#ghostxspartan

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 11: Learning to Trust

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male OC/ Reader

What is This?: I write snippets of interactions between my male original character, Nine "Spartan", and Simon "Ghost" Riley, some I use in my supposedly longer story but all of them are to practice my writing and to document my progress. So any constructive criticism or even questions are appreciated!

This one doesn't have any defining physical features so, if desired, you could insert yourself as Nine and be the man who Ghost is lowkey (so lowkey he doesn't even realize he is doing it) pining after.

Short Synopsis: Ghost is learning just how much he can trust and lean on Laswell's loaned operative. He just might find a bit too much comfort in what he learns compared to if it were anyone else though, but he won't think about that. At all. Nope.

Word Count: 837

Ghost held up his sidearm, a solid and reliable standard-issue Glock-17, matching his attacker’s own stance as they circled around each other, sizing the other up in their stand-off. Ghost’s weapons could only be more reliable if it wasn’t missing one vital component. Ghost knew there were no more bullets left in the clip and the chamber was empty, already having been spent, the casing lay somewhere on the floor below from an earlier fire-fight.

But the target didn’t know this, for as long as he thought Ghost would still kill him if he fired, Ghost had a much greater chance of staying alive, or at least prolonging the time before his death until the rest of the 141 could pick up where he left off. He just had to keep up the facade for as long as he could, hold the target here until one of the others lined something workable up and were given the go-ahead for the shot. But, the comms had already gone dark, giving Ghost no way to know if someone was set in a sniper's nest or if they were even right outside the door behind the target. So, he knew he wasn’t right fucked quite yet, but hell if it felt like it. However this was no matter, if he could get the target in front of the tall windows placed just a little behind them then, Ghost hoped - trusted - that a sniper would fix this FUBAR mess of an assignment and subsequently let Ghost pack up and out with the laptop intact and the target dusted.

Ghost began to slowly and carefully back up, and the target, none the wiser, followed his footsteps forward. Walking backwards, Ghost clocked the start of the floor-to-ceiling windows knowing he was going to stop as soon as the target broached the view of the outside. As he stopped, Ghost’s eyes darted towards the buildings he could see adjacent to the one the two were occupying catching onto a glimmer of light flashing twice on the rooftop of one of the taller buildings around, what must have had at least a five-floor height advantage to the level Ghost stood.

Two flashes.

Satisfaction and a touch of relief climbed up Ghost’s face before he could temper it down, despite already being hidden from view by his iconic mask. Confidence scraped across his bones as he lowered his handgun, holding eye contact with the other as his attacker’s face changed, believing he had outdone the infamous Ghost.

“Spartan,” he addressed to someone not in the room, drawing confusion from the only other person in the room. The target’s brows furrowed as his eyes scanned the room again for any of the Ghost’s compatriots and found nothing, no one.

“You got me?” Ghost inquired, keeping eye contact with the target. Barely a beat later, the window shattered and the target slumped forward onto his knees before his torso leaned away from the window, his head following to the side with a thud and crack onto the concrete floor, blood pooling around the gunshot wound in the side of his head.

“I got you,” affirmed a calm voice from the radio attached to the front of Ghost’s tac gear.

Ghost took a breath in and slowly sighed, feeling the adrenaline start to seep out of his body, replaced with a warmth that came with the feeling of knowing he was right to place his trust and life within Nine’s hands. Something he might have known peripherally, but hadn't yet been proven. But now it seeped into his head that Nine had him, that he could trust him to have him.

“Bloody good shot,” Ghost said admiring the straight shot through the temple of the target’s head.

“You were watching, had to impress you a little bit,” crackled the radio.

“You feeling impressed, Lieutenant?” Just when Ghost was thinking that the warmth would be smothered, Nine just continued to fan it into bloom.

“If you missed your shots, we wouldn’t be keeping you around, Operative.”

“Guess it’s good for you that I never miss.”

This time Ghost let a small smile crack his face, not fighting the warmth as it continued to pour into his chest. He leaned his head back knowing that as long as Nine’s sights held him he just might be safe enough to breathe, to feel, to pause and be human for just a moment (for a moment, just a moment, to think of being Simon instead of Ghost). And maybe he was thinking too much, but Simon couldn’t help but think that as long as he had Nine, he might…

He cut off that train of thought, looking back up at where he knew Nine must be holed up. He radioed into the Captain, confirming the death of the target and the successful retrieval of the laptop, data undamaged. After the succinct conversation clicked to a close, he looked back up to the same building before he quickly exited the room, leaving Nine’s sight.

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 10: I Dare You

Catching a bullet for Ghost. And Ghost may be a bit guilty. A bit of softness ensues.

Ghost never voluntarily visited medical, keyword ‘voluntarily.’ He had actually been quite a few times but the moment he was conscious and able, he would push himself out, only sometimes being shoved out the door with a hastily written prescription which Ghost would only really use in dire circumstances. Not that he couldn’t work around the different sensations of different pain medications and the like, but more just that he liked the reminder the blaring pain or point of discomfort would bring him. Another lesson to be learned. In a way, this situation too was a lesson to be learned. His mistake that almost cost Spartan his life. Or, maybe it was Spartan’s mistake to have trusted him in the first place; it didn’t matter, semantics didn’t change the outcome. Ghost was stalling.

“Am I going to have to invite you in, Lieutenant?” His eyes jumped to the shut door that he knew was the barrier between himself and medical’s newest patient after hearing their voice. “Only proper,” Ghost responded. There was a beat before he heard a chair being dragged and the doorknob twist and click open revealing the man who was both his teammate and friend holding the door open for him, “Well, if the gentleman abides,” he gestured to the room inside the door. Ghost stepped his way in, Spartan walking slowly after him until Ghost reached a chair set beside the hospital bed which he stood in front of, waiting for the other man as Spartan rounded him and sat on the bed, gesturing for Ghost to sit down as well. They both sat there for a minute, unmoving. Ghost cleared his throat, “Price says you’ll be back and running in a week.” “You know me, Ghost, I’ll be running in half that.” He shifted around in his seat, “Well, you don’t look too bad.” “How would you know that?” Ghost grunted out a questioning sound. “You’re not looking at me,” Spartan replied to the unsaid question. “Do you want me to?” “Yes,” came the immediate answer. Ghost finally shifted his eyes to find Nine looking directly at him, Ghost’s gaze faltered for a second, looking off of his eyes before looking back at Nine. They stared at each other for a moment, both unsure of what was going to happen next, neither the most experienced in these kinds of situations. Ghost broke the pause, “Why’d you do it?” Ghost asked softly enough to just barely be heard. This time it was Nine who broke eye contact, he looked away and out the window taking his time in answering, to the point where Ghost was unsure if he was heard, not that he would repeat himself. He was not going to ask such a vulnerable question again. Finally, Nine shook his head saying, “Recently, I think I have grown into quite the selfish man.” “Before,” his eyes returned to Ghost’s, “I had always feared to want. I knew with such certainty that it would be taken from me,” he paused before continuing, “that it would be taken from me before I even fully grasped it.” “But you, God…” Nine reached towards him and took Ghost’s cheek softly into his hand, simply feeling that he was there, warm, alive, and real. Tentatively, as if Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was ever anything delicate. “Simon, you are everything I have ever dared to want.” Simon leaned into the hand, resting his forehead against the other’s, breathing out as the tension bled from his body. “And I want you alive,” Simon murmured. Spartan leaned into Simon’s forehead, keeping his hand on his face, humming. “A challenge, then?” “Doubt you’d accept anything but.” “You know me too well, Lieutenant.”

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 8: I Feel So Sick

Living up to my blog title a little bit more. This was imagined as a piece of my story and thus, with my OC but this is written in a way that is more x anyone. Also, this is my first time writing smut, so there is that.

fyi, Bottom!Ghost x male!character/ male!reader

18+

God, this is sick.

Ghost’s eyelids fluttered as his eyes rolled upwards. A hand wrapped around his throat, a barely present pressure, fingers caressing the grooves in his neck, giving him room enough to lean up into it but enough grip to keep him in place. His splayed fingers pushed the cloth mask up to under his chin.

so sick…

A hand dragged down Ghost’s body from his sternum down to his waist, lingering just above where Ghost desired the hand to be true and firm with him before tracing back up, following the lines made by years of hard work and military training. Those tracks now clenching and rolling in time with a single brush of knuckles and the light burn of fingertips.

this sickly sweet torture…

His hand grasped around him, eliciting a drawn-out gasp that exhaled into a hissing noise, all carefully drawn out of Simon. Withdrawing, his hand returned a moment later, now slick and cold as it slowly dragged around his length. The torturous friction began to slowly warm what felt like the entire room and not just his hand and his cock. What felt like hours had passed before his hand began to pick up speed as he could barely make out the soft praises drawled out directly into his ear over his own heavy breathing and intermixed moaning. Simon canted his hips up, thrusting into the grip of his hand, so close so, so damn close. The hand slid down the length of his cock one last time before leaving it to caress over his taut stomach, then dragging back down foregoing his arousal in favor of squeezing Simon’s thick, defined thigh. Simon whined at the loss of contact and at the outright denial, his mouth opened and choked out a sob, his eyes brimming with tears that dragged the black face paint into lines down his cheeks and into his hair and mask, already a mess with sweat.

fucking sick

He could practically just make out the words of encouragement mixed with praise as his hand returned its attention to his hard and aching arousal, finally giving what Simon had been begging for in all but words. He shook as the world finally crashed around him, everything built too high, too much, too good, and all not enough. He lay there feeling the minutes pass by as the dark room shifted back into focus and his mind seemed to drip back into his head. Not enough…

He rolled into a sitting position on his cot, alone in his room. Sitting there and letting the euphoria wash over him as the sweat on his bare body begins to cool. He gripped his thighs, grounding himself as he breathed out, counting his breathing rhythm in his come-down. Ghost looked at the digital clock on the bedside table, the glowing red numbers reading 02:12 a.m, less than 3 hours until the next mission brief. He dragged his hand down his covered face and, not so gracefully, fell back fully onto the cot. “Bloody Hell,” he breathed out.

So, so sick…

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 7: The Same Ending

Some things never change.

“Come on, get up!” Ghost hoisted Spartan up off of the ground towards the helicopter.

“Get up! Get up! We’re almost there!” He yelled as he dragged his partner through the field of grass and dirt.

The helicopter touched down onto the grass as Shadows poured out of it providing cover fire for the two soldiers. General Shepherd came out last and went directly to the two, covering his face from the harsh winds he asked, “Do you have the DSM?”

Spartan handed the package to the General, “We got it, sir.”

“Good, that’s one less loose end.”

The only warning he had was the sound of the gun’s safety clicking off before he heard the death ring of the bang as it went through him. His chest burned as he gasped and staggered to the ground.

“No- NO!” he could hear Ghost screaming. He’d never heard Simon scream, but the answering gunshot and silence were worse than the anguish in Simon’s voice.

He was still conscious, just barely, as he felt the two Shadows pick up his body by his shoulders and legs and throw him onto the hard dirt ground. He could feel it as everything was slowly slipping, coughing up the blood that was bloating his lungs. Another thump came to the left of him, he didn’t want to look- he knew what he would find there. The man that would be sleeping next to him. Despite his wishes, his head flopped to the side, looking into Simon’s wide eyes, glazed over, gone. So, so very gone. 

He startled as a cold liquid sloshed over him and his Ghost, the smell pungent enough to identify it. A tear slipped down his cheek, slow and burning in its descent. Artyom shakily lifted his hand to Simon’s face, gently closing his eyes. Burying him.

Then the cigar was flicked onto their bodies and the fire took and took and burned.

“Ghost, come in, this is Price! We are under attack by Shepherd’s men in the boneyard! Soap, hold the left flank! Do not trust Sheperd - I say again, do not trust Sheperd! Soap get down!”

What did she say again? About expecting a different ending to a repeating story? 

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 5: No Hands

Ghost’s eyes followed him as Spartan walked off to where the Captain had radioed for them to meet him. Soap nudged Ghost’s shoulder, teasingly, “Ya know, I’m sure you could take Spartan, Lt..”

Ghost side-eyed the sergeant, “In no fight is a win guaranteed, MacTavish.”

Soap laughed at his lieutenant, “I’m not talking about a fight.” 

Ghost turned his attention to Soap, eyes wide, unblinking. 

Soap mimed himself zipping his lips, “Don’t worry Lt., your secret’s safe with me.”

“Fucking hell…"

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 12: Smoke Break

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Original Male Character (Nine "Spartan")

(Though, Nine has no defining features in this snippet so you can insert yourself as you so please)

Synopsis: A short moment between Ghost and Nine on a roof post-mission.

Warnings: Smoking Cigarettes

Word Count: 783

The sun had long since set making the unbearably hot day hours transition to a moderately more pleasant evening. Although, Ghost may be a bit biased liking something a bit more cold; a light breeze, slightly overcast with sunlight peaking through the clouds. A little rain would be nice, he thinks, anything to offset the dry heat during the days here. He had already shucked off most of his tactical gear, looking maybe even moderately relaxed. Well, moderately relaxed and well-armed. For Ghost, these went hand in hand, a sentiment it seemed to be shared by one of his teammates, Ghost mused as he crossed the emergency exit doorway leading towards the roof. He eyed Nine who stood leaning against part of a wall that stuck up from the roof of the building, a cigarette between his bare fingers, arm hanging limply by his side next to his sidearm as he stared out up at the night sky and the bustle of the adjacent barracks below. 

Ghost paused a step out of the doorway to the roof, looking at the lawn chair sat next to Nine, where he probably had been sitting if the pair of gloves now occupying the seat were any indication. This honestly was probably the first time he had seen Nine in his own clothes, no disguise, no tac-gear, just a fit black long-sleeve shirt and some jeans. It really was the most casual he had ever seen him. Ghost reasoned that it wasn’t like it meant anything and there was no need to look into it at all, after all why would Nine be all guessed up on a friendly base? (It had nothing to do with Simon, why would it? What a weird line of thought…) Despite all this, Ghost still felt that only recently-familiar warmth creep up his chest. 

His fingers twitched.

“Didn’t realize someone dragged a statue up the stairs,” Nine mused, still appearing to look out into the world above and below.

“Planning on standing there all night, Lieutenant?” he asked before waiting for a beat,  gesturing with the still-lit cigarette to the lawn chair, which, now that Ghost was paying more attention ((with a bit of a clearer head really, because the Ghost doesn’t just not pay attention)) - how did Nine lug a lawn chair up those stairs and not get stopped by anyone? Or, did no one even attempt to stop or take a second look at him? Avoided meeting his eyes, let alone to start to question his actions. Ghost knew how that game played out, intimately familiar with it. A reputation that not only affects your enemies. 

For just a moment, looking at Nine standing against the backdrop of the night sky bathed with the soft glow of a lantern, by himself, waiting, Ghost wondered if Nine was just as alone as he was. He hoped he wasn’t (he hoped he was).

Nine inclined his head in order to properly eye Ghost for the first time since Ghost had been standing around the doorway, eyes dragging over him, catching onto his bare arms and the now-visible tattoo inked along his left forearm. 

“It’s burning out,” Nine raised the cigarette, this time towards where Ghost was standing. Ghost’s eyes flickered around the roof, then focused on the man in front of him before walking towards him, meeting Nine halfway and taking the stick out of his hand. Their hands briefly met before Ghost pulled away. Ghost lifted it up to his face causing Nine to turn away from looking at him as Ghost lifted up the bottom of his cloth mask to bring it up to his lips, taking a drag. He held the burn in his chest for a second before breathing out into the night air. He pulled his mask back over his mouth before handing the cigarette back to Nine, who looked back over to him and gently took it out of his hand.

Nine gestured for him to sit, an opportunity Ghost almost immediately took, taking Nine’s gloves carefully from the chair and pressing them close in his other hand.

It really was a beautiful night.

Nine moved his eyes back to Ghost, relaxing in his chair, holding his gloves in one hand, and passing his cigarette between them in the other. The white of Ghost’s mask stood out starkly in the dark, and yet by the lantern light Nine could’ve sworn he could even see his eyes. Yes, Nine thought, the stars look very different today. He leaned back onto the wall, resuming his perusal of the night sky. So close yet so very far. However, Nine thought as he closed his eyes, no less beautiful.

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 1: Shore Leave

“Not going anywhere then, Spartan?” came a voice from behind him. Nine turned around from his place on one of the mess hall benches. He cocked his head to the side, “This is where I am stationed, Ghost.” 

Ghost continued to walk towards where Nine sat, rounding him to lean onto the wall across from where Nine sat. Their eyes met as they stared at each other for a moment. Ghost hummed, “Not what I meant,” He paused, glancing away, deliberating whether or not to continue the conversation.

“Aren’t you going to take advantage of being stationed here like the rest of the team? We never get officially stationed at a base long enough to actually leave.” Isn’t there anyone outside of this that you could want to see, to be with? This time it was Nine who broke eye contact, barely noticeable, his eyes flickered to the ground. 

“No. There’s nothing for me out there, nothing more than what here has to offer me. At least here I can keep occupied, always the next assignment, the next mission. Besides, this is as homely as any place.” Ghost raised his eyebrows under his balaclava, a bit incredulously. 

“The base?” 

“And you - all of you.” 

This time, it felt like the eye contact with Nine made Ghost burn in a way, uncomfortable and different, but not, not wrong.

“What about in the future, no plans? Wife, kids, lovely little house with a white picket fence?” Ghost cleared his throat, “The whole works.”

“Ghost, I don’t quite…” Nine shook his head, reaching for the cup of coffee he had left alone on the mess table, gently swirling it in his hand, breathing out he continued, “No. This is it, this is my future. All of you are all I will ever have.”

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 2: Appearance

“So…” Gaz began trailing off, looking up at Soap from his spot on the floor, “Soap, what's your idea of what Spartan looks like under all that tech?”

“Why, you interested, Gaz?” Soap teased, leaning against the shipping containers.

“Nah, think Ghost’ll gut me.” 

“More than just gut ya, what’ll happen is Ghost’ll make you the ghost and Lt’ll deny he was ever all gussed up over it at all. Dense bastard.” They both laughed boisterously before naturally dying down, humor simmering over their defenseless lieutenant. 

Soap turned over to Gaz, “Ya know, Gaz,” Soap shouldered Gaz, chortling, “I’m sure he a real bonnie.” 

“What is a ‘bonnie,’ John,” a voice sounded right against MacTavish’s left side.

“Who’s the bonnie, Johnny,” another voice questioned from against his right side.

“Awa’ n’ bile yer heed,” Soap exclaimed jolting from his position to standing upright, “You two just crawl outa da fuckin’ floorboards, don’t ye.”

“Fookin bells for the two of ye.”

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 9: One Step to the Left

....angst. we die. ghost lives, but will he be able to live with himself.

When you kill me, While I lie there dying Could you hold me in your arms Kiss my head oh, so softly For a minute just pretend that You love me For my last minute let me pretend That I am loved.

“I’m holed up in the building to your right, I’ll cover your entry.” “Copy.” Spartan entered the building, on guard for any assailants on the lower level, however unlikely that could be with Ghost occupying the space. “Spartan,” a voice rang from another room. Clocking Ghost, Spartan lowered his weapon, before walking to meet him. “Ghost, good to see you still breathing. The radio silence almost made me wonder if you finally got knocked off," Spartan chuckled, Ghost was silent. It was only a moment, only a moment and then everything changed. There was a knife in his chest. One of Ghost’s knives was in his chest. Ghost put a knife in his chest. Ghost was trying to kill him. Ghost was going to kill him. “Ghost..? Ghost…?” he gasped, stumbling backwards and hitting a wall, “Simon…?” He whispered, looking up into his eyes as Ghost stared on, watching his friend begin to bleed out. He must’ve found something there in Ghost’s eyes, for he started to laugh around the blood climbing into his throat. “Oh, I was a fool to think this was anything but blood,” he coughed up red trying to clear his lungs, a rapidly losing game, as he slid down the wall and onto the floor, “Always the fool…” His blood pooled around his body as his eyes unfocused, a silent tear creasing the blacked grime on his face. Ghost stared for what had to be an eternity, for once Ghost wasn’t sure… wasn’t sure of what he was doing, of what he had done. But these were orders directly from General Shepard and Shepard wouldn’t just have him kill his teammate for nothing, no, there had to be a reason. And maybe Spartan did burn them because he knew Shepard wouldn't burn them. Besides, all he had were his orders, and orders are orders and a good soldier always follows orders. And Ghost? Ghost was a good soldier. Days like this made him wonder if that’s all he really was (he remembered that not too long ago he wanted to be a good teammate, a good friend, maybe even a good… but it didn’t matter anymore, no not anymore. Not after what he’d done.). “Ghost to Shepard, target has been eliminated. I repeat, the target has been eliminated.” “Good job, Ghost. Pull out and meet up at the LZ. No report is needed, this one is off the books. This mission didn’t happen. Eagle-1 out.”

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 6: Old Friends

“Stop fucking around Two, tell us what they want to know, and you live on to fight another day.”

The woman in the interrogation chair perked up, “Us…? They…? Don't tell me- ”

She interrupted herself, laughing lowly, “Ohhh,” she shook her head groaning, “You got attached- Nine got attached to a couple of flesh bags. Oh! Imagine what the others would say- the disbelief!”

“I mean when I tell them that Nine got himself tied down to a couple of men pretending to be soldiers, can you just imagine how they would react?”

She continued her tirade, “Too bad it took you this long to thaw out your heart hm? I mean, look at poor, poor 0-6-2-7. Never even made it out of the Room…” she leaned forward, closing some of the distance between their faces, “All because of you,” she punctuated, accusing Nine. She shook her head, “You think this is going to end any differently?”

Ghost glanced over to Spartan, trying to clock what the hell was happening and if this interrogation was going anywhere they wanted it to, Nine met his eyes for barely a moment. A moment that this Final immediately picked up on. Her mocking expression turned a bit sad at her realization.

“Oh, what a sad fool you are Nine. Expecting a different ending to a story playing on repeat.”

“Who is more of a fool then, because the way I see it, you are useless to me. I’m sure 0627 will be able to tell you just what happens when I find you without any use.”

She balked at him, “You wouldn’t, not to me.”

He leaned forward from his squatted position in front of her chair as she leaned back.

“For them,” he whispered, “I would burn the world.”

“Possessive bastard aren’t you,” she laughed weakly, knowing just what could happen next if she didn’t play her cards right and quickly. 

This time Nine kept Ghost’s gaze from across the interrogation room, “So I’ve been told.”

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 4: What's in a Name?

Task Force 141 all sat around the room where they were waiting for their next orders, they were relatively safe and hidden in this quasi-safe house. Some members of the team, however, were bored out of their god-damned minds waiting for, what, 5 hours in radio silence. And as silent as the radio was, Soap was damned if he was going to continue to sit in silence among his teammates if he didn’t absolutely have to.

Soap cleared his throat, “So, Spartan, Spartan, Spartan,” he rolled Nine’s callsign around in his mouth. He peered up at where Nine was peering out the window, “Aye, that ain't your real name ain't it?” Nine spared a glance at Soap before returning his attention towards the window. 

“Is your real name Soap, then John?” He threw back at him. 

“Well, no. Of course, it ain't.” Soap replied, pausing for a beat while Spartan’s words registered, “Wait. Yes. How do you know my name?” he asked guardedly.

“Everyone knows your name,” Spartan stated, tone flat, continuing to keep watch and scan the darkened roads around where they were situated.  

Soap looked around the room, trying to catch any of his task members' attention to the conversation he was currently having to see if anyone else had a similar reaction. Gaz, however, was passed out on the couch, and Ghost was focused on whatever he was reading in the corner with his tea, the fucking Brit. So, realizing he was on his own, he continued hesitantly, “Not everyone, Spartan, not you. Or you're not supposed to, I never told you.”

“You didn’t tell me, no.”

“So, how’d you know?”

“It’s my job, John.”

“Well, I ain’t a job am I? And,” Soap waved his hands around, shifting his position, “don’t call me John. No one calls me John, ain’t right. It's Soap or even, hell, you can call me MacTavish. And, maybe if you’re feeling up to it you could address me as your Sergeant. Only for you, Spartan,” Soap winked up at him, eliciting a suppressed laugh from the Operative. Ghost glanced over from what he was reading, reaching for his mug, hiding his face in between the pages as he tugged up the corner of his mask to get at his tea.

“Alright. Soap.”

Soap gestured to Nine, “And you?”

“What about me, John?” Soap threw up his hands, groaning at Nine, who was quickly rising on his list of hilariously infuriating teammates. 

“Your name Spartan? If I knew you were gonna be so stingy I would’ve bought you a nice bouquet and some chocolates to soften you up.” 

“My designation is 0626-09. But since we're friends, Nine is just fine”

“But that ain't your name.” 

“It is my designation, John.”

Soap began to be more frustrated at this interaction than the frustration he had with the silence, for a moment he wished he hadn’t even asked. Nevertheless, John MacTavish sure as hell wasn’t a quitter. “And that's not what I asked for, it's just a name ain't it? We are all in here together- you ken my name,” Soap rubbed his hands on his face, “God knows how…”

Nine turned from the window, tilting their head at their friend.

“I read your file.”

Soap’s head snapped over to Nine, his eyes wide meeting Nine’s flat gaze, “You what…”

“God save me if you don't shut the fuck up,” Ghost cut into Soap’s investigation. 

“Of course, lips are sealed Lt.”

[khan-trashbin]

Snippet 3: A Moment Alone

“You have a face.” Ghost observed from leaning against the doorway to Nine’s room.

Nine glanced back at him from his seat on an army green personal chest, then resumed his attention to what he was working on, the constant and meticulous care of his knives.

“Always did.”

Ghost cleared his throat, “Yeah alright, you did, but now,” he stepped off of the doorway taking a step forward before stopping again. “Well, I always thought I was the one with the handsome mug.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me now, Ghost” Nine teased.

Under his breath, Ghost chuckled, sharing the joke, leading to the two of them taking a moment to smile at each other; one covered, the other open and crooked. Both enjoying a rare moment of reprieve. Nine placed the newly oiled knives onto the clothe in front of him, standing. 

“Besides,” Nine grabbed Ghost's chin, who, in times like these, really felt the four inches that the Spartan had on him.

“I’m sure you could always redeem yourself as the prettiest boy on the base.”

“Show my face?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Tempting.”

“Even more so now, I’m sure.”

“You know me Nine, can’t always follow straight in the queue.”

Nine hummed, tilting his head, “But you’ll follow me, won’t you Simon?”

Ghost balled up his hands, warm and clammy under his gloves, as he breathed out, “Affirmative.”