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Injuries in the field happened.
Sometimes they were minor things that could be shrugged off or ignored until the mission was complete. Sometimes they were more serious, knocking soldiers out of action and rendering them useless to help their squadmates. Sometimes they were fatal and left soldiers just another casualty of war..
It was part of the job.
Everyone knew it. Everyone had experienced it.
It just became part of the everyday life they all lived.
So in the middle of the mission when he got nicked in his side, a lucky hit under his armor scored by a wild swing in a last ditch effort of the enemy soldier to stop his advance, Soap breathed out a curse but otherwise shrugged it off and quickly dispatched the enemy that caused it and moved on. During a quiet moment, he did a quick check of the wound. It stung and it was bleeding but it wasn’t deep and he could still fight. He could still get the mission done so he didn’t radio Ghost to report it. He was lucky it had happened inside, out of view of his lieutenant’s sniper scope.
So Soap pushed the small cut to the back of his mind and pushed forward to get the mission done.
Half an hour later the intel was secured. All squads met at exfil awaiting the helos that would take them back to base.
Soap forgot about the nick on his side, adrenaline and the feel good of a mission well complete coursing through his system and blocking out the sting of pain and the tacky feeling of blood well hidden by his tact vest. It wasn’t until he was seated in the helo and they were halfway back to base, when someone accidentally bumped an arm into his side, that he remembered he’d been injured. His breath caught in his throat and his jaw clenched at the spike of sharp pain. He said nothing, gave nothing away, and just shifted himself, turning just enough to protect his side from any further bumps.
His shifting did not go unnoticed.
"Okay Johnny?" Was spoken in a familiar low gravelly voice from his other side just loud enough for him to catch in the crowded space.
Soap tipped his head meeting the holes of the skull mask that hid his lieutenant's eyes in the helo’s dim lighting. Where he knew eyes were watching him intently, ever calculating and observant, always observant, missing nothing.
Soap knew Ghost would worry and possibly blame himself if Soap admitted that he was injured. He also knew he would get chewed out for not reporting when he got injured. He didn't want either of those things so he grinned at his superior.
"Aye LT. Just a bit crowded in here yeah?" He muttered, his voice as quiet as Ghost’s had been.
He wasn’t technically wrong, the helo was smaller than normal and absolutely crowded.
Ghost tilted his head just slightly and seemed to contemplate his words. Soap waited, almost anxiously - not that he let that show - until eventually Ghost hummed his agreement and shifted just slightly to brush his shoulder against Soap’s. It was silent permission and Soap gratefully leaned into it, leaned into Ghost.
Once back on base, it was easy for Soap to slip away unnoticed. Ghost’s attention would be diverted to focus on the mission report for the next few hours, leaving Soap with enough time to visit medical.
The cut was small, already stopped bleeding and starting to scab over. It was still disinfected and cleaned to ensure infection wouldn’t set in. Luckily it only required a butterfly bandage to help hold the skin together and a slightly bigger one to cover the cut completely.
It took only fifteen minutes before Soap was on his way to his room. Normally he would go hang out in Ghost’s office, keep his masked companion company while he worked through the mission report. Ghost never complained and Soap secretly hoped that that meant that he liked him hanging around.
However, Soap was starting to feel guilty about not reporting to Ghost about his injury. He knew how seriously Ghost took care of the people under his command. He knew Ghost had lost so many people, which was why Ghost was as strict as he was about reporting injuries.
Soap heaved a sigh as he pushed his way into his room. No, he didn’t deserve to sit with his lieutenant this time. Not after he didn’t report and also lied to him, telling him everything was okay.
A brisk knock drew Ghost’s attention from the mission report and he looked up, staring at the door expectantly, just waiting for whoever was on the other side to just waltz in. If he was being honest with himself, he was expecting Johnny to come walking in with a grin on his face. The Scotsman usually showed up to keep him company, making himself quite at home in Ghost’s small office, while Ghost finished working on the latest mission report.
It had become such the norm that Ghost couldn’t help but note that Johnny was late this time.
But the door never opened and the sergeant never appeared. Instead there was another knock, this time more hesitant than before.
Whoever was on the other side wasn’t Johnny, nor any of the other 141 for that matter because they never bothered waiting for permission to enter either. Instinctively, Ghost laid a hand on one of his knives before he spoke.
“Enter.”
The handle twisted and slowly the door inched open, revealing one of the nurses from the medical wing. Ghost slipped his hand from the hilt of his knife as his attention fell to the file that was in the nurse’s hand.
“Lieutenant,” the nurse said, respectfully, holding the file out toward him, “I have a medical report to go along with the last mission.”
“A medical report?” Ghost echoed, eyes narrowing in confusion, his voice harsh. No one had gotten injured to his knowledge. He reached out, gloved skeletal fingers extended over the expanse of his desk to take the outstretched file. The nurse wisely did not hesitate to hastily make her exit once the file had been delivered..
Smart move, Ghost mused silently as he dropped the file on top of the mission report. Everyone under his command knew they were supposed to report any and all injuries to him, regardless of how minor they were. It was his job on the field to assess the wellbeing of those under him. Whoever this poor soldier was, was certainly going to be remembering that for the rest of their career. Ghost pondered on all the possible punishments for insubordination as he flipped open the file.
Then his eyes fell to the name and his whole demeanor shifted. There on the page, printed in black ink, was perhaps the one name that made Ghost’s chest absolutely ache despite his best efforts to stop it from doing so.
There staring back at him was Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish
Ghost blinked slowly, his mind suddenly connecting all the dots together like a puzzle. Rage, blinding and boiling, quickly followed by a near overwhelming concern rolled through him.
His hands slammed down on the desk, shaking it, as he pushed himself to his feet, not even caring that his chair tipped over with the force of his movement. The office door slammed against the wall when he flung it open and stalked out into and down the hall.
Everyone quickly got out of his way as he briskly went in search of his sergeant.
Soap was stretched out on his stomach, starting out into the darkness of his room. He’d changed out of his tact gear, pants, and boots and into a soft cotton t-shirt and boxers. His arms were folded under his pillow and he heaved out a sigh as his mind wandered to Ghost, who would still be in his office working on the mission report. He wondered if the other man noticed that he hadn’t come to hang out this time. He wondered idly if Ghost wondered why he didn’t show.
A faint commotion from somewhere out in the hall reached his ears. Soap turned his head, eyes landing on his door just as the thing flew open. Startled, Soap scrambled to sit up. His eyes widened when they landed on the large figure now taking up the entirety of the doorway.
Shoulders tense, hands opening and closing at his sides and his chest heaving with each deep silent breath he took. Even though Soap couldn’t see his face because his light was off, he didn’t need it to know instantly that Ghost was pissed. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and he knew he was staring like a deer caught in the headlights.
He watched Ghost head tilt just the slightest before he was stepping into the confines of the room and slamming the door shut behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place was loud in Soap’s ear.
“H-hey Lt,” Soap sputtered nervously, scooting back until his back was gently bumping against the wall.
“Where.” Ghost’s voice was harsh, damn near deadly. He took a step closer and Soap couldn’t go anywhere. It hadn’t been a question.
Soap knew instantly that somehow Ghost had found out. He still tried to bullshit his way out. “Where?” He repeated, his voice coming out steadier than he felt, “Where what LT?”
Ghost growled, an angry rumbling noise as he took a step even closer, standing right at the edge of the bed. “MacTavish.”
“It wasn’t anything but a scratch LT!” Soap blurted out, knowing that he was at the very edge of Ghost’s patience. “I swear it wasn’t serious! I completely forgot about it until I got back to base!”
Ghost’s breath left him in a sharp exhale. His hands flexed again. “How.”
Soap winced, withering under the intense stare he could feel in him. He was silent for just a beat too long.
“Tell me how you got hurt sergeant, now,” Ghost’s patience was gone.
“An enemy nicked me with a knife under my armor while I was clearing Building B on the way to RV with the rest of the squad,” Soap explained, closing his eyes because he didn’t want to watch Ghost’s reaction even if he knew what it would be.
He knew Ghost would go still as stone. Would blink and then his mind would be off, racing with all the possibilities of what could’ve gone wrong.
“And you didn’t tell me.” The tone of Ghost’s voice had Soap’s eyes snapping open. He stared up at the large man, couldn’t see his face and he’s not sure he wants to know what emotion is now swimming in those eyes from how he sounded. He watched Ghost shift and his next words were orders, “Show me.”
“Ghost?” Soap questioned, sitting up slightly but still kept himself pressed against the wall.
“Show me Johnny.” Ghost repeated.
Soap opened and closed his mouth a few times. He was thrown completely off by Ghost’s request, well more orders at this point. Never had Ghost asked to see an injury of his - he started the thought process but quickly realized that was because Ghost had always known about them because Soap had reported it or Ghost had been there when it happened. And Ghost had always been the one that offered to patch him up, had always fussed over the wound and taken his time to examine it before he started patching it.
Oh.
“LT, it wasn’t anything serious.” Soap tried again and apparently those were the wrong words and Ghost’s patience finally snapped.
Ghost moved with lightning speed and gripped Soap’s ankle in his hand and yanked. Soap yelped as he was pulled toward the edge of the bed and he tried to fight to get away but it was futile. Ghost was bigger, stronger, and had the upper hand. Soap found himself pinned to the bed, Ghost’s weight on top of him, solid but not crushing.
Soap still struggled vainly as Ghost reached for something but all his movements ceased when he heard the slide of the knife leaving the sheath. His eyes widened when the blade came into view, clenched tightly in Ghost’s hand.
“Ghost!” Soap wheezed out, suddenly wary as the knife came closer and closer to his person. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew Ghost would never outright stab him but he still felt the slightest twinge of panic when the knife drew closer and a hand fisted in his shirt.
Soap’s eyes slipped shut and he braced himself, waiting to feel the sting of the blade. Instead the sound of fabric being sliced reached his ears and he felt his shirt fall away. He squinted his eyes open just slightly when he felt Ghost shift. His shirt was split down the middle, absolutely ruined, and Soap had a moment to feel annoyed before his attention was back on Ghost.
He could tell the larger man’s attention was on the bandage.
“Stay.” Another order, this one spoken in a softer voice, fell from Ghost as he straightened and turned away.
Soap didn’t dare disobey this time, merely watching as Ghost crossed the room to flick on the light before he disappeared into the bathroom. Soap suspected he was going for the medic kit and his suspicions were confirmed when he heard the briefest creak of cabinets and Ghost was returning with the small thing in his hand.
Soap stayed silent, just watching Ghost settle himself back on the bed and reach for the bandage. It was gently pulled away, exposing the shallow cut to Ghost’s gaze.
Soap swallowed, cheeks reddened as he turned his head away, muttering, “See I told you it wasn’t anything serious LT.”
“Shut up Johnny,” Ghost breathed, reaching out to tentatively run a gloved hand around the cut, careful not to touch it. His shoulders did relax just the tiniest of fractions as if he was relieved.
Silence stretched between them again as Soap just laid there and let Ghost feel all around the wound. Minutes passed before Ghost seemed satisfied and began to dig in the med kit looking for a bandage to recover it. He found one and carefully pressed it back over the scratch.
Soap had turned his head to watch, regret settling like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach at the sight of his lieutenant looking so relieved. “M sorry Simon,” He whispered, voice thick with emotion.
Ghost looked up at him, eyes now visible. Soap’s breath caught at the emotion swirling in their depths.
“Never again.” Ghost said, leaning forward until his forehead was resting on the meat of Soap’s shoulder. His breath fanned gently over Soap’s skin. “Never hide an injury from me again. Hear me Johnny?”
“Affirmative.” Soap promised, meaning it.