Chapter Text
All he wanted was a hot shower and a meal that didn't come from an MRE pack or a dumpster. He could feel his stomach gnawing on itself, ignoring it the best he could as he rifled through dusty cabinets, hands finding nothing but a box of matches and an old sponge that had nearly fossilized. "Fuck’s sake," the words were muffled through gritted teeth. He shut the cabinet with a little more force than he would have liked, a thin layer of built-up dust scattering across the thick, humid air.
It was the sixth abandoned house they'd been through, looking for food and supplies, and it was the third week they'd been on the operation. Something that was supposed to be in and out had turned into a fucking nightmare, and he wasn't sure what they were going to do if they didn't find something to eat soon.
Comms were down and they were separated from the rest of their unit in a gunfight that still had his ears ringing a week later. Usually, they'd be fine if they were in a city, could improvise, but they'd been pushed to the edge of the jungle by pursuers, and there was nothing more than a small, abandoned village on the outskirts.
Ghost was somewhere on the other side of the house. Soap could hear him unceremoniously going through things. Despite his shitty mood, he felt his lips curl up in a small grin when he heard a string of Manc-accented curses fill the tiny house.
The small joy faded as quickly as it came, though, and he could feel the pull of pessimism heavy in his bones. He wasn't usually one for giving up or feeling sorry for himself, but his whole body ached from their endless trek through the thick jungle. He was covered in scratches and scrapes, and he'd been grazed by more than one bullet. He smelled, his clothes were rubbing against his skin uncomfortably, and he was imagining a large plate of hot chips smothered in gravy.
He sighed and let himself slump against the kitchen counter, arms supporting him as he took in some deep, soothing breaths. But the position revealed a drawer in the corner that he hadn't caught before. He braced for more disappointment as he slid it open, but, finally, as though God himself were listening to his thoughts, there was a little hope.
"Ghost, " he nearly yelled, his voice shaky with excitement. A tin of sardines, a tin of black beans.
And, best of all, a pack of Lucky Strikes.
He didn't really smoke, but in that moment, he felt like he'd struck gold. He reached back into the other cabinet and grabbed the box of matches, praying they still worked.
━━━━━━━━━
Ghost was going through another closet full of dusty linens and towels, unceremoniously throwing them onto the cracked tile floor. There had to be something useful in here. He pushed away the desperation seeping into his thoughts.
He was tired and irritated. If he had to eat one more half-rotten mango he was going to lose his mind.
Another white, hand-embroidered piece of cloth joined the rest next to his mud-caked boots. There was nothing but dust and useless shit in this closet. In a burst of anger, he slammed the door shut, cursing under his breath.
He glanced over at the barren mattress of the bed, how much he’d give to just lie down for a bit. His shoulders ached, his clothes hadn’t felt dry for at least a week and he was sweating constantly. The fabric of his mask and clothes was sticking to his skin uncomfortably.
This should have been easy; he had gone over the mission again and again in his head, as they were making their way through the dense thicket of the jungle. The conclusion was that in the end, it hadn’t been his fault. He had been prepared and followed every order, every planned step.
Somewhere someone had to have fucked something up, resulting in Soap and him being in this huge fucking mess with the mission left unfinished.
He took a step backward and let himself drop on the mattress. His M4A1 awkwardly bumped into the wooden frame and his weight plus all the gear he was carrying made the wood groan concerningly. After a tense second, he let his breath out slowly and relaxed. He just needed to sit for a minute and think.
They had been on the run from some low-level cartel members for two weeks, on and off. There hadn’t been much luck in securing any sort of vehicle so they hadn’t been able to shake their pursuers by making little headway on foot.
It wouldn’t have been wise to stay close to the initial drop-off point when they had been overrun so he had called it and Johnny had followed. And he had also followed Ghost as he reluctantly called for them to cross through the jungle. It was a risky call, unknown territory and it was easy to get lost but just last night they had finally arrived at the edge of the village.
So far any hope of contacting anyone or even finding supplies had been in vain. The village was, as far as they could tell after a day of surveillance, completely abandoned, but the houses seemed to be looted or the residents had taken every last bit with them.
“Ghost!” His head snapped towards the door when he heard Johnny calling him, every fiber in his body immediately alert, but when he heard nothing else to cause any further alarm he got up and walked towards the room his sergeant's voice had come from.
Johnny was standing in the kitchen, holding up two tin cans. On his face was that crooked triumphant smile and Simon couldn’t help but also crack a tiny smile at the promise of food, even though Soap wouldn’t see it.
He took a step into the kitchen, his own search abandoned for the moment.
“Well done, Johnny.” His focus shifted as Soap turned his hand and he caught sight of a white and red packet. “Please tell me this is what I think it is.” His voice sounded a bit desperate but damn him if he didn’t earn himself a cigarette after all this.
━━━━━━━━━
And there it was again. That weird, warm flutter in his chest whenever he could hear that tone in Ghost's voice, when he could hear that Ghost was pleased with him. Whenever he used that damn nickname. He'd been feeling it since they'd first met, since they'd gone on that first mission together. The sensation had been more fleeting back then, and he didn't really stop to think about it much. He was always focused. Focused on the objective, focused on making sure everyone made it out alive, focused on not being too focused on Ghost.
Something about the feeling had changed, though, and he found it harder to focus through. It crept further down into his stomach. It lingered longer, and he found himself having to look away from Ghost's eyes. It wasn't fair that Ghost got to hide his expressions. It made him feel far more vulnerable than he wanted to.
He reached for the Lucky Strikes, relieved to break eye contact, flipping the top open with his thumb. They weren't brand new. Probably a little stale, but he wouldn't really notice the difference because he rarely smoked. Ghost would, though. "Betting they taste like shite, but it's something. Catch," he said, sliding one out and tossing the pack over.
The box of matches was splotchy with some unknown amber substance, probably some sort of molasses or honey that had been in the cabinet. He managed to force it open, wiping his sticky fingers against the rough fabric of his cargos.
The first one lit up, no problem, the smell of burning filling the small space. As soon as he inhaled, he had to force himself not to cough. No way was he going to let a fucking cigarette get the best of him after all they'd been through in the past forty-eight hours.
He cleared his throat instead, letting the cigarette dangle between his lips as he fished his knife out of its holster and stabbed it into the can of beans. He cut and pried it open in one swift, practiced movement, tossing the lid on the counter and handing that to Ghost as well, albeit reluctantly when the salty smell reached him. "You first. You need it more than me."
━━━━━━━━━
Ghost caught the packet on reflex alone, preoccupied with watching John light the cigarette. As he lifted the burning match, the flame illuminated his face in the dimly lit room, reflecting in his eyes. His cheeks and forehead were streaked with dirt, but Simon didn’t mind. In fact, he couldn’t pry his eyes away. Not when Soap wasn’t aware he was watching, maybe more intently than he should be.
Soap had become a constant in his life. They were colleagues, comrades but Johnny felt so much closer to him than Price or Laswell did, even though he saw them regularly too.
He was glad not to be alone out here and, at the same time, he wished Soap would be at the base with food and a warm bed to sleep in. So he would know that Johnny was safe and that he had only himself to worry about.
He got pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a knife cutting through metal and his sergeant’s hand extending the open can to him. The cigarette was moving slightly with his lips as he spoke, smoke drifting upwards lazily.
“Not sure what that's supposed to mean but I’m not going to say no.” Ghost pocketed the cigarettes for now and took the can carefully from Johnny. He let his eyes wander through the room and headed towards a sturdy-looking table with three rickety chairs around it.
He set the can down and pulled his almost clean spoon from one of his vest pockets and took a seat on one of the chairs. He had lost the fork somewhere and this was good enough. He’d eat with his hands if he had to.
With another glance at Soap, he half turned his back and pulled the mask up to his nose, just enough to be able to eat, before he forgot all about his apprehension and started shoveling beans into his mouth.
━━━━━━━━━
Light was beginning to fade fast. He noticed it out of the corner of his eye as he took the cigarette from his quirked-up lips and placed it carefully on the edge of the counter. He enjoyed it when Ghost didn't argue with him, which was a very rare occasion. "I figured you giants needed more sustenance than us wee folk," his accent was thicker when he was tired, but he didn't really notice. He peeled the lid off the tin of sardines a little too roughly, the aluminum tinkling across the dirty tile floor.
He made some sort of indignant grunting noise, but the frustration was forgotten at the first taste of the briny little fish, a fairly indecent moan of appreciation issuing from him, tongue sliding over his lips to get the stray bits of oil that threatened to dribble down his chin.
He couldn't remember ever finding canned fish anything but repulsive, but then again, he'd never been as hungry as he was then. He slurped down two more before he set the can on the table in front of Ghost, finally remembering he wasn't in the room alone.
"They're obviously disgusting," he joked, his laugh filling the small room as he slid the tin over. His amused blue eyes finally lifted to take in the fact that Ghost's face was half uncovered, and the smile on his face faltered a little bit, but only for the briefest second before he saved himself with another quip, "Don't know how you're not dying in that thing. Your face has got to smell like my boots by now."
━━━━━━━━━
Ghost glanced up at Soap and put his spoon into the can when he finished half of the beans. Fair was fair and Soap had found them after all.
“Wouldn’t complain about a nice hot shower. Even a garden hose would do right now.” Despite being used to long missions, being covered in grime, sweat, and blood, they didn’t even have a chance to do anything more than scrub muddy stream water over their faces and arms some odd days ago.
And all of this hadn’t been planned, so he hadn’t exactly packed a lot of spares.
“At least I can’t smell your boots through this.” Simon gestured towards his mask and grinned while pushing the half-full can of beans with the spoon towards Soap and pulling the sardines towards himself.
He took off his right glove, dirt caked on his skin above the wrists, and fished one out. Usually not so great salty fish had no business being that good. The salt spread on his tongue and he closed his eyes for a second, almost overwhelmed after he hadn’t tasted anything but dust and stale water for too long.
He could probably eat fifty of these if they had them.
“Dunno what you’re on about. Tastes like heaven.” He put a second in his mouth and watched Soap pull the can closer towards him after fixing Ghost with a tired grin.
“I think we should stay here for the night. It seemed quiet all day and we might be able to get some rest. We’ll search the rest of the houses tomorrow.” He glanced out the dirty window, the sky an impressive pink-blue color. “Might give us an idea where we can find the cartel’s base.”
━━━━━━━━━
Soap tossed the spoon aside, grabbing the can, savagely tipping the tin up and into his mouth, some of the black juice dribbling down onto his shirt as he practically drank what was left. He could live off of beans. He'd always loved them, ever since he was a boy and his dad took him on camping trips and they fixed cans of them over a fire. Black beans weren't as good as a can of Heinz beans, but they'd do.
He tossed the finished can into the sink, wiping his mouth off with a swipe of his arm. "Mmm, yeah. Light's going down, anyway. I think we lost our tails a while back."
Honestly, knowing it was just the two of them, out in the middle of nowhere with no immediate way out...it felt unexpectedly daunting. Soap felt a little scared. They'd been in some rough spots, but this one was...really bad. They needed to find a radio that worked, soon.
"Just a few hours," he said, knowing it'd irritate Ghost that he was countering. "What's the bed like?"
He grabbed his still-burning cigarette from the counter, placing it back between his lips and taking a more cautious pull as he made his way down the hall and took in the full-sized bed that he knew would just barely hold both of them. "I don't know, lt., won't be able to get away from your stinking face."
He chuckled, flopping down onto the creaky, poorly-made mattress. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to calm the nerves that were creeping up on him. He didn't even know exactly where they were coming from, but watching the smoke from his cigarette float up to the peeling plaster above him helped.
━━━━━━━━━
Ghost watched Soap lift up the can from the corner of his eyes, juice running down his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt, throat moving as he swallowed, and barely chewing. It made his skin prickle and he averted his eyes, quickly eating the rest of the sardines on autopilot. He wished it was just irritation at wasting resources and not what it actually was; attraction.
He heard Soap taking a drag of the cigarette behind him and his steps as he walked out of the room. Without being watched he didn’t think about it too much and tipped the can up, drinking the oil. He shuddered a bit at the liquid running down his throat thickly but knew he had to take all the calories he could get.
It was impossible to tell when they would next get anything to eat.
He got up and walked over to the counter, picking up the matches before he followed Soap to the room he had searched earlier. With the cigarette between his lips, he looked down at Soap lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and smoking.
“And thinking that I have to advise you to take off your socks so they can dry is not making that prospect any better.” He mused dryly and lit the match with little difficulty. The first drag was heavenly, and he groaned on the exhale, nicotine making him lightheaded for a second.
He walked over to the bed and shoved Soap’s thigh to sit on the edge of the mattress.
“’s going to be nice and snuggly. Just how you always dream about, Soap.” He critically eyed the bed but already knew they both wanted the comfort of the mattress just for that one night. Surprisingly the frame held both of their weights, so far.
Ghost pulled the strap of his rifle over his head, leaning it against the small nightstand next to the bed, in easy reach. In his head, he debated whether it was wise for them to sleep at the same time or if they should take shifts. They hadn’t seen a single soul all day and if they took some safety measures and secured the house enough to be alerted to any intrusion early they could both get the most out of this night.
━━━━━━━━━
When Ghost touched his thigh, despite the brief touch that it was, the anxiety that was weighing on Soap got heavier, making it a bit harder to breathe. Easy enough to blame on the smoke he was inhaling like his life depended on it, but he knew that wasn't what the feeling was. The feeling settled inside him like a fucking brick when the bed bowed under Simon's weight, the warm line of his body close.
As much as Soap wanted to sleep, his exhaustion had all but disappeared, replaced with an embarrassing amount of fear at how much he was reacting to their closeness, and he wasn't so sure sharing the bed was a great idea; wasn't sure he could do it without Simon noticing something was off with him, something he'd worked very hard to prevent for the better part of the last few years.
Referring to him as Simon in his head wasn't helping, either.
He absently scooted a bit, giving Ghost more space, what little space there was, which wasn't much. Eyes intent on studying the ceiling, he ignored the words that were hanging between them, instead choosing another deflection from his vast collection, "Only thing I'm dreaming 'bout is a shower and a hot plate of chips. Can practically taste 'em."
He allowed, for a moment, his gaze to shift to Ghost and watched him put his rifle down next to where he'd put his own. He could almost hear the gears turning in the lieutenant's head without even seeing his face. After being in the field with him so many times, Soap knew how he worked. Tactically, anyway.
Regardless of the way his heart was beating faster, betraying him, he did feel safe. He'd always felt safe when Ghost was around. He knew nothing would hurt him if they stayed together. Even if they didn't, he knew the Ghost would find him and keep him safe anyway. He always did.
━━━━━━━━━
“Plate of fish and chips sounds pretty good,” he scratched at his neck and took another drag of the cigarette, cherry burning bright red in the half-light, “... extra vinegar.” He looked over his shoulder at Soap, watching him. “And a beer.”
He wanted out of this shithole as soon as possible. Finish the mission, and go home.
Soap’s cigarette had burned down to the filter so he half turned around and plucked it from between his lips. “Unhealthy enough as it is. Don’t need to smoke the filter, too.” He threw it to the ground and crushed the butt under his boot, not even looking at Soap to gauge his reaction.
“Here.” Simon threw the Luckys and matches on the mattress, got up, and turned around at the door. “Don’t fall asleep on me yet. I’ll make sure it’s safe. Be back in five.” He walked around the house one more time, making sure the bolt was keeping the only entrance shut. All the windows were still intact so if someone tried to get in they would have to break them, loud enough to alert them.
He pulled the curtains where he could and took a quick piss but didn't flush, throwing the cigarette butt into the toilet as well. Ghost tried the tap but had no luck, there was only a dribble of brown water. The water was stale, dust swimming on the surface as he lifted the lid off the toilet tank and dipped his hands in after taking off his second glove and shoving it into one of his pockets with the other.
Then he pulled his mask up and splashed some water on his face, probably only managing to wash off the first layer of sweat but it felt nice. His beard had grown, stubble rough against his hands and he sighed at the air hitting his wet skin. It was nice and cool, a relief to the stifling heat under the mask.
He pulled his mask back down reluctantly and walked back to the bedroom. In front of the bed, he stopped and looked down at his sergeant.
“If you want to wash your face or something, there’s still water in the toilet tank.” Simon turned towards the massive wooden cabinet he emptied earlier that was standing against the wall, his back to Johnny. “I’ll need your help pushing this in front of the window.”
━━━━━━━━━
Soap opened his mouth to protest when he felt the cigarette taken from him abruptly. Who do you think you are? My mam? But he didn't say it out loud. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he felt a pang of guilt and worry that he couldn't check in with her. He hadn't spoken to her in days, even though he'd agreed he'd call. She was the type that would sit around and fret herself to death. A small frown pulled at Soap's lips at the image of her up with a cup of tea in the middle of the night, anxious as she waited for him.
Some of the other guys gave him shit about that, his relationship with her. But he suspected it was mostly from a place of jealousy.
He did know she'd be upset if she saw him smoking, but he couldn't be bothered to care right at that very stressful moment, instead grabbing the pack and lighting another. The nicotine was annoyingly soothing.
The sound of Ghost's piss stream hitting the toilet water in the other room was enough to drag him out of his morose state of mind. He snickered to himself, immaturely. For some reason the thought of the Ghost needing to do something as human as pissing was hilarious to him, but maybe that was the exhaustion returning in full force.
The cigarette dangling from his lips ashed a bit on the dirt-caked tiles as he bent over and started working on his boot laces, tossing one boot over by the nightstand and then the other, recoiling a bit at the smell that wafted up from his damp socks.
"Fuck. "
His disgust was interrupted, though, and he gave a small nod at Ghost's words. "Sure thing, lt.," he said, suddenly a lot more agreeable and less interested in being cheeky.
He quickly shuffled out of his socks, considering just chucking them before his bare feet brought him across the floor to the large cupboard. The cold, smooth surface felt good on his soles, forcing a small breath of relief from his nose.
"I was thinking I heard some running water higher up earlier. Maybe we'll get lucky. Shouldn't stay here too long," he grunted as he helped lift.
━━━━━━━━━
Ghost groaned as they slowly lifted the massive thing over to the window. It was even heavier than it looked, and it looked heavy.
“Half day tomorrow, at most.” He grunted, setting the cabinet down on his side, in front of the window. Perfect, no one could watch or shoot them through there now.
“We have to stay on the trail before it grows cold. They’ll be looking for us anyway, so it’s best to stay on the move.”
He rubbed a hand over his mask, the small task making him sweat again already. Things felt that tiny bit safer with the cabinet blocking the window and the room small and no hidden corners and Ghost relaxed his shoulders.
He could feel the exhaustion catching up to him, muscles aching and his head feeling fuzzy with tiredness. Soap was hanging his socks over the end of the bed as Ghost opened the clips of his vest, pulled on the velcro straps, and finally managed to pull the heavy equipment from his body. The utility belt followed a second later, joining the pile on the floor.
He breathed in deeply and unsurprisingly felt a lot lighter. The bed frame seemed to groan a little less as he sat down and pulled the laces on his boots and unclasped his weapon holster from his thigh. The rest of the equipment wouldn’t bother him while he slept.
He pulled off his socks and walked over to where Soap was standing, putting his socks next to his on the bedframe.
“Fucking hell, mate.” Ghost said with a laugh in his voice and took a step back from the offensive-smelling garments. “Can I?” He asked and gestured to the cigarette hanging from Soap’s mouth.
━━━━━━━━━
Letting out a deep, pained sigh at how much the cupboard had strained his already aching muscles, Soap thought about smacking Ghost's hand away from his cigarette, but he didn't have the energy to do more than nod again, letting Ghost's ungloved fingers brush his lips as he took the smoke from them. He swallowed down the tightness that formed in his throat at the sensation, almost forgetting to avert his eyes. No way could he make eye contact with Ghost in those moments. He saw too much. He'd probably see right through his eyes and into the back of his skull, where the things he wanted to do sat, heavy, maddening. Tiresome.
Dangerous. He had no idea what Ghost would do if he knew. Maybe he'd be disgusted. Maybe he'd ask Price to reassign him to a different team.
The thought alone almost broke John.
"Coulda just got your own," he muttered under his breath, his irritation with himself projected into his tone as he plopped back down on the mattress, afraid each time that the whole flimsy frame was going to buckle.
An uncharacteristic quietness took him over, then, as he unbuckled his vest, trying to focus on what he should be focused on. What he'd usually be focused on. Because finishing the mission was important. They didn't fail, couldn't fail. Especially now that they'd been spotted. Any further attempts would be ten times as difficult.
━━━━━━━━━
With Soap complaining, he took one drag and held it back out to him. The look on his face didn’t go unnoticed. Worry made his eyes darken as he pulled off his vest and Ghost felt a prick of guilt. Could he have done something to make the outcome of their situation better? Should they have waited it out closer to the drop-off point?
It hurt somewhere deep in his chest to see Soap hurt, whether it was emotionally or physically.
Soap sitting down had him looking from higher up than usual and he sat on the mattress next to him, trying to catch a glimpse of his face but his eyes were trained on his hands, unclasping straps on his side.
Carefully he put his hand on Soap’s shoulder, just trying to get his attention back on him. The warmth through the shirt without the gloves on wasn’t something he had expected and his fingers twitched against hard muscles without any conscious input.
He had fucking promised himself not to touch. It was dangerous territory, thin ice for his self-control. As Soap turned his face toward him, he focused back on what was important right at that moment. He forgot about the cigarette, loosely dangling between his fingers for the moment.
“You okay, Johnny?” he asked quietly.
━━━━━━━━━
Fuck was the resounding thought in his head as the warmth of Ghost's hand melted through his shirt. Fuck. Fuck, fuck.
Ghost had figured out something was wrong, and now he wouldn't leave it alone until he knew what it was. He was tenacious like that. Stubborn as fuck.
What John didn't expect was how soft his voice was. His touch was almost just as soft. The tone and the hand that was still on his arm made his chest tighten, but for different reasons altogether. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard Ghost's voice like that.
He did his absolute best to reign in the emotions on his face as he finished shrugging off his vest, the heavy material and all the metal carabiners making a loud noise against the tile. He had to meet Ghost's stare. There wasn't any way out of it, and he was sure he didn't do a very good job of hiding what he was feeling when he looked up, bracing himself against worried hazel.
He'd never been good at lying, never been deceitful, especially not with his team. And especially not with Ghost.
"I...uhm. I'll be alright." It wasn't a lie, exactly. "Just, y’know, worried about making it home, is all." Also not exactly a lie.
He wasn't able to get rid of the apprehension in his tone, but he really needed Ghost to stop touching him.
He reached up, nervously putting his hand over Ghost's, trying not to focus on how it felt. How calloused his palm was as he wrapped his own fingers around it, gently moving it between them onto the bed. He meant to let go immediately, he did. But his touch lingered more than it probably should have before he abruptly broke their eye contact and focused his gaze on a piece of grass that was stuck to the white tile between his bare feet.
"Just gotta get some rest."
━━━━━━━━━
“I got your back and you got mine, right? We’re going to make it home.”
There was still something there Soap wasn’t saying but Ghost didn’t push it. It wasn’t like they were sharing their fears and worries regularly.
Soap’s hand on his distracted him, his hands were rough from training and handling all sorts of equipment all day. It felt good, had his mind slipping into murky forbidden depths before he caught himself and Soap pulled his hand away. He was thankful and wished he would keep his hand there just for a bit longer at the same time.
He had to get a grip on himself.
Simon just nodded. “Good call.” He averted his eyes, looked at the scar on Johnny’s chin instead of his eyes, and lifted the half-forgotten cigarette.
“Here, lie down and finish it.” He shuffled to the side so Soap could get his legs on the bed before handing him the half-burned-down cigarette. “Let’s save the rest of ‘em. Who knows how long we’ll be out here.”
He dug through his vest next to the bed and pulled out a half-empty water bottle. It wasn’t a big one but better than nothing. Unscrewing the cap he took a few swigs and handed it to Soap to finish it.
“We might have to fill it with toilet water tomorrow.” He said, only half joking to ease the tension he was feeling a bit.
There was just enough space to squeeze himself next to John without falling down. The moment they were both lying their thighs and arms were touching and Ghost wasn’t sure if there was any way to lie down without doing so.
━━━━━━━━━
"Better than that stagnant water in the desert that almost killed us, right?" He tried for a small laugh, but it came out wrong, sad. He usually attempted to keep things light. Usually, it worked. He couldn't ever remember being as tired as he was just then, though. Or as lost about something. He wanted Simon. That fact was clear enough, and he needed to quit skirting around it in his head. He needed to accept it, and he needed to accept there wasn't anything he could do about it.
After everything they'd been through together, it didn't really surprise him that he'd ended up catching feelings.
The troubled thoughts didn’t keep his body from starting to shut down, though, closer to unconsciousness than he realized. His eyelids were getting heavy as he pulled the cigarette from his lips, wondering at the half-circle pattern of dust on the ceiling. He strained to ignore the weight and warmth of Ghost against him in the tiny bed.
"Tell me something, lt. How do you...do it? Get through it all. Sometimes I get scared. I get scared it's changing me." His voice was so quiet, almost inaudible in the small room. The silence and the darkness of being out in the middle of nowhere at night with no one around was deafening. He thought he'd get used to it after so many years, but it was otherworldly.
━━━━━━━━━
Soap’s voice was getting slurred and Simon could tell he was on the brink of falling asleep but keeping himself awake to hear his answer to the heavy question. He watched Soap throwing the cigarette over the edge of the mattress to the floor and hoped that it was just the tiled floor and not the linens he had thrown around earlier.
“I think it has already changed you.” No one knew better than Ghost how much all of this could and would change a person. No one came out the other side the same as they went in, especially not when they went in as much as they did. “But you’re still a good person, Johnny. Fighting for the good ones. As long as you remember that you won’t forget yourself.” He turned his head to look at his sergeant. His eyes were almost closed and his face was already relaxed just on the brink of sleep.
“I’ll let you know if you change.” He whispered into the darkness, watching Soap’s eyes close, listening to his breathing evening out. It was peaceful, just lying here, next to him. Their thighs were just touching and Simon shifted carefully so they were pressed together.
Shamefully, he basked in the feeling of having Johnny close like this, feeling his chest rising and his body shifting slightly in his sleep. He rarely got the opportunity, and never had a chance to enjoy their closeness so privately.
Before he finally tried to get some sleep he moved his arm so they were connected as much as he could get away with, upper arm pressed against Soap’s shoulder.
With closed eyes he matched his breath to Johnny’s, feeling his mind slowly drift and his muscles relax before the darkness swallowed him.