Friends Don't Look At Friends That Way

Part Seventeen.

Soap's POV:

"Is she okay?" I question into the silence, my words falling weakly from my ravaged throat. Every ounce of emotion I possess poured itself into the panicked screams that were torn out when I watched [Y/N]'s existence nearly dissipate before me. To witness that, to be a helpless bystander while the light began to dispel from her frightened eyes is a form of suffering I wouldn't wish upon even the most wicked of souls. Even now, to watch her form go utterly still in the wake of such commotion has hysteria tearing through me.

"Ghost," I snap, "Is. she. okay?"

Simon remains frozen in place, blood spattered rifle still obediently trained on where Carlos no longer stands. He doesn't move. Not a single muscle within his body so much as twitches in response.

"Christ, Simon. Snap out of it!" There is a deep growl rolling through my tone that has his murky gaze finally pulling towards me, "I need ye to make sure she is okay. She hit her head pretty hard."

He only takes a singular step before a soft groan emits from the body heap on the floor, a clear enough indication of life that it sends Ghost to his knees, a strangled sob barely escaping his lips. In the many years I have known Simon, never have I been privy to such a raw display of tenderness from him. I know it should bother me to see the depth of his feelings for [Y/N] laid so bare like this, but rather, I find myself empathizing with it. The relief surging through my veins is potent enough that it would have brought me to my knees too if I wasn't already on them.

"Simon," I prod softly, "Thank ye."

Though he doesn't so much as even glance my way, I know he understands what I am thanking him for. Midway through Carlos' rambles, he'd slipped silently into predator mode. I had been so singularly focused on the gun against my throat, spilling my truth like I was at confessional that I hadn't noticed what was unraveling behind me. His intervention is the reason she is still breathing, and I will never be able to repay that debt.

When his attention draws back to me once more, I see the unspoken question lingering so heavily there and I answer it with a simple nod. I owe him everything, the least I could do is let him see the hero act through to the end.

YOUR POV:

Moments later, the claws of consciousness has you in its grip. You don't dare even wiggle a finger, the dull ache of every hit you've absorbed tonight now throbbing with a fury throughout your body. Ouch. Even the simple flutter of your lids has your head screaming in agony.

The sharp tang of blood, and a lot of it, violates your nostrils shortly before you begin to feel how it has seeped through your clothing to your skin. When your vision finally comes to a focus, you find you are pinned beneath a very dead cartel leader whose exposed kill shot is the source of that blood. You aren't sure if you should scream or vomit. Maybe both. Definitely both.

"Hold on love, I've got you." Ghost's gruff reassurance manages to halt the building panic that is pressing on your chest.

He only gets as far as tossing Carlos' corpse to the side before your arms and legs are wrapping tightly around Ghost's body to cling on like your life depends on it. At first, his muscles go tense beneath you, as if he is uncertain about reciprocating the gesture, but eventually gives in. He envelops you in his large arms, his unmasked face burying into the top of your hair as he tries to fight the shudder that rolls through him. Soft, nearly inaudible sniffles meet your ears and the sound pushes your sanity over the edge.