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

18. A part of me that is still hurt

The sun, barely veiled by a timid cloak of clouds, shone unusually over Manchester on the morning when Yael got off her night shift to meet Johnny at Piccadilly Station.

In the pale light that fragmented endlessly between the steel beams and plexiglass, the train from Glasgow Central arrived on time with a soft hum of electric brakes.

She was not the only one waiting for someone on the platform of a dazzling gray and almost disappeared in that hustle and bustle of humanity and trepidation that crowded the platform. 

She fixed her clear eyes on the dozens of metal doors that opened in perfect synchrony, carefully scanning the passengers who flowed out as if dragged by the current.

"Bonnie!"

A huge, absurdly familiar hand emerged from the small crowd and Yael couldn't help but laugh at that spontaneous call, almost barked at her address.

Something, deep down, almost suggested a feeling of shame for that nickname shouted meters away, but the deafening pounding of her heart prevented her from listening. The sergeant navigated quickly towards her and so Yael wanted nothing more than to let herself be found.

In an instant he was in front of her and it almost seemed to the doctor that, suddenly, that veil of clouds beyond the plexiglass had dissolved. 

MacTavish flashed her an impudent grin, his blue irises laced with hers, brazen and, before she could greet him, Yael felt herself overwhelmed by the warmth of his arms in a hug that lifted her feet off the ground.

The girl felt her heart soar to the sound of the husky, deep laugh that vibrated on her skin and instinctively her small hands reached the shaved nape, intertwining with the last strands of the mohawk. In his broad chest, pressed against hers, the beating of his heart echoed heavily under the tactical jacket.

"Welcome back, sergeant." she smiled, her breath just a little faster from the rush and surprise, as her nose still brushed the tip of his and her feet touched the ground again.

"Mo leannan."

That breath, mixed with the thick, irresistible Scottish, rolled over her lips in a shiver that ignited her spine. Johnny's mouth overlapped hers in an instant, the corners still curved into a frank grin, his rough fingers finding her hips even through the winter parka.

An imperceptible groan vibrated in the sergeant's throat, it was deep, the growl of an animal in a cage.

"As much as I appreciate a kiss in public, hen. I need something more private." he croaked amusedly, his breath just a little faster on her lips. The familiar aroma of coffee mixed with tobacco indiscreetly invading her lungs, the stubble on his chin tickling her face.

"Let's go, chatterbox of a Scotsman. Let's get out of here." the doctor giggled in a shake of her head, but her heart was beating so hard it created an air vacuum in her stomach.

Soap retrieved the duffel bag from the platform as if it weighed no more than the fabric it was made of, and with a grin of absolute satisfaction, he approached her to gain the exit. They walked to the station square, flooded with that curious winter sun, hand in hand in a quiet yet urgent intimacy.

It seemed natural to get off two stops early from the subway, to leave the suffocating air, thickened by the smell of particulate matter and mineral oil, to reach the apartment on foot through the Urban Heritage Park.

In the icy air the smell of the sun was unmistakable, it had stuck to the carpet of dead leaves that crunched in the frost, licked warm in the coils of condensation of their laughter. Their shoulders close together in the treacherous humidity that rose from the banks of the Castlefield Basin in its earthy and pungent aroma, their fingers intertwined, hot against the breeze that lightly swept the bare rims in a constant and fragrant breath.