{{ So I got addicted to the Call of Duty series, and I'm in love with Captain Price/Captain MacTavish, and since there's such little fanfiction out there, I just had to write everything out and get this done. It starts off a bit dusty, but I swear, it will be amazing if you like this ship. I'm not even lying. Give it a go.}}

"P-Price…" Scarred lips trembled as they tried to force the words out.

"Soap, don't talk, just rest…" Price ordered, pressing against the younger soldier's chest; somehow maintaining pressure on several wounds. How he hated multi-tasking. But he'd willingly do it for his friend any day.

"Price…" Soap spoke again. However, the weakness in his voice foreshadowed nothing but disappointing outcomes.

This time, Price raised a brow. His delicate gaze softening as he acknowledged Soap's obvious plea for him to listen.

With a vague nod from Price, Soap used his last ounce of strength to carefully hold Price's collar, gripping tightly from the last surges of pain that struck his body. "Makarov… knows… Yuri…"

Price's eyes widened as he heard his friend's words. What? But… how!? Thick eyebrows knitted together in a harsh frown as Soap began to go limp.

"Y-You… need to know…" The younger soldier muttered, trying to pull Price closer.

Obeying, the older man leant nearer. So much that he was almost on top of the wounded man. It wouldn't be the first time… Price. This was no time for dirty thoughts. "Need to know what?"

Slow. That wasn't even the word to describe it. Painfully slow. Agonising torture. Price waited patiently for as long as a man could when his partner was dying. "What do I need to know?"

And in what seemed to be one of the most gentle, fragile whispers, Soap replied. "I…I'm sorry."

Surprised by the words, Price momentarily considered what Soap had to be sorry for. Had he done something? Had he said something?

The older man then felt something against his ear. Something familiar. It was the wonderful, steamy, hot breath that belonged to Soap; caressing the soft skin that covered his lucky cheek. It could only mean one thing.

"I l-love…I lo-" MacTavish was interrupted as his internal systems began shutting down because of blood loss. His breath was growing short and raspy, a clear sign of panic causing his body to shiver and shake in the arms of his Captain.

Price whined, holding Soap closer; or as close as he could without injuring him further. "You love what? Who?"

Soap could only give a weak smile, before it faded into a painful, sad, lonely frown. "I love…" the expression fell solid, like rock. The type of rock you knew would be lonely if it were alive. The type of rock that has lived for decades, having to watch its friends and family kicked around and thrown into the sea. His expression was one Price never wanted to see. Never wanted to witness. He could almost describe it as dead.

The younger soldier winced, lifting his gloved index finger to Price's chest, as if pointing at him. You.

Then, Soap went numb. He gave a cough, allowing the darkness to truly take him as it swept over his mind. He'd always imagined death to be sweet, silent, and full of relief. Yet here he was, full of regret and pain, surrounded by the sound of bloodthirsty guns. It was horrible. Giving one last weak smile at Price, the younger soldier went still, his chest unmoving, his lips vaguely parted. The shaking had stopped, and the warm heat against Price's cheek had become an unknown presence.

"No…" Price whimpered, gazing down at the lifeless body of his partner. Dare he say, lover. "No… no, no, no, NO!" His voice suddenly raised, shaky and full of anger. Frustration. Sadness. "SOAP! NO!"

"I'm sorry, Price. He's gone. We have to go…" One of the men that had been watching from the shadows had now decided to appear, most definitely at the wrong time. He placed a hand on the Captain's shoulder, but Price growled, gripping said hand. "Get off me!" He demanded, shoving the man away from him.

He's gone. He's really gone.

Price bit his lower lip, trying to hold back any emotion as he pulled out the M4A1 pistol that sat in his back holster. With a slow, gentle movement, he placed the pistol on Soap's chest. A pistol full of many memories. Just above a heart so full of meaning.

No more.

"I'm sorry…" Price whispered, lowering his head onto Soap's shoulder, pressing an unseen kiss on the dead man's ear. "I'm so sorry, Soap. I love you too."