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Ghost is pissed off. The fucking mark is about twenty minutes of luck from getting away and here he is stuck around a corner, waiting for someone outside to fuck up and give him an opening. There is a distant boom and crash, like a big bomb went off somewhere.
"Can you hear me?" Comes through his ear comm a few moments later; Soap, sounding a little out of breath. One of the baddies before him pokes his head out and ghosts tunes out of the conversation as Price responds, taking the shot and using the opportunity to move into a better position.
"Define 'bleeding out'-" Soap hedges.
"Soap. Are you broken or not?" Price asks, curt, concentrated.
"Target is getting away, need backup stat." Ghost cuts in. "Are you broken or not, sergeant?" Soap is a big boy, he can handle himself for the time it'll take to get the target or he is dead already.
Even so, there is a slight pause.
"Safe as i can be, sir. You can get the target first."
Great.
"Price, on me." Ghost says.
He and Price meet up two minutes later, outside the building their target has hidden inside, likely waiting for a getaway.
There is a rasp in Ghosts ear that he cannot place, and puts it out of mind for now; probably just static or something, none of them are fool enough to keep comms completely open unless they are in a life or death and unable to turn them off and so far none of them are at that point yet.
They spy Gaz across the way, pushing in on the other side of the building, keeping an eye on the other doors they can't see. Ghost takes point, getting inside, and immediately finds himself in close quarters combat; a few of his knives are sacrificed to the cause of his life, and he is pulling another to embed in his next victim when his comm crackles again,
"Anyone free enough to get me outta here?" Soap asks. Something about his voice is off, but Ghost is too focused on his new opponent blindising him to figure out what it is.
"Bit busy here." Ghost gets out, twisting and ducking in close, using a surprising turn of speed to get inside the idiot's guard and slash at his pulse before turning his attention to the last man standing in this room. He hears Gaz speak, and Price, and Ghost pushes further into the building, keeping a close eye for explosive and combatants alike; it would be just like these fuckers to set up another bomb even with people inside.
"Sit tight, soap" price says tersely, and Ghost hears gunshots in his ear echoing beyond the walls. He focuses on pushing forward for now, clearing rooms as he goes. Gaz complains lightheartedly about Soap's break from the fight and Ghost tunes out again.
He finds a desk with some interesting info in it, and stuffs the papers into his vest as he goes. The first floor is clear, leaving only the second for their target to be on. He waits at the stairs for movement above or for one of his teamates to find him. Maybe Soap has wiggled his way out of his situation and is waiting to come in. There's more background on the comms now, and he's almost sure it's breathing, though whos he can't be sure.
"What do you call a dog with no legs?" He asks idly, quietly, content to wait for his moment.
There's a couple huffs, a groan,
"Doesn't matter what you call it, it's not gonna come." He finishes. There are boos, as expected, but no returning joke or jibe from Soap. Ghost wonders if he's pouting, stuck wherever he is and sore he can't be with the rest of them to help.
"If you're free enough to joke, you're free enough to get me out of here." Soap whines.
Ghost rolls his eyes slightly, feeling fondness curl up in his chest.
Gaz tisks loudly in mock disapproval.
"Don't get your panties in a twist, we'll get you- shit, fuck-"
"Gaz." Price demands. "How copy?"
"Got me in the arm, clean through, be fine, hurts like a bitch."
Ghost doesn't waver his attention from the building around him, the soft footsteps he can hear above him, but he spares a moment to be thankful it's not worse.
"That's why you keep it tactical." Ghost says, half teasing.
"I don't wanna hear it from you, Ghost." Gaz snips back.
"Boys." Price cuts in, ever their captain.
Ghost says 'yes, sir' with Gaz at their brief mutual admonishment, and they make up the rest of their plan as the last throat outside the building falls under Price's pistol. The sounds of breathing are harder, and most definitely someone on the team. He supposes Gaz is still running around with an open bleed, and hopes they finish this soon so he can get to medical.
-
It takes longer than they really want it to, but they finally manage to get the target cornered.
There's a quiet retching sound in his ear he can barely hear as he and Price move in perfect tandem to take them down and get them secured.
Price and he take time to be double sure he's tied down thoroughly, unwilling to let this clusterfuck be more of a failure than it already was. Gaz has a permanent gimace on his face, holding down on his hastily dressed wound like that'll make it less painful.
"Alright." Price says, and there's a hitch in the rhythm of the labored breathing on the comms. "Rounded 'em all up. Getting Gaz to medical now. Ghost," he looks over at Price, who is already leading Gaz to where their exfil is supposed to land, "get Soap on your way back."
Ghost nods and takes off at an easy jog towards where the building Soap had been in. There's another hitch in the breath in his ear.
"Where are you, Jonny?" He asks lightly. This hasn't been a complete and total failure, after all. He's in a semi-decent mood. "Coming to pick you up now."
There is quiet for a moment, the breathing picks up, there is the slightest hint of what might be movement, a staggered inhale.
"Inna buildin-" comes the choked reply, followed by a horrendously wet sounding cough.
Ghost's heart rate ticks up and he slows slightly, trying to make sense of that. He was stuck someplace but safe; he should be in a nearby hole, stuck under scope or locked in a room, is he saying-?
"M inna buildin' th' c'lapps."
Ghost's stomach drops clean into the earth and his steps stutter, a choked sound of his own falling unintentionally past his lips; he throws a look over his should to find Price and Gaz staring back just as confused, as cautious. Is Soap slurring? Ghost isn't imagining that, is he?
"Like, near it, right?" Gaz asks a little desperately, taking a staggered step in Ghosts's direction, in Soap's direction.
"M'onna groun' floor. Cu'pl up froma 'splosin." He's definitely slurring, that's not an accent or even interference on comms. Ghost just stares at his teammates, brain whirling, trying to make sense of what he's hearing.
"C'pn? L.t? Gaz?" The voice is weak, stuttering. "C'n 'a hear me?
"You're in the building that blew up?" Price demands, taking his own steps forward.
"M sorry," Soap chokes out on the tail end of a sob. "I cu'dn geddout a'fore it c'lapps."
Price inhales sharply. Gaz's breath hitches.
"You didn't think to tell us you were under the rubble?" Price demands frantically, taking a step that turns into a stride and into a run.
Ghost turns on his heel and flat out sprints towards Soap's last known location.
"I di'n-"
"Don't worry about that right now." Ghost cuts in, "i'm on my way. Talk to me, Johnny."
There's a thin, terrible sound, and Ghost pushes his legs to run faster, desperate to get to Soap, he couldn't stop now, no matter the ache in his shins or his shortness of breath.
"Right behind you." Price pants. Vaguely, Ghost can hear Gaz making a call through his Comm, but puts it out of mind for now. He has to get to the building, has to get to johnny, has to get him out.
"Ah cannae feel m'legs." Soap cries, "is dark an' it hurts, Simon. Ple-eas."
Guilt is going to eat him alive, he's going to have nightmares of this moment for years.
"Give me a sitrep, son. Got anything more specific than under the rubble?" Price asks.
There's a couple more soft sounds Ghost can make out over the sound of his and Price's own panting breaths.
"M near a sid'ntren'" it's said around a gasp that becomes a sob with an ominous creak vibrating down the line. "M dy'n, m dy'n-!"
Soap's breaths are coming shorter, stuttered with tears and hysteria. Ghost is going as fast as he can but still he tries to go faster.
"No, you're not." He barks, like if he says if firmly enough, with enough conviction, it will be true.
"M 'ead 'urts." Soap whines. There's a few labored breaths, and a wet cough.
"Am gonna pass out."
It's clearer than any of the other words have been, and said with such conviction Ghost nearly trips on his own damn feet; the building is well within sight and he and Price are coming up fast.
"I'm almost there." Ghost gets out, some of his panic undoubtedly slipping into his voice. "A little longer, Johnny, just a little longer."
There is no reply, just the ragged sounds of too-shallow breathing. Ghost clings desperately to the sounds as he tries to get the man to speak again,but there is no response. The most of a reaction they get is a couple hiccups and wet rasping.
It doesn't actually take them long to find where he is; the seeping pool of red is indication enough.
The most harrowing part is contacting Gaz for backup, figuring out how in hells name they're going to get to Soap without crushing him or collapsing whatever little space he has found.
Ghost couldn't tell anyone how they did it, nor so quickly, but they do.
What he does remember is a spear of support beam coming up with blood on the end of it; he does remember watching them pull the slab of concrete it had been resting on up to reveal the source of the blood and one prone, much too pale John MacTavish.
Ghost goes in with two of the Medical personnel, one packs and puts pressure on the shoulder wound, the other braces his neck. Ghost helps them roll John onto the backboard, minding his limbs, and helps them carry him out into the zone for heli pickup. He refuses to leave John's side, holding his hand, one finger on his wrist pulse to reassure himself that he is still there, still alive.
Price and Gaz join him in the room at the hospital what is certainly hours layer but feels like just a few blinks; Gaz freshly bandaged, Price looking somewhere between stricken and furious.
"Why didn't he tell us?" Gaz asks. His voice is a wreck, and a glance shows his eyes are red, his nose irritated, like he's been wiping at it.
"He tried." Price says tonelessly.
Ghost looks over at price, who has now removed his hat, running his free hand roughly over his head.
"He tried; he asked for help and I told him to wait, he tried twice and I told him to sit tight instead of fucking listening."
('Sit tight, Soap,' and the sounds of wet coughs and too-quick breaths, and the image of red seeping out from under quiet stone will haunt him for the rest of his life, Price is sure of it.)
"You couldn't have known, John." Simon says quietly, tiredly. It sounds hollow with the feeling in his own chest matching the sentiment he's trying to refute perfectly, but he has to try. "It's no one person's fault. I treated his second call in like a joke."
"I was fucking teasing him about being on a break while he was bleeding out." Gaz adds, sounding wretched. Price puts a hand on his shoulder as Gaz takes hold of Soap's hand, one finger on his pulse, his breath hitching once before he gets himself back under control.
Silence reigns for a while, broken only by the gentle pulsing of Soap's heart monitor.
"Aren't we a pity party." Simon says finally. "Fuck. Fuck."
Price gives a huff of a laugh.
"Pity party indeed. He's alive. He'll live. We learn, we move forward." Price sighs like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Let me know when he wakes, yeah? I'll get started on the paperwork this mess has caused."
"I'll call you." Ghost promises, and gets a pat on the shoulder for the effort.
Gaz settles into a chair when his shaking legs finally give out, finger still on Soap's pulse. Ghost pats Gaz on the shoulder once and leans forward enough to rest his head beside Soap's good shoulder, close enough to hear the quiet rasp of his breathing through the oxygen mask and heart monitor.
He closes his eyes and breathes along.