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

9. That girl is a lot of trouble

Johnny reached the base as the sun was rising. The pale, pinkish light shattered on the grey roofs of the hangars in a glare that hurt his eyes.

He allowed himself the luxury of a hot shower before the bathrooms became too crowded to even think about. He let the hot water soften his still aching muscles and fading bruises, taking care not to wet the fresh stitches on his bicep.

The fact that she had been the one to sew up that wound seemed to him something of an intimacy that he couldn't explain in words. Almost as if that presence in his life had suddenly been impressed on his skin, inside his flesh, so deep that it hurt.

As hard as he tried to remember, Soap had never felt that way. Sure, he had loved, or at least thought he had. He had often sworn love to a woman while he was inside her or indulged in sweet and slightly shameless confessions. He had always been an incurable romantic.

This time, though, it seemed different, he felt different.

He was awkward, entangled, when the doctor was around, as if a part of that Soap MacTavish he had always counted on calmed down, took a step back to stay on the battlefield.

That's why he had held back his tongue, as much as he could. He hadn't confessed anything to her, nothing of what he really wanted, because he was afraid of ruining everything.

That something he couldn't grasp in her, Johnny felt would mark a boundary between them, a point of no return.

It would have been easier to move on, to give himself to someone less complicated, more emotionally available, so to speak. He knew it and remembered it again, as he stood in front of the steamed mirror, checking if his beard wasn't too long or if his mohawk was still shaved properly.

He let out a husky groan, massaging his wet face against his open palm, because the dog tags were still burning on his chest from when the girl had touched them.

He analyzed that thought and realized he was screwed.

He was in love with her.

Waiting for the briefing, he packed his gear, meticulously gathering all his equipment, testing the radio and putting on his earphones, cleaning and loading his weapons, putting on his holsters, gloves and combat vest, and carefully tucking his notebook inside.

The area around the main hangar was deserted. Johnny took the opportunity to be, for once, the first to arrive to smoke a cigarette in peace. The sharp morning air mixed with the burning tobacco forced its way into his lungs, levelling his thoughts for a moment.

"You've been smoking a lot lately, Soap." the lieutenant's voice interrupted him from the far corner of his field of vision, the dark and immense figure sailing towards him in the still pale light.

"I mind my mam differently, Ghost." MacTavish croaked in a grin.

He knew how much was unsaid in that seemingly innocuous remark, but he deliberately ignored it.

"Get in here, I need to show you something before the others arrive." he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, and for a split second, Soap was almost worried.

"Rog, L.T." he chirped, stubbing out the remaining cigarette under his boot and hurrying to follow him inside, around the briefing table.

Ghost hesitated for a moment that felt like an eternity, scrutinizing him intently, almost waiting. Then, from his vest, he pulled out two almost identical files and slammed them down on the table in front of him.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, almost mechanically, confused.

"I knew I'd heard that name before." the lieutenant pressed, forcing him to look.