Call of Desire

6. Reconstruction

re·con·struct
/ˌrēkənˈstrək(t)/
verb
build or form (something) again after it has been damaged or destroyed.

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Content Warning: Gore

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Ghost was covered in engine grease, having worked on the broken-down truck for several hours.

"Turn the key again?" he looked up at Soap, who sat in the driver's seat.

The transmission whined and choked.

"Shit!" Ghost slammed his fists into the front bumper.

"We'll get it." Soap sighed.

"Will we?" Ghost shouted, "Fucking look at the situation we're in!"

"I know, Simon!" MacTavish retorted. "I'm trying to stay optimistic!"

"How the fuck can you be optimistic with the deadline we're on! We've already wasted half a day!"

"Yelling at me won't bloody change that!" Soap climbed out of the truck, slammed the door and limped back to the bar.

Ghost sighed. "Soap, I didn-"

"Talk to me when you've found something else to take your anger out on!" Soap winced, his hip giving out under him. "Shite!" he tried to catch himself, but his shoulder also gave out, leaving him with a faceful of sand.

"You alright?" Ghost tentatively helped him off the ground, supporting most of the Scotsman's weight. He groaned, wiping the dirt off his face.

"Fuck, it hurts." Soap trembled.

"You're really warm, mate."

"Am I?"

"Yeah," Ghost practically dragged the man back into the bar. "You feel okay?"

In reality, Soap felt heavy and weak. He felt extremely overheated and yet, he was shivering.

"I feel fine."

"Relax, okay? Just sit." Simon gently leaned Soap against the wall. He slid down, collapsing. He breathed heavily, his shirt clinging to his sweaty torso. "Where does it hurt most? Arm or hip?"

"My- my leg..." Soap stammered, Ghost assisted in the removal of Soap's trousers and bandages. Ghost peeled away the final layer of gauze, recoiling at the ghastly scene. "Aw fuck, it's bad isn't it?"

"No, no..." Ghost lied. The blood around the wound had turned almost black. "It's... infected."

"What?" Soap looked up as Ghost hurriedly stood, gathering the various medical supplies they had scattered around the bar from the last attempt at first aid.

"Just take a few deep breaths." the Lieutenant kneeled beside the wounded man, bottle of whiskey in hand.

"What, trying to win me over with a drink?" Soap smiled painfully.

"You're gonna need it." the Brit offered the bottle to Soap, who took it, taking several large gulps.

"Hell's fucking bells!" Soap shivered, shaking his head, cringing at the taste. He returned the now partially empty bottle to Ghost. He put it aside for the moment, grabbing a jug of water instead. He took a piece of cloth and wet it, wiping the blackened blood off MacTavish's thigh.