Behind The Mask (Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 [2022] Fanfiction)

- FIFTEEN -

There was a soft knock on the door an hour later. "Lily?"

    I had unlocked the door in one of my sobbing fits, knowing that if they needed to get in I needed to make sure they were able to easily. I sat up at the front of the bed, hugging a pillow and leaning against the wall. My eyes were red and puffy, hair draped across my face and stuck from the snot and dampness of my cheeks. 

    "Come in," I replied, hoarse and quiet, my chest aching.

    The door opened and Soap's dark head of hair poked through, his short mohawk waving against his scalp as he filled the room with his presence. He closed the door softly, lips frowning when he saw me. 

    To the concern in his face, I felt my lower lip quiver. I started crying again, the outburst a breath of a moan as I turned my head away from him. 

    "Oh, lass," he spoke quietly.

    There was a dip in the bed, a breeze made by his movements as he kicked his boots off and sauntered up to the head of the bed by me. His arms enveloped me in an embrace, delicate and meaningful in their movements, and he used one of his arms to sweep me closer. I found myself smashing my cheek into his pectorals, trying to breathe through the crying that was cutting off my air.

    "I'm sorry I showed you that," Soap spoke, his chest vibrating. 

    "N-No," I whispered, raising my head to look at him better. "I-I appreciate i-it."

    Soap's eyebrows came together in worry and then he slowly brought my cheek back to his warm chest. I felt his hand cup the side of my head as he stroked my hair. While I questioned how wrong it felt for him as a soldier, I found his attempt at comfort working, soothing.

    We sat like that for a while, him embracing me and stroking my head in different areas. I worked on stopping my crying, stopping the focus on the huge hole in my chest. My breathing became better the more I willed myself to feel nothing, to ignore the thoughts. 

    "I have nowhere to go back to now," I finally whispered, looking at the covers between Soap's legs and reminding myself that even my uncle's was no longer safe. "I have no one."

    "You don't have to focus on that now," Soap replied, his Scottish accent adding comfort. "General Shepherd is trying to figure out a way for you to get back, but it may take a few days. For now," he cleared his throat as I sat up and wiped at my face, "you're to stick with us. We're the safest thing you have."

    I nodded, wiping at my eyes. "Oh God, Soap...I can't believe this is all happening..."

    "It's a lot," Soap recognized as he righted himself a bit better. "But you seem like a strong, smart lass. You'll get through this." 

    "Thank you, Soap," I breathed.

    "John," Soap smiled warmly. "John MacTavish."

    "I really just thought your name was Soap," I managed a tease and Soap chuckled, trying to follow the attempt to lighten the mood. 

    "When you are ready, you are welcome to join us for a meeting in the same room," Soap shifted, moving to put on his boots. 

    "I thought I can't know things," I sniffled. 

    Soap shot me a look over his fit shoulder, his cheek twitching with dark facial hair. "Nothing being said in this meeting is something you shouldn't know. There are some questions we have too, nothing too heavy." 

    I nodded once, holding my stomach in a silent pain. "Soap, can you...stay...for just a moment?"

    Soap sat more upright, propping a hand on his knee as he nodded. I weakly stood, going to the mini dresser to pull out a better shirt—a black one that wasn't stained with tears and snot and long sleeved instead of short—and closed the small bathroom door to change. I fixed up my hair, pulling it up in haste. I ran cold water on my face from the tiny sink, patting it dry and rubbing upward with my palms.