Friends Don't Look At Friends That Way

part twenty-three.

The stilted silence that settles over our makeshift camp a few hours later, each of us clearly wrapped in our thoughts as we sit around the fire, has chills crawling across my exposed skin. There are so many things that need to be said, yet I lack the confidence to say them. I've never been afraid to speak my mind. I tend to be as straightforward as I can be, but suffocating guilt still stifles the words on my tongue.

Where do I even begin? How does one thank a man for the sacrifices he made while also apologizing for leaving him behind in return? He willingly offered his life for Y/N, but the second she was in good hands, we should have come back for him. Though Soap is fully capable, evident by the fact he held his own so thoroughly, he may not be this...shattered if we had come to his rescue immediately. Being so near death in complete isolation for so long has taken something from him that I fear he may never get back. I see it in the shadows that now cloud those once-bright eyes. I recognize them as the ones that haunt my own.

I gently clear my throat, piercing the settled quiet. I try not to notice the way Soap startles at the sound, my chest constricting with that stupid, stupid guilt.

"Before we head back, there is something I need to tell you." I start slowly, letting my gaze meet his.

Soap says nothing. Only watches me with that adopted lethal stillness.

I shoot a glance at Gaz, who simply shakes his head to signal that this one is all me. Some help he is.

"When Y/N fell that night after Carlos was killed, she hit her head pretty hard," I watch as Soap tenses at the sound of her name, brows furrowing with concern, "She is physically okay. Sore, but healing. With a head injury like that...she just may be a little slower on the memory side of things."

Soap slowly looks between me and Gaz, who wears a matching grim expression, and that unwavering, blank face falls into a slight frown.

"How much does she remember?" Soap asks, his voice gravelly.

"As far as I know, nothing from that night."

My words seem to ease something in him, his posture visibly softening as leans back into the tree behind him. There is still a noticeable downward tilt to his mouth though.

"Does she know I am alive?" He practically whispers. For the first time since we found him, he doesn't meet my eyes.

"No." Gaz and I both answer at once.

"This was meant to be a recovery mission," Gaz adds with a gentle tone.

Soap's eyes flutter closed a range of emotions crossing his features as his breathing grows uneven. No one dares to speak, letting Soap process whatever thoughts are plaguing his brain. After a few moments of silence, Soap sits up with a wince and fumbles for the dog tags tucked behind the tattered collar of his t-shirt. In one swift move, he has them pulled over his head and tosses them to the dirt at my feet.

"Then let's keep it that way." Soap says with a nod at the metal now resting against my boot.

My head snaps in his direction so fast that Soap flinches. It feels like the air has been sucked straight from my lungs, leaving a burn in my chest that's almost painful.

"What?" The single word that I manage to utter is laced with disbelief.

And for all that he's been through, suffered through, Soap actually finds the strength to scoff at me.