On My Own

Watching the same program all over again, or banging his secretary? Simon asks himself, but doesn't say anything out loud. He just nods, and you seem to appreciate it.

It takes you a few drinks to loosen up, and he's happy to see it.

"He should treat you like a gem you are." it slips out of his lips before he knows it. Yet, it's not something he regrets; it's pure truth, and Simon Riley is known for being blunt.

You blush, and he wants to kiss you immediately. "That's a exaggeration." you whisper, touching his hand with your fingers. Calloused like his, but so delicate. You take care of your hands, he saw your balsams and such. He thinks, no, he knows he'd let you do it for him too. Take care of him.

In exchange, he'd allow himself take care of you even more.

"I assure, 's not." he lowers his tone too, giving a quick glance around; just to be safe, but no one pays attention around you two. He leans a bit closer to you, his lips close enough to your ear for you to hear every word he whispers. "I'd treat you better. Much better."

It takes all freewill to not kiss you right here, right now. All he allows himself is a little kiss next to your ear, and he straightens his back, like nothing happened.

His glistening, dark brown eyes and your red cheeks are the only evidence that something happened here.

Ghost and Soap had been sent out on a stakeout mission. Their order was simple enough - stay in an abandoned apartment overlooking a facility that was recently flagged for suspicious activity and determine if their source was correct.

Sure, it felt a bit haunting to be out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a thick forest, but the two of them always seemed to make the time pass well. There was a good chance there wasn’t anything of concern out here anyway. They’ve received bad intel before.

Regardless, an order is an order, and they’ve been taking turns on watch for the last three days. Rotating so one can eat or get rest while the other vigilantly observed, ensuring no harm comes to them.

Soap was on the second floor, looking down the scope of his sniper rifle, checking for movement. It was Ghost’s turn to rest, and he had insisted on doing so on the musty couch downstairs, rather than share the mattress on the floor that Soap had used hours earlier.

Despite the fact the two would never be resting at the same time, Ghost didn’t want to force himself to crawl into a bed that smelled like Johnny. That was still warm from his body heat.

So he simply shouldered his rifle, walked downstairs, and told Soap to wake him up when his shift was over.

Soap found the hours blending together, running out of thoughts to keep his mind occupied. His shift was almost up anyway, maybe he could wake Ghost up a few minutes early? While the Lieutenant was always a man of few words, he missed the interactions the two would have if they didn’t have to keep swapping places like this.

Rustling downstairs broke Soap from his thoughts. Was Ghost already up?

That thought was quickly abandoned when he heard grunts of pain and boots scuff along the ground.

Ghost wasn’t the only one downstairs.

They were under attack.

He sprang up, abandoning his long range weapon in exchange for his pistol, and barreled down the stairs. He made it down to the landing just in time to see a group of eight assailants struggling to subdue a flailing Ghost.

He looked at his Lieutenant with wide eyes. His mouth had a cloth tied around it, his limbs wrapped in restraints.

Soap wondered how they got the upperhand on him. He’s "The Ghost". No one sneaks up on him. But they have - and on Soap’s watch.

One of the assailants barks an order to the others as Soap leapt at the closest one. They seemed to splinter into separate groups. Six manhandled Ghost out the door while Soap was left with two, clearly staying to prevent him from following them.

Soap shot at the one he lunged at, allowing the other the opportunity to land a punch to his temple. He folded for a second, before regaining his balance and slamming his fist into the assailant’s chest.

As he stumbled back, Soap grabbed him by his head and brought it into contact with his knee. Hard. Soap barely waited for the distinct crunch, feeling the body drop to the ground, before he was already sprinting out the door after Ghost.

By the time he made it outside, he stood alone. He swiveled around abruptly, not spotting anyone else in his immediate area. His heart beat fast in his chest, his head repeating “Find Ghost. Find Ghost” like a mantra. He was on the verge of panicking now, beneath the dark sky as rain pelted his body.

He needed to find Ghost now, but what could he do without a lead?

He ran a hand through his mohawk in frustration, eyes dropping to the ground. It’s then that he saw it.

Tire tracks.

Soap nearly slips on the mud beneath his feet as he makes a 180 turn, sprinting to his own vehicle. It was loaned to them for this mission, only to be used to venture into the nearest town for food and supplies to keep them alive. He gives it a quick once-over.

Of course their attackers weren't smart enough to puncture his tires, take his battery - anything to stop him from pursuing them. Ghost was probably giving them too much hell for them to have the time for anything other than their escape.

He fished out the keys from his vest pocket and popped it into the ignition. When the engine roared to life, he peeled off in the direction of the tracks, racing to catch up before the rain washed away his lead.

Soap was on their scent now.

His carelessness was the reason Ghost was taken so easily, and he wasn’t letting anything come between him and getting his Lieutenant back.

----------

He didn’t know how long he drove for. He only knew that his foot never lifted from the floor of the vehicle, and that he would surely be breaking a speed limit if he was in a more densely populated area. His eyes never left the path ahead of him, zeroed in on the fading tire tracks.

While he drove, he let his mind wander. Not enough to distract him from his mission, nothing being more important than this moment. But enough to let himself wonder how Ghost was faring.

These had to be the right tracks, right? Would he catch up to them soon, or would they still be driving? Is he even alive, or are they taking his body back as some sort of sick prize? Proving that The Ghost wasn’t some immortal being like everyone claimed.

Soap shook his head. He couldn’t think like that, had to keep a clear head and just focus on getting Simon back. It’s foolish to assume he’s okay, how could he be if he was just kidnapped? But he hoped that no real damage had been done yet. He’s been through enough.

Looking ahead, he could make out something off the side of the road. Was that the old SUV that they took Ghost in? It had to be. He raced to pull his vehicle over, turning the car off and leaving the keys in the ignition as he jumped out.

Soap’s heart beat firmly in his chest as he made his way towards the car. Pistol raised, he threw open the trunk and peered in. Nothing. The only sign that someone had been in the car recently was the leftover heat circulating around the cabin.

He couldn’t have missed them by much. Two minutes? Three?

Before leaving, his eyes caught on a puddle of rain water on the trunk floor. No, not water. Blood. A whine left Soap’s throat as his heart stopped.

He forced himself to turn from that scene and face the trees, listening to his surroundings. Begging for a sign that Ghost was near.

His ears picked up a group of laughter, and he found his legs immediately carrying him towards the source. He dodged the foliage covering the forest, hopping over downed trees, steadying himself on unsound rocks. Rushing to catch up to them.

Soap pushed one last bush away from his body as he made it to some type of clearing. A hidden beach that led to a large body of water.

Quickly surveying the area, he saw a flipped over canoe out on the water. If he squinted, he could see two broken oars, drifting away due to ripples made nearby. Before he could think about that much further, his eyes snapped towards the recurring sound of laughter.

There were six rugged individuals along the beach, all with a varying degree of injuries scattered on their bodies. All were dripping wet, pushing each other around and clapping their hands on their backs.

Like they were celebrating a job well done?

Soap swallows down the panic that threatened to bubble up past his throat - no sign of Simon.

No one has spotted him yet. Good. He moved to position himself behind a boulder, urgency in his steps, before letting the first bullet fly. He was able to pick off two more before the remaining assailants scrambled to their weapons, and one more as he began to face returning fire.

When he heard the action of reloading, he risked a glance at his two remaining targets. Making a split second decision, Soap attempted to discern who looked more likely to give him the information he wanted.

The information he needed.

He pulled the trigger once, toppling the last lackey, before unsheathing a dagger from his thigh.

It was the knife from his night fighting through the streets of Las Almas. When Ghost left it behind, Soap promptly claimed it as his own and kept it to accompany him on every mission. No one had to know it was his way of having a piece of Ghost with him, always.

Ghost had given him his sheath shortly after, claiming if Soap was to keep the knife, he needed a way to easily access it in times of need. Ghost had even given him lessons after, spending his free time teaching Soap how to incapacitate someone with precise knife throws.

Soap’s chest panged again.

A small part of him was proud of how fast he was taking down the men. While he knew his skills are what led him to be recruited into the 141, there were times when he needed the reassurance that came with doing something quickly and efficiently.

A bigger part of him, though, reminded him that now was not the time, that it couldn’t be until he found Simon safe and sound.

Waiting for a break in the bullets flying past him, he held the dagger firmly in the palm of his hand. The weight felt familiar to him, and he gave it a squeeze before throwing it at the leader’s shoulder.

A pained grunt and thump let him know he hit his mark. Soap crawled out from behind the boulder to see the leader clamping his hand against his shoulder. His weapon had been dropped to the ground and forgotten about. Soap didn’t make a kill shot, but he had hit a major artery. The guy had a few minutes at most, and Soap needed to make it count.

He stalked up to him, gun pointed at his temple.

“Where is he,” Soap barked out. “What did you do with him.”

The leader choked out a laugh, bloody and wet. “A death fitting for a ghost, yeah?” His gaze settled on something in the distance, towards the water. “I’d like to see him come back from this one.”

Another chuckle rippled across the otherwise silent beach, the leader smug despite being moments from death.

Soap followed his gaze. His face suddenly blanched with horror as he understood the gravity of what the leader had meant.

Ghost was out there. By the downed canoe.

Ghost was beneath the surface.

Simon was drowning.

--------------------

Soap let out a breathless “oh my god,” hoping that he was wrong. Praying to any god that will listen that Ghost’s kidnapper was lying. He almost expected the specter to pop out from wherever he must be hiding to shout “surprise” at him.

But Ghost didn’t do pranks. This wasn’t a dream. And his lo- his lieutenant was dying.

Soap emptied the next round of his gun into the leader’s head. He wished he could take his time with him, make him scream and beg for mercy for what he’s taken from him.

But he couldn't - he needed to reach Simon.

Once he heard the gunshot, he dropped his pistol and started to rip his tac vest off of himself unceremoniously. He didn’t have time to undo it right, he needed to be in the water already.

But he knew that his gear would only slow him down, and he needed to reach Ghost.

Not a moment later, he dove in. The canoe he spotted earlier was barely visible above the water now, but that gave him an idea of what he needed to head towards.

It had to be where they dropped Ghost in. Soap couldn’t afford to be wrong. Not when every second wasted is another gulp of water that could be flooding Ghost’s lungs and-

He couldn’t think about it.

Couldn’t consider the chance that this would change from a rescue to a recovery. He doesn’t know what he would do if he saw Ghost’s lifeless body tied to the bottom of a lake.

He shook the thought away, trying desperately to put his brain in mission mode, pushing Johnny to the back of his mind.

As he got closer to the center of the lake, he began to see ripples coming from a specific spot. Taking in a deep breath of air, Soap dove. He frantically looked around, water just murky enough that he had to squint to see anything.

His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. ‘C’mon Simon’ he pleaded to himself, ‘please be here. please be alive’'.

It’s then that he spotted him. Wriggling around like a shark caught in a net, his lieutenant was frantically trying to get himself free.

‘SIMON’ his brain supplied, as he felt himself pushing to swim faster. He’s still too far away to help, could only watch as Ghost flailed against his bindings.

Ever since they first met, everything about him has been meticulous and calculated. Ghost would never make a move, in the field or back at base, without it being deliberate. But in this moment, it was like Soap was watching someone else entirely.

Ghost was panicking.

Simon was scared.

Soap watched as he was folding himself in half, bending down and reaching with his arms to try to undo the restraints at his ankles. The cloth once wrapped around his mouth, over his mask, had been removed, now around his neck.

His hands must have originally been pinned - he could just make out the handcuffs that still dangled from one wrist.

He wondered if Ghost had to break his thumb to get out of the hold. A small price to pay to try for his life, but his heart still hurt, thinking of yet another injury plaguing Ghost.

Ghost was yanking repeatedly at the rope tying him down.

Over and over and over.

Yet nothing was budging. Soap tried to guess what was holding him to the lakebed, but it was too murky to make anything out clearly. Whatever it was, it had to be massive. He knew what Ghost was capable of lifting, even without the use of his legs.

As Soap began to get closer, he could see the fight slowly leave Ghost’s body, even more so than when he was first approaching. He wondered how long he had already been down here.

He prayed again that he wasn’t too far behind them, that he wouldn't be too late.

After what felt like an eternity, he reached where Ghost was still floundering against his restraints. Albeit much, much slower than when he started.

Soap was so relieved to see his chest still moving, he brought his hands up to frantically hold his cheeks - trying to get his attention. Ghost was so preoccupied that he hadn’t seen where Soap swam up.

He didn't realize who was holding his face. Who else would be down here with him other than his kidnappers, coming back to finish the job? Before Soap could react, he felt knuckles hit his cheekbone, immediately making him reel back.

‘God Ghost,’ Soap marveled, not taking the time to recognize the bruise that was starting to form. ‘Never stop putting up a fight for your survival.’ He couldn't help but feel proud that Ghost could still attack in the state that he’s in. That he would even want to.

Once Soap pulled back to give Ghost some room, the two locked eyes. Despite running out of oxygen, Soap could see the tension in Ghost’s frame leave his body. Sorry, he watched Ghost sign, Stuck. Soap rolled his eyes at the biggest understatement of the century.

The two of them had gotten in the habit of learning some quick BSL signs when they had free time on base. They always threw them back and forth at each other during missions where they had to be silent or just wanted to keep comms clear when they were in close proximity.

Neither of them expected to use them in a situation as dire as this, though.

Soap rapidly shook his head back and forth. How could Ghost think he needed to apologize? This mess is his fault, and guilt continued to pile on him as he watched Ghost start to give up on his restraints, arm movements slowing.

Air, his mind unhelpfully supplied. Simon needed air now. There was no time to sort out the restraints.

He needed more time.

He took one last look at Ghost, watching his eyes start to droop, before he bolted up towards the surface. As Ghost watched Soap leave, he felt the fight fully leave his body. Soap already looked him over, probably saw there was nothing he could do.

Now he was leaving him for good. Ghost was trying to hold out for as long as he could, fighting with his brain for his nose and mouth to remain shut...

----------

When Soap reached the surface, he took in the deepest breath he could, and returned back down to Simon.

He panicked as he saw his eyes closed, but quickly got to work rolling his mask up to the bridge of his nose. The sudden breach in privacy had Ghost jolting his eyes back open, panic receding once he realized it was Johnny. That he would never leave him.

Soap prayed that what he was about to do would work. He vaguely remembered watching something during a team movie night about this - surely it was based on fact, not fiction? He had to try.

Before he could give it any more thought, before his heart could betray his mind, he pressed his lips against Simon’s. He prodded him to open his mouth, coaxing him with his tongue.

When Ghost complied, Soap suddenly pushed all of his air into him, trying to give him the message to breathe it in.

This had to work. It didn’t matter that this was practically a kiss. That he had dreamed of the day when their lips would finally touch, hoping, begging, that his wish would be granted. He should have known that fate was a cruel bastard, and that what should have been a sweet and tender moment would be forever tainted by death.

He gave all of his air to Simon.

He knew he would need to go up to the surface soon, already feeling his body go into fight or flight mode against the water around him. But he wouldn’t leave his side. Not until he has confirmation that his lungs are full of air again.

His heart beat heavy in his chest as he steeled himself to look back up at Ghost. Preparing to see unmoving features, letting him know that his plan failed. Soap pulled his own hand against his chest, bracing against his heart, and looked up.

This had to be enough.

--------------------

If Soap wasn’t underwater, if he had the air to spare, he would have let out a sigh in relief as he made eye contact with Ghost again. Wide eyes that looked much more lively than they had mere moments ago.

It worked.

He couldn’t believe it. He allowed a moment of reprieve by nodding to Ghost, before feeling his lungs start to burn.

Right, he thought, no air left. He took that as his sign to jut off towards the surface, this time for himself.

When he returned to Ghost’s side, he snapped back into mission mode.

Next task: Restraints.

Soap swam down farther to examine how Ghost was trapped. He almost wished he didn't, though, once he caught a better view of the material. His bindings weren't a rope, like he expected when he saw him from across the water. No. Instead, a thick metal chain was wrapped tightly around his ankles, before looping around four cinder blocks on the lake floor.

Shit.

No wonder Ghost couldn’t move on his own. That even with his full strength underwater, his bindings wouldn’t budge. There was no way he could get this off of him, not without some type of tool.

Soap paled.

He didn’t think he would need his tac vest. Only knew that he could swim faster if it was off of him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Why didn’t he think? How could he just send himself to rescue Simon with only the clothes on his back? Even his knife was no longer on him, still embedded in the last assailant’s shoulder. What did he expect to do once he found Ghost under the surface? How was he of any help like this?

He needed his gun that was left on the edge of the water. A bullet would be able to shatter the metal links, he’s sure of it. All he needed was to break one, to unlink the chain before the rest would unravel.

The only problem with his plan? He was no longer anywhere near that part of the beach - remembering how long it had taken him to get to Ghost to begin with.

He knew what he needed to do, but was terrified at everything that could go wrong. What choice did he have though?

By the time he realized what had to happen, Ghost was starting to lose the light in his eyes again.

Soap knew that it was only logical, that he was getting significantly less air second hand from Soap than he would if he could just breathe it himself. Of course the air wouldn’t last him as long. But by god did watching it happen scare him to death.

He made another pass up to the surface, taking in an even larger gulp of air, before returning. He cradled Ghost’s face, subconsciously running his thumb against his cheek. Once again he came into contact with his lips as he blew the used air down into his lungs.

This was it. The most challenging piece of the rescue. He looked into Simon’s eyes, tapped on the watch on his wrist and signed Promise. Trying to convey as much emotion and sincerity as he could. He would be right back, he promised. So, so, soon.

He could do this.

----------

Simon could barely make out the sign before Soap darted away from him. He almost felt impressed with the speed in his strokes, it wasn’t often Soap would push himself like this in the water. He’d be more impressed if he wasn’t fighting for his life, though.

If he didn’t know the reason behind his urgency.

The air Soap had given him surprised him. Sure, the two of them were close. Way closer than a subordinate and their CO should be. And, while a (not so) small part of him longed for them to be closer, to be more, he hadn’t expected him to press their mouths together.

He had given him the air from his lungs, as much as he had to offer. Every bit that should have been used to keep Soap alive.

He knew there was a deep significance there, if he let himself dwell on it for too long. He wouldn’t, though. Not when he had to focus his energy on staying calm, refusing to inhale water as his oxygen supply was decreasing.

He was always a patient man, always pushing his body to his limit. Johnny promised to come back, he just needed to wait for him. And he would. Soap would soon return with the answer to his problem, and Ghost would be ready. No matter how long it would take.

He couldn’t consider an alternative.

He trusted him, more than he probably should. He didn’t know what Soap’s plan was, but he believed in it. It would work, it had to.

He looked through the bleak water, desperately looking for any sign of Soap. He knew, in the back of his mind, that there was a chance of failure. That despite his sergeant doing everything right, he simply wouldn’t make it back in time.

He couldn’t blame Soap - there wasn’t a bone in his body that would ever place the blame on him. He was just glad that he had tried.

They both knew his odds of survival.

But for once in his life, Ghost had something to fight for. He had been a shell of a man for so long, before a loud mouth Scotsman dug Simon out of his grave. Now that he was here, he didn’t want to go.

There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to experience with Soap.

And dammit, he wanted.

But in the end, he wasn't a myth, he wasn't a ghost.

He was just a man.

He felt his body fight against him again and again, begging for air it knew it couldn’t get. It was only a matter of time before he was finally forced to comply.

His mouth burst open, feeling the onslaught of water as it hit his lungs. Rushing through pathways where water should never be.

His body twisted and flailed in protest, now deciding that this was worse than the refusal of air. Why couldn't he have held on longer? He had been waterboarded a handful of times before. When enemies had gotten the upper hand on him, when they thought they could drain Ghost of his ‘SAS secrets’. Nothing compared to the direct sensation of drowning.

There was no trick that his mind was playing, no cloth to remove that would stop his body’s panic.

No, he was dying. In every sense of the word.

He just hoped Johnny would forgive him.

--------------------

Soap had passed the mandatory swim training required of all operators joining SAS. He couldn't have gotten where he was otherwise. While he passed with flying colors, he would be lying if he said he ever set any records.

He never saw the need to be the fastest. As long as he was able to swim proficiently, why would the extra seconds count? He was a demolitions specialist, not someone going into underwater ops.

He regretted now how foolish he was. How unprepared he found himself in the moment. He couldn’t be bothered to think of any of his personal bests now, but he knew he would be setting one today with the speed he was going.

His lungs burned and ached with the unexpected push of exertion. As he did the front crawl to the shore, he couldn't help but choke on water as it entered his mouth. He was going too fast, too sloppy, to bother doing the correct technique.

The water that involuntarily blocked his airways just made him push faster, knowing that if this was how he felt now, he could only imagine how Ghost was feeling.

Ghost.

He let out a cry of frustration as he willed himself to reach the shore faster. He needed to be on his way back already. This was it. Either he would succeed, or he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he was too late. He didn’t even say a proper goodbye, just left with a promise. There was no way he would break it now.

After an eternity, he finally reached the shore. There was no unexpected movement, no surprise enemies. Not that he had the time to fully check anyway. The dead were all as he left them, and his pistol still laid next to the leader, where he had abandoned it.

He sprinted to grab it before turning on his heels and diving back the way he came. The whole exchange reminded him of a relay race, in a way. A life or death, extreme consequence version, anyway.

His mind was blank on his journey back, save for the ‘Simon. Simon. Simon’ chant coursing through him. How long had he taken to go both ways?

As he got closer to Ghost, his heart dropped - Simon wasn’t moving. His eyes were shut.

Mouth.

Open.

No. No. No, No, no no no-

Soap doubled his efforts to reach him. He rushed to his side as he gripped the pistol, shooting at the metal links. When it splintered apart, he hastily unwrapped the bindings and placed his arms securely around Simon as his body started to slump closer to the lake floor.

Struggling to get them both to the surface, Soap pushed his muscles to the max. He flipped both of them on their backs, cradling Simon close to his chest as he used his legs to paddle them to shore. He didn’t even feel the tears as they left his eyes, a constant stream that mixed with the freshwater that soaked his body.

He couldn’t check for a pulse, not yet. He couldn’t, wouldn't, be faced with what he has always feared the most. Reassuring words left his lips, though he doubted Ghost could hear him.

“You’re okay, LT. We’re almost there. You’re out. You’re safe. I have you, I won’t ever leave you again. Please-”. At this point, Soap wasn’t sure if the words were meant to soothe Simon or himself.

The pleads didn’t stop until he felt sand against his back, finally making it to the beach. He dragged him up far enough where the gentle waves wouldn’t reach, and gently flopped him onto his back.

“Simon,” he begged out loud. His throat hoarse from exerting himself, from his haste breaths. Thick with emotion. Soap ripped Ghost’s mask off in full, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about it. Not when he didn’t know if he was alive or not.

He slipped off one of his gloves and brought two fingers to Ghost’s pulse point.

Nothing.

Soap choked out a wet sob before immediately beginning the steps of CPR. His hands slammed down on his chest repeatedly, pleads and promises slipping out of his mouth. He needed him, he couldn't lose him. Simon had survived so much, he couldn’t leave now.

He stopped with the compressions as he switched to provide mouth to mouth. Every time his lips touched Simon’s it reminded him of a moment that was taken from him.

He always knew he felt something more between them. He just needed the perfect time to push things one step further. He imagined stealing a few seconds alone with him when they were back on base. Or inviting him to come home with him when the team was sent on leave.

Wherever it was, he was waiting for a time when he could make the moment sweet. He couldn’t help but think that he missed his chance. That he would never get that now.

As he blew into his mouth repeatedly before switching back to chest compressions, he let out another sob.

“Simon, please”. He was on the verge of a breakdown, but knew he had a job to do. “I cannae do this without you. I’m so fucking sorry. Just breathe for me, please. I-I know you can do it, i’m helping as much as I can Si, just show me you’re still here.”

He felt like cursing the universe. If Simon Riley died here tonight, so would John MacTavish. There was no world he wanted to live in without his grumpy LT as his shadow. His best friend.

His other half.

If Simon was to be buried, he would be accompanied by Soap’s heart.

Every loss Soap had ever faced, every comrade he lost in the heat of battle, chipped away at his soul. Yet he kept going. Simon’s death, though, was something he would never come back from. And he knew it.

He didn’t know how long he continued to swap between chest compressions and mouth to mouth. Hours? Minutes? Seconds? He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t bear the reality that was crashing down on him. Soap was a mess, face ruined with tears and mucus, his eyes red and swollen.

After another batch of breaths, desperately pushing air into Simon’s lungs, he pulled back for a moment. He looked at him, soaking wet and unmoving, before letting out a gut-wrenching scream. He finally allowed himself to break.

He slammed his fist hard into Ghost’s chest. Yelling, screaming at him to wake up. He pounded again, and again, and again. Each time, more pleads, more promises, more apologies slipped through his lips.

“I love you,” he cried. “I love you and I need you to know it. I need you to know before you leave me, please, just open your eyes. Please, don’t go.”

On his latest pound, he heard a wet sound, gargling.

Gargling?

He opened his eyes - when did he close them? - To see water pouring out of Simon’s mouth. He watched as he began frantically coughing, eyes wide open and bloodshot. Soap was quick to flip him on his side, ensuring he didn’t choke while purging the water from his body.

Soap sat back on his legs, his sobs turning from grief to that of relief.

He ran his hand through his mohawk repeatedly as he tried to soothe himself, watching Simon’s chest rapidly rise up and down.

Alive.

He was alive.

--------------------

Soap suddenly lurched forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Ghost.

“I thought I lost you,” he clung to him, shaking. “I thought you were gone, I thought-” He was babbling, messy thoughts tumbling past his lips, never stopping.

He knew Ghost was disoriented from waking back up. From his heart stopping and coming back to life. He knew from various trainings that it was best to allow the victim to slowly wake up when they experience a moment of unconsciousness. To never berate them with strong thoughts right away.

He wished he could have brought Ghost back to him gently, but the images of what just happened were beginning to catch up with him, and he couldn’t stop the onslaught of strong emotions that bubbled up through his chest.

Soap was repeating himself over and over, and as the haze around Ghost’s brain began to lift, he could finally hear a deep Scottish accent flood his ears. The voice was familiar to him, like coming home. He was gaining a sense of where he was, of who was holding him.

Johnny.

Soap snuck his hand to Ghost’s neck, keeping it on his pulse point. He couldn’t believe he was back. Scared that if he looked away, even for a moment, that when he looked back again he would see his lieutenant pale and unmoving.

Ghost allowed himself to be held, the both of them shaking. The gravity of the situation was not lost on either of them, and it was clear that Soap needed the physical contact to comfort himself.

Soap supposed he was going through shock. The feeling not entirely foreign to him but unwelcome nonetheless. His lieutenant had died. And while Soap brought him back, his heart had stopped and that wasn’t something that was going to leave his mind anytime soon.

Soap didn’t know how much time had passed before he came back to himself. He estimated it to be about twenty minutes? Both of them needing time to recover from the bone dead exhaustion that was catching up with them.

Eventually, he pulled away from Ghost, trying to get a better look at him. His blonde hair was pressed against his forehead, his eyes bloodshot with a glaze over them.

He still had the handcuffs dangling from one wrist. His other hand had the tell tale signs of something being broken. It was almost too much for Soap to handle. Couldn’t bear that he was the reason for this.

That if he wasn’t able to get Simon’s heart started again, his death would have been his fault.

“I’m so sorry, Si,” the apology slipped from Soap’s lips. “I was keeping watch upstairs, I should’ve known better and moved the vantage point to the first floor. I would’ve caught them, would’ve stopped them from getting to you. I’m sorry I didn’t do enough to-”

Ghost shushed him.

“Not your fault,” his voice was like sandpaper. From the water rushing in? From screaming? Soap didn’t want to know what else went on when he wasn’t there to protect him.

Ghost’s eyebrows suddenly pinched together, his brain catching up to what Soap had just said.

“Wait, what?” Thick confusion laced his voice. It sounded like it hurt to talk, and Soap had to resist the urge to tell him to save what he had to say for another time.

“Did you just-” A pause. “Why would you say you didn’t do enough?”

Oh. That wasn’t what Soap was expecting him to say at all. He didn’t think he needed to spell out the fact it was his fault, that he should probably be removed from the field.

He needed to be put in training, taught to think more critically while on missions. He would have expected Ghost to know already, for him to be furious at how Soap was the reason he drowned mere minutes ago.

“Well, sir, I-” he started.

“No,” Ghost abruptly cut him off.

“You dealt with the enemies at the safe house as soon as you knew they were there. You were insane enough to run after a vehicle full of armed personnel, even though I’m sure we were gone before you made it outside. You swam the length of the lake, I don’t even know how many times?” He swallowed, needing a moment to rest his throat before he could continue his thoughts.

While he paused, though, he brought a finger up to Soap’s mouth, implying that it still wasn’t his turn to talk.

“You- you gave me your air so I could keep breathing, improvised a plan to get me unstuck, and when you finally untangled me, you just dragged my limp body out of the lake and brought me back to life.” Ghost put emphasis on the last few words. His voice was coming back to him now, though the rough edge stayed.

Soap felt like that was a gross oversimplification of the day’s events. It sounded so linear, when Ghost said it like that. He felt like his brain had been running on autopilot since he first heard the intruders invade their space, and he’s sure if he tried to recount everything that happened, he wouldn’t be able to do it. Everything felt like one big blur right now.

But surely he didn’t do all that, right? While yes, what Ghost had listed seemed to be right, there had to be some embellishments in there. Someone had taken Ghost, and it was up to Soap to get him back. No more, no less. He was just a sergeant, not a decorated war vet who stepped in to save people like a modern version of Rambo.

Soap was brought back to the present when Ghost removed his finger from his lips, making him let out a small whine in the process.

The loss of content didn’t last long, as Ghost brought up his hands to cup Soap’s cheeks instead. “My head might not be on right after all that water, but does that sound like not doing enough?”

“You,” he continued, whispering as he brought up his hands to cup Johnny’s cheeks. Ghost never dared to do this before, though he had certainly dreamed. Something about what he just went through, what they both did, made him feel bold.

Or maybe it was the previous lack of oxygen.

“You did more than anyone would. You don’t need to be benched, you need a bloody medal. Don’t ever say you didn’t do enough, that’s a load of shit. I don’t know many people that would go to the lengths you did just to save one person.”

To save me, he wanted to say, letting it sit implied in the air instead.

“You came after me...thank you.” He mumbled the last part, it coming out more as a whisper.

Ghost leaned forward and touched his forehead against Soap’s. After the spiel that Ghost produced, the pair were content to sit in silence for another moment. While the immediate danger had passed, they both doubted that their heart rates would slow anytime soon, that their chests would ever calm in their heaving.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Ghost reiterated after a minute, leaning to press more weight on their foreheads.

“Always,” Soap quipped back, barely letting him finish his sentence. All of his thoughts, all of his feelings about Ghost came to the forefront of his mind.

A few minutes ago, he thought he would never get the chance to tell him how he felt. He wouldn’t waste his shot now, not when he could finally speak everything into the universe.

“I’ll always come after you, Simon. You’re not just ‘one person’ to me. I can’t-” he paused.

“I won’t, ever leave you behind. you’re too important to me.” The two made eye contact, words unsaid flashing across both of their faces.

Ghost reflected on the lengths that Johnny went to in order to keep him alive. How it felt to have his lips pressed against his own. He thought about Soap’s words, and he knew he felt the same. He had never felt so sure of something as he does with Johnny. Not when he was a child, not when he first joined the service, and sure as hell not after he became The Ghost.

As their friendly banter and awful jokes slowly morphed into something different, Ghost never let himself dream of being anything more than friends with his Sergeant. Couldn’t entertain even the idea in the chance that he would be rejected if he voiced them. Now, though, a new emotion bloomed in his chest. One he didn’t mind.

Hope.

“Always” Ghost parroted, nodding against Soap’s forehead. He let his eyes slip shut and his thumbs to caress Johnny’s cheeks, rubbing in a soothing motion back and forth.

Soap reveled under the touch.

“Si?”, he asked. Keeping his hands on his cheeks, Ghost pulled their faces apart, leaning back just enough that they could look into eachothers’ eyes. When he titled his head to the side in question, Soap took that as his cue to continue.

“Can I kiss you?”

The smile Simon gave him was blinding. Without the mask in the way, Soap could see the corners of his lips as they turned up, the crows feet appearing in the corner of his eyes. He saw the scars as they stretched, not used to being moved in that happy direction.

Most importantly, he saw his mouth as it moved, and heard a “please” as it slipped out.

That was all the permission he needed before Soap surged forward, gently pushing his lips to Simon’s.

There was a noticeable difference this time, no longer for the purpose of delivering air, for trying again and again to jumpstart his heart. Simon felt warm, he felt alive under his touch.

He felt good.

Tears began to tumble down Soap’s face.

“I love you,” he confessed. He went in to give Ghost another kiss.

“I love you so much,” - a peck to his forehead.

“You're alive” - two pecks to each eyelid.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” - a peck on his nose.

Soap kept speaking out affirmations, each time kissing a different part of his face. With each kiss, he could see the blush get darker on Simon’s cheeks, his smile growing even more. He looked almost bashful as Soap praised him, but that didn’t stop him from continuing.

Simon was alive.

And Soap would spend his remaining days making sure he knew how loved he was.

Suddenly a strong hand gripped his chin, pausing his movements. “I love you too, so much sweetheart.” Ghost used his thumb to swipe away his tears, as Soap couldn’t help but feel shivers at the pet name.

“God, I can’t believe you just did all that to save me. You’re incredible,” a smaller smile appeared on Simon’s face, before pressing their mouths back together.

While he loved the tiny kisses blessing his face, he had this hunger in him. He wanted to feel Soap against him, wanted to keep proving to his mind that no, he didn’t drown in that lake. Johnny had saved him.

This was real.

The two spent time deepening their kisses. Reaffirming to themselves that the other is there, that their love was reciprocated.

Though both of them were still wet and covered in sand, they could barely feel it over the roaring of their hearts. This was yet another moment that they needed to take. Couldn’t leave until they had finished discovering one another.

Soap felt hands return to either side of his face as Ghost knocked their foreheads together once again.

“We should probably get out of here, I could kill for a change of clothes right now” Ghost commented, albeit a bit reluctantly. Neither of them wanted that moment to end.

“Anything you want, sir.” Soap delivered the line in a joking manner, but there was still an underlying promise. He would do anything for the man. He hoped he proved that today, but he would continue to show him every day after.

He stood first, extending his hand to Ghost. A hand weaved into his as he helped the older man wobbly pull himself to his feet.

They needed to have a proper conversation later. Once evac had picked them up, when they were finally warm and dry - and safe. Ghost knew that Soap had his six, he always did. The bond between them was unbreakable.

There was a lot they would inevitably face when they returned to base. Neither had fully unpacked the day’s events, and with that would come a long road of healing and recovery.

But Ghost and Soap were together again, Simon and Johnny.

They were here and they were alive.

That was all he needed for now. He knew everything else would fall into place later.