Warning! This fic is slash, so if you don't like that, don't read. I should probably also warn that there will be a fair bit of swearing. When I say fair, I mean a lot.

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost, or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little.

Note from Sassy: I'm baaaack *insert dramatic music* with another chapter of NSD for all you lovely people. And with it I have a sad note. I'm afraid that I won't be able to update for a couple of days, most likely Tuesday and Wednesday. My best friend is coming over to stay with me, and so I can't quite tell him to go occupy himself whilst I get some writing done lol. But I promise that I will update as quickly as I can, so be patient with me. :)Now please excuse me whilst I squee at you awesome reviewers:

God-Damned-Dog: I officially do love you. I'm not sure how to reply to this lovely review because I just pretty much sat and blushed when I read it. Thank you! I'm so glad that you connected with the tension in the piece, and I'm also pretty happy that you liked Markov so much! I never really intended for him to be a big OC, but since you said that I've written him into this chapter a lot more. I hope you like it. :) Thanks so much for your reviews, they really do make my day.

VerityA: Of course, I hoped you'd like the mention of Yasha. And haha, that was the idea with Soap getting images of Ghost. But what can I say? It's been a long time lol. I'm really glad you liked the quieter moments though, since they are my favourite kind to write. A bit of humanity in amongst the chaos, personally I think its very reflective of real life lol.

Strude: Thank you so much for reviewing again! :) It really made me smile. I am so relieved that you liked my venture into drama, and knowing that you wanted to keep reading makes me so so happy. :) I hope you enjoy this chapter! You have made me feel very honoured. And I completely agree with you about teasing opposed to full on smut. I think it's much easier and more comfortable to read whilst still getting the point across. :)

Reeserella: Well…you find out in this chapter. And yeah, poor old Soap, all he can do is sit and hope for the best. Haha I'll get Ghost to dispose of the boonie flavoured cake mix never fear :P Thanks for the review!

GubbleBum96: Well Ghost has been making Ghost cookies in my A/Ns for a while, so I figure he has more culinary experience than Price. :P Either way, he does miss Roach, and part of me really wishes I could have found a way in my logic to bring them both back (this being one of the reasons why I started my Ghost/Roach story). And I know, I didn't really think Markov would become a key character, but when I'm editing I keep thinking I've written Makarov by accident *Sigh*. Haha I'm really happy that your reading between the lines though, because it makes me feel that my characters are at least believable! Soap and Ghost will have a reunion, I promise. ;) Thanks for the review!

And now…hold onto your hats for chapter 13!

The pounding of machine gun fire through the claustrophobic tunnel walls was deafening. Markov felt as if the very impact of the noise against his ear drums would burst them alone.

"I see you brought friends…" Price yelled as Lev made a dash into cover beside him, he and Markov choosing to blind fire to stop any further advance of his pursuers. "Are you hurt?"

"No…" Lev shook his head quickly, keeping his head down as bullets whistled above him. In the short time before his advance, Price had instructed Markov to erect a rudimentary barricade from the empty storage crates around them, leaving small gaps with which to fire through. Noticing this, Lev finally reached for his rifle, aiming down the sights and firing quickly, watching as one of the Shadow Company men dropped down dead through his actions. But he was soon replaced, and the others dashed for cover too, still firing a heavy amount of suppressing fire in their wake. "There are too many…and they've already secured the entrance!" He yelled to Price over the constant din. "Is there another way out?"

"No. And even if there was…" Price paused to fire another burst of over the tops of their barricade. "We can't risk them following us. This ends now!"

"You are insane!" Lev laughed darkly, firing again. Markov felt his eyes resting on him as he fired again too, taking a pot shot at one of the closer men to them. "Markov! Keep on them otherwise they will be fucking all over us!" Lev's voice, in Russian now, was suddenly a heavy ringing in his ears. It was the same impatient yell of the man who'd always taught him so much, no matter how much he pretended to hate doing so. Markov instantly jumped, squeezing the trigger harder and watching the flurry of bullets arc out in front of him, catching one of the men in the leg. Before even thinking, he was swallowing hard, and firing again, catching the fallen man in the chest before he could even think to right himself. For a split second time seemed to pause as the man took his last breath. Even when it was kill or be killed, Markov didn't find it any easier…

"GHOST?" Price was practically screaming over the barrage of noise assaulting their eardrums, but he didn't stop to turn round, keeping his eyes focused on the tide of men that had them so pinned down. "Tell me some fucking good news, mate!"

"Halfway there!" Ghost's voice barely made it above the wall of sound, his tone gruff and frustrated. "The system keeps jamming…I need more time!"

"Just get it done!" Another enemy soldier made a break from cover and Markov watched as Price cut him down quickly, his aim flicking across to another soldier and catching him in the arm.

"I'm reloading!" Markov yelled, his hands fumbling with a new clip of ammunition, fingers trembling from the heady combination of adrenaline and fear. Finally snapping the clip into place, he raised his gun, just in time to see the dark figure of a flanking Shadow Company soldier running towards him. He raised his gun, but his brain seemed to go blank, his finger simply resting on the trigger.

"Markov!" There was a loud bang from over his shoulder, and the attacking soldier instantly reeled backwards, an explosion of red pasting against the tunnel wall. Elbowing him hard, Lev gave him a furious look. "Fucking keep firing!"

Markov didn't need telling a third time.

"Fuck!" There was a sickening thumping sound as Price let out a yelp of pain, glancing almost angrily to his right arm, where a circle of red liquid in his shirt soon grew, blood trickling down onto his forearm in long tributaries. He allowed himself a second to wince at the pain before shaking it off and focusing back on the few soldiers that remained in front of them, firing almost in defiance. One was caught in the chest, another in the head, both men crumpling to the floor almost instantaneously. Freshly inspired, Markov and Lev doubled their efforts, keeping up a wave after wave of almost continuous fire as Price retreated back into the mainframe room. Two more men fell in their sights, and finally, through the haze of battle they began to realise that they were winning, counting nine bodies lying haphazardly on the ground in front of them. Beside him, Lev let out a triumphant whoop, firing at where the last man lay in cover, angry Russian streaming from his mouth. "Come out and face us, you stupid son of a bitch!" Markov fired another stream of bullets, just in time for when the figure raised his own gun to blind fire back, catching him in his exposed shoulder. The figure immediately fell backwards; his torso suddenly draped across the ground, vulnerable and disadvantaged, yet quickly exploited when Lev levelled his rifle and fired a single shot, catching the soldier neatly in the head.

As Lev let out more whoops and laughs of triumph, pulling him into a proud embrace, Markov was laughing breathlessly with relief, but inside he felt almost ashamed. Men had still died, brothers, husbands and sons. Somehow it didn't seem right to celebrate where they had died.

He had never been a soldier like his brother. And even now, caked in grime and dust, a heavy assault rifle lying in his hands, he still wasn't one.

"Do you have it?" Price grunted, tearing at the lower fabric of his shirt to form a makeshift bandage. The bullet had nicked the fleshy part of his arm, so the damage was limited, but the amount of blood was still enough to warrant attention.

"30 seconds longer…" Ghost kept on typing, not bothering to turn around. "Everything under control out there?"

"By the looks of it. Small patrol…but there could be more." Price shrugged. "Must still be a base near here, keeping watch." He shook his head. "They'll send reinforcements."

"We won't be here long enough…" Riley laughed victoriously, unplugging the DSM and sliding it into his rucksack carefully. He finally turned round to Price, giving a concerned look to his bloody right arm. "We need to get you out of here."

"I'm not risking exfil point alpha."

"Bravo then?" Ghost nodded, patting him on his good left arm gently. "Do you think you can make it?"

"Fuck off, Ghost…" Was the older man's only irritated reply.

The sound of a gunshot, suddenly alien in the now calm and quiet air, dispersed all feelings of triumph and success. There was a loud scream and another flurry of shots, sending both Price and Ghost running from the mainframe room as quickly as possible.

He'd seen it too late.

They'd been checking through the bodies one by one, taking the ammunition and stuffing it into their rucksacks. They'd been on full alert, Lev had been warning him about being too complacent, their rifles had been fixed on the now motionless bodies of the fallen. And then, movement. Lev was stood directly in front of him, and over his shoulder Markov had seen a glint, the flicker of a handgun being lifted slowly into position. He'd realised what he was seeing all too late, calling out Lev's name to warn him whilst raising his own rifle. But he wasn't quick enough. The older Russian turned around just in time for the single bullet fired to hit him squarely in the forehead, showering Markov in a gruesome spray of blood and gore. He cried out again in anger and loss, firing on impulse and killing the injured soldier stone dead where he lay. But he was too late. The streams of crimson on his skin and the stench of iron told him that far too well.

In an unquestionable rage, Markov had emptied the rest of his clip into the dead body of Lev's killer, garbled screams in nonsensical Russian flowing steadily from his lips. He'd watched as the body was opened up by each new bullet, but he was unaffected by it, his rage not even sated when his gun clicked empty. Now he was staring, his mouth hanging open, the skin of his face slick and grotesque when he collapsed to his knees, Lev's body morbidly twisted in front of him. Blinking back the sting of dry tears, Markov opened his eyes, meeting the now stony, forever shocked gaze of his one time mentor. His stomach wretched and twisted into a thousand knots and he threw up instantly.

"Markov?" He hadn't realised that Ghost and Price were there at first, until there had been a gloved hand on his shoulder and a masked face suddenly in front of his eyes. He tried to look past the sunglasses and the mask, but the face still seemed void of emotion considering what had just happened.

"He's dead…" He wasn't sure why he was saying the words with Lev's body right there and his blood still smattered across his face, but Markov felt the need to say them, his voice choking and stammering as he did so.

"I know." Ghost nodded in reply, glancing around them quickly, as if he was scanning every single body for any further signs of life. When he was satisfied that there was none, he looked back to Markov, holding out his hand. "We need to go…"

Price was pacing impatiently in front of them, his voice disturbingly calm and authoritative. "Codename November…this is Delta One. Exfil point alpha no longer secure, requesting exfil point Bravo. Do you copy?"

"Da, Delta One. I am inbound, ETA 15 minutes."

"Roger that. Be advised, we have sustained a casualty. I repeat, we have sustained a casualty."

"Are they alive?"

"Negative." Price glanced quickly towards Lev's body. "He's KIA."

"Markov!" Ghost's voice was suddenly there again, louder, shaking him from the daze that he had slipped into. The hand that was offered out to him was gone suddenly, before two strong hands were gripping at his shoulders, pulling him to his feet without question. The hands stayed there for a moment when he was standing, holding Markov so that he was eye to eye with Riley. "There's nothing more we can do…We need to leave, now!"

"No…" Markov shook his head weakly, glancing back down to Lev mournfully. "I won't leave him."

"He's dead, mate…" Price shook his head. "We can't-"

"We can't leave him." Markov replied, his voice sharper, stronger as he squared up to Price in a way that would have seemed admirable in any other circumstances. "We're not like them…we don't leave our dead."

"Exfil point Bravo is over a klick away…."

"It doesn't matter." Markov shook his head defiantly. "We don't leave him behind."

"Then you better keep up." Price shook his head. "Because we can't afford to stay here any fucking longer than we have to…"

As Price left him, Markov shook his head, bending down for Lev's body. He grabbed his arms gently, pulling the dead weight up so that the dead man was almost in a sitting position, his head lolling lifelessly at his shoulders. Moving him was more awkward than Markov expected, and he grunted as he tried to manoeuvre his weight onto his back, struggling to get a tight enough hold with which to stand up.

"Here…" Suddenly Lev's body was slipping onto his shoulders more easily, the majority of his dead weight spread evenly across Markov's back as he moved to stand up, two hands steadying him as he did so. He turned to his right to see Ghost, who nodded to him solemnly. "I had to leave my friend. You shouldn't have to."

His mind was a mass of 'what ifs'.

Soap had been sitting by the radio for the duration of the operation. He had heard Price's conversation with Nikolai, and he had heard that one of the men was dead. And now he had to sit there idle, while for all he knew Ghost was lying dead on the floor of some god forsaken army base.

His mind was a blur of affirmations and contradictions. He'd convince himself that it couldn't be Ghost, that Price would have said if it was Ghost, that he would have sounded less fucking clinical if it had been a former member of the task force. But then Soap would just as easily talk himself out of it. After all, what if it was Ghost? Would Price not tell him until they were face to face? Would he wait until they offloaded from the helicopter, grimy and battle sore, and give him that ominous sympathetic pat to the back which was supposed to say 'sorry'? Or maybe he just didn't dare even say it, knowing full well that he practically backed Ghost into the mission in the first place… But this was Price. A straight talking bastard. He'd always told Soap things just how they were, never being one to sugar coat bad news to make it easier to swallow. Ghost couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

This cycle continuously reeled through his skull, the same arguments, the same logic, the same reasoning, repeated over and over because Soap couldn't think of anything else. But they were all driven around by the same flimsy piece of logic, the incessant irony that seemed to surround their relationship. After all, the day Soap had realised, just what, well whatever it actually was that he felt towards Riley, had been the day he'd lost him. The day that he had given up hope, Ghost had come back. And now…could this be the final piece to solve the puzzle? After months of uncertainty, when Soap had finally just let Riley in…was he to be taken away from him again? This time for good?

Soap shook his head, the thoughts biting into his sanity like the teeth of a saw, tearing and ripping as they went. But the feeling of loss lingered, stained with deepening pangs of guilt.

If Ghost was dead, then it was all his fault. Again…

As the pave low finally lurched upwards, Riley slid to the floor, his body feeling exhausted and stiff. The trek across the uneven and difficult terrain had fatigued him more than it probably should have, his mind throbbing with dehydration with each passing step. It might have just been a klick, but in the hot haze of the desert with the sand forming a choking blanket in the air around him, it had felt almost unbearable.

Loosening the first few buttons of his shirt, Riley leant back against the metal wall behind him, watching what remained of their team carefully. To his right, Price was seeing to his wound, cleaning it using the first aid kit that was onboard the helicopter. He was staring intently at it, seemingly unaware of the world around him and the dead body lying barely two metres away. But Riley guessed that that was all an act. He hadn't known Price for as long as Soap, but even he knew that one of Price's great strengths was hiding his true emotions, from anyone. Riley knew that he and Lev had been friends, especially by how they had spoken before the operation had begun. Riley understood. Like Nikolai, Price would grieve later, when he was alone and there was no one around to pass judgement.

To his left, Markov was sat, huddled against the wall of the helicopter. His knees were brought up tightly underneath his chin, his arms wrapped around them, knuckles white from his tight grip. Since they had reached the safety of the Pave Low, Markov had been silent, simply staring out into space, his eyes wide and dark. He had wiped the blood from his face, but flecks of it remained on his clothes, congealing into darker, brown patches and smudges. Markov seemed no longer bothered by this, or anything else, the only movements he made being the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

And Lev. His body was lying in the middle of the Pave Low, on its back, his hands resting almost peacefully on his chest. Markov had been careful to lay him down, kneeling beside him and closing his fixed open eyes with a slide of his hand, before pulling a plastic sheet across the body, engulfing the once tall Russian in a sea of grey. As he'd done this, Markov had muttered something very softly in Russian, but even if he spoke the language, Ghost decided that it was better not to know what he had said. After all, if he knew one thing in this life, it was that there were some things you were simply better off not knowing…

Closing his eyes, Riley leant his head back against the metal casing of the helicopter. Immediately Roach appeared in front of his darkened vision, his body lying there, blackened and abandoned. He could remember the pain of leaving him, the agonising torment as he'd managed to salvage his dog tags. He remembered the feeling of self loathing as he'd staggered away, before the world had descended into an angry haze, dark and suddenly so very uncertain. He even remembered waking up in hospital and praying to a God he'd never believed in that someone would have taken pity on his friend and buried him, instead of leaving him alone in that ditch like some felled beast.

They were old memories, hurting a new like fresh sores. Riley clamped his eyes shut more tightly, keen to block out every ray of light that might dare penetrate his eyelids. Now wasn't a time for thinking, it was a time to sleep, time to escape from reality for a while, no matter how fleeting that time might be. Because when you were as much of a soldier as Riley, you learnt to take whatever rest you could, when you could.

After all, there was always going to be a war to fight. And as a result, no matter who lived and who died, there was always going to be another op…

So, it's a lovely angst filled conclusion to their first operation. *sighs* I actually made myself cry here, which probably tells me that I am way too attached to my characters.

Either way, the boys need your reviews and love to cheer them up! So go on, you know you want to. Besides, Ghost is going to need one hell of a lot of hugs…

And on an ever serious note, thank you so very much for your support. :)

-x-S-x-