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He couldn’t understand you – not even if he broke down his mind and laid bare the bits of his brain onto the floor. You were simply…strange to him. Different, not in a bad way, no, but entirely foreign to everything he had known about anyone, particularly, women. If Soap had been forced to describe you he would have picked only one word to grace the ears of whoever was listening.
Pure.
Pure, and good, and worth every drop of blood spilled to keep you safe. But the only problem was that sometimes you were keen on getting into more danger than the Scot believed his heart could take. Hell, it wasn’t like he was any better, though.
“Hot grenade!”
Your voice rings out over the hail of gunfire, and your hand briefly pops around the stone barrier of a house you were using as cover to toss the metal device down the alley. Soap watches with wide eyes from his own defensive position across the way, blinking away the dust in his eyes before a breathless chuckle is wrung from his lips.
“I thought ya’ told me grenades made you nervous, Hen?!” He yells, and a loud boom shakes the ground seconds later. The two of you briefly hunch over, curling into the protection of your geared-up bodies. Your head pops back up, and you look across the small space to see Soap’s sparkling blue eyes locked on your position.
You can’t help the smile on your lips as a bullet chips the house’s corner – millimeters from your nose. Shouts and cries ring out down the alley.
“They do!” Twisting your M4A1 Assault Rifle and targeting the hostiles closing in on your position, you press down on the hair-trigger and catch the recoil. Along the stretch of stone and chokingly hot air of the enclosed space, you snap back to your hiding place after a few seconds. “That’s why I usually leave ‘em to you, Mr. Demolitions Expert! Not really my style, if I’m being honest, not when you’re around.”
“Aw, hell,” Soap peaks around his wall, jerking back when a shot nearly explodes his head into a spray of red rain. “You’re makin’ me blush!”
Your chuckle makes his heart beat faster and a feeling reminiscent of giddiness enters his veins.
When you had been introduced to Task Force 141 two years ago, the connection between you and the Scottish man had been instantaneous – perhaps it was the way you tossed around jokes with Gaz, or how you pushed Ghost to his limits, but everything seemed to flow like water. Price had been thrown for a loop when you had managed to fit in so well with everyone almost immediately. The shared affection and soft spot for each other was one of the many aspects that Soap loved about you; nothing was ever boring when the two of you were together.
Johnny blinked back to the present when the last of the gunfire ceased. Your whoop of accomplishment made his eyes snap to yours from where he had been blatantly studying your face. You had taken care of the hostiles with little to no help from him.
Shite. The mohawked man curses, watching you throw a smile he returned shakily before he watched you walk out into the alley. How long was I spaced out like an eejit just starin’ at her?
He grunts under his breath and shakes his head, dispelling hurried thoughts. His little attraction to you had been getting worse ever since he admitted to himself that he liked you in more than a teammate sort of way.
“Keep it together, Johnny Boy,” Soap speaks to himself and turns the corner to follow after you, lowering his weapon so it hits his chest with every footstep. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“You’re muttering again.” Your voice carries now that the world is silent, and you turn around to glance at the Scot as you roll over one of the bleeding bodies. A positive identification needed to be made for the HVT that the two of you were dispatched to take care of. Price specifically wanted a form of confirmation of the kill. “You only do that when you’re distracted. What’s up, Suds?”
“Ah,” He plays it off, avoiding your gaze in favor of the other bodies – even if all he wanted to stare at was you, “Only thinkin’ about the shower I’m gonna take when we get back. I’ve got dirt up my damn undies.”
A snort flies from your mouth, as you push over a slumped figure to check its face with narrowed eyes. “Hell, you can say that again…Check that body over there, would you?”
Soap does what you ask, kneeling down and flipping the corpse with a bullet wound through his neck with a heavy hand.
The Scot's mind was conflicted. Never before had he had such trouble expressing himself to someone; he used to be able to pick up mostly anyone when he walked into a bar and had confidence that showed with every step. But since you had shown up all of that had halted. No one could compare to you. Your smile, your laugh. The look on your face when you pinned him in drills for the first time…So why couldn’t he just tell you?
He had tried before – about a year back on an Op in Nepal when you were sharing a room for the night. At the last second, he had chickened out, his face beat red and mouth stuttering more than when he was fifteen confessing to his school crush. Safe to say he had just decided to stuff the emotions down and try to ignore them, I mean, he didn’t even know if you felt the same anyways.
It could ruin everything.
“-Johnny!” Your yell once more rips him to reality.
“A-aye?” He coughs, quickly standing and feeling the heat creep up his cheeks. “It’s not him.” His boot lightly brushes the body at his side. God, he was making a fool of himself.
Your eyes zero in on him, orbs flicking over his stubble and the scar on his chin as if you could peel his skin and discover his secrets.
“You’re acting weird, man.” Scrunching your face, you run over his body, looking for injuries and trying to ignore the heat that swells in your stomach as you watch sweat run down Soap’s toned biceps. “Are you hit? You better not be hiding something like that from me or I swear to–”
“Steamn’ Jesus, Hen.” Soap groans, tossing his head back and trying to get rid of the tension in his shoulders. Just keep it normal. “What do I look like? A damn bairn?”
“Well, you look like something.” You mutter under your breath, teasing, as your eyes roll.
With a flick of your wrist, you push over one more dead person and find the target, taking a patch from her vest and smirking at Soap as he glares lightly at you.
“That hurt, Hen. Truly. Can’t you see the way my eyes are watering?”
“Maybe if you stepped into the shade it would fix your problem, there, Bud.” Standing, you toss the patch Johnny’s way as he catches it effortlessly. “It’s kind of how the sun works if you stare at it for too long…I bet you did that a lot as a kid, huh? It would explain your piss poor aim.”
Giggling, you rush past him before he can hurriedly snatch at your arm, darting down the alley like a bird after a bug. Laughter bounces off the walls and through the empty houses, blood and sweat coating the both of you, but neither seemed to care.
“Oh, Bonnie,” Your ears twitch as he calls out to you, and Soap watches your back with a smirk of his own growing on his lips as you throw a look over your shoulders. He shifts his gun so the strap leaves it resting on his back. “Now you’re in for it.”
He takes off, boots slamming to the ground and shifting dust as his legs propel him forward.
The two of you dash through abandoned streets, and your feet hop overthrown trash cans and debris, racing with a full heart and stuttering lungs. A smile so large split your face that you were worried your lips might crack when you heard approaching calls from behind. Squealing, you doge a hand that swipes at the back of your neck and take a sharp corner at the last second; boisterous laughter flying into the sky.
For such a big guy, he sure was quick.
“Gonna have to be quicker than that, Johnny!” You shout.
“You’re a damn jackal, Little Lady!” The extraction point is halfway across the city – a two-hour walk from the abandoned section you once were in.
But the two of you were too oblivious and caught in each other's presence to care about the strain on your already tired bodies. If this continued as it was, you both would most likely be there in no time at all.
This is dangerous, your mind tells you what it usually does. If I get distracted that easily by him… Your eyebrows turn in, but the man gaining on you is blind to it. In your mind the decision was already made up; nothing could come of this attraction you felt for Johnny. Hell, you didn’t even know if he felt the same about you!
Unknowingly, your pace began to slow.
“Got ya!’” A hand lands on your shoulder, firm and unrelenting but in no way painful.
Gasping, your eyes go wide, momentum momentarily carrying you forward until a chest connects with your back. The previous, and more serious, thoughts are forgotten for a moment in favor of the heat rising to your face.
“Soap!” You grunt, trying to shimmy out of his grasp as he picks you lightly off the ground. Your feet dangle comedically, but your mind blanks at the press of his warm skin over your body, mouth lightly opening at the way he keeps you so close; his grip that leaves your pupils dilating despite your best efforts. Shaking your head, you continue with only a half-serious snarl. “Put me down! You smell like a dog that just took a bath in its own vomit!”
“If you’re going to continue with the insults today, Princess, I’m just gonna keep you up here with me, yeah? Carry you ‘round like a wee babe.” Johnny’s arms tighten for emphasis and his deep chuckle vibrates against your back. If he didn’t quit this, you just might do something you’d regret.
But that wasn’t to say you weren’t having fun.
Giggles fall from your lips as Soap begins to walk forward, taking you along with him and having no trouble keeping you off the ground.
“Well, you better hurry up then.” You tilt your head to the side and nearly knock noses with him.
Your breath stills, body becoming tense as Soap’s steps falter before continuing as if his heart wasn’t suddenly running rampant in his ribcage. Gasping lightly, you focus on the sparkling embers in the man’s eyes, blue so bright it was comparable to sapphire and perhaps even more pretty. Air seems hard to come by, and his grip around you tightens as your gazes stay locked in a battle of intimacy, neither of you seemingly is able to look away as your breaths puff against each other's cheeks. His warmth bleeds into your own like a great infection of touch and at that moment you long for his fingers in your flesh and digging into your clothes.
The Sergeant’s eyelids blink rapidly, and as his mind blanks, he only has the strength to turn his head away quickly before you can see the growing red on his cheeks and neck. But he couldn’t help the way his eyes had flashed to your lips before he did. A slight pang enters your heart, mistaking the action for something else.
“D-don’t want to be late,” Your lips fly, stuttering before you clear your throat. The situation you were both in quickly became awkward, “Price said to be there at 1700.”
“Right. Yeah.” Johnny quickly releases you and plants your feet on the ground before speeding past, itching at the shaved portion of his head with shaky fingers. “Shouldn’t keep the Heli waiting, eh?”
Stumbling, you stare for a moment before frowning. Taking a deep breath you look to the side with self-resentment in your veins.
Soap’s friendship was incredibly precious to you – the man had been there through so much. Bullet wounds, Base attacks, he was there when you had broken your arm and helped you make dinner so you wouldn’t strain yourself. In all senses the two of you were best friends; you would do anything for one another. But lately, there had been tension in the air whenever you were with one another, something staining the oxygen that gets sucked into your lungs like lead. You didn’t know how to fix it – and as you watched Soap hastily turn a corner and disappear you feared it would never go away.
Johnny internally cursed himself.
“Git,” He hisses under his breath, resisting the urge to turn around and shove his lips to yours as he hears your hesitant footsteps following behind him. “Fucken’ git.”
This was a lot harder to hide than he wanted to admit.
—
The flight back to Base was silent.
Your fingers were tight over the seatbelt when the shaking of the helicopter finally ceased; quickly releasing before jumping out of the hull. With hair whipping around your head, you and Soap made your way to the building and off the Tarmac.
“Don’t suppose you can cover for me with Price?” You turn around and raise a brow at the Scot – trying to act like everything’s normal by plastering on a smile. “I need to go find Gaz and give him back his Med Container.”
Soap rises a dark brow, confusion swirling in his eyes. “Now why would you have Garrick’s Med Container?”
Against his better judgment, something akin to jealousy began to rear its head behind the man’s skull.
Stop it. The Sergeant takes a breath. That’s not your place.
“I misplaced mine a little while back,” You admit as you keep pace with him. “Gaz was kind enough to lend me his for a little while until I get a new one.”
“Aye, then,” He says, nodding down at you with soft eyes, “I’ll tell Price. No biggie,” Soap points a gloved finger down at you. “But don’t think I’ll be letting this slide – you owe me dinner tonight if I have to deal with the Old Man alone.”
Your face freezes and you quickly look at the ground. As if you had just realized something that you had forgotten about in the sections of your mind not reserved for fawning over the man beside you.
Shit. In your head, your brain flies, coming up with dates and times. I completely forgot about that…Fuck!
Johnny’s eyes widened, thinking maybe he said something wrong as his head tilted. He was just about to ask what was wrong before you spoke first with quick words; leaving Soap open-mouthed and tongue ready to flap.
“Tonight…I actually,” You’re stuttering, and Soap’s eyes dig into you as you awkwardly fix the position of your gun around your chest. “I have that date with that guy from the gym, erm, Percy Whit. I-I forgot about it.”
The hair on the back of his neck stands up, and he swears he stopped breathing for a moment.
“A…date?” Soap repeats, heart hammering in his chest. He suddenly clears his throat to dispel the mucus in his throat, feeling his face clear of blood. “Tonight…?”
“I hope you don’t mind,” You say, placing a hand on his arm. Johnny has to hide the pain that threatens to screw his features, lips pulling thin and eyes slightly narrowed; dread took root in his stomach. “I can make dinner tomorrow for both of us! How about something from your home? A family recipe or something? I remember how you keep telling Simon you miss your mother’s cooking.”
This was it. He had missed his chance all because he was too chicken to confess to you how he felt. God, how stupid could he be? Or course you hadn’t just stuck around and waited for him to tell you. Soap’s feet jerkily carry him onwards to the front door of the building as your fingers tighten around his bicep, confused at his lack of response. His skin is tense under your touch.
“...Johnny?”
Hell, could the man live with himself if you got together with another person? He could hardly live like this now, but what could he do?
Maybe…Ah, Jesus, she doesn’t even like me like that at all.
“Yeah, Hen,” He grunts out, placing his hand over your own and squeezing lightly before pulling you off of him. “That sounds great. Tomorrow it is. You tell me how that date goes, okay?”
Soap scurries onward and opens the door first, sneaking inside as you come to a halt. You didn’t have to go in there – Gaz’s barrack room was a short walk away in another building, but internally you wanted to.
“...Alright…” You say into the open air, confused and a little hurt as to why you were suddenly being left behind all the time.
Your eyes narrow on the metal door with sadness. This wasn’t like the boisterous and confident man you knew at all. He had hardly made any jokes at all with you during the Op.
You had been asked on a date a week ago, and, in a desperate attempt to push the feelings for the Sergeant out of your consciousness, you had agreed immediately. A little selfish, perhaps, and certainly immature, but there was too much at stake. It was better to act like nothing was really going on.
A two-year friendship as close as the one that lived between you and Johnny was not something you wanted to lose under any circumstance.
And there was just no way he felt the same as you did.
With a heavy weight on your chest, you nod your head while staring at the ground, clenching your jaw before turning away. Itching at your cheek, your gear suddenly felt ten times heavier now that you thought about it. Grunting, a foreboding emotion takes hold in your chest, following you like a cloud and pouring water over your head in unrelenting bouts of weather; it flashes lightning every once and a while. Where you should have been looking forward to going on a date, you just couldn’t find it in you to care.
The man, Percy Wit, was a stranger you met on chance in the Base’s gym. He could never be Johnny – he could never replace the Scot no matter how much you prayed he would.
This damn crush is ruining everything. I can barely think straight anymore; it’s like I’m a damn rookie again! Two years and one would think I’d be over him by now. Damn him. Damn his stupidly handsome face and built body! This is bullshit.
Stomping to the barracks, you huff under your breath when you imagine how it felt to be in his arms, his grip around you and keeping you tight to his chest. How he would always make you smile and laugh, even on your worst days, able to bring you comfort. He laughed when you teased him; never got angry or yelled at you. Johnny was an utter gentleman – he never complained when you asked him to cook for you, or if you bribed him to do your laundry because you were tired. Frowning, you pull at your shirt, trying to dispel the heat of your skin as you remembered his stubble itching along your exposed neck when he had caught you. The strength of his form and his fingertips spread out over your abdomen.
Your lungs are tight; body singing with pulsing nerves.
“Fuck,” You come to a halt in the tiled hallway, tilting your head to the ceiling and wrenching your eyes shut before shouting. “Fuck!”
Your voice echoes off into the distance.
—
Price was staring at him.
Johnny’s feet shuffle on the ground as the Captain’s gaze continues to bore into him from behind the desk, the lids narrowed as his eyes flicker over the Scot’s visage. Soap clears his throat as the office lights flicker overhead.
“Erm, Sir?” He had only just explained the details of the mission out loud for recording purposes, but when Price’s finger had pressed down on the pause button he had halted. His dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the leader of 141 placed his hands on his desk, rising to stand. “Price?” Soap tries again, “Damn, man, do you need me to get a medic or somethin’ – you’re freakin’ me out.”
The Captain just goes and stands in front of his mahogany table and leans back into it, sighing deeply as he goes and crossing his arms over his chest. A moment of tense silence passes before the bearded man speaks. When he does, Soap is nearly sweating bullets.
“You’re about as obvious as a bullet in a man's head, you are, son.” Price grunts out, shaking his head in an almost sympathetic manner.
Johnny blinks in surprise, his skull tilting. But in his chest, his lungs tense, churning in his gut already alerting him to the conversation that had just started with the man he looked up to and respected with every fiber of his being.
“I…I’m sorry, Sir?” Just play dumb.
“The girl, MacTavish,” His Captain raises a brow, a deadpan look forming on the Brit’s face that makes the Scot cringe. “The only one who hasn’t noticed is her. Bless the poor thing, she’s just about as fucken’ hopeless as you.” He mutters the last sentence under his breath and runs a hand over his beard as a tired father would.
Johnny's heart is going a mile-a-minute in his ribcage, bursting at the seams with anxiety.
Shite. He thinks as his hands clench at his sides, looking anywhere but at the dead-faced man ahead of him. Was it really that obvious to everyone? How long have the boys known?
That thought alone is enough to raise a blush to his cheeks and neck, sneaking under his stubble and turning his ears a bright red. Coughing to dispel the tension in his throat, Soap composes himself enough to respond and hopefully salvage his self-respect.
“Price,” He begins, “I don’ know what you’re implying, but I–”
“Everyone bloody knows, Soap.” He gets interrupted by the man across the room, fed-up with this damn game that’s been going on. “Laswell even caught on and she’s barely here. If you’re going to lie to me, Sergeant,” Price’s face darkens, “At least try and make it believable, Yeah?”
Johny’s jaw clicks as he clenches it shut, once more feeling his feet shuffle over the floor.
“...It’s under control, Sir.” Is all he can say, biceps writhing as his muscles tense. “Nothin’ to worry about.” The Captain’s eyes narrow, gray color becoming even more shrouded by his lids.
Grunting, the man’s fingers move over his crossed arms, tapping the skin. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that there were most likely a million different things Price needed to get done today, and as the clock continued on, this certainly wasn’t the best use of his time. But Soap was just surprised that his Captain was asking about this at all.
“My job is to worry, MacTavish,” He says, “And you certainly don’t have it under control. You’ve been distracted for months – missin’ easy shots, bloody lookin’ at her like a kicked puppy when she walks by. Fuckin’ hell, son, you’ve been glancing at your side like she’s in the room with us right now.”
Swallowing, Soap looks at his feet, not able to stand the heavy glare of Price for a moment longer.
I never realized it had gotten that bad.
“The girl’s not any better. Either the two of you get this sorted, or I’m puttin’ the both of you on leave. Can’t have two love-struck Muppets running around in the field poppin’ off shots because their heads are in the damn clouds like horny teenagers.”
Johnny’s head snaps up; pulse striking like lightning. If he was telling the truth, anything after the first grumbled sentence was lost to him.
“What do ya’ mean she’s not any better?”
Price levels him with a deep glare, but in his eyes, a level of absolute bafflement lives in his slightly parted lips – the Scot had to be joking with him. It was almost enough to get a laugh out of the older man, but he settled on a chest-rattling, accusatory, chuckle instead.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell, Sergeant…You’re tellin’ me you haven't noticed, eh?”
Soap gnashes his teeth, getting defensive at the tone and rolling his shoulders; he splays his hands out in a gesture of surrender. This was getting old very quickly.
“I don’ fucken’ know what you’re talkin’ about, man. Damn word games are gonna make my head turn into a pile of mush at the rate you’re goin'. Now, what the hell are you sayin’ about the Hen not being any better? I’m about fed up.”
A moment of tense silence falls as Price flattens his lips, itching at his beard.
“Y’know,” The man begins, “For all the time you watch her, I’d have thought you would catch on quicker.”
Placing a hand to his forehead, Johnny growls out, “That’s not what I–”
“She feels the same way as you, son, yeah? Hell, you’re the only one blind to it…Bloody made for each other.”
—
You pulled the dress on with tense fingers.
It was a casual piece of clothing – nothing more than a flowing piece of thick cotton cloth accompanied by a nice sweater over top to keep the chill out. Percy had said he was going to take you for a walk after dinner, so you thought it best to at least put another layer on.
But you were already having second thoughts.
Is this really what I want? You ask yourself as you stare at your reflection in the mirror of your room, face pulled back and stiff.
“No,” You answer aloud, “But I can’t stay hung up on Soap for the rest of my life.”
Oh, but you wanted to. You wanted his arms around you at night, heating you up with that furnace of a body as he lay on top of you; running your fingers through his hair and pulling gentle whines from his lips.
Shaking your head, you go to grab your purse and open the door to the hallway, shuffling out before turning around to lock it with your key. Sighing heavily, you mentally prepare yourself before looking forward.
Your feet stall – someone at the end of the hallway gives you pause as your autumn boots squeak over the tile. Raising a brow you find the imposing figure of your Captain making his way toward you. His form is quick moving, straight as a rod, but looking quite smug with himself for some reason.
“Price?” Your voice rises in question, face tilting and scrunched in confusion.
What the hell is he doing down here?
“Come with me,” He orders as he speeds past, grasping you by the shoulder in the process with a firm hand as you squeak in useless retaliation. “This ends tonight, Love.”
—
“You look like you’re about to hurl, Johnny,” Ghost stares out at him from under his balaclava with dead eyes. “Christ.”
“Shut your trap, Lt,” Gaz smirks from where he leans against the wall, watching the Scot pace back and forth in the rec room.
“You can’t really be nervous,” Garrick asks aloud, raising a brow in disbelief, “Everyone knows the two of you have been ogling each other for at least a year.”
Soap’s feet slow, his face twisting into one of embarrassment. “Everyone?” He all but whines out.
“Uh, I mean,” Gaz clears his throat, eyes widening as he looks to the side. “...Only the people on Base?”
“And the bars in town.” Ghost gives his input, sitting back in a chair and keeping an open book resting on his folded knee. “Plus the cafés. Library too, I think.”
“Ghost,” Gaz hisses, watching as Johnny’s face gets redder by the second, hands going up to his face and dragging down the skin. “Shut it.”
“Just tellin’ it how it is. They’re doing all of it ‘cept shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Bloody annoying.”
“The both of you need to stop talkin’ ‘fore I blow a gasket,” Soap grunts, looking at the two of them in turn with accusatory glares. “It’s none of your business what we do.”
“It is, actually.” Raising a head, Gaz points at him, “When the abysmal levels of pining make all of us sick.”
“Affirm.” Ghost barks in agreement, gruff accent bouncing off the walls.
“Steamin’ Bloody Jesus,” Johnny mutters, pinching his nose bridge. A silence blooms, staining the air and breeding in the Scot's chest. A question burns in the back of his mind over the anxiety of his blood. “...It canny have been that bad.”
“Bloody hell you have no idea.”
“It was. I’m glad it’s ending.”
“Ah! Shut the fuck up ya’ damn dafties!”
Price walks through the door before an argument can break out, and immediately all eyes are on him. Gaz straightens his back, Ghost looks up from his book, and Soap gives the Captain a look that could only be described as fearful nervousness.
Johnny’s mind was playing circles; his heart making the skin of his chest hurt.
It was incredibly hard to believe what everyone was saying to him – you liked him back? No way. That’s an utter haver, he’d say aloud if his lips would stop being so tight. The two of you were best friends, that was probably what had got everyone so convinced that you enjoyed his presence the same way he enjoyed yours. It was a mistake – a-a trick of the mind.
Maybe I should just forget about this. He tries to convince himself, but that nagging in the back of his brain brought back Nepal and the failed attempt once more.
The Scot had laid in that hotel bed after he failed to tell you his feelings for the first and only time and suffered through the night with the self-resentment of it all. He had been disgusted at his own inability to properly speak his mind – only you could ever do that to him, but it wasn’t like he blamed you for it. You were so incredibly beautiful in every way, it was only a fact that he would have a difficult time; not to mention if he messed this up your entire friendship was on the line. He couldn’t risk that just because people were telling him you felt the same, could he? They weren’t you. They didn’t know how you felt.
What if they were wrong?
“She’s waiting outside right by the exit. Take care of this.” Price huffs, splaying his feet shoulder length apart after he moves away from the door and raises a dark brow in inquiry at Soap’s stuck-still figure. “Problem, Sergeant?”
“No, Sir,” Johnny forces out through gritted teeth but doesn’t move. His pulse is moving so fast that his hands shake with adrenaline.
The Captain narrows his eyes on Soap’s form, tweaking his nose before his gaze softens in a way people rarely see. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Price’s feet take him closer.
When he’s a few feet away he stops and settles a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“MacTavish,” He grunts out, beard shifting as he speaks. Ghost and Gaz watch with varying levels of engagement as Soap clenches his jaw. At that moment it seemed less like a Captain and a Sergeant and more like a father and son. “Tell her. Or you’re gonna go your whole life regretting it, eh?”
Johnny nods his head slightly after a moment's hesitation, nothing more than a tilt of his chin that leaves his scar pulling against his skin. He was still nervous, but a sense of purpose had grown. Soap had managed to survive one instance of eating his own emotions, but he wasn’t certain he could survive another. This had to happen – for better or for worse.
He just hoped it wouldn’t ruin everything he had built with you.
“Aye, Price. I’ll get it done.”
“Good man,” The Captain squeezes his shoulder and prompts him forward with a movement of his head.
Ghost and Gaz share a quick glance as the Scot walks out the door, letting it close and block the view before speaking.
“You think he’ll do it?” Garrick’s lips move, genuine curiosity staining his face.
“Better,” Placing both his feet on the floor and sighing, Ghost cracks his neck as he dog-ears his page. “Just about can’t take much more of them eye-fuckin’ each other.”
“You and me both, Simon.” Price weighs in, massaging his temple. “Too old for this,” Is muttered under his breath like a common prayer.
Gaz snorts, looking at the both of them in turn and cracking his knuckles nonchalantly, “What’ll you do if he chickens out?”
“Put a gun to his head–”
“Tie them up and shove them into the storage room; lock the door–”
“Jesus bloody christ you two!”
—
It was cold outside. The wind whipped through your hair as your foot tapped the ground impatiently. Price had told you to stay here – a slight distance away from the building door – until he came out to get you; when you had pleaded for an answer all he had said was that he had a surprise for you with a twist of his lips.
“Damn old man,” You mutter with a puff of air from your lips. “He better not make me late.”
Your fingers delve into your purse, bringing forth your phone as you go to check the time. Taking an agitated breath, you shove it back down into your bag and rub a digit on your temple.
“Hope I’m not keepin’ you.” The voice startles you, but the accent immediately puts you at ease as your head whips to Soap's awkward figure. He scratches at the shaved portion of his head and looks away from your eyes when they lock. “I…I shouldn’t be botherin' ya’ for more than a few minutes. You,” His eyes – those bright cerulean blues that put sapphires to shame – lock on your figure, and with burning cheeks, you watch his throat bob, “You look absolutely stunnin', Hen, truly.”
Your own gaze passes over his tight athletic shirt and cargo pants, straying and locking on for a bit too long on his accentuated muscles that were nearly the size of your head. Blinking, you clear your throat and tear away the vision of tight arms wrapped around you and the feeling of his body writhing under your grip.
“What are you doing out here, Soap?” You wonder, shaking your head and splaying out a hand, “Is this some kind of joke? Price just told me to wait here and now here you come. I’m going to be late for my date with Percy–”
“Oh, fucken’ hell…Patch that!” Widening your gaze you listen as Johnny’s accent gets more pronounced as his emotions get the better of him. “If I don’ do this I’ll be scunnered with myself my entire life! I’ve been acting like a proper stoter since Nepal and you don’t deserve that.”
Blinking, your eyebrows turn in with confusion at the Scot’s out-of-character attitude. He was never this serious about something that didn’t matter. Hell, he tried to avoid being this serious about things outside of the field. ‘Took away from the better things in life – makes you all wrinkly and old far faster than age can.’ He would say with a smirk as he bumped shoulders with you and listened to your giggle with a full-faced smile that made you short-circuit.
Why is he talking about Nepal? You have to ask yourself with a clenched hand, and what exactly is he talking about doing?
Soap begins to take slow steps forward, and with every footfall, your heart beats faster – try as you might you can’t help but revel in the tension of the air. It tasted sweet, wrapped in a deep spark of an emotion that you had never wanted to name for your own sanity.
What was…what was going on right now? All thoughts of the date are gone from your head; all that mattered was Johnny and the way his face was soft. Vulnerable.
“I just,” He starts and stops, closing his eyes for a moment, “Please, Bonnie. All I ask is that you listen – after that…I’ll leave you alone.”
“You’re scaring me,” You mutter as he halts a fair distance away and pales, orbs getting bigger in his sockets. Your hands rise as you try to explain yourself with stumbling words, “J-just the way you’re acting. You look like you’re about to throw up, Suds. You’re worrying me…do-do you need to sit down or something. I’ve never seen you like this before.”
A sense of relief floods his veins, and he nods his head quickly as a weak chuckle falls from his lips.
“I just need you to listen. That’s all.” You glance down at your hidden phone. It was getting late but your face scrunched as desperation to stay leaked into your heart.
Stop entertaining this. Your brain hisses. You’re just going to get hurt.
Grunting, you make up your mind even as the muscle in your chest screams at you to reconsider. Your fingers shake as you force out words. Being this close to him was messing you up, but the worse fact was that you liked it.
He’d never feel like that about me.
“Johnny I can’t–”
“When you had your last birthday on Base you stayed locked in your room and didn’t tell anyone. You told me a week later that you hate your birthday. It reminds you too much about that little Git in school that tripped you in the cafeteria when you were fifteen – since then, you’ve never wanted to celebrate another one.” Your body stops, muscles freezing as the dress over your body jerks to the elements before falling still. The wind outside seems to hold its breath – The Anemoy holding it back on their firm fingers and glorious feathered wings straight out of myth.
Soap gazes at you with such a fire in his eyes you worry that the blue of them will boil like a pot of water. His face is firm, but his hands shake as he splays them at his sides, shoulders lose despite the heavy tension in the air.
On your blank face, as your hips sit stiffly, your lips move in a stunned whisper, “W-what?”
“I hear you singin’ along to your favorite song in the kitchen every time you cook, Bonnie, that’s why I like to be there when you are. You mutter the lyrics under your breath and think no one hears you – but I do. Every time. I love when you do that, and the best part is, you don’t even realize you’re doing it until you have to stop yourself. It’s damn adorable.”
“Johnny… I-I don’t–” He's getting close to you one slow step at a time now, feet carrying him over the ground like a phantom. But all you can stare at is his face, jaw clenched, and shifting eyes. His face is beat-red and he scratches at his neck every once and a while to ease his nerves.
W-what is this? You have to ask yourself. What…what is he doing?
Your body is shaking, hands clenched tight at your sides.
“You,” Soap stopped right in front of you and took a deep breath that you felt against your face. His heat leaks into you like your skin was made of ice; needing to be touched by him to restore it to how it was before. You hold your breath with a hammering heart, veins alight with blood and carrying it swiftly to every corner of your being. He continues after a quick glance away, not able to handle the look in your eyes. The Sergeant’s tone lowers to a grunted whisper. “...You have a nightlight beside your bed because sometimes the nightmares get so bad you can’t stand to wake up in a dark room all alone. I hear you cry through the walls and…and it kills me when I can’t go to you and tell you everything’s gonna be alright.”
Your eyes widen, lungs gasping for air that you won’t give it. For the first time in your life, you don’t know what to say. So, your mouth stays slightly agape, eyebrows far up your forehead, and wrinkles set into the skin. In your mind, everything is startlingly numb – like someone had taken an eraser and completely wiped the board of your thoughts.
Everything was Johnny.
His scent – ash, and charcoal; burning Alder wood – his heat that falls off him in droves to chase away the cold. The way his hand reaches out for you, hesitating for only a moment before it settles on your burning cheek like a butterfly’s kiss; barely there but it still makes you shiver.
And then he smiles at you, those puppy dog eyes glinting. and you all but disintegrate – utterly and wholly – into him with tingling nerves.
“I have cared about you more than I should; more than a friend should, at least. And I can’t help it. You wrapped me ‘round your finger the first time I saw you bad-mouthin’ Ghost in front of Price. Not a care in the world–”
Oh.
“--I love every bit of what I see, and every day I wake up and I can’t wait to see you with that beamin’ smile – Aye!” He exclaims, and you suddenly realize your lips have pulled back into a grand gesture of adoration and happiness, “That one right there, Bonnie. That’s it. You’re so damn perfect it hurts.”
Tears dribble down your cheeks, and Johnny’s thumb goes to swipe them away as your blood rages through your body. He blinks down at you with stars trapped behind his eyes.
“Y’know, I’m waitin’ for an answ–Oof!” You barrel right into him, arms sliding around his tree-trunk waist and digging into his sides as you giggle with all the glee someone could muster at a moment like that. Which, is to say, a great deal.
His arms waste no time in snapping to your profile, gripping around your shoulders, and keeping you close to him as deep-chested laughs fall from his lips; full of relief and joy. At that moment the world comes back into focus, but the chill or the buzzing phone in your purse is of no thought. All that meant anything was contained in this moment – woven together with threads that would never fray or snap – all corners were smoothed, and no one would cut their fingers on the edges of this gilded page.
You can’t believe it. Your body feels so light it was no surprise when Johnny lifted you up and twirled you around you felt like you were flying. Squealing, your face is squished into the man’s neck, feeling his stubble on your scalp as he tilts his chin to look down at you from the corner of his eye, beaming.
With a face-splitting smile and one last laugh, he sets you down but doesn’t let go of you. All the same, your arms stay around him as well. Breathing into his neck, you feel his racing pulse in your ear, and his lips brush against your ear delicately; a teasing tone entering his words.
“Is that a ‘yes’ then, Bonnie?”
“What the hell do you think?” You whisper into his skin and feel him shiver, his fingers digging deeper into your clothes that suddenly feel too tight.
Johnny’s eyes are alight with blazing comfort, and his head lightly knocks your own as his pulse finally is allowed to slow down. He had done it – after all this time, he had gotten it out. This was better than a good football game with the boys back home; better than his mother’s cooking or late-night conversations. Your body pressed to his was unexplainable.
It felt right.
And then you were peeling back, and a second of shock is in his blood when he feels your lips on his, blue eyes wide and bright before a flush enters his cheeks and they flutter closed like a hummingbird’s wings. It was a gentle kiss – short and sweet but got across every emotion that the two of you were hiding so fervently for a long while. The only way to describe it was that it was the perfect representation of the two of you. What you shared.
Utter devotion. Gentleness. A loyalty that was shown in the self-containment of emotions to save a dear friendship.
When the two of you part, your eyes meet in a fraction of a second; both shinier than any moment before and sucked in as if the others’ was a vortex of inescapable force. The gaze had never been as open as this was.
Johnny speaks first, the both of you are still so close that his lips brush against yours as your noses connect. A giddy smile washes over his features; you mirror it but love that dorky look on his face more than anything.
“I’ve waited ages to do that,” He whispers, accent weighing down the words, and his hands feel heavier than any weighted blanket you’ve ever slept with.
“Please,” You gasp out, panting, as his eyes darken with a smirk, “Don’t hesitate to do it again to make up for lost time.”
“...Yes Ma’am.”
It was safe to say you forgot about your date – only sending a quick text to explain that you had to cancel before you were rushing back to your barracks room hand in hand with Soap.
You both pass the rest of the 141 in the hallway, not even bothering to acknowledge them, too caught in each other's gazes.
Gaz watches the two of you disappear around a corner, giggling as Johnny pinches your side and lays a nip to the side of your mouth.
“‘Bout time they squared it all out.” He mutters. Ghost at his side gives him a side-eye.
“Might have just made it worse, though. Now they’re together, you think they’ll hold back?” The words echo for a minute or two before the Captain brings a hand to his face, splaying the palm over his mouth and sucking in a large, calming, breath. Garrick can’t help but belt out rounds of body-shaking laughter when he hears the next growled words.
“Oh, hell, I’ve created a fucken’ monster.”