The Sergeant and His Flower 🌼 (Soap MacTavish × Reader)

10.

It was late at night. John had gone to bed about 2 hours ago. Theresa had been on a call with Laswell and Price. He and Gaz were in Amsterdam looking for leads and Laswell was going to meet them there.

Laswell eventually disconnected and left the two alone to talk.

"I heard you got hurt, kid." Price said. He had that tone of voice that a concerned father would have for his child that tripped at a park and skinned their knee.

"I'll be fine. Just a couple stitches." Theresa tried her best to sound completely fine, because she knew he would call her mother and she would have to sit through a worried phone call for an hour, and she didn't really want to listen to her mother lecture her about how she should be more careful.

"Did you tell your mother?" Price asked.

He heard her sigh through the phone before she spoke.

"No need to. Its not that bad. Please don't tell her." She begged.

Price was silent as he contemplated his answer.

"Alright. But if you get hurt again, I'm ringing the house phone. Getting your gran involved." He chuffed.

"Pinky promise I won't." Price could just imagine the smile on her face. He had kept plenty of secrets from the girl's mother throughout the years. He knew how overprotective she could get.

The captain chuckled before he spoke again.

"I'd better get back. Be careful kid."

Theresa chuckled softly. She knew that that was his way of saying 'I love you' when he was near people and didn't want to appear sappy.

"I love you too, old man. Tell Gaz I said hi."

She sighed as she hung up the phone. She checked her watch - 02:43.

Theresa walked out of her office and into the kitchen. Although the barracks had a large cafeteria with a kitchen, there was also a communal one that was barely used - it was where she and John did all their baking.

The girl poured herself a glass of water and sat on the counter. She read over the pages of her journal she wrote as a teenager, figuring now was as good a time as any.

She heard footsteps coming up the hallway and looked up to see Ghost walking in. He still had his mask on, and was clad in a black t-shirt and joggers.

"You're up late." He said simply.

"Just got off the phone with Price and Laswell." She replied. "What's your excuse?"

He shrugged as he poured himself a glass of water.

"Couldn't sleep. What did they say?"

"Laswell's heading over to Amsterdam to meet Price and Gaz, they think they have a lead on where Hassan could be. They said that we can relax for a while but to be ready to be called in."

Theresa watched as the masked man pulled his balaclava up over his nose as he drank the water. He listened to what she said and nodded.

"Do you sleep in that thing?" Theresa asked, gesturing to his mask. "Not that I'm judging or anything."

The man chuckled softly and nodded.

"Yeah. You're a nosy one aren't ya?"

"Take a bit after me ma in that sense I must admit. But I'm not that bad. I swear." Theresa responded with a smile. She had been worried that Ghost didn't like her, but she was glad that that wasn't the case.

"You and Soap have gotten close." He stated. He didn't mean it in a rude way, he was just pointing it out and making conversation, much in the same way that Theresa asked about his mask.

"Yeah. He's great. I could've used a friend like him when I was younger." She chuckled.

The man nodded and looked her up and down, as if he knew something she didn't.

Theresa noticed this and raised her eyebrow.

"What? Do I have something on my face or something?"

"Nope."

She gave him a suspicious look and he laughed.

"We should make this a normal thing, I haven't laughed like that in a while." He said as he brushed past her. He put his cup in the dishwasher and patted her on the head in a joking manner, similar to how you'd pat a dog, before walking back to bed.

Theresa had confusion all over her face as she heard him laughing to himself.

'Just friends my arse' he muttered to himself.

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John couldn't sleep. He got down for about an hour or so, but he woke up and couldn't do anything about it.

He sat up and looked around his room. He kept it relatively empty. There was his bed, a desk, a bookshelf and a couple of drawers he kept his clothes in.

He groaned and walked over to his desk. There was a sketchbook and a couple of pencils on it. The man turned on his lamp and sat down.

He flipped through the pages, examining each picture he drew. When he got to an empty page, he picked up his pencil and played with it in between two of his fingers as he thought of what to draw.

The Scotsman let his mind wander to the only thing he had been able to think about lately - Theresa. The girl was the only thing that was on his mind the last couple of days, and being alone in his room with his thoughts made him realize why.

He liked her.

Although it sounded childish, it was true. It explained why he felt so jealous over the marine Theresa smiled at and why he went out of his way to spend as much time with her as he could.

With one last flick of his pencil, he let it loose on the page. John drew a circle in the centre of the page and made some guidelines for himself and started drawing her. He didn't even need a photo of her. He had memorised every minor detail of her face.

When he finished the main picture of her, John started drawing in the corners of the page. It surprised him how he found himself so easily enamoured with the girl.

'This seems obsessive.' John thought to himself. 'You're a creep, John.'

John didn't even seem to be in control of his hand. As though it were drawing Theresa all by itself, and he just had to sit and watch.

Eventually, the whole page was full of doodles of the sergeant next door to him.

He had heard her whistling quietly in the hallway earlier as she went to bed. He was sure it was her because she was the only person that whistled in the base, and she was the only person who knew the one song she whistled.

"My granda used to whistle it all the time when we visited. My da knew it too. I'm not sure what song it is, but I used to sit with both of them and try and teach myself how to whistle." She told him. It had been the first time he heard her whistle, and he was curious what song it was.

John looked at the page and noticed how much more detail he had put into the pictures compared to his other ones.

He closed the stetchbook and sat back in his chair, his mind wandering to the girl next door to him. It killed him how she was that close to him but he couldn't do anything about it.

He put his head in his hand as he laid back further.

"I'm fucked."

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(A.N: Hello again! I just put out a quick chapter because I'm not sure if I'll be able to post as much in the next couple of days. But I might be wrong.

Anyway, things are finally picking up and Johnny's pining for Theresa now. But it won't be one-sided for long I promise.

The only problem I have is that I have so many ideas that overlap each other and I'm not sure what ones to use. I have been arguing with myself over what to do and I think I've narrowed it down. Probably.)