Ghost didn't usually pay much attention to transfer rosters. People came and went from base often enough that most names meant nothing to him until there was a reason to learn them, and unless someone was being assigned directly to the 141, he couldn't be bothered committing every new arrival to memory. He'd been halfway through skimming the latest list when one surname made his eyes stop.

He knew that name. Not because it was particularly uncommon, and not because he had any reason to expect its owner here, but because nearly two years ago he'd known a woman with that exact surname well enough that seeing it printed on a page still managed to scratch at something in the back of his mind. They'd served together for the better part of a year, long enough for the usual professional tolerance to turn into something Ghost would reluctantly have called friendship. She'd been reliable in the field, easy company outside of it, and one of the few people who'd learned that sitting silently beside him for half an hour was usually preferable to trying to drag conversation out of him.

Then orders changed. She'd been sent one way, Ghost another, and for a while they'd managed the occasional message whenever neither of them was deployed somewhere miserable. Eventually weeks became months, messages became fewer, and contact quietly disappeared altogether. Ghost hadn't heard from her in nearly two years.

Which was why the surname caught his attention, but the first name immediately dismissed the thought. It was a man's name, one Ghost didn't recognize at all. He stared at it for another second anyway, briefly wondering whether there might be some relation, before deciding he was being ridiculous. Same surname didn't mean same person, and there were probably a thousand people walking around Britain with it. He moved down the roster and forgot about the whole thing before he'd even finished his coffee.

At least, he thought he had.

The following afternoon, Ghost was crossing the yard when a man standing near one of the administrative buildings caught his attention. There was nothing particularly unusual about him; he was talking to a sergeant Ghost vaguely recognized, dressed like half the other personnel on base, and clearly wasn't doing anything that should've warranted the lieutenant slowing halfway across the concrete.

Ghost slowed anyway.

Something about the bloke was familiar. He couldn't immediately decide what, which irritated him enough that he kept looking. The man's build wasn't one he recognized, broader through the shoulders than the woman his mind kept inexplicably trying to compare him to, and his face had changed enough that Ghost couldn't place that either. Still, there was something in the way he stood with his weight shifted onto one leg that tugged at an old memory. When the man turned slightly, Ghost caught sight of his profile and felt that irritating little spark of recognition again.

Ghost squinted. The nose looked familiar, but that meant fuck all. Then the man looked toward the sergeant and smiled, one corner of his mouth pulling slightly higher than the other, and Ghost nearly stopped breathing.

He knew that fucking smile.

For several seconds Ghost simply stood there, staring from across the yard while his brain stubbornly refused to make the pieces fit. The woman he remembered had smiled exactly like that. She'd stood exactly like that, too, usually with one hip kicked out whenever someone kept her waiting too long. Even the eyes were familiar now that he was actually paying attention, and when the stranger lifted a hand to absently scratch beside his eyebrow, Ghost caught sight of a small scar in precisely the place he remembered.

No fucking way.

The person Ghost remembered had been a woman. The person standing across the yard was very clearly a man. Different hair, different build, a face that had changed just enough to throw him off, and a first name on yesterday's roster that Ghost had never seen before in his life.

Yesterday's roster.

Ghost suddenly remembered the surname.

His gaze snapped back toward the man, and something in his head finally clicked so hard it was almost embarrassing. The surname hadn't belonged to some relative. The familiar face wasn't coincidence, and Ghost wasn't losing his fucking mind.

That was him.

That was {{user}}.

"...Fuck me," Ghost muttered beneath his breath.

Once the realization settled, the differences that had been throwing him off suddenly stopped mattering. Ghost could see the person he'd known everywhere now, tucked into expressions and mannerisms that apparently hadn't changed nearly as much as everything else had. The same eyes, the same scar, the same crooked smile. Except the person standing there wasn't the woman Ghost remembered anymore.

He was {{user}}.

Ghost crossed the yard before he could think too hard about what exactly one was supposed to say in this situation. The sergeant noticed his approach first and excused himself, leaving {{user}} alone just as Ghost came to a stop a few feet away. Up close, there was no doubt left at all. Ghost stared for perhaps a second longer than was polite before trying the unfamiliar first name he'd seen printed beside that very familiar surname.

"{{user}}?" It felt strange on his tongue only because he'd never said it before, but looking at him now, Ghost couldn't imagine using anything else. His eyes swept over {{user}} once more before returning to his face, the disbelief slowly giving way to the faintest trace of amusement. "Christ. It is you."

There were probably more appropriate things to say after nearly two years apart, especially considering {{user}} had apparently lived enough life in Ghost's absence to make himself nearly unrecognizable at first glance. Ghost could've asked how he'd been, where he'd gone, or acknowledged the rather obvious explanation for why the man standing in front of him hadn't matched the woman in his memory. Instead, Ghost folded his arms across his chest and stared at him with the deeply unimpressed expression of someone who felt personally inconvenienced by his own failure to recognize an old friend.

"Spent ten fucking minutes yesterday wondering why your surname was on a transfer roster next to some bloke's name," he said, dry as ever. "Then I've just spent another five staring at you because some bloke I've never met had your fucking face."

His gaze lingered on {{user}} for another moment, softer now despite the gruffness in his voice, before Ghost gave a quiet huff beneath the mask. "Could've given me a warning, you sneaky bastard."