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When he kisses you for the first time, his lips are chapped and he presses his mouth against the corner of yours in desperation. You clutch his face with your hands and angle your face to catch his lips, his ragged breath fans across your mouth and he tastes like the salt of his tears.
You’ve closed your eyes, but he encourages you to open them, tapping his fingers on your cheeks.
You blink against the sun light peeking around his silhouette, then your eyes adjust and notice in detail the gray peppering his mustache, crows feet ringed around his eyes. He gives you a tentative shaky smile, holding still under your appraisal.
He’s so handsome it hurts you. His eyes are kind, gentle windows that you can see yourself in, wavering under the tears that have gathered under his lashes to spill over a cheek. He has that tiny dimple on one side, that catches his little grin.
“God damn, I’ve got great taste” you grunt and he gives a watery laugh that makes your throat dry and your nose sting. He runs a thumb over your cheek, reverently, slowly like he’s counting your freckles. You watch his throat bob under the weight of emotion, and his voice finally caves to it. “You bloody beautiful girl. I-“
You want to tell him to stop being emotional but then you remember the weeping bullet wounds in your gut. He radios Gaz to bring help but you both know there isn’t enough time.
You know what’s coming, crowding the edge of your vision and despite the protests, you tell him the truth.
You’re dying.
He kisses you again, thumbing both of your cheeks with his eyes open and cataloging your features without your mask in his way. You loop your arms around his neck and the rifle on his shoulder digs into you while you cling to each other. He kisses your cheek, nose pressed against your temple and quietly mourns.
He nuzzles your face and you close your eyes, basking in the light of his affection. There’s a soft smile on your face that he’s only ever seen you give Gaz, and maybe Soap once or twice. It gives him resolve.
“I love you.” He rasps, his voice breaking. “I think I’ve loved you since you wrestled me to the ground.”
“Which time?” You ask and he laughs but it sounds more like a pained cry. “The first time, love.”
“Or maybe it was when I rolled you over after our first mission, buried in that sand and saw that you were still alive. Fucking hell why didn’t I tell you sooner?” He cries, tangles his fingers in your hair and kisses you again. You soak up the love, feeling cherished and the words are out before you can stop them, shocker.
“I knew I loved you, when you gave me that horrible lumpy box cake for my birthday.” You want to laugh with him this time, but the pains turned to a numb and otherworldly feeling of detachment. “Best fucking cake I’ve ever had.” You murmur. His hands spasm and curl along your torso.
“I’m with you, John.” you whisper. “I’m gonna be okay.”
He nods vehemently, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and pulls you up against him. “Yeah, my girl. I got you.”
It’s like tunnel vision has set in, there’s a hand closing over your heart and throat and you have so many things you want to say but for the first time in your life you can’t say them. You know you’re never again going to dance in the rain with Soap, no more late night crosswords with Ghost, Gaz will never braid your hair and you’ll never again lay your head on his shoulder in solidarity and cry about the little things.
But John is here. John is holding you. John is whispering tender words to you. You know that you can have peace now. You reach for it.
Your Captain holds you until Gaz gets there, and he has to pry him off you, and even then he won’t let go.
He’s never going to let go.