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When Captain Price had announced that their next mission – a surveillance one, low-risk and easy – would be taking them to the Scottish Highlands, Soap had been excited. He’d made plans almost right away, picturing himself in a cozy safe house, sitting with Ghost on a couch next to a fireplace as they’d plan their tactics, nothing but the rolling hills and mountains of the Highlands beyond the windows... He’d even considered taking a wee detour on the way back to visit his family and show his LT around Edinburgh.
His plan, however, had gone tits-up before the mission even began, when Ghost had returned from his previous mission with a back injury serious enough to ground him for the next few days. Soap was relieved that the lieutenant wasn’t badly hurt, of course, but he was still a bit disappointed that instead of Ghost, Gaz would accompany him on the mission.
And maybe Ghost could tell, because despite his injury, he asked Price to let him go on the mission anyway, pointing out that he’d be able to rest while doing surveillance just as well as if he remained at the base. As was to be expected, Price had been adamant, and Soap knew he was right, jokingly telling his lieutenant that he’d be back before he could miss him.
Now, a mere forty-eight hours after leaving their base, Soap wished he’d been on that other mission with Ghost, got hurt in his stead – anything but being stuck on this cursed surveillance mission.
Their target – a supposed domestic terrorist who had issued threats against ‘the powers that be’ – had holed himself up in a remote location in the Highlands to build bombs and prepare for the implementation of his plans.
Personally, Soap thought the man sounded like a deranged twat their resources shouldn’t be wasted on, but he had studied the provided intel as diligently as always, memorising the suspect’s features and all they had managed to find out about him.
All in all, it had seemed like an easy job, just like Price had promised – but that was before Gaz and him had realised that their target’s hideout was literally in the middle of nowhere – a lonely cabin amidst miles of hills that offered no cover other than the odd rock or stone wall to keep sheep and cattle in place.
It had taken Soap and Gaz nearly an hour on foot before they’d arrived at their designated location.
Soap would even have enjoyed the hike were it not for the scratchy itch in his throat and his runny nose, signalling to him that he was probably going to come down with something. Spending the night exposed to the elements would be the last thing his body needed.
They settled in, eyes on the house in question from a safe distance, protecting themselves against the drizzle as best as they could while remaining inconspicuous and practically invisible in their ghillie suits.
“Wanna bet our target is probably just some geezer trying to get away for the weekend?” Gaz muttered as he set up his scope, checking the house for any signs of activity.
Soap grunted in reply. It would be just their luck to find their intel was off, he thought, and he was inclined to agree with Gaz that they were wasting their time.
“Mind you, I don’t know why anybody in their right mind would want to come up here,” Gaz added with a smirk, hissing when Soap elbowed him in the ribs.
“’s lovely in spring,” Soap argued with a shrug.
“Hate to break it to you, mate, but does this look like spring to you?”
“Whatever…” Soap shuffled a bit closer to Gaz. He was already hating the way the cold was seeping through the tarp, even if the material effectively kept away the ground’s humidity.
“There’s movement…” Gaz finally announced, voice strained as he observed the now illuminated window. “Can’t see much, though.”
“Could try to get closer when it’s dark,” Soap suggested, reaching for another cough tablet to soothe his increasingly sore throat. Maybe he should have told Price that he was feeling a bit under the weather, but then Ghost would probably have gone in his stead, and Soap knew that his LT needed the rest more than he did.
Gaz hummed. “Good thing we got the perfect weather for this mission, eh?”
He gave Soap an encouraging nudge, as if he didn’t even mind that the earlier drizzle had turned into heavy drops, soaking their suits.
Soap didn’t grace that with an answer, just wiped his nose and suppressed a cough. “Better let Price know about what he’s missing, then,” he said instead, handing Gaz the radio.
At least their equipment was waterproof, Soap thought grimly as he tugged at a ribbon of camo material that clung to his face, brushing it out of his face only to see it fall back into place two seconds later.
They had no direct line to the captain, but they were in radio contact with the nearest base, should the need for backup arise.
While Gaz gave a sitrep, Soap fumbled for the mobile in his pocket – he wouldn’t usually have taken it on missions, but considering that it was supposed to be an easy job, he’d taken it anyway; not that he expected any messages, fully aware that coverage out here wasn’t the best. To his surprise, however, there was a text from Ghost asking how they were holding up in the Scottish rain. He’d even attached a picture of himself – or rather, his legs, as he was lounging on the ratty couch in the rec room on base with a steaming cup of tea on his lap.
“Bastard,” Soap gritted out, pointing the phone screen at Gaz when the man shot him a questioning look.
Ghost sending messages was unusual – him sending pictures of himself in a casual and homey setting was downright unthinkable, and Soap almost thought he could feel slivers of warmth seeping through the screen of his phone, making him grin almost against his will.
“Your boyfriend texting you while you’re on mission, huh,” Gaz chuckled, giving the other sergeant a suggestive wink.
“Shut up,” Soap hissed, “he’s not my boyfriend, you twat, we’re just friends.”
His friendship with Ghost wasn’t a secret by any means, but everybody on base knew that the gruff and mysterious lieutenant was unapproachable at best, with the only exception to that being the members of the 141, in particular Sergeant MacTavish.
Gaz rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course… You know that’s bollocks, right?”
Soap gave an exasperated huff. “I wish…” he muttered under his breath.
He did occasionally find himself hoping that his lieutenant had indeed taken a particular shine to him, although he knew that this was dangerous territory, too close to insubordination and fraternisation. Ghost certainly wasn’t his boyfriend, and he suddenly wondered why Gaz would think anything like that – Soap wasn’t even sure if Ghost did the whole boyfriend thing, let alone whether he was into blokes. Not that it mattered, though, because they were just friends either way.
“Well, I can’t get you anything as fancy as black tea with milk,” Gaz hummed, ignoring Soap’s all but dreamy look as he put his phone away, “but I do have some tasty protein bar on offer for you.”
Soap nodded his thanks, reaching for the snack Gaz was holding out to him. It was better than nothing, he figured, as he unwrapped it and started chewing the dry food.
It hurt as he swallowed, the scraping pain in his throat making his eyes water.
“You all right there, Soap?” Gaz asked, finally catching up on the Scot’s uncharacteristic silence.
Soap nodded. “Aye, just a sore throat.”
The reply got him a sympathetic look from the other sergeant.
“Shit,” Gaz muttered, “really picked the right weather to catch a cold, hm?” He reached over to feel the sleeve of Soap’s suit. “You still dry in there, mate?”
Soap gave an affirmative grunt. So far, the various layers of clothing were holding off the rain just fine, but he had a hunch that by tomorrow morning, he would be soaked – either because of the rain or the feverish sweat he could already feel his body working up, or, more likely, both.
To distract himself, Soap reached for the scope again and scanned the windows for movement – anything that would tell them just what their intel was really worth.
Like before, he couldn’t make out much, just the occasional shadow moving behind sloppily drawn curtains.
“Give it another hour or two, then we can go have a proper look,” Gaz suggested, scanning their surroundings.
It was long past dusk, and although the rain had let up a bit, it was getting unpleasantly cold with the encroaching darkness of the night.
Time was passing agonisingly slowly, or at least it seemed like it to Soap, who by now was nursing a solid throbbing pain behind his eyes and temples, wishing himself back home in his bed.
“Soap, wake up,” Gaz called gently, a hand on Soap’s shoulder.
He wanted to tell the other man that he hadn’t been sleeping, but all he managed was a tired groan that sounded utterly pathetic even to himself.
“I’ll go find out what’s going on over there,” Gaz announced, then he radioed in for a sitrep.
Soap didn’t say anything when Gaz relayed that one man was down with a fever, but that they would still manage to get to exfil as planned.
“You stay right here,” he told Soap, slowly getting up in a crouching position. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Soap grunted, a half-hearted attempt at telling the other man he wouldn’t be waiting around uselessly, but Gaz patted his shoulder.
“I got this, Soap,” he assured the Scot. “If there is a bloke working on blowing shite up, we’ll call for backup, all right?”
He waited for Soap to acknowledge his words, then he snuck off into the darkness, crawling towards the house.
Soap lost him out of sight quickly, his figure perfectly blending in with his surroundings, so he reached for the scope, its thermal vision easily revealing Gaz’ position. He knew the other sergeant was capable enough to handle this, so he dropped the scope and closed his tired eyes for just a second.
He only realised he’d fallen asleep when Gaz lay down next to him again.
Instead of granting him some rest, however, the short nap only seemed to have made things worse, and by now Soap was a snivelling, groaning mess.
Gaz bent down, rubbing gentle circles into Soap’s shoulder. “Hey, come on, mate, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he whispered soothingly. “Let’s pack up and get you home, yeah?”
“What about the bomb-maker?” Soap slurred, scraping together what felt like his last remaining brain cells to focus on the task at hand.
Gaz huffed an exasperated chuckle. “There’s no bomb-maker,” he told Soap, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Just some older bloke, having the time of his life with two much younger birds. Jesus, I wish I could bleach my eyes…”
Soap stared at him, a deep frown furrowing his brow. “What?” he finally managed, certain he’d misheard.
“Our intel was off,” Gaz explained patiently. “There was no threat.”
Soap was still trying to process that piece of information as Gaz reported back to base, waiting as he also sent Price a short text, informing him that the threat wasn’t a threat after all, that Soap wasn’t doing good, and that they were going back to RV now, where they were supposed to be picked up in roughly three hours.
Gaz packed their things, then he pulled Soap to his feet. “Come on, up you go, mate.”
Soap gave a tired grunt, distantly aware that Gaz helped him put his backpack on (which was suspiciously light, as if Gaz had taken half of his stuff), before snaking an arm around his waist to drag him along.
The hike back to the RV was a blur to Soap. Too focused on not tripping over rocks in the darkness, he let Gaz take over completely, trusting the other sergeant to get them wherever they needed to be.
They were early, but to their relief, the driver was already waiting for them when they got to the road.
Soap didn’t really pay attention to Gaz’ interaction with the private, struggling instead to get out of his soaked ghillie suit. His jacket was wet, too, as were his trousers and boots, but he knew it would be a while before he could get rid of those and put on dry clothes.
At least the private had brought them a thermos with hot coffee and dry jackets, so by the time Soap slumped into the backseat of the blessedly warm vehicle, he didn’t feel quite as miserable anymore.
He fell asleep only a few minutes later; a restless, feverish slumber that was only broken when someone gently shook him by the shoulder to wake him.
“Johnny?”
Soap cracked his eyes open with a groan. Hearing his name like this, he had to be hallucinating.
“Gh—Ghost?! What are you doing here?” He stared at the man in disbelief, then looked around, puzzled. It was the same base where they had started this stupid mission, so his lieutenant couldn’t really be here, could he?
Ghost just chuckled at his obvious confusion.
“Thought I’d come pick you up,” he said, the low grumble of his voice an odd comfort to Soap. “Gaz reported that you were ill, figured you’d want to get straight back home instead of moping around here for days.”
So Ghost really had driven up here just to meet them, even though he was injured?
Soap stared at him uncomprehendingly until the lieutenant leaned forward to help him climb out of the car.
“I brought you some dry clothes,” he told Soap, gently pulling him along. “Gaz is just gonna take a quick shower to warm up, then we can leave.”
Soap followed his lieutenant, grateful for the support, because the pounding headache and stinging sinuses made it hard for him to concentrate on where he was going.
“Here, get in the car,” Ghost told him as they stopped by another vehicle, opening the back door for Soap. He sat the sergeant down, then began tugging on his jacket to help him undress.
Soap groaned at the sudden rush of cold, shivering in his damp clothes.
“Price shouldn’t’ve sent you out in your state,” Ghost muttered as he pulled off Soap’s t-shirt and quickly replaced it with a dry long-sleeved one.
“’s not his fault, didn’t tell him I was getting ill,” Soap shrugged, realising that the clothes Ghost had brought him had to be the lieutenant’s own, judging by the size and the scent of the shirt he was now wearing.
“And the lovely Scottish weather probably didn’t help, huh?” Ghost huffed as he unlaced Soap’s boots and took them off along with his wet socks.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Soap muttered. “At least it wasn’t the jungle…”
Ghost snorted. “Closer to home, too,” he chuckled, and motioned for Soap to take off his trousers. He watched for a few seconds as the sergeant uselessly fumbled around before he pushed his hands away.
“Ought to buy me dinner first, sir,” Soap mumbled as Ghost unbuttoned his trousers and unceremoniously pulled them down along with his briefs.
“You really are a cheeky cunt, Sergeant,” he replied, but Soap could tell that there was a smile behind his mask. “Now get the fuck dressed before I decide to report you for insubordination and leave you here.”
They both knew it was an empty threat, and when Ghost helped him put on clean boxer shorts and sweatpants, he playfully ruffled his mohawk and leaned in, as if he were sharing a secret.
“I’ll buy you dinner when you’re well again, Sergeant,” he whispered, knowing that by morning, Soap would have forgotten this entire conversation anyway. “Now let’s get you settled, yeh? You can get some sleep on the way back.”
He waited until Soap had shuffled into the backseat and lain down, then he took off his own jacket and wrapped it up to push it under the sergeant’s head as a pillow.
“Ghost…” Soap mumbled, suddenly remembering what Gaz had claimed earlier that evening about the lieutenant and him. He felt like the headache was turning his brain to mush. “Why’d you come?”
Ghost didn’t reply right away; instead, he draped a blanket over his sergeant’s shivering form, tucking him in.
“Was worried about you,” he finally said.
“Liking me alive, eh?” Soap whispered hoarsely, looking up at his lieutenant still bent over him.
Ghost chuckled. “That I do, Johnny. How are you feeling?”
“Like death warmed over,” Soap croaked, shivering slightly. “But cold.”
Ghost huffed a smile, placing a hand on Soap’s forehead. “No wonder, with the fever you’re running.”
Soap whimpered in reply, feeling even colder when the other man removed his hand, vaguely aware of Ghost’s hand on his shoulder, nudging him to lift his head.
“Got you some tea,” Ghost said, then held a cup against Soap’s lips. “Careful, it’s hot.”
The Scot drank slowly, too exhausted and grateful to remind his lieutenant that he wasn’t his mum.
“All this for me, sir?” he asked instead when he’d finished the tea, a tentative smile curling his lips.
“Of course, Johnny,” Ghost replied, running a hand through Soap’s mohawk. “Now get some sleep,” he said, then he climbed out of the car to sit in the driver’s seat.
Gaz followed only a few minutes later, getting into the passenger seat with a sympathetic look towards Soap in the back.
“You all right there, mate?” he asked.
“Cold,” Soap replied, teeth chattering as if to make a point.
Without a word, Ghost pulled his hoodie over his head and threw it at Soap. “Here, put this on,” he said.
“Thanks, LT,” Soap hummed, sitting up to put it on.
It was a bit too big on him, but warm, and—
“Smells of you, sir,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.
Ghost rolled his eyes as Gaz snorted. “Does it now,” the lieutenant observed gruffly, thankful for the mask hiding the unwelcome blush he felt creep across his cheeks.
Soap didn’t reply, just gave him a timid shrug when Ghost turned around with a raised brow before he ignited the engine.
Wrapped in his lieutenant’s hoodie and jacket, Soap fell asleep within minutes. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but it was better than sitting upright, and knowing that he’d soon be sleeping in his own bed made it bearable.
He woke a few hours later, just as Ghost was returning the car to the motor pool. Gaz had already grabbed their gear and gone off to report to Price when Ghost opened the back door to wake the sergeant.
“Did you manage to sleep a little?” he asked.
Soap nodded. “Still feel like shite though,” he grumbled. The throbbing pain behind his eyes hadn’t dissipated, and his body felt like he’d been thrown under a bus. “Jus’ wanna go to bed.”
Ghost hummed. “Come on, then.”
He helped Soap get out of the car, letting the sergeant cling to him to remain upright as he closed the door. “You solid?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice.
Soap shook his head, slumping against the lieutenant with a groan. “’m so tired, Ghost.”
Perhaps Ghost should have made a point to put some distance between them and disentangle himself from his sergeant, but instead he just picked Soap up, one arm wrapped around his back, the other slung underneath his knees.
The Scot gave a surprised yelp at being manhandled so effortlessly, but he leaned in almost immediately and snaked one arm around Ghost’s neck for additional support.
“Let’s get you to bed, yeh?” Ghost muttered, once more glad for the mask hiding most of his flushed face.
Soap felt nice in his arms.
To his relief, they didn’t encounter anyone on the way back to the barracks – not that anyone would have dared to question the Ghost, but he knew he’d be hard-pressed to come up with a reason why he had to carry the sergeant when Soap was still perfectly able to walk.
“Soap, wake up,” he said, gently nudging the sergeant before he let him stand on his own feet again. “We’re here.”
Soap grunted, half-asleep, still clinging to Ghost, refusing to move.
“Come on, Johnny,” Ghost nudged him again, “gimme your keys.”
“My keys…” Soap mumbled, “They’re in my trousers.”
“Your—”
Oh. Soap’s trousers were still with his stuff, which Gaz had unloaded from the car earlier with the promise to hang everything out to dry.
“You’ll have to share my room then,” Ghost announced, picking Soap up again when he didn’t object – not that Soap was going to, anyway; at this point, he’d be content to sleep anywhere, provided it was warm and dry, and he certainly didn’t mind sleeping in the lieutenant’s quarters.
He was already half asleep again by the time they reached Ghost’s room, barely noticing as the other man set him down to unlock the door.
“Do you need anything?” Ghost asked as he guided Soap inside and closed the door.
“’m okay,” Soap croaked, clinging to Ghost for support and warmth even though he realised how inappropriate this entire situation was. “Wanna sleep, please,” he begged.
“Sure,” Ghost replied, leading Soap to the bed. “I’ve got you, Johnny.”
Soap sat down on the mattress, then he reached for Ghost’s sleeve, holding on tightly.
“Sir…” he began, “I’m—I’m sorry.”
Ghost hesitated for a second, then he sat down on the bed next to Soap. “What for?”
Soap gave a tired shrug. “Let you down, let Gaz down, failed the mission.”
“You didn’t let me down,” Ghost replied, brushing a hand across Soap’s back. “And I doubt Gaz thinks you did. Shouldn’t’ve let you go on the mission in the first place, with you running a fever and all.”
“Couldn’t let you go, either, with your injured back,” Soap muttered reluctantly.
“Worried about me, huh?” Ghost suppressed a smile when the sergeant grumbled an unintelligible reply, then he got up and helped Soap crawl under the blanket. “Get some sleep, Johnny,” he muttered and turned to leave, but Soap held on to his sleeve.
“Stay,” he whispered. “Please stay, Simon.”
Ghost huffed a laugh. “Did you hit your head, Sergeant?”
Soap shook his head slightly. “No. Just want you to stay. Please?”
Ghost should have told him that he couldn’t, that Soap wouldn’t really want him to, but then he just toed off his boots and settled on the small bed alongside him.
This would be a tomorrow problem, he figured, something they could sort out when Soap was back on his feet and feeling better again, and he could only hope that the sergeant wouldn’t regret asking him to stay.
With a deep sigh, Soap turned towards him, shuffling closer. “Thank you, Simon,” he mumbled, hiding his face against the lieutenant’s shoulder.
“It’s all right, Johnny,” Ghost replied, wrapping an arm around the other man so he wouldn’t fall off the mattress. “You just sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”
Soap acknowledged his reassurance with a tired groan, and as he nuzzled into the man’s shoulder, he could feel Ghost’s nose press against the top of his head, and a brush of dry lips against his forehead. He couldn’t help but smile when his worn-out brain registered that the soft touches meant that Ghost had taken off his mask, even when he knew that come morning, the lieutenant’s face would be covered again. For the moment, this was enough.