Work Text:
I don’t know how long I can keep going.
He’s really gone.
I’m so tired.
All I feel is pain.
Soap stared at the last line he wrote in his journal before grabbing his pen again, adding a final line,
I want it gone.
And he planned on sticking to his word.
A single tear dropped onto the still drying ink, blurring some of the letters slightly but it didn’t matter. Nothing did.
Soap stood up with determination, strapping his thigh holster to his leg tightly, relishing in the small ache it caused. He grabbed the pristinely cleaned pistol that laid heavily on his desk. He slowly slid the magazine out, counting all 12 bullets before removing 11, scattering them over his desk.
I doubt I’ll miss, he thought dryly.
He slipped the weapon into the holder and grabbed his jacket, sliding it on as he walked towards his bedroom door. He took one last look back, his journal remained open on the page he just wrote on. It looked inviting, almost begging someone to flick through the filled to the brim pages of his doodles and thoughts.
He supposed that the journal would get its wish, no doubt someone would look through it after finding him. Likely flipping through it frantically as they attempted to find any good reason why.
Anyone who knew Soap would already know the reason though, a third of his journal was filled with doodles of the source of his happiness but also his pain. HIs best friend, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick appeared throughout his journal in various ways, mid-laugh, mid-concentration but mainly he was drawn with his signature smile on his face.
How was Soap meant to be happy when one of the main sources of his happiness had been brutally taken away from him?
He wasn’t part of the mission that took Gaz away and Price didn’t go into specifics about his death because he said they were “irrelevant,” probably said to spare him some pain but the damage was already done.
After listening into the conversations held by some of the soldiers on the same mission, Soap learned that Gaz had been shot through the head.
There was no chance.
The image of Gaz haunted Soap’s thoughts and dreams, he hadn’t seen the body or any images but that didn’t matter. His imagination seemed to do a brilliant job of picturing Gaz’s motionless body as he laid there dying.
Did he feel pain?
What were his last thoughts?
Was he alone?
Those questions plagued Soap’s mind.
Soap wasn’t the only one affected by his death, all of Task Force 141 took his death hard…just not as hard as Soap.
Price viewed Gaz as a son and mourned his death as so but duties called. After a few months, he was back managing the 141 but not without carrying a noticeable sad demeanour with him.
And Ghost. Simon, he stayed himself, at least he portrayed himself like that but Soap knew that underneath that mask, he was hurting. But like Price he was back to full duties after a couple of months, having been on a few missions since then.
Soap was a mess and he remained that way. It was a miracle he hadn’t been discharged yet with the way he acted sometimes, both on and off the field.
In the field, there had been a few occasions where he directly disobeyed orders, earning him a stern talking to by both Price and Ghost but he shrugged it off. At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter did it? They always completed the mission and Soap returned unharmed, much to his disappointment.
Back at base he wasn’t much better, starting fights in the mess hall over trivial things or pushing recruits way beyond their limits which caused complaints to be filed against him. Price had threatened to suspend him on one particular occasion after breaking a recruit’s nose for not running quick enough. He only got away with it because Price was worried that if he sent him home, he’d hurt himself.
Heh, if only he knew .
Soap turned back around, not bothering to lock his door behind him as he made his way to the exit of the base.
***
Ghost was worried, well actually, he was way beyond worried. He was scared. A feeling quite foreign to him but he was scared nonetheless. His Johnny was hurting and he didn’t know how to fix it.
It had been roughly six months since Gaz’s death. He would be lying if he said it didn’t come as a shock. Soldiers died on the battlefield everyday, hell, Ghost had witnessed a fair share of his comrades' deaths up and close. But no one’s death had such an impact on him as Gaz’s. He considered him more than a friend. He was a brother.
Ghost hid behind his normal stoic demeanour, trying to stay strong for the rest of the team as Price and Johnny dealt with his death in their own ways. After a few months, everything went back to relative normal but Ghost knew that there was something missing. Johnny and Gaz’s laughs that always seemed to carry throughout the base no matter what room they were in was gone.
Ghost missed that laugh and a small part of him feared that he’d never hear Johnny laugh like that again. It was as though Johnny died the day that Gaz died. He moved sluggishly through the base, no ‘pep in his step’ as Price would say. The words he said never really seemed to extend past grunts and occasional commands when he trained recruits.
The behaviour he displayed wasn’t unusual, people had different coping mechanisms and Johnny’s seemed to be putting himself in complete isolation. He secluded himself to his room, only leaving when absolutely necessary. His way of coping wasn’t healthy though.
Before Gaz’s death, Ghost and Johnny could have been classed as an ‘item’ although they never really put a label on it. They knew what they were to each other and that was enough. After the events of Las Almas and the apparent encouragement of Gaz, Johnny approached Ghost and confessed his attraction to him.
Ghost was shocked to say the least but after a couple of weeks of ‘figuring things out,’ he realised that he liked him in that way too. So one night, he knocked on Johnny’s door and kissed him without saying a word. Johnny had reciprocated without hesitation, pulling him into the room. They went on to spend the night together that day and had remained glued to each other ever since.
Well…up until Gaz’s death that is.
Ghost tried his best to comfort Johnny in any way that he could during the first few weeks. He held him after waking from a nightmare and calmed him down whenever he broke down in tears. But it wasn’t enough. A month after his death, Johnny started to push Ghost away. He stopped letting him in his room, he pulled away from his touch and eventually stopped talking to him altogether.
A part of Ghost understood why he was acting like this, he was scared he would lose Ghost too so he wanted to break some of the emotional connection they held with each other so when he did die, it wouldn’t hurt as bad. Ghost tried to show him that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere any time soon, he worked harder on missions, always ensuring he came back with minimal wounds.
But it wasn’t enough.
He had to watch on as Johnny started to throw all caution to the wind, making careless decisions that endangered himself and the team. Ghost felt helpless, Johnny just wouldn’t listen to him nor Price nor anyone else. The three day suspension that Price gave him had no impact on his behaviour and he was right back to being a liability when he came back.
Ghost was contemplating suggesting an extended leave of absence to Price but he was unsure with how Johnny would act. He just needed to talk to him, needed to know how he was doing…as if it wasn’t obvious.
So Ghost stood outside the door of Johnny’s room, knocking gently. He stood back and waited, listening for any movement. When he didn’t hear any, he knocked again, harder this time.
“Johnny?” Still nothing.
“Look Johnny, I know you don’t want to see me or anyone for that matter but I know you haven’t eaten anything today so can you please come out so I can take you to the mess hall.” Ghost’s heart began beating a little faster, it was deathly quiet in the room. Maybe he was just sleeping.
Ghost groaned, contemplating his next move. “Ugh, god. Johnny, I’m coming in so if you really don’t want me to, then say something now.”
Silence. Ghost grabbed the door handle, prepared to bash through but as he twisted the handle, he found it unlocked.
That’s odd.
Ghost opened the door quickly and stepped through. A quick scan of the room confirmed that he wasn’t in here. Panic began to set in his body as his mind tried to come up with logical places for where he might be. The gym? The showers? Maybe he missed him in the mess hall?
He turned to go check these areas when something shiny caught his eye. He walked towards Johnny’s desk, he identified the object as a bullet that was glinting against the setting sunlight beaming through the window.
He recognised the bullet as one of the ones they carried around in their pistols. He looked over the desk again, catching sight of more bullets. He gathered them up in his hand, counting them as he went.
Nine…ten…eleven.
He searched frantically for the twelfth, knowing that the magazines always carried twelve but he couldn’t find it. As he went to bend down and look under the desk, his eyes landed on Johnny’s open journal. He always kept it hidden from people, even Ghost, so it was unusual that it was just laid out in the open like this. Though he supposed that he was in his room without permission.
Ghost grabbed it with shaky hands, dropping the bullets he had gathered onto the floor.
On the left page of the journal, a clear pencil drawing of Gaz had been drawn beautifully, almost like a photo. He had his signature cap on and was smiling with what seemed like a cheeky grin. Ghost smiled fondly but as he began to skim the other page, his smile dropped.
The handwriting was obviously Johnny’s, he had seen it before. His eyes took in the words and his breath got caught in his throat as he read the last two lines.
All I feel is pain
I want it gone .
The word ‘gone’ was slightly blurred by a liquid that Ghost assumed was tears.
Ghost shot up immediately, realising the intent of his words. It was a goodbye note.
He fled the room instantly and ran to the one place that he knew Johnny would be.
***
Soap sat down on the bench with a heavy sigh. He looked out over the fields that sat below the hill he was on.
The hill was a bitch to climb and always left an ache in his legs no matter how fit he was.
I won’t have to climb that again I suppose , he thought to himself dryly.
The sun was beginning to set, casting a light on the golden fields of wheat…it was beautiful.
He sighed again, his hand reaching for the pistol. He placed it on the bench beside him, not quite ready to use it yet.
Soap and Gaz had found this spot together once after a practically gruelling mission. They had originally left in search for a pub but in a way completely unknown to him, they stumbled upon this place. The bench wasn’t there originally, it was a little project they had started a couple of weeks after they ground wasn’t actually all that comfortable.
Soap turned slightly on the bench, his hand traced the jagged etching of Gaz’s name that he had carved into the wood of the backrest. Soap’s name was also carved into it, right next to it. They had done it after finishing the bench. To an outsider, it probably looked like the names left by two lovers who had just had a date on the hill.
Ever since they built the bench, they would go a couple of times a week, taking a box of cheap beer with them. They would spend hours up there talking about everything and then absolutely nothing at all.
It was there that Soap finally admitted his feelings for Simon outloud and with the loud and constant nagging of Gaz, he worked up the courage to confess his attraction.
Soap would be forever grateful for that.
He sighed once again, picking up the gun and moving it from hand to hand. Of course none of that mattered now. He had royally fucked up his relationship with SImon when Gaz died. It was unlikely he’d ever forgive Soap for the way he treated him.
The gun came to rest in Soap’s right hand, he looked down at it, clicking the safety off.
A memory of a conversation he had with Gaz came to mind.
***
“Soap?”
“Mhm?” They were lounging on the bench, nursing a beer each after a long day of training on base.
“Do you ever think about the future?”
Soap looked over to Gaz but he continued watching the sunset with a distant look on his face. He shrugged anyway, “sometimes but it’s hard to think about something like that in this line of work right?”
Gaz nodded. “I think about it.”
“Oh yeah?”
Gaz took a drink of his beer, “yeah. I want to grow old, settle down, have a couple of kids.”
Soap reached over and clapped him on the shoulder, it was a reasonable goal, “sounds good mate, gonna name one John after your old pal?”
Gaz laughed, slapping him on the arm, “you wish.”
Soap laughed too, taking a sip of his beer. A silence settled over them and before Soap could break it, Gaz spoke.
“John?” Soap paused, he only used his real name when it was something serious.
“Yeah?” He placed his beer on the floor and focused his whole attention on Gaz who was looking at him with a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“I want you to promise me something.”
Without hesitation Soap replied, “anything.” Gaz smiled softly at the word. Soap meant it too. They were never too sappy with each other but it went without saying that Soap would happily put his life on the line for his best friend and he knew without a doubt, Gaz would do the same for him.
“If I die,” Soap immediately began to protest.
“Don’t say-,”
Gaz held a hand up, effectively silencing him. He continued, “if I die, I want you to live out my dream for me. Maybe marry Ghost, adopt a kid and name it Kyle or Kylie or something.” His eyes glistened slightly and Soap was sure his eyes looked the same, “promise me John.”
Soap cleared his throat, “firstly you ain’t gonna die, I won’t let you. And secondly, if you die, and that’s a gigantic if, if you die, I promise I’ll marry Ghost and name my kid Kyle in your honour.”
Gaz smiled and sniffed slightly, “thank you.” He downed the rest of his beer before reaching for another, “so…how are you planning to propose?”
They both laughed and continued talking and drinking well into the night.
***
A tear trickled down Soap’s cheek. He brought the gun up with a shaky hand and rested the barrel against his temple.
“I’m sorry Kyle.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, finger moving to the trigger. He began to apply some pressure, images of Gaz smiling and laughing flicking through his mind.
“JOHNNY!”
Soap paused, he released the trigger turning around to find the source of his name. He watched in shock as Simon sprinted up the hill at a speed that seemed impossible for someone of his size.
Soap scrambled to put the gun back in the holster, embarrassed that it was likely Simon had witnessed him about to pull the trigger. He quickly wiped away the stray tear, “oh hey Simon. What are you doing here?” He tried his best to feign innocence by plastering on a smile but he knew he had been caught.
Simon stood in front of him, panting slightly from the sprint. Before Soap could react, Simon grabbed his gun from the holster, released the mag then threw it deep into the fields below.
“Simon what the fu-,” his words got caught in his throat as Simon kneeled down and wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face into his stomach.
“I’m so sorry Johnny, I should’ve noticed the signs sooner, I should’ve been there. I should’ve-,” words were flowing out of his mouth as at rate Soap had never heard before. He rested his hands on Simon’s shoulders and pushed him off slightly so he could look at him.
He was wearing his normal balaclava but he could see that his black face paint around his eyes was smudged slightly. His eyes looked slightly glassy with what seemed like unshed tears.
“SImon what are you talking about? I’m fine.” Denial seemed like the best approach, he hoped to convince Simon that was alright and when he left, he would go into the field and search for the magazine that had been thrown and finish the job.
Apparently Simon wasn’t having any of that though, he unwrapped himself from his waist and straightened his back. He rested his hands on each of Soap’s cheeks, forcing him to look at him.
“Don’t play stupid with me Johnny, I know why you’re here.”
Soap avoided direct eye-contact, unfocusing his eyes so he couldn’t see Simon’s concerned expression. He scoffed, “you don’t know anything.”
Simon shook his head, “I do. I saw your journal.”
Ah . Soap mentally scolded himself, I should’ve locked my door . “You make a habit of going through someone’s things lieutenant?” Soap tried to express anger but it didn’t have its desired effect. Simon remained kneeled in front of him, holding him in place by his face.
“I do if that belonging is a confession of wanting to kill themselves,” Simon’s voice was a whisper, almost as if he didn’t want to believe what he was saying.
Soap sighed, trying to move back. SImon let him, dropping his hands into Soap’s lap instead, clutching his thighs. “I don’t know what you want me to say Simon, I can’t-,” he choked back a sob. “I can’t do this anymore Simon.”
Soap watched as a range of emotions flickered across Simon’s eyes before settling on sadness. “You can Johnny, you just have to try.” He squeezed his thighs as he spoke as if to channel strength into him.
Soap pushed him away, “no!You-you don’t understand.” He jumped up and began pacing in front of Simon’s still kneeling form. “You don’t get it Simon! It hurts so bad, I wake up and all I feel is pain, I go to sleep and I feel more pain. I’m not…I’m not happy anymore. There’s nothing keeping me here so just let me leave please .”
His eyes pleaded with Simon, hoping he’d understand but nothing in his expression showed that he’d accept his plea. Instead he saw hurt, “not even me?”
He thought for a second before sighing. Simon was maybe the only good thing left in his life, but was it enough? He had fucked up their relationship, was it even salvageable? “You-you'll find someone new Simon, someone who isn’t as fucked up in the head!”
Soap was shouting at this point but he didn’t care, no one would hear them anyway. Simon stood up and planted himself in front of Soap, grabbing his shoulders. “Bullshit Mactavish.” He bristled slightly at the use of his last name and tried to shrug him off but he held on tighter, “do you think I want someone else Johnny? Do you really think I give a shit that you’re fucked in the head? You’re speaking to the one guy who could even begin to understand what you’re going through!”
He lifted one of his hands off his shoulder then reached up and ripped his balaclava off, throwing it on the floor beside them. Soap took a moment to take in the features of his past lover. He was still as handsome as he had remembered even more so with the vast amount of scars that were scattered across his face. Then he looked down at the floor.
Soap understood the point he was trying to make. Simon had gone through things way worse than losing his best friend but the rational part of his brain telling him to believe him was overpowered by the irrational part telling him that he was lying, that he didn’t understand what Soap was going through.
“Johnny, look at me.”
Soap raised his head looking straight into Simon’s eyes, he watched as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“I want you. And I can’t have you if you’re dead.” His eyes focused on one tear, watching its journey begin from the corner of Simon’s eye, down his cheek and then drip off his chin and onto his jacket. He had never seen SImon cry before.
He had made Simon cry .
All the emotions that Soap had been holding back suddenly burst to the surface and broke through the barrier he had put up. He slumped to the floor with a sob, “there’s no point anymore!”
Simon followed him down, pulling him onto his lap. Soap grabbed onto his jacket tightly, soaking it with his tears. Simon rubbed a hand up and down his back in a soothing gesture.
“Johnny.”
Soap shook his head, burying himself further into the scratchy fabric.
“Johnny please . Look at me.”
He slowly lifted his head, taking in Simon’s tear-streaked face once again. Soap probably looked the same with a red face, tears stains and a running nose but Simon just wiped away his tears.
“I love you okay?”
Soap nodded, it was the first time he had heard Simon directly say the words. He went to respond but Simon shushed him. “I love you,” he repeated, “and you know who else loves you?” He paused, wiping away another tear, “Kyle .”
A fresh wave of tears leaked from his eyes at the mention of his name. “Do you think that Kyle would want you to end your life Johnny?”
Soap shook his head before choking out, “no.” No of course not , “but-.”
Simon placed a finger on his lips, “no buts. He would have smacked you across the face for even considering the possibility right?”
A small laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it. He imagined Gaz’s narrowed eyes and snarled lips as he smacked him across the head, probably calling him a name, “yeah.”
Simon smiled softly, he ran his hand over his cheek and Soap leaned into it, “exactly. Johnny, I’m not asking you to immediately stop having thoughts like that, I know from experience that it doesn’t work like that. What I am asking is for you to try.”
Soap went to protest but he was cut off. “I want you to try. Not for me, not for Price, not for anyone else but yourself and Kyle. Because we both know he’d have wanted you to live just like you would have wanted him to live if it was you who died.”
Another tear slipped down Simon’s cheek, “so please. Please just try. For him.”
Soap contemplated his words for a moment, his mind bringing him back to the time on the hill.
“I want you to promise me something.”
More tears coated his cheeks.
“Marry Ghost..”
He sniffled and closed his eyes.
“Adopt a kid and name it Kyle…”
A small smile played on his lips.
“Promise me John.”
“I promise Kyle.”
Johnny opened his eyes after whispering his promise. He looked up lovingly at SImon. “Okay.”
Simon looked hopeful, “okay?”
Johnny nodded, “okay, I’ll try. For Kyle,” he reaffirmed.
A sigh of relief escaped Simon’s lips then he let out a shaky laugh. “Thank fuck for that because my other option was to tie you up and never let you out of my sight.”
Soap rolled his eyes playfully but somehow, he didn’t doubt his words. “Simon?” He looked down questioningly, unshed tears still glistening in his eyes. “I love you too. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”
Simon shook his head, “don’t worry about it. I’m just happy I got to you in time, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you…” He trailed off, not needing to finish the end of the sentence.
“Yeah.” Johnny relaxed more into Simon’s embrace then sighed looking out over the fields.
The sun had almost set.
“Hey Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
“How’d you and Kyle meet?”
A laugh erupted from him. Johnny couldn’t see but Simon smiled above him, happy to hear his laugh after months of nothing but sadness.
“Well it’s a funny story actually, we went to the same secondary school…”
***
They spent a good portion for the night talking about Johnny’s memory of Kyle at school before they decided to call it a night.
Simon stood up off the floor, ignoring the pains in his legs and offered his hand out to Johnny.
As Johnny accepted the hand up, he spoke, “thank you Simon.”
He sent him a genuine smile, hoping to convey the love he had for him and Simon sent a similar one back. “Anything for you Johnny.” He pressed a soft kiss to his forehead then they walked hand-in-hand back to the base.
The magazine with the single bullet in it, forgotten deep in the field behind them.
***
Johnny got better after time, with the help of Simon, Price and a therapist. There was still a pain there that would never subside but he supposed he would never fully mourn his best friend.
In his memory, he and Simon would visit the bench every weekend and drink a beer in his honour.
Johnny did end up proposing to Simon and they were even considering adopting a kid and naming it Kyle.
Johnny looked at Gaz’s name that was carved in the bench and smiled.
“I’m keeping my promise Kyle.”