Pattern Breaker

An Interlude to Impulse

He scrubbed himself down twice, watching as the dirt and grime swirled down the drain- slowly being replaced by suds. It was about time for a shave again soon, he thought, using his nails to lightly scratch the soap through the stubble on his face and head, running it through the mohawk he'd sported for a few years now.

John damn near felt like a brand new man when he got out, wiping himself dry. He did let out a sigh when he had to put his dirty boxers back on— Ghost must not have been able to find any for him. The shirt and jeans were stiff, but mostly fit. The shirt was black and a little tight in the arms and chest- jeans not quite wanting to buckle until John squatted a few times- stretching the material out. Any longer without food and water and he wouldn't have to worry about it.

Swishing his mouth out quickly with the questionable-tasting tap water, wishing for a toothbrush to get the fuzzy feeling off his teeth, Soap finally stepped out of the bathroom. Gently rolling his shoulders back in circles in relief of some of the tension- relaxed from the shower- he found his way back to the main room.

Ghost was sitting up now, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Mornin, sunshine." John said, watching Ghost yawn under his balaclava. "So you do sleep with that thing on."

"I said I did, didn't I?" He responded, his accent thicker than usual- voice even deeper with sleepiness.

A muscle in John's jaw twitched.

"Thought maybe you were takin' the piss. Thanks for the clothes."

"Not much stocked here. Don't think Alejandro expected it to have much use."

"Better than nothing."

"I've had worse," Ghost agreed, standing up and raising his arms above his head in a deep stretch, groaning. His jeans were hanging low on his hips, exposing the defined V on his lower stomach. His shirt hitched up a bit, showing just a hint of a dark tattoo wrapped around his side— and a happy trail peppering down under the waistband of the denim. With all the tactile gear off, John could truly appreciate Ghost's physique. He didn't seem quite as imposing— not at first glance anyway. The soldier was pure, lean muscle. Broad shoulders and absolutely massive thigh muscles straining against the material of his pants.

"Oi, MacTavish, you got a staring problem?"

"Negative, sir," John recovered quickly. "Just thinking about how I could go for a nice meal right now." Recovery ruined.

Why the fuck was that the first thing out of his mouth after Ghost caught him staring at him?

"Expect me to pay?"

"I'll buy drinks."

"Now you're talking."

"Bourbon sound about right?" Soap thought he could almost see Ghost smile under the mask.

"A man after my own heart."

Oh... boy.

—-

It didn't take long for the two men to pack their supplies back up- quickly reorganizing their vests and belts with whatever they could commandeer that proved useful. Ghost could feel John's gaze on him occasionally, not quite sure what the man found so fascinating. He had a rough night, Ghost decided. He was probably still a little out of his mind.

Occasionally John would walk past him to grab something, the smell of honey wafting towards the Lieutenant. Ghost had helped him rebandage the bullet wound, impressed with himself at how well the stitches he had to crudely weave through his skin were holding up. John had dismissed him with a lazy hand when he tried to rewrap the torn skin on his ear, muttering something about not needing to be treated like a baby. Ghost didn't like that, frowning, but wasn't going to force him after everything he had been through.