Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ghost limped up the stairs, determined that today would be the day he got up them without needing the elevator. In one arm he carried his groceries for dinner for the week, and with his other hand he clung to his black cane, using it for better leverage to get his bad leg up each step painfully.

It took Ghost ten minutes to get up that first flight of stairs, wearing him out completely. By the time he finally swung open his front door, he needed a break. He tossed his groceries on the counter and limped over to the couch, collapsing into the soft cushions. He rested his cane on the coffee table, where it sadly slid down and thudded to the floor. He reached down and started to deeply massage the pain from his right leg, pushing out the tension and ignoring the cane’s newfound position.

Ghost never expected it to end like this. He suspected that he would have died fighting, protecting his comrades and hopefully saving the world from some terrible evil. Hopefully something quick and painless, but also brave.

It was never supposed to end like this.

Medical discharge.

One bad mission and his leg was fucked beyond help. He spent almost two months in a hospital bed, his only spare time spent staring at the ceiling or working through physical therapy. It was torture. Going from complete independence and self-sufficiency to having to call people just to help him go to the bathroom was his own personal hell.

It wasn’t all bad though, Soap visited him regularly. Or at least as often as he could in between his own missions. Just because Ghost had been injured didn’t mean that the bad guys threw in the towel. Soap would bring him gifts too. He had covered his entire bedside table in different rocks he’d found, letters when he was sent on his longer missions with little doodles, and cheesy little ‘get well soon’ cards. He always came with a gift in his hand, hoping it would ease his pain in some way.

Soap put up with a lot from Ghost during his visits. His depression during the first few weeks as he came to terms with his new reality, his anger for losing his independence, his frustration with how difficult physical therapy was and how long it was taking. His mood swings were the worst, going from blaming himself to blaming the world for what happened to him and how unfair it was. Soap just sat with him through it, taking the abuse.

Ghost rested deeper into the couch, throwing his weak leg up on the coffee table to stretch out the muscle. He was grateful for Soap, for everything he had put him through and for still showing up regardless. Ghost missed him. He hadn’t seen him in almost two weeks now, spending his own time getting used to his injury and getting around his new apartment. He was sure Soap was busy hopping from mission to mission, driving Price crazy with his energetic babbling that Ghost tended to soak up.

Ghost had to get a new apartment. His old one fit his basic needs. A very small, very cheap flat on the third floor of the building, a small bed to sleep on and an island counter to throw his things on. Soap called in unlivable, Ghost called it practical.

While Ghost was busy fighting the nurses, Soap had taken two weeks of personal time to tour apartments that were in a decent pay range, had decent amenities, and in a good area. He ended up finding him a two bed apartment on the second floor with an elevator and stairs for when he got his strength back, a gym and pool (which was a big recommendation from his physical therapist), that was in a decent area that wasn’t too close to major shops but close enough that it wasn’t a big concern.

Ghost had been stressing out about it for days when Soap showed up in his hospital room, dangling a set of keys in his hand and a folder with printed pictures and information on the place and the area. Ghost was speechless. Soap paid for the downpayment, the first two months of rent, and took care of all the paperwork for him. Ghost demanded to know how much it cost, insisting on paying him back but Soap kept his lips sealed.

Soap helped Ghost furnish to place too, helping him find nice furniture and having it delivered to the place and setting it all up for him. The apartment was completely ready by the time Ghost moved in, Soap had even broken into his old place and taken what he had deemed valuable. Which was not a lot, considering Ghost didn’t even own a television. Just some silverware and some kitchen appliances he had gotten, like a tea kettle that Gaz had bought him for Christmas one year.

Soap had gone out of his way to make sure that Ghost was comfortable in his new life. Ghost wished he was here with him to enjoy it, rather than him working through all of this on his own. Ghost wanted to try and call him, but he knew that he wouldn’t answer. The last they had talked, Price was sending him on a solo recon mission, which included a whole lot of watching, waiting, and little to no sleep. And definitely no phone calls, especially personal ones to satisfy his lonely old boss. If he were still a lieutenant, he would ask Price if he could be attached to the mission to get a debriefing, just to have an excuse to talk to him. Even if all they did was talk about work.

A loud knock broke Ghost from his leg massage. He lowered his leg onto the floor, reaching down and picking up his cane. Leaning down caused a spasm in his leg, causing a painful hiss to fight out of his gritted teeth. He gripped the cane and fought through the pain, another loud series of knocks echoing through the apartment.

“Give me a bloody minute!” Ghost yelled, roughly slamming the edge of the cane on the floor as he raised himself off the couch.

“I’ve got a delivery for a Simon Riley?” A young woman’s voice said from the other side of the door. Ghost slipped his pistol off the nearby kitchen counter and slipped it into the waistband of his jeans. He slowly opened the door a crack, taking in her appearance.

She was young, thin, wearing a tan collared shirt and khaki pants with little dog paws all over them. It looked like it was more part of the uniform than it was dirt from real dog paws.

“I didn’t order anything.” He said calmly, noticing the box next to her feet.

“Oh, is this not 4338 Westchester? Apartment 4B?” She asked, reading from her clipboard.

“This is, but I didn’t order anything.” Ghost cracks the door open a little farther, getting a better look at the box. It had a soft, thin blanket over top of it and there was a soft noise coming from it. Almost like… whining?

“I’ve been talking to a John MacTavish about adopting one of our dogs, he asked me to deliver it here?” She said unsurely.

“John MacTavish? Scotsman? Mohawk?” Ghost confirmed as she broke out in a giant smile and nodded her head aggressively. What did he have up his sleeve now?

“Come in.” Ghost sighs, letting his door swing open on his own and stepped out of her way as she picked up the crate and let herself in.

“What did Johnny get me into now?” He asks, mostly to himself.

“Well, Johnny got you into a puppy. His name is Rocky, he’s a Doberman breed and really needs a good home. He will be the best companion! Our nonprofit organization works with veterans and local dog shelters on making the best pairings possible! We believe in-“

“I don’t need a puppy.” Ghost interrupts.

“Well, it’s not exactly a puppy-“

“I do not need a dog.” Ghost replies firmly.

“Rocky is a service dog in training. We start the training process, then we lend our dogs out to veterans who might need them. MacTavish talked to us about your situation and we have been working on getting more service dogs who can both assist in daily activities for those who need the physical assistance and also help with emotional support.” She explained, raising her hand up when Ghost would try to interrupt.

She gently pulled the blanket off the dog crate, revealing a medium sized Doberman who was chewing on his tail. He still had his whole tail, which was wagging while he was biting it, and his ears were not clipped, making him look very unthreatening. He will admit, he was a little cutie.

But he didn’t need a dog. Especially not a service dog, he could get around fine on his own. The throbbing in his leg would beg to differ, but there were real veterans who actually needed service dogs. Not just him with his bum leg.

“I don’t need a service dog. I get around fine on my own.”

“Just take him on for two weeks. Worst case scenario, you’re not a good fit. Who knows, maybe he’ll grow on you.” She offers her clipboard towards Ghost.

Ghost takes one last look at Rocky, the small “highly trained” service dog who was still chewing on his tail but now staring at Simon as he did so. Ghost lets out a long sigh and takes the clipboard. Johnny had probably spent a lot of his free time setting this up, the least he could do was two weeks.

What’s the worst that could happen?

Chapter Text

Ghost never owned dogs growing up, his father wouldn’t allow it. He remembered asking once, his rage made sure he never asked again. He didn’t think he’d ever have the time or patience to own one. He’d spent a lot of time around bomb detector dogs on base, and sure he liked them, but he didn’t know how to own one.

He stared at Rocky, who stared back at him. Ghost had let him out of the crate, and he did a quick sniff of the living room and kitchen, and now was sitting at Ghost’s feet, staring at him with the same inquisitive little look that Ghost was giving him, head tilted as he waited for a command.

The adoption woman left him with a bag of food, treats, his pet bed from his foster home, and a bunch of toys he had grown a liking to. She also gave Ghost a notebook with training tips and lists of instructions of commands he knew.

It’s just two weeks.

Ghost tosses his bed on the floor next to the couch and puts his toys on top of it, allowing himself to sink into the couch. He places his cane against the coffee table, only for it to slide to the floor like it always does. Ghost lets out a long sigh and sits up to pick it off the floor, only to be met with Rocky holding the cane in his mouth, sitting at his feet and wagging his tail.

Ghost stared at him for a moment before reaching his hand out and grabbing the cane from his mouth, which only encouraged his tail to wag faster.

“Thank you.” Ghost said quickly, patting him on the head and putting the cane in a safer spot where it wouldn’t fall over. The dog stared at him, waiting.

“What?”

The dog just stared back in response. Waiting. Ghost noticed his eyes flickering to the spot next to him and back to Ghost.

“Go.” Ghost shoo’s him away. He lets out a little huff and plops himself in his dog bed.

Ghost reaches for the remote, determined to put something on that he could just take a nap to, when he hears another long huff. Ghost glances down to the floor, watching Rocky take another deep long sigh, glancing up at Ghost.

Ghost tunes him out, scrolling through one of the streaming services Soap had signed in to on his TV. He’d settled on just watching the news, knowing he wasn’t going to pay attention anyway. He decided to flip through the notebook of commands that his new roommate, noticing a few folded pages with highlighted portions.

He was taught how to fetch things that Ghost might need that was out of his way, assist with getting around, fetching things like his cane or his pain medication bottles, anxiety and PTSD training, and a few other things Ghost was sure he wouldn’t use. He didn’t need a service dog, no matter what Johnny thought he needed.

It was only two weeks, maybe it would keep Soap off his back for a little while about him being lonely. It was an argument that Ghost had had with Soap before, he had tried to get him a cat for a few weeks before Ghost told him to fuck off. He should have known Soap wouldn’t drop it that easily, that’s probably when he started his little scheme.

A high whine interrupted his reading, taking a moment to glance at Rocky, who was in turn giving him the side eye.

“That so?” Ghost huffed a small laugh. Another whine escaped the dog from the floor.

“You just have all kinds of attitude, don’t you, eh boy?” Ghost chuckled. Ghost patted the cushion next to him and Rocky jumped up immediately, flopping his weight into Ghost’s side. In doing so, he put weight on Ghost’s bad leg, causing a sharp shooting pain to shock through his system.

Ghost cussed loudly, scaring Rocky to the floor.

“You’re alright, it’s fine, just be bloody careful.” Ghost sighed, patting the couch again. Rocky jumped up, much more carefully, and laid down a few inches away from him, curling up into a ball and letting out another little huff.

“Big baby.” Ghost hummed, tipping his head back against the couch and allowing himself to drift off.

-

Ghost woke up to the light sound of gnawing. His eyes snapped open and he reached for his cane, ready to beat any intruders with it. He quickly scanned the room, noticing that Rocky was no longer laying with him and was instead on the floor. His face shoved deep inside the treat bag that he thought he had left on the counter.

“Rocky! You little cheeky fucker! No!” Ghost forced himself up off the couch and rushed as quickly as he could to the little thief, snatching the now empty bag off his head. A pair of guilt-stricken eyes stared up at him.

“Bad dog! Bad!” Ghost snapped as he chucked the bag into the trash bin in the kitchen. Ghost took a much longer look, noticing everything else he had gotten into while he was napping. He had torn the bag open, probably smelling the treats in the bag. He seemed content with only eating all the treats and tearing up the treat-scented bag.

“Bastard!”

A sad little pair of eyes looked back up at him while he slowly went back to his dog bed, curling into a ball and laying down. Ghost let out a long, frustrated groan.

“Sorry.” Ghost mutters under his breath. “Didn’t mean to leave them out, didn’t think you’d be able to get into them. Just instinct to get into food you can reach, you fat fucker.”

His expressive little eyebrows followed his eyes, flickering around the room.

“Now I know, but don’t fucking do that again, eh boy?” Ghost walked over and pointed his finger into his face, causing his little tail to wag.

“We can head down to the shops later and buy you more, hm? How does that sound?” Ghost scratched behind his ears, only making the tail gain speed and momentum. It gave Ghost a little grin, melting away his frustrations with him tearing into shit. Ghost kneeled to the ground, getting a better vantage to scratch Rocky more comfortably, hoping to ease his guilt of yelling at him.

This was a good thing. He had only gotten into his treats. He hadn’t chewed up any shoes, or furniture, or doors, or shit on the floor. He was just hungry. If Ghost were a dog, he assumed he would do the same thing. When he was on base, he used to sneak in to Soap’s room and steal his snacks that he kept in his desk drawer, that was basically the same concept. If Soap didn’t want his snacks to be stolen, he should’ve just stopped refilling the snack drawer.

“You’re a good dog, you’re just a fat fucker, hm? Yeah? You just fat?” Ghost coo’ed at him, using a baby voice he didn’t even know he could produce until just now.

Ghost tried getting off the floor, wanting to start on dinner, only to be stopped by his leg. The pain pulsed hard when he put pressure on it. It was a bad flare up, something the doctors had warned him about if he tried to push himself too hard. Ghost curled to the floor, clutching his leg, letting out a loud hiss as the muscle ached.

Rocky heard this and jumped into action.

He ran into Ghost’s room disappeared for a while, only to re-emerge with Ghost’s pain pills. He dropped them next to Ghost’s curled up body and started licking Ghost’s hand, gaining his attention.

“You’re a life saver, mate.” Ghost looked at the bottle, double checking it was in fact his pain meds, and popped a couple in his mouth, swallowing them dry. He leaned his back against the couch, gently stretching out his legs. Rocky crawled on Ghost and laid across his stomach, nuzzling his hand so it was resting on top of his head.

“Good dog.” Ghost stroked his fur, helping distract him from the pain.

“Very good dog.”