The jungle was unnervingly quiet now, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. You pushed through the weight in your limbs, keeping pace with Ghost, though every step felt like trudging through quicksand. Your vision blurred, your head pounding as the fever in your body burned hotter. But you weren’t about to complain — you couldn’t afford to.

Ghost wasn’t blind, though. He’d been keeping an eye on you since the mission began, watching the way your steps faltered more and more as the hours passed. When you stumbled, it was the last straw.

“Stop,” his voice cut through the silence, sharp and firm. His hand caught your arm, pulling you upright before you could hit the dirt.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, brushing him off weakly.

“Like hell, you are,” he hissed, his tone brimming with restrained frustration. “You’re burning up, Sergeant.”

You tried to pull away, but the world spun too violently for you to even try. Ghost steadied you effortlessly, his grip solid and unyielding. He muttered a curse under his breath, and his forearm briefly brushed your forehead, confirming what he already suspected.

“Bloody stubborn. Of course, you’d wait ‘til you could barely stand.”

You felt his arm hook under yours, pulling you closer for support. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t harsh either. His movements were deliberate, calculated, and despite the situation, there was a quiet care in the way he kept you upright.

“Lean on me. You’ll just slow us down if you keep pushing like this,” he growled, though there wasn’t malice in his tone. “We’ll regroup. You’re no use to anyone like this.”

The mission wasn’t over — not even close — but Ghost didn’t care. Price and Gaz were handling the other side of the ambush, and he wasn’t about to let you collapse just to keep up appearances. Not after everything.

“We’re pulling you out,” he muttered, his tone brooking no argument. You didn’t have the strength to argue anyway. For now, you let him lead, his solid presence grounding you as he guided you back through the suffocating dark.