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Blood was rushing in his ears, and his brain was swimming in his skull. His legs felt like lead, and he couldn’t move his left shoulder without a searing pain tearing through it. Enemies on every side cornered him, and he knew he wasn’t making it out of there. He was currently partially hidden behind a crate to do his final sit-rep. He could tell his breaths were coming in as wheezing gasps but made no effort to quiet them. The mission had gone entirely astray and left Soap and his men venerable to attacks. He felt guilty, and shame shimmered inside him, knowing he was at fault for not checking the sources of the intel more. He only had to ensure everyone else got out safe; then, he could peacefully allow himself to succumb to his wounds. He moved his mostly unharmed shoulder to grasp his comms and spoke in a hushed tone. “Soap, this is Ghost. How copy?”
“Solid, Lt. Where are you?” The sergeant sounded winded, his voice breathy and raspy from over-exertion. “Unimportant, give me a sit-rep.” His legs were going numb, and he wondered if he could even walk if he somehow got out of this. His head lolled for a moment before he shook himself awake to hear Johnny’s reply. “Sir, are you injured? I can come and assist you.” Johnny’s soothing voice, filled with worry, caused a pang of sadness to flow through the lieutenant. “Negative, sergeant. Give me a sit-rep, now.” He needed to know the others were okay; he needed to know Johnny was okay.
“We’re all accounted for, heading for exfil. I’ll see you there; right Lt?” Ghost didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. The fact that he was lying on the dirty old floor with unusable legs and bleeding out. He just let out a bittersweet chuckle, deciding to ease the sergeant’s troubles for him. “Of course, Johnny. You lot get out of here; I’ll catch the next transport.” Soap knew he was lying; Ghost sounded too weak. “No, tell me where you are. I’ll come get you.” He’d already dislodged himself from the group of men headed to the helicopter, turning back into the old facility. The building looked as though it was falling apart. “No, sergeant. Get on the exfil; that’s an order.”
“When have you ever known me to listen to orders?” Soap silenced his radio for a moment, knowing Ghost would only yell at him to turn back. He couldn’t afford to be caught right now, needing all the time he could to find his lieutenant. He knew Ghost had last reported in at the west wing of the building; he immediately beelined for it. “Sergeant, where are you? Transport is about to leave.” The concerned voice of one of the privates who’d accompanied them on the mission flowed through the speaker. “Head out without me, looking for Ghost. Tell them to come back for us.” The Private let out a hesitant affirmative before radio silence was reinstated.
“Come on, Ghost, where are you?” He rapidly searched and cleared rooms, never feeling more relieved for his talent than at that moment. The Scot nearly considered heading over to the southern wing to explore when he heard a vile chuckle from across the hall. Soap near silently crept into the room and spotted an enemy soldier murmuring into his mic. “Found skull face; what should I do with him?” He nearly cried out in relief at the knowledge that his lieutenant was within reach. “What’s his status?” Johnny slipped further into the room, using other crates as cover as he inched closer to the pair.
“Delirious as shit, think he’s suffering from significant blood loss. Should I just put the bastard out of his misery?” Fuck, it sounded like Ghost was incapacitated; this made the situation all the more difficult. No exfil and an unresponsive lieutenant would mean he’d need to find impromptu shelter until it arrived. “Too much effort for some information. Permission to execute.” The response was uncaring and cold, forming ice in Johnny’s veins. He needed to act now. “Affirmative.” The soldier raised his gun to what should be the lieutenant’s head. His mind went blank, and without thinking, he lunged at the man, taking them both down and flinging the gun out of his hands.
“What the fuck!” They wrestled for a moment, the enemy attempting to throw the Scot off him. Johnny struggled to get the upper hand in the fight, making wild attempts at jabbing the man. The man reached his hand out for his gun, but the Scot only kicked it further away. When his leg tried to come back for balance, the soldier took the opportunity to knock him off center and throw him to the floor. Johnny felt the air vacate his lungs in quick succession, and he wheezed for a moment before righting himself, only to be met with the man nearing his gun. He only had moments to dodge for cover, avoiding the spray of bullets by mere inches. “Come out, asshole! I’m not done!”
Johnny checked his gear, realizing his gun had been thrown somewhere in the flurry of movements. He only had a knife on him, and throwing them was never one of his strong suits. He’d need to rush the man again and hope to catch an opening to slit his throat. “Steaming bloody Jesus, this is such a bad idea.” He murmured to himself before slipping to another set of boxes, more bullets shooting at him as he changed positions. “Come on; I don’t bite.” Johnny rolled his eyes and found a small coin to throw in another direction. It worked in Las Almas; maybe it’d work now. He threw it into a box further away in front of him, hoping the soldier would be foolish enough to believe he’d moved back a space. Lady Luck was on his side as the enemy began creeping forward, eyes glued to the spot where he'd thrown the coin.
He was so focused that he didn’t even notice the sergeant sneaking up behind in. Without a moment to spare, he plunged his knife into the man’s jugular and twisted. Johnny ripped the blade from his body and turned to assess Ghost, uncaring as the man sunk to the floor in a bloody heap. Once he reached Ghost, he took in the sorry state of his lieutenant. His eyes were bleary and unfocused, looking right through him as he tried to grab his attention. “C'moan, lt. We hae tae git ye oot o' 'ere.” His accent had severely thickened in his worry. Finally, Ghost’s eyes snapped to his in muted amusement.
“English, Johnny.” Soap let out a watery laugh, trying to avoid the tears that were pooling in his eyes. “Aye, sir. Ah will gie ye th' translation efter.” He hoisted the man up, noticing how Ghost couldn’t hold up his own weight, and placed it entirely on Johnny. He wasn’t weak, but the lieutenant was massive, surpassing most force members in height and strength. They stumbled through the hallway, Soap hastily grabbing the corpse’s gun before they left the room. “Stay with me, Ghost.”
Johnny checked around every corner and behind them every few seconds, gun at the ready if necessary. He didn’t breathe until they were outside and a few feet away from the facility, hidden among the trees and brush. He placed the lieutenant as gently as possible on the ground and quickly began assessing his wounds further. The man’s left shoulder was dislocated and would need to be popped back into place. He had a gunshot wound in his right abdomen, and his legs were unresponsive, most likely from blood loss. Johnny created a makeshift tourniquet with his torn jacket and debated whether or not he should pop his shoulder back in. “You got pretty eyes, sergeant.”
Soap’s mind went to a complete halt, and he looked up at the Brit in confusion. “Huh?” Ghost chuckled an adorable little laugh that made his heart swell for a moment. “You’re dead gorgeous, Johnny. I’d fancy a date with you after this rubbish.” Soap wanted to laugh at how British the man sounded at the moment but kept it to himself. The man was obviously delirious from the large amounts of blood he’d lost earlier. His radio clicked and pierced the moment, “Bravo 7-1, do you copy?” Soap had never been more relieved to hear the voice of his captain. “Solid, sir. Need a medic.”
“You injured, son?” Johnny glanced at Ghost, gently shaking him when the man’s head began to lull. “Not me, sir. We need a blood transfusion; Ghost’s lost a lot o' blood.” The radio was silent for a moment; Price most likely relayed information to the others. “Copy that, sergeant. Medics and exfil are 5 minutes out. Keep him awake.” He let out an affirmative before radio silence once again fell over them. “Almost there, Simon. Just hold on.” Ghost continued to gaze around lazily, his movements slow and languid. The sergeant nearly cried out in reprieve when he heard the sound of copter blades tearing through the sky. The exfil landed not too far from their position, and Soap hoisted the other man up, praying no enemies would vacate the base to attack them.
Once they were within sight, many men rushed over, taking the lieutenant from his weakening grip and hurrying to the helicopter where multiple medics had set up. Price also stepped out as other men began securing the perimeter to keep them safe before they took off again. “You alright, son?” Johnny’s feet were a bit wobbling, but it was more from over-exertion, not his injuries. “Aye, sir. Just a few scratches.” The captain nodded, moving to help bring the sergeant over, where he heavily sat down for the first time in a while. “We need O-Positive blood.” It was just their luck that the medics had all run out of Ghost’s blood type, desperately searching the faces of the men before them.
“I’m O-Pos.” Soap scooted over to be closer to the medics, who assessed him for a moment. “Sergeant, you’re already weak. You might pass out if we draw your blood.” He ignored them, instead rolling up his sleeve and presenting his wrist. “And he might die if he doesn’t get blood.” The medics looked hesitant, glancing over at their captain for guidance. Price looked absolutely exasperated, heaving a sigh, nodding for them to continue. The nurses began to go through standard procedures of sanitizing the area before inserting the needle and sucking the blood from his veins. His head swam, and he felt himself grow weaker at the moment. Price had come up behind him to place a comforting but firm arm on his shoulder to prevent him from falling back when he inevitably passed out.
“Almost there, sergeant. You’re doing great.” Johnny didn’t care; he just stared at Ghost as he watched the nurses stitching up his wounds and fixing his dislocated shoulder. The lieutenant had shifted his eyes to look over at him, eyes still hazy. “He’s going to be okay, Soap.” The needle was removed from his arm, and Johnny slipped into the inky blackness of unconsciousness.
When he rejoined the waking world, he was surprised to find himself in his room. He had apparently been looked over by the medics in his sleep, evident by the few cuts he received, now having small bandages on him. He glanced at his nightstand and noticed a cup of water and some sugary juice, a note beside the items. “For your blood sugar, - Price” He chuckled quietly, sipping carefully on the liquids before sighing and laying back in his bed. He needed to check on Ghost, but he was still reeling from having his blood drawn, especially in such a fragile state.
It took him a few more minutes of resting to get himself out of his barracks fully. He’d changed into his fatigues and made his way to the med bay, where he was sure to find a disgruntled Ghost. The man always hated being kept there, being constantly monitored and looked after. It wasn’t common for the lieutenant to find himself there, but when he did, the man would be sour for the rest of the week. Just as expected, Ghost sat in his hospital bed, far too small for his hulking figure with a deep furrow behind the balaclava. When the Brit caught sight of him, his eyes softened for a moment before they grew furious. “Sergeant.” Oh shit, he was in trouble, wasn’t he?
“Hey, Lt, how are you feeling?” The man ignored him and huffed quietly, turning away from him. It reminded Soap of a small child when they didn’t get their way. “Thank you, Johnny, for saving my life!” He murmured in a terrible impression of the Brit, causing Ghost to turn at him with a snarl. “Saving my life? You almost got us both killed!” Now, it was Johnny’s turn to be upset. “If I hadn’t done something, you would have died back there!”
“If I had done so, then it was my time to go.” Soap let out a bitter laugh and wanted to smack the man for how foolish he sounded. “You absolute eijit! You should be grateful I went back for you.” Ghost looked five seconds away from lunging at him if the machines and wires hooked to him weren’t preventing it. “You acted on emotion alone and could have been killed.” Johnny was too fired up to notice the look of pain and fear that hid behind the man’s furious gaze. “I was trying to protect you!”
“Protect me? Sergeant, I had the situation under control, and you ruined everything by acting foolishly.” It was all rubbish; Ghost knew he would have died back there and had made peace with it. His life was nothing but an insignificant piece of the puzzle. As long as his men got out alive, it would have all been fine. “Under control? Yeah, you seemed really in control when you had a fucking gun pointed at your head.” Ghost had been too out of it to remember the scenario occurring, unsure of when he’d been held at gunpoint. “You’re out of line, MacTavish.”
“This is a really great thank you for saving your life.” Soap knew he had snared the sentence, his voice dripping with venom as he spat out the words. He was so furious at Ghost’s blatant disregard for his own safety, his own life. It made him sick to think of what had caused the man before him to become so careless about death. “You almost ruined our entire mission. What would I have done if I knew you’d been killed because of me?” Something about the way Simon’s voice shook as he spoke the words caused him to pause. At that moment, he realized tears were brewing in the man’s eyes, and he turned away to wipe them quickly. “Simon…”
“No, that’s it. You’re banned from missions until you can get your head straight.” Now, Soap was devastated. The military was his entire life; he craved being out in the field. The adrenaline, the rush when he completed his assignment, was what he needed to get out of bed in the morning. He didn’t know who he was without it. “Sir, you can’t just-“
“No, this isn’t up for negotiation. Now get out.” Soap stood there for a moment, absolutely speechless. He was furious that Ghost could be so harsh; he’d saved the man’s life, for God’s sake. Johnny didn’t say anything more, only quietly slipping out of the room to stew in his thoughts for the rest of the day. Price later informed him that he had to agree with Ghost, despite his act of insubordination, despite his good intentions. Soap nearly punched the wall beside him but remained stoic, only nodding before retreating into himself.
Johnny spent the next few days trapped in his head, completely disconnected from his own body. He completed meaningless tasks around the base but needed something more to satisfy his need for action. He’d sparred with any man he could get his hands on, wishing to grasp that adrenaline rush, even a little. When his attempts proved to be useless, he stopped coming out of his barracks altogether. Ghost was discharged from medical a few days after his shutdown, the two men avoiding each other like the plague. Price was increasingly worried for the men and began considering forcing the pair to take psych evaluations. Eventually, Gaz took it upon himself to speak with Soap.
The sight of his friend curled up in messy sheets, the room looking wrecked from how disorderly it had become, made Gaz even more worried. The other sergeant prided himself on his cleanliness, always ensuring everything was spic and span. The man had once confessed he liked to ensure his room was always orderly because he’d fallen into a major depressive episode for months back in his youth. It was a way for the Scot to check in with himself and ensure he was doing okay. Seeing the usually spotless bedroom in such a state of disarray sent alarm bells in Gaz’s mind.
“Hey, Soap, mind if we talk for a moment.” Johnny only hummed; his voice muffled by the covers. Gaz moved some clothes out of the way and moved to sit on the bed near the other man’s feet. “What’s going on? This isn’t like you.” Soap moved to sit up, his usual fluffy mohawk sitting lifeless on his head and curling into his eyes. His eye bags were dark and deep, showing the man had been losing sleep for many days. “I’m alright, mate. Don’t worry about me.” Gaz hated how easily Soap brushed him aside, despite his evident struggle. “You’ve been in here for days. Have you even been eating?”
“Aye, it’s fine.” Gaz wanted nothing more than to knock some sense into the Scot but pushed forwards anyways. “You should talk to Ghost. I know you both had a fight after the last mission. You guys have been off all week.” Soap sighed, his brow furrowing further with the mention of his lieutenant. He was nervous about speaking with the Brit; he’d been genuinely hurt after their last conversation. Perhaps he was a coward, but he didn’t want to be hurt like that again. “I can’t, Gaz.”
The sergeant wanted to push him further but noticed how upset Soap had grown as the conversation progressed. He wasn’t going to make any headway in the topic at his current state. Gaz placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Alright, mate; I’m here for you.” Without another word, the man left his barracks and headed to Price to relay what had occurred. Price looked further concerned, realizing the depth of how torn the men were. It was up to him to knock some sense into the lieutenant. He knew exactly where to find him, the same place he’d been the entire week.
Price had to replace two punching bags with how often the lieutenant was tearing them apart. Ghost tended to channel his emotions into anger, unsure of how to process his other feelings. He knew he was mad at Soap for risking his life, but he was also grateful the man had saved him. He’d never admit it because Johnny had been foolish in his attempt. A small self-deprecating part of himself whispered of how he didn’t deserve that kind of care, and it only fueled him to punch the bag harder. Price stood by for a moment, assessing how best to approach the situation. Ghost was far too aggressive for a typical sit-down talk, leaving the captain with few options. He was getting too old for this.
“Simon!” Ghost paused mid-swing and turned swiftly to face the captain, irritation on his features. “Care to spar?” That got through to the man, nodding immediately before heading to the ring. Price carefully placed his hat on the nearest bench, ensuring the precious article of clothing wouldn’t be damaged. The lieutenant cracked his knuckles in a usually intimidating fashion, but it only spurred Price on to roll his eyes. They circled with predatory eyes, sizing each other and waiting for the other to crack. Ghost was the first on the offensive, irritation making him quick to snap. His fury was blinding him and spurred him to be messing. Price quickly overtook the man, knocking him to his back in record time.]
“Your anger is clouding your judgment, lieutenant, and I’m not just talking about in the ring.” Ghost didn’t say anything, only growing angry as he lunged for the man as soon as he gathered his footing. Again, Price knocked the man to his knees, forcing a grunt from his masked opponent. “You need to resolve this issue before it causes irreparable damage.” Simon paused, looking at his captain with sad and fearful eyes, his guarded expression again falling over his face. Getting the man to crack was difficult, but Price knew his weak points after years of prodding. “Johnny’s been a mess since your fight.” Once more, Ghost faltered and stared at the man, almost forgetting the match and willing the captain to continue.
“I can tell your fight is tearing both of you up; you need to talk to each other. You really hurt him, Simon.” The high and mighty lieutenant cracked before his eyes, splintering into fractions. His eyes grew devastated, and his shoulders slumped forward in shame. “I can’t, Price.” Knowing their sparring match was over, the captain approached the distressed man and carefully placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why not, son?”
“I’m terrified. I can’t lose him, sir. I’ve already lost so many people I… I care about… If I lost Johnny, I might just….” He couldn’t finish the sentence, looking away with a pained expression. Price knew of his past, pieces of information to explain the man who became a Ghost. Even without the whole picture, you could tell the man had been through great pain throughout his life. “When I was… bleeding out, all I could think about was him getting to safety. When that didn’t happen, I just… I’m so angry he was so reckless with his life.”
“But, Simon, aren’t you being a bit hypocritical?” The captain was right; Ghost tended not to be as careful with his own well-being at most moments. Even back on the mission, he grew irritated and just wanted to get the whole thing over with. He grew sloppy, and that’s how he’d been cornered in the first place. “Talk to him, son. That’s the only way to fix this.” With that, Price left the man to stew over his words. It was ultimately up to Ghost to make the right decision, and by God did he hope he would.
Johnny hadn’t moved much after Gaz left his room, wallowing in his sorrows. He was just so upset with the lieutenant, but he was also worried for the man. Something about his demeanor when he’d reprimanded him seemed off, almost desperate in his fury. It left a sour taste in the sergeant’s mouth. He knew what he needed to do, so he peeled himself from the sheets for the first time in days. He was immediately hit with a wave of vertigo but shoved it aside. There was a small tray of food he hadn’t noticed place, assuming Gaz had brought it in during his visit. Soap carefully began eating, mindful not to devour it too quickly and get sick. Once he had a bit more energy, he began cleaning up the room around him, finally feeling as though he could breathe once the mess was off the floor.
It would need a much deeper clean and some intense organizing, but he felt a little more secure in himself. Now, he needed to deal with the mess that was Soap MacTavish. He took an extremely long shower, scrubbing his skin raw to remove the thick layer of grime that had amassed in his depressed moping. Next, he ensured all his wounds were healing well, and none had grown infected in his neglect. Soap was slowly feeling more human as he continued to care for himself, even if it was very minimal at the current moment. He stepped out of his bathroom a new man, mustering up the courage to speak with his lieutenant. As he began opening the door, though, he was met with less resistance than usual as it flung open quickly.
Both men froze, staring at each other blankly as they realized what had occurred. Simon stood before him in his usual glory, though a cover of exhaustion rested on his usually stiff shoulders. He looked nervous, his regular guarded expression nowhere to be seen, allowing Soap to peer into his soul. “May I come in?” His usually firm voice was soft, almost timid in his question. Johnny could only nod like a fool as the Brit stepped in and surveyed the place. Now, he couldn’t be more thankful that he’d tidied up the area before the man arrived. “We need to talk.”
The Scot stood at the door, motionless, for a few moments before shutting it and approaching the bed. He sat down, avoiding any eye contact with the lieutenant in fear of what was to come. “If you’re here to yell at me again, please just leave.” His voice was weak and shaky, but he couldn’t contain the hurt that coursed through him. He wouldn’t be able to handle another screaming match with Ghost; it would be too much for him. “I’m not here for that, Johnny.” Now, Soap braved himself to look at the Brit and was shocked to see regret and sorrow in his eyes.
“Then why are you here, Simon?” Any words he had gathered to say to the other man had fled him. He needed to hear what the lieutenant had to say to him, a small piece of him hoping it was an apology at least. Simon sighed, doing something Johnny would never have expected of him. His hands carefully moved to the hem of his balaclava, and he removed it in one fluid motion. He sat, silently studying the man’s face greedily. “I’m sorry for any pain I caused you. I wasn’t in my right headspace, but that’s no excuse.” Soap could only watch helplessly as the man approached the bed and sat beside him, his pale blonde eyelashes fluttering delicately against his cheeks.
“I was… terrified when I heard you planned to come to get me. Knowing you were risking your life to save me-” Johnny cut him off before the self-deprecating thought could manifest further. “Of course, I would try to save you, Lt! You’re… important to me.” Simon’s eyes softened, and he let out a bittersweet chuckle, “You’re too good, Johnny. I don’t deserve your kindness.” He couldn’t help himself and brought careful hands to cup the Brit’s cheeks. His thumbs gently traced over the scars on his features, and a small smile graced the Scot’s face. To Ghost, the man looked absolutely ethereal.
“You deserve all the kindness in the world, Si.” It was too much, and Simon had to look away, still allowing his face to be held so tenderly. “Please don’t risk yourself for me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were hurt because of my actions.” His voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear in the silent space. Johnny sighed, leaning to place their foreheads together. This level of intimacy between them was new and scary, yet so comforting all the same. “I’m sorry I was so reckless, but when I heard you over comms… I can’t lose you either, Simon.” The two men gazed into each other’s eyes, tracing the shifting colors of their irises. Neither man moved to break the moment, nor push it further, content to stay just as they were.
“Please take care of yourself, Johnny.” He smiled delicately, tracing along the man’s nose with a fond look deep in his eyes. “Same to you, Lt.”