Wait For Me || John "Soap" MacTavish x OC (Call Of Duty)

5. I'll be here when you come back

Johnny not only contacted her the next day, but ended up talking or going out with her every available moment in the following days.

They were short meetings, squeezed between the gaps in both of their schedules, and yet, Soap would go so far as to walk across the city to wait for her outside the modern emergency room and steal a few hours to spend with her.

Having sex on the first date was certainly not his general rule, but in recent years it had ended up happening more often than the boy could remember. 

The periods of leave were always shorter and certainly did not allow for long or assiduous relationships, plus Johnny had never felt the real need for a stable partner.

Not because he wasn't interested. He liked love, oh how he liked it.

He had fallen in love enough in the last ten years and, thanks to the charm of the uniform and his physical appearance, he had managed to punctually satisfy any sentimental or sexual need.

However, his was a dangerous job that led him to be aloof, absent, distracted, however genuine his devotion might be. Despite his open, loud, arrogant and confident nature, in love he had always preferred not to hurt.

They had been fleeting, intense relationships, in which Soap had never spared himself, even accepting some betrayed expectations and, from time to time, a broken heart. He had never been shy in love, he had never spared a compliment, indeed, he could even be accused of being too open in his intentions and in talking about his emotions.

That's why he couldn't explain how, with that woman in particular, he had let the days go by without ever having the courage to even touch her.

At night, drawing fragments of the brief moments spent together, he racked his brains over the missed opportunities.

He could have taken her hand while walking her home, he could have hugged her when she had come close to touching the scar on his chin, he could have kissed her when she had sat down next to him to stroke his hair.

Instead he hadn't, he hadn't done anything at all to tell the truth. More than once she had touched him, her small, warm fingers had rested on his arm while she laughed or simply when she greeted him.

Johnny had been paralyzed, too busy suppressing that bulky and expansive part of himself that wanted to feel her close, closer than any other girl had ever been to him.

He felt like an idiot because he was afraid, not for himself, but for her.

He perceived her as fragile, just as he perceived the bond between them as fragile. Perhaps, if he had been more explicit, she would not have denied herself. 

It was clear that Soap was not indifferent to her, not if her heart was beating so hard that he could feel it even through her slender arm, pressed against his, as they walked.

He knew it, but at the same time he was also absolutely certain that if he had pushed the accelerator, she would have run away and, for some reason, a reason he probably didn't want to see, the thought of losing her disturbed him.

He had put off that decision for so long that, after about a week of leave, his cell phone finally rang. From the United States they had finally received the right intel on Hassan and the deployment had to be immediate, they would leave for Al Mazrah, Iran in forty-eight hours.

He didn't feel like warning her, not when she had decided to spend her day off with him.

Soap attended the necessary briefings, carefully prepared his equipment and read carefully the classified dossier transmitted by American intelligence. He did not fail to fulfill any of his duties, but his heart was in his throat when he got on the subway to Castlefield.