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It’s been 16 hours and 3 refills since you took off.
An elongated sigh pushes through Price’s mouth as the pilot announces you’re about to land, lightly coating over the static bicker of Soap and Gaz over what type of crackers are the best. They cease only at the shrill whistle of his fingers, mildly annoyed glances molding to excitement when they see the ground.
“Back to the motherland.” Soap manages through a stretch, earning numerous questionable gazes from those around him. “What’a you say about hitting the bar?”
Cheers follow, and your eyes shut at the uproar that starts the moment the aircraft touches the ground. You flatten yourself against the wall as soldiers pass, berating your ears with plans of what bar to go to as they walk.
When your feet finally do meet the soil, Soap is already coming your way, expectant gaze joined with a bright smile. Price manages to still a hand on your shoulder before he can reach it, and you silently inhale in relief.
“Comin’ along, lass?” He questions, head nodding toward the mass of your squadron heading for the streets. “Looks like you could use a drink or two.”
“Bloody Hell. Get lost, Johnny.”
A second presence settles at your side, and you can already sense the annoyance radiating off of him. Ghost holds a squint to Soap, glancing to you after a round of silence passes.
“Yeah, uh, John.. I think I’ll stay in tonight.” You smile, lightly patting the hand Price slipped off your shoulder. “Captain will keep you company, yeah?”
Price sighs once more, waving Soap off with a flick of his finger.
“You know the hotel we’ll be checking in at?”
Ghost nods, and you follow suite. Your luggage sits encased between his arms and chest, with a tiny bag of his own strung over his back.
“Right, then I’ll see you two later.” Price turns around, steps dragging as he takes off after his men. “If I’m even alive by then.”
He waves, and soon enough, the two of you are the only that remain on the airstrip. Silence encompasses your ride to the hotel, with your taxi driver holding a near bewildered gaze at the sight of Ghost. You’re even forced to send him up to your room to stop the hotel workers from shivering while checking in.
It’s still quiet when you unlock the door. The sight of relief that escapes you is smothered by his presence, and you decide to leave him be, offering a light squeeze to his arm as you take your things. He ducks down while you string his own bag from your fingers, mask lifting up to peck you on the cheek.
“Cheers, lovie.”
You smile, stealing a quick graze of his lips before he can pull it back down.
“I’ll get some towels from the lobby.”
Once the bags are set, you head out. To your dismay, one of the same workers that helped check you in earlier is in the area, and they greet you with a rather particular smile that has you nearly running back to your room. The shower is off once you return, so you slip one of the towels in your stack through the door.
Just as you start to unpack, a string of curses falls privy to your ears. Worry settles in your gut, and you quickly make your way back to the bathroom, only to gape at the sight before you.
Ghost stands in front of the mirror, fully dressed. However, the towel you had given him less than a minute ago is stained black, as is his skin. Dark, watery streaks leak from his eyes, dragged down to his collarbone likely from putting on his shirt. He sighs before setting the sodden towel down, glancing at you through the mirror’s reflection.
“Rubbish.” He scowls, running a hand through his hair. “Ran out of wipes.”
Wipes?
You nearly gasp, leaving Ghost and returning within a matter of seconds. He turns toward you at the sound of the bathroom door closing, eyes widening as you hold a pack of makeup wipes against your chest.
“You mentioned how you hate scented ones, so I got the fragrance free kind.” You’re practically grinning now, fingers pointing to the label on the bottom of the package. “And they’re family size!”
He’s quiet. It feels like his breath is caught in his throat, wrapping around his tongue and choking him. Darkened eyes gaze at you, slightly wide with shock. Nearly at a loss for words, his mouth slowly parts, and he blinks.
There’s a warmth that pools in his chest, consuming all that he is. It’s unfamiliar, and he wants to be scared. But it’s you, and the reminder makes his fingers twitch.
“Lovie..”
“Ah ah-“ Your spare hand reaches out, poking his chest as your head cranes away from him. “You’re not kissing me until your face is clean.”
Ghost grumbles lightly at your objection, picking you up and set you on the counter. You set the wipes down, gently clasping your hands together. He’s nearly level height with you now, caked eyelashes darting from their hold on your gaze to the mirror once they’re caught.
You fold the first wipe in half, starting at the base of his collarbone. His skin is warm to the touch, holding the the urge to dote on him tightly behind your teeth. That wipe, along with three others, are completely used by the time you reach his jawline.
“Halfway there.” You declare, tilting his chin with your fingers. “Okay so far?”
Ghost hums, bringing his hands up to your thighs to steady himself. He’s still, entirely complaint as you drag wipe after wipe against the filth, slowly unveiling the skin underneath. A sigh escapes him as you graze over his eyes, rebuilding the contrast set by umber irises. After a few more, you toss the last wipe in the trash, swiping your hands together with a nod.
“All done.”
He’s looking at you, eyes glazed over with a mix of longing and harrow. He can’t speak. He still can’t believe you’d paid so much attention.. watched him so closely— done something out of the kindness of your heart just for him.
Ghost is pulled from his thoughts at the brush of your fingers against his cheek, and his eyes come into focus. He feels your lips next, and you taste exactly like that lip balm you offered him when he was grumbling about his lips chapping.
And suddenly, he gets it. From this, to the time you offered to share a bunk with Soap so he could have space to himself. You’d always done so much, even when he was undeserving of your kindness. Just having you around seemed to be a gift from the heavens itself.
“I owe ya, Dove.” His voice is just above a whisper, fanning over your lips in warmth breaths. “Wish I could give you the world.”
He knew he could never truly pay you back, but he could damn well try.
“Stick around, Simon.” You manage between the latch of his lips, offering a smile that would linger in his mind until the his last breath. “That’s payback enough.”