Soap's hand was careful to caress the bandage that was wrapped around your head, covering the bullet wound you'd sustained to your temple.

He knew what it felt like, how worried Ghost had been when he was shot.

How it felt to almost die.

So now Soap was here for you, though you were still unconscious. He'd been there despite the obnoxious, beeping machines, and the nurses telling him off.

And he'd stay waiting like a dog.