Chapter Text
The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of Soap as he moved about the small space, gathering the supplies needed to care for Lupus. His hands moved quickly but gently, the warmth of the water and disinfectant a stark contrast to the icy cold that had gripped the man just hours before. Soap couldn’t help but look at Lupus’s pale, unconscious form—his normally stoic and calculating expression now reduced to one of exhaustion and pain. The blood still stained his skin and clothes, a testament to the danger he had faced, and Soap’s stomach churned at the sight.
His mind flashed back to the mission, to the worry that had gnawed at him ever since he and Ghost had first seen the bloodied ghillie suit. It felt as if everything had changed. Their entire dynamic had shifted—unspoken emotions and jealousy simmering underneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.
Soap let out a soft sigh as he carefully applied the warm water to Lupus’s wounds, the skin raw and bruised where the bullet had struck. His hands shook ever so slightly as he worked, his focus entirely on making sure Lupus was as comfortable as possible, but his mind was far from the task at hand. There was something else—something that had been eating at him for days now. He couldn’t keep it in any longer.
Ghost stood a few steps behind him, his posture as still and silent as ever. Despite the blood coating his hands, the expression on his face remained unreadable. Ghost, as always, was the quiet observer, the one who stood at the edges of the chaos, watching and waiting. Soap could feel the weight of his presence, and for some reason, this seemed like the right time to talk.
Ghost’s voice, low and steady, broke the silence. “You know, I get it now.”
Soap glanced up from his work, confusion flickering across his face. “Get what?”
“Gaz,” Ghost said, his voice surprisingly soft for the intensity of the subject. “I know you love him. But it’s... strange. The usual banter, the teasing—it’s all gone. All that’s left is coldness and stern looks. And it’s wearing on you, isn’t it?”
Soap stiffened, a knot of defensiveness tightening in his chest. He felt his mouth go dry at the mention of Gaz, his emotions suddenly swirling with the familiar frustration. “Not everything can be as easy as it is with you and Price,” Soap shot back, a hint of anger creeping into his tone. “You and him, you’ve got your own thing. And that’s fine, but Gaz’s jealousy is becoming a problem. It’s clouding his judgment. It’s clouding everything.”
Ghost nodded slightly, his expression still unreadable but his voice steady. “I know. His jealousy has been clouding him for a while now. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s terrified of losing control. Of losing you.”
Soap paused, the anger in his chest deflating somewhat at the truth of Ghost’s words. He knew it was true—he’d seen the way Gaz had looked at him lately, the way his temper flared when he even mentioned Lupus. It was more than jealousy—it was something deeper, something more complicated than Soap knew how to fix.
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breath. “It’s not just that, though. It’s... I’m trying to protect him. Protect all of us. But I can’t fix this. I can’t fix the way he feels. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that it’s not tearing us apart.”
Ghost’s gaze softened, the quiet understanding in his eyes a contrast to the severity of his words. “No, you can’t fix it. You can’t fix him, Soap. But you can be there for him. The same way we’re here for each other. That’s the only thing that matters.”
Soap didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he focused on Lupus, working carefully around his wounds, making sure to clean him up as best he could. Ghost was right—he couldn’t fix everything. He couldn’t fix Gaz’s jealousy or the complicated mess that seemed to be eating away at their team. But he could help Lupus. He could make sure that, for now, Lupus was safe and cared for.
As Soap finished cleaning the wound on Lupus’s shoulder, Ghost took a step closer, his gaze never leaving the scene in front of him. The question that followed wasn’t prying, and it wasn’t accusatory. It was simply... a question. A soft one, but one that carried weight.
“How do you feel about Lupus, Johnny?” Ghost asked, his tone quiet, but the question felt like it hung in the air between them, heavy with the unspoken emotions that neither of them had yet addressed.
Soap froze, the question catching him off guard. His hands hovered over the medical kit for a moment, and then he slowly lowered them, as if the words had anchored him in place. The question wasn’t about Gaz, wasn’t about the team. It was about him and Lupus. The answer, or the lack of it, made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been since this whole damn situation started.
“I don’t know,” Soap said finally, his voice quieter than usual, the weight of the words taking their toll. “I don’t know, Ghost. He’s... he’s complicated. I want to help him. I want to be there for him. But... I don’t know what that means, you know? I don’t know what this is.”
Ghost didn’t press further. He simply nodded, his eyes flicking between Soap and the still figure of Lupus. There was no judgment in his gaze, only understanding. The dynamics of their relationships—complicated as they were—were something that each of them would have to figure out on their own. The truth was, Soap wasn’t the only one struggling to define what was happening.
And for now, the only thing that mattered was that Lupus was still here. Still breathing. Still alive.
Soap sat back for a moment, taking in a deep breath as he wiped his hands on his pants. He looked at Ghost, his expression softer now. “We’re gonna figure this out, aren’t we?”
Ghost didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, with a small nod, he simply said, “We always do.”
A full day had passed, and Lupus hadn’t stirred once. The weariness of the mission, the pain from his injuries, and the blood loss had taken their toll. When he finally began to wake, the dim light of the evening filtered in through the small windows of the safehouse. The room was quiet, the only sounds being the soft creaks of the floorboards under his movement as he groggily shifted in the bed.
His body ached, the dull throb of bruises and a broken rib still gnawing at him. His shoulder burned with the familiar sharpness of a wound healing. He winced as he tried to sit up, the pain making him pause for a moment before he felt the soft weight of the blanket shift over him. Something was different.
Looking down, he noticed the bandages around his shoulder were no longer hastily applied. They were clean—neatly wrapped, far more precise than he had been able to manage in his rushed state before he passed out. His chest and back had also been cleaned, the blood that had once soaked through his clothes now gone. He could feel the sting of the fresh dressing, the tender care someone had taken to ensure he was patched up properly.
He hadn’t expected this. Not in the least. His mind immediately turned to the others, to his team, but most of all—to Soap and Ghost.
Lupus didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, but the fact that his wounds had been tended to without him even having to ask was strange. He could barely remember falling asleep—only that it had been a painful, dreamless rest. But now, as he rose from the bed with a quiet groan, the realization that someone had cared for him settled in slowly, like a weight in his chest.
The pain was still there—his ribs creaked as he stood, the bruises from the explosion a vivid reminder of what had nearly happened. But the quiet of the safehouse seemed to press against him in a way that made the pain just a little more bearable.
Lupus moved carefully, his injured shoulder throbbing with every movement, but he pushed through the discomfort. His eyes scanned the room, briefly landing on the chair where his rifle lay, untouched. The remnants of his mission were scattered across the living room—papers, notes, the scribbled fragments of his fractured thoughts and observations. It was as if the scattered pieces of his mind had found their way to paper in a frantic attempt to understand it all.
The thought of his own rambling, his own disjointed handwriting, made him pause for a moment. But the silence in the room swallowed the feeling, and Lupus continued his quiet journey out into the hallway.
The hallway felt colder now, the distance from the bed making his body keenly aware of every ache. He moved slowly, his hand brushing against the wall as he steadied himself. Every step was deliberate, each one sending a ripple of pain through his bruised back, his side aching from the broken rib. Still, it wasn’t enough to stop him.
As he approached the living room, his gaze flickered over the scattered papers, then slowly moved to the couch. Soap and Ghost were curled up together—Soap’s head resting lightly against Ghost’s chest, his soft snores filling the room in a familiar rhythm. Ghost, ever the steady one, had his arm draped protectively around Soap, his breathing deep and steady, the weight of exhaustion finally overtaking them both.
Lupus felt a small sigh of relief escape him, a soft, almost imperceptible exhale as he watched the two of them sleep. Despite the chaos, despite the tension that had gripped their team over the past days, there was still something so undeniably right about the way Soap and Ghost fit together. Something about their shared comfort, their quiet bond, offered Lupus an unexpected sense of peace.
He moved silently to the chair across from them, too cautious to disturb them. His body felt like it had been hit by a truck, but the steady, rhythmic sound of Soap’s snoring and the weight of Ghost’s steady breathing eased the pain in ways nothing else could. The sounds were almost hypnotic—soothing, like a lullaby to a man who had been running on nothing but adrenaline for far too long.
Lupus sank into the chair, leaning back with a soft wince as the pain in his side intensified. But, strangely, he didn’t mind. The silence around him, combined with the warmth of Soap and Ghost nearby, offered him a rare moment of solace. It wasn’t perfect—it never could be. But for the first time since the mission had gone south, Lupus allowed himself to relax, even if just for a moment.
The faint ache of his injuries didn’t seem as unbearable with the steady presence of the men he’d come to trust, the quiet hum of life filling the room. Soap and Ghost were both there, their presence a comforting constant, even in the middle of the chaos.
He didn’t need to explain anything. He didn’t need to prove anything. For now, he was just here.
Lupus closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the safehouse, the quiet companionship between the three of them, wash over him like a soothing balm. The rest of the world could wait. For tonight, he had found a small corner of peace—a rare, fleeting moment in a world that never stopped moving.