Chapter Text
“Sergeant.” The greeting is startling, and abrupt, but Ghost hardly cares. It takes everything he has not to let shock seep into his voice.
Or disappointment.
“Lt. You’ll give a man a fright if ye-“
“Why are you bald, Sergeant?” Ghost takes a deep breath in, resisting the urge to grab Johnny by the shoulders and shake him.
This is not what he meant by a trim. He finds himself wishing he told Price to tell the rookie to bugger off.
“Not bald, sir. It’s in regs.” He has a point, there’s still a bit of dark hair on Johnny’s scalp. More of a very short buzzcut than anything. A proper military haircut is what he would have called it a year ago.
“Are you so dramatic that you couldn’t just give it a bit of a trim?”
“All respect, sir, I don’t believe a ‘rat glued to mah head’ is all that good of an impression of the team. Wouldn’t want you to look bad.”
Ghost stares at Johnny. He hardly seems like his Johnny anymore without his signature look. No, that would be ridiculous. Still Soap. A stupidly short haircut won’t change that.
But the chilly tone he has, his tense jaw. That might. His Johnny doesn’t talk to him that way. Not that Johnny is his, of course.
Ghost clears his throat. His mask seems a bit suffocating as he thinks of what to say.
“Alright. I’ll inform Price it’s taken care of. Thank… thank you for taking care of it in a timely manner.” He finally comes up with, before he looks away.
The air between them is charged with something, it’s all Ghost has in himself to dismiss the Scot to continue with his day off from the cookies before he’s stalking to Price’s office, trying to find the capability of breathing.
He hadn’t thought he’d see the day Johnny looked at him with such dismissal in his eyes. Thinking back to the night before, what had Ghost said? Was Johnny annoyed with the fact he had been asked to change his look at all? Or was it that Ghost was asking him to?
No, surely not, he decides. Johnny’s just being dramatic that he couldn’t have the endearly childish style. Except did Ghost say that he couldn’t? Trying to think of the point he had said such a thing proves to be difficult. He doesn’t care that much about Ghost’s opinion, on his appearance, nonetheless.
Soap is just annoyed and stubborn. He wouldn’t change himself just because of a few off handed teases from Ghost. If he’s learned one thing about Soap, it’s that his Sergeant likes himself. He wouldn’t be one to be insecure. Why would he care about some rookie’s complaint so much that he’d do that? It simply doesn’t make sense. Everyone knows that the 141 is a capable team. A haircut (one that’s covered with a helmet on missions anyway) wouldn’t change that.
He’ll get over it. Grow it back out in a month. Johnny takes good care of his hair, after all, so it’ll grow fast.
Whatever.
It’s not his business. Johnny may be his sergeant, he needs to concern himself with his wellbeing, not his hair. He’s being ridiculous worrying so much about a silly thing at all.
~
“Come in.” Price grumbled as he heard the familiar three raps. Simon’s always knocked the same exact way. Every time. Even before.
He’s not surprised when the door swiftly opens and closes behind Ghost. He flicks his gaze across his Lieutenant’s form, a habit he’s developed long ago upon his return.
He’s seen Simon Riley at his lowest in a hospital bed, he’ll be damned if he sees him that way again. So what, if he checks on his men? Every good captain worth his word ought to.
“Ghost.”
“Captain. I’ve got this for you.” Ghost says lowly, dropping the file that Price had given him on the aging wooden desk.
He takes it in hand, the Manila folder smooth under his fingers as he flicks through the papers within. He briefly reads the messy handwriting he’s grown accustomed to (and by god is it difficult to read. Chickenscratch if he’s being honest), but he knows that Ghost would have proficiently filled in the information, so he’s not too concerned.
“Thank you, Ghost. Big help.” He says shortly, letting it fall closed as he sets it aside. “Status?”
“Rookies are well. Soap and Gaz are doing fine work with them. I’d say they’re learning some themselves as well.” Ghost says carefully.
“Good to hear. How on track would you say they are?”
“Keeping steady. A few more months and I’d say we could test them for field work.”
“Excellent. And the sergeants themselves?”
“Exceeding expectations. They work well together teaching and training the recruits.”
“As usual.”
Short and to the point. How both of them appreciate their conversations to be. That’s all they need to be.
“Any word on our next op, Captain?”
“Not quite yet. Laswell and I have a few suspicions, but keep on your toes, we never know.”
“Of course, sir.”
He sets his pen down. Ghost’s eyes are downward. Riley is far from shy. He never has been. Tentative and timid simply aren’t descriptors. He’s got an imposing presense that he knows how to use. A place in the room that he knows how to fill. Whether it was a false bravado or true confidence doesn’t quite matter.
Although he’s quite stiff usually, it’s different. The form standing before his desk is notably awkward . It’s somewhat amusing. Refreshing. Good to see the rookie he acknowledged in training peak his head every once in a while.
“Ghost?” He raises his brows, hoping he won’t need to pry something out of him.
“Soap shaved off his hair.” Is the response he gets, curt and rumbled.
Said brows immediately furrow.
“Okay?” He taps his fingertips on the hard wood, puckering his lips for a moment as he waits for any sort of continuation.
He doesn’t receive any, of course.
“Is that prudent to our status, Ghost?”
“I suppose not.”
Price squints up, trying to see what Ghost was trying to get at.
“Is it because you told him about the rookie’s complaint?”
“I suppose so. I told him to trim it. Sergeant took it a step further and shaved it completely.” Ghost crossed his arms over his chest.
“Odd. Didn’t think I’d see the day,” he muses, humming and leaning back in his chair. “Is there something on your mind, son?”
After a moment of trepidation, “He seemed emotionally attached to his hair. I’m… concerned he’ll be…” Ghost narrows his own eyes down at Price. “Distracted. Or unfocused on his tasks at the change.” Ever tactical, Price guesses.
“It’s hair, Ghost.”
“Of course. But… you know MacTavish. Dramatic would be an understatement.”
“If it looks to be a problem in the next weeks, we can go from there. He’s a grown man. He made the decision. He’s a professional. I hardly think he’d let the loss of his favorite hair cut become a real issue.” He muses.
MacTavish is the dramatic one, eh?
“Are we done here?”
“I think his feelings were hurt.”
He studies Ghost. Tapping a rhythm on his thigh now.
“Why do you say that, son?”
“I said something yesterday. He brought it up today. I may have offended him. Or it was that I asked him to change it at all.” Ghost explains. As if he’s the reason Soap might have… what? Been upset?
“He’s a grown lad, Ghost. He’ll deal with it if his feelings were hurt.” Price nearly rolls his eyes. He feels as if he’s settling a disagreement from grade school between the two. Why the hell is Ghost so caught up with Soap’s fascination with himself? But he doesn’t.
Ghost is concerned. The muppet has always been very aware of Soap’s presence and his being. He shouldn’t be surprised. Yet, at the same time, is Ghost really aware at all? He hasn’t seen Soap today, but he really doubts that the Scot is off sulking at his own decisions.
“This profession asks a lot of a person, Ghost. He knows that. I think a haircut is the least of his worries. If he has a problem that you asked him to, send him my way. Did he tell you that he did?”
“Well… no-“
“Great. Problem solved.”
He hears a minuscule huff smothered by the balaclava and smirks slightly.
“I know you’ll miss it, Lieutenant. It really is just a haircut.”
“Shut up. I won’t miss it ” Ghost grumbles.
“Dismissed.”
If Price could practically see Simon’s scarred lip curling with an annoyed sneer, that’s nobody’s business. He sees the face paint smudged around his eyes crinkle into dark lines at the crooked bridge of his nose. Ghost gets annoyed all the time.
Price lets out a breath as Ghost sulks out of the room.
They are dramatic for 30-something year olds, aren’t they?
Maybe he’s got to have a chat with the Scot himself.