I haven't written anything in over a year. My new obsession with Ghost and Soap and some amazing fanart by pluvillion on tumblr remedied that. Check out pluvillion's tumblr and show this artist some love!
It was supposed to be a solo intel-gathering mission — easy in, easy out. But with this company there was no such thing as easy. Soap had drawn the short straw and was to infiltrate the abandoned warehouse, get the info, and rendezvous with the team the next night. Simple.
But there had been nothing but radio silence from him for hours and Ghost was not about to stand around one more minute with his thumb in his ass if Soap might be in trouble. He remembered the last thing he said to him before Soap had parachuted out of the helo: "Take care of yourself down there for me, Johnny."
He had tried to keep his voice even and not meet Soap's eyes too much as he double-checked his parachute riggings, but had failed at both things.
"Sir, yes, sir," Soap had replied softly and had given him a smile that could melt even Ghost's frigid heart. Ghost might have forgotten how to breathe in that moment.
And now here Ghost was, standing at the entrance of the derelict warehouse, stomach tied up in knots.
"Soap, how copy?" Ghost tried the radio one more time, but was still met with fuck-all for a response. "Bollocks," he growled. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, Ghost made his way inside.
The warehouse was dingy and dark, with only a few sporadically lit fluorescents to light the way. A couple unsuspecting mercs nearby were easy to take out quietly, but soon all bloody hell broke loose. Mercs seemed to swarm from every corner, more than their counter-intelligence had originally bargained for. No wonder Soap got ambushed here.
Ghost methodically took them out, one by one, then crept upstairs to a small, dark hallway that led to a handful of offices. Each room was empty, until he came to the last one. Ghost kicked the door in and felt his stomach drop. Soap was unconscious, (or dead, his brain unhelpfully supplied) tied to a chair in the middle of the room, with two men standing over him — one with a gun, one with a crowbar. A single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting the scene in an unnatural light.
Unmitigated rage immediately spiked through Ghost at the sight and he wasted no time in taking the men out with two precisely placed shots. He stepped into the room carefully and noted two other men in the corner, already dead. Soap must have eliminated them before being subdued and restrained. Good boy, Ghost thought proudly.
Seeing no one else, Ghost hurried across the room, heart thudding heavy in his chest. Soap's arms and legs were bound to the chair and his head hung forward, chin nearly touching his chest. Ghost stretched his arm out, placing his bare inner wrist under Soap's nose. A soft rush of air washed against his skin. Still breathing. Shallow, but it's there.
Relieved only slightly, Ghost knelt down between Soap's spread knees and brought a gloved hand to his cheek. There was a gash on his temple with a line of tacky, drying blood that tracked all the way down to his neck. Ghost knew the result of the impact of the butt end of a rifle when he saw one. His gaze then drifted to a deep purple shiner forming under Soap's left eye and a cut on the swell of his bottom lip. Ghost couldn't stop his hand from trembling.
"Johnny? Time to get up. We need to get you out of here. "
He shook his face gently with one hand while reaching for his knife to cut Soap's binds. Glancing down, he saw that they were zip ties, three and even four holding his wrists and ankles to the chair and started fuming all over again. A little overkill, innit? But then he remembered the two dead mercs in the corner and thought they were right to play it safe with one as lethal as MacTavish.
Ghost went to work cutting the ties from Soap's ankles, but before he could move to his wrists, the soft sound of boot-falls in the hallway alerted his attention. On instinct alone, Ghost barely even turned before letting fly the knife in his hand. It found its home to the hilt in the chest of the merc in the hall behind him.
Soap let out a weak groan and Ghost turned back quickly. "Soap?" Ghost cupped a gentle hand at the back of Soap's neck. "Johnny. On your feet, soldier."
Soap lifted his head slowly and his eyes fluttered open with obvious effort. His gaze was glassy, unfocused, and as soon as it landed on Ghost, he jerked back, panicked. He struggled with the ties holding his wrists violently enough to draw blood. A cold sweat broke out on Ghost's back — the mask. Soap was so disoriented from the blow to his head he didn't even recognize him.
He latched onto Johnny's shoulders to hold him still. "Shh, shh. Oi, Soap, it's me. It's Ghost. I'm here."
After a moment, Soap stilled, his chest heaving as he fought for air. And then he blinked and those blue eyes finally cleared. "L.t?"
The raw wonder on Soap's face twisted something up inside him. Ghost let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"Yeah." Ghost cleared his throat and pulled another knife from his vest. "Didn't think I'd come looking for your sorry arse after twelve fuckin' hours of radio silence?"
Soap managed a small smile, but winced when it opened up the cut on his lip. "So you do like me after all?" he rasped.
Ghost let out a light chuckle and finished cutting off the zip ties. After sheathing his knife, he tenderly inspected Soap's wrists. A couple scrapes and cuts, but otherwise all right. He had a momentary crazed vision of pulling the wounds to his mouth to lay the gentlest of kisses there but quickly blinked the surprising image away.
Jarred by the thoughts in his own mind, Ghost dropped Soap's hands down into his lap a little unkindly. "I told you before, I like you alive, MacTavish."
He stood abruptly. "Can you walk?" He offered an arm to help pull Soap to his feet.
Soap's brows knit together and he shook his head. "I dinnae. They bashed the shit outta my knee, but I'll try."
Ghost's eyes cut to the crowbar in the dead soldier's hand and a bright flare of anger burned through him. He wished he had done more than just shot the man.
It took effort and a fair amount of cursing, but Ghost was able to tug Soap up out of the chair by the front of his tactical vest. He looped Soap's arm over his shoulders to keep him upright. Soap let out a pained hiss through gritted teeth and Ghost could see a few beads of sweat pop up on his temple.
"Just hafta get down a few stairs and outside and we'll get you patched right back up. I'll even get you a shot of tequila if you're a good boy."
Soap huffed out a shaky laugh and limped alongside Ghost out of the room.
At the top of the staircase Ghost radioed the helo team for immediate evac. They came back with an ETA of five minutes. Wasn't fast enough, in Ghost's opinion, but they didn't exactly have a fucking choice, now did they?
"Ready for this?" he asked, glancing at Soap beside him.
Soap looked alarmingly pale as he eyed the stairs before them. He swayed a bit so Ghost brought a hand up to his middle to steady him. "We'll go one stair at a time, all right, mate?"
Soap swallowed hard, but nodded. Ghost's chest tightened up with emotion and he quickly shoved it down. Get him to the helo, just get him to the fucking helo.
They began their descent together and did pretty good getting down the first half, but then Soap suddenly sagged against Ghost with a pained moan and they more or less stumbled down the rest.
Ghost's heart was in his throat as he shuffled Soap to the wall next to the exit. He propped his back up against it and wedged a knee between Soap's thighs to keep him upright.
"Johnny? Stay with me, love." Ghost hooked a finger under Soap's chin and brought his head up. His brain fumbled for something, anything to keep Johnny awake. "Hey, tell me, why was the strawberry crying?" he asked a little frantically. Where was that fucking evac?
Soap did his best to keep his eyes open and centered on Ghost. It took him a moment, but finally with a sigh he replied, "Cause he was in a jam." He gave Ghost a tired smile.
Ghost couldn't stop himself from brushing his thumb over the swell of Soap's bottom lip and dipping his head forward just slightly until their foreheads almost touched. Soap surprised him by parting his lips a little. They were both breathing hard.
"I still canne believe you came for me." Soap huffed out a shaky laugh. "My hero."
Ghost swallowed around the lump that formed in his throat. "I'll always come for you, Johnny." His voice was not but a hoarse whisper.
"An e sin fìrinn?" Soap mumbled, clearly amused.
"English, MacTavish," Ghost warned, closing his eyes and bumping their foreheads together.
"Sorry, sir," Soap chuckled. He brought his hands up to grip Ghost's broad shoulders. "I said 'is that a fact?'".
Realization dawned on Ghost at what he'd said and the innuendo it implied and blushed hard under his mask. I'll always come for you, Johnny. He pulled back a little, grabbing Soap by the vest and tugging him forward slowly. Soap went easily.
"Might be," he replied gruffly with a coy smile he knew Soap couldn't see. He canted his head to the side, his gaze searching Johnny's face. "That a problem for you, Sergeant?"
The sound of the helo coming in for a landing outside the warehouse filled the air. Relief flooded Ghost, mixing with the anticipation of Johnny's answer.
Soap grinned and pulled Ghost's mask up just enough to expose his mouth then closed the distance between their lips to just a hair's breadth. "Not at all, Lieutenant," he said, just before bringing his mouth up to Ghost's.
Ghost was frozen for a moment before melting into the kiss. It was everything he hadn't realized he'd wanted, needed, until now. But he knew, deep down, that he always had known. It was there, staring him right in the face since the moment he met Soap. And all it took was one fucking kiss.
It was the best goddamn kiss Ghost had ever had.