#mactavley

I almost forgot to post this here whoops

mactavley ( ghost x soap )

warnings: major character death, mentions of blood, mentions of guns

ao3 link:

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"Man down!"

Soap yelled out, his voice nearly drowned out by gunfire. He made his way to where the casualty was, determined to drag him to safety behind the sandbags. The enemy was advancing, slowly but surely gaining the upper hand. Air support was nowhere to be seen, and this left an opening for the enemy. He patted Ghost's shoulder, calling to him.

"Ghost, cover me!"

He nodded back, looking to where Soap was, seeing him ducked behind cover ready to go, before looking back toward enemy troops.

"I've got you covered, go!"

Soap made a dash for it, bullets narrowly missing him as he lifted the injured man and dragged him back as fast as he could. He was halfway there, nearing shelter, before an almost blood-curdling yell rang out through comms, alerting everyone.

"SNIPER!"

Immediately, shots rang out through the battlefield, the sound piercing through the chaos. Bodies fell. Ghost ducked, his back to the sand-filled bags, clutching his weapon. He was about to peek out, to try and take out the sniper, when an unusually loud shot was heard. Louder shots meant they were aiming at his position. Ghost's first instinct was to make sure no one was shot before peeking out again, but that was all interrupted by a strained yell of pain, before a loud thud.

Ghost snapped his head toward the source of the noise, expecting to see an enemy soldier bleeding out at the hands of a failed flank, but no scenario he calculated in his mind could have prepared him for what he saw.

Soap.

On the floor, clutching his shoulder, blood threatening to gush out through his fingers, his other hand still clutched onto the soldier he was trying to save in the first place. His eyes were darting back and forth, scrambling to push himself behind cover using just his legs, face contorted in pain.

"JOHNNY!"

He found himself full-on sprinting to his side, carrying him to safety, dragging the injured private with him too.

"We need medevac, stat, we've got two casualties, one fatal."

"Got it, ETA ten minutes."

"That's not fast enough."

Ghost rambles out, almost shouting at command. He laid Soap down on the ground, checking him for any other injuries. He ripped off the fabric draped over his shoulders to try and fashion a bandage, a tourniquet, anything his frenzied mind could think of at the moment. Why were his hands shaking- why couldn't he think straight, why couldn't he breathe all of a sudden? His heart pounded in his chest, and he was sure if it beat harder it would've ripped itself out of his chest.

The bullet seemed to have hit a major artery, blood pouring out like a river bursting its banks. Soap could die.

"Simon…"

Soap said through gritted teeth. He saw the man's eyes shoot up to meet his. They were gorgeous, even now, Soap thought. He'd never seen this much emotion in them. He just wished it wasn't fear.

The sudden call of Ghost's name, his real name, seemed to clear the haze in his mind, his vision focusing solely on him.

"Johnny…"

His name sounded so nice in that accent of his, Soap thought. He could listen to that voice forever until his brain turned to mush.

Ghost fought to keep himself from losing his head, trying to calm himself down. His thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, drowning out anything and everything except for the man before him. Voices yelled back and forth through his comms, but they faded into the background. Nothing else could possibly matter more than this.

"Medevac's gonna be here soon, don't you dare close your eyes, sergeant."

He hated the way his voice shook, he hated how he hated how the blood was now seeping through the fabric, staining it a red he was sure would never wash off, not even if he tried, not ever. Ghost had never felt this much all at once and it was killing him. A tap on his hand broke him out of his whirling thoughts, Soap's palm resting on his. Without a second thought, he grabbed it tight.

Silence settled between them, tense and thick and suffocating, before Soap spoke again.

"Thought you said you didn't like me." He laughed breathlessly.

Head dizzy, Soap tried to muster out a laugh to fill the silence. His heart panged at the sight of Ghost worrying about him. He winced upon feeling blood seep through his fingers, gripping Ghost's hand tighter. It pained Soap to see Ghost like this, hands shaking and on the verge of breaking down.

"...I said I liked you better alive. Still do." Ghost replied, voice betraying the calmness of his words. He'd gone through so many experiences just like this, dealing with casualties, lost so many to war, so why did this hurt so much more? Why did this feel so different?

He thought back to that night in Las Almas, how Soap had to fend for himself, and his pathetic efforts to help him while he hid in a church like some coward. He thought about the things he said. His jokes, the disappointment in Soap's voice when he found out Ghost had left him behind, especially when asking him to show his face.

He thought of the time he finally did show his face to the team, the way John stared at his face, as if he was trying to memorise every detail and save it in his mind. He'd never realised how he'd felt until now. The way his heart seemed to quicken around him, the way his gaze would soften just the slightest bit just for Soap.

At the same time, Soap was starting to feel lightheaded, blood loss finally starting to get the better of him. Thoughts started to become incoherent, uninhibited. Memories of conversations he had with Simon floated in his mind, but one in particular stuck out. His face. Soap remembered seeing it for the first time, prettier than any girl he'd ever dated in school, prettier than anyone he'd ever crushed on. He tried to burn every detail to his memory, remember it forever, like a picture taped to his wall he'd never ever think of removing. He recalled how he wanted to kiss those lips, however scarred they were, how he wouldn't mind waking up to that gorgeous face every morning.

"Soap."

"Talk to me, Ghost." Soap grunted out.

The words seemed to get stuck in his throat, refusing to come out, but Ghost knew he'd never let himself live on without telling him what he deserved to know.

"Johnny, I can't lose you." He swallowed hard, forcing the next words out of his mouth with sheer will. "...You mean too much to me."

A weak exhale resembling a laugh left Soap's lips, a smile breaking out however strained it was.

"I always knew you had a heart, Lt."

Ghost never felt his heart hurt more at anything. He squeezed Soap's hand, feeling his heart swell when he received a squeeze in return.

Minutes seemed to pass by painfully slowly. Red began to stain the ground, consuming beige fabric and gray cotton. It made it's way to Ghost, staining his pants where he knelt on the grass. He half expected his vision to fog up with tears, to feel them burn at the corners of his eyes, but there was nothing.

"Simon." Soap's voice called out, but it was softer, weaker. "The mask…take it off."

Ghost stared at him.

"...Show my face?" He mustered out, thinking back to the first time Soap had uttered those words.

"Yes Sir."

He reached for the hem of his mask, hand trembling.

But he just couldn't do it. He seemed to freeze up, fingers barely touching the hem of his mask, staring blankly at Soap. What was he waiting for? Come on, move! Why was he frozen in place? Was it the fear of showing his face? Or the fear of Soap blaming his death on him.

"...Simon?" His name. Again. Rolling off his tongue so beautifully, yet wavering like a candle's flame dying out, on the brink of extinguishing. Soap's grip on his hand seemed to slacken just ever so slightly and it scared him.

Scrambling to push the hem of his mask up with one hand, not daring to let go. He pushed his headset out of the way, lifting the mask up and over his face, fumbling every so often.

But by the time he looked back at John, he was too late.

He was gone. His eyes were cold, a stark contrast to the warmth which he'd always greet Ghost with.

His hand lay limp in Simon's palm, the red everywhere. He must've lost consciousness, the blood he fought so hard to keep in spilled everywhere. On his gloves, his pants, on his hands. On his conscience.

Simon wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. But nothing came out. He couldn't even cry. He couldn't even feel anything amidst the numbness devouring his heart.

He wanted to punch himself for hesitating. For being such a coward. For not even being able to fulfil a dying man's last wish.

Simon couldn't tear his eyes off of him, he wouldn't.

Medevac came after what felt like hours. They were a minute early, but several too late.

Simon refused to let go of the body, snapping when they tried to drag him onboard the exfil vehicle.

No one dared to speak on the way back to base. He stayed silent, dogtags cutting into his palm with how hard he was gripping them, afraid he'd lose them too. Afraid he'd lose the only thing he had left of Soap.

Mere scraps of metal, engraved with the words 'John Mactavish'. Those were all he had left. That, and the image of the light fading from his eyes etched into his mind, forever to haunt his nightmares.

its something about the relationship between ghost and soap being written when they can actually be human, trusting each other with little concern, putting all of the traumas aside to just live a little and have a sweet moment