#ghostgaz week

That’s probably why Simon had no apprehension coming to this facility. Spacious rooms with foam padding on the floor, like in kindergarten - soft for burly men with bad knees to sit on, easy to clean in case some of the dogs have an accident, squeaky toys and old chewy bones thrown around, and that constant dog smell – all of it became a comfort place. A place where retired human soldiers meet retired dog soldiers, shake their furry paws and dedicate their time to make sure these former colleagues don’t feel abandoned and lonely, like veterans often do.

Ghost knows how those dogs feel. He had been there once, temporarily suspended from service on account of his death – when he had nothing to do and no one to meet. His cheap flat looked grey and mirky, his tea tasted like piss, his scars ached every cold night. But now? There’s artwork on the walls. There’s well-seasoned food on the table. There are warm hands resting on his ribs while they sleep. There’s Kyle.

Simon knows how those dogs feel, when they jump onto Garrick’s chest and wag their broken tails despite years of discipline ingrained in their wolf-like skulls, because he feels the same way when Gaz comes home from the grocery store and gets ambushed by a Ghost creeping up on him during unpacking. There are titanium plates and bolts holding some of Kyle’s vertebrae together and Simon’s fingers don’t have same good grasp anymore, but Gaz still finds himself lifted off the ground and locked in a greedy embrace, just like that old German shepherd finds itself in a tight hug of Kyle’s strong arms when it stands up and puts its paws on his shoulders.

“Who’s a good boy? Missed me, did ya? Oh yeah, you’re a good boy, still shedding like a wooly mammoth, eh? Oof, careful with the kisses, mate, that’s my eye,” Simon looks over from where he’s standing, searching for a specific squeaky rubber star toy for the one dog that’s circling him with excited whining and headbutting him under his knees to make him hurry and come play. Gaz is on his knees, face scrunched and black eyeliner smudged around one eye as he tilts his head up and away to try and stop a huge excited shepherd from licking his face again. His smile is shining through even like that, bright and happy, as he laughs and scratches the dog’s sides, pulling clamps of warm soft fur stuck between his fingers. “Ya need a good brushing, mate, come on, get off me for a sec, I’ll go get a brush.”

Ghost watches as Kyle gets up, holding onto his lower back for a split second – and still finds grace in his every movement. His trusty bally hides that stupid lovestruck expression he has on his face – but even just his eyes betray how utterly smitten Simon is. He expected the feelings to dull down, get calmer once they’re off duty and swallowed by the domesticity and routine, but they didn’t. Seeing Kyle fighting off affectionate dogs or put his hair in silk for the night makes Ghost just as weak in the knees as seeing Gaz set records on the shooting range or rush into close combat did.

Everything around him slides into the background, blurring and dimming. Kyle’s soft laughter and murmurs fill Simon’s chipped ears, seep into his bloodstream, feeding the black and gold butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. Gaz is the centre of his attention – the centre of his whole world, so when Ghost hears a command, his body reacts before he can even register it.

“Come on, down, boy! Let me brush ya.”

Several pairs of eyes, human and dog, snap up to look at Simon when he falls to his knees. There are other veterans in the room, their reflexes still sharp and ready to react to anything unusual – and there are dogs tensed up like coils inside a gun, ready to drag a wounded soldier from under fire or finish an enemy. Simon feels blood rush in his veins when he realizes what just happened, and he meets Kyle’s eyes a few meters away.

Garrick has a wicked, devilish smirk hiding in his dark eyes.

“You olrigh’, mate? These bastarts know how to knock a fella down, watch them ‘round your knees,” comes to rescue a kind lad, so much younger than Ghost that he almost questions why that boy is already retired before he sees one of the lad’s eyes give off a glassy artificial glint.

“Yeah, ol’ mate ‘ere gaggin’ for his toy, said I’m takin’ too long. Impatient arse,” Simon happily shoves the blame onto the poor innocent dog that’s still nuzzling him and trying to steal the squeaky star from his hands. Letting the toy out of his palms, Ghost steals a glance at Kyle again and gets startled when Gaz turns out to be much closer, having come up quietly.

Closing his eyes, Simon braces himself and still flinches slightly when Kyle’s hand slides onto his shoulder with a reassuring rub.

“You sure you’re okay, luv?” murmurs Gaz in a wicked, sultry tone, leaning so close that Ghost can feel his hot breath seeping into the bally’s fabric. “Be a good boy and watch out for your knees, will ya?”

“I fockin’ hate you, Garrick,” growls Simon under his breath, and immediately straightens up, moving his shoulder blades together and sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. Kyle’s fingers under his bally tug on the leather collar again, making sure it’s sitting tight enough, and Gaz smirks, brushing his thumb over the bright silver letters of his full name etched in the collar.

“G-go, LT, Riley.” Gaz’s eyes roll in their sockets. The next thing he wheezes is too soft for Ghost to hear.

“Save your breath,” Ghost tells him. It’s hard to keep the heartbreak out of his voice as he forces out a lie. “Help is on the way. Stay with me, hold on for exfil.”

Gaz’s jaw works as he tries to say something. Ghost grips his hand, doesn’t wince as Gaz’s grip goes tight. When the sergeant starts to whimper, he reaches up to pull the balaclava off, to let them be Simon and Kyle in a quiet, half-rotted cabin in the woods.

“’M ‘ere, Kyle,” he says, trying to catch wild eyes.

“Please,” Kyle wheezes. “Go.”

Whatever Simon was going to say to that is replaced by a startled curse when something under Kyle cracks with a wet sound. Two more cracks, a pop, and Simon’s frantically wondering how to get them both out before the floor collapses into the basement he’d hadn’t even thought to check for. And then Kyle explodes out of his kit.

Simon damn near wrenches his shoulder out of the socket trying to pull his hand out of Kyle’s as it spasms so hard he can feel his bones grinding together. But the pain is secondary to the horror of watching his friend’s face distort and elongate, skin stretching and tearing to reveal bloody patches of fur. Kyle screams, roars, as his clothes pop at the seams. His arm, which had been barely mobile before, slams into Simon so hard it knocks him onto his back.

The werewolf, because that’s all it could possibly be, rolls on top of him with a snap of jaws that barely misses his ear. Simon shouts, and jabs where the solar plexus would be on a human on reflex. The wolf wheezes and crushes him into the floor as it curls on itself. When it snaps it’s jaw next to his ear again, it’s so much like Riley, like the other Malinois he’s trained with, that Simon throws out a command on reflex.

“Leave it, Garrick!”

They both go still, save for their heaving breaths. The big furry head over him tilts until their staring into each other’s eyes. Simon has a moment to search for recognition, for any sign that Kyle is still in there, somewhere.

After a moment, Simon lets out the breath he’s holding. “G-good. Good boy, Kyle.”

And Kyle licks his ear.

“You fuckin’ twat,” Simon snarls, trying, unsuccessfully to wiggle away. He punches Kyle’s ribs. The awkward angle and rapidly draining adrenaline make it much gentler than he intends. Kyle takes it for the request it mostly is and lifts off of Simon with a grumble and a quick shake. It’s easy to tell he’s laughing as he stands on his hind legs and stretches to touch the dilapidated roof above them.

Simon sits up with a groan. He’s full of questions. But more than that, he’s got responsibilities. “C’n you talk?”

“Hard to,” Kyle rumbles, rolling his neck and shoulders with a few wet pops.

“Need to get to exfil.” Simon pulls the scraps of Kyle’s clothes closer and sighs - there’s not much that’s salvageable besides his radio. “You able?”

“Better now,” the werewolf says, flexing and twisting the arm that was nearly torn off. His hand is oddly shaped, but moves without stiffness. He’s holding Simon’s balaclava. “Can run for hours. It’s good.”

Simon gets to his feet with a grunt of effort. “Then we should go.”

Kyle leans in to sniff his hair, then offers Simon his mask. “No fear.”

Simon considers this, then pulls the balaclava over his face. “What’re you gonna do? Kill me again? ‘M a ghost.”

Kyle huffs another laugh. “141... Full of monsters.”

“How was the mission?”

Ghost had come back from a mission around the same time Gaz got back from leave, and the latter was eager to catch up on the goings-on.

“Standard fare. How’s the nephew?”

“Just the cutest thing imaginable! 7 pounds, and the squishiest cheeks you’ve ever seen. Mara was tired as all get out from the birth, so it was good that I went down there. She’s perked back up again though, and Steve should take good care of her.”

Ghost nodded, and that was the conversation done. He was never much for catching up, which Gaz was fine with. Good timing as well, since he got a text from someone. He opened his phone without worry, he never got anything salacious sent to him, and clicked on whatever video his other sister had sent him.

It was a compilation of videos of her dog, and Gaz couldn’t help the coo that left him, still feeling a bit soft from seeing his newborn nephew. It must have intrigued Ghost enough, since he turned back around, and Gaz soon felt him right behind him, looking over his shoulder.

“This is Pumpkin, Aisha’s golden retriever. Isn’t he such a good boy?”

Ghost raised an eyebrow at the phrase, maybe not as familiar with the term of endearment since he seemed neutral at best about dogs. “I guess. How can you tell a dog’s good?”

Gaz clicked off his phone and turned to properly face Ghost. “’S just an expression, sir. Everyone calls their dogs good boys and girls. They don’t need to do anything to earn it.” Gaz couldn’t school his face away from the comedically flabbergasted look he knew was plastered on it.

Ghost just hummed, he won’t give a verbal answer if he didn’t deign it necessary, and turned to leave again. Gaz, still feeling safe from his time with his siblings and forgetting exactly what’s allowed when talking to superiors, let a, “I’m sure you’re a good boy too, sir,” slip. When he saw Ghost stop in his tracks, he didn’t even let the other man turn around, and bolted away, silently cursing to himself for being so flippant.

He also missed the blush on his superior’s face.

-----

Ghost didn’t stop Gaz as he ran away. How could he? What would he even say? Ghost made his own escape, to the gym to hopefully work out and stop thinking about it. Unfortunately, he ran into Soap there, who could tell something was off.

“Mission that bad L.T.? Never seen you this spooked.”

Ghost simply shook his head and made his way to an empty mat. He still needed to warm up so he didn’t hurt anything by diving straight into working out.

Soap refused to drop it though. “C’mon, somethin’ happened, I can tell.”

Ghost didn’t acknowledge him. Soap then got distracted by a text message.

A few moments later, and he was cackling.

“Are you off because Gaz accidentally called you a good boy? That pissed off about it?”

Ghost stopped whatever he was doing to whip around to the sergeant. He better have been glad no one else was there because Ghost could not have his shame spread like this.

“It’s fine L.T., everyone likes a little praise now and again,” saying that, the smirk hadn’t left Soap’s face.

“Sergeant…” Ghost hoped the warning tone in his voice would get Soap to lay off it.

“Oh hush up, ‘s not that bad. Sure yer both embarrassed, but it’s not like it’s anything shameful.”

Ghost decided trying to get Soap to lay off it was a futile endeavor, and left the gym again. He should go talk to Gaz, tell him he’s not pissed off, and then the whole situation will be done and swept under the rug.

-----

Ghost didn’t get a proper chance, immediately grabbed by Price as he left the gym and told to go to a conference room. Soon enough, Soap and Gaz were being dragged in as well, by a marginally pissy Price.

“I know two of you just got back from a mission, and Garrick just got off leave, but Laswell’s sent us a mission that needs getting done yesterday.”

Ghost resigned himself to having an awkward tension between himself and Gaz until this mission was over, and stored it away as he listened to Price.

—

‘Not used to having you yabbering in my ear’” Gaz remarked plainly, ignoring the mud underneath him.

“Focus, sergeant, Price had to help Soap with setting up demo blocks, so you get me for a spotter. Simple’s that.” Ghost was not pleased that Price was helping Soap instead of directing Gaz as normal. However, Price was the only other one on the team with enough demos experience to help out. Ghost really should take that course.

His meandering thoughts were stopped as he saw a man exiting the building. They couldn’t afford having him see Price and Soap and raising the alarm. So, death it was.

“Garrick, man on east side of compound.” Ghost fell into a rhythm as he instructed Gaz, letting everything fall to the wayside except completing the mission. He heard the crack of the rifle, and the man fell prone; Ghost could see the bleeding from his head once he cranked up his binoculars.

“Target down.”

The comms crackled to life in his ear, with Price and Soap letting them know the demo blocks were set and it was evac time. Ghost waited for Gaz to get to his position before the two headed to the evac point. They heard the loud boom, and waited for their team to crest over the hill. Once they were in sight, Ghost decided to be a bit cheeky, and turned to Gaz.

“You were a good boy, sergeant.”

He didn’t wait to see how Gaz would react, beelining towards Price as he and Soap approached the pair.

-----

Gaz decided he needed to get back at Ghost for the comment making him feel like it did. So when they were back at base and not in immediate threat of being sent on a mission, he suggested it.

“Could we spar, Ghost? Wanna practice on someone bigger’n me.”

Ghost didn’t even glance up from the paperwork he was having to fill out; ‘perks’ of being a lieutenant. “Later. Busy.”

Gaz sighed, but knew that was that. Ghost had his schedule, you didn’t interrupt it. “Fine. I’ll be in the gym; Soap and I are practicin’ too.”

Gaz truly didn’t expect that to garner any reaction from the man. After all he and Soap practiced together pretty often. So when Ghost immediately set down his paperwork, Gaz was confused.

“Need a break anyways. ‘ll watch you two spar and fix your technique.”

Ghost went ahead of him, and Gaz followed like the good soldier he was. However, he was feeling a little miffed. Ghost only stopped his work once Soap was mentioned. He knew the two were close after the shit-show in Las Almas, but it felt kinda…discouraging. He honestly though Ghost might have been flirting with him (a dream come true) with that ‘good boy’ return, however now he sees it was just to make him flustered from his misspeak earlier, nothing else.

‘I’ll just show up Soap,’ Gaz thought. ‘Least then he’d focus on me.’

—

Gaz groaned as his face was shoved in the mat again. Soap was on some kinda adrenaline high to be beating Gaz so thoroughly, he was sure of it. Ghost didn’t think so, critiquing Gaz’ technique yet again.

“You get distracted trying to throw the opponent off. If you just take them down, they don’t need to be distracted. Up, again.”

Gaz stood up again, because he was kinda getting what he wanted; Ghost’s attention. Even if he was probably annoyed with Gaz for failing so miserably against Soap.

Gaz looked at his friend a little critically. How was he handing Gaz his ass this often? Was he having extra training? With Ghost?

Gaz had to shake those thoughts off as Soap made his first swing. Gaz tries to follow Ghost’s advice, no fakeouts or jukes, and aims to just get Soap to the mat. A solid kick to the back of the knee almost did it, however he miscalculated, and Soap’s leg going down also pinched Gaz’ between in, forcing him down as well, and a bit harder than his friend.

“…Gaz, mate, are you okay?” Great, now Soap sounded concerned. “’ve never won this often in a row. You sick or something?”

Gaz just rolled over to his back, and looked at Soap with a grimace. “Tell me the truth bruv, has Ghost been giving you special training?”

Soap chuckled. “Caught on finally? ‘S the only reason he’d stop his paperwork to watch this. Having to make sure I’m doing well. And considering…” Soap looked over Gaz’s supine form. “I’d say I’m learning pretty well.”

Soap helped Gaz stand back up, and fell back into a ready stance, before Ghost approached the ring.

“Soap, out. Gaz, now is you’n me.”

-----

Gaz wasn’t sure what to think. Ghost had been giving Soap special sparring training? Why only him? Shouldn’t Ghost train both of them, as the two below him in the core of the 141? Whatever, it was probably just because of Las Almas. Ghost felt responsible or something. Lord knows Nikolai still feels like shit for letting Gaz drop out of a helo; he gets the seat furthest from the opening every heli ride now.

Right now, he had bigger issues to deal with. Like the fact the one who trained the guy who just handed him his ass was about to spar him. Oh boy.

“Gaz? You ready?”

Gaz fell into a sparring position. “Yessir. Just thinking.”

Ghost nodded, and got in position as well. “I’ll catch you up with Soap. Don’t be afraid to play dirty.”

Gaz wasn’t expecting that. Might as well make use of it, though. He stood a bit surer now. “Affirm. Ready?”

—

Gaz’…everything hurt. Ribs, legs, hands; all of it. He’d been going as hard as he could on Ghost, yet it didn’t even seem to phase him. The man wasn’t even out of breath, and he had his full mask on!

The mask…no, no, playing dirty is one thing, however Ghost wears the mask for an important reason Gaz may no know, but understands. He won’t take that off. Maybe biting’s on the table?

“Is biting on the table?”

“No, because it could kill a man. We’re sparring, not killing.”

There goes that idea. Gaz gets back up with a wince, and stands again. While all his muscles may be in pain, he has also been learning a lot from Ghost in this short period. He can see why Soap beat him so thoroughly. Speaking of which, he’d left a while ago, to where, Gaz had zero clue.

“Start.”

Gaz tried his best, he really, really did. He actually fought pretty valiantly at the beginning, making Ghost trip up a bit. He soon recovered though, and Gaz was about to be slammed onto his back. His hand shot out to try and grab Ghost’s shoulder to give him leverage, however a sudden elbow from Ghost changed the trajectory, and Gaz ripped the plastic skull plate off his mask.

Gaz immediately let go, and smacked his hands against his face in his hurry to cover his eyes. “I didn’t mean to sir!”

Ghost, gentler than Gaz expected, put him down on the mat. “’s fine. Needed to mend this one anyways.”

Gaz waited a few minutes before finally opening his eyes. He had only taken off the plate, so the balaclava was fully in place. Gaz sighed in relief seeing that.

“Think I’m that ugly, sergeant?” Ghost quipped, and Gaz groaned.

“Was being polite. You wear that thing for a reason, yeah? Don’t wanna force ya’ to show anything.”

Ghost snorted. “Wear it ‘cause I’m covert ops and I have a shit ton of scars. Couldn’t give less of a crap what my face looks like.”

Gaz blinked at that. He could see the smirk under Ghost’s balaclava.

“…we goin’ again?”

“Nah,” Ghost shrugged, offering a hand. “Yer knackered.”

Gaz took his hand, only stumbling a moment as he stood up. Ghost turned then to leave, and Gaz just stared after him. He…wasn’t sure what to think now.

-----

Ghost sat down in his office, holding the skull plate Gaz had accidentally ripped off. He wasn’t lying when he said he needed to mend this mask, the threads were stretched and thinning. It was one of his first masks, from before he started using kevlar thread to attach the plate. Truth be told, he should really retire it, even as an “around base” mask. However, he was a bit sentimental about it, sue him.

He sighed, gently tossing and catching the mask as he thought. Then he had an idea. A great idea.

—

Gaz groggily cracked open his eyes when his alarm went off. Everything was even more sore from yesterday, and he’d sleep in if he were in literally any other profession. However, he never gets to stop being a cog in the machine, so up he gets.

However, he doesn’t expect to find one of Ghost’s masks laying on his dresser. Scratch that, not just “one of” his masks, it’s the one he ripped yesterday. It has a mottled mess of a patch he recognizes.

Gaz very carefully lifts the mask, turning it over in his hands. The balaclava is old, faded, blotchy with patches, and generally worn out. The re-attached plate has chip damage, worn paint, and stains. However, it’s firmly sewn back onto the balaclava. As Gaz looks at it, the worn and old nature of it almost reminds him of a loved teddy bear. How silly.

But its in here for a reason. What reason, Gaz isn’t sure. Was the re-attached plate a threat of sorts? A reminder to not mess with Ghost’s mask? Whatever the reason, Gaz sure isn’t going to figure it out if he’s late for training. He gets changed into his clothes, and stuffs the mask in one of his pockets to be dealt with later.

Later turns out to be as soon as he makes it to breakfast. Ghost is sitting at a table by himself, and stares at Gaz as he goes through line and then to looking for a place to sit. Sure Gaz could just…sit somewhere else, however Ghost was practically giving him the death glare. Obviously he was trying to tell Gaz something.

So, Gaz made his way to the slaughter. Thankfully it seemed to be the right choice, as Ghost mellowed a little as Gaz sat.

“Did you get it?”

Gaz blinked. Get what? He blinked, before the dots connected in his head. Gaz simply nodded, not sure what the mask meant.

“Good. ‘S yours now.”

Gaz swallowed, and croaked out a, “Why?” to which Ghost blinked.

“You tore it off. Badge of honor or something.”

“And you’re no’ mad?”

Ghost snorted, which Gaz jumped at, not expecting it in the slightest. “Not at all. It was old anyways. Was gonna need to mend it no matter what. You actually ripped it pretty cleanly out?”

Gaz relaxed a little, finally sitting down with his food. “You sew?”

“Jus’ enough to make these masks. Not exactly a service provided by the laundry folk.”

“Fair, fair.” Gaz felt himself relax further as he continued to talk with his lieutenant. Now that he was sure his throat wasn’t going to be ripped out, he could admit the gesture was nice. Cute, even, though he’d never say that to Ghost’s face.

-----

Ghost woke up the next morning feeling…happy. He was happy to be getting close to his other sergeant. Until now the two were just co-workers, however, with how intertwined the 141 was…yeah, he really should have started forming this friendship earlier.

As Ghost got ready for the day, he thought back to what started this. The accidental ‘good boy’ comment. What an absurd way for it to have begun. However, he wasn’t so daft as to deny the comment made him feel…good. Even as a joke, Gaz thought he could be called a good boy. Ghost wasn’t exactly used to such nice terminology to describe him.

He should go see Gaz. They could have breakfast together. Ghost got dressed and ready and headed to the mess hall. He was the first one there. That’s fine, he’s used to getting up early. He gets his food and sits down. He even sits near the entrance so he can easily beckon Gaz to join him.

Ghost sits there, nibbling at his food. He doesn’t want to finish it quick and make Gaz feel like he’d have to rush as well. As people filtered in, Ghost kept his eyes on the entrance. Gaz wasn’t here yet. He wasn’t usually late for breakfast. Finally Ghost finished his breakfast, just from nibbling. He got up and put the tray in the basket, and headed back to the barracks. He approached Gaz’ room. Come to think of it, he and Soap were roommates and neither had made it to breakfast. Were they hanging out?

Ghost was just about to open the door as he heard Soap say, ‘You think Ghost likes ye back?’

Ghost tilted his head. They were talking. And of course he liked Gaz, they were friends now. And he’d complimented him, even if it made him embarrassed in the moment.

‘I really do hope so. The mask thing made me think he does. Do you…think he’d be okay dating a subordinate?’

That made Ghost fully stop what he was doing. Date? He…what? Gaz wanted to date him?

Ghost decided he needed to talk to him now to know what in the world he was thinking. He opened the door and looked at the two, not saying a word.

Gaz looked like he was about to curl up into a ball of shame, while Soap seemed much less effected. “L.T.! Great timing, I’m gonna leave ye to talk to our friend here.”

Soap sauntered out of the room, humming nonchalantly. Ghost closed the door behind himself, and took a seat on Soap’s bed, across from Gaz.

“…did you hear all that?” Gaz finally asked, not looking Ghost in the eyes.

“…dating?” Ghost decided to jump straight to the chase.

Gaz sighed, and nodded. “Thought you might like me back. Y’know, with the whole ‘good boy’ thing, and the mask, and whatnot.”

Ghost blinked. Was…was he flirting? Was that considered flirting?

“…I was not intentionally flirting with you,” he starts, and Gaz chokes down a wounded noise. Before Ghost can continue, Gaz cuts him off.

“It’s okay, ignore me, it’s fine, we don’t have to talk about thi-”

“Kyle.”

Gaz promptly shuts him mouth.

“I was not intentionally flirting, because I don’t know how to flirt. I…don’t even really understand having a crush. However,” Ghost shifts forward on the bed to look better into Gaz’ eyes. “I do want to be close to you. It may not be exactly how you wish, because I don’t think I’m built to be able to really date, but…I’d be willing to try. It can’t interfere with work, however.”

Gaz nods in understanding. “Understood, sir. People are all different, makes sense some may not really get crushes and such.”

Ghost was…pleased. Last time he told someone that, he was called a freak of nature. So for Gaz to accept it is…nice.

“…could I call you Kyle? Outside of work?”

Gaz’ smile becomes softer. “I would like that. Could I call you Simon?”

Ghost nods, and offers a handshake. Gaz can’t help but snort, but shakes his hand anyways.

“We don’t have to be anything you don’t wanna be sir. We can just be closer friends if that’s all you want.”

Ghost takes a breath. “We can…try to date. I will be very, very…very slow moving, though.”

“That’s fine by me.”

-----

That's all folks! Thank you so much for reading, and thank you again for hosting the week @/ghostgazweek!