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Sergeant John “Soap” Mactavish has a very stupid decision to make, but a decision he has to make nonetheless. Currently they’re at the end of the mission, and really the only thing they have to do right now is to wait for exfil, get back to base for a debriefing, then go home. Simple as that.
It’s not so simple when those things are nigh impossible, with his gut bleeding and with him barely having the time to check how bad his chances are at surviving this. He knows it’s slim, between the fact that he could feel it pouring out of him and sticking his clothes to his skin like sweat and the fact that they’re currently running from the fucking cartel who they managed to piss off– Soap’s fault, really. He’d set off the alarms and fucked it up, and it made the mission a million times more difficult than it should be. It had been an in-and-out mission, no engagement with hostilities supposedly.
Yet here they are, Soap bleeding out while running away, and Ghost ahead of him muttering curses under his breath. There’s a promise of a very long debriefing after this. Soap knows both from first and third hand experience.
Soap knows that he’s fucked, either way, whether or not there is an after in this.
“This feels familiar.” Soap comments,
“Las Almas.” Ghost says, and Soap could only hum to show his amusement.
And oh boy, if only Ghost knows just how similar Las Almas is to his current predicament.
While it hurts like a bitch to be running around injured, it’s not like he’s got much of a choice. They are two against probably two or three dozen, with the latter’s numbers slowly dwindling down thanks to their advantage of at least knowing better than to head out in the open while hunting two highly-trained soldiers down.
Right now, Soap and Ghost are huddled in the ruins of what used to be some sort of cafe, or bakery. It’s difficult to recognize, especially with how run down it is. Soap sneaks a peek out the window, and he finds that there aren’t too many people in their path– it’s easy enough for Ghost to go through.
Wordlessly, he and Ghost exchange a look– they know where to sneak towards.
“Go, I’ve got your six.” Soap says in a low voice, raising his gun over a windowsill so he could do good on his promise.
Ghost eyes him for a moment. They don’t have fucking time for this. “Lt.” Soap says pressingly, and the large man sneaks away.
When he’s out of the vicinity, Soap exhales, and he rips a stim shot from his pocket and stabs it into his shoulder, just about near his artery so he knows that it would go ‘round his body fast enough to temporarily fix whatever is making him want to black out right now.
Yes, a temporary fix. Just for until he could accompany Ghost to exfil.
Then he does his job, and he tries his best to do it well. He lines his scope towards potential targets that could spot Ghost while he crosses the road. The brightness of the day is not at all helpful for them who is trying to hide, so the stark darkness of their gear is not helping with their case.
He places a steady finger above the trigger, and he makes sure that Ghost gets across just fine.
Soon, Soap spots Ghost settled in a safe spot in the other building, one that mimics Soap’s low position. Ghost’s eyes meet Soap’s, and he signals him to go. So he does.
Soap, however, was slightly more sluggish– not so much that he’d be a bumbling mess. He’s still a trained soldier, but enough to be comparably less than Ghost who had neatly crossed the alley. He’d drawn attention.
Fortunately Ghost had been quicker than whoever had spotted Soap while he stalked across the alley to the other building. He’d shot the fucker before he could get Soap, but yet a-fucking-gain they’re on the run.
“Can’t catch a break in this damned place.” Soap hisses under his breath, low enough not to be heard above his steps, but loud enough that Ghost could hear him.
“You’d think that this would have been a fuckin’ easy assignment.” Ghost says in agreement. “Hoped it’d be a walk in the park.”
Soap snorts, hiding a pained hiss in the chuckle. “Could still be one.” He tells him pointedly when they do cross a park.
Ghost chuckles. “Cheers.” he comments amusedly.
Eventually by some fucking miracle, the two of them lose company. Either it was by brute force of fucking wiping them out (Soap himself had downed a good number of them), or they’d shaken them off of their trail, Soap doesn’t know. He’s a right fucking mess right now and there’s the fact that he’s feeling woozy despite having already used a stim shot.
Soap is bleeding out. He reaches to his side and he applies pressure. The pressure is painful , but he’s been hurt enough times before to know how to tone down his noise. Ah, this would be such a fucking pain if he survives this.
He glances up at his Lieutenant, and he feels his gut sink when two and two are put together. If he survives this . He’s trying his damned best not to drag them down, but it’d be wishful thinking this time if somehow they’d get to leave together alive.
“You’re quiet, Johnny.” Soap hears from ahead of him. “Dreading the report I reckon?” or the alternative, actually.
“Eh, ‘slong as we did the job.” Soap tells Ghost nonchalantly, trying not to let it known how horrible he’d already felt for messing up what should have been an otherwise easy mission.
Ghost pats a pocket on his chest, “Yes, there’s at least that.” he says. Soap is glad he’d given the drive to Ghost before he got shot. Otherwise this would be a lot more awkward than it should have been.
“Gotta be sweatin’ buckets in there Lt.” Soap comments, trying to make up for the lack of noise that should have otherwise been present.
The Lieutenant doesn’t quite react, still going ahead of them, “You get used to it.” He says nonchalantly.
“None out here, could take the mask off.” Soap suggests. It’s a measly attempt to get him to show his face. One last time, for Soap.
“Show my face to you? Again? You’re gettin’ greedy Johnny.” Ghost huffs, almost amused.
Soap tries not to reel back from that. He wants to be, yeah. Greedy. If he could be greedy over Ghost, he would, but Soap can’t. Not when he knows that this thing between them has to be some sort of fickle thing. “Can’t blame a man for tryin’, L.t.” Soap says. “Would die to see yer bonnie face again.”
“Don’t manifest it, Sergeant.” Ghost says.
“Yeah, checks out.” Soap laughs. Ghost shortly glances at him, as if questioning what he’s trying to say. “Gonna try to pull rank on Death like that, huh?”
Ghost hums. “Didn’t know I outranked Death.” He says amusedly.
And their conversation is quiet from there. Despite the heat of the sun, Soap doesn’t feel like he’s sweating because of it. No, the sweat that runs down his skin is cold , and his fingertips feel frozen despite the fact that the temperature isn’t even down to the single digits. He could feel himself stiffening, his muscles contracting to guard against the exit of his blood to no avail. He’s fucking shivering .
Fights against the cold, at least.
Can’t blame Soap for being the optimist– or at least, the bare minimum of being an optimist.
While he and Ghost trek on, he thinks of what he might lose. His gran at home. If Ghost brings his body home, there’d be a funeral, and his gran would probably be there. She would be devastated, would probably shed a few tears but she’d forget in maybe a few days and no one would mention the fact that he’d died so they don’t induce a stroke.
She’d forget he’d died– so for once, maybe dementia is a good thing.
His siblings. Soap’s youngest sibling is twelve right now, and the eldest is a year older than him. His eldest sister has a good job, so alongside the compensation for Soap’s death, his youngest sibling should be set for life.
The flat he owns could be given to his baby brother. He’d been crashing there for long enough for him to basically co-own it at this point.
He and his family always thought that he’d die young. It’s a bit sad that he didn’t get to prove that assumption wrong. He isn’t too surprised, of course.
And Ghost.
He’s strong, and he’s unwittingly the best out there with or without Soap. Ghost will live, and he’ll hopefully live a lot longer than Soap will. He could get in a word up there or below about him.
Soap thinks, amusedly, that he could save him a seat wherever he goes.
“Keep up, Soap.” Ghost says, snapping Soap out of his admittedly bitter and very much depressing thoughts, and Soap realizes that he’s slowing them down. Ghost’s eyes are critical, now. Studying Soap.
If they weren’t already in the clear, having arrived to where Exfil should be (an abandoned city, where only the two of them reside for the day), Soap would have made an extra bit of effort to hide his current state.
But they’re far enough from trouble, and Soap doesn’t have to watch over Simon’s back anymore, and his dead body wouldn’t be a matter of life or death for Ghost himself now. So he nods, not quite having enough energy to have it reach his eyes, and he slowly walks towards Ghost.
Ghost is a smart lad. “You bastard.” Soap hears him growl under his breath, and he leads Soap to a spot where they could rest while they wait for Exfil. While Ghost waits for exfil. Soap is waiting for the other ride.
“Language, Lt.” Soap chuckles, but he winces and hisses when Ghost rudely shoves him to sit. “Fuck.” Soap says under his breath, but he freezes when he sees Ghost flinch.
“How bad is it, Sergeant.” Ghost demands.
Being one to follow orders, Soap answers. “Not sure.” He says honestly. “Got this far.”
“And you’re going far enough for proper fuckin’ sanctions.” Ghost retorts in a voice that’s supposed to be a bark, but Soap’s heart chips when he hears that small, nearly unnoticeable vulnerability in his voice. “You fucking idiot.” He mutters under his breath when he speaks.
Soap chuckles, trying not to wince when he feels his shirt get peeled off of the wound. “Fuck!” He exclaims.
He doesn’t comment when Ghost becomes more gentle with the wound. “You lost a lot of blood.” Ghost says, still so stoic. “When where you shot, Sergeant?”
“All the way from the base.” He answers honestly.
Soap blocks out the train of swears under Ghost’s breath, trying to focus on his own breath.
“Stim?”
“Used.”
The stim shot got him this far, and not much further he thinks. “Stay awake, Sergeant.” Ghost tells him.
“Pulling rank. That’s unfair.” Soap jokes, feeling a bit breathless despite breathing enough.
Ghost ignores his quip. “You’re not dying.”
“Sure.” Soap tells him, not at all sounding convinced. For this one, he thinks he should know better than his Lieutenant. In here, not too far at the outer edges of the abandoned and war-ridden city where the sun seems to pierce through even the damned walls with how intense it is, Soap sees just a sliver of Simon’s face. His eyes– Soap always thought him to be beautiful. Unfairly so.
“Johnny, don’t fucking–!” Simon tries to shake him awake, tries to keep him. Soap can’t help but feel bad. He can’t even process the rest of what Simon is trying to say to him. Soap is just slightly glad, though, because he’s looking right at him.
It’s cruel that the last thing that Soap gets to see is just this tease of Simon’s face. He looks so angry, too, or maybe frustrated is the word for it. Soap isn’t too sure. He couldn’t see much of anything when his vision slowly blackens from the corners, all the way until it swallows even his vision of Simon.
Still, what a pleasure it is to see those brown eyes of his.
.
Surprisingly, he wakes up. Didn’t see that coming, to be honest.
When Johnny comes to, he is in a very much familiar place. He recognizes the sterile scent of a clinic from anywhere, especially with how often he’s had to come back here. And just like every time he’d come here, Soap feels like utter fucking shit. He expresses that much, now with the pleasure of having enough energy to say it.
“Should’ve been expectin’ it, Johnny.” He hears a familiar voice to his right, and Johnny turns his head so quick that it makes his woozy head spin. “Careful.” Soap hears Ghost hiss from beside him, and he sees Ghost quickly stand from his chair and head towards him.
Johnny chuckles. “Exfil got back a bit early?” He asks.
“Would have been a bit earlier if you’d said something.” Ghost retorts, and his words are sharp. “What the bloody hell were you thinking?”
“Thought playin’ martyr would be fun.” Johnny jests, and he chuckles at his own joke, wincing when he pulls at the injury. “Won’t ever get used to being fuckin’ shot.” He groans, slamming his head back against the pillows.
And Ghost doesn’t say anything. He stands, staying at his side. Johnny gathers the courage to look at him. “Not looking forward to the paperwork.” Soap tells him, trying to break the silence that he can’t fucking bear.
“I thought you’d die.” Ghost tells Soap, and the way he says it is soft. Softer than he’d ever heard Ghost speak. Softer than that one time they’d rescued kids from a trafficking ring, when he had to soothe a child. This one isn’t just soft. It’s vulnerable.
“Thought so too.” Soap tells him.
“Why did you say anything?” Ghost questions, still sounding vulnerable, but there’s this mix of irritation in his voice. “You could have died.”
Soap grins, “Glad that you didn’t let me.” He says.
“You could have fucking died, Soap!” He yells. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything!” Ghost’s voice booms, and briefly Soap noticed that Ghost had reached for his mask for the slightest moment, as if reaching to remove it, before instead curling his fist and turning his back on Soap– like he’s trying to compose himself.
Soap shuts up, and he watches as Ghost paces frustratedly, fingers curled into his palm.
“Your pulse was so fucking faint.” Ghost tells him, and Johnny didn’t expect Ghost to be so angry over this. “I couldn’t feel it for eight seconds, you know that?”
“I’m sorry.”
“What was going on in your fucking head?”
“I didn’t want to drag you down.” Johnny answers honestly this time. “Did a fine mighty job already doing the opposite, when we were onsite. Couldn’t risk exfil either.” He looks Ghost straight in the eyes, “Compared to…” to you , Johnny wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m not as important–”
“Bullshit.” Ghost hisses. “Johnny, if you fucking died out there I would, I would have-!” He clenches his fist again, and he stays quiet– the only thing Soap could hear is his ragged, frustrated breathing.
Soap feels his heart beating in his chest when he watches Ghost try to muster the words he needed. He hasn’t always been like this. Hasn’t been very talkative, especially for things that don’t matter to missions or assignments.
His breath hitches when in the heat of his frustration, Ghost rips his mask off of his head and faces Soap again. There isn’t a world where Soap sees Ghost’s face and find his breath be taken away. “I would have gone back and razed down the fuckers that killed you.” Ghost tells him slowly, and there’s an honest threat and danger in those words. Johnny has been with Ghost long enough to know that he means it– with the absence of his mask, Soap for sure knows that Ghost means it. “And if I survive through it, I’d have gone mission after mission to make sure that no one even remembers them.” all until I could join you .
He doesn’t know what to say. Can’t find the words to respond to that in a way that would do justice to what the hell it makes him feel. “Way to make a man feel special, Lt.” He says dumbly.
Ghost’s serious expression melts, and he pulls the monobloc chair closer towards the bed so he could sit closer to Soap. Hesitantly, Ghost takes Johnny’s hand in his, and he raises it to his lips.
Johnny’s heart beats fast, and loud, basically bouncing around his ribcage. “You are a fucking idiot.”
“Thought that was established.” Soap retorts.
“Need to remind you now and then.” Ghost sighs, practically drained out by now.
Johnny looks at Simon. The crooked nose, having been broken and likely healed wrong, and the scars on his face, trailing all the way from his lips to the side of his ear. It’s half a glasgow smile. Something tells him that whoever did this didn’t get the chance to do the second half of it. There’s a scar on his eyebrow, trailing up to his scalp.
All of it evidence that Simon survived, and will continue to survive.
Simon looks up, and his gaze meets Soap. “You’re staring.” He comments.
“Dunno, thought for a moment I was in heaven.” Johnny grins at Simon, who hides his face behind Johnny’s hand. “Gonna be honest, did try to get that bonnie face to be the last thing I saw.” He joked, and this prompts Ghost to punch him in the shoulder.
“Oi, keep yer heid!” Soap scolds, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m a healing man!”
“You seem healed to me, making quips like that.” Simon retorts. “Go back to sleep.” He tells Soap. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Johnny grins. “You’d better be,” he tells Simon.
When he falls asleep, Simon is still holding his hand.
It’s warm. Really warm.