Chapter Text
“Ma-”
“No, John, your father and I insist! You said it yourself, you finally have leave over Christmas and you will come home for it.” His mother’s voice was tinny through the speakers and her image froze and glitched for a moment as she levelled his father a significant glance. It was an effort not to roll his eyes. In his thirties and his mam was still a force to be reckoned with.
“It’s been four years since you’ve been home for Christmas, John,” his father said. Soap sighed and resisted the urge to rub his hands down his face.
“Fine, fine, I’ll be there,” he agreed reluctantly. If this was a battle, he had definitely lost it. But, there was still a chance to win the war. “I’ve got my flat though, so I won’t be stayin’ at the house.”
As far as victories went, it was a small one. Not even worth mentioning, really.
“How wonderful! Your sisters will be so excited to hear you’re coming home!” his mom exclaimed, a smile stretching across her face. No mention of his brother, but he hadn’t expected one.
“I’m sure they will be,” he agreed, trying to surreptitiously glance towards the door. Maybe he could escape the conversation before he lost any more ground. He had a feeling…
“And so will Mrs. McKenna! You know, she’s going to be at Christmas supper with her daughter-”
Steamin’ fuckin’ Jesus. He knew there was going to be something. Never mind the small victory of bunking in his own flat for the holiday, this battle was a wash, and likely the war too. His parents must have seen something on his face, because his father was frowning and his mother’s smile had gained a brittle quality. God, he fuckin’ hated disappointing them.
“She’s a nice girl, John,” was all his father said. Yeah, yeah. He knew where this mess was going. He knew how this was going to go. Goddamn it. Goddamn him for opening his fool fuckin’ mouth and talking about how he was getting leave. He knew better.
“I didn’t say she wasn’t nice, but-”
“Well you’re not bringing anyone home with you, are you?” his mother handily bulldozed right over him and he was left wrong-footed. Of course he wasn’t bringing anyone home with him, and they knew that full well. What was he going to do? Who would he even ask? He could see it now! “Hey Ghost, fancy meeting my family over the holidays? Maybe pretend to be my boyfriend so they get off my back? Maybe be my boyfriend for real?” Yeah, that’d go over about as well as a live grenade.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
In the corner of the monitor he could see himself with a gloved hand on his shoulder that was attached to a large body. The glove had a skeletal hand printed on it, and he knew without looking that Ghost was standing behind him like a fuckin’ wraith.
“Oh! Is that- is that one of your friends?” his mother asked, choking on the word ‘friends.’ Soap sat there, frozen in mind and body. This couldn’t be going much worse if he tried. Eyes glued to the corner of the monitor where he can see himself, he watched with well-hidden horror as Ghost leaned down until his skull mask entered the frame. Ghost didn’t say anything, of course, just levelled a dead-eyed stare at his parents while he scrambled to think of a way to salvage this.
“Aye, this is my- Ghost.”
It dawned on him then what his mother had really been asking, and for the first time in over a decade Soap wished the ground would open up and just swallow him. Too bad he hadn’t clued in before answering.
“How nice to meet you, Ghost. Will your friend be joining us for Christmas?” his mother’s voice was strained but polite. Was she paler than before? An understandable reaction to seeing Ghost, he supposed, especially for a civilian. His father seemed to have been shocked into silence.
Soap twisted in his seat to look up at Ghost at the same moment the lieutenant glanced down at him. Their eyes met and Ghost gave him a nearly imperceptible nod.
“Aye, my friend will be joining me,” he managed to croak out almost normally. Was he dreaming? Was he sick? Was he dying?? Had- had Ghost turned the tide of this battle? Was this a win?
“How lovely.” Soap wasn’t sure how his mother was managing to maintain the niceties in the face of Ghost’s stare. He’d heard hardened soldiers cry out in terror at the mere sight of him and yet Mrs. Margaret MacTavish was pushing forward regardless. Nerves of steel. Maybe that’s where he’d got them from?
“We should be traveling on the 21st; I’ll let you know if anything changes,” he said. Ghost squeezed his shoulder and straightened up, taking his masked face out of frame.
“Take care out there,” his father said, voice gruff.
“I will.”
When Soap had finally disconnected the damned call and turned to say something to Ghost, he found he wasn’t very surprised to find the man had disappeared.
He heaved a sigh and ran a hand down his face, sliding down in his seat for a moment before springing to his feet. It was two weeks until they were due for that Christmas leave, and he was due for a briefing before shipping out on one last op. Which was probably why Ghost had come and found him. He hurried out of the room, waving at the signalman who was tasked with listening into their conversations to make sure nothing was being shared that shouldn’t be.
What a fuckin’ mess.
++
Soap hadn’t had much of a chance to check in with Ghost prior to booking tickets for the train that would take them from Hereford to Glasgow, just a hurried exchange coming off the transport plane that was about three words and just as many syllables before he’d been shepherded to medical to have a cut on his face cleaned and bandaged properly. Hopefully it would be ready to come off in time for the usual photos his mother liked taking. Which was a whole can of worms in and of itself.
But, here they were, crammed onto a busy train that was quickly winding its way northward. He had met Ghost that morning in the hallway that housed their rooms, each of them in civilian clothes and holding their kit bags. Soap had been a bit surprised to see Ghost in a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and a black balaclava with his hood up, no eyeblack in sight, but he liked to think he’d been very casual about seeing him like that. He had purposely booked seats in such a way that had them able to survey their surroundings, though the seats really weren’t big enough for people their size. Which, he’d also booked first class to try and get a little more room, but, you know.
“Sure you’re good?” he asked, trying (in vain) to shift so he wasn’t entirely in Ghost’s space.
“It’s fine, Johnny.”
Well, Ghost might’ve been fine, but Soap was about ready to die on the spot. They’d been crammed into plenty of transports, pressed together from shoulder to knee, but there was something different about that. It still flustered him sometimes when it was Ghost next to him, which seemed to happen more often than not, but it was different to be sitting on a civilian train with no tactical gear acting as a buffer between them. He could feel how hot Simon was, pressed together the way they were, and he could feel that his own face was just as hot. Thankfully the worst of it was hidden by a medical mask that he had pulled on when they’d reached the train station. Wouldn’t do to come down sick going into the holidays.
The holidays. Hells fuckin’ bells he doesn’t know what to do about any of this. There’s the obvious; they’d head up to his tiny little flat in Glasgow, offload their bags, eat something, and sleep. He didn’t have any gifts for his family yet, so he’d have to do something about that, and he wanted to find something for Ghost too. Just a little something as thank you for coming with him. Then, then, they’d sit through dinner and a drink with the immediate MacTavish clan, just so they could meet Ghost and vise versa before Christmas actually came, and Jesus fuckin’ wept wouldn’t that be a mess. He could just see it now.
These are my parents, he’d say, Thomas and Margaret MacTavish. And this is- Jesus, how the hell was he going to introduce Ghost? From everything he’d gleaned about the man, he wasn’t given to using his name for some very good reasons. He couldn’t very well call him Ghost the entire time, could he? And what about when his folks asked about their work? Classified, sorry that’s classified, nope that’s classified. How’d you meet, they would ask. We met on the tarmac before loading into a plane. Destination classified. Mission classified.
And then there was his brother, David. Who would surely open his stupid fuckin’ mouth and say something so profoundly stupid and ignorant and- and Ghost was going to be watching all of this play out in front of him. Hear David make some crass joke about his sexuality. To his lieutenant. To his lieutenant he harboured feelings for. Shit, had he mentioned Ghost to his younger sister? What would she have to say about all this? Hot panic made his scalp prickle uncomfortably and he felt himself drawing in a strangled breath-
“What do you call a kid in the army?” Ghost’s gruff voice broke through Soap’s spiralling thoughts.
“What?”
“Infantry,” Ghost deadpanned.
“That was awful, LT,” Soap said with a half-hearted chuckle. Ghost cut him a sideways glance that was full of satisfaction.
“Better than listening to the cogs turnin’ in that head of yours,” there’s just a hint of humour in the man’s voice, and Soap is able to recognize the invitation for what it is: spit it out.
“Do I introduce you as Ghost? Or-”
“Yes. You can call me Simon, though,” his companion said with a small cough to clear his throat.
“Okay, Simon,” he tested the name, heat blooming in his chest at being given another degree of closeness with the man behind the mask. He had called Ghost Simon a handful of times before, but there was something special about being given permission like this.
“That can’t be the only thing you were thinking about, Johnny.”
“You’re right about that,” Soap said with a sigh. “It’s a bit complicated with my folks - you had to have picked up on that.”
“I did,” Simon agreed.
“So you must’ve picked up that they think you’re not just any friend, then. My parents think you’re my boyfriend.” He was an exceedingly competent operator for the S.A.S., and had proved himself in difficult situations time and time again, he’d kept his nerves even fifty some odd floors above Chicago and stared Hassan in the eyes while Ghost had made the kill shot, but telling Ghost that he wasn’t straight? And that his family thought they were dating? That they thought they were travelling together to introduce Simon to the family?
Christ on a cross, he wanted to throw up.
“I did.”
Never mind throwing up, he wanted to scream.
“And you’re okay with that?” he asked instead.
“I’m here, aren’t I? I knew what I was getting into.” Did he? ‘Cause Soap hadn’t known, and the more he thought about it the more nervous he got. How was he supposed to act with Simon? He’d never had the chance to bring anyone home to meet the family, and he hadn’t exactly been confident in his reception if he had, given the fallout after he’d been outed by his brother.
He knew how to act with Ghost in the field and in the periods between operations: dry jokes, borderline flirting, semi-professional banter, but a close relationship. He would call it friendship, but Ghost would probably remind him that it wasn’t in the field manual. He wondered what kind of relationships were in the manual-
Field manual.
Rules of engagement.
That was exactly what they needed. Clear rules of engagement with defined boundaries for them both to operate in. So they would both know what to expect from each other over the coming days. Then he wouldn’t overstep (too much) and Ghost could be reasonably assured of some level of comfort.
“So do I get to hold your hand while we’re there? Call you sweetheart?” If he hadn’t been looking directly at Ghost, eyes and ears trained on him, he would have missed the way he froze momentarily before turning from the window and it’s view of the dreary countryside to study Soap, eyes narrowed. There was an instant where Johnny was sure he was either going to be stabbed or given the dressing-down of his life, then-
“Do you want to?”
He wanted a lot of things, and getting the chance to do something as innocent as hold Simon’s hand was the very tip of that particular iceberg. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on when he right next to the man, especially since they still had a couple of hours of travel left in close quarters, but…
“Aye,” Soap replied. He didn’t elaborate. Let Ghost be in the hot seat for a change.
“Hm.” There was something in the way he made that sound that Soap couldn’t quite interpret. Ghost’s brows were furrowed, just barely visible under the black balaclava he was wearing. Confusion?
“Anything off limits? Name-wise, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Ghost rumbled. “Can’t think of anything. Just don’t get too creative, yeah?”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” Soap shot back, a sly grin spreading across his face. The possibilities here were nearly endless. Ghost stared at him for a moment longer before turning his eyes forwards again.
“I’ve got one condition to all of this,” he said.
“And what’s that?” Soap asked, cocking his head.
“Christmas Eve. I have… business. In Manchester,” Ghost answered, his tone guarded, shoulders tense. His gloved hands were resting on his thighs, the fingertips pressing hard into his jeans. Johnny weighed his options; he could press for details, likely be rebuffed, and make the rest of the day painfully awkward, he could agree, no questions asked with maybe an offer to book the man a train ticket, or maybe…
“Would you like company for that business?” They could both go, and whatever it was that had his lieutenant locking up like this could be a burden shared instead of a burden shouldered alone. Was it selfish of him to try and muscle his way in like this? Seeking any kind of connection he could find? Maybe. But he would do it anyways. Ghost remained completely still, shoulders stiff, eyes skipping from person to person on the train with them before landing on Johnny again. His jaw moved under his balaclava, like he wanted to say something and thought better of it. That happens more than once, before he manages:
“Yeah.”
“I’ll check what tickets are available, aye? If you don’t like the times we could see about borrowing a car?”
They discuss a time, and Johnny is, by some miracle, able to find tickets for both of them to get to Manchester and back again. The timing isn’t ideal; they’ll spend more time in transit that day than doing anything else, but it would be worth it to spend the day with Simon, doing whatever it was that was so important that he needed to be there.
With the matter handled, they each settled in for the remainder of their train ride, though Soap could feel that Ghost had relaxed a bit just from where their legs and shoulders were pressed together in their seats.
Maybe Christmas wouldn’t be completely awful, after all.