An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
John stood still, his eyes locked with Ghost’s. His finger itched at the trigger of his rifle, every twitch of the knife, every subtle sign of pain in his Lieutenant’s posture chipping away at his restraint while the madman holding him hostage continued his crazed rant. He had stopped listening after the first five minutes. “Gaz?” He asked, quiet enough that the madman didn’t catch it, but Ghost’s eyes narrowed perceptively. “I need more time, Cap.” Gaz swore, and a slight rustling noise followed through the comms. “He’s moving around too much, I can’t get a clear shot.”
One-Shot with hurt/comfort, loads of banter, and a happy ending. Read on AO3 or below the cut.
John stood still, his eyes locked with Ghost’s. His finger itched at the trigger of his rifle, every twitch of the knife, every subtle sign of pain in his Lieutenant’s posture chipping away at his restraint while the madman holding him hostage continued his crazed rant. He had stopped listening after the first five minutes.
“Gaz?” He asked, quiet enough that the madman didn’t catch it, but Ghost’s eyes narrowed perceptively.
“I need more time, Cap.” Gaz swore, and a slight rustling noise followed through the comms. “He’s moving around too much, I can’t get a clear shot.”
John released a slow, controlled breath. Ghost stared at him, and there was a sliver of skin visible on his neck, red with blood.
Sometimes John wondered about the trust, the loyalty Ghost showed him. He knew about his history – more than the heavily censored file he had once read revealed – as a result of countless evenings spent in his office with two glasses and a bottle of bourbon, which meant he knew about the pain and betrayal he had gone through. Anyone would have come out of that with trust issues, but somehow Ghost had found it in himself to trust again, to trust John.
If that already didn’t make him feel some way, during a late night in his office, Ghost had told him that there was no one else he trusted like that. – not Kate, not Shepherd, no one. Of course, there was a certain level of trust involved when it came to Soap and Gaz – they were teammates after all –, but they weren’t Ghost’s commanding officers.
All that meant that John needed to find a way to resolve the situation that didn’t shatter that trust.
“Do it,” Ghost said, his voice gruff and void of emotion.
John wanted to hate him for it, especially when the madman jerked him back harshly in return and elicited a pained noise from him, the blade drawing a fresh rivulet of blood. He wanted to reprimand Ghost for his lack of self-preservation, for being so willing to sacrifice his health for the mission and the safety of others, because he knew what Ghost meant. And he hated himself because he knew that it was also their best option. The madman couldn’t be talked down, and the longer they waited, the closer they came to those shallow cuts becoming something far worse.
John steeled himself with a deep breath, adjusting his grip on his weapon.
“Gaz, take the shot.”
“Captain?” Gaz sounded alarmed, and John clenched his jaw. On top of everything else, he hated himself for what he was asking of the young sergeant. “I don’t–”
“Take the shot,” John repeated firmly. He kept his eyes on Ghost, but Ghost showed no sign of nervousness or fear even with the knowledge of what was to come. “Through the shoulder. Now.”
There was no response, but John wasn’t expecting one.
Three seconds later a gunshot pierced through the air, and Ghost and his captor collapsed at once.
John’s feet moved on their own accord, his brain lagging a few moments behind as he crossed the distance between him and the two men. He didn’t allow his worry to take over, forcing his emotions back as he kicked the knife away and made sure that the threat had been eliminated – he was, the bullet had hit him in the neck – before turning to Ghost.
“Target down. Call in medevac,” John told Gaz, belatedly remembering he was still waiting orders at his sniper perch. As he knelt down next to Ghost, he added, “Good shot, Gaz.”
Then his attention was all on Ghost. He winced when he saw his uniform growing wet with blood at the shoulder and quickly placed his hands on top of the source. He tried his hardest to ignore the muffled groan and the way Ghost's back arched in an attempt to get away from him. Each and every member of his team was a grown adult trained to withstand torture, but it didn't make it any easier for him to see them injured, especially when it was his order that had resulted in the said injury.
“Ghost, talk to me.”
“Bullet went through,” Ghost hissed through gritted teeth. His eyes were screwed shut, his breaths steady but forceful in an attempt to control the pain. “Minor cuts to the neck. Bruises. You're crushing my hands.”
John swore, even though the last part was said in a somewhat lighter tone. He would have to remove his hands from the wound if he wanted to cut Ghost free, and that wasn’t going to happen. “I'm afraid you'll have to deal with that for a while longer, Lieutenant, my priority is to keep the blood inside you.”
Ghost huffed a noise that vaguely resembled a laugh, but it was broken by a pained noise. John knew he had made the right decision, and was doing the right thing, but he couldn't quite stop the twinge of guilt from forming in his chest.
“Medevac is on the way. ETA ten minutes,” Gaz reported then. “I'm on my way down to you. How's Ghost?”
“In one piece,” John told him. “Get here safely. I don't need another man down.”
“Copy, Sir. Will do.”
“It was a good shot,” Ghost remarked and the movement under the balaclava made it seem like he was smirking.
“Of course. I taught him everything he knows,” John grinned, but the seriousness of the situation wiped it off all too soon. “Ghost…”
“He was going to slit my throat,” Ghost told him before he could finish and peeled his eyes open to look at him. “You made the right call.”
John stared at him in silence for a moment, and despite the pain and blood loss, Ghost's gaze was unwavering. He wished he could spare a hand to pat the man on the shoulder. “You need to stop getting shot, Lieutenant.”
This time Ghost most certainly did smirk. “Is that an order, Captain?”
“Now it is,” John huffed, and when he glanced up he could see Gaz in the distance. “With you two and Soap on my team, I'm going grey before my time.”
“Before your time, eh?”
“I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself, unless you want to find yourself on latrine duty once you're cleared for work.” John raised an eyebrow at him.
“You don't look a day over 25, Captain,” Ghost said, his voice betraying nothing.
"Cheeky bastard,” John huffed, shaking his head.
Ghost let out a short, breathless laugh that turned into a muffled groan when he shifted under John’s hands. “Fuck, that stings.”
“I think it does a little more than sting,” John replied, his smile turning into a concerned frown. “Just hang in there, medevac should be here in a little over five. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been shot,” Ghost said helpfully as he let his head fall back, his gaze flicking to watch the cloudy skies above. “Better than having my throat slit though. Think I owe Gaz a beer.”
“That you do.”
It took a few more minutes for Gaz to reach them, breathless and sweaty from the fast pace he had set, but some of the tension seemed to bleed out of him when he laid eyes on Ghost and saw him awake and coherent.
“Shit, mate, you just about gave me a heart attack!” Gaz shook his head, ungracefully crashing down onto his knees by their side.
“Takes more than one nutjob to take me down,” Ghost told him, “Or one bullet – was a nice shot by the way. Missed the important bits.”
John couldn’t help but frown. The pain was beginning to creep into his voice alongside exhaustion, which, while wasn’t entirely a surprise, wasn’t a good sign either. The medevac had better show up soon.
“Would’ve preferred to miss you entirely,” Gaz pointed out, but Ghost shook his head with a huff.
“Well, I’m glad to know it wasn’t a dream come true for you.”
John sighed. “You muppet.”
Less than a minute later the medevac appeared in their line of sight, the whir of its blades reaching them not much later, and John felt like he could finally breathe easier. Both of his boys would get to go home. His team would be whole again.
***
“Look, sir, I know I bitched about bein’ bored and lonely in here while you were all working, but ye didn't have to get Gaz to shoot you and get yourself stuck in here too just to keep me company.”
Ghost blew out a breath, refusing to turn his head to look at Johnny, partly because he felt woozy enough as it was – it had been mere moments since the stark white ceiling had stopped moving for him –, but also because he knew the sergeant had on a shit-eating smirk even without looking. “Well, I like to go the extra mile for my friends, so deal with it.”
Johnny barked a laugh, and Ghost almost – almost – listened to the urge to tilt his head towards him and match the stupid grin on his face with one of his own, but stopped himself at the last moment. He had a special hatred towards the pain meds he had been given, the type that went to his head and made him feel unsteady more than it took away the pain, but the medical staff had downright insisted he take them at least for a day or two after the surgery he had had the previous night so he was stuck on them for the moment at least.
“Aye – at least I won’t have to suffer through rehab alone.”
“Don’t remind me.” Ghost groaned and let his eyes fall shut, already dreading that phase. Johnny snickered, but seemed to sense that Ghost wasn’t feeling all that chatty and settled down to entertain himself with his phone. The quiet background noise made it easy for Ghost to drift off – or maybe that was the drugs, too – and sink into the comfort of nothingness.
He slept for most of the day, only waking up to eat and to visit the bathroom, and then soundly through the night. It was some of the best sleep he had gotten in a long while, but he refused to think that the drugs may have had a hand in it – though at least the medical staff let him cut the dose in half that morning to minimise the wooziness.
It meant he stayed awake longer as well, which in turn meant Johnny had been talking his ear off the whole morning. The subjects ranged from anywhere between illegally small cats to the arsehole at the base who had been bugging him about some explosive ordnance showcase, to the mysterious brand of hard liquor Nik had shared with them the last time they had crossed their paths on a mission, and after the third hour Ghost had seriously began to consider throwing himself out of the fourth-story window.
He could have given Price a hug when the man appeared in the doorway to their room, momentarily interrupting the motormouth of a sergeant.
“How are you boys doing today?” Price asked with a smile as he made his way into the room, taking a seat between their beds.
“Never better, Cap,” Johnny replied with a bright smile. “Don’t know why they won’t release me already, I’m fine.”
“Remind me, Soap, how many broken bones did you have again?”
Johnny’s expression grew sour, and Ghost resisted the urge to snort. “I’m fine. I’m already stuck in bed, so why can’t I be stuck in bed at my place?”
“That would be because you had a major surgery not that long ago and the doctors want you to rest,” Price told him pointedly.
“Not to mention, just a couple of hours ago you told me that the elevator to your apartment – that is on the fifth floor, if I may add – is out,” Ghost added helpfully.
“Och, no one asked you, Ghost!”
Ghost turned his head to give the captain a long-suffering look. “Price, who the fuck had me put in the bed next to his? He has not shut up since he woke up this morning and it’s giving me a migraine.”
“I did. That way there's no squabbling about favouritism over who I visited first or who I talked to for longest,” Price said, completely unrepentant as he relaxed in the armchair. Ghost wished it had been one of those painfully uncomfortable plastic contraptions instead, but somehow Price had managed to score himself a more comfortable seat.
“Aww, he loves us equally!” Soap cooed.
“MacTavish, please. It's your feelings he's sparing with this bullshit,” Ghost scoffed, shaking his head before glancing at Price again. “And we both know you talk with Soap the longest because the bastard doesn't know how to shut his mouth.”
“He ordered you to get shot!”
“No, I told him to tell Gaz to shoot me.”
Johnny sent a dirty look his way. “I wish it had been me instead.”
“You want to shoot your superior?” Ghost shifted his gaze back to Price. “Sir, I feel unsafe. Move my bed.”
Price shook his head, but even he couldn’t hide his grin. “Nice try, Ghost. You’re both staying here though – this way I can make sure neither of you tries to do anything stupid like sign out against medical advice.”
Ghost huffed. “Yet you claim you have no favourite.”
“The man can’t walk without crutches and has his dominant hand in a splint, I don’t think you have anything to fear.”
“Hey!” Johnny protested, “I could be a threat if I wanted to be!”
“If nothing, I might end up dead because of his incessant yapping,” Ghost muttered as he turned to face the ceiling again, letting his eyes slide shut. He had no intention of sleeping just yet, not when he could interrogate Price about the aftermath of their mission and find out how Gaz was doing now that a few days had passed since the shooting, but he hadn’t been lying about his headache.
He didn’t know how long they ended up talking, he had barely glanced at the clock, but they were served their lunch and had the time to finish their plates before Price stood up with a sigh and creaky joints, announcing that he needed to get back to the office to deal with more paperwork. Ghost couldn’t say he envied the man – he might have had his arm in a sling but at least he didn’t have to deal with that part of the job in a while.
What he hoped, though, was for Johnny to be tired after all the talking and fall asleep, but naturally that didn’t happen and the silence after Price’s departure lasted less than five minutes.
“Don’t.” Ghost looked at Johnny when he saw the man tire of fidgeting and open his mouth. “I will gag you, MacTavish.”
Johnny rolled his eyes with a huff, but mimed zipping his lips shut. A smile twitched at the corner of Ghost’s lips, and when the silence seemed to last more than a minute, he let his slide shut once more. Even if Johnny hadn’t grown tired from all that talking, Ghost very much had and he planned to use the break to take a nap.
“We’re good though, right?” Ghost cracked one eye open long enough to glance at Johnny when the sergeant spoke, his voice quieter and the slightest bit hesitant.
“Yeah, Johnny, we’re good,” Ghost told him, and after a short pause he added, “You’re the one literally stuck in bed with your leg in a cast, if we weren’t good I’d have walked myself out by now.”
“Aye.” Johnny barked a laugh. “I suppose that’s true.”
This time the silence lasted much longer, both of them asleep within minutes.
