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Ghost wouldn’t call himself a very emotional man. Hell, no one would.
But he had glimmers of emotion, memories of a better time. He knew how things were supposed to make him react and how he should feel at times, but really, no one had time for emotions in the military.
So imagine his surprise when he was assigned with a Scottish (apparent) dimwit with insane sniper skills and a smile that brought a flicker to his chest in a way he barely recognized as affection.
By the time their mission was over, Ghost would consider himself as head over heels as he was physically capable of.
And as time passed, they grew even closer.
Johnny would open up to him in ways he was scared of, showing him the vague drawings in his journal of his family, the glorious spots he’d found in his years of service that were hidden from the world, his secret cigarette stash for when he ran out (he later confessed that he stocked up for the both of them).
Like a skittish cat, Ghost eventually crept his way into Johnny’s life, lounged on his bed while the other cleaned his room, showed off his extensive knife collection, worried himself sick when Johnny would get hurt doing the dumbest things.
Eventually, he found himself seeking out Johnny’s light on his bad days. Times that he would usually shy away from others and find a crevice to crawl into for a few days to ride it out, he would simply approach the other from behind and rest his forehead on his shoulder for a moment before Johnny would excuse himself from whatever he was doing and bring Ghost to his room so the two could sit in each others silence. Which, admittedly, must have been difficult for Soap to those who judged him based on first glances, but Ghost knew better.
He knew that Soap could be as silent as a mouse when it mattered and chatter up a storm on his own when Ghost needed something to fill his head other than his own thoughts.
Soon it was rare to see them without the other. They were sent on even more missions together, delved into each other's souls on long stake outs.
Ghost had dragged that part of Johnny out kicking and screaming, desperate as the man was to keep up his facade of eternal and unending happiness.
He’d (awkwardly at first) held the man while he shook from held back tears as he explained his mothers death and the divide it had caused with their family, the years of abuse from his father that led him to running off to the military at an early age.
In return, Simon had slowly dropped hints that their lives weren’t so different.
By the time he’d shown his scars to Soap, that dreadful Glasgow smile and the raking ones on his ribs, it had been two years.
One day, Ghost had shown up to one of their secret spots in the woods nearby base to find Soap covered in dirt and swearing up a storm.
He enjoyed seeing how the other jumped when he called out to him, “What the hell are you doing, Sergeant?”
Johnny had flashed him a brilliant smile, face still smeared with black earth, and turned his body to show Ghost his handiwork.
“Look, lily of the valley’s!”
Lo and behold, the usually leaf covered floor of the forest had been torn up and replaced with beautiful white flowers.
Oh…
“You- you remembered?” Ghost uncharacteristically found his throat becoming tight as he carefully lowered himself to his knees next to where Soap was sitting criss-cross. His gloved fingers carefully brushed over one of the blooms, retreating as soon as he reached the end.
Soap looked a bit offended, “Wha- ‘course I did! Even wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget!”
Simon had told him his mothers favorite flower months ago, mentioned it in passing on an intelligence mission, during an impossible situation. They’d been sneaking around the enemy’s base for hours, taking out whoever got too close and snagging pictures of classified information.
Ghost had paused on a slip of paper that contained the flowers of the area and their medicinal uses, if any, and apparently been still for long enough for the other to notice. When Johnny had cautiously whispered his name, Ghost had muttered, “Lilies… they were her favorite.”
That had been ages ago. Hard grueling missions had taken up their time since then.
“How’d you find the time?” He couldn’t recall a stretch of time where Soap would’ve had any time at all to request them or keep them alive long enough to actually display them in such good condition.
“Oh, it was damn near impossible, but I have my ways.” Soap winked before continuing a bit nervously. “And we may owe Laswell a Christmas party visit.”
Ghost stared where Johnny seemed to be steadily refusing eye contact, unable to contain the bark of a laugh that left him as he clapped him on the shoulder, “I’ll take it.”
Johnny’s soft smile in return was worth more than the flowers that would most definitely wilt and die when winter came, which was barely a few weeks away.
It was stupid, unnecessary, completely useless in the frame of war… and one of the nicest gifts Simon had even had.
It was Johnny, pure and simple.
It must’ve taken him the entire 4 months since Ghost had slipped the secret to get the flowers, apparently using one of their few favors with an endlessly patient Laswell to get transport.
All for a moment. Just a few weeks, a glimmer of light in Ghost’s otherwise stagnant life.
Maybe a Christmas party wouldn’t be as bad with Johnny at his side.
Ghost would never be the same man he was. He knew that.
But sometimes he really thought Simon came back in passes along his back, joking headbutts, surprisingly fun wrestling matches.
Quiet moments on the hillside with Johnny.
Times that made everything else fade away, took him back to a place he hadn’t been in years.
He felt a bit less like Ghost and more like Simon.
He’d gotten used to the touches, the slight smiles that would grace his face and crinkle his mask at the edges. It’d been three years since they first met, three unbelievable years.
He wouldn’t have changed it for the world. Not even to get rid of the new scars he’d attained or the moments of despair that occasionally crept up on him.
Because he had Johnny now.
It was a normal day. That’s what made it all worse.
Occasionally one of the two would get sent on solo missions, easy retrievals, intelligence runs, sniper shots that only one man could make and escape after.
It happened.
They always came back.
It was Soap’s turn, his ranks had improved since he’d started and had him sitting at the top of the charts with Ghost.
It was a simple shot and escape.
So Ghost thought nothing of it when they parted ways, grasping each other's forearms for a bit too long before one of them pulled the other into a hug, ending it with a headbutt that had softened into more of a touch over the years.
He waved Johnny off easily, went back to his room to putter around for a bit, ate dinner and slept a bit fitfully as usual.
He didn’t get worried when Johnny didn’t return on the stated date. Missions ran long, things were complicated in the field. He knew that.
It didn’t stop a pit from forming in his stomach as the days passed.
Then a week.
Two weeks.
He’d begged Price to let him follow after, as much as a military man could beg his superior officer, bugging him endlessly for updates that barely trickled in.
Ghost had been practicing his boxing.
Normal.
Things had been normal.
He ignored Price entering the gym at first, that was normal too.
Price approached him. Also pretty normal, he could be needed for something.
Ghost dropped his fists and started unwrapping his wraps, winding them around under his eye carefully, wouldn’t do to get injured now if he needed to go into the field to finally get the dumbass back.
“Lieutenant.”
“Captain.” He kept unwinding, shaking his head at how long it took for them to find Soap. The man could get lost in his own room if he thought about it too hard.
“Ghost.”
That gave him pause.
He finally looked up and-
Price’s eyes were rimmed with red, subtly, like he was just tired.
That made sense. They were all tired.
“What.”
He nearly looked back down when the silence stretched on too long, barely getting his eyes half the distance to his hands when Price interrupted.
“I’m sorry, son.” Price extended a closed fist between them, fingers curled around something shiny.
Okay, weird.
He held his hand out, half unwrapped, and waited.
Slightly warmed metal met his open palm as a pair of dog tags collided with each other in his hand.
No.
He looked back up at Price, who clenched his jaw and seemed to waver in place.
The dog tags clinked together as he grabbed one of the tags and brought it closer.
Lieutenant
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley
Task Force 141
No.
Nearly dropping the dog tags in his haste, he brought the other up.
Sergeant
John ‘Soap’ MacTavish
Task Force 141
No.
When his eyes met Price’s, they were shiny and his face tinted red.
“He was found this morning. KIA.”
Ghost’s hands ached, he was probably holding the tags too hard. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
The ache in his chest was far greater.
Ghost disappeared into Johnny’s room for days, which turned into weeks, maybe a month. He wasn’t sure, so he stopped keeping track of when Price and Gaz would drift through with food that would go untouched and updates of how things were processing that fell on deaf ears.
He’d become a permanent fixture in Soap’s room. Curled up on the bed, staring at the empty walls and running through every scenario in his head until he eventually passed out from exhaustion.
It wasn’t until Gaz flipped him off the mattress and shoved him into the shower fully clothed that he was able to crawl his way out of the hole he’d dug himself into. He managed a meager protein bar a day and ran until his chest burned from a lack of oxygen in the gym.
Price still refused to put him back out into the field.
Ghost spent more time in the forest than ever. He returned to the spot where Johnny’s flowers had long wilted and died every day. No one had been there to take care of them anymore.
Price stopped him in the haze of days passing and explained that he was flying the whole crew out to Scotland for Johnny’s funeral.
Ghost just nodded numbly.
The next thing he knew, he was on a plane, tightness and discomfort barely registering.
Johnny had been Catholic. The whole affair lasted almost sundown to sunset.
Ghost had refused to approach the open casket.
He didn’t want to remember him like that.
The sun was shining in his eyes during the 21 gun salute. They glossed over horribly and he could barely see the casket from his spot in the crowd, hidden in the back with his mask still firmly on his head.
Only Johnny and Price had been the ones to see his face.
The crowd had cleared out by the time the sun was near setting, Price and Gaz giving him a firm hand on the shoulder as they returned to their hotel for the night.
He would leave soon.
He had to.
And yet, he stayed long enough for an unfamiliar voice to call out to him. A young woman with bright blue eyes that were bloodshot and as glassy as his own.
She wordlessly held out Johnny’s worn old notebook, the same damn notebook after all these years, with extra pieces of paper that had been folded into it sticking out around the edges.
When he just stared at it, she smiled a bit sadly and pushed it into his hands, “Trust me, you want to read this.”
Trailing his fingers over the jagged edges and cracks in the leather, he managed to croak out “Thanks.”
With one last lingering glance at the out of place, shiny new headstone in front of them, she turned on her heel and picked her way out of the cemetery.
Waiting until she had fully disappeared from sight, he finally cracked open the pages.
It was all there, their years together and how Johnny’s eyes saw him.
He chuckled at the tiny skull sketch next to their first meeting with a “not so scary!” scrawled under it.
He read until the last dredges of light left him, then continued to strain his eyes to read more.
Love was scrawled on every page. In between notes of their many adventures together were little reminders of Ghost’s favorite meals, his history, the tiniest details were scribbled down in haste.
One of the last pieces of folded paper was addressed to him. It was scribbled over, crossed out all over, but the initial date in the corner was still visible in the moonlight.
The day that their mission had ended, when they’d finally managed to get back to base and relax for a few moments.
He could barely read through the poetry and sappy sentiments without tearing up.
Something was scrawled, erased over and over but still legible.
“I love you. Feels weird to admit even on paper but I’ve never felt happier than when I’m with you, Simon. I could say it until the day I die and I hope that I get to. I’m in love with you. - Johnny”
Fuck.
For the first time since he’d been handed those dog tags, still sitting in his suit pocket, he cried.
His chest heaved as he fell to his knees. It was like the world had opened up underneath him and was sucking him down to where he belonged. With Johnny.
The paper crinkled under his weight as he dropped to his hands and knees, the gaping hole in his chest making itself known with the weight of a black hole, consuming everything in its path and only leaving destruction behind.
He loved Johnny. Of course he did, how could he not. Johnny reached into his well of despair and pulled him into the light, just by being himself.
But to know that he was loved.
It really fucking hurt.
His suit was probably going to get dirty, he let out a startled laugh at the thought as his side hit the ground, head turned to face the newest grave in his life.
Simon stayed there.
Even when Ghost eventually got up off the floor and wiped his face, disappearing into his hotel room and felt the emptiness in the bed next to him, even when he was eventually cleared for a mission and left for it. Simon stayed on the ground next to John MacTavish, wailing and grabbing fistfuls of grass, ripping them up and cursing the world for taking something beautiful from him before he could even try to attain it. Simon had died long ago, but his grave was no longer in Mexico. He laid in Scotland forever.
Simon “Ghost” Riley was killed in action two months later.