Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He wasn't showing it, but Soap was ecstatic. They did it. They'd captured the Ghost. Yes, from afar, with a dart gun and a heavy sedative, but still. It was something that was unheard of, and they were one step closer to catching Roba. That is, if the spooky fucker currently slumped in the chair spoke. This probably wasn't going to be a walk in the park, if the rumors were to be believed. A cold blooded killer, Roba's left hand man that left nothing but death in his wake. Up close, the man sure lived up to his reputation. Tall, broad and muscled, he could probably crush someone with his bare hands. Searching him, they'd taken an impressive amount of knives off him too, even one in his fucking boots. Unbelievable. Price sat down in the chair in front of the prisoner, with nothing but the table in between them. Even with the masked man well tied to his metal chair, it was a bit unnerving.

“How long is this going to take ?” grumped Alejandro.

“Shouldn't be too long, but I dosed him a bit more, just in case. Didn't want him waking up too soon.”

Yeah, if he'd been conscious when they'd been stripping him of his weapons, it probably wouldn't have gone so well. Soap kept his gaze on the man and his heart skipped a beat when he saw an eyelid twitch. Here it comes.

The first thing Ghost did after cracking his eyes open was testing his binds. Good thing they hadn't slacked on those. Soap couldn't help himself and had to make a smart-ass comment.

“Here's the sleeping beauty.”

Price turned a bit, glaring, before reporting his attention on Ghost, who didn't react further than raising his head, looking at Price. Boring, but predictable. After all, such a well trained killer wouldn't fly off the handle at the slightest provocation, right ? Soap walked closer, posting himself next to Price to get a better look at the man now that he was awake, and harmless. Dark brown eyes stared through the skull mask, right into his soul, and Soap had to suppress a shiver. Spooky bastard alright. Alejandro joined them and Price spoke.

“It's nice to finally meet you, Ghost. We've been tracking you for quite a while. Living up to your namesake, you were hard to find.”

Their prisoner did not answer, shocking no one. The man didn't budge, even when Price revealed their motive : getting Roba. Just stoic silence.

“Alright. We will be back. I will let you think about it.”

They followed Price out, and Soap couldn't help but steal a glance on the way out. It was eerie how little Ghost had moved since he'd woken up. No sound, barely any movement. It was odd. The guys they captured usually had at least something to say. Not this one. A ghost.

Back upstairs, Price and Alejandro went to call Laswell to update her on the progress they had made. Soap joined Gaz and Rudy in the small living room of the safehouse, and was right away assaulted by questions.

“So ? How is he ? As scary as the rumors make him out to be ?” asked Gaz, an amused smile on his lips.

“Spooky fucker, that he is. Didn't say a word, barely moved at all. Stares right into yer soul when he looks at you.”

“Damn.” laughed the Sergeant.

The small group played a bit with the cards they had found in a corner of the safehouse, waiting for Price and Alejandro to come back. When they did, Alejandro looked... mad.

“What's going on ?”

“The brass wants us to get Ghost to cooperate with us to get to Roba, since this is the only solid lead that has been found in years. And cooperate, meaning, actually working with us on the field for the next missions.”

“You can't be serious !” exclaimed Gaz.

“I'm afraid I am, son.”

Working together ? With the Ghost ? Soap couldn't see how. The dude didn't even want to talk to them, much less taking down Roba together. He was the cartel leader's most trusted pawn, for christ sake !

At their second attempt at having the man talk, Price played it a lot more amiable, since they now had to convince the man to go with them. Play nice with the killer in a skull mask. Sure.

“Have you given it any thoughts ?”

Silence.

“Alright then. If you do not want to talk about Roba, maybe I can learn about you. Starting easy. What's your name ?”

Soap saw an eyebrow raise exaggeratedly under the mask, like the question was just that dumb. Maybe it was, but hey, you never knew. Surely he hadn't been born with that name, and they had gotten a reaction out of the man, however little. Progress, right ?

Price asked a few more fruitless questions before a thought struck Soap. Sure, he had seemed to understand when they'd spoken so far but...

“Does the dude even speak english ?”

That made Price pause, and he looked at Alejandro. The leader of Los Vaqueros repeated his questions, with a lot more frustration and no answers to show for it.

“This is getting nowhere. Let's just remove the mask. He doesn't fucking need it.” as he said so, Alejandro, getting behind Ghost, grabbed for the mask. Shit went downhill fast. Ghost suddenly bucked and twisted in the chair, nailing Alejandro right in the chin by the time Soap had his gun out. “Wait !” Price's voice boomed across the room and he froze.

Ghost somehow got a hand free of the rope, something making a sickening tearing noise in the process. He growled as he got a hold of Alejandro's thigh. The first sound to come out of the man hadn't even been human. What the fuck. As Price reached their level, the chair fell over and both men toppled to the ground. The sound of Ghost's head cracking against the concrete was loud. Fuck. Freed, and with their captive unresponsive, Alejandro got up, cursing.

“Steaming Jesus.” huffed Soap, relaxing a bit.

“Alright, no touching the mask like this anymore,” said Price.

“The man's a fucking animal ! There's no way we can work with him.” spat Alejandro.

Price rightened the chair on its feet, getting a grunt from its occupant. The man was probably concussed as fuck now.

“Cool it, Alejandro.” ordered the Captain.

Price put himself back into Ghost's field of vision, and Soap looked too. Damn, he seemed dazed alright. Alejandro stormed out, and it was for the best. It wasn't the first time the Colonel couldn't keep his cool during an interrogation. It took a few seconds for Ghost to focus, and when he did, he visibly scanned the room, losing a bit of the tension in his shoulders, probably upon noticing nobody was trying to take his mask off anymore. Soap wondered why it had set him off so badly when he had been a paragon of calm before that.

“You solid ?” Price asked.

Ghost looked... surprised. Honest to god surprised, like he couldn't fathom why they would ask. Something odd settled in Soap's stomach.

“Your head. That looked like a hard hit.”

Ghost just glared.

“Soap, watch him.” tossed Price as he left.

The Scot did, and he'd do so without fail. Number one activity : making sure Ghost doesn't pass out or fall asleep on them. It would be much harder if they had to treat him themselves if he did have a severe concussion, as judging from the man's reactions so far, Soap doubted he would let them take a look at potential injuries.

Price came back a couple minutes later, with a cup of water and some painkillers. When he reached for Ghost, presumably to raise the man's balaclava so he would be able to swallow a pill, the man leaned back as far as the chair and bindings would allow.

“How are you going to take it like this ?” grumped Price, but still in a somewhat soothing voice.

It didn't work, and the stony fucker just stayed silent.

“Fine.”

Price got up and around the table.

“Soap, come over.”

Soap practically ran, and kept a firm grip on the man's hands as he helped cuff him to the chain under the table, careful not to make a move towards the man's head. Not that it had been necessary, as Ghost seemed alright getting manhandled, as long as it wasn't towards the mask. How was that thing so important ?

They left Ghost to it. He had enough slack now that he could look after himself, but not so much that he could get away. Soap hoped, anyway, but Price seemed sure of the setup. Fine, then.

Back up the stairs and into the living room, they found Rudy holding an ice pack on Alejandro's chin.

“You alright, hermano ?”

“My chin's fine, but the cabron almost took a chunk of my thigh with him.”

Rudy just laughed.

“Your thigh's fine, Al.”

Alejandro grumbled something that Soap didn't catch, but made Rudy abandon the ice pack on Ale's lap, who yelped at the sudden cold. Gaz cackled.

“Are we really going to work with the guy ? Something's wrong with him.” Alejandro asked once he'd recovered some dignity.

“It's our orders.” Price sighed. “Let's try a bit more, see if we can get something out of him... Safely. Rudy, you come along this time.”

They went back down, and Soap noted Ghost seemed to have taken the pill that was left behind. Good. Price resumed his questioning, and Soap just stood to the side, expecting the same level of responsiveness than earlier. Boy, was he wrong. The man's guard seemed down, but maybe it was just the concussion and he couldn't keep it up properly. Either way, Price's next words jarred him.

“We know of some previous associates that were forced to comply with threats to their families.”

The man visibly tensed and Soap suppressed a wince when he heard the man's jaw click with how hard he held it. He put his hand on his gun as Price leaned in, just in case.

“If that's the case, we can help you.”

Ghost fucking laughed, startling Soap. The sound wasn't pleasant in the slightest, grating and hoarse. Chilling. It stopped as suddenly as it came, the masked man falling back into his usual silence. Eventually, Price, not getting anything else, gave up and they left the room. Soap could feel Ghost glaring at their back as they turned around and he repressed a shiver.

Back in the living room, an oppressive silence blanketed the group. They'd expected the infamous Ghost to be peculiar, but this was... off, somehow. Something about the man was off, and Soap couldn't place his finger on it. And something in the man's eyes disturbed Soap. He turned to Price, breaking the silence. He hadn't been the only one affected by Ghost's odd behavior.

“I can try again.”

Price raised an eyebrow at him.

“I know I'm not the team's best interrogator, but maybe that's just what we need ? He's probably trained to go against skilled interrogators anyways.”

The Captain sighed.

“Sure, then. I don't think I will be able to get anything out of the man like this anyway.”

Soap nodded and turned as Gaz yelled after him.

“Don't get mauled down there !”

He gave the man a mock salute and disappeared in the staircase.

Chapter Text

Going back to the basement, Soap opted to look as friendly as possible. After all, he'd always been bad at playing interrogator, so he might as well do the complete opposite. It's not like any of the guys were there to laugh at him anyway. He was a bit nervous going there alone, but Ghost was securely tied to the heavy table. Even him shouldn't be able to do anything like this.

Ghost scrutinized him as he sprawled in the wooden chair, propping up his chin in his hand over the table, a friendly smile on his lips. Here goes nothing. Soap did what he did best, which was chatting people's ears off. Harmless questions like his favorite foods, the weather outside since the poor guy couldn't see it from the windowless room, his odd choice of attire. Seriously, all black in the mexican heat ? Was the dude made out of ice ? He might have been, with how chilly the look he gave Soap was. After a bit, he felt like Ghost wasn't listening at all, having completely tuned him out. That wouldn't do.

“Hey, are ye even listening ? How d'ye sleep 'n eat with it ? Do ye ever take it off ? Why, ye wear it 'cause ye'r ugly ?”

The rugged, deep british accent startled Soap.

“No, I'm hiding it so you can keep asking fucking stupid questions.” Ghost snapped, tensing one of his legs in his binds like he'd tried to kick at him from under the table.

Steaming Jesus. Why was the mexican's most infamous masked killer British ? Despite his confusion, Soap felt his smile widen. He couldn't help it. That seemed like an important piece of intel, adding to the puzzle that was Ghost. Soap continued to mess around, hoping his captive wouldn't slam his guard back up right away.

“Aw, so ye do like my voice, then ? I'm Soap by the way.”

Be smiles, be friendly. Be you, in short.

“No, it's annoying. And I knew that already.”

“Ye did ?”

Ghost rolled his eyes at him, and Soap's stomach swooped. This could work after all. Fuck Gaz, saying he was the worst interrogator to have graced the SAS.

“Not much of an operator, are you ? Hat Man called you that earlier.”

The genuine laugh the nickname Ghost had dubbed Price with surprised Soap, but he couldn't stop it. Oh, this was amazing. And their fearsome masked killer had a sense of humour. Fantastic.

“Hat... Hat Man ??” he wheezed, slumped over the table.

Ghost just looked on impassively.

Getting his breath back under control, he cackled.

“Oh, I have to share this with Gaz later.”

He looked back up at Ghost, not surprised to see the stony fucker just glaring holes in him. Back to the silent treatment so soon ?

“So ye do talk. Was starting to think ye might be mute.”

“Clearly not, since I'm such a skilled comedian.” Ghost deadpanned, earning one last snicker from Soap.

The guy was a riot, and Soap found himself kind of liking the character. Damn.

“Alright, alright, big guy. Then, why won't ye work with us ? We haven't seen a lot, but I don't think ye like Roba very much.”

“And how do I know you guys are legit ?”

“Um, well we are a proper task force.” he answers, gesturing to the patch on his uniform.

Granted, the man likely had no idea what a foreign task force usually looked like, let alone one as atypical as the 141.

“Four people ?”

“There's five.” Soap replied, slightly offended. “But we're the best there is. We can do it. Done it before.”

Soap rambled on about the great feats of the 141, what he could reveal anyway, and was startled when that gruff voice sounded again, cutting him off.

“Fine, then.”

Huh ? That's it ? That easy ?

“...Really ?”

“Yes.”

Ghost glared, Soap blinked. He had him. Without thinking, he was running out of the room, calling for the Captain as soon as the door was locked behind him.

Price walked out of the kitchen, Gaz hot on his heels when Soap rounded the corner, almost colliding with them.

“What's going on ?” inquired the Captain, a note of worry in his voice.

“He said yes. To working with us, I mean.” blurted Soap, feeling slightly out of breath from having ran up the stairs like this.

Gaz's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and Price just stood there, dumbfounded. He swiped a hand in his beard.

“How ? Are you sure, Sergeant ?”

“Yes, I'm sure. And how... well I don't know ? I mean, all I did was talk to him for a bit ? Like I usually do with ye ?”

Gaz guffawed loudly.

“You mean you annoyed him into agreeing ?”

“Away an' bile yer heid.” Soap grumbled.

“Alright.” Price said, seeming to shake off his surprise. “Anything else ?”

“Erm... He's british ?”

“...What.”

“Yeah. Speaks with a real deep Manc accent.”

“I- Fine. And how did he seem ? I'm not saying friendly but...” Price scratched his beard again.

“Well... He didn't really seem aggressive, at least.”

The Captain mulled it over before reaching a conclusion.

“Alright, let's go down there.”

“Me too, Cap' ?”

“Sure, Gaz.”

Alejandro and Rudy joined them when they passed by the living room.

Price sat down in front of Ghost.

“I heard from Soap you agreed to work with us ?”

Ghost nodded, the first real reaction he'd had to the Captain so far. Soap internally preened. He'd done that. Now Gaz could get off his case about interrogations. He was good for certain subjects. Just not all. While he exchanged a knowing look with Gaz, who flipped him the bird out of sight from the others, Price had continued to sound their captive out, introducing the team more formally.

“Now, ignore my rudeness but we can't trust you just yet. For now, you're going to be allowed a bit more freedom, and we will see how it goes from there. Understood ?” asked the Captain sternly.

Ghost simply nodded again. Soap felt his comrade tense next to him when Price removed the chain of the cuffs and cut the rope binding Ghost's legs, but Soap himself didn't feel the same dread. He'd always prided himself in being a good judge of character, and it didn't look like the masked man was going to jump anyone as soon as he was freed.

“How's your head ?”

“Fine.”

There was no way, not with the way it had cracked against the ground. But the man was coherent at least, so it probably wasn't too bad. Price took it in stride as usual.

“What do you want from this ? Whatever it is, we will likely be able to provide it. We keep our word.”

“Roba's head.” Ghost spat angrily, surprising Soap.

So he really wasn't loyal to his boss then. Seemed to hate him, even.

“That's it ?”

“Yes.”

Ghost remained stubbornly silent after this, and Soap could have sworn he felt the wave of anger rolling off the man despite him staying fully immobile in the chair. When Price ordered them to go back up, Soap couldn't help but give a friendly wave at their prisoner, who didn't react beyond the dead stare that seemed to be his default expression.

Upstairs, Price resumed his cooking and Soap snagged a taco to bring Ghost. Surely he must be hungry by now. Plus, tacos didn't need cutlery, so it was a perfect meal. There was no risk of Ghost stealing a knife or something. Going down the stairs, Soap once again wondered how the man would eat. Did he even eat ? I mean, he had to, but with how hell bent he seemed about not removing the mask, it left Soap wondering about the logistics.

When he opened the door, Ghost was standing along the far wall. Probably stretching out his legs after being tied for so long to the chair. He didn't move when Soap came to the table to put the paper plate and napkin down.

“Price tried his hand at some local food. I have no idea how good it is, but help yourself.”

Ghost didn't answer, just stood in the corner menacingly. Soap gave up on his plan to chat with the man this time. Clearly, he didn't want him around. Turning back, he mumbled under his breath.

“Looks like taming Ma's stray cats all over again.”

As Soap ate the surprisingly good tacos, he couldn't help but wonder what Ghost was doing all alone in the basement.

Gaz, Rudy and Alejandro had already disappeared into their bedrooms came late evening. Price was still up, and himself well... He couldn't sleep. He knew Ghost was their prisoner, but he couldn't get the image of the man just standing in that corner all night. He broke, turning to Price.

“If we want him to cooperate with us, shouldn't we be getting him comfortable, sir ?”

Price raised an eyebrow.

“We're not removing the cuffs yet, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, not that but... I don't know, blankets ? There's a shower down there, he might want to use it ?”

Price thought for a bit.

“There should be extra blankets and toiletries around.”

That was all the permission Soap needed and he jumped up from the couch.

“And Soap ?” Price stopped him.

“Yes ?”

“Since you're so eager, and he seems to like you better, you're going to be in charge of him, alright ?”

Soap nodded quickly and left, gathering everything. In front of the closet holding the spare sheets, he stalled. There was no pillow, and the blankets were thin. Not much cushioning for sleeping on the ground. Quietly, Soap sneaked in the room he shared with Gaz. Thankfully, the man was out like a light and didn't notice anything. The Scot tiptoed to his own bed, taking the second pillow they'd found laying around the room when they arrived. He'd won it fair and square too, beating Gaz at every round of rock-paper-scissors. Without cheating, even if Gaz claimed the contrary.

He took back the pillow to the abandoned pile of blankets and hid it in the middle. He doubted Price would say anything if he saw it, but just in case. Going back downstairs, he found Ghost still standing in the same corner. Unsure if the man was going to let him get close, he dropped the blankets a couple meters away. Safety first. He then put down the toiletries and water bottle he'd snagged on his way past the kitchen.

“Alright, I hope ye will be a bit more comfortable here. Sorry, I can't do more for now. Anyway, I will see ye tomorrow.”

Going back out, Soap stole a glance at the bundle on the floor. It looked pretty sad just put down on a heap like that, but surely Ghost would appreciate it, right ? It was his job now to take care of the man. He locked the door behind him and joined Gaz in their bedroom.

Bringing him breakfast in the morning garnered the same level of responsiveness as the day before. Still standing in the corner, not talking. The blankets still laid in a pile on the floor where he'd left them, appearing like they had been barely touched. Had he not slept ?

When Soap came back a little later with Price and Gaz, he was happy to notice the cereal and pain pill was gone. This time, when Price asked him possible locations for Roba's whereabouts, Ghost actually answered easily. Soap could not help but wonder, as the rugged British accent filled the room, how in the world that man had ended up working for a mexican cartel. Killer for hire ? Somehow, it didn't seem to fit Ghost's image.

Price wrapped up the map and they left, Soap stalling behind the group. Before he passed the door, he waved back at their masked guest. Ghost visibly scoffed and Soap felt his smile widen. How's that for befriending the guy ? He might work with them after all, if this continued so well. Soap distinctly felt like the man wasn't half of the monster the stories were painting him out to be.

That hope was dashed pretty quickly, as for the rest of the day, Ghost remained plastered against the far wall. All of Soap's attempts at chatting were met with stony silence and glaring from across the room. When he came to take away the empty plates, Ghost had left half of the food, both at lunch and dinner. When he went to clear the table of the evening's meal, he thought about asking if the food hadn't been to his liking, but as he raised his head, Ghost was still glued to the wall, watching his every move, wary and tense. Frowning, Soap racked his brain for an explanation. He came up short and didn't ask, certain he wouldn't get an answer. He came back up the stairs and disposed of the half-eaten food in the kitchen. Price walked in.

“He didn't eat ?”

“About half. Same as lunch.”

Price made a humming sound.

“Maybe he's not feeling well ? With his head an' all. Don't think he slept much last night either.”

“Maybe. You didn't get anything out of him today ?”

“Not a single word. He didn't even react to anything.”

That upsetted Soap, more than anything, as he couldn't think of a reason why Ghost had gotten from... talkative, from his own standard, to standing woodenly all day against the wall. Had he...

“Maybe he's having second thoughts on betraying Roba ?” voiced Soap.

“Didn't seem like it to me. Looked like he genuinely hates him.” rumbled Price, scratching his beard absentmindedly.

They mulled it over for a bit, but neither man reached a satisfactory answer.

“I will have to see tomorrow then.” sighed Soap.

Price squeezed his shoulder.

“Don't torture yourself too much over it. The brass will have to understand if we can't bring him along with us. He's not exactly your run of the mill operator.”

Soap found himself hating the idea of Ghost staying trapped like this for God knows how long. He'd gotten a tiny glimpse of the man behind the skull mask, and he was determined to unravel more. There had to be more to this, and Soap had always followed his guts. It'd done him right so far, no reason for it to change now.

Chapter Text

The next day, Soap went down to the basement, the same bowl filled again with the same cereal. They didn't have much choice at the safehouse, even if Rudy had made sure everything was stocked before they arrived.

Opening the door, he found Ghost slumped against the wall, head in his knees, hands and arms awkwardly squeezed around his legs.

“Ghost ?”

No answer. Was he asleep ? Soap put down the bowl on the table, looking at the bundle of blankets still in a heap on the floor.

“Ghost.” he tried again.

Nothing.

Carefully, he got closer to the form huddled at the far wall. Now, he could see him moving slightly, just shallow and rapid intakes of breath rattling the man. Fuck, was he having a nightmare ? Or was something else wrong, like his head ? Worried, Soap crept closer.

“Hey, Ghost. Are ye okay over there ?”

He leaned down, intending to put a hand on the man's arm to rouse him. The moment he made contact with the masked man, he was violently punched in the mouth. He fell down with a pained wheeze, blindly trying to grab at something to stop his fall. His hand closed around a shoulder and he felt the man rear back out of his unsteady hold. Blinking back the pain, he watched the man crawl back until he wedged himself in the corner. Ghost, the most efficient and brutal killer of the Zaragoza cartel, was curled up in obvious terror against the wall. He watched as the man seemed to make a conscious effort to slow his erratic breathing, stop every tremor wracking his body. The sight made Soap's heart clench. He held back his instinct to go comfort the man, his conscience revolting against leaving him a fellow man like this. But there was nothing he could do unless he wanted to chance another fist tattooed on his face, so he stayed put.

He wondered what happened to the man for him to become... Ghost. There was clearly a man, a wounded man under the skull mask, and Soap found himself silently cursing Roba. He'd shave his mohawk if it turned out the man wasn't responsible for their prisoner's current state. It had to be. It fit with the anger Ghost had showed when he'd agreed to take down the cartel's leader the day before. Ghost being apparently British just added one more piece of doubt. Had Roba kidnapped some English citizen right under their noses ? He shut down that thought fast, feeling his anger boil. Ghost needed a calming presence right now, not a pissed off one.

Ghost shifting slightly took him out of his spiraling mind. The man raised his head a bit, squinting.

“Ghost ? Are ye here ?”

The masked man inhaled sharply and Soap tensed, afraid Ghost was about to panic again. At a loss, Soap just sat down along the wall, a respectable distance between them. He didn't want to crowd him. Blood dribbled down his busted lip and he carelessly wiped it with his shirt. When he let go of the ruined cloth, he became aware of Ghost's eyes on him.

“I'm sorry.” Soap winced. “I shouldn't have done that.”

Yeah. Grabbing someone having a nightmare, especially in their line of work, had been a really stupid move. Soap knew better. Ghost didn't answer and the silence unnerved the Scot.

“I- Uh... Brought yer breakfast... if you want it ?”

Ghost shook his head minutely. Of course. Soap was just raking up the points for doing dumb shit today, wasn't he ?

“Right, um... I... I'm just gonna go back up for a bit, patch myself up ? But I will be back alright ?” he fumbled through what he hoped was a soothing tone.

Ghost gave no feedback, but pressed himself further into the wall when Soap got up, however slow he'd tried to make the movement. With guilt weighing down his steps, he went out of the room. Debated not engaging the lock for half a second before retracting that thought. Price would have his head if he didn't, no matter how bad it made Soap feel at the moment. John “Bleeding heart” MacTavish, not cut out for interrogations and all that.

Soap walked quickly to the bathroom and started rummaging around as well as he could with only one hand. The other was too sticky with blood and he was going to smear it everywhere. Rudy, who must have heard the mess he was making of his well organized room, popped his head in.

“What are you looki- What happened, hermano ?”

He rushed in, pulling out the first aid kit out of the only place Soap hadn't looked yet. Go figure.

“I'm fine.” he sniffed. Was his nose bleeding too ?

“You don't look fine.” Rudy snapped at him, a stern edge to his voice.

While his friend rummaged through the kit for the right supplies, Soap took a look at himself in the mirror, and winced. Alright, maybe Rudy had a point. He looked like shit. His split lip was puffing up and a nasty bruise was forming over his mouth and nose. Ah, and his nose definitely was bleeding, which explained the amount of blood currently staining his shirt. Lovely.

He let Rudy patch him up without grumbling – much – and joined the others gathered in the kitchen, eating the last of their breakfast. Gaz' round eyes locked on his face and the frown on Price's face matched Rudy's.

“I'm fine.” he said preemptively.

Price turned to Rudy instead. Traitor.

“He is, just a nasty cut and a bruise.” sighed the man to the implicit question.

The Captain nodded, getting his attention back on Soap, who couldn't help but stand a little straighter.

“So, what happened ? If he's violent to us, that's enough reason to refuse to bring him along.” he announced vehemently.

“It was my fault.” started Soap, raising his hand in a placating gesture.

Confusion marred Price's face.

“I startled him. Looked like he was having a nightmare or something, and I tried to wake him up. He didn't mean to hit me.”

“How'd you know that ?” Gaz piped up.

Soap found himself unsure on how to answer. Telling them the exact state he'd left Ghost in oddly felt like a betrayal, like he'd seen a part of the man under that uncanny skull mask that he wasn't supposed to, let alone show all his dirty laundry to the others.

“Soap.” Price warned.

Well fuck.

“Ah, t'was obvious ! I- I think something was done to him ? At Roba's.”

Great save, MacTavish. Surely that wouldn't raise more questions than answers.

“I will go down.” announced Price.

Soap fumbled for something, anything to keep the man away.

“Problem, Sergeant ?” asked the ever perceptive bastard of a Captain, pinning him with the look.

“No, sir.” he heard himself squeak.

So much for trying to help, he thought, watching Price leave the kitchen. He plopped down in a chair with a sigh.

“You alright, mate ?” asked Gaz next to him.

“Yeah, it's just...” he trailed off, making a vague gesture with his hands like he'd be able to materialize the right word out of thin air.

“He's a little fucked up ?”

“A wee bit.” cringed Soap before deciding shutting the fuck up would be a good idea.

Gaz didn't get more than that, the Scot settling in a sullen silence.

Price came back up a couple minutes later, a frown on his face.

“Soap, a word. In the office.”

The Scot ignored Gaz' low exclamation and followed the Captain to the makeshift command center, passing by a grumbling Alejandro on the way. The man just shook his head when he laid his eyes on the mess that was Soap's face. So Rudy has filled him in then.

In the office, Price sat down in the creaky leather chair behind the desk. Soap took a random one across the table, arms crossed against his chest to hide a hand playing nervously with his shirt.

“You're allowed to continue to care for him if you want to.”

Some of tension was dispelled off Soap's shoulders.

“But ?” he asked, frowning.

“But I want you to be careful. He's... clearly unstable, and as long as we don't know what makes him tick, it's better to remain cautious.”

Soap nodded. So the Captain had seen the same thing he had.

“Any word from Laswell on who he could be ? There's no way he's been working for Roba willingly.”

“No. She couldn't find anything. If there were any records, it's been well buried.”

“There's no way a british citizen could have just gone missing in Mexico without it alerting anyone.” Soap huffed.

“The Ghost has existed for years. There's no accurate way to tell how long it's been, and the cartel is strong here. It shouldn't have been too difficult for them to erase traces, if there even was any... but we might need to add human trafficking to the list of Roba's crimes.” added Price grimly.

Heavy silence cloaked the men as the Captain lit a cigar. He eyed Soap through the rising smoke.

“Are you going back down, Sergeant ?”

“Of course ! I can't... leave 'im like this. It's not right.”

Price nodded, a small smile dancing behind his beard.

“Then I can entrust you with it, Soap.”

“Aye, Sir.” he tossed, scampering away before he was called back for something else.

But first, he had to go change his shirt.

Entering the basement, Soap hid his slight nerves under a smile. He wasn't sure what was the best thing to do here, but he knew he couldn't just leave him like this. If it was him, he'd be glad for some company. Ghost might not, but he'd try at least.

Ghost was back to his silent and glaring self, albeit still sitting hunched to the wall.

“Do ye want to join me at the table ? We can chat, instead of just me rambling for half an hour.”

Silence.

“Fine then. I'm just going to sit there, all right ?” he said, pointing at the spot he'd occupied earlier. This should be safe, for both of them.

Predictably, Ghost didn't answer. Didn't say no either, so Soap took his chance and sat down. Ghost glared, but that's all.

“Ye know, ye can tell me if ye don't want me to do something. Ye're allowed.”

Soap had no idea if he'd gotten through to the man or not, so he just started talking about random stuff, light-hearted stuff, as he watched tension slowly bleed out of his silent company. Not fully, but it had to count for something, right ? Baby steps.

It started a routine. For the next few days, Soap came down with a meal, left him time to eat, then came back to talk. Ghost listened... probably. Today, Soap had brought down the odd english-spanish book he'd found rummaging around the safehouse for something to distract him from their masked resident. Each chapter was written either in english or in spanish, but there was no translation into either language. The story made little sense just reading the english parts, so Soap took upon himself to try and decipher the rest. He'd had minimal success, when an idea struck him. Sure, Ghost was seemingly British, but he worked for the Mexican cartel. He had to know spanish. Mind set, the Scot brought the book along on his next visit. He might be able to coax some words out the man this way.

Sitting down at the table, he beckoned Ghost over, who has been stuck looming at the far wall every time he'd been there since... the nightmare.

“Come on, I'm sure ye can tell me if I'm doing this wrong.” he indicated the book in his hand, certain that Ghost would know what he was talking about.

Soap couldn't help the small twitch of his lips when the masked man walked over in big strides, eyes behind the skull plate fixed on the metal chair. A man on a mission. He'd never admit it, but Soap found himself a bit intimidated by the man hulking over him at this moment.

Soap realized pretty quickly he'd have to give up his plan of making the man talk. Every question that wasn't a yes or no answer just went unanswered, and he did want to make some actual progress on the book, not just use it as an excuse to hear Ghost's husky Manc accent.

As he was reading some sentences, pointing out his own written translation on a separate sheet of paper, he felt like not much of it made sense. It probably didn't, judging by Ghost's frown, visible even under the mask. So horrendous, that the man actually tried to initiate contact for the first time. Not with Soap, but the sheet he was holding, which was still something new. Ghost was stopped abruptly in his movement by the cuffs. Damn things were getting in the way. The Brit put his hands back down under the table and Soap swore he could see him just shutting down again. That wouldn't do. So, he did the first thing that came to mind.

“Give me yer hands.”

Soap saw Ghost's arms flex in response, but his hands stayed firmly out of sight. The Scot placed his left hand, palm open, on the table between them, trying to make the movement the least threatening possible. No reaction was given.

“Yer hands, Ghost.”

The man tensed but complied, his whole body coiled, bracing. For what, Soap had no idea. He finally found the key in his pocket and took the cuffs off the man's wrists, who didn't relax in the slightest. He spoke, however.

“Why would you do that ?”

Ghost sounded almost startled.

“It's getting in the way. Better if they're off.” Plus if the man had wanted to hurt him, Soap was sure he'd be able to do so easily, cuffs or no cuffs. “What were ye trying to show me ?”

Ghost stared at him for a beat, and Soap waited. Eventually, the man roused himself and pointed out something on the sheet. Soap added that to his mental board of “how to win Ghost over”, feeling quite pleased with himself.

After thirty minutes, Soap wasn't so proud anymore. It had taken this much time to correct a tiny paragraph, and he wasn't sure if it was even right. Ghost was still regarding it with some... contempt, maybe ? Soap couldn't really tell. There was only so much he could infer when his improvised teacher was wearing a mask hiding everything but his eyes. Regardless, Soap was done. He closed the book, swearing at it under his breath and reached for the cuffs he'd abandoned at the side. Ghost's hands moving caught his eye, and he frowned. Was he... presenting ? For the cuffs ?

“I'm not putting them back on.”

It was Ghost's turn to furrow his brows in confusion.

“You took them off for this.” the masked man explained, gesturing vaguely at the book.

“I took them off because I don't believe we need them at all anymore.”

“You should.”

“Why ?”

Ghost hesitated.

“I'm dangerous.”

Soap's frown deepened. Like he didn't know that ? Hell, his face still stung even now. He put his hand on his hips out of habit, mirroring his Ma whenever she'd needed to explain something to him time and time again. Usually how not to handle cultery at dinner. It hadn't really helped at the time, as Soap just forgot sometimes he was holding his fork when gesticulating, explaining something or other, but here he was, emulating it. The irony was not lost on him.

“Are ye going to hurt me ?”

“I did.”

And the worst part was, Ghost seemed convinced of it, that he had done wrong, when really, Soap had been the one to fuck up. He inhaled strongly, releasing it in a long, controlled exhale. Ghost didn't need his frustration right now, he needed understanding. Probably.

“Yer allowed to have boundaries. Ye may be under our custody right now, but yer a person, and we will treat ye like so. Ye don't want to be touched when yer asleep, and I will respect that. Haven't done it since, have I ?”

Ghost just sat frozen in place. It barely looked like he was breathing under his clothes. The thought that the man might genuinely have no idea what Soap was trying to get through to him left a sour taste in his mouth. So, Soap tried to push the man around a bit. He might regret it later, but for now, he'd see it through. When it became clear Ghost was not going to answer, he continued.

“In fact, the next time I come, I want ye to ask me something, even if it's small, that ye would want or don't want me to do. Alright ?” he enounced in a clear, stern tone, something he'd use with the recruits. It was odd to say the least to use it on such an imposing man, but Soap couldn't back down now. Thankfully, Ghost just nodded. Soap took that as his cue to leave, making sure to look confident as he exited the room.

The lock clicked into place and he let himself exhale, nerves thrumming under his skin. Fuck, he'd really done that. And Ghost had just let him. Soap didn't know how to feel about that. And what if Ghost came up with something he couldn't provide ?

He might have fucked up.

Chapter Text

Soap found Price in the office, nose deep into some documents. He didn't even look at him when the Sergeant tried getting his attention.

“Captain ?”

Price just hummed.

“We put Ghost's gear in the locked cabinet here, right ?”

That did it. He snapped his head up, a frown blooming on his face.

“It is, Sergeant. Why ?”

“Just getting Ghost his gloves.”

“...His gloves.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why would he need them ?”

“I don't know, he asked for them, and I don't see why not.”

Price seemed to think for a moment.

“And what prompted him to ask for them ?”

“I did, sir. Prompted him to, I mean.” answered Soap, suddenly feeling even less sure about the whole ordeal.

Why was Price asking so many questions ? It was just gloves. But maybe it wasn't, not to Ghost. Just like the mask.

“And what led to this, Sergeant ?” retorted the Captain, some frustration slipping into his voice.

Soap couldn't blame him, not when he was explaining himself so badly. He'd always struggled to put words on what was, ultimately, just gut feeling.

“I took off his cuffs.”

Price's eyebrows rose comically on his forehead before he leaned back into his chair, expression schooled into neutrality. Yeah, he might have fucked up alright. His superior sighed and leveled him with what Soap and Gaz had nicknamed The look, usually used when they'd been messing around and Price wanted them serious. Soap barely stopped himself from standing at attention, simply straightening his back instead.

“Soap.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I trust your judgment, and you're an excellent judge of character yourself. I don't think either that he's as evil as the rumors paint him out to be, but please stay aware that all we have right now to prove his willingness to work with us is his word.”

“Of course, sir. Where's the key ?” asked Soap, perking up instantly.

Price opened a drawer and tossed the key to him. Soap wasted no time, opening the cabinet. An assortment of their own spare gear greeted him, as well as Ghost's on the lower shelf. He was yet again impressed by the number of knives the man had on him. Jesus.

Focusing on his task, he found the gloves easily enough and returned the key to Price.

He ended up in the bedroom, fretting over the items and second-guessing himself again. The black leather was well worn in his hands, and the skeleton pattern orning them was... intriguing. Surely completed the whole spooky look. Soap wondered how it even stayed printed on the gloves like that. Or maybe it wasn't a print. That would make more sense, but Soap couldn't figure out what it was exactly.

He must have stayed here turning them around in his hands for a while, because Price called everyone for dinner. Crap. He hastily put them down on his bedside table and hurried to the kitchen. He'd gauge Ghost's reaction first when he brought him his food. That would work. He totally wasn't pushing it back to later because, for some reason, he was nervous about it. What was he, a highschooler giving a gift to their crush for the time ? He was giving the man his own gloves back, for fucks sakes. And if the gesture felt oddly intimate, it was just his imagination.

When Soap put down Ghost's plate on the table, the masked man came over on his own, surprising him. He usually lurked against the wall until asked to come closer. This was a first. And Soap didn't have the damn gloves on him. A spike of adrenaline shot up his spine, and he chose to wait on Ghost instead of putting his foot in his mouth.

“My gloves.” said Ghost without preamble, startling Soap.

“Aye, I think we have 'em stashed with the rest of yer gear. I don't think bringing 'em down will be an issue, but I will need permission for it.”

Soap felt like shit for lying to the man, but there wasn't much he could do. Plus, it was harmless, since he already had permission... right ? Sure, MacTavish, whatever helps your conscience. He repressed a sigh as Ghost nodded in answer. Shaking himself, Soap tossed a quick “I will be back when yer done” and left. Eating first, then gloves.

When Soap finally brought the gloves, he'd expected Ghost to come to the table on his own again. Instead, the Scot had to beckon him over. Once there, he watched as Ghost slipped the gloves on.

He hadn't really been paying attention to the man's hands until now, and he realized it was likely because they were rarely in plain sight. Ghost always had them hidden under crossed arms whenever he could. His hands were... extensively scarred, even more than Soap's own. He'd gotten quite a few nicks and burns when he'd first started working with explosives, so he wasn't unfamiliar with such scars. But there was many, many cuts all over Ghost's, too many and too big for all of them to be from careless accidents.

Soap realized after a beat that while he'd lost himself looking at the man's rugged hands, and he had yet to reach for the gloves. He frowned before looking at the eyes behind the skull mask. He learned nothing, but, maybe...

“Go on. You asked for them.” he told him.

Ghost wasted no time to slip the gloves on.

That made Soap think back on all his interactions with the man. He always seemed to wait on an order or permission to do the simplest things. Every thing, really. Ghost seemed to never do anything out of his own accord. Confused, Soap prodded a bit.

“That's it ?” he questioned the man.

Ghost nodded.

This was... frustrating. He wasn't mad at Ghost, but Soap felt very much out of his depth. He was also sure it was displayed all over his face as brown eyes flitted over him, corners tensing slightly. Perceptive bastard. He was just as bad as Price. Great. Suddenly Soap found himself wanting to be anywhere but under that scrutinizing gaze.

“I didn't bring the book today, so I guess ye get a day off, lucky ye.” he blabbered, desperate for an excuse, and fled.

There really was no other word for it, and he was sure it was noticed, but he didn't really care. Ghost could come to his own conclusions. With how expressive the man was, Soap doubted it would change anything in his demeanor towards the Scot.

A couple days later, Soap had gotten the all clear from Price to bring Ghost upstairs a couple hours a day, as long as he would be there to keep an eye on him.

Soap stayed at the door of the basement, opening it wide, and gestured Ghost to follow him.

“Come on, I bet ye're dying to see something else but this dusty basement.”

Soap would, anyway. Ghost followed him, a tense shadow behind him. Soap recognized a trained scoping of a space when he saw it, and it was definitely was what Ghost was doing right now. Whether it was good or bad, or just habit, only time would tell. Hopefully the man wasn't planning his escape, as Soap doubted that even if Alejandro and Rudy joined them, they could apprehend the Ghost again without having to severely hurt him, or risk injuries themselves.

In the living room, Price was in the armchair next to the currently opened window he'd claimed as his from day one. The Captain nodded at Ghost in greeting before reporting his attention outside. Soap wondered if he was just using the bird-watching book he'd found as an excuse so he wouldn't be disturbed in his downtime. The Scot hadn't seen much wildlife around these parts, much less enough birds to make the activity interesting. So, naturally, Soap decided to bug him a bit.

“Sir ! There ye are ! Ye won't believe what Gaz did this morning !”

He let himself fall into the plush couch next to the armchair, retelling in great detail the harmless shenanigan. Throughout the story, Soap sneaked a few glances at Ghost, who had posted himself much like he was in the basement, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but this time close to the entryway on the right. He didn't seem inclined to come sit down. Fair enough. It wasn't like they were friends after all, and the man was apparently busy dissecting every corner of the room.

Footsteps sounded down the corridor and Ghost turned his head towards it, without moving another extra muscle. Impressive, really, that kind of control over your own body.

“Hey, Captain, you might want to check this,” Gaz called out, coming around the corner. “It's-”

He got cut off as he spotted Ghost towering over him only a few lengths next to him. Soap burst out laughing as Gaz fucking jumped to the side in surprise. And his face ! It was amazing how wide his eyes had suddenly gotten.

“It is ?” asked Price, unflappable.

“It's, huh, new intel, sir.” answered Gaz while sneaking unsure glances at Ghost. “Laswell is waiting for you right now.”

“Alright.”

Price got up and left the room. Soap was hunched over himself still laughing uncontrollably. He wiped a few tears he felt pearling in his eyes. Oh, it was glorious. Gaz obviously didn't share the opinion as he grabbed the nearest cushion, launching it at his face. Laughing too much to defend himself in time, it connected with his face with a dull thud. His split lip and bruise stung from the impact, but not enough to dampen his laugh.

“Quit it already ! What's so funny huh ? I didn't know he was upstairs, and he's just... standing there ! Menacingly !” yelled Gaz, stomping over to him and picking up the pillow from where it had fallen on the floor.

Only to try and kill Soap with it. This fucker. Still laughing a bit, Soap did his best to tussle with his teammate, but it wasn't a fair fight. Gaz had all the advantages, damnit. When the man gave up, Soap felt slightly victorious, as he was still snickering at Gaz's now exasperated face.

He eventually got himself under control enough that he was able to start a game of cards with the man. Soap proposed Ghost to join them, but wasn't surprised when all the masked man did was stare at them blankly.

As evening came, Gaz was lured to the kitchen by the smell of dinner that had started wafting into the house, lasagna if Soap's nose was right. He usually was. Soap returned his attention to Ghost, who hadn't moved a muscle besides his eyes since he'd brought him there. Soap debated his next move for a bit, before deciding to hell with it. He'd take whatever reaction he could out of the man. As he approached him, Ghost seemed to snap out of wherever his mind had been seconds prior, eyes narrowing on him suspiciously.

“Er... Do ye want to eat with us ?”

Despite his best intentions, Soap still kind of panicked as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He started gesticulating in an effort to make sure Ghost understood he wasn't obliged to so. He didn't want to corner the man like this, and his overall passive behavior had him worried.

“Of course, ye don't have to ! If ye don't want to, that is. It's totally fine if ye do. Ye can eat downstairs if ye want. But with us too.”

A steeled and harsh voice answered him.

“Downstair's fine.”

Had he pissed him off ? The man sure didn't sound happy. Soap made a conscious effort to wipe the grimace blooming on his face.

“Alright. Sorry. I will bring it down for ye.”

Baby steps, he reminded himself. Ghost hadn't tried to run away as soon as he got a glimpse of freedom, so he'd count this afternoon as a win.

The next day, Soap's heartbeat spiked as he saw Ghost sitting down along the wall instead of already waiting for him, lurking in the back of the room like he'd gotten used to doing. Fuck, was it another nightmare ? The relief he felt when Ghost looked at him, acknowledging his presence and awake , was immense. Still, he didn't get up, and Soap worried. Something was off.

He put the plate on the table, and, seeing no movement from the masked man, carefully made his way over. Everyday, he'd noticed the blankets had been left untouched in the corner, like they hadn't been used even once. Was Ghost always sleeping curled up against the wall like this ? Soap's back was hurting just thinking about it. He stopped a couple steps away, just in case.

“Why don't ye use the blankets ?” he blurted out.

Not what he'd planned on saying, but let's roll with it. It was too late to backtrack.

Ghost looked at the bundle for a second before reporting his attention on Soap.

“Don't need 'em.” he answered, getting up and instantly towering over him.

Damn, the man was big. It was even more apparent when he had just been hunched down on the floor.

Soap couldn't help but huff.

“That can't be comfortable.”

He reported his attention to the abandoned blankets. Was something wrong with them, or was something wrong with Ghost ? Soap mulled it over, and the second option seemed most likely. It made him irrationally angry.He couldn't imagine being this indifferent to his own comfort.

He ended up leaving, Ghost not being in an agreable mood and certain that if he didn't, he'd end up snapping at the masked man for no comprehensible reason.

He ended up being snappy with Gaz instead, who just rolled his eyes at him. Gaz was used to his shit, and it made him feel a little better. He didn't have to thread so carefully with everything he said, dissipating his sour mood quickly. Still, he would have to do better with Ghost... next time.

Chapter Text

When Soap brought Ghost his breakfast the next day, he noticed the blankets had been moved. Did the masked man try something just because Soap had remarked on it ? It seemed unlikely, as Ghost had struck the Scot as pretty inflexible so far, but... Maybe.

Two days passed like this, with blankets having been messed with, but Soap had no proof they had been used. He didn't feel like hounding the man about it either, so he just let it drop and passed the time playing card games with rules of their own making as they had grown bored of the official ones.

And Gaz cheated, Soap was sure of it. He could deny it however he wanted, it wouldn't change the facts. The man stormed out in all his offended glory, and Soap couldn't resist flipping him off. Ghost, lurking against the wall, followed the interaction, expressive as usual. Meaning nothing could be seen beyond the mask, but his blank eyes were now fixed on Soap. A beat later, Ghost eyed the corridor, and... if Soap saw right, his eyes had squinted slightly.

“Something up ?” he piped up, curious.

Soap saw the gears turn in the man's head. That was something that Ghost did often. Thinking for a while before he spoke, even if that meant leaving his interlocutor waiting. Soap had the opposite problem, as he ended up speaking before he thought most of the time, but he had gotten used to waiting on Ghost. He didn't mind. Was slightly giddy every time he noticed the man gearing up to speak, actually.

“Can I take a shower up here ?”

Soap was aware he must look dumbfounded right now, but Ghost just waited, not moving a muscle. The Scot forced some words past his lips, at a loss.

“Uh, sure ? I don't... I mean, is the one downstairs not working ?”

It was possible. None of them had actually used it, they had just assumed it did. But maybe not. Or the hot water didn't run. Or... had Ghost not showered this whole time, like he hadn't used the blankets ? Fuck, why not ? He cut short this train of thought as he noticed Ghost was just staring, not gearing up to answer this time.

“Well, the one we use is surely better.” conceded Soap weakly. “Give me a minute ?”

Ghost nodded, and Soap left to find Price, who was just as surprised by the request. The sergeant wondered for a second if he should talk to the Captain about the... quirks he'd observed, but didn't when Price accepted the request without issue, even if a frown was marring his features. Soap quickly left the office, escaping any possible questioning.

As Ghost locked the bathroom door behind him, Soap leaned against the wall, his mind running a mile a minute. He was tempted to sneak away and check on the shower downstairs, but if Ghost needed anything, he wouldn't be there. And Price would probably chew him out for not keeping an eye on the man properly. What Soap couldn't do, however, was stop worrying. Something about this just rubbed him the wrong way, and he couldn't figure it out. He just hoped that Ghost actively going out of his way to ask for something meant... progress. Of some sort, on something, even if Soap didn't know exactly what.

The door of the bathroom suddenly opened, startling Soap. The hell ? Ghost stepped out, not looking a hair – or mask, ha – out of place from when he'd gone in... It had barely been a few minutes since he'd heard the water run. Sure, in the military, they'd been all required to shower as fast as possible in training, but this was... not training. Not even really on the field, and Ghost had just taken the fastest shower known to man. The niggling feeling at the back of his mind intensified, and Soap felt like he had gotten another piece of the puzzle, however odd it seemed. Ghost shifted his weight subtly and Soap snapped out of it. Well crap, how long had the Scot been just... standing there ? Ghost was rubbing off on him.

“Sorry.” he mumbled, shaking his head. Get a grip, MacTavish.

Going back to the living room, Ghost took up his spot again supporting the wall, while Soap's eyes caught on the discarded deck of cards on the table. If the man had opened up enough to ask something, maybe he would try this ? Soap took the deck and waved it at Ghost in a silent question, not expecting much.

He gaped as Ghost actually came over, sitting down on the floor instead of the armchair behind him – what was with this man and refusing basic comfort ? – leaving the small table between them.

“Well ?”

Fuck, right. He closed his mouth and scrambled to sit down on the couch, distributing the cards.

“I might be rusty, been a while since I've played any of those.” rumbled Ghost.

“That's fine, I can teach ye !” answered Soap, feeling more happy than he had in weeks.

He was aware he was grinning stupidly, but couldn't find it in himself to care. Once again, he was thrown back to when he was trying to befriend his Ma's feral cat, and the animal had actually laid down at the other end of the couch he had been lounging on for the first time. The satisfaction had definitely been similar.

A few days later, Price and Laswell finally gathered enough intel to go raid the cartel's safe houses that were scattered around the city. Soap entered the basement that was now kept unlocked without knocking, and felt bad about it when he spotted Ghost curled up against the wall. Fuck had he woken him up like this ?

Apparently not, as the man looked wide awake. But hey, using the blankets ! Still not how Soap would have expected him to, which would be laying down like a normal person, but then again, Ghost was anything but normal. All right, playtime was over. He put down the breakfast bowl and looked at Ghost, who was getting up, putting the blankets back into a pile.

“Price wants ye in the office when yer done.”

Soap was definitely curious to see the famous Ghost in action, and as he left the room, wondered if Price was going to move forward with the higher ups' plan to take him along. He hoped he would.

Later that night, after the briefing was over, they all geared up for the op, including Ghost. Soap had given him everything back, including the numerous knives that Ghost just made disappear on his person. Impressive. And a bit scary too. Thankfully, he was on their side...

Soap was right behind Ghost when signal was given to infiltrate the cartel safe house that had been designated as theirs, while Los Vaqueros took care of the others. He watched as Ghost, despite his massive frame, moved soundlessly on the grass. In the night with minimal lighting, the skull mask gliding along was a scary thing. Soap was grateful to be behind the man, not in front.

The back door was unlocked and Ghost slipped in, Soap waiting a beat, just in case the man was spotted, like they had been briefed to do. He didn't like it at all. Ghost could take care of himself, he knew that, but it still felt wrong to the Scot to not back up one of his teammates right away. It went against everything he had been trained for, and hated every second spent against the wall. Not hearing anything, he walked in, Price and Gaz following, and Ghost immediately gave the signal to clear the rooms on the sides. Which... was the exact hand signal they used in the SAS, and therefore hadn't communicated to Ghost. Huh ? He didn't have time to linger on it as he opened the door to his left and scanned it quickly. Clear, no furniture to hide behind, no space for a person to be. He whipped around as someone shouted.

“El Fantasma !”

Price and Gaz weren't finished with their rooms, so he went alone, following Ghost's path. The masked man had disappeared in the living room, where increasingly loud spanish was being spat, at Ghost presumably, and Soap could only parse out a few insults. The reaction surprised him. Some random low level cartel member could speak to The Ghost like that ?

Soap rounded the corner just in time to see Ghost break the man's neck in one swift movement. Well, hell. He gulped, thinking of how many chances he'd given Ghost so far to end his life, and Soap wouldn't have been able to fight back, even when the man had still been cuffed. Ghost was clearly staying with them out of his own volition then. Noted.

He found himself staring at Ghost's broad back, muscles rippling under the tight fitting shirt. Fuck. He snapped out of it as the masked man stared him down, the dead body at his feet. Right. Now was definitely not the moment for that. Price saved him by coming in and announcing the rooms were all clear, and they could move upstairs. Soap did not stare at Ghost's ass when going up said stairs.

Soap followed him into a small bedroom where Ghost beelined for a closet. Right, his clothes. Soap had tried to find some that the man could change into after the shower incident, but nothing fitted him. What was he so large for anyway ? Ghost fished out what looked to be the same shirt and pants he had on right now. Were all his clothes like this ? Or was this just spares he used for missions ? Multiple masks and balaclavas also made it into his backpack. Soap wouldn't be surprised if the man truly stayed dressed like this twenty-four-seven. He wanted to ask, but curbed the want. Not the place, not the time, and even then he doubted he'd get an answer anyways.

As the whole house was searched, they had all gathered in the living room when footsteps sounded outside. Gaz, closest to the front door, got ready to subdue whoever came in, while Ghost went as if to open the door normally, but not before kicking the dead body behind the couch on the way. Soap and Price stayed out of immediate sight from a person standing in the doorway. They were too far to truly be of use anyway. The door was flung open with a string spanish curses before Ghost got to it, and Gaz jumped, grabbing the guy and tussling in the entryway. Suddenly, Ghost moved, just as another dude popped out from behind the wall, a bat raised over Gaz' head. Soap had been about to raise his gun when he saw Price gesturing him to stop from the corner of his eye. At the same time, Ghost had grabbed Gaz by the strap of his vest and pulled him away, his teammate, clearly surprised, landed less than gracefully on the floor with the cartel member on top of him while the smack of a fist colliding with someone's face sounded. Price reached Gaz first and Soap looked up from them to see the other gangster splayed out in the grass outside, and Ghost pulling him inside along with the dude's bat. Damn. Knocked out in one punch.

Price helped Gaz up as Ghost locked the door behind him. Soap saw him tense and something flashed in the masked man's eyes as he looked at Gaz, but it was gone so fast Soap wasn't sure he had seen right. Had that been... fear ? No, right ? Why would he ?

“Thanks for the save.” winced Gaz, rolling the shoulder he'd landed on.

Yeah, that was going to be sore for a few days. Soap didn't have the time to see Ghost's reaction to that.

“Alright, let's not wait around here. Soap, grab the body behind the sofa, I will get this one. Ghost, get the other one.” ordered Price as he fished some rope to tie the guy with.

Oh great, he got the dead one. Grumbling under his breath, Soap heaved the body over his shoulders. Thankfully the van they had arrived in wasn't too far.

Still, Soap was glad to get rid of the dead man on the van's floor. He wasn't squeamish, far from it, but if he could avoid touching the corpses as much as possible, thank you very much. His wishes were not answered as he ended up sitting almost on top of it because the three extra dudes were dead weights taking up too much space. He couldn't even move away as Ghost was right next to him, glaring daggers every time Soap moved slightly away from the body. Great.

When they reached the next safe house they would stay in, laying low until the heat died down in the city, his mood was sour, and Ghost didn't look any better.

It got worse as they scattered in the safe house and everyone realized there wasn't really a place for Ghost. When Price announced he'd be bunking with Soap, the masked man honest to god looked ready to explode, all tense muscles and hard lines. Price and Gaz escaped in their own shared room, the cowards. Turning back to Ghost, Soap found him staring down the corridor as if he could materialize another room there by sheer force of will. Rousing himself and holding back a sigh, Soap broke the unnerving silence.

“Let's put our bags down, for now.”

Ghost noded stiffly and followed him into the small bedroom. Fuck, it was really small for two grown men of their size. Especially when one of them really, really liked his space. Soap risked a look over his shoulder, seeing Ghost scan the room and reaching the same conclusion, eyes stormy.

Well, this might be about to make the time he had spent taming Ghost so far looking like a walk in the park.

Chapter Text

As Soap was still taking in the room, Ghost tossed his bag onto the bed on the right, the movement jerky. The Scot didn't need to see his face to know his jaw was clenched as tight as it could be. Soap gave him an apologetic look that went fully ignored. Alright then. He started to unpack his things instead. They were supposed to stay here for a while, so there was no point in keeping everything in the bag.

Ghost left without a word and Soap debated following him for a second. After a beat, when he didn't hear the creaky front door open, he relaxed a bit. The man was probably holing himself up somewhere, and Soap had a feeling neither of them would be getting much sleep tonight.

Soap had barely caught two hours of sleep when he'd decided he had enough of staring at the ceiling fruitlessly. Getting up, he looked at the time. Only six. Fuck, this was going to suck. Coffee. He needed coffee.

He stopped before going into the kitchen. Should he check on Ghost ? He followed the thought and his feets carried him to the living room. Bingo. Ghost was there, standing next to the couch. The man left, nothing but a breeze as he passed Soap before the Scot was even done greeting him. Soap sighed as the door to the room closed. Message received. He wondered if he would see the man at all today. But... breakfast. He would have to bring it to him. Soap tried to formulate multiple plans and ways he could fix their situation while making his coffee, but didn't come up with anything, short of himself sleeping on the living room couch. Which... he could do. Definitely.

When Price and Gaz started to prepare breakfast two hours later, Soap was even more convinced that this was the solution. It just made sense.

He knocked on the door of their room and waited, Ghost's breakfast in hand. Nothing. He didn't hear a thing through the wood either. Frowning, he knocked again, a bit stronger this time.

“Ghost ?”

Still nothing. Soap felt his uneasiness mount. Was he even in here or had he slipped out somehow ? He knocked a third time, more hesitant. He didn't believe Ghost was asleep. Even if he had been, he would awake by now, as hyper aware of every sound the man seemed to be.

“I have yer breakfa-”

The door opened without warning and Soap almost spilled the contents of the bowl. That was close. Ghost stood there, still fully decked out minus his gun and the few bigger knives that Soap didn't see. He wordlessly accepted the bowl and retreated back into the room, leaving Soap a little bereft in the corridor. The man didn't seem mad anymore, but was back to his carefully crafted blank face. Soap wasn't sure if it was a good thing not. It almost looked like... resignation. Going back to the kitchen, he mulled it over until Price prodded.

“So ?”

“Huh ?”

“How did it go with Ghost ?”

“Slept well, with the grim reaper looking over you ?” teased Gaz, the insolent prick.

Soap pulled a face at him before answering Price.

“He didn't sleep in the room. Left to the living room and didn't go back until I found him there this morning.”

“So, he slept on the couch.” surmised the Captain.

Soap hesitated before correcting him.

“I don't think he slept at all.”

“How would you know ?” questioned Gaz, curious.

“Just a feeling.”

Price hummed.

“Captain ?”

“He worked well with us last night.”

The change of subject gave Soap whiplash.

“I- huh, yeah ?” he stuttered, confused.

An image flashed in his mind, that of Ghost using the SAS hand signals. Surely the others had noticed too.

“The hand signal.” he blurted out, still lost to the memories of the raid. Was there anything else he had missed ?

Price nodded, his closed mouth moving like it did when he was thinking about something unpleasant.

“I will have to ask Laswell to dig a bit further. Specifically into former SAS members who might have been in the area.”

Heavy silence fell in the kitchen, the men soaking in the information. It was insane to Soap, but it was what made the most sense. Ghost had been, at some point, in the SAS.

Price retreated to the office, presumably to contact Laswell about the result of the operation – but more likely to chainsmoke his cigars without Gaz getting on his case – and inquire about Ghost. Again. Maybe with a more specific lead, Laswell could be able to find something. Soap suddenly wasn't sure whether he wanted to know, as he found himself dreading the answer.

Gaz, cleaning the table, distracted him.

“Any chance I can convince the Captain to bunk with ye guys ?” asked Soap.

“Not a chance, mate ! Didn't you see our room ? It's smaller than yours ! Plus, you snore.”

“I do not snore, ye bawbag !”

Gaz laughed.

“Away an bile yer heid.” he huffed as he left the kitchen to get Ghost's bowl, as the man had predictably not reappeared.

And Soap actually needed to get a few things from his room for the next couple hours. His sketchbook, for one.

Ghost left, again, as soon as Soap crossed the threshold of the door. Determined not to be offended by it, he fetched his sketchbook before following Ghost into the living room. Sitting down on the couch, he sketched whatever came to his mind while he waited for Gaz to be done with the dishes. If he happened to draw a few skull masks, he couldn't be blamed with the subject right in front of him. Ghost had taken his place against the wall to haunt and refused to budge when he beckoned the man over for a game of cards. Damn it. He had thought last time had been a breakthrough of some sort, but apparently that window was now firmly closed behind the soulless eyes boring into him. It made him nervous, the way Ghost had put back all of his walls up overnight.

Playing with Gaz, he tried not to make his concern show, but he was distracted the whole time and it didn't escape his teammate. Neither did his refusal to speak about it when the man questioned him about it later in the day, leading to Gaz frowning at him for the whole afternoon.

Something did change that night, however, as Ghost stayed in the room with him. It just didn't look like he was intending to sleep. Soap awkwardly bid him goodnight before killing the light and laying down facing the wall. He would never be able to fall asleep if he had the skull mask floating ominously in front of him in the dark. He was already very aware of Ghost's gaze on him, but forced himself to ignore it, closing his eyes and relaxing his body. He needed to sleep, and he doubted Ghost would do anything. He had done nothing threatening so far and his gut told him to trust that. So he did. It took some time, but he eventually fell asleep.

When he woke up, the door closed with only a small sound. Soap turned blearily. Nobody else was there. Ghost had just left and Soap wondered if the man had slept.

That day, Ghost's usual aura of “don't touch me” had been upgraded to “don't even approach me, I dare you”. Soap's earlier question was answered : the man didn't look like he'd caught even a wink of sleep. It was another boring day of playing cards while waiting for intel to drop. Los Vaqueros were interrogating the cartel members and had yet to contact them. It would likely take some time, with all the guys that had been brought back from the other safe houses.

At night, Ghost took the same position as the one before, leaning stiffly against the uncomfortable headboard without even using the pillow to cushion the hard wood. This had to be absolutely killing the man's back, but the Scot never saw or heard him shift. He already found the presence behind him less disturbing. Soap had always prided himself on adapting easily to anything, and it had carried him through his entire military career. No reason for it to change now, even if the situation was... odd, to say the least. Still, he fell asleep much faster than the night before.

Soap opened his eyes to darkness. Weird. Was Ghost sneaking out again ? He glanced at the curtains to see them closed, a small ray of moonlight filtering through. Why had he woken up in the middle of night ? He normally had no issue sleeping through the entire night once he fell asleep. A loud gasp startled him. Whipping his head around, his heart dropped when he laid his eyes on the man. Ghost's arms twitched violently under the blankets as a wheeze filtered through the mask. The man's ragged breathing sounded downright painful and Soap tossed his own blanket off before stopping himself from in front of his roommate's bed. The last time he'd done something like that, he'd gotten punched for his troubles and the bruise had yet to fade completely. But he had to do something, and he felt adrenaline rushing into his veins as he looked at everything he had at his disposition to wake the man without getting killed.

“Ghost.” he tried, not expecting much.

The man's breathing was not getting any better. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse. Soap suppressed the urge to just go for it and rip the mask off, as he was surely suffocating himself hyperventilating in that thing. It would be worth getting punched for, he thought, and was probably about to make one of the stupidest decisions of his life when Ghost shot up, pushing the blanket off him. Soap backed up a step, surprised, as Ghost tried in vain to get more air into his lungs. The masked man sat there, hands still clawing at the blanket, breathing not slowing down in the slightest. Fuck. Alright. He put himself behind the man, so that way – maybe – he would be in a relatively safe position. Soap slipped two fingers under the balaclava, feeling wet skin glistening with sweat under his touch before it was batted away. Ghost grabbed the corner of fabric that had been brought up slightly, cranking it back down, and didn't let go, one hand clutching it tight against the back of his neck. Hell's fucking bells, what was Soap supposed to do.

“Ghost !” he shout-whispered as quietly as he could manage at the moment.

Since the man was awake, he might hear him now. Right...? Smart, MacTavish. He probably couldn't hear anything beyond his own panicked breathing at this point, the masked man's chest visibly straining with the effort. Soap reached for his shoulder, one arm ready to parry a potential attack, intent to shake him, when Ghost suddenly went limp, falling to the side. The Scot barely caught him before he cracked his head open on the wall. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Soap slid two fingers under the balaclava, looking for the man's pulse. He found it, rabbiting under his fingers, and Soap heaved the breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding back as he laid the man down on the bed.

He lifted the balaclava over his mouth and nose, putting his fingers under the latter. His shoulders relaxed a sliver when he felt the small puffs of air being exhaled. He was simply passed out, not in any immediate danger as far as Soap could tell. His eyes fell on the exposed skin and the scar he could make out even in the faint moonlight. A long, thin line that slashed through his lips and went all the way up the man's cheek, disappearing under the balaclava. Soap wondered how far it went before turning around, feeling like he'd just violated Ghost's privacy in a hundred ways.He marched to the curtains, drawing them further closed so the small bit of light couldn't filter through anymore.

He sat down on his own bed, listening to the man's now normal breathing. Suppressing a groan, he ran a hand through his disheveled mohawk. Holy shit. He could feel his heart beat into his ears, adrenaline running wild in his veins. At the same time, he heard Ghost shift. Thank god. He turned his body so he wasn't facing the man, even if he could barely see his outline anymore in the reduced light.

Ghost suddenly sat up, breath hitching, and Soap tensed. He wasn't going to start hyperventilating again, right ? The thought flashed quickly through the Scot's mind and he forced himself not to move, regulating his own breathing. What was sure was that Ghost didn't need a nervous wreck next to him. He waited. Ghost didn't spiral again, thank god, but Soap's heart still lurched when the man noticed his mask had been hiked up over his nose, the movement jerky as he pulled it back down. Even if he couldn't really see anything, Soap could tell every one of Ghost's muscles had tensed. And was that one of his knives in his hand ? Fuck.

“I'm sorry, but ye weren't breathing right. I had to. It's dark, so I can't even see, yeah ? Sorry.” he stammered, grasping at straws to appease the man.

The answering silence stretched to the point Soap wondered if Ghost had even heard him.

Suddenly, the masked man got up and went straight for the door.

“Ghost,” he called out, but the man closed the door behind him.

Soap didn't hear anything beyond that. The man's ability to move silently was truly frightening. The mask wasn't the only reason for the nickname, a force to be reckoned with. Right now however, it greatly annoyed Soap, as he couldn't tell where Ghost had gone. The man had just passed out for fucks sake, wandering around right after couldn't be good. He had to at least make sure he was safe. That was all. Decision taken, he went in search of the man.

He found him in the living room, in the exact same posture he always was, supporting the wall and staring straight ahead. However, he didn't seem to notice Soap standing in the doorway. Frowning, the Scot took a few more steps forward.

“Ghost.”

The man turned his head, but the movement was sluggish.

“Ye just passed out for christ sake. Sit down at least.” he huffed, crossing the last few strides separating them.

Ghost just stared, eyes unfocused. Soap pulled back the urge to tug him down with him when he sat himself down, and instead looked back up at Ghost, who hadn't budged. Fuck, did he really have to ? He pushed past the sour taste in his mouth as he ordered the man.

“Sit down, Ghost.”

The mask man slid down along the wall, mimicking his position, and Soap exhaled a breath. At least now he didn't have to worry about the man cracking his head open on the floor. He wasn't sure he'd be able to catch him in time if he fainted again. He let the minutes tick by, distinctly aware of Ghost's even, calculated breaths.

He waited about fifteen minutes to break the silence.

“Feeling better ?”

A grunt answered him. As good as an agreement he was likely to get from the man. Soap had learned that if the response was negative, Ghost just wouldn't bother answering at all. That he was even willing to verbalize anything at the moment surprised Soap. He had been getting ready to face stubborn silence for a few hours. Speaking of...

“My back is going to kill me if we stay like that too long. If ye feel good to get up, let's at least sit down on the couch.”

He didn't wait for an answer before getting up himself and padding over to the couch. It was long enough they would both fit with a comfortable gap between them. It should work. Soap turned and waited. Ghost was eyeing the piece of furniture like it could eat him, or was an enemy to kill. It hit him then that the bed was the only furniture that Ghost had used so far. He'd never sat into any of the kitchen chairs, or any of the available seats beyond the one in the basement in the previous safe house.

His train of thoughts was interrupted as Ghost got up and walked over, his gait not wavering as far as Soap would tell. Good. He sat down, waiting for Ghost to do the same at the other end of the couch. The man just stood in front of it, looking down at the seat, and Soap wondered what was going through his mind. The fact Soap had to order him to do such simple things made his stomach curl. It was like the man's autonomy had been completely wiped away. He thought, as Ghost looked at him for permission, that it just may have been. He couldn't force the words out this time and just waved him down with one hand. An invitation, he told himself, and guilt surged in full force. He knew this wasn't how Ghost was seeing it.

The masked man sat down, looking all sorts of out of place being so stiff in the plush cushions. Soap grimaced as he ruminated on his next step, afraid he was going to make him even more uncomfortable, but he didn't see any other solution to the situation. He decided to hell with it, and spoke.

“Was this why ye didn't want to sleep in the same room ?”

Ghost just looked at him, unmoving.

“It's not a problem ye know. I get them too sometimes. Night terrors.” Even if he had the feeling that Ghost's surpassed anyone else's that he knew off. “It doesn't bother me. We've all got skeletons in our closets in- ” he cut himself short before saying this line of work, like he was including Ghost in it. “-our line of work.”

Unsurprisingly, the man didn't answer. His mask was shining slightly under the moonlight that was filtering through the window. The curtains hadn't been pulled in this room, and the faint light allowed Soap to truly get a good look at man's eyes for the first time since he'd woken up. He saw endless darkness dancing there, seeping through the cracks as the man was softened by the exhaustion pulling at his skin. The Scot forced himself to continue, to not get lost in the despair radiating from the man.

“Point is, ye don't have to leave the room on my accord if ye don't want to.”

Of course, Ghost might just genuinely want to be alone after this, and here was Soap being a nosy shit. He nervously bit his lower lip at the thought.

“Alright.”

Ghost's rough voice startled him and he blinked at the man, half certain he'd hallucinated it. But no, the man had truly answered him like that. Not a quiet nod or a barely discernible grunt. Somehow, Soap felt like the single word held a lot more power than the simple agreement it was posing as.

As they both relaxed in the couch cushions in comfortable silence, Soap's eyelids growing heavy, he hoped this meant Ghost would be a bit more willing to interact moving forward.

Chapter Text

Soap woke up to an awful crick in his neck and Price hovering over him, mouth pinched. Huh ? With a grunt, he pushed himself up from the slouched position he'd fallen asleep in. Fuck, he'd fallen asleep. So much for making sure Ghost was alright.

“Soap.” said Price, a deep frown marring his features. Was something wrong ?

“Yeah ?” mumbled Soap, looking around. Where was Ghost ?

“You alright, son ?”

“Yes ?”

Why wouldn't he be ?

“You stayed here all night ?”

“No.” he answered, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn.

Damn, he'd crashed hard. He blinked the last vestiges of sleep out of his eyes before locking them with Price. The man didn't seem convinced.

“If there's something wrong with the sleeping arrangements, we can figure something out.” proposed the Captain softly.

“No, nothing's wrong...”

Well, now that would be a lie now, wouldn't it ? Price raised an eyebrow, sensing the “but”.

“If that was the case, Sergeant, you wouldn't be out here sleeping on the couch.”

Soap couldn't stop himself from worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Ghost would definitely not appreciate him sharing but... it could get dangerous and Price needed to know. He just had to not share the details.

“Well... Ghost has... night terrors, sir ?”

Price made a noncommittal noise encouraging him to continue, sensing there was more to it.

“But it's like nothing I've seen before. It's... really bad.”

He'd seen his fair share of soldiers waking up screaming, had done so himself, but nobody had ever exuded the sheer panic Ghost had been in.

“We didn't hear anything.” noted Price.

“He's quiet.”

Soap cringed saying that. It wouldn't have been had the Scot not been there to catch him before he slammed his head against the wall when he passed out. The Captain frowned.

“And how did you wind up here then ?”

“He left the room right after he woke up, and I couldn't leave him alone like that. Followed him here and ended up falling asleep on the couch like a bampot.” he huffed.

“Like that ?” repeated Price, because of course he wouldn't let that go, perceptive as he was.

“Like... disoriented still ?”

The Captain hummed.

“He hasn't lashed out again ?”

“No, sir.”

Not at all, even. The image of Ghost curling up on himself as Soap's fingers brushed over the man's nape sat heavily in his stomach.

“Everything alright now, then ?”

“Aye, sir.”

Price regarded him for a moment before nodding.

“I want you to tell me if there's anything.” he offered, squeezing Soap's shoulder before straightening.

The Scot nodded, mentally shaking himself.

When Soap came back into their room, Ghost was there. Soap had no idea how the conversation ended up with him trying to explain to the man for the umpteenth time that his privacy also mattered, and that was why Soap would always knock before coming in. Probably some odd remark Ghost had made. It didn't appear to make it through the thick skull mask, the man changing the subject not so subtly.

“You brought the book ?”

Soap froze. What book... Oh.

“Oh. Yeah. I asked Rudy if I could, and he said yes.”

He really had just wanted an excuse to try and break through Ghost's shell a little more, and the spanish lesson seemed to work. His curiosity regarding the man was growing with every thing he uncovered.

“Do ye want to help me with it today ?” he asked, not very hopeful after the night they just had.

Ghost nodded, making Soap smile. Good.

“Sure, then. After breakfast.”

Hopefully this meant the day would go well.

It did. Soap thought that Ghost might have even slept that night... forgoing the blankets, that had remained bunched up at the foot of the mattress in the morning. As Ghost slipped out of their room when the Scot stirred, he was reminded of the way the masked man had clawed wildly at the sheets the night before. He felt bad now, like he'd somehow caused this by pushing him to use the blankets. Had he known... Swallowing a sigh, he got ready for another day of nothing. More waiting around for intel to maybe come in was getting boring fast, and Soap was running out of things to do in the cramped safe house. He would have to get creative.

Soap had been idly sketching Ghost's knives from memory when the idea struck him. Looking up from his sketchbook, he was disappointed to see that Ghost had slinked out of the living room at some point. By now, Soap knew better than to try and look for him. He'd made that mistake once and it had led to Ghost retreating even further into himself for the rest of the day. By now, Ghost had proven himself reliable and if he wanted some time alone, he could get it. But the idea scratched at Soap's brain and he smiled mischievously at Gaz instead. His teammate raised an eyebrow in response. The Scot waved him outside and Gaz followed, intrigued.

Soap had found in their gear two knives that could probably work as throwing knives. They likely weren't ideal, as they looked nothing like Ghost's, but it would have to do. They'd painted a red dot in the middle of a board that was laying around the house, putting it up against a trunk to practice. Soap didn't feel like putting holes into the innocent tree.

As expected, throwing knives was hard. There were likely a few tricks to it, but neither Soap nor Gaz could figure it out. The Scot threw the second knife again, putting it in the board this time. Win !

“That's a shite throw.” came a rough voice right behind them, making them both jump.

“Jesus wept, Ghost !” exclaimed Soap as he wiped around, his voice having embarrassingly risen a few more octaves.

Ghost just raised an eyebrow at them, the smug motherfucker. Soap swore the Brit took pleasure in watching them jump. The Scot turned back and went to retrieve the two knives, taking that time to collect himself and calm his racing heart. Steaming Jesus, and he had complained about being bored this morning. Well, here was a change of pace.

He came back, handing Ghost one of the knives out of curiosity. He had never actually seen the man use any of his impressive collection, and wondered about the man's skills. Surely all the rumors circulating around him weren't just for show.

“If yer so good, why don't ye show us ?” he huffed, playing it more standoffish than he really felt.

And no, he wasn't being petty.

Ghost took the knife without a word, weighting the object in his hand before it whizzed past, landing in the middle of the red dot without any warning. What the fuck ? Soap hadn't even seen the man aim, the knife having just... teleported there. Gaz whistled next to him, impressed. Yeah, that seemed about right. Ghost's eyes found Soap's and... there was no mistaking the challenge there. The brown eyes behind the skull mask came alive for what seemed like the first time. And it was beautiful. This had been what Soap had been waiting for, to see if the man still knew how to live instead of merely existing, awaiting his next order.

Soap shook himself, taking the remaining knife. He'd never been known to back down from a challenge after all, even if it was against the Ghost. He couldn't miss this. He took extra care to aim, feeling more and more confident he was getting better each time.

“Square your shoulders, keep your elbow tucked in.” barked Ghost in a commanding tone that Soap had never heard from the man so far.

Fuck. He hadn't been expecting that. Startled, Soap suppressed the full body flinch that had threatened to show, put the aborted movement into shifting his weight instead, following the advice before throwing the knife. Soap wasn't sure, but the throw had looked better. He turned to Ghost.

“Can do better.” deadpanned the man.

Killjoy. He resisted the urge to flip off Gaz as the man cackled behind him while he went to retrieve the knives. Like he'd done any better than him ?!

Growing vaguely frustrated, Soap had resumed his stance, arm raised next to his head, ready to throw, when Ghost took his elbow in hand, moving it in the right position. Soap froze.

“Tucked in.” rumbled the deep voice, right in his ear.

A second gloved hand nudged his shoulder back.

“Square shoulders.”

Ghost's right hand left his elbow to close around his wrist instead, the contact spreading heat through Soap's whole arm.

“And keep your wrist locked. Your knife is rotating too much because you throw it like a limp noodle. It's not a grenade.” huffed the masked man as he let go of him.

This had no right being as hot as it just was. Locking eyes with Ghost, Soap prayed that his cheeks hadn't turned flaming red, because he sure felt hot under the collar. Hell's fucking bells, this couldn't be happening. Sure, Ghost was everything Soap had always been most attracted to in men, but this was The Ghost, for christ sake !

Ghost didn't look fazed and Soap rolled his shoulders, assuming his position and, the man's phantom touch still imprinted on his body, threw the knife. He missed the bullseye, but this was the closest he had gotten to it so far.

“Let's fucking go !” roared the Scot, feeling stupidly happy about it.

Gaz whooped. Soap turned to Ghost, smiling triumphantly.

“Ho' was that, aye ?”

“Still shite.” grumped the masked man.

Would it kill him to give a compliment ?

“Yer a shite teacher, Ghost.” snorted Soap good-naturedly while turning to Gaz, handing him the second knife.

As Gaz got ready, Soap looked at Ghost, curious as to how his teammate was going to be corrected, only to frown. Ghost looked off all of a sudden, eyes looking at Gaz but not focused. The man made his throw and the dull sound of the blade hitting wood made Ghost's eyes shift slightly, and Soap discerned the exact moment he was back with them, as Gaz was now also looking at him, waiting for his throw to be appraised. Ghost grunted something dismissive sounding, and Gaz deflated.

“Aw, man. I thought it was good.”

“Hey, better than the first few.” laughed Soap without truly meaning it as he punched his teammate on the shoulder, worry eating at him again.

If Gaz had not noticed anything in the moment, he sure had as their impromptu knife throwing lesson went on, and Ghost was back to vocalizing in grunts and monosyllables, getting quieter as time wore on.

Soap gave Gaz a discreet look – Ghost wasn't paying attention to them that closely anyway – and the man nodded in answer.

“Alright, I guess that's enough for today, my shoulders are going to be sore.” he announced, faking a stretch.

Ghost left without a word, disappearing into the house. Gaz shot him a concerned look.

“Did something happen ? It was like... a switch got flipped or something.”

Soap swiped a hand in his mohawk.

“I don't know... He just got quiet all of a sudden.”

“When I started throwing.” frowned Gaz.

No, it wasn't that... Soap racked his brain, feeling like the answer was right under his nose. Replaying the scene a few times in his mind, it finally clicked.

“Right after I called him a shite teacher ?” Soap spoke softly, disbelief coloring his voice.

“Huh ?” provided Gaz oh so helpfully.

Soap glared at him and the man raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I mean, it was obvious you were joking, no ?”

“Aye... And it's never been an issue before.”

Soap had even tried to make more of those stupid comments, as lately it often got an eyeroll out of the man, which seemed to be one of the only four emotes the man was capable of. The others included glaring, raising an eyebrow and giving the most judgmental side eye Soap had ever seen. Even Price's didn't come close.

And now... something about that specific comment had made the man shut down right in front of them.

Soap spent the rest of the afternoon lounging on the living room's sofa, drawing odd lines into his sketchbook while he mulled over what had happened. He ignored the looks Price shot him from his own seat as Soap had given up on schooling his expression into something neutral. He'd never been good at it, always too expressive, and he knew his bad mood was written all over his face. Gaz however did a good job in convincing the Captain that nothing – or rather, nothing big – was amiss.

Soap replayed the scene over and over again. Ghost's sudden touch, stepping into his space when so far he'd always made sure not to overstep. His commanding voice as he moved him into the proper stance... right in his ear. If not for the balaclava, Soap might have been able to feel his breath skittering on his face and... Bleeding Jesus, MacTavish, get a grip ! This was not the point, and getting a stupid crush on the cartel criminal bound for prison once their mission was over could bring nothing good. Still... Ghost's behavior tickled at his brain, feeling oddly familiar to Soap.

If a switch had been flipped when the man shut down, then another had been flicked on when Ghost had started instructing him. Instructing... Soap hid his face behind his sketchbook as realization struck him, but thankfully neither Gaz or Price were paying him any mind. How had it taken him so long to notice ? Too lost in his little fantasy, probably, he grouched at himself. Ghost had behaved like, well, an instructor. Soap had done so himself when overseeing the rookies, especially when training brand new drills and the soldiers were everywhere with their bodies but in the correct position. The more Soap thought about it, the surer he became of it. It just made sense.

A ruffle of paper took him out of his head and he lowered his sketchbook. Price was putting down his papers and looked ready to leave, likely to put them in the office. The words were out before Soap could stop them.

“Did Laswell get back to you, regarding Ghost ?”

The Captain stopped, frowning at him.

“She did.” he admitted with a weary sigh. “I didn't say anything because everything she found was so heavily redacted, it's useless.”

“But she did find something.” he pushed stubbornly.

Price said nothing for so long, simply staring at him, that Soap thought the man wouldn't answer.

“Yes. We're not the first team to have been sent after Roba.”

“Sir, are you saying...” questioned Gaz.

“I'm not saying anything. We don't know who's been sent, or how many. Just that three teams have been sent at different intervals, years ago. Nothing about their outcome, but well... Roba's still here.”

Heavy silence fell as Price left the room.

In the next few days, Soap worked at defrosting Ghost... again. He'd lost count of how many times it had been, working at bringing the man's walls back down every time he raised them up, and the Scot cursed himself for it. He still wasn't entirely sure why he was being shut out this time, but the process didn't stop being rewarding. He got a little more of the man every time, a new layer being peeled away. This time, the knowledge of who Ghost might truly be spurred Soap into trying to be less shy when it came to touching the man. And no, it had nothing to do with the childish infatuation he was developing. Soap had eyes, Ghost – what he could see of the man anyway – was hot, the end. But he went for a bump on the shoulder here, a tap on an arm there. Short contact, making sure the masked man could see it coming. Ghost allowed it without saying anything. Returned it, even, during one of their spanish lessons.

Ghost had been slowly growing more chatty, offering a few words and explanations here and there when he was in a good mood and not brooding over whatever dark things happened in that man's head. Right now, Soap was struggling to translate an english sentence into spanish, as Ghost had pointed out that a different exercise might work better to help him understand and remember the words that frankly just looked like gibberish to him most of the time. As the Scot wrote down his sentence, he couldn't help but feel that it didn't make any sense. At all. He groaned, letting his arms fall onto the sheet of paper, effectively hiding his horrible writing.

Ghost had poked fun at it the other day, in what Soap had come to recognize as the man's dry humour. A tossed “It would help if I could actually read whatever code you've been writing in.” as he'd asked if what he'd noted down was right or not. He swore he'd seen the corner of the man's eyes twitch in amusement for a second, and the sight had warmed Soap's heart, even if the joke had been at his expense.

He was taken out of this pleasant thought by gloved fingers nudging one of his arms away. Soap held his breath before catching himself, unsure if Ghost would continue if he didn't stay perfectly neutral to the sudden touch. He let his arm relax, being moved away from the sheet. The contact was short lived, but the tingling sensation it left behind made Soap's heart flutter. Ghost leaned down to see what he'd written.

“S'not that bad.” grumbled the man.

This was the closest thing to a compliment he'd gotten from the man, and naturally, he couldn't help the giddy feeling that spread through his veins at this.

The peace, however, had to end. One morning, Price gathered them into the office for a briefing. A computer was lighting up as Alejandro, Rudy and Laswell's faces popped up on the screen.

“Good morning, boys.” came the CIA agent's voice through the speakers. “We've gathered enough intel to plan the next phase of the operation.”

Finally.

Chapter Text

The team tuned in to Laswell's voice as she updated them on the intel, and so did Soap. He might have just been a smidge distracted by Ghost who was, as per usual, looming in the background. The masked man was tense even if he belied that impression by assuming a very casual lean against the wall. Soap, with all the time he had spent observing the man, wasn't fooled.

“Now, we want your advice on where you think Roba is at the moment. We will infiltrate that place, get Roba, dead or alive, and get out. Los Vaqueros will be there, supporting us if needed.” Price explained as he bent over the map and waved Ghost closer.

For a second, Soap thought the masked man wasn't going to comply. He relaxed slightly as Ghost peeled himself off the wall to go point at a spot on the map. A lone building in the middle of the desert that didn't seem important by any means.

“Here ?” asked Price, sounding mildly surprised.

Soap shared the sentiment. Ghost nodded, taking his finger off the map.

“We have no almost no intel on this place. All the guys told us was the location of the facility.” reported the Captain, thoughtful.

“Facility of what ?” Soap butted in.

He couldn't fathom what they could possibly be building in the middle of the desert. His mind went to weapons, which hadn't been part of the intel. As far as they knew, Roba only dealt drugs. He just so happened to deal them to terrorists, smuggling them into the U.S.

“That's the name of it.” said Ghost like it explained everything.

“What do they use it for ?” questioned Price

Soap saw the tension mount in the masked man, his posture growing more rigid by the second.

“S'where they keep their prisoners.” grunted Ghost, his raspy voice lower than usual.

Was that where the masked man had been held if he'd truly been... Price's voice took him out of his thoughts.

“We don't have the layout of it. Do you ?”

Ghost shook his head. Huh, maybe not then. Price went on to plan the rest of the operation. Soap sneaked a few looks at the masked man here and there, but he remained immobile, eyes fixed on – through ? – the map, arms crossed against his chest. Soap's chest tightened as he felt his anxiousness grow. This mission might very well not go according to plan.

At night, they were dropped close to the facility. As they arrived, everything looked like they'd expected : very minimal security, if at all, patrolling outside. Inside was unknown, but sneaking in was stupidly easy.

In the first few rooms they searched, they don't find anything of importance. The walls had cracks running through them, the locks were rusted and there were no cameras in sight. Why would Roba be here, of all places ? The thought that Ghost might have been tricking them all along made a shiver run down his spine.

At the same time, they arrive at an embranchment, making Price and Gaz separate from them. They have to do this fast, even if it means splitting up and being more exposed if shits hits the fan. But with his newfound doubt, Soap feels his stomach drop as he finds himself alone with the masked man. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Ghost actively search for anything since they arrived. He'd been following along silently, looking around, but not acting. Shaking himself, Soap continued on their route, overly aware of the looming presence at his back.

Entering another room, Soap scanned it quickly. This one was some sort of... medical exam room ? It might contain something useful then. The drawers of the cabinets were easy enough to crack open, revealing piles of files. Jackpot.

Opening his backpack, he had started shoving everything in when a sharp breath behind him stopped him in his tracks. Turning around, he found the source of the noise to be Ghost, who was... just standing in the middle of the room, like he'd done every time so far when a room needed to be searched. What had caused the man to react ? Soap scanned their surroundings and found nothing amiss. Reporting his attention back on Ghost, his eyes found the ones behind the mask. Soap had half a second to notice the blank, vacant look in the man's eyes before he hurried out of the room.

“Ghost !” he called out, getting no answer.

He was about to run after him when the masked man froze in the corridor, just barely in his line of sight through the door. Had he heard him, then ? Soap hurriedly shoved the rest of the files in his bag and walked out, making sure his boots were making some noise. The vacant look in the man's eyes had him question if Ghost was... present or not.

He'd seen this in the man before, and it usually ended by a loud sound dragging his attention back to what was happening around him. At first, Soap had thought the man was simply lost in thoughts, but he realized now that it might not be the case as he saw the tip of gloved fingers tremble slightly. Ghost still hadn't acknowledged him.

“Ghost ?” he tried again.

The masked man blinked, and Soap saw the moment Ghost came back. The Scot felt his brows furrow. He had to fully reconsider the man's behavior since he'd stepped into the building. He remembered his old therapist talking about dissociation, and while he'd never had to deal with that as part of his own PTSD – thank christ for that – her description of it had stuck with him. Soap mentally kicked himself for not having noticed the signs of it in Ghost.

“Ye alright ?” he asked softly, careful not to startle the man.

He had begun to raise a hand to put on his shoulder reassuringly as he spoke but caught himself. That might get him another split lip, even if he'd been able to touch the man a bit more freely these days, it likely did not apply to this situation.

He almost jumped as Ghost's voice suddenly rose for the first time between the grey walls.

“You got everything ?”

“From this room, aye.” he confirmed, unsure.

“Next few won't have anything useful.” declared the masked man before walking straight past Soap and the couple of doors, leaving the Scot to scramble after him.

Soap hoped he told the truth, and that he wasn't about to get the scolding of the century from Price for missing out on intel. Surely the Captain would understand he just couldn't leave Ghost like that, right ? It was a perfectly reasonable decision to not let a potential threat or liability walk around unattended.

Also... hadn't Ghost said he didn't know the layout of the place ? Yet, he was walking away with purpose, like he knew exactly where he needed to go. Doubt bubbled again in Soap's mind, but he got distracted as they entered another section of the facility. Rows of holding cells lined the walls on either side of the long corridor. This was the first sign confirming Ghost telling them prisoners were held here. Right now however, it seemed empty.

Something caught his eye in one of the cells and he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Creeping Jesus.”

Bones. Very much human bones piled in that cell, stacked neatly like a little tower with a skull on top. Soap's stomach roiled in disgust. What kind of sick fuck... Ghost turned around and went back to where the Scot had stopped, emotionless as he laid eyes on the macabre display. Soap was sure he'd seen the man check every cell as he passed, including this one, yet he hadn't reacted.

Ghost walked away without a word about it, not even a change of expression, leaving Soap scrambling to catch up, wondering what was going on in the man's head and growing increasingly worried about it. He debated trying to update Price on the situation, but Ghost seemed aware enough of what he was doing, and Soap didn't want to potentially trigger the masked man by essentially tattling on him. Steeling his nerves against the increasing unease, he followed Ghost deeper into the facility.

They met the first set of guards loitering about in a corridor. Soap barely had time to ready his gun when Ghost just barreled through them, slitting throats and breaking necks with a speed that had Soap's hair rise on his neck. The cartel members had barely had the time to make a squeak that the two bodies were hitting the ground with a dull thud. In the same movement, Ghost kicked open a seemingly random door on the left, rushing inside, and Soap muttered a curse. Wasn't the man named Ghost for his ability to be silent ? Hell, he'd creeped up on Soap often enough at the safe house, startling him, and now he was kicking doors down ? It could have been easily lockpicked, just like all the rest of the closed doors they'd encountered so far.

Soap rushed after him, almost colliding with the man in the doorway as Ghost had immediately turned back out. What the fuck ? He raised his hands in a placating gesture as Ghost's glaring became more intense.

“Hey ! At least wait fer me outside, aye ? I won't take long.”

Thankfully, the masked man listened and stayed posted next to the open door. Still, Soap kept an eye on him as he collected more files.

His earpiece crackled as slipped the last usb card he'd found inside his bag. Soap had never been more relieved to hear his Captain's voice.

“We got someone, looks like he might be in charge of this place, but we need Ghost to confirm, if he knows him. Are you wrapping up on the other side ?”

Soap held back the urge to report Ghost's odd behavior, sticking to what had been asked.

“Aye, Captain, We're 'bout done here, we're coming yer way.”

“Good, we're in the small room in the middle of the east wing.”

Turning to Ghost, Soap reported :

“They got someone that looks important, they want ye to check him out. They're in the next wing.”

The masked man left immediately and Soap swallowed back a curse as he jogged after him.

The east wing looked similar to the others they passed so far, with doors on each side. The only difference being the open... badly hidden door in the right wall, from which angry spanish rose.

Soap stepped inside the small room to Price holding their prisoner in a chair and Gaz standing off to the side. A massive glass window overlooked a big room on the right where all surfaces had been painted black. Creepy. A shiver ran down Soap's spine and he reported his attention to their prisoner.

The captured cartel member didn't look like he was trying to escape, not tied to the chair nor being restrained in any way besides Price's hand on his shoulder. He'd been laughing at the Captain, his bloody nose running into his mouth, but his smile faltered when he saw Ghost.

“You know him ?” asked Price to the masked man.

“Gilberto.” growled Ghost, prowling closer to their prisoner.

The tone used by the masked man made Soap's stomach flip unpleasantly.

“Fuck you, English. Kill me, torture me, I won't talk.” spat the man at Price before returning his attention on Ghost, false bravado shining in his eyes as he laughed. “You think your little friends here will do something ?”

The man then switched to spanish, and all Soap caught was Fantasma. He'd learned that one due to this mission, and it stuck with him. Price frowned and shook the snickering man, demanding he speak english, asking again for Roba's location.

Suddenly, Ghost moved, grabbing Gilberto by his hair, pulling his head back. Soap saw Price flinch back minutely, but the Captain didn't let go of the cartel member.

“Roba is at the Hacienda.” said Ghost, sounding sure of it.

The man's smile widened as he answered something. This time, Soap caught El Gordo, which he remembered as being Roba's nickname. Hopefully Ghost would share the information. Gilberto laughed again at Price's second demand that he speak english.

They all flinched as Ghost ripped the man off his chair by the collar, right out of Price's hands and dragged him out of the small room. Gilberto yelped in surprise, his legs kicking under him uselessly on the floor.

“Ghost !” called the Captain, disbelief in his voice.

Ghost shoulder checked Soap on the way to the door when the Scot didn't move over right away, still trying to process what was going on. Looking at the others, the two shocked expressions facing him likely mirrored his own.

They all rushed to follow at the same time, calling out to the masked man, who turned a deaf ear. Or, Soap thought, simply couldn't hear them at all right now. They watched him drag the man into the next room and closed the door behind him. Price cursed and Soap's heart rate kicked up a notch. If they had been locked out, who knew what Ghost had planned for the guy...

When they finally opened the door after what felt like an eternity to Soap, they all stopped right in their tracks at the scene in front of them. Walls painted in cheery colors, palm trees and beach sand greeted them. A white screen was mounted on the far wall, displaying dancing girls in hawaiian costumes. What the fuck was this ?

In the middle of the room, Gilberto had been tossed in a pink beach chair and next to him, some sort of drink was displayed on a small table. The cartel member wasn't fighting despite Soap not seeing him restrained. Ghost had his back turned to the group, picking up something from a small suitcase. Syringes stood in dark contrast between the fingers of the black gloves. Soap was about to call for the masked man again when Price stopped him, grabbing his shoulder and shaking his head. The Captain's face was grim and Soap was about to ask why he'd prevented him from intervening when Ghost spoke, his voice laced with ice.

“It's a shame, but I don't have time to waste with you. Besides... your brain hasn't been prepared properly for this stage yet so...”

Ghost took hold of Gilberto's head with his free hand, the three syringes he'd picked up held menacingly in his other hand between his knuckles. Soap heard himself gulp.

“We will just wing it.” continued the masked man right before pushing the three syringes in the man's face, hard. Gilberto screamed. Soap heard Gaz shuffle next to him and a shaky intake of breath, but couldn't tear his own eyes away from the scene as his stomach threatened to come up his throat. Steaming Jesus. He'd seen some fucked up shit in his years in the field, but that was brutal.

Price cleared his throat loudly, successfully getting Ghost's attention. How he'd been heard over the dude screaming his lungs out, Soap had no idea, but apparently the masked man had some sort of super keen, selective hearing. Or maybe he'd snapped out of whatever haze had overcome him. Ghost took out a knife and slit the cartel member's throat in answer, almost nonchalant in the gesture. Price marched into the room, eyes on the now gurgling man, brows furrowed.

“You're positive you know where Roba is ?”

As Ghost nodded, Soap noticed that man seemed to deflate somewhat, as if the single action had somehow drained him. It might have, judging from what the Scot had seen so far today. Ghost had been flighty, tense and... unpredictable. Angry, even, as he'd dragged Gilberto away. Pieces of the puzzle started fitting into place in Soap's mind, much to his horror. He prayed he wasn't right as they vacated the building, Ghost back to trailing silently after them, his presence eerie at Soap's back.

Chapter Text

As they got back to base and Ghost disappeared into their room, Soap followed Price into the office, helping him drop off the files they'd retrieved while he tried to formulate how he was going to bring up Ghost's actions to the Captain.

“Soap ? What's going on ?”

Huh ? Oh, right. His mood was probably yet again written all over his face. He should ask Ghost for some poker face tips at some point. Biting his lower lip, he mulled over his words before speaking.

“Why did you let Ghost kill that man ? We might have lost some intel.” he inquired instead.

Price hummed, his keen eyes seeing right through him. Still, he humored him.

“I don't think I could have stopped him even if I wanted to. Not without setting him off further, anyways.”

So the Captain had noticed that Ghost had been... off.

“Any idea what might have brought this on, Sergeant ?”

Damn him and his mind reading abilities. Or was Soap really that much of an open book ? He stammered through an explanation before cutting himself off, unsure how to even continue.

“Well... Not exactly, but he was off the whole time we were in that building. Like... tense and... not really all there ? Just following along, until he just... went.”

“Went ?” parroted Price, raising an eyebrow.

“Aye, just... went. Like a switch had been flipped. He said he didn't know the layout, but suddenly he marched away like he knew where he had to be and how to get there. Rammed an office's door that actually contained what looked like good intel. Looked like he was looking for something, or...”

Then, it clicked.

“Or someone.”

Gilberto. Judging from their interaction, Ghost had definitely known the man personally, and knew where to seek him. Only, the man hadn't been in his office at the time. Soap watched as Price reached the same conclusion.

“Any chance he knew Roba wasn't there to begin with ?” asked the Captain, eyes narrowed.

Soap's earlier doubts came back in full force. Was Ghost leading them on ? It wasn't out of the realm of possibilities but, no matter how much the Scot thought about it, it just didn't match what he'd seen of the masked man's behavior, and he refused to believe anyone could be such a good actor. Everything had looked too true for that. Too... wounded.

“I don't think so, sir.”

“He seems genuine at least in wanting to get to Roba, but from that display with yesterday, I think we will have to rescind the option of capturing him alive if Ghost gets his hands on him first.”

“Maybe... if this place had been used to hold prisoners, what if Ghost had been held there too at some point ?”

At least to Soap, it was an explainable reason for the man's volatile mood. Price visibly mulled the words over before he nodded, eyes dragging to the files they had recovered.

Suddenly, Soap dreaded the answers they might find there, and their possible implications. The Captain's voice took him out his frazzled thoughts.

“Tomorrow, Soap. Get some rest for now.”

“Aye, sir.”

He left the office with a lump in his throat that only grew when he found Ghost sitting as stiff as humanly possible on his bed, just waiting, his eyes stormy when he snapped them the Scot.

This time, when Ghost slipped out of their room before the Soap had fallen asleep, the Scot did not follow. His presence would be likely not welcome. His heart felt heavy as he fell into a restless sleep.

Morning came too soon. Soap sat up with a groan. Predictably, Ghost wasn't in the room.

Soap shuffled in the kitchen a few minutes later to Gaz and Price already seated and eating. He mumbled a greeting before setting about fixing Ghost's and his own breakfast. The task had naturally fallen onto him on days where Price didn't feel like cooking anything.

He set out to the living room, bowl in hand, and was surprised to not find Ghost standing there. Huh. He backtracked to the kitchen and popped his head in.

“Where's Ghost ?”

“Outside.” hummed the Captain.

Puzzled, Soap opened the french door and sure enough, the man was sitting down on the edge of the patio, in what the Scot was pretty sure was the only blind spot when looking out from inside the house. He stopped his lips from twitching upward at this. Sneaky bastard. Brown eyes had been trained on him as soon as he'd stepped out, so he confidently walked over. Ghost took the bowl without a word and turned back facing the field behind the house. Soap took it as the dismissal it was. However, he was glad to see that none of the haunted glaze he'd seen yesterday was present in the man's eyes this morning.

Soap's good mood disappeared after the debrief with Laswell. She needed more time for surveillance to scout Roba's villa before they could go in, so the only thing left to do was going through the mountain of documents they had brought back. Fantastic. Not only did Soap hate paperwork, but he didn't even know if he was going to have to look over important information or not. For all they knew, it was going to be boring, useless info. Nevertheless, he, Price and Gaz all gathered to start the laborious task.

After an hour, Soap finished sifting through a pile of barely understandable medical documents with a sigh. Nothing of worth in there. Vitals of what looked to be the prisoners, what they did, what they'd said or not during interrogation. Everything seemed to be dated at least from a few years ago. A few names might be useful, but there would be no way to know until they forwarded the information to Laswell.

Price directed him right away to another pile. Repressing another long suffering sigh, Soap took the first file on top. He recognized these as the ones he'd taken out the small office Ghost had barged in like a man possessed. There might be more to find there then.

Soap picked up the sixth file, his stomach in his throat. These, as he'd found out, were torture logs. With pictures attached, all more disturbing than the last. He pitied the guys. So far, all of the files he'd looked through had ended in the subject's death. As he opened another one however, it held his attention. “Lucas Sparks. Delta agent.” was the title. Fuck. So Roba had gotten his hands on allied forces's men, and special forces to boot.

As Soap went through the American's file, his heart sank. A plan of torture had been elaborated, both physical and mental, to break the subject and brainwash them into working for Roba. Beatings, wipings, isolation, waterboarding, every trick in the book had been used, and then some. The next page revealed an image of a blond man laid down on an operation table, two doctors and what appeared to be a nurse holding him down and moving his head to the side so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit. What the actual fuck was this ? One of the... doctors clearly had his hands in the man's entrails. Sparks was blindfolded and cuffed to the table with big leather bindings, and from what Soap could see, he wasn't attached to anything to measure his vitals. He didn't even appear to be under anesthesia... other than whatever questionable drugs had been recorded to have been used on the man so far. A note was written at the bottom :

Experiment is a success. Spark was turned, despite high mortality rate. I was brought in to lower it, but Roba is not cooperating.

Soap realized then that it was odd that all the documents so far had been written in english, not in spanish. Had they all been made by this same person, brought in from outside the cartel ? Now this would be pertinent intel. Maybe whoever that was also allowed Roba an easier access route to the U.S. when smuggling in his drugs.

Unfortunately, after looking through the file over and over again, pointedly avoiding the pictures of the guy – Sparks, he wasn't some experiment like the document made him out to be – Soap didn't find any indication of the writer's identity.

Dejected, he put the file away and picked up the next. This one was titled “Isaac Washington. Delta force.” Soap frowned. Had a whole unit been captured ? The 141 had been made aware that they weren't the first team to have been sent after Roba, but they didn't know any of the specifics. This might change things.

The Scot went through the file, and didn't get anything new. The only difference was that Washington hadn't made it through Stage 1, which appeared to be pitting the prisoners against each other, having them kill their own former teammates or allies. Disgusting. Soap couldn't imagine the amount of pressure and torture he would have to be subjected to to do such a thing. Sending a silent prayer to the fallen American soldier, he picked up the next file.

His breath stuttered for a beat as he read its title, dread carving itself a place into his bones.

“Simon Riley. SAS.”

Not letting his fingers tremble, he opened it.

The first picture was that of a tall and broad blond man, locked in a cell and stripped down to his underwear, much like the others before him had been first shown. Shadows obscured his features and Soap couldn't make out his face. His gut twisted at the thought that it might have been someone he knew. He'd been in the SAS himself for a few years now, so it was definitely possible.

The rest of the pictures documented wounds sustained during the torture sessions, so there was no proper mugshot of the man's undamaged face, and when it appeared, it was messed up beyond recognition, swollen and blue from the beatings or blood running down from deep, gnarly looking cuts. The “treatments” for said cuts was just another form or torture. They had made sure to use the worst products and haphazardly stitched closed, sure to leave awful scarring behind... if the soldier lived long enough for that.

The first half of the file looked about the same as the other ones. The second half however, had more scribbled notes. Messy, scrambled thoughts of the mystery author. Under a picture of a box that looked large enough to fit a grown man in, assuming he'd be curled up tightly inside, was one of those notes.

“The usual methods are not working as well for this one. It was to be expected, he is one of the best after all. That's why I chose him.
I told him to use the box a few more times, but Roba is impatient. He rushed him into Stage 2 even before completing the first stage properly. It's too soon. El Gordo's methods are amazing, but they're not going to give him this man's soul.”

The small paragraph left Soap's mind reeling. There was no description of what the box was, but it couldn't be anything good. And... chosen ? Simon Riley had been chosen ? By who ? How ? How had Roba gotten his hands on him ? Or were prisoners selected for this beforehand, not all receiving this treatment and this guy was in charge of that ? His questions were left unanswered. He continued.

A note on the next page read :

“Roba changed his tactics. Has allowed him some leeway. Some room for him to escape, only to drag him back when he got a few kilometers away from the Facility. Hung him from a hook by his ribcage as an intimidation tactic (this one almost killed him. I told him to be more careful, that we couldn't afford to lose this one. We only had one shot with a SAS soldier. I can't lure in another one. He called me expandable when I made the remark).

He allowed some of his men to come and go freely in his cell, to have the man for themselves. I can't say I agree, seeing how pleased some of them are about this. His family was brought up, to crush whatever hope he is still clinging to. It seems to be working, and Roba is more happy with the progress than he is with me. This man does not realize the effort I put into making sure everything is secure. Cartel rat.”

Soap swallowed past the rock stuck in his throat. This was... They knew Roba had some less than politically correct methods, but it was much worse than they had imagined. The Scot forced himself to continue and turned the page.

Nothing. Blank page. The log abruptly ended there. Frowning, he flipped another page. There, right in the middle, was a different handwriting.

El Fantasma está preparado. Experimento realizado.

Soap sucked in a sharp breath. Alerted by the noise, he saw in his peripheral Price move but he ignored him, flipping the pages to the very beginning. Simon Riley. SAS. Big, tall man. British. Blond. Soap had thought he'd caught sight of a blonde eyebrow when the eye black had started to wear off his face before he could get his hands on some more. It fitted. Eerily so. Soap was white knuckling the file in his hands when Price's voice came from right beside him, startling him.

“Son ? What's wrong ?”

Fuck, Price looked so concerned. How long had he been trying to get his attention ?

“I think I have Ghost's file.”

The Captain's brows shot up and Soap handed it over easily. He'd read everything, and it made him sick. He didn't feel the need to go over it ever again.

Gaz quickly joined Price to read it and Soap watched as their faces fell the further pages were turned. The Scot hadn't known Gaz could get this pale.

“Bloody hell.” muttered Gaz once the Captain had gone back to the first page showcasing Simon's – Ghost's – name.

Heavy silence fell in the room. Soap stayed very still, not wanting to disturb whatever Price was visibly thinking very hard about. Cold sweat ran down his back, as the air thickened by the second.

Price looked back up at them, expression stern.

“Not a word about this. To anybody. I will inform Laswell, but that's as far as the information is going, understood ?”

“Not even Alejandro and Rudy ?” asked Soap, surprised.

“Not even them. Not Ghost either.” declared the Captain, tone inviting no arguments.

Both Soap and Gaz nodded. They went through the rest of the files in silence, Soap's mind drifting to what Ghost could be doing right now. Probably nothing, just waiting against a wall, and it made his heart clench. He didn't quite manage to shake off the sadness and tumult of emotions running wild in his mind for the rest of the day.

They'd taken a break around noon, and Soap couldn't help to look for Ghost right away. He didn't really know what he would do once he had, just that he needed to see the man. He let his slightly shaky legs walk him outside the house where he found Ghost still sitting on the patio.

Sitting down beside him, he tried to school his features the best he could, but knew he'd failed when the masked man's gaze lingered a bit longer than usual on his face. Soap couldn't muster the energy to fill the silence with chatter. Instead, he mentally ran through all the people he'd worked with in his early days in the SAS, trying to see if anybody met the description of Simon Riley. He didn't remember the name of most of the guys after so long, and this one didn't ring a bell.

After frustratingly coming up short, he couldn't decide if it was for the best or not. Having an old acquaintance go through all this was absolutely horrible. It opened the door for this to happen to someone closer to him, and the thought fueled his anger once more. It was definitely worse than the near stranger that was Simon Riley. Probably.

He sneaked a look to Ghost, who was staring straight ahead into the field. Probably better that he hadn't known him prior to this whole shitshow ? Who was Soap kidding. He was closer to the masked man than he'd been with all the people whose names couldn't even remember. The images of the bloodied man, limp with either exhaustion, blood loss or drugs – likely all of the above –, torn off fingernails and dark ropeburns that never seemed to really heal in any of the pictures, would haunt him for the rest of his life. He could almost imagine the cartel manhandling Simon Riley to get the shot taken and filed away neatly in a nice little file. Sick bastards.

He repressed a sigh. Whatever was next, it was going to hurt like a bitch.

Chapter Text

The new discovery of Ghost's identity, along with the behavior he'd displayed at the facility, weighed on Soap's mind for the rest of the week and made him reevaluate everything he'd done or said to the man. The relative ease that he'd been interacting with before had seemingly vanished into awkward and stilted conversations, not that Ghost seemed to mind. He spent more time trying to figure out if he'd met Ghost – Simon Riley – somewhere during his time in the SAS, but the name didn't ring a bell and Soap only got more frustrated with himself, and he was relieved when Price announced the next mission briefing.

Laswell had gotten images from surveillance drones of Roba's villa, a massive thing elegantly built in white stone with an equally impressive looking garden all around it. There were guards patrolling the area of the forest around it, and Los Vaqueros would join them again on this mission to encircle the house and make sure no one could alert the main building of their presence before they breached. There were multiple doors all around, multiple entry points, and a team would be posted at each of them. The magnitude of this operation was quite big.

Ghost had given the layout of the villa, a mess of halls and corridors they would have to sweep in search of Roba. No specific instructions as to prisoners, as it would be much safer for everyone to dispose of any threats during the first phase. When it calmed down, the operators would be able to catch a few stragglers if possible. Roba himself was kill or capture. Soap glanced at Ghost's stoic form behind them. Yeah. If how the raid on the facility ended was any clue, they wouldn't be getting El Gordo alive.

As soon as the 141 was dropped in the forest bordering the villa, Ghost took off. The team exchanged looks before Price spoke.

“Try to follow him.”

Very reassuring, Cap'. Nevertheless, they all jogged after the man who had just up and vanished between the bushes without a sound.

Soap was starting to think they had lost him already. If it weren't for the few bodies they had come across, he would have been sure of it. A few shots rang out between the trees, close to their position and they arrived just in time to see Ghost disappear between some bushes. The four patrolling guards had been downed swiftly... except maybe the dude that clearly had his arm cleaved right off. Soap's eyes lingered on the gruesome wounds for a second. A shot to the abdomen, arm cut off and throat slit. And he'd done that in the short time it took them to catch up to him. Crazy.

Continuing, they encountered no resistance until they got up the wall circling the property. No sign of Ghost. Soap eyed the wall. It was tall, but not tall enough it couldn't be jumped or climbed over.

“Don't even think about it.” ordered the Captain.

“But he-”

“Yes, he probably climbed the wall to get in. But we're not. It's too dangerous, we have no idea what's behind it.”

“Ghost probably cleaned it all already.” piped up Gaz.

Price glared and clicked on his radio.

“Alejandro, we're at the east wall, our entry point is a bit further ahead, but we're clear. How are the other teams ? Ghost went ahead on his own, over.”

“Puta madre.” came the Mexican's irritated voice. “We're still cleaning up the forest, but we will join you in a minute.”

“Rog', we're holding.”

They made their way to the small arch opening in the wall in silence. The wooden door would be easy to breach.

As Alejandro informed them all teams were in position, gunfire and yells sounded from inside the house. Ghost had gone in.

“3...2...1... Breach.”

The wooden door shot open. As Price put the shotgun away and took his rifle back in hands, Soap and Gaz entered the empty courtyard, running to get to their planned cover, a small fountain right outside their entry point before going further along the villa's wall.

“Last man in.” came Price's voice behind them as the Sergeants stacked up at the door of the mansion. “Our priority is to find Ghost. We can leave the rest to the Vaqueros.”

Upon entering the house, they encountered very few cartel members, and the ones they did were clearly panicking to rush towards the second floor, where most of the yelling and gunfire was happening. Likely where Ghost was.

Downing the last enemy in that corridor, Soap looked back at Price, who nodded. Not waiting further, he ran towards the source of all the noise, the other two right behind him. He could hear Los Vaqueros making their own entries at different points in the house, cleaning up their own sections. They could leave the stragglers to them.

The closer they got, the more bodies they passed. Soap ogled the damage, impressed and, admittedly a bit fearful. What a beast. It looked like Ghost had just charged through, annihilating anyone in his path. Absolute carnage and violence was splattered against the pristine walls. A small voice at the back of the Scot's mind whispered that you couldn't do that without consequences, and his stomach plummeted. No matter his nickname, Ghost was a man of flesh and blood. He hoped he was alright. He jumped over a body whose throat had been cut open in his haste to speed up, a newfound anxiety thrumming in his veins. He didn't know why exactly, but he couldn't stand the thought of the masked man dying here, in Roba's home.

Soap rounded another corner when he saw him, through the open door of a lavish bedroom. Standing there, towering over a bleeding Roba on the ground and holding him at gunpoint, unaware of the wounded cartel member writhing on the ground and training a shaky pistol on his back. Fuck.

A wave of adrenaline crashed into him as a gunshot rang before he had the time to pull his own trigger a millisecond later. Too late, supplied his brain as he looked up to Ghost who... hadn't budged. The shot had missed. Soap heaved a breath, feeling all his muscles relax instantly. He could have sat down in relief right then and there if it weren't for the circumstances.

As it was, he and Price checked the remaining bodies littering the space in front of them while Gaz guarded the corridor. Soap heard Roba talk, but couldn't make out the words. He was too far, and Roba probably too weak to speak properly. He was about to get closer when Price stopped him.

“Don't. Let him deal with it.”

Soap, about to argue, clicked his mouth shut when he saw the expression on the Captain's face. Price was looking at the masked man, thoughtful. Almost pleased. Assessing him, realized the Scot, and this puzzled him to no end. He shifted his attention on Ghost just in time to see him empty his magazine into Roba's face. Soap cringed a bit. Steaming Jesus. Not that he wouldn't like to put one of his own into the man after what he'd seen in those files but... Fucking hell. That was brutal. And gruesome. The Scot was pretty sure the sight would haunt his nightmares for a few days after this. Fun.

As Price went back to searching the bodies, Soap stayed rooted in his spot. Ghost, who had almost single handedly raided the place, was radiating strength and confidence as he turned towards them, back straight and eyes clear. Soap couldn't tear his eyes away, even as Ghost walked over to him. The Scot swore he stopped breathing entirely when a gloved hand closed around his shoulder, the deep rumble of the Brit speaking just above a whisper in his ear.

“Alright ?” he asked, sounding almost caring.

Soap could only nod dumbly as he processed that the Ghost had so obviously reached out to him.

His giddy mood lasted about a second before the older man passed him, a slight limp in his gait, and Soap's stomach dropped. He rushed to follow him when the masked man stopped, swaying on his feet. Fuck.

“Ghost, are you hurt ?” asked Price as the Captain carefully approached the masked man, brows furrowed.

Ghost didn't answer and cold sweat ran down Soap's back. He arrived just in time to support the man as his knees gave out. The Scot stumbled under the sudden weight that menaced to have them both careening towards the floor. Through some miracle, or sheer force of will, Ghost managed to stay upright and standing. Soap let out a sigh of relief.

“Where are you hurt, Ghost ?” Price tried again, now coming up at their level.

The masked man pointed a limp hand to his left leg.

“Soap, put him down so we can check it.”

The Scot nodded, shifting his weight to gently put the man in a sitting position against the nearest wall. Ghost let himself be manhandled, and that worried Soap more than anything. He'd never pegged the man as someone who would let another move him around like this.

On cue, he was working to cut open the pant leg when he was almost kicked in the chin as Ghost suddenly fought back. The masked man reached in front of him blindly, trying to push him away, only to meet empty air as Soap was crouched next to his foot.

“Should I hold him down ?” asked Price, voice way more tentative than Soap had ever heard coming from the man.

Soap understood the sentiment.

“I doubt he will take it well.”

He'd fight them to death. Still, they had to do something. As he took the time to take out a tourniquet and some bandages from the first aid kit Price opened, Ghost's head lolled on his shoulders and fell forward. Soap met eyes with Price before carefully reaching and shaking the man. No reaction. Quickly, Soap rushed to cut open the pant leg and take a look at the wound. A bullet had gone straight through the meat of his calf. It didn't look like anything major had been hit, but it was still bleeding and who knew how long Ghost had been running around with it. Praying for Ghost not to wake up, Soap administered the fastest first aid he ever had in fear of the man coming back to them and freaking out, undoing all his work and potentially killing himself in the process.

As Soap finished tying the bandage, Price called on the radio.

“Alejandro, how is it down there ? Roba is dead here.”

“All clear ! The area has been combed through, no more hostiles present.”

“Good. Can I leave the rest to you ? Ghost is injured.”

“Of course, amigo. We can meet up again for drinks to celebrate this victory.”

Soap didn't listen to the rest as Ghost grunted and the Scot braced himself and backed up a bit to not crowd the man. Ghost blinked a couple times before his brain appeared to come back online, eyes falling on the already stained bandage around his leg before raising tired brown eyes to Soap's.

“Think ye can walk if I help ye ?”

There was no way they would be able to haul this lug of a man out otherwise. They would need a stretcher otherwise and Soap doubted Ghost would be agreeable to the idea.

“Can try.” grunted the man as he pushed himself on his arms.

Soap instinctively rushed to support him before Ghost could faceplant trying to get up on his own, fully expecting to get slugged for his trouble, but was pleasantly surprised when the masked man let him gently haul him up.

Soap could tell the man was still trying to not let his weight fall on him too much at first, but the closer they got to the vehicle parked outside and waiting for them, the more Soap was sweating to keep him upright. The Scot made a mental note to add more weight lifting to his training once they got back. He was grateful for his aching arms when he sat a mostly unconscious Ghost in the back seat next to him.

He was fully out again by the time they got to the safehouse and Price had to help get the man into his bed. Soap made sure the blanket stayed tucked at the foot of the bed, unused, when Price left. Just in case.

Soap was happy to see Ghost woke up fully a few hours later and he looked over his sketchbook to see him pushing himself to a sitting position on the bed. A bit fast for his tastes, but alright. Hopefully it meant the man felt better. Soap came over to stand beside the bed.

“How are ye feeling ?”

“Fine.” was the curt answer. Good enough.

Him trying to get up right after, not so much.

“Hey, wait. I don't think ye should be walking anywhere right now. I can bring you something ? I'm pretty sure Price is looking into finding some crutches for ye.”

Ghost swung his legs over the side of the bed, putting some weight on his leg while still sitting down. Soap held his breath, really, really hoping the stubborn ass wouldn't be trying to get up. He didn't, thank god, but opted for glaring at him like it was his fault. Or he wanted him to leave, Soap realized a bit late. Right.

“There's a glass of water and a snack for ye on the side table, and the medkit with some painkillers if ye want to check yerself over.”

Ghost nodded, the bite of his glare softening, and Soap felt like he had just won the lottery as he hurried out.

He found Price in the office, hanging up on a call.

“Alright. Thank you, Laswell... Sure. Depending how it goes, it shouldn't be long. See you then.”

“Are we going home soon, Sir ?” asked Soap as the Captain put down the phone.

“We should, if all goes well. How is he ?”

“Woke up, and seems fine. Did ye get the crutches ?”

“I have them. I will give them to him.”

“What did ye mean by 'if all goes well' ? We're done here, no ?” he shot quickly, hoping to trick the man into revealing something he had obviously tried to skip over.

It didn't work of course. He got stared down.

“You will see in due time, Sergeant. Dismissed.”

Fine. Secretive bastard. It wouldn't stop him from guessing what this call had been about. And ask Gaz if he knew anything. Probably not, but they could brainstorm together.

Chapter Text

Soap joined Gaz in the living room and his teammate immediately laughed as he laid eyes on him.

“What ?” grumped the Scot as he sat down next to him on the couch.

“Your face, mate.” he said like it explained everything, a shit eating grin on his lips.

“What about it ?”

“What has you pouting ?”

“Am no' pouting !”

Gaz just laughed and Soap turned on the TV, ignoring him for a bit. They had finally figured out how to make the damn thing work. Even if all it showed was spanish movies, it was still entertaining.

After a while, Soap couldn't hold his tongue anymore.

“The Captain is up to something. Wouldn't tell me what.”

Gaz blinked.

“Huh. Well... Not a first, is it ? He will tell us eventually. That what had your panties in a twist ?”

Soap grumbled some rude words under his breath. More than that, something specific about it irked him, but he couldn't place a finger on it. Frustrated, he slouched deeper into the couch, not really paying attention to the show anymore.

A few minutes later, Price showed up, asking them to follow him to the office, looking less than pleased. The Sergeants exchanged a look, puzzled. Soap felt his nerves climb as they trailed after the Captain.

As soon as they were both seated, Price dropped a bomb on them.

“I asked for Ghost to be reinstated in the SAS as a member of the 141. He is indeed Simon Riley.”

Soap's mind blanked. Had he heard that right ?

“And the higher ups agreed to that ?” questioned Gaz, disbelief evident in his voice.

“They have. He was an extremely good soldier, and after he commissioned, a Lieutenant held in high regard by many. Still is, apparently.”

A Lieutenant. So Ghost was an officer. Soap let the thought twirl in his mind for a bit. It made sense. The man's presence was... commanding.

“Ultimately, the decision is in Ghost's hands, but I also wanted your opinions.”

Soap would... definitely like that. He'd grown used to the hulking man looming in some corner, and genuinely enjoyed their interactions. Whether or not it was also the case for Ghost was another matter, but the Scot thought he did. Besides, the man was an absolute beast on the field. He shivered at the memory of the dead bodies littering the forest. Silent and deadly. A true Ghost. Which... if he was to be reinstated, surely he was going to go back to his own name ? He was taken out of his musings by the others.

“Garrick ?”

“I don't see a problem with it, sir. He's definitely not someone I'd want as an enemy, that's for sure. So an ally ? I'm on board.”

“Soap ?”

The Scot nodded, still thinking.

“Same here. Just... it might not be that easy, sir.”

“Of course. He's going to need help to adjust, and a lot of it. I already saw to it, and we will be held off any major deployment until I give the okay.”

Soap hummed. It wasn't really what he was worried about. He was scared that Ghost wouldn't want it, or even worse, wanted it but couldn't make the choice. His chest tightened at this, and Soap realized then that he'd really gotten more attached to the man than he'd thought. Fuck. This was bad.

“And what did Ghost say ?” Soap couldn't help his curiosity. And hope.

“Nothing yet. I'm waiting for an answer.”

He should have expected that, really.

Passing by their room, Soap hesitated. Price had explicitly warned not to stick his nose in too far before they left the office but... His sketchbook was in there. It was a perfectly fine reason to enter the room, and it wouldn't take long. Just enough for him to discreetly check on the man. So he knocked. Once. Twice. No answer.

“Ghost ? Ye in there ?”

He'd look dumb if he was knocking at the door of an empty room. Nothing could be heard beyond the door.

“I don't think he's in, mate. He might have gone outside.” proposed Gaz.

“Might be.” mumbled Soap, unconvinced.

He trusted more the bad feeling that was steadily growing, and, acting on it, tried to open the door. The handle didn't turn all the way. Locked. Ghost was there, and he'd locked Soap out. Something he'd said over and over he wouldn't do, because it was Soap's room before being Ghost's. Somehow, Soap didn't think the change of heart was due to the fact that the masked man had seen the sense in the Scot's words, and Soap's stomach dropped. If this was Ghost's decision...

Gaz shoved him away.

“C'mon mate, give him some time. It can't be easy for him.”

Right. Of course. He nodded weakly, knowing his frayed nerves were on display for his friend, who herded him back into the living room and clicked the TV back on. It was more background noise than anything, as neither of them were focused on it.

After a few minutes of this, Gaz nudged his thigh with his knee, a small smile dancing on his lips.

“So you really like the dude, huh ?”

Soap startled before taking a deep breath. Get a grip, MacTavish.

“It's just... he deserves better. He didn't deserve any of this.” he ground out, letting his feelings get the better of him. “And he sure as hell doesn't deserve to be made prisoner again in some random ass prison in Mexico.”

And he wanted to see the man behind the mask that he'd only caught a few glimpses of. A selfish desire he tried to bury. This wasn't about him.

“Word.” answered Gaz before they fell back into a more comfortable silence.

He appreciated Gaz staying up with him despite the late hour of the night. Hell, it was almost morning now, and surely the man would want to sleep at some point. His room was accessible. But he didn't, and Soap was grateful for the company.

When he tried again about an hour later, the door was unlocked. A weight was lifted off his shoulder as he entered the room and saw Ghost propped up against the headboard, pointedly not looking at him. But that was alright. Ghost looked alright. Stifling a yawn, he laid down in the bed and was out like a light, too exhausted for even his tireless mind to keep him up.

He jolted awake suddenly, all senses in alert, looking for the offending sound. He heard Ghost shift violently on the bed next to him and his heart dropped. Fuck. He sat up just in time to see the man lurch forward, an aborted scream pushing past his throat, and scramble to get up.

Soap was up and running, arriving just in time to catch the masked man when his bad leg failed to hold his weight and he careened toward the floor. Soap's knees hit the hardwood with a thud but he ignored the dull ache, looking down at Ghost, immobile in his arms he'd wrapped around the man's shoulders to break his fall.

“Ghost ?” he tried, ready to let him go at the first sign of discomfort.

If the man fought him, it was a surefire way to break his stitches. But he didn't. Didn't answer him either, nor did he react in any way. He just stayed there, eyes on the floor, a shoulder wedged against Soap's chest and breathing heavily. Fuck. Soap wasn't sure what was worse, the fighting or the complete lack of reaction right now. He squeezed the hand he had around the man's shoulder, gently, hoping to rouse him.

“Ghost ?”

Nothing. His anxiety was starting to mount when an idea stuck him. If Ghost chose to join them, he would probably use his own name...

“Simon ?” Soap whispered into the dark room.

Feeling the body against him flinch had him letting out a breath in relief.

“Are ye with me ?”

Slowly, Ghost turned his head towards him. Then around the room. Taking stock. Good. Soap braced himself, ready to get shoved off any second, but it didn't happen. As if the last strand holding him up had been cut, Ghost went lax against him and Soap held his breath. What...

“Simon ?”

Bad move, as Ghost went rigid again. Fucking hell.

“Don't call me that.” murmured the man.

The hurt in his voice had Soap's heart catch in his throat and tears well up. He blinked once to clear them. Steaming Jesus. Taking a deep breath, he willed his voice not to betray him.

“Okay. I won't. Sorry.”

Ghost hummed and Soap just held him, wishing desperately to be able to do more to ease the man's suffering. This might be his only chance, and he didn't want it to be. So he spoke.

“Ye know... I want to help. I really do. So does Price, and even Gaz. So... Ye should join us. Help yourself that way. Please ?”

Oh, how selfish he was. Despicable.

“I don't think it's a good idea.” replied Ghost weakly.

Soap's stomach dropped and he scrambled for something, anything, to change his mind.

“Neither did my parents think it was when I joined the millitary, yet look at me now.”

Yer a fucking eejiit, MacTavish. Ghost glanced back at him, clearly taken aback. Yeah, it was dumb thing to say.

“I want ye to chose what ye want, not what ye think ye should do.”

Silence.

Then.

“Alright.” rasped the man as he let his head – or the top of his mask – fall on his shoulder.

Soap swore his heart stopped for a second. Or started making cartwheels in his chest. Or both. Probably both. Right now, he didn't have the heart to tell Ghost he should get back on the bed to check on his leg. Later. It could wait. For now, he was more than happy that this wouldn't be the last time he would get to hold some of his weight for him.