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Someone’s staring again. Soap can feel it. His skin prickles in awareness, but when he sweeps his eyes around, he can’t find the culprit. There’s no shortage of suspects. He’s sitting in the mess at lunch and so he’s surrounded by his fellow soldiers but nobody actually seems to be paying him any attention.
It’s like this every time. Soap feels the weight of someone’s stare on him, but when he turns, no one is looking in his direction. It’s fucking annoying. Ever since he barely made it out of that hospital after that hellish disaster in the tunnel where he ended up with a bullet in his head, someone is always staring at him but he never can catch them in the act. He wishes he could, just so he could yell at them that he’s not a circus side show. He’s been stared at enough for one lifetime in the hospital.
He mentions it to Gaz once, but his friend shrugged it off as paranoia. That or delusion because as Gaz so lovingly put it, “Who’d want to keep staring at your ugly mug?” He’d punched Gaz in the arm for that comment, but got saved from getting hit back by Ghost joining them and silently staring Gaz down until he slowly lowered his already raised fist. Soap felt half smug at that, but the other half was offended by the insinuation that he wasn’t capable of some roughhousing with one of his best friends.
Sure, he did survive a traumatic brain injury and was out of commission for months, not even counting the seemingly endless hours spent in physical therapy, but he came out stronger for it, right? Of course right. He was a soldier. He’d need to endure much more than some knocking about by his friend to do his job. Not that he’d have an opportunity for that any time soon. After he was finally discharged from therapy (both physical and occupational), he was then promptly grounded to the base and his daily activities currently included training the new batches of grunts who came through, and more paperwork than any one man ought to be subject to. He gets it, he really does. He’s still building his strength and stamina back up, and yes, he gets debilitating headaches sometimes, but it still really fucking sucks.
The frustration of not being able to do the job that he was scouted for is only exacerbated by the feeling of constantly being watched. Soap liked being the center of attention. He revels in being surrounded by people most of the time, but having the focus on him when he wants it is very different than it being on him when he’s not even aware of who’s staring.
Soap’s just about ready to give up on his half eaten lunch, too aggravated now to finish when he hears a quiet “Johnny” in his ear as someone sits down beside him. He grins, all negative feelings forgotten as he turns to face the man who joined him.
“Finally managed to escape the trappings of red tape, LT?”
Ghost was being loaned out to another team for a stealth mission and had spent the past week in with the captain of that team and Price planning and deliberating.
Ghost grunts. “Was ready to do something drastic if they didn’t finish the meeting soon.”
“I could have helped. Caused a distraction, or given you a reason to leave. Maybe a nice head injury to match mine?”
Ghost was silent a beat too long at Soap’s joke, before giving a small snort behind his mask. “Couldn’t pull off the look as good as you, Johnny.”
Soap rolled his eyes and knocked Ghost with his elbow. “It’s not like we’d be able to see anything anyhow behind that mask. Could be anything behind there. You could be hiding a nipple on your cheek for all we know.”
Unimpressed dark brown eyes surrounded by (pretty, Soap thought absently) delicate blonde eyelashes turned his way and Soap could imagine the deadpan look on Ghost’s face.
“You’ve literally seen my face before. You know I don’t have a nipple on my cheek.”
Soap just shrugged, feeling gleeful at the ridiculous conversation. “I don’t know. It was rather dim in that safe house and I had recently lost a fair amount of blood. Who knows if I can trust what my brain said it saw?”
Ghost snorted and shifted, turning his body so that he faced Soap better. His knee grazed Soap’s, and Soap pretended he didn’t feel the tingle in his body he always felt when Ghost made casual physical contact with him. Ghost flipped his mask up to show off scarred cheeks bristly with that day’s stubble.
“No extra anything on my cheeks. All nipples present and accounted for exactly where they should be.”
Soap hummed and let his eyes trail down the tight t-shirt that was molded to Ghost’s body. He let his eyes linger on the man’s broad chest for a second before dragging them back up to where Ghost was watching him with a smirk on his face. Soap fought the urge to drop his eyes down again and winked.
“I suppose I’ll just have to take your word for it, LT.”
-
Soap had a theory. Not even a theory, but a niggling feeling. A hint of a suspicion. It’s just this: Ghost had been gone on his mission for three weeks. Three very, very long weeks. But that’s neither here nor there. What’s been making Soap feel off kilter is the fact that he’s not felt that particular weight of staring eyes since Ghost left.
The first time he’d had the thought it had barely even crossed his mind before he’d dismissed it as being too outlandish. Why would Ghost be the one constantly watching him? They were friends. Good friends. Friends who spent plenty of time together on and off duty and yes, who had a separate chat outside of the 141 group chat. Sure, Ghost made it a point to save Soap a seat next to him when they went to the pub on their free evenings. Of course, Ghost had been the one to visit Soap in the hospital every day while he was still recovering, not to mention his quiet encouragement and support on the days that Soap was wallowing in self pity. He was there all those hard days where Soap was exhausted from therapy, as well as the bright spots where he made it over each hurdle in recovery. Ghost had been beside him for it all. Very friendly. That’s all. A reliable superior officer.
All that to say, there’s absolutely no reason for Ghost to be the one staring. It just didn’t make sense. Soap buried the thought almost as soon as he’d had it, but as time went on and he felt the absence of both Ghost and the mystery spectator, he couldn’t help uncover it again. It got to the point where his mind drifted off in the middle of drills, thinking about Ghost’s eyes being pinned on Soap. It was probably just a coincidence. It was some secret, deep desire for Soap to be the center of Ghost’s attention that was causing his mind to keep returning to the idea of it being his lieutenant.
Instead of writing reports, Soap was scribbling in his journal. Various sketches of Ghost’s eyes were created all over the pages. The hard glint when he was focused. The softer hold of them when he’d had few pints. The sleepy, relaxed eyes when Ghost and Soap sat in the near dark of the common area at night just shooting the shit. The pleased triumph when one of Ghost’s jokes made Soap groan loudly. The crinkled squish of them when he himself was laughing. All of these sets of eyes Soap knew, but he still wondered, what did Ghost’s eyes look like when he was watching Soap? If he was watching Soap?
Now that he had his suspicion or wish (whatever you wanted to call it) of Ghost, Soap was intent on being more observant whenever he had the feeling of being watched. Turns out he didn’t have to wait very long after Ghost returned. It happened again the very next night. He was in the gym, just finishing his therapy approved exercises when the back of his neck tingled. He almost pulled his neck when he snapped it around, hoping to catch whoever it was. The gym was not very busy, but he didn’t notice anyone in particular paying him any attention out of the few who were there.
He tried to ignore the disappointment in his gut when he didn’t see Ghost, but-there! A body striding away from the outside of the gym. Soap would recognize the bulk of the man anywhere, even from far away. Ghost had been around. Interesting.
Now that he noticed it, he noticed it a lot. He wasn’t sure how he had missed it all those months before. Ghost’s eyes, intent and focused on him. The second time had been a stroke of luck. He and Ghost were in the background of a picture taken by a recruit’s visiting family member. The man had printed it out and forgotten it on the table in the mess hall, and Soap glanced at it in idle curiosity. A second take showed him and Ghost in the background, unaware of the camera. Soap had been smoking off by himself and Ghost… Ghost had been in a group of people who were clearly in the middle of a conversation, but Ghost’s face wasn’t turned towards them. No, his attention was all on Soap.
It was both thrilling and heady, the idea that Soap’s secret observer was none other than Ghost. He’d brought up the feeling of being watched up before in front of Ghost, but it seemed the man hadn’t even twitched at Soap’s comments. Now that he thought he knew, though, Soap wanted to bring it up again. He wanted to see if he’d missed something in Ghost’s reaction. If there was some minuscule tell that gave him some sort of answer.
This went on for months. Months of the burning weight of Ghost’s eyes on him. The last week, his Lieutenant hadn’t even bothered trying to hide it. Soap would feel the prickle of attention down his back and would instantly seek out Ghost only to find him staring, gaze heavy and focused. Brown eyes would meet Soap’s blue before they turned away, leaving Soap feeling bereft of their warmth. They never spoke of it. It almost felt like a game, except it wasn’t. It was more than that. Soap didn’t know what it was, or why, but he knew it was more.
-
Soap had not been able to sleep so he’d quietly made his way to the picnic table that was tucked away on the outskirts of the base. He wasn’t too surprised to see that Ghost had beaten him there. The man had chronic insomnia and it wasn’t rare for him to be sitting there in the middle of the night. Maybe that’s what drew Soap to the spot in the first place. He nudged Ghost’s shoulder as he sat beside him.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Ghost looked over at him. His mask was pulled up to the bridge of his nose, exposing the lower half of his face. Soap noted the tension in his jaw and the way his eyes were bloodshot.
“I can’t say I’m good company right now.”
Ghost’s voice sounded tired. He looked tired and despite the warning, Soap knew there was no way he was leaving him to sit there alone when he was so weary. He shrugged.
“I’d not describe you as good company on the best days, so it makes no difference to me.”
It was a lie. They both knew it. Soap soaked up Ghost’s attention and actively sought his companionship whenever he had the time available (and even when he didn’t). He was trying to make Ghost laugh, but it was as if the man didn’t even hear him. He just stared off into the distance, his mind stuck somewhere that Soap had no clue where to reach. Soap considered asking him what’s on his mind, but he knew better than to push. Ghost would share when he was ready. He just sat quietly, fiddling with a loose thread on his pants. Everything was so hushed that he almost startled when Ghost’s voice finally broke the silence.
“There was so much blood. I stood over your body and all I could see was the blood.”
Soap slumped. Ghost’s voice was hoarse and low. Lower than his usual tone. They had never spoken of that day, just the two of them. There had been official incident reports and debriefings and he had spoken about it in therapy to the point that it was getting almost boring, and Ghost had been there for him all the way through recovery but never had the two men actually talked about the details of that night together.
Ghost turned, his eyes pinning Soap with a stare that was so haunted Soap wanted to wrap himself around Ghost and hold him until the sun came up, and even then maybe he’d still not let him go.
“You should have died in that tunnel. You should be dead. That bullet was impossible to survive, and yet here you are.”
Soap opens his mouth to speak but Ghost continues on, painful words leaking from him as if he was unable to hold them back anymore.
“Sometimes I’m not convinced that you didn’t actually die. That you aren’t really here, living and breathing. I think that maybe you’re a figment of my imagination. The real ghost on base. Maybe this is all a dream and I’ll wake up because of course it’s too good to be true.”
Soap’s heart aches. Ghost’s confession shatters him, the fear and mourning in his voice palpable. He slowly reaches out his hands until they’re grasping Ghost’s own. He means to be gentle with it, but his hold is firm as he tugs Ghost’s hands to him. The other man’s hands are as rough as Soap’s are, with calloused fingertips and hairy knuckles that tickle his palm as he guides one to his neck, placing it over the artery that’s pulsing heavily and guides the other to his heart that feels like it could beat out of his chest.
“I’m real. I’m alive. I’m healthy.”
Soap watches as Ghost’s eyes close and his body relaxes as he feels the proof of life underneath his hands. They sit in silence for what could have been mere minutes or half an hour before Soap speaks again.
“See? I’m right here with you, Simon.”
Ghost’s eyes snap back open at his name but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he moves his hands up so that one hand is cupping Soap’s jaw and the other is cradling the side of his head where his scar is. He feels Ghost gently brushing a finger over it.
“You’re so warm. The blood was warm too, but you were so cold beneath it.”
Soap barely had a second to comprehend what’s happening as he watches as Ghost takes a shuddering breath before he leans forward and presses his mouth to Soap’s temple. Soap freezes, but Ghost’s lips are still pressed carefully, almost worshipfully against him.
“Nothing but warmth now, Johnny.”
He feels the murmur against him and he leans into Ghost’s space as Ghost wraps a huge arm around him, bringing him closer as he finally pulls back and rests his forehead against Soap’s.
Soap has to ask. He has to.
“Is this why you’ve been staring at me?”
Ghost doesn’t even try to deny it. He nods, his eyes searching Soap’s face as he answers.
“I couldn’t make myself stop. Can’t. I want to see you all the time, just to prove to myself that you’re real. That others see you too. That you didn’t leave me.”
Ghost’s voice cracks on those last two words and Soap can’t take it anymore. He makes the move forward this time, bringing his lips to Ghost’s in a hard kiss. Ghost sucks in a breath, opening his mouth as he does so and Soap takes more, gives more. He’s breathing hard and his blood is rushing loud in his ears and his cheeks are wet with tears but it’s still incredible because he’s kissing Simon and Simon’s kissing him and he’s alive to experience it.
They pull apart, both panting. Soap unclenches his hands from where he at some point gripped Ghost’s collar and they stare at each other. Soap watches as Ghost exhales before he gives a small smile, his first of the night.
“Never thought I’d get the chance to do that.”
Soap’s own face feels like it could break from the grin on it.
“You could have kissed me a long time ago. You wouldn’t have found me complainin’.”
Ghost’s eyes were warm as they scanned his face.
“Maybe I should make up for lost time then.”
Oh. Well. Soap can’t argue with that. He leans in again and this time it’s gentle and tender and slow and he thinks that maybe he’s died after all, because this is surely what heaven feels like.
-
The next time Soap feels eyes on him, he doesn’t look up. He just smiles to himself and scoots over where he’s sat, waiting for a large body to fold itself beside him like there’s no other place on earth to be.