Chapter Text
In recent years, John ‘Soap’ MacTavish was training himself to look on the bright side of things — so, having a burlap sack over his head prevented the rain from drenching his hair. That’s it. That’s the only positive spin he could conjure for this horrific turn of events.
Task Force 141’s current mission was already a disaster disguised as reconnaissance, but this wasn’t where Soap expected to wind up. Wrists bound by nylon rope and a headache pounding against his temple where some asshole knocked him unconscious with a gun only an hour prior. The taste of blood consumed his mouth. Soap’s stomach let him know he needed to vomit. The gash on his right side painfully reminded him that he was alive and slowly bleeding out.
“We found one!” a voice cried as Soap was shoved square in the back, forcing him down to his knees. A hiss of pain left his mouth involuntarily. He could feel his undershirt soak through with blood, getting heavier with each passing second.
A low laugh echoed as footsteps paced before Soap, barely louder than the downpour. “Bring him inside. Let’s find out exactly what he knows.”
He was yanked back to his feet by the nylon rope, resulting in pain spiking up his whole right side, stemming from the knife wound attempting to bleed him out. Christ, it burned. Every nerve ending reminded him he was injured. And he wished it would stop, because he was already very well aware of his dire situation.
When the rain finally stopped hitting him, Soap was officially out of positives for this situation. The burlap sack was ripped off his head, leaving him face-to-face with exactly how horrible the circumstances were.
“Soap?” a voice crackled through his comms channel.
A different voice came next. “This ain’t funny. Report!”
That was all he got to hear of the other members of TF141 before the man behind him yanked the device out of his ear, tossing it to another soldier. A knife blade slid between his skin and throat mic, slicing off the thin band wrapped around his neck. The soldier left the room with the devices as Soap felt his heart race. The butt of an assault rifle jabbed him right between the shoulder blades, forcing him down on his knees. Again.
“So, what do we have here?” the main man asked, moving Soap’s equipment around to find his name on his vest. “MacTavish? Hmm, why does that name ring a bell?”
Soap’s blood ran cold.
The man shrugged it off, placing a hand under Soap’s chin to lift his gaze, meeting his eyes. A large scar cut across the stranger’s left eye — while his eyes were green, this one was glazed over, a milky-white film coating the scarred eye. His dark hair was neatly cut and shaved, military grade. And his deep tanned skin was covered in several other small scars; mostly knife nicks, but a single bullet wound scar on his neck. On his camouflage vest was a name: Jimenez.
Soap made sure to commit that name to memory.
“You’re easy on the eyes, MacTavish. But I’m sure you already weaponize that feature,” Jimenez casually remarked, steering Soap’s chin around to fully inspect him.
Swallowing thickly, Soap suddenly felt like cattle being inspected at a showcase. The sickness from earlier returned in full-force, but Soap made sure to keep it down. His fists clenched behind his back, shaking as his adrenaline began fading.
Jimenez crouched down to be at Soap’s eye level. “So, what are you doing at my base, MacTavish? It’ll be better for you to just tell me the truth — I’d hate to ruin this stunning face of yours.”
“Would ye believe me if I said I’m just lost?” Soap asked, his thick Scottish accent decorating his words.
“A Scotsman? Must be my lucky day,” Jimenez began with a wicked grin, “Alas, no, I wouldn’t believe that. Usually lost explorers don’t show up at my door in full military garb. Any better excuses?” Jimenez demanded, rubbing his thumb across Soap’s cheekbone.
“Fresh out, I’m afraid,” Soap conceded, shifting in an attempt to wriggle out of Jimenez’s grasp.
Jimenez shrugged. “Shame. Guess that only leaves you, me, the truth, and a knife.”
Soap wasn’t given the opportunity to think about Jimenez’s threat before he drew a blade, pressing the sharp metal against Soap’s Adam’s apple. Gulping down his fear, the apple bobbed in Soap’s throat. Jimenez’s stare turned hungry, making fear sprout in Soap’s stomach.
“We’ll start easy. How many more are outside?” he demanded, eyes climbing up and down Soap’s body.
“What do ye—”
An immediate burst of pain.
A single slice along the bottom of Soap’s jawline, going from the base of his jaw to his chin. Blood started dripping into the dirt beneath them. Soap gritted his teeth in a failed attempt to mask his pain.
Jimenez placed the tip of the knife to the base of Soap’s chin, using the weapon to steer his skull around. “God, you have such breathtaking eyes. I bet you look stunning when you cry. Ethereal, even.”
What the fuck was this guy’s problem?
“Let’s find out, shall we?” Jimenez asked, removing the knife only to quickly bury it in flesh right above Soap’s knee.
“Fuck!” Soap screamed, involuntary tears budding in his eyes.
Jimenez grinned, the expression absolutely horrific. “So close. Let me give you one more push.”
The man left the blade sticking out of Soap’s leg, all his weight pushing down on the weapon. It hurt like a bitch, but he couldn’t cry. Not if that’s what this sadistic fuck wanted. Soap would do anything in his power to prevent tears from falling.
Jimenez roughly grabbed Soap’s side, jabbing a finger into his previous wound. A scream left Soap’s throat before his brain even processed the noise. He couldn’t think straight anymore. Every single part of him hurt. His leg. His side. His wrists. His chin. His pride. His dignity.
When he finally noticed the crazed smile on Jimenez’s face, Soap also realized the world was blurry and his face was wet. Shit. Tears freely rolled down his cheeks, combining with the blood dripping from his chin.
Something in Jimenez’s eyes shifted. “I was right. So stunning when you cry…”
Another soldier entered the room, standing at attention. “Sir, we’ve got the convoy ready to leave. Do you want us to go ahead and kill this prisoner so we can dispatch?”
Jimenez hummed, shifting his attention back down to Soap. “I think I want to keep this one. Too precious to leave rotting in the wilderness. Besides, I haven’t even had all my fun yet.”
Soap felt his entire body go rigid, heart thundering against his ribs as horror seeped into his brain. Where was the rest of TF141? Did they extract without trying to rescue him? Sure, it was his fault he got captured, but surely they wouldn’t just abandon him. Right?
“Sir, do you want him with the other prisoners or in an interrogation chamber?” the soldier in the doorway asked.
Jimenez shook his head. “I want him with me,” he said, allowing his thumb to rub against Soap’s bottom lip, gently pulling it down, exposing his teeth. Soap attempted to bite the man’s finger, but he retracted it too quickly.
A harsh slap was delivered to Soap’s cheek in return.
“Apparently he hasn’t learned how to behave, so I’ll need to handle that before we go. Just get my vehicle ready for two,” Jimenez demanded. The soldier nodded, ducking out of the room and going off into the rain.
“Motherfucker, I—”
Another slap.
Right when Soap opened his mouth to keep swearing, a cloth was stuffed inside and tied behind his head, effectively gagging him. He bit down on the item in his mouth, attempting to fight his way out of it. He, of course, was unsuccessful.
“Let’s go, sweetheart. You still haven’t shared all the fun details about your friends in the shadows…”
—
Ghost used the scope of his sniper rifle like binoculars, desperately attempting to find Soap. Minutes passed without even a glimpse of the sergeant. Too long. Way too long. A sourness settled in the pit of Ghost’s stomach as alarms blared in his brain. He just needed proof of life.
“It’s been too long…” Ghost reported.
As if answering his prayers, Soap and his captor emerged from one of the tents. Immediately, Ghost’s heart dropped. Soap was being aggressively shoved around, hands bound behind his back, blood and tears dripping down his face, limping, and gagged. The man behind him kept a knife at his back, grinning like a goddamn villain.
“I’m ending this,” Ghost determined, lining up the crosshairs over the torturer’s forehead.
The comm line sparked to life. “Ghost, do not engage. We still don’t have everything we need.”
“For fucks sake, Price! He’s got Soap bleeding already. We have to exfil him now! Or else—”
“Negative, Lieutenant. We need to find the location of the arms stash and the buyers before exfil. We’ll have to follow them to their relocation. Soap will have to endure,” Price cut in; it was almost like he knew exactly what to say to piss Ghost off even more.
He couldn’t believe he let Price talk him into this. Of all the plans they’ve concocted, this was the worst yet. Soap was put in the most compromising position — swapping a set of blueprints from the main cargo vehicle. Ghost believed this to have been an impossible task, especially for Soap.
Gaz and Price were trying to learn more about the leader. All the information they gathered was that his name is Yvon Jimenez, he’s notorious for being ruthless and cruel to his followers, and he supposedly enjoys collecting rare souvenirs. Now he has Soap.
That just left Ghost, who was on overwatch — stuck observing, too far away to be any real help.
“Well, you better find your information soon, or I’m going to sabotage this entire mission,” Ghost established, gritting his teeth as he watched Soap get shoved into the back of an armored van.
An irritated groan came through the comms. “Ghost, we can’t afford to fail this mission. If these arms get to their destination, then we’re practically feeding terrorists their weapons. Soap will be fine. He’s a grown man.”
Jimenez climbed into the van behind Soap, slamming the doors shut. A string of swears escaped the lieutenant.
Ghost lost visual of the target.
“If anything happens to him, Price, it’s on you. So you better pray to any god that’ll listen that there isn’t a single scratch on him. Because his blood will be on your hands,” Ghost seethed through their comms.
Gaz chuckled, which was almost enough to send Ghost over the edge. “Relax, mate. Soap is more than capable of holding his own. If you keep defending him like this, we might start to think you care about him.”
Those words sent a jolt right to Ghost’s black heart. The very last thing he needed right now were rumors that he was growing a soft spot for Soap, even if it might be true. Hell, just seeing the sergeant as a prisoner made Ghost want to shift into a one-man army and wipe out the whole convoy right then and there. But no. The only thing Ghost was supposed to care about was the mission — he’d spent years making that image for himself, so why was a sunshiney Scotsman able to dismantle it in an instant?
Unfortunately, at the end of the day, Ghost was still human, despite trying to convince everyone otherwise.
Scoffing, Ghost kept his attention on tracking the convoy as it moved away. “Convoy heading East. Need a ride so we can trail them. Echo Tango Alpha?”
“Two minutes out,” Price answered.
Ghost began packing up his sniper rifle, discharging the bullet from the barrel and storing it in his vest. He wiped the dirt off the exterior of the weapon, peering over the ridge to see the truck headed his way. Lights out. Smart. Easier to hide in the darkness.
He didn’t know when he fixed his attention back on the convoy, but that’s where his eyes drifted. Knowing Soap was stuck in there with a maniac didn’t make anything better, even if Ghost was well aware Soap could hold his own. He’s Sergeant John MacTavish, after all. It’s not like he stumbled from civilian life into that position.
Still, Ghost knew the horrors of war better than most. Humans can be monsters when given the opportunity. Even the strongest soldier can be brought to his knees under enough pressure. He just hoped Soap wasn’t under that much pressure yet.
While many prayed to deities of various religions, Ghost didn’t buy into any of that bullshit. A god was a silent guardian that watched over and protected their followers. The only thing worth Ghost’s worship and prayer was Soap.
And Ghost stood on that ridge, praying to Soap that he’d be safe; and he needed him to know Ghost was on his way. He’d never abandon Soap.
Not now. Not ever.