Friends Don't Look At Friends That Way

Part Sixteen.

**TW: Murder and Death**

"Three..."

Nothing. Soap remains silent despite the given threat, and that building hope of yours starts to come crashing back down.

Would he rather die than admit he feels something for you?

"Two..."

"Soap, I swear to fucking god..." Ghost warns, his tone laced with undiluted rage.

Carlos raises his free hand to silence Ghost. "We will get to you. Shut up and wait your turn."

He cocks the gun pressed to Soap's chin in one final warning.

"One..."

You watch with wide eyes as Carlos' finger slips across the trigger, gently beginning to pull. He is going to kill Soap for real this time, and all you can do is be a silent, horrified witness.

"Ever since ye were introduced to me, the world hasna' made a lick of sense. Yet it is somehow brighter all the while," Soap starts quietly, an unmistakable quiver in his voice as he tries to swallow around the pressure of the gun, "Ye make me so grateful to be alive if only because I get to breathe the same air as ye for jus' a bit longer each day. If ye told me right now that ye wanted to rip my heart from my chest and dance on it, I would fuckin' thank ye for it," Soap's emotion-ridded eyes fall to yours, drowning you in their crystal blue depths, "Everythin' I am and will ever be has always belonged to ye, lassie. I've jus' been too big of a coward to say it."

This time, you are sure you have stopped breathing. Your chest and lungs burn, begging for respite as those words wrap around and suffocate your very existence. There is no fighting the tears that spill down your cheeks, the power of his admission destroying the dam of resolve you've been trying to shakily rebuild with bloody and broken hands.

Soap inhales a stuttering breath, refusing to break eye contact, "I didna' want to lose ye. If it isn't obvious, I am fantastic at fuckin' things up. What we have is the one thing I could never forgive myself for ruinin'...yet I still did. If we —" His voice cracks slightly, as if what he is about to say is choking him with emotion, "If we woulda had more time, then I'd be on my knees voluntarily righ' now and every day for the rest of my life, but I will happily go to my grave for ye instead."

You can't help the sob that escapes you; your still-beating heart is now shattering apart for an entirely different reason. Soap said everything you've longed to hear, yet it was given with the subtly of sounding like a goodbye.

"Isn't that just so sweet?" Carlos murmurs, "Too bad you have to-"

A flurry of motion cuts his threat short, Ghost rising menacingly to his feet, the dead guard's discarded rifle in his untied hands. One shot, and the remaining guard is dead on the floor. The second Ghost turns the rifle towards Carlos; he slithers defensively behind you. One of his arms warps tightly across your throat while the other presses the gun directly to your temple, transforming you into his human shield. He knows well enough that Ghost won't risk the shot if there is a chance you may be caught in the crossfire.

You see that hesitation on Ghost's unmasked features for a mere fleeting second before his face sets into the cold, unfeeling expression you've seen so many times.

"Ah ah! You even think about it, and I will kill her," Carlos purrs against your ear, his bicep curling tighter around your neck to cut off your air supply. His hold allows him to scoot backward, you stumbling along with him, "I have no qualms about shooting her. I can still get the information I want from one of you dickheads."

Ghost takes a single step, making Carlos retreat one. Neither lowers their weapons, and you feel like you will be sick as you fight for air against his chokehold.

"Ghost, he is goin' to choke her to death." Soap remarks in warning, fighting like hell against the restraints that still tie his arms back.

A long silence passes, and the two men are caught in a standoff. Your fingers scratch like mad at the arm pressed to your neck; the edges of your vision begin to darken as you suffocate.

"Gaz," Ghost calls out, the word barely past his lips when the boom of shattering glass shakes the whole room. Carlos' head swivels toward the wall of windows, the gun falling away from your head hesitantly but not letting up the extreme hold on your throat.

From there, the events seem to play out in slow motion before your eyes. Incoherent, loud, and abrasive yelling falls muffled into the background as a distinct whistling noise zips past your head. Then, what can only be described as the sickening sound of a bullet meeting flesh hits your ears a second before you are sent reeling to the floor. A white-hot burst of pain sears through your side and skull as your body lands hard, your head smacking into the hardwoods with a crack. Carlos' limp and now lifeless body has entangled with your own, his dead weight a crushing force.

"Good shot, Sergeant."

Ghost's breathy praise is the last thing you hear before your world goes dark for the second time.