Chapter Text
It’s strange to think of the little things that lead people to where they end up, to the people they become. Everyone goes about their day to day lives rarely considering why they make the decisions that they do or how they affect their future.
Soap hadn’t talked to his father since his father found him making out with the neighbor’s son at 17 and kicked him out. Soap joined the army because he was invited to check it out by his cousin, a cousin he respected, a cousin who knew he’d benefit from the structure he’d find in the military. Soap got a mohawk as a stupid dare one night with his cousins when he was home on leave and he liked it so much it became a part of him, a symbol of his tendency to buck the rules. Soap carries a St. Michael medallion in his pocket because even though he’s no longer religious, his mother is a devout Catholic and it makes her feel better to think of her son having the protection symbolized by the little trinket. Soap drinks tea at midnight because his Lieutenant likes it and it’s easier to get him to sit for a cup with him if he thinks that Soap just happened to be making it already.
All this to say, Soap has the time now to think about himself and how he got to where he is at this current moment. Not just as a sergeant in an elite task force, a fact that fills his chest with pride. Not just as a demolitions expert, so far from the kid who struggled to follow along in school. No, the thing he’s thinking about most is how he’s bleeding out and broken, unable to move under debris from the dilapidated floor that fell on top of him.
Soap’s not sure what he should be more worried about, the bullet hole in his upper thigh or the way his head had cracked against something when he fell through the floor. How did he get here, again?
This was meant to be an easy mission. A quick in and out, no sweat, a little bit of effort and then done and dusted mission. They were meant to be gathering information on a group of human traffickers, a favor to someone Price worked with in the past. A serious mission, sure, but not one that should have led Soap to his current predicament. The compound was supposed to be mostly empty, according to the intel that was given to them. Not quite abandoned, but only ran by a skeleton crew keeping an eye on things. Price and Gaz had snuck into the main building, searching for intel while avoiding the clearly bored and careless men lazing about. Ghost was hiding back at the road’s entrance, keeping an eye out for unexpected company, and Soap was checking out the smaller buildings surrounding the area, ensuring that nothing important was missed. The brief seemed simple enough when he’d heard it. He’d felt confident leaving the room, knocking shoulders with Gaz and baiting Ghost into arguing about the latest football match.
He hadn’t really paid attention to the tension that had started to thread itself in between the task force. It wasn’t some large, obvious rift between them. Maybe it was a result of the four men spending too much time together, leave getting pushed back as things of more importance kept cropping up. Maybe it was the pressure of the upper brass who kept cracking down on petty paperwork, a pain in the ass to all involved but especially to Price who hated having to focus his energy on making sure everything was completed. Maybe it was simply a combination of the heat and broken ac units that the British Army was too cheap to spend money on to fix. Or maybe… maybe, Soap thought now, maybe he was the problem, memories of being the “annoying”, hyper, unserious, undiagnosed ADHD child coming back to haunt him.
Maybe he can trace it back to the smaller signs that he was too oblivious to comprehend at the time. The clench in Price’s jaw when he interjected one too many times at the last briefing. The pauses that Gaz held just a few seconds too long the last couple times Soap asked about hanging out. The way that Ghost just grunted at Soap’s attempts at humor, if he even acknowledged them at all. Maybe these small things were simply leading up to where Soap was now, alone with the knowledge that his time was rapidly running out.
Price had been short with him that morning, tired eyes and a lack of patience for Soap’s usual morning chatter. Soap had blinked at the words, “Enough, Sergeant”, a little taken back by the gruff manner Price said them but shook them off, going over to snicker with Gaz about Price’s crankiness. He definitely felt rebuffed when Gaz rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about a little bit of quiet. Soap had quieted down at that point, confused and more than a little hurt at this response to his usual talkative nature. He’d been on the receiving end of many lectures over his life over his need for filling the silence, and he’s gotten better at holding his tongue as an adult, he really has, but he’s gotten comfortable in the 141 and thinks less about spilling out whatever thoughts he has.
He fit in well with the other men on the force. He felt a camaraderie and sense of belonging that he’d never felt anywhere else in his whole life. He respected and trusted his captain; Gaz was practically a brother, and Ghost… his relationship with the Lieutenant was something else entirely. Soap was honest with himself enough to acknowledge that he’d follow Ghost to the ends of the earth.
There was…something between them. Something undiscussed, unnamed. He felt it. He felt it when Ghost saved him a seat beside him at the mess hall. He felt it when Ghost’s eyes tracked him after he came back from a mission, scanning his form as if noting every scrape and bruise. He felt it when they met at midnight, sitting quietly together in the dark with their tea, body heat shared by their close proximity. When Soap visited Ghost in his room, bored and looking for company and Ghost let him sit there on his bed as he sketched, seemingly not worried about his face bared to Soap. When Ghost claps him on his shoulders and his hand lingers longer than is considered normal. When Soap heard through the grapevine (Gaz, who heard from Price) that Ghost had strongly advocated for always being placed on the same team as Soap when out in the field. When Gaz teases them about Ghost’s soft spot for Soap and he doesn’t deny it, just meets Soap’s eyes in a quick flicker before looking away. Yes, there was something. A tender feeling in Soap’s chest when he looks at Ghost. An ache so powerful he doesn’t know how he doesn’t keel over. A yearning, a quiet wish on a falling star, hope fanned over the flame that lives inside of Soap.
It was for this reason that Soap sought out Ghost, dejected after his interactions with Price and Gaz. Hoping for the comfort and sense of peace he felt just sitting in Ghost’s presence. He found where Ghost was sitting and his heart was warmed by the empty seat beside him, knowing that it was empty for him… yet when he sat down beside Ghost, leg pressed daringly against Ghost’s own, Ghost jerked his leg away. Ghost’s eyes landed on him, cold and stern. Soap couldn’t remember the last time Ghost had looked at him like that. Ghost had bit out a warning about personal space, before standing and striding away as if he couldn’t stand another second in Soap’s presence.
Soap sat, staring after Ghost, heart well and truly bruised. What had he done wrong? Why was everyone mad at him? Did he screw up? Memories of his youth flooded his brain, the many times he got in trouble for being “too much.” Too loud. Too talkative. The notes sent home from his teachers about his attention seeking. The number of times he was told to “Shut up, John” by his father. Soap could be a lot. He knew that. But he’d never felt like too much for the 141. Never felt like too much for Ghost. Until now.
He was quiet for the rest of the morning. Quiet on the ride to their location. Quiet as he checked his equipment. Quiet as Price went over the plans. Quiet as Price pointedly looked his way as he specified the need to keep the comms clear only for necessary updates. Quiet as they split up to their assigned responsibilities, missing the way Ghost’s eyes lingered on his back as he walked away, shoulders tight and heart heavy.
He tried to push his hurt and confusion from his mind. He couldn’t afford to be distracted and miss possible information. The houses Soap was snooping around were small, run down, and didn’t have much in them at all. Someone may have lived in them at some point and judging by the discarded beer bottles and cigarette butts, they were still used as hangouts for the people who occupied the area, but other than that, they didn’t hold much significance for the mission. He would have communicated this over the radio, maybe with a joke or two to break up the quiet surrounding him, but the memory of Price’s stern look at him earlier kept him from reaching for his radio.
Two hours later he was about to finally radio and let the rest of the group know he was heading back to where Ghost was waiting, when he heard gunshots from across the compound. The comms had been mostly quiet: short updates from Price and Gaz on their location, Soap’s brief summary of what he’d found (a whole lot of nothing), a note from Ghost about the lack of traffic on the road (Soap had to bite his tongue to keep from responding to Ghost with a cheeky comment).
His earpiece crackled loudly in his ear at Price’s yell, words unintelligible as more gunshots rang out. Soap started running through the old house he was currently in, intent on heading over to the main building to assist Price and Gaz, adrenaline pumping through his body, but stopped in front of a window as Ghost’s voice came over, warning them about two more vehicles speeding down the road, seconds before they arrived. Seeing the vehicles haphazardly park in the front as more men, armed with guns swarmed out, Soap cursed. This place was clearly not as quiet as they were led to believe.
Both Price and Gaz had gone silent on the radio, the gunshots having tapered off. He could hear the men shouting, searching for them, though, so that was a good sign that they hadn’t been caught. Soap started moving to where he saw a back entrance, but froze as he heard men come closer to the house he was in. They were searching the area and Soap was going to find himself trapped soon. He ran down a set of stairs as he heard the front door burst open, a man with a gun drawn shooting at him as he turned the corner into the basement. This was not good. This was, in fact, very fucking bad.
He fell forward as another shot rang out, this one meeting its mark. The pain in his thigh was hot, burning white in his mind as he took his own shot at his attacker. The man went down, but Soap knew he had more problems as the shots would have alerted more men to his location. He forced himself to drag his body up, adrenaline in his veins the only thing keeping him moving. He dragged himself to a closet, knowing the blood trail he left behind might give him away but hoping the darkness in the room would help hide it.
Soap gritted his teeth as he felt the wound, the blood hot and slippery on his hands. The bullet hadn’t hit an artery, otherwise he would have bled out by now, but it was still bleeding enough to be a problem. He fumbled with his radio, knowing he needed to call for help if he wanted to make it out alive.
“I’ve been hit.” He waited for the crackle in his ear, the assurance from one of his teammates that they were on their way. No response. He tried again. “This is Soap. I’ve been hit. Need assistance.” Silence. His mind went fuzzy for a second. “Ghost? Price? Gaz? You hear me?”
The radio remained quiet. His chest was heaving now, his training to keep calm in hairy situations getting overridden by his panic. “Ghost, do you copy?” His heart sank as he realized he wasn’t going to get a response. Something had to be wrong. His teammates wouldn’t abandon him like this. Ghost wouldn’t. Right?
Soap blinked back hot tears in his eyes as he tried forcing himself to stand up, the pain in his leg nearly making him black out. He used a dresser to pull himself up and stumbled towards the door, heart pounding so hard he was surprised it didn’t alert every man remaining where he was.
The integrity of the house wasn’t great. There had been multiple areas of rotting floorboards and Soap had avoided them while he was checking the place out earlier, but with the pain in his leg and the urgent need to escape, he didn’t pay attention to the part of the floor that had started to cave in. His stomach dropped as his foot met open air, and despite his best efforts, his whole body went down, the weight of him cracking through the hole in the floor even more, bringing down large pieces of wood with him.
He must have blacked out. When he opened his eyes next, it was silent. So silent the sounds of his own ragged breathing practically rang in his ears. Nobody shooting at him, no footsteps running around the house, no shouting. He tried to reach for his radio with what little strength he had, but was unable to move his arm, being trapped underneath a piece of flooring that had landed on top of him. He tried to take stock of how his body felt. His wounded leg was throbbing, but now he had pain in his head to go along with it. His whole body felt like it had been through a trash compactor, but his leg and his head were his more immediate concerns.
All he could do was wait. Wait and pray that his teammates made it out, that they’d come looking for him. He couldn’t reach his radio, but it’s not like it would do him any good anyhow, considering when he tried to use it before he couldn’t get a response.
Soap’s eyelashes fluttered as he stared up at the hole that he fell through. If he could block out the pain, it was almost… peaceful. Quiet. He gave a painful chuckle at that. Quiet. Isn’t that what his unit was so clearly wishing from him this morning? Maybe he finally learned the best way to shut up. All it took was a little blood loss and head trauma. Bit drastic of a solution though. He smiled as he thought about telling Ghost his brilliant idea. Ghost liked dark humor. Soap could see it now, Ghost’s brown eyes crinkling as he gave a low laugh. One of Soap’s favorite sounds in the world. What he’d give to hear it again. To hear Ghost calling out for him. “Johnny.” The name that only he was allowed to get away with using.
His smile faded as he recalled the way Ghost jerked away from him earlier that day. His whole team had made him feel like a rejected little boy again and now he was probably going to die with that feeling in his chest. If he hadn’t annoyed them, would he still have been sent off alone? Would it have made a difference? Maybe this was a fitting end for him. They were finally going to get the quiet they asked for.
Soap was starting to feel a little cold now. His mind was starting to get fuzzy as he tried to remember what he was waiting for. Was he supposed to be doing something? He frowned. He couldn’t remember. Maybe if he took a nap first. He was getting so tired.
He startled back awake when his earpiece crackled. “Johnny? Johnny, where are you? We are waiting at exfil.” That was a nice voice. Low, comforting, even when filled with urgency. It sent warmth through Soap’s body, though he didn’t know why. Whoever Johnny was, he sure hoped he answered the speaker. He sounded worried. Soap let his eyes close again, tuning out the sound of the radio as it came on again. Poor Johnny. Hopefully he gets found soon. Either way, it wasn’t his problem. He had more important things to do, not that he could remember what they were. He’d figure it out after he slept.