Retirement could be for men like me and you (maybe pt1)
Retirement was never in the cards for Simon Riley….
Or, that’s what he’d thought at least, but now he was in his living room using a cane and bitching at his husband from across the room.
“50 years old, how are you feeling, Ghost?” Price asked, the task force was still alive and well under John Price’s strong hands, still the original group stayed as well.
Gaz puts a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, “come on Old Man, out with it.”
“I feel the exact same as I always do.” Ghost replied, patting Gaz’s hand before elbowing the man in the ribs. The old bait and switch of affection. Gaz huffs and whines at him, rolling his eyes, “Just wish we had our other teammate here to help clean up the mess this one made.”
Gaz snorts at the accusation, confetti littering the ground, “This was all lover-boy's idea. It’s not like John didn’t help me plan it.”
Price rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deflect the accusation because it’s damn well true.
“Son, I’m not happy about his mission date either but rules are rules.” He was chewing on a popsicle stick now, his mouth needing something to do to curb his cigar habit. Everyone had to quit smoking at some point, Gaz being the first to quit because he noticed a wheeze starting. He had freaked the fuck out about it, stopping cut hate tree cold Turkey and chewing obscene amounts of gum instead. Soap had been second and Price had been last.
Ghost never did have an addiction to smoking, only ever going so far to do weed once or twice a year to chill out while he was on leave.
“I know.” Ghost replies, tapping his feet and sighing, “He’s supposed to call at 20:00 when he gets done with the mission.”
“Good lad,” Price said before leaning to ruffle both Simon and Gaz’s hair, though Ghost still had his mask on, “tell him to hurry his ass home too, Kate’s wife made cookies.”
Ghost rolls his eyes, “You don’t want to share those cookies Captain.”
“I don’t. The only reason I share with any of you is because Emily would slap the hell out of me if she heard I didn’t.”
Gaz laughs, elbowing the Captain before reaching to grab one of said cookies. Price gives him a look while Gaz munches down happily on it before making a face.
“God these are so sweet I shouldn’t eat too many.”
“Who's the old man now, Garrick?” Ghost said, a smirk prevalent under his mask. He got shouldered for his trouble, taking it with pride as he noticed Price’s mouth quirk upward in a laugh. As he sits and basks in the energy around the room, growing more comfortable with his team was a long arduous process, but now he got to deal with the benefits he reaped from being forcefully made into a friend.
Though it’s slowly getting darker out, everyone was tired and Ghost was waiting for the call he was supposed to get.
His room was clean as usual, and he goes about cleaning even more, cleaning his knives and sharpening them with the whetstone that Gaz had decided to get him as a birthday gift. Time ticks by slowly, and he notices that the time when Soap was supposed to call had gone by. Each moment it ticked past, seconds and minutes going past like slime. Trudging through his nighttime routine, Ghost thinks about the reasons behind the lateness. It’s easy to put that information into a box though, it’s very likely that Soap’s phone was broken on the mission, or he had to delay the call to work on something important.
Still he can’t help but be nervous, he’d grown more anxious through the years.
After two hours have passed he lays down in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what he was going to do. His phone was taken off silent for once, leaving it on his bedside stand and letting his eyes rest while wondering what could be holding up Johnny.
Drifting off was easy, but he was woken up by his phone going off on his bedside. The sound shot him out of whatever sleep he caught, eyes opened immediately as he grabbed onto his phone and pushed the button to answer.
“Hello?” His voice was rough with tiredness.
The voice on the other end wasn’t Soap, instead it was a feminine one, “Hello is this Simon Riley?”
Ghost sits up and throws the covers off himself, “Yes it is, why?”
“You’re on John MacTavish's Emergency forms sir. He was just brought in from a mission.” She said and her tone was nervous, each word lilting a little bit.
There isn’t time for him to get well and truly dressed in his state, throwing on shoes and his mask, “is he okay? What happened? Which hospital? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Northumbria Hospital sir— he is in surgery right now, and it may be a few days before non-family visitors are allowed.”
Ghost doesn’t care about non-family visitors, he’ll deal with it when he gets there, “Thanks.”
He hangs up and darts out of his room, cutting corners and knowing the amount of times he clips his hip on chairs and tables. The base is always mostly awake, night-watch keeping everything safe while they still run the base to half-capacity. He finds himself in the garage, staring down at the lone soldier running the place: he knew this one was one of Gaz’s to run about.
“What can I do for you Lieutenant?” He asked politely, though he was halfway to falling asleep in his chair. Ghost would feel bad for the man if he wasn’t in such a hurry.
“A truck, not armored, whatever will get me somewhere.” He says evenly, though he felt incredibly frazzled.
The soldier nods, “Copy that. I’ll be right back with keys.”
As if sensing the urgency of the matter, the man jogged to where they kept the keys locked away and immediately picked out a set, “Here you are, big white truck by the humvee section.”
Ghost nodded, and when he glanced at the man as if wondering for paperwork he merely shook his head, “Birthday gift, you look like you need it. I’ll fill out the paperwork for you.”
When Ghost wasn’t in a hurry he would tell Gaz to give this soldier a break from training to do this, but for now he only nodded to him and ran to the truck before getting out of there. Did the ghost have a license? No. Does it truly matter when his partner was injured badly enough for surgery? Definitely not.
————
“What do you mean by complications?” Ghost asked deadly calm, and the nurse— a no nonsense looking older woman with a mean face— simply held onto her clipboard with ease.
“Shrapnel from the explosion couldn’t be worked out by surgery without risk of death, but leaving it in would have caused infection from the bacteria. So amputation is the only option that the hospital could take with the least amount of risk.”
Ghost blinks and he wishes deeply that he could still wear his mask instead of the surgical one they had made him replace it with, “The likelihood of survival?”
“Almost 100 percent with the procedure.” She said calmly, “but he won’t be returning to active duty. Once Mister MacTavish is lucid and able we will discuss his options of prosthetics or mobility devices.” Nurse Anne Martin, if her name tag was to be believed. Trying not to shrivel at the idea of Johnny leaving service, Ghost kept himself steady.
“Thank you for keeping him alive.” He said instead of bursting out into tears, “When can I see him?”
“You can see him tomorrow morning, Mr. Riley.” She gave him the first glimpse of sympathy he’d seen on the stoic woman’s face, “You may want to make some decisions before you do so though.”
Ghost nods, “I’ll be back then.”
He wanted to sit in the waiting room and wail, or wait by Johnny’s bedside until the man woke up but he had to work some things out. The situation made him want to claw his eyes out but instead he slipped on the mask of Ghost and went to call Price. He had paperwork to fill out.
————
John “Soap” MacTavish woke up in a hospital room to the beeping of machines, a soft static of television, and the feeling of being 20 pounds lighter. Opening his eyes a little he almost groaned at the crusted feeling left behind by what could be a week's worth of sleep. He didn’t know how long he was out, only that his left ear wasn’t doing its job and everything was fuzzy to him at the moment.
Soap blinks a few times and reaches one hand up to rub his eyes and hisses at the disused feeling all over his body.
As he finally could see he startled at the slouched body at the end of the hospital bed, blonde hair messy from being under a mask, was Ghost. His partner.
Another thing he noticed was that the blankets looked uneven and he sucks in a breath.
Shit.
His left leg is just... Gone. It sort of feels like it’s still there, a numbness settling over the area, but he places a hand on the nub and realizes with a hiss that it wasn’t just sleepiness. He was missing a leg.
His movement woke the man at the end of his bed, Ghost's head darting up and big brown eyes looking at Soap. His eyes crinkled with an unseen smile, and he looked relieved.
“Hey Johnny.” His voice is soft, so so soft, and Soap wants to melt into him but right now he’s struggling to piece together what happened, “You’re lucky to be alive. Drink.”
He holds up a cup to Soap’s lips, and Soap doesn’t even recall seeing him move. Maybe he’s got brain damage too. Still, the water is nice on his tongue and he enjoys a few sips while taking deep calming breaths.
“What?” He finally asks when he’s finished sipping from the cup.
“Mission went awry.” Ghost said, “Utterly bloody tits up that said, but everyone got out safely save for three Privates.”
“Uh huh.” Johnny’s head hurt, “I’m guessing I got hit?”
Simon takes off the surgical mask and places a kiss on his eyebrow, face full of tired shadows and wrinkles, “”More than hit. You got blown to high hell, what I heard. Had to amputate your left leg.”
“I figured.” Soap said, “Guess I’m getting that retirement sooner rather than later.”
“Yes we are.” Simon responded, sounding completely confident.
We.
“Wait LT.” He said with reverence in his voice, “You’re coming with?”
“Couldn’t get me to go back without you, Johnny.” He said and ran a hand through the man’s hair.
It surprised both of them that Ghost had taken that step. Both had figured Ghost would die in the field. Soap didn’t like the idea but he also knew Ghost would struggle with civilian life. He was retiring. With Soap.
