Archive of Our Own

Gaz had never believed in the concept of soul mates. That is, until Ghost and Soap finally decided to do something about the unresolved sexual tension between them.

Gaz watches them sitting on the sofa of the common room, Ghost reading a book, Soap laying on his back with his head on Simon’s leg while he plays a game on his phone. 

There’s a peace between both men that is captivating to witness. 

Ghost is more open, cracking jokes and allowing himself to smile and laugh with others. His eyes are bright as he reads his book, sometimes bringing his hand down to stroke Soap’s hair, a gesture that always brings a grin to the Scotsman’s face.

Still looking at the phone, Soap blindly raises his hand up to cup the side of Ghost’s face over the mask, and Ghost takes the hand to give it a quick squeeze before Soap pulls it back, needing it for his game. 

Ghost’s shoulders vibrate slightly as he chuckles. Letting others see him laugh. See him being human instead of the cold caricature they first met. 

And Soap is calmer these days. He still fidgets, if he ever stops fidgeting then 141’s first reaction will be to check him for a pulse, but the fidgets are just general energy now rather than nervous energy. Soap doesn’t look over his shoulder as much, or get lost overthinking conversations.

• Was I too much? Did Price look pissed?
• You were fine. 
• Honest? 
• Honest. 
• Okay. 

The text messages stopped not long after Soap and Ghost got together, and at first Gaz assumed it was because he had been replaced, that Ghost was now the Scotsman’s port of call when he needed a second opinion on a social encounter. 

But now he knows that isn’t it. It’s that Soap doesn’t need the texts anymore. 

He has the reassurance of Ghost loving him , even when he talks and talks and talks. Ghost doesn’t judge him for his mood swings or for his executive dysfunction when it comes to simple tasks like laundry. Ghost has learned to work around the fact that, without a fixed schedule or routine, Soap can’t time manage for shit. He’s even taught him techniques to help him focus on his reports (Gaz admits he’s started using some of those too). 

That safe space has slowly allowed Soap to take off his own mask around Simon, a mask that he had gotten so good at wearing that he had forgotten he was doing so.

Gaz sits back in the armchair, pausing his own console game for a moment as he just silently watches his two friends in their well deserved bubble of happiness, enjoying the peace vicariously as it settles over himself, calming his brain. His thoughts become fuzzy. It feels safe here and…

Abandoning the phone, Soap curls up onto his side, eyes closed and face calm while his partner strokes his forehead and arm. 

Gaz watches, not realising at first that he has started to stroke down his own arm. Sometimes Dad lets him lay like that. It’s nice. Makes him feel loved. He likes falling asleep like that. He…

Oh Shit.

“You okay, mate?”

Gaz nods. “Just tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.” Gaz’s breath hitches. He needs to get to his room. 

“Something you want to talk about, Sergeant?” Ghost closes his book.

“Just too hot, yeah. Pretty sure it hit 30 degrees today.”

“Yeah.” Soap sits up, wiping his brow. “I hear yah.”

Gaz needs to get back to his room. “See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Kyle.” Ghost says, and Gaz waves over his shoulder as he leaves the room.

Gaz wasn’t lying about the heat being a large part of his issue. He stays under the cold shower until his skin is hurting from it.

Pulling on boxers, pyjama pants and a vest, he steps back into his room and collapses onto the bed, laying on top of the blanket and just existing for a while. 

Just waiting. 

Without really thinking about it, he reaches for the bedside table, picking up a small elephant plushie that Price had given him for these times. 

Dabba , as Gaz had declared the elephant be named during a time (They think he was trying to say Dumbo), has been a constant companion ever since. Now he is tucked under his chin, Gaz’s fingers stroking the soft grey fur as he lays on side, trying not to concentrate on how empty and alone he feels (is) while he waits for sleep to claim him. 

It doesn’t. He’s exhausted , but too sad to fall asleep, even with Dabba’s company.

A tear trails down his cheek. He misses Dad. Why isn’t he here?

“How come you have a key for Price’s office?”

“Emergencies.” Ghost says as he unlocks the door. 

“Is that what this is?” Soap stays by the door. When Price finds out about this, he wants plausible deniability. 

Ghost taps the top of the desk fan, before following the wire with his eyes to where it is plugged in by the filing cabinet. He switches off the socket and takes the plug, picking up the desk fan and passing it to Soap before locking the door again. 

“Package retrieved.” Soap chuckles. 

“On my six, Sergeant.” Ghost pockets the keys. “Checkpoint is Garrick’s room.”

“Sir.” With both hands holding the desk fan, Soap nods in place of a salute before following Ghost down the corridor, their journey quiet until they reach their destination. 

Ghost knocks, waits a minute, then knocks again. 

“He’s probably asleep, LT.”

Ghost knocks a third time, then shakes his head and takes the keys out of his pocket again, sorting through them.

“For emergencies?” Soap asks. 

“He’s not waking up.” Ghost holds up the key. “Going to make sure this isn't a heatstroke.” 

“Have you got a key to my room?”

Ghost holds up the key next to it. 

“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap steps aside, letting Ghost access the lock and quietly crack the door open.

“Kyle?” He says through the crack. 

The answer sounds like a sob.

Ghost looks at Soap, and then opens the door slightly wider. “Kyle, it’s Ghost and Soap. We’re coming in.”

Another sob.

Ghost nods, and opens the door completely, letting Soap go in past him before locking it behind them.

Crouching to put the desk fan on the floor, Soap crawls the rest of the way to the bed, kneeling beside it. “Gaz?” 

Gaz is awake, but doesn’t seem to be very focused on anything except the elephant toy that he is hugging to his chest, quiet tears trailing down his face. 

Soap rests a hand on his friend’s forehead. “Fuck, you’re burning up.” 

“Bad word.” Gaz murmurs.

Soap pulls the desk fan closer, plugging it in under the bedside table. The relief from the blast of cold air is heavenly, and Soap holds the fan up higher, perching it on the bedside table at an angle so that its sweep can cover most of the room. “There we go.”

Gaz sits up, watching the fans. “Hurt fingers.”

Soap looks at him. “What?”

“Don’t touch.” Gaz sniffs and points at the fan. “Hurt fingers.”

“Yeah.” Soap nods, taking the glass of water that Ghost hands him and letting Gaz take a few sips. 

“Where’s Dad?”

“Um…” Soap looks over his shoulder at Ghost. “I don’t think this is heatstroke, LT.”

Ghost is already on his phone, but Soap can hear the disconnect signal from where he is. “Bloody hell, Price.”

Soap can sense his frustration. Of all the times for the Captain to be in Urzikstan.

Ghost tries another number. “Laswell? Have you got comms with Price?” He nods as he listens to her reply. “It’s Kyle.”

Ghost disappears into the bathroom, and Soap dips his fingers into the water, bringing them round to dampen the back of Gaz’s neck. 

Gaz holds up the elephant, and Soap waits for him to break, for the laughing to start. But nothing, just wide pleading eyes.

Hoping that his awkwardness doesn’t show, Soap dips his fingers into the water, and pats the elephant’s neck, watching as Gaz smiles and hugs him closer again. 

Soap chuckles to himself, oh God what is he thinking? It has to be the heat. But he wants to see Gaz smile again and apparently that means playing along, so he carefully picks up the elephant's trunk and rests it in the glass, just above the water, while making a slurping noise. 

Gaz grins at the antics, while rocking slightly. 

Still on the phone, Ghost re-enters the room, opening the wardrobe and moving a coat to one side. “Blue cardboard? Yeah, found it.” He puts the box on the foot of the bed, opening it. “Alright, Kate. Mission understood.” He nods. “Course we’re not laughing at him.” He says sternly, before listening to her some more. “Speak tomorrow.”

Hanging up the phone, Ghost sits down and moves the box to his lap, hand sorting through the contents and pulling out a small box of crayons. There’s a printer on the desk, and Ghost reaches over to pull some paper from it.

“Kyle.” He rests the paper on the box lid. “Want to do some colouring?”

Gaz nods, the elephant falling into his lap as he picks up the crayons.

“What’s your favourite colour?” Ghost asks, his voice soft.

“Blue.” Gaz holds up the crayon and draws a messy circle. Some more circles and a smile turn it into a face. Lines give it whiskers. A cat with a stick figure body. 

He uses a green crayon to start drawing a house next to the cat, smiling as he does so.

Soap stands up from the floor, moving to the foot of the bed as Ghost stands as well. 

“I take it Dad is Price.”

Ghost nods.

He grins. “Is Laswell Mum?”

Ghost glares at him through the mask. “Don’t make fun of this, Johnny.”

Soap widens his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Still fucking figuring out what this is, Simon.”

“Bad word.” Gaz says, not looking up from his colouring.

Ghost laughs, sitting back on the bed. “Shall we get Uncle Johnny a swear jar?”

Gaz nods, and Soap rolls his eyes. 

“Uncle Johnny?”

“Laswell said he should still know who we are. Just, talk to him like you would a little child?” 

Soap nods. “What causes this?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Johnny.”

Soap picks up the box and studies the contents. What gets his attention is a small tub of green toy soldiers.

“Hey, I had these as a laddie.” He sits on a patch of floor in front of the desk fan and starts arranging a platoon. 

He feels eyes against the back of his head, and looks round to see both Ghost and Gaz watching him. 

“Just…getting them ready for him.”

Ghost chuckles, before turning his attention back to his little artists’ friend. “What’s her name?”

“Dabba.” Gaz says.

“She’s pretty.”

“Dabba’s a boy.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Ghost says, as if addressing Dabba directly. “My mistake.”

“Assuming gender, LT.” Soap teases from the floor. “I thought better of you.”

Ghost glares at him. 

“No bad words.” The Scotsman points at Gaz.

“Don’t you have an army to organise, Colonel ?”

Soap chuckles, and returns to arranging his troops. “Used to spend hours playing with these. Guess I was born for the army. You have any, LT?”

“I mostly played outside.” Ghost doesn’t elaborate, watching as Gaz picks up a yellow crayon and draws a smiling sun for his cat and house. 

“Kyle.” Ghost says softly. “Can you tell me why you were crying just now?”

“Miss Dad.”

“Yeah. Dad misses you too. You feeling better now?”

Gaz nods, and holds up his drawing. 

“Very good.” Ghost picks up the green crayon. “Can I add a tree?” 

Gaz watches him work, picking up Dabba again.

Soap leans against the bed. “Laswell say how long he’ll be like this?”

“Till he falls asleep.” Ghost picks up a brown crayon for the trunk of his tree. “Should wake up himself again.”

“Should?”

“Uncharted waters, Johnny.” Ghost shrugs. “She said he’s never done this by himself before. Usually waits until he is with Price. Something must have triggered it.”

“Something in the rec room?”

“Or exhaustion from the heat.” Ghost pats Gaz’s shoulder. “It’s not the issue right now. Just keep him settled till he’s ready to sleep.”

Gaz yawns.

“Is it bedtime now?”

“No.” Gaz shakes his head, and slides down to the floor, picking up the soldiers. 

Ghost chuckles. “Ten minutes with soldiers, then bed.”

“Twenty.” Gaz demands. 

“Thirty.” Soap says. 

“Shut it, you.” Ghost playfully slaps the back of Soap’s head, then looks back at Gaz. “Fifteen minutes, Joseph.”

Soap can see the moment that Ghost registers the slip, his eyes widening behind the mask, hands clenching and unclenching. 

He gets up from the bed, picking up the drawing he made with the boy and moving to the back of the room to look through the window. 

Soap knows Ghost well enough to know when he needs space, even if every one of his instincts want to run up and hug the man right now. He returns his attention to the boy currently acting out a quiet scene with the soldiers, picking up his own soldier to join in with.

Eventually, Gaz is yawning again, his eyes drooping. When he starts leaning heavily against the bed, Soap slowly stands. 

“Simon?”

He waits for Ghost to turn around, and then points to the half asleep boy. 

“Alright, you.” Ghost quietly comes over, gently picking Gaz up and sitting him on the bed while Soap picks up the dropped Dabba, laying him next to the pillow.

Gaz now has his head rested against Ghost’s shoulder, completely relaxed as the older man hugs him close. 

Soap focuses on Ghost’s eyes. They seem distant, as if a memory is playing behind them. He quickly sits on the bed next to him, his hand on Ghost’s other shoulder. “Simon?”

“I’m okay, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice sounds hoarse, like someone who has been screaming. Or who is on the verge of tears. “Wait until he’s asleep.”

Soap nods, and for the longest time the only sound in the room is the slight squeak in the spindle of the desk fan as it continues to cool the air.

Gaz has been fast asleep for a while now, but Soap doesn’t point attention to it. Ghost’s eyes are closed and he is just resting in the moment, still holding the boy close. 

Soap isn’t sure which boy.

He doesn’t know who Joseph is, but now is not the time to ask. The atmosphere is calm and he wants it to stay that way, so Soap reigns in his instinct to satisfy his curiosity, instead distracting himself by climbing down to the floor to start putting the soldiers away.

If he walks each of them to the box one by one, that’s his own business.