Call of Desire

4. Respite

res·pite
/ˈrespət/
noun
a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant.

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Content Warning: Smoking 

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Ghost returned with the water jugs, handing one to Soap.

"Thanks." He popped off the cap, hastily swallowing the water. "Bloody hell, that's good." The Scotsman handed the jug back to Ghost, who did the same.

"Fuck, you're right," He panted, tossing the empty container aside. Ghost exited the bar once again, returning with the radio in one arm and a car battery in the other. "Here, you reckon you can get it working?" He asked, placing the battery and radio on the floor.

"Probably." Soap sat down in front of it and popped open the cover, looking at the inside. "Yeah, I can fix this. Just need some tools."

"Copy." Ghost pulled the tools he had collected from his pockets, handing most of them to Soap.

"Cheers." Soap uttered, taking a screwdriver in hand and leaning over the radio. 

"Gonna try and fix up the truck I dragged here."

"Wait, what's our plan for food?" MacTavish looked up.

"I saw nothing while searching the town." Ghost sighed. "I suppose that gives us about a week before we lose general comprehension. Two before it becomes painful to move, three before we're dead."

"So we're on a timer now?"

"Affirmative." Ghost said on his way out the door.

Soap didn't want to test their luck. They had already barely survived the run-in with the terrorists. He shuddered, placing a hand over his still throbbing hip. He doubted they would be able to find their way out of this hellhole after losing their ability to think clearly. After that, all bets were off.

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The darkness of night fell over the empty town. Soap struggled with the radio, switching between frequencies, and listening for traffic before moving on.

"Want a cig?" Ghost's voice broke Soap from his train of thought.

"Yeah, I'll take one." He mumbled, leaning back, and gesturing to the radio with frustration. "Been working at this fucking thing for hours and I can't tell if I got it working or not. Been sending out an SOS on the channels Laswell and Price use, but I've gotten no response."

"I know the feeling. The truck's showing few signs of life." Simon sighed in annoyance, tossing Soap his pack of cigarettes. MacTavish caught it, pulling one from the small box.

"The worst part is," Soap placed the cigarette between his lips. "I can't tell if they're hearing me or not."

"Need a light?"

"Mm." Soap lifted his chin, looking up at Simon from where he sat as the man stood before him. Ghost flicked open his lighter, holding the flame under his companion's cigarette.

"Cheers." Soap pulled back and took a long drag, the cool evening air soothing his anxiety. Ghost offered him a hand, nodding to the entrance of the bar. They sat on the steps, looking at the stars.

MacTavish exhaled deeply, smoke drifting into the air, his eyes wandering the sky.

"Something on your mind?" Ghost uttered, briefly glancing at the other man.

"Worried we're not gonna make it out of here." Soap admitted, having another drag. 

"We'll make it." Simon lit his own cigarette, pulling up his mask over his nose and inhaling deeply. "Even if we don't live to tell this tale, at least I'll have lived it with you."

Soap chuckled, hoping the other man couldn't see how red his face was growing. "I suppose I think the same way." He felt his heart race as Ghost placed his hand on the Scotsman's shoulder. John's eyes lingered on Simon's jawline for much longer than they should have, admiring him. 

"What about you?" Soap playfully nudged the Brit. "Got anything to share with the class?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "worried that everything I've lived through will be for nothing if I die to fucking starvation out in the middle of nowhere."

John didn't know how to respond. He wanted to comfort his companion, to reassure him. He wanted to say that everything would be alright, but he couldn't be sure. Instead of speaking, he moved closer to Simon, leaning into him, resting his weary head on Ghost's shoulder.

"No matter the outcome, I'll be by your side, aye?" Soap spoke, looking up at Ghost.

"Thanks for having my back, Johnny." Ghost hummed, gingerly resting his head atop Soap's.

They stayed there long after their cigarettes were depleted, enjoying the clear night sky and the cool breeze. The lack of any nearby cities or towns meant that the stars were visible, shining brightly.

"A part of me would rather stay here with you than go back and fight someone else's war," Soap mumbled quietly, some part of him deeply enjoying this moment of quiet.

"I know what you mean," Ghost hummed, allowing his hand to slip from John's shoulder to his waist. MacTavish's heart hammered in his chest to the point that he feared Simon would be able to hear it. "But we need to go back."

"I know," The Scotsman exhaled, "Duty calls and all that shit."

"We'll still be together at the base." Ghost noted.

"Yeah..." MacTavish didn't want to have to hide their relationship back at the base. If they ever got together, that is. His eyes lingered on the lieutenant, who hadn't pulled his mask down over his chin after finishing his cigarette.

Ghost relaxed, gently pulling the other man closer to him. "It's getting late, we should sleep soon."

"But what if I'm comfortable?" MacTavish uttered, his voice growing slightly playful as that ever-present smirk crawled back onto his lips.

"Fine," Simon said, moving back inside the bar, pulling John with him. "Sleep." Ghost lay down on the ground, gesturing at his chest for Soap to rest his head on. As he complied, the Scotsman sighed and relaxed. "Comfortable?"

"I might be."

"Good. Sleep well, Johnny."

"I will."