Call of Desire

2. Affliction

af·flic·tion
/əˈflikSH(ə)n/
noun
physical harm, that causes pain or suffering to something in such a way as to impair its value, usefulness, or normal function.

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Content Warning: Gun Violence, Gore

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Soap struggled to keep his eyes open as the moonlight streamed into the bar through the open door and windows. The soothing sound of crickets filled the air, lulling the exhausted and injured Scotsman.

"Ghost?" he mumbled roughly.

"Soap." his voice sent a shudder down John's spine

"How far out are you?" Each breath was more laborious than the last.

"Hard to say. I've found a vantage point and spotted a town." Ghost grunted. "Moving as fast as I can, Johnny."

"No rush, I'm just bleeding out." Soap chuckled weakly, then winced with the pain the action brought. "Can you do me a favour?"

"Depends."

"Talk to me." Soap exhaled deeply, head pounding.

"I am talking to you."

"Tell me something about yourself that I don't know."

"There are plenty of things you don't know about me." Ghost remarked. "Ask me something."

Soap thought for a moment, his mind struggling to form a coherent thought. "Why do you wear the mask?"

"It startles enemies and gives me an edge."

"But you wear it even around me. Around Price, Gaz." Soap observed, clenching his jaw. Pain shot up his spine from his injured hip.

Ghost paused for a moment. "I suppose I do," he muttered, his tone guarded and firm.

"Did I strike a nerve?"

"No." Ghost's terse response silenced Soap for a moment. "Have you stopped bleeding yet?"

"Negative." Soap sighed, pressing the cloth harder against his bullet hole with a grimace.

"Do you remember our time in Mexico?"

"Yes, sir... time to improvise?" Soap attempted to stand, but the pain shot through him, forcing him back down to the ground as the edges of his vision darkened.

"Affirmative."

Soap lost his grip on the M4, ribs slamming into the corner of the bar on his way to the floor. He choked on the agonised gasp that tried to escape him. 

"Don't strain yourself, Serg." Ghost uttered, as if sensing the other man's pain. "You'll only lose more blood."

"Easier said than done," MacTavish grimaced, glaring at the bullet hole in his side. "I can't even get up."

"Then stay on the ground. Look for cabinets close to the floor. See if you can find anything useful."

Soap dragged himself behind the bar, cursing with every move. He rummaged through the bar, shoving empty glasses and bottles aside. "There are plenty of bottles, but most of them are empty."

"Save some for me."

"There might still be some left if you get here quickly."

Ghost huffed at that. "You like tequila?"

"Fuck no, I prefer rum." Soap rummaged through the bottles but found nothing.

"I'd kill for a whiskey..." Ghost sighed.