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“C’mon, don’t be like that. Let me buy you a drink, handsome.”
It takes all of Rodolfo’s strength not to roll his eyes as he silently gestures to the drink already in his hand. He’s hoping (perhaps in vain) that if he just doesn’t engage, this idiot will go away and leave him to drown his sorrows in peace.
The American G.I. (“James, but you can call me Jim”), doesn’t take the hint, grinning with a confidence he really doesn’t deserve. “That’s alright. I’ll just buy you another one.”
He winks, and when Rodolfo still doesn’t respond, he furrows his brow. “You do speak English, right?”
Rodolfo hesitates, debating the merits of ‘no hablo ingles’—ing his way out of this conversation. It would probably work. Then he could just keep up the act until all the foreigners are gone, no?
No.
He’s not going to commit to that just to get rid of one American. He’ll deal with this like the adult he is.
He sighs. “Yes. Most people here do, believe it or not.”
“So you’re just shy, huh?” Jim asks, grinning sharply. “It’s always the shy ones—”
“Is this guy bothering you, hermano?”
Soap’s Spanish accent is still truly terrible, but Rodolfo has never been happier to hear the sound of his voice. He drops a hand on Rodolfo’s shoulder, and Jim’s eyes narrow.
“I don’t think it’s any of your business, Braveheart,” he scoffs, and Rodolfo has to admit it: the kid's brave. Which, as Rodolfo has always believed, really is just a nicer way to say colossally stupid. “What are you, his boyfriend?”
He really must not know who Soap is, to be talking to him like that. Which means, Rodolfo realizes, he might actually be asking that question genuinely.
Which means, Rodolfo can say—
“Yes. Now leave.”
—and Jim will believe him and go away.
It works. Jim mutters something about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know, and then he’s shuffling away, leaving Rodolfo and Soap alone at their table at the back of the bar.
He looks up at Soap, still standing over him with a hand on his shoulder, and smiles awkwardly. “Sorry, Soap. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”
Soap just grins back at him, shrugging and slumping into the seat across from him. “I don’t mind. Just happy to help.”
Rodolfo nods absentmindedly and takes a pull of his drink. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, hermano.”
They sit in silence for a moment, Soap gazing across the room as Rodolfo stares morosely down into his drink. The noise of the bar swells around them, more crowded than it usually would be on a Wednesday night. American G.I.s and Mexican Special Forces mingle throughout the room, brought together by a joint effort to undo some of the shit Graves and Shephard stirred up with their betrayal. The 141 was brought in too, and while he’s glad to see Soap (and, to a certain extent, Ghost) again, he misses the quiet.
“Where’s Alejandro?” Soap asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Where indeed. He shrugs.
“Last I saw, he was having drinks with someone at the bar.”
Soap nods, understanding, and Rodolfo buries his face in his hands. He’s just drunk enough to want to talk about this.
“He left with her,” he groans, dropping his head onto the table.
Soap doesn’t say anything, gently patting him on the shoulder, and Rodolfo suddenly finds that he has to speak his mind.
“Why not me? What is it that he doesn’t see in me? Am I not good enough for him?”
Soap looks thoughtful. “I don’t think it’s that. Maybe he doesn’t like men.”
Rodolfo just shakes his head, distraught. “He does. I know he does, I was the first person he ever told, way back when we were kids together. Mierda. The beginning of the end.”
“Oh,” Soap replies, blinking. “Have you tried letting him know how you feel?”
Rodolfo levels him with an unamused look, and Soap raises his hands in surrender.
“It’s not that simple, you should understand that. He’s my superior officer. And my best friend. Have you tried telling Ghost how you feel?”
Soap looks at him, mouth agape. “I don’t— How did you—?”
Rodolfo simply raises an eyebrow. “I am not stupid, Jabón. Or blind.”
Soap sighs, running a fingernail along the grain of the table. “I guess I’m not subtle, then.”
“Not even a little bit.”
Soap huffs a laugh, then, and Rodolfo finds himself joining in, tipsy and slightly delirious with exhaustion. It’s been a long day.
He was really looking forward to spending his evening with Alejandro. It never fails to help him unwind.
But… he’s not dissatisfied with Soap’s company. It’s nice to have someone who understands what he’s going through.
“It seems we are in the same boat, yes?”
“Yeah. Look at us— a regular Lonely Hearts Club,” Soap replies, smiling sadly. “If it makes you feel any better, at least you know you might have a chance. I don’t even know if Ghost actually… feels love? That’s not what I mean, but— you understand.”
Rodolfo hums. “I understand.”
But he can’t help but to think of all the times he’s caught Ghost gazing at Soap across a room, of the times he’s seen them standing together, too close. He can’t help but think of Ghost waiting for Soap to escape Las Almas alive.
He can’t help but think there’s no possible way Ghost doesn’t feel love, because there’s no other way to explain the way he acts around Soap.
“But I wouldn’t give up hope,” he adds.
Soap looks unconvinced, but he nods anyway, sipping at his beer.
“Where is Ghost tonight, eh? Not sleeping with a woman he met in a bar, I imagine.”
“No,” Soap snorts, then pauses. “Well, I don’t think so. I hope not. I couldn’t find him anywhere, earlier, and believe me, I looked. You would certainly think you’d see the guy you share a room with, but no such luck.”
“You couldn’t find him and your next instinct was to come here to drink alone?”
“Well I looked for Price and Gaz first, but they’re busy. Then I thought I’d try to find you and Alejandro.”
“I always was the second choice,” Rodolfo sighs dramatically.
“Third, really, if you count Ghost.”
“You wound me. I wish you had left me to drown my sorrows alone.”
Soap raises an eyebrow smugly. “You mean you wish I’d left you alone with that American? Well, why didn’t you say so? I can go get him if you want—”
“Cállate, carajo,” Rodolfo mumbles, taking a drink and laughing despite himself.
“What does that mean?”
Rodolfo grins. “‘Shut the fuck up.’”
“Ah. Probably could’ve gotten that from context.”
“Hm. Probably.”
They sit together in silence for a moment, and Rodolfo watches as Soap drains the last of his beer. When he’s finished, he looks across the table at Rodolfo, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light of the bar. “Did you mean it? When you said you wish I’d left you alone?”
“No, Soap. It’s much nicer to be heartbroken in good company.”
“I agree,” Soap replies, standing up. “We should do this again, Rodolfo.”
Rodolfo stands as well. “We should. And call me Rudy, hermano.”
Soap smiles, clapping him on the back. “Alright, Rudy. Same time tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Rodolfo replies, following him to the door. “Same time tomorrow, we will meet for our… What did you call it? ‘Lonely Hearts Club?’”
Soap just laughs as they step out into the cold night air. “Sure thing, Rudy. ‘Till then, keep your chin up, yeah?”
.oOo.
Being late to the morning briefing isn’t Soap’s proudest moment, but he’s fairly confident no one sees him as he slips into the room, Rudy right behind him.
In his defense, he has a good excuse for his tardiness.
He woke up on time (and entirely alone, even though Ghost’s bed had clearly been slept in), and was on track to make it to the briefing on time too, his morning routine running smoothly— shower, get dressed, put off making his bed until later because he knows Price never does inspections. He was out the door with plenty of time to spare.
He just didn’t plan to be distracted by a conversation he overheard between two cadets as he made his way down to the conference room.
“—and I think he broke up with Ghost.”
Now, Soap isn’t one for gossip, but that had certainly caught his attention, and he couldn’t just not stick around to find out what the fuck they were talking about. He won’t apologize for his curiosity.
“No way. I don’t believe you.”
“Jim told me that he saw them himself at the bar last night, and Soap is dating Sergeant Major Parra.”
“Maybe he’s cheating on Ghost.”
“And going around telling people about his affair? He’d be dead already. I’m telling you, they broke up.”
“God help us. Isn’t Ghost running drills this afternoon?”
From there, their conversation descended into self-piteous moping, and Soap had continued on his way, significantly more distracted than before.
It makes sense that the rumor mill has everyone believing he’s dating Rudy. Rudy said it himself last night, and he has no reason to lie. Granted, neither of them expected word to spread, but it doesn’t really matter that it did. If anyone asks them directly, they can just deny it.
What really gets to him is the implication that he’s— that he was— dating Ghost. It makes his stomach flutter, the knowledge that people have recognized their relationship as a close one, an intimate one. Even if it isn’t what they think it is. Even if it isn’t what Soap wants it to be.
Lost in thought, he’d ended up walking much slower than intended, reaching the door of the conference room five minutes later than he was supposed to.
Rudy had made it to the door at about the same time, clearly having overslept (if his ruffled hair and crumpled clothing were any indicator) and out of breath from running to make it on time.
Soap smiles, happy to see his friend and happy he doesn’t have to go in alone.
“Morning, Rudy.”
“Good morning, Soap. Sleep well?”
“Aye. You?”
Rudy nods, catching his breath. “Yes. We’re late.”
“That we are.”
They make eye contact then, a silent promise to face whatever scolding might await them together, then Soap grasps the handle and opens the door as quietly as possible. The lights are off, the projector in the front of the room currently in use, and Soap silently thanks his lucky stars as he and Rudy file in, unnoticed.
Soap scans the room, looking for Ghost’s solid form— a habit he can’t quite break. He finds him standing in the shadows near the front of the room, staring directly at him.
Alejandro, next to Ghost, is staring at Soap, too.
Huh. It seems his late entrance was noticed.
He waves, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but Ghost simply turns away. Alejandro nods, as cold as Soap has ever seen him, and Soap suddenly can’t shake the feeling he’s done something wrong.
But then Price is calling on him from the front of the room, requesting his opinion on the maneuver or program or whatever it is he’s talking about, and Soap’s full attention is required to bullshit his way out of the hole he’s dug himself by being late.
He’ll figure out what the issue is later.
___
When the briefing is finally over, Ghost leaves the room immediately, vanishing out the door in his strange haste to get away. Never let it be said that his name is unearned.
Rudy makes confused eye contact with Soap. “He’s acting strange, yes?”
“Yeah,” Soap replies, weary. “I have no idea what’s eating at him.”
“He’ll probably get over it soon. He was not the only one acting weird today. You should have seen the looks I got on my way here.”
“I hope so,” Soap sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “And, erm. I might know why you were getting weird looks— do you have time to talk?”
Rudy nods and leads them out into the hallway, pulling Soap into the first bathroom they come across and looking at him expectantly. Soap glances around, making sure the stalls are empty before leaning against one of the sinks and looking Rudy dead in the eye.
“The whole base thinks we’re fucking.”
Rudy looks unimpressed. Or maybe exhausted. “Is this because I said you were my boyfriend last night?”
“I think so.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would happen.”
“It’s alright,” Soap replies, running agitated fingers through his hair. “I don’t actually care what people think. I just don’t want this to hurt your chances with anyone.”
Rudy shrugs. “I don’t want a chance with anyone but Alejandro, and I think we both know that is never going to happen. Thank you for thinking of me, but you don’t need to worry. I am flattered that people think I could score a… what’s the best word for it?”
“Solid ten,” Soap suggests, flexing his muscles and winking.
Rudy snorts. “That’s two words, but alright.”
“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind, then neither do I. You’re not a bad catch either,” Soap says, slinging an arm around Rudy’s shoulders. “I mean, maybe you’re not as hot as me, but really, who is?”
Rudy rolls his eyes, clearly gearing up to demolish Soap’s self esteem, when they’re interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway.
Soap turns to find Alejandro glaring at him. He slides his arm off of Rudy’s shoulders and stands up a little straighter.
“Soap, you’re needed by Captain Price.”
“Oh, alright,” Soap replies, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Is he still in the conference room, or…?”
“Yes,” Alejandro says, his tone clipped and sharp, and Soap is suddenly consumed with the overwhelming desire to be anywhere but in this bathroom.
“Erm. Thank you, Colonel,” he wouldn’t ordinarily use Alejandro’s title (honestly, he considers him a close friend, so it feels more than a little weird to be so formal), but he’s not entirely sure it would go well if he called him anything else.
Casting a glance back as he reaches the doorway, Soap shoots Rudy a small, forced smile. “See you tonight, Rudy.”
He doesn’t miss the flash of anger in Alejandro’s eyes as he ducks into the hallway.
What is wrong with people today?
.oOo.
Rodolfo readjusts his rifle, shivering slightly in the night air.
As the senior officer on watch, he should probably be making his way back towards the base proper, just to make sure his cadets aren’t goofing off and neglecting their duties, but he’s not exactly feeling diligent himself right now, so he lingers at the perimeter, enjoying a moment of solitude.
If this were any other week, he would be enjoying a moment of solitude with Alejandro, but the man in question informed him earlier (without making any sort of eye contact) that they would no longer be on night watch together.
It hurts, he won’t lie, and he can’t honestly think of anything he’s done wrong.
Alejandro’s behavior has just been unusual lately.
And he wishes he could talk to him, ask him why, but Alejandro has withdrawn entirely, and he’s been frozen out. For a man with such a fiery spirit, it’s concerning on the deepest level.
He hasn’t even seen Alejandro smile (god, he loves Alejandro’s smile, he misses it) since before he started meeting up with Soap regularly.
But the only reason he goes out for drinks with Soap now more than Alejandro— and don’t get him wrong, he enjoys Soap’s company (and he’s sure the feeling is mutual)— is because Alejandro hasn’t shown up for a single one of their regular evening meetings in a week.
It’s been a week since they’ve even seen each other outside of work.
They used to be inseparable, and the sudden, brutal change has Rodolfo feeling like the ground has been kicked out from under him. He hates to admit it, but he has to acknowledge the fact that Alejandro has definitely been avoiding him.
Last time they spoke, Alejandro called him ‘Rodolfo.’ Something is definitely off.
He sighs, gazing out into the dark treeline and wishing (not for the first time) that Alejandro wouldn’t keep all of his cards so close to his chest. Normally he would ask him, show up at his quarters with some booze and make him talk through whatever was bothering him.
But he’s not sure Alejandro would talk if he did it now. He’s not sure Alejandro would even answer the door.
He’s not sure he’d recover if Alejandro didn’t.
So he’s choosing the coward’s approach and hoping that whatever the problem is, it will go away, and things will go back to normal.
He should go back to work.
He continues his patrol of the perimeter, taking his time and keeping his mind carefully blank. He’s had quite enough thinking for one night.
He focuses on the crunch of his footsteps on the dusty ground, trying to distract himself, and it’s only because he’s listening that he notices when another set of feet join him, tread and pace exactly the same as his own. He turns, raising his gun, and nearly has a heart attack when he finds Ghost standing not two feet behind him.
“Ay, mierda,” he hisses, clutching at his chest. “What the fuck, man?”
Ghost says nothing, and they face off in silence for about thirty seconds. When Rodolfo catches his breath and the annoyance fully takes hold, he huffs and storms away. If Ghost really wants something, he knows that won’t deter him.
Ghost falls in step beside him.
The silence is not a comfortable one. Ghost has been just as wound up as Alejandro lately (and Rodolfo hasn’t heard the end of it from Soap), and right now the tension rolls off of him in waves.
Rodolfo idly wonders if he should break the silence, perhaps by telling Ghost that he’s not, in fact, romantically involved with Soap, and he never has been. He’s not stupid— he knows Ghost is harboring feelings for the man, he’s just not sure whether he puts himself in more danger by acknowledging those feelings or by being the one thing standing in their way.
He values his body intact. He doesn’t want to make the wrong choice.
In the end, Ghost is the one to break the silence.
It’s as they’re nearing the end of their patrol, the lights of the base illuminating the mask and the surprisingly red-rimmed eyes beneath, that Ghost speaks. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”
There are many things Rodolfo wants to say to this. Perhaps ‘I wouldn’t hurt anyone,’ as untrue as that may be, his career taken into consideration. Rather foolishly, ‘What if he asks me to,’ flits through his mind, but he does value his life, so he doesn’t entertain the thought for long. Most pressing is the urge to say, ‘You don’t actually have to worry, because we’re not dating and he’s in love with you, so if you want someone to treat him right, go do it yourself.’
In the end, he decides to go with the least dangerous option.
“Alright.”
Ghost nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and Rodolfo feels his body release a tension he didn’t even know was there. When they arrive back on base, Ghost breaks off to go do whatever it is he actually does at night, and Rodolfo tries to get his heart rate under control.
He might have to consider talking to Soap about clearing up this rumor after all.
.oOo.
Soap is sitting in the mess hall, watching Ghost from across the room, when a tray slams down next to him, startling him out of his reverie.
“Mind if I sit here?” Alejandro asks, not waiting for Soap to respond before settling into the chair to the right of him.
He seems unhappy, a little angry, even, but Soap decides to try his hand at diplomacy nonetheless. “Alright, Alejandro? How’s it goin’?”
“You are staring at Ghost.”
Hm. Alright. A nonsequitur. He can roll with it.
“...Erm. Yes? I’m just worried,” Soap says, picking at his food. “I haven’t actually spoken to him in about a week. I think he’s avoiding me, and I know he has to sleep sometimes, but it sure as hell isn’t in our room, because he’s never there.”
Alejandro doesn’t reply, stabbing at the chicken on his plate like it has personally wronged him. Soap wonders if it’s safe to ask what’s bothering him.
In the end, he doesn’t have to. “I know you are in love with Ghost.”
Soap chokes, coughing violently and drawing the attention of the surrounding tables as he scrambles for his water cup. Alejandro claps him on the back, harder than is probably necessary, and he waves him off, not wanting to add broken ribs to this equation.
When he catches his breath (mostly), he manages to sputter out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” but by the look on Alejandro’s face, the excuse was about as weak as his voice.
“Do not lie to me, cabron, anyone with eyes can see that it is true,” Alejandro snaps.
Soap coughs one last time and sighs. “Alright. Fine. You’ve got me, congratulations. Why are we talking about this?”
“Because you are dating Rodolfo,” Alejandro grits out. “And he deserves better than to be a distraction for you from your feelings for Ghost.”
“I—”
“No. You are going to listen, pendejo, and I am going to talk. I don’t know why you’ve dragged Rudy into this, but you need to be honest with him. It seems like you make him happy, but I do not like the way that you treat him. You need to stop leading him on. Either break it off or get serious.”
Soap sits still for a moment, processing this.
He should tell Alejandro the truth. He should let him know that he hasn’t so much as touched Rodolfo, and that there is nothing more to their relationship than friendship.
But he’s not entirely sure how well that would go for him. He doesn’t know Alejandro well enough to predict his reaction to that information, and he seems so righteously angry right now, Soap doesn’t want to trip up and say the wrong thing.
So he just nods, avoiding Alejandro’s eye. “Alright.”
“Alright,” Alejandro echoes, standing. “Don’t forget what I said.”
He claps Soap on the shoulder, certainly harder than necessary, and strides towards the door, leaving Soap sitting alone once again.
He might have to consider talking to Rudy about clearing up this rumor after all.
.oOo.
Fire rages all around Rodolfo, and as he fights to control his breathing, the smoke fills his lungs, thick and hot and agonizing.
You’d think he’d have learned from last time. But, in his defense, he didn’t exactly plan to be trapped in a burning building ever again. Not like it would matter if he had, though. Their mission, intended to be a simple information retrieval, has not gone according to plan at all.
In fact, Rodolfo wouldn’t be surprised to find out that this mission was cursed from the start, seeing as how every single element has gone terribly, horribly wrong.
He wasn’t supposed to be this far into the building. He wasn’t supposed to be completely alone. And fire was not an element that was even considered by anyone.
But Rodolfo is coming to accept that he might be fated to die by fire.
Oh, god, he’s going to die here.
He’s going to burn to death, completely alone, just like in his nightmares— he was lucky to escape last time, but Alejandro isn’t here to save him now, and he can’t breathe, can’t even move—
“Rudy!”
Soap’s voice breaks through the haze of smoke and panic, and Rodolfo startles as someone grabs the back of his vest, pulling him towards what must be the exit. He can’t see an exit, can’t see anything more than a foot in front of him, and as he blindly stumbles after Soap, he can only cling to the man’s arm and hope for the best.
When they break into the fresh air, Rodolfo only has a moment to catch his breath before the gunfire starts and he’s being shoved to the ground, Soap clamoring over him to call for backup.
He can’t breathe, and the sharp crackle of gunfire is all he can hear, and he knows it’s going to take a week to get the smell of smoke out of his hair.
If he even gets out of here alive.
He has to believe that he will, even as the edges of his vision go dark and he feels consciousness slipping from his grasp. How embarrassing would it be to die on a routine mission like this? Who would water his lilies?
No, he’s going to make it. He’ll get up in a second, really, and he’ll have Soap’s back as they make their way to the rendezvous point.
He just needs a moment to rest his eyes…
___
“Rodolfo! Rudy! Despiértate!”
“Is he breathing?”
“I think so— barely.”
Yes, I’m breathing, Rodolfo wants to say. I know I’m breathing, because it hurts so fucking much to breathe.
He doesn’t say anything, though, barely awake enough to process his surroundings, and it takes him a minute to realize that he’s moving. Well— the vehicle he’s in is moving.
Someone is crying, carding gentle fingers through his hair and clearly trying to keep their voice steady as they order the driver to speed up.
Rodolfo cracks his eyes open, wincing at the way they burn, and glances around the car. He’s laid out across the backseat, head on Alejandro’s lap, as Soap tears down the bumpy road, jostling the equipment in the trunk, which makes expensive sounding thumping noises every time they hit a particularly deep groove.
Alejandro’s cheeks are wet with tears, and Rodolfo opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong— but all that comes out is a rough cough, and once he starts, it’s all he can do to gasp for air as his body does its best to forcibly eject his lungs.
Alejandro reacts immediately, helping him to sit up and running a hand over his back. He pulls a bottle of water from seemingly nowhere, and presses it into Rodolfo’s hand.
“Drink this when you catch your breath,” he instructs, voice gentle, and Rodolfo just nods, trying his best to get himself under control.
The water helps, when he does calm down enough to drink it, and the rest of the drive passes in a haze of oxygen deprivation and constant jostling, his screaming lungs doing their best to make him pay for ever joining the Fuerza Especiales while Alejandro sits stiffly beside him, doing his best to pretend his eyes aren’t swollen and his face isn’t wet.
Soap just does his best not to crash.
When they get back to base, Rodolfo is rushed off to medbay, muzzled with an oxygen mask, and forced to lie still on a cot that is far too small.
Soap takes one look at Alejandro sitting in the single folding chair beside Rodolfo’s bed and pats him on the shoulder, shooting him a smile and a promise to see him tomorrow before making himself scarce.
Rodolfo looks at Alejandro, who has been staring pointedly at his lap through Soap’s truly touching farewell, and clears his throat.
“You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ll be alright.”
Alejandro looks up at him sharply. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s my fault you’re here, and your— Soap may have left, but I am not going to leave you alone in this state.”
Rodolfo lets his head fall back onto the worn pillow. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is. I was in charge of the mission. I should have foreseen the possibility—”
“The possibility that one of those crazy bastards would set fire to their own headquarters? You can’t plan for everything.”
“It’s my job to plan for everything,” Alejandro sighs, rubbing his eyes. “When I don’t, the people I care about end up in hospital beds.”
Rodolfo laughs (and immediately regrets it, his lungs protesting). “So you do still care about me.”
“Of course I do,” Alejandro says softly. “What would make you think I did not?”
Rodolfo sits up, removing his mask, and Alejandro reaches out to stop him.
“Don’t—”
“I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first time in an oxygen mask, remember?”
Alejandro just looks more upset at that, so Rodolfo pushes on.
“You stopped doing night watch with me. You stood me up at our table every single night for a week. You’ve started calling me ‘Rodolfo’ for some reason. I don’t think I’m crazy in assuming you have some sort of problem with me.”
“Ro— Rudy,” Alejandro starts, staring at the ground. “It’s not you.”
“Then what is it? If something is bothering you, you tell me. That’s how it works.”
“It’s nothing,” Alejandro says, looking like it’s definitely something. “I’ve just been busy. There are a lot of foreigners here right now— preventing a diplomatic disaster of international proportions is stressful work.”
Rodolfo blinks. “You could have at least said something. I would have understood. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“Look at me,” Rodolfo whispers, tilting Alejandro’s chin up until he meets his eyes. “You can talk to me. I’ve always been here for you, and I always will.”
Alejandro smiles sadly. “Look at you, comforting me when you’re the one who’s injured. You need rest.”
“I’m fine,” Rodolfo smiles back. “Not even a little burned.”
“I was worried.”
“I wasn’t. I knew you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.”
Alejandro makes a choked noise at that, and before Rodolfo can process, Alejandro is cupping his jaw and pulling him into a kiss.
Rodolfo groans, reflexively winding his arms around Alejandro’s neck and pulling him closer. His heart feels like it might explode (and so do his lungs, but he can live with that), and he lets his fingers roam up to Alejandro’s hair, tugging the neatly combed strands into disarray— something he’s dreamed about for longer than he’d like to admit.
He does have to pull away for air eventually, his body’s protests becoming too insistent to ignore, and he turns away to cough into his elbow.
When the seizing of his ribs has finally stopped and he can breathe again, he turns back to look at Alejandro.
Alejandro, who is staring at him in abject horror.
“...I’m alright,” Rodolfo mumbles, feeling a little embarrassed for killing the moment.
“I’m so sorry,” Alejandro whispers, standing up suddenly and stumbling away. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,”
Rodolfo has never been so confused. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”
“I should never have done that.”
Sharp pain lances through Rodolfo’s chest at Alejandro’s words, and he bites his lip, hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. He can’t understand what’s happening. Alejandro has never been an intentionally cruel man, and so Rodolfo can’t bring himself to believe that he’s inflicting this emotional whiplash on Rodolfo on purpose, but… It’s not like he’s explaining himself. And he can’t think of why Alejandro would kiss him— why he would kiss him like he meant it, like he’s never wanted anything more— only to push him away so quickly.
“I don’t understand,” he says, watching Alejandro pace. Maybe he should lay his cards on the table. Maybe that would help. “I’ve wanted you to do that for a long time.”
“What about Soap?” Alejandro snaps, suddenly angry, and Rodolfo just furrows his brow, confused.
“What does Soap have to do with this?”
“What does— Rodolfo,” Alejandro sounds truly upset now, desperation creeping into his voice. “I can’t imagine your boyfriend would be pleased to find out about you kissing someone else.”
Rodolfo can’t help but laugh at that, the relief crashing down around him like summer rain. Alejandro’s face morphs into a look of offense, then concern as Rodolfo’s laugh becomes a fit of violent coughing.
When he can breathe again, he gasps: “He isn’t my boyfriend,” and Alejandro slumps down into the seat beside his bed, clearly unable to continue standing.
“Explain yourself,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“We aren’t dating, and we never were. The story isn’t very interesting,” Rodolfo begins, shifting to get comfortable on the medbay cot. “Wednesday night, after you left the bar, I was alone and some gringo came up to me— he wanted to take me home, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Who?” Alejandro hisses, jaw clenched, and despite himself, Rodolfo thrills at the thought of Alejandro angry on his behalf.
“It doesn’t matter. Soap intervened, and I told the American that he was my boyfriend so he would leave me alone. The news spread overnight,” Rodolfo looks down at his lap. “We didn’t correct people because we didn’t think it mattered. You can’t hurt your romantic prospects when you have none. I thought it was impossible that you would ever see me as anything more than a friend.”
“Best friend,” Alejandro corrects, placing his hand on Rodolfo’s knee. “And that’s a foolish thing to think. You should know— you were the first boy I ever liked. And you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.”
“Alejandro,” Rodolfo whispers, overcome. “You have no idea— I love you too. I’ve loved you for so long, I never thought—”
He’s interrupted when Alejandro pulls him into another kiss, his hands gentle where they rest on his face. When he pulls back, he rests their foreheads together, groaning.
“Oh god.”
“What now?” Rodolfo asks, a little pissed that their kisses continue to be interrupted.
“I told Soap I didn’t think he was treating you right. I told him I knew he was in love with Ghost.”
Rodolfo breaks out laughing again, stifling it quickly so that he doesn’t begin to cough again. “Don’t feel too bad. Ghost said that if I hurt Soap, he’d kill me.”
“If Ghost so much as touches you, he’ll regret it,” Alejandro grumbles, obviously still embarrassed by his actions.
“If you don’t touch me, you’ll regret it,” Rodolfo shoots back, pulling Alejandro into another kiss.
Alejandro pulls away after a moment (a moment which passes all too quickly, in Rodolfo’s opinion), smirking. “I’ll touch you when you aren’t lying in hospice.”
Rodolfo groans and falls back onto the bed, glaring up at Alejandro. “I take everything back. I hate you.”
“I love you, too, mi cielo,” Alejandro responds, smiling sweetly down at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it worth your wait.”
He clasps Rodolfo’s hand, running his thumb over his knuckles gently, and Rodolfo can’t help but shiver.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
.oOo.
Soap can’t decide whether or not to take Price and Gaz up on their poker invitation.
On the one hand, he told himself he’d finish this book.
On the other hand, he really doesn’t want to.
On a third hand (or maybe a foot?) it’s really quiet and lonely in his quarters, and he doesn’t like being here. All he can see is the empty space that Ghost is supposed to occupy, and that just reminds him that Ghost is avoiding him for some unknown reason.
He’s honestly a little worried about Ghost, especially after their mission earlier. It hadn’t gone perfectly, but mostly everyone is fine now (Rodolfo is well on the mend, and Soap feels more than confident leaving him in Alejandro’s capable hands), and after successful missions, Ghost and Soap usually go for drinks.
But Soap and Ghost usually see each other more than twice a week, so Soap can accept that things aren’t exactly usual right now.
He wishes Ghost wasn’t so hard to find. He’d really like to know if he did something wrong. He misses his best friend.
Alright. He can’t stay here. He’ll just end up wallowing again, and he’s done plenty of wallowing lately (it’s all but replaced his longing— it’s a little difficult to long for someone when you’re pissed at them because you never see them).
So he gets up, puts the bookmark back into his book, and begins hunting for his civvies.
It’s as he’s looking for his left boot (he shouldn’t have kicked his shoes off, he knows better) that the door swings open and Ghost himself walks into the room.
Well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Ghost storms in. He doesn’t see Soap, though that’s not surprising, given that Soap is crouched behind his bed, where he suspects the stray boot might have landed, and Soap can almost imagine a dark cloud hovering above his head. He looks more than a little upset.
Ghost throws himself down onto his bed, and as his hands come up to the hem of his mask, Soap realizes he should probably announce his presence.
“Well, well, look who finally decided to make an appearance.”
Ghost jolts in surprise, and the part of Soap that’s bitter at being iced out for an entire week feels a twinge of satisfaction.
“What are you doing here?” Ghost growls, his voice accusatory, and Soap has to take a deep breath to ward off the defensiveness he feels rising in his chest.
“Believe it or not, I live here, same as you.”
Ghost rolls his eyes. “I know that. I want to know why you’re here, instead of with Rodolfo in medbay.”
“Rodolfo? Alejandro is with him,” Soap replies, confused.
“You’d leave your injured… boyfriend… with someone else?”
Soap opens his mouth, hesitates, and shuts it with a snap.
He should really say something. It’s none of Ghost’s business, of course, and he’s been a real prick lately, but…
He saw Alejandro’s face when he finally managed to drag Rodolfo’s unconscious body to the rendezvous point. He saw him cry in the car, heard the desperation in his voice as he ordered Soap to drive faster. He saw the way Rodolfo and Alejandro were looking at each other when he left them alone in medbay earlier, and he knows the jig is up.
Besides, he should probably clear the whole situation up before Ghost decides Rodolfo is cheating on him and does something stupid.
“We’re not dating.”
“You’re not dating.”
“Nope. Never were.”
Ghost blinks and sits up. “Explain.”
“I only agreed to pretend in order to help Rodolfo with some American creep who was hitting on him. We didn’t intend for the rumor to spread, it just happened,” Soap says, hesitating for a moment before settling down on Ghost’s bed beside him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Soap scoffs. “Really? Well first off, I wouldn’t have thought you’d care, not in a million years, Lieutenant ‘I’m-Allergic-To-Emotions’ Riley. Second, even if I had wanted to tell you, I couldn’t’ve, because you’ve been acting like… well, like a bloody ghost! I haven’t seen you all week.”
There’s a heavy silence then, and Soap wishes, not for the first time, that he had an instruction manual on how to be friends with Simon Riley. The man is an enigma.
After a moment, Ghost takes a deep breath and looks over at Soap, meeting his eyes. “I do care, Johnny.”
His gaze is earnest, and Soap’s heart flutters at the sight.
“What exactly are you trying to tell me, L.t.,” Soap asks, his voice falling to a whisper. “I need you to say it. I’m not a mind reader.”
“I want—”
He hesitates, but Soap doesn’t feel the urge to rush him. He’s waited a week for the chance to fix whatever went wrong between them. He can wait for Ghost to collect himself.
“I want to be your boyfriend,” Ghost snaps, finally. “God, that sounds so juvenile–”
“No,” Soap interrupts, too loud. “No, it sounds lovely!”
Ghost meets his eyes, looking dead exhausted, but hopeful all the same, and Soap smiles at him, overcome.
“I want to be your boyfriend, too.”
“You’re being sappy on purpose,” Ghost grunts. “Stop it.”
Soap just keeps smiling. “I can’t help it. You make me sappy. I love you.”
Ghost inhales sharply, and Soap winces.
“Ah— too much?”
Ghost doesn’t respond, simply seizes Soap’s face and pulls him into a kiss.
Soap bursts out laughing as his lips meet the knit of the balaclava, then rushes to reassure Ghost as he pulls away, hurt. “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh, love, come back.”
He stifles his giggles as Ghost glares at him, slipping his fingers under the edge of the mask. When Ghost doesn’t stop him, he slides it up until it covers only the top part of Ghost’s face, and plants a soft kiss on the chapped lips he finds underneath.
Ghost reaches up and pulls his mask the rest of the way off, and Soap marvels, struck dumb the way he always is when confronted with the slope of Ghost’s cheekbones, the arch of his brows, the pale skin, currently tinged a sweet pink.
“Stop staring,” Ghost mumbles, averting his eyes, and Soap coos, running a thumb over his cheek.
“I can’t. You’re too handsome— you know, I’m not too proud to admit that I was a fool for ever suggesting you were ugly.”
The red painting Ghost’s cheeks deepens, and Soap delights in the sight of it.
“Maybe handsome isn’t the right word— right now, I’m thinking pretty might be more fitting.”
“Shut up, Johnny.”
“Gladly,” Soap replies, going in for another kiss, a real one this time.
He bites back a grin as Ghost eagerly kisses him back. He could get used to this.
But he’s not sure he’ll ever get tired of it.
.oOo.
“You know, we ought to change the name of our club,” Rodolfo says, setting their drinks down on the sticky bar table.
Soap glances over at him as he sits down. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we aren’t Lonely Hearts anymore, are we?”
“Hmm. Guess not,” Soap concedes. “In fact, I think we’ve done quite well for ourselves.”
Rodolfo smiles at him, tilting his head. “Perhaps there is no longer a need for a club at all.”
“Perhaps not. You know, I was joking when I originally said that.”
“I know,” Rodolfo replies. “I’m not stupid, hermano. I just liked the way it sounded. I was in a dramatic mood that day.”
Soap laughs. “No kidding. Caused the both of us a hell of a lot of trouble, telling people we were dating. Alejandro still isn’t acting normal around me.”
“Hey— I don’t think you ever would have had the balls to confess if I hadn’t said we were dating. So maybe you should be thanking me.”
“Alright, alright, fair point. I will remind you, however, that you’re not much better than me.”
Rodolfo waves him off. “The point is, the Lonely Hearts Club served us well, even for all the trouble it caused us.”
“Aye, I’ll drink to that.”
Rodolfo hums and raises his glass. “So will I. To the Lonely Hearts Club?”
“To the Lonely Hearts Club. Good riddance and may it rest in peace.”