"We're pinned down taking heavy fire on the west side of the building!" Soap urgently said into his comms. "We could use some help but be careful on approach, they've got guns everywhere."

"Roger that, Soap," Price replied. "Hold tight and we'll get you two out of there."

Soap went back to exchanging gunfire with the guards of the drug lord they'd been sent to capture. He carefully shot around the corner of the window making sure he didn't expose himself as a target.

"I've got an idea, Sergeant."

Soap cast a quick glance at Jack. He kneeled on the floor beneath a window on the other side of the room and had taken a grenade from his tac vest. Whatever Jack was planning was too risky. They had too many guns on them for him to be able to throw the grenade with any kind of accuracy.

"Stay down, Jack! That's an order!"

His order came too late. Jack had already pulled the pin and stood to throw the grenade at the enemy. Soap saw the young solider about to hunker back down when a bullet sliced through the open window and struck him on the throat.

"Ung."

The sound Jack made was quiet and low. And then he was falling backward with red spilling down his neck.

"Jack!" Soap yelled, voice drowned out by the deafening boom of the grenade exploding. Crouching down, he ran over to where Jack had fallen to the ground. He lay on his back, blood coming from a severe bullet wound on his neck. Soap got back on the comms. "I need a medic! Jack's been hit!" He barely heard the response as he quickly started digging through Jack's vest for his first aid kit.

"Jack, what the hell was that?" Soap asked while desperately trying to staunch the bleeding with a thick pad of gauze. But it was no use. The bullet had hit a major artery and the continuing blood loss was massive.

"Just doing what I thought you would do, Sergeant," Jack said weakly.

He coughed, forcing more blood out of the gushing wound.

Soap knew it was too late for reprimands. He decided to focus on making sure that Jack passed on to the next feeling good about himself. "It was good shit. Boldest move I've ever seen."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You took out those bastards so our boys have a clear path in."

Jack smiled. "Good. Don't want any of those losers getting hurt."

"Proud of you for defending your team."

"Thanks, Sergeant MacTavish."

Soap nodded. "Rest, Jack. The medics will be here soon."

"Just going to close my eyes for a few minutes."

"Go ahead. A couple of winks will have you right again."


Jack sighed and closed his eyes. Soap held onto his hand until his chest stopped moving and the blood ceased to flow from his neck.

He didn't know how much time passed before he heard the beat of multiple pairs of boots running down the hall. Still at Jack's side, he readied his weapon. But thankfully, he heard a familiar voice call out.

"Blue! Blue!"

It was Price. Soap lowered his weapon as the captain, Gaz, and Ghost came around the corner into the room where he was holed up. 

Ghost approached him while Gaz kept lookout.

"Is he gone?" Ghost asked.

Soap nodded.

"Let me take him."

Ghost started to kneel down to pick up Jack, but Soap shook his head.

"No, I've got him."

Shifting off his knees, Soap moved into a squat. He grabbed Jack, heaving his body over his shoulders before he rose to his feet. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he looked at his teammates.

"Let's get out of this hell hole."

* * *
After leaving the ready room, Ghost crossed the hall and took up a post in a shadowed alcove. He waited, silently and patiently. It wasn't long before Soap trudged by, head hanging low. To Ghost, it didn't matter that their personal relationship had changed. Soap was still his sergeant and it was his job to look out for him in whatever way the situation called for. And right now, the situation called for emotional support.

"Johnny," he called out.

Soap stopped and looked round at Ghost. He didn't seem surprised to see him standing there.

"Yeah, L.T.?"

"Come here for a moment."

Soap changed course and trudged over to meet Ghost where he stood. He raised his head. His eyes were dull and his mouth was turned down in a frown of grief. Ghost knew that not only was Soap upset at Jack's death, but he was blaming himself for it as well.

"I know you're upset about what happened out there. And I know you don't want to hear it. But that wasn't your fault. None of us are guaranteed to come back vertical. You know that."

"I know," Soap said hoarsely. "It's just... Jack was so young. A silly kid. Just a couple of months ago, we were all laughing at his ass catching on fire. Now, he's dead."

Ghost gripped Soap's shoulder, squeezing once in sympathy. And then, because he couldn't stand to see Johnny hurting, he cupped the back of his head and drew him into a hug. He held Soap against his chest, feeling the tension and trembling in his body.

"Let it out, Johnny," he whispered. "There's no shame in crying over a fallen comrade."

Soap stood there for several seconds, resisting the emotions that wanted to break free. Then, he melted against Ghost, his body shuddering with silent sobs. Tears began to wet Ghost's shirt, but he didn't care.

"That's it." He soothed Johnny as he cried for his friend, rubbing a palm up and down his back. Without planning to, he began to gently rock Soap side to side within his embrace. He kept up the movement until the silent sobs ebbed and the tears ceased to flow.

Eventually, Soap straightened and pulled out of Ghost's hold. He looked up, his face swollen and splotchy from crying.

"Thanks, L.T. I appreciate that." His eyes were red but a hint of a smile broke through the pain that lingered on his face. "I ruined your shirt. Of course, you probably have a hundred black T-shirts so it's no great loss."

"A hundred and one. But this one was my favorite," Ghost teased.

"In that case, I'll buy you a new one the next time I'm down at the shops."

It made Ghost happy that they so easily fell into their usual banter. "Don't worry about it. I'll find a way to live with only a hundred black T-shirts."

"Good. I hate shopping." Soap relaxed even more. "Thank you, Simon," he said again. "I needed to let that out but I might have kept it bottled up if you hadn't called me over here."

"I'm always here for you, Johnny. You know that."

Soap smiled again. "I do."

Silence fell between them. As they stared at each other, a new emotion began to shine in Johnny's blue eyes. Ghost didn't want to acknowledge what that emotion was, but he'd be a fool not to recognize it. Love. Love for him shone in Johnny's eyes and on his face. Ghost was glad he wore his mask, needing it to hide the blaze of emotion that was surely on his own face as he looked down at his sergeant.

Across the hall, the ready room door opened, startling them out of their eye contact. But they didn't move away from each other. Bakshi and Gaz strolled out side by side. Bakshi started to approach them, but Gaz, whose eyes were also suspiciously red, tugged on his shirt and led him the other way.

Soap cleared his throat. "We're going down to the pub to have a few pints in Jack's name. Join us?"
Ghost nodded. "I'll be there."

* * *
Rage burned in his chest as he watched from the shadows while Ghost hugged Soap. How fucking dare Ghost emotionally jerk Sergeant MacTavish around like that? Using a soldier's death as an excuse to tease him with a crumb of his lousy, ugly affection while Soap was trying to heal. He could see on Soap's face that he wasn't over the lieutenant yet. His love for Ghost glowed in his expression as he stared up at the bigger man. But he knew, that behind that ridiculous mask, the same expression wasn't on Ghost's face. That fool probably didn't even know what love was. But it didn't matter. Ghost wouldn't be able to hurt Soap anymore after this. He had everything ready at their special place. Tonight was the night.

* * *
Everyone geared down, had their injuries patched up, and washed away the blood and grit under the spray of a hot shower. Then, they piled into vehicles and headed off base to their favorite local pub. They were here to celebrate Jack's life while turning a blind eye to their own mortality.

Ghost watched as Soap, Gaz, Bakshi, and the rest of the team stomped about on the packed dance floor, loudly yelling the lyrics to the song currently playing on the pub's sound system. A smile quirked his lips at their antics. This is how they kept going. How they paid their respect to their fallen - by continuing on. Because they had to. There was no other option.

His gaze shifted to the side as Price approached him.

The older man grabbed the chair next to Ghost, spinning it around on one leg so that he could sit with his folded arms resting over the chair back. He said nothing for several moments, simply sitting there with cigar smoke curling in the air around his head.

"They're having a good time," he finally said.

"They need it after that shit show."

"Yeah, they do." Price went silent long enough to take a drink from the heavy glass tumbler in his hand. "He won't be single forever," Price said once he lowered the glass.

Ghost stiffened.

"Soap has a light within him," Price continued on. "He wants to share it with someone. I thought that someone would be you."

"I'm his superior officer. It's against the rules."

Price scoffed. "And the 141 are known for always following the rules."

"I'm not good for him, Price. That light he has? It'd burn out with me."

"I don't believe that. You're a good man, Simon."

They watched as Soap and Gaz attempted some fancier dance moves, laughing as they clumsily fell off balance and crashed into each other. Hands reached out and caught Soap around the waist, pulling him upright again. The hands belonged to Sergeant Clarke, one of the bold ones.

Ghost's chest ached as he watched, wondering if the tall, dark-haired Clarke would be the one Soap shared his light with. He decided that if he was, he didn't want to be there to witness the beginning of their relationship.

"I'm out," he said as he rose from his chair. "See you at debriefing tomorrow morning."

"Here, take my keys. I'll be too pissed to drive back so I'll ride with Gaz and the others." He tossed his key ring to Ghost.

Ghost caught the keys one-handed. "Thanks."

He headed out of the pub, his feet taking him on a path that would have him passing close to Soap on his way out. It was foolish, but he couldn't resist the pull he felt to the sergeant. Even though he was tossing back shots and dancing, Soap noticed him leaving. They made eye contact and Ghost gave him a nod goodbye. He forced himself to leave, heading out into the cool, windy night to make the trip back to base alone.

* * *
It was tradition to go out and celebrate after they lost one of their members. They drank and danced and told stories of their fallen soldier. Soap needed this night - Jack's death had hit him hard. He threw his head back to sing and dance in the middle of a mad crush of bodies as he forced Jack's final moments from his mind. One of the technology team members appeared in the center of the group, holding a tray full of shot glasses. The sandy haired soldier started passing them out to everyone from their unit.

"This round is on me, lads," he said cheerfully.

"Dalton. You're pretty handy with that thing."

"I waited tables in secondary school." Dalton plucked up a shot glass brimming with amber liquid from the center of the tray. "This one's for you, Sergeant."

"Free shot! Thanks." Soap accepted the shot glass. "To Jack!" he yelled out. The toast was fiercely shouted by his squad mates, momentarily drowning out the music. Soap knocked back the liquor, shaking his head as it burned his chest on the way down to his gullet. "Woo!"

He put the empty shot glass back on the tray. Dalton grinned at him before he disappeared into the crowd. Soap went back to dancing his grief away. As he bounced to the final beats of the bass heavy rock song playing, he noticed Ghost cutting his way through the pub. Their eyes met for a brief moment before Ghost looked away and continued on to the front door.

By the time the next song started, Soap's head was spinning and he was unsteady on his feet.

Gaz cupped the back of his neck, peering at him with concern.

"You alright, mate?"

"Yeah. Barkeep must be making 'em strong tonight." Gaz's hand was cool on his skin. It felt good, grounding him for a moment. That's what he needed - to cool off. "Back in a minute."

He left his group and went to the back of the pub where the bathrooms were located. The hallway for the bathrooms was dim, lit by a single red bulb at the far end. Inside the men's room, he went over to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. If that didn't help, he'd call it a night and have someone take him home. Maybe he could catch Ghost and ride back with him.

No. He wasn't going to ride back with Ghost. The last thing he needed was to be alone in a car with him while his tongue was loose from alcohol. He'd probably end up confessing all of his lovesick feelings that so far, hadn't abated in the slightest.

He waited a minute, hands clutching the sides of the sink. But the room continued to spin and the edges of his vision were blurry.

"Fuck. How many did I have?"

Soap scrubbed his hands up and down his face before staggering over to the bathroom door. It was time to find Gaz and Bakshi, their designated driver, and head back to base. He pulled open the door and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. Someone was standing there, half hidden in the shadows.

"Hey there, Sergeant MacTavish. You good?"

Soap squinted, trying to make out who it was. It was Dalton, the soldier who'd brought everyone the round of shots. He'd put on a black cap, pulled down low over his face. "Think I'm done for the night. Going to find Gaz and head home."

"Actually, Gaz is waiting for you outside. He told me to bring you to him."

That was a relief. He didn't feel up to navigating his way through the packed bar in order to retrieve his friends. "Alright." He tried to take a step forward, but ended up listing to the side like he was on the deck of a storm-tossed ship. He threw his arms out in front to right himself. "Woah."

"Here, let me help you."

Dalton wrapped an arm around his back.

"I've got you, Sergeant MacTavish," Dalton said softly. He held him steady as they passed beneath the red light to go out the rear door.

Soap's feet dragged as he walked, his head drooping heavily on his neck. Something was wrong. He shouldn't be this drunk - even if the bartender had mixed heavy handed. And now that he thought about it, he'd only had a few beers and a single shot. There was nothing for the bartender to mix. He struggled to lift his head, looking around the parking lot for Gaz, Bakshi, and the truck they'd arrived in. He didn't see any of them. Dalton was leading him to a dark sedan with tinted windows.

Too tired to hold it up, he let his head hang low again. "Where's Gaz?" he slurred, tongue feeling too big and slow in his mouth.

"Gaz is still inside the pub."

"What?"

Soap raised his drooping head once more to look at Dalton with bleary eyes. Something in the man's expression caused a shiver of apprehension to run down Soap's spine, the feeling as cold and unpleasant as if someone had trickled ice water down his back.

The shot. Something had been in that shot that Dalton gave him. His instincts, dulled by whatever he'd been dosed with, woke up and screamed Danger. Soap tried to shove Dalton away from him and run, but his movements were sloppy and uncoordinated. He ended up stumbling and would have fallen to the ground but Dalton caught him.

"I'm sorry I had to do it like this," Dalton whispered. "But it's for the best."

Horrified at what was happening, but unable to stop it, Soap's head spun faster and faster until finally, he blacked out.

Our stalker is revealed and he has made his move! What's going to happen to Soap? =(

"Good mission, everyone. You only gave me half a headache this go 'round."

Soap grinned as he geared down along with everyone else. Price like to swear that the 141 and their support team were everything but rabid beasts out in the field. "Captain, you cause just as much mayhem as anyone else. You just look cool and collected when you do because you've got that cigar clamped between your teeth the entire time."

Price took the cigar from his mouth to study it.

"It does give me an air of authority."

Gaz laughed. "Our captain needs to look distinguished while gunning down mercenaries."

The teasing continued. Everyone was in a good mood. The mission had been a success and everyone had come back alive with only a few minor injuries. Gaz broke the middle finger on his non-shooting hand, Soap had barbed wire scratches up both arms, and Jack, a support team member, had a burn on his right thigh and ass cheek.

"I never saw anyone's arse hit the ground as fast as Jack's did when his pants caught fire," Ghost rumbled out in his deep voice.

Soap threw an arm around Jack's shoulders, leaning on him as he laughed at the recent memory. "Plopped right down in the mud and did a little sit and scoot to put the fire out. Funniest thing I've seen all week."

"It worked, didn't it?" Jack asked with a boyish grin.

"Indeed it did. Too bad I didn't have my phone out to capture the moment for all eternity." He playfully shoved the young soldier away.

As the team finished gearing down, they began to drift from the ready room, some on their own - some in pairs. Soap noticed Ghost leaving and rushed to catch up with him.

"Wait up, LT."

Ghost stopped to wait for him. They walked together, heading for the barracks unit. Ghost turned his head to look down at Soap.

"You did good out there, Johnny."

Soap smiled up into the lieutenant's dark eyes. "Thanks. I didn't want to walk with you to get compliments but I won't turn 'em down." He gave him a little knock on his shoulder with his fist. "You were amazing as always. Pulled Walker back right before he stepped on a rigged trap door. No one but you would have known it was there," Soap said in admiration for Ghost's skills and awareness.

They reached the door to their barracks. Soap put up a hand to stop Ghost from opening it.

"Can I talk to you for a minute before we go in?" He nodded his head toward the narrow alleyway between their barracks and the one next door. "Over there."

"Of course."

Johnny's heart started racing as he led the way to where he wanted to have a private word with Ghost. Hours before, he'd taken on three mercs by himself without blinking. Now, he was shaking with nerves at the conversation he was about to start.

Ghost leaned against the wall of their building. Soap stood in front of him, making a concentrated effort not to fidget.

"What is it, Johnny?" Ghost asked softly.

Soap blew out a breath, letting the rough timbre of his lieutenant’s voice soothe him as it so often did. "Have you thought about what I said?" He scrubbed a hand over his hair. "I don't want to rush you. But it's nerve-wrecking to put yourself out there and not get a crumb of an answer for days on end."

"Johnny..." Ghost started in a low, almost mournful tone.

Soap huffed a soft, pained laugh. He stumbled back to lean against the wall of the building behind him. "You don't have to say anything else. I can tell by your voice it's a no."

"It has to be. There are fraternization rules for a reason."

Soap straightened again. One hand balled up into a fist at his side while the other waved about in wild, frustrated gestures. "You think I give a fuck about fraternization rules? When we're out there risking our lives every damn day? We should be able to snatch a wee bit of happiness for ourselves in the midst of all this danger and death!"

Ghost stood still in the face of Soap's mini rant. His breathing was so calm that his chest barely moved and his gaze never wavered. "My answer is no, Johnny."

Soap wanted to crumple to the ground at both the rejection and the tender way Ghost said his name. He didn't, forcing himself to stay upright and look Ghost in the eye. "I think you're saying no for the wrong reasons. If you didn't want me that would be fine. But to ignore what's between us because of a fucking rule. It's... It's a waste of what could be a good thing."

"That's the way it has to be."

"Fine. Just... fine." Unable to look at Ghost any longer, Soap spun away from him and left the alley. Instead of going into the barracks he set off across base. He needed a long walk to clear his head.

* * *
They're always together. I hate it. Hate seeing Soap waste his time with a man who refuses to give him what he needs. Ghost doesn't know how lucky he is to have Sergeant MacTavish look at him in open admiration. Doesn't know how blessed he is to be on the receiving end of so many fond smiles and familiar touches. I treasure each and every time the sergeant has so much as patted me on the back. I'm better for Soap than Ghost could ever be. I would never let him walk away from me with such hurt in his beautiful blue eyes. I hate Ghost for not valuing what he has. He's a fool for not embracing the lovely gift right there in front of him.
But I am not a fool.

* * *
The next morning, Soap lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He'd been awake for a while. They were off schedule today as they usually were after returning from a mission. The break gave them time to wind down and recover. With nowhere to be, he laid there thinking, ignoring the rumbling in his stomach that demanded breakfast.

Two weeks ago, he'd thrown all caution to the wind and told Ghost how he felt about him. Let him know that he wanted a more personal relationship with him. He knew it was against regulation for them to be together due to the difference in their ranks. But fuck. This burn he had for Ghost was too powerful to ignore because of a regulation. After two weeks of waiting, he couldn't stand the wondering any longer, so he'd asked Ghost for his answer.

To be honest, he wasn't surprised Ghost said no. And since he had, that was that. He wasn't going to harass the man into becoming his lover. He would drop it. Which meant he needed to start putting his feelings for him away. He couldn't keep falling for Ghost when there was no hope that his feelings would ever be returned. In order to stop the free fall, he needed to make some changes.

"Okay, MacTavish. Stop moping," he said aloud to his empty bedroom. "Get up and have breakfast. Then go and talk to Ghost."

***
After breakfast, Soap made his way down the hall to the lieutenant's room. He knocked on the door, hoping Ghost was inside so he could get this over with.

"It's open," Ghost called out.

Soap cracked open the door and poked his head into the room. Ghost sat at the small desk that came standard in everyone's quarters. He was dressed in black sweats and a black Henley. A plain black balaclava covered his head. His elbows rested on the desktop while his large frame put the strength of the chair beneath him to the test.

"Can I come in?"

Ghost gave him a single nod.

Soap stepped inside and shut the door behind him for privacy. But he didn't go any further into the room. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday. You said no and I should have respected your answer without blowing up at you."

"It's fine, Johnny. I know you didn't mean any harm."

"No, I didn't. But I still shouldn't have done it." Soap looked down at the floor for a moment. "Anyway, I also wanted to let you know that I won't bother you with this again. You're still my big English bestie. With work, on missions, we're solid. But I think in my personal hours I need a bit of distance between us. Just until I get myself together."

Again, Ghost nodded. "I understand."

Soap wanted to protest, wanted to beg Ghost to give them a chance instead of easily accepting putting distance between them. He kept the pleading words behind his teeth. "Okay, then. I'll see ya."
His heart aching, Soap turned and left the room.

* * *
Ghost sat on his couch in the barracks common room. The couch where Soap used to sit with him - for the few minutes he was able to sit still. He'd be up and moving about but always staying within Ghost's orbit. No longer. Now he was on the other side of the room, leaning on a cue stick as he played a game of pool with Jack. Gaz and the others looked on and offered advice to both players. The light above turned Johnny's skin to gold and gleamed on the rich sable brown of his hair. His eyes sparkled as he laughed at Jack missing an easy shot.

Johnny was beautiful to him. And he was beautiful to many others as well. Soldiers, officers, they all noticed Johnny's strength and skill and charisma. Noticed the gorgeous body that he took such pride in, their eyes slipping down from his broad shoulders, to his muscled back, to the tight curve of his arse. And they'd noticed that he and Johnny were no longer as close as they once were.

The boldest of them had slid in right away when it became obvious that Ghost and Soap weren't spending all of their off-duty hours together. The rest had looked to Ghost to gauge his reaction. When he didn't give one, they all started to move in. They gave Soap more frequent claps on the back and pats on the shoulder, hands lingering a second too long. Offered to bring him his favorite snacks from the canteen. Asked could they join him during his workouts or on the gun range. Invited him to hang out off base.

Ghost wanted to knock them all on their asses and demand Johnny return the lion's share of his attention to him. But he understood why he'd taken it away. Johnny had to think about himself. After Ghost's rejection, Johnny had to protect the heart that beat so strongly beneath his chest.

Ghost understood. But he hated it. Hated no longer having Johnny with him at his side on the couch. Missed being with him on late night walks around the base. Missed exchanging lousy jokes over shared meals in Johnny's room. He hated that someone else would eventually become the recipient of Johnny's special smiles and warm affection.

But it was for the best. Johnny deserved better than him. And he deserved better for his career as well. Johnny was a bright and rising star in the SAS. The brass no doubt had plans to promote him. But if he was found to be fraternizing with a superior, all that would be taken away. Ghost didn't care about his own rank. His only concern for his rank was that it let him get his job done as needed. But Johnny - bright, talented Johnny - deserved a high rank and all the accolades that went along with it. Ghost wouldn't jeopardize that by selfishly giving in to the one thing he wanted - a relationship with Johnny.

And so, he sat there on the couch, alone. The distance between the couch and the pool table felt more vast than the width of the room. An insurmountable distance that he could never cross. But it's what was best for Johnny. And that was all that mattered.

* * *
They're different now. There's distance between them. That fight I witnessed must have caused a rift. Hopefully, it's a permanent one. Now those other fools are peacocking in front of the sergeant, thinking they have a shot with him. But they can't see that Soap is wounded - thanks to the biggest fool of all who hurt him. Soap doesn't need a peacock. He needs someone to heal him.

I can heal him. Make him whole again. Make him mine. I'm almost finished preparing. Our special place is nearly ready. No one will ever find us once I take my love to our special place. It's time for me to make John Soap MacTavish mine.

Author Note:
I hope you enjoyed the start to this fic! I've had it started on my computer for a long time and finally gave myself permission to get some chapters completed to post.

Thank you for reading!
Christa