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

13. I could never live up to Mrs MacTavish

As the embers of a dying fire glowed softly in the hearth, Johnny replayed the rising tide of longing for her within him.

For a few minutes, he tortured the reinforced phone case, nervously tracing the slightly scratched glass with his nails, undecided.

The old grandfather clock at the kitchen entrance ticked gravely, the seconds passing at a pace so slow that it got on his nerves. It was particularly annoying when superimposed on the pounding rhythm of his own heart under his sweater.

Ten o'clock.

He adjusted the awkward position of his massive body sunk into the armchair, clutching the phone as if he were about to break it. He hadn't even realized he had opened her contact in the phonebook.

Before he could think any further, the ringtone was echoing in his ears.

"Johnny?"

The slightly surprised voice of the doctor on the other end made his stomach do an unpleasant flip.

"Hiya. I missed ye, bonnie." he admitted with amusement in the raspy sigh that rose impertinently in his chest.

"Feels weird not seein' each other while I'm on leave."

Soap swallowed hard in the air thick with the pungent, sooty smell of the fireplace in the MacTavish living room.

"I know." Yael hurried to reply, a clear smile in her measured tone, then silence fell.

The seconds seemed endless, and he was almost tempted to fill them, to keep from shattering.

"How did we get to this point, Sergeant?" the girl continued more softly, almost a whisper.

It was a damn sensible question. In no time, they had ended up putting a very tight leash on each other. Suddenly, that simple statement seemed to make their worlds collide at breakneck speed.

"It was that bloody examination, ye messed me up." MacTavish grinned to shake off a premonition, but his heart had lost its rhythm for a split second.

"I assure you I'm never that unprofessional."

"What are ye going tae do tomorrow, leannan?" he asked her then instinctively, not even sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"I'll work. I'm always on call this time of year."

Another pause, as if she was somehow choosing her words or was simply struggling to get them out.

"I'd also like to go to the military cemetery..." the girl took a breath.

No matter how hard she tried, Soap had caught that millimeter-sized crack in her calm tone. His jaw clenched in a muffled snap, his stomach in shreds.

"I get it." he growled then in a sigh, his rough hand running over the mohawk ridge in a nervous gesture, his eyes closed, cursing himself. Wondering what else he had expected.

He felt like shite. He wanted to tell her a thousand things, but his throat was burning. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity in the vague, distant static of the phone.

"I promised Reg I'd stop by the pub tonight. Ann will be coming with me." Yael finally said, perhaps to save him the embarrassment of having to add something.

This wasn't how Soap had imagined that phone call would go. He should have sounded witty, sharp, even romantic. Instead, he stood there in silence, his heart on his sleeve, unable to process anything sensible.

"Of course. Have fun, hen." he croaked after a moment in a pale imitation of himself.

"I'll write to you later."