GhostSoap Shenanigans

[buriedpast]

All that bloodshed, crimson clover
Uh-huh, the bombs were close and
My hand was the one you reached for
All throughout the Great War

It turned into something bigger
Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed
Your finger on my hairpin triggers
Soldier down on that icy ground
Looked up at me with honor and truth
Broken and blue, so I called off the troops
That was the night I nearly lost you
I really thought I lost you

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[buriedpast]

(Everything had changed, that much was a given, but it had changed long before anyone else realized. It wasn't Las Almas. It wasn't even the betrayal. It was embarrassingly immediate and Ghost had not said a single word about it to anyone and he firmly believed that everyone remained oblivious. He was the Ghost. Indecipherable even to the people he was closest with. Except he must have not been that obvious, because after everything had been said and done, after the dust had settled, Price had begun to put Ghost and Soap on the same team constantly.

It wasn't unusual. Men who work well together usually stick together. Price wanted to create a special task force and that's precisely what they were all there for. They had a unique set of abilities and it just so happened that Ghost and Soap worked effortlessly together. Ghost was a good soldier on his own, but even he had to begrudgingly admit that Soap made him a better soldier. He was sharper than usual on the field when he knew Soap was near - which was saying something given how sharp he had always been, to begin with. He worked twice as hard to keep things smooth.

He didn't know if he was just trying to prove his loyalty to Price and his men after everything had hit the fan, or if something about Soap made him want to prove himself to the other man. Whatever it was, it worked, and Ghost couldn't deny it and he barely had any interest in acknowledging it. So when he got yet another mission with Soap, he merely nodded and acted like this was just a day in the life for him now. Ghost shipped out so naturally Soap went with him. They had become the official unit formally known as Ghost and Soap, Soap and Ghost. One is rarely seen without the other even out of missions.

Ghost didn't think too much about it.

Which meant that he thought about it on a regular basis but always kept it at arm's length and pretended like it wasn't that important. He didn't pay attention to the way that he moved out of his way to always sit next to Soap at meetings. He didn't pay attention to how whenever they were shuttled around in a vehicle or a helicopter, he wound up next to Soap no matter how much open space was around them. If he stood closer to Soap than necessary whenever he spoke to him, he would just blame it on the mask and want Soap to clearly understand him...As if Soap ever had any issue with that.

And if Ghost turned up at nights out at local bars when he never used to bother before, then that wasn't all that relevant either. It didn't matter that he somehow always wound up next to Soap, listening to the man talk for hours, and if Ghost was pleased that the lass or lad who had been eying Soap finally gave up, then well, no one had to know about that either.

Things were fine. They were professional. Ghost felt like everything was in order. He had found a man he connected with and that's all there needed to be. He ignores that obvious studiously and when he's shipped out with Soap on a solo mission, he continues to ignore the problem. They are sent to the wasteland of Russia somewhere deep in the coldest parts. He would be pissed if they weren't supplied with a semi-decent safehouse in the midst of it all. An old vacation cabin. It had a generator and a fire, sure, but in the howling winds and biting chill of a Russian winter, there was always a chill in the air that even the woodstove couldn't fully touch. There were drafts and Ghost had been stuffing them with rags he found around the house, but it didn't do much.

The bed situation was an entire issue too. There were two bedrooms with two twin beds, which, okay, fine. Typically an ideal situation, but Ghost had spent the past two nights rattling in his bed and not getting a lick of sleep. He doubted that Johnny was much better off. So. After they had finished their rations for the night, Ghost clears his throat and says as casually as possible:)

We ought to push our beds together and share the space.

(He tells himself it is a practical suggestion any sane man would make. He would make the same suggestion if Gaz were here too. And it's true. It's all true. He's huddled against his men before to survive a rough night. It's no big deal. Not in the slightest. Yet Ghost sits there with his arms locked across his chest and a complete inability to look at Johnny.)