Music blasted through the wired earphones that were connected to my phone. My eyes were closed as I tried to relax and hopefully sleep. I was trying to drown everything out. The world was loud and scary, and in this line of work, there are sometimes very few things one can do to escape. My thoughts which were usually calm and collected while on missions seemed to race during off-duty hours.
I had learned quickly that music was usually something that could get everything that seemed to scream at me to be quiet. If I turned up the volume loud enough, everything else would be quiet.
Price would always scold me. His eyes would narrow and his brows knit together in concern like a father's would. With a stern voice, he would make some claim about losing my hearing before the age of 40, which was probably true.
As much as he was a stern father, I would act like his stubborn teenager. Rolling my eyes I'd shout back that I couldn't hear him because my music was too loud.
Every once in a while though, typical coping mechanisms didn't seem to work. Like right now. I had been tossing and turning in my cot for about an hour now and was getting frustrated that I couldn't relax or sleep. I lay on my back, face pointing to the ceiling, but not opening my eyes.
I always trusted my gut, it had never failed me before. I had trained myself to be a light sleeper, jumping at every little sound, reading people to determine if they should be trusted or not, and feeling when eyes were watching me.
And I could feel eyes watching me. I opened my eyes and let my head fall to the side to see Soap scribbling in his journal. He was the only other person in the room, having been there before I walked in. I looked at him for a moment before he looked up at me. His eyes widened for a split second before his head snapped back down, a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks like he had been caught.
I smiled. I sat up and pulled the earphones from my head. I paused the music, realizing it was so loud that it could still be heard clearly through the tiny speakers.
"Soap?" I questioned.
"Yeah?" He mumbled. He didn't look up from his journal, still seeming embarrassed that he got caught looking at me.
"Were you staring at me?"
"No." He answered quickly, but he couldn't make eye contact. For someone who is so cool under pressure, having literally been in the line of fire, and probably considered to be one of the most dangerous people in the world, he's really shit at lying.
"You're such a liar." I laughed at him. I swung my legs over the side of the cot and stood up, stretching my arms. I walked over to him and sat on the end of his cot. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
His eyes finally flickered up to meet mine and we just sat for a moment in silence. I wasn't going to pressure him to tell or show me, but I'd be lying if I wasn't curious. Ever since I joined the 141 I had always noticed him scribbling in that damn journal. He had been a quarter of the way through it when the task force was created, but now after about a year and a half, he was getting to the end of the book.
"You don't have to show me if you don't want. I was just curious." I told him. I looked at him for a moment longer before standing up. I turned to leave, opening my mouth to ask if he wanted anything to eat, but his hand grabbing my own stopped me in my tracks.
"Wait-"
I turned back to him, tilting my head and indicating for him to go on. I slowly sat back on the bed and observed his face. He was usually so confident, borderline cocky. Always quick with sarcastic quips and funny jokes, wanting to make everyone smile or laugh. But now he seemed so nervous like he was deciding if this was a good idea or not.
"Johnny, you don't have to show me. It's not that big of a deal." I smiled at him, placing a gentle hand in the crook between his neck and shoulder. I made sure to speak softly so as to not scare him off.
"I just- It's comforting I guess." He mumbled. "To write and draw. Helps me remember the good things in the world. Things I like. Things I love." He slowly handed the closed journal over.
I looked him in the eyes, slowly opening the cover. If he wanted to back out then I would still let him. When there was no indication of him wanting to back out I let my eyes flicker down to the first page. There were scribbles of note from previous missions he had been on before 141. I could see song titles that looked like they were written quickly and every once in a while there was a small sketch of a plant or another object. I smiled at a watermelon with a knife through it, and made a mental note about the amount of times 'Credenhill' was mentioned.
Each page seemed to bring more information and more insight into who Soap was. I would laugh at a couple of quickly written jokes that he had told me before. I smiled upon seeing Price's name for the first time, accompanied by a sketch of the Captain's head.
"The facial hair is spot on." I giggled. Soap rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless.
I continued to flick through the pages, mostly of workout routines, mission path plans, and things to do. He was a talented drawer, the details on specific weapons or vehicles were so specific.
I didn't ask who Nikolai or other people who I didn't know were. That was his business. I was also just content being able to observe every detail in the journal.
"Not a big dog fan?" I asked as my eyes raked over a scary sketch of some dogs. Soap let out a hum next to me. When had he gotten so close? He was now pressed up to my side, looking at each page with me, like he was reliving the moments.
I smile seeing Gaz's name repeatedly throughout the journal. "I didn't know you've known Gaz for as long as you've known Price."
Soap hummed again. "Lad's been like a little brother for a long time. Didn't know they let someone that young do the kinda jobs we do, but there he was. Hasn't let me down since."
I nodded, examining every bit of his face as he spoke. Selfishly, my eyes lingered on my favorite features. His eyes seemed to sparkle and I loved the little scar that ran under his lips on his chin. Everything about him seemed perfect to me. My heart pounded in my chest, the feelings I had been harboring for him continuously growing, and I knew one day I would burst.
My eyes flickered down to the pages again. I chuckled seeing the tic-tac-toe games and the statements of dread about Russia and beets. There were a few mazes drawn on a page and I wondered if he had created the maze or had been the one to complete it.
"If horses don't work, maybe smoking will?" I questioned before continuing. "They're smooth, Price has taste." I read the words carefully. "John MacTavish, you sneaky son of a bitch. You smoke cigars with Price?"
Soap shook his head. "Not anymore. It was a moment of weakness, times of high stress."
I nodded. "The Glasgow Football Club," I whispered as I traced my finger over the drawing of the emblem.
"I'll have to take you to a match sometime." He smiled at me.
"I'd like that. You'll have to explain everything that's happening to me, but it will still be fun." I chuckled.
I flipped the page and perked up seeing information about 141. I smiled seeing a bit about Roach, who was away on a short mission at the moment.
"What the hell kind of a name is Ghost?" I read laughing the whole time. "Johnny, your callsign is Soap. Ghost's makes more sense than Soap."
Soap couldn't help but laugh as well. He shrugged his shoulders, not really knowing why he had written it.
I looked over the stats that he had written down following each candidate's name. I quickly found my name and smiled at my stats. They were on the higher end of the spectrum. I felt a sense of pride and confidence seeing the numbers, but my smile faltered when I saw the little snippet next to my name.
"Pure luck seems to bless specific people - no wonder they got the callsign Lucky," I mumbled.
"(y/n), I didn't- I hadn't even met you yet. I just heard rumors about why you had the call sign and-" He stuttered trying to recover from the written statement. I shouldn't have been hurt, it wasn't his fault and it shouldn't have been that big of a deal, but it stung.
I didn't acknowledge it any further, deciding to move on. I read each page entry on each individual that was on the 141. I examined every drawing for the members. I was once again in awe of his talent. Not only was he good at capturing details, but there were bits about each person that took me by surprise. I hadn't realized how much he paid attention to little details.
Ghost's mask was drawn and there were bullet points about different facts about him that Soap had learned over the years. Things that I hadn't even realized or known. The same went for Roach, Price, Gaz, Graves, Shepherd, Laswell, and even Alejandro and Rudy. Each page held a quick sketch, basic information, Soap's opinion on the person, and maybe one to three more personal facts about each person.
I flipped the page again and let out a small gasp seeing my face. I had gotten to my page. It was significantly different from the others. It was almost completely full of writing. The sketch of my face seemed cleaner like he had paid more attention to detail, wanting to get every little bit perfect. His handwriting somehow seemed cleaner, like he was wanting to reread it again and again, yet it seemed to have been written faster like he had to get it on paper before he forgot. My birthday, my favorite color, and little facts about my life. It was like he knew and had written down every detail about me that I had told or shown him.
My eyes flickered over every sentence, every fact, every opinion he held on me.
'I take back what I said earlier. She's not lucky, she's got pure talent.'
'Who the hell is allergic to pineapple? How odd.'
'She'd definitely kick my ass if we were to spar. Want her on my side in the field. Probably the one I trust and feel the most comfortable around.'
'Can't get her out of my head. She's fucking beautiful.'
I continued to read and flick through pages. They had transformed from being mostly workout routines, funny bits, or information about missions, into many drawings and bits about the 141. It didn't go unnoticed that Soap seemed to draw little pictures of me more than the others. It was endearing. I couldn't help the smile that formed on my face with each sketch.
I noticed more care was put into drawings of me. Little stars in my eyes, almost all of them were of me smiling.
"Why none of yourself?" I asked him. It was something I had noticed pretty early on. He didn't have any sketches of himself.
He hummed in thought for a moment. "I don't know." He admitted honestly. I looked up at him to see he was already staring back at me. He was close, so close that our noses barely brushed.
"Johnny," I let his name fall as a whisper from my lips. I don't know why I said it, I just did. It felt right to say his name. Like I was meant to say one word and it was that.
"I guess in a way we all wear a mask. Mine just happens to be no sketches of myself." There was a pause. "Plus, an artist is supposed to take inspiration from something beautiful, something they admire. There are better things to look at than my ugly mug."
He turned away to face the book again. I rested my head on his shoulder, continuing to admire every little detail and scribble. Then I flipped to the most recent page.
There, placed neatly in the discolored sheets from sun stain and probably spilled tea, was an unfinished sketch of me. It was mostly done. Little details from my outfit were missing, but it was clear that it was a sketch of me laying in the cot from not too long ago. It was beautiful and I found myself once again in awe of his talent.
My eyes flickered up to the top of the page to read the scribbles.
"Someday." I read the word out loud. "What does that mean? 'Someday'?" I asked looking up at him again. He didn't meet my eyes at first but slowly turned his head towards mine.
"Someday, I hope to be brave and tell you how in love I am with you." He whispered.
My mouth fell open. I had always thought he was just a flirt, a tease, an overconfident teammate having a laugh. I had convinced myself it was some sort of joke and shoved my feelings so deep down that it felt like I was suffocating whenever I had to be near him.
"You-" I started.
"(y/n) I'm absolutely enamored with you. I thought you'd just be some teammate, but you wormed your way so deep into my heart I don't think I can function properly without you. You make me flustered when you're around, and I can't think straight when you've got that pretty smile on your lips. I have a heart attack every time you take a little too long to answer or give an update on a mission. The world is full when you aren't here and through all the shit I've been through it's always been hard to find something to keep me going, but then you waltzed onto the base like you owned it and it was like I had a purpose again." His eyes found mine after the confession. Pure admiration swam deep in those pretty eyes and I knew every word was true. "And I know it's unprofessional, but I feel like I'm dying not being able to tell you or hold you, or kis-"
I couldn't let him continue. I heard more than enough to know this wasn't some sick joke. I wondered for a moment if I had actually fallen asleep and was just dreaming, but if I was I knew I never wanted to wake up.
I placed a hand on Soap's cheek, leaning up to place my lips on his, effectively cutting him off. It didn't take long for the Scotsman to melt into my touch and reciprocate. It was deep and full of adoration but not sleazy and lustful. It was like he had been dreaming of this for as long as I had, and he wanted it to be perfect.
And it was.
I pulled away to let air refill my lungs, but Soap pulled me back in, placing another, much shorter, kiss on my lips. He continued to pepper kisses on my lips like he was drunk on their taste and couldn't get enough.
"Johnny-" I giggled, slightly panting. "I gotta breathe."
"Nah, darling. I've waited too long for this to let you slip out of my hands. I'll gladly suffocate to death if it means I get to kiss ya one more time." He admitted through wet kisses along my cheek and jawline.
I smiled and he pulled back to look at my face. He held my cheeks in his hands and I could see his eyes shining with stars as he examined every little detail of my face, like he was afraid he would somehow forget it.
"John MacTavish, I'll let you kiss me till the day I die."
He smiled, leaning in and giving me another, and another, and another. I started to laugh all over again.
"Come on. Let's go see what the others are doing." I said standing up. I placed the journal on his bed. Soap stood up and followed me. I got to the door and started to open it but he spun me around quickly.
"Just one more." He grinned. My smile grew and I nodded before feeling those pretty soft lips on my own once again.
If this is a dream, I hope to never wake up.