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The medbay was silent save for the sound of the monitors in the room and Ghost’s even breathing. Soap sat beside Ghost’s bed, the uncomfortable plastic chair digging into his thighs and back. He himself was unharmed, unusual for a mission. Usually, he and Ghost’s positions are switched, with Ghost watching Soap getting stitched up or sitting in a hospital cot with an IV in his arm.
Soap sighed and took one of Ghost’s hands into his own. Ghost’s hands were bigger than Soap’s, more scarred. Calluses from countless years handling guns and knives rubbed against Soap’s own. Ghost’s skin was pale, blending in with the white hospital blanket the nurses had put over him.
They had to cut Ghost’s balaclava off amongst his other clothes to get a good look at his injuries. A cannula sat on his face. Soap had brought in a black surgical mask and put it on Ghost, slightly saving the man’s anonymity whenever a curious passerby peered in. The mask was below his nose, so in all it hardly did anything, but Soap put in the effort.
They put him under strong painkillers with a prognosis of fractured ribs, torn muscles in his shoulder, and more than likely a concussion. The explosion knocked him out cold, and Soap was grateful his injuries weren’t worse.
If anything, Ghost got off easy.
Soap’s thumb caressed the back of Ghost’s hand as the man stirred, groaned slightly, and then went still again. His eyelids were fluttering, eyebrows furrowed. He must have been coming out of whatever medically-induced sleep the nurses put him in.
Soap moved to sit on the cot, hand not leaving Ghost’s. His other hand came to rest on Ghost’s chest, trying to encourage the sniper to wake up like he was trying so hard to. Ghost coughed slightly, muttering something under his breath.
“Ghost?”
He coughed again, shaking his head as he turned to look in Soap’s general direction. His eyes were cracked open, the smeared black makeup around his eyes looking less like makeup and more like a horrible set of black eyes. His eyelashes fluttered as he fought to open his eyes.
“Don’t rush yerself, take yer time.”
Finally, Ghost’s eyes cracked open. And Christ, he was definitely concussed. A pair of mismatched eyes with different-sized pupils looked past Soap’s own. Ghost was out of it, apparent by his delayed reaction to Soap’s hand on his chest. And Soap’s presence in general.
The heart rate monitor spiked for a moment.
“Ye with us?” Ghost just stared blankly at him. He blinked. Then he blinked again. One pupil dilated to cover the entirety of the iris while the other stayed as it was. The hand on Ghost’s chest caressed Ghost through the hospital gown. Soap was starting to get worried, until-
"My partner.. he'd get rea' upset if he saw you touchin' me like that on my chest." His voice was broken, raspy from disuse. Soap failed to keep the feral grin off his face.
He snorted, "I am your partner."
There was a beat of silence, and then the sound of the heart rate monitor getting faster.
Soap giggled as he watched heat rise on Ghost’s cheeks, his eyes searching Soap’s own. For what? Soap had no idea.
“Wha…”
“Take yer time, Simon.”
There was silence for a minute. Soap continued rubbing his thumb on the back of Simon’s hand. Simon coughed, “yer so fuckin’ pretty.”
Soap barked a laugh at that, feeling himself blush, “They got ye on the good meds, then?”
“I’m so fuckin’ high right now, Johnny.”
“I can tell.”
Simon’s eyes focused more as they roamed over Soap’s figure. He blinked, then met Soap’s eyes again, “Ye wanna turn around?”
Soap’s eyes narrowed, “What- Simon.”
“Please.”
“I’m not lettin’ you ogle my arse in the goddamn base hospital, LT.”
“C’mon, Johnny. I got blown up.”
“You didn’ get blown up, LT.” Soap laughed, “You can stare a’ my arse la’er.”
“I almos’ did…” Simon suppressed a yawn, eyes going unfocused for a moment. His right eye drifted mildly to the right, giving the man an impressive lazy eye. Soap was tempted to take a picture. The military legend Ghost, here in a hospital cot high off his balls. What a fucking sight.
“Why don’ ye go back to sleep, Si.” Soap murmured, caressing Simon’s cheek over the cannula.
“Don’ leave?” Simon’s voice was getting quieter, making his accent thicker as he fought with the sudden drowsiness.
“Wouldn’ dream o’ it.” Soap brought Simon’s hand up, kissing his knuckles as Simon went back under.