Chapter Text
They’re in the field when it happens.
An assignment like any other, really. Get in, get the info, get out. Simple, like it so rarely is.
Ghost saw it coming before it happened, but he wasn’t quick enough to shove Soap out of harm’s way, body going numb at the shout of pain from his sergeant as bullets tear through his flesh. A cold sense of dread filled him, and for a moment, he couldn’t even breathe.
Soap hit the floor with a groan, and Ghost could only watch in horror as Shadows descend on his Sergeant like locusts, stepping over his downed form with rifles leveled at Ghost, poised to rip him apart.
It’s bad. He can see it already, the way Soap pressed his hands to the hole in his abdomen, normally cheerful features twisted up in agony as a thick puddle of blood began to seep onto the cement around him.
Ghost caught a brief glimpse of one of the Shadows dragging Soap back and to his feet by the strap of his tactical vest before he had to duck behind a thick metal support beam to avoid ending up in the same boat. He’s no use to Soap dead.
“Go!” Came his Sergeant’s gruff exclamation as he threw his elbow into the Shadow’s face, an alarming amount of blood still soaking through his clothes. “Get out of here, go!”
A few Shadows stopped their assault on Ghost’s cover to subdue their captive, and he was forced to watch as Soap was brought to his knees by a cruel strike of the stock of one of their rifles.
“Ghost, move! Get out of here!” He sounded desperate, struggling to his feet again to give Ghost as much time as he can, but in his wounded state, he’s hardly much of a match for six Shadows.
With his heart in his throat, Ghost turned to flee despite every muscle in his body screaming at him to stay and fight, dammit! He forced himself to keep moving even if all he wanted was to go back for Soap, to rip each and every Shadow apart until his Sergeant is safe.
They don’t pursue him.
- Price•
“Why the hell not?”
Price sat at his desk with a somber expression, sighing heavily as he dragged a hand down his face.
“Ghost,” he started slowly, lifting his eyes to the Lieutenant across from him. “It’s too dangerous. We have no intel on where Soap is being held, how many of them there are, how heavily armed they are.”
He hesitated, “We don’t even know if Soap survived long enough to-“
“He survived,” was Ghost’s growled response, gloved hands clenching at his sides.
Price’s heart broke for him. “We don’t know that for sure.”
He leaned forward, folding both hands atop his desk.
“If he’s alive, we’ll find him. Soap is strong, he’ll just have to hold on until we can get there. We’re doing this properly, Ghost. Understand?” Price asked sternly, watching his Lieutenant carefully for any sign he might decide to take matters into his own hands.
Shockingly, Ghost nodded, muttering a defeated “yes, sir”. Price dismissed him after that.
- Soap•
When Soap awakened, he was completely disoriented. He blinked exhaustion from his eyes and took in his surroundings, jerking against the thick rope fastening both wrists behind his back to a hard metal chair.
It came back to him slowly. Getting shot, the Shadows, telling Ghost to run. The sharp throb of his wound forced a groan from the Sergeant, and he glanced down to see it’s been bandaged. He was starting to bleed through it, but unless they decide to shoot him again, he’ll survive.
Soap wondered if he’s being looked for, if they even know he’s alive.
Unsurprisingly, he’s been stripped of all his gear, left only in his ruined shirt and blood stained jeans. He’s utterly useless, hanging his head with a defeated sigh.
As if summoned by his disheartened thoughts, the rusted steel door across from him creaked open. Two Shadows stepped through, one standing on either side of the doorway to make way for the last person Soap wants to see.
Graves looked smug, coming to a stop a few feet from Soap and gesturing to the filthy cell with both arms.
“And so he wakes. Didn’t think you were gonna pull through, kiddo,” he laughed, like it’s genuinely funny.
“If you were worried about my safety, maybe you shouldn’t have had me shot,” Soap snapped back, groaning softly as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This prompted a pleased smile from the Commander.
“We wouldn’t have been able to get you any other way, Sergeant. You and that Ghosty are quite the formidable pair,” he mused, still sounding smug.
Soap tensed a little at the mention of Ghost, but he saw him get out before he’d gone under, so he forced himself to relax.
Graves rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry your pretty little head off. Ghost is fine.” He moved forward into Soap’s space, leaning down until they’re eye level with one hand on the back of the chair. “Do you think they’re looking for you yet? I’ll bet Ghost is going nuts right now, with how neurotic he is about you.”
Soap frowned, tuning Graves out for a moment.
Neurotic? Ghost was many things, but neurotic wasn’t one of them, and certainly not about him. Sure, he liked to think they’d developed a sort of friendship and care for each other, but Ghost was cold and closed off most days. The mission is more important than any one man, and all that.
Price he could believe being distraught over his capture, but Ghost? There was no way.
“Don’t think so?” Graves mused, standing straight but letting one hand wander to the knife at his belt. “I guess we’ll see when I send you home in pieces, won’t we?”
Soap’s whole body tensed, as if prepared for a blow that never comes. Instead, Graves patted his cheek patronizingly. “Aw, don’t look like that. I’m not going to kill you just yet. Where’s the fun in that?”
“Didn’t take you for the sadist type, Graves,” Soap bit back, jerking his head free of the Commander’s grip with a scathing glare.
Graves said nothing. He only leveled Soap with that eerily calm smile before turning to leave, the Shadows following him out and slamming the door back into place behind them with a heavy clang.
Soap was left alone in the dark dampness of the cell, pleading with Ghost in his mind to get him out before Graves guts him first.