was lucky to see the back of his head once or twice. But Daisy– He had seen her only once, as they walked home from school. The pain in Daisy’s eyes was almost palpable. 

Ghost had thrown up the second he’d gotten into the house. 

Was he worried that something could happen to Johnny and Daisy because of him? He was terrified . But he was also terrified of his own feelings. Terrified that after so long living as little more than a machine, he could actually feel human again. Terrified that he had let his guard down so much that he had allowed himself the small pleasure of enjoying the company of a beautiful man and his wonderful daughter. 

Men like him did not lead normal lives. They did not even entertain the idea of family. Getting close to someone meant putting them in the line of fire, making them suffer when they eventually were used as bait, or worse. 

His own train of thought was stopped as a picture flashed in his head. 

Laswell. Laswell had a wife, didn’t she? Ghost didn’t know her name, and he realized that Laswell probably had willed it so, for security reasons. Laswell was a highly trained agent and she had allowed herself a stab at a normal life. And she was thriving. 

Gaz had a family, too, Ghost knew. Parents and a younger brother, if he remembered correctly. Sure, he had not chosen to be related to them like Laswell had chosen her wife but he still had a very close relationship with them, and they were still safe. 

Ghost had spent so much time by himself that he had lost perspective. 

Everyone had loved ones. Romantic partners, parents, siblings, children, maybe an uncle or two. He just didn’t think about it, didn’t consider it possible because he didn’t have anyone.

But now he did.

He stumbled out of the shower after his epiphany, blindly looking around for a towel and clean clothes to throw on himself. He managed to put on something half decent and then hobbled around to find his cane – he knew what he had to do and he was not about to trip as he did it. 

After a few minutes, he was ready. He studied himself in the mirror. He belatedly realized that after spending almost four months in this town, it had gotten easier to see his own face. Without realizing, he’d learned and grown so much. He now waved to people on the street. He cracked jokes with the girl that owned the hobby store; she tried hard to stay stoic, but the corners of her mouth usually twitched after every pun. He had relaxed so much that he was able to nap on the couch, his gun far from his reach. 

He still had habits that were hard to kick. When taking a seat in the coffee shop, he always chose the spot by the corner, to be able to see the whole place. When a car backfired, he still tensed and his eyes went dark. When first engaging in conversation with a stranger, he took notice of every discernable physical detail, assessing the threat level in his head. 

But he also went to the park and smiled as he watched the children play and tried to learn what it was to actually have a childhood. He walked Daisy from school now and then and listened intently as she parroted away every single nugget of information she had absorbed that day. He spent most evenings on Johnny’s couch, laughing as he told stories about weird patients or annoying coworkers. 

Without realizing, he had become human . And while he was scared that he had ruined it beyond repair, he, for once in his life, was ready to swallow his pride and grovel for forgiveness, hoping that Johnny would come back to him. 

Ghost almost backed out of his own plan twice. Without the steady presence of Johnny and Daisy in his life, his dark thoughts had returned in full force, and sometimes he felt he was not in control of his own body. Those snarky, disgusting thoughts of not enough were trying to get him to stay inside. Trying to make him drown in his own pity.

He would not let them. 

He walked slowly to the house next door. Daisy was already in school, and Johnny had an afternoon shift, so he was most definitely home alone. Had Ghost memorized their entire life schedule? Of course. He needed to make sure he could tell if anything was out of the ordinary, strayed away from their routine, any possibility of danger. It also brought him comfort, the steady, simple rhythm of a normal life.

He lifted his fist, which suddenly weighed about ten tons. He knocked on the door twice, and waited. He heard shuffling inside– Johnny was probably busy baking something to pass the time and avoid being on his phone. 

He was proved right as he opened the door, kitchen towel over his shoulder and a smudge of flour on his cheek. 

Ghost wanted to cry. 

Johnny regarded him silently, his eyebrows raising in a silent question. 

“Can I– come in?” Ghost asked. His voice was small, barely audible. It was a great physical strain to be able to make any sort of noise. 

Johnny again stayed silent, but after a few seconds he moved away from the door, leaving space for Ghost to come in. The brit did so, standing awkwardly in the foyer, his arms at his sides. He had spent countless hours inside this house and he now felt like a stranger inside it again. He felt awkward, out of place. He felt his chest compressing with anxiety and he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. 

Johnny still did not say a word, regarding him carefully. He had let him inside but had not made any move to indicate that Ghost was allowed further in than where he was currently standing. The message was clear. 

“I like to journal.” Ghost blurted out. Johnny’s head tilted to the side in confusion. Ghost licked his lips and powered through. “I like to journal. I don’t know if I ever told you that. It’s what I managed to do to pass the time. I write about work, about the things I’ve seen, about my nightmares, about my shitty childhood. I write about the bullet in my leg–” Johnny’s eyes widened at that. Ah, right. Never did tell him that. “I write about my CO and what is going on while I’m out on leave. I write about you. And Daisy.” 

He stopped to take a deep breath after that confession, but figured it was now or never. “I write because it helps me see some clarity in my thoughts, because this–” He gestured to his head with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “This is a mess. I write because I’m not good with feelings, never have been. And writing made me realize how much you two mean to me.” 

Johnny’s hand twitched, almost imperceptibly, but Ghost noticed. He always noticed. “I’m terrified, Johnny. I don’t know what I– these feelings are new to me. And they’re strong, and I’m scared. My life is not easy, and if anything happened to you two because of me, after you opened your home to me and made me feel–” He had tried valiantly to keep his breathing in check but he was still helpless as a choked sob escaped him. Johnny broke at that, taking a tentative step forward to close the distance between them, but Ghost raised a hand to stop him, softly shaking his head. 

“No, please. If you touch me right now I’ll crumble and I need to get this out. You deserve to know.” Johnny nodded at that, but stayed at arm’s length, his eyes impossibly wide as he scanned Ghost’s face, seemingly reading his thoughts. Ghost continued.

“My CO had called me that day. I can’t tell you what he shared but– it rocked me. It was not bad news; the complete opposite. But hearing from him made me spiral. And I took it out on you, like a fuckin’ coward. I can’t– I’m a mess, Johnny. I am so fucked up, but I’m trying– I don’t–” He started getting agitated, losing his train of thought as his emotions took control of him. 

Johnny finally closed the gap between them, cupping Ghost’s cheek with his hand before patting it, not hard enough to sting, but strong enough to keep him grounded to reality. 

“Ye are a such a numpty. Ah’ve dated military personnel before. Ah kno’ how ye all are. Ah know this is less than ideal, and normally, if Ah’d met ye in any other context, Ah wouldn’t even have brought ye home, ye would definitely not have met my daughter, but ye were right next door and Daisy– she was so amazed by ye.” Ghost looked up at that, his eyes wet with tears, a hopeful look on his face. “She is the one that chose ye. She saw ye first and dragged me to help ye. And she is young, and pure, and is an amazing judge of character. And Ah kno’ ye’re not an easy person, but neither am Ah. Ah have ma’ own stuff to process, too. And Ah come with a toddler. Ah kno’ that’s no’ easy. But ye and yer silly brain have tried to make this harder than it already is. Ye do not get to tell me what Ah can or cannae handle. Ye do not get to run awae to lick yer wounds and leave me high an’ dry. Ah’m not goin’ anywhere. Ah just needed ye to sweat a li’l.”

Ghost blinked dumbly as the scot chuckled, taking one further step into him, the hand that was not still holding his cheek snaking around his waist. It was all too much: he had talked so much and bared his soul completely, his eyes were full of tears and his breath was shaky, Johnny was here and close and warm and beautiful, and he was making a joke. 

“Wha’?”

“Ah knew that ye needed to come to this conclusion on yer own. So aye, Ah was angry. Very angry. But Ah let ye to yerself, to realize that ye were wrong and Ah was right.” Ghost let out a breathy chuckle, once again, utterly amazed at this man’s uncanny ability to know him more than he knew himself. 

Johnny was looking at him with soft eyes. He had lowered the hand from his cheek to the side of his neck, and his thumb was now softly stroking his jaw. He seemed lost in thought for a few seconds, a tiny, mischievous smile still present on his lips. Those beautiful, soft lips that had plagued Ghost’s mind since he’d met the man, those sinful lips that were right there, so close that he could just reach and–

“Please.” A soft mutter. A plea. A response to the thoughts evident in his eyes. Ghost could not deny him. 

He finally closed the distance, his lips pressing tentatively against Johnny’s. They were soft that mattered in this world, not the neighborhood, the town, not Shepherd, nothing. It was just them. Right then. Frozen in time. 

Johnny slowly but surely opened his lips to deepen the kiss, letting out a sigh that Ghost swallowed eagerly. 

They stayed like that for a few minutes, savoring each other, enjoying the taste, the slow tease of lips, and tongues, and teeth. The kiss turned deep but stayed slow, sensual, not leading anywhere but right then and there. They had all the time in the world. 

When they finally parted, Ghost’s eyes remained closed, and he pressed his forehead against Johnny’s, gathering his bearings, feeling his cold, hollow chest warm and full.

“Simon.” He breathed. 

“What?”

“My real name is Simon.”

***

Daisy was on cloud nine. Sure it was a little cold, and sure, she had to wear that fluffy hat that her Da’ liked so much but she hated because it made her head itch. But this was the best day ever . Holding his right hand, as always, was Da’. But now, new addition, was Mr. Sam– no, Simon! Holding her left. It was the first time they were taking her to class together and she was so excited she could barely walk straight. 

When she had gotten out of bed that morning, rubbing her eyes as she tried to will her brain awake, she had gone to the kitchen to get her breakfast and stopped in her tracks. 

Because Mr. Sam was there. He was back. And he was on the couch. In the morning.  

She had squealed when she saw him and immediately jumped on his lap to give him the biggest hug she could with her tiny arms. If he was in the house, then everything was okay. Da’ was smiling, Mr. Sam was smiling, and then so was Daisy. 

He had brushed her hair back with his fingers and poked her cheek to make her look up at him. 

“Daisy, remember how I said my name was Sam?”

She had nodded, frowning deep in thought, trying to understand where he was going with this. 

“Well, that was a– nickname, but now I want you to know me by my real name. My name is Simon.”

“Simon,” She had tried, nodding slowly. His face had cracked into a huge smile, bigger than she had ever seen him smile. She had clearly done something that he enjoyed, so she had smiled back at him, shuffling closer to hug him again. 

Her Da’ had then appeared from the kitchen, bringing her a glass of milk and kneeling in front of the couch to look her in the eye. “Pumpkin, Simon and I were talking about him spending more time here. Do ye think that would be okay? Would you like that?”

Daisy’s hands had trembled in excitement, her eyes sparkling as she squealed, nodding frantically to her Da’, and then to Simon. 

“See?” Her Da’ had laughed. “Told ye, she likes ye more than me.”

Her Da’ kissed her goodbye when she reached Miss Gemma, and Mr. Simon rustled her hair with a chuckle. She blew him a kiss with a wink and turned on her heels, running to her classroom.

Once she was inside, she faced her classmates, put her hands up, closed her eyes and let out a war scream. “My dad has a BOYFRIEND !”