Reliant ~ [John Soap MacTavish]

XXXIX. Wounded and Bruised

I hadn't ever given a second thought about the things my father said about my mom. Growing up, the part without her, I didn't even think I was missing something. It wasn't something we were supposed to talk about, that fact my father had made clear.

So I never questioned him, just going along with the fact that she was someone who betrayed Spike.

I was conditioned to see her as a betrayer, as someone who had abandoned her family.

But seeing her in that photograph, my heart had dropped. I might have been too young to notice it back then, but something was wrong. Her eyes looked lifeless, her expression tired.

Glimpses of suppressed memories flicker in my mind, like a film reel unwinding. The scenes of my childhood play before my eyes. Fleeting moments, like fragments of a puzzle, take shape in my mind.

I see glimpses of a woman with gentle eyes, a voice humming lullabies that once cradled me to sleep. Moments of tenderness I had overlooked in the shadow of my father's narrative.

I suddenly remember the way her laughter echoed through the rooms, a melody that brightened the gloom that settled in her absence. There were stolen moments in the kitchen, where she would teach me the most simple things my father would refuse to tell me.

How did I forget these things?

The guilt begins to claw at the edges of my consciousness. For as long as I can remember, I had painted my mother as this person she had never been.

Tears start to prickle behind my eyes, the feeling causing everything to hurt just that much more.

I had willingly allowed myself to be a pawn in my father's manipulative game. He tried raising me like a weapon, and he had basically succeeded.

A lump forms in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. The pain in my chest intensifies as if my heart is trying to get outside of my ribcage with the speed it is beating.

Images of Soap begin to flood my vision too. The way had tried his absolute best to help me in whichever way he could. How he had broken rules to get me comfortable.

And the way I had ruined everything by not being honest.

"Hey," the door creaks open, and Keegan's maskless face peaks out from behind the wood. "Can I come in?"

I look up at the ceiling, desperately blinking to get the tears away. "Yeah," I mutter, quickly using my pointer fingers to wipe the tears away.

He carefully sits down at the foot of the bed, making sure not to touch my legs. "How are you feeling?" He asks, setting down some supplies to clean my wounds.

A pathetic laugh escapes from my throat as I look up at him through my watery eyes. "Like I was just run over by three tanks," I force a smile to stop myself from crying.

He smiles too, though it's a smile that tells me I look like absolute crap too. "I can't believe you were going to do that on your own."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"I know," he says, carefully pulling down the thin blanket to reveal my ruined skin. "But you should've told me your plans from the moment you found out about us."

"You would've hated me," I mumble, averting my gaze from his. "Like everyone from your team does at this point."

"I would not," he says as I can feel his eyes burning on my face. "I would've found a way to help you. You know that."

"I wasn't thinking," I say quietly, another tear finding its way down my cheek as I carefully shake my head. "Everything has gone to shit. I ruined whatever I had going on with you and your team."