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Contrary to how it felt, the mission had not gone to shit. Ghost had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Just a bit further,” cooed Soap, like he was talking to a baby taking its first steps into the arms of proud parents. “We can have a breather ‘round that wall there an’ patch ya’ up a wee bit, L.T.”
Ghost just grunted, wincing as he dragged his leg over rocks that damn well felt like boulders.
It was a good thing it still had feeling, but fuck he wished it didn’t. Later, of course, he’d never say such a thing, or else he’d be kissing goodbye to the 141 and his career. And his leg, obviously.
He pried his arm from the sergeant's shoulders and slumped down heavily as soon as they were covered, groaning as the knife in the side of his knee shifted. Soap checked behind them before preparing to assess the wound.
“Bastard got you good, Ghost,” he said through gritted teeth, bringing out a knife to cut away at Ghost’s jeans. Just an untidy square; his calf didn’t need to be exposed to the world. “How long was the thing bleedin’ before ah’ got there?”
“Slowed down after ‘round five minutes. Never really stopped - fuckin’ thing keeps moving and opening again.”
Soap nodded, bottom lip between his teeth. Underneath the dirt on his face there was a flush, and his nose was scrunched. Maybe Ghost had needed his blood more than he thought, because his brain supplied that the sergeant looked sweet.
Perhaps somewhere else the expression might be.
A tourniquet was tightened around his mid-thigh, pinching at his skin and practically forming bruises already. Ghost didn’t complain.
“Right, ahm’ gonna’ secure the knife in place best ah’ can, okay L.T?” As though Ghost had to give confirmation. He huffed - and nodded anyway.
Soap dug around in his pack and produced two plastic tubes and a bandage wrap. The plastic tubes were probably from other bandages.
“They’ve come in handy, haven’t they?” teased MacTavish. Ghost must have been staring at them.
“I’m just worried about the fact you don’t clean out your med pack, MacTavish.”
“Ah’ restock it. And I empty it sometimes. No’ good enough fer’ ya’?”
Ghost would have commented if one of the tubes wasn’t suddenly placed onto his leg. It made him jolt, which in turn jolted the knife. He clapped a hand over his mouth and bit down on the inside of his mask. Hard. Tears gathered in his eyes but he blinked them away.
Hissing out apology after apology, Soap worked hastily. He kept his gaze firmly onto the lieutenant's injured knee, but the guilt plastered onto his face was still obvious as anything.
The tubes went on either side of the knife, and were quickly wrapped in place with bandages. Tipping his head back with a thud, Ghost sucked in gasping breaths. It’d been a while since his last bad injury and it showed; he was coping like shit.
Soap wrapped and wrapped until Ghost’s entire leg felt supported and cushioned by the bandage. Perhaps it just felt strange because the bottom half of his jeans were crusted with blood.
He was given a moment just to breathe before Soap spoke again. “Got a stim shot if ya need it?”
Ghost considered before declining. “Comedown always makes me feel worse.”
“Right, yeah. Gonna try tae’ radio the captain, awright?”
“Mhm.”
The sergeant’s voice faded into a buzz in the background. Usually, Ghost wasn’t so lenient with his concentration, but now that he was probably suffering with blood loss he didn’t have the capacity to care.
He’d been hiding out at an abandoned block of flats, using the sturdiest balcony as a sniper’s nest. The view was perfect. He could follow Gaz on the street, support Soap when a group hung out by his house’s door. Being in such an open building, though? He should’ve seen this coming a mile away.
But obviously he didn’t.
After scouting the place and finding nothing he’d felt much too comfortable. It was stupid. A headache built in his temples just thinking about it.
Today just wasn’t his day. At all. What if he was coming down with something? He’d have put everyone in danger without even fucking noticing.
He didn’t notice when the knife wielding bastard got in either. Fucking toerag managed to sneak up on The Ghost. Well, to be fair, he had noticed - just too late. By the time he started to react there was a knife in his knee and a pistol coming for his head (empty, he’d checked afterwards).
Waiting for Soap to get him was embarrassing to say the least. He couldn’t bloody move. It was shit.
And he still couldn’t move.
“-ir? Lieutenant? Ghost?”
Soap had cupped the side of his face, was kneeled in front of him with the picture of worry painted on his features. Ghost very nearly reached out to wipe it away, but he found his limbs were shaking and his breath was scarce.
“Condition worsening, captain,” said the sergeant to a box. “Evac status?”
Crackle. MacTavish’s brow creased. “Copy. Over.”
Ghost took in a fleeting breath through his mask. He wanted to take it off but a distant voice told him fuck no.
The hand that could’ve been making contact with his cheek gave two taps, firm but gentle. He grumbled, rolling his eyes onto Soap’s. A thumb hooked under his chin and manipulated his head - this side, that side.
“You back with me, L.T?”
“Yes,” he mumbled, wanting nothing more than to sleep. But he knew why he couldn’t.
He’d been hit by the pistol. That’s where the headache was from. And blood loss. Christ, today was so not his day.
Soap didn’t look particularly happy with him. With the answer. He still looked so, so worried.
“Evac is ten minutes out. Need to get to that field with the shed - remember? It’s a bit of a trek, Gaz an’ Price are on their way already.” Ghost did remember. Soap had laughed at the shed, with its caved roof and fallen walls. But then he’d been sad. Said it looked lonely.
“Sheds can’t be lonely, sergeant.”
A grin broke across MacTavish’s features. “Atta boy, Sir. Let’s get you up- come on, work with me, arm round the shoulders.”
Ghost trembled when he got up off the floor, clinging onto Soap with all that he could muster. The smaller man hardly flinched, simply adjusting until the weight was evenly distributed.
Together they stumbled through the shadows, stopping for hasty breaths when Ghost felt his knee twinge and twitch irritatingly. The pain had dulled, somehow, despite the lack of any painkillers in his system. He didn’t mention this to Soap.
There were footsteps; shouts in the distance. Soap was eager to get away. Ghost knew he should probably feel the same, but there was no urgency thrumming through his veins. He wanted to sit down. Lie down. Sleep.
Instead he continued to trudge through puddles and over uneven terrain, sergeant glued to his side.
Soap’s radio crackled to life again. Price’s voice breaking through.
“Sergeant, where are you? Evac is two minutes away, we need to leave.”
“Shit.”
Looking behind them, Soap let out a desperate noise. Ghost followed his gaze. There was a puddle of blood beside a wall - was someone there?
“Ghost, we have to hurry.”
It was where they’d been. Near ten minutes and they’d travelled fuck all . His heart sunk, right down to his fucked up knee. It pulsed there sluggishly.
Soap tugged at him, attempting to pull him along, keep them going. But he didn’t follow. Instead, Simon looked at Soap.
Really looked at him.
His mohawk was dishevelled, the gel that usually kept it so pristine having been worn away throughout the day. He had a cut along the bridge of his nose, shallow and already beginning to scab. There was a smear of dirt missing from his left cheek where he’d swept it away, and little streams of tan skin where sweat had cleared a path.
The scar on his chin twitched along with his lip.
John MacTavish was still young by all means, the smile lines along his face simply proof of how cheerful he was rather than age. The future shone brightly in his blue eyes and Simon never wanted to see that dim into nothing.
So in that moment, after taking in everything he possibly could, Simon Riley made a decision.
“You go, Soap.”
“What? No, you’re going to be fine, we can make it if we just-“
“Johnny. You saw the blood.”
He remembers now. It - the knife - must have hit an artery or something, because it’d sprayed from his poor knee like a broken pipe. There was a puddle where he lay, and Soap had dragged him out of it. Dragged him out of the building, along the street, until Ghost had managed his way to his feet and to the wall.
He’d passed out waiting for Soap. The bleeding hadn’t slowed. ‘Five minutes’ could have been any amount of time.
His vision swam. Soap’s face blurred into a mush of nothingness. Hands grasped desperately at his shoulders, but he fell anyway.
“Captain, Ghost is down, I need backup-“ the Scot tried to pull him back up. Ghost laughed. That was a shit joke.
“For fucks sakes, work with me Ghost! Simon!”
Soap sounded desperate. There was louder noise coming from somewhere. Shouting. Voices. Gunshots. Soap swore and just started dragging Ghost along. Like he had earlier.
“Soap, I told you to leave me-“
“I’m not going to! Ah cannae leave ye’ L.T, so stop trying to-“
Another gunshot. Closer. Much, much too close. It went past Ghost - he felt it. Left a ringing in his ears. And he fell to the floor with a thud, head bouncing on the dirt. Soap had let go of him. Had he finally left?
Ghost wanted to think that. Wished he could. But there was breathing, heavy above his head, broken with weak and near silent sobs.
He crawled upwards, shutting his eyes when the dizziness became too much. Hands reached out and felt something firm that twitched.
“Johnny?” Simon whispered.
“Si,” gasped John.
I told you to go, he almost said. But Johnny would feel guilty, like this was his fault. And it wasn’t.
Hands interlocked and pulled the other close. Warmth seeped into Simon’s chest. He opened his eyes - one last look - but the world was a mess of caved in edges and blurs.
“I can’t see,” he said instead, stupidly, as though it mattered. Johnny still sounded sad at the statement.
But maybe it was a good thing. Simon could remember how he looked earlier. Bright and lively. So, so beautiful. He’d never have to see the light in his eyes die.
He closed his eyes so Johnny wouldn’t have to see his die either.