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Soap stares at the woman at the hospital reception, trying not to glare.
It’s not her fault that these weird foreign men came bursting in making demands in English at the speed of light.
But it’s not Soap’s fault his partner’s lost 2 litres of blood and the last time he’d seen him, Ghost was trying to tell him something while choking through his hyperventilations and couldn’t get words out of his mouth.
Soap inhales sharply and looks at his hands. His fingernails are weirdly clean because he’s been biting them off while he waits for what feels like days. He doesn’t want to know what sort of grime has been in his mouth. He doesn’t want to know what kind of grime got into Ghost’s gunshot wound while they were hauling ass to the closest hospital ‘cause he wasn’t going to make it if they tried to get back to base.
A hand lands on Soap’s knee. He hadn’t even realised he’d been tapping his foot incessantly.
“How’re you holding up, son?” Price asks, taking a seat beside Soap.
Soap huffs, putting the heels of his palms to his eyes and keeping his head down. “‘M fine,” he mutters.
He’s been watching Price and Gaz sitting beside him in the waiting area. They’re nervous, afraid even, Soap can tell. But they’re holding it together. Soap is trying to but failing spectacularly.
“Don’t lie to me, Soap,” Price says.
Soap sniffs wetly, and throws his hands out. “What the fuck am I meant to say? Captain? Eh?”
Am I meant to talk about how much I love him? How I can’t imagine life without him ‘cause I don’t want to? How he could be dead already and I’m gonna have to bury him in the ground and try to forget the best thing that’s ever happened to me?
Soap feels a sob coming out and tries to cut it off. A hand lands on his back, making his face fall into his hands and his tears start pouring out.
“Let it out, son, it’s alright.” Price’s voice is almost a whisper and his hand rubs circles on Soap’s back and it’s too much.
Soap doesn’t remember the last time he’s cried this hard.
Please, I don’t want him to die, please, I love him, please, just, please, Soap’s mind runs round and round, he might be saying things out loud but he can’t tell. His head’s almost between his legs with how low he’s bent over.
His chest aches and his face feels hot and puffy by the time his eyes open again. There’s someone sitting on his other side and Soap can tell it’s Gaz that’s holding onto his shoulder comfortingly.
“Thank you,” Soap says to both of the men beside him. They may well be the only reason he hasn’t considered putting a bullet in his head.
“No problem, brother,” Gaz says, tightening his hold slightly.
Soap feels a tap to his side. He looks over at Price and follows his gaze to the nurse walking up to them, the liaison they’ve been talking with who left them a couple hours ago.
“What’s happened?” Price asks.
“He’s okay,” the nurse says.
Soap’s eyes close as a wave of relief rushes over him.
“Thank fuck,” Gaz mutters, blowing out a breath.
“We’re still, uh, monitoring for any problems from the loss of blood, but you can see him. Just one is allowed.”
Price pats Soap’s back. “Go on, Soap.”
Soap’s legs pick himself up and before he knows it he’s walking in a daze behind the nurse who’s leading him through the halls.
People give him side-eyes as he passes, reminding Soap of how dirty he probably looks right now. He’d compulsively wiped himself down with alcohol swipes while he was waiting before but it probably did more to make him sticky than make him clean.
The door opens and Soap sees Simon’s sickly pale face, laying with his eyes closed.
Those eyes flick open when the nurse speaks.
“He could be… uh, confused, or he could act differently, because of the loss of blood. But he’s stable now, no need to worry.” She gives them both a nod goodbye and leaves.
“Johnny…” Ghost mutters.
“Simon,” Soap says, rushing to Ghost’s side.
His hands slide over Simon’s face to hold his cheeks and he presses their lips together gently. He can’t put into words how thankful he is to feel Simon pressing right back.
“You alright?” Ghost asks once Soap leans back and takes a seat.
Soap laughs but it sounds like a cry. “Am I alright? Steamin’ jesus, Ghost, do you hear yourself?”
“Your eyes,” Ghost says, “they’re red.”
Soap swallows. “Yeah, I’ve not exactly been celebrating, love… you lost a lot of blood, I thought-,” Soap sighs, pushing down the urge to cry again. “You could’ve-.”
“I know,” Ghost says. He moves his hand slightly and Soap immediately grabs it and links their fingers together.
“I’m sorry.” Ghost squeezes Soap’s hand as he says it.
“You dinnae have to apologise,” Soap says, “I was just bloody scared, Simon…”
Ghost hums, rubbing his thumb against Soap’s hand.
Soap leans as close to Simon as he can get without messing with any of the tubes connected to him, he buries his face in Ghost’s shoulder and sighs.
He’s safe, he’s fine, Soap repeats to himself. Trying to ignore the part of him that’s thinking about how he came close to losing Ghost and how likely this is to happen again.
“A bloodhound could sniff me out easily,” Simon mumbles.
Soap’s eyebrows knit together and he leans back to look at Ghost confusedly.
“‘Cause of the blood,” Ghost says, as if that clarifies his comment.
“Right,” Soap says, unsure where this has come from or is going.
“They have 300 million scent receptors, which makes them more than 40 times better at smelling compared to humans.”
“Really?” Soap asks.
“Yeah,” Ghost says, shutting his eyes. “Beagles have about 225 million,” he mumbles softly.
Soap smiles softly, resting his head on the edge of the bed. “Yeah?”
Ghost hums. “Same with German Shepherds.”
“Like Riley,” Soap mentions.
Simon’s mouth curves into a small smile. “Yeah, like Riley… Smart dog, him…”
“You getting sleepy, Si?” Soap asks, chuckling.
“Nah,” Ghost’s eyes blink open again, “you’ve got me talking about dogs now.”
“You’re the one who started talking about dogs, Ghost,” Soap laughs.
“Aw, sorry,” Ghost mumbles, “you can tell me to shut up.”
“No, no,” Soap says, squeezing Simon’s hand. “Keep talking, c’mon. What about sheepdogs, d’you know about them?”
Ghost looks at Soap for a moment. “Yeah,” he says.
“What are they like?”
“There’s a lot of different sheepdogs, Johnny,” Simon smiles cheekily.
“Border collie, then,” Soap says, rolling his eyes.
“Hm, Scottish, of course.”
“Naturally,” Soap says, settling himself in to listen.
“Well,” Ghost sighs. “Their name’s ‘border’ collie ‘cause they’re from around the English and Scottish border. Very agile dogs, they are, and smart. Oh, and people put on these trials or tests of their herding ability to look for possible mating pairings, but I’ve wanted to go for ages just to watch, they’re bloody incredible.”
Soap can’t believe half an hour ago he’d been preparing himself to accept that Simon had died and now he’s sitting here listening to him prattle on about dogs.
“You’re weird,” Ghost says suddenly.
“What?” Soap asks, scoffing.
“In my experience, Johnny, normal people aren’t interested in what I have to say about dogs.”
“I see.” Soap’s smile fades slightly.
“Yeah, most people think I’m strange.” Simon says, his eyes shutting again. “Not just because of the dog talk, you know… ‘cause I’d show up to school with bruises… and I didn’t like girls…”
“Well, those people are stupid,” Soap says, meaning it. “I’ll beat 'em up for you, don’t worry.”
“They were kids, Johnny, it’s not a big deal.”
“You were a kid, it is a big deal,” Soap snaps a bit more than he means to.
Simon peeks an eye open and smirks. “My hero,” he deadpans.
Soap scoffs, shaking his head. God, does he wish he could undo everything bad that’s happened to Simon but he knows it doesn’t work like that.
“What about you?” Ghost asks suddenly. “What were you like at school?”
Soap snorts. He remembers a deep discomfort permeating through his secondary school years, coming to a head in sixth form. He remembers the unsure child he used to be before he asked his friends to call him by his new name.
“Different,” he says eventually, “very different.”
“How so?”
Soap sighs, feeling this isn’t the greatest way to come out. “I’ll tell you another time.”
Ghost raises an eyebrow. “Looking forward to it.”
Soap smiles, and picks Simon’s hand up to kiss the back of it. “I’m taking leave with you. I don’t care what I have to do to get it, but we’re spending at least two weeks at my place, alright?”
Simon smiles. “Of course, babe…” he mumbles, his lids drooping.
“Stop trying to hold a conversation and go to sleep,” Soap laughs, “you’re about to make me doze off.”
Ghost groans, but doesn’t complain. “You’ll stay, right?” Simon’s eyes look earnestly into Soap’s.
“Of course,” Soap kisses Ghost’s hand once more then puts it down. “I love you,” he whispers.
Simon grips his hand tight. His lips part slightly but no words come out and his eyes start to glisten.
“You don’t have to say it back right now,” Soap says, “just wanted you to hear it again.”
Ghost nods and clears his throat. “Thanks,” he whispers.
Soap stays by Ghost’s side as he drifts off to sleep, running his fingers across Ghost’s palm and trying to quieten the ramblings in his mind.
I love you, I love you, I love you, thank God you're still here, I love you.