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Ghost laid awfully still in his hospital bed; most of the room was white, sterile. He looked at the orange flowers on the windowsill. His eyes softened as gazed at the bright petals, even as they just sat there; it was his only company at the moment. He let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, tired. He was always tired, nowadays. Could barely keep his eyes open.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. Ghost hummed, the first thing he noticed was the cologne, he was too tired to really open his eyes. "Johnny." He smiled softly, "what brings your arse here? You don't like hospitals." He finally forced his eyelids open, turning to the door where Soap stood uncomfortably, hovering and fiddling.
"Are you coming in?" Ghost asked, huffing, "there's plenty of places to sit."
Soap averted his eyes, as if it were a sin to glance upon a dying ghost- paler than he'd ever been, even under his mask. Sickly. It didn't fit him, Soap decided, and he didn't want to be close- so he sat in a place that was between too close and not close enough. Want and need. A want to comfort, to hold Ghost- to hold / Simon / and a need to remember Ghost as the fire in his eyes and not the artificial light of his hospital room.
"I miss when you actually talked to me." Ghost groused bluntly, not looking Soap's way either. Two could play at that game.
Soap bit the fiery retort that had almost spilled from his tongue. Ghost's reaction was justified, he didn't deserve this, his silence. "Sorry, LT." He mumbled, they still weren't looking at each other, but something in the air had eased.
Sight had more to do with this than either of them realized. Because sooner or later, they'd have to realize they were both going to live in a world where they don't have each other. Soap would have to watch Ghost deteriorate, slow at first- then quick as if he'd never been there in the first place. He'd never get a real grave. Johnny would keep the ashes. He'd be a real ghost.
Then Simon would have to watch Johnny stay the same, of course he'd look more tired, more skinny- less sane. But he'd still be so bright, orange- like the petals that fell from the flower on the windowsill.
Soap was funny in that way, Ghost decided, because he was so like those flowers. Bright, incredibly bright, but slowly falling apart. Maybe they were both funny in that way. Nothingness glazed his thoughts as he finally really looked at Soap. The rawness of who he was, who he would be.
Soap did the same, and their eyes met in an incredibly fragile moment. They were going to leave each other and there was nothing they could do about it.
Johnny was the one to break first, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks before his shoulders tensed-.. and he was crying. He covered his face with his hand, shaking his head in a silent apology. The room was filled with nothing but his small attempts to quiet himself, if only for Simon's sake.
Simon was quiet for the most part, eyes lidded from where he was looking at his Johnny, his sun. He was still beautifully bright, even in his moment of darkness, as all eclipses were. "Johnny," he hummed, throat rather dry, "c'mere." He waited for Soap, watching as he tensed for a moment before he made his way over, hand away from his face. He was no longer making much noise, his lip trembling from the effort of not crying, eyes still red and watery.
Ghost weakly pulled him down onto his chest, hand threading into his hair through his glove. "I'm not scared." It was a beautiful lie, he'd always been scared of death. He had assumed it would come as a surprise, an enemy around the corner he just couldn't see in time. Maybe it was fitting that he'd been given a time table, that he'd likely know when it was his time, and that it was his own body that had betrayed him. He held Johnny close, feeling and hearing how he'd started crying again, louder this time. It left a feeling in his chest he couldn't explain, maybe a guilt for leaving him here by himself. He looked at the flower again, it seemed so frail, like its petals would fall with every passing second.
"Why are you-" Soap hiccuped, "not angry? I would be so-.. so * mad *.." his hand gripped onto Ghost's tightly, as if holding it would keep him there longer. He gave a watery laugh, "I'd be pissed."
Simon smiled. He shook his head, rubbing the other's back with his gloved hand, "I don't want that to be the last thing I feel." A needle of pain shot through his chest and he grunted, uncomfortably taking in deeper breaths of air. "Can you lay down next to me?"
"I- I should get a nurse," Soap pleaded, heart dropping as Ghost shook his head. "Please? Please, Ghost, you-"
"Simon."
"..what?" Soap swallowed, hot tears falling down his face.
"Call me Simon." Ghost grunted, patting the spot next to him. "Lay down." It was starting to get harder to breathe, but he just did his best to calm his heart so Soap wouldn't pick up on his fear. So Johnny wouldn't worry about him.
Johnny laid down next to him, hand intertwining with Ghost's limp one. "Don't leave me here."
"You know I don't have a choice, Johnny." Simon closed his eyes, wincing as he took deeper breaths to make up for the lack of air getting into his lungs. "Can you do me a favor?" He asked, pleading to his Sun, his light, his life. He felt the other nod next to him.
"Bury me with orange flowers, yeah?"
Everything that happened after that was a blur to Soap. They could've sat there for seconds, minutes, hours... everything just blurred together and smudged with every thought that it was * wrong * and Simon was so, so * still *. He looked at the flower on the windowsill, a petal falling to the floor.
Soap trembled, staring at the floor of the waiting room where he'd been dragged to after... everything. He was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees and shaking his head in disbelief.
There was a hand on his shoulder, so he looked up. Price, his Captain, looking down at him with this... guilt in his eyes. Along with something akin to sorrow and condolence. He didn't hear what he said, couldn't hear through the ringing in his ears, but appreciated the warm embrace he was given.
Simon was gone and the Moon had disappeared from his orbit. The tide was uncontrollable now, the sea was drowning every part of himself, rivers overflowing- mostly down his face. Gone was the Sun, it'd gone out when the Moon left- no warmth or life to speak of now. John shut his eyes, pressing a hand to his frazzled mohawk, how he wished he had the Moon's light to guide him.