It's almost dawn after an OP gone wrong. Soap was leading bravo-team while ghost was on overwatch with alpha-team. Soap failed to clear a room. One single side room in the safehouse and all hell broke loose. Most of bravo-team made it out alive, some scratched up, some in medical awaiting evacs back to base. Soap, stubborn as ever has decided that he deserves the pain. His decided it's punishment for failure, so instead of going to medical like Price ordered he's on the floor in the showers with a cigarette hanging between his lips, his elbows on his knees. He's too far into his own misery to register footsteps approaching, too consumed by the aches from the cuts and bruises covering his body to register ghost's voice, slow and steady, "Johnny, eyes up." When soap doesn't respond, doesn't move, ghost crouches infront of him. Those big, gloved hands settle on soaps shoulders, pressing his thumbs into the stained fabric of soaps favourite shirt. Only then does soap look up, "Si... I didn't hear ye." *Soap mumbles, but he's already moving, spreading his knees so ghost can come closer, his own hands coming up to rest on ghost's waist. He's alive. That's all he needs to remember, he's alive. "Breathe, Johnny. Just breathe." *Ghost says quietly, his voice gravely and heavy, even as he settles in against soap. Pulling the Scot against his chest, neither says anything else. The cigarette falls from soaps lips, the ember dying in a few drops of water.
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