#background gazroach (??)

[sergeantwoods]

inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale. in--

the thump of the helo hitting the ground lifted ghost from his thoughts, and he sighed. exhale.

roach and gaz slowly broke apart from their huddling, probably talking about some dumb shit. ghost huffed, turning away from the two.

see, soap was dead. he has been for a while. a while is 8 months. but that's still a while in his books. because he could never let johnny's death go. never.

roach was soaps replacement. but he could never amount to johnny. so as much as he tried, he wouldn't get half of ghost's respect. roach wasn't bad, don't get him wrong. the kid was good at his job, smart, funny. but if he thought he could replace soap, then he was sorely mistaken. nobody can replace soap.

ghost doesn't understand how gaz and price moved on so quickly. their mourning only lasted about, what, a month? two? even so, it was too fast. like they dumped the idea of the bright-eyed sergeant away too quickly. it cut at simon's heart.

a pat on his shoulder had him roused from his thoughts, and he met eyes with price. price nodded at him, and he dipped his head back. swallowing shallowly, he stood up, following behind the captain.

once they reached the snowy ground, price waved nik off, and nik grinned and winked before launching in the air again and leaving. now, it was just the four of them, plus the two rookies that had been assigned this mission.

"alright," price started, coughing. his eyes narrowed, and he gestured at the facility that was barely visible from their view. "we're just going in to grab intel. they have guards, yes, but they are easy to bypass. it's easy. don't make it harder than it has to be." at the collective 'yes sirs!' he recieved, he nodded.

"sergeant valkyrie, lieutenant mirage, go on overwatch. me and the others are going into building A. keep watch for us. don't mess up; this is important." when the sergeant and the lieutenant nodded, he turned to the direction of the building.

"alright. when we get there, i'll tell overwatch where to set up, then we'll go and get that intel. shouldn't take too long." clapping his hands, he continued. "let's get going."

they trudged at least a few miles towards the compound, dropping of overwatch on the way. when they reached the cliff that dropped down to reveal the building, price split them into smaller groups.

it took them a few minutes to get down, grunts of effort being heard through comms. the awkward shuffling from the rookie's side of the comms were picked up, agitating ghost's ears. he was tempted to turn it off, but he decided against it. it would stop later, anyway. they'd get busy and focus.

gritting his teeth, he took out his assault rifle. price gave them a few more directions, before they took off for their missions.

it starts off slow. yeah, it started off slow. but now, here they were, huddled under some block of cement, to hide from the rain of bullets coming their way. price curses under his breath from ghost's side, reloading his gun hurriedly before peeking out from the side of the block and shooting.

ghost looked out from the side as well, shooting enemies one by one with deadly accuracy.

"overwatch, how many more are there?" price hisses, reloading his gun again.

"they just keep coming, sir," valkyrie says, growling under his breath as he snipes some soldier in the swarm of konni's coming after them.

"fuuuck, there wasn't supposed to be this many!"

ghost couldn't help the snort that left him. price side eyes him, then roughly grabs his shoulder.

"we're moving, lieutenant, come on."

nodding, he covered the captain as the sprinted into the building next to them. once they entered, it became eerily silent, save for their shoes squeaking against the sterile marbled floor. it looked like a part of an airport, almost, minus all the obviously military things lying around.

even when price lowered his gun, ghost kept his up. they couldn't afford to be caught off guard.

"simon. there isn't anyone in here."

flicking his eyes to price, he slowly lowers the gun. if price told him to lower the gun only for them to get --

he lets out a surprised sound as something -- no, someone -- tackles him to the ground. his head hits the ground first, and the all-too-familiar feeling of the barrel of a gun being pressed to the back of neck is present before he hears price letting out a shout and barreling towards the figure on top of him to the ground.

ghost groans, head spinning. he hears the sounds of price and the russian tussling besides him, but he can't seem to care over the pain in his head.

it takes a few seconds to finally come too, but when he does, he realizes that price is being attacked. and suddenly his senses are in overdrive, and he sweeps the attacker of their feet and onto the ground. their gun goes flying, and they land on their back with a pained grunt. he goes to stand over them. and now he gets to see their face.

his heart drops.

a familiar face. it isn't supposed to be familiar -- the eyes. it's fucking green, not blue. and the muzzle. and the fluffed out, ruffled mohawk. it isn't johnny. but it is? johnny wouldn't betray them. and he wouldn't do... whatever this is. wouldn't agree to it.

soap snarls from his position on the floor, eyes narrowed and staring apoplectically up at ghost. his breaths were coming out in short, angry puffs, the sound strange from the muzzle.

"johnny?"

nothing in his face changes. no pause, no hesitation, no sadness, no recognition. ghost face screws up under the mask in concern. what the hell happened to him?

price shakily gets up beside him, staring down at soap. his face was white as a sheet, and he whispers out a hoarse, "soap?"

soap grips ghosts ankles, writhing on the floor, trying to flip him over. he doesn't move, stuck gawking at soap.

"what did they do to you?" he murmurs out; half to himself and half to soap.

the only response he gets is a strangled "fuck you," from the man himself, still trying to flip ghost over.

price crouches on the ground, a pained expression on his face. he looks back up at ghost, eyes tired.

"what the hell should we do with him?"

"don't think he knows who we are. i said his name, no sign of recognition. doesn't look like he's willing to communicate, either. and you're the captain. you decide."

price sighs, rubbing his forehead as he thinks.

"well, either we just leave him here, cuff him to a bar." he pauses, seeing ghosts brow furrow.

"bu-- "

"and i know that's not an option anyone would like," he cuts ghost off, then continues with an exhale. "or we could sedate him and bring him back with us, and ask questions when we get back. or we could cuff him and bring him back. which one is safer?"

"unless you want to have a sparring match on the helo, i don't recommend cuffs. sedate seems safer, the only good option. i think gaz would try and murder us if we left soap here, too. you got a tranquilizer?"

price nodded. "yeah. can you hold him?"

"of course."

already crouching, price moved closer to soap, taking out a kit with the needle in it. the now green-eyed man's eyes widened, and he jerked away from price. ghost crouches down too, holding soap down. using one hand, he gently combs his fingers through his mohawk.

soaps eyes snap to ghosts; confusion lacing the sickly green. but he's staring up ghost, confusion turning into... fascination? interest? and he's certainly not paying attention when price winces and gets closer. he sticks the needle in the side of his neck when he gets close enough, and ghost grip on soap immediately tightens.

johnny immediately lurches away, crying out in surprise, and thrashing around. it only takes a few moments for the movements to become sluggish, and before they know it, soap is completely asleep.

it's quiet in the building. except for the loud breathing from soaps muzzle.

prices hand reaches to his comms. he clicks it on, voice low and gravelly as he speaks into it.

"well. gaz, guess who we found?"

HEEEEEEEELP THAT WAS SO LAZY IM SOBBING 😭

i swear i can write better thn that -- that was like. only 50% energy. i rushed this in an hour. yes, an hour. that's not really rushing, but i got very distracted a couple times.

well, heres my serving of brainwashed soap for the night. don't expect anything from me for like. another month or two .😭i mean, the medieval fic is gonna kick off sometime, so expect that

i very quickly proofread this, so if there was typos jus,,. ignore that please 🙏

here u go, @spottlessspectre

[hexxedghost]

Another threadfic crosspost. This one is GazRoach. More of a preslash vibe, since I haven't written these two before and I'm settling in to figuring out their dynamic.

Enjoy

They had a new member, on the 141. 

That isn’t what’s bothering Gaz, it made sense they’d need to expand ranks eventually, now that they’d proven themselves (over and over) through trial by fire. 

It's not that it’s Ghost’s friend. Which is an odd enough sentence in itself, Ghost having friends outside of work is a bizarre enough concept. But he’d expect someone…surly or grumpy or just as off-putting as Ghost can be. But he isn’t. 

Roach is….nice. And Gaz is bothered by it for some reason. 

Most of the 141 had a sort of edge to them, a sort of steely madness that would occasionally glint in their eye. Gaz wasn’t going to question Price’s choice, he just…couldn't make any sense of it. 

Roach was quiet, not just because he didn’t speak, but the way he moved. He barely made any noise, slipping out of conversations without anyone even noticing. And the sign language was dead useful, they’d all taken to learning it, finding it useful on and off the field. 

It wasn't that Gaz thought Roach didn’t belong with the team. He fit in well, like he’d always been there, really. He and Ghost would give each other shit constantly. Not only that, but he had quick fingers and sharp eyes, so helping Soap with explosives in a pinch came easily. He had a good memory, which made him useful for intel and surveillance. Stealth wise, he was probably the only one more suited than Gaz. The man seemed to just melt into shadows and reappear where he was needed. 

It takes him a few weeks to figure out the thought that keeps catching at the back of his mind. They’d bumped shoulders and chatted in the mess, caught each other on the firing range, a quick wave and a smile that he can’t see through the mask but more senses with the sharp twinkle in Roach’s eyes. 

They’re exiting the helo on a recon mission when it finally clicks what’s been bothering him. The thought he hasn’t had to really grapple with so far. 

It was worry. 

That Roach couldn’t handle it. Not the skills, but the risk, the danger. That Roach was a weaker link somehow. He relied on not being seen and spotted. Stealth was an advantage, but losing it left you vulnerable, killable.

So of course, as he finally pieced it together, something had to go wrong. 

Soap and Ghost were handling breach, Price was their overwatch. Which left Gaz trying to keep track of the shadow that was Roach. They’d come up with a system, that left Roach’s mic open. He wouldn’t speak, but the sounds around him let Gaz pinpoint his location. 

“North building, clear.” Price crackles over comms, Gaz returning an affirmation, narrowing his eyes through the scope. Roach was somewhere on the upper floors, a quick shadow flitting past a window. He kept his ears sharp, Roach and Gaz were normally paired up on missions now, so he was familiar with the gaps of silence, the intakes of breath, the occasional shut of a door. It had become a familiar background nose. 

The others had pushed towards the east of the compound, a loud explosion signalling Soap’s location, along with a cackle sounding out over comms. 

It’s so fast, Gaz nearly misses it. A soft grunt, nearly inaudible. He quickly scans the windows, but he can’t see the familiar shadow. 

“Roach, status?” he murmurs, scope trailing the windows nearby, worry prickling at his spine. He strains his ears, hears the scrape of metal along a wall, and quickened footsteps. Then suddenly, silence. Not the loaded kind, that he was used to. The comms had been destroyed. Fuck. 

There. Towards the back of a hallway, he sees the briefest flash of a silhouette. 

“Roach is compromised. I’m heading in.” he says over comms, Price giving the go ahead. As he takes point near a door, he hears Ghost rasp over comms. 

“S’alright, Gaz. ‘e can ‘andle ‘imself.” Ghost says unbothered, and Gaz wants to snarl at him for it. Instead, he ignores him, stealing in to the dim hallway with quiet steps. He knew the lower floors are cleared, but he pauses in the stairwell to check corners. It’s nearly silent, but he hears a whispered thud towards his right. 

He pulls up the rifle, eyes narrowed as he trails the wall. As he waits at the door, prepared to breach, it’s suddenly pulled open. Gaz’s instincts take over before his mind can catch up, the barrel pulling up to take aim when the man suddenly jerked and stilled. 

There’s a brief moment, in the dim light, he can see the glimmering point of a knife jutting out the front of his throat. The body lurches forward, catching him offguard as a dark shape suddenly slams him to the wall, the wicked silver edge of a blade stopping just shy of his throat. 

It’s Roach. His eyes are a cold dead flat green, but the light seems to gleam back into them as he takes a step back, knife tucked away. They both stare at each other in surprise for a moment before Price’s voice crackles over the comms again, urgent this time. 

“Gaz, status!”

Gaz can see him signing, asking him if he’s injured. But Roach’s hands are so coated in gore it spatters onto the floor in small wet drips.  

“M’fine, Roach. Jesus, scared the daylights out of me.” he manages before grabbing his comms unit, “Solid, Boss. Both here.”

“Good. They’ve got reinforcements coming. Pull out and head south, Soap and Ghost are drawing some of them off.” Price rattles off, breathing heavy. 

“Copy.” Gaz turns to check Roach is ready to leave and sees him picking through the pockets of the fallen hostiles. It’s only now that he notices how many of them there are. Six in all, with various knife wounds to vital areas, quick and efficient but not clean. There’s a brutality to them that seems at odds with the man currently scurrying around like a loot bug. 

“We’ve got to head out.” he murmurs, checking his weapon while Roach throws him a cheeky salute, easily moving beside him. 

It still plays through Gaz’s mind, why he hadn’t recognised Roach. It wasn't that it was dark, he’d long grown accustomed to tracking Roach’s shadow in the night. He shakes his head to dislodge the thoughts, drawing his mind back to more pressing matters. Their location was about to be compromised. As they hit the final landing, he quietly calls to Roach before they head out into the open. 

“You hurt?” Roach doesn’t answer until they’re about to exit the doors. He just gestures to the coating of gore and signs just two words: 

[Not mine.]

Well, that answered that, then. They cover ground quickly, breaking for the treeline, so the shadows hide them. There’s another explosion further off, Ghost and Soap’s doing, most likely. Christ, he’s nearly grateful he doesn’t have to put up with them right now. 

There’s a roar of an engine as a truck pulls up close to their side of the building. For a moment he thinks they’ve managed it, but one searing search light to the eyes, and it’s clear they’ve been spotted. Gaz blinks the spots out of his vision as he feels a firm grip on his wrist tug him forward, the crack of a gun firing just behind his head tells him Roach is returning fire. 

Gaz updates Price as his vision comes back, the two of them putting as much distance as they could between themselves and their pursuers. He glances behind them and sees one of the hostiles take aim. Yanking Roach forward by the vest, the tree behind them splintering as a bullet lodges deep in the wood. Roach recovers his footing quickly, pulling Gaz with him as they slide down an embankment. 

There’s a far off rattle of heavy gun fire that sounds like aircraft artillery. Seems Price had called Nikolai in. They’re too far away to make the ex-fil though, and they’ve still got people hot on their heels.

Gaz manages to relay this to Price as they push on, Roach occasional taking pot shots behind them. Some of their pursuers have fallen away, back to reinforce the main compound. But they aren’t clear yet. Gaz manages to down one with a headshot as they’d peeked over the ledge, the body tumbling down the embankment with a wet crunch. 

The snap of the twig behind Gaz is the only warning he gets to throw his arm up to block the knife. It glances at the side of neck, stinging heat leaving a thin trail. 

Roach moves before Gaz can call out, and it’s only as he hears the gurgling choke of the man behind him that he finally puts together why he hadn't recognised Roach in the dark corridor at the compound. 

He moved differently. There was normally a frantic kinetic sense to Roach, poking and prodding and constantly moving, whether it was tapping hands or the shuffle of his shoulders. 

But right now, it was still. No wasted energy, no excessive movements. Just direct, simple and brutal. Roach tugs him by the wrist as Gaz catches hims breath from the chokehold he’d been in. They can only hear the distant calls of their pursuers now, apparently having fallen back entirely now. 

Even now, as Roach moves, it's that difference that strikes Gaz as odd. The footsteps are light, but more predatory than avoiding notice. The eyes are sharp, but they aren’t crinkled and mischievous like they normally are when Gaz catches them. They’re searching and purposeful. 

How had he never noticed? That Roach was just as dangerous as the rest of them. Arguably more so. Nobody expected it from him, he always had the element of surprise. 

Gaz feels like a bit of a tit for thinking the other sergeant needed protecting when he’d saved his skin twice tonight already. Price buzzes over comms for an update, giving them coordinates for a hold out nearby. They’d be picked up tomorrow, once the heat died down. They make good time. 

-

The safehouse isn’t too shabby, all things considered. They’ve got an idea of their exfil site tomorrow and just need to bunker down for the night. 

After they stumble in the door, keeping the lights dark, they listen, It seems they’ve managed to shake their pursuers loose. They wait a little longer, but once the coast is clear, they get themselves in order quickly. First on the agenda: Clean up. 

Gaz nods at the coating of viscera Roach has cloaked himself in. 

“Reckon you might need a shower first, mate.” he says with a smile as he digs through the first aid kit. 

Roach glances down at himself, as if he’s only just noticed the gore on his hands and shrugs. He strips down and clambers in, the curtain pulled shut behind him as Gaz inspects the wound on his neck. 

It wasn’t bad, but he’d rather avoid the infection. He hisses through his teeth as he presses the antiseptic swap to it, digging around for gauze that’ll hold for the night. 

“You injured?” he calls over the spray. A dripping hand sticks out of the shower in a thumbs down, drawing a chuckle out of Gaz. He still leaves the kit out, grabbing up the clothes on the floor, picking out Roach’s mask and placing it on the counter. 

“Reckon I can get some of this out.” he shrugs and shoves the tangle of fabric into the washing machine. It’s mostly blood at least. After it stutters to life, the attached hoses jerking as the water starts, there’s a yelp from the shower as the water turns ice-cold. 

Roach sticks his head around the curtain, glaring at him from beneath a dripping mop of auburn hair. Gaz has the decency to look sheepish. 

“Sorry, forgot.” 

He gets a bar of soap thrown at his head for his troubles as he stumbles out the door laughing. Most safehouses had a few basics around, clothing included, if they needed to go incognito.  There’s some that seem serviceable enough. He leaves them in the bathroom and goes to dig around the kitchen. 

Now that the adrenaline has faded, he feels exhausted. And starving. 

There’s some canned food, not appetising but edible at least. Digging around the back of the cupboards, he spots something. A tin of fruit cocktail. Sugar would help at least. 

He looks up and jumps, Roach having crept up without him noticing. Judging from the grin, it was on purpose.

“Prick.” Gaz shoves at him. It was rare to see Roach without the mask. They’d long grown used to Ghost, so it hadn’t been an issue for another person preferring to hide their face. Gaz thinks only Soap might know what Ghost looks like beneath his, or the reason he wears it. Roach had been upfront about his, though. It was the scars. 

There are a lot of them, most of them looking like burns focused on the right side. The skin was twisted in some places, and smooth in others, the way a skin graft is when it takes. Roach said it was easier to just hide his face than deal with the questions. 

It’s a nice face, though. 

“Didn’t realise you had freckles.” Gaz mentions, turning to dig in some drawers. At least they wouldn’t have to eat with their hands. He holds them out to Roach. 

“Fork or spoon?”

-

They settle onto the couch, which is comfortable enough, though it creaks threateningly on occasion as if moments from collapse. 

Gaz holds up his prize of fruit cocktail, setting it down on the table between them. They peer in. 

“Honestly, it’s fucking robbery.” Gaz sighs, Roach nodding beside him as they look at the single cherry in the can. 

Still, it’s sweet, and the sugar helps the leftover nerves. Gaz takes to spearing the grapes he can find on the fork. 

“Didn’t think you liked pears?” he offhandedly mentions between mouthfuls. 

[You hate them] is all Roach signs before scooping up another mouthful. Gaz smiles to himself, and nudges the cherry onto Roach’s spoon for it. He did hate pears. But he was surprised Roach knew that. 

They clear away the cans, and wash the paltry fork and spoon for the next poor bastards that end up here. They’re both too wired for sleep, the adrenaline crash staved off and leaving them both listless. 

Roach digs out a pack of playing cards that takes up some of the time. It’s after Gaz has lost the fifth hand, Roach suddenly taps on the ground.  

[Why were you in the building?] he tilts his head, and it’s odd to see it without the mask. He hadn’t realised how much expression was hidden by the fabric. 

Gaz motions to their gear in the corner. “Your comms unit went dead. Thought something happened. Went to check.” he tosses the hand of cards down and leans back, stretching his stiff legs.“Didn’t realise how well you could handle yourself.” he jokes, pulling up a knee to his chin. 

Roach seems to consider this, frowning. [Some people get nervous about the way it’s…different. Not like me. Not scared?] is the tentative question he signs with fumbling fingers. 

“Honestly, it was a relief.” Gaz sits back on his hands, “Was worried. We’re all a bit…mad I guess. Thought maybe you were too normal.” 

Roach shoots him a very blank look and motions to himself. [This seems normal to you?]

“I mean you seem…nice.” Gaz eventually settles on, getting a quirked eyebrow in response. 

[Nice. God forbid.]

“You are, nice, I mean.” Gaz thinks back to the vision of a throat splitting under a blade and flat dead eyes, “When you want to be I suppose.” he adds.  

[When I *choose* to be.] 

It’s a not much of a difference, but it’s also every difference in the world. You could want to be nice, could be for a lot of reasons. But the rest of the 141 didn’t choose niceties. Roach did, and that choice meant something to him. Roach smiles at him, realising Gaz understands that.

[Not scared then?] the hands are more confident but still tentative in their asking, as if worried about the answer.

“I don’t scare easy.” Gaz is quick to reassure him. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “I actually feel like a bit of a twat, for thinking you needed protecting.”

When he looks back to Roach, there’s a flicker of emotions there he hasn’t seen before. His hands hesitate to move, but it’s different from before. Less about worry and more…like Roach was surprised at the words.

[It’s nice. Knowing someone would.]

“Ghost would protect you.” Gaz is quick to point out, feeling like he’s put his foot in it.

Roach grins lopsidedly, but signs a single word: [Soap]

“Okay, yeah, fair point.” he concedes.

Gaz was happy for Ghost and Soap, they all were. But they had a habit of forgetting the rest of the world existed sometimes. It was sweet, but fuck if it wasn’t annoying when they’d just stare at each other like the rest of the room fell away. Still, it was a lot better than the pining Gaz had endured for the better part of 2 years. 

“Glad they finally did something about it.”

[You’re welcome.] Roach looks smug. 

Gaz crosses his arms, impressed. “How’d you manage that, then?”

Roach shrugs casually. [Manipulation.]

“You manipulated Ghost?” he raises an eyebrow. 

Roach shakes his head, eyes crinkling as he grins. [Both of them.]

Gaz barks out a laugh. ‘What the fuck did you do?”

[Just told them I was thinking of asking the other one out. Worked a treat.]

“Sneaky.” 

[Like you aren’t?] he shoves Gaz’s shoulder, but there’s no force behind it. 

They both laugh, Roach’s shoulders bouncing as he silently giggles into his fist. 

Eventually Gaz sighs. “They’re idiots.”

[When it comes to each other.] Roach agrees. [Good though. They deserve to be happy.]

-

They pack the cards away, the games becoming more of an irritating tedium than a distraction. 

“How’d you know I don’t like pears?” Gaz finds himself asking. They’ll probably sleep in shifts soon, and the question had been itching at the back of his mind. 

[Watch you a lot] is the casual response, Roach settling onto the ancient couch after insisting he take first watch. 

“Why’s that?”

[Like to. You’re nice to look at.]

“Not too bad yourself” Gaz shoots back. It’s true, he isn’t. The longer the night has gone on, the more he’s realising he’d like to spend a lot more time seeing Roach’s face.  

Roach crinkles his nose, but his eyes are bright. He has nice eyes. [Like learning things about you.]

“You could just ask.” Gaz crosses his arms, shifting his weight to one leg.

[You hide things. Like knowing those.] Roach shrugs. 

“Like what?” that catches Gaz’s attention. He’s used to doing the same thing himself, observing and analysing. He doesn’t know what he gives away himself, though. 

Roach seems to think it over for a while. 

[You like wine, but you say you don’t. You prefer red meat, but you eat chicken for the protein gains. You can’t handle spicy food, but you eat it anyway. Your favourite cuisine is Hungarian, but you tell everyone that it’s Italian because it’s easier to find restaurants.]

“These are all my food preferences.” Gaz points out. 

[Important to know if I’m gonna take you out.]

It’s so casual, Gaz nearly misses it, and when he does, it startles a surprised laugh out of him. “You got better lines than, Ghost” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

Roach rolls his eyes and sets him with a look. [Like that’s hard to achieve.]

“How do you know I’m gonna say yes?” Gaz asks, he tries to keep the words light, but they feel heavy as they fall into the spaces between them. 

[I don’t. I’m just hoping you do.] Roach signs. The casual earnestness of the gesture leaves Gaz’s throat tight for a moment. 

Gaz laughs, his lip catching between his teeth. “You know how to surprise a guy.”

[Important for a stealth operative] Roach points out, casually lounging on the couch. But there’s a look in his eyes, a question, an anticipation that he can’t quite hide. But he doesn’t push. [Think about it. Not like I’m going anywhere.] 

When Gaz just stands there, Roach makes a shooing motion with his hands, arguing it was better to sleep. Instead, Gaz walks over to the couch. He’d never been one to shy away from what he wants, and didn’t intend to start now. 

“Reckon I might say yes, though.” Gaz says, settling above Roach, whose eyes are tracking to each movement before settling back on Gaz’s own. Expecting, but patient. 

Gaz isn’t one to stand on ceremony. He leans down, bracketing Roach with his knees, and catches his mouth with his own. It’s not a kiss leading to anything, not tearing off each other's clothes or ramping up tension and heat. It’s more sweet.  

But there’s a moment where Gaz can feel when the two sides of Roach seem to meld. The mischievous cheeky glint in the eye, with the quick, sure grasp of a hand at the back of Gaz’s neck. The soft press of lips followed by the warning scrape of teeth. Harmless predator and dangerous fool. It’s strangely addicting. 

“Reckon I might sleep out here, too.” Gaz says, grinning as they break for air. Roach shoves him back with a roll of his eyes.

[Actually sleeping.]  he insists stubbornly.  

Gaz does, mostly because Roach is right, they have a long trek to the LZ tomorrow. But also because he’s softly revelling in a new feeling he hasn’t really experienced. One that only gets stronger when Roach tugs him down with a surprisingly strong arm and tucks Gaz beneath his chin. 

It feels safe. 

–

It’s a few weeks later, they’re back on base at mess. They’d taken things slow, which is different from Gaz’s usual. It feels more serious, which seems such a strange word to use with Roach in the same sentence. But it also feels more secure than the usual flings and casual dalliances that Gaz entertains himself with. 

After the first few dates had turned into something more than just figuring each other, they’d mentioned it to Price, who seemed surprised but not concerned. He’d just told them to be more subtle than the other two. They hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else, more than happy to just let them figure it out, not seeing the need for announcements. 

It happens in the mess hall, when Gaz idly grabs a pear to put on his tray. Ghost stops next to him, frowning. 

“You hate pears.” he rasps. 

“Thought I’d grab one for Roach.” Gaz shrugs. 

“Don’t bother.” Ghost says, filling his own tray, “He fucking hates them.”

Gaz looks over his shoulder and sees Roach already looking at him. His mask is on, but he can tell from the shift in the fabric, he’s grinning in that way that makes his nose scrunch in a way Gaz has learned he finds adorable. 

He nudges Roach with his shoulder as he sits down. 

“You free this weekend?”

[I dunno, I’ve got a hot date I reckon]

“Reckon you do. What time?”

[I know this good Hungarian place.]

Ghost and Soap have paused in their eating, Soap gesturing at them with his hand. 

“Sorry, when the fuck did this happen?” he asks as Ghost’s eyes flick between them, settling on Gaz and narrowing. 

Gaz hadn’t considered the very real consequence of a shovel talk from Ghost. The sharp glare loses some heat when Roach pelts his bread roll at Ghost’s head, hands already in a flurry as he argues with Ghost. 

Gaz glances down the table and catches Price’s eye as he heaves a sigh. 

“Did they have to sit through the talk then?” Soap wants to know, turning to Price as well.

“They didn’t need ‘the talk’. They didn’t blow up a building and end up late to exfil because they were having a quickie in the rubble.” Price says, crossing his arms.  

“Allegedly.” Ghost mutters.  

“There were witnesses, you muppets”. Price shoots back. 

Gaz feels narrow fingers brush against the back of his hand and weave into his under the table. He looks over and catches the glimmer in Roach’s eye as he gives his hand a squeeze. 

Roach was nothing like Gaz expected when he’d first turned up. Even now, he still managed to surprise him. Turns out they both like surprises.