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

15. Pancakes for dinner

Twenty minutes later, Yael was crossing the imposing white stone entrance of the University, Ann's body flattened against her side to counteract the treacherous humidity.

As the muffled clatter of heels against the marble floor rolled between the austere Victorian-style walls, Yael felt strangely uneasy, pulled back in time. It was as if an unpleasant and alien part of herself had remained stuck within those walls.

They hurried up the austere inlaid wooden staircase, amidst the familiar and musty smell of old plaster, dust and printed paper, and in a few steps they reached the double door made of wrought iron and frosted glass.

A staid waiter in a dark suit opened it for them and Ann stifled a laugh into her shoulder.

There was a strange atmosphere in the vast auditorium on the first floor, where the coffered ceiling and white stucco opened directly into the dome of the large clock. 

As every year, the party had been organized with meticulous attention to detail, an almost maniacal care for Victorian elegance and typical English sobriety.

Amidst the warm, crowded air, the measured and constant hum of the guests' chatter, mingled with the bustle of the waiters, managed to drown out even the sophisticated string music. It seemed almost childish to her, however well-executed, this attempt to ape British high society.

Before she could comment, Ann drew her attention with a fleeting squeeze of her cold fingers, still clasped in hers, to point out their companions for the evening: Gary Stevens, Robert Collins, and a couple of nurses whose names she couldn't recall.

After shedding their coats and securing a glass of expensive Scotch whisky, they joined the small crowd heading towards Gary's recognizable blond mane.

The evening went exactly as Yael had imagined it.

A myriad of pleasantries, interspersed with the odd glass of scotch and gossip of every kind and degree about the rest of the staff, perched around a high table covered in expensive linen.

They had agreed to stay only until eleven and then move to Reg's pub.

The alcohol must have gone to her head sooner than expected because, instead of reading the thin watch on her wrist, she threw caution to the wind and checked her phone. Too late she noticed Gary's green eyes peeking over her shoulder.

 "Is that your boyfriend, Williams?" he quipped with a cheeky grin towards the image of a dazzling Johnny in a kilt on the screen.

The damage was done, it would be useless to deny it. 

"Actually, yes, he is," the girl sighed, and for a moment, her gaze lingered on those features so familiar to her heart.

"I didn't think you liked that type of man," Stevens taunted her, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a sneer revealing his canines. He wasn't looking at her.

Yael took a sip from the crystal-cut glass, almost amused, as her fingers carefully put her phone back in her purse. 

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"The closet type," the surgeon admitted, this time leaning in slightly towards her. Yael would have gladly dismissed his moment of pride with a simple shrug, letting the subject fade into nothingness. Instead, Ann's shrill voice broke into their silence.

"He's in the SAS, Gary. He must be in shape." she declared.

In Yael's ears, that phrase rang out at a few hundred decibels. 

"Ann!" she snapped back, her light irises darting at her in a silent reprimand. In response, the young nurse censored herself with an awkward smile, but there was no way to take that information back now.