Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound of the heart monitor is an eerie, unwelcome companion. The solemn rhythmic sound pierces the air harshly. It's the only sound in the medical bay. The rest of the world doesn't seem to exist outside the recovery door.
Still, as of now, it has its comforts. Its red screen bounces to the pattern of a precious life. It tells him John is still alive. But the pulse is faint, fainter than it should be. The beats are slow and spread thin.
The doctors aren't sure he'll make it through the night.
Anxiety spills in his stomach as he watches each climbing peak of a pulse. Will the next beat be his last?
He reaches for John's hand, carefully placing his over it in the hopes of finding some comfort. It feels unnaturally cool and only makes him feel even more concerned. He misses the warm, strong feeling. He looks at John's face and a heavy lump sinks in his stomach. The man's face is so pale, fragile looking. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes seem to be quivering. Simon wonders if he's reliving the trauma.
His gaze moves to stare at the jagged lines on the monitor. His mind turns back to the reason it's needed. He could have—should have—done something different.
He stared at the field. Across the open field was the LZ. "This has ambush written all over it," he muttered. Soap nodded in agreement. "We don't have much time, though." Ghost gives his captain a side long glance: 'Are you serious?'. "We don't have time," Soap repeated, as if he knew full well what his second in command was thinking, which he probably did. "Are you fucking crazy?" Ghost turned to look his commander full on. "Chopper is going to be here in less than five, and Russians know we have the package."
"None of that matters if we can't make it to the bloody LZ! We should go around."
"We'll be dead anyway if we don't make it across this damn field in time."
Beneath his sunglasses, Ghost narrowed his eyes. He knew Soap was right. But the field was nearly half a click long. Not a long distance under normal circumstances, but a hell of a long run now. It was practically a death wish. Especially since they had been compromised. There would be least three several of specs behind them, hungry for revenge and to gain back some of their bruised pride.
He watched John peer through the binoculars again and followed his gaze to the eastern tree line. That's where he'd expect the Russians to set up, too. No doubt once they start running, bullets would start whizzing.
It wasn't worth that risk. The only cover was long, dead grass out in the open. There was nothing between them and death's doorway if they got caught in the middle. If they went around, at least they'd stand a chance. Maybe they'd miss the pick up, but they could lose the specs and get another LZ.
In a way, his idea was just as risky as Soap's, but it left more room for maneuvers and adjustments.
"Simon, we don't have time to go around," Soap growled. It was the tone he used when he knew his lieutenant wasn't going to change his mind, and he wasn't going to tolerate it. "Bloody hell," Ghost muttered. Soap could be just as stubborn as him sometimes.
Soap turned around to face the rest of the squad. "Ready up. We're going across." Ghost saw some of them shift in uncertainty. This idea was bat shit. He caught Roach's eye and saw the Sergeant looked a little scared, but he hadn't seemed doubtful. "Spread out and stay low," John added, but they all already knew that.
Soap then turned to give him a reassuring smile, but Simon saw through the façade. His captain liked this as little as he did. At least that meant he wasn't entirely crazy. "If we get out of this, you'll never hear the end of it," Simon threatened. Soap's only smiled all the bigger.
Simon feels his eyes begin to blur. If only John knew how much he really meant. He should have said something sooner instead of biting his tongue.
Now he may never get the chance.
"Soap!" Ghost scrambled off his knees.
"Ghost! What the hell are you doing? Get down!" He ignored Roach and kept running.
The sniper's fired again, and he heard the bullet whizz past his head. His legs felt like they weigh nothing, but it still seemed to take him an eternity to get to Soap's side.
"John?" He kneels beside the fallen soldier. " John! Talk to me," he begs. His heart sunk into his stomach as he watched his friend's eyes flutter and roll into his head. "Come on, John. Don't you do this to me, goddamnit!" he screamed, ripping down the zipper of his tactical vest and pulling apart his fatigues.
Another gunshot, this time the bullet ripped through his backpack. "Covering fire!" he shouted over his shoulder. Behind him guns started roaring.
He located the bullet's entry hole and pressed down on it. John groaned, but remained unconscious. "Fuck…" Simon muttered as he slipped off his backpack to retrieve a med pack.
He had a few shots of morphine and some bandaging gauze inside. Pulling off one of the morphine's cap, he slapped the needle into John's thigh and squeezed out the contents. Grabbing the gauze, he bunched it up and held it against the wound. "Roach, Scarecrow, give me a hand over here! York, Zebra keep up the cover fire!"
Ghost stares at the contrast of Soap's pale skin against his, the cold hand slowly being warmed by his warm one. It should be him lying there. He gently squeezes John's hand, willing the man to take his strength.
Ghost has never been religious, but he prays now. He prays John will live.
Ghost jumped slightly as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to meet Roach's eyes. They're wide with trepidation. He should probably say something to comfort the rookie, but his throat felt so tight he didn't even know if he could even speak.
His gaze returned to Soap's motionless form. His hand was tightly holding his captain's and ever fiber in his body was strung so tight he might snap at any moment: This could be it. This could be the last time he saw Soap, held him.
He felt the reality of life's end was strangling. In his mind, he silently begged over and over again for John not to leave him. Not this time. Please, God, no not this time. He wasn't ready yet.
Simon shutters back to reality as he feels something cool slip down his cheek. He reaches up in surprise. He's… crying? He can't remember the last time he cried. Another tear slips and suddenly a dam breaks. His cheeks become wet and a small sob escapes his lips. "Please, John," he whispers. "Please don't leave me." He gently squeezes the man's hand. "Please don't ever leave me."
He gently rests his forehead against Soap's hand. Even though its motionless and cold it still gives him some form of comfort because it's John's. For a long while he stays like this until his back begins to cramp and his tears start to run dry.
The heart monitor keeps chirping monotonously, and John's pulse remains too slow, but, at least, steady. It gives him hope, but it still could just be a false hope.
Simon wipes his nose on his sleeve and tries to straighten himself out. He wonders, hopes his captain can hear him. "John, if… if…" He pauses, not so willing to cross that threshold, not wanting to acknowledge that reality. He stays quiet for a few minutes.
Maybe… no.
He salvages his resilience and forces himself to continue, because he knows he doesn't have a choice in what happens and if it does happen then he wants to have said something. "If you go, I want you to know… I think I love you, John."
He stares at his captain, half expecting something to happen, but the man doesn't budge. Ghost sighs and takes off his mask. He leans over and softly kisses Soap's cool lips. If these are to be the last things he says and does with John MacTavish, then he can at least be happy they were things he's always wanted to do.
Just something short and rather dramatic for Riley and MacTavish. :) The ending is quite the cliffhanger, but I felt like the story was perfect just like this. Personally, I think John lives. ;D