Reliant ~ [John Soap MacTavish]

LX. The Proposition

Alex E. Heart ~ 03:52

It's the dead of night—maybe 4 a.m., judging by the shadows creeping across the room. I'm lying in bed, staring up at the blank ceiling, Soap's arm wrapped around my waist. My thoughts, though, are spiraling, moving too fast to let me get any rest.

I thought I had made a decision.

I thought I was certain, that I wanted to keep Spike Company running, to finally steer it in the direction it was always meant to go. But I still hadn't gotten a response from Jasmine.

I'm starting to question if I can handle it on my own. Knowing myself, I'd work my ass off, try and do everything myself, and then I'd find a way to work myself to death.

And the truth is, there's no one else in there right now. There's no one else within Spike that I trust to do this with me except Jasmine.

Sighing, I carefully remove Soap's arm from around me. Sitting up, I look back at him again. He looks peaceful. Free of any worry. I love seeing him like this, so I take a moment just to study him before getting out of bed.

I walk down the dark hallway, shadows from the trees outside swaying as the wind shifts, casting brief glimmers of moonlight through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything is quiet, save for the occasional gust of wind breaking the silence.

As I pass each doorway and I'm drawn further down the hall, a sound comes from one of the rooms up ahead. It's subtle—a drawer sliding, a slight rustle, and I quickly find myself wondering who's still up at this hour.

Once I get closer, I realize it's Keegan's room.

"Kee," I whisper, softly knocking on his door.

The rustling immediately stops. Silence follows for two seconds before I hear him moving to the door. It opens, and he looks down at me before the corners of his mouth raise in a smile. "Hey."

"What the fuck are you doing?" I look at him suspiciously.

Keegan shrugs, leaning casually against the doorframe as if I hadn't caught him in the middle of the night rummaging around like a raccoon. He blocks most of the view, his frame big enough to shield whatever he's up to behind him.

"Could ask you the same thing," he says, his tone casual. "Bit late for a stroll, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well," I narrow my eyes, trying to peer around him, "I don't think you were expecting company. Would you move? What are you doing?"

He shifts slightly, crossing his arms, which somehow only makes him look more suspicious. "Just...organizing my stuff." His voice is light, almost as if he's trying to convince himself as much as me.

"Right..." I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. I take a step forward, and he doesn't exactly move so I bump right into him. His expression shifts, like he's trying to think of how to dodge me.

"Fine... It's just my emergency supply," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, unable to hold back a grin. He steps aside just enough to reveal an entire stash of snacks—cookies, instant ramen, protein bars, bags of chips, everything—all crammed into the drawer he was so protectively hovering over.

I bite back a laugh. "Emergency supply? For what, a fucking zombie apocalypse?"

"Laugh all you want. I'm 6'1 and nearly 200 pounds. I get hungry, alright," he says, grinning now, trying to look proud of his odd stash but clearly amused at having been caught.

"Here I was, thinking you were all for a clean bulk," I grin.

"Clean bulk? Not me," He steps back and gestures to the room with a smirk. "Come on in. You're already here, might as well join me."