Chapter Text
I adore you, you know…every part of you. The good and the bad.
-Laura Taylor’s Letters to Simon “Ghost” Riley 30/?
After that night when Ghost rejected Dr. Taylor there had been a strange energy in the base. Ghost was more irritated with everything and everyone. If someone left a dirty dish in the sink, he would slam it around the sink, nearly breaking the dish, blaming the next person who walked into the kitchen that they made the mess. He spent more time in the gym, religiously working out: doing push ups, sit ups, pull ups, anything. During missions he was easily agitated, shouting at Soap more than usual: no more puns or jokes over the radio like they used to do. He put himself in more risky situations, getting shot at more and more. If it wasn’t for his bulletproof vest, the man would have been killed in the last two missions. However, he never put the others at risk when he was reckless, he would always tell them he was going dark — giving into the suicidal thoughts that he had buried deep inside of him.
He wanted to blame it on the doctor. Everything was fine until she showed up, but he knew it wasn’t her fault. No, it was never her fault. It was his. He wanted something he knew he couldn’t have. His wanting was selfish, an ugly desire he was trying to purge in his mind. It was difficult though. He stayed as far away from her as he could. If he saw her walking down the hallway, he would turn around and disappear into another room till she was gone. However, he still watched her from afar — he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to see her. He wanted to make sure she was alive and still with them, even though he was pushing her further and further away from him. It felt wrong to be so cold to her; it ate him alive every time he ignored her ‘hellos’ or even her glances. He started wearing his sunglasses more often than before, hiding his eyes so they couldn’t have their intense eye contact like before. But it was for her own good. She didn’t need him. She didn’t want him. She wouldn’t want him if she knew the truth about him.
Despite isolating himself from everyone, especially her, he could still hear her soft laugh from the clinic. He hated the sound of it, but God, he loved it. He hated the way her smile lit up the room whenever she walked in (he loved it). He hated the way her eyes crinkled in the corners, showing the wear and tear of wrinkles (he loved it). He hated the way her hands felt on his body, even through the material of his clothes, so soft unlike his rough ones (he loved it). He hated that stupid fucking smile, the way it ignited something deep within him (God, he loved it). He hated how her face purged his dreams instead of his nightmares (he loved it). He hated waking up in the morning, aching for her to be at his side just to know she was there and alive.
It was maddening. He had never craved a woman like this in his entire life. Sure, when he was younger he had women at his side. He was popular once. He was handsome in his younger years. But, he had never felt a yearning like this: ever. But they were too different, she didn’t understand that but he did. He was a man who was friends with death, while she was friends with life. He was a man who had no will to live except to keep this task force alive, while she had to live to save and heal people. He was a man who had nothing except the clothes on his back, while she had a family back home. He was a man who had scars scattered across his face and chest, while she was polished perfectly. He was a man who was focused on his job, while she was focused on keeping him alive. He was darkness while she was the light.
What was worse, was that he hated how she made him feel warm in his cold body. He was so tired of feeling cold and distant, but he had to be. He had to be a ruthless, cold, machine to survive this job. Yet, she was bringing the warmth back into his body. He was afraid, he was afraid to let anyone warm his cold heart — people die, people leave, but he was always left to be alone. She was like a drug, and he was an addictive man: he wanted that warmth she provided everyday, every moment. He had tried to force himself to hate the feeling, but it was too much to push away. It was gnawing at him, like a starved dog chewing on a bone. He craved the feeling from her — the slight touch she gave him, the smile on her face directed at him, the kiss she gave him that night.
He wanted her, but he was always horrified by her — by how much he wanted her at his side, alive and to never leave him. His want was selfish, but he wanted her. That was why he was distancing himself from her, praying the drug would wear off and he could let his heart be cold again.
The base was filled with a quiet energy tonight, there was no mission and they had some downtime. Most of the men had been avoiding Ghost, to let him stir in his own anger. Ghost was walking down the hallway toward the debrief room when he heard laughter coming from the med clinic: it was hers and Johnny’s. His heart tugged at his chest, feeling emptier than before. He slowly walked toward the clinic, keeping to the shadows of the dark. The door was opened ajar, but he dared not look in. He leaned against the wall, turning his head toward the door.
“You’re sweet Soap,” she said softly.
“I can be more than sweet, doc.” His voice was filled with charm. It made Ghost sick. Johnny had so much charm, if only he had an ounce of what Johnny had.
Laura didn’t respond to his comment, she was quiet. Ghost should be furious with Johnny, but this was better. Johnny was a good man. He was kind, funny, and handsome: everything that Ghost wasn’t. Johnny would be good to her, a good man, a good husband. It killed Ghost to think of Johnny holding Laura, kissing her — but if someone had to have her, he would pick Johnny over everyone else in the world. He deserved someone like her, and she deserved a kind man like Johnny. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t kill him to try and convince himself of that idea. He didn’t deserve her. He shouldn’t want her. But, God, he did.
“You’ve been so distant, doc. You and Ghost,” Soap spoke again and Ghost was pulled out of his deep thoughts. “Is there somethin-”
“No,” she interrupted him. “Of course not. You know how he gets. He likes you Soap, you should try and talk to him. I know he respects you.”
Soap let out a scoff. “Righttttt” he drew out the syllable.
“I’m serious. He’d listen to you,” her voice sounded defeated, and Ghost felt pins in his hands: knowing he had done that to her.
Ghost walked back down the hallway, not wanting to eavesdrop on their conversation anymore. He wanted to go back to gym, distract himself more from the thought of Johnny and Laura together.
After a few hours in the gym his body was sore, but he still had an unruly energy in his body. It was like a gnat that he couldn't kill. No matter how Ghost worked out, sweated out, it was still there: flying around in his head. Ghost was in the kitchen, chewing on a protein bar when Johnny walked in. Johnny stopped once he saw Ghost by the kitchen counter, surprised to see him in the kitchen. However, a small smile was on the man’s tan face.
“LT.” He addressed Ghost and walked over to the fridge, opening the door. “Nice to see you.”
Ghost didn’t respond to him, but kept his dark brown hues on him. Soap pulled out a beer from the fridge, closing the door with his hip.
“Everythin’ alright?” Soap questioned him as he opened the lid of the beer.
Ghost narrowed his eyes at the man. His question annoyed him, but he knew he had been acting differently. He just didn’t want anyone to call him out on it, especially Johnny. Ghost looked away from Soap, and swallowed the protein bar, crushing the wrapper in his gloved hand. Johnny stood beside him, sipping on his beer, watching Ghost carefully. Ghost would never tell him that he respected Johnny, more than he had respected any other solider in his life. So, maybe Johnny could help him but he would never ask outright.
“How do you tell someone you want to be with them but that they shouldn’t be with you?” Ghost’s voice was low, almost hoping Johnny didn’t hear him.
Soap was quiet, processing his words. He put the beer on the countertop and leaned against it, looking at Ghost.
“‘Let them decide” Soap answered, so simply it sounded so simple but Ghost knew it was more complicated than that. It had to be.
“It can’t be that simple,” Ghost muttered.
“Sure it can. You want them and if they want you, what’s the problem?” He responded, grabbing the beer off the counter.
“Because one of them isn’t good enough for that person.” Ghost was hoping Johnny knew he wasn’t talking about himself.
“If they want you…you are good enough, sir.” Johnny’s voice was soft when he spoke, it annoyed Ghost. How can Johnny have a soft voice like that while his is deep and rough?
Ghost didn’t say anything to the man. He crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest, his fingers digging into the sleeve of his black hoodie. Johnny was the only man he could hint these problems to. He respected Johnny, hell, he basically loved Johnny like a brother but he would never tell him that.
Soap drank more of his beer and stood up straight. “Whatever’s botherin’ you I hope you get over it soon LT. I miss when we could make jokes over the radio.”
Soap walked out of the kitchen, leaving Ghost alone. He hated being alone. The silence made his mind wander to dark areas. He should go back to the gym and work out more, but his body was too sore from the previous workout and the mission. He walked to the fridge, opening it and stared at the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He’s been clean for a year. He hadn’t been tempted for a whole year, but now? He reached for the bottle without a second thought and closed the fridge door, heading back to his private room.