🥀Isaac🥀

Price had always been like a father to Soap. He had trained him to become the strong, reliable soldier he was today. He had guided him through missions, he had provided backup to him so many times that he’d lost count. He truly was his lifeline.

Sure, he had made fun of his nickname when they’d first met, but Soap took that in his stride. There was a level of partnership between them that even Ghost hadn’t reached yet.

So when Soap had to watch the life fade out of Price’s eyes as he laid dying, held up only by the tactical gear gripped in Soap’s dirty, blood stained hands, he didn’t know how to react. Ghost and Gaz were there too, watching their Captain bleed out.

He always bragged that he was un-killable… but the bullets lodged in Price’s body were making short work of him. His breathing was rugged. His gear soaked in red. The very air around him smelled metallic to Soap’s nose. Soap still had a foolish kind of hope, the kind that he logically knew was false. He hoped he’d pull through.

Ghost was watching Soap hold desperately onto Price’s gear. Him and Gaz were a metre or so back, pushed aside by a desperate Soap. Ghost had seen deaths like this before. He was certainly phased by it being someone so close, watching the very life fade away out of Price’s skin and eyes as blood seeped from his fatal bullet wounds. There was no saving him. Not even if they got him to a hospital the next second. The pool of blood around him already stained the knees of Soap’s jeans.

Ghost almost wanted to pull Soap away to keep him clean, but that would just be cruel.

As Price finally succumbed to his fate, Ghost watched Soap and read his emotions. He went through a phase of silently begging.

“Price… Price?? John… please wake up… you can pull through, I know you can…”

Ghost watched and listened as his Sergeant’s voice became more shrill, more desperate. He knew there was a ball in his throat as he tried to choke down the tears that were already free flowing down his cheeks. He could feel it in his own throat.

He knew what would come next. Desperation would turn into despair. Soap would scream at the corpse, maybe as an attempt to reanimate him, maybe simply as an expression of his love and devastation. Ghost couldn’t let it happen. If Soap were to do that, their location would be revealed.

He rushed in to put his arms around Soap. Not in a comforting manner. No. Rather, in a headlock, the inside of his elbow covering Soap’s mouth and muffling the guttural scream that he let out. It was heartbreaking.

He had to pull him away, despite the screams, despite the fingers digging into Ghost’s arm. Soap didn’t hear the calming voice of Ghost, telling him to calm down.

“Shhh Shh- Johnny- they’ll kill us… you need to be quiet… I’m sorry…”

This, of course, made things worse. Johnny was sobbing, though it was more like muffled scream-crying. It was so visceral that it almost made Simon himself cry. Gaz was crying too. He was just muffling his own cries with his own arm. Simon was the only one keeping his cool. Sure, he hated himself for his ability to choke down emotions to an unhealthy degree, but it was a useful talent.

Johnny MacTavish had been missing from base for just over a month. During his last mission - a small group investigation in order to gather intel - his communications had been cut short and no one heard from him since. His team mates, Graves and two other ‘shadows’ had also had their communications cut after what sounded like a gunfight.

For the first few days, Price, Laswell, Gaz and Ghost panicked and tried to find where the hell Soap was. No luck. All of his previous locations had been swept and cleared of all evidence of Soap’s entire existence.

The first to pronounce him dead was Laswell. Of course, she was upset. Everyone was. But she was far too smart to let everyone fall into a depression. Price accepted it next, after two weeks of Soap being missing he finally caved in and called him dead. Then was Gaz, who held out hope for three weeks. After he accepted it, he spent the whole day crying over his friend… only Price could comfort him… but seeing Gaz cry made Price cry too.

Then, there was Ghost. On day one of Soap being ‘missing’, he simultaneously switched off emotionally and switched on tactically. He was the last man standing, the only one to still believe that Soap was still alive after a whopping 35 days of being missing and presumed dead. Soap wouldn’t die just like that. Surely he’d been through worse… that’s what Ghost had to tell himself.

During the day, he was training non stop. During the night he was trying to hack into surveillance cameras around the area or talk to soldiers in that area for any intel about where the Scot could be. He barely slept more than an hour at a time, maybe twice a night.

Ghost was just nearing the end of the hope he had, when commotion started in the base. Rumour had it, Price and Gaz had gone out and they had found Soap. Ghost didn’t really believe it. Not until he *saw* it.

Off the plane hanger came Gaz and Price, holding what looked like a completely blood-soaked and limp body between them. His legs were barely moving, if moving at all. His head hung low, but Ghost recognised the now overgrown Mohawk. It was Soap…

Ghost could smell from there that some of his wounds were infected. They had been festering, probably for at least a few weeks. He wasn’t able to get a good look at him before he was rushed into the infirmary.

The three of them sat in the waiting room with bated breath, just waiting for a single update about Soap. While they were waiting, Ghost inquired about how they found him and what happened. Price responded with a single word that sent chills down Ghost’s spine.

Torture.

Ghost knew how it felt to be tortured… pain inflicted on such huge, cruel scales as your aggressor demanded an answer for a question. They try to break you in the most horrific ways possible. Even the thought of it brought back horrible memories, and Soap had been in that situation for twice as long.

Did he break? Or did he remain strong? Ghost wouldn’t blame him if he broke… and if he stayed strong through all of that… he would damn admire the man.

After hours of painfully silent waiting, stewing in their own thoughts and worries, a single nurse came out and asked Price alone to come with them. Another few minutes of waiting, and Price came out again. Ghost couldn’t read his facial expression, but he could sense something was very wrong.

Price approached Gaz and Ghost, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

“We need to go say our goodbyes to him. They say he won’t make it through the night…”

Ghost’s heart sank. His wounds had been *that* bad? Why couldn’t they save him?? Were they not doing their damn job properly?!

Gaz stood, Ghost followed. He could already tell that both Gaz and Price were distraught, but for some reason a cold nothingness washed over Ghost. His body was protecting him from emotion… the one time he’d be fine with showing it.

As they reached the room that Soap was currently unconscious in, Gaz and Price entered, but Ghost stood still just outside the door. He couldn’t go in. He couldn’t bare to see Soap. His body physically wouldn’t let him in.

When Price turned to see where Ghost was, he had disappeared.

Ghost was fine with being called a Coward. He agreed with that allegation. As soon as he had seen the hospital room where Soap was currently dying, he had frozen. He had been physically unable to go into the room, as if there was an invisible barrier. He blacked out, and suddenly ‘came to’ already on a truck infilling for a mission. There were only very few of them on this mission, and each of them looked grim.

“Give me information about this mission.”

“You weren’t listening before…?”

“Answer the question, Recruit.”

“It’s one we won’t be returning from. You seemed most enthusiastic.”

Great. He had joined himself onto a suicide mission in his rush to get away from Soap.

Now, he was hiding in the thick of a half ruined building, gun almost out of ammunition clutched to his chest, armour littered with bullet holes. The rest of the recruits? They died a while back. Ghost had survived alone for a day and a half, as he usually did. He was used to working alone, after all. Though, he could tell his blaze of glory was almost over. He couldn’t kill hundreds of enemy soldiers with twenty bullets.

In his small moment of silence and brief peace, he let himself sit down. All he could think about was Soap. How he was probably dead and probably even buried by now. He had let Price and Gaz down. Bigtime. The guilt continued to eat at his stomach and throat like rot. And to top it all off, he had taken the coward’s route out.

Every moment, he had to stop himself from standing up and letting himself take a bullet to the head. He wanted it. Bad. But he couldn’t. He needed to die in a genuine way. Something told him to wait.

Every so often, his comms would pick up a faint signal. Someone trying to communicate with him. Every time, he configured it so they couldn’t talk to him. He did Not want Price to find out what he’d done. And he didn’t want the enemy to find his location either.

Now, stuck in his thoughts about Soap, he slipped up. Through the intercom, he heard Price’s choppy voice.

“Ghost, this is Price, How copy?… Ghost?… You still alive?… I’m going to need you to answer.”

Slowly, Ghost raised his hand to his intercom. For a few seconds, he debated whether to turn the thing off or to face the consequences of his actions with a stern lecture from Price.

For some reason, he chose the latter.

“I’m alive, Price… I’m the last one alive.”

“What fucking-“ Price started his rant then was stopped by another voice. Ghost heard an exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe you bailed on Soap like that… if you stayed you would’ve known he made it through the night.”

Ghost’s eyes widened. He went into a shocked silence.

“You need to pull your shit together and finish this mission, Romeo. I know full well you did this to end your own life. Pull through. Exfil will be waiting for you at the point you entered. Get there before nightfall. Understood?”

Ghost was a fool… such a fool.

“Yes sir. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Four weeks off sounded like a living nightmare for Ghost. Training and fighting was what kept him in routine and out of destructive thoughts. But… being shot in the leg did cause… issues. For his time healing, he had to walk with a crutch under his right arm, so he didn’t put weight on his injured right leg. Price had forced him to take those four weeks off, and had sent him to a paid-for apartment in a nearby city. Surely, he must’ve thought, Ghost would find *something* to do in a city.

No.

For the first week, he sulked in his room, laying in bed until he eventually went stir crazy and started exploring the surrounds. Coincidentally, that week of sulking and not moving did wonders for his leg. Sure, he wasn’t able to walk on it yet, but it was a whole lot less achy when he was out walking.

He started by establishing a walking route. This apartment he was forced to stay in was in the outskirts of the city. It would take an hour to walk to the city centre and an hour back. This was what Ghost decided to do. An hour to the city centre, buy food, go back ‘home’, eat, go walking in the nearby park.

This new ‘schedule’ turned out… rather good. The walking made him feel more useful. Less stir crazy. He was able to soak in the sun, or what warmth from the sun seeped through his jumper and mask. It was refreshing.

On the third day of these walks, Ghost noticed a community noticeboard full to the brim with papers advertising jobs, sales, events, and various religious preachings. Maybe here would be where he would find something *entertaining* to do.

“Group Prayer” - no thanks. Ghost didn’t particularly believe in that mumbo jumbo.

“Join the army!” - been there done that.

“Markets on Sunday morning! 6am!” - he’d consider it. Markets always had the best food.

He flicked through some of the notes until he found a hand written one pinned up with two blue pins. The penmanship was phenomenal.

“In need of life models to draw. Quiet environment. Music or no music. Any body shape, any gender, any clothing choices. Text me:”

This… wasn’t something that would usually interest Ghost. But today, after being cooped up in an apartment for months… it piqued his interest. He took a photo of a few of the notices, then made his way back to the apartment. He had bought a few food items that he could store and eat, as well as some fancy looking tea to drink while doing mundane and brain numbing shit such as reading a book Price had given him.

He made a cup of said tea, no sugar and no milk, he was sweet enough already (he lied to himself), and sat down at the tiny dining table. Here, he could write the dates of some of the interesting events from that noticeboard. When he got to the life drawing advertisement, however, he put down his pen and journal and texted the number.

He was acting on a whim and he knew it, but this would surely be more interesting than staying home.

“I saw your notice in the city. I think I would be interested in being drawn.”

The number responded almost immediately.

“Nice!! When are you free? :)”

Emoticons… stupid.

“Any time. The sooner the better.”

“Oh sweet :) tomorrow? I live about half an hour away from the city.”

“Time?”

“Any time in the morning, then we can have all day. Sound good?”

“Yes.”

“Cool!” The number sent their address. “I’m Johnny, by the way.”

“Ghost. I’ll try to come around 10:00AM.”

“Sounds perfect, see you then :)”

Tomorrow, 10am… with this overly friendly man named Johnny who he’s never met… fun. Ghost sipped his tea and sighed. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind him having a mask on and crutches. He *had* said anyone could be drawn. And yet… he felt as if he had to warn him.

“By the way, I’m a military officer on a break because I’m injured. I have a crutch and I will be masked the whole time. Is that okay?”

“Perfectly fine. I like variety.”

Sure, during their missions they *had* to look at each other for approval and for- general mission things.

But now that things had cooled down, they realised that they still couldn’t stop looking at each other. Now, it wasn’t for approval or to check that the other was there, but just for the sheer wanting to look at the other.

It started with Ghost watching Soap train. He would watch him train with knives and with a punching bag, or when he would do laps around the training field. Soap would often watch him train too, but at least he had the excuse that he was actually learning from Ghost.

One day, Ghost asks Soap whether he’ll sit across from him when they eat. He has to pull his mask up to eat and if Soap is the only one in his direct line of view, he feels a whole lot safer. Of course Soap willingly does so. He likes chatting to Ghost anyways. And looking at him…

Once, when the 141 was watching a movie together, Ghost had sat completely opposite to Soap on an armchair off to the side. Soap had glanced to Ghost and seen that he was staring directly at him, not even paying attention to the movie. From then on, they spent a whole half hour looking into each other’s eyes from across the room, the movie just as background noise.

They didn’t talk about this afterwards, but both noticed more and more that they just couldn’t get enough of *looking* at each other.

One day, Price gets a new Polaroid camera. Most of his photos are of Gaz and himself, but Soap eventually becomes a victim to this photo taking. He doesn’t mind it. He loves the spotlight. He sees Ghost and pulls him into the photo, telling Price to take at least two of the two of them together. Ghost and Soap. Church boys. Sun and Moon.

As soon as Ghost hears Soap call them Sun and Moon, he looks down at him with such fondness that he can’t even contain. Snap. Price takes the photo. He captures that fondness in Ghost’s eyes. Ghost watches Soap bounce over to get the photo and watches his eyes light up, a massive smile crossing his face. “IM KEEPING THIS ONE!!”

Ghost, of course with fear of missing out, later goes to rummage through the Polaroid photos Price has taken and steals a few of Soap, and one of them together. This, he tapes to the wall beside his bed.

Coincidentally, Soap has done the same.

Later that day, Ghost asks why he was sleeping there of all places. Soap tells him it was the only place he could sleep. The place he felt least lonely.

A few days later, Ghost pulls Soap aside and hands him a key. “A copy of my room key. If you’re lonely, you can come into my room and sleep there. I have a comfortable chair and a desk. Just don’t wake me up or there’s a chance I’ll stab you.”

Ghost wakes up in the morning and he gets spooked when he sees Soap fast asleep on his desk. Eventually, though, he gets used to it. In fact, on the nights where soap doesn’t come to his room he becomes rather disappointed.

One day, soap decides to take a risk. He kneels beside Ghost’s bed and lays his head on the mattress. He plans to sleep like this, but just as he’s drifting off, he feels a hand on his cheek. Ghost is awake, and he’s looking at him. Soap apologises, but Ghost holds onto his wrist to stop him from leaving.

“I sleep better when you’re here.”

Ghost gently and suggestively pulls Soap onto the bed, and they shuffle around until they’re looking at each other in the dark. Soap falls asleep. Ghost stays awake. Now he experiments by nestling into Soap’s chest.

Soap responds in his sleep by curling around Ghost and holding onto him protectively, arms wrapped around his head.

Ghost had left Soap’s room more pissed off than he probably should have been. He had slammed the door, never a good thing to do with someone who had just come from a traumatising mission. But, what was done was done.

He went back to his room, angry about what Soap had said to him, the words circulating in his head over and over again, eating at his brain in the most infuriating manner. He couldn’t sleep. In fact, he stayed up all night, just thinking.

Come morning, he was far too tired to be outwardly angry. He ate half of his breakfast, then decided he would work on cleaning and restocking weapons. A simple task for a tired mind.

As he held each gun, he thought again about what Soap had said. His mind had a habit of imagining things, and now all his eyes could see was Soap shooting himself, terrified of his experiences.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He put the gun down and got up, going to find Soap. When he eventually found him, he was sitting in the empty dining hall, hands over his ears, seemingly revelling in silence. He understood that feeling…

He sighed. He came here with the intention of questioning Soap, asking (or rather demanding) what was wrong with him. But now he saw that he was so vulnerable. He wasn’t going to press him.

He took off his noise cancelling headphones, the ones that drowned out all the sounds of the world that would drill into his head and make his heart race, and approached Soap. He put the headphones in front of him, keeping his hand there to make sure Soap knew it was him there.

Soap looked up at him. He moved his own hands from his ears and Ghost slipped the headphones onto his ears, seeing an almost immediate change in his attitude. He seemed to soften.

Ghost didn’t stay. He was still upset with his previous words. He hated seeing him so… traumatised. But now he somewhat had closure.

Ps your writing is incredible and the art delightful. You've quickly become one of my favorite cod blogs. 🖤

I’ll write a second part in class today :3 also thank you 😭😭😭

It had been a month since Ghost saw Soap. He hadn’t been aware of what had happened on his recent deployment but he had assumed it had simply been long and troublesome. He should’ve known better.

The first red flag was when Price told him about Soap’s Psych evaluation. Apparently it didn’t go well. He had somewhat recovered from countless physical wounds, but his demeanour had changed completely. Price told him that his smile was gone. He didn’t make eye contact. He barely spoke.

When Ghost finally saw Soap again, it was worse than he’d thought. The amount of fresh scars and stitches on his face made him barely recognisable. He didn’t speak to Ghost. To anyone. Just sat and slowly ate his food, wincing at pain from his stitched up lips. He had taken a beating…

When ghost decided he wanted to talk to him, he approached him from behind. Big mistake. When he spoke a “hey Soap-“, the smaller man whipped around and punched him square in the nose, causing it to bleed. His vision whited out for a few seconds, and his eyes watered. His mask caught all of the blood and only a bit of it dripped from the fabric. What really caught him off guard was when he regained his vision, he saw Soap breaking down crying on the floor.

Crying. Sobbing. Curled up and protecting himself.

What had happened to him…?

Who traumatised him…?

At night, Ghost could hear occasional screams coming from Johnny’s room. Such bad dreams… so frequent… even sleeping pills seemed to not be helping. Ghost highly doubted that he could help, but the pain in his patched up nose was preventing him from sleeping anyways, so he got up and knocked on Johnny’s door.

“It’s Ghost. Can I come in?”

It took a minute before he could finally hear a response. “Aye…”

Ghost took a breath and entered the bedroom. It was messy. There was broken glass from a mirror on the floor, clothes everywhere, papers ripped and a dismantled journal littering the floor. Soap was sitting up on his bed, blankets wrapped around him.

“What happened to you out there, Johnny…?”

No response. Ghost sat on the bed beside him.

“Do you know who I am?”

“What kind of stupid fucking question is that?! Of course I know who you are! Do you think I’m stupid??”

Ghost blinked. He had never heard Johnny so angry, and Johnny had never been angry at Ghost at all before. He turned away from him.

“Sorry. I just needed to know…”

“What? To fuel your saviour complex? You’re a god, aren’t you, Ghost??”

Ghost stood up. “Johnny, I came here to comfort you. Why are you being so-“

“I don’t need comfort… I need a gun…”

Ghost gritted his teeth. He knew what that meant. It made him angry that Soap would want such a thing, rather than wanting Ghost’s company.

“Fine. I hope you get to sleep then.”

Ghost and Soap are on a mission together, and Ghost has decided to take first watch while Soap sleeps for half the night. Soap is asleep on a couch while Ghost is sitting at his mounted sniper at the window.

Suddenly, ghost hears sharp and scared breathing from Soap. He looks back and sees him curled up, eyebrows tense, shielding himself. He’s having a nightmare. Ghost tries to ignore it. Soon, the breathing turns into scared whimpering, then eases off. Soap sits up and sighs. He’s awake.

“Bad dream, huh?”

“Aye… why can’t you be in my intercom when I’m asleep too…”

“I wish I could be, Johnny.”

Soap comes to Ghost and sits on the floor beside his chair. “Anything out there?”

“A few stray animals. No soldiers. We’re safe for now.”

Soap sits there for a while, then Ghost taps his own thigh, an invitation for Soap to lay his head there which he takes. At first, Ghost doesn’t do anything. Then, after ten or so minutes, he runs his fingers through Soap’s hair. It seems to comfort him enough to put him back to sleep.

Though it looks uncomfortable, soap seems to sleep well. Every time he would slip into a nightmare, Ghost would touch his cheek so he could smell him. He would tell him in a quiet voice that he’s safe, and that would seem to calm him down.

When he meets Ghost he falls for him within weeks. He has trauma from asking others out only for them to say “no” or “ew-“, so he decides he’s fine with living with a crushing crush that he never acts on.

He has a tendency of staring at Ghost or trying to have any kind of contact with him. Patting him on the shoulder, sitting beside him so their thighs ever so slightly touch. It helps with that nagging feeling inside his chest that tells him he WANTS Ghost. NEEDS him.

Turns out, this ever so slight gradual shift onto touching and contact and closeness is exactly what Ghost needs to slip into his own little crush. He notices when Soap wants to touch him and be close to him. He feels appreciated when Soap laughs at his jokes. He respects his abilities in the field. His voice relaxes him, no matter what the situation. He’s the ONLY person he feels 100% safe with.