Friends Don't Look At Friends That Way

Part One.

6 months. It has been 6 long months since you started giving yourself, body and soul, to John 'Soap' MacTavish nearly every night. He was your close friend and brother in arms in TF141, but like a moth to flame, there was always a deeper fascination that drew you to him in inexplicable ways. The pair of you toed that dangerous line for years, toying with idea of what would come of it if you crossed it; finally finding out in a tangle of sheets and breathless moans one fateful night six months prior. You fell into one another so naturally, bodies molding perfectly as if his was the other half yours has always been missing. It felt so right...for you at least.

You'd soon find out, a tearful few nights later, that his desire for you runs deep, but not deep enough to break down the clear line of friendship he'd drawn in the proverbial sand. You were utterly his and he yours, until the light of day. When dawn crests the sky, you go back to being his dear longtime friend he works with; absolutely nothing more.

You should have cut it off then and you damn well know it. You'd fallen too deep into everything that he is that only having him when he allows it wasn't enough for you. You endlessly craved the man you only got nightly glimpses of and his emotional irreverence towards you was like a open wound that he digs claws further into with each late night summons.

You feel the sting of it each time. It is aching, desperate and begging to be stitched closed by hands that only wish to caress you in the darkness. Yet you're the one left to heal it every time. Your foolishly hopeful notions that it might be different someday now reduced to the tears that build on your cheeks when you're alone.

He'd laid his thoughts bare for you many times, his honesty tearing your heart to ribbons, but you still nodded and agreed behind a false mask of indifference. He was an addiction. A habit that wound itself so tightly around your very being that the suffering it caused was a siren song you didn't wish to be free from. So of course you were going to let pleasing lies fall from your tongue whenever he set down his truth. No matter how mangled your heart became, every single time you would tuck it away if only to spend even five more minutes in his embrace.

Which is where you find yourself now, tangled in his limbs, bare body tucked into his side. You intently watch the rise and fall of his broad chest, his breathing steady while he sleeps. It is such a peaceful, gentle sight that your chest aches with sorrow. To want someone this much, when the sentiment is not returned is a truly painful way to exist. An existence you continually force upon yourself, the unbalanced give and take not enough to send you running.  Yet you feel it tear away pieces of who you are every time that you give your all and only get half of him in return.

Wanting him to remain in his deep slumber, you slide silently from beneath his sheets, stumbling on the pads of your feet as you gather yourself. He'd been careless when discarding your clothing earlier, his lust outmatching common sense. You slip on what you can find, covering up enough to make the trek back to your own room a less shameful one.

With one last drawn out, longing glance at his sleeping form, you let yourself out of the door. The hallway is dim enough to cover your retreat and you're thankful for that.

"Bit late, don't you think?" A gruff, deep tone berates from the shadows. Your heart nearly leaps from your chest as you spin around to identify the source. Melted into the darkness of the hallway, like he belongs to it, was Ghost. His tall frame set in a casual manner, leaning against the closed wood of his own door just feet from the Sergeant's. In place of his usual intimidating skull attire is a simple mask that gives view of only the rich, brown eyes that lay beneath. Not that you could see them anyhow with how he veiled himself within the dark.

"Jesus Christ! You scared me!" Your tone is raspy and weak, your throat caught from being frightened but also from the tears you'd been swallowing down since Soap fell asleep in your arms. "Why are you creeping around around like that? It's weird."

"I could say the same for you. A man can't even go for a moonlit walk around this place in peace, can he?" Slow, measured steps carry him in your direction till he is near enough to see that those chocolate orbs are narrowed at you. "Does Johnny know you're not so subtly sneaking out of his quarters? This isn't some fatal attraction type of deal, is it?"

You only manage a scoff at his brazen audacity. The assumption that you would be leaving Soap's room under nonconsensual circumstances is insulting and downright laughable. The men in this place with their over inflated senses of self worth could be grating to the nerves sometimes.

"He doesn't like me to leave in the morning. Doesn't want me getting caught by....well you. Or anyone else." The painful truth is spilling from your lips before you can reel it in and regret taints your tongue when you see Ghost's eyes soften at your admission. His pity isn't a comfort to your wounded soul, it only shines a light on the idiocy of letting yourself stay painfully stuck.

"Right then, carry on. If anyone asks, I never saw you leave his room. Be more sneaky next time." The mercy in his tone sets your jaw clenching, the renewed threat of tears burning at your eyes. Why would his kindness upset you like this? It shouldn't. Perhaps your emotions have been so battered that having someone treat them with tenderness is confusing, even hurtful - he isn't the one who you want that benevolence from.

You turn from him with no further words, dragging yourself to your own room with a heavier heart than when you'd left it. No sooner than when the door clicks shut softly behind you, do the angry sobs begin tearing from your chest. You let them pour out without reprieve, breathy tears racking your body until there is nothing left.

It's only when the clutches of unconsciousness start to grasp at you that you allow yourself to slump solemnly atop your mattress, falling into a fitful sleep where icy blue eyes haunt your every dream while inscrutable brown ones watch on in disapproval.