Call of Desire

3. Scavenge

scav·enge
/ˈskavənj/
verb
search for and collect (anything usable) from discarded waste.

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They slept in shifts, always keeping an eye on the edge of the town. Soap had the pleasure of watching the sunrise, but he mostly kept his gaze on his sleeping companion. While he rested, Ghost's hand remained on his sidearm, and his mask remained firmly on his face.

MacTavish had seen Ghost's face, only once, and only for a few moments. He had been enticed by Ghost beforehand but seeing Simon as a man instead of a soldier awakened something within him. Something unfamiliar, yet warm. This something made his heart race and his cheeks redden whenever Ghost even glanced at him.

A cool morning breeze blew through the open door of the bar, waking Ghost.

"Mornin', sunshine." Soap smiled as his companion stood, stretched, and walked toward the door.

"Hm. How's the arm?"

"Better."

"And the leg?" Ghost asked, pulling a throwing knife from his pocket.

"Tried standing on it about an hour ago. Didn't go well."

Thinking, Ghost flipped his knife between his fingers.

"We need a vehicle." He stated. "I saw several on my way here, most looked to be in a rather good condition."

"Could also use a long-distance radio. Try and let Laswell and Price know we're not dead." MacTavish sat up. "Might even get an exfil from them."

"Good shout." Ghost exhaled deeply. "I'll get to scavenging. You get some rest."

"Yes, sir." Soap agreed for no other reason than the fact that he was too anxious to sleep beforehand. Ghost told him he would be fine, so long as he slept sitting upright. Eventually, he found himself dozing off, the warm sunlight lulling him into blissful sleep.

While the Scotsman slept, Ghost wandered through the buildings of the town, picking up scraps and tools that could be useful. He was used to working alone, but knowing Soap was injured on his mission, partially at his own hand, he felt a sort of responsibility to make sure MacTavish got home safely. Ghost let him sleep through most of the day. He spent that time searching for a car battery that might still have some charge. Every car he looked through was in a terrible state of disrepair, but he reckoned he might be able to fix one of them up.

He found a relatively intact pickup truck and stuck it in neutral, placing the radio in the truck's bed. Simon muttered to himself about the heat, opening the driver's side door. Sweat dripped down his face, his mask already soaked. Placing one hand on the wheel and his shoulder on the door frame, he used his body to push the truck forward. He stopped every now and again to catch his breath and search the buildings he passed, throwing any useful thing into the bed of the truck with the radio. Tools, metal scraps, car parts, along with whatever car battery looked least decayed.

The sun reached its highest point in the sky, the heat beating down on Ghost's back.

Fuck it, he thought, Soap is asleep. Even if he isn't, he's can't leave the bar. He won't see me. Ghost pulled his mask from his head, inhaling deeply. He continued, removing his bulletproof vest and shirt, and tossing them into the back of the pickup. He tucked his mask into his pocket, just in case. Wiping the sweat from his face, Ghost continued with his scavenging.

Soap, however, was not in the bar. He had stumbled his way to a doctor's office, in search of medical supplies.

Most of the supplies were long gone or expired, aside from a few packages of medical tape and rubbing alcohol. He painfully disinfected and wrapped his wounds, cursing every time he leaned too heavily on his injured leg. He took a moment to regain himself, and continued searching.

Soap grimaced at the pain as he opened the final supply closet. "Fuck!" He yelped, falling backwards. 

"Ghost!" he smiled over comms. "I've found water!"

"Shit, really? How much?"

"Come here! I'm at the doctor's office across from the bar, I'm gonna need help carrying them."

"I'm on my way, Johnny." 

Soap slid down against the wall, trying to sit comfortably. Ghost jogged through the door, and as MacTavish looked up, time seemed to slow. Riley had taken off his mask and shirt, sweat dripping down his chest. 

"Johnny? You hear me?"

"What?" Soap stammered, eyes glued to his companion's torso. 

"Shit." Ghost turned away from MacTavish, pulling his mask from his pocket and replacing it on his face. "You didn't see anything, understand?"

"It's uh... it's nothing I haven't seen before." Distracted, John continued to admire Ghost's muscular body. 

"Where's the water you mentioned?" Facing Soap again, Ghost stared at the injured man. 

"It's in the um- the closet over there." He looked away, his face red. 

"You alright?" Ghost placed a gentle hand on Soap's forehead, sending a tingle down his spine. "You're quite warm." 

"Just the heat, is all." MacTavish reddened further as Simon wrapped an arm around him and helped him off the floor. 

"I'll get the water, lemme get you back to the bar." Ghost led him through the door of the office, revealing the pickup truck full of useful things he had left outside the bar. "I've also found you a radio and a few car batteries to power it."

"Sweet." His heart hammered against his chest, Ghost's bare skin touching his. 

"I can feel your heart beating rather fast, are you sure you're alright?"  

"Don't worry so much about me, Lt., you're making me think you like me or something." Soap playfully smiled. 

"I do like you." 

"Do you?"

"Quite a bit." Ghost's voice resonated through Soap's body. 

"How much is quite a bit?" MacTavish glanced up at Simon, watching his reaction. 

"You're a good friend of mine." Ghost patted Soap's back, helping him into a chair. 

Friends... right. Just friends, MacTavish. Get your head on straight. Soap feigned a smile. "You're a close friend of mine as well, mate." Silence fell between the two of them. 

"I'm gonna start bringing some of the stuff I found in here." Ghost stated, turning on his heel and walking out the door. He could feel Soap's eyes on his back as he left. 

Friends? Really, Simon? He didn't want to be just friends. 

Dammit.