Simon is on patrol with his partner, Gaz (because Price is the Captain, duh), when they get a noise complaint in a suburban neighborhood. They pull up to a house with the garage door open and three (four?) people are practicing the instruments. Johnny is on vocals and guitar. Roach is on drums? Maybe. And Konig is on keyboard, because the visuals amuse me.

Simon gets out of the car with Gaz, already annoyed, because he hates dealing with stupid calls like this one. He thinks they keep him away from doing shit that actually matters. In Simon’s head, he’s just going to issue a warning, tell them to keep it down, and then be on his way to actually do something worthwhile in the city.

Except Johnny is a fiery little shit with a loud mouth and a problem with authority and he immediately tells Simon exactly where he can put the citation. Simon, of course, can’t won’t back down. Konig, seeing that Johnny is about to die on this hill, walks up, picks up his band mate with ease and flings him over his shoulder caveman style, apologizing to Simon and Gaz and takes the warning with a shy smile and walks back to the house, Johnny yelling Glaswegian curses at Simon the whole way.

Simon rolls his eyes and walks away and that’s when it hits Soap - THAT. ASS. No one has the right to be that caked up in a fucking uniform. That’s just not fair!

The next time Simon gets a noise complaint in the area, he rolls his eyes. He recognizes the address. Of course it’s the same place. Why wouldn’t it be? He and Gaz go to the scene to see the group, again, practicing. But Johnny is ready this time.

Cue Daddy Cop as Simon walks up the driveway and Johnny slowly closes the garage door, flipping him off in the process. And then Gaz, bless his heart, standing next to Simon jamming away to the song, “What? It’s catchy!” Simon writes the citation and sticks it on the garage door. Gaz makes a comment like, “Seriously, Si? They’re just fucking around.” Simon grunts a response because that’s what Simon does.

Soap isn’t the go-to for enemy recon, but when you spend a lot of time with someone, it’s easy to pick up on habits. He watches from across the table as Ghost decimates them in poker. The lieutenant finds a moldy checkerboard at a safehouse so he and Price can use coins and rocks to play through the boredom of waiting for exfil. Soap even caught him filling out a crossword. He values his balls too much to mention how for such a silent man, Ghost has quite the vocabulary.

It’s on the way back from a... fairly successful mission that Soap enacts his plan. While holding gauze to a nasty stab wound on his bicep, Soap mentions a movie night he set up when they get back. Ghost begrudgingly grunts his agreement, wondering if his sergeant waited until he was sufficiently injured to guilt him into socialization.

Ghost shows up, a six-pack of beer in hand, but it’s only Soap sprawled on the couch. He’s already playing Mario Kart and stands to thrust a controller in Ghost’s hands before flopping back down on the cushions.

“Keep yer right thumb on ‘A’ to go forward and use the left joystick tae steer with yer other thumb. I’ll tell ye the rest as we go.” 

Soap unpauses the game while Ghost is too stunned to run. Soap had spent a long time deciding between Bowser and Dry Bones for Ghost’s character, but settled on the former to not be too obvious. He grins when Ghost stiffly sits on the couch, but doesn't look away from the screen.

The room was quickly filled with Scottish curses, groans, and expletives whenever Soap was knocked out of first place, bemoaning the blue shell while explaining what the items do and how to drift.

Ghost sucks; placing in the bottom two every race. He can’t manage the tiny movements required with his gloves on, the addition of using the triggers throws him off, and he falls off the road enough times that when he’s put back on the road, it skips him a lap ahead to keep the game going.

After a while though, it didn’t matter. This didn’t matter. If he missed a shot, no one died. If he fell to his death, he was brought right back up. If he slammed into another kart, it bounced them apart without fire and scraping metal. It didn’t matter if he sucked, it was just him and Soap staring at annoyingly loud colors and trying to get to the end first.

“Keep the heid… go… Shoot it! FUCKIN’ BRILLIANT!” 

It wasn’t first place, but Ghost’s angry turtle finished in eighth place after knocking Toad off with a carefully saved red shell. Soap celebrates it in the same manner he celebrates the detonation of an enemy base; grabbing Ghost’s shoulder and shaking it excitedly. 

“That wee mushroom has been a pure bastard and ye knocked 'im clean off tae road! I huvnae seen a comeback like that since my balls dropped!”

Ghost hasn’t said a word since the game started. He doesn’t dare speak now, lest the smile under his mask bleed into the creases of his eyes where Soap could see. He only waits patiently for Soap to start the next tournament.

Soap asks Ghost for a movie night every once in a while, but they both know it’ll be two am before their eyes start to burn, their thumbs ache, and they call it a night. Ghost beats Soap after four nights and Soap gives him a proper lashing about it. Soap had not been going easy on him for these little training sessions and deeply regrets even offering to play with him. Ghost basks in the brotherly threats and accusations. 

Soap hadn’t questioned it when Ghost told him he’d need to borrow the console. Soap simply nodded, unplugged it, and handed it over with the disc and controller. He figured Ghost wanted to practice on his own and the lieutenant didn’t bother correcting him.

Once upon a time, Tommy had brought home a console. Ghost had managed to hook it up to their tiny TV. Luckily, wherever the younger man had gotten it from, there was a disc already in it. Naturally, within the week, their father smashed it to pieces while the boys dodged controllers and beer bottles, but for once, violence wasn’t the memory.

What Ghost found himself remembering was the two hours between getting home and when hell would stumble through the front door. They’d played like brothers getting their first taste of true escapism. Ghost couldn’t remember the game, but it wasn’t a racing game like this- he remembers it having ghosts in it, funnily enough.

Several months later, there’s another game night and this time, Ghost watches the screen. He learns the different styles of his team mates. Alex drifted at every turn, Gaz took the risky shortcuts, and Soap would rather die than miss an item box. Soap turns around after placing first, holding the controller out to Ghost who is leaning against the wall.

“Take over for me, mate- I gottae end on a win.”

Ghost pauses and meets his eyes, but the devilish smile makes him reach out and take the controller.

It’s not surprising to the team that Ghost finishes first overall, only losing one race to Gaz. It’s not surprising when he hands the controller to Price, a terrible player unless he’s drunk, after the tourney ends. It’s not surprising when Ghost leaves shortly after his win.

What’s surprising is that, out of all the villainous characters available, Ghost chose Luigi.

It would be even more surprising if they knew that Ghost had found the game he and Tommy used to play, bought the best quality version of it he could find on ebay, and played it every night he was on base.

Ghost had started to fade away with every spirit sucked into the cartoon vacuum. Simon moved through the haunted mansion with Tommy’s laugh in his ears.

Soap hops out like a kid going to a candy store, while Simon pockets the keys in his jacket and looks to the passenger seat. "Phone."

Soap looks back at the seat, seeing his cracked phone sitting on the seat where it had fallen out of his jeans. He rolls his eyes, annoyed by his own forgetfulness, tucking it into his back pocket. "I dinnae what I'd do without ye, LT."

"You'd miss a lot more phone calls, that's for sure." Ghost mutters, trailing a few steps behind Soap and scanning the parking lot. Ghost can already see the furry beasts behind the glass, tails swishing and soft meows can be heard from outside.

A chiming bell signals their entry to The Smitten Kitten Cat Cafe, Ghost was expecting to be assaulted with the smells of stale cat piss and old fur- but it's the smell of coffee that catches his attention instead. Good coffee. As soon as they enter, a tuxedo cat stands from its perch on a window sill and stretches before curling back up in a new spot.

A lanky young man stands at the hostess podium, looking up from his work with a smile.

"Hello! Table for two?"

Soap nods, doing his best not to swivel his head around and start cooing at all the cats. "Aye, somewhere by the windows if ye got it."

The host smiles and nods, taking two menus from under the stand and directing them towards a corner table by the window. The corner promises sunlight later in the day, but is pleasantly warm and situated near a large boxed off area with several cats snoozing. The felines don't look up as the pair sit, used to humans being around. The cafe is relatively quiet today, not many visitors on a Tuesday afternoon. Most people would be at work, but Soap was determined to take Ghost out on the few days of reprieve they get after a mission.

"I'll be your waiter today, we're a little short staffed. Can I get you some waters to start?"

"Coffee. Black." Ghost cuts in, ignoring the pointed look from Soap. So called civilian skills were not Ghost's expertise, but he begrudgingly adds, "And waters. Thanks."

"Aye, and bring us two of those blueberry muffins I spied on the way in as well." Soap adds with a prize winning grin.

Ghost's eyes flicker towards a chirping orange cat on a tall cat tree. The large fiery cat swats downward off the edge of its perch to hit the black cat who is curled up in a hanging basket. The black cat, clearly annoyed after several pats, quietly hisses at the orange one before jumping off the cat tree and moving towards a covered pillow bed shaped like a shark.

"Is s'posed to be fun, Si." Ghost shoots Johnny a look promising much worse than cat scratches if the Scot uses his birth name in public again, but he allows the man to take his hand until the waiter brings back the coffees. Soap points out the kitten curled up under its mother in the corner of the box, another tuxedo cat zooming across the wooden track along the top of the wall, but Ghost's eyes keep finding the orange and black cats.

The black cat, having been harassed again by the orange cat, has retreated to the top ledge of a cat tree made to look like a series of cardboard boxes. The orange cat has accepted he cannot reach the black cat and instead bumps his head under the ledge, the black cat grumbling every time he's shifted slightly by a particularly hard thump.

When Ghost's eyes turn back to his coffee, Soap has his chin on his hand, brows raised in a smug victory. "Careful, LT. Almost saw a smile."

Ghost huffs, taking a swig of the surprisingly good brew, "Not a smile. Wondering if we're about to witness a cat fight."

Soap looks over, seeing the black cat has now stood up and leaned its head down to the orange cat, eyes closing every time the orange cat bops it on its forehead. Despite the swipes aimed at its face, the orange cat is unperturbed and continues to play fight with the black cat.

Before Soap can assure Ghost that's how cats play and it's fine, the black cat jumps down and bites a swiping paw, only letting go when the orange cat yowls and scurries off. The black cat then settles back on the top perch, eyes watching the room. Ghost could swear those yellow eyes connect with his for a beat longer than an animal should allow.

"Sorry about that, those two are always getting into it." The waiter laughs, refilling their coffee and taking Soap's empty plate.

"Shouldn't ye seperate them? So they dannae get hurt?" Soap asks, eyes narrowing at the black cat.

The waiter shakes his head, "Trust me, we tried. They're a bonded pair."

Ghost looks up at the waiter, mulling this information over. "How? The black one clearly hates the orange one."

The waiter glances over to the black cat snoozing while the orange cat sits in a box, licking his bitten paw. "They were found together as strays, must've spent some time on the streets together. Oh, here, take a look-"

A calico female walks over to the orange one, sniffing at the slight tang of blood in the air as the orange cat pauses with its rough tongue halfway down its paw. In less than a heartbeat, the black cat jumps nearly ten feet down to land beside the orange cat with a growl at the calico. The orange cat continues treating its wound while the black cat stalks back and forth, warding off the calico with a hiss.

"Oh," Soap looks back to the waiter, "Frenemies then?"

The waiter nods, "Something like that."

Ghost can't tear his eyes away from the orange cat makes room for the black cat in the box who curls around him protectively. "They got names?"

"Black one is Specter, orange one is named Suds- he hates a bath. Mostly because it means being seperated from Specter for the duration."

Ghost's eyes squeeze shut as he scratches at his forehead, already seeing where this was going. He can feel Soap's wide eyes boring through his mask, the Scot speaking through a toothy smile, "Aye? Why Specter then?"

"Because he only makes noise when he's around Suds. We thought he might have a vocal chord issue at first, but really he only trusts Suds to hear what he's got to say."

The two men leave a few hours later with two cats, several recommendations for boarding, and a large bag of supplies.

— both were in bands in high school. simon played the guitar in a thrash metal band and johnny played every instrument imaginable for so many bands. his favorite was a jazz fusion band where he played drums and saxophone.

— johnny seems very put together and socially competent but he really isn’t. he only knows what to say and do because of trial and error and picking up things from other people.

— however, simon thinks that he is totally normal and can talk to people no problem when in reality he just stares people down until they walk away when he isn’t in the mood to talk.

— simon always gives johnny shit for the mohawk. he always touches it and asks him how it’s even legal to have it with their profession but once johnny threatened to shave it and simon folded and begged him not to.

— simon’s idea of flirting is just increasing levels of teasing and bullying. one time johnny got so worked up over it that he decked him in the face during PT. simon just thought what he was doing was working and looked at him with the biggest fattest heart eyes ever.

— simon has some pretty gnarly joint issues during and after his time in the military. he just ignored it during his service but it got so bad after retirement that johnny forced him to go to a doctor and he got diagnosed with arthritis the same day. he was so pissed abt it. still is tbh but he’s learning to live with it

— johnny has a comic book collection that he protects with his LIFE. he keeps them on a self right next to simon’s vinyls and gets all the expensive covers and protectors and shit for special issues. he has a bunch of run of the mill series like star wars, avengers, x-men, etc. but he is also a fucking nerd and has a bunch of niche artsy underground issues that only like 5 people on planet earth have ever heard of

— they both have pretty awful ptsd and so when the flashbacks get really bad they will sit on the couch and have Dissociation Time for like 2 hours

— they wanted to get lard (their cat) trained to be a service animal but later realized that they didn’t even know if cats would be eligible for that and if they were, that lard was far too lazy and food motivated for it. they ended up js getting him certified as an emotional support animal instead.

— they really enjoy watching any form of cheesy tv. reality shows, rom-coms, supernatural movies with stupid plots that take themselves way too seriously? they eat that shit up

— still have a very close relationship with gaz and price after retirement. their guest bedroom is basically gaz and price’s second home. kate also reaches out quite frequently and sometimes makes a quick stop by to say hello

— gaz’s daughter willow is emo as fuck and it gives simon flashbacks. however, simon and johnny do get hella concert tickets for the 4 of them to go see whatever band she’s been obsessed with. the latest was pierce the veil. they’re currently looking up the price of mcr tickets

— johnny is willow’s godfather and calls him and simon uncle. they love her to bits and spoil the daylights out of her !! they’re the definition of the cool uncles who will let you get away with stuff and cover for you if your parents ask