Thought about Bonnie more and ough this girl has my heart. She's not going away now. Bonnie comfort fics are here to stay. I also decided she deserves a full name and back story (to come later) Ghoap centric ofc.
The world’s gone quiet again, fight finally settling down.
Smoke hangs in the air and the sand stings when the wind shifts. Ghost sits with his back against a half-collapsed wall, the weight of his gear pressing into his shoulders.
Beside him, Soap’s plops down less-than-gracefully, his hands shaking faintly as he fumbles for his canteen. He looks smaller than usual and his face is smeared with dirt and blood.
“Hell of a night,” Johnny murmurs. His voice sounds worn out.
Ghost grunts, in agreement, or exhaustion, maybe both.
They sit in silence for a while, the sound of far-off gunfire fading somewhere downrange. Then Johnny reaches out and grabs Ghost's hand, he rubs at his ring finger, knowing the tattooed ring sits permanently under his glove.
“I wanna go home, Si.” His voice cracks just a little. “I miss her.”
Ghost looks at him, but in his mind he sees the little whirlwind with curls and an accent thick as her father’s, who has wrapped her arms around both their legs and refused to let go before deployment.
“I miss her too, Johnny,” Ghost says quietly.
Soap nods, staring at thiee hands like he could just make them appear there, straight back to her.
“Thought about retirin’ again,” he admits. “Just pack it in. Be done. But I cannae. I’d go mad sittin’ still.” He huffs a tired laugh. “But maybe… maybe not if you were there. And so was she.”
Ghost looks down at their hands, at the dirt crusted over his gloves, at the gold ring around Johnny's own finger. His throat tightens.
He wants to say yes. Wants to tell him he’s thought about it too, and about small hands tugging his sleeve and Soap’s laughter echoing down a hallway and getting fat and old and happy with their little fireball. But he knows better.
He exhales slow. “Let’s get home this time first,” he says. “Then we’ll see.”
Johnny leans his head back against the wall beside him, eyes closing. “Aye. One step at a time, eh?”
Ghost hums, watching the horizon through the haze. “One step at a time.”
They don’t speak again for a long while. The comms hiss quietly with chatter of their evac, and somewhere in that time, Ghost lets himself imagine, just for a moment, what it’d be like to have that chance.
Then the radio crackles louder. He pushes to his feet and holds out a hand to Soap.
“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get home.”
The flight back feels endless. Every vibration through the hull hums like a countdown, hours, then minutes, then seconds until they land.
Soap’s asleep for part of it, head tipped against Ghost’s shoulder. The little gold band around Johnny's finger glints when the cabin lights flicker, and Ghost can’t help but glance at it now and then, aching for the only part of his reality that matters.
When they finally touch down, the air itself feels cleaner. Johnny's dad is always kind enough to pick them up from the base after missions, at least when they have the time to tell him. The ride to Soap's parents' place is long enough that they both get some sleep, Johnny sprawled in the back of the truck, Simon dozing in that passenger seat.
And when Soap finally sees his ma waiting at the door, Bonnie wriggling free from her gran’s hold, he just freezes, like he can't breathe.
“Johnny,” Simon says softly, hand on his arm.
And then Johnny's dropping his bag, running straight
Bonnie’s halfway to him by then, curls bouncing, little voice breaking on his name.
The sound nearly knocks the air out of them both.
He scoops her up, arms closing around her tight. She’s laughing, then crying, clinging to his neck so hard her fingers bunch in his collar.
“Ye came back,” she hiccups. “Ye came back!”
Johnny's trying to answer but his voice cracks. He presses his face into her hair, shoulders shaking, and Ghost stands there for a second.
His chest hurts. The kind of ache that mixes guilt and longing and heartbreak and so much love.
Bonnie spots him next, over her da’s shoulder.
“Papa!” she cries, reaching he little sugar-dusted hands towards him. “Papa!”
And that’s all it takes. He drops his bag, boots crunching on gravel, and steps into them. She’s reaching out like she’s never been afraid of him in her life and never will be. Like he's the sun and the stars and her favorite stuffed animal.
He’s still wearing a black medical mask, but when she tugs at it with her little fingers, he doesn’t stop her. He lets her pull it down gently, until it’s around his neck. Then she presses her tiny hands to his cheeks and giggles through her tears.
“There ye are,” she whispers, just like her da'.
Simon doesn’t say a word, if he does he knows he'll cry. He folds around both of them and breathes her in. Her hair smells like her gran’s soap, her skin like sugar and pastries.
Johnny's crying openly now, no shame in it, muttering something soft in Gealic that Simon can barely catch.
He doesn't need to understand the words; he's heard that tone before. It's the same one Johnny uses every time he calls her his heart.
Simon presses his face into the crook of her shoulder and finally lets his eyes close. The sound she makes when he exhales, a tiny, content little hum, undoes him completely.
She pats at his jaw. “Ye’re scratchy, Papa.”
He huffs a laugh, pulling back to look at her. “Aye. Sorry, love.”
Johnny grins through his tears. “Papa needs a shave, huh?"
"Aye!" She smiles, squishing his cheeks in her tiny hands. "I can help!"
“Of course,” Simon murmurs, kissing her temple.
For a long while, none of them move. Just that little triangle, her in the middle, her parents breathing her in.
Eventually, Mrs. MacTavish calls softly for them to come inside, to warm up, to eat. Bonnie squirms in their arms, laughing again, chattering about stories she’s been saving for weeks.
Ghost lingers a second longer, looking at the two of them framed in the doorway’s glow. Johnny catches his eye, offers a tired, radiant grin, and says,
Simon nods. “Aye,” he says quietly. “We did.”
And he follows them inside.
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
2087
germansingergirl
