#idr what my my fanfic tag is hol up

[shadowscommand]

uhhmm drabble about ghost and mace after soap's death. ao3 link 857 words. here it is on Tumblr tho

Ghost is notorious for changing phone numbers. This wasn't the case originally, when his mother was still alive and needed a way to contact her son easily. That was years ago. Now, Mace keeps the same number, and about once a month he receives a text from Unknown asking if he's too busy to talk. He’s always honest, either ignoring if he is busy or sitting with his phone in hand teasing Ghost for a second before calling.

Today, he gets the text in the middle of the day while he's eating lunch. Mace texts back once, “I'm eating.” Ghost doesn't wait for a back and forth before calling him.

“Oi,” he says as a greeting. He sounds gruff, but he always sounds gruff.

“Hey.”

Mace listens as he inhales and exhales what he can only assume is cigarette smoke. “What're you eating?”

“Rice and lamb.” Mace continues before Ghost can give more than a soft grunt in reply, teeming with need to pick at Ghost for a moment. “You're not too busy with that new guy to talk?”

"He died.” Ghost says. Blunt, even, said like he's eager to get this discussion over with already.

"Oh.”

"Mh.”

"I'm, um,” Mace struggles a bit. He looks at the phone out of the corner of his eyes, keenly aware this conversation could spark an argument quickly. “I'm sorry"

"S'okay, it's not your fault. It's Price's." Ghost sighs, almost immediately. Mace can hear a light clunk as the phone is set beside him. It's silent for a bit before there's a softer sound, and Ghost sounds further away when he speaks again. "I don't mean that."

"Yea," Mace agrees. He knows.

"I was there, too. It's just as much my fault."

Mace can hear it now, the haggard edge to his voice. He's been awake too long, probably, if Mace knows him right. He forgoes reassuring him, instead replies with his tone gentle, "what happened?”

"Just… It was quick. Price was grabbed, Soap was trying to help, he got shot. It did help, but," Ghost pauses. Mace can picture Simon, looking left and right at nothing, eyes unfocused.

"He didn't make it," Mace provides.

The phone is picked back up. Mace can hear as Ghost exhales against the microphone, his voice tense from the latest drag of his cigarette. "Right through his temple."

"Mh," Mace nods though Ghost can't see.

"Quick, at least."

"Did you go to the funeral? Has he had one yet?”

Ghost scoffs. "In my mask?"

"You could take it off,” Mace replies, tone still gentle, still trying to urge him out of this shell of his.

"Fuck. You." Mace can tell he'd brought the phone closer to his mouth. He pulls away again "Gaz and Price went. Gaz said it was nice. They took a bit of his ashes– well, his mom insisted they take some."

"Mh.”

"Had his urn."

"You saw it?"

"We spread them."

"So you did go to his funeral.”

There's a pause and Mace can see Ghost’s eyes rolling in his mind's eye. "Yeah, sure, our own funeral."

“That's nice. That's good,” Mace is genuine, glad Ghost is allowing himself closure this time.

“Sure.”

“It is,” Mace reiterates.

“I literally agreed with you,” he snaps back, already tired of this.

“Okay” Mace says, even and neutral. He stays quiet and Ghost follows suit, passively holding the phone in his hand while he smokes.

“M’still in Scotland.”

“I'm still in Urzikstan.”

“Shame,” Ghost replies.

“Yeah,” Mace agrees. “How long have you been there?”

“Just a night,” Ghost says as he rummages for something. It's all muted to Mace, Ghost’s cheap phone having a cheap microphone. Mace knows he'd say the same for his, so he keeps his phone to his ear, tucked between his head and his shoulder with no complaint.

Ghost stays quiet, huffing and messing with either wrappers or papers in his vicinity. Something plastic. Mace eats his food, only a little too cool now. Neither one of them hangs up, or wants to, despite the stretch of silence going on long enough for Mace to finish the plate, take it and the phone down to the kitchen sink, and go sit outside himself.

“Are you in a room?” he decides to ask, finally.

“Car,” Ghost sounds distant again. Mace can imagine he's set the phone on the dashboard.

“You spend the night there?”

“Yea.”

Bad for your back, Mace thinks fleetingly.

“Don't fuckin’ say anything,” Ghost says, seemingly hearing his thoughts.

“I didn't.”

“Good.”

“I didn't,” Mace laughs, soft and under his breath. “No need.”

Ghost snorts. He fidgets with the phone again before slamming a door and starting the car. Mace can hear the phone get set into a cupholder. “Wanna hang up?” he asks.

“Why? Are you goin’ somewhere?”

“Sounds like you are.”

“I’m just drivin’ back. I’ve got a fuckin’ stand to put my phone in; you’re not hangin’ up.”

“Oh,” Mace replies. Not a cupholder. “You want company while you drive?”

“If it won’t kill you.” Ghost huffs out air.

“Nah, baby,” Mace reassures him, deftly ignoring the bite in his voice. “I’ll be here.”