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John was raised on Nana MacTavish’s wild retellings of old Scottish folktales. He fondly remembers sitting on the floor around Nana's armchair in her book-filled living room, fire roaring in the hearth, listening to her weave stories of kelpies, wulvers, the bean nighe, and old Nessie herself. His sisters enjoyed them well enough, but for some reason it always meant more to John. Those nights were special in a way he could never put into words. His sisters would always break away to do other things, but John would stay behind to beg for more.
Even better than the stories was the special finding game his nana only played with him. While his sisters were busy with hopscotch and marbles he sat in the backyard with Nana searching for will-o-wisps and other signs of the creatures from her tales. When he ran errands with her they kept the game going, picking out tells from random passers-by, competing to see who noticed the most before getting ice-cream on the way home.
While his visits to his nana became less frequent, he still looked forward to them, and though it’s a bit embarrassing, he still plays the game. It’s a good way to settle his mind when he’s upset, finding magic in the mundane pieces of the world. He blames the old habit for his current predicament.
He’s pretty sure Ghost is a selkie.
He knows that the thought is fucking ridiculous. He’s not a complete numpty, despite Gaz’s constant insistence. But after working with Ghost for a while he started to pick up on some of his eccentricities. Like how he always seems more at ease if their missions take them close to the ocean, or how he’ll stay in the showers even when the hot water must be well past spent, or, most damning of all, that he has a fur coat he keeps in a locked chest in his room.
The coat is probably a family memento of some sort, one Ghost wants to keep close and doesn’t want to risk damaging since John has never seen him actually wear it. But once the idea occurs to him he can’t quite stomp it hard enough to get it gone. He tries to remind himself that this is just a harmless game he plays, that it isn’t real and doesn’t matter, but for some reason it’s harder to convince himself when it comes to Ghost.
If he’s honest, it’s probably because he likes the idea of knowing something secret and personal about Ghost that no one else does. But John knows that is not a road he should be looking at or going down, as his nana liked to say. So he shoves that troublesome realization to the farthest, darkest corners of his mind, and threatens it with his best mental image of his nana’s broom any time it tries to crawl back into the light.
The woman was a terror with that thing. Ran off a wulver with it during one of their games. John remembered that one particularly well. Apparently his imagination had been exceptionally detailed that day.
So, John knows Ghost isn’t actually a selkie, but sometimes the silly game sneaks up on him. Like when he’s fucking exhausted after a red-eye flight because they all got called in mid-leave for an emergency mission. He’s barely conscious enough to listen to their briefing, which seems to mostly consist of- “shit’s about to go to hell, we’re not exactly sure when, but it will be soon , so we need you all here”.
Fucking great .
He notices blearily that Ghost actually has his coat draped across the back of his chair. Must not have had time to stow it in his room before the meeting. Or needed to make sure the room was secure before leaving it there.
Could be either, knowing Ghost.
Finally, Price ends the briefing and everyone starts to file out. John moves toward the door with the others, then realizes that Ghost’s coat is still on the back of the chair. Fuck, Ghost must be really out of it to leave that there. John takes a moment to be seriously worried about his lieutenant. Having his leave interrupted must have done a number on him.
John’s about to call Ghost back when he sees a recruit, Jim he thinks, on his way toward the chair. Jim is looking between the coat and Ghost, so he’s obviously intending to give it back to him.
Which is fine.
Completely fine.
Just means John can head to his own room. But something in him is terribly uneasy, only getting worse as Jim’s hand gets closer to the coat. Before John knows it he is half sprinting toward Jim and shoulder-checking him hard enough that the man falls on his ass.
Jim stares at him in understandable shock, but John ignores him for now.
“Oi, LT! Think you forgot something!” Ghost turns, then stiffens when he sees John hovering behind his chair. John likes to think he can read Ghost better than anyone in the 141, except perhaps Price, and he is startled to see terror in the set of Ghost’s eyes. His gaze jumps between John and the coat, his shoulders relaxing almost imperceptibly when John makes no move to touch it. Ghost’s long strides eat up the distance between them in seconds, and John notices with concern that Ghost’s hand is shaking slightly when he picks the coat up, the tremors immediately disappearing when he grips it.
The breath Ghost lets out is choppy, and then he’s locking eyes with John, and he has to hold back a gasp at the sheer relief there.
“ Thank you , Johnny.”
“Any time, LT,” John answers automatically. He desperately hopes no one can tell how shocked he is to hear the nickname outside of their private channel.
Ghost nods and heads for the exit, and John does not stare after him.
He gives Jim a hand up and a hearty slap on the back, muttering “the LT doesn’t like people touching his things,” as explanation.
It’s technically true, so John doesn’t feel too bad about it as Jim goes wide-eyed and nods in understanding. Poor lad probably thinks John saved him from a gruesome death. Or at least from running extra laps during training.
Later, as he’s lying in bed, John blames his exhaustion for his last errant thought of the night.
Maybe he really IS a selkie.
-
The mission is an absolute bitch . Not a surprise since they were called back early for it, but John can hope for easy- even if he never gets it. But he can’t deny that no matter how bad it gets out here, he always feels safe while he’s in Ghost’s scope, like he’s untouchable .
So John makes sure to thank him any time he takes out an enemy nearby, even when he fires back with those painful dad jokes. Ghost is lucky John likes him, or he would mute their channel on principle. As it stands, he’s bored while he and Ghost wait for the all-clear from the other sectors, and is desperate enough to ask for bottom-rung entertainment.
“Got any new ones, LT?” John prompts. The mic crackles for a moment before Ghost’s voice comes through.
“Hmmm…I’ve got a lot of good jokes about umbrellas, but they usually go over people’s heads.”
“Jesus wept, Ghost,” John groans.
“Thought you’d like that one, Johnny.”
John suffers through several more jokes of a similar caliber before the evac order is issued. And if he’s smiling more than usual when he piles into the heli, earning a knowing glance from Ghost, no one else needs to know why .
-
They’ve been back at base for a few days when Ghost invites him to have drinks in his quarters. It isn’t the first time they’ve had what John likes to think of as a date night, even if he’d never say so, but it’s always been in John’s room and at John’s invitation.
Ghost taking initiative is…new. And a bit intimidating- thrilling, but intimidating.
John wonders rather stupidly if he should freshen up before meeting Ghost, but talks himself out of it, deciding it’s best to handle this like every other time they’ve done it.
That conviction lasts until Ghost ushers him in and John realizes the only two places to sit are the bed and a single chair. A chair with the coat hanging on the back of it.
John could’ve sworn Ghost always kept it in the chest while on base. So why the fuck is it out now? Especially when Ghost is expecting him. And why is Ghost watching him like a fucking hawk ?
A thought that sounds awfully like his nana flits through his mind- he’s testing you .
“Hey, LT-” John starts awkwardly, uncomfortable when Ghost continues to stare him down. “-where do you want me to sit? Bed or chair? If you want me in the chair, you should probably move your coat. It looks nice and I dinnae want to ruin it or get it dirty, ya ken?”
John winces as his accent gets heavier. Always happens when he’s nervous.
Apparently, Ghost doesn’t need a translation this time, immediately grabbing the coat and carefully placing it in the chest and turning the key. He looks relieved when he stands, and a little disappointed.
John does his best to enjoy the drinks and easy banter, drowning the butterflies in his stomach and trying to forget that flicker of disappointment on Ghost’s face. It was probably his imagination anyway.
Except it keeps happening.
Ghost never brings the coat outside of his room again, but any time he and John spend time there it’s out in the open- sometimes on the chair, other times on the bed, or the little table. And, without fail, it is wherever Ghost intends John to be.
John has lost count of how many ways he has asked Ghost to move it, because no matter how many times he tells himself selkies aren’t real, he can’t bring himself to risk picking up the coat. Even if a part of him wants to.
It’s stupid. He knows it is, but his nana’s voice tells him no any time he considers moving it himself.
It becomes harder and harder to convince himself that all of this has a normal explanation. Especially when, every time he doesn’t take the coat, Ghost seems to be less and less relieved, and more and more disappointed.
John needs to talk to Nana.
Luckily for him, they’re between missions, and aren’t currently at a classified base, so he can request a secure call home. It’s not something he usually does, and the comms officer’s eyebrows go up when John swings by his desk.
“Not used to seeing you over this way, Soap. Everything alright?” It’s a testament to how surprised the man is that he even asks. There’s an unspoken rule not to pry into someone’s reason for calling home, especially when the 141’s missions are so high risk. That’s not to say soldiers don’t tease each other, or share the content of their calls over drinks, but you don’t ask unless you’re really close. And, considering John is having difficulty recalling the comms officer’s name, it’s safe to say they are far from close.
The man seems to realize what he’s done when John remains silent, and hurries to make up for it. “Sorry, Sergeant. Forget I said anything. I’ll get you set up.”
Fifteen minutes later, John is sitting in a small room as far away from the front desk as possible, courtesy of the still apologetic comms officer, listening to the phone ring, and ring, and ring. He starts to panic, re-figuring the time difference in his head several times to make sure he didn’t fuck it up, when he finally hears a click and his nana’s cheerful “Morning!”
“Morning, Nana. Ya stayin’ out of trouble?”
“John?” His nana sounds startled and worried. In retrospect, maybe calling her out of the blue when he never calls while deployed was a bad idea.
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” John says quickly before she can work herself up.
“Don’t scare me like that, ya wee scunner!” John winces.
“Och aye. Sorry, Nana.” John suddenly feels sheepish and silly for calling her for such a childish reason, but he’s not going to waste phone time backing down now. “Was wonderin’ if ya could settle a question about selkies.”
“Oh?” Nana says, sounding suspiciously intrigued. “That’s an odd request. What ya wantin’ to know?”
“Do any of the stories say how to…court a selkie?” There’s a clattering sound on the other end of the line, and what sounds like a choked off cough.
“Nana?”
“Sorry, coffee went down wrong.” John doesn’t buy it, but can’t think of a reason she’d lie, so he lets it go. “Hmmm…if a human wants a selkie to understand that they love them, they should assure them that they’ll only take their coat if the selkie gives it to them freely. Aside from that, they’d just be wooed like anyone I imagine, according to their preferences…if the stories are to be believed, that is.”
The last bit sounds tacked on, and the way she words her explanation seems odd somehow, but John is too busy digesting the information to focus on it.
“Got it- thanks Nana. I know this was a bit of a daft thing to call about, but it came up with one of the guys and I needed to set the record straight, ya ken? And you were always the best at remembering all the stories.” Not a complete lie. Hopefully she buys it.
“No need to explain. I understand.”
“Ya do?” John asks, surprised.
“Aye, my wee lamb. And remember, not all stories are just stories. Now go get yer man.”
“What?!” John shrieks, but the line has already gone dead. What the fuck?
John’s still reeling a bit as he leaves the building, giving the comms officer a half-hearted wave as he heads for the mess. Nana couldn’t have meant what he thinks she meant, could she? And how the fuck did she know he was asking because of someone specific? It didn’t make any sense.
Alright, so maybe he gushed to her about Ghost whenever he visited her on leave, but he talked about the others too. As much as he could without getting into anything classified, at least. Had she picked up on John’s feelings for him? But how did she make the leap in logic from him asking about selkies to going after Ghost?
Unless he’s right , and his nana has figured it out as well. But that would mean unsettling several of the foundations John has built his worldview on, and he doesn’t have time for that. So, he’ll address the issues one at a time. Starting with Ghost.
He feels a wave of relief and panic when he sees Ghost seated with his back to the wall at one of the corner tables. It offers a clear view of the entire mess, and John can see Ghost’s eyes tracking everyone that enters. When their gazes meet, the corners of Ghost’s eyes crinkle up and he gestures to the seat next to him.
John swallows hard, forces himself to smile, nods, and snags a tray of food on his way to the table.
“How’d training go? What’s your impression of the newbies?” John asks as he sits down.
“I’m surprised they’re capable of breathing and walking at the same time.”
“That bad, huh?” John jokes.
“One of them put their sight on backwards . And he was the best of them.”
“Fuckin’ hell.”
“Fuckin’ hell is right,” Ghost sighs, tugging his mask up a bit to take a sip of tea. John is distracted, as always, by the brief flash of the man’s skin before the mask is tugged back down.
Before his courage runs out, John forces out the words.
“Need to talk to ya about something. In private,” he adds. If Ghost is surprised, he doesn’t show it. He simply nods and picks up his tea, clearly intending to leave immediately. “Sit down! I dinnae need to talk to you right this second!”
The words are a bit louder than John intended, but he does want to eat first, and is also nervous as all hell to have this discussion. He will take any opportunity to delay it a bit longer.
“If you say so. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just…personal.” Ghost’s gaze softens and looks- hopeful?
“Oooo, what do you two need to talk about that’s personal ?” John fights the urge to jump at the sound of Gaz’s voice so close behind him. The look Ghost is shooting over John’s shoulder is unimpressed and a little irritated, though it’s clear Gaz can’t tell as he plops down next to John. “C’mon, Soap- don’t leave me hanging. Share the tea, yeah?”
“Mind your business, Gaz,” John mutters as he starts eating, hoping his friend will take the hint.
He doesn’t.
“Aw, don’t be like that. You know I can keep a secret.” Gaz winks exaggeratedly at John and gives Ghost a thumbs up. John sees the fingers on Ghost’s right hand twitch. The man is well on his way to being properly pissed off. Gaz is on thin fucking ice and has no idea.
“Dinnae bother me and haud yer wheesht!” When Gaz attempts to keep talking, John shoves him away and snaps- “Awa’ an bile yer heid!” as he makes a shooing motion. Gaz finally realizes he needs to leave and backs away from the table with his hands up.
“Want to try that again in English, Johnny?” Ghost asks, clearly amused, tension bleeding out of him the further away Gaz gets.
“Just telling him to shut up and fuck off, LT,” John explains, glaring after a snickering Gaz until he disappears through one of the exits.
The rest of the meal passes in silence as Ghost occasionally sips his tea and John takes longer than he ever has in his life to finish eating. John is aware that dragging this out will only make his nerves worse, but he can’t help it. Besides, Ghost doesn’t mention it, so his slow eating must not be too suspicious.
Eventually his tray is completely clean and he has to admit defeat. John stands, painfully aware of Ghost shadowing him as he deposits his dirty tray and heads toward his room.
He sits on his bed and Ghost sits in the beat up chair in the corner without being told. It’s where he always sits when they have a ‘date night’, and John started to think of it as Ghost’s chair ages ago.
Ghost is looking at him expectantly, but now that they’re here, John isn’t sure if he can do this. Doubt starts creeping in, but before he can start to spiral, Ghost’s voice cuts through the silence.
“You’ve been chewing your thoughts for an hour, Johnny. Spit it out already.” The words and the nickname bolster John, the way only Ghost can, and he sighs.
“Sorry, got stuck in my head,” John explains. “What I’m about to say is either gonna make sense, and hopefully go over well, or I’m going to sound like an absolute rocket. In which case, I hope you’ll do me a favor and forget I ever said anything.”
John expects Ghost to comment on the slang, but he remains silent, leaning forward and staring intently at John. Well, it’s now or never.
“I want you to know that I’m never going to take your coat,” Ghost startles as if he’s been struck, but John doesn’t stop speaking, worried if he does he’ll never get the words out. “Not unless you give it to me yourself. And…and even if you give it to me, you can always have it back if you need or want it.”
John didn’t plan to say the last part, but it feels right, so he continues.
“If that is something you want, I want to make sure I do things right. So- tell me what you want me to do, because I feel like I’ve been going crazy the last few weeks here, trying not to take advantage or do something that you’d regret.”
The room is eerily silent as John trails off, and he’s starting to sweat when Ghost abruptly stands and stalks out of the room. John stares after him, heart sinking.
What does he do now?
Just as he drops his head into his hands he hears the familiar sound of Ghost’s boots coming back up the hallway. He watches in disbelief as Ghost enters and closes the door behind him, hesitating for a moment before he faces John- holding the coat .
Slowly, as if he’s afraid he’ll spook John if he moves too quickly, he walks toward the bed, then kneels so they’re at eye level, and holds out the coat.
“It’s yours, take it,” Ghost whispers. John’s hands shake as he grips it, watching as it flows like water out of Ghost’s hands, marveling at its softness, and at the look of wonder in Ghost’s eyes.
In his husband's eyes.
“The mask,” Ghost says.
“What?”
“Tell me to take it off, like you did over comms.” John is confused, and it must show on his face.
“You know the stories, right?” Ghost pushes, and then John remembers. Selkies have to obey any orders given by whoever holds their coat. He stares at it for a moment, before looking at Ghost again. “I…I want to, but I can’t , Johnny. Tell me to do it,” he rasps.
Fuck, but this must be a dream.
“Take the mask off, Ghost.”
“Simon,” he corrects.
“Take the mask off, Simon,” John says, voice shaking nearly as bad as his hands as Ghost, Simon , curls his fingers under the edge of his mask and pulls up, revealing the most beautiful face he’s ever seen.
“ Gorgeous,” John breathes. Without the mask in the way, John can see the blush spread across Simon’s cheeks, and how his smile lights up his face.
“Not too bad yourself, Johnny.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
John can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from his chest and bursting free. It feels like being tipsy, and the sensation only gets stronger when Simon closes the distance between them and catches John’s lips in a kiss.
Nana’s gonna be so proud.