Word count: 4533
Art: No art for any of these chapters is mine, all credit goes to original artists.
Trigger warnings: Nothing significant for this chapter. This is mostly fluff and laying the necessary groundwork for the story.
Note: This story is currently written out of order. This is the beginning then there's a huge time skip between this and the other chapters. I'm working as fast as I can to catch up and fill in the holes, but between working fulltime, running a nonprofit, and CPTSD making life extra entertaining from time to time I am still a bit slow. So I beg your patience.
"Laswell's sending new coordinates. Hope you packed something warm," Price's voice crackled over the radio.
"For the fucking desert?!" Ghost snapped while tossing aside blood-soaked gauze, pressing more to the side of Soap's head.
Gaz coughed from where he sat on Ghost's other side, keeping pressure on his own injury – a round he'd taken to the back of his shoulder. "S-sure did Cap... along with my wool knickers and Santa suit."
Ghost rolled his eyes. Might have smacked him upside the head as well if Gaz wasn't injured. He looked the sergeant over. Garrick seemed to be hanging in there, but his complexion was a bit off and his breaths labored. What really worried the lieutenant was the lack of an exit wound. That meant the bullet was still lodged inside, who knew where or what it had hit. A shot to the back of the shoulder could be serious, particularly when it hadn't gone clean through.
They'd slowed the bleeding, but it wouldn't stop.
His attention returned to Soap lying on the floor of the plane. The gauze was soaked through again.
They needed to hurry.
He couldn't lose them.
"Get yourselves sorted. I'll be there in a few days."
At that, Ghost's headset went silent.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Holy fucking shit it was windy.
The plane finally touched down, the force jolting all three men on board.
Medics came rushing on board almost immediately. Good. Simon could relax a little.
Or so he would've thought.
But despite the skull's burning death stare, continuously telling them to fuck off because he was fine goddammit, these people would not fucking stop pestering him. Yelling at him, asking the same questions over and over, and trying to pull him up from his seat... Simon was a hair's breadth from losing his shit and reducing everyone around him to nothing but a greasy smear beneath his boots.
"I know you all are not over here annoying the ever-loving shit outta hurt people."
A disapproving female voice standing out among all the male ones cut through the chatter. While not a male soldier's loud, barking voice, it carried a confident authority nonetheless. The wall of people surrounding the angry Brit opened revealing a short, and very obviously annoyed, female.
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FanfictionGhost meets the OC then deals with the F-Word... Feelings. In doing so, he also has to deal with his past. This is a slow burn that gets extra spicy. Also in this story Soap was shot in the head but through the magic of fanfiction he's alive and Sim...
