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Soap sighed when he was finally allowed to leave. After the mission was done and Hassan a corpse on the floor, he'd been sent to medical to have his new wounds and bruises looked at and tended to.
That had been nearly two hours ago. He was fucking tired and wanted nothing more than to squirrel away in the hotel room that Laswell and Price had secured for the team and sleep until the scheduled debrief the next afternoon.
He grunted out his thanks as the local pd cruiser pulled up at the hotel before he willed his battered and exhausted body out of the car and up the steps to the hotel. The receptionists didn't even bat an eye at his state of dress, just handed over the key card to his room and swept their hands toward the elevator.
Someone must’ve given them a heads up he would be rolling in late or the sight of the others coming in raggedly and worn had broken down the shock and concern. Whichever it was, Soap didn't care at the moment as the elevator slowly ascended to his floor. He heavily leant against the wall.
The adrenaline was well and truly wearing off. He closed his eyes, focusing on where it hurt the worst. His arm, where Graves shot him. He’d gotten it looked at and gotten some sort of injection along with fresh bandages that replaced Ghost’s handiwork that patched him up. His abdomen where Hassan had shot him, the bullets had pierced his weakened armor but luckily they hadn’t gone deep enough to cause any major damage. His ribs were bruised though and he was to take it easy for a week or two to allow them a chance to heal.
His eyes flutter open when the elevator dings and he pushes himself off the wall to stumble down the hall toward his room. Despite his exhaustion, his boots were silent on the carpeted floor and his hand only shook just slightly when he reached up to put the key card into the slot once he’d found the door to his room and let himself in.
The room was pit black but enough light spilled in from the hallway that Soap got a glimpse of the interior. Small, compact. Large bed in the middle of the room up against the opposite wall, pieces of furniture. Adjoining door to a bathroom. The bed was his sole focus as he stepped inside and let the door swing shut and let the darkness swallow him up.
He sat on the edge of the bed with a muted groan to both relief and pain. He bent down to unlace his boots and fully planned to pass out once he had them off. A shower could wait until morning.
“You look like you’re struggling there Johnny.”
Soap didn’t even flinch at the sound of the other. It was a testament to how common that occurrence was. He simply looked up and out into the darkness, watching as something shifted. Clothing rustled and suddenly the white skull of the very familiar mask was visual.
“And you were just sitting there enjoying it, eh?” Soap grumbled, no heat to his words and he started to fiddled with his boot laces again. He got them loose and half heartedly kicked out of his boots and toed off his socks.
With a sigh, Soap fell back against the soft covers and plush mattress. His eyes slipped shut but he listened, knowing that soon Ghost would be moving. For as much as the man barked about working alone and how he was a cold hearted bastard, it was a different story when they had a moment of privacy away from any prying eyes.
He heard more rustling of fabric and the soft thud of Ghost’s footsteps as the man rose and approached. Now doubt the noise was for Soap’s benefit so he wouldn’t be startled when the bed dipped with the added weight and the soft material of glove-covered fingers made contact with his skin.
“Let’s get you out of that shirt so I can see.” The tone brooked no argument or protest and Soap didn’t even try. The last time he had, a knife was pulled out and his clothing was all but cut from him. He lifted himself up and held his arms up, allowing Ghost to work his shirt up and over his head. It was discarded on the floor with a soft thump.
Ghost was a tactile fucker when they were alone and especially when Soap was nursing any kind of injury. He always had to check behind whatever doctor or medic that had tended to the wound. Soap didn’t know why and he never bothered to ask. He figured his chances of drawing an actual honest answer out of his LT was slim to none. His guess was that Ghost just wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to up and die on him.
Soap just closed his eyes and felt himself relax under the gentle but explorative ministration as Ghost ran a hand over the swatch of bandages and the splotches of days old and fresh bruises. Sleep was a gentle tug that pulled him in and down under.
He woke up sometime later to the sound of a gun being disassembled. Blearily he blinked his eyes open. The room was still dark but there was a soft, dull light that chased some of the darkness away. The light wasn’t bright enough to hurt his eyes but it still took his sleep filled brain a few seconds to take in the sight before him.
Sometime during his sleep he’d gotten on his back on the side of the bed furthest from the door. He suspected Ghost moved him as the man in question was now seated cross legged on the other side of the bed, facing the door with several pistols laid out on the bed along with a knife or two. On guard, Soap realized as he shifted and pushed himself up slightly. His movement drew his comrade’s attention.
Ghost tilted his head, looking over his shoulder. His brown eyes were illuminated by the dull light enough where Soap would see them.
“How long was I out for LT?” He questioned with a grunt as his body protested his movements.
“‘Bout two and a half hours,” Ghost answered, turning his head back to where his hands were still working over the pistol as he slotted it back together. Watching him take apart and reassemble guns was something magical. He did it with such fluidity and ease. Soap watched those gloved hands work for a moment before Ghost was speaking again, something stern but soft in his voice, “You should go back to sleep and rest up Johnny.”
“What about you?”
Soap’s question drew Ghost’s attention again and Soap smiled.
“You have got to be tired too, Ghost. How long has it been since you slept?”
“Long enough.” Was the reply and Soap hummed. He’d thought so.
A tension was creeping in Ghost’s shoulders now. Ghost would have a room in this hotel, possibly on this floor. A room that the other probably only just deposited his stuff into before breaking into Soap’s room to wait on him.
“You should catch a few hours of shut eye yerself,” Soap stated, “Laswell will more than most likely have more information for us at debrief tomorrow and we need you sharp Ghost.” He lowered himself back down and twisted until his back was facing his companion and the room. He yawned and his last words were half muffled in the pillow as he mumbled them but he knew Ghost would hear him perfectly, “Ya can stay here if ya want.”
It took a couple of minutes but eventually there was a final click as the last piece was fitted back on the pistol and then things were being moved around and the dull light was switched off. Soap held his breath, waiting. Eventually the bed dipped again and there was a warmth along his back. The material of Ghost’s hoodie brushed against his skin as the other shifted until they were lying back to back.
“Goodnight Ghost.” Soap breathed, closing his eyes to go back to sleep.
“Sleep tight Johnny,” Ghost’s equally silent reply was the last thing Soap hear before sleep took him.