(Those damned eyes. Ghost was frowning beneath his mask, his brows furrowed together as Johnny rubbed again and again at his eyes. He moves then, intentionally dragging his chair back so Soap would realize he's moving. He doesn't let go of Soap's hand. Instead, he sits on the very edge of the bed and winds up pulling Soap's hand into his lap to properly hold it, a thumb swiping against the side of Soap's palm.
But there was more than closeness he was seeking in the adjustment. He leans toward Soap, ever so slightly, peering intently at his face. It doesn't take more than a second for him to feel a dreadful sinking in his chest. The bastard couldn't see him. Or if he could, it was barely anything. He waves a free hand silently, but it doesn't take an optician to realize that the eyes aren't following the way they should.
No memories. No sight.
This was...
This wasn't fine. Ghost glances over and realizes he should be calling for a nurse. Maybe something was off with the meds, something was wrong. At the very least, they would probably be able to explain this shit better to Soap than Ghost could.
He's reaching out for the call button just when Soap says that. It catches him off guard and it's so Johnny that he actually snorts.)
Cute? (Now that was rich. The worst part is that was probably exactly how Soap saw it anyway, with or without memories. It's shockingly relieving. Even if Soap didn't remember him, he was still Soap, through and through. Ghost could work with that.)
Dunno about cute. You usually just go with LT. Not very creative, I'm afraid. Maybe you can think of something better now that you're awake.
(He finally grabs the call button.)
I'm gonna need to call in a nurse, Johnny. Think you're ready for that tidal wave?
[ Soap feels the movement and, for just a second, worries that Ghost is leaving for some reason. But he's not, obviously. Just getting closer. Something in him unwinds with that knowledge, still keeping that weak grip on the other's hand.
He still isn't sure what any of it means, but he's beyond asking. Doesn't want to risk this closeness stopping, especially right now. So not only is he glad that they're closer, but the other snorting like that is a whole other kind of relief. Just going with the conversation, lightening the mood, it helps so much right now in a way that Johnny almost hates that he needs.
Whether it's the lack of sight or the distraction by everything in his mind is unclear, but Soap doesn't even notice the little vision test. He does notice him grabbing for something on the bedside and frowns. ]
'Bout as ready as I'm gonna be.
[ At least he had a moment to wake up and get a grip on himself. At least he's not alone. Speaking of- ]
You gonna leave?
[ It's asked about as nonchalantly as he can manage, but there's this weird fear that if Simon leaves now, he'll be gone for good. Maybe he's just a figment of Johnny's imagination or something. But he realizes it's probably weird to cling on to the first person that seems even remotely familiar or safe, so he doesn't cling. Just... holds his hand and tries to not think about everything else. ]
feel free to play out the nurses/whoever and i'll tap in too !
(His praise is entirely sincere and he's already pushing the button, letting the remote swing back to its original place shortly after.)
Not unless you want me to, Johnny.
(Again, the name. "Soap" just felt too distant, too inaccurate. He wasn't dealing with Soap right now. He was dealing with the rawest parts of the man he had survived Las Almas and then some with. And the only man he would ever bother to hold the hand of like this.)
Haven't left your side much anyway except to do what needs to be done.
(It's...not really a confession he would normally make, but he felt maybe like Johnny might need the reassurance right now. Might need to know that something is stable in his life even when his mind and his vision aren't. Considering both, Ghost had to hand it to him that he was handling it cool as cool could be. Stay frosty indeed.)
Unfortunately for you, you'll need to do a bit more than get shot in the head to get me away. (It's meant to come across as a joke. Instead, it just feels sincere. He likes to think that he managed the joking tone all right though. Maybe. Tone had never been his strong suit, but Johnny at least seemed to appreciate his flat delivery of practically everything he said.)
lmk if this isn't okay! we can take it in parts or smth. feel free to go wherever you like with it!
[ A good boy, eh? Soap's eyebrow twitches at that in maybe-interest, but the thought is overshadowed quickly. He wants to ask more about the nickname, try to disguise it in some lighthearted teasing, but he doesn't want it to stop. Doesn't really want any of this to stop. Kind of just wants everything else to stop- But he breathes through those thoughts and keeps himself steady.
Simon's presence helps more than he can describe. If he weren't there, well, Soap would be a lot less frosty right now. He wants to say that, or at least get out a stay or thank you, but all of it feels like too much. Too sincere. Too close. Because if this gets too emotional, that frost will absolutely thaw.
So he holds Simon's hand a little tighter, a little more of his strength coming back, and he manages to get out a quiet: ]
Good.
[ And that's when their privacy ends.
As much as he'd like to keep a hold on Ghost's hand, he knows that isn't very likely as the aforementioned tidal wave comes in. But he knows the other man won't leave him, knows it so strongly in a way that maybe he shouldn't, but it gives him comfort so he doesn't question it.
Instead, he focuses on... the moment. Soap feels a few people flock around him and kind of hates it but stays steady. Simon's here. He's steady. A few hands begin working with the machines, checking the lines he's only just noticed, and one voice begins speaking in a gentle tone that's probably meant to distract but doesn't entirely cut it.
After a brief talk of pain and strength, hand squeezing and feet poking, they start in with the questions. Where he grew up (Scotland), what year is it (a wild guess that feels so wrong), what's six times eight (why in the fucking hell are they asking math ques-- forty-eight?), and so on.
Then they want to check his eyes and- Ha. Well. He does open them again. ]
Don't matter. Can't see.
[ Things get pretty quiet at that. Maybe it's the way he delivers the news, maybe they're doing something he can't see, but it doesn't take very long for talking to start up again, extra calm tones this time. How many fingers- (Can't.) Follow the light- (Can't.) And so on.
They talk about changing meds now that he's awake, running tests, that kind of thing. He pretends to be hopeful, but can't really bother feeling it. Pretends to at least be interested in their attempts. But he knows they can't be feeling a whole lot of hope either, because it's only afterwards that they start to describe his injuries and surgeries, like it's all an afterthought.
They confirm his fear about what shot in the head meant. The bullet apparently changed directions thanks to his thick skull, only barely, just a degree or two, but it was enough to miss his frontal lobe. There was still injury to the brain, but not enough to kill him on the spot. Massive blood loss. And they had been worried about his eyes, turns out, but the brain had taken priority, naturally.
He knows they don't know the details of the incident - part of the job - so he doesn't bother to ask how in the hell he got out of there alive. The doctors and nurses, bless them, never call him a miracle or anything either, so there's that. They leave to start putting in their orders for tests and drugs, the tide receding before it inevitably rushes back again.
The second he can, if Simon was forced to let go of his hand, Johnny silently reaches out and knows without a shred of doubt that he'll find him in the darkness. His jaw's set firm, he's... fine... but he reaches out, anyway. ]
(Ghost is reluctant to let go, to leave his side, but it's inevitable and he immediately moves out of the way so that they can do their job. He hovers nearby, back against the wall, listening intently, watching even more intently. When the news came to his eyes, Ghost wasn't surprised, but it was vicious to hear anyway. Blindness was one of the worst news a soldier could get. Though maybe, just maybe, they might reverse it, to make it better, but Ghost wasn't much of an optimist and no one else looked too positive either.
Johnny though...
Ghost wants to go to him the moment the news drops. He folds his arms over his chest instead, looming nearer. The moment the door is shut and Soap is reaching out to him, Ghost is there within seconds. He's back on the edge of the bed and taking his hand. This time he folds their fingers together confidently, curling his other hand around Soap's hand so that he was practically cradling it against his lap.
For a moment, he says nothing at all. What was there to say to such news? He wasn't the apologies sort. Not with the life he led. They both signed up for things like this in their line of duty. The only thing that rotted at the back of his mind was the guilt of not paying closer attention to Soap at the moment it all happened. He would carry that guilt to his grave.
For now, though, his guilt didn't matter. All that mattered was Soap. He stares intently at his face, knowing now that Soap couldn't see him back, and it almost feels wrong. He wasn't a good enough person though to not take advantage of it.
Words of comfort never did anyone any favors. It wasn't their style anyway. So.
Instead, he squeezes Johnny's hand and says:)
If it makes you feel better, you've never really gotten a good look at my face anyway. (He pulls Johnny's hand up and places it right against the rough outline of his cheek, but it's evident immediately he's wearing a balaclava.)
[ Once again, the touch helps more than he can dare describe. It shouldn't help so much, but it pulls him out of his head just enough to make this all feel real. Maybe that shouldn't be a comfort, because he really did get shot, he really has gone blind, but it's better than trying to guess at reality. Much better than being alone.
He practically deflates as his hand is cradled, nearly getting too comfortable with all this. That meant too much sincerity, too much emotion, and he couldn't handle that right now. If he started thinking too hard on it now, it'd be a whole royal fucking mess, and that probably wasn't great for his recovery. Or his sanity.
So he breathed, kept steady, and felt far too safe with Simon there. Whatever that meant.
The last thing he expects is for his hand to be pulled up to the other man's face, though. His own expression is probably priceless with surprise, but then he feels the face mask- That's cotton. A balaclava. In a bloody medbay.
A vision shoots through him suddenly, the man wearing another's skull, and he wonders- He wonders.
And that's probably something awed and sincere and grateful and way too emotional in his eyes for all of a millisecond before a laugh manages to claw out of him. ]
Aye, I'm honored, LT.
[ And he takes advantage before he can overthink it. His fingertips trail around just a little, tracing the back of Simon's jaw and the ridge of his brow. ]
Bet the staff here love your outfit, by the way.
[ But they either haven't told him shit about it or he ignored it. Either way, Soap found some weird respect in that.
His fingers continue to trace but don't really move around the face anymore than that, just overlapping the same paths like it was a comfort to do just that. Besides, he already has a good picture in his head. Unsure if that's from the touch, his questionable memory, or imagination, though.
He tries to swallow down any emotions about that, keeps breathing, but he does ask one question in a quiet voice. ]
This okay?
[ As if Ghost wasn't the one to put his hand there, but he's not just asking about the touch. ]
(There was only so much they could deal with at a time. The trauma would last a lifetime, after all. He didn't know what else he was supposed to do either. If Soap were any other soldier, he honestly wouldn't even be here. It would be up to whatever the military had in store for him.
It is priceless, and were the situation different, he probably would have snorted and teased him about his expression. Instead, he's just silent as Johnny processes the situation. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles beneath his mask, a gesture unseen.)
As you should be. I'm downright spoiling you, Johnny.
(And for what? Guilt, mostly. Other things, maybe. Nothing he wants to think about too much either.
The only problem is he has never had someone touch his face like this and he forgot about the whole potential for exploration. It catches him off guard and he jerks ever so slightly when Soap moves his hand, but he stops himself from leaning away. Instead, he leans into the touch, adjusting to the sensation now that it was there.)
It probably motivates them to do their job right.
(It's a dark joke and one Soap might not even get if he didn't have any memory of Ghost. He looked like the goddamn grim reaper lurking in the halls. He wonders what it was like for Soap to explore his face if he could tell what he might look like beneath it. He could still hear the time Soap asked him to take off his mask.
Now that he was used to it, he found himself oddly soothed by the touch. Not something he had anticipated, but then again, none of this was as expected. He has to swallow down his own swell of emotions. A part of him wants to crush Johnny into a hug.
The question feels more intimate than the touch somehow. Maybe it's because Johnny asks it so quietly, maybe it was because he was wondering how those fingers would feel trailing elsewhere. Either way, he leans in close and eventually rests his forehead against Soap's. Call it a moment of weakness, but now that Soap was actually awake, talking, breathing, moving, Ghost let himself have a moment of genuine relief.)
It's just fine, Johnny. (His throat feels dry and, fuck, even if Soap didn't remember everything...)
Really thought I lost you. As far as I'm concerned, you can do whatever the bloody hell you want.
[ If he was surprised before, that's nothing compared to Simon leaning in like that. He's confused mostly, but doesn't ever consider stopping him. Maybe that's strange considering how he doesn't like people getting too close, but once Simon's forehead is resting against his own, there's something almost otherworldly about it.
For a brief second, he feels terrible that he can't remember. Not for himself but for whatever Ghost must be going through. But then... that pain does turn quickly for his own sake, too. Because he doesn't remember. This closeness and comfort, all of the things these gestures mean, isn't for him. He doesn't even know this man. And he wants to. He can't recall ever wanting anything more, and that's almost as terrifying as the blindness and memory loss itself.
His hand trails to the back of Ghost's neck, maybe his fingertips dipping under the balaclava briefly back there, but it's only for the chance to feel warm skin than anything cheeky. His eyes squeeze shut, reminding himself to stay steady, stay frosty, but it's almost too easy to forget that when it feels like someone else is holding him together for once. ]
Simon...
[ The name comes out in one whispered breath like he's said it this way a million times before. At this point, he's almost convinced he has. And even to his own ears, it sounds like he's on the cusp of just finally losing it, finally letting go, finally giving himself permission to unravel and let Ghost catch him.
But-... He swallows hard and reminds himself that this isn't for him. Not that it helps much. He's selfish and a bit greedy and not always a very kind man. But he does remind himself, anyway.
Take more than one bullet to get me away, too. He's pretty sure of that already, at least. ]
(For one frozen second, it's like he's back there, trying to find Soap's pulse, watching the blood rapidly pool. His own eyes squeeze shut and he wishes, not for the first time, that their roles were reversed. If anyone deserved to be struck blind and amnesiac in this bed, it was Ghost. Soap had so much goddamn potential and so much going for him. Ghost's teeth clench so hard together that his jaw begins to ache and he has to force himself to loosen up.)
Then that's what you'll get. (His voice comes out a bit rougher than usual. Between hearing "Simon" come from Johnny and the pressure of his hand at the back of his neck, he can admit to himself that he needed this too. Maybe he was being a bit selfish too.
He lingers quietly, becoming more comfortable with being so close to Soap. He smelled sterile from the hospital, but there was something relaxing about his presence all the same. Ghost keeps his eyes shut. It seemed only fair, in some roundabout way. He focuses on the heart monitor. One of his hands winds up against the inside of Soap's arm, an innocuous enough gesture, but his finger is resting on Soap's fluttering pulse as a way to ground him.
After some point, he exhales. He leans back just ever so slightly and finally opens his eyes again.)
A slice of cake and a piece of pie join the military. (Ghost, no.) But they wind up abandoning their fellow soldiers. Now, they are wanted for dessertion.
(It's probably one of his worse attempts at comforting Soap, but goddamn if he didn't think they both kind of needed it. It's his own silent way of telling Soap it was okay to not be okay right now. Ghost had his back.
[ It takes a long moment, but Soap can practically feel himself stitching back together again. It's rough and patchy, absolutely shoddy enough to fall apart again at a later time, but it's enough right now. It's so much. Almost more than he can bear. But he can breathe and that's something.
He's almost not ready for when Simon pulls away, though, even as slight as that. He half wants to drag him back in for... what? Just because? Seems like a good enough reason to him. The warmth, the smell, the touch, it's almost all still there. And yet, just a little tug... But he doesn't, of course - Not for you, John.
Then the words-... They make no sense, at first. There's confusion as he tries to parse it, like there's some secret meaning there he needs to remember, but then he suddenly... gets it... There's a blank look on his face while a tiny voice in the back of his mind groans, Dessertion? This is the Brit you fell for, MacTavish? Really?
He pays that voice little mind. Well, aside from the groan, which he repeats in earnest. But there are apparently healing properties in punny jokes. He no longer feels like he's hanging on by mere thread anymore. He feels solid for the first time since he woke.
Ghost has got him. It'll be okay. It has to be.
He somehow manages to refrain from asking which one of them is the cake and which is the pie, though. ]
Regular comedian, eh? The soldier stuff just a side gig?
[ Despite himself (like really despite himself), Soap feels a smile tugging on his lips. He hopes there's more of those dumb jokes. He'll groan at them all. ]
(Thank god. He can feel a familiar sense of smugness as that confusion clears away into something bordering on fond exasperation. This was exactly the man you fell for, Soap. Then again, the feeling was mutual and Ghost felt like he was about to splinter at the seams if he didn't take care of Soap. He smirks at Soap's response and it bleeds into his next words:)
Aye. I was scouted for Saturday Night Live, if you can believe it. (Heavy pause.) But then I ghosted.
(See now, that's on-the-spot cleverness and he could pat himself on the shoulder if he wasn't so preoccupied with trying to balance out their trauma. The smile is worth a million pounds and the rush of affection nearly shatters him. He can't help himself.
He moves forward and locks his arms around Soap in a nearly crushing hug, bringing their bodies together in a way he had only allowed when he thought Soap was dying. One hand slides against the back of Soap's neck, fingers sliding into a mohawk that probably needed a trim, and the other arm goes around Soap, practically yanking him against him.
Ghost doesn't cry. He's fairly sure he lost the ability to ages ago, but his body gives a subtle shudder.)
I'm sorry. (A soft confession of his guilt, but a genuine statement.)
I'll-
(He begins another confession of sorts, but there is a knock at the door just then. It creaks open and Ghost reluctantly pulls away, but he doesn't do it in a rushed, panicked sort of way. He didn't give much of a fuck if anyone walked in on them embracing. It's only out of the bare minimum awareness that he probably had to lean back. Unsurprisingly, it's Gaz and Price who look equal parts bemused and relieved.
Ghost resists the urge to sigh. Instead, he leans back, away from Soap, but doesn't leave his side or move to get off the bed. By the looks on Price and Gaz's faces, they already knew about the blindness, the memory loss. They introduce themselves steadily, with no pressure in their voices, and sentiments of simple relief that Soap was back with them.
Like Ghost, they didn't take it personally. Though also like Ghost, he could see some barely restrained pain in being forgotten. A pain that would likely spread once they all adjusted to having Soap back. It was still Soap though. The last half hour or so proved as much to Ghost. Even without his memories, Johnny was still there.
They would figure the rest out on the fly.)
lol I hope that's OK! Feel free to ignore the Price thing if you want
[ Initially, the joke gets much the same result. Another groan leaves him, but at least it's (almost) in a joking manner. Definitely exasperated, unfortunately fond. ]
Ah, Jesus, Mary, Joseph--
[ But then, the hug, and Soap doesn't know what to do with it for a long moment. His arms move automatically, of course, and largely without his input. They wrap around Simon before he's even sure what's going on.
The last thing he expects is an apology. And while he doesn't ask, the questions churn themselves up, anyway. Why was Ghost sorry? Not about the hug, surely. Was this somehow his fault? What had happened to lead them here?
Then other words are coming, words that Soap plans to cling to, when their privacy is shattered again. Simon pulls away almost to the point that Johnny wants to panic, but he doesn't leave. Of course, he doesn't. He wouldn't. You're being childish, John.
The visitors, however, were not doctors. The names were unfamiliar, and he truly hated to admit that, awkward and painful as it is, but the pair took the news in good enough stride. Plus, he finally figured out who his Captain was.
And though he wanted to take Ghost's hand again, he didn't dare in present company. There's something here, and Soap's not yet dumb enough to assume that everyone fucking knows it. Or maybe not yet smart enough to realize how transparent they both are. Either way, he stays good and mostly keeps his hands to himself.
He does get a couple more answers, though. ]
"Say a guy wanted just enough clearance to know the finer details of his latest mission, but he had a wicked head injury with memory issues-"
"Negative, Sergeant."
[ Or, rather, no answers aside from not having a promotion since his last recollection. But that was all right, he expected it.
Gaz and Price stayed awhile. Long enough for Soap to feel comfortable with them (again?). After enough time has passed, Price appears to take Ghost aside (updates? orders? checking in like Soap isn't right there?), but Gaz is a good enough conversationalist that Soap nearly does get distracted. That doctor could learn something from him.
But a few moments after that, they say their goodbyes and go on their way. Then it's just the two of them again. By Soap's estimation, he'll probably be dragged off for tests soon. The nurses already came by to adjust his meds while his visitors were here. It's probably a good time for Ghost to leave.
And Johnny hates that, he really does, but he's going to do his best to pretend like he doesn't. He's fine, after all. ]
What time is it?
Edited (omg phone tags) 2023-11-18 17:52 (UTC)
nah looks good to me! some handwavy plot things here on my end heh
(Truthfully, neither of them was smart enough to realize how transparent they were and how transparent they have been, even well before this situation went belly up. Ghost still believed he was a master of indifference, despite the fact that he remained on the edge of the bed. Although he didn't take Johnny's hand again, it was loud and clear that he wanted to be physically close to Soap. As if any second a stray bullet might come snapping through the wall and Ghost was determined to plant himself in the way. Which, in hindsight, was probably an insane, irrational thing to be thinking.)
Not worth it anyway. (It's Ghost's apologetic way of agreeing with Price. He was being honest though. Did Soap really need to go through the betrayal all over again? Did he need to live with the same sense of failure that Ghost and the others were carrying? Maybe one day that would be okay, but for now, Ghost was focused on just getting Soap's head screwed on right again. Whether that meant memories or more stability, it didn't matter. Now just wasn't the time for a debriefing.
When Price takes him aside, it's hardly a surprise. Ghost stands stiff, arms over his chest, and gives curt responses. No, Soap really couldn't see anything. No, he didn't even remember Ghost's name or anything about their role on the task force. Nothing about the mission. Nothing about getting shot.
Then came Ghost's immobile declaration that he wanted to be the one to help Soap off-duty while he recovered. The conversation isn't exactly smooth sailing but with Makarov dead, their mission was effectively successfully accomplished and they would be waiting ducks until the next one anyway. Besides, with Soap back and in this state, Ghost wouldn't be of much use anyway. The dumb bastard would be too preoccupied with Soap's recovery.
"Is this going to be a problem?" Price asked, meaning the pair of them, asking the silent question of Will I lose you too if I lose Soap?
To which Ghost very calmly and honestly stated: "We'll just have to see. Shouldn't be if you don't want it to be."
There was too much that Ghost and Soap had sacrificed to get here. Anything less than respecting their wishes and honoring the fact that Soap made it alive at all would be an insult. Price grudgingly sighs, knowing damn well he would be short two good men for a while.
"If anything dire comes up, I'll be around," Ghost promises, clapping his hand on Price's shoulder. He respected his captain and ultimately he knew it was actually Price's decision on what was going to happen next, but he could tell by the look on John's face that he was going to pull some strings.
"I'll see what I can do." Because at the end of the day? It had been Price and Gaz who saw the kind of man Ghost would have become if Soap had actually died. They had both been there when they thought Soap had died. For a second, their world too had been tipped on its axis, and it wasn't something Price felt was good for morale. It wasn't good for anything. So he nods and bids his goodbye to Soap, clapping the man on the shoulder.
Things shuffle about, and finally, it's them. Ghost is standing at Johnny's bedside this time, arms crossed, but there's something terribly soft in the way he's looking at Soap, a look he would have never been caught dead giving was Johnny the seeing sort.)
Late. (He had no clue, really.)
What's going to happen is they are going to run some tests. Probably make sure your noggin isn't too busted. That you can do basic things. (Like feed himself. Walk without stumbling. Feel normal sensations.)
They will probably give you a more complex eye exam. If I'm lucky, they'll slap some glasses on you and I'll get to enjoy a secret fetish I've always had for men in glasses. (It's a dumb joke, not even serious, because really, his fetish for anything at all just involved Soap. He doesn't bother to stop and make it clear if that is serious or not though, because mostly, he only said it to maybe get another smile out of Soap.)
Then we'll get you sorted out of this place. Set you up somewhere while you recover and work on your memory. If there's nothing to work on, then fine, we build some new memories. (Ghost states this all clearly, matter-of-factly, and concisely.)
And if you're open to it...(He hesitates here, a sudden emotion threatening to spill over into his voice. He closes his mouth and counts to ten. When he finally speaks again, it's steady:)
I can help you through the process. Go with you. But only if you feel comfortable with that. You don't need to decide right now.
[ Johnny had expected the time, not a play-by-play, but he's much happier to get that kind of answer instead. Clear, precise, an exact detail of what's going on and when. Well, almost exact. More than close enough.
Ghost does get his wish of a smile, though. At the fetish joke, Soap snorts and rubs a hand over his face with a 'Christ, LT', but the conversation has moved along before he could give a proper comeback. Or overthink it. Simon didn't seem shy in expressing his interest, so they absolutely must have been a thing. Then there's the whole idea of secretly hoping he gets glasses now, too. Not because they would help, though. He doesn't have much faith in that.
But Simon continues beyond the exams and the glasses and even the hospital. Already talking about the other side of these walls, building new memories. It's more than just not giving up. It's a whole plan. A whole damned future. The idea alone kind of wants to punch Johnny in the chest, push the air out of his lungs, leave him having to count his breaths again. But it doesn't. Don't overthink, MacTavish. Not for you.
Then, in such a stupidly easy way, Ghost puts the offer out there like it's nothing. A part of Johnny wants to be kind, wants to take that long pause as hesitation and run with the assumption that Simon doesn't want any of that. Why would he? A guy doesn't sign up for the SAS just to play nurse back home, no matter how much of a thing they may have. Or used to have. Better put, how much of a thing Ghost had with another Soap, the bloke who remembered him and all that.
He wants to ask Simon what he wants to do, wants to tell him that he doesn't have to decide right now either. Johnny knows that even just putting the offer out there is so much, though he may not understand in what particular ways.
But, again, he isn't really a kind man. Or so he believes, anyway. ]
... I think I'd like that. However long you stayed open to it, too, that is.
[ Even though there was a long pause and his expression is serious, he tries to play it off as nonchalantly as he can. Because he's fine. No matter how badly he wants to cling to this practical stranger, all but beg for him not to leave him alone, don't go back to the fight, just stay stay stay- He won't. He's not going to do any of that. He'd be damned if he held anyone back like that.
(If only Ghost knew what Soap was actually thinking about them. Then again, looking from the inside in, anyone with half a brain would be able to pick up on the undercurrent of their relationship. Ghost was just used to it enough that he didn't realize how obvious everything was. It's enough that when Soap smiles, muttering to him, Ghost just feels accomplished.
Everything was for Soap. This Soap, the Soap with memories. There was plenty that he didn't know about Soap. Plenty he had wanted to learn but never really knew how to access. Under normal circumstances, he didn't invite himself so directly into Soap's life. And maybe he still shouldn't, but he felt responsible and he knew that part of it was a selfish want to be able to confirm Soap was really still alive whenever he wanted to.
So, yeah, maybe he was down bad. Maybe he was bending the knee and ready to do absolutely goddamn anything for this man. He's not much of a good person either.)
Don't worry about that.
(He's not going to say it, but he would gladly stick around Soap as long as the man allowed it. He has spent enough of his life fighting. Look where it got him.)
Not sure if you have a place outside of here you'd prefer. Guess it doesn't matter if you don't remember, but we can ask Price about that too.
(He falls quiet then, watching Johnny yet again. Softly:)
...How are you doing, Johnny?
(It has kind of been nonstop information since he's woken up.)
[ Don't worry about that, he says. Like Soap can just physically do that. Yeah, it's not his issue to worry about, and worrying certainly won't change whatever decisions end up being made, but it doesn't change how he feels. Or Simon could mean that in the most obvious sense, that he's not going to change his mind, but Johnny doesn't feel very optimistic these days. Keeping his bar low might just be the only thing that gets him through this.
Well, that and Simon. But he smothers the thought as soon as it crosses his mind.
Instead, he thinks about a place he may or may not have. He had a place back home near Glasgow. Whether or not that's still a given is up in the air. He does remember considering selling it since he was never there... but when was that? Did he do it?
That's better to focus on than what Simon asks. His initial reaction is to maybe just ignore the question, focus on the living situation, but that would probably worry the other man more. He knows Johnny heard him. The second, more tempting option is to give another nonchalant answer. Though, it still comes out softer than he meant it. A little unsteady. ]
Solid, LT.
[ Right. Staying frosty... But it's a lie that feels a bit like ash in his mouth, so his shoulders fall as he leans back in the bed. ]
Gotta be solid or I'll just be a mess. So I'm solid. I'm good... Don't really want to be the opposite right now.
[ How healthy of him. His training told him to deal with the emotions, process the events, but it also told him to put it on the backburner until the job was done. This job is still going, as far as he's concerned. He can't go crumbling now.
Another thing training taught him is that if you add enough pressure to an element, you can turn almost anything into an explosive. And he doesn't really want Simon in the blast radius, so... he's solid. It's okay to not be, he knows that, but... it's fine. ]
(Yeah, it probably was pointless advice, but he meant it. Out of all the things that Johnny had to worry about right now, this wasn't one of them. If Ghost didn't want to do it then he wouldn't do it and he thought it was simple as that.
He's frowning beneath his mask. His hands itch to reach back out and touch. He had never touched Soap so much and now he felt like he was never going to go back. He couldn't say anything because he handled his own shit the same exact way.
None of them had stellar emotional coping skills. He did anything he could to just get back into service no matter what he had gone through in the past and it's unsurprising that Johnny would push off his own issues. This wasn't just a fuck-up on a job though. It wasn't torture. It wasn't accidental deaths. It was losing an entire life in the blink of an eye and then having nothing left but what everyone else was willing to tell you.)
Guess I can't fault you for that.
(It would be hypocritical if he did.)
But I can't encourage it. (He had wanted Soap to be better than him after all. Part of that was treating himself with some more grace.)
When you decide you can't pull that off anymore, I'll be here.
(What more can he offer?)
...Do you have any questions?
(About his life. His job. Anything. No one had really stopped to ask about all that yet.)
[ Having Simon for the inevitable breakdown sounds like a big ask. Problem is, he's not even asking. Simon's just decided that's where he's going to be...
Johnny's sure starting to hope he doesn't get used to this. If he does and Ghost leaves, he's not sure how he'll deal. He would deal, he'd have to, but he doesn't fucking want to try. Then again, the ship has sailed on this small hope. He's already used to it. He already doesn't know what he'd do without him. It's wrong and cruel to take advantage of someone like this but dammit. He needs the comfort right now.
And besides, if he does miraculously remember, none of it will be a problem. Ghost will get back the man he cares so much for, Soap will finally remember him and everyone else in his life, and it'll be okay. So, why does he feel so guilty?
Maybe it's the brain damage. Maybe it's fucking with his emotions. That's always possible. God forbid, his conscience is trying to say something.
His fingers toy with the sheets, not quite wanting to give in and reach out again like a child who's afraid of the dark. Object permanence is turning into a real annoying issue, and he kind of wants to hang on to the other man just to make sure Simon's still there. But he also wants to not need that, so he breathes through it. ]
Oh, I got a million of 'em.
[ A million is too small a number for the questions he's got. When did they meet? How long have they been an item? How the hell did he get out of that assignment alive? Was anyone else on their team KIA or injured? Was it even a success? Is his discharge already signed and in the post? What's going to happen to them? Is there even a them anymore? ... Shit, did he miss the fucking World Cup?
But out of all the questions, big and small, only a few feel urgent. Of those, he thinks most would have been answered by now if they were less than happy answers. At least, context clues are telling Soap that he was the only one hurt on the op, so it's less of a worry.
Or... maybe that's just his rationale for having only a single question. Extremely selfish, borderline crazy, but he has to know. Besides, he thinks as he goes still and quiet, Simon probably gets it. ]
(Outside of the 141, Ghost didn't have much of a life. No one who lived like them could ever manage. To this day he still had no clue how Laswell even managed to maintain her own marriage. On paper, this would just be another mission for Ghost. Take care of a fallen comrade that, as far as Ghost was concerned, was his responsibility anyway. Both because he was Soap's LT and because he could have, should have done more to prevent this from happening in the first place.
Ever since getting Soap under him, he kept a close eye on the man. He trusted him, but there was more to it. He had his back. He cared. This wasn't someone he would have ever wanted to ditch just because the logistics of a mission said it would be more advantageous. It was idiotic, he knew. It was close to insubordination how he felt.
But that was neither here nor there now. Now, his concern was solid and there wasn't much use in trying to budge him on it. He crosses his arms over his chest to resist his own urge to reach back out to Soap.)
Killed. (Easy question.) Though not slow enough for my liking.
(If only he had had the time.)
We were dealing with a lot of betrayal. You and I got out of a rough situation a while back together because of it. We were following up on the situation and he shot you.
(A heavy pause. Ghost looks down at Soap's hands then, because suddenly, looking at his face was too much, even if Soap couldn't look back.)
I failed to keep you safe. I wasn't watching close enough. I could have stopped him if I was.
[ Initially, Soap huffs a laugh over that million hours line and doesn't believe it for a second. It's nice to hear, at least, but Johnny knows how demanding their job is even if doesn't remember his whole stint. And besides that, he's still thinking Ghost will leave eventually, past or no.
But... still. It's nice to hear.
Even nicer to hear is the fate of his shooter, and something in Johnny unfurls. He hadn't even known that tension was there until it was gone. Had he been afraid? Maybe, but it's all but dissolved now. The explanation confuses him a little considering he lacks all of the context. What he does understand is how much he and Simon have been through together, how much they trusted each other, how much of a mess that entire situation must have been.
Not to mention, if their positions were reversed, Soap's sure it would have all practically frustrated him to tears. Not for the first time, he wonders what Simon's going through and how he's managing to be so together. The shooter being dead probably helps him feel better, too, but maybe it just speaks to Johnny's own weaknesses.
Then again, they do appear to share one emotion regarding all this mess, one that's so entirely misplaced here. Soap frowns and stays quiet like he's turning the confession over in his mind a few times. But any angle he looks at it, the numbers just don't add up...
He finds it easier to reach out when it's not his own needs on the line. And, yeah, there's a deep fear that Simon won't take his hand, won't speak through the darkness again, but he can break through that fear if the touch brings Ghost a quarter as much comfort as it brings him. And whether his hand is taken or not, there's still a short pause before he speaks with such conviction that what he says can only be true. ]
This may not sound like much coming from the guy who doesn't remember the scenario... but it's not your fault, Simon.
[ They can't always be expected to watch each other's backs. They're SAS. They watch their own backs. And besides that, considering what he's gathered so far about this little relationship they share, there isn't a cell in his body that believes Ghost would have ever slacked if it came to Johnny's life.
But sure, maybe Simon having some premonition abilities would have changed things, except that's not what happened and there's no point in dwelling on it. He really can't stand the idea that this has been going through Simon's head this whole time, anyway.
Christ, what if he had died-- Right. No. No point in dwelling. ]
(It's true, and he knew it was true. If their positions were reversed, he would be saying the same damn thing to Johnny with just as much conviction. It was impossible to be everywhere at once and have your eyes on every man around you at once. Ghost was good, but no one was that good.
His eyes move to Soap's offered hand and after a moment of pointless resistance, he reaches out and finally, finally slides their hands back together. He releases a quiet sigh, bowing his head forward.)
I know. (He stares at their hands, his thumb carefully smoothing over Soap's knuckles.) Logically, I'm aware of that.
(A clarification.)
Sure as fuck doesn't change a damn thing though.
(The regrets. The burden of the fact that he felt like he could have done better. He slouches forward and winds up bent over the side of Soap's bed, folding an arm on the bed and just slumping against it. This results in his head somewhat resting against Johnny's leg, their hands still curled together.)
I was the one who went to you. Felt your pulse. Thought you had died.
(Saw all that damn blood pooling out, only growing bigger as the seconds ticked. He shuts his eyes and presses his face against Soap's leg. Goddamn he felt weak.)
Might not seem it, Johnny, but taking care of you is gonna help me as much as it will help you. Can't say I'm entirely offering this out of selflessness.
[ ... Oh, Simon. Whatever relief Johnny felt when his hand had been taken was now largely smothered with grief. He knows how distant the worlds between logic and emotion are, was currently going through a similar state himself, and no amount of logical understanding could really uproot something like this.
But would it still help Simon if Johnny never remembers, never really becomes that same man again? 'If there's nothing to work on, then fine, we build some new memories.' Right, done went and bagged himself a bloody romantic over here. But saying it doesn't mean it'll be easy or that it'll even work. Could just be drawing out the inevitable heartbreak.
And yet, how could he even think something like that when one of his burning questions just got an answer. How he got out of the situation, how he survived getting shot in the head, how they managed to recover him so quickly- It was Simon. Of course, it was always Simon. Who else could it have been? And to have gone through such a horrible moment only to lead to this...
It probably makes all of this easier to think about when he imagines this affection and remorse being for someone else, someone who got shot in the head and died before Ghost could even reach him. But he's here now, and he isn't feeling very selfless either.
So, he squeezes his hand with both of his own like he never plans to let go. ]
Then, stay. I really really want you to stay... We can figure the rest out together, aye?
[ And because they're both already vulnerable enough and yet he never quite learned how to shut up, his voice lowers again. ]
I don't want things to change between us. So... just stay.
(It's a small thread of hope to cling to, but that thread was connected to Soap so it was worth the attempt. He didn't know how to explain that he had been clingy ever since it happened, that he was probably crossing every kind of professional and personal boundary out there, but no one, including Soap, seemed interested in stopping him.
He looks up when Soap says he wants nothing to change between them. His brows furrow together in mild confusion. He tips his head and it winds up resting on Soap's thigh. Didn't want things to change? Did he mean...? Was Simon really being that obvious with it all? Was Soap thinking...
He picks his head up slowly, his grip tightening on Soap subconsciously.)
Johnny...(His voice is thick with something then. Grief, maybe, embarrassment or-.
No. None of that mattered.)
Of course, nothing changes. I didn't mean to...(Soap didn't even have his memories. Now of all times wasn't the place for confessions.)
You'll get no pressure from me, Johnny. We go at this at your own pace. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.
[ Bleeding Jesus, the way Simon says his name. His heart wants to break just to hear it. But whatever pain is left, Johnny plans to fix it. He doesn't know how or if he can, but he owes it to the man to try.
Besides, focusing on helping Simon through his pain allows Soap to ignore his own. No, he's not exactly selfless at all. Doesn't change how his heart wants to split in two just knowing what Ghost has lost.
The question is... fair. Simon still might as well be a complete stranger, as untrue as that feels. Johnny knows that part of this is him clinging on to the only comfort that might as well be left in the universe and refusing to let go. Logically speaking, this is crazy.
But he still wants to get to know Simon, still wants to know what made them risk it all just to be together. Not just their careers but whatever's left of either of their sanities. Forever isn't really an option in their lives and this feels like way more than some fling. So, his answer is easy. ]
No. No, I don't think anything you do could be too much. You're making me feel the opposite of uncomfortable. Which- [ One hand lets go, gestures towards his face. ] -says a lot right now.
[ Maybe it's some suppressed memories or something, or the visions of that skull mask, but Johnny feels like he's known this man for ages. With a brain injury, that feeling is most likely all in his broken head, and he knows that. Doesn't change a thing, though. ]
Thank you, Simon.
[ For saving him. For being here. Etc. ]
Edited (more phone tag shenanigans) 2023-11-21 08:03 (UTC)
lmk if this is fine! i kinda handwaved some stuff obv i can edit and change it if it's too much
(Something in Ghost relaxes. The line of his shoulders loosens and his pressure against the bed becomes less heavy. His gaze moves to Soap's face and, yeah, it is saying something. In some weird, fucked up way, he wondered if Soap would be taking the blindness harder with his memories or without. The gravity of the situation was settling itself into the pit of his stomach.
Right now, it was simple enough. Move gears into the next part of the recovery process.
But there was an entire person lost. Someone who had come to know Ghost, even if it wasn't as much as Johnny currently believed, but Ghost just winds up caring more about what it all meant for Soap. How it would be for him once he started to actually move around, started to figure out how to navigate the world blind. He what kind of memories Soap did have - if they were visual or not. He read somewhere once that some people couldn't imagine anything inside their minds.
Soap thanks him and it feels undeserved. There was more he could have and should have done. Ghost shifts forward and winds up resting his clothed mouth against the back of the one hand still in his own. It's the closest thing to a kiss the two of them have ever shared and maybe it was too much, but there weren't enough words in the world and he wasn't an eloquent enough person to explain what it all meant.
It probably isn't too surprising that he winds up falling asleep against Soap like that not too long after. The nurse who comes to check on them certainly doesn't seem surprised. Everything seems to move quickly after that. There is physical therapy to get Soap used to walking around again after being in the coma, and then acclimating to blindness. Ghost is there whenever he can be, even though once in a while he has to go off to help train or go on a quick mission.
It's all tying up loose ends. Paperwork, a few boring meetings. Figuring out a good place for them to head to for the proper recovery time. Ghost gripes about having to stay in Glasgow but there's zero heat behind his words. Especially since he's been more or less glued to Soap's side since everything has gone down, and if he isn't at his side, he's watching like a hawk from afar.
Before long, it's time to ship out for the indefinite future. Ghost winds up in the doorway to Soap's room, glancing around the quarters for one last time.)
[ That kiss. It makes him melt. And suddenly, like the light of dawn, Soap feels without a doubt that everything will be okay. Whatever happens, they'll get through it. He'll get through it. With Simon there, everything feels so much easier.
His mind is thinking something different the next morning, reality crashing through the haze when he still can't see. He kind of wants to cry, kind of wants to freak out, but he keeps himself together and tells himself it's for Ghost's sake. Not just that morning but every day thereafter.
Some days are better than others. The days Simon has to leave are the worst, but he tries not to let that on. He doesn't want to cling, hates himself for clinging anyway, and it's just a spiral of bullshit in his mind until that Brit's voice is back in the room. Around the one week mark, he starts to wonder if this is what Stockholm Syndrome is like? Or is this that Nightingale thing? He's not sure, but he hesitates to think that a part of himself really does remember. That's banking too much hope into something, and while Soap has never really been a pessimist, he's always been realistic. And the reality is that he still doesn't remember shit.
Or so he believes, at least. There hasn't been any burst of light, chorus of angels, and stark visions of some embarrassing moment he wished stayed forgotten. But there had been other things. Things that maybe Ghost or some of the others have noticed, maybe not. Just knowing a couple of names he shouldn't, knowing the layouts of places he shouldn't, knowing tiny things about Simon that he shouldn't. All small things, none of which Johnny takes into account as progress, most of which Johnny doesn't notice at all.
Then there's the PT, which sucks. His body feels strong enough for a guy that woke from a coma, but it's the bit about telling his body what to do that's the problem. It's so fucking frustrating he could scream, but he doesn't. Just works the problem. Learning how to navigate the world in darkness sucks, too, and he hates the fucking stick. Ghost, bless him, seems less ruffled about it all and kind of becomes Johnny's rock. There are no more kisses or anything, cuddles kept to a minimum, and he tells himself it's because recovery is hard enough to navigate, that Simon doesn't want to pressure anything on the amnesiac, and that mantra mostly works.
He likes the banter most, anyway. There's no heat in Ghost's voice when he gets grumbly about Glasgow, leaving Soap ample room to start shit talking Queen and country. Or, uh, King. They keep having to remind him of that one, but he somehow finds it morbidly hilarious every time so it's okay.
Anyway, once Ghost comes by, Johnny finds that he's ready. Well. Maybe not mentally or emotionally, but his things are packed in a duffle. That'll have to be good enough.
Turns out, that discharge was in the post, after all. ]
Ready, LT.
[ Lifting weight is still a weird thing for him, but he slings the bag across his shoulder, anyway. Out of all the things, he gets a bit growly about that one the most when people try to help, so it's on his back before Ghost can even try. He walks over to him, not needing the damned stick to navigate his own room at least. ]
And you? Ready for all the joys Scotland has to offer?
(In Ghost's opinion, Soap handles it better than Ghost probably would have. Ghost could get violently impatient when he felt restricted. He was proud of Soap and of how hard he kept at it. Those small flickers of recognition are picked up immediately by Ghost. He doesn't point them out. Part of him feels like this is one of those things you need to let become gently uncovered. Like an archelogical dig where you didn't want to run the risk of accidentally ruining the artifacts below. Proceed with equal parts caution and anticipation.
Things are a bit calmer. No, no more kisses, because Ghost would never delude himself into thinking that was okay. But he's more open with his touch. And what of it? His hand resting against Soap's lower back to guide him around a corner was far more a gesture of intimacy than it was the idea of helping Soap walk around. After a particularly long day, so what if he sat so close to Soap that their thighs were pressed together? So what if he squeezed Soap's hand or his thigh every now and then as a silent gesture of assurance.
He told himself he was just being a good lieutenant. Gaz and Price looked at him like he was an absolute jackass for even pretending that was what all of this was about.)
Good man.
(Ghost is dressed down as much as Ghost ever could. Black pants, black sweater, cloth mask in place and hoodie drawn. He's wearing a pair of skeletal gloves just in case the rest wasn't Hot Topic themed enough and although the whole point of going into civilian housing was to keep it lowkey, Ghost was too used to keeping his face out of any public space.
He nearly offers help, but bites his tongue last minute, instead just shifting his own bag between his shoulders. Soap wasn't a princess and so Ghost didn't plan to treat him like one. Well, not with that anyway.
He scoffs.)
The only bloody joy that the damned Scots have given me is you and even that's pushing it seeing as I can barely understand you most of the time.
(Okay, no, he had gotten way better, but Soap doesn't need to know that. As they leave the room, Ghost glances at the stick and then thinks of a simpler way to help Soap navigate out of the base without as much fanfare made about it. It's obvious in hindsight and Ghost wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of it before. Probably because he knew Soap had to get used to the stick at some point, but shit...
He reaches out and hooks his fingers through Soap's. Loose, just in case Soap didn't want to put up with it, and he thinks maybe this is okay. They have held hands a few more times since Soap has woken up, though never in public like this, but maybe Soap will realize what he's trying to do. Or, really, better yet, he might not notice and might be less agitated for it.)
I expect you'll make it worth my time. (Like many things exchanged between them, it winds up sounding stupidly flirty, like a blatant come-on, which you'd think Ghost would realize by now how he sounds, but he's just too used to talking to Soap like this at this point.)
[ It's true enough that they don't really touch in public, and that, at least, has been something Soap didn't question once. He would have been way more shocked if they had been the PDA type. Never mind their chosen profession and how well that would have gone over with Price, but Ghost just seems like the private type when it comes to affectionate sorts of things. In truth, so is Johnny.
But every now and then, Simon will say the sweetest things and make Soap grin like everything really is fine. Better than fine, actually. ]
Oh, haud yer wheesht, ya ole numpty-
[ Then his sentence runs itself short when his hand is suddenly taken. It's not like they don't do that sort of thing on occasion. Just, again, they don't do it so much in public, which is where they're about to be very shortly. So, color Soap surprised and maybe just the tiniest bit touched by such a small thing.
It's only after he takes Simon's hand in a firmer grip that he realizes it may just be for practicality's sake, at least in part. Keeps him from having to use the bloody stick, anyway, though he knows he shouldn't rely on someone else's eyes. And if it were anyone else, he likely wouldn't.
So, yeah, he catches on. But, no, he's not agitated. To him, the practical part just feels like a cover. He sees Simon as this big softy, even if Soap would put money that he's killed a man with a brick at least once. So his blank surprise turns into a soft smile pretty fast. ]
Aye, ye flirt. I'll make sure you come around to terrible old Scotland.
[ And it all brings a bit of another thought to mind, too. Once they're out of here, away from public eyes, just how much will things change? He won't lie, he's kind of excited at the prospect of having Simon all to himself. Maybe they can properly cuddle up or something, at least share a bed. (And it's a testament to how bad he's got it when the best part about sharing a bed that he can think of is early morning snuggles. Really. It's that bad.)
If nothing else, maybe they can at least talk about all this at some point. Talk about them. Enough time has passed, Soap likes to think.
He's barely taken two steps when he's brought out of his musings, his fingers having laced through Simon's and paused because the texture-... He sputters a sudden laugh. ]
Is that a skeleton print on your gloves? God love ya, Ghost.
English, MacTavish. Or is that the scattered results of the coma lingering? You know, I honestly wouldn't be surprised.
(One thing Ghost had never bothered with was kid gloves. He didn't care about making jokes at Soap's expense over this whole situation. Granted, it was really just an extension of teasing him in another ugly situation. This situation just so happened to live in Soap's mind rather than occupy the space around them. Same difference, Ghost figured, and maybe more important than the situation at Las Almas to deal with. He didn't want to act hesitant or delicate about Soap. Soap deserved better than that.
Plus that accent was a damn delight and if Ghost didn't respond to it with the mature eloquence of a eight-year-old boy with the biggest crush in the universe, then he might die on the spot. Who said tugging metaphorical pigtails didn't get you anywhere?
Maybe it was too much - grabbing Soap's hand in public like this. He can read surprise on Soap easily and he almost, almost takes his hand back instantly. Instead, he trusts Soap to make it clear if he crossed a line whether verbally or physically.
It definitely is a partial excuse to hold Soap's hand, but who's about to admit to that? Not Ghost.)
Me? Flirting with you? Think of the scandal, Johnny. (Sarcasm at its finest.)
I won't hold you to your word on that. Resenting Scotland has become a fond foundation in our relationship. I need to at least keep up the appearance.
(See, Ghost, talking like this is exactly why it seems like ya'll are in a relationship. The worst part is probably that Ghost doesn't notice anything. That this just seemed like the natural progression of things. Even Price hadn't seemed the slightest bit surprised by Ghost insisting on going with Soap.
Ghost looks a bit startled at Soap's laugh, a look tragically missed by Soap, his eyes snapping to Soap. Good lord it was nice to hear his laugh. Ghost nearly folds on the spot, but instead, he just adjusts his grip on Soap's hand and clears his throat.)
Aye, it is. I need to maintain a consistent aesthetic, Johnny. Matches the mask. (A casual confirmation that his mask does indeed carry a skull print.)
[ Johnny rolls his eyes to the coma comment with a smile. He likes that Ghost doesn't tip-toe around the issue and especially likes that he makes light of it. Almost everyone else doesn't. The situation was serious, he understands, but it's hard to live in that entirely. And he never liked someone treating him all delicate-like. Besides, Simon understands his morbid level of humor. Practically why they get along so well.
Anyway, he laughs at the scandal comment, too. Them? Flirting? Perish the thought. ]
Right, can't let on how much you love my smarmy li'l accent. Conversation might start gettin' stale.
[ Heaven forbid, but he's pretty sure that's impossible. At least, Johnny can't picture a world where talking to Ghost isn't the highlight of his damn day.
As to that throat clearing, he almost thinks Simon may be embarrassed about his teasing, but that doesn't quite sound right. Well, whether he is or isn't, Soap's absolutely going to dig his heels in. Because, yes, he caught that about the mask and laughs again. ]
Right, 'course. Gotta match. If it helps, LT, I think you look lovely today.
[ If there's anyone around, he maybe knows about it but doesn't care. He's clearly teasing anyway. ]
Edited (WAIT i pressed post too soon jsldkfj, have this) 2023-11-22 23:51 (UTC)
(He peers down at Johnny and not for the first time, he feels that familiar tightening twist in the pit of his chest. Even without memories, Johnny was still so Johnny.)
Wouldn't want you to get an ego.
(If Soap really knew how into his voice he was, it would be game over. Ghost wasn't usually a people person and he still wasn't, but Soap had become his exception. More than a comrade and better than any successful mission.)
Oh, Johnny. (He's smirking beneath his mask.)
Buttering me up and we're not even alone yet. Tempting fate today, are we?
(It didn't even matter if Soap couldn't actually see him. He's almost positive Soap would have said it even if he could see - probably insist upon it.)
You're lookin' like a piece yourself.
(He tugs Soap a bit closer, just because he can, and knocks their arms together. So, no, it wasn't just for the sake of guiding Soap. He moves forward with Soap, honestly looking forward to getting away from the base for a while. It doesn't take long to get boarded. It's the only time he really insists on getting Soap's bag for him, but mostly because he's already shoving his own up above.)
Let me get that. (Tugging at Johnny's back.) Get yourself strapped in.
[ Who would get an ego? Little old him? Yeah, that ship has sailed and they both know it. Sure, he doesn't know the extent, but he knows that Ghost's teasing means he does like the accent. Or, well, that's Soap's rationale for continuing to lay it on thick, anyway.
But as to tempting fate: ] You know it, LT. It's my favorite hobby.
[ Isn't that the truth. And though he chuckles at the compliment and easily let's himself get pulled in closer, he doesn't quite believe that he's looking all that fabulous. Johnny knows it's dumb to not trust the one guy out of them that can actually see with something visual, but he hasn't really felt all that good looking in a while. Partly because recovery has left him to not care as much, partly because of where he had gotten shot. Though, he has trailed his fingers (carefully) over the stitches just to get an idea of his new image.
Regardless, it's nice to hear, even if he thinks Ghost is just giving as good as he gets. ]
And I always look like a piece, but thank you.
[ Confidence will get him everywhere. Besides, he puts so much on Simon, he doesn't want to add the mental shit, too. This is definitely part of the mental shit. It's amazing to be self-aware.
He gives a dignified (in his opinion) squawk of protest when Simon tries to take his bag from him, and there's that knee jerk urge to turn into a child and start with the 'I can do it myself!' but he relents instead. Soap lets him take the bag without too much grumbling beneath his breath, mostly in good nature, before he goes ahead and climbs into the vehicle.
Weirdly enough, it's one of those things that he didn't think would translate into a smooth motion while blind but did. Like he's still trying to figure out how to properly navigate a dinner plate, but he hasn't had any issues with getting dressed, tackling staircases, or cleaning a Glock. In fact, he's extremely confident he could still drive but hasn't figured out a good enough argument to allow Simon to let him try yet. Point is, his training in the service has done wonders with transitioning him to this kind of life. Not that it's ideal.
Anyway, he straps himself in as told and laments not being able to see where they're going. He misses the countryside. And when Simon gets in: ] Have you been up to Scotland before? [ How had he never asked? ]
(Soap had seemed to get his rocks off plenty by crawling around under Ghost's skin. Then again, Ghost had let him from the get-go for some godforsaken reason. He refuses to acknowledge that it probably had to do with a simple but intense immediate attraction that swiftly turned into something deeper.)
Unfortunately, that's true. I think it's where you get most of your attitude from.
(Johnny did look worse for wear these days, but he didn't look bad. At least not to Ghost who had never been into clean-cut guys anyway. He himself had far too many scars to even spare a judging glance at Soap's newest addition. It doesn't even occur to him that Johnny could be struggling with his esteem on that front.
He scoffs at that squawk, jostling Johnny a bit for it, but he's glad the bastard lets it go. He's sliding in next to Soap soon enough, close enough to bump thighs. Always practically on top of him.
It probably would take some time for the driving thing.)
No. (He buckles himself in, leaning back and settling in for the ride.) Never had cause to go until now.
[ There goes Ghost again, saying his sweet things. Johnny smiled in his seat, soaking in that off-handed compliment. Not for the first time, he wondered what things had been like before, how Ghost must have looked at him, if he stared on occasion, what look was in his eyes.
That's a pit Soap tends to avoid, though, knowing he's not going to see Simon again and pretty sure he'll never really remember what he looked like. It used to not bother him, but the feeling tends to get worse just about every day. So, Johnny ignores it, as one does. He'd rather focus on the little compliment. And the brush of his thigh.
Johnny loves the contact Simon gives him. Not just for affection and comfort, but to ground him. With the blindness, he feels like he always needs to be grounded, and listening to the sounds of the world only goes so far. Sometimes it almost feels like a sensory deprivation chamber, like he's the only thing left in the world, like he really did die back there, but then Simon's hand reaches out and everything's good again. Soap refrains from just leaning over and flopping against him for now. Not while he's driving, anyway. ]
Really? Surprised I haven't dragged you up there kicking and screaming yet.
[ He honestly is surprised. It sounds like a lot of fun, never mind Simon just being home with him in general. But maybe Soap followed Simon on their time off. Or maybe they didn't have time off. It sounds like the bloke they were hunting, whatever bastard that shot him, had kept them busy. Johnny only knew enough to know that the situation had been complicated and difficult... But he does wonder how long he and Simon have been doing this. ]
You'll love it, LT. [ A beat. ] Even if you hate it, I'll definitely love it.
(Johnny would have known more about that than Ghost. Or maybe Gaz, honestly. Ghost remained oblivious to the ways he treated Johnny so differently, the ways that he always was looking, always reaching out in some way whether it was physically or verbally. Lately, it was always both.
It wasn't just Johnny who had lost something in all of this. Though Ghost was steady and calm with Johnny, he had some ugly nightmares that haunted him each night. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to get away with that once they were in close quarters, but he figured he could just do his best to stave off sleep and figure something out. They had given him some medication to sleep with, but he didn't think that was all that better of an option.
There were a lot of things he knew he'd have to adjust to being in close quarters with Johnny. He was digging his own grave here and he knew it. He firmly had told himself he would only do this if he thought he could keep himself restrained and stay appropriate.
He snorts quietly.)
I've no doubt it was on your mind plenty before. We haven't had too many chances for a proper vacation.
(Not since everything had blown up in their faces.
He smirks under his mask.)
And if I don't? Will you make it up to me, Johnny?
[ Johnny wasn't naïve enough to hope that their close quarters situation was going to be as close as he'd like them to be. After all, they haven't even talked about them yet, though he'd already gotten the impression they rarely did before. Point is, while his focus is on not being disappointed over the most definite lack of activities on their first night (and probably week) together, he'd still notice if Simon wasn't sleeping.
Not that he has much room to talk. Soap can fall asleep, sure, but fuzzy nightmares wake him up too frequently for it to really be called sleep. The frustration of never being quite sure what the dreams were about didn't help either. So maybe they'd end up being a couple of cagey night owls together, but Ghost was going to have a hard time hiding that sort of thing from him.
Maybe harder than Johnny originally assumed, if that question was anything to go by. Perhaps he was being a little too hasty in his assumptions regarding the nature of their close quarters. Adrenaline junky he is, Johnny gets his own smirk on his face and bites his lip a little just thinking about it. Damn, flirting with this man was addicting. ]
You already know that, Simon. Believe I can think of some ways to go about it already.
Trust me. You'll be singing praises by the time I'm done with ya. [ Oh, if only. ]
(It is addicting and it isn't until Johnny responds with that that Ghost realizes that this whole thing might become a problem. They had only ever been able to do this sort of thing back on base or during a mission. Never had time to let the situation breathe. This is about when it occurs to him, rather sharply, that he is about to be completely alone with Johnny for the unforeseeable future.
His grip on the steering wheel tightens and he realizes he had absolutely no intention of stopping whatever might happen. Because he knew something might happen. He was almost positive. He may not be all that experienced when it came to these kinds of situations, but even Ghost realized that they flirted far more regularly than just some guys in the same unit blowing steam or passing time.
He certainly would never have accepted being spoken to like this by Gaz or anyone else. Plus, there was probably something morally off about sleeping with the man you're in love with while he was empty on memories and blind as a bat. Probably.
But he glances at Johnny and sees him biting his lip like that and it hits him like a freight train. Maybe it's wrong...But well...
He reaches a hand out and rests it on the uppermost part of Johnny's thigh, fingers hooked in, dangerously close to his groin. He gives Johnny a firm squeeze. Perhaps a gesture of silent promise. Or something. He doesn't know, but it felt right to do in the moment and it felt good to do. It was only a small fraction of the things he had imagined doing to Johnny.)
Naughty boy, you are. (His hand lingers, too close, too burning, and slowly he slides it away and back onto the steering wheel where his grip becomes white-knuckled.)
[ Entirely unlike every other time Ghost has touched him, this one is surprising. Not in a bad way, certainly not, but Johnny hadn't exactly expected the motion at all. Even as he holds his breath, his grin only grows sharper. The grip he has on whatever is near his hands at the moment is probably just a touch too tight and only noticed when Ghost's own hand begins to slip away.
He wants to grab that hand and keep it there, but he doesn't. Then he thinks to swipe it off the steering wheel or wherever it's at and put it back, but he still doesn't. Maybe it's because a part of him likes Simon being in charge, something that's probably not a big secret between them given their ranks. Or maybe it's because he's just as nervous as he is excited. After all, he doesn't remember what Simon likes, what he wants. He tells himself that this is just a learning opportunity, a little side adventure that they'll both enjoy until their usual path is found again. But that doesn't change how he doesn't want to remind Ghost of who he isn't anymore.
Thoughts like that are stupid, he admits. Besides, Ghost is still more than apparently into him. So, what is he worrying about again? ]
I'm a man of my word, Simon.
[ And he is, very much so. His grin stays sharp while he purrs through every syllable. Nerves or not, he wouldn't be the man he is if he ever let a little anxiety stop him.
So, being a little menace, his own hand reaches over and very innocently tucks a couple of fingers into the pocket of Ghost's jeans. And just. Stays there. Super innocent. Extremely not distracting in any way. His dumb smirk is no proof of anything. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But there was more than closeness he was seeking in the adjustment. He leans toward Soap, ever so slightly, peering intently at his face. It doesn't take more than a second for him to feel a dreadful sinking in his chest. The bastard couldn't see him. Or if he could, it was barely anything. He waves a free hand silently, but it doesn't take an optician to realize that the eyes aren't following the way they should.
No memories. No sight.
This was...
This wasn't fine. Ghost glances over and realizes he should be calling for a nurse. Maybe something was off with the meds, something was wrong. At the very least, they would probably be able to explain this shit better to Soap than Ghost could.
He's reaching out for the call button just when Soap says that. It catches him off guard and it's so Johnny that he actually snorts.)
Cute? (Now that was rich. The worst part is that was probably exactly how Soap saw it anyway, with or without memories. It's shockingly relieving. Even if Soap didn't remember him, he was still Soap, through and through. Ghost could work with that.)
Dunno about cute. You usually just go with LT. Not very creative, I'm afraid. Maybe you can think of something better now that you're awake.
(He finally grabs the call button.)
I'm gonna need to call in a nurse, Johnny. Think you're ready for that tidal wave?
no subject
He still isn't sure what any of it means, but he's beyond asking. Doesn't want to risk this closeness stopping, especially right now. So not only is he glad that they're closer, but the other snorting like that is a whole other kind of relief. Just going with the conversation, lightening the mood, it helps so much right now in a way that Johnny almost hates that he needs.
Whether it's the lack of sight or the distraction by everything in his mind is unclear, but Soap doesn't even notice the little vision test. He does notice him grabbing for something on the bedside and frowns. ]
'Bout as ready as I'm gonna be.
[ At least he had a moment to wake up and get a grip on himself. At least he's not alone. Speaking of- ]
You gonna leave?
[ It's asked about as nonchalantly as he can manage, but there's this weird fear that if Simon leaves now, he'll be gone for good. Maybe he's just a figment of Johnny's imagination or something. But he realizes it's probably weird to cling on to the first person that seems even remotely familiar or safe, so he doesn't cling. Just... holds his hand and tries to not think about everything else. ]
feel free to play out the nurses/whoever and i'll tap in too !
(His praise is entirely sincere and he's already pushing the button, letting the remote swing back to its original place shortly after.)
Not unless you want me to, Johnny.
(Again, the name. "Soap" just felt too distant, too inaccurate. He wasn't dealing with Soap right now. He was dealing with the rawest parts of the man he had survived Las Almas and then some with. And the only man he would ever bother to hold the hand of like this.)
Haven't left your side much anyway except to do what needs to be done.
(It's...not really a confession he would normally make, but he felt maybe like Johnny might need the reassurance right now. Might need to know that something is stable in his life even when his mind and his vision aren't. Considering both, Ghost had to hand it to him that he was handling it cool as cool could be. Stay frosty indeed.)
Unfortunately for you, you'll need to do a bit more than get shot in the head to get me away. (It's meant to come across as a joke. Instead, it just feels sincere. He likes to think that he managed the joking tone all right though. Maybe. Tone had never been his strong suit, but Johnny at least seemed to appreciate his flat delivery of practically everything he said.)
lmk if this isn't okay! we can take it in parts or smth. feel free to go wherever you like with it!
Simon's presence helps more than he can describe. If he weren't there, well, Soap would be a lot less frosty right now. He wants to say that, or at least get out a stay or thank you, but all of it feels like too much. Too sincere. Too close. Because if this gets too emotional, that frost will absolutely thaw.
So he holds Simon's hand a little tighter, a little more of his strength coming back, and he manages to get out a quiet: ]
Good.
[ And that's when their privacy ends.
As much as he'd like to keep a hold on Ghost's hand, he knows that isn't very likely as the aforementioned tidal wave comes in. But he knows the other man won't leave him, knows it so strongly in a way that maybe he shouldn't, but it gives him comfort so he doesn't question it.
Instead, he focuses on... the moment. Soap feels a few people flock around him and kind of hates it but stays steady. Simon's here. He's steady. A few hands begin working with the machines, checking the lines he's only just noticed, and one voice begins speaking in a gentle tone that's probably meant to distract but doesn't entirely cut it.
After a brief talk of pain and strength, hand squeezing and feet poking, they start in with the questions. Where he grew up (Scotland), what year is it (a wild guess that feels so wrong), what's six times eight (why in the fucking hell are they asking math ques-- forty-eight?), and so on.
Then they want to check his eyes and- Ha. Well. He does open them again. ]
Don't matter. Can't see.
[ Things get pretty quiet at that. Maybe it's the way he delivers the news, maybe they're doing something he can't see, but it doesn't take very long for talking to start up again, extra calm tones this time. How many fingers- (Can't.) Follow the light- (Can't.) And so on.
They talk about changing meds now that he's awake, running tests, that kind of thing. He pretends to be hopeful, but can't really bother feeling it. Pretends to at least be interested in their attempts. But he knows they can't be feeling a whole lot of hope either, because it's only afterwards that they start to describe his injuries and surgeries, like it's all an afterthought.
They confirm his fear about what shot in the head meant. The bullet apparently changed directions thanks to his thick skull, only barely, just a degree or two, but it was enough to miss his frontal lobe. There was still injury to the brain, but not enough to kill him on the spot. Massive blood loss. And they had been worried about his eyes, turns out, but the brain had taken priority, naturally.
He knows they don't know the details of the incident - part of the job - so he doesn't bother to ask how in the hell he got out of there alive. The doctors and nurses, bless them, never call him a miracle or anything either, so there's that. They leave to start putting in their orders for tests and drugs, the tide receding before it inevitably rushes back again.
The second he can, if Simon was forced to let go of his hand, Johnny silently reaches out and knows without a shred of doubt that he'll find him in the darkness. His jaw's set firm, he's... fine... but he reaches out, anyway. ]
totally perfect!
Johnny though...
Ghost wants to go to him the moment the news drops. He folds his arms over his chest instead, looming nearer. The moment the door is shut and Soap is reaching out to him, Ghost is there within seconds. He's back on the edge of the bed and taking his hand. This time he folds their fingers together confidently, curling his other hand around Soap's hand so that he was practically cradling it against his lap.
For a moment, he says nothing at all. What was there to say to such news? He wasn't the apologies sort. Not with the life he led. They both signed up for things like this in their line of duty. The only thing that rotted at the back of his mind was the guilt of not paying closer attention to Soap at the moment it all happened. He would carry that guilt to his grave.
For now, though, his guilt didn't matter. All that mattered was Soap. He stares intently at his face, knowing now that Soap couldn't see him back, and it almost feels wrong. He wasn't a good enough person though to not take advantage of it.
Words of comfort never did anyone any favors. It wasn't their style anyway. So.
Instead, he squeezes Johnny's hand and says:)
If it makes you feel better, you've never really gotten a good look at my face anyway. (He pulls Johnny's hand up and places it right against the rough outline of his cheek, but it's evident immediately he's wearing a balaclava.)
Enjoy the privilege.
no subject
He practically deflates as his hand is cradled, nearly getting too comfortable with all this. That meant too much sincerity, too much emotion, and he couldn't handle that right now. If he started thinking too hard on it now, it'd be a whole royal fucking mess, and that probably wasn't great for his recovery. Or his sanity.
So he breathed, kept steady, and felt far too safe with Simon there. Whatever that meant.
The last thing he expects is for his hand to be pulled up to the other man's face, though. His own expression is probably priceless with surprise, but then he feels the face mask- That's cotton. A balaclava. In a bloody medbay.
A vision shoots through him suddenly, the man wearing another's skull, and he wonders- He wonders.
And that's probably something awed and sincere and grateful and way too emotional in his eyes for all of a millisecond before a laugh manages to claw out of him. ]
Aye, I'm honored, LT.
[ And he takes advantage before he can overthink it. His fingertips trail around just a little, tracing the back of Simon's jaw and the ridge of his brow. ]
Bet the staff here love your outfit, by the way.
[ But they either haven't told him shit about it or he ignored it. Either way, Soap found some weird respect in that.
His fingers continue to trace but don't really move around the face anymore than that, just overlapping the same paths like it was a comfort to do just that. Besides, he already has a good picture in his head. Unsure if that's from the touch, his questionable memory, or imagination, though.
He tries to swallow down any emotions about that, keeps breathing, but he does ask one question in a quiet voice. ]
This okay?
[ As if Ghost wasn't the one to put his hand there, but he's not just asking about the touch. ]
no subject
It is priceless, and were the situation different, he probably would have snorted and teased him about his expression. Instead, he's just silent as Johnny processes the situation. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles beneath his mask, a gesture unseen.)
As you should be. I'm downright spoiling you, Johnny.
(And for what? Guilt, mostly. Other things, maybe. Nothing he wants to think about too much either.
The only problem is he has never had someone touch his face like this and he forgot about the whole potential for exploration. It catches him off guard and he jerks ever so slightly when Soap moves his hand, but he stops himself from leaning away. Instead, he leans into the touch, adjusting to the sensation now that it was there.)
It probably motivates them to do their job right.
(It's a dark joke and one Soap might not even get if he didn't have any memory of Ghost. He looked like the goddamn grim reaper lurking in the halls. He wonders what it was like for Soap to explore his face if he could tell what he might look like beneath it. He could still hear the time Soap asked him to take off his mask.
Now that he was used to it, he found himself oddly soothed by the touch. Not something he had anticipated, but then again, none of this was as expected. He has to swallow down his own swell of emotions. A part of him wants to crush Johnny into a hug.
The question feels more intimate than the touch somehow. Maybe it's because Johnny asks it so quietly, maybe it was because he was wondering how those fingers would feel trailing elsewhere. Either way, he leans in close and eventually rests his forehead against Soap's. Call it a moment of weakness, but now that Soap was actually awake, talking, breathing, moving, Ghost let himself have a moment of genuine relief.)
It's just fine, Johnny. (His throat feels dry and, fuck, even if Soap didn't remember everything...)
Really thought I lost you. As far as I'm concerned, you can do whatever the bloody hell you want.
no subject
For a brief second, he feels terrible that he can't remember. Not for himself but for whatever Ghost must be going through. But then... that pain does turn quickly for his own sake, too. Because he doesn't remember. This closeness and comfort, all of the things these gestures mean, isn't for him. He doesn't even know this man. And he wants to. He can't recall ever wanting anything more, and that's almost as terrifying as the blindness and memory loss itself.
His hand trails to the back of Ghost's neck, maybe his fingertips dipping under the balaclava briefly back there, but it's only for the chance to feel warm skin than anything cheeky. His eyes squeeze shut, reminding himself to stay steady, stay frosty, but it's almost too easy to forget that when it feels like someone else is holding him together for once. ]
Simon...
[ The name comes out in one whispered breath like he's said it this way a million times before. At this point, he's almost convinced he has. And even to his own ears, it sounds like he's on the cusp of just finally losing it, finally letting go, finally giving himself permission to unravel and let Ghost catch him.
But-... He swallows hard and reminds himself that this isn't for him. Not that it helps much. He's selfish and a bit greedy and not always a very kind man. But he does remind himself, anyway.
Take more than one bullet to get me away, too. He's pretty sure of that already, at least. ]
Think I'd... just like this for awhile...
no subject
Then that's what you'll get. (His voice comes out a bit rougher than usual. Between hearing "Simon" come from Johnny and the pressure of his hand at the back of his neck, he can admit to himself that he needed this too. Maybe he was being a bit selfish too.
He lingers quietly, becoming more comfortable with being so close to Soap. He smelled sterile from the hospital, but there was something relaxing about his presence all the same. Ghost keeps his eyes shut. It seemed only fair, in some roundabout way. He focuses on the heart monitor. One of his hands winds up against the inside of Soap's arm, an innocuous enough gesture, but his finger is resting on Soap's fluttering pulse as a way to ground him.
After some point, he exhales. He leans back just ever so slightly and finally opens his eyes again.)
A slice of cake and a piece of pie join the military. (Ghost, no.) But they wind up abandoning their fellow soldiers. Now, they are wanted for dessertion.
(It's probably one of his worse attempts at comforting Soap, but goddamn if he didn't think they both kind of needed it. It's his own silent way of telling Soap it was okay to not be okay right now. Ghost had his back.
Plus, it's a great joke.)
no subject
He's almost not ready for when Simon pulls away, though, even as slight as that. He half wants to drag him back in for... what? Just because? Seems like a good enough reason to him. The warmth, the smell, the touch, it's almost all still there. And yet, just a little tug... But he doesn't, of course - Not for you, John.
Then the words-... They make no sense, at first. There's confusion as he tries to parse it, like there's some secret meaning there he needs to remember, but then he suddenly... gets it... There's a blank look on his face while a tiny voice in the back of his mind groans, Dessertion? This is the Brit you fell for, MacTavish? Really?
He pays that voice little mind. Well, aside from the groan, which he repeats in earnest. But there are apparently healing properties in punny jokes. He no longer feels like he's hanging on by mere thread anymore. He feels solid for the first time since he woke.
Ghost has got him. It'll be okay. It has to be.
He somehow manages to refrain from asking which one of them is the cake and which is the pie, though. ]
Regular comedian, eh? The soldier stuff just a side gig?
[ Despite himself (like really despite himself), Soap feels a smile tugging on his lips. He hopes there's more of those dumb jokes. He'll groan at them all. ]
feel free to time skip a bit if you like!
Aye. I was scouted for Saturday Night Live, if you can believe it. (Heavy pause.) But then I ghosted.
(See now, that's on-the-spot cleverness and he could pat himself on the shoulder if he wasn't so preoccupied with trying to balance out their trauma. The smile is worth a million pounds and the rush of affection nearly shatters him. He can't help himself.
He moves forward and locks his arms around Soap in a nearly crushing hug, bringing their bodies together in a way he had only allowed when he thought Soap was dying. One hand slides against the back of Soap's neck, fingers sliding into a mohawk that probably needed a trim, and the other arm goes around Soap, practically yanking him against him.
Ghost doesn't cry. He's fairly sure he lost the ability to ages ago, but his body gives a subtle shudder.)
I'm sorry. (A soft confession of his guilt, but a genuine statement.)
I'll-
(He begins another confession of sorts, but there is a knock at the door just then. It creaks open and Ghost reluctantly pulls away, but he doesn't do it in a rushed, panicked sort of way. He didn't give much of a fuck if anyone walked in on them embracing. It's only out of the bare minimum awareness that he probably had to lean back. Unsurprisingly, it's Gaz and Price who look equal parts bemused and relieved.
Ghost resists the urge to sigh. Instead, he leans back, away from Soap, but doesn't leave his side or move to get off the bed. By the looks on Price and Gaz's faces, they already knew about the blindness, the memory loss. They introduce themselves steadily, with no pressure in their voices, and sentiments of simple relief that Soap was back with them.
Like Ghost, they didn't take it personally. Though also like Ghost, he could see some barely restrained pain in being forgotten. A pain that would likely spread once they all adjusted to having Soap back. It was still Soap though. The last half hour or so proved as much to Ghost. Even without his memories, Johnny was still there.
They would figure the rest out on the fly.)
lol I hope that's OK! Feel free to ignore the Price thing if you want
Ah, Jesus, Mary, Joseph--
[ But then, the hug, and Soap doesn't know what to do with it for a long moment. His arms move automatically, of course, and largely without his input. They wrap around Simon before he's even sure what's going on.
The last thing he expects is an apology. And while he doesn't ask, the questions churn themselves up, anyway. Why was Ghost sorry? Not about the hug, surely. Was this somehow his fault? What had happened to lead them here?
Then other words are coming, words that Soap plans to cling to, when their privacy is shattered again. Simon pulls away almost to the point that Johnny wants to panic, but he doesn't leave. Of course, he doesn't. He wouldn't. You're being childish, John.
The visitors, however, were not doctors. The names were unfamiliar, and he truly hated to admit that, awkward and painful as it is, but the pair took the news in good enough stride. Plus, he finally figured out who his Captain was.
And though he wanted to take Ghost's hand again, he didn't dare in present company. There's something here, and Soap's not yet dumb enough to assume that everyone fucking knows it. Or maybe not yet smart enough to realize how transparent they both are. Either way, he stays good and mostly keeps his hands to himself.
He does get a couple more answers, though. ]
"Say a guy wanted just enough clearance to know the finer details of his latest mission, but he had a wicked head injury with memory issues-"
"Negative, Sergeant."
[ Or, rather, no answers aside from not having a promotion since his last recollection. But that was all right, he expected it.
Gaz and Price stayed awhile. Long enough for Soap to feel comfortable with them (again?). After enough time has passed, Price appears to take Ghost aside (updates? orders? checking in like Soap isn't right there?), but Gaz is a good enough conversationalist that Soap nearly does get distracted. That doctor could learn something from him.
But a few moments after that, they say their goodbyes and go on their way. Then it's just the two of them again. By Soap's estimation, he'll probably be dragged off for tests soon. The nurses already came by to adjust his meds while his visitors were here. It's probably a good time for Ghost to leave.
And Johnny hates that, he really does, but he's going to do his best to pretend like he doesn't. He's fine, after all. ]
What time is it?
nah looks good to me! some handwavy plot things here on my end heh
Not worth it anyway. (It's Ghost's apologetic way of agreeing with Price. He was being honest though. Did Soap really need to go through the betrayal all over again? Did he need to live with the same sense of failure that Ghost and the others were carrying? Maybe one day that would be okay, but for now, Ghost was focused on just getting Soap's head screwed on right again. Whether that meant memories or more stability, it didn't matter. Now just wasn't the time for a debriefing.
When Price takes him aside, it's hardly a surprise. Ghost stands stiff, arms over his chest, and gives curt responses. No, Soap really couldn't see anything. No, he didn't even remember Ghost's name or anything about their role on the task force. Nothing about the mission. Nothing about getting shot.
Then came Ghost's immobile declaration that he wanted to be the one to help Soap off-duty while he recovered. The conversation isn't exactly smooth sailing but with Makarov dead, their mission was effectively successfully accomplished and they would be waiting ducks until the next one anyway. Besides, with Soap back and in this state, Ghost wouldn't be of much use anyway. The dumb bastard would be too preoccupied with Soap's recovery.
"Is this going to be a problem?" Price asked, meaning the pair of them, asking the silent question of Will I lose you too if I lose Soap?
To which Ghost very calmly and honestly stated: "We'll just have to see. Shouldn't be if you don't want it to be."
There was too much that Ghost and Soap had sacrificed to get here. Anything less than respecting their wishes and honoring the fact that Soap made it alive at all would be an insult. Price grudgingly sighs, knowing damn well he would be short two good men for a while.
"If anything dire comes up, I'll be around," Ghost promises, clapping his hand on Price's shoulder. He respected his captain and ultimately he knew it was actually Price's decision on what was going to happen next, but he could tell by the look on John's face that he was going to pull some strings.
"I'll see what I can do." Because at the end of the day? It had been Price and Gaz who saw the kind of man Ghost would have become if Soap had actually died. They had both been there when they thought Soap had died. For a second, their world too had been tipped on its axis, and it wasn't something Price felt was good for morale. It wasn't good for anything. So he nods and bids his goodbye to Soap, clapping the man on the shoulder.
Things shuffle about, and finally, it's them. Ghost is standing at Johnny's bedside this time, arms crossed, but there's something terribly soft in the way he's looking at Soap, a look he would have never been caught dead giving was Johnny the seeing sort.)
Late. (He had no clue, really.)
What's going to happen is they are going to run some tests. Probably make sure your noggin isn't too busted. That you can do basic things. (Like feed himself. Walk without stumbling. Feel normal sensations.)
They will probably give you a more complex eye exam. If I'm lucky, they'll slap some glasses on you and I'll get to enjoy a secret fetish I've always had for men in glasses. (It's a dumb joke, not even serious, because really, his fetish for anything at all just involved Soap. He doesn't bother to stop and make it clear if that is serious or not though, because mostly, he only said it to maybe get another smile out of Soap.)
Then we'll get you sorted out of this place. Set you up somewhere while you recover and work on your memory. If there's nothing to work on, then fine, we build some new memories. (Ghost states this all clearly, matter-of-factly, and concisely.)
And if you're open to it...(He hesitates here, a sudden emotion threatening to spill over into his voice. He closes his mouth and counts to ten. When he finally speaks again, it's steady:)
I can help you through the process. Go with you. But only if you feel comfortable with that. You don't need to decide right now.
excellent c:
Ghost does get his wish of a smile, though. At the fetish joke, Soap snorts and rubs a hand over his face with a 'Christ, LT', but the conversation has moved along before he could give a proper comeback. Or overthink it. Simon didn't seem shy in expressing his interest, so they absolutely must have been a thing. Then there's the whole idea of secretly hoping he gets glasses now, too. Not because they would help, though. He doesn't have much faith in that.
But Simon continues beyond the exams and the glasses and even the hospital. Already talking about the other side of these walls, building new memories. It's more than just not giving up. It's a whole plan. A whole damned future. The idea alone kind of wants to punch Johnny in the chest, push the air out of his lungs, leave him having to count his breaths again. But it doesn't. Don't overthink, MacTavish. Not for you.
Then, in such a stupidly easy way, Ghost puts the offer out there like it's nothing. A part of Johnny wants to be kind, wants to take that long pause as hesitation and run with the assumption that Simon doesn't want any of that. Why would he? A guy doesn't sign up for the SAS just to play nurse back home, no matter how much of a thing they may have. Or used to have. Better put, how much of a thing Ghost had with another Soap, the bloke who remembered him and all that.
He wants to ask Simon what he wants to do, wants to tell him that he doesn't have to decide right now either. Johnny knows that even just putting the offer out there is so much, though he may not understand in what particular ways.
But, again, he isn't really a kind man. Or so he believes, anyway. ]
... I think I'd like that. However long you stayed open to it, too, that is.
[ Even though there was a long pause and his expression is serious, he tries to play it off as nonchalantly as he can. Because he's fine. No matter how badly he wants to cling to this practical stranger, all but beg for him not to leave him alone, don't go back to the fight, just stay stay stay- He won't. He's not going to do any of that. He'd be damned if he held anyone back like that.
But he's not going to lie either. ]
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Everything was for Soap. This Soap, the Soap with memories. There was plenty that he didn't know about Soap. Plenty he had wanted to learn but never really knew how to access. Under normal circumstances, he didn't invite himself so directly into Soap's life. And maybe he still shouldn't, but he felt responsible and he knew that part of it was a selfish want to be able to confirm Soap was really still alive whenever he wanted to.
So, yeah, maybe he was down bad. Maybe he was bending the knee and ready to do absolutely goddamn anything for this man. He's not much of a good person either.)
Don't worry about that.
(He's not going to say it, but he would gladly stick around Soap as long as the man allowed it. He has spent enough of his life fighting. Look where it got him.)
Not sure if you have a place outside of here you'd prefer. Guess it doesn't matter if you don't remember, but we can ask Price about that too.
(He falls quiet then, watching Johnny yet again. Softly:)
...How are you doing, Johnny?
(It has kind of been nonstop information since he's woken up.)
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Well, that and Simon. But he smothers the thought as soon as it crosses his mind.
Instead, he thinks about a place he may or may not have. He had a place back home near Glasgow. Whether or not that's still a given is up in the air. He does remember considering selling it since he was never there... but when was that? Did he do it?
That's better to focus on than what Simon asks. His initial reaction is to maybe just ignore the question, focus on the living situation, but that would probably worry the other man more. He knows Johnny heard him. The second, more tempting option is to give another nonchalant answer. Though, it still comes out softer than he meant it. A little unsteady. ]
Solid, LT.
[ Right. Staying frosty... But it's a lie that feels a bit like ash in his mouth, so his shoulders fall as he leans back in the bed. ]
Gotta be solid or I'll just be a mess. So I'm solid. I'm good... Don't really want to be the opposite right now.
[ How healthy of him. His training told him to deal with the emotions, process the events, but it also told him to put it on the backburner until the job was done. This job is still going, as far as he's concerned. He can't go crumbling now.
Another thing training taught him is that if you add enough pressure to an element, you can turn almost anything into an explosive. And he doesn't really want Simon in the blast radius, so... he's solid. It's okay to not be, he knows that, but... it's fine. ]
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He's frowning beneath his mask. His hands itch to reach back out and touch. He had never touched Soap so much and now he felt like he was never going to go back. He couldn't say anything because he handled his own shit the same exact way.
None of them had stellar emotional coping skills. He did anything he could to just get back into service no matter what he had gone through in the past and it's unsurprising that Johnny would push off his own issues. This wasn't just a fuck-up on a job though. It wasn't torture. It wasn't accidental deaths. It was losing an entire life in the blink of an eye and then having nothing left but what everyone else was willing to tell you.)
Guess I can't fault you for that.
(It would be hypocritical if he did.)
But I can't encourage it. (He had wanted Soap to be better than him after all. Part of that was treating himself with some more grace.)
When you decide you can't pull that off anymore, I'll be here.
(What more can he offer?)
...Do you have any questions?
(About his life. His job. Anything. No one had really stopped to ask about all that yet.)
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Johnny's sure starting to hope he doesn't get used to this. If he does and Ghost leaves, he's not sure how he'll deal. He would deal, he'd have to, but he doesn't fucking want to try. Then again, the ship has sailed on this small hope. He's already used to it. He already doesn't know what he'd do without him. It's wrong and cruel to take advantage of someone like this but dammit. He needs the comfort right now.
And besides, if he does miraculously remember, none of it will be a problem. Ghost will get back the man he cares so much for, Soap will finally remember him and everyone else in his life, and it'll be okay. So, why does he feel so guilty?
Maybe it's the brain damage. Maybe it's fucking with his emotions. That's always possible. God forbid, his conscience is trying to say something.
His fingers toy with the sheets, not quite wanting to give in and reach out again like a child who's afraid of the dark. Object permanence is turning into a real annoying issue, and he kind of wants to hang on to the other man just to make sure Simon's still there. But he also wants to not need that, so he breathes through it. ]
Oh, I got a million of 'em.
[ A million is too small a number for the questions he's got. When did they meet? How long have they been an item? How the hell did he get out of that assignment alive? Was anyone else on their team KIA or injured? Was it even a success? Is his discharge already signed and in the post? What's going to happen to them? Is there even a them anymore? ... Shit, did he miss the fucking World Cup?
But out of all the questions, big and small, only a few feel urgent. Of those, he thinks most would have been answered by now if they were less than happy answers. At least, context clues are telling Soap that he was the only one hurt on the op, so it's less of a worry.
Or... maybe that's just his rationale for having only a single question. Extremely selfish, borderline crazy, but he has to know. Besides, he thinks as he goes still and quiet, Simon probably gets it. ]
The bastard that shot me. What happened to him?
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(Outside of the 141, Ghost didn't have much of a life. No one who lived like them could ever manage. To this day he still had no clue how Laswell even managed to maintain her own marriage. On paper, this would just be another mission for Ghost. Take care of a fallen comrade that, as far as Ghost was concerned, was his responsibility anyway. Both because he was Soap's LT and because he could have, should have done more to prevent this from happening in the first place.
Ever since getting Soap under him, he kept a close eye on the man. He trusted him, but there was more to it. He had his back. He cared. This wasn't someone he would have ever wanted to ditch just because the logistics of a mission said it would be more advantageous. It was idiotic, he knew. It was close to insubordination how he felt.
But that was neither here nor there now. Now, his concern was solid and there wasn't much use in trying to budge him on it. He crosses his arms over his chest to resist his own urge to reach back out to Soap.)
Killed. (Easy question.) Though not slow enough for my liking.
(If only he had had the time.)
We were dealing with a lot of betrayal. You and I got out of a rough situation a while back together because of it. We were following up on the situation and he shot you.
(A heavy pause. Ghost looks down at Soap's hands then, because suddenly, looking at his face was too much, even if Soap couldn't look back.)
I failed to keep you safe. I wasn't watching close enough. I could have stopped him if I was.
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But... still. It's nice to hear.
Even nicer to hear is the fate of his shooter, and something in Johnny unfurls. He hadn't even known that tension was there until it was gone. Had he been afraid? Maybe, but it's all but dissolved now. The explanation confuses him a little considering he lacks all of the context. What he does understand is how much he and Simon have been through together, how much they trusted each other, how much of a mess that entire situation must have been.
Not to mention, if their positions were reversed, Soap's sure it would have all practically frustrated him to tears. Not for the first time, he wonders what Simon's going through and how he's managing to be so together. The shooter being dead probably helps him feel better, too, but maybe it just speaks to Johnny's own weaknesses.
Then again, they do appear to share one emotion regarding all this mess, one that's so entirely misplaced here. Soap frowns and stays quiet like he's turning the confession over in his mind a few times. But any angle he looks at it, the numbers just don't add up...
He finds it easier to reach out when it's not his own needs on the line. And, yeah, there's a deep fear that Simon won't take his hand, won't speak through the darkness again, but he can break through that fear if the touch brings Ghost a quarter as much comfort as it brings him. And whether his hand is taken or not, there's still a short pause before he speaks with such conviction that what he says can only be true. ]
This may not sound like much coming from the guy who doesn't remember the scenario... but it's not your fault, Simon.
[ They can't always be expected to watch each other's backs. They're SAS. They watch their own backs. And besides that, considering what he's gathered so far about this little relationship they share, there isn't a cell in his body that believes Ghost would have ever slacked if it came to Johnny's life.
But sure, maybe Simon having some premonition abilities would have changed things, except that's not what happened and there's no point in dwelling on it. He really can't stand the idea that this has been going through Simon's head this whole time, anyway.
Christ, what if he had died-- Right. No. No point in dwelling. ]
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His eyes move to Soap's offered hand and after a moment of pointless resistance, he reaches out and finally, finally slides their hands back together. He releases a quiet sigh, bowing his head forward.)
I know. (He stares at their hands, his thumb carefully smoothing over Soap's knuckles.) Logically, I'm aware of that.
(A clarification.)
Sure as fuck doesn't change a damn thing though.
(The regrets. The burden of the fact that he felt like he could have done better. He slouches forward and winds up bent over the side of Soap's bed, folding an arm on the bed and just slumping against it. This results in his head somewhat resting against Johnny's leg, their hands still curled together.)
I was the one who went to you. Felt your pulse. Thought you had died.
(Saw all that damn blood pooling out, only growing bigger as the seconds ticked. He shuts his eyes and presses his face against Soap's leg. Goddamn he felt weak.)
Might not seem it, Johnny, but taking care of you is gonna help me as much as it will help you. Can't say I'm entirely offering this out of selflessness.
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But would it still help Simon if Johnny never remembers, never really becomes that same man again? 'If there's nothing to work on, then fine, we build some new memories.' Right, done went and bagged himself a bloody romantic over here. But saying it doesn't mean it'll be easy or that it'll even work. Could just be drawing out the inevitable heartbreak.
And yet, how could he even think something like that when one of his burning questions just got an answer. How he got out of the situation, how he survived getting shot in the head, how they managed to recover him so quickly- It was Simon. Of course, it was always Simon. Who else could it have been? And to have gone through such a horrible moment only to lead to this...
It probably makes all of this easier to think about when he imagines this affection and remorse being for someone else, someone who got shot in the head and died before Ghost could even reach him. But he's here now, and he isn't feeling very selfless either.
So, he squeezes his hand with both of his own like he never plans to let go. ]
Then, stay. I really really want you to stay... We can figure the rest out together, aye?
[ And because they're both already vulnerable enough and yet he never quite learned how to shut up, his voice lowers again. ]
I don't want things to change between us. So... just stay.
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(It's a small thread of hope to cling to, but that thread was connected to Soap so it was worth the attempt. He didn't know how to explain that he had been clingy ever since it happened, that he was probably crossing every kind of professional and personal boundary out there, but no one, including Soap, seemed interested in stopping him.
He looks up when Soap says he wants nothing to change between them. His brows furrow together in mild confusion. He tips his head and it winds up resting on Soap's thigh. Didn't want things to change? Did he mean...? Was Simon really being that obvious with it all? Was Soap thinking...
He picks his head up slowly, his grip tightening on Soap subconsciously.)
Johnny...(His voice is thick with something then. Grief, maybe, embarrassment or-.
No. None of that mattered.)
Of course, nothing changes. I didn't mean to...(Soap didn't even have his memories. Now of all times wasn't the place for confessions.)
You'll get no pressure from me, Johnny. We go at this at your own pace. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.
(He pauses.)
Is it too much?
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Besides, focusing on helping Simon through his pain allows Soap to ignore his own. No, he's not exactly selfless at all. Doesn't change how his heart wants to split in two just knowing what Ghost has lost.
The question is... fair. Simon still might as well be a complete stranger, as untrue as that feels. Johnny knows that part of this is him clinging on to the only comfort that might as well be left in the universe and refusing to let go. Logically speaking, this is crazy.
But he still wants to get to know Simon, still wants to know what made them risk it all just to be together. Not just their careers but whatever's left of either of their sanities. Forever isn't really an option in their lives and this feels like way more than some fling. So, his answer is easy. ]
No. No, I don't think anything you do could be too much. You're making me feel the opposite of uncomfortable. Which- [ One hand lets go, gestures towards his face. ] -says a lot right now.
[ Maybe it's some suppressed memories or something, or the visions of that skull mask, but Johnny feels like he's known this man for ages. With a brain injury, that feeling is most likely all in his broken head, and he knows that. Doesn't change a thing, though. ]
Thank you, Simon.
[ For saving him. For being here. Etc. ]
lmk if this is fine! i kinda handwaved some stuff obv i can edit and change it if it's too much
Right now, it was simple enough. Move gears into the next part of the recovery process.
But there was an entire person lost. Someone who had come to know Ghost, even if it wasn't as much as Johnny currently believed, but Ghost just winds up caring more about what it all meant for Soap. How it would be for him once he started to actually move around, started to figure out how to navigate the world blind. He what kind of memories Soap did have - if they were visual or not. He read somewhere once that some people couldn't imagine anything inside their minds.
Soap thanks him and it feels undeserved. There was more he could have and should have done. Ghost shifts forward and winds up resting his clothed mouth against the back of the one hand still in his own. It's the closest thing to a kiss the two of them have ever shared and maybe it was too much, but there weren't enough words in the world and he wasn't an eloquent enough person to explain what it all meant.
It probably isn't too surprising that he winds up falling asleep against Soap like that not too long after. The nurse who comes to check on them certainly doesn't seem surprised. Everything seems to move quickly after that. There is physical therapy to get Soap used to walking around again after being in the coma, and then acclimating to blindness. Ghost is there whenever he can be, even though once in a while he has to go off to help train or go on a quick mission.
It's all tying up loose ends. Paperwork, a few boring meetings. Figuring out a good place for them to head to for the proper recovery time. Ghost gripes about having to stay in Glasgow but there's zero heat behind his words. Especially since he's been more or less glued to Soap's side since everything has gone down, and if he isn't at his side, he's watching like a hawk from afar.
Before long, it's time to ship out for the indefinite future. Ghost winds up in the doorway to Soap's room, glancing around the quarters for one last time.)
Are you all set to go?
this is great!
His mind is thinking something different the next morning, reality crashing through the haze when he still can't see. He kind of wants to cry, kind of wants to freak out, but he keeps himself together and tells himself it's for Ghost's sake. Not just that morning but every day thereafter.
Some days are better than others. The days Simon has to leave are the worst, but he tries not to let that on. He doesn't want to cling, hates himself for clinging anyway, and it's just a spiral of bullshit in his mind until that Brit's voice is back in the room. Around the one week mark, he starts to wonder if this is what Stockholm Syndrome is like? Or is this that Nightingale thing? He's not sure, but he hesitates to think that a part of himself really does remember. That's banking too much hope into something, and while Soap has never really been a pessimist, he's always been realistic. And the reality is that he still doesn't remember shit.
Or so he believes, at least. There hasn't been any burst of light, chorus of angels, and stark visions of some embarrassing moment he wished stayed forgotten. But there had been other things. Things that maybe Ghost or some of the others have noticed, maybe not. Just knowing a couple of names he shouldn't, knowing the layouts of places he shouldn't, knowing tiny things about Simon that he shouldn't. All small things, none of which Johnny takes into account as progress, most of which Johnny doesn't notice at all.
Then there's the PT, which sucks. His body feels strong enough for a guy that woke from a coma, but it's the bit about telling his body what to do that's the problem. It's so fucking frustrating he could scream, but he doesn't. Just works the problem. Learning how to navigate the world in darkness sucks, too, and he hates the fucking stick. Ghost, bless him, seems less ruffled about it all and kind of becomes Johnny's rock. There are no more kisses or anything, cuddles kept to a minimum, and he tells himself it's because recovery is hard enough to navigate, that Simon doesn't want to pressure anything on the amnesiac, and that mantra mostly works.
He likes the banter most, anyway. There's no heat in Ghost's voice when he gets grumbly about Glasgow, leaving Soap ample room to start shit talking Queen and country. Or, uh, King. They keep having to remind him of that one, but he somehow finds it morbidly hilarious every time so it's okay.
Anyway, once Ghost comes by, Johnny finds that he's ready. Well. Maybe not mentally or emotionally, but his things are packed in a duffle. That'll have to be good enough.
Turns out, that discharge was in the post, after all. ]
Ready, LT.
[ Lifting weight is still a weird thing for him, but he slings the bag across his shoulder, anyway. Out of all the things, he gets a bit growly about that one the most when people try to help, so it's on his back before Ghost can even try. He walks over to him, not needing the damned stick to navigate his own room at least. ]
And you? Ready for all the joys Scotland has to offer?
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Things are a bit calmer. No, no more kisses, because Ghost would never delude himself into thinking that was okay. But he's more open with his touch. And what of it? His hand resting against Soap's lower back to guide him around a corner was far more a gesture of intimacy than it was the idea of helping Soap walk around. After a particularly long day, so what if he sat so close to Soap that their thighs were pressed together? So what if he squeezed Soap's hand or his thigh every now and then as a silent gesture of assurance.
He told himself he was just being a good lieutenant. Gaz and Price looked at him like he was an absolute jackass for even pretending that was what all of this was about.)
Good man.
(Ghost is dressed down as much as Ghost ever could. Black pants, black sweater, cloth mask in place and hoodie drawn. He's wearing a pair of skeletal gloves just in case the rest wasn't Hot Topic themed enough and although the whole point of going into civilian housing was to keep it lowkey, Ghost was too used to keeping his face out of any public space.
He nearly offers help, but bites his tongue last minute, instead just shifting his own bag between his shoulders. Soap wasn't a princess and so Ghost didn't plan to treat him like one. Well, not with that anyway.
He scoffs.)
The only bloody joy that the damned Scots have given me is you and even that's pushing it seeing as I can barely understand you most of the time.
(Okay, no, he had gotten way better, but Soap doesn't need to know that. As they leave the room, Ghost glances at the stick and then thinks of a simpler way to help Soap navigate out of the base without as much fanfare made about it. It's obvious in hindsight and Ghost wasn't sure why he hadn't thought of it before. Probably because he knew Soap had to get used to the stick at some point, but shit...
He reaches out and hooks his fingers through Soap's. Loose, just in case Soap didn't want to put up with it, and he thinks maybe this is okay. They have held hands a few more times since Soap has woken up, though never in public like this, but maybe Soap will realize what he's trying to do. Or, really, better yet, he might not notice and might be less agitated for it.)
I expect you'll make it worth my time. (Like many things exchanged between them, it winds up sounding stupidly flirty, like a blatant come-on, which you'd think Ghost would realize by now how he sounds, but he's just too used to talking to Soap like this at this point.)
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But every now and then, Simon will say the sweetest things and make Soap grin like everything really is fine. Better than fine, actually. ]
Oh, haud yer wheesht, ya ole numpty-
[ Then his sentence runs itself short when his hand is suddenly taken. It's not like they don't do that sort of thing on occasion. Just, again, they don't do it so much in public, which is where they're about to be very shortly. So, color Soap surprised and maybe just the tiniest bit touched by such a small thing.
It's only after he takes Simon's hand in a firmer grip that he realizes it may just be for practicality's sake, at least in part. Keeps him from having to use the bloody stick, anyway, though he knows he shouldn't rely on someone else's eyes. And if it were anyone else, he likely wouldn't.
So, yeah, he catches on. But, no, he's not agitated. To him, the practical part just feels like a cover. He sees Simon as this big softy, even if Soap would put money that he's killed a man with a brick at least once. So his blank surprise turns into a soft smile pretty fast. ]
Aye, ye flirt. I'll make sure you come around to terrible old Scotland.
[ And it all brings a bit of another thought to mind, too. Once they're out of here, away from public eyes, just how much will things change? He won't lie, he's kind of excited at the prospect of having Simon all to himself. Maybe they can properly cuddle up or something, at least share a bed. (And it's a testament to how bad he's got it when the best part about sharing a bed that he can think of is early morning snuggles. Really. It's that bad.)
If nothing else, maybe they can at least talk about all this at some point. Talk about them. Enough time has passed, Soap likes to think.
He's barely taken two steps when he's brought out of his musings, his fingers having laced through Simon's and paused because the texture-... He sputters a sudden laugh. ]
Is that a skeleton print on your gloves? God love ya, Ghost.
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(One thing Ghost had never bothered with was kid gloves. He didn't care about making jokes at Soap's expense over this whole situation. Granted, it was really just an extension of teasing him in another ugly situation. This situation just so happened to live in Soap's mind rather than occupy the space around them. Same difference, Ghost figured, and maybe more important than the situation at Las Almas to deal with. He didn't want to act hesitant or delicate about Soap. Soap deserved better than that.
Plus that accent was a damn delight and if Ghost didn't respond to it with the mature eloquence of a eight-year-old boy with the biggest crush in the universe, then he might die on the spot. Who said tugging metaphorical pigtails didn't get you anywhere?
Maybe it was too much - grabbing Soap's hand in public like this. He can read surprise on Soap easily and he almost, almost takes his hand back instantly. Instead, he trusts Soap to make it clear if he crossed a line whether verbally or physically.
It definitely is a partial excuse to hold Soap's hand, but who's about to admit to that? Not Ghost.)
Me? Flirting with you? Think of the scandal, Johnny. (Sarcasm at its finest.)
I won't hold you to your word on that. Resenting Scotland has become a fond foundation in our relationship. I need to at least keep up the appearance.
(See, Ghost, talking like this is exactly why it seems like ya'll are in a relationship. The worst part is probably that Ghost doesn't notice anything. That this just seemed like the natural progression of things. Even Price hadn't seemed the slightest bit surprised by Ghost insisting on going with Soap.
Ghost looks a bit startled at Soap's laugh, a look tragically missed by Soap, his eyes snapping to Soap. Good lord it was nice to hear his laugh. Ghost nearly folds on the spot, but instead, he just adjusts his grip on Soap's hand and clears his throat.)
Aye, it is. I need to maintain a consistent aesthetic, Johnny. Matches the mask. (A casual confirmation that his mask does indeed carry a skull print.)
Otherwise, I'd just look ridiculous.
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Anyway, he laughs at the scandal comment, too. Them? Flirting? Perish the thought. ]
Right, can't let on how much you love my smarmy li'l accent. Conversation might start gettin' stale.
[ Heaven forbid, but he's pretty sure that's impossible. At least, Johnny can't picture a world where talking to Ghost isn't the highlight of his damn day.
As to that throat clearing, he almost thinks Simon may be embarrassed about his teasing, but that doesn't quite sound right. Well, whether he is or isn't, Soap's absolutely going to dig his heels in. Because, yes, he caught that about the mask and laughs again. ]
Right, 'course. Gotta match. If it helps, LT, I think you look lovely today.
[ If there's anyone around, he maybe knows about it but doesn't care. He's clearly teasing anyway. ]
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Wouldn't want you to get an ego.
(If Soap really knew how into his voice he was, it would be game over. Ghost wasn't usually a people person and he still wasn't, but Soap had become his exception. More than a comrade and better than any successful mission.)
Oh, Johnny. (He's smirking beneath his mask.)
Buttering me up and we're not even alone yet. Tempting fate today, are we?
(It didn't even matter if Soap couldn't actually see him. He's almost positive Soap would have said it even if he could see - probably insist upon it.)
You're lookin' like a piece yourself.
(He tugs Soap a bit closer, just because he can, and knocks their arms together. So, no, it wasn't just for the sake of guiding Soap. He moves forward with Soap, honestly looking forward to getting away from the base for a while. It doesn't take long to get boarded. It's the only time he really insists on getting Soap's bag for him, but mostly because he's already shoving his own up above.)
Let me get that. (Tugging at Johnny's back.) Get yourself strapped in.
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But as to tempting fate: ] You know it, LT. It's my favorite hobby.
[ Isn't that the truth. And though he chuckles at the compliment and easily let's himself get pulled in closer, he doesn't quite believe that he's looking all that fabulous. Johnny knows it's dumb to not trust the one guy out of them that can actually see with something visual, but he hasn't really felt all that good looking in a while. Partly because recovery has left him to not care as much, partly because of where he had gotten shot. Though, he has trailed his fingers (carefully) over the stitches just to get an idea of his new image.
Regardless, it's nice to hear, even if he thinks Ghost is just giving as good as he gets. ]
And I always look like a piece, but thank you.
[ Confidence will get him everywhere. Besides, he puts so much on Simon, he doesn't want to add the mental shit, too. This is definitely part of the mental shit. It's amazing to be self-aware.
He gives a dignified (in his opinion) squawk of protest when Simon tries to take his bag from him, and there's that knee jerk urge to turn into a child and start with the 'I can do it myself!' but he relents instead. Soap lets him take the bag without too much grumbling beneath his breath, mostly in good nature, before he goes ahead and climbs into the vehicle.
Weirdly enough, it's one of those things that he didn't think would translate into a smooth motion while blind but did. Like he's still trying to figure out how to properly navigate a dinner plate, but he hasn't had any issues with getting dressed, tackling staircases, or cleaning a Glock. In fact, he's extremely confident he could still drive but hasn't figured out a good enough argument to allow Simon to let him try yet. Point is, his training in the service has done wonders with transitioning him to this kind of life. Not that it's ideal.
Anyway, he straps himself in as told and laments not being able to see where they're going. He misses the countryside. And when Simon gets in: ] Have you been up to Scotland before? [ How had he never asked? ]
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(Soap had seemed to get his rocks off plenty by crawling around under Ghost's skin. Then again, Ghost had let him from the get-go for some godforsaken reason. He refuses to acknowledge that it probably had to do with a simple but intense immediate attraction that swiftly turned into something deeper.)
Unfortunately, that's true. I think it's where you get most of your attitude from.
(Johnny did look worse for wear these days, but he didn't look bad. At least not to Ghost who had never been into clean-cut guys anyway. He himself had far too many scars to even spare a judging glance at Soap's newest addition. It doesn't even occur to him that Johnny could be struggling with his esteem on that front.
He scoffs at that squawk, jostling Johnny a bit for it, but he's glad the bastard lets it go. He's sliding in next to Soap soon enough, close enough to bump thighs. Always practically on top of him.
It probably would take some time for the driving thing.)
No. (He buckles himself in, leaning back and settling in for the ride.) Never had cause to go until now.
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That's a pit Soap tends to avoid, though, knowing he's not going to see Simon again and pretty sure he'll never really remember what he looked like. It used to not bother him, but the feeling tends to get worse just about every day. So, Johnny ignores it, as one does. He'd rather focus on the little compliment. And the brush of his thigh.
Johnny loves the contact Simon gives him. Not just for affection and comfort, but to ground him. With the blindness, he feels like he always needs to be grounded, and listening to the sounds of the world only goes so far. Sometimes it almost feels like a sensory deprivation chamber, like he's the only thing left in the world, like he really did die back there, but then Simon's hand reaches out and everything's good again. Soap refrains from just leaning over and flopping against him for now. Not while he's driving, anyway. ]
Really? Surprised I haven't dragged you up there kicking and screaming yet.
[ He honestly is surprised. It sounds like a lot of fun, never mind Simon just being home with him in general. But maybe Soap followed Simon on their time off. Or maybe they didn't have time off. It sounds like the bloke they were hunting, whatever bastard that shot him, had kept them busy. Johnny only knew enough to know that the situation had been complicated and difficult... But he does wonder how long he and Simon have been doing this. ]
You'll love it, LT. [ A beat. ] Even if you hate it, I'll definitely love it.
[ Because grumbly Simon was the best. ]
Sorry this took so long!
It wasn't just Johnny who had lost something in all of this. Though Ghost was steady and calm with Johnny, he had some ugly nightmares that haunted him each night. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to get away with that once they were in close quarters, but he figured he could just do his best to stave off sleep and figure something out. They had given him some medication to sleep with, but he didn't think that was all that better of an option.
There were a lot of things he knew he'd have to adjust to being in close quarters with Johnny. He was digging his own grave here and he knew it. He firmly had told himself he would only do this if he thought he could keep himself restrained and stay appropriate.
He snorts quietly.)
I've no doubt it was on your mind plenty before. We haven't had too many chances for a proper vacation.
(Not since everything had blown up in their faces.
He smirks under his mask.)
And if I don't? Will you make it up to me, Johnny?
it's okay! sorry mine took awhile too ♥
Not that he has much room to talk. Soap can fall asleep, sure, but fuzzy nightmares wake him up too frequently for it to really be called sleep. The frustration of never being quite sure what the dreams were about didn't help either. So maybe they'd end up being a couple of cagey night owls together, but Ghost was going to have a hard time hiding that sort of thing from him.
Maybe harder than Johnny originally assumed, if that question was anything to go by. Perhaps he was being a little too hasty in his assumptions regarding the nature of their close quarters. Adrenaline junky he is, Johnny gets his own smirk on his face and bites his lip a little just thinking about it. Damn, flirting with this man was addicting. ]
You already know that, Simon. Believe I can think of some ways to go about it already.
Trust me. You'll be singing praises by the time I'm done with ya. [ Oh, if only. ]
♥
His grip on the steering wheel tightens and he realizes he had absolutely no intention of stopping whatever might happen. Because he knew something might happen. He was almost positive. He may not be all that experienced when it came to these kinds of situations, but even Ghost realized that they flirted far more regularly than just some guys in the same unit blowing steam or passing time.
He certainly would never have accepted being spoken to like this by Gaz or anyone else. Plus, there was probably something morally off about sleeping with the man you're in love with while he was empty on memories and blind as a bat. Probably.
But he glances at Johnny and sees him biting his lip like that and it hits him like a freight train. Maybe it's wrong...But well...
He reaches a hand out and rests it on the uppermost part of Johnny's thigh, fingers hooked in, dangerously close to his groin. He gives Johnny a firm squeeze. Perhaps a gesture of silent promise. Or something. He doesn't know, but it felt right to do in the moment and it felt good to do. It was only a small fraction of the things he had imagined doing to Johnny.)
Naughty boy, you are. (His hand lingers, too close, too burning, and slowly he slides it away and back onto the steering wheel where his grip becomes white-knuckled.)
Don't make promises you can't keep, Johnny.
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He wants to grab that hand and keep it there, but he doesn't. Then he thinks to swipe it off the steering wheel or wherever it's at and put it back, but he still doesn't. Maybe it's because a part of him likes Simon being in charge, something that's probably not a big secret between them given their ranks. Or maybe it's because he's just as nervous as he is excited. After all, he doesn't remember what Simon likes, what he wants. He tells himself that this is just a learning opportunity, a little side adventure that they'll both enjoy until their usual path is found again. But that doesn't change how he doesn't want to remind Ghost of who he isn't anymore.
Thoughts like that are stupid, he admits. Besides, Ghost is still more than apparently into him. So, what is he worrying about again? ]
I'm a man of my word, Simon.
[ And he is, very much so. His grin stays sharp while he purrs through every syllable. Nerves or not, he wouldn't be the man he is if he ever let a little anxiety stop him.
So, being a little menace, his own hand reaches over and very innocently tucks a couple of fingers into the pocket of Ghost's jeans. And just. Stays there. Super innocent. Extremely not distracting in any way. His dumb smirk is no proof of anything. ]