Call of Desire

16. Convalescence

con·va·les·cence
/ˌkänvəˈles(ə)ns/
noun
time spent recovering from an illness or medical treatment; recuperation.

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Content Warning: Nudity, Sexual Content, Scars

also kinda long chapter bc I love you

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John woke up alone. Sunlight warmed his face, and yet he was cold. He raised his head, looking around him. The bed was cold and empty without Simon's warm body against him.

"Ghost?" he groaned, the painkillers had worn off and the full force of the pain was throbbing through him, originating at his left hip and right shoulder. "You there?"

You promised you wouldn't leave me, Simon...

He felt around where Ghost had previously been laying, finding a piece of paper.

A note?

John turned the folded paper over in his fingers.

Did I scare him off?

He slowly unfolded the note, staring at the neat writing on the page.

'Johnny. I've got to our barracks to pack up our shit and bring it to the flat. I'll be back soon.

-S̶i̶m̶o̶n̶       Ghost'

The Brit had first written Simon, then scribbled over it and wrote Ghost instead.

Is that all?

Soap turned the note over, searching for more writing. He found nothing.

"For fuck's sake..."

He sat on the edge of the bed, his feet hitting the cold floor.

"C'mon, MacTavish..." His hip protested as he attempted to stand. Pain shot up his spine, forcing a sharp inhale. It was five feet to the bathroom at most, and John had never felt more weak as he struggled forward. Tears pricked at his eyes.

I can make it, c'mon, we can make it, MacTavish...

He misstepped, pain flaring throughout him. Soap cried out in agony, clenching his jaw, forcing himself to stay upright. He whimpered, tears streaming down his face as he blinked, the edges of his vision darkening.

"No, don't pass out, don't pass out," he blinked rapidly, the darkness creeping inward until he could see nothing. John leaned against the wall, feeling his knees give out below him, his body sliding down.  His head pounded and the pain faded. The darkness embraced him again, comforting him.

Fuck.

The front door unlocked, and Ghost nudged it open with his foot, his hands full. He held two large boxes, both containing the men's respective belongings. Neither man owned much more than a week's worth of clothing and a few personal items. John's personal items were not much more than a few hunting knives and a journal, which Simon had resisted looking through.