Chapter Text
The thing was, you didn’t come right out and ask to see someone’s daemon. If their companion wasn’t already visible when you met the person, demanding to see them was just plain rude. So when Soap approached the lieutenant on the tarmac, Oona trotting at his side, and didn’t see another daemon for her to greet, he simply socked Ghost in the shoulder and assumed the other man’s daemon was hidden on his person somewhere. That was common enough, especially in their line of work. Soap had met plenty of soldiers with specialized pockets on their vests for their daemons to ride in, keeping them close and out of harm’s way. He wasn’t in the habit of judging the forms of people’s daemons, but privately he had always been kind of glad Oona had settled on something relatively large. Her Scottish deerhound body meant she could be pretty independent - well, as independent as a daemon could be.
He didn’t try to dwell on it, but as the months continued and Soap had never caught so much as a glimpse of Ghost’s daemon, his imagination started to run a little wild. Not seeing someone’s daemon the first time you met them wasn’t that unusual, plenty of people were more private than others. But with the amount of time the 141 spent together both on and off duty, Soap had expected to see Ghost’s daemon eventually. Even if said daemon was small. He’d met a medic in another unit whose daemon was a firefly. He hung out in one of those special pockets on her vest, and Soap hadn’t seen him at first. It was only after the mission was over and the medic opened the pocket for her daemon to emerge that he understood. He glanced down to where Oona was resting her head on his feet, eyes closed. He was grateful they didn’t have to take precautions like that. He felt a surge of affection for her, and she opened one eye to look at him.
Sap.
Oona’s voice slid into his mind, making him chuckle.
What, I’m not allowed to admire you? Soap thought at her. She huffed, pressing her nose into his ankle.
I love you too, dumbass.
Soap was brought back to the present by Gaz speaking.
“Maybe it’s a poison dart frog. One of those little ones that kills you if you touch it,” Gaz wondered. Soap snorted, unsurprised at his teammates train of thought.
“Why’s it have to be poison? Could just be a frog.”
“Nah, you’re telling me the Ghost’s daemon is harmless? I don’t believe that for a second. Definitely deadly in some way,” Gaz said.
The two men were chatting over the remnants of lunch, wasting time in the cafeteria for lack of anything better to do. It had been too long since their last mission, and they were all starting to go a little stir crazy. Gaz’s daemon, a sleek tabby cat, flicked her tail back and forth where she loafed on the table. Gaz idly reached over to rub at her ears, trying to soothe away her excess energy.
“I’m just saying, there’s no way Ghost’s daemon isn’t dangerous. Or weird. Probably both if we’re being honest,” Gaz stated matter-of-factly. Hell, it wasn’t like Soap hadn’t thought about it.
“I wondered for a bit if she was aquatic or something, but he’s never had any issues being away from the water,” Soap theorized. “She must just be small enough to keep on him all the time.”
“Keep on who?” Soap jumped as the man in question’s voice sounded behind him. For such a big guy, Ghost could move damn quietly, and he took advantage of it at every opportunity. He slid onto the bench next to Soap, peering questioningly at him. Soap hesitated, unsure whether he should be honest. Would Ghost be mad? He did his best to avoid saying things that would piss Ghost off in a considering-murdering-my-teammates way. Before he could make a decision, however, it was out of his hands.
“You, mate,” Gaz said. “We’re wondering about your daemon, elusive as she is.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Are they a she?”
“Gaz!” Soap hissed, not wanting to piss off their lieutenant. He was surprised, however, to hear Ghost huff lightly and answer.
“She’s a she.” He offered nothing else. Gaz smacked his hand on the table, pointing at Ghost.
“So you DO have a daemon!” He exclaimed. Ghost rolled his eyes.
“Of course I have a daemon. Be fucking dead if I didn’t,” he said, voice cold. Gaz lifted his hands in surrender, his daemon slinking into his lap.
“I’m just saying, some of the recruits started a rumor that you didn’t have one,” Gaz said, “and you’re scary enough that I’d believe it.”
“They’re wrong.” His tone brooked no argument. Soap was tense next to him, Oona pressing close to his leg. Ghost rapped his knuckles on the table, standing up. “If you’ve got time to sit around gossiping like a pair of old ladies, we need a mission worse than I thought. I’ll talk to Price, see what we’re doing next.” He left the cafeteria, Soap and Gaz staring after him. Soap smacked Gaz’s arm lightly.
“What’d you go and say that for? Now he’s gonna be all pissy,” he complained. “Probably gonna take it out on me next time we’re in the field.” Gaz laughed, standing up from the table as well, his daemon leaping to the floor.
“You say that as if you don’t fucking like it.”
“Shut up, ” Soap hissed, glancing around the cafeteria for anyone that could hear. Sure, he had a… thing for the masked lieutenant. It wasn’t a crush, that was fucking infantile, it was- it was-
It is absolutely a crush, Oona thought smugly.
You shut up too.
“Just curious. No one’s ever come out and asked him, figured it was worth a shot,” Gaz shrugged, clapping Soap on the shoulder, oblivious to the pairs internal dialogue. “See you later, mate. I’m gonna go get some shut-eye before we get tossed about again.” Soap waved him off, face burning, already lost in thought about their next mission and whether he’d be experiencing Ghost’s ire. He hadn’t seemed angry , just… cold. Closed off. Clearly, his daemon was not something Ghost wanted to talk about.
True to form, Ghost talked to Price and he got their next mission not a day later. The rest of the squad put on a show of complaining, of course, but everyone knew they were all glad to be out in the field again. The mission itself wasn’t anything crazy, just investigating some intel they had gotten regarding a terrorist cell storing weapons in an abandoned warehouse. They weren’t expecting any resistance - their intel indicated one or two hostiles at most, as the warehouse was largely unused. As such, Soap was tasked with infiltrating the warehouse solo, with Ghost keeping watch through his scope.
Soap crept around the side of the crumbling building, keeping his gun at the ready, Oona padding on quiet paws beside him. He’d seen nothing so far, the only signs of life being the incessant hum and buzz of insects.
“West side is clear. Ghost, we good for entry?” Soap checked in on the comms.
“Clear for entry. No signs of movement inside, but keep your guard up,” Ghost said. So far, this mission was going exactly to plan, enough so that Soap found himself almost bored. He slid up behind the old warehouse and prepared to enter through a rusted out door. Oona flicked her ears as she listened for any sign of enemy soldiers inside. Evidently she heard nothing, and signaled Soap to get to work picking the lock. He huffed out a long breath and found his mind returning to its favorite topic.
Maybe he’s embarrassed? Big, scary guy with a reputation like that, maybe she’s a moth or something and he feels inadequate. Lotta military guys get into pissing matches over their daemons, Soap thought to himself. He wasn’t quite talking to Oona, but he could feel her awareness of his thoughts.
This again? She sighed into his mind. You’ve never seen Laswell’s daemon either, y’know.
I know, Soap thought back in indignation, but I know she has one. She’s at least talked about him before. Ghost has never so much as referenced a daemon.
He said he has one, Oona thought. Leave it at that.
You’re not curious? Soap poked. Not even a little bit? You don’t wonder what the physical representation of his SOUL looks like? He could feel Oona rolling her eyes at him.
It’s much less dramatic when you actually are one, dumbass.
Soap heard the lock finally click into place and raised his gun again, tabling that discussion for later. They had work to do. Soap moved in, Oona following closely behind as they crept into the dim warehouse. They hadn’t encountered any enemies yet, but Oona sniffed at the air and stiffened.
Someone’s here. At least two people, maybe more, she thought to Soap.
Copy. Soap clicked on his comms. “Oona says we’ve got company,” he breathed, keeping his voice quiet. “Haven’t seen nothing yet, but she can smell em.”
“Copy. I’ve got visual, but these windows are damn small. Lots of places I can’t help you,” Ghost replied. “Stay sharp.”
“Windows too small even for you? Say it isn’t so,” Soap said wryly. He could hear Ghost’s irritation, a touch of fondness coloring his words.
“I’m not some supernatural creature, you cunt, I can’t see through walls.”
“Really, LT? The name suggests otherwise.” Ghost declined to dignify that with a response, causing Soap’s smile to grow.
The warehouse was dimly lit and dingy, piles of old boxes and crates slumped in haphazard fashion. Most were lying open and empty, but Oona tossed her head in the direction of a stack that looked much newer than the rest. Soap nodded and began to approach. He slipped a knife out of his vest, allowing his gun to rest as his side as Oona watched his back. He slit the top of one of the boxes, peeling it open to reveal exactly what he was looking for: semi-automatic parts, American-made.
“Fuck,” he breathed, “their supplier’s American. Good stock, too, all brand new.”
Ghost hummed over the radio. “That’s unfortunate. Means this whole operation is bigger than expected. Keep moving, see if you find any more.”
Soap tucked his knife away, reaching for his gun again. “It’s just gun parts so far, I’ll see if they’ve got anything with more fire-“ He was interrupted by pain slamming into him. He heard Oona yelp, and whirled around to see her pinned to the floor by a burly dog daemon. He gritted his teeth and raised his gun.
“I would not do that if I were you.” A voice sounded from the shadows in the corner of the room. A man stepped into a dusty mote of sunlight. He was rough-looking, carrying a weapon that was markedly similar to what Soap had seen in the box. Another man flanked him, mangy cat daemon hissing.
“Soap, how copy?” Ghost spoke in his ear again. Soap made no move to answer his comms, not wanting to risk the men shooting first and asking questions later. “Johnny?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing sneaking around my fucking warehouse, eh?” One of the men questioned, seemingly the leader. His daemon snarled, pressing Oona harder. She whined, and Soap flinched but stayed silent. “You don’t wanna talk? That’s fine,” the man said with a smirk. “We’ll see how long you last away from your daemon.” The daemon suddenly flipped Oona, fastening his teeth into her scruff. “For every second you stay quiet, Helios pulls her away a little further.” The other daemon, Helios apparently, started to drag Oona across the warehouse floor, away from Soap. She squirmed and kicked, but was unable to break his hold. Soap took a step towards her, brought up short when the man with the cat daemon pressed the barrel of his gun to Soap’s chest.
“None of that. You stay right here and tell us who sent you.” Soap remained stubbornly silent, eyes fixed on Oona as she was pulled further away. He gritted his teeth, feeling that godawful pins and needles sensation start creeping up his extremities.
Separation was an extremely common torture tactic for a reason.
His comms had gone quiet, and he prayed that meant Ghost was on his way. The sooner these fuckers were dead, the better. His lack of response displeased the man in front of him, and he shoved Soap back a step with the barrel of his gun. The dog daemon dragged Oona another few feet, and Soap couldn’t stop the grunt of pain that escaped him. Oona was whining steadily now, pained whimpers that made him want to run to her, heedless of the gun pushing into his chest. He felt like his limbs were on fire.
“Tell us what we want to know and she can come back,” the man said, stepping back a few paces to stay close to his own daemon, his companion’s gun pressing insistently against Soap. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, tremors starting to wrack his body.
Oona was dragged away another few feet, and black spots swam across his vision. He felt bile rise in his throat. Answering them was already out of the question, but he was pretty sure he’d vomit if he opened his mouth anyways. Soap swayed on his feet.
A gunshot rang out and one of the men dropped, the daemon holding Oona vanishing into mist. The one holding the gun to Soap made a sound of surprise, whipping his head around to look in the direction of the shot. He got a knife in his neck for the trouble.
Soap noted these things with a degree of detachment. His focus was commanded by the lurching, rubber band need to get back to Oona. He launched himself at her, stumbling with pain as she scrambled towards him, nails clicking wildly on the floor. They collided somewhere in the middle, Soap collapsing to his knees and throwing his arms around her as she shoved hard into his chest and shoulder.
“Fuck, fuck, s’okay, we’re okay,” he soothed, Oona whimpering and licking at his face. Soap ran his hands through her fur, checking for any damage. Only once he was satisfied that she was unhurt did he look up at the new presence now darkening the doorway of the warehouse. Ghost watched them impassively. “Thanks for that,” Soap said, a waver in his voice. “Fucker was pulling us apart.” He stroked over Oona once more before heaving himself to his feet. She stuck to his leg like she was glued there, afraid to move away.
The look in Ghost’s eyes was utterly inscrutable. There was a beat of silence.
“Can you walk?” he said roughly. “We need to move, there could be more of them.” Soap nodded shakily.
“Let’s go. We got what we came for.”
Oona stuck to him like a limpet for days afterwards, and Ghost was nowhere to be found. Soap was off duty for at least a week to recover, and normally he would have spent some of it shooting the shit with the masked man, but true to his name, he had seemingly disappeared. Soap sighed and stroked Oona where she was laying on his chest. Even just the memory of being forced away from her, the agony of separation, was enough to make the room spin. Oona whined. He held her more tightly, closing his eyes and pressing his face into her fur.
The mission after that, though, was where things really went to shit.
It was in the middle of fucking nowhere, and to make matters worse, it was colder than a witch’s tit. Snow fell almost constantly, and Soap was seriously regretting not adding another layer under his tac gear. He and Oona were holed up in some mostly abandoned village, watching for a convoy that was supposedly running contraband through here. Their vantage point from the second floor of a dilapidated old house was good, but the heat didn’t work, and smoke would give his position away. There was nothing to do but weather the cold as they waited. Oona was curled up close to Soap, warming him as best as she could. He sighed, watching his breath fog in the freezing air.
“Soap, how copy?” Ghost’s voice was a welcome distraction.
“Bored as shit. There’s nothing here but snow, and I’m freezing my fucking balls off.” Soap could hear the smirk in Ghost’s voice as he replied.
“Surely a little chill isn’t enough to put you out of commission.”
Soap shifted in his seat. “Definitely more than a little chill. Fuck, what I’d give for a fire.”
“No.”
“Fuck off, LT, I’m not fucking stupid,” Soap scoffed. “Just freezing.” He shifted in his seat, wishing not for the first time that he had something more comfortable than a metal folding chair.
“Eyes up, Johnny. We’ve got company.”
Soap straightened immediately, peering through the scope of the rifle he had perched on the windowsill. Ghost was right - there were three cars creeping slowly through the town.
“Looks like one van and a couple of escort vehicles,” Soap reported. He knew Ghost was set up somewhere else in the town, but he wasn’t certain where. He must be able to see the convoy as well, given that he had called it out. “I don’t have a clean shot on any of the drivers yet. Which are we taking out first?”
“Escorts first, they’ll be the most heavily armed,” Ghost said. “You take the front. Once they’re immobilized we’ll worry about the van. Expect resistance from the escorts, I can see passengers in both. Could be more in the back, the windows are tinted too dark to see.”
Soap shifted his rifle more comfortably against his shoulder. “On your mark, LT.” He waited with bated breath, holding his crosshairs on the driver of the foremost vehicle.
“Fire.”
Twin silenced shots zinged through the chill air, shattering the windows of the flanking cars. Pandemonium erupted below. Soap took a moment to enjoy the little thrill of pride at being so in sync with his- his commanding officer, Jesus, get it together. He shook away the thought and refocused on the people jumping out of the cars, shouting.
Maybe that little thought, that nearly insignificant distraction, was why he had missed the group’s attention turning to his general location.
Soap heard someone shout something, and he went even colder as the group of very armed hostiles started streaming towards the cluster of buildings that included his perch.
Ah, shit. That was… a fair bit more people than they expected. Soap clicked his radio with urgency as he lined up more shots.
“Ghost, I’m compromised.”
“What do you mean?” The venom in Ghost’s voice was expected. What wasn’t was the tiny thread of something else - fear? worry? - running through it. The group had started kicking in doors, some of them dropping from his and Ghost’s efforts, but far too many ducking inside buildings and out of sight.
“They’re sweeping buildings in my area, they’re gonna find me.” Saying it out loud made it real, and Soap felt a bolt of terrified adrenaline shoot through him. “I’m fucking made.”
“Not quite yet, Johnny.”
Soap heard the door of his building bash in, accompanied by angry shouts. He pivoted away from the window, pointing his gun at the only door in the room. Oona growled from her place at his side. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and he braced himself to get a shot off and then possibly switch to close quarters combat. God, he hoped their daemons were manageable.
The door flew inwards with a crack, and Soap leveled his rifle, finger itching towards the trigger.
“Don’t shoot!” Ghost shouted across his earpiece, startling him badly enough that he fumbled his gun. “Johnny, DO NOT FUCKING SHOOT!”
A body crashed to the floor, its throat torn and bloodied. On top of that body, snarling viciously, was the biggest fucking wolf daemon he’d ever seen. Soap trembled, quickly righting himself and pointing his crosshairs at the massive beast. Shooting a daemon was unorthodox, and bad form to boot, but this was a fight that Oona simply could not win. He tensed and prepared to pull the trigger.
The wolf looked up, making eye contact through the gore splattered across its face.
“DO NOT FUCKING SHOOT HER,” Soap’s radio screeching with feedback from the intensity, “SHE’S MINE!”
Soap’s breath caught in his chest. Everything went still. The wolf continued to watch.
“Yours?” Soap quavered out. A gritted teeth sigh poured down the line.
“Yes.”
They remained silent as they prepared for exfil. Soap packed away his rifle, automatically clearing away his supplies and putting the room back the way he found it. Ghost and his daemon - holy shit, Ghost’s daemon - had taken care of the enemies and slipped away into the snow. Their job was done - messy, but done.
Soap managed to keep quiet right up until they were on the plane back to base. He opened his mouth.
Ghost met his eyes, so much there, and Soap closed his mouth again.
He didn’t mention the daemon to anyone else. It would have felt - wrong, somehow. It wasn’t meant for others to know.
Soap got the feeling it wasn’t exactly intended for him to know.
So he kept it to himself. And if he no longer joined in on the speculation, if he got up and excused himself when conversations veered in that direction, well, that was nobody’s business.
And if he found his mind occupied by thoughts of how scared Ghost had sounded when Soap said he was fucked, and how beautiful the rugged, wild wolf of his daemon was, that was nobody’s business either.
He really, honestly, fully intended to take it to the grave.
Right up until he shot up in bed in the middle of the night, startling poor Oona awake as well, with a realization that shook him to the core.
“Aye, LT, it’s been a while since we’ve sparred,” Soap threw across the gym to where Ghost was stacking plates. The man turned, giving a thoughtful nod.
“You wanna have a go then, Sergeant?”
Soap grinned, cracking his knuckles. “About time I wiped the floor with you again.” Ghost gave an amused huff as they approached the mats.
“Really more the other way around, Johnny.”
Oona settled on the floor near the mat, as Soap bounced up and down, readying himself. Ghost was right, he consistently kicked Soap’s ass, but truthfully, Soap wasn’t intent on sparring right now. He cleared his throat. “Got something to ask you, actually, LT.” Ghost made a questioning noise as he joined Soap in the ring, wiping the exposed area of his face with a towel. “I’ve been wondering, why didn’t we just exfil together on that last mission?”
Ghost looked at him, and he could see the slight impression of his creased brow through his balaclava as Ghost went to set the towel down. “Fuck do you mean? We were on opposite sides of town. We met up as soon as we could.”
“Aye, see, that’s where I’m confused,” Soap mused. “You must have been pretty close to me, yeah, for your daemon to get to me the way she did.”
Ghost stilled, his back turned.
“I know you- I’ve not been talking about it,” Soap said, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, “but I’ve been thinking and- why didn’t we just leave together?”
Ghost didn’t move.
“How did you get that far away before exfil? Why haven’t I seen her since? Or before? Why hasn’t anyone seen her before?”
There was no acknowledgment. Soap was beginning to fear for his life.
“Ghost?” he said, voice quiet. “ How were you that far away?”
Ghost released a sigh that sounded like it was dragged up from hell itself.
“What are you really asking, Johnny? Come on out and say it.”
Soap swallowed, nervous. “How can you separate from your daemon like that? I don’t- that’s not possible.”
Ghost barked a laugh that was anything but humorous. He spread his arms, gesturing.
“Not possible? Then where is she now, Soap?” His tone put ice to shame. “Go on, point her out for me.” Soap cast his eyes around, as if that massive wolf could conceivably be hiding in the base’s gym. Ghost sighed again and picked up his towel, making to leave.
“It’s a long fucking story, Johnny. Not one you’d like to hear.”
“I’ve got time.”
Soap’s words surprised himself, but they seemed to surprise Ghost even more. He paused where he was, mid-stride, and turned. He regarded Soap intently for a moment, and Soap felt his face burn .
That was inappropriate.
I fucking know that, he snapped. But before he could respond further to Oona, or stammer out something about how he had no right to ask and Ghost didn’t have to tell him shit, Ghost spoke again.
“My father was fond of forcing us apart when I did something he didn’t like. Which was when I did anything.”
Soap listened in stunned silence.
“Turns out when you do that enough, the bond stretches, like elastic. Eventually you can get so far it doesn’t matter anymore.” Ghost paused, contemplative. “He stopped being able to use that against us when I was 13.”
Soap felt his stomach turn. That was younger than most people’s daemons had even settled into one form . Doing that to another person, so much so that the distance ceased to matter, would take-
“Hells fucking bells, LT. I’m sorry that happened.” Sorry was the understatement of the century, but it was all Soap could offer. Ghost, to his surprise, just rolled his eyes.
“Don’t be sorry, Johnny, ‘s not your fault,” he shrugged. “Helpful in the field, at least.”
“So that’s why she’s not around?” Soap questioned.
“Yeah. She does most of our reconnaissance.” That was a surprise. “Price knows.” Ah. That explained the mysterious source of a lot of their intel.
“How does she get the intel back?”
“She relays it through me, idiot.” Soap’s eyebrows went into his hairline.
“You can still communicate? Even when- even from that far away?”
“The communication doesn’t seem to be affected by distance,” Ghost shrugged again. “We’ve never had any issues.”
“Huh.”
“Now, if you’re quite finished, you still interested in that spar?”
Ghost had him on the ground in record time.
Unfortunately for Ghost, learning about his daemon only inflamed Soap’s curiosity. He answered some of Soap’s questions, but others were shut down with a glare.
How far apart could they go? The limit had yet to be found.
Did it hurt? No, not anymore.
What’s her name?
While Soap was definitely still curious, he let it lie after that one got him a long stare and Ghost’s absence for three days.
He wasn’t even the one to bring it up again the next time.
They had been in a downright nasty mission, all too similar to Las Almas for Soap’s liking, and his unfortunate luck meant that he had taken some shrapnel to his side. Christ, he hoped the misty, ephemeral quality of Oona’s paws was the blood loss playing tricks on him, or they were well and truly fucked. He could hear Ghost yelling at him over the radio, and he recognized that frantic thread of something again before blackness swallowed him whole.
Soap expected to wake up at the pearly gates (or not at all, he wasn’t really sure what awaited someone like him), but instead it was to the soft beeping of machines and a large, masked presence at his bedside. The next thing he noticed was the frankly uncomfortably strong grip on his right hand. Rough words floated through to him as if on gauze:
“Thomasin. Her name is Thomasin.”
The blackness overtook him again.
The second time Soap woke up, he was alone. As doctors checked his vitals and scribbled on clipboards, he idly wondered if it was all a morphine-induced hallucination.
He didn’t have to wait long to find out.
He was discharged from the hospital, but he was firmly warned not to engage in anything more strenuous than moving from his bed to the bathroom and back again. He had been upgraded to his own suite on base for his recovery, and if he was honest with himself, he was luxuriating in it a little. Sure, the pulling of the stitches littering his side was annoying, but the private shower was fucking nice. He was just drying off after enjoying it when there was a knock on his door. It was pretty late, but Gaz had visited earlier and maybe he forgot something. Soap crossed the room, tying the towel low on his waist to avoid aggravating his wound.
He was pleasantly surprised to find Ghost behind the door when he opened it.
He was utterly dumbfounded to see the large, shaggy form of his daemon sitting next to him.
Soap knew he was staring like a moron, but he couldn’t really help it. This was only the second time he’d seen his lieutenant’s daemon, his companion, the living incarnation of his soul. When he failed to say anything, Ghost huffed at him and gently pushed past into the room. It was only when the masked man sat down heavily on the bed that Soap dragged his focus away from the wolf that had followed him in.
“Thomasin, right?” He nodded towards her. Ghost chuckled lowly.
“Didn’t think you’d remember that. Thought you were out.”
“I was, mostly.” Soap adjusted his towel, suddenly unsure of where to be or how to stand in his own room. Ghost noticed, gesturing to the bed.
“Sit down, at least. Don’t want you passing out on me.”
That was a slight misinterpretation, but Soap wasn’t about to correct him. He cautiously made his way over to the bed, gingerly taking a seat. He hissed in a breath when the stitches in his side shifted. When he was as comfortable as he could get, he looked back up and was stunned into silence again.
Ghost had been doing that to him a lot lately.
The man had removed his mask, holding his face in his hands. When he raised his head again, Soap realized that he was not, in fact, wearing the eyeblack he often did, his eyes were just that dark from lack of sleep. His ashy blond hair was in disarray, his skin pale in a way that suggested more than just a lack of vitamin D.
“Jesus, LT, you look like shite.”
Fuck. That was… not what he should have said the second time he was seeing Ghost’s face. Despite Soap’s cringing, however, Ghost snorted out a laugh.
“Always know the right thing to say, don’t you.” Ghost rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, and Soap noticed his daemon standing there awkwardly. A few minutes of silence passed between them before they both spoke at the same time.
“Did you just come to visit me, or-“
“I thought you were dead.”
Soap stopped. The tremor in Ghost’s voice was noticeable, and he wasn’t looking at him anymore.
“You stopped replying. I tore through that town and thought I would find only tags.” Ghost heaved a shaking breath. “I can’t do that again, Johnny.”
Soap felt like he was outside his body, a spectator, as Ghost ripped his own heart out and showed it to him.
“I need you safe. We need you safe.”
Soap felt Oona’s shock slide against his own, and he realized that Thomasin had approached her.
“I want to hate you for it. I’ve gone soft, and it’s your fault. But I can’t. I could never-“ Ghost’s voice hitched again, and oh fuck, was he crying? “I could never hate you, Johnny.”
Soap’s brain was fucking offline. There was no way, simply no fucking way, that Ghost was sitting here and admitting to carrying the same torch Soap had been for months. Christ, he needed to close his mouth soon or he was gonna start catching flies. He worked his jaw, trying to find something to say, and coming up blank. Ghost was looking at him again, and he nodded, eyes shuttering.
“I understand if you don’t want to work with me anymore. I’ll put in the request with Price,” Ghost stood up, mask clenched in his fists as he moved to put it back on.
“No!” Soap’s hand shot out before he could think about it, grabbing Ghost’s wrist. “It’s not- I’m not- I don’t know what to say.”
Ghost looked pained. “It’s okay, Johnny, you don’t have to lie to me. I’ll be out of your way by morning.”
“Ghost, you fucking idiot, I love you too.”
Everything ground to a halt. Fuck, was that the wrong thing to say? Of course it was, Ghost was just trying to tell him to be more careful, that other people cared about him, there was no way he meant-
Soap’s spiraling thoughts were interrupted by warm hands on his face and a mouth pressing against his. He gasped into the kiss, and Ghost pushed his tongue against him, licking into his mouth with a desperation that called to Soap’s own. His hands flew up, grasping Ghost’s shirt.
Ghost pulled away and Soap whined at the loss.
“You’re sure? This is what you want?”
Soap tugged at his shirt insistently. “You’re fucking daft, been wanting you for months.” Ghost breathed out harshly, and then his lips were on Soap’s again. He tried to tug the lieutenant backwards, wanting to get them horizontal, but the movement pulled his stitches and he let out a pained noise. Ghost gentled his mouth, pulling away softer this time.
“You’re hurt. I’m not aggravating that wound further.”
Soap whined again. “No, c’mon, been waiting for this for so long, I don’t want you to-“ he stopped abruptly, realizing he’d been about to say I don’t want you to change your mind. Ghost pressed his forehead to Soap’s, reading it on his face.
“M’not going anywhere, Johnny. Once you’re healed, we can- we can try.” He shifted awkwardly. “Don’t know how much I’ll be able to do, anyways.” Soap tilted his head.
“Whaddya mean?”
“I, uh,” Ghost hesitated, “I thought that part of me was dead. Locked up. You’re-“ steamin’ Jesus, the Ghost was blushing - “you’re the only one to make me… feel… things. In a while,” he finished lamely, averting his eyes. Soap kissed lightly at the side of his mouth, thrilling a little at his ability to do so.
“Whatever you want, LT.”
“Ach, don’t call me that now. ”
“Oh, so you don’t want me to call you sir during?”
“… I didn’t say that.”
Soap laughed, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. Ghost joined in with a few rough chuckles, butting his head against Soap’s shoulder.
“Will you stay with me, at least? Just for tonight?”
“Anything, Johnny. I’ll give you anything you want.” Ghost’s tone was soft, reverent, and it made warmth bloom in Soap’s chest.
Fitting the both of them in the bed was tight at best, but Soap reveled in the closeness. He drifted off with Ghost at his back, Thomasin curled around Oona in her bed on the floor.
He swore he felt a feather light kiss pressed to the nape of his neck before he slipped blissfully into sleep.