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“Ahm not getting sick, LT, I’ll be just fine,” Johnny pouted, giving Ghost a shove and heading to his barrack. There was no way he was getting sick, especially not because he refused to wear a jacket in the rain.
He was from Glasgow for Christ’s sake! He could handle a little rain.
Soap walked straight to his barrack, ignoring whatever Ghost may or may not have been saying behind him. His words were coming in a little fuzzy anyway, and if he was saying something important he would have stopped Soap right then to tell him.
But he didn’t, so John trekked on.
All the way to his barrack, a slow chill making its way up his spine, and a cold sweat forming on his temples. What in the hell?
He reached a hand up, pressing against his forehead.
So he was a little warm, he was speed-walking to his barrack right after a mission, it happens, whatever…
He finally reached his door, a sigh of relief whispering out into the hall as he opened his door, flopping on his bed. He was feeling a little dizzy… No, he was fine, certainly.
He was not going to let a little post-mission exhaustion get to him. Soap grabbed a towel and his clear toiletries case, making his way to the showers. He was feeling properly exhausted now, but he knew he needed to wash off the gross… everything from the mission, and he was determined to do so.
He made quick work of his clothes once he made it to the communal showers, setting his things neatly in a locker before taking one of the showers farther from the door. He gave himself a quick scrub, but found that where he would usually be feeling better or in some way cleaner, he still felt that grossness cloying to his skin.
He ended up taking a fifteen minute shower, trying to scrub away that gross nasty feeling in his skin before giving up, hoping some rest would do him good instead.
He got out, after a quick shampoo to his hair, opting to use a leave-in conditioner once he got back to his bunk since he had taken so long already.
He had pulled on the set of fatigues he brought and made his way back to his barrack, still feeling sluggish. He all but trudged through the hall, carrying his towel and bag under his arm and staring more at the floor than where he was going.
He walked face first into someone’s chest, and it took him a minute to realize.
“Sergeant?” Ghost’s rumble was extra loud from where Soap’s face was still pressed into his chest, and it was then that John realized he had a headache.
“Huh? Oh, Christ! Sorry, Ghost, I’ll just get out of your way—” John started, but he stopped as soon as he felt a hand holding his jaw, none-to-gently, and was forced to look up, almost standing on his tippy toes.
“Not so fast, Soap,” Ghost rumbled again, inspecting the entirety of Soap’s face. Stuck in their little staring contest, John didn’t realize what was happening until an ungloved hand came up to his forehead.
Soap blinked owlishly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He felt Ghost run a knuckle between his brows, and he let his forehead relax again.
“Thought you said you weren’t getting sick?” Ghost asked, releasing his jaw. From how close Soap was still standing, he could see that Ghost had an eyebrow raised.
“I-I, uh,” He tried to answer, but his headache, confusion, and the still ever constant gross feeling left him basically speechless.
“Fuckin’ hell, you must be sicker than I thought. To your bunk, Sergeant, I’ll be by with some meds and a meal.” Ghost stated, giving John a pat on the shoulder as he turned to go, turning around when he realized Soap was still stunned and standing still. “I said go, Johnny,” Ghost squoze his shoulder, and John sputtered a little before just nodding and turning, heading straight to his bunk.
What the hell was that? Ghost’s never done something like that before, least of all offered to help someone, especially if they were sick.
John ended up tripping his way to his barrack, stumbling through the hall as his vision started to swim much worse. He hadn’t realized how much time had gone by until he found himself leaned against the wall of the hallway, fighting off his now spinning vision and some strong nausea.
“Christ, couldn’t even make it to your room, Johnny?” Ghost asked, and John felt a hand wrap around his waist, barely even hearing what whoever was behind him was saying.
“Oi, a’ least take me out tae dinner first,” John mumbled, trying to keep himself upright, fighting against the hands that were basically carrying him.
“C’mon, Johnny, we’re not too far,” Ghost pushed, all but shoving Soap under his arm and tucking him under his shoulder, guiding him back to his room none-too-gently.
Soap mumbled a few other things under his breath, Ghost not understanding most of it. He dragged John back to his barrack, which was only a few more doors down the hall, and quickly opened the door, guiding him inside and gently helping him sit on the bed.
“Lay down, Johnny,” Ghost instructed, and the Scot seemed to be coming back to himself a little, because he had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Aye, Ghost,” Was his mumbled reply, and the Brit watched as he moved quite sluggishly to lay.
Ghost sighed, grabbing the plastic bag full of meds and supplies that he had grabbed, placing it on the bedside table to rummage through it. He grabbed a water bottle and a small packet of pills, placed them on the bedside table and dug back through the bag to grab a chemical cooling strip.
“Here, Soap,” Ghost sighed, snapping the cooling strip to activate it, laying it on John’s forehead, the sharp cold cutting through his headache. “You’re such a bloody idiot. You wouldn’t be sick right now if you had listened to me earlier,” Ghost grumbled, and Soap huffed a laugh, his eyes closed as his head faced the ceiling.
“Now I get to listen to you for even longer, LT,” He joked, and Ghost sighed, his annoyance clear as day. “If ah’m really taking up your time, you don’t have to stick around,” John started, but Ghost shook his head.
“I wouldn’t have offered if I had anything better to do,” For some reason, that particular brand of indifference hurt coming from Ghost, especially after everything they’d done together. After every recent mission, after everything with Shepherd, after Las Almas.
Maybe it was because he was sick. Maybe it was Ghost using the same level of indifference against him the last few weeks. Maybe it was his own bottled frustration from the last few missions. Maybe it was everything.
Whatever it was, Soap felt a scowl tug on his face, and he let out an annoyed huff.
“So you would leave then?” His voice sounded more bitter and angry than he wanted, and he regretted his tone immediately when it was followed by an equally bitter silence. After a minute, he sighed.
John assumed Ghost had just left, snuck out like he usually did whenever any kind of emotional anything graced its presence around him, but then Soap felt a gloved hand reach his arm.
“No,” Ghost’s voice was quiet, quieter and weaker than Soap had ever heard it before. “I wouldn’t leave you, Johnny.” He finished, his hand sliding off his arm, as if Ghost thought his touch was unwanted.
Soap reached out, blindly trying to feel for where Ghost’s hand went when it was gently placed in his hand.
“There you are,” John smiled, and he heard Ghost huff. It sounded like a poorly covered laugh, but Johnny would take it. “Thought you had left me alone, after tha’,” John started, sighing as he felt his headache kick down another notch. “Ahm sorry, I didn’t mean to be so…” John was struggling to find the word, but he heard Ghost hum.
“It’s alright, Johnny. I get it.” He gave John’s hand a squeeze, and the Scot let out a relieved breath.
They sat like that, just for a minute, Ghost in dead silence and John with infrequent hums and haws.
“Shit, here,” Ghost broke the little trance they were in, John finally opening his eyes to the dim lamp light of his room. Ghost was gently handing him the water bottle, helping him sit up as he popped the painkillers out of their foils. “These’ll help with the pain and the fever. You eaten in the last few hours?” Ghost asked, withholding the long tablets from Soap until he answered.
“Nae, haven’t eaten since we got back,” He admitted, and Ghost sighed.
“I’ll be right back then. Take these, I’ll be back in a few minutes with somethin’ from the mess.” He sighed, standing from where he had dragged John’s desk chair to the bedside. Soap heard his knees pop, but didn’t say anything as Ghost quietly walked out.
He sighed, taking a sip of water and popping the pills in his mouth before taking a bigger sip and swallowing. He would’ve taken them dry if he had to, but he’d rather take them with the least amount of fuss, especially since John knows he’s the type to throw up pills on a completely empty stomach.
As soon as he had settled back down on his bed, content in the warmth of the room, Ghost had returned, a prepackaged sandwich in hand, as well as an apple. Soap felt the sandwich hit his stomach as Ghost tossed it to him, and he hummed his thanks before all but ripping it open.
“Better?” Ghost asked, and John hummed again, giving him a thumbs up. It wasn’t the best thing he’d had, but it was so he didn’t throw up, and that was enough to get him to finish it.
John sat up for a moment, his headache gone, dizziness mostly settled, and he felt less feverish.
“Seems like you’re already on the up n’ up, Sergeant,” Ghost grunted, moving to stand again, but Soap stopped him, grabbing his hand.
“Thought you said you wouldn’t leave me,” Johnny was staring at where he had grabbed Ghost’s wrist, missing his hand by an inch.
“You askin’ me to stay?” Ghost asked, and there was something in his tone that Soap had yet to hear.
Johnny knew when Ghost was being serious, when he was joking, when he was sad, when he was angry, Soap knew whatever Ghost was feeling based on his tone and eyes alone. But, hearing him here?
John felt out of his depth. He looked up, finally, catching Ghost’s eyes. And that was what Soap had been missing… there was hope. He let out a chuckle, half relief and half disbelief.
“‘Course Ahm askin’ ya to stay,” He started, giving the larger man’s wrist a tug. “If you want to,” He tacked on, not wanting Ghost to feel trapped. He waited a moment, the Brit standing still until John gave another tug.
Ghost relented with a sigh, and Soap pulled him onto the bed, the Brit raising an eyebrow.
“Trying to get me sick, Johnny?” Soap recognized the teasing tone, and he let out a huff.
“‘Course not, LT, need at least one of us healthy enough to torment Gaz,” He joked back, and the two fell into banter easily, John slowly maneuvering them both so that they were laying down.
It wasn’t until Ghost’s head hit the pillow that he realized the situation: that he was laying down, in Johnny’s bed, with Johnny. He blinked a few times, as if to check if this whole situation was real, and he was surprised to find that it was.
“You good there?” Soap checked in, and Ghost blinked a few more times, grunting an affirmative, since words were escaping him quite quickly. “Havin’ a bout?” Soap asked, and that was usually what he asked when Ghost was having one of these.
Whenever Ghost was nonverbal, Soap took the opportunity to joke and tease, knowing Ghost couldn’t really retort. It didn’t stop him from hitting Soap, however, and so John was comfortable knowing that if he ever went too far, Ghost would correct him.
Ghost gave a hum this time, still an affirmative, and Soap nodded. The Brit could feel it more than see it, but he found that he didn’t mind it all that much.
Despite Ghost expecting Soap to start talking his ear off, all he got instead was a peaceful silence. Comfortable and easy, and he felt himself starting to drift off. He heard a gentle snore from John, and that was how he knew he was fucked.
He could always try and leave, it wouldn’t be hard, being dead silent was a talent of his. But, he also knew that in their line of work, being a light sleeper was ingrained in everyone.
What Ghost hadn’t realized, was that his overthinking had lulled him closer to sleep than before, and paired with the warmth of the man next to him, the pattern of John’s breathing, and the gentle snores, there was no way he was going to leave.
Oh well, it didn’t really seem like John minded all that much. Just as Ghost was about to fully pass out, he felt Soap’s arm slide over his waist, tugging him closer.
How cruel would it be to deny his poor, sick Sergeant’s request?