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“Riley. Let me drive for a bit.”
Ghost glanced over from the driving seat, hand still a loose fist ahead of his face where he was yawning; he blinked away the tiredness in his eyes, and replaced the hand on the steering wheel, flexing the muscles up his arms in order. Hands, forearms, shoulders, and then he relaxed all at once. The car was dark, the engine quiet, and there was the dull hum of rain against the car, the wipers squeaking intermittently.
“M’alright, sir. Only two hours left.”
“Switch seats. Get some sleep.”
“S’alright,” Ghost said again. And then: “I’ve seen the way you drive.”
“What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“You drive like you sketch, sir,” Ghost replied— and then, off his look: “angrily.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not joking,” Ghost replied, eyes reflecting the last of the streetlights. “D’you not remember that truck in Georgia?”
MacTavish looked over, incredulous; Ghost’s eyes were crinkled in amusement, even when he wasn’t looking for his reaction.
“The road was covered in potholes, Riley.”
“The potholes made you go at 100 miles an hour?”
Sitting back, MacTavish shook his head in disbelief. The road sped by in front of them— the stretch of motorway ahead had no streetlights, so all the light on the road were the orange cat's eyes and the tail lights of the car miles ahead. The dashboard lights were dim, and wipers squeaked, clearing the light rain that was collecting on the windshield. Ghost had switched the radio on, and it was on some news station, an expert on something speaking very quietly that neither of them were listening to.
“Am I misremembering, or were we not bein’ shot at?”
“You understand how bad of a driver you have to be, then, if I don’t even remember? I’ve jumped out of planes less afraid than I was then.”
“Exaggerate fuckin’ everything, don’t you?” MacTavish complained. “You think you’re an excellent driver, then?”
“Course I am. Have a system to it.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“I just imagine I’ve got a bucket of water in the passenger seat,” Ghost replied, glancing over at him. “And it’s full to the brim.”
“What’re you on about?”
“No, think about it. You’d drive careful if you thought you’d spill water all over your car if you brake too suddenly, wouldn’t you?”
“You takin’ the piss right now?”
“You can’t say shit,” Ghost scowled, looking ahead again. “Hundred miles an hour hitting a pothole head on, surprised Worm wasn’t concussed the way he hit his head on the roof.”
“So what, you suggestin’ I should’ve imagined a bloody bucket?”
“Might’ve helped.”
“Just stop the car and switch with me, lieutenant.”
The members of the 141 stationed at Hereford were all due to be travelling east for a training exercise by the coast, but at the last moment, Major Davies had shown up asking for a debrief— given that it would be the last opportunity for several days to pool intel in person, Ghost offered to stay to manage the meeting rather than requiring all their presences, and MacTavish had stayed behind with him. The dim clock on the dashboard announced it was a little past midnight when Ghost rolled into the services, only letting MacTavish take over on the condition that he had some strong coffee beforehand.
“Already a hazard, sir, can’t imagine you driving tired,” Ghost commented idly from his side by the self serving coffee machine, the only thing still open in the service station. MacTavish glared before turning back to the machine, buttons glowing blue. The espresso smelled like chemicals as it poured into the cheap paper cup, and the hot chocolate spilled in steaming droplets around the machine. The service station was quiet, only a custodian mopping the pale tiles where the rain had come in in one quarter; lit up by bright fluorescent lights, it was liminal, almost surreal. Ghost was still beside him, dressed in all black with his hood pulled up; he yawned when he didn’t think MacTavish was looking, stifling it into the crook of his elbow. Ripping open four packets of sugar at once, MacTavish dumped it into the hot chocolate, stirring it with a wooden stick.
“Jesus, sir,” Ghost mumbled, where he had spotted it, “going to give yourself cavities.”
“Not my headache.”
“Hm?”
MacTavish placed the lid on top and pushed it into his hands; Ghost blinked, looking down at it.
“This for me?”
“Think I’m drinking that?”
“Hah. No, sir. How much was it?”
“Don’t even think about it,” MacTavish warned him; Ghost blinked again, but there was something suspiciously soft in his eyes as he looked down at the cup. It followed them to the car, and Ghost warmed his hands around it as he took his seat in the passenger side. MacTavish set off slower than he might have normally done, careful to watch Ghost out the corner of his eye. Ghost, for all his complaining, seemed happy enough to sit back and let him drive; between the way he was only in his peripheral vision, and the lack of light on the motorway, MacTavish couldn’t be sure if it was a smile on his lips every time he lifted the mask to take a sip. His eyes stayed open, though, safely on the road.
“Come on,” he said, five or six miles down the motorway. “Least try for some sleep.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll close my eyes and you’ll manage to wrap us around a tree.”
“Where the fuck am I goin’ to find a tree on the motorway?”
“You’d find a way, sir. Youngest to pass selection, youngest captain in the SAS, capable of anything you put your mind to.”
MacTavish turned to level him with a glare that would have had lesser men buckling at the knees; however, the way Ghost was looking at him was suspiciously fond, and he looked away, back to the road. The rain was still falling, smelling like petrichor and coming down in soft taps against the car.
“You don’t actually have to go under the speed limit,” Ghost said quietly after several moments, looking at the drink again. He watched his hands shift around the cup, a thumb coming up to swipe at a drop by the lid.
“It’s alright. If it’ll help you sleep.”
“Come on, sir, what’re you doing?”
The dash lights were very dim, and the brightest thing in the car were the red dials of the speedometer and fuel gauge. Aside from the pale skin of what was visible of his face, Ghost was practically a shadow too— the town they were passing had white and orange streetlights far away that dissipated in the fog to become stars behind Ghost.
“What am I doin’? What d’you mean?”
“The drink, and offering to stay behind, and driving. What’s—,” Ghost hesitated, but MacTavish swore he could hear a small smile in his voice, “what’re you doing?”
“That difficult to believe I could just be bein’ nice for the sake of it?”
“Yeah,” Ghost replied immediately, “what d’you want?”
“Do I have to want something?”
“You’re not telling me you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart? Being—” he scoffed, though without venom, “being nice just because?”
MacTavish looked over at Ghost, eyebrows furrowed; Ghost met his gaze exactly, as if he had managed to catch on to some sort of joke, one MacTavish wasn’t completely sure he had made. Several moments passed, the wipers squeaking and the tap of raindrops against the windshield not letting up, before Ghost nudged him, scowling.
“Look at the bloody road.”
“Would you fuck off?! There’s no one there!”
“Mm,” Ghost agreed, nodding as he sat back. “Still. It’s raining. The bucket.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” MacTavish grumbled, readjusting his hands around the steering wheel. Ghost grinned, and MacTavish only knew it because he stifled it into his hand even over the mask. The radio was still playing, although the interview had ended, and quiet music was playing, some sort of pop song that he recognised that thrummed through the car.
“You can take off the mask to sleep if you’d like.”
“D’you know this song?”
“My sister— oldest— likes these sorts o’ songs. She might’ve played it for me at one point.”
“Four sisters,” Ghost recalled, tucking the cup into its holder and folding his arm against the door to lean against it comfortably. “What’s that like?”
“Bloody annoying is what it is,” MacTavish replied immediately, earning a huff of a laugh from Ghost. “All four of ‘em, one louder than the other. Keep getting married, too.”
“They ever make you the best man?”
“Five fuckin’ times, Riley. And they get on my case for not buyin’ a new suit for each one.”
They fell into a warm sort of silence; the coffee was finally doing its job, and he felt alert behind the wheel. The motorway stayed empty, the orange roadwork cones appearing a few miles later, blinking amber and abandoned for the night. He could see where they reflected against the wet tarmac, near his own headlights. Ghost yawned again, and the song hit its chorus, all nostalgic notes and barely audible lyrics about love.
“Dunno what they want from me, either,” he added, “every wedding’s the same dress code, kilt and—”
Ghost took a long, slow breath; MacTavish glanced over to find him maskless, fast asleep with his head against the door, with his hood up and his face half buried in his hoodie where he had slid down. With a careful glance ahead, he leant over and readjusted the seatbelt where it was digging into his neck, before leaning back to pick up his own jacket from the back seats, throwing it over his lap. Ghost blinked awake slightly as he tugged it into place, and he could feel his gaze into the side of his head as he sat back again, looking at the road.
“S’sweet,” Ghost mumbed as he woke up a bit, shifting to replace himself against the door.
“Course it was bloody sweet,” MacTavish replied immediately, with a half glance over to where his cup had been crushed and tucked into the cup holder. “Hot chocolate was practically a cup of sugar. I can’t believe you finished it all!”
“Not the drink,” Ghost replied, pulling his jacket up higher so that he was more comfortable. His eyes closed again, expression so peaceful MacTavish was half tempted to stop the car to get out his journal and sketch it.
“Sleep well, yeah? Wake you up fifteen minutes before we get there.”
“Night, sir.”
“Night, Simon.”
Ghost’s eyebrows lifted, surprised, but a smile appeared on his face all the same. If MacTavish took the A-roads there because the speed limit was less so the car was quieter against the tarmac, no one was awake to question it. It was just luck that it extended the distance a little longer, preserving the quiet warmth of the car.