Chapter Text
Price.
It’s bad. He knows that simply by the struggle it takes to return to consciousness.
It’s not a concussion effecting him, at least. The familiar stickiness to his eyes and the groggy feeling of an unnaturally good sleep tell him as much.
Also he’s got to piss. And there is a feeling of something down there that would imply he doesn’t need to find a toilet to relieve himself.
Fuck.
He peels his eyes open with a choppy inhale, blinking several times against the urge to fall back asleep. Anesthesia for sure. Only a nasal cannula under his nose, so it couldn’t have been major. Certainly nothing concerning his head or lungs, unless this is only the first time he remembers waking up, and he’d been intubated prior.
His throat doesn’t feel like someone made him gargle glass though, so that doesn’t seem to be the case either.
The catheter might mean that he was brought in unconscious though, or at best, barely coherent. The anesthesia means he needed surgery. The pain meds making him feel like he’s floating means the surgery was probably not a minor one.
He rolls his head to the left and groans. Yeah. No. Not a minor surgery.
Either its the noise, his change in vitals, or just the right timing, but something alerts the nurse, and she comes to quickly do some checks and make sure he’s okay. He finds out several things just from seeing her uniform.
They’re not in a military base, for one. Her hair is in a loose ponytail and she’s wearing scrubs with little ducks on it, both things that would be a strike at a military hospital. She doesn’t call him captain either, but smiles as she asks ‘Mr. Price’ if he’d like any juice to drink.
He would, actually, and he’d sort of love if she could bring him an entire box of caramels.
She brings him the juice but can’t deliver on the second request, so he accepts the two crackers in a pouch and separate cup of ice chips as compensation. He has to spoon them into his mouth via his right hand, because the nurse tells him that under no circumstances should he be moving his left arm.
Not that he wants to. The giant hulking sling that’s holding his gauze wrapped shoulder is enough of a warning.
He wonders if they were nice enough to fix up his rotator cuff while they were in there. The nurse let him know that the doc would be in soon to give him a full rundown, but that the plate they put in him was necessary to hold what was left of his clavicle together. Which means he’s out for a while.
When the surgeon comes in he confirms that fact, explaining in detail what he did. Apparently there was a good bit of shrapnel that had torn apart his shoulder, and it took the surgery team over six hours to make sure they got everything out while also rebuilding his clavicle.
That was the worst of it, luckily enough. If one counts lucky as no major head, lung, or chest related injury, and he got to keep his arm. Fun fun.
Recovery is going to be a bitch . He’s going to have to get Ghost to help him relearn his shot.
Speaking of his team. The surgeon isn’t able to give him any information about them, but he sends in the nurse who’s able to tell him that, as far as she knows, Ghost and Gaz are doing okay despite still being in the hospital.
She has no information on Soap, and that terrifies him. She promises to ask around and see if he went to a different hospital — possible, since the 141 was part of a massive influx of patients, so bad the staff almost went to triage — and to see about getting him a phone.
If it’s been as long as he thinks, he won’t need the phone. Laswell will find them, especially if the nurse does as she says and starts asking around about Soap.
That makes his biggest problem right now the fucking pain meds. He’s got a nerve block, thank god, because otherwise he’d probably pass out from pain. The advantages of not being able to feel his arm are that he could’ve gotten out of the bed and searched for his Lt. or Sgts without horrendous pain.
The heavy pain meds negate all that, because he knows simply from trying to lift his head from the pillow that he will throw up if he even manages to sit up.
Thus leaving him with fuck all for options except for the forced recovery of sleep.
…sleep which is less beneficial for recovery when one wakes up to an unmasked Simon Riley sitting next to his bed.
“ Fuck !” Price hisses, grimacing at the pull in his neck. The jolt of surprise was not a fun idea, even if the nerve block has just started to wear off.
Simon hums. “Don’t strain yourself old man.”
“Fuck yourself.” Price snaps back. Simon hums again, turning a page of his…is that a book? “Are you reading a book?!”
“Gaz gave it to me,” Simon replies, just as unbothered as ever. “Said Soap had made him read it a while ago. Bit dry, but not bad.”
Price breathes through a wave of nausea. “And where did Gaz get the book?”
“Hospital has a library.”
Of course it does. Ghost glances at him, eyes flicking between the bandages on Price’s shoulder up to the monitors. “Gonna give me a sit-rep, Captain?”
“You first.” Price says petulantly. He’s in the dark about everything right now, from what the fuck happened to what injuries his team has to where the fuck Soap is. He hates not having that. It’s never been about control to him, but knowing — even knowing how fucked their situation was — gives him a sense of calm. He can deal with just about anything, but he needs to know about it.
Simon has been with him for so long he can read Price as well as the pages in his hands. Fuck, Simon knows he’s a big reason why Price has to know.
The last time Price didn’t have the whole know of a situation, Simon had to dig himself out of a grave.
Simon talks quickly. His lack of the hard skull face mask is due to a headwound, and whatever hit him was strong enough to crack the face plate and knock him unconscious. His only other issue was a bruised knee and some scratches, the bastard.
Gaz was a bit worse off, but not nearly so bad as Price. A lot of bloodloss to deal with, caused by a deep cut in his leg, shrapnel being the perpetrator.
“Caused by?”
“Explosion, from my understanding.”
Oh. Oh, no.
“Soap.” he whispers, searching his mind for memories that don’t seem to exist. He can’t remember the mission, but if it was a bomb then Soap would’ve been there, would’ve been closest.
The influx of patients at the hospital. At a civilian hospital. They must’ve been in a crowded area, trying to stop whatever it was.
However, Simon doesn’t look like he’s just lost the person he loves the most. And when Gaz wheels himself in a second later, he doesn’t look devastated either, just generally pale and sickly looking from losing an impressive amount of his blood volume.
So either they don’t know, or—
Simon huffs. “He’s okay.” he says, although the tone in which he speaks is not a normal one. “At least according to Laswell. Didn’t have to be admitted to the hospital, so they shipped him back to base.”
“They did.” Price says flatly. “ John MacTavis h willingly let himself get moved back to base while the three of us stayed in the hospital.”
Gaz parks his wheelchair next to Price’s hospital bed and exchanges a glance with Ghost before nodding. “Yeah.”
Well, that would explain Simon’s odd tone then.
Price groans, rubbing at his face with his good hand. “How long till we’re out of here?”
“Wheels over here has permission to escape whenever he’d like,” Ghost grumbles.
Gaz throws a balled up napkin at him. “Shut up, you had to use this thing to get in here. I can’t believe you’re able to focus on the pages.”
“I said I was dizzy, not that I had a headache.”
“ Boys ,” Price snaps. “Just— tell me when Laswell’s getting us out of here. Without the snark.”
“Tomorrow, if the nurse is to be believed. Maybe earlier? They’re hurting for beds, so it may just be a matter of making sure the military has a physio for you, and we’re set.” Gaz says. “I’ve already been kicked, and Ghost is supposed to be under observation for another few hours.”
“I’m being observed .” Simon replies, turning another page. “Nurse comes by every thirty seconds anyway.”
“They walk by the door, they don’t check on you—”
“Alright, alright.” Price waves a hand at them, dismissing the oncoming argument. “Just call someone if he starts foaming at the mouth, sergeant.”
Gaz eyes him curiously. “Are you actually going to try and get some sleep?”
“I just had my collarbone shattered then welded back together, what do you think?” Price rolls his eyes. “Of course I’m not going to sleep, I’m going to try to sleep so that way my brain can go in circles trying to understand what fucked up thought process Soap is using to torture himself.”
.
He hates being right.
“Anyone seen him?” He asks with a groan, settling into the couch in their commons area. Ghost is back in his usual attire, a plain black mask covering his face, boots and dark jeans and a hoodie. He’s probably got a few knives back on his person and could’ve easily walked in after a day of training the rooks.
Gaz on the other hand looks downright comfortable in a pair of flannels and one of Price’s old t-shirts. He also still looks like a soft breeze could knock him over, and therefore doesn’t complain when Ghost forces him to sit in a chair at the table.
“No sign of him in my room,” Kyle mumbles, laying his head down on the hardwood. “No sign that he’s been back to his own room either. I didn’t look anywhere else.”
“You’re lucky you made it that far,” Simon grunts, placing a steaming mug of tea in front of the ailing sergeant. “I saw you using the wall as your crutch on the way here.”
Kyle wraps his hands around the mug and wisely chooses not to comment. Price is ready to strangle him; he told him not to push it looking for Soap.
They’ve been back on base two hours. Price was discharged that morning. Kyle still looks awful, but they’ve all been to medical and were cleared to return to their quarters on the condition they fucking relax for once in their miserable lives, as per Kate who was there.
She gave Price the run down on what happened while the base doctors were poking at his shoulder. In between swearing at the nice people down at the base hospital, John got the gist, even a few moments where the information gave him a vague sense of familiarity.
Bomb threat in Liechtenstein. German authorities were worried that the threat was actually meant for Zurich. Wanted some help making sure it wasn’t and possibly disarming whatever situation there may be.
The good news was that it wasn’t in Zurich, the bad news was that it wasn’t in Liechtenstein either. They located the extremist group just outside of the city, and the group, realizing that they weren’t so secret anymore, ended up calling an audible.
The small food and drink festival that was happening ended up being the target. The problem was the second bomb.
Price had asked about Soap, and Laswell for her part actually looked proud as she told him. He had sent Soap to disarm the bomb, and Soap was successful in that. Apparently it was a very complicated trigger mechanism.
They had no intel on a second bomb even existing. So when it went off, Soap was, ironically, farthest. Price, Gaz, and Ghost were all in the same area, with Price being closest. Hence his forced eight months of combat leave.
It’s been four days since that op. Soap has been on base for one of them.
“You sent him out?!”
“No, he went out, I had nothing to do with it John. By the time I realized what had happened he was already on his way back. It was an easy mission, and from what I’ve heard, he needed it. Help him clear his head.”
“He didn’t— clear his head? Why?”
Kate looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “He had to pull you out, John. You know that right? He carried all three of you out of that rubble. You and Lt. Riley were unconscious, Sgt. Garrick was bleeding out, you were bleeding out. All injuries caused by a bomb he thinks he failed to stop.”
“He didn’t know there was another bomb—”
“When has logic ever stopped you from blaming yourself?” She hands him a small flash drive. “That’s his body cam footage. You should watch it. Then go to talk him.”
Price plays with the flash drive in his hand, frowning. They all wore body cams, even Ghost. So did the German special forces. The idea was that if they were going to see action together, it would serve as good training footage for both teams.
He’s not sure he actually wants to see what this file holds. Laswell said the recording included Soap’s actions after he left the hospital, so maybe Price would get a better understanding of his headspace.
Price understands Soap’s headspace. He’s never experienced it, never had the type of thought processes that Soap does, but logically, rationally, Price can say he understands how Soap is functioning right now.
“Nothing was disturbed in my quarters either.” Ghost says, flat and to the point as ever. Price accepts the cuppa from his Lt. and carefully rests the mug on his leg. The heat helps ground him. “I don’t know where else he would’ve gone if— ”
“Mine. He slept in mine.” Price mumbles.
Ghost eyes the flash drive Price discarded on the couch cushion. “How do you know?”
“I set my rack every morning when I leave it,” Price snaps. “ Every morning. I certainly didn’t leave it looking like a cat nested in it.” he takes a swig of tea and burns his mouth. “Also, he left his t-shirt on my floor. And stole my jumper.”
“You’re sure the shirt wasn’t for another time?” Ghost raises his hands slightly in defense of Price’s glare. “Not doubting your ability to square away your rack, sir, just that Soap’s been in your room enough times that it could’ve been from…one of those other times.”
One of those times. Yes. The many, many other times that Soap has ended up in his room, injured or sick or tired or just— just because he wanted to.
Because Price was there. Because Kyle was, or Simon, or all of them. And they never talked about it, but he didn’t think they had to. He thought that Soap knew what they were to each other, that Soap knew what he was to the 141.
“It was the long sleeve he wore on the mission.” Price leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. “There were holes burnt in it.”
“I thought he got discharged!”
“He did.” Ghost rests his hand on Price’s good shoulder as he answers Gaz for him. “Doesn’t mean he wasn’t injured. Just that he wasn’t injured badly enough to earn a hospital bed.”
“So he was in yours, but now he’s…who knows where, with who knows how many injuries. Alone. Great.” Price hears Gaz thump his head back down on the table. “ Fuck .”
Price balances the mug on his leg and holds up the flashdrive. “Maybe not completely unknown.”
Watching the video is hard. Not just because they have to move to Price’s room, which is more effort than any of them want to spend, but also because— well.
Watching Soap drag the three of them out of the rubble is hard enough. Add in the sounds that Soap makes through it all, its…its bad.
When the second bomb goes off, Soap is on his way back to rendezvous with the team. He gets tossed over a vendor stall, glass raining down him. He’s obviously dazed, evident in the way it takes the camera three tries to regain any type of sight line.
The microphone picks up Soap’s desperate “ no, no, no” as he stumbles his way to the wrecked building. Picks up Soap’s swears as he finds Gaz first, the video showing Soap’s hands shaking violently as he ties a pressure bandage.
Gaz is out first. Ghost is found second, but Soap correctly assessed that Ghost is…mostly okay. Okay enough that the can scream through gritted teeth and go searching for Price. It’s a decision that almost definitely saved his life.
Price has a pretty strong stomach, but seeing the state of his shoulder is enough to make him feel a bit green. Soap does what he can to stabilize him, and the whole time, the whole time he’s working, he’s talking to Price, giving him reassurances and then apologizing when he has to move his limp body.
Price discovers, to his horror, that he did wake up at a point. He wasn’t coherent, but he was conscious enough to scream in pain when they transferred him onto a stretcher. Worse, from Soap’s point of view it looks like Price is screaming at him.
“Atta boy Johnny,” Ghost murmurs, pride in his voice as Soap heaves Ghost onto his shoulders and carries him to safety. Once the three of them are out, they speed up the footage a bit. Soap goes with Ghost to the hospital, voice steady and devoid of emotion as he gives the A&E staff at the hospital everything he knows about the three of them. Blood type, known allergies, no medications, everything without blinking. Without an ounce of inflection.
They watch as Soap gets a preliminary check from a harried nurse, watch him scrub his hands under a tap trying to get rid of the blood.
Kate was right. He gets on a plane without a fight. He reports to her without a single inkling of emotion, talking as if he was reading from a page. There’s nothing to indicate he even cares about his team.
Nothing until Kate dismisses him, and then he’s standing outside Price’s room, hands starting to shake again. He digs out his key and uses it to enter, then resumes standing stock still in the middle of the room. It’s like he forgot how to function now that he’s finished his prescribed duties.
He goes into the bathroom. They watch Soap start to wash his hands again, start to scrub at the blood stains. He looks at himself in the mirror, breathing picking up, and its then that the panic attack really sets in. Soap just about tears the straps of his vest trying to get it off, and his ragged and strained breathing cuts off when he finally throws the tac vest and the camera to the floor.
It’s the end of the footage. Price wants to vomit.
“He was so scared.” Kyle whispers, sounding shaken. “I’ve never heard him sound like that, so— so empty when he talked about us.”
“Compartmentalizing.” Simon rumbles, his voice lacking the usual steel. “And then once he got to a safe place it all…came up.”
Price closes his eyes and does his best not to start screaming. There’s too much there to unpack, too much for him to go through. Starting with the fact that his room is Soap’s safe space and ending with the obvious panic attack they saw which lead to Soap sleeping in his bed. Alone. Not knowing if any of his team was okay.
He shakes his head. “He blames himself.”
“Of course he does, he’s John fucking MacTavish.” Gaz huffs. “He probably thinks he nearly got us killed or something, like he should’ve known about that second bomb via his internal bomb radar. Or something along that line of stupidity.”
“That doesn’t help us figure out where he is.”
Simon heaves himself to his feet. “We don’t have to know where he is. We know where he’s going to be.”
“And…where is that, exactly?”
Simon rolls his eyes. “Right here.” He crouches by the bed and pulls out Soap’s discarded tac vest along with a bundle of dirty clothes. “He came here first, and we didn’t see any signs that he’d gone back to his room or ours. Odds are he’s been staying here when he’s not able to keep himself busy.”
Gaz frowns. “What if he’s still avoiding us?”
Price pinches the bridge of his nose. “Laswell didn’t tell him that we were back.” Now he understands the knowing look she gave him. She fucking knows. “Fuck. Alright. Lets get comfortable then.”
.
Ghost is right, as usual.
Its a lovely two thirty seven in the morning when the door opens and Soap makes his way inside. The only light is from his desk lamp that was left on, and it casts shadows over the three of them. Price is as comfortable as possible in the old recliner he’s got, since laying flat is not an option for him for a while. Ghost is on the futon, was lightly snoring a few minutes ago.
Soap doesn’t notice any of them, which is a pretty major testament to how far off his game he is.
He peels off his shirt with a strained groan, and Price tenses at the dark colored bruises that decorate his back. There’s several long scratches on his arms, bright red with blood thats tried to scab over. Some of them look like they ought to have stitches.
One boot comes off, then the other, and it’s funny, because maybe for the first time in his life Price gets to watch Soap actually put his fucking shoes where they belong . Not only that, he folds up his pants and shirt, leaves them on top of his boots after he stuffs his socks in each. It’s as if he’s trying his best not to leave his mark on Price’s space.
Even the oversized t-shirt he pulls on, while Price’s, is the one that he left draped over the edge of the futon before they left for the mission. One that Price might not have noticed being missing or moved.
The three of them watch as Soap blearily rubs at his face and moves across the room. He nearly trips over Ghost’s legs, but it’s not until he gets near the bed does the needle drop.
Gaz stares up at him from the bed and smiles. “Mornin.”
Soap’s response is a high pitched screech and jumping about a foot in the air. Price can’t help but chuckle at the sight, which then alerts Soap to his presence, and then because Ghost had gotten up to try and make sure Soap didn’t hurt himself he scares Soap by appearing behind him.
It all ends with Soap landing on the bed and also Gaz, which is rough for the both of them. Gaz is good with it though, and moves through the pain to wrap his arms around Soap from behind. “Boo.”
“You’re fuckin hysterical,” Soap sputters, leaning back against Gaz anyway. Kyle hums in content, using his grip on Soap to make him lay down. “I didn’t know you guys were back.’
“Yes, that was intentional,” Price says softly. “Didn’t want you to run again.”
Soap’s cheeks color in the dim light. “Laswell lied to me.” he mumbles.
“She has your number for sure.” Price shifts slightly, wincing. “All of ours, honestly.” he glances at Ghost. “You gonna sit down again?”
Soap’s eyes widen as Ghost’s narrow. “Yes sir.” he says, then moves for the bed. Soap squeaks as Ghost lays on his side, sandwiching Soap between his and Kyle’s chests. “Dare you to try and go for the door now Johnny.”
Soap looks up at Simon with a more-than-slightly-stubborn look in his eye that indicates he might like to attempt it regardless. Gaz snuggles even closer to Soap, hooking his chin over Soap’s shoulder, causing all the fight to leave their youngest member.
“Missed you at the hospital,” Gaz murmurs. Price watches Soap wince, pointedly avoiding meeting Simon’s searching gaze. The Lieutenant is carefully running his hands down Soap’s arms, examining the scratches and bruises. “Yeah I— they wanted me back here, since I wasn’t…that bad.”
“First time in your life you decided to listen to orders, hmm?” Price chuckles. “While I’m sure Laswell appreciated the quick report, she could’ve gotten it over a video call. I’m sure the Germans had equipment you could’ve used.”
Soap’s face does something interesting at that. “Yeah, I don’t think the Germans were too keen on helping me with that.”
Price narrows his eyes and watches as Simon and Gaz pull similar reactions. “They said something to you?”
Soap shakes his head. “They didn’t have to, the glares were enough.”
Gaz sees the opening and jumps on it before Price can. “They can’t possibly think what happened was your fault. You were busy defusing an even larger bomb.”
It’s hard to see from his recliner, but Price is sure there’s a flash of guilt across Soap’s face. “They think I should’ve spotted it the second one. I was in that building initially and the initial investigation says it wasn’t really hidden.”
“ They think that?” Simon asks quietly.
Soap’s eyes find Price, focusing on his injured arm and the bandages on his shoulder. He looks away quickly and turns his face into pillow, nodding.
“If it wasn’t that well hidden, then we’re all blind.” Price says calmly. “And that includes the other German spec ops that were in that building with us. At the very least we know how to spot a bomb, because you taught us. And you taught us well.”
“But I was there first— ”
“And at least ten other highly trained operators were in that building after you. They stayed longer than you, they were in more parts of the building than you were. They still didn’t see it. We didn’t see it, Soap. Do you think we’re at fault for our injuries?”
Soap’s face emerges from the pillow so he can stare at the bottom of Simon’s mask. “Of course not, but you’re not— I mean I’ve tried to show you the best I can, yes but this is my job , captain. I’m the guy who’s supposed to see them.”
“You very briefly ran through the first floor of that building.” Gaz says flatly. “When the fuck were you supposed to see a bomb that was in the basement .” At Soap’s startled look of confusion, Gaz kisses his cheek. “You’re not the only person who got to see that initial investigation report, you know. I read it too.”
Price knows that because he stole his login creds and looked through his email, but whatever. One of them ought to have seen it, which is what he said when Simon tattled on him. It’s helpful to know what information is bouncing around Soap’s head for this exact reason. Usually one of them is able to back track his thought process if they have the source.
“I— ”
“ Johnny ,” Simon murmurs, one hand splayed over his cheek. “We don’t blame you because it’s not your fucking fault.”
Soap leans into the touch. “I know. I know you don’t, and I’m— I’m a fucking asshole for leaving when you in the hospital, but I couldn’t— I couldn’t be there if there was any chance that I’d— that I was the reason you all were there.”
“You were, though.” Price winces at his words, wishing the pain meds didn’t make his lips so loose. “You were the reason we survived long enough to get there.” he amends. “You saved us, Soap.”
“I was just— ”
“Doing your job,” Simon fills in. “You performed your duties as a soldier and a teammate and you did so at with peak professionalism and a perfect demonstration of skill.” he taps Soap lightly on the temple. “If you don’t believe Gaz and you won’t believe Price, then listen to me. You know I wouldn’t lie about that.”
Soap shakes his head again. He looks exhausted, worse than Gaz, and he lost a significant portion of his blood volume a few days ago. “You don’t know that.”
Price shifts with a groan. “We watched your body cam, you muppet. We do know that.”
“But I— ”
“Soap,” Kyle huffs. “Nothing you can say will convince us this is your fault. Okay? We love you and we don’t blame you. Deal with it.”
Incredibly, Soap actually does quiet down, falling asleep almost immediately after. Gaz and Simon carefully resituate him so they won’t all wake up completely immobile in the morning. Gaz makes a valiant effort to stay awake while Simon takes a trip to the loo, but ultimately succumbs before he can return to bed.
Simon gets Price a fresh ice pack for his shoulder and carefully fixes the blanket draped over his legs. “Alarm set?”
Price nods. “As if you didn’t set one on your own phone? I’m good Simon.” He knows better than to get behind on his meds, especially this soon out from his surgery. “You? Hows your ribs?”
“Distinctly unhappy.” Simon grumbles. “I’ll be alright Cap.”
“I know.” Price glances at Soap, then looks back to Simon. “We all will.”
Fin .