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“Clothes off,” Ghost rumbled.
“Take a man to dinner first, Ghost?” Soap smirked
“I’ll hose you down gear and all,” with his back to Soap, Ghost continued to unravel the hose, “Makes no difference to me sir.”
The second it was all untangled, Ghost gripped the faucet.
“Ghost now hold on-!” Soap panicked, making quick work of multiple bag straps and layers of dirty clothes. The blight sealed the water back off momentarily to allow his handler to strip.
“Okay, now you can hose me down to your heart’s content–steamin’ christ,” Soap rolled his eyes, sweeping his arms before him in a grand gesture to all his naked glory.
Ghost stared blankly, lifting the nozzle enough to douse Soap’s face.
Soap spluttered, the sudden pressure running up his nose as profanities flowed off his tongue. Taking pity on his handler, Ghost adjusted the hose to wash off other parts of the man’s body.
About an hour or so ago, the pair had successfully cleared out a rather troublesome Stalker den. The den had been a rather secluded old world sewer drain, far from any settlements as dens tended to be, a typical and particularly annoying quirk of the zombie variant.
Stalkers hunt for days and days on end, wearing down designated prey over time to lure them into an ambush before slinking back into some dark crevice. Soap and Ghost had spent the past two weeks trying to catch the trail of one, and then another tailing it back to its den.
There was a problem with this den it would turn out however; the fact it was a rather communal one, and not actually a den at all but a full blown nest. While this had made the pair rethink their entire assignment, neither felt comfortable leaving it to be dealt with at a later date.
So, they winged it.
Ghost had to be the one to lure out whatever number of Stalkers were tucked away inside, since he’d be able to fight back if they turned hostile, while Soap would sneak in, plant some smaller charges and book it the fuck out of there.
Regardless, the plan had been executed to perfection, or close enough to it anyway. They destroyed the nest and rendered the old infrastructure unusable for any future dens or nests. There had been one Stalker who’d been close enough to give Soap some trouble but he had it handled, crushing the spooky bastard beneath the rubble.
Which leads to now, at the small water refill station–a slab of concrete and a tap with a dingy old roof in the middle of a field–that Soap and Ghost find themselves cleaning up at.
“God it’s fucking freezing.”
“Can’t help that sir.”
“Just like you couldn’t help spraying me in the face?”
“Exactly sir.”
Groaning again, Soap started on washing himself, “Thought I told ye to drop the ‘sir’ crap, I’m your handler not your bloody commanding officer…” was mumbled between scrubs.
“Sorry sir.”
“No that’s not–whatever, we’ll work on it,” Soap huffed, running his hands through his hair. “Eww, Ghost do we have anything to clean with?” feeling the thick grime in what little hair he kept, Soap was beginning to have second thoughts clearing out the nest without proper attire.
Ghost stared blankly a bit longer before swapping the hose to his other hand to rummage through his own gear, upon finding nothing he approached Soap to give him the hose and moved to sort through his handler’s stuff on the ground.
After a minute of nothing but the sound of running water and rustling fabric came Ghost’s voice, “No sir, looks like we’re out.” Soap grimaced at the blight’s confirmation and his self-realisation at not having stocked up on enough cleaning amenities.
“Fuck alright, guess I’ll make do,” Soap padded barefoot across the concrete slab to turn off the faucet. When he turned back, he caught the towel that Ghost had tossed and proceeded to dry himself off.
Towel now snugly sat upon his waist, Soap looked up to see Ghost scowling at him. He saw faded eyes run up and down his form and suddenly felt the need to pull the towel across his chest in a scandalized fashion, “Problem Ghost?”
Ghost’s scowl deepened, “You still reek.”
“I what?” Soap gasped, offended.
“You. Still. Smell. Like. Shit,” Ghost’s head tilted as if he remembered himself, “Sir.”
“Judgy bastard, like hell you smell like a field of roses yourself!”
“I smell of death not rot. There’s a difference. Unlike you right now,” Ghost deadpanned.
“Well what do you want me to do about it huh!?” Soap shot back, arms flying past his head, “We don’t have anything right now!”
“Then let's stop at a town or city, whichever is fucking closer,” Ghost responded.
Pausing, Soap’s arms dropped to his sides, “Since when are you willing to be near people, Ghost?” he asked, staring at the blight face scrunched in confusion.
“I’m not.” Ghost growled, the chatter of his mandibles faintly audible and visible beneath the mask.
Ghost cleared his throat and stood to bring Soap his clothes.
“But… If it’s between dealing with people for a night, or your nest BO for the next week and a half, I’ll take the people.”
Soap observed the blight, no attempt made to reach for his clothing. The blight’s face was held in annoyance but the way his eyes kept flicking about was telling.
“Ghost, you’re… you’re not worried about me having just dealt with a Stalker nest are you?” Dull eyes froze on him. Soap smiled, “You think one of them is gonna catch a whiff and hunt me down?”
Ghost’s growl started back up.
“Aw, you do care! Ain’t ya such a sweetheart,” Soap couldn’t help but laugh. Ghost snarled, shoving the clothes into his arms and stormed past.
“Oof–Ghost wait, come on I’m not teasing!” Soap turned, fumbling the clothes in his hold, “Really, it’s considerate!”
“Fuck off MacTavish!” Ghost yelled back, putting a good ten meters between him and Soap before dropping to sit crossed legged.
“God,” Soap muttered fondly while pulling on undergarments, “You’re full of surprises Simon.”