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Night one is all about survival; simply finding a vacant house with lockable doors far enough away from ground zero was enough of a challenge in and of itself.
Soap had braved the unfamiliar, dark city for hours until he’d linked up with Ghost at the church—it’d been hard, exhausting, taking a toll on him both mentally and physically with both the sting of betrayal and a gunshot wound to the shoulder still fresh. A firefight had ensued, some cars had exploded and Graves’ men scrambled to re-group.
But he made it. Ghost had hopped the fence into the courtyard, and they’d fled down an empty street, loudly sloshing through puddles as the heavy rain continued its downpour. Every vehicle in the vicinity of the church had its tires blown out during the gun fight, so driving off was a no-go.. plus it would attract too much attention.
So, the two of them had run as fast and as far as their bodies would take them. Where they were going was a mystery, but he trusted Ghost enough to lead them to safety. He had more gear than Soap, yet easily outpaced him, weaving and bobbing around and through obstacles as if he weighed nothing more than a feather.
Soap, on the other hand, didn’t have as much luck. He kept pace with Ghost for the first ten minutes or so, easy enough to do with the stamina and endurance gained from regular military exercising, but eventually began to falter. The adrenaline only lasted for so long; it faded during their run and his injuries took the forefront.
His gunshot wound wasn’t fatal, but it was still a gunshot wound. It hurt, it was bleeding like a leaky faucet and his heart was desperately trying to keep blood inside his body, so making it pump faster didn’t help the situation in the slightest. He soon became dizzy, blinking rapidly to concentrate on Ghost’s figure up ahead.
He didn’t blame Ghost for not looking back, but he did worry about being found by Graves’ men in this state.. being left behind to fend for himself again. The brain could only be told ‘just five more minutes, please’ before it had enough. He started to slow, breathing no longer controlled, becoming laboured until his throat began to burn and mouth dried out.
Soap came to a standstill, holding onto the brick wall for support and it seemed like the entire world did a somersault. He managed to remain on his feet though, somehow.
“Soap?” A distant voice calls, but he ignores it, lowering his head. He wheezes, struggling to catch his breath with his racing heart pounding away in his ears. Then, a hand grabs his good shoulder. “Christ, Johnny, you alright?”
In response, he vomits.
“Fucking.. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m.. fine.”
“My arse, you are.” Ghost says. He looks over his shoulder quickly, then back to Soap. “Let’s go, we’ve run long enough. We’ll get you fixed up.”
Soap shakes his head, swallowing hard despite the dryness of his throat. “No.. need to keep going.”
“I’m in charge here, Johnny. Let’s go, we aren’t losing you tonight.”
He protests a reasonable amount, insisting he’s been through worse but it falls on deaf ears. Dazed, he barely pays attention to their surroundings, trusting Ghost’s judgment completely though he still worries about getting caught—he’d never be able to live with himself if he got Ghost killed because of his own body’s refusal to cooperate.
They move much slower than before, hide more frequently, and Ghost takes out a target here and there when it’s impossible to get around without doing so. That becomes routine for the next two hours. Time drags on with how tense the air is. Any moment they could be cornered and rounded up or shot dead on the spot.
Yet somehow, they’re not found.
The houses get smaller and more spread apart as they move out of the central city. The Shadow’s didn’t seem to be in this area yet, which was only a problem since civilians still were. Nearly every house they passed has some sort of light on, curtains shut tight with the occasional face peering out between them.
After another explosion rings out across the city, which sends the last of the curious onlookers fleeing inside, Ghost leads the two of them down another back alley. Houses had started to lose their bright colours and become more dilapidated. The smell of rotting garbage assaults their nostrils, followed by flies buzzing around their heads.
The cobblestone road had faded into a dirt one, kicking up loose rocks and stepping through more garbage as they went. About sixty metres away from the last house they’d passed, sat a collection of a dozen, abandoned one story houses as if this area was under quarantine from the rest of the city and used as a garbage dump.
Every building is rectangular in shape, made of brick with rusted sheet metal for the roof.. Well, besides the four that had caved in roofs and large sections of crumbling walls. The rest were in decent shape despite all their windows and doors being boarded up with strange words and symbols carved into the wood.
Ghost leads them to the middle of the tiny village and comes to a stop in front a green dwelling with the door lying on the ground; he holds up a hand as he steps inside, leaving Soap while he does a quick sweep of the house. It only takes less than ten seconds before Ghost ushers him inside, and he quickly discovers why.
The inside is no larger than a standard one-bedroom apartment back home. Their boots crunch through shattered glass and wood splinters, walking into the main space which must have been a mix of the living and dining rooms once upon a time. There’s a tiny table next to the front door with two overturned chairs.
There are only two doorways on the right wall. One leads to a very small, very simple make-shift kitchen with a fire pit in lieu of a stove, and the other is a bathroom with an outhouse style toilet that smells as bad as it looks.
“We’ll need to stay here for now..” Ghost says, “Until you’re patched up and ready.”
“And what if that takes all night?”
“Then we’ll stay all night.”
Soap shoots him an incredulous look since their main goal had been to leave this god forsaken city, but Ghost just shrugs.
Staying the night. Or however long it took.
Which presented another problem.
Because there was no other furniture in the house besides the table and chairs.. no couch, no rug or blankets to sleep on.
Well.. there was a bed. One bed. One very small bed, no bigger than a twin that could fit two people if they lay shoulder to shoulder.
Ghost seemed to follow his stare, because he huffed and shook his head. “All yours, Johnny.”
He walked off, rummaging through one of his many pouches as Soap continued to stare at the bed; it was dirty with no blankets or pillows, mattress only about four inches thick and sitting within a standard wooden bed frame. He’d definitely slept in worse places. Bed Bugs were the least of his concerns right now.
“You don’t plan on napping, Lt?” Soap asks, turning towards Ghost who was now placing things on the table. “Don’t you need your beauty rest?”
“You need it more than I do, Johnny.” He retorts, not turning as Soap walks over to inspect whatever he’s doing. “Way more.”
Soap watches the small first aid kit be unpacked. “We need to get out of here. How long are we staying?”
“Could be hours, could be days.” He ignores Soap’s scoff as he adds: “I’m not having you pass out on me out there, Johnny. We’re not leaving ‘til you can stand without swaying.”
“I can.”
Ghost only glances over at Soap’s hands, which are gripping the table so tightly the knuckles have turned white. Soap realizes he was leaning into it as well, due to the dizziness that returned once the two had resumed speaking. The nausea from earlier had passed, but the grogginess from blood loss still remained.
Bastard.
“Yeah? And what do you plan on doing while I rest?”
“Keep watch.” his voice was plain, like the answer was obvious.
They stare at each other. Ghost isn’t having it.
He picks up one of the chairs, and sets it down at the table. “I’ll be your doctor today. Have a seat, Johnny.”
“That’s a scary thought.” He mumbles, but does as instructed. His legs scream in relief. “Where'd you get your medical licence?”
“Bottom of a cereal box.” Ghost replies, popping open the lid to an antiseptic liquid. “Now, hold still. This won’t hurt..” He peels back the ripped portion of Soap’s shirt, and grips his shoulder. “..that much. Unless you annoy me.”
Soap huffs with frustration.
True to his word, Ghost presses his thumb against the sore, bruising area barely an inch from the open wound as he spills some of the liquid on it. The thumb hurts more than the antiseptic, so he winces and curses under his breath.
Ghost just shrugs, “You annoyed me.”
Soap clenches his jaw, scowling as he looks up to meet Ghost’s eyes; there's no way to tell, but he figures the bastard is probably smirking at him.. probably used up his yearly smile budget just for that. Then, in lieu of a modest pair of tweezers, the kit contains forceps. they’re as large as a pair of scissors. Ghost picks it up and snips the air twice.
Sweet bleedin’ Jesus.
The second day came with dark, thick clouds threatening to break at any moment. The lack of rain had been a relief, but Ghost had told him the ground in this area was all mud and moving while it was still wet would ensure their footprints remained visible for all to see. The clouds broke only an hour later, and the storm returned.
That day was quiet, leaving Soap with his thoughts and bandaged shoulder for several hours at a time as Ghost used the cover of rain to go scout the area. He insisted, needing to see if the Shadows were headed to this area. During the wait, he’d lie on the mattress, then pace around the room when he got antsy, until the shakiness forced him back to bed.
By the end of day two, Soap was already in the midst of losing his mind. He was bored, and the feeling only subsided when Ghost returned. From his scavenging, they had three cans of beans, two cans of tuna, a bucket of water which they used to fill their canteens and the leftover rations they’d brought. He really was going to keep them here for days.
Of course, he never saw Ghost eat or drink; only stared out the cracks in the windows and engaged in simple conversation as Soap ate his small portions. Claimed that he wasn’t dehydrated despite the rising temperature. Claimed that he’d eat later. That later always seemed to be when Soap had drifted off to sleep.
All that time would have been a good opportunity to learn more about his teammate since they were stuck together for the immediate future, but no such luck. Any time Soap asked a personal question, it was deflected in such a way that he would end up talking about himself for hours while Ghost sat in silence. Sly bastard.
Unfortunately, that only backfired for Ghost because If Soap couldn’t engage in conversation, he’d amuse himself another way.
“If you’re American when you go in the bathroom, and American when you come out,” Soap starts, idly tossing a bullet into the air. “What’re you in the bathroom?”
“What?”
He catches it; tosses it again. “European.”
More silence; Ghost lets out another: “What?”
“European.” Soap repeats, glancing over to the chair. “Get it? You’re peein ’. European.”
“Bloody hell, Johnny.”
Soap just grins, now tossing the bullet back and forth between hands, “What did the fish say when he ran into the wall?”
“Fish don’t run.”
“What did he say when he swam into a wall?”
“Dam.”
“Damn.” Soap sighs, “How’d you know?”
“We’ve all been to pre-school. Are you done now?”
He hums thoughtfully. “What do you call a man from Glasgow who’s lost his dog?”
“Don’t tell me.”
“Douglas.”
“No Scottish jokes, Johnny. Putin’ me at an unfair advantage.”
He figures he can slip in one more: “Two Scottish cows sit in a field. Which one is on holiday?”
No reply.
“The one with the wee calf.”
“Two jokes that don’t make any bloody sense without your accent.”
“They do, but you need at least two brain cells to rub together, Lt. Guess you don’t qualify.”
“There’s two brain cells between the two of us, Johnny, and they’re both mine.”
“So, you can fashion an explosive out of a rat trap, gunpowder and alcohol but you can’t solve a joke taught to five year olds?”
“Start telling good jokes, and we’ll go from there.”
Soap thinks for a moment, “What’s the difference between a unicorn and a smart Brit?” He doesn't give the other a chance to respond. “Nothin’, They’re both fictional.”
Ghost shoots back with: “Why wasn’t Jesus born in Scotland?”
“Tell me.”
“Couldn’t find three wise men. Now , are we done?”
“One more.”
Ghost seemed to consider it. “Why aren’t orphans good at baseball?”
Jesus Christ.
“They don’t know where home is.”
Soap rubs a hand down his face. “Let’s try that again, Lt. One more.”
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s th-”
An empty tin can nails him in the forehead. Soap swears and props himself up on an elbow, grabbing the can to toss it right back but Ghost was already on his feet and heading to the door. Temporarily forgetting the “low-profile” situation they were in, he hurls the can, missing by a few inches and it clatters to the ground.
“Get some rest, Johnny.” Is the last thing Ghost says, before vanishing outside.
Alone once again, he sighs and collapses back onto the mattress.
The morning of day three, Ghost was still gone when Soap awoke. It must have been eight hours or so, and he knows better than to spend his time worrying, but the feeling still lingers and gnaws at his gut each time until the man returns. He gets out of bed, rolling his wounded shoulder and winces at the tightness he feels there.
He peels back the bandage and clenches his teeth at the sight; the area around the stitched up wound was a sickly yellow, and the wound itself had started to leak puss—no fault of Ghosts, of course, Soap had been through hell and back, through mud and dead bodies and filth before they even had a chance to cover it up. No wonder it was infected.
Soap presses the soiled bandage back to his skin as he heads for the table; the medical supplies were still laid out along with an empty tuna can and that same re-used spoon. Huh. So at least Ghost was eating, which was a relief. Now.. if he could only get that bastard to close his eyes for a few minutes. Just a few.
As if summoned by his name, the makeshift door gets moved to the side and Ghost steps through. His attention immediately lands on the empty bed, faltering in his movements only briefly before his attention is drawn to where Soap stands at the table. His shoulders visibly relax. Huh.
“Mornin’, Lt.” He says
Ghost puts the door back, “You're out of bed."
“Aye. Feelin' brand new. We can get going, now.”
“Not a chance. You’re still pale.”
“I’m always pale.”
Ghost chooses to ignore that, eyes landing on his shoulder. “Let me see that.”
“It’s fine.” Soap assures him, attempting to slap Ghost’s hand away when he reaches for it. “Ghost.”
Disregarding him, Ghost pushes closer to examine the wound himself. He’s got rough hands with gentle intentions, so pain shoots down Soap’s whole arm the moment Ghost grabs it. He bites back a curse. Very obviously not pleased with its progression, he gives his head a shake but says nothing as he replaces the soiled bandage with a new one.
When he’s done, he says: “It’s infected.”
“I know.” Soap grits out, pulling his shoulder out of Ghost’s grip once the new bandage was applied. “But it’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”
He turns to stare at Ghost, defiant in all ways.
It seems neither of them are in the mood for this discussion again. “They’re not leaving until they’ve found our bodies, Soap. Every way in and out of the city is blocked, they want us, whatever it takes.”
He’s exasperated. “This is my fault. We’d be long gone if I had been able to keep up.”
“It ain’t your fault that you got shot, Johnny. We’ll make do, but for now, we lie low -- no one has come this way yet, probably don’t think we’d be stupid enough to hide among locals.”
“I’m surprised no one’s seen you yet.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s been three days, I haven’t seen you sleep once. Those stimulants are gonna wreck havoc on your body, if you keep it up.”
Ghost is unconcerned. “Don’t you worry about me, I’ve stayed up for longer.”
“That’s not a good thing.”
“Still alive, aren’t I?”
“Barely. You look worse than me.”
“Even on my worst days, I look better than you, Johnny.”
He scoffs. “Gonna have to prove that one, Lt.”
“Negative.” He opens a new can of tuna and pours some of the water in it, mixing it around with the same wooden spoon that’s been in his supply bag for weeks. “My hair’s a bloody mess, and I haven’t had time to do my makeup.”
Soap rolls his eyes so hard he worried they might detach.
In response, Ghost pushes the can across the table. “Eat.”
Alright, two can play at this game. He crosses his arms. “No.”
“No?”
“You heard me.”
“I’ll shove food down your throat if I have to, MacTavish. Eat.”
“Not until you sleep.”
“I’ll sleep later.”
“You owe me a pint every time you say later, Lt, and I’m about to get bloody plastered.”
“Whatever knocks you out cold.” Ghost says. “Eat.”
He picks up the can and does as instructed; if there’s a world record for most passive aggressive way to eat from a can, he figures he’s just beaten it. It’s not the most intimidating tactic in the world, but he glares hard as he scarfs it all down in just a few spoonfuls—Ghost simply stares back, completely unphased by the display.
“Good.” Is all he says. “Now, bed.”
Soap lets out a frustrated noise and runs a hand through his hair, “Ghost, I’m fine . I’m no longer dizzy when I stand, I can walk without running out o’ breath, and this—" He rolls his shoulder, “—is only a dull pain, only hurts when touched.”
Still, Ghost says nothing.
“That’s not gonna work this time.” Soap says
More staring.
“I’m serious. I don’t need more rest, I can run.”
Both stubborn men set in their ways, neither back down from the intense, silent battle. No words have to be verbally exchanged to understand all the things being said mentally and conveyed by his expression; it’s a losing battle, he figures, it’s practically in Ghost’s job description to stand there and glare people into submission.
No headway gets made, so Soap ultimately squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. Fine. One more day. One more damn day in this place, being babysat by the world's worst nanny until they could get a move on. Tomorrow, he’d walk out the front door no matter what or break open one of the windows if necessary.
Soap walks back over to the bed, grumbling: “Awa’ you an’ chew mah banger.”
“English.”
“Eat my dick, sir.”
Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks, but he swears Ghost let out a low chuckle.
Part of his annoyance fades at that. He settles into the mattress and waits for sleep to take him.
The next time he wakes up, it’s to utter darkness in the room. Soap rapidly blinks, sitting upright faster than a bullet before he remembers where he is. The air is cooler against his skin; less humid than it is in the morning which comes as a relief. He sits there, unmoving, and follows his usual routine of listening for unknown voices.
Once his vision adjusts to the dark, he spots Ghost sitting in the chair near the window with his legs outstretched and arms crossed. It was definitely too dark outside to see anything, and only crickets punctuated the otherwise silent night so he wasn't sure why Ghost was still on guard. He sighs, pushing himself off the bed.
His sour mood from earlier had faded; he knew Ghost was doing the right thing, even if he was an ass about it. Right now, he’s just tired. He’s about to say something, but stops. Ghost’s head is tilted downwards, shoulders relaxed and his breathing—Soap steps forward and listens closer—his breathing was slow and rhythmic.. calm.
Soap’s face breaks out into a grin but makes no move closer; he cocks his head to the side, treating this as if he were a hunter approaching a fawn. He’d never seen Ghost this vulnerable and even though it was a concerning thought that the man had pushed himself hard enough to fall asleep on guard duty, it was also comforting.
He thinks about his next move carefully, wondering when Ghost had initially fallen asleep and how much he’d gotten. Soap had drifted off before sunset which must have been well over seven hours ago if the night was this dark already—even knowing Ghost got a few hours of shut-eye would make him ecstatic, but the position would be hell on his neck.
No way he’d willingly move to the bed if woken up, but Soap was ready to give it a try. He takes a step forward, then another, careful not to step on the rotten floorboards.
“Ghost.” He whispers, and reaches out. He tries to be delicate about it.
It all happened in an instant. One second, he had barely grabbed Ghost’s shoulder, the next he was on the floor with a knee pressed against his chest and a hand wrapped around his throat. Hard. He gasps as pain erupts from his shoulder (because of course the stupid thing had hit the floor first, followed by the rest of him) and braces himself.
“What the fuck.” Ghost says, voice slurred and groggy.
Soap wheezes as the fingers jam into the sides of his neck, “Nice technique, Lt..” pain begins spreading in his lungs, “I feel.. safer already.”
The grip immediately loosens and Ghost pulls his hand away.
“Johnny.” He sounds mildly irritated yet surprised, “Bloody hell, what was that?”
“Oh, y’know me..” Soap takes a deep breath and brings a hand up to touch his sure-to-be bruised neck, “I’ve always wanted t’be choke slammed through a floor.” He lets out a wheezy chuckle, “Another thing of o’ my bucket list.”
The knee is removed from his chest as Ghost gets to his feet and offers a hand; after lying there for a few more moments, Soap takes it and is hauled to his feet so fast the world spins.
“What were you thinking?”
Soap clears his throat, leaning against the table. “You fell asleep. I was coming to check on you.”
“I was resting my eyes.”
“Sure thing, Lt. And I’m the King of England.”
With his eyes now properly adjusted to the dark and the assistance of the dim moonlight streaming in through the boards, he can see that Ghost’s shoulders are still sagging and his posture was more loose than ever. He’s tired. Exhausted. But he’s pushing through for Soap’s sake, to keep him safe. It makes Soap feel guilty as hell.
He figures now is his best chance. “Go on. Get in bed, take a proper rest.”
“I got enough sleep.”
Those usually alert, bright eyes meet his and he can see the difference. Ghost’s eyes are half-lidded, glazed over and every time he blinks it looks as if it's a fight to re-open them. His movements had gotten sluggish as well, and he figures that take-down move has used up the last drop of his energy. He’s spent.
“You’re going to get us killed.” Soap tells him, voice stern. “You wanted me to rest ‘cus I’d slow us down, and now you’re the one who needs rest. So, get your stubborn arse over there and lay down.”
Ghost remains in place for a moment. It’s clear he wants to argue a little more, but Soap’s intense glare never wavers, because he’s serious, this is a fight he intends on winning no matter what it takes. He’s even about to drag the Brit by the arm and tie him to the bed posts with his own gear, but Ghost finally moves towards the bed without a word.
He sits on the edge, and Soap watches as he removes the vest supply pack from his front and tosses it to the side. Without it, he’s far less bulkier than before .. even though he’s still completely dressed in uniform, along with the mask. True to his word, that thing doesn't come off either which only begs the question of how stuffy it must be.
At last, Ghost grunts as he positions himself in bed, hands resting on his middle, close to one of his sheathed blades.
Soap takes a seat on the chair, arm draped over the back of it as his gaze settles on the window. There’s nothing to see out there. The slits between boards on this particular window are wide enough to fit an arm through, but even with that much space, he couldn’t see anything beyond even with the dim moonlight's help.
So, that lasts all of thirty seconds before he turns to stare at Ghost’s still form on the bed, simply a lump of darkness against it. He hadn’t moved an inch. He hadn’t made any noise either, as if he’d stopped breathing out of spite. Soap cocks his head to the side, wondering how long it would be until Ghost got up and claimed to be rested.
“Stop staring at me.”
He sighs. Here we go, already. “You should be asleep.”
“You should be watching the bloody window.”
“I am. It’s dark, though, and no one’s come close since we got here, said so yourself.”
Neither say anything for a moment.
“Alright, then. Get over here.”
“What?”
“You sleep, I sleep, and we’ll leave in the morning.”
Soap raises his eyebrows, “Both of us? You’re gonna take that risk?”
“Already did, and I already proved how quickly I react, didn’t I?”
It must have been sheer luck that The Shadows were contained in the central city and how they’d been unnoticed for so long. Still, not even locals came down around often, despite it being used as a dump.. What if the moment they both let their guard down again, something happens for real this time?
“This area is haunted.” Ghost says as if reading his thoughts.
“What?”
“This area of town is haunted, ‘cording to the locals. It’s why they haven’t bothered us. Seein’ me coming and going likely gave them a good scare.”
“You didn’t think to mention that before?”
“Wasn’t important. Now, get over here.”
He just hoped the locals weren’t too scared by it; it was bad enough they were caught in the crossfire of both foreign military operations and the cartel, now they had to deal with hauntings. He knew customs and superstitions regarding the dead and ghosts were a big deal down here, so with any luck, their caution would keep them safe.
It seemed Ghost, as sleep deprived as he was, continued to have good judgment and senses.
So, without further protest and pleased with the idea of getting to leave tomorrow, Soap makes his way over to the bed. He’d taken off his bulletproof vest earlier in the day, so all that remains is his bloody, dirty tee shirt and cargo pants -- practically naked next to Ghost’s full body attire. He gets in, both of them on the edge of their respective sides.
He was right; the bed was barely big enough for both of them to lie shoulder to shoulder, but they made it work. Soap wiggles to get more comfortable, draping an arm across his chest rather than let it hang, but Ghost remained still as a statue with only the rise and fall of his chest to confirm he was still breathing.
“Knew you were a softie.” He muses, staring at the ceiling. “I’m not gonna wake up with you spooning me, am I?”
“Thought you wanted me to sleep.”
“Aye.”
“Then stop talking.”
Soap smiled, but did as he was told. After the earlier incident where he learned Ghost was a very light sleeper, he tried hard to not move a muscle, no matter how challenging. He was an all-over-the-bed kind of sleeper, the kind who had to adjust themselves every five seconds, but he’d been forced to sleep on his back lately.
He listened to the rain against the roof, how it sounded like it was coming from inside with all the windows shattered. It was a sound he had always liked, and could easily fall asleep to, but he still felt like he had a job to do. Stay awake and listen for any movement or voices. They were approaching day four, surely the main danger had passed.
No one was coming. No one knew where they were, ally or enemy, and he kept mentally repeating it. Eventually he began to believe it. Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t caught the moment where Ghost’s breathing had shifted into deep sleep. Fucking finally . He angled his head to the side, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Soon enough, with the comfort of that repeated mantra, sleep took him as well.
When he woke up, sunlight was streaming through the boarded windows, billions of dust particles illuminated by its rays. He lays there, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as his mind reminds him where he is, ears already alert for sounds that aren’t there. Besides that, he feels good. More refreshed than ever. Day four. Today is the day.
A heaviness on his chest was the next thing he notices but figures it’s just his own arms trying to find a comfy spot.. Yet, when he peers down, his left arm was dangling off the edge of the bed and his right was at his side. So.. that only left one other viable suspect, assuming no stray cats had found their way inside.
At some point in the night, Ghost had managed to shift to his front (an impressive feat given how tiny the bed was, and the amount of movement should have woken Soap up), with his masked face pressed into the mattress. His right arm, however, was slung across Soap’s chest as if he fell asleep while reaching for something.
No amount of successful missions and personal victories could ever, ever , compare to the smug sense of triumph he felt building in his chest; it was followed by a smirk as he tilted his head to examine the situation more closely. Ghost wasn’t exactly lying on him, but the amount of overlap was felt in Soap’s dead-asleep arm from the weight on it.
Warmth radiated from Ghost as if he was a human space heater—which wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t in the middle of Mexico, dealing with what felt like the start of a humid day—and it only made him wonder how hot it was under that uniform. Especially now that he was breathing hot air back into his own face.
Oh, he was never going to let Ghost live this down. Not in a million years.
He didn’t move a muscle for the next ten minutes, both for his own amusement and to let Ghost recharge as much as possible. The moment of truth arrived shortly after, when the man finally stirred and grumbled.
“Mornin’, Lt.” He says, voice cheery as Ghost’s grunt of acknowledgement is muffled by the mattress. “Beautiful day, eh?”
There’s a few seconds before he feels the Ghost’s arm tense.
Soap is practically vibrating with excitement.
“What the fuck?”
He grins; Ghost lifts his head off the mattress and they make eye contact.
“Didn’t take you for the cuddling type, sir.” Soap says as innocently as possible. He chooses not to comment on the way the eye holes are slightly misaligned. “I’ve been learning so much about you, lately..”
In one fluid movement, Ghost yanks his arm off as if he’s been stung and pushes himself up, twisting around until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Soap watches with unbridled joy, putting his good arm behind his head to prop it up.
“Not a bloody word of this to anyone, Johnny. Are we clear?”
Soap purses his lips; struggling to conceal the smile.
Ghost was wide awake and ready now. Body shifting, he turned to level one of those infamous glares, bright eyes more clear and alert than they’d been in days. “Are we clear?”
“Dunno ‘bout that, Lt. Think everyone deserves to know you need a teddy bear to take with you on overnight missions.”
He can tell Ghost wants to smack the shit eating grin right off his face.
“Johnny.”
“Ghost.”
“Feel like dyin’ today?”
He chuckles, “After all that work you put in to keep me alive? No, sir. You snore, by the way.”
“I don’t.”
“Aye.” He clicks his tongue, “You also moaned my name once or twice, Lt. Treatin’ you right, was I?”
He’d never seen Ghost’s eyes so expressive before; such incredulousness bordering on contempt, as if it was the most outlandish, stupid thing he’d ever heard—and it probably was. Soap could only imagine what the rest of his face looked like, and he wanted to laugh at how wildly the other man could display everything with just his eyes.
“Nightmare fuel, Johnny.” He says
“Thought nothin’ scared you?”
“That’s on top.”
“Just like me, in your dream?”
Ghost doesn't humour him with a verbal response; simply shakes his head, no doubt exasperated. He leans down to grab his supply pack, slipping it on as Soap watches with mild interest. There was something else there—this conversation wasn’t done, because he hadn’t been threatened yet. Ghost gets to his feet and moves across the room.
It was silent for another full minute as Ghost collects his belongings from the table, choosing to leave the empty cans and containers. Then, he slowly turns to face Soap who’s still idly lounging on the bed, one leg outstretched and other bent, one arm behind his head and the other resting on his chest. Still smiling.
“I swear,” Ghost’s voice lowers to a growl. “Not one word, or I’ll make whatever we do to Graves look like child's play when I’m done with you.”
Ah, there it was. They both know Ghost won’t actually kill him, but he could still do way worse in the way of payback. His reputation and dignity were on the line, and though being caught ‘cuddling’ wasn’t the end of the world, not being taken seriously was somehow worse than being shot at, or death. So, he decides to play nice.. for now.
“Aye..” Soap closes his fist and taps his chest twice, “Cross my heart, Lt.”
“Good. Now, get up and let’s go.”
“A toast,” Price says, raising his glass of whisky. “To the safe return of our boys.”
The toast is echoed among the rest of the team.
“Hope it wasn’t too much trouble keeping this one alive,” Price nods at Soap. “You know how he is.”
Soap shoots an incredulous look at The Captain who simply winks in response, then glances back to where Ghost sits at the opposite end of the bar. He’s got a beanie, a mask and his jacket hood pulled up, covering most of his face except for his eyes and bottom half of his eyebrows. His drink is untouched.
“Babysitting isn’t my strong suit, sir..” Ghost replies “But I managed.”
Price just laughs and offers another salute with his glass.
Admittedly, this was a nice moment after everything that had happened. The two had escaped the city only to get immediately thrown back into the mission; rescue Alejandro, re-group with 1-4-1, and set out on a mission to kill Graves. It’d all happened in the blink of an eye, and now here they all were, safe and sound.
“Still, I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece, son.” Price’s eyes drift from his face to shoulder. “Well, mostly, anyway.”
Gaz nods, sipping away on his bourbon. “Yeah. Four days, stuck with you? Surprised Ghost didn’t kill you first.”
Ghost grunts with agreement.
“There were a few moments I feared for my life,” He says, leaning back in his stool. “Only when he started to get sleep deprived.”
The quiet music in the background created such a relaxing, peaceful, environment, and he closes his eyes, taking another sip as the alcohol's warmth burned down his throat. The others had settled into comfortable silence, zoning out, but it was the sound of Gaz’s foot tapping the ground that brought him back to reality.
The night was still young. Plenty of time to get in trouble.
“I finally got him to sleep on day three..”
Ghost had been staring at full glass sitting in front of him, but at the last word, his head snapped up.
“Oh, yeah?” Price muses, glancing between the two of them. “How’d that go? Must’a been a bloody challenge.”
Soap brings the glass to his smirking lips, taking a loooong sip as he ignores the death stare Ghost has levelled into the side of his head.
“We both managed to sleep.. then I woke up with this one wrapped around me like I was his own personal teddy bear.”
The words hung between all of them; Gaz raises his eyebrows and glances between the two of them for confirmation, though Price just chuckles into his glass as if he knows exactly the shitstorm that’s about to follow without even looking to gauge Ghost’s reaction.
“Not quite.” Is all Ghost says.
First one to recognize the dangerous tone of his voice, Gaz snorts, “I’d recommend sleeping with one eye open tonight, MacTavish.”
“Bloody shame we’re gonna have another funeral tomorrow,” Price agrees, setting his cup down. He leans forward, forearms on the bar counter. “He was so young.”
“I ain’t dyin’, don’t be dramatic.”
Gaz sighs. “It’s like we can still hear his voice, Captain.”
As those two give themselves refills with the unsupervised collection of bottles, Soap finally spares a glance over to Ghost who, unsurprisingly, was still staring. The uncovered portion of his face betrayed no emotion, no anger, no annoyance, not even the slightest hint that he was bothered. Soap figured that wasn’t a good thing.
“Whatever you’re schemin’ over there,” He says, leaning over to pick up the untouched bourbon. He takes a sip, never breaking eye contact. “At least make it quick.”
Ghost watches him for a long while. “I’m not gonna do anything to you.”
“I doubt that.”
Ghost takes the glass back and slowly swirls the remaining liquid without replying. The fingers of his other, gloveless hand begin rhythmically tapping on the bar counter, and Soap’s full attention is drawn to it, part of his mind entertaining the thought of it being Morse code. Perhaps a detailed description of every torture method he plans to use.
Then, he sets the glass down, slides off the stool and gets to his feet. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to walk out without a word, but he stops next to Soap, leans in and murmurs:
“Cross my heart, Johnny.”
He lets those words settle in his mind, barely registering Ghost’s footsteps walking off. It won’t be that bad. He goes to share that sentiment with the other two, but Price and Gaz are already staring at him like they’re choosing what flowers to put on his casket; Gaz meets his gaze and grins, offering one more raised glass.
“Good luck, mate.” He says. “You’re gonna need it.”
Soap acknowledges the cheer, and downs the rest of the drink in one go.
He’s definitely going to need another.