Archive of Our Own ^beta

They were running. If they stopped, they were as good as dead.

Soap cursed dodgy intel for the billionth time, as he nearly tripped over a root, only saved by Price’s quick arm yanking him upright. There was no time for thanks. That would have to wait until they were out of the woods. Literally.

Behind them, sounds of shouting were thankfully getting lower, more muffled with the distance put between the team and their pursuers. 

Just a fetch mission. It was always the simple ones that went off the rails. 

Naturally, it had to be a mission that Soap had been excited about. It wasn’t often that all four of them went on jobs together, but it had been the first bit of action in a while, and Price had shrugged and spouted something about mandatory team building. Soap wasn’t fooled. The captain enjoyed working with all three members of his team, and had definitely jumped on the opportunity.
And Soap had been ecstatic.

After gathering intel, they were going to wait at the safe house until exfil arrived. It wouldn’t get there until that evening, since the mission had such low stakes. Supposedly.

It was basically a day off, hanging out with some of his favourite people in a small house in the woods. This safe house even had board games; he’d checked.

Oh happy day.

Then, mid-mission, bullets had started raining down on them out of nowhere. Soap had grabbed the USB, before heeding Price and Ghost’s yells, and getting the hell out.
It was four vs forty-something. The conclusion was simple and unanimous: Run.

And run they did. Soap’s side stung, his vision blurring from his rapid breaths. It wasn’t as if he was out of shape, but at a certain point, sprinting without pause would overexert even the best soldiers.
Ghost was a prime example, his shoulders shaking with each heaving breath. Soap couldn’t remember ever seeing him so physically exhausted. When they sparred, the man seemed to have infinite stamina, always composed while Soap ended up a sweaty mess, like a normal human should.

So if even Ghost was affected, it was a testament to how far they’d run. Those bastards had been on their tail for far longer than was natural.
 
When the safe house came into view, Soap could have sobbed from relief. Gaz made a strangled sound beside him, leaning forwards to catch his breath. Behind them, there were finally no more signs of their pursuers. 

“Fuck,” Gaz said succinctly. “What the fuck?”

“Why was there an entire platoon waitin’ fer us?” Soap joined in through his gasps.

“They knew we were coming,” Ghost growled. “They must’ve.”

Price was wiping his sweaty forehead, brows pinched in concern. He looked back towards the way they had come.

“I’ll call Laswell. We need that exfil sooner rather than later.” He caught Soap’s eye. “Did you get the objective?”

“Aye, sir,” he nodded, digging into a vest pocket before handing over the USB.

“Good man.” Price looked over the small object. “We need to check this for a tracker. They kept on our scent for far too long, as if they knew where we were going. Maybe-“

“Sir?” Gaz interrupted. The fellow sergeant had walked back a bit the way they came and was inspecting the ground with a frown. “I know how they stayed on our trail.”

“What’s that, Garrick?”

“There’s blood.”

The furrow in Price’s brow deepened. He looked at Ghost and Soap.

“Who’s broken?” He asked, voice harsh but worried. 

Soap looked at Ghost to inspect him. He couldn’t find any sign of injuries on him. That was odd. Then whose blood…?

“Johnny, fuckin’ hell.” Skull-framed eyes widened. A hand shot out to grab Soap’s shoulder, turning him to get a better look at whatever had caught Ghost's attention. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Soap looked down at himself to get an idea what the lieutenant was freaking out about.

Ah. Blood. Quite an impressive amount, actually. Starting from a spot in his side, just under the vest, and completely colouring one of his pant legs red. His vision blurred again, despite having caught his breath. The sting in his side increased tenfold as adrenaline ebbed from his system.

“Oh.”

Gravity worked fast, but Simon Riley worked faster. Soap hadn’t even noticed that his legs had buckled beneath him before a pair of strong arms had caught him. There were voices around him.

“Son, hey, look at me.” A face swam into view, leaning in from his right side. Kind eyes, mutton chops, silly hat. “Adrenaline’s one hell of a thing, huh? Just stay awake for us.”

“Captain, we can’t stay here. The trail-“ was said frantically from his left side. 

“I know.”

“We need to patch Johnny up first. He’s already lost too much blood,” a deep voice hurried to point out, making the chest he rested against rumble. He turned his head, trying to burrow into the firm pillow behind his head.

“I know. MacTavish, eyes open.”

He didn’t realise he had closed them. He forced them open again immediately, responding to his captain’s order before the words themselves could even really register.

“Gaz, keep watch. We can’t be caught here, we’ll be sitting ducks. Ghost, carry him inside, there’s medical supplies stocked up. We’ll have to do a fast patch job while I inform Laswell.”

There were affirmatives, Soap instinctively mumbling along. Then he was being lifted and moved, which jostled the increasingly painful wound in his side. The sound that left him was completely unintentional and honestly a little embarrassing. At least it was probably a good sign that he still had the energy to feel embarrassed. 

“You’re okay, Soap. This will be quick.”

He managed another “affirmative, cap,” or at the very least he thought he did. A short nod from Price let him know that he conveyed the meaning.

He was placed somewhere soft. There was rummaging around him, but Soap was busy studying his surroundings in an attempt to stay awake. They were inside the safe house. Laying on the blue sofa, he was suddenly happy for the ratty condition he knew it was in. At least he wasn’t bleeding on brand-new furniture.

On the corner shelf, he could skim the board games. He mourned the game of Cluedo he had planned for that day. Price was supposed to be Colonel Mustard.
But now the safe house was compromised and his team was in danger. All because he had been leaving a crimson line in their wake, which would lead their enemies straight to their location. What kind of idiot didn’t even notice they’d been shot? 

His vest was being moved to access said gunshot wound, followed by his t-shirt. He looked down to see Ghost work with concentrated eyes.
A quip about the lieutenant undressing him rested on his tongue, but curled up and died just as quick. Ghost was probably mad at him for fucking up so massively. He should be.

Price was next to his head, speaking hurriedly into his earpiece. His eyes were on Soap’s face, serious and stressed. Soap searched for the anger in them, but couldn’t find it. 

“S’rry,” he slurred out for good measure. “D’dn’t notice the- d’dnae ken-“

Price’s forehead creased impossibly further. He said something quick to Laswell, before turning his attention fully to Soap.

“Exactly. You didn’t know. Just focus on staying awake for now, okay? Talk to me, lad.”

Talk? He could talk. He was rather skilled at that, actually.

“Ye were- were gonna be Mustard.”

“What?” 

“Gaz an’ I, we- we planned to play- ungh,” he groaned as Ghost poured something in the wound. Tears sprang to his eyes. He thought he heard a mumbled apology be the man dressing his injury, but couldn't be sure.

“You’re doing great.” Price had moved a hand to squeeze his shoulder. "What were we going to play?"

He took a few steadying breaths, eyes squeezed shut. He pulled them forcefully open as unconsciousness started tugging at him. He had to make it up to his team by staying awake. He could do that.

“Cluedo. Y’were going tae be Mustard.”

The captain let out an amused breath, despite the tight lines around his eyes. “Of course I am. What about Ghost? Who’s he?”

“Reverend Green.”

“Why?”

“He asked to be.”

When Soap had first learned that Ghost not only knew how to play, but even had a preference for what character to be, he had been exalted. His initial surprise, however, probably resembled the one showing on Price's face. 

With eyebrows raised high enough to be hidden under the brim of a hat, the older man gave his lieutenant a brief glance. “Did he now? Was I the only one who didn’t know about this board game plan?”

“Mmhm, we were tri-tricking you-“ his breath hitched as gauze was being packed into his wound. Black dots were appearing in his vision. 

“Hey, hey.” A hand tapped his cheek. He blinked his eyes open again. Not good. He’d almost disobeyed his captain’s simple order. “There we go. Why were you tricking me?”

“Were goin’ tae pin the murder on you,” he confessed, hoping Gaz wouldn’t be too upset that he gave away their plan. “Put yer character in the deck, lie about our cards.”

“Bastards.” There was a fond shine in Price’s eyes. He looked at Ghost again. “Were you in on this?”

“Would rather not comment, sir.” 

“Insubordination. Who are you gonna play as, sergeant?” Price asked, shaking Soap's shoulder to keep him awake. 

“Mmm, dunno. Probably the dead body at this point, eh?” He joked weakly. 

“Don’t,” Ghost sneered, just as Price said, “not funny, Soap.”

Tough crowd. 

“Sorry,” he appeased with a small smile. “Gaz wanted tae be Miss Scarlett. Says he looks amazing in red. Guess I’ll be- uh… blue one.”

“Mrs. Peacock,” Ghost supplied. Who’d have thought he knew so much about Cluedo? 
Whenever the lieutenant was revealed to be human somewhere under that mask, Soap couldn’t help falling for him a little more each time. 

“S’my colour. Blue.” He winced when Price and Ghost guided him to sit up, to allow the latter better access to wrap a bandage around Soap’s middle. The safe house was swimming around him. “Green n’blue look nice t’gether. Like the sea, aye?”

Ghost looked up from where he was tying a final knot. “That’s right, Johnny. Keep those pretty blues open.”

His eyelids had been dropping again. “Tryin,” he murmured. “Wha’s th’ damage?”

“Went clean through, missed anything vital. You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you’ll be just fine.”

That was nice. As long as they didn’t get gunned down by the people who were definitely heading their direction as they spoke.

“You’ve got him?” Price asked, and Ghost nodded, grabbing hold of Soap’s shoulders to keep him upright as the captain’s weight disappeared behind him. 

Soap looked to where Price left through the doorway. Anxiety squirmed in his belly. He needed eyes on his team. He swayed in Ghost’s grip, and the larger man sat down next to his legs and pulled Soap forward to rest against him.

“He’s just fetching Gaz. They’ll be right back,” the lieutenant reassured, as if he’d heard Soap’s worried thoughts. 

“M’tired.”

“You can’t sleep yet, we need to move.”

“Ah ken,” Soap sighed heavily, leaning his head into the clothed neck of his superior. It was nice. Even nicer than the sofa. Smelled like Ghost.

“-othing yet, but the forest is quiet.” Gaz’ voice became audible while he reported to their captain. “Is he okay to move?”

“He is.” Price and Gaz stepped into the house. Despite wanting to stay exactly where he was, Soap tilted his head slightly to get a view of the pair.

Gaz kneeled down beside him. “Hey, mate. You solid?”

“Mmm, peachy,” he grinned, voice hoarse. He was feeling lightheaded. “M’blue.” He giggled slightly, before adding, “da ba dee da ba daa.”

Gaz’ face scrunched up in confusion.

“He’s talking about Cluedo,” Price explained, sending Soap a quick, worried look of his own. 

Brow smoothing into understanding, Gaz rested a hand on Soap’s wrist. It took Soap a second to realise that he was checking his pulse. Worrywart.

“Got all your stuff?” The captain asked brusquely, going around the room to collect some water and supplies. At the affirmatives he received, he gestured to the door. “Then we need to move. I have new orders from Laswell.”

“I’ll take Soap,” Ghost volunteered. 

Soap lifted his head, but before he could protest and argue that he could walk on his own, the black spots returned with a vengeance. 

“M’gonna pass out,” he managed to warn. 

There was talking around him and a hand on his face. Pretty whiskey-brown eyes in front of him, looking out from a skull mask.

The black spots ate the world, saving those eyes for last. 

They were going to be disappointed in him, now. Passing out was the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do.

—⚀—

Bounce.

Bounce.

Low voices. Safe.

Bounce.

Whatever surface Soap was resting on was moving up and down steadily. Bouncing him softly. Warm against him, but slightly uncomfortable.
Something was digging into his skin. His vest. It made sense that they hadn’t taken it off him, since they weren’t in the clear yet. His side was burning, throbbing steadily with each jostle.

“-needs medical?” Someone was talking.

“Since it’s not fatal, it can wait. We’ll have to keep an eye out and get some fluids in him when he wakes, but I agree with Laswell’s assessment,” an older voice responded.

The next voice came from right next to Soap, something about it calming him instantly. “Is she any closer to finding the leak?”

“She’s narrowed it down to the group of new recruits that rolled in a few weeks ago.”

“Already? Man, I bet she would destroy us at Cluedo,” the first voice spoke again. 

“I’ve never won a game of anything against her,” the older man said, a smile lining his voice. “She doesn’t have a wide pick of characters. Who’s left for her?”

“Professor Plum and Mrs. White,” the voice near Soap’s ear replied. Ghost.

“Knowing her, she won’t have a preference as long as she wins,” Price said.

“Well, captain, since our plan fell through with you-“ There was mischief in Gaz’ tone.

“We’re not cheating to win against Laswell.”

“You’re no fun,” Soap finally croaked, peeling his eyes open with effort. 

They were walking through a field of flowers. The sun was warm on his back, shining from an afternoon sky, and the pace was leisurely. The rush had clearly died down, meaning they had put a decent amount of distance between them and their pursuers.

He was draped over Ghost’s back. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was giving him a piggyback ride while they were both wearing their full gear. Strong fucker.

The pace stopped completely, three different voices saying his name.

Price came up beside him, resting a hand on the back of Soap’s neck.

“Welcome back.”

“Sorry I passed out,” he murmured. Price gave him an understanding hum.

“It’s fine. It didn’t change much, Ghost would have carried you anyway. Mostly needed you awake in case there was a confrontation, but we slipped away before that happened.”

“Oh. That’s good.” 

His fuck-ups hadn’t gotten any of them hurt. No one was angry at him. His body released tension he hadn’t noticed it held.

“It’s okay to put him down here, Simon. Let’s rest for a bit.”

Ghost and Price lowered him to sit in the soft grass. Gaz came over with a juice box and some rations.

“Need to drink something, and eat if you can,” the other sergeant explained, popping the straw in the juice box and handing it to him. “Take it slow.”

Soap’s stomach rolled, and he felt queasy at the thought of food. He carefully sipped the juice, but didn’t dare touch anything solid. No one mentioned it.

“Lemme see, then,” Ghost said gruffly, sitting down beside him.

“Huh?”

“I’ll check your bandages. You’ll be needing stitches no matter what, but if it looks good now, then we’ll wait with that part til we get where we’re going.” Nimble hands started unbuckling his vest. Soap sighed in relief as the weight fell away. 

“What’s the plan?” He asked Price while Ghost checked him over.

“Laswell and I agree there was a leak somewhere on the inside. Our targets were ready for us. She’s taking care of it and keeping us updated.” Price picked up Soap’s vest and packed it with their other supplies. “Meanwhile, we’re heading to the nearest town, finding a motel and staying low. It’s not far, we’ll be there by evening.”

“It’ll hold for now,” Ghost piped up, pulling Soap’s shirt back down. “Just don’t start running around or you’ll be bleeding like a faucet again.”

“Aw dang it, there goes my plan of doing a marathon.”

“Drink your juice,” was the stern reply, before the lieutenant went to help Price pack their vests too. 

Soap slurped obediently. The more he drank, the less nauseous he felt. He still didn’t dare touch the food, though.

With the vests and earpieces gone, their small group almost looked completely inconspicuous. Or they would, if it weren’t for Ghost’s mask and the gory display Soap made, blood making his clothes crusty and uncomfortable. 

“We’ll get you some new clothes when we get there. Until then, you need to stay out of sight,” Price said, also eyeing the large patch of red. “Christ lad, that’s a lot of blood… Almost lost ya.”

Soap swallowed roughly, aware of the heavy attention from his three friends. The reality of how close of a call that had been finally dawned on him as well.

“Dunno how I didnae notice.” He rested a hand over his side. It was trembling.

“Adrenaline,” Ghost said, voice tight. “You’re not the first soldier to run that far with a life threatening injury.”

Gaz looked at Ghost with a puzzled expression. “You know anyone else who’s done that, lieutenant?”

“Yes.” No further explanation came. No one pressed.

“How’re you feeling, Johnny?” Ghost knelt down beside him again, a hand landing in his mohawk, before guiding Soap’s head upwards to get a better look. “You look like shit.”

“Feel it, too. Good tae know that you don’t suddenly become nice when I’m near-dead.”

“Maybe I do. You’re just over dramatic and fine.” Despite the surety in his words, Ghost was looking him over with an uncharacteristic amount of care. Not that the sergeant was complaining. “Sit-rep.”

“Tired. And hurtin’. And cold.” Soap smiled crookedly. “If ye want tae ken.”

His response was a small grunt, sounding a little concerned if Soap was reading the man right. He was getting better at that.

The other three talked in low voices with each other, while Soap focused on the hand in his hair. His eyelids were getting heavy again.

“Arms up, soldier,” Ghost ordered. 

Soap obeyed on instinct, blinking in surprise as something warm and big and soft was pulled down over him. It smelled familiar.
In front of him, Ghost was only in a black t-shirt, leaving his arms visible. Soap studied the tattoo stretching up his superior’s arm, before the meaning of the sight finally caught up to him.

He looked down to see Ghost’s dark hoodie pooling over his own torso. Something fluttered in his chest.

“Thanks, Lt.”

“Don’t mention it.” Ghost patted his head once more. “Help me with him, Garrick.”

Gaz helped Soap back onto Ghost’s back, this time an infinitely more comfortable position after they’d ditched their gear. He couldn’t help nuzzling his face into the side of a clothed neck with a content sigh.

“Comfortable, Suds?” Gaz asked, a teasing lilt to his words that Soap ignored.

“Mm.”

There were chuckles around him, and a pair of steady hands holding his thighs. 

“Let’s move, then,” Price said from up ahead.

The soft bounce as they started moving again had Soap losing his battle with sleep.

“Rest, Johnny.”

He did.

—⚁—

“Soap. C’mon, rise an’ shine.”

Soap made a disgruntled noise, but roused slowly. 

He was still being carried by his large, masked friend, but Price and Gaz were nowhere in sight. A parking lot and a small collection of houses were, however. 

“Wha’s ‘appening?”

“Price and Gaz are getting a motel room. They’ll be back in a minute.”

“Why do I need tae be awake fer this?”

“I was bored,” Ghost explained with a half-shrug. Soap bonked his head lightly against the back of the other’s.

“Dick.”

“Spot on. Sit-rep?”

A small shiver wracked Soap’s body despite the nice hoodie. Ghost’s arms were bare, but he didn’t seem cold at all.

“Chilly, still.” He hid his face in the back of Ghost’s neck, soaking up the warmth rolling off the other.

“Hm, yeah. You’ve been shivering these last ten minutes. You’ll need to drink some more when we get inside.”

A thought struck Soap that had his lips curling upwards. “S’that why ye actually woke me? Worrying about me, Lt.?”

He expected a snarky reply, maybe an amused insult. 

Instead Ghost was quiet for a bit, shifting Soap’s weight a little. “S’pose I was.”

His fingers tightened in the fabric of the lieutenant’s t-shirt.

“Guess ye do like me alive,” Soap finally whispered.

“I do. You nearly tested that statement today.” 

"Sorry." He hadn't meant to leak that trail of precious blood. He was still in awe that he hadn't collapsed sooner.

"Thought we agreed to keep our blood on the inside."

“Who was it?”

“What?”

“The soldier you knew? Who ran as far as me with a life-threatening injury?”

Ghost was silent for a while more. Nearby, a blackbird was singing its evening thrill.

“Ye dinnae have tae-“

“It was me.” Ghost shifted again, hands squeezing where they held Soap’s legs. “I should’ve bled out, but my adrenaline was going nuts. Had just- had dug my way out of a grave and everything was a little surreal.”

Soap suddenly felt the most awake he had since discovering a hole in his abdomen. He stroked a thumb over Ghost’s collarbone.

“How'd ye...?” How did you survive? He swallowed against the weight of the words. Ghost seemed to hear them anyway.

“Someone’s family dog found me where I collapsed. It alerted its owners at their ranch, and they got me to a hospital. No clue who they were. I never thanked them, just… moved on as soon as I could move again.”

“… thanks fer telling me.”

“It’s a long story, Johnny. This is just a small part.”

“Still. Maybe I’ll get the rest some other day, eh?”

“Maybe,” Ghost hummed softly. “Point is- I didn’t even know how badly I was hurt until I woke up in a hospital bed. No need to feel bad about not noticing.”

“Happens tae the best of us, then?”

Ghost huffed a small laugh. It felt like a victory. 

Price and Gaz returned not long after with a single set of keys. Gaz smiled broadly when he noticed Soap was awake. 

“The room is sorted,” he grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Soap knew all too well.

“Oh no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, sergeant,” Price was quick to reassure. “C’mon.”

They followed their captain, as they tended to do. Before long, they reached the correct door to the place that would hopefully shelter them until the storm had passed. 

It was quaint. A bit… rustic and worn. A light in the corner didn’t turn on when Price flipped the switch by the door. But there was a TV, some books, and a door to a small bathroom. It was nice. And-

“Oh. That’s gonna be cuddly,” Soap said, suddenly understanding Gaz’ expression. 

The other sergeant knew everything about the Scot’s big, fat crush on their lieutenant. And with only two double beds in the room, it was clear there would be some sharing.

“Sooo-“ Gaz began, but was immediately interrupted by Ghost.

“We’ll figure it out afterwards. For now there are stitches that need to be done. Also, this idiot needs to drink some water.”

Soap gulped audibly at the mention of stitches. The levity of the bed situation disappeared as fast as it had arrived. 

He accepted the water bottle Price handed him after he had been situated in the shower stall on a cold metal stool. He knew the setup was ideal for cleaning the blood, but that didn’t make it any less freezing when Ghost removed his hoodie and shirt. The shivers amplified in force.

“C’mon, drink some, lad,” Price advised gently. 

Soap cringed a little at the taste of stale water, but obediently sipped. His stomach rolled again, and he pinched his lips together.

“He hates tap water when he's ill,” Gaz commented from the doorway. It was a small bathroom, with no room for all of them.

“It’s fine,” Soap argued, taking a demonstrative gulp. He almost spat it out immediately, but managed to force it down. Saliva gathered in his mouth, and he willed his breakfast to stay put. 

“Gaz, go get him something from the vending machine.”

“Nothing sparkly, or caffeinated,” Ghost added. 

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Gaz nodded and took off.

Price took the bottle back from Soap’s shaky grip. “Don’t force yourself. 

Ghost got to work with the needle after cleaning the wound, while Price kept Soap still. It reminded him of the similar scene on the safe house sofa. It had been softer and warmer. But this was a lot less hurried, and Soap didn’t have the same sense of guilt weighing on his heart, so he preferred this.

Even if it hurt like bitch.

“Doing great, Johnny,” Ghost murmured without looking away from where the needle was piercing skin. “Almost done. Then we’ll get you into a warm bed.”

Soap winced, pushing his head backwards into Price’s chest. “I’m stealin’ this hoodie, so ye know.”

Ghost was smiling. Even though it was hidden by the mask, Soap could hear it in his tone. “You’ve probably got blood on it anyways.”

“Claimed it, aye.”

When Ghost was finished, Soap was completely drained, his head fuzzy. Someone helped him back into the warm hoodie, and Gaz handed him a colourful drink. Soap hadn’t even noticed his return.

He managed several gulps this time, before he had to stop. Gaz patted his arm.

He was guided to sit down on the edge of one of the beds. Ghost helped him out of his boots before starting on getting him out of his bloodied jeans. Soap appreciated the domesticity of the act, even if the sight was slightly ruined by his blood soaked clothes. Air was icy against his legs when the jeans came off, but he still made a soft sound of relief. The clingy fabric had really started grating on his nerves. 

He was put under the covers, and warmth slowly started seeping back into his body. 

“I’ll be staying up tonight to talk with Laswell and keep an eye. The sleeping arrangement is up to you boys,” he heard Price say.

Soap couldn’t really focus much on the words. He was still shivering, and he needed something warm. His side was throbbing. He nuzzled into the fabric of the hoodie and breathed in. It had already lost nearly all of Ghost's scent.
The conversation nearby stopped at his pitiful whine. He hadn’t meant to let it slip, but he was just so damn miserable, and he no longer had the energy to feel embarrassed. 

“Johnny? What do you need?” Ghost's deep, rough voice was so, so welcome.

He reached a hand out, making a grabby motion. Had he been ten percent more cognizant, he would have been mortified at the childish action.

“You- warm- please.”

There was a beat of silence. Then a low chuckle from the table.

“Guess that settles that debate.”

“I’m almost offended. He didn’t even consider me for a second,” Gaz whispered dramatically. 

The heavy sigh from right next to him sounded almost affectionate. “Alright.”

When a big body crawled under the covers beside him, Soap immediately snuggled close, latching on. He breathed in deep, delighted.

“Ye smell nice,” he confessed quietly, only for one person’s ears.

Ghost scoffed disbelievingly. “I smell like sweat and blood.”

“Mm.” 

Soap was close to sleep, but didn’t miss how a big hand came to rest on the small of his back. That was nice. The pain in his side was completely overshadowed by the small tickle in his chest.

He felt warm again.

—⚂—

They ended up staying in the motel room for only two more nights. On the third day, Laswell sent word that the culprit had been found and they could go home.

Soap definitely didn’t feel disappointed that it had been solved so quickly. No sir. He was a professional, and he hadn’t been looking forward to sharing a bed with Ghost for several more nights at all. 

Going back home meant safety. It meant painkillers and professional medics and a better recovery. It meant his own bed and his journal and routine.
It meant no more of the almost familial air that had fallen over the shitty motel room. It meant no more careless touches between himself and Ghost. No more Price turning a blind eye. No more of Gaz’ open teasing. 

There wouldn’t be time to play the game of Cluedo that Gaz had found and made Price pay for at a local bookstore. 

“You’re sulking.”

Ghost sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. Their bed. His weight made it dip, and Soap let the movement bring their shoulders together.

“I got shot. Gonna be a wee bit miffed.”

Ghost snorted. “Right. The gunshot wound that you haven’t given two shits about at any point during all this is suddenly bothering you. That why you look like someone stole your candy?”

“Yep,” Soap said quickly.

“Sorry to hear it,” Ghost played along. “Are my stitches that bad?”

“Just awful, aye. Gonna look like Frankenstein after this-“

“Frankenstein’s monster.”

Soap groaned. “You’re one o’ those.”

“Only when it annoys you.” Brown eyes were crinkled in amusement. “Hey, did ya know Frankenstein was actually really strong?”

“Please don’t-“

“He was into body building.”

Soap shook his head, biting his lip in an attempt to stop from smiling. He leaned heavier against his companion. Ghost nudged him back.

“What’s really wrong?”

Soap looked down at his new sweatpants. 

I wanted us to stay like this for a bit longer. For you to hold me. I wanted to stay in this bubble. I want us to always be like this. I want you.

“I just wanted tae play Cluedo, I guess.”

A scarred hand lacking its usual gloves landed just above Soap’s knee. It squeezed gently.

“Me too.”

Price poked his head through the door, face unchanging at the sight that met him. “Time to go. Up and attem!”

Then he was gone again. They could hear him and Gaz talk loudly outside. Ready to go.

Ghost, ever-sensible, was the first to stand. He extended a hand.

“You heard the captain. Time to go, Mrs. Peacock.”

Soap smirked, taking the hand and letting his lieutenant support him when he was standing. 

“After you, Reverend Green.”

—⚃—

As expected, Ghost’s stitches were done perfectly, and aside from a welcome pack of strong painkillers, Soap left medical pretty much exactly the same as he’d entered it. He just needed rest.

That was lovely in theory. In practice, it was awful.

His bed was small, yet too big at once. Empty. Soap went to sleep in a hoodie that didn’t smell quite right anymore, and he laid awake. Side and chest aching, for vastly different reasons.

Ghost’s room was just down the hall. He could-

Nope. The mission was a rare occasion. Being out on a job came with an unspoken rule of ‘what happens in the field, stays in the field’.

That was the rule they had operated under. They hadn’t actually done anything, just… cuddled. Tactically. It wasn't even the first time he had huddled next to a 141 teammate on a mission, as it was often great for warmth or space. Something had felt different this time, though. Maybe it was the soft bed. Maybe it was the calloused fingers resting on his spine, moving with his breaths.

He didn’t sleep that first night back.

Or the second.

“You look like if someone chewed up and spat out a sandwich, mate,” Gaz said that morning in the mess hall. Beside him, Price made a face at the sandwich in his own hands.

“Your insults are always creative and descriptive, Gaz.” Soap smiled sweetly before flipping the other off.

“He’s right,” Price was inspecting Soap with sharp eyes. “You’re meant to be recovering, but you look worse than when we got back.”

Soap wanted to shrink under the observant gaze. He pushed his food around on his plate. “I’m fine. Just- I lost a lot of blood. Takes time for the body tae recover an’ all that.”

It sounded weak to his own ears. He didn’t look up to find out what looks his friends were giving him.

“You won’t get better if you don’t eat,” a new voice joined. Ghost settled down next to him with his own tray. He hoisted his mask above his nose, before drinking from his cup of tea.

Soap turned his gaze down to the goopy eggs on his plate. After a few bites, he had reached the point where the eggs started tasting too much like eggs.

“Should’ve grabbed something else. Already ate my muffin.”

“That’s why they have the one-muffin rule. It’s the only thing worth eating,” Gaz said.

“True.” 

Soap chanced a proper look at Ghost’s side profile. Sharp nose, silvery lines of old scars, barely-there freckles. He quelled a sudden urge to press his nose to that strong jaw.

“Alright, Soap?”

He’d been caught. He cleared his throat, mustering up a bright smile.

“Just tired.” Then, feeling a little brave (or sleep-deprived), he asked, “been sleeping alright, Lt.?”

Brown eyes studied him briefly. Soap wondered what they found. 

“Like a baby.” Ghost’s voice was toneless, unreadable. 

Oh. Well, that made sense, why would he- they were professionals. Steaming Jesus, he needed to get a grip.

“You?” Ghost asked.

“Peachy.” 

Soap suddenly became very aware of the two pairs of eyes opposite them, following their interaction like it was some sort of high-stakes tennis match. He stood, grabbing his tray. His side twinged but he ignored it.

“Well, I’ve been putting off that paperwork long enough, eh captain?” He said with forced cheer. “Better get to it.”

“I told you it could wait til you were better-“

“No time like the present, then.”

Price raised an unconvinced eyebrow, but stayed silent.

“Have a great day, lads,” Soap bid his farewell before turning to leave.

Another twinge of pain shot through his side and he stumbled. Immediately a hand was on his arm.

“Best if I take that tray, huh?” Ghost murmured, stealing the tray from Soap’s hands before he could complain. Then something new was placed into his palm. “Don’t strain yourself. See you later, sergeant.”

“Aye, see ya, sir.” Soap managed a small, genuine smile before making his way back towards his room. When he was outside the mess hall, he looked down to the object Ghost had placed in his hand.

His smile widened at the sight of the muffin.

—⚄—

It was the third night. It was getting ridiculous.

Yet, despite his body feeling like the chewed-up sandwich Gaz had talked about, and his eyes being drier than a jellyfish in the desert, he couldn’t sleep. He was cold. He knew it couldn’t possibly be a side effect from blood loss, still.

He blinked sluggishly at his alarm. 2 AM. Great. 

He gingerly rose from his bed and wriggled into the sweatpants he had gotten while at the safe house. He wandered down the hall on socked feet and into the small kitchen/common room. His eyes stung slightly when met with light.
Someone was already there. Not just anyone.

“Ghost?”

Ghost didn’t seem surprised to see him, finishing a long sip of tea before he looked up. Something warmed in those eyes as he took in the dishevelled sergeant.

“Soap. Nice hoodie.”

“Oh.” He looked down at himself. He’d gotten so used to going to bed in the thing, he’d forgotten he was wearing it. “Thanks. Cannae remember how I got it, but probably by honest means.”

“Theft, if I recall,” Ghost said, with a small twitch of visible lips. “Sit down, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

He felt like it too, not that he was going to share that tidbit. Instead he just went over to the small, round table to join his lieutenant. He felt slightly betrayed when Ghost immediately stood up.

“Leaving now that the party has arrived?” He asked, hoping he masked his disappointment.

“Making you something to drink, party boy.” There was a smirk on scarred lips, balaclava still pulled up. “Relax.”

So he hadn’t managed to hide that disappointment after all. He blushed and hid his head in his folded arms on the table. “No tea please,” he pleaded, muffled by his sleeve.

“Would never waste it on you.”

Then, to their surprise, a new person arrived.

Gaz blinked at them, before lighting up.

“No one told me there was a party,” he grinned, sauntering over to lean on Soap’s shoulders. “You didn’t invite me.”

“Knew you’d invite yerself, Garrick.”

“No party. There’s work tomorrow,” Ghost said sternly. He was heating something on the stove.

Soap perked up when he noticed. “What’re you making, Lt.?” 

“Hot chocolate. You shouldn’t drink caffeine or alcohol yet, so we’ll settle for ungodly amounts of sugar instead. Maybe the crash will help you sleep.”

“Ah’m sleeping fine,” Soap grumbled. 

“Yeah, right,” Gaz said, ruffling his mohawk. Soap batted at the hand, and he backed off, sitting in one of the unclaimed chairs next to the Scot. “You look like shite.”

“Less creative than usual.”

“Sometimes there’s truth in simplicity.”

“So wise.”

Ghost placed a steaming cup before him, and Soap couldn’t help releasing some tension at the sweet scent. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Gaz looked delighted when a second cup was placed before him. “You’re a lovely host, Ghost.”

“It rhymes so it must be true,” Soap agreed, rubbing his eyes.

“Man, he’s gonna collapse,” Gaz whispered to Ghost. Soap reached over, punching the other's arm.

“Ow!”

“See? I’m awake enough to land a hit. I’m fine.”

“That was a sneak attack, I wasn’t ready-“

“You should always be ready, Kyle, that’s rule number one,” someone commented from the doorway. Price was leaning against the frame, watching the small scene with a fond expression.

“You too, captain?” Soap asked. 

“Apparently it’s that kind of night for all of us.” The captain claimed the last chair by the table. “Thanks Simon,” he said when a cup was placed before him as well. 

“Wha- how’d you know that Price would join?” Gaz asked the lieutenant incredulously, who sat down with his own cup, placing it next to his half-drunk tea.

Ghost shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

“It’s his Ghost senses,” Soap said conspiratorially to his fellow sergeant, who nodded seriously.

Ghost winked at him from across the table. Soap felt his heart pick up speed and he hid his red face by drinking from his mug. Fucking bastard. He couldn’t just be winking and giving Soap a heart attack like that. It wasn’t fair.

A comfortable silence fell over the group as they drank. Soap felt slightly more awake from the sugar, and the absurdity of that moment really hit him; drinking hot chocolate with the task force at 2 AM. Who would’ve seen that coming?

Gaz suddenly leapt from his chair. “Stay right here,” he demanded, gone before anyone could ask questions.

“This will be good.” Price shook his head, but his moustache twitched with a smile. He turned his attention to the sleepy, remaining sergeant. “Nice hoodie.”

“Aye, never heard that before.”

“Maybe be careful wearing that in the daytime, though. If you don’t want the rumour mill to start.”

Soap looked down at himself. “What, why?”

“The back has my name on it,” Ghost answered. There was something in his eyes that Soap couldn’t place.

“Oh right.” He’d noticed that, but had forgotten again. He’d claimed it, after all. 

Footsteps coming down the hall signalled Gaz’ return. They all looked up to see him rush in through the door with a proud smile.
In his arms was the game of Cluedo they had bought while staying at the motel.

“We have work in the morning. And Soap clearly needs to sleep for several days,” Price said, shaking his head. He seemed genuinely upset to have to shoot down the idea. “We can’t be playing board games in the middle of the night. This isn’t some slumber party.”

“Kinda is,” Soap said under his breath.

“C’mon Price,” Gaz tried, eyes wide and puppy-ish. Soap had yet to see Price resist that look. “Are any of us gonna fall asleep within the next hour, really? Might as well have fun.”

“The sugar is going to keep us up that long anyway,” Ghost added. He was definitely going to win if they played, having more knowledge of the game than anyone else. Maybe that was why he was actually taking Gaz’ side.

Price hesitated. He gave Soap a questioning glance.

“I wanna play.” Soap gave his own best kicked puppy impression. He knew his actual injury added greatly to the effect.

Price sighed. “Fine. One game.”

Soap felt his face split with a grin. This was almost like that crappy motel. For a moment he could pretend he wasn’t going to end up alone in his bed afterwards.

“Knew we’d convince ye, Colonel Mustard,” he teased. Price rolled his eyes, kicking Soap’s shin lightly under the table.

To nobody’s surprise, Ghost annihilated them all. It was fun.
Soap didn’t stand a chance at any point, his sleep-lacking brain mixing up the murder weapons, but he enjoyed watching his friends get into it. By pure chance, the murderer was Mustard. No need for cheating and pinning it on the man.

With a vague threat of actual murder, Price herded his subordinates out of the kitchen.

“I want you all well-rested tomorrow, or we’ll never play again.” 

“So harsh, captain,” Gaz complained, but it fell flat with the pleased expression he was wearing. He saluted loosely. "Night."

“G’night,” Soap mumbled. He really didn’t want to return to his bed, but his vision was becoming incapable of focusing. 

He willed his legs to cooperate as he turned away from the others. Then a strong arm came around his waist to steady him.

“I don’t think I trust you to not collapse before reaching your room, sergeant,” Ghost said right by his ear. 

Soap looked up into warm, whiskey eyes. “Such a gentleman.”

“I can be.”

Soap let the other lead the way, allowing himself to nearly fall asleep on his feet. If he fell asleep like that, he would almost get his wish. At least he wouldn’t have to toss and turn in an empty bed if he wasn’t awake when put into it.

But Ghost just had to shake him awake when they reached the door.

“Ugh,” Soap groaned.

“Johnny, need you to wake up.”

He opened his eyes slowly, glaring a little at the mask before him. “What is it ye have against my sleep?”

“I need your… words, here.” Ghost’s eyes darted away almost nervously. Soap looked around them.

This wasn’t his door. It was Ghost’s.

“Huh?” 

“I don’t know about you,” Ghost sighed. “But my sleep’s been shit since we got back because... well. Don’t make me spell it out. And I know you haven’t been sleeping either, and I thought…?”

The sentence trailed off and hung in the air. Left there for Soap to do with it as he pleased. An opening to shoot it down, or-

“Please.” His head fell forwards against a big chest. “Yes. I havnae slept for shit. Missed-“ The words caught in his throat.

“I know.” Ghost sounded relieved. “C’mon then, Sleepy.”

Ghost led him inside, not allowing him to look around for long before plopping him down on the bed. Soap looked up at him with a small frown.

“Ye said- said you slept like a baby,” he accused.

“Babies are known for waking up screaming in the middle of the night, aren’t they?” Ghost stated, as if it were that simple. 

“I-“ Soap pouted. “You know that’s not what it means when someone says that.”

Taking off his mask, Simon carded through his messy hair. “I know,” he admitted quietly.

John stared up at the unmasked face, heart suddenly galloping. 

“You’ll catch flies,” the other smiled. A finger gently shut his mouth with a click. “Gonna turn off the light now, hope you’ve gotten your fill.”

“Wait.” Soap grabbed the other’s wrist. Simon looked down at him with a quirked eyebrow. After a short while, he let go again. “Okay, now I have.”

The lieutenant snorted. “Idiot.”

The room was blanketed by darkness. A big, warm body manoeuvred itself down beside him, adjusting the covers over them both. An arm carefully draped over him, and John held on tightly in return.

“Alright?” Simon breathed.

“Yer bed is bigger than mine.”

“Lieutenant perk.” A nose nuzzled into Soap’s hair. “Or maybe I’m just Price’s favourite.”

“We both know that’s Gaz.”

“Yeah.”

In the warm cocoon, Soap finally felt himself relax again. His breathing was getting heavier.

“Simon?”

“Mm?”

“Why do ye know so much about Cluedo, of all things?”

“Really? That’s what you wanna ask right now?” 

“I cannae help being curious.”

“No, you can’t.” 

There was a long pause. Soap almost nodded off, thinking that his question would be left unanswered.

“I used to play it with my family. It was becoming a bit of a silly tradition before they-'' Another short pause. “Well. I was always Reverend Green. My, uhm- my nephew even played along one time, although he wasn’t quite old enough to get it.”

John’s chest clenched. He didn’t know what happened to Simon’s family, but he knew it wasn’t anything good, if the skull mask was an indicator. The lieutenant never took leave, never left base to see anyone.

“He was Professor Plum. He’d just gotten glasses, so he insisted. My mum, she was Mrs. White and Beth was Miss Scarlett. And my brother, Tommy, was Colonel Mustard. It was a little joke. He said he finally outranked me.” A breathy laugh ruffled Soap’s hair. “My mum used to say that Mrs. Peacock, uh- that when I brought a girl home, she could be Mrs. Peacock.”

“Oh.” John traced his fingers over strong shoulders. He gathered his courage. “D’ye think… that they would’ve let me be Mrs. Peacock?”

“Yeah.” There was a gentle press of lips to the top of his head. “I think they would’ve loved to have you play along.”

Soap breathed in familiar scents, his eyelids becoming too heavy to keep open. "Woulda loved it, too."

“Sleep, Johnny.”

“Simon?”

“Yeah?” 

He smiled into the body pressed against him. “Guess we finally got a clue.”

A groan. 

"Like in Cluedo?"

"Sleep."

—⚅—