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He's cursing up a storm as soon as he hits the ground.
The bullet wound gushes a bright red through his jacket, but he can't spare himself a moment to properly look over the damage.
His rifle aims forward and steady regardless of his downed position, and he radios in a frustrated distress to the rest of the squad.
He almost hopes no one comes to help him so he can finish off the enemy forces by himself. He's done it before, with much less blood in his body than now, and he'd been faring extremely well until the slight slip-up of a lucky shot through his abdomen.
If he weren't so emotionally stunted, he'd maybe grant himself the displeasure of embarrassment, but all he allows himself is angry resolve. The wound isn't that bad, he tells himself. He can still push forward.
The dilapidated walls are poor coverage for an injured soldier on enemy lines, but he uses this as leverage and peeks around the corner to shoot right through the weakened cement, right where he knows two hostiles are hidden behind.
Unfortunately, his opponents can do the same, and Ghost barely has a second to scramble away before a force of gunfire rips straight through his own barrier, earning himself two more knicks to his torso and leg.
He's still fast, despite the injuries, and manages to drag himself to another corner of the building, completely negligent of his newly sustained ailments. He fires in the direction where the bullets came from, and the gunfire ceases.
He's trained himself for years to withstand the pain. The mission comes first, and then his well-being. It's his purpose as a soldier, after all.
But now that the adrenaline has started to slow, he's beginning to feel the familiar creeping pain flaring up his body.
He checks his comms again and only hears a mirror of his own situation. The captain and whatever subordinates are with him are locked in a much similar gunfight if the terse shouting is anything to go by.
He's on his own, as usual. But it's nothing to let himself be slowed down by.
With a pained grunt, he hefts himself up from his crumpled position in the corner and keeps his gun trained forward as he staggers through the halls.
Ghost is efficient. He knows he took out the majority of the hostiles on his end. Now all that's left are the straggling remainders, and then he'll be done. With blood pulsing through his ears, he forces steady breaths as he searches through the area.
He finds the bodies of men he'd just taken out, limp and bloodied on the concrete ground. There's no one else in the vicinity.
He's about to radio in with Soap, ask for the extraction point and allow himself a few spare breaths to look over his injuries when he hears the telltale shuffle of a boot.
He turns around with razor-sharp precision, fast and ready to fire, but the enemy is just a second faster than him, and another bullet hits him right in the hip.
Before Ghost can shoot, he's yanked to the side painfully. And in his daze, he barely catches the FNG, finishing off his attacker in a clean and efficient shot to the head.
"The fuck?" he shouts, hand coming to press hard on his abused side. It's damp upon contact.
After surveying the area, the FNG turns to him and crouches down to press his hands onto the more serious wounds on Ghost's person, lifting his vest so he can access the injuries.
"I had that," Ghost seethes. If his new teammate hadn't pushed him to the ground, he's sure he would've landed the finishing blow just fine.
The sergeant ignores him and gives him a once-over, followed by a grimaced "You're injured ."
"I was fine," Ghost reiterates. He's about to express more of his frustration when the other starts wrapping a tourniquet around his middle as tight as possible. The pain zings through his veins in hot pulses, and his grievances promptly die on his tongue.
The adrenaline has fully simmered out, and only now does Ghost begin to feel the painful burn of the bullets fully. "There might be more-"
"Took care of them."
His grip on his gun falters, and he feels his hands begin to shake.
"Why'd you even take this area alone? " The other signs after finishing the second tourniquet. He moves his hands upwards and begins to poke and prod at the injuries on his abdomen. Ghost hisses.
"I always do this."
The FNG has the audacity to snort once he says this, and Ghost feels his hackles rise. "The captain is aware of my capabilities. I don't need the new recruit underestimating my skills."
"It's Roach, " the FNG says simply, completely unperturbed, as he continues to feel up Ghost's torso.
He's getting frustrated, frustrated and indignant at having the new guy come to his rescue, only to berate him immediately afterwards. He swats Roach's hands away and begins to stand.
His injuries flare in protest, but he ignores them as he limps toward where he remembers the exit being. He uses the walls as support, bloodying them with his palms as he staggers by.
Roach is immediately at his side, offering his shoulder as a crutch, but Ghost deliberately pushes further away from him. He's secretly glad the squad's newest duckling isn't vocally talkative. He can easily ignore the insistent hand gestures waved beside him.
That is until Roach steps in front of him, eyes narrowed in what can only be annoyed finality. He offers out his arm and shoulder again, clearly leaving no room for protest, but when Ghost only stares at it, he sighs. "If you don't want to lean on me, I guess I'll just have to carry you. "
Well, now Ghost is really annoyed. Who was this subordinate to be talking to him as if he were incompetent? Ghost's lips curl back in a sneer, and regardless of the mask, he's sure Roach can see it.
Roach takes a moment to study Ghost, taking in his peeved expression and stubbornness to cooperate. He takes a step back, and Ghost thinks he's won.
Except--instead of a shoulder, Roach now offers him his hand, innocently stretched out, palm up, awaiting Ghost to take hold of it. And the momentary confusion the action brings purges almost all of his previous ire.
Roach is still looking at him expectantly, and now it's Ghost's turn to sigh. They shouldn't be wasting time anyway. The hand, not currently clutching his side, now intertwines with Roach's, the blood now staining the sergeant's glove, too.
They make their way out of the building, down several flights of stairs, and maneuver through the destroyed mess the fight had left behind.
Surprisingly, Roach had not said a thing, had let Ghost lead the way, gun loaded and ready while still holding onto the lieutenant's hand.
It must've been an odd image, but Ghost would take this over being fireman carried like a sack of rocks. And at least he still had the autonomy to walk on his own as opposed to if he had leaned on Roach for support.
Still, it wasn't often he held hands on the battlefield after getting shot at--wasn't often he held someone's hand at all.
When they reach the exit, Ghost comms once again for the extraction point and requests the carrier pick them up closer to him. Soap responds with an affirmative.
While they wait for the rest of the squad, Ghost looks down at their locked hands, then back at Roach, who doesn't seem even a tad bit bothered by this display.
He gestures a quick "ok? " hand sign, and Ghost grunts a tentative "Yeah."
It's only when the captain arrives at their location that Roach releases his hand from Ghost's, and he doesn't feel like unpacking the psychology behind why that makes him feel strange.
---
Once he's strapped down in the carrier, he allows himself a minute's reprieve. As soon as Soap had seen him, he'd requested medical evac specifically for Ghost, and he was too tired to protest.
Now, as the medics aimed to stabilize his more serious wounds, he realized that Roach had joined him in the carrier and was still at his side, strapped to his own seat and staring intently at Ghost.
His empty hand twitches.
He supposes he should at least praise the sergeant for his tight work, even if Ghost had been sure he could've handled it without him.
But as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, the sergeant signs a humoured, "Want me to hold your hand? " and Ghost immediately retracts all his previous sentiments.
"Shut up, bug."