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Soap shivered for maybe the third time in ten minutes, as the icy winds of Russia easily cut through the walls of their shoddy hideout. Not for the first time did he silently curse Makarov for potentially planning an attack on one of the coldest days in an already freezing country.
It didn’t help that whenever his eyes landed on his companion, he seemed perfectly content in subzero temperatures. Then again, the Ghost rarely showed any outward signs of what was going on behind that mask.
Usually, the young sergeant didn’t mind when missions included breaks like these, valuing the extra time to get into the right headspace for a fight. Of course, freezing your tits off in a poorly insulated shack kinda ruined any semblance of calm he usually found in these moments. Right now, his headspace was locked securely in the category called ‘how many minutes before I die of hypothermia?’
Maybe he was being slightly dramatic. Any minute now, Makarov’s men would arrive at the compound they were watching from their overlook. Nothing like a good fight to get the warmth back in his limbs.
Any minute now.
Price’s voice crackled over the comms, and for a second Soap delighted in the slight clacking of teeth. At least he wasn’t alone in his misery.
Any joy was quickly killed by what the captain had to say:
“Alright team, it appears the target won’t arrive for another half hour.”
Soap met Ghosts eyes, the other mans furrowed brows visible through the mask.
Ghost had a hand halfway to his own comm unit, but Soap beat him to it:
“Half an hour?!”
He’d never admit to the slight shriek in his voice.
“Good to know your ears are still working sergeant. Yes, half an hour. They left later than our intel counted on.”
Price clearly wasn’t pleased with the situation either, and usually Soap would back off at his commanders tight tone.
Usually, however, he could feel his toes.
“Price, it’s pure fuckin’ Baltic out here! When Makarov’s men arrive, their only problem will be where to place our corpses as pretty new ice sculptures for this damned place!”
“Soap, none of us are happy about this. Find a way to stay warm, and figure out a way of distracting yourself. You’re usually good at that”
Beside him Ghost huffed a breath in amusement, which Soap rewarded with a halfhearted glare, while answering:
“Very funny, sir. I doubt my inspiring conversation starters will conjure a space heater.”
“Maybe not, but it would warm my heart if you would stop whining.”
The statement was said with a fair bit of actual annoyance; maybe he had been pushing his luck with the older man.
“Understood sir.”
He clicked off the comm and let out a defeated sigh that hung visibly in the air for several seconds.
“You deserved that one Johnny.”
Soap never understood how Ghost, the most deadpan asshole he knew, always managed to sound pleased whenever they ended up in shitty situations like this. Under the balaclava, it almost looked like his eyes were sparkling with amusement.
“Ye fucker. Are you not cold?” To add to his point, yet another shiver wracked his body.
To his annoyance, the other man simply shrugged.
“Ghosts don’t get cold.”
“Oh, well, that explains it then.”
“We can’t all turn into an our best impression of a human earthquake just because it’s a little cold, Soap”
“It’s not ‘a little cold, Soap’” The smaller man mimicked the others deep, accented voice. “It’s fucking freezing Ghost. I hate the damn cold, man.”
“You’re from Scotland.” Ghost deadpanned.
“Scotland is wet and grey! It’s not an Arctic expedition, like this awful place.”
“Hm.”
Soap started rubbing his gloved hands together in an attempt at warmth. He could feel Ghosts eyes on him, and for a second he expected the other man to give in, and show him some compassion.
This thought was immediately followed by Ghost standing up, and leaving the room.
“Bastard.” Soap muttered. So much for compassion.
Instead, he curled in on himself, trapping whatever heat his body had left. He contemplated chatting with Price again, just to take his mind off of things, even if the commander might kill him for it at this point.
He didn’t hear the footsteps coming back, and nearly jumped as something soft was dumped in his lap. His hands were automatically reaching for his gun.
Then he recognized the figure, and relaxed.
“Ghost?”
“Blankets.” Was the gruff reply.
Sure enough, his arms were now full of several ugly, knitted blankets.
“Oh. Thanks.” As he wrapped himself up, the cold instantly seemed less biting. “Where’d you get these Lt.?”
To his surprise, the big man seemed to hesitate, before clearing his throat.
“I brought them.”
“I- sorry, what?”
“Well, I knew this wasn’t exactly going to be a beach trip, so I brought warm equipment.”
“Wait, brought-?” It clicked. “Are these ugly blankets yours?” Soap couldn’t help the grin that stretched his frozen face.
“Shut up sergeant.”
“I thought ghosts don’t get cold, sir?”
“I will take the blankets back, and throw you into a frozen lake.”
“Aye.”
Still, he couldn’t help his chuckle, while Ghost grumbled.
Then to Soaps absolute delight, the lieutenant folded out another blanket that he wrapped around himself. The warning glare from behind the mask was enough to keep Soap’s mouth sealed tight.
It didn’t stop him from burning the comical image into his memory; Ghost in full military gear, scowling, covered by possibly the ugliest blanket Soap had ever seen.
Maybe the cold wasn’t all bad.
The crappy blankets may have stopped Soaps extremities from freezing off, which he appreciated, but that didn’t mean it was by any means comfortable.
The silence from all other members of his team meant nothing was distracting his mind from the newfound hatred he had for snow and icy winds.
From Price’s tone earlier, Soap would bet he was as much of an icicle as himself. Gaz hadn’t chipped into the conversation once since arrival, despite usually being almost as talkative as Soap. That probably meant Gaz was also currently freezing his nuts off.
And for all his stoicism, Ghost had still bundled up in blankets beside him.
Soap figured they’d all appreciate a distraction as much as he would.
And so, he took up the mantle, as he had many times before, and pressed the button on his comm unit, so everyone could hear him again.
“So, what kind of dog would I be?”
The collective groan from the three other men only served to make the corners of Soaps mouth twitch back into his trademark smile.
“See,” he started elaborating, staunchly ignoring whatever look Ghost was sending him at the moment. “We often get called dogs of the military, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of dog breed I’d be?”
The question hung in silence for a few seconds, but Soap knew he’d gotten the ball rolling. Already, the cold seemed further away, as he could almost hear his teammates think.
“Probably some fucked up mutt, I’d say.” Comes Gaz’ reply first, a bit too fast for Soaps liking.
“Ha ha, very funny Gaz. I-“
“No no, he has a point.” Price interrupts. “I was trying to settle on the most annoying dog, but hadn’t even considered just mixing them together. Good job Kyle.”
“Thanks sir”
Beside him, Ghost hummed thoughtfully in agreement.
“Guys,” Soap tried to put some hurt into his voice, to mask his amusement. “I’m trying to start a proper thought exercise here to expand our minds, please take it seriously.”
Gaz snickered.
“How is this expanding our minds exactly?”
“Uhm-“ Soap fumbled for a fitting answer. “Team building? Price, you should back me up here, you’re always on about that stuff.”
“Of course sergeant, I don’t know how I failed to see the important side to this question.” Price was sounding slightly more chipper than earlier. “In that case, why don’t you start by telling us what dogs the rest of us are? So we can get an idea of the- uhm, the ‘team building exercise’.”
Soap decided not to dwell on the clear sarcasm at the end of the captain’s sentence, as he excitedly pondered the question.
He could go many ways with this, could try to remember the ugliest dog breeds known to man.
The sudden urge for honest answers struck him, since he had a pretty clear image in mind already. Not that he’d ever admit it, but this wasn’t the first time this train of thought had struck him.
“Well, captain, yours is easy.” Soap started.
“Is that so?”
“You know those giant Irish wolfhounds that kinda look like old men?”
Out the corner of his eye, Soap saw Ghost shaking his head in that way he always does when he doesn’t want to admit he’s enjoying Johnny’s semantics.
Gaz’ snorted.
“They even have your beard sir!”
“Huh. Gotta admit, you’re not entirely off sergeant.” Price said thoughtfully. “Wish I did as well in the cold as those dogs do, though.”
A sentiment Soap shared wholeheartedly, although the mindless talk was starting to have its intended effect.
He didn’t mention that he’d actually been stuck between two dog breeds for Price, since he was still trying to get on his good side again. Mentioning Schnauzers seemed dangerous.
“What about me?” The actual interest in Gaz’ voice surprised Soap. Guess it hadn’t been entirely bullshit, when he’d called this team building.
“Oh buddy, you’re a lab for sure. You even get the same dumb expression they do when you’re happy.” He said, smirk already in place as Gaz spluttered indignantly.
“I don’t!”
“Remember last week, when cafeteria served tapas? All that was missing was a wagging tail, I’ve never seen you so happy.” Soap didn’t add how Gaz’ happiness in that moment had been so endearing, that it had completely made up for the terrible mission they’d just returned from.
“I had a yellow lab when I was a boy,” Price chipped in fondly. “Named it Butter. My parents weren’t too happy with that; they tried naming it Rex or Fang or something like that, but it only responded to Butter. Kindest creature I’ve ever known. It used to curl up next to me when it was cold out.”
The others were quiet while Price reminisced. Something in his tone felt like he was letting them in on a secret, the dog clearly near to his heart. Soap always figured the commander had a soft spot for dogs, seeing how he liked taking in strays.
“Guess being a lab ain’t so bad,” Gaz admitted softly. “I’ll take it.”
Johnny’s eyes landed on Ghost, who had stayed suspiciously quiet during the last few minutes.
“So, Lt.”
“Careful what you say, sergeant.” Ghost narrowed his eyes at the smaller man. At least it seemed he had accepted he wasn’t lucky enough to be excluded from this conversation.
“You’re a tough one.” Soap admitted. He had an answer ready, but he hesitated, since Ghost was in close enough range to reach over and snap his neck.
“Maybe, some sort of big German Shepherd?” Gaz mused.
“Definitely a big dog.” Price added. “A Great Dane?”
Ghost was still staring at Soap expectantly.
“It’s your game Johnny. What big, scary dog am I?” His deep voice felt like it rumbled Soaps brain, and this time it wasn’t the cold that made him shiver.
Oh well, here goes. Being alive was overrated anyway.
“You’re not actually a dog, sir. You’re a cat.”
He thought about the stray cat he sometimes saw wandering around back in Glasgow, the few times he actually went home to his dusty apartment. It had an angry face, and had hissed at Johnny more than once at first.
However, like with everything else in his life, he just couldn’t help but try to befriend the creature, and it had taken a surprisingly short time before the cat started greeting him with purrs. It still seemed to despise most humans, and would often play hard to get if Soap reached out to pet it. But nevertheless it followed him home.
He’d convinced his nice, elderly neighbor to leave food for the poor creature while he was away. He even paid her for it, despite her insisting she didn’t mind.
When he’d returned to base, Ghost had silently stuck to his side like always, all gloom and terrible jokes and those fond looks he seemed to only reserve for Johnny, and he finally realized who that cat had been reminding him of.
Even now, as Ghost narrowed his eyes even further at him, he looked exactly like the cat had, after he’d told it he was out of tuna.
“A cat.”
“… yes sir.”
Gaz and Price had chosen to suddenly be very quiet. At least they were better at having Soaps back when bullets were flying.
Surprisingly, the lieutenant chose not to strangle him, but instead cocked his head thoughtfully.
“I’ve always liked cats.” He admitted quietly, and Soap felt there was something deeper hiding beneath his words. It felt more like Simon had confessed this little tidbit, rather than the Ghost, and Soaps heart did a weird little jump at that. Then the eyes under the mask crinkled in a smile. “They’re absolute assholes.”
Soap laughed at that, warmth blooming in his chest.
“Thank goodness,” crackled Price’s voice over the comms. “I was sure we were gonna have to do the mission without Soap for a second.”
“If it had been me, Ghost would’ve offed me for sure.” Gaz said, pout evident in his voice.
“I’m only keeping him alive until the mission is over.” Grumbled the big man, even though he was still giving the sergeant one of those fond looks.
“Well, good thing that’s sorted. Thanks for expanding our minds, Soap,” Price joked. “but hostiles are now 5 minutes out, so get back in positions. You’re with me Butter.”
“Butter?!” Shrieked Gaz, a second before comms turned off again. Both Soap and Ghost chuckled into the cold air. It seemed less biting than before.
Handing Ghost back the blankets, Soap eyed him curiously, which didn’t go unnoticed.
“What?”
“Hmm. You never said what kinda dog I am Lt.” Johnny admitted. When Ghost grabbed his shoulder, he suddenly felt warm.
“That’s an easy question Johnny. I’ve known since you started this ‘thought exercise’”
“You have?”
Though he couldn’t see Ghosts face, dread still rose in Soaps stomach, as he instinctively knew that the mask was hiding a shit-eating grin.
“Oh yeah. Shivering under the blankets, yapping incessantly-“ Oh, no.
“You’re a chihuahua.”
