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It’s a rare free night, the first in a long time, and Soap is leaning against the door jamb of Gaz’s room. There’s a bar just off base that has karaoke and Soap, having asked three times already, is all but begging Gaz to go out with him.
“Gaz. Mate, please. I cannae handle another moment staring at these green walls. Just for a couple hours. Drinks on me.”
Gaz, not immune to Soap’s pleading, eventually relents. He changes into some civilian clothes–blue jeans, dark green henley, leather jacket, combat boots, and a ball cap to top it all off.
Soap whistles when Gaz exits his room. “Fucking hell, Gaz, you look like a bleedin’ model.”
Gaz smiles, rolls his eyes, and shoves at Soap’s shoulder. “Fuck off.”
“I’m not joking. Gonna be beatin’ the suitors off with a stick. I reckon.”
They head out, Gaz driving with Soap navigating. The bar isn’t far, hardly ten minutes from the base. It’s busy inside and the two sergeant’s have to force themselves through the crush of bodies towards the bar.
“What’re you drinking?” Soap shouts over the sound of one of the patrons crooning up on stage.
“Just a pint,” Gaz replies, and Soap turns to speak to the bartender.
When he turns around there’s a pint in one hand and a pair of shot glasses precariously held between the fingers of his other hand. He hands one to Gaz with a grin. “Down the hatch,” he says, tapping his glass against Gaz’s before tipping the clear liquid down his throat.
Vodka. It burns, and Gaz shakes his head in an attempt to dissipate the sting.
“We should duet!” Soap says against his ear, slinging an arm around Gaz’s shoulder. A small wave of Gaz’s beer sloshes off the top of his glass and onto the floor. “Shite. Sorry, mate.”
Soap drags him over to the book of songs that are available to perform, flipping through the laminated pages with keen eyes until something catches his eye. He points to a song on the page and Gaz can’t help but laugh: I Got You Babe .
It’s a classic and a song that would really allow them to ham it up on stage together. Gaz nods his agreement easily, and Soap goes to put their names down with the MC.
There are several singers ahead of them, some surprisingly good, others a bit too in their cups to put on much of a performance. But soon enough the MC is announcing their names and Soap is bounding towards the stage. Gaz abandons his now empty pint glass on a nearby table before he follows.
The music starts, Soap gently swaying back and as the lyrics come up on screen, without discussing it Soap sings Cher’s part and Gaz picks up Sonny’s.
They say we're young and we don't know
We won't find out until we grow
Well I don't know if all that's true
'Cause you got me, and baby I got you
They’re both grinning when they reach the first chorus.
Babe
I got you babe I got you babe
Soap wraps his arm around Gaz’s waist, resting his head on Gaz’s shoulder as they sway together.
As Gaz sings about Sonny getting Cher to hold his hands, he takes Soap’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.
When he reaches the lyric about kissing Cher goodnight, Soap misses his next line as Gaz’s lips press softly against his own. He gasps at the unexpected kiss, and the music plays on until they can find their place again.
They get a surprisingly strong round of applause, and they’re grinning as they leave the stage, hand still clasped together. They easily melt back into the press of bodies.
Soap leads him towards the exit and Gaz tugs on his arm, giving him a look of surprise. “Is that all? A couple of drinks and a song?”
“All that fight to get you to come out in the first place and now you’re whinging that we haven’t been here long enough.”
Gaz opens his mouth to protest, but Soap is right.
“One thing before we go,” Gaz says as they reach outside, the late evening air chill, the air rich with petrichor and the threat of rain.
“What’s that?” Soap asks, glancing over his shoulder at Gaz, and his eyes go wide as Gaz tugs his hand, Soap falling into his chest.
Gaz presses their mouths together again, just as soft as last time, but it leaves Soap just as surprised. He licks his lips when he pulls away and there’s a glint in his eye.
“A man could get used to that,” he says, elbowing Gaz gently in the side.
Gaz winks, squeezing Soap’s hand with his own as they make their way back to the car.