Friends Don't Look At Friends That Way

part twenty-two.

"Put it down, Johnny."

Even slipping from my own tongue, the words don't feel real. Nothing about this speaks to the reality I have forced myself to accept. Every scenario imaginable has played itself out in my head since we returned and not one of them ended this way.

"Let. Him. Go." I force out between uneven breaths, my tone perceptibly softer. My growling demand unwillingly gives way to a shaky desperation.

Drifting clouds unveil enough moonlight to illuminate the situation before me and I finally see what my brain wouldn't allow me trust. Soap, who is holding a knife to Gaz's throat, with wild eyes and bared teeth. Soap, who is very much alive, looks to have been through hell with his untamed appearance. Deep shadows line his hardened eyes. An unfathomable amount of cuts mar the skin of his muscled forearms, leading to a sizable gun shot wound in his left bicep that has been crudely bandaged. He shifts his body, dragging Gaz with him, and I spot a matching makeshift gauze binding his side. His movement causes his features to twist in pain but he keeps his threatening hold on Gaz as he silently stares me down.

He has been out here alone for a week, severely injured and barely surviving by the looks of his now leaner frame. I cannot gauge his state of mind from the distance he keeps between us, but intuition tells me he's bordering on the edge of losing it completely. Understandable, given what he has endured, but also dangerous considering the blade pressed to the underside of Gaz's chin.

"It is good to see you, Sergeant." I say gently, making an obvious show of re-holstering my weapon at my thigh before raising both hands in front of me.

Soap's eyes slide from myself to Gaz in quick succession, a low growl building in his throat.

"Yeah righ'," He scoffs. "Ye think I'm gonna fall for this again?"

Confusion creases my brows and I risk a tentative step forward. He mirrors the movement, stepping back to put more space between us.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"We've been through this already, L.T. Ye think I'm foolish enough to think yer actually here? Yer a product of extreme blood loss and starvation. A cruel hallucination sent to haunt me to my grave."

I suck in a sharp breath of realization, catching the brief hint of devastation that flashes across his face before it disappears.

"Ye show up to save me..." He pauses, shaking his head, "To bring me back to her. Then ye drag me aroun' me this fuckin' endless forest and disappear before my eyes."

"How many times have you seen me?"

Soap swallows hard, "More than I can count."

Gaz mumbles something from behind Soap's hand, startling his captor. The jerk of his body causes the knife to nick Gaz's neck, blood instantly welling to the surface of the cut.

"Johnny, look at me." I beg. I no longer try to hide my pleading. Vulnerability is a foreign emotion I prefer to keep locked in my emotional abyss, but another swell of desperation has it spilling out of me.

Those crystal blues blink open, exhaustion evident in the mournful tilt of his eyes and mouth.

"I promise you this is real."

"Ye say that every time."

Throughout our exchange his hold on Gaz has not loosened, sending panic shooting down my spine each time he so much as flexes his fingers around the hilt of the knife. One wrong move and I'll actually have a dead task member on my hands this time.