Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ghost and Simon were two very different men. Ghost was an extension of Simon, a result of cruelty inflicted long before the military, as-well as after.

Soon, it became easier to be Ghost. Ghost had a reputation, he had stories and theories. Some speculated his mask was a real human skull, even though it wasn't. These rumours kept people at bay, and that's what Ghost liked.
Atleast, he told himself he did. It's strange the way your brain can lie to you.

Internally, he had always had this battle. Ghost was easier to be, but he wasn't comfortable. The persona made his life on base easy, but it didn't half stop that discomfort that crawled under his skin, the feeling that gnawed at his bones and squeezed at his lungs.

It had been a long time since he had to be Simon. He spent so long being Ghost that attempting to be Simon felt like a Herculean effort. It was like taking off the skull mask meant he had to pull his skin into an expression that wouldn't make a baby cry. It was an effort, it took more than being Ghost. Ghost was easier.

So When on leave and dressed in civvies at the supermarket, Simon couldn't feel comfortable either. Forgoing the usual balaclava in place of a baseball cap and medical mask, it felt like he was revealing himself to the world and allowed eyes he couldn't recognise see him in his bare-bones glory. He chalked it down to paranoia, allowing his brain to lie to him once more.

And while he never opened up about his struggles with his identity, there was always one person that managed to recognise that something wasn't quite right on the days his skin got more uncomfortable; Soap.

Soap had bullied his way into Ghosts life regardless of what Ghost thought about it. He had tried to keep him at arms length, really. But god knows Soap is far too determined to give up making friends with the bigger man.

It started off as the occasional quip on missions, talking over comms about unimportant things on less life threatening missions. Ghost would tell him to focus, to which Soap would argue he is. The brass recognised they worked well together, and so as often as missions required a duo, Soap and Ghost were sent.

After almost a year of working with the man, Ghost had grown a little fonder of Soap (even though he would deny it if questioned) and dished out his own fair share of jokes and banter. Simon began to seep out of the cracks in Ghosts mask, leaked in every drop of blood spilt, trickled out of him like sweat from the Las Almas heat.

After the alone mission, Johnny was allowed to enter Ghost's office unannounced and he would sit on the chair opposite him, rambling in that Scottish articulation. Ghost would write as Johnny spoke, occasionally writing down the words Johnny had just said before crossing them out with a chuckle that sounded awfully like Simon.

They would spar in the Gym, they would drink their morning Tea and coffee together in relative silence. They would go to the pub after a successful mission, bourbon for Ghost and Scotch for Johnny.

"So LT," soap began, his glass landing on the sticky table in the corner of the pub they had tucked themselves into. "Plans for leave?"

Ghost, in a similar fashion put his glass down, taking a moment before speaking simply. "Not got none."

Simon had hoped this was going where he thought. A couple months back Johnny had asked Ghost to join him up in Glasgow. Ghost had refused due to him not wanting to be a burden, but never voiced it. Simon had hoped Johnnys persistence would win. Ghost did not.

It seemed Johnny didn't just want to push into Ghosts life, But Simon's too.

Chapter Text

The rental car up to Glasgow was a red Toyota with comfortable enough seats to sleep in, as Ghost would find.

"Have you ever been this far north?" Soap queries, hands expertly turning the wheel to head up the exit ramp of the motorway.

Ghost was leant up on the cold glass of the window, slowly sitting up. The bones of his spine popped as he straightened, the crackle was loud and filled the car for a brief moment. Soap had put the radio on at the start of the journey, but three hours into the trip Ghost had turned it off, playing the excuse that it was giving him a headache.

"Yeah. Laswell sent me out on an op more than once." Ghost says after a while, his voice deeper from sleep that he tried hard to conceal.

Soap lets out a comical gasp, a hand flying to his chest for the theatrics. "You're telling me Las' sent you to Scotland? My Scotland?"

Soap emphasises that it was his Scotland, like he owned the entire country, every dip and rolling hill of grass. Ghost chuckled, eyes now trained on the road signs as they head back onto the motorway, driving down the long and slightly winding road.

"Your Scotland? I'm sorry mate, didn't know you were a lord over there."

"Away n' bile yer heid." Soap spits out with a huff, eyes briefly glancing to Ghost before back to the road.

"Hey, I know that one!"

The rest of the ride goes smoothly— well, as smooth as British roads can be. Potholes jolt the two occasionally, curbing Ghosts occasional naps. Each one lasted no longer than five minutes, for the last time he was woken up by the radio.

They passed the large sign of the Scottish flag and the welcome sign into Scotland, and Ghost made a snide comment about how only the Scottish grass was trimmed and green.

And after a long 6 hour drive, they had finally pulled up to soaps brutalist flat, made up of what seemed to be concrete bricks stacked tall into a rectangle. Simon scrunched his eyebrows at it.

"Home sweet home." Soap said with a sigh, cutting the engine and leaning back into his seat.

"Sweet? Johnny I've seen nicer safe houses."

"Shut up and get out the car, will you?" Soap said with another sigh, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car, stepping into the relatively full carpark and shutting the door with a gentle slam. The noise reverberated in the lot as he headed to the boot of the rental.

Johnny didn't take a long look in the corners of the car park that wasn't illuminated, didn't take more than a glance at the car he had parked next to. That was strange to Ghost, he even felt a pang of jealousy at the fact. How could Johnny just... switch off his defensive side, how could he step off base and become a civilian.

It was foreign to Ghost to say the least. He undid his seatbelt and got out of the car slowly, and his knees cracked louder than the door being closed. He scanned his surroundings with watchful and quick eyes, making small notes in his head; signs around, the loud noise of the city they were only a short while away from the centre of, the number plate of the car next to theirs.

It wasn't something he could just switch off like the other man, he couldn't become Simon the way Soap could become John.

"Theres no hostiles Ghost, just a shit tonne of heavy bags." Soap comments, throwing a duffle and a backpack over his shoulders along with a set of keys that was fairly simple except for a few keychains dangling from them in his hand.

Ghost recognised a few of them from missions, little trinkets Soap would sometimes buy as a keepsake. He even had a hand carved dog tethered to the ring, one that Ghost had bought him when soap had no change of the local currency.

Ghost wordlessly grabbed the other two bags and reached up to shut the boot of the car and Johnny locked it.

"I'm warning you," Soap started, walking the short distance from the parking lot to the building. "I live near enough the top floor, and the elevator is rarely in working order."

"We've got legs for a reason." Ghost says back, following Soaps every move, even matching his steps.

Soap buzzes into the building using the fob, holding the door open for ghost and speaking cheesily, "after you, m'lady."

Ghost just Sighs, really contemplating what he was getting himself into. But it was too late, he had already crossed the threshold of the bleak apartment building. "That'll do Sargent, that'll do."

What feels to be thousands of steps later, they reach the 23rd floor huffing and puffing, walking down the small hallway to the room on the end.

"How long have you lived here then?" Ghost asks out of curiosity, not really knowing what to expect.

"Living here for...gosh," he takes a moment to think about it, fiddling with the keys, clearly having forgot which key was gonna let him in. "Since I was 17, so 9 years? Christ I'm getting old."

Ghost briefly marvels at Johnnys quick math, and then lets out a huff of air akin to a laugh, "yeah soap, real old."

"You can't say much, geriatric prick." Soap said with little to no bite and a fat grin pulling his cheeks taut as he unlocks the door.

Ghost watches as he smiles with uninhibited joy at taking the piss out of him, and he finds that he doesn't even seem to care. If there was one thing that made their relationship stand out, it was their ability to be eachothers exception. This kind of insubordination wouldn't fly with anyone else, even Gaz might get a stern response from Ghost if he tried half the stuff Soap did. In Turn, Ghost was the only person to call him Johnny, and from the brief conversation about the Scot's sisters over one too many drinks, even they couldn't pull it off.

It was never something Ghost wanted to think too much about. This was them, how they always was and how they would be, and so he wordlessly accepted that he was Johnnys exception. He was something to the man, and that made him think more than he ever wanted to.

Following behind Soap he dumped the bags in the small alcove of the entry way next to Soap's, shutting the door behind him. The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was dusty, even through the mask he could tell that Soap hadn't been home in a while.

And Johnny had never really been the self conscious type. But here in his apartment with Ghost? There was a slight worry that his apartment wasn't good enough, for whatever reason.

The entryway had dark green walls, clearly painted to be their Forrest green colour with an overhead bulb and lampshade in a crème colour. The entryway opened up to the living room which had a similar colour scheme. The walls were a textured wallpaper now, a similar shade of green with gold running through it sparsely like ribbons of the sun. The flooring was a deep oak, likely laminate. by the looks of things, it seems it's taken a battering if you look with the keen eye that Ghost had.

The Sofa looked comfy enough, black faux leather in an L-shape directed at the tv mounted on the wall. A coffee table sat in-front of the sofa, to which had a singular book on top, what looked to be a sketchbook.

The kitchen was seperate, Ghost would have to scan that at a later moment in time. For now though, he teased.

"Didn't take you for an interior decorator." *it looks nice* is what he should have said.

"Forgive me for wanting it to be cozy and all that." Soap said sheepishly, almost embarrassed by the teasing.

Soap runs a finger on a nearby bookshelf and grimaces at the murky grey colouring of his finger, turning to Ghost. "Hope you know we're on cleaning duty tomorrow, don't think you'll be getting out of it just 'cause you're a guest."

Soap tries stern, but only manages tired. It was clear the late hour and long drive had taken a toll on his energy levels. So for once, Ghost doesn't argue, just agrees.

"Yeah, it's getting late for cleaning, ain't it? What time is it," Ghost says before checking his watch. 8:37pm? When did it get so late? "Fuck, it's near enough half 8, best get some food eh? Bet you're starving, haven't seen you eat 'ote all day."

And that admittance that he watches Soap, picks up on those little things most people don't tend to notice or pay mind to, is exactly why Soap is arse-over-tit for him. The care Ghost shows in subtle ways is arguably better than ten page love letters, in Johnny's head.

"Takeout on the sofa?" Soap proposes, shifting his weight onto one leg subconsciously.

Ghost notices, of course he did. He recalled Soaps knee injury to his left leg, having almost lost it in a mission gone wrong too fast for them to grasp what was going on. A bullet had lodged in soaps patella, and since then it hadn't been quite right. Enough to do his job, but also enough to cause pain after too much strain. Must be the driving and the insane flights of stairs, Ghost thought.

"Sounds good to me. You can pick the food, I'm not fussed." Ghost says and makes his way to the sofa, lounging on it like he owned it.

It was easy to get comfortable in Johnnys space, far too easy for Ghost. Far too easy for Simon.

They decided to use uber eats to deliver their food, soap deciding on a Chinese that ghost went down all those stairs to fetch. Johnny insisted he would do it, but Ghost was already at the door with his boots on, giving Johnny a flat and monotone, "No."

Ghost had his mask pushed up, wrinkled and hooked on the tip of his nose so he could eat. He didn't want to take it off, for more reasons than one. Johnny had seen him a few times now without the mask, both Johnny and Price having seen his face an equal amount of times. He put that kind of trust in Soap, trust that he cherished.

He didn't want to get comfortable here. Atleast, not more comfortable than he was. It was paradoxical for him to feel uncomfortable by this comfort that the Scot's safe-haven offered him, but truthful. Comfort was a rarity for Ghost, it was a rarity for Simon too.

Halfway through a bite of the chicken ball, Johnny makes a realisation. He pauses the TV that played more for background noise than to be watched, and Simon turned to him quizzically.

"LT, you do have a hotel to sleep in tonight, yeah?" Soap says with a mouthful of food. With the volume of chicken in his mouth paired with the Scottish accent, you'd think it would take Ghost time to figure out what he had said.

"No? You invited me here, thought I was sleeping here." Ghost says in his usual flat tone, but on the inside he felt shame. Foolish even.

Sure, Johnny had invited him, but how could he assume that he was allowed to sleep here with Johnny too? In his mind he was already burdening Soap with his presence, why would he expect Soap to give him a space to sleep either?

Johnny had always been able to see through Ghost like he really was as transparent as his namesake. His voice was as monotone as usual, but his eyes betrayed him. Soap briefly wondered if the rest of his face was just as expressive, if it was another reason for the mask.

"I'm sorry i didn't tell you earlier, but I live in a one-bed. You fancying a cuddle?" Soap says, trying to lighten Ghosts thoughts even just a little.

It seems to work since ghost lets out the barest of chuckles. "You wish Johnny."

"It is big enough for the both of us if you don't mind sharing," soap says, now more genuine. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Soap was right, it wouldn't have been. The two had been sent out to icy temperatures together, huddled together in one sleeping bag to preserve warmth. They had gone to sleep on the exfil plane, soap leaning on Ghosts shoulder after he removed some of the gear to make it comfier for the Scot.

Noticing that Ghosts took a long while to reply, soap offered another option. "Or one of us can take the sofa for the night, I'm not too arsed."

"You're a man of solutions Johnny. Man of solutions." Ghost commented and took another forkful of beef chow mein, not giving Johnny a straight answer.

Chapter Text

"You sure?" Johnny questioned, looking at Ghost who laid himself over the sofa. He was grateful that the sofa was long at-least.

Ghost had decided to sleep on the sofa and he would figure out sleeping arrangements tomorrow. He hadn't explained his reasoning to Johnny, not that he had asked. He took it as it was, uncharacteristically so.

"Yes, I'm sure." Ghost confirms, smoothing out the blanket that soap had given him. It was a British summer though, so he really doubted he would be needing it. Regardless, the thought was nice.

It was dark in the living room, the only light coming from the kitchen door that had been left slightly open. Johnny watches as Ghost settles into his new makeshift bed, a little doubtful that it was good enough for the man.

"You ain't too tall, are ya'? Y'know it's really fine if you wanted to take the bed, I've slept on that sofa a few times now."

Johnnys mother was a strong character, Janine MacTavish had instilled values into him that not even the military could squeeze out of him. She had taught him to value the people that come into the home regardless of who they are and how often they visit. 'A guest is a guest until they pay rent' was one of her favourite lines when a much younger John didn't want to fetch a glass for a visitor or something of the like.

"Really Johnny, it's fine. Get yourself to bed, you look fuckin' knackered." Ghost says in a low grumble, finally sliding the mask off of his tired face.

The mask was placed face up on the coffee table. Having forgone the hard shell part of the balaclava, it was a little hard to make-out in the low light. Ghost briefly thought that if he needed to make a run for it, he'd have terrible luck trying to find the damn thing.

"Was wonderin' when Simon would make an appearance." Soap comments quietly, only slightly teasing. "G'night Simon."

Soap walked away at that, leaving Ghost— Simon, alone.

He couldn't sleep in the mask. Nightmares plagued him deep in the night, the mask felt too suffocating to wake up to. But god, times like this made him wish he could.

He trusted MacTavish too much, he thought for a moment. The insubordinate overachiever of a Scot has won his trust. Sleeping on his sofa. In his apartment. In Glasgow. It was a liability, he thought. What was he doing here?

Simon had settled on the sofa slowly, laying in the makeshift bed on his back and arms to his side, stiff as a post. His hands were unusually fidgety, the need to grab at the hem of his shirt to ground himself was overwhelming.

This was the discomfort of being Simon, of shedding the mask. It felt trapping just as much as it did freeing, as paradoxical as it was. He was freed from the weight of his responsibilities as Ghost, it was too many to carry even on those broad shoulders of his. He was freed from playing a character, in a way.

But being Simon felt as much of a character as Ghost did, if not more. Because Ghost did the job, and Simon suffered the consequences.

Simon didn't sleep that night. He dozed here and there, but nothing more than 5 minutes before he was jolted awake by his own brain. It's said that your head does that because it thinks that you're dead, but Private Riley was dead on paper, what did it matter to him if he died on this sofa?

Regardless, it reached 0600 hours before he sat himself up, his back screaming at him for staying still for so long. The couch was comfy, but it wasn't 'lay dead weight for 8 hours' kind of comfortable.

Reaching for the mask, he had rolled it between his thumb and fingers, ready to put the stiff material over his head.

"You don't need to be wearing that here, LT." Soap had emerged from the hallway on light footsteps, Ghost having not heard him coming.

Which was a rarity; Ghost heard everything, logged it all in the back of his brain when it seemed important, shrugged it off when it wasn't. This one was important, listening to footsteps. Harder to be snuck up on.

Johnnys voice was still gruff from sleep and his mowhawk had flattened to his head. At least one of them slept. He also seemed to be missing a shirt, instead wearing dark sleep pants and bare feet.

Johnny had noticed Simon's stare into the nothingness, speaking up again. "Simon? You solid?"

That damned name. Johnny said it like it was easy, like that was him. It was, but in a contrasting way it wasn't. Simon was the name of a man who had everything he needed, who knew who he was.

"All good, Johnny." Simon had replied, eyes flipped up to finally see him. "Put a shirt on mate, no one wants to see your nipples."

Johnny laughs, head tilted back and voice a little rough, heading into the kitchen and ignoring Simon.

Simon looked back down at the mask, slowly unrolled it, and placed it back on the coffee table. Still in sight if he needed it, but maybe Johnny was right; he didn't need it here.

Following Soap into the kitchen upon hearing the kettle begin to boil, he finally takes in the kitchen. A window above the sink, a counter and a stove lined the far wall. There was a small table next to the kitchen door with two chairs, and a fridge just out of the way of the door. The room was tiled a dark grey, and of course, green paint.

"Fuck'n hell Johnny, you like your green don't you?" Simon says, still looking around.

"Wait 'till you see my bedroom." Soap says and even though his broad back is facing Simon, he can just picture the grin on his face as he adds instant coffee to one cup, and a teabag to another.

Simon was picky about his tea, one of the few things in life he really was fussy over. Only he could make the perfect brew, in his eyes. Anyone else that tried just couldn't get it right. It was gonna be fun to watch John try though.

"Sugar?" Johnny asked, looking over his shoulder at the man who was now taking a seat at the table, stretching his long legs to the side. The kitchen was small, he was near enough touching the cabinet under the sink with his sock-clad feet.

"Guess." Simon threw back at him, a ghost of a grin on his face.

After Johnny almost trips over his feet trying to get to the fridge, the hot drinks were made. He put Simon's mug on the coaster infront of him, one of those joke ones he probably got as a gag gift from Gaz. In fact, he did get them from Gaz, ghost was there when he gave them over with a smirk.

The cup wasn't much better either; an image of an older man with a mug in his hand, a speech bubble coming from his mouth with the words 'this coffee is shite!' In black and white.

Simon shoots a look at Johnny, who's already sipping on the hot coffee, finding his gaze already on him.

Johnny places the cup down on his matching coaster, clearly waiting for Simon to take a sip. He does.

"Well...?" Johnny trails off, a little shocked at himself for seeking his approval. Johnny was always pretty sure in himself. Others called him cocky (and rightfully so, Ghosts eyes) but he liked to think of it as self assured.

To Simon's surprise, the tea isn't half bad. Sure it could use a little more sugar, but everything else was pretty spot on.

"Sugar." He said simply, taking another sip before putting the cup down.

"Sugar? I actually prefer sweetheart, or darling." Soap teases with a grin on his face, he just couldn't help himself. "Then again, you can call me whatever you want, sugar."

He threw in a wink for emphasis, the cheesy and over exaggerated kind. Ghost quirked an eyebrow at him, leaning back in his chair. He didn't know whether to correct him, to strangle him, or to play into it.

"I'll be calling you a fuckin' muppet, muppet." He decides on brushing it off instead.

"That's what price calls me, get your own nickname!" Soap tries to sound offended, but the look of triumph on his face only made him sound eager.

"I'll stick to Johnny then, eh?"

They finish up their drinks with their usual banter, take their showers and get dressed for the day. Simon hadn't put on the mask, still laid on the coffee table in the same position he had left it.

He had wanted the mask as soon as he'd stepped out of the shower. Water trickled down his body because of his wet blond hair, he tracked the motion of the water droplet as it passed down the planes of his body, catching on each raised scar. The scars changed its course, what was once on the left side of his body had managed to stop and merge with another at his right hip.

The scars on his chest were the worst of them. Deep ridges in the skin that looked like flesh had been carved out brutally, raised scars on the skin that were akin to mountains in the way that they jagged. It was never something Simon was all that bothered by, appearance wise. For the things he had gone through, he considered himself quite lucky to still be alive, really.

What did bother him was the questions. Being in the military you have to get used to being naked around a bunch of men pretty quickly. And while as a general rule, you don't look at other people in their birthday suit, some do still take a glance, and then a double take.

There was this gnarly one on his side above his ribs, a thick keloid scar with stitch scars along the sides done poorly from when he sewed it up himself. It would irritate from the wrong kind of fabrics, would hurt like it was fresh in the cold winter months. That always garnered the most questions.

He lifted his left arm up, looking at the nasty scar for a brief second. If he could get any scar removed, it would be that one.

He dried himself off with a towel quickly, choosing to face away from the mirror, afraid that if he kept picking at himself he would be here all day, and he really needed to get a hotel sorted and go food shopping with Johnny.

He kind of liked how that sounded, going food shopping with the Scot. It was domestic in a way— Simon shrugged that thought right off.

"You don't make a shopping list?" Johnny had said with a notepad in hand, a pen in the other. He was furiously jotting things down for his two week leave, deciding to buy a weeks worth of groceries now and a weeks worth later, he didn't like to waste food.

"You that incompetent that you can't remember what you need to eat for a week?" Ghost fires back, settling on the sofa, leaning back with his arms over the back. He stares up at Johnny who stood behind the sofa, still writing on the notepad.

"No need to be mean, I'm litterally hosting you." Johnny mumbles, clearly pre-occupied.

"Hosting? Johnny this feels more like a kidnapping, you know that right? You booked my leave for me." Ghost answers quickly, quirking an eyebrow at him.

It's true, Soap indeed went to price to ask about Ghost going on leave, making up an excuse that Ghost was busy in the Gym and wanted Soap to request for him. Price didn't buy it, of course. He wasn't stupid, and he knew Simon hardly ever took leave, he fought about going on mandatory leave half the time. Price booked it anyways, muttering about how Ghost could do with a break before dismissing a grinning Soap.

"Yeah, well—" Soap began, moving the notepad out of his line of sight to look down at Simon. He wanted to give a witty remark, the usual quip that came out quick as a thrown knife now died in his throat.

Simon looked good from this angle, forgive him for getting a little distracted. His blonde hair was growing out from his usual 'not-quite-a-buzzcut' cut, and soap realised that he had curls. Not tight ones, but definitely more than a wave. It suited him nicely. His brown eyes were shockingly more in view than usual, the midday sun coming through the window illuminated the room and made his eyes almost look warm. He had a scar on his cheek, light, thin and silvery, as well as another one cutting through his bottom lip, creating a little notch in it.

Simon noticed his little zone out, and with a small grin, "well, what?"

Johnny just shook his head, ruffling Simon's hair with a bit of a push. "Shut up, will you? Get up and put your boots on."

Simon laughed, a real laugh, getting up at Johnnys shove and sure enough putting his boots on, grabbing a medical mask he kept in the pocket of his jacket in times he needed to go out. It was rare he used it since he rarely left base, but it was still there.

They drove to a nearby Tesco store in the rental, Johnny talking like he was gonna go mute for the rest of his life about places he wanted to go now that he was home, places he wanted to show Simon. Simon listened, letting out the occasional hum just to show he was listening.

Johnny was a big talker. He would talk to anyone about anything, Price had once said he could sell a car to a brick wall with minimal effort, and Soap took that as the compliment it wasn't supposed to be. As a kid he would get reprimanded for disrupting a class with his loud, constant stream of words, but he couldn't help it. He had tried and tried, but he really couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Ghost was the opposite, more of a listener than a talker. Silence spoke volumes in his case, he wasn't big on actual volume. But it's what made the two work. Soap would talk, Ghost would encourage with the occasional hum and nod. He liked hearing Johnny speak to him really, especially when it was just for his ears, even if he would complain about the constant chattering. He hoped it would never stop in those moments, it only ever makes Soap speak more, thinking that he'd annoy Ghost with it. He never snapped though.

In the store, soap went around the isles picking up the bits he needed and put them in his cart, Ghost following behind him like a guard dog that took his job too seriously. He didn't even realise he was doing it until a younger man knocked the trolley trying to get by. Before The man could move, Ghosts eyes were stone cold and right on him, burning holes in his eyes. Safe to say the man apologised pretty quick before scampering off.

Johnny had even bought a few bits for Simon to keep at his place. A new box of teabags, some sort of biscuit pack that Simon had picked up, looked at the price, then put back.

"No need for that, Johnny." Simon would say as yet another item was placed in the cart that Simon didn't even pick up, just looked at for a little too long.

"Ach, let me spoil you a bit, yeah?" Soap countered, wheeling the cart down yet another isle. By now he had got all the things on his list, more just waiting for another thing Simon might want.

"I have my own money— I get paid more than you." Ghost said, but made very little attempts to stop Johnny from placing yet another item for him in the cart.

"And yet you're still being frugal."

As much as Simon didn't like people spending money on him, it was kind of nice to know that if he even tried to take the pack of biscuits out of the cart, Johnny would pull the kind of disarm move he'd do in the field on a man with a gun. He could let it slide, just this week.

He noticed he had already let a few things slide this week.

He had booked his hotel on the car ride to the flat, a travelodge not too far from Johnnys place. They had made a meal together, and by that I mean that Simon had cooked while Johnny watched. Johnny could not cook to save his life, very much litterally. Joining the military at 16 where all 3 meals were provided without needing to cook it yourself was probably the cause, although Johnny had never really tried to follow any recipe.

As a kid his mother and father would throw food together without a recipe, adding this and that by eyeballing it, and it always came out good. Johnny didn't have that same kind of talent.

They ate spaghetti bolognaise at that small table in the kitchen, Simon now having coined his seat by the door, long legs stretched out like this morning.

"You can take the rental." Johnny says between mouthfuls, waiting for the perfect opportunity to say it; when Simon had a full mouth of spaghetti, obviously.

Simon chewed as quick as possible, glaring at Johnny. He was immune to that look now, having received it so many times, but it was worth a try.

"Why would I take it? You're paying for it, you take it." Simon argued, but not angrily. Just firm.

"Yeah, but you're the one staying in the hotel. If you're wanting to come over, how are you supposed to get here?" Johnny tries to reason.

"I have legs that work, I can walk." Ghost puts his fork down, leaning back in his chair and shifting his legs, subconsciously putting them in Johnnys space.

They had this pointless argument until they finally settled on Simon taking the car, much to Simon's displeasure. He already felt like he was imposing, taking the car felt like a big thing. It was a big thing, to him. He didn't like to take from people, regardless of if it was offered to him or not.

He takes the key off the hook with a gloved hand, glancing back at Johnny as he stood in the entry way with him, making sure he took the keys. He knew Simon too well by now to trust him not to leave them by 'mistake.'

"Are you sure, Johnny? I can walk—" Simon began, arms deflating to his sides as Johnny shut him up with a single finger held up to him.

No one else could do that to him, if anyone else tried that, the finger might have just been bent backwards to point at their own horrified face. Not Johnny though, never him.

"Shut it, I've already said you're taking it and that's final." He spoke sternly, making no room for argument.

"Why do you do this?" Simon said with slight exasperation, rolled his eyes, adjusted the duffle on his shoulder and pocketed the keys.

"Care about you, don't want you getting lost LT."