Disclaimer: CoD is not mine and no one would die if it were. Prompted drabble.
Ghost had been on his way back from the washroom when he heard a grunt from inside MacTavish's room. He stopped, raised a brow, and listened. He could tell by the handle that the door was not locked, so if he had someone in there, it would be a prime opportunity to interrupt.
A second grunt came a moment later, followed by a curse.
Ghost tugged on his shirt before wrapping his fingers around the doorknob- he had been shirtless, no doubt a gratuitous sight for anyone still awake, but then again it was going on 2 A.M.(showering late gave him the benefit of showering alone)- and silently pushed the door open.
Soap was standing by his bedside and twisted in a manner so that he was facing away from him. There was a wet, crimson-stained rag laid out on the bed along with a shallow bowl of water. Ghost approached him carefully and without a sound, and upon closer investigation, saw that his captain was using a tiny pair of needle-nose pliers to weave a small, curved needle in and out of the skin at his hip. When the hell had he been cut?
He cursed again, nearly fumbled the pliers, and straightened, a hand covering his eyes in exasperation. Ah- He couldn't quite reach the back half of the wound.
"The hell happened, MacTavish?"
John whirled around, caught off guard. It took him a second to regain his composure.
"Nicked by a tact knife," he said, giving a flippant, frustrated gesture to the irritated wound.
"We've got doctors for a reason."
"There're people who need 'em more than me."
"Based on this?" Ghost nodded towards the set-up on the bed and the tools in John's hand, "You need help more than half of them."
John glanced down at his injury, brows knitted together, and admitted to himself that Ghost was probably right. He picked up the towel, re-wet it in the bowl, and handed it wordlessly to Simon who took it with an understanding nod and knelt behind him.
He began to dab away the excess blood until the tissue looked a little less angry and resumed stitching where his CO had left off. The cut began to get more jagged where it curled around his lower back, and Ghost instructed him to lie down before he continued.
Soap seemed to prefer it this way, anyway- He didn't wince as much and could watch Ghost's hands without having to twist around. And seeing those typically trembling hands still as they worked gave him an odd sense of satisfaction that he couldn't place. John also liked that he could see his face, which was focused like he'd only rarely seen it. He looked like he did on the field, under that bloody mask- His lips were set in a concentrated frown and his eyes were narrowed and cold and unmoving and John swore that he looked like some kind of professional, though he knew he was far from.
"Any reason in particular you're so set against the doctor?" Ghost asked, and John was pulled out of his trance.
He cleared his throat before speaking. "They'd have me sit around on my arse too long."
Ghost scoffed and gave a small smile of amusement- Soap felt his own lips give an answering twitch at the corners and had to bite back what threatened to be a smile.
It didn't take Ghost too long to finish after that, and he set the tools on the towel and set the towel on top of the small, cleared table next to MacTavish's bed. He stood up and John expected that he was leaving- Until a set of fingers traced a small patch of marred skin between his shoulder blades. He closed his eyes and murmured a "Thank you".
"'M here to help," Ghost said, and leaned down to press a single kiss to the nape of his captain's neck, "Goodnight, John."