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 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."

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

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

"I saw about nothing while wandering around 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. He gave them until the one-week mark. 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 ciggy?" Ghost's voice broke Soap from his train of thought as he returned to the bar.

"Yeah, I'll take one." He mumbled, leaning back, and gesturing to the radio. "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."

Ghost flicked open his lighter, holding the flame under his companion's cigarette.

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

MacTavish exhaled, his eyes wandering the sky.

"Something on your mind, Serg'?" Ghost asked.

"Worried we're not gonna make it out of here."

"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. "I suppose I think the same way." He felt his heart race as Ghost smiled and placed his hand on the Scotsman's shoulder. Soap's eyes lingered on Ghost's jawline for much longer than they should have, admiring him. "What about you?" Soap playfully nudged the Brit. "Got any worries?"

"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."

MacTavish did not know how to respond. He wanted to comfort his companion, to reassure Ghost. He wanted to say that everything would be alright, but he could not be sure. Instead of speaking, he moved closer to Riley, leaning into him, resting his weary head on Ghost's shoulder.

"No matter the outcome, Simon, I'll be by your side."

"Thanks for having my back, Johnny." Ghost smiled, laying his head atop Soaps.

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 extremely visible.

"A part of me would rather stay here with you than go back and fight someone else's war." Soap mumbled sleepily.

"I know what you mean," Ghost sighed, allowing his arm to slip from John's shoulder to his waist. MacTavish's heart slammed against his chest, he feared that 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 hasn'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, gonna need to sleep soon."

"But what if I'm comfortable?" MacTavish smiled.

"Fine," Simon moved 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, Sergeant."

"I will."