Chapter Text
Only a sliver of sun remained over Las Almas, casting the town in dim gold and long, creeping shadows. The worst of the heat had passed, but the air was still thick - heavy with dust, sweat, and the sharp tang of distant gunpowder. Every step kicked up grit. The mission had gone sideways – because of course it had.
"Bloody hell," Roach muttered, crouching behind a crumbling wall beside Ghost. "Why is it always Mexico where we get completely shafted?"
Ghost, reloading his weapon with practiced ease, cast him a sidelong glance. "You saying you don’t like the place?"
"I’m saying if we survive this, I’m taking the longest bath known to man and drinking about five cups of tea."
Ghost huffed. "Shouldn’t have left your stash at base."
Roach groaned. "Don’t remind me. You got any?"
"Course I do," Ghost said, adjusting his mask. "I’m not an animal."
Roach blinked at him. "You’ve had tea this whole time and didn’t tell me?"
"Not the time for this, love"
It was never the time, according to Ghost.
They peeked over the wall. Their team had split – Soap, Alejandro and Rudy were circling around the far side of the town, Gaz and Price were securing an exit, and Roach and Ghost? Well, they were stuck in the worst position possible: pinned down by a dozen cartel members, and Roach had managed to twist his ankle when the chase began.
"How bad is it?" Ghost asked, nodding at Roach’s leg.
"Bad enough I won’t be sprinting anytime soon."
Ghost let out a quiet breath. "Right. Change of plan."
Roach knew what that meant – Ghost was going to get him out of here whether he liked it or not.
"Look, you don’t have to do the whole 'carrying me heroically into the sunset' thing again," Roach tried.
"Shut up and hold on," Ghost muttered. He slid one arm under Roach’s knees, the other behind his back, and lifted him clean off the ground.
"Simon, I swear-"
Ghost was already moving. "We can argue about this when we’re not getting shot at."
They weaved through alleys, sticking to the shadows. The cartel wasn’t the sharpest, but there were a lot of them. Too many.
Roach, despite the pain in his ankle, couldn’t help but grin. "If you wanted to spend time with me alone, you could’ve just asked."
Ghost’s grip tightened slightly, but he didn’t answer.
"Or maybe you like rescuing me," Roach continued, voice teasing.
"Don’t flatter yourself."
"You definitely do," Roach smirked. "You always have a way out of these things, but somehow, I’m always the one you’re dragging along."
Ghost sighed, adjusting his hold on Roach. "Because you’re a liability."
"Rude."
"And you get into trouble."
"You’d be bored if I didn’t."
Ghost didn’t answer right away. He turned a corner, glanced around, then pressed Roach up against a wall, keeping them hidden as cartel soldiers jogged past.
His voice was quieter this time. "And you’re important."
Roach felt his heart stutter.
He was about to make a joke – something light, something to ease the moment – but Ghost moved again before he could, guiding them toward a back road.
"You really do care," Roach said after a moment, his voice softer.
"Don’t be an idiot," Ghost muttered.
Ghost carried him like it was second nature, every stride confident beneath Roach’s weight.
The safehouse in Las Almas wasn’t exactly luxurious, but it was safe. And right now, that was all that mattered.
The team had regrouped, cleaned up, and were now sprawled across the common area. Ghost sat on a crate, methodically wrapping Roach’s ankle.
Roach, for his part, was shining like the bloody sun.
From across the room, Soap watched him with a look of disbelief, barely holding in a laugh. Roach lounged in a chair with his injured leg propped up, grinning down at Ghost – who was entirely focused on the bandage.
Ghost didn’t look up, but his touch was ridiculously careful as he finished securing the wrap. "You’ll live."
"You sure? Might need some extra care," Roach teased, eyes practically sparkling.
Alejandro, polishing the last of his rifle, leaned back with a smirk. "So… are they always like this?"
"Oh, you noticed too?" Gaz muttered with a sigh.
Rudy nodded toward the other side of the room, where Ghost was checking the wrap on Roach’s ankle. "We’ve only been with you for, like, three days, and I already need answers. They’re always bickering, always hovering around each other. I thought they hated each other at first, but now I’m pretty sure they’re just… weirdly into it."
Alejandro snorted. "Ghost literally carried him through half of the city, made him tea, and now he is wrapping his ankle like like he's patching up royalty."
Rudy leaned in a bit. "Also, you notice Ghost keeps calling him ‘love’?
He held up a finger.
‘Need a hand, love?’
‘Thanks, love.’
"And my personal favorite – ‘Good job, love’ – after Roach shot a guy in the neck."
Soap looked like he was going through the stages of grief. "I complimented Ghost once and got a grunt like I was wasting his time. Roach gets full tenderness and pet names like it’s bloody Valentine’s Day."
Gaz shook his head, deadpan. "Point it out and Ghost will act like you accused him of war crimes. Roach too. Suddenly it's all ‘What? No idea what you mean.’ Then they go right back to whispering in each other’s faces."
Alejandro blinked. "And they’re not together?"
"Not officially," Soap muttered, rubbing his temples. "But unofficially? We’re living in the first act of the slowest romance in military history."
Alejandro turned to Price, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching them with the tired expression of a man who had long since accepted his team's nonsense.
"You let this go on?" Alejandro asked.
Price shrugged. "It’s Ghost. He could tattoo Roach’s name across his chest and still swear it’s for operational efficiency."
Rudy laughed. "Unbelievable."
Soap leaned forward, eyes glinting. "So. Who’s ready to play Cupid?"