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For as much technology as they had, Soap lamented the fact that they just couldn’t get weather predictions down to a perfect science. Sure, sure, it’s weather, it’s unpredictable. Some might even say “unpredictable” was Soap’s whole thing but it really wasn’t. Being able to come up with a plan on the fly, make an explosive out of almost nothing, those things weren’t unpredictable. That was just intelligence and hard work. He trained and trained and trained for that ability, he wasn’t at the top of the list for nothing.
They had gotten damn lucky that Laswell had connections everywhere and had gotten them to a safehouse in time. Just moments after he and Ghost had gotten into the house the rain unleashed. The rather beautiful view of the rainforest was now obscured by a wall of rain as they both caught their breath by the window, perimeter secured. No one would be able to move around easily in such a torrential downpour.
“‘Parently there’s a massive system headed this way. Rain’s not lettin’ up for a while.” Of course. On a mission where everything had actually gone to plan it was the weather that fucked things up. Nothing they could do about it, though, Soap thought. Might as well settle in for the time being.
The two men made their way to the bathroom, both ready to be rid of their wet gear. As Soap unclipped the buckles of his holster his hand bumped into his thigh and a wave of pain so bad he nearly buckled rushed through his nerves.
“Fuck!” He hissed out, immediately recoiling from the sensation. He’d been so focused on making it to safety with Ghost that he genuinely hadn’t noticed he’d been hit. His hand came back wet and red with blood. Soap could feel the moment Ghost’s eyes landed on him and his whole face flushed, partially from the pain and partially from the shame.
Getting injured came with the territory, he knew that, but not noticing? Not telling Ghost? He could have compromised them both. He’d gotten so focused on ensuring they were safe that the adrenaline had completely brushed it from his mind, he couldn’t even remember getting shot.
Soap was already working his belt off as Ghost came stomping over, his silent anger palpable in the room. Now aware of the injury, Soap was feeling a little stupid. His entire pant leg was soaked with blood, though he was hoping it had just spread through more easily given his pants had already been wet from the light rain they’d been trekking through.
Ghost shoved his shaking hands out of the way and, unceremoniously, proceeded to rip Soap’s pants down his legs. The action pulled a sharp yelp from Soap, slightly astonished by how brazen Ghost was being but mostly jarred by the pain. Initial assessment of the wound, thankfully, was not as bad as his blood soaked pant leg had made it out to be.
He’d definitely been shot, but his gear had stopped the bullet enough that it would be easily retrieved and stitched up. Looking closer, Soap could see the silver of the bullet. How fucking lucky was that. None of this seemed to calm Ghost, not that Soap had really felt hope for that.
“You gonna tell me why you didn’t tell me about that?” Ghost asked, though the question was more of an accusation. Fair enough.
“I- I didn’t notice. Must’ve happened in the rush to leave the compound.” Soap knew that wasn’t a satisfactory answer, but he really didn’t have a better one. The way his whole thigh was now pounding told him he’d been nursing that for quite some time, and they hadn’t been shot at for a couple hours.
This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d failed to notice an injury, either. Knife wounds, bruises and sprains were more common culprits, though, not an entire fucking gunshot wound. He wished he could give Ghost a better answer, he really did, but he was telling the truth. Ghost was usually the one to notice the injury, asking Soap if he’d already patched something up or why he was limping, to which Soap would generally respond with “What are ya talkin about. LT?” These interactions almost always ended up with a scolding and laps.
Ghost was storming around the room, opening cabinets and slamming them closed as he gathered up what medical supplies he could find. It wasn’t long before Soap had been manhandled onto the bathroom counter with tweezers, alcohol, sutures and topical antibiotics set out next to him. Ghost was sitting in front of him, seething on a chair.
Ghost took a wet washcloth and angrily wiped the area clean of blood, earning a genuine shout from Soap as pain wracked his system.
“Give a man some bloody warning, would ya?” Soap cried. He deserved it, though. He knew why Ghost was so disappointed. It was one thing to miss little injuries but an entire gunshot wound was simply unacceptable. Soap watched as Ghost poured the rubbing alcohol on some gauze he must’ve found somewhere and began wiping down the area directly around the wound.
A belt was put into Soap’s hand and he knew what that was for.
Placing it between his teeth, he bit down hard as Ghost poured some alcohol over the area of the wound, careful not to let too much get into the wound itself. Soap groaned, leaning back against the mirror as the pain made him weak. Spots danced across his vision, sparkling around like little fireflies while he tried to take deep breaths.
“I’m going to pull the bullet out now.” Soap was glad to have a little warning for that, not that he deserved to have his previous request honored. He could practically see the lecture being scripted in Ghost’s head while he worked. Soap tried his best not to tense as the tweezers were picked up, anticipation of the pain taking over his efforts. He’s probably experienced pain far worse than this, but that didn’t make it pleasant.
When Soap opened his eyes to find his leg already sutured and being patched up, vision a little fuzzy, it occurred to him that maybe he had lost a bit more blood than he thought. He heaved a sigh and sat up, watching as Ghost glanced up from his work. A bandage had been placed over the wound, likely with the topical antibiotic, and an ace bandage being wrapped around that to keep it on. It seemed Ghost wasn’t expecting them to need to run considering how thorough he was being.
“Thanks.” Soap mumbled, leaning his head back against the mirror with a loud thump. He felt Ghost hesitate, just for a moment, before finishing the wrap with a solid smack to the thigh, just close enough to the gunshot to really hurt. Yeah. Yeah he deserved that one.
Ghost huffed as he gathered the dirty supplies and threw them away, almost knocking the garbage bin over in his anger. Soap winced at that. He never ignored the injuries on purpose. His brain just seemed to be excellent at hiding them from him, not sending a single warning sign until the adrenaline was completely gone and it would hit him all at once.
Getting off the counter probably hadn’t been his smartest idea. The pain and blood loss had made him woozy, and despite thinking about it quite hard, his legs did not want to stay upright. Soap never hit the floor, though, Ghost was there in an instant. With one arm over Ghost’s shoulder, he made his way to the bedroom where he laid down.
“What, no lecture?” Ask him why he decided to tease Ghost in that exact moment and Soap wouldn’t be able to tell you a single thing going through his head. Maybe it felt weird to not be admonished for the mistake, maybe he just… didn’t want Ghost to leave his side. Despite knowing how mad his lieutenant was, despite knowing how foolish he’d been, he couldn’t help taking comfort in his quiet, solid presence.
Ghost didn’t quite respond, just sighed and sat down next to the scot. Soap met his gaze, searching for some kind of answer in those honey gold eyes of his. He didn’t find any anger, though, just something soft and incredibly frightening.
“What do you want me to say?” Ghost asked, voice just barely a whisper. Soap drew in a deep breath, taken aback by how gentle Ghost sounded. How… scared.
“'M sorry.”
Soap watched something happen behind Ghost’s eyes, he could tell, his gaze darting from Soap’s face to the bedroom window and back again, like he was trying to plan an escape.
“Do you have any idea how fucking scary it is to look over at you and see you covered in blood like that?” That… wasn’t what Soap had been expecting. That didn’t feel like a question from his Lieutenant, and it didn’t feel like Ghost was expecting his Sergeant to answer that either. He expected Johnny to answer that.
“I- no. No, I don’t.” There wasn’t a single time Soap could remember Ghost getting more than a couple bruises or scrapes. No sprains, no breaks. Nothing. It was always him. Soap could pretend he wasn’t scared of the thought, though, he could ignore the actual panic attack he’d had when Ghost had once unexpectedly lost comms during a firefight and Soap had thought he’d been shot dead. The sheer relief he felt the moment those comms came back and he heard that stupid, beautiful voice in his ear again.
“Why don’t you care about yourself, Johnny?” Johnny’s gaze whipped back to Ghost, not sure when he’d looked away. Ghost’s gaze was intense on his face, boring through his skin and bones straight to his soul.
They’d danced around this for years now, the moments where Ghost would seemingly give Soap a glance into the man underneath the mask, into Simon, but the moment he would reach out for that man he’d get shut out again. Brushed off like it was nothing. But the need for just one more glimpse, just one more moment, was enough to keep Soap pushing.
“I’ve never met someone so dedicated to their job yet so reckless with their own life. You train and you study like you never want to stop but you walk into a firefight like you’re ready to die.” Soap froze completely, heart beating loud in his chest. He had no solid answer for Ghost. It wasn’t that he was unaware of the danger, he could usually give an accurate percentage of most risks, but the fact that he seemed to not process it was what made him good at his job. High risk did not equal no reward.
“No.” Ghost said, seeming to have read Soap’s mind there. “You are the smartest man I know. I know you know better. I see the guilt on your face when I- I have to lecture you about safety and awareness every time this happens. How is it that you of all people are so ready to throw away what I hold so close?”
Soap wasn’t sure when Ghost had reached out and grabbed his wrist, but he is sure of the moment his grip tightens. Draws his attention down to where skin meets skin. It’s the first time, Soap thinks absently, that he’s seen Ghost’s hands up close like this. He can see the scars in detail, the way some of them pull at the healthy skin, or the way others are thin like papercuts. He wants to take that hand in his own.
The moment is taken before Soap can move though as Ghost ripped his hand away and stood up sharply.
“Forget it. You know better, I don’t need to sit here and lecture you about this.” Just like that Soap could tell the walls were back up. Normally he would know better than to push back right away, but maybe it was the blood loss getting to his head. Instead of savoring the moment like he would, he felt angry.
Ghost really just drops that on him and walks away? Soap launches himself up from the bed, taking two long strides forward to grab onto Ghost’s shirt before he’s crumbling to the ground and taking the other man with him. No matter, though, he’s got enough anger in his veins to make up for the lack of blood. He’s half on top of Ghost, half sprawled on the floor, and Ghost is on his side crushed between him and the floor.
“You- you dense, cold hearted son of a-” Soap’s vision starts to fade but he refuses to sink into the cold. He’s had enough of the back and forth.
“Son of a bitch.” He finally spits out, much to Ghost’s apparent surprise.
“You can’t just say that and walk away!” Ghost obviously thinks he can, because he scoffs as he pushes his way out from underneath Soap. They’re eye to eye now, and this close Soap can see the way Ghost’s brow is furrowed in fear.
“I’m not going to forget it, Ghost. Stop letting me get close just to walk away.” There was no hiding the pain in his voice, not just from the bullet hole in his leg but from yearning so deeply for that connection just to get it ripped away time and time again.
“Take the fucking risk, Ghost.” Soap shouldn’t feel as sure of himself as he does, he knows that. In all technicality he just propositioned his superior officer. If Ghost was really so against it, he would have told Soap to stop ages ago. Months, literal years. But he didn’t, and now here they were. On the floor of a safe house, sitting squarely in a crossroads that will change the trajectory of both their lives. Because Soap knows there’s danger here, he does.
If Ghost says no, if Ghost walks away, that’s it. Soap knows to stop. He won’t push. But he can’t just forget the fact that he’s fallen in love with someone he’s certain he barely knows. That he’s fallen in love with a man he only gets a moment's glance at. With the scarred, calloused hands that hold him so gently, like he’s something sacred. With shared cigarettes and nights under the stars. He can handle no. He can’t handle staring no in the eyes every day.
Ghost is still for a very long time. So long that Soap starts to feel nauseous, the pain of the position he’s kneeling in taking a toll on his slowly weakening body. It nearly surprises Soap when Ghost takes a deep breath, holds it, and sighs. He closes his eyes for a few seconds before standing and holding out his hand. Soap takes it, hesitantly, and lets Ghost guide him up and back to the bed. His wound is checked to ensure it wasn’t bleeding and then he’s tucked into the blankets. He lets it happen. When Ghost seems to have decided this is acceptable, he settles next to Soap once more, one leg propped up on the bed so he’s facing Soap.
“I don’t know how to do this, Johnny.” And Johnny feels his heart stop in his chest. This.
“I’m… scared. I’m scared, and I’m broken, and I don’t even know if I can-” Ghost’s voice catches in his throat, cracks on emotion Johnny’s never heard before.
“I don’t know if I can love anymore.” It’s barely a whisper but it’s there, and tears well in Johnny’s eyes. He reaches up, ever so slowly, to place a hand against Ghost’s cheek. The tears slip down his cheeks when Ghost lets him.
“You can, Ghost.” Johnny says with the softest smile Ghost has ever seen. Ghost relaxes, just a fraction. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Watched you light my cig, wrap my wounds, cover my six.”
It seems to be Ghost’s turn to search for answers now, though Johnny gives them willingly and easily.
“I love you, Simon.” And Simon is leaning down, resting his forehead against Johnny’s as he heaves out a shaky breath. “We can learn together, yeah? Neither of us are perfect, dove, that’s alright.”
Simon’s shoulders shake, slowly resting his weight against Johnny as he lays down next to the man.
“I’m scared of hurting you. Of doing this wrong.” It was Johnny’s turn to sigh, turning so they were nearly chest to chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Hearing Simon so soft, so quiet and earnest, was something Johnny so rarely got to hear. It made him wonder just how much of ‘Ghost’ was a mask to Simon.
“You might, Simon, but you’re not going to lose me. Not when I want this so badly, for me and for us. Together, remember?” There’s a moment of silence again, quiet contemplation as Johnny lets Simon think.
The answer comes when Simon reaches out, so hesitantly, to wrap an arm around Johnny’s waist and pull him closer. Johnny smiles up at him, soft and sweet, blue eyes rimmed with tears that Simon reaches up to wipe away. Exhaustion floods Johnny’s body then, weighing him down, and as he curls up into Simon’s hold and lets himself fall asleep in that warm safety, he’s certain he feels the faintest ghost of a kiss against his forehead.