The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting an orange glow over the war-torn village. Taskforce 141 had secured the area, but there was no celebrating yet. The threat was always lurking just beyond the next hill. Y/N crouched by a makeshift barricade, checking her weapon with steady hands, even though her mind was anything but calm.
She glanced up and saw him—Soap MacTavish—laughing with Ghost as they recounted some story from a previous mission. His laugh was infectious, his accent thick, and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled made Y/N’s heart do strange things in the middle of the battlefield.
She shook her head, trying to focus. This wasn’t the place for feelings like that. Not with men like Soap, who lived life on the edge, never knowing if they’d make it through the next day. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, her feelings for him had grown over the weeks they had spent fighting side by side.
“Oi, Y/N!” Soap’s voice broke her thoughts, and she looked up to see him striding toward her, grinning like the world wasn’t falling apart around them. “You ready for the next round of chaos?”
Y/N smirked, trying to keep it casual. “I was born ready, MacTavish. You?”
“Aye, always,” he said, but there was a glint in his eye that lingered longer than usual. He sat down next to her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “But listen, we need to talk.”
The sudden shift in his tone made her heart skip. She kept her focus on the horizon, scanning for enemies, though her mind was now racing. “About what?”
Soap took a breath, and for the first time since she’d known him, he seemed uncertain. “This—us.” He waved his hand between them, though there wasn’t much space to wave. “We’ve been through hell together, aye? And I’m not blind. I know you feel it too.”
Y/N’s chest tightened. Of course she felt it. The way her heart raced every time he spoke to her, the constant worry gnawing at her whenever he went off on his reckless charges into enemy fire. She’d buried it, convinced herself it was just the adrenaline, just the intensity of war.
But now, here he was, bringing it all to the surface.
“What are you saying, Soap?” she asked quietly, still not meeting his eyes.
“I’m saying I can’t keep pretending it’s not there,” he said, his voice rough but honest. “I care about you, Y/N. More than I should, more than’s smart in a place like this. But I don’t care. I can’t keep ignoring it.”
Y/N finally looked at him, the weight of his words hanging between them. She had been waiting for this moment, but now that it was here, fear gripped her. “Soap, you know this can’t end well. We’re in the middle of a war. You and I—” She hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. “What if one of us doesn’t make it out?”
Soap’s smile returned, soft and genuine this time. “That’s the thing, love. None of us are promised tomorrow. But we’ve got today, and I don’t want to waste any more time pretending we don’t feel what we do.”
She couldn’t argue with that. War made everything uncertain, and trying to deny their feelings only made the fear of loss more suffocating. Slowly, Y/N reached out, her fingers brushing his, and he took her hand, gripping it firmly.
“I care about you too, Soap,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m scared.”
He nodded, his thumb tracing the back of her hand gently. “So am I. But we face fear head-on, don’t we? Just like we face everything else.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of distant explosions and gunfire fading into the background. In that fleeting moment, the world seemed to slow down. For the first time, it was just them—John MacTavish and Y/N—two people caught in the middle of a war, choosing to find some sliver of peace in each other.
Soap turned to her, eyes serious but warm. “When this is all over, we’ll figure it out. Whatever happens. But for now… we’ve got this, aye?”
Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand. “Aye, we do.”
The war raged on, and danger lurked around every corner, but for that brief moment, there was something stronger between them—something worth fighting for.
