Chapter Text
2026
Soap’s coffee looked especially mundane that morning. He stared into it, getting lost in thought. He was halfway through defusing the bomb in Urzikstan before the microwave rudely interrupted. He took a moment to ground himself back in reality, back in Wimbeldon, before he retrieved his porridge. Too much milk. Soap sighed at the over liquidy mess. Being a civilian wasn’t his forte.
“Johnny, you still ‘ere?” He was interrupted from uncomfortably shovelling down the piping hot breakfast.
“Aye, but I’m running late!” He called back. A blob of porridge fell from where his spoon was hovering, onto his uniform polo. “Shite.” He murmured dashing to get a cloth.
By the time he’d cleaned the mess on his shirt, there was a figure in the doorway to the kitchen. He Looked massive in the narrow entrance hall of their modest two-up two-down. Soap’s rush was almost forgotten. “Morning L.T.” Soap might’ve left the military, but he sure hadn’t left the nicknames behind.
“You were gonna leave without giving us a kiss?” Ghost teased.
Soap shook his head, laughing. “Dinnae have time to wake you.” He complained but obliged. “Now get yer giant arse out my way. I’m late.” Soap miraculously pushed his way past where Ghost stood, pretending to be annoyed as he was groped. He felt guilty for brushing off Ghost, who only got so much time with him before his next deployment.
“Have a good one Johnny.” His husband waved off.
John needed to be on site before the other staff members to unlock the gates. That always meant a painfully early morning, but he was used to it from the military. He would have preferred to be in a more active career but that was a lost cause. Some days he even had to walk with a cane, others he could run for a few miles. His injury didn’t limit him most of the time but it was unreliable. He could never go back in the field.
Nothing could stop him from painting the lines on the school playing field. The grass was finally dry, the first time he’s had a chance to refine the rugby pitch since the start of term. It was November and the lines were barely visible. He loved that his job at least allowed him to work outdoors and be somewhat active.
It was just Soap’s luck to have a flare up of pain as he’d finished. Probably the change in air pressure. His cane was all the way in the site manager’s office and the school was full of kids. Soap swallowed his pride and hobbled his way across the site, feeling blessed that the kids were all too busy in their lessons to disturb him. He almost made it uninterrupted until-
“John!” The new … he didn't actually know what she did but he knew she was five years younger than him and a completely shameless flirt. “How’ve you been?” She smiled looking at him with golden-hazel eyes. He thought for a moment what her name was… Cathernie? No… Ah! Catrin . If he was that way inclined he might’ve even spared her a second glance. She was almost his height, and slim in a way that looked strong.
“I’ve been worse.” Soap replied. With his background, that response was always truthful. “Legs flaring up again.” He added. He knew the conversation wasn’t going to end there even if he tried so he indulged her, while continuing walking. If he didn’t get to his office and sit down soon he would be in agony. The staff and students had all seen him use the cane on occasion. He even told them it was from a car crash. He didn’t mention that his car was blown up while attempting to intercept an arms deal in Kosovo.
“Oh you poor sausage.” She followed him to the door, “I was Just gonna bring the girls at reception some tea but i’ll make you one too.” Her scouse accent was actually pretty comforting. Soap wanted to take back that thought when she winked at him. He looked down just to check he was wearing his wedding band… yep .
When she came back she was holding two mugs… oh steemin jesus.
“Mind if I join you?” She asked but she was already sitting on the other chair in the cramped room. It was more of a glorified cupboard if he was being honest. He gave a polite nod. At least there was something to occupy his hands, pointing the wedding ring furthur towards her eyeline. “So how long’ve you been working here?”
“This is my second year here.” He replied. “I moved to England after gettin' married.” He added just to make absolutely sure she’d caught on. It was so rare that he’d slip something personal into conversation with a colleague.
She sat there and laughed for a moment, and then it turned into a silent giggle, all he could hear were wheeses. It was so perplexing he cracked a smile too but he couldn’t understand what was so hysterical about him being married. Soap was brimming with confusion.
“I’m sorry John I can’t-” She carefully wiped a tear from her eye. “Some of the girls put me up to this whole flirting sherade to try and get some gossip out of you. They say you talk for days but never about yourself. They wanted to know the gossip. I had to break character, it's just embarassing.”
“Oh.” John let out a little laugh at the bizarreness of the situation. “I- dinnae ken what to say to that…”
Catrin smiled. “I ‘ave to admit it was pretty invasive. Don’t suppose you’d tell us why the fun hair tho?”
He ran a hand through the signature mohawk. He’d let it grow out a little since his discharge so it was something halfway to a mullet now. It was a part of himself he never put much thought into before, “I dunno, always had it like this. All the things you could've asked and I cannae tell you the answer to that one.” He chuckled.
“Ugh Give me something here!” She joked, taking a slurp from her mug. “What about your other half?”
That was a lot better than his colleagues asking after his wife all the time. “My other half respects privacy more than I do love. Wears a balaclava to work n’ that.”
The joke hit. He watched her laugh knowing she’d assume a woman sat at a desk job in a balaclava. “Oh of course!” She squinted at him as if she’d be able to suss something just by staring intensely. “So, before you worked here?” She decided to scratch at the one thing he was sensitive about.
“A dinnae like tae talk about what I could do before…” He flexed out his aching leg to explain. Once again deflecting the question by being honest. “Anyway, fixing clasroom projectors is my true callin’ in life.”
“Sure.” She smiled knowingly. He noticed her eyes catch into the scar that ran from his temple into his hairline. It was mostly faded now, but when his buzzed sides started to grow out, a thin hairless line was visible. He was glad when she didn’t mention it, unsure how he’d explain his closest brush with death. A bullet point plank to the skull that was miraculously angled so that it just grazed his head. Soap didn’t remember it. The impact still knocked him unconscious, a minor skull fracture. He knew Ghost still had nightmares about it. Seeing him unconscious at Makarov’s feet, bleeding from his head. To them it was a life changing altercation but here, as a civilian…It was another thing that made him mysterious to his colleagues.
“Alright I’ll give yer somethin.” He decided to play along just enough so they wouldn’t ask the questions that mattered. “I turned thirty in July.”
“Wow okay!” She looked very pleased with the information, also surprised. Soap knew he looked a bit old for his years. Something about the stress of the job. “Do anything nice?”
“Aye, went to Birmingham to see friends.” Birmingham… Hereford… only about 60 miles apart. Better than explaining why a mysterious character like himself had friends in hereford. The very friends that he moved to a fucking London suburb to be closer to and they couldn’t even get leave for his 30th. He wanted to be annoyed but Soap knew he was lucky they were even in the country.
Before Soap could be interrogated further he was, quite literally, saved by the bell. Catrin politely dismissed herself and left him to mull over the conversation. He decided he liked her. She was tenacious, but respectful. She didn’t push too hard with her questions.
Soap was thinking about what his colleagues actually did know about him for the rest of the day. He sat on the floor in the sports hall replacing the hinges on the door to the equipment cupboard contemplating all of his staff interactions. What did they know? They knew he was Scottish, married, mildly crippled when the weather changed and… now they knew his age. He would bet money they all assumed he married a woman. He should probably start talking about his family, not Ghost, but his parents and sisters. That wasn’t as incriminating.
Of course, by lunchtime Soap’s new snippet of information was all over the staff dining ‘room’, only separated from the students by a row of project display boards. He sat down beside the Head of sixth form, a man in his forties called Stu. He was the kind of teacher that student’s without father figures flocked to for support. He reminded Soap of someone he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Opposite Stu was the new rugby coach, Chris . Soap liked him. He heard the man was patient with the less athletically inclined kids. The last space, opposite Soap, was filled by the biology teacher he pretended to tolerate. Posh twat. He was convinced that he and Soap had some kind of connection because his mum was born in Glasgow and he was named Angus of all things. Soap didn’t care.
“John!” The man said in his aggressively surrey accent. “So glad I caught you today, I was just telling the lads about this amazing idea I had for my Stag-do!”
Soap strained not to roll his eyes but he was at least mildly intrigued, mostly about who would agree to marry this guy. He would definitely have to be ‘busy’ on whatever night this guy picked to throw his stag. “Go on…”
Angus took a deep breath to make his announcement “Paintballing.” He paused dramatically letting it sink in.
As much as Soap didn’t like the guy, he couldn’t resist the way his face lit up at the idea. Why hadn’t he thought of it before. He missed the action of being immersed fully in combat. “You know what mate- that actually sounds fab.”
Stu scoffed and looked between them “You young lads are far too excitable when it comes to violence.” His tone was teasing.
“Oh fuck off.” Soap replied, “You’re just scared of being outrun by a cripple!”
“Yeah none of that mate.” Chris chipped in, looking Soap dead in the eye. “I’ve seen you go for runs round the field before work, like a fuckin’ whippet.”
Soap smiled to cover up how that stuck him with frustration. He’d stopped running a few months ago when he realised it didn’t stop aggravating his leg. He could manage short distances, but anything over 400m and he'd be using his cane the next day. He’d recently taken to swimming instead, not by choice. “I dinnae run much now.” He replied simply.
“Oi lads lads,” Angus grappled for their attention, “It’s not about running, it's about gun handling and tac-tics.” He said it smugly like he was some sort of expert. “I bet I’d have you all on that.”
“Aye, we’ll see.” Soap replied, hiding his smile.
-
The day of the stag-do rolled around and Soap was almost bouncing off the walls with excitement. Ghost had been whisked out the country a week ago leaving him with even more of an edge. Part of it was driven by the loneliness of coming home after work to an empty house, but the other part was much darker. The fear of his husband not returning. The majority of Soap’s time was spent twitching on the edge of his seat, waiting for Ghost to come back to him alive.
This Saturday would give him something else to think about, almost like a mission. He missed the single minded focus that his old job gave him. He politely accepted a lift offer from Catrin. He revised his opinion on Angus slightly, not expecting him to be the type to invite a female friend to a stag do… apparently they were mates. Still Soap felt it was a big step to let someone know where he lived.
“Damn, and I thought I’d catch a glimpse of your mystery Sweetheart.” She commented as he slid into the passenger seat.
“Aye, well, I wish the other half was around too right now, but that's the price of a job that requires you out of the country more than in it.” He sighed. “So, where to?”
“Cobbham.” She replied with a huff. It was quite far to go.
When they eventually made it to the location Soap was delighted. The camo decor everywhere was nothing like his experience in the forces, but the fact that it was even there was refreshing. He’d stayed off his feet as much as he could all week to be mobile for this, and he was quickly sure that it would be the right decision.
They met with the group at a picnic group outside the front, more of the staff than Soap expected. At least fifteen of them when they all showed up. “You’re looking more chipper than usual, John.” Stu commented. He wasn’t wrong, Soap was absolutely buzzing.
“I’ve had a hard week. It’ll be nice to let off that steam.” He replied as they walked over to the stations where they were provided protective gear and ridiculous camo overalls. “Can ye imagine if they actually wore this shite in the armed forces, not very intimidating is it!” He laughed at where he'd had to roll up the legs. They had to give him a larger size to fit over his muscular thighs.
“It’ll look even less scary covered in paint.” Angus replied. It posed like a threat, under the bold assumption he could get a pellet of paint anywhere near the former SAS soldier. He didn’t know that of course.
“We’ll see.” Soap taunted back with a smirk before he was shushed by the staff member about to give a dull safety briefing.
It felt odd when he was handed the ‘weapon’. The weight and size of it was different to an actual gun and he held it several different ways before he found one that worked. The worst part was the imposing canister of pellets where there should’ve been a scope. Soap trusted himself to work around that.
They were separated into two smaller teams, Soap being grouped with Stu and Chris. The rest of his group were people he’d never spoken to in his life, but he smiled and made small talk all the same. The first area they were taken to had an abandoned Zombie apocalypse vibe that was simultaneously London themed, with a derelict bus and deliberately dilapidated structures. Soap assessed his surroundings for cover as the designated staff member explained the objective with forced enthusiasm. It was some sort of capture the flag game… excellent, an objective.
As the two teams were divided to opposite areas of the ‘arena’, Angus made a gesture to his eyes, then to Soap. “Game on!” He yelled back mischievously.
A blow horn sounded once they were all in their positions And Soap spared no moment’s hesitation advancing towards the enemy territory. His team were still discussing what was the best way to hide their flag, not even noticing his absence. From his new position behind an ambiguous wooden structure, Soap was able to pick off two enemies who were sprinting around the edge of the arena to attack his team from behind. After the initial shock of being hit, they looked around with confusion, trying to see where they’d been struck from.
Soap pressed forwards under the cover of the bus. It was less sheltered with all the open widows, but Soap knew the open top deck would be an excellent sniper spot. He spotted three more of the enemy team on top of the biggest wooden building the fucking houses of parlament , definitely where they had the flag. Their amateur lack of cover allowed him to pick them all off easily. He descended to the lower level of the bus before they registered where the shots came from. Three enemies remained.
He crouched at the entrance of the bus listening if the coast was clear. Someone had clocked onto him, waiting to have a pop at him the second he stepped out. Smart . Soap was smarter. There was a window on the other side of the bus that opened to a false telephone box, made from metal. Perfect. Soap picked up a small pebble from the floor and hurled it as hard as he could, stealing his enemies attention. The subsequent ping was loud enough for him to jump out and make his surprise attack. Angus yelped when the pink splodge appeared at the centre of his chest.
“John, you bastard!” He yelled, unable to seek his revenge now that he was ‘dead’.
Soap Laughed and advanced into their territory. One enemy was crouched behind a crate looking directly forwards. John smirked as he attacked from the side before they even registered his presence. It was Catrin. She was struck speechless.
The final enemy must’ve been inside the houses of parliament Ironic. He knew they’d be looking out the forward facing window so he tried a different angle. It took one shot to her through the back window before he was marching in. He practically strutted back to his team’s area with the flag to find half of them ready to snipe him cover, while the other half were still arguing over where to hide the flag. “I did it!” He announced proudly.
They all turned to him with varying looks of disbelief under their masks. He was good at reading expressions under masks. “John, it’s been less than three minutes!” Chris objected, not looking at the small piece of green fabric in his hand.
“Aye, and we won.” He replied proudly. “Their whole team’s been hit.”
Just then, the staff member blew the blow horn to signify the game was over and they could remove their masks. He watched his team regroup at the entrance to the arena, all with matching faces of disbelief.
“Where the hell did that come from?” Angus asked him, slapping a hand to his back as they returned to the central area to await their next matchup.
“I Cannae tell ya.” Soap lied, smugly.
“Fair play mate.” Angus “We’ll see if you can keep it up next round.”
“Oh, Aye. Maybe it was just beginner's luck?” He suggested, trying desperately to come across as innocent.
The next round was absolutely laughable. It was a last man standing format like dodgeball. They had to weave between rows of stacked barrels, trying to take out the other team. It was easy to advance with so much cover. Even easier to pick off any member of the other team who dared press forward. He held himself back a little to make the game at least playable for the other team, but that meant stopping everyone passing the halfway point, not picking them off one by one again.
Soap’s more laid back tactic highlighted to him that his team was completely useless. Within 5 minutes they’d all been picked off one by one leaving Soap alone. He was going to be surrounded by the remaining six of his opposition if he continued playing nice.
“It’s on Mactavish!” Angus yelled at him from nearby. He’d approached more than soap had expected, but foolishly revealed his position by taunting him so loudly.
Soap smiled as he retreated backwards. The stack behind him was wider and allowed him a broader view while under cover. He moved quickly and quietly, careful not to alert them of his changed position. This gave him the view to eliminate the enemies coming up the sides of the arena, probably attempting to circle round and get him from behind.
Four left. Two near the end, too scared to escape cover. Angus, two rows away, advancing quietly. One beside him offering cover fire. Not bad .
He peeped forwards to see if his old position was safe. A shadow cast from the low autumn sun worked in his favour. Someone was advancing round. They would have to poke out. He watched the shadow grow round the corner and then pop…
“Bloody fucking hell John, again?!” It wasn’t Angus this time. It was Len. Soap liked Len but he knew the maths teacher was smart. He wasn’t the type to kick up a fuss so this was probably a way of distracting him, or getting him to reveal his position by replying. He figured what they were up to. Anggus would be sneaking around the other side of the stack as they spoke. Soap didn’t indulge him, opting to round the corner towards Len, covering his mouth with a finger in a 'quiet' gesture and winking.
Just as he suspected, when he peeked round to his previous spot, Angus was there looking puzzled. “Right here!” He announced cockily, rounding the corner and planting another vibrant pink blob onto the man’s overalls. It didn’t take him long to advance on the far end of the arena and take down the two stragglers but his blood was pumping. He was in a zone he hadn’t ventured to in years.
“Okay mate, what the fuck was that?” Len asked him as he emptied a bottle of water. “I mean, you were down six to one.”
Angus decided to slide beside them and join the conversation, “yeah mate that was fucking bazaare. You were movin’ round like James Bond or something.”
Well that was a compliment. Soap’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t know, the tactics come naturally.” He knew that line wasn’t gonna cut it as a reasonable explanation. “I mean, I used to work somewhere like this but they hardly ever let us have a go.” Sure Soap, ‘somewhere like this’ ye bampot. He'd let them assume he meant a paintball place. “Guess you learn from watchin.” That wasn’t a lie. He’d learned more than he could even think about from watching The Ghost in action.
“All I’ve learned from watching you is your aim is deadly.” Angus tapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve got one left mate, one more chance I'm not gonna get you.”
Soap contemplated taking the next round easy, Letting the Stag himself get the victory for once. Angus was actually starting to grow on him. The decision was made for him when he straightened out his leg and jolted with pain. “Flamin jesus…” He groaned, grabbing at his knee where the pain was currently focused. “Am gonna have to take a raincheck mate. Promised my better half I wouldn’t overdo it.”
Angus’ smile fell a fraction, “Alright mate.” He patted Soap’s shoulder before he was summoned by someone to begin the final round.
Soap hobbled to get a cup of hot coffee from the drinks stand, overalls now tied around his waist. He looked at his phone while he waited.
Messages, Simon: Just finished debrief, call?
That was a fucking welcome sight, he checked the time, the message had only been sent 5 minutes ago. He wasn’t surprised when Ghost answered on the first ring. “Johnny!” There was excitement in the lieutenant's voice. “How are you?”
“I should be asking you that!” He replied, “Tell me you and the team are alive and well first.” He demanded.
Simon made a small huff, his equivalent of a laugh, a good sign. “The Captain’s got a headache from Gaz being a little shit. Other than that, solid.” Ghost replied.
“Good.” Soap replied with relief, mouthing thanks to the bloke who passed him his warm drink in a paper cup. “I Have to tell you love, paintballing is brilliant, I’ll have to take ye.”
Ghost actually laughed at that. Must’ve been a good mission . “I bet you’re a natural Johnny.”
“Oh, Aye.” He chuckled back, hobbling back to the bench. “I’m sitting out the last round,” he didn’t need to explain why. Ghost knew, “but the first two, I won them both single handedly.”
“You say that like it’s an achievement.” Ghost replied. “They’re civilians.”
“Alright ya killjoy, I was havin fun!” He pretended to be angry. “You’d love it. I’m taking you next time yer home.”
“Alright, sounds a blast. Like doing a simulation of work on my time off.” Ghost teased.
“Shut up ya twat.” Soap giggled, “Yer pretendin’ like ya dinnae enjoy work. Anyway, I miss it.”
“Miss my jokes over comms?” Gost teased.
“ No. ”
“Why did the man with the stutter spend so long in prison?”
“ ...”
“He couldn’t finish his sentence.” Ghost finished the joke proudly.
Soap dignified him with a little snicker. He was in a good mood after all. “Okay maybe I do miss them… a wee bit.”
“Bet your colleagues didn’t know what hit them today.” Of course Ghost knew that Soap had gone into his new job wanting to hide his previous career. People looked at him differently when he had to reply ‘classified’ to every question.
“Aye love, I told them I used to work ‘somewhere similar’. They likely think I worked at a paintball place.” Soap mused. He then went into a detailed debrief of both missions while Ghost listened patiently. It was nice to be able to talk like that again, even if it was only pretend missions. He was so carried away he almost missed the party coming back from their final excursion. “Alright love, I’ve got to go, the others are back.” Soap noted as he saw Catrin walk up to him covered in paint and pouting.
“I’ll be home next week.” Gost told him to shock him on the line a moment longer.
“Really!? Aw love, that’s fucking brilliant. See you soon, love ya!”
He was just pulling his phone away from his ear as Ghost replied “Love you too Johnny.” Catrin was in earshot. She looked between Soap and the phone for a moment, about to open her mouth when he shot her a warning look. It was just as well because Angus came bounding up to his side excitedly telling them about how his team absolutely smoked the other team this time. Soap thought it was actually pretty endearing.
The first ten minutes of the car journey home were silent. Until Catrin inevitably decided to bring up what she was thinking. “Was that your husband?” She asked, trying to be as casual as possible.
“Aye, it was.” Soap acknowledged. “It’s not like I’m in the closet or anything. I just really meant it when I said he values privacy. I’d appreciate you not mentioning this to anyone.”
“Oh Sure darling.” She smiled changing into 5th gear as their slip road met the A3. “Were you in the army or something?”
Soap gave her that warning look again and she laughed. “Oh don’t give me that look! I’m not gonna tell…" She waited a moment for a response. "But neither are you apparently.”
“I’m a lot cooler if I'm mysterious.” Soap responded with a sly smile.
“Yeah well, for someone so mysterious, you’re a terrible actor.” She reached into the back and handed him a large leather handbag. “There’s some Ibuprofen in there.”
Soap sighed. He knew he was pretty see-through at hiding his leg pain. In Las Almas he made it across the whole town with a bullet hole in his arm. He’d definitely softened since his discharge. “I’ve had worse.”
“Right, and I’ve birthed a child but I still take painkillers when my period cramps are bad. Grow up pet.” She said it so simultaneously caring and patronising that Soap couldn’t argue. He definitely wouldn’t admit that they helped.