LEGAL DISCLAIMER:MacTavish, Price and the other characters you'll recognize from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare series are the property of Infinity Ward/Activision/Sledgehammer Games/Raven Software.
This story is an AU. Contains mature language and violence.
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"I've never even met this Yuri and I don't like him already."
As he finished up MacTavish's dressing change, that wasn't the only thing Price didn't like. While the stab wound looked fine, the main incision's redness and swelling were no longer in question. Neither was its increased tenderness - Soap's stoicism had ended at the light touch of an antiseptic swab. He'd looked away, regaining his composure, but not before Price had caught the worried rumple of his forehead.
"You'll just have to meet him then." Nikolai finished toweling off his wet hair, which stood up wildly. His bare feet stuck out from beneath a new pair of jeans, the tag still sewn to its waistband, his slight paunch pushing it downward.
"You know, it wouldn't kill you to eat a vegetable once in a while."
"Here it actually might."
Rolling his eyes, Price had to concede that particular point. He pulled off his gloves, turning them inside out, balling one up inside the other.
"Think of the intel he has, Price. He's the key to finding Makarov."
"If we can get anywhere near him." Price smoothed strips of tape over the dressing. Even that was enough to make MacTavish flinch. "Sounds like that's not in our best interest right now."
"Not the first time we've lost our safety net," Soap grunted, his pale face reddening as he tried to push himself up. "Won't be the last. We need to keep moving- " He collapsed back down into the disheveled bedclothes. "Shite," he panted, looking over at Nikolai, who was pulling a new gray cotton t-shirt over his head. "You bring back something for me?" He wrinkled his nose at the striped hospital tunic still bunched up around his chest. "This thing's getting a bit ripe."
"We've noticed," said Nikolai, digging into the rustling pile of carry bags on the dresser, setting a folded cloth bundle onto end of the bed.
MacTavish looked down at it with pure revulsion. "Fair one, y'bastard."
Pushing aside the short navy blue bathrobe, Price picked up the matching pajama pants, raising an eyebrow at the fcuk logo scrolling in small white print across every square inch of it.
Nikolai shrugged. "It was all they had. In your size, anyway."
Shaking his head, Price set them back down. "Right then, let's sit you up." He and Nikolai both slid an arm beneath MacTavish's shoulders. "You've hardly taken any fluids since last night. We need to get something in you, even if it's just water."
Soap's fingertips dug hard into Price's arm, his eyes and mouth clamped tightly shut as they propped him up against the headboard, pushing the pillows behind him.
"Mmph," he groaned. "Isn't this supposed to hurt less by now?"
"Going to be a long road, son. Have to expect a few bumps along the way." And yes, it probably should, Price thought grimly.
He began to gather the tube feeding equipment, a little measuring cup with a spout and a largish plastic syringe. There'd been a drip set for it, which they'd neglected to take with them during their hasty departure, a decision that Price was regretting. Nothing for it now. Nikolai handed him the cup of Ensure he'd just finished mixing and spread a towel over MacTavish's chest, all while Soap eyed the proceedings with a look of resigned dread, like a kid in the waiting room of a dentist's office. Price knew first hand that it was painless. The worst bit was having the tube put in, and he'd been out for that. All he had to do was just lie there and be fed, which Price knew was exactly what the lad hated.
"Just give me something to drink, then," said Soap, raising a hand with a bruised puncture mark on the back of it. "I'll be fine."
"All right." Price took a seat on the side of the bed, putting the cup under his nose.
MacTavish sniffed the vanilla-flavored mixture and turned his head. "Erm, maybe some water first."
Nikolai offered him the bottle. Soap took a few painful swallows and waved it away. He lay back into his pillows, looking anything but relaxed. "Ahh … fuck."
"There's one more pain shot left, if you want it."
"And then what?" MacTavish looked wearily between them. "No safe house. Do we even have a plan at this point?"
Price exchanged glances with Nikolai. "If you can drink, then maybe you can manage to take a pill. And to answer your question, we're working on that one." He held out the cup of Ensure. "Last call."
MacTavish tried a cautious sip, and pulled a face. "Ugh. I can't."
"All right, then." Price drew the pale liquid into the syringe. "After all the protein shakes I've seen you throw down your neck, I don't see how this is any different." He plugged its blunt point into the end of the NG tube.
"Just not … up to drinking that right now."
"I make you some broth instead," said Nikolai, heading back to the dresser where the kettle was.
"No need to fuss." He closed his eyes and swallowed. "Maybe later." Price frowned. When Soap was off his food - of any sort - there was no truer sign that something was amiss.
"Nikolai's working on getting us a change of scenery, though we know how much you love this place," said Price, slowly sending the formula down the tube by gravity.
"I should hear back by tomorrow, if not sooner. I'd tell to you to be patient, but I know you both too well," said Nikolai.
Price watched the thin vanilla line loop over Soap's ear and around the side of his face, passing beneath the translucent strips of tape on his cheek - white against the purple bruising - before disappearing into his nose. "I know it's not pleasant, lad. But your insides need food, even if you don't feel like it."
After watching for a few minutes from his perch on the dresser, Nikolai grinned. "You're pretty good at this Price. Should we be worried?"
"Aye." MacTavish's tired, annoyed look swept between the two of them. "Don't quit your day job, Old Man."
"Ingrate." Price chuckled softly. "If we're going to go anywhere, we need to get you back on your feet, which means getting some more fluids into you. Maybe even something to eat, eh? Unlike this one here- " he jerked his head at a scowling Nikolai, biscuit in hand, making what Price assumed was a rude gesture. "- You look like you're down half a stone already." Finished with the Ensure, Price drew up a syringeful of the water to chase it down with.
Halfway through it, MacTavish gestured for a halt. "Price … stop. I feel like I'm going to be sick."
Price let out a long slow exhale from his nose, pressing his mouth into a firm line. The lad looked positively green. "All right, we'll try again later."
Soap closed his eyes for a few measured breaths. "Having this bloody tube tickling the back of my throat isn't exactly helping."
Price sighed, tidying everything up. "Tell you what." He indicated the fresh bottle of water on the bedside table. "You want it out, you drink all of that. All right?"
"Aye, all right … if it'll stop your bloody nagging!"
Price scooped up the rather dubious fashion statement from the edge of the bed, prompting Nikolai to hop off the dresser. A few grunting, swearing minutes later, it was clear that getting out of the tunic and into the bathrobe had been enough for MacTavish.
"You want to try to get the pants on?" Nikolai asked.
"Maybe after I've had that shot, which sounds like a brilliant idea right now," Soap ground out.
"You're sure?" Price asked.
"Aye." MacTavish was visibly trembling.
Holding the vial up to the light, Price watched the remaining morphine drain away with a growing sense of foreboding. The increasing pain was a concern, especially with how the wound looked, and knowing that Soap, with typical stubbornness, had held out as long as he could. It would be back soon enough, and they had nothing left to fight it. Flicking the bubbles out the syringe, he carefully pushed the rest of the air out, not wanting to waste even the drop on the tip of the needle.
MacTavish drew the blanket up around himself. "Fuck me, I'm freezing."
Price and Nikolai looked at each other in alarm. "Freezing?" Price asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It's 20 degrees out - a bit humid, mind. I need your arm back for a minute." Nikolai dug noisily through the bags. Soap's eyes fluttered closed, his brow creasing as Price gave him the injection. After holding pressure to the site for a moment, Price scooped the plastic cap back onto the needle, using the edge of the table to snap it into place. He laid the back of his hand across MacTavish's forehead just as Nikolai was tearing the children's fever strip out of its cartoon packaging.
"Oh, come on," Soap protested, but that didn't deter the two men hovering over him. "Really?"
Price held the strip to his forehead. "38."
"It's nothing - those things aren't accurate anyway."
"Well there is a far more accurate method, but I can't say you'd like it much," said Price, pulling the blanket up over him. "Could just be the dehydration." He and Nikolai both stood, arms folded, giving him a long look of stern appraisal.
"Aye, that's all it is," said Soap defensively, his gaze flicking back and forth between them.
"You know what to do, then."
"All right, Old Man - Christ." MacTavish's eyelids drooped, the morphine doing its work. He sighed, fighting his drowsiness to give them both a pointed look. "Having a plan B never hurt anyone. It's not having one that does."
"You leave that to us."
Soap's eyes slid shut with an affirmative rumble. "Hmm."
Price bowed his head for a moment. "He'll sleep for while. Give it a couple hours, then try to get some of that electrolyte mix down him. If he won't drink it, then do it like I showed you - start small, go slowly."
"This is not good," said Nikolai, stroking his goatee.
"No. No, it's not." For all his insistence, it was clear that MacTavish had thought so too, and had about worn himself out denying it.
"They'll be watching the hospitals."
"Then we're just going to have to improvise." Price pulled his t-shirt over his head, wincing at his own injuries.
Nikolai studied the bloom of angry purple, edged with yellow, spread over Price's left side. "That looks like it hurts."
"It does." It came out as a strangled yelp - pulling the fresh undershirt on was agonizing. Nikolai had to help him, and pushed a packet of ibuprofen tablets in his direction. Price downed them gratefully. He tucked his pistol into the back of his waistband, covering it all with a tan linen button-down. Deciding to give his usual boonie the day off, he opted for Nikolai's dark gray baseball cap instead.
He frowned at his marred reflection in the dresser's mirror. The swelling had gone down, both eyes open to normal operating levels. Now came the mottled purplish yellow-green ugliness that would slowly melt its way down his face as it subsided. He picked up the Russian's counterfeit Ray-Bans and put them on. "There. Can't be walking around looking like I've just been in a punch-up."
Nikolai scoffed, bemused. "Except they don't totally cover it, and you usually have."
The moment's humor died on the vine as they both watched MacTavish sleep. His color was off, the bruising around his eyes making him appear even more wan and sickly, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest not as slow as it should be.
"He needs some proper antibiotics, sharpish." That, and this dose of morphine needed to last, at least long enough for Price to figure something out. The way things were going, he dreaded the thought of Soap's next awakening without it. He emptied the backpack onto the already crowded dresser and slung it over his shoulder. "What was the name of that NGO again?"
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20C = 70F
38C = 100.4F
