Reliant ~ [John Soap MacTavish]

XXIX. Folded Page

The second my senses come to life I can tell something is off. Not in the way that my own room at this base feels off. No. Right now I feel even more out of place.

With hesitant caution, I crack my eyes open, only to be met with the unexpected weight resting on my waist. Confusion gives way to realization as I notice an arm wrapped securely around me.

Soap's arm.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, panic beginning to surge.

Last night Soap and I walked around base together, just talking about endless topics for god knows how long. When we finally got back to our rooms, he invited me into his. We continued talking for at least another two hours.

That was all that happened. Talking. Honest conversations. Nothing more, nothing less.

It was nice, having someone to talk to like that.

We weren't supposed to fall asleep like this though, as I'm now going to have to find a way back to my own room without the others noticing.

With a careful and deliberate movement, I ease myself out of bed, trying not to disturb Soap. His grip is surprisingly tight, almost as if he's subconsciously clinging to the warmth beside him, but I somehow manage to get out of it without him waking up.

I turn back, not being able to resist the urge to look at him.

He looks peaceful, the lines of stress that etch his face in waking moments softened in the embrace of sleep. There's something so comforting about the sight of him sleeping this peacefully.

For a moment, I find myself just observing, taking in the quiet contours of his face, the way his features ease into tranquility. I feel something peculiar bubbling up in my stomach at the sight of him.

The room is quiet, the only sound being the soft breaths escaping Soap as he sleeps soundly. I can't resist the temptation of touch, and so, with a gentle hand, I let my fingertip trail a delicate path over the warmth of his skin. His skin is surprisingly soft, contrasting the roughness I associate with the battlefield and our job.

As my finger lingers on his skin, warmth starts to spread within me, a sensation I can't dismiss. Not even if I wanted to.

The realization hits me like a wave.

I fucked up.

The subtle flutter in my chest physically scares me. The lines between allies and something more have long been blurred, and the realization ignites another wave of panic within me.

Shit, shit, shit.

Alex.. How on earth did you let this happen..?

Despite the odd sense of warmth the sight brings, I know I need to get out of here as soon as possible without waking him.

I take a moment to survey the room, searching for any personal belongings I might have left behind. I find my hoodie draped over the back of a chair, and I retrieve it silently, careful not to make a sound.

I grasp the doorknob and turn it ever so slowly, hoping the hinges won't betray my silent departure. The soft click of the latch disengaging feels like an echo in the silence of the room.

Stepping into the empty hallway, I carefully close the door behind me, mindful of any potential creaks. The sunrise peeking through the windows in the hallway reveals an empty passage, and I glance both ways to ensure no one is there.

As I reach the end of the hallway, I pause, my hand lingering on the door frame of my own room. A hesitant glance back down the hallway, and with a final fleeting thought of Soap, I slip into my room.

It's only then that I really realize the gravity of the situation.

"Oh my god," I mouth silently, one of my hands finding its way to my hair, fingers threading through the strands in a desperate attempt to anchor myself.

My breaths quicken, and the air becomes thin, the walls closing in on me. Panic seizes my chest, and I press my free hand against it, as if the touch could calm me down.

Nothing helps.

Soap's face, peaceful in slumber, floats in my mind, and the turbulence of emotions crashes over me. I never intended for this to happen. The conversation, every shared moment, they were supposed to be simple.

Uncomplicated...

But now, in the silent aftermath of the night, I'm confronted with a truth I wasn't prepared to acknowledge.

My plan.

Could I go through with it?

I stand in my room, caught between the fear of what this revelation might mean to my plan, and the undeniable warmth that the mere thought of him brings.

I can't let this stand in the way of my plan.

Rushing for no particular reason, I grab the picture frame standing on the small table near the white walls of the room. I try to get the back off the frame quicker than I physically can, and I'm immediately punished as the metal latch holding the entire thing together pierces my finger.

"—Fuck," I hiss out, the sudden sting only adding to my raging thoughts.

Blood trickles down my fingers but I ignore it because the frame finally gives in. The small notebook falls out and I quickly put the frame back in its place. Wasting no time, I reach for the single pen lying on the table and flip open the notebook to the next empty page.

But as I do so, my eyes fall onto the other pages and the single entry I had written in between training sessions just a week ago. I don't want to read it, but my eyes involuntarily skim over the page.

Everything is working out so far. I'm not sure how much longer it will take until I can finally get Canmoore out of the picture. I like this base, but I can't leave my own people behind. They will need help. I will need to leave this base behind soon.

I had dug myself a hole, and I had written this before reaching the point where I couldn't get out of it anymore.

I've passed that point by now.

Frustrated, I flip the page, making sure there's a blank page in between the two so I don't have to stare at my earlier plans while writing. I click open the pen and just start writing every single thought that comes to mind, hoping I'll somehow find the answers I need.

I've fucked up. Bad. I've gotten myself into a situation that might affect the plan I had previously set up. On one side, I want to force myself to go through with it anyways. Because duty always comes first. Right? Then why does the thought of leaving everything here behind feel wrong? Betraying the team for which I had worked so hard to earn trust. It was always supposed to go like that. I knew it beforehand. Carter is waiting for me. My people are waiting for me. I was the one who wanted this. This was the perfect opportunity.

The grip on my pen tightens and my fingertips turn white from the pressure. My eyes focus on the white wall, my thoughts running wild with what to do.

I don't think I can do it. It's him. I can't go through with my plan because of him.

I've never felt this helpless.

With my teeth clenched together, my hand rips out the page of my notebook before my brain can ever register it. I want to throw it away, as the words on the piece of paper are betraying my own team.

Yet I somehow can't.

Folding the piece of paper, not too precise, I stick it in the back of the picture-frame, making sure it's even more hidden than the cigarettes and the notebook before closing the entire thing back up again.

I can't go through with my plan.

A/N

Hello :D

Sorry this one is a bit shorter, but it's still an important piece to this story. Glad to update this again, as the last three weeks were very hectic for me work-wise.

Lmk how you guys are doing :)