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what’s mad to me is that soap lived for like 2 months after being reunited with price in the gulag imagine yearning for your mate who you thought was dead for 3 years and it absolutely destroyed you and then one day as you have all this other bullshit going on he randomly comes back THEN LITERALLY THE NEXT FUCKING DAY your whole task force is killed by your commanding officer and he stabs you which you then spend a good few weeks recovering from that enough to be able to start running around and shooting stuff and THEN like 2 weeks later you die in your mate’s or kinda crush’s arms not knowing if your name was ever cleared or not and you never confessed your love to him nothing
summary: soap’s life sucks actual ass duh… what a sad little life jane…
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the original plan for this was: "i am suffering and taking captav down with me bc it's not supposed to be 40 degrees here. it's just not." then ghost snuck in and this got way longer than i had planned. anyway, have fun with 1,200 words of 09 ghoap
—
MacTavish was in hell. Not actual hell, not yet, though he'd get there sooner than he hoped if that heat went on. No, he was stuck in his stuffy on base office, blinds drawn on the south facing window he was so generously given to let more light in during the shorter months. He would trade his nephew and niece for one of the shitty, moldy basement offices right now.
He'd managed to scrounge up a single rattling fan that looked like it was about as old as his gran and did roughly the same job as someone blowing air at him through a straw. There was a wet towel slung over his neck, dripping down his chest and joining the sweat rolling down his skin and he wanted nothing more than to tear all his clothes off and walk into the nearest body of water. Unfortunately, not only would MacTavish crumble to dust like the vampire he was slowly turning into the second he stepped out into the sun, he also still had work to do.
Debating just emptying his water bottle over his head he responded to another email while his laptop was half a degree away from blowing up in his face. He scrapped that idea as quickly as it popped up. The humidity in the room was so high that not even his sweat was drying anymore and adding more water would only turn him from vampire to a swamp monster, which somehow seemed even less appealing.
The email disappeared from his screen with a soft whoosh at the same time as the grandmother fan made a noise that could only be described as a death rattle. MacTavish looked up to witness the last rotation its blades would ever make before it stilled. Whatever meager air circulation the fan had put into motion was a thing of the past now, leaving him in a room approximating the South American jungle so closely he was about to declare it enemy territory when his door opened.
MacTavish was still glaring at the little fan that couldn't, choosing to ignore the living shadow that sauntered into his room covered in black fabric from head to toe. “Did you just take a shower?” Ghost asked, sounding way too chipper for a man currently standing unarmed behind enemy lines.
“No.” MacTavish refused to look up at him, instead turning back to his computer whose fans were running loud enough to rival the migraine pounding in his head now. Riley, as always, ignored his murderous tone, rocking on the balls of his feet. “I need your help.”
MacTavish went eerily still, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he very slowly lifted his head to look at him. He knew that tone. “Riley,” he warned. “C'mon, only gonna take a second, I swear. You need a break anyway.” MacTavish looked back at the screen, at the words blurring before his eyes, and sighed. At the very least he would get out of this swamp of an office.
“Fine,” he relented, getting up and walking around his desk. He didn't bother asking what Ghost needed help with; he wouldn't tell him anyway.
Riley’s eyes crinkled at the corners and MacTavish stubbornly looked away. “Lead the way then,” he grumbled, and nearly threw the wet towel at him for the cheeky, “Yes, sir,” he got in return but Ghost was already off and he had to hurry to catch up to him as he weaved his way through the base.
When he pulled him around a corner and into what should definitely just be a maintenance closet but definitely wasn't, MacTavish was starting to believe Riley was out to murder him, only to be surprised to find… a mini freezer shoved into the corner between dusty cleaning supplies. “What is this?”
Riley crouched down in front of the freezer, looking at him over his shoulder. “A freezer. Do you have a heat stroke already?” “What? No I–” Ghost reached in and pulled out a handful of ice lollies, holding them up to MacTavish. “Here, take ‘em.”
Now he was feeling like he really had had a heat stroke. “This is the problem you need help with?” Condensed water was dripping down his forearms, adding to his general wetness. Riley stood up and plucked one out of his hands. “You're supposed to eat them,” he said calmly, rolling his balaclava up over his nose to tear it open with his teeth.
“Riley,” MacTavish said, as sternly as he could manage while he was dripping everywhere.
“Fine,” Riley sighed. “See that freezer? Not exactly allowed to own that. Put it here a few weeks ago because look at this place, it's more dust than anything else. Figured the cleaning stuff don't come in here so they won't mind.” He took a bite of his ice. “Well, they did come in today and caught me. Ripped me a new one and told me to get rid of the freezer or they'll throw it in the trash.” He shrugged. “Don't have another place I can put it where it won't be found that also has electricity. So we have about an hour to eat all–” he counted the ice lollies still leaking down MacTavish’s hand, “–sixteen of those. Wasn't keen on getting brain freeze, which is why I need your help. Now get to eating.”
MacTavish blinked. Then blinked again. Then reluctantly opened a lemon flavored ice lolly. Ghost grinned at him, showing off green stained teeth. At first contact with the ice MacTavish nearly collapsed. He'd forgotten what it felt like to not be hot. “Why don't you put them in the freezer in the rec room?” he asked. Ghost just waved him off. “They wouldn't survive five minutes in there and you know it. The rec room fridge is a lawless wasteland.” MacTavish couldn’t argue with that so he just kept eating.
About two ice lollies deep he gave in to Riley’s coaxing and sat down on the floor with him. The concrete was pleasantly cold on his overheated skin and he found his migraine lessening by the second. Ghost was somehow already on his fifth one and MacTavish found himself watching a drop of what was essentially sugar water running down his jaw. “How are you eating those so quickly?” Riley slurped the last of the liquid out of the plastic and shrugged, already reaching for the next one. “They just taste good.”
Knowing that was as good an answer as he was gonna get, MacTavish decided to leave it at that.
—
The last ice lolly disappeared into Riley’s mouth long after MacTavish had tapped out, at serious risk of throwing up. Goosebumps had formed on his skin at some point and his sweat had finally evaporated, leaving him pleasantly cool. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, just for a second. “Why'd you buy a pink freezer?” he asked after a moment of quiet.
“They didn't have black,” Ghost muttered, and MacTavish laughed at the audible disdain in his voice. “So pink was the next best thing?” “Obviously,” came the response, serious as anything. “Obviously,” MacTavish agreed sagely.
—
Half an hour later MacTavish was back in his horribly humid office, the blinds drawn, the fan dead, tapping away at his laptop. The taste of artificial lemon lingered on his tongue though and he found he didn't mind the heat nearly half as much as he had earlier that day.
captain mactavish doesn't drink to forget. drowning out his guilt is only one of the reasons he turns to numbing himself, but it's the overwhelming helplessness that has him desperate to lower his inhibitions. laying on that bridge, unable to move or help his teammates, his captain, is something that haunts him day and night; like a disease, slowly festering and making him believe that he is powerless against loss. alcohol has him feeling justified, a rationalisation to confirm that he is nothing more than a sad, pathetic excuse of a soldier, thrown into a position he believes he's not suited for. death will follow him no matter where he goes; this way, the pain dulled, he can only hope that one of these days, he'll get his true wish.
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