Would it be okay if we do, Ghost, Fluff, and 2? I want it to be his however.
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Ghost doesn't really understand the appeal of birthdays, so much so that he can't remember the last time he celebrated one. One more lap around the sun, what’s so exciting about that? The team seemed to share his perspective, or the four of them are just too busy to care otherwise, the most any of them get is a night off and a free round at the pub if they’re lucky. That is until you came along.
The bright eyed new secretary, filled with more energy than a child on sugar high, at least from Ghost perspective. From the outside world you probably appear as a regular upbeat individual, but to someone who’s been around military personnel so long he’s lost perspective of how regular individuals behave, you seem to be spat straight out of the sun with how bright your personality is. It’s odd, having someone around that is a stark opposite to what he’s used to.
You’ve been around for five months, and already you’ve constructed elaborate celebrations for both Price and Soap on their birthdays. Soap’s was the first, you’d approached him in the common room the day prior, asking what plans he had for his special day. Your loud exclamation of “that’s terrible!” could be heard down the hall after the man had simply shrugged and discussed maybe getting a drink at the pub. You’d made it your personal mission to fix the unacceptable situation, working god knows how many extra hours that night to decorate the common room with an elaborate array of streamers, balloons and a very large hand painted banner with the words, “Happy Birthday Soap!”
No one’s exactly sure how you did it, but you managed to organise a batch of cupcakes decorated in various colours of icing, each topped with a cartoony bomb made with fondant, the centre cake with a chocolate disks iced with the remark, “hope your birthday is a blast.” Soap found it hilarious. Somehow you also arranged for a full traditional Scottish feast for lunch with millionaires shortbread for dessert which Soap had mentioned craving only the week prior. It was a ludicrous amount of work for one person to have pulled off, and yet you did it, completely of your own volition.
Soap was over the moon, kept going on about how you were spoiling him, only for you to brush it off, reiterating that everyone deserves to be celebrated on their birthday.
Price was next. You hadn’t even bothered to ask if he had plans, you manage his calendar, you are well aware of his lack of effort when it came to organising something for himself. So again you took on the task of preparing something. The morning of, he’d been greeted with a full English breakfast, a new box of his favourite brand of tea and a very expensive case of cigars. How you afforded them he’s unsure, he’s aware of exactly how low your salary is. Though when he tried to return them you’d adamantly refused.
That evening you’d ushered the team into the common room, the space having been turned into a movie theatre. The lights were off, instead the room was dimly lit with small lanterns. On the coffee table sat a bottle of liquor likely older than you, and the tv had one of Price’s favourite films loaded up ready to play. The captain was pleasantly surprised, murmuring soft words of appreciation when you’d passed him a glass of the alcohol.
Everyone on the team is glad for the change, relishing in having someone put some time and care into them. Working in the military you learn to place your own needs last, your comfort and your passions get pushed to the side in place of the missions, then you walked in and completely flipped that idea on its head. And it’s not just on birthdays that you make them feel important, on a day to day basis you go out of your way to show them some care. You bring them cups of tea without them asking, you keep the biscuit tin restocked, you ensure to check in on them after a particularly rough op. Sandwiches are left on desks when someone misses lunch, the fridge always has some sort of homemade meal for them to grab a serve of and it’s not uncommon for uplifting notes to be left taped to people’s computer monitors.
Ghost has no fucking idea what to do about any of it. He’s not someone who says please and thankyou, he’s not one to give appreciation, Ghost does his job and he does it well, manners do not play a part in that. Though each time you do something nice for him, each cup of tea, each gentle word of encouragement after an op, he feels some twinge in his gut when all he offers back a nod or quiet grunt. It’s an awful feeling, one he cannot shake no matter how hard he tries. He acts the same way around you as he does anyone else, so why is he plagued with guilt over it?
The feeling only worsens the closer it gets to his own birthday, a sudden awareness of its closening proximity. Ghost doesn’t want some large celebration like you gave Price and Soap, but he also knows how huge of an asshole he would be if he acted ungrateful after you put in so much effort. He contemplates putting in for leave just to avoid the situation entirely, but unfortunately the opportunity never comes after a mission he is on runs longer than expected. Now he’s flying back to base the evening of his birthday with the expectation of being bombarded with decorations and well wishes the moment he steps through the doors. The last twenty minutes of the flight are spent mentally preparing himself to sit through the celebration, to force out a thanks. Surely if he can get through an hour of it, that’s an acceptable amount of time for him to not come across ungrateful, then he can retreat to his room and be done with it for another year.
The walk from the chopper to the base entrance is one of the most stressful moments of his career, his heart in his throat as he steps inside, bracing for your yell of “Happy Birthday.” Only it never comes. The hall is in fact, empty. It takes a moment for Ghost to move, caught completely off guard by the lack of… anything. Maybe you’re waiting in the common room to surprise him? He cautiously makes his way down the corridor, boots echoing loudly. He pauses for a moment before the common room entrance, sucking in a sharp breath before pushing the door open, prepared for the bright streamers and balloons, but again there’s… nothing.
Ghost should feel relieved, he didn’t want a celebration anyhow, but instead he finds himself… disappointed. Did you not like him? Is that why you didn’t prepare anything? Or had you forgotten? Did you even know it was his birthday?
Slowly he retreats from the room, trudging off toward his barracks. This shouldn’t bother him. Why does it bother him? He pulls his gear off hastily, chucking it haphazardly upon his bedroom floor before stomping into his bathroom to shower. The warm water does nothing to calm him, if anything he feels more agitated.
Stupid birthdays. Stupid celebrations. And stupid you for having to make such a big deal of everyone else.
He scrubs at his skin until it’s pink, the water runs off him a light brown that eventually turns clear after a few minutes of vigorous bathing. Once he is out of the shower and dressed he goes to lay down but stops as his hand touches the covers. He should just sleep it off, who cares about a birthday, not him…. Except he does care. Ghost turns to his door, he’ll go find you, ask why you did something for the others but not him, at least he’ll have an answer and can then move on.
He pulls the door open in a rush, stepping out so quickly that he has no time to realise someone is standing in front of his room before he’s tumbling over them, the both of you hitting the floor in a heap.
When he lifts his head and finds your face mere centimetres away he can’t help but scramble backwards, “shit.”
You let out a startled laugh, pushing yourself to sit up, “sorry I- I wasn’t expecting you to be practicing an evacuation when I came to find you.”
Ghost shakes his head, helping you to your feet, “no that was my fault, sorry for bowling you over.”
You smile up at him, saying something in return but he doesn’t fully hear you. Did he just apologise?
The gentle tug you give to his hand returns his attention, “are you busy? I have something that needs your attention if that’s okay?”
Ghost finds himself nodding, the ability to speak evading him as you gently guide him down the hall, your hand still linked with his. If anyone were to witness this moment they would likely think Ghost was having some form of medical event. One of the gruffest, seemingly unfeeling, robot of a soldier, being led down the hall by the pretty secretary as though a lost puppy. For some odd reason, Ghost can’t find it in himself to care.
You lead him to the stairwell, winding up the steps and out the door onto the roof. There’s a light breeze when the two of you step outside, pleasantly cool. At the other end of the roof sit two chairs, facing out toward the horizon, next to them sits a fold out table which, as they get closer, Ghost can see holds a few beers, a cake and a small radio.
Before he can clarify what this is, you are already gesturing to the set up with a soft explanation, “I thought you aren’t really one for something big and loud, but I noticed you often take strolls in the evening so maybe you’d just enjoy sitting and watching the stars.”
You pick up one of the drinks off the table holding it out to him. Ghost clears his throat, hesitant to take it, “I uhh… not much of a drinker.”
As if expecting that response you smile and press it into his hand, “non-alcoholic.”
“Oh.” How did you know he doesn’t drink?
Once he takes the drink you gesture for him to take a seat, turning the radio on, keeping the volume low as a soft background noise. “Mind if I keep you company?”
He nods slowly, sliding down into one of the chairs, watching as you do the same beside him. He can’t deny that this is… nice. Unexpected, but nice. You grab one of the drinks yourself and clink it against his.
You take a swig and he does the same. For a moment the two of you sit in silence, the soft music playing beside you, the stars above sparkling brightly. Ghost finds himself leaning back in his chair, taking in the patterns overhead, a sense of calm settling in. After a few minutes he can’t help but ask the question spinning in his mind, “how’d you know all of it?”
You hum, head turning toward him, “all of what?”
“The beer, and the stargazing, and the lack of balloons.”
A soft smile spreads on your lips, “I’m a good gift giver.”
You laugh and shake your head, “not trying to brag, it’s just something I try quite hard on. Guess you could say it’s my love language. To be loved is to be known as they say and what better way to show that than something like this?”
“Love huh,” he takes another small sip of his drink, “can’t say that’s something I’m familiar with.”
“I doubt that very much.”
When he looks over at you he finds no trace of untruth in your gaze and he can’t help but feel that maybe you might be right. You turn away and reach over to the table, flicking on a lighter to spark the candle atop the small cake. When you turn back to him, cake in hand with a candle burning bright, he finds himself instead looking at the glow of your face, your smile glowing so much brighter than any flame.
He leans forward, eyes not leaving yours as he gently blows the flame out.
Simon taps the bottle in his hand lightly, “aint it bad luck to say the wish out loud?”
You shrug, placing the cake back on the table so you can cut a slice, “guess I don’t believe in that sort of superstition.”
Turning back to him you hold out a plate, a generous piece of cake piled on top. He gingerly takes it from you, setting the plate down in his lap. He stares down at it for a moment before looking back at you, waiting expectantly for his answer, “I wished for the light to keep shining.”
You tilt your head in confusion, “the candle?”
He shakes his head, “different kind of light.”
You don’t press for an explanation, instead just leaning slightly closer, voice quiet, “I have one last surprise but you gotta close your eyes first.”
Ghost’s lip quirks slightly but he does what you ask, let his eyes slip shut. For a moment nothing happens, but then he feels a soft warmth against his cheek. A lingering kiss that makes his heart skip a beat. When he opens his eyes again you're smiling.
He thinks if this is what birthdays are about, maybe they really aren’t so bad afterall.
