Call of Desire

10. Despair

de·spair
/dəˈsper/
noun
the complete loss or absence of hope.

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Content Warning: Slight Internalised Homophobia, Needles, Gore

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Soap's breaths had slowed, his heart hardly beating. He lay limply in Simon's arms.

"Johnny...?" Riley's voice could barely be heard over the helicopter engine. "Johnny, please."

"The fuck just happened?!" Price called.

"He's passed out!" Ghost looked up, tears welling in his eyes. "Nikolai!"

"We're 30 seconds out!" The Russian replied. "Brace yourself, there's no helipad!"

Ghost clutched Soap's body, looking over him as tears trickled off his face.

"Stay with me, MacTavish. I have so much to tell you, but I need you alive..." Simon whispered, only loud enough for him to hear.

"Brace!" Nikolai shouted as the chassis shook violently, hovering about a meter above the ground. Ghost stood, squeezing John to his chest as he jumped out of the helo. He stumbled as his feet hit the asphalt, sprinting toward the hospital.

"C'mon Johnny, c'mon Johnny, c'mon Johnny," Simon muttered, bursting through the entrance to the hospital, startling every person in the lobby. A doctor rushed up to him.

"Are you John Price? You called, right? About John MacTavish?" She asked, looking over Soap.

"This is MacTavish, he's been shot twice and one of the wounds is badly infected." Ghost spoke quickly, panicked. "Can you help him?"

"We'll see. Follow me." She turned on her heel, leading Simon down a well-illuminated hallway. "Lay him here." She turned into a small room, flicking on the lights and slamming a button on the wall. Ghost gently placed Soap on the bed, resting his head on the thin pillow. Four nurses rushed into the room, forcing Simon to step back. He watched, his anxiety bubbling within him.

One nurse had the task of cutting John's blood-soaked shirt and trousers, another unwrapped the poorly done bandages. A third fastened an oxygen mask to John's face and attached him to a heart monitor. The fourth gently cleaned the inside of Soap's left elbow, carefully inserting an IV into his arm.

"Sir, we need you to exit the room." the doctor stood in front of him, but he looked right through her, eyes still desperately searching for signs of life from his companion. "Sir?"

"Alright- yeah. Okay." Simon mumbled, slowly backing out the door in shock. He stood there for several minutes, staring at the door.

"Simon...?" Price placed a hand on Ghost's shoulder. "You alright, mate?"

"Yeah- yeah." He mumbled, dazed.

"Nikolai and I were gonna go find a hotel and get food. Come with us."

"How are you not worried about MacTavish?" Ghost snapped, turning toward his Captain. "How the fuck do you wanna go get lunch while Soap's fucking dying?"

"No matter how much I worry, Riley, it will not change the outcome of MacTavish's injuries." Price calmly stated. "Come with us. You haven't eaten in upwards of five days. There's no way you're not starving, and staring at that door won't help any of us."

Simon hesitated. "Fine..." He solemnly followed Price down the hall and out of the hospital.

Soap can't die... Right? He won't die. He can't die.

...

What am I going to do without him?

...

I don't want to be here if he's not...

...

What the fuck does that mean?

...

I'm so fucking confused.

"Simon? You hear me?" The captain broke him from his thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Nikolai went off and found a hotel." Price stated. "You wanna get settled in? I'll bring you a meal."

Ghost sighed. "Yeah, okay." Price placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"He's gonna be fine, Simon."

Will he?

"I know." He muttered. The hotel was just down the road from the hospital, which was a relief to Ghost. Nikolai had gotten two rooms, one for him and Price, one for Ghost.

Simon closed the door to his room, stripping his clothes off as he turned on the shower. He tossed his mask to the side, not bothering to wait for it to warm up before stepping in.

Simon sat on the floor of the shower, the cold water washing over him. He tangled his hands in his wet hair, the reality of the situation finally dawning on him.

Oh fuck... oh fuck, oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

His body began shaking violently, breathing erratically as gut-wrenching sobs tore through his chest.

Why do I feel this way?

He pulled his legs to his chest, hiding his face between his knees.

Why does my face get so red around you?

The cool water soothed his aching muscles.

Why do I feel so flustered whenever you touch me, John?

The dirt, blood, and sweat began washing off his skin.

Why do you make me feel safe?

Simon looked up, letting the water rinse the tears off his face.

"Why do I love you?" he mumbled shakily, hyperventilating. "Why, Johnny, why do I love you?"

He hesitated for a moment, attempting to calm himself.

"Why do I always do this to myself?" he muttered, pulling himself off the floor of the shower.

Simon grabbed the small bar of soap the hotel provided, savouring the feeling of the warm water on his back as he carefully washed his sore body. Simon turned off the shower and dried himself, appreciating the feeling of the soft towel against his skin.

The exhaustion hit him like a train, the adrenaline finally leaving his body. Simon felt his energy melt out of him, the fatigue stopping any thought in his head.

Riley stumbled toward the soft bed, collapsing onto it. He inhaled the scent of the clean blanket as he climbed under it, curling into a small ball under the warmth of the blanket. He was asleep before he even knew it, relaxing into the mattress.

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Price knocked softly on Ghost's room door, a meal and clean clothing in hand.

"Simon?"

He opened the unlocked door, immediately spotting Ghost's body nestled up under the blanket, only the top of his head visible. He quickly and silently placed the food and clothes on the bedside table. He pulled a clean skull balaclava out of his back pocket, tossing it on top of the folded clothes.

"Sleep well, Simon," Price whispered, closing and locking the door behind him.