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

18.

Exhaustion ran through everyone's blood on the helicopter on the way back. Joints were stiff, bones were aching and heads were pounding.

"What's the plan?" Soap asked, leaning his head back against the cushioned headrest behind him.

"We get back to base, take Hassan to the desert, try and get some answers." Alejandro said, grabbing a rag and absentmindedly cleaning his gun.

"How long will it take to get back?" Theresa asked, kicking her pack from her body and under the seat, feeling it starting to dig into her side.

"Not long... maybe an hour or two." Rodolfo informed her tiredly, leaning his head back ad closing his eyes to get a quick nap before they had to go back to work.

Feeling fatigue take over her body, Theresa closed her eyes and leaned her head on John's shoulder, making his eyes widen and shoot down at her frame, a smile on his lips. Figuring there was nothing better to do, he closed his eyes and rested his head gently on top of hers.

Ghost looked over at the two, a smirk plastered on his lips under the mask, that same 'I told you so' expression he had adopted the last couple of days still smugly placed there, with no intention of leaving.

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The helicopter landed and everyone was awake again, one of the Vaqueros grabbing an old cloth, and putting it over Hassan's head, before promptly shoving him into one of their trucks. Everyone quickly jumped into a truck, wanting to finish their job so they could shower and rest.

Soap sneakily grabbed Theresa's hand as they got off the heli, making sure they'd both be in the same truck. They hopped in, shutting the door and wiping any remaining evidence of their nap away while everyone made their way to where they were going, the car humming to life and starting to drive.

They hadn't noticed the American in the front seat, who was practically beaming as he stared them down, waiting for them to realise he was there.

Theresa was the quickest to notice, gently elbowing Soap's side to get him to cop on, nodding slightly to acknowledge him and let Soap know what he was looking for.

"Sir." She said simply, tired still laced in her voice, even though she didn't sleep a wink on the flight back.

He held his hand out for her to shake, which she hesitantly took.

"No need for formalities, Doll." He said with a wide smile. "Call me Graves."

"Graves." She nodded, eyeing Soap when she heard the name 'Doll', who looked damn near ready to punch the man, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, but his face went completely neutral when the Commander turned to him with his hand extended.

"Sergeant MacTavish." He said, leaving the shake as quickly as he could. "And Sergeant O'Mallon." He said, gesturing over to her. "Maybe more professional then 'Doll'." He said. If Theresa didn't know any better, she'd have said he could've sounded jealous.

Which he was, undoubtedly. It was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to hurt the man for flirting with his girl. Even more self-control than it took not to cream his pants when she was on his lap.

"You're right.." Graves said with a chuckle, raising his hands in a manner of surrender. "All friendly."

John bit his tongue as the American turned around again, knowing he'd end up dishonourably discharged if he didn't shut himself up. Suddenly, he felt a soft hand on his leg.