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

18. Badges of honour

John MacTavish never lost his focus during a briefing. 

He had learned in years of training how memorizing orders and instructions could save lives, and yet, in the dim, metallic gloom of the hangar, his attention, for the first time, languished around an insistent thought.

His neutral face chewed the gum with unusual vehemence, his foot tapped annoyingly under the aluminum table, and his nails nervously scratched the blade of a tactical knife.

Almost two weeks. That was the expected duration of the mission. 

Another reconnaissance, in search of nothing more than crumbs on the activity of the paramilitary group Konni in the hope of quelling any attempt to free the ultra-nationalist Vladimir Makarov.

He was far from backing down and neither could he have, but it was becoming difficult to hold back that swear that was bubbling up in his throat.

Two weeks. He would have left her alone on those very two weeks that marked a year since their first meeting.

The Captain turned off the laptop in a dry gesture and the gloom in the hangar suddenly thickened. Gaz and Ghost silently took their leave and moved away from the table in a deafening clatter of aluminum chairs, while Johnny was still stretching his sore body.

His right shoulder settled with a loud crack of joints.

"Soap, son, get that shoulder checked again before the mission. Sprains can be a real pain in the arse. I know a thing or two about it." Price croaked, winking at him, realigning his shoulders in a dry crunch.

"Everything's fine, sir. I don't think it's necessary..." he ventured with a nod and it was true, the medic had gotten him back on his feet and the shoulder hadn't given him any more trouble since then.

The only real pain in the ass had been not being able to masturbate easily for the next three or four days. The mere thought almost made him snort impertinently.

The Captain hesitated for an instant that seemed like an eternity, his eyes narrowed, perhaps evaluating his reactions to the millimeter.

"It wasn't a suggestion, MacTavish." he finally snapped dryly, a smirk just languishing between the lines of his stern and paternalistic tone. The conversation was closed and Johnny had clearly been dismissed.

"Aye, cap." he replied in an almost automatic nod, his lips pressed together and his brain in turmoil.

He didn't even notice that Price had left him alone in the dimly lit hangar, the distant hum of military vehicles filling the silence. He could have immediately reached the medical wing, let a base nurse assess the shoulder and issue him a damn leave sheet before departure.

It would have been simpler. Instead, as he strode heavily back to the exit, cell phone in hand, he had already dialed the Royal Infirmary switchboard number.

It was far too easy for a special forces sergeant to get an appointment with the designated medical officer before a mission. Especially if the one requesting the visit was his direct superior.

If that was the most suitable way to tell his girlfriend about his upcoming deployment, that was a whole other story.

Soap remained restless for the rest of the day. He traveled nervously between the firing range, the armory, and the gym, convinced that having something to do would help him calm the nagging worry that was hammering at him somewhere between his heart and the back of his neck.

He had butterflies in his stomach and a dry mouth when, in the afternoon, he grabbed the keys to one of the base jeeps to reach the Royal Infirmary. With his big fingers glued to the steering wheel as if they were about to break it and his jaw clenched, he navigated the traffic, rigorously analyzing that turmoil.