UNNOTICED – JOEL MILLER x SHE/HER!READER
SUMMARY – You said something to Joel while he was sleeping that didn't go unnoticed.
she/her!reader || pure fluff + english isn't my first language <3
Ellie passed by you and Joel and went inside, looking for something that you could use to lay Joel down. The man was using his last strengths to not give up in your arms and to keep walking until you both got to the house. One of your arms was around his body, your other one was holding the one he had around your shoulders so he could lay his weight on you until you both tripped and fell into the snow.
“No, no, no. Joel, come on, please.“ You tried to help him up again, but he was so tired and the wound on his stomach was dripping blood on the snow under you two. He raised his head and looked at you. He had to help you. You looked back at him with your eyebrows raised, begging him with no words to please help you. But he couldn't do it anymore. When you saw that he was giving up, you decided to shout Ellie’s name for her to come to your help. You and the girl managed to get Joel inside the house and helped him to lay down on a mattress to finally see what his wound looked like.
“Oh, shit-” Ellie gasped when she lifted up his shirt. Your heart felt heavy inside your chest and for a moment you could feel it beating in your throat. You shook your head, coming back to your senses. Ellie already had time to react. Her hands were pressing a cloth to his abdomen and Joel was groaning in pain, complaining even more when you put your hands on the cloth over his wound as well.
“Leave.“ Joel mumbled. You shook your head, still applying pressure to his nonstopping bleeding wound and not realizing that he was not talking to you. “Leave. Take the gun.” He repeated and grabbed Ellie by the neck of her coat and pulled her closer to him. You looked at him confused, still shaking your head, not believing what he was asking both of you to do. You still seemed to not understand that you had no say in this.
“No, no, no.“ You tried to make him stop talking, but it was like you weren’t there for him. Ellie looked at you, scared and not knowing what to say to Joel but he pulled from her clothes tighter to keep her attention on him. It was going to be easier this way. Ellie and Joel were the rational ones, they know shit happens and that life is not fair, but out of you three, you were the emotional one. You were the one that spent almost two hours locked in the bathroom of Bill and Frank’s house after you found out that they were dead, you were the one that went a whole day without talking after seeing Henry kill himself and his brother in front of you.
“You go and you take her with you. You both go north. You go to Tommy.“ Joel ordered and pushed Ellie away from him, making the girl fall on her ass.
“No. We are not going to do any of that. There’s no way we’re leaving you here.” You told Ellie while using the cuffs of your jacket to wipe away your tears. The girl was not paying attention to you anymore, she was looking at Joel, and Joel was looking at her. Like you, she couldn’t believe what Joel was asking her to do. Ellie stood up, the anger clearly visible on her face as her eyes did not move from Joel's. If that’s what he wanted, he would get it.
“No- Ellie, no!“ Her footsteps were loud as she disappeared up the stairs. “Why did you ask her to do that, huh?! What makes you think that I’m leaving you here?!” You yelled at him and got closer to his face, clutching his jacket in your fists. He couldn’t say anything else, his strengths were all gone to fight with you. His lips trembled while he looked at you out of the corner of his eye and Joel wished to die at that moment so that the last thing he saw was you. Even though if you had tears running down your face and you hated him for asking Ellie and you to leave him to die. You finally released the grip on his jacket as you gasped a ‘fuck’ and covered your face with your hands, trying to think clearly.
“Okay, let me see.” You got on your knees by his side and took his hands to remove them from the cloth covering his wound. Joel let your small hands compared to his cup his big ones before he linked your fingers together and caressed your skin with his thumb. Tears threatened to flow from your eyes again but instead of letting yourself cry in front of him again, you caressed his hand back.
“Shit... okay- Use this one.” You grabbed a “clean” cloth and changed it for the already soaked-in-blood one. You heard upstairs the drawers being slammed shut and the frustrated sounds Ellie was making. Deep down you knew she would no leave but seeing her so determinate when she went upstairs really made you doubt.
You helped him to press the fabric into his wound. He was mesmerized looking at you while you talked to him with a soft voice trying to keep him awake. Ellie finally came back and it was as if you were seeing an angel carrying in her sweet little hands a needle and thread. You sighed and some tears streamed down your cheeks because of the relief. You were quick to wipe them off as you allowed Ellie to peel the fabric from his belly. You moved closer to his face and caressed his forehead.
"I know it's gonna hurt but you gotta hang in there, okay?" Joel looked at you with his lips parted and a single tear rolling down his cheek. You were quick to capture it with your finger.
Joel turned his head to you, his neck tensed and his eyes closed shut. Ellie wasn’t enjoying this either, she was biting her lower lip trying to control the trembling of her hands so as not to hurt him more. You held his free hand. His other one was squeezing firmly the girl’s jacket. You rested your forehead against his, “It’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay.”
He spent the rest of the day sleeping. Ellie and you never left his side, maybe because of the state of shock in which you were still in. You were ready in case something happened to Ellie, Joel would know what to do, and Ellie was prepared in case something happened to you because he would be there to take care of it. But none of you two were prepared for something like this to happen to him, it had caught you totally off guard. Each of you were seated at one end of the room, both of you hugging your legs. You couldn’t seem to take your eyes off Joel’s chest, making sure that he was still breathing. On the other hand, Ellie was staring at a fixed point. It was exasperating for you both not knowing what the other one was thinking but the lumps in your throats did not allow you to put it into words.
The next day you and Ellie shared the last bit of food you had left and decided to save some for him in case he woke up. You put your fingers inside the glass of water and let them wet Joel’s lips. Ellie checked his wound but it was starting to look even worse. The girl rested her head on your shoulder to have some rest and yours fell on top of hers. Ellie decided to go hunting, leaving you alone with Joel. You checked his temperature by pressing the back of your hand against his forehead and noticed that he was a little hot, so you decided to snuggle up next to him in case the blanket was not doing enough. You placed your head on his chest, feeling it slowly raise and fall, and you hugged his body against yours.
“I’m lost without you, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to go- I can’t do this without you, Joel. I can’t- I can’t lose you. I'm not ready to lose you, please." You lifted your head to look at his sleeping face and you let out a sigh. His expression was peaceful, at least he was not in pain while he was unconscious. His lips were still wet from the water you applied to them before. This was probably so wrong but as much as you didn't like to think about it, you didn't know if he was going to recover from this. His wound was getting worse every day, what if this was the only chance you had? You stroked the hair growing on his cheeks and you moved your mouth closer to his. God, he was even prettier from there. "I love you." You whispered against his lips and pressed yours to his. You fell asleep on his chest until Ellie arrived with two bottles of penicillin and a syringe.
He was different since he woke up. Maybe he thought he needed to be different after everything that happened with David. You liked the grumpy Joel, but you liked this version of him even more. He had been so talkative since he got better, he even mentioned his daughter Sarah a couple of times which was a surprise to you because you saw how Joel reacted when Ellie mentioned his daughter back in Jackson. You asked some questions about her because you noticed how his eyes sparkled every time he talked about his girl. She would’ve loved you, Joel said to you and you almost fell to your knees because of how that made you feel. Sarah still was the most important person to Joel, and him telling you that felt like the best of compliments.
Ellie ran after the giraffe when it left.
“We should go with her.“ Joel said and you nodded, agreeing with him and with a little smile on your lips thanks to the girl being so excited over the animal. Joel looked at you out of the corner of his eye, your eyes were on where the girl had left. The man threw his rifle over his shoulder, ready to go once you caught him staring at you. You looked down, your cheeks getting warm as you walked by his side.
“I heard you.“
“Huh?“
“I heard you talking to me while I was sleeping.“
“Oh.. I don’t- I can’t even remember what I said, I was probably freaking out because I thought you were gonna die, so...“
Joel nodded, pressing his lips together, a sign that he was not believing what you were saying. “I also was conscious when you kissed me.”
Was it better to deny it and make him think he was going crazy or should you face it? “I'm sorry, I should’ve never done that-”
“I liked it.“ Joel said and you raised your eyebrows. “I mean- I liked you doing that, it’s not like I remember much about it.”
“Oh.“ You said surprised. “Oh.” You repeated again after realizing. You didn’t expect Joel to get angry over a little kiss but you also didn’t expect him to confess that he liked it, much less that he knew that you kissed him.
"I also heard what you said." Joel repeated.
"I really don't know what you're talking about."
"You told me you loved me-"
"Okay, that's enough." You shook your head, annoyed that he was being so insistent about it. You started walking, leaving Joel standing there when he grabbed your arm. He was far from finishing the conversation.
"So you're okay with kissing while unconscious but you draw the line at saying I love you?"
"I told you that I'm sorry!"
"And I told you that you don't have to be."
“Then why do you keep insisting, Joel?“
“Because I know it's not something you said just for the sake of saying it. It’s not because I was dying.”
You narrowed your eyes. With a sharp movement you managed to get rid of his grip on your arm, not in an angry way but in a you got me way. You didn’t like Joel reading you like that, it was as if he could see what was going on behind your eyes, what your head was scheming but most dangerous what you were feeling, and when you were lying. “Have you always been this cocky? Or is it because you've had a near-death experience?”
“Has it always been so difficult for you to accept your feelings?”
“Actually, yes.“
“Even when they are reciprocated?“
“Yes.“
“Wow. You got some serious issues going on there, huh.“ Joel said ans slowly took a few steps towards you.
“You just told me that you liked me kissing you.“
“Is it not enough?“ He was getting closer and closer and you did not want to move away from him.
“No, it’s not. I-“
“You want me to say I love you too?“
You nodded and swallowed nervously. You were the cutest. Joel smiled and held your chin using his thumb and index finger. “I'm not going to ask for your permission either, is that okay?” You nodded to his question, feeling his hot breath against your lips and a tight knot forming in the lower part of your belly. You wanted to complain again and told him that you already apologized for that but his cute way of asking for your consent without asking for it had you wishing for the distance between the two of you to disappear.
Joel finally crushed his lips with yours. If he was honest, he was a little worried that he had forgotten how to kiss after all these years, but just your lips against him, one of your hands resting on his chest and his big one cupping your cheek felt good enough. Also, you didn’t even have the chance to go any further than that because Ellie appeared, spouting the harshest words out of her mouth once she realized what was going on.
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For a request:
Maybe a rescue fic with ghost, price, or soap? One where they rescue their non military fem s/o? I know you’ve written some already and they are so good but I EAT THEM UP EVERY TIME and love that trope so much!!!!!!
Hurt/comfort is my drug I swear
I know that’s pretty vague so maybe I’ll think of more eventually but that’s what I’ve got for now.
I love your writing!
- 🧚🏻♀️🧚🏻♀️
None Lacking Sins
Pairing: Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader
Synopsis: It started with the incident at the grocery store and then built to the hidden gun in the nightstand and a quick, frantic, call to your boyfriend.
Word Count: 7.4k
Warnings: Implied stalking, violence & blood, angst, protective Soap, suggestive language and conversations, implications of wanting a kid, vulgar language, fluffy banter, hurt/comfort, canon typical actions, edited in the middle of the night
A/N: I've been in a Soap mood lately, tbh. I think I'm going to flip-flop uploads for my Gaz series and Requests too...anyways. Enjoy, anon! You can never go wrong with a rescue fic!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You called him for the first time when you were at the store, picking out dinner and asking what he wanted for a welcome home meal.
“Well,” his sly voice made you roll your eyes, but a smile still blossomed over your lips. “If you want me to be rash, Bonnie, I’d say that I wouldn't mind a good bite out of your–”
“Johnny, you finish that sentence, you’re not going to get anything besides butter on toast. Give me a recipe before it gets dark out.” Veiled glee was obvious from your tone, and the heat on your face could all but be heard over the line. Two months apart had made you both eager to be in each other's presence.
Picking up a box of pasta, you flip it over and check the price, sticking to your budget and tilting the phone parallel to your chin. A deep chuckle meets your ears, and your chest feels light as it pierces your lungs.
Your boyfriend was off in Australia this deployment—he’d been complaining about the heat nonstop on those few and far between video calls the two of you shared. While it was a step-up to know where exactly Johnny was this go around, the prospect of his job still made you incredibly nervous. There was never a time you could remember when he came home without a new cut or scar; bruises were all but guaranteed.
Sucking down a soothing breath, you place the pasta into your cart and fix the phone’s position. The Scot was coming home in a day or so, you wanted to make him feel at home again. Destress.
You’ll see him before you know it. There’s no need to worry.
“Bit snappy, then, eh? Oh, alright.” The man huffs good-heartedly, and you hear the springs of those thin barracks-bed mattresses as his large frame shifts. Johnny lets off a soft sigh before continuing. You listen intently, leaning onto the handlebar ahead of you. “What about a nice plate ‘O that one you always make—hell—the…the one with the Pollock and cabbage.”
You blink through a laugh, shaking your head and pushing yourself off to go find the needed ingredients. The dish wasn’t easy to make, in fact, it took a helluva lot of time, but you didn’t mind in the slightest when it came to cooking for Johnny. He deserved it.
“Hey, now,” He teases, smirking to himself, “What’s so funny over there, Dearie? You makin’ fun of me?”
“I would never dream of it, oh great and wondrous, Mr. MacTavish!” You huff, fake serious, as you place a box of cookies into the cart and pass a few strangers who raise an eyebrow at your conversation. A man passes by with a blue cap on, and you swerve the cart to move around him while tossing back a frown. You soon continue on like nothing happened, pulling back the sense of security from the man over the line. “Do you want mashed potatoes with that as well? Wine?”
Johnny groans, “Hey, you’re the one that asked me!”
Divulging into giggles, you make your way around the store and stock up, holding a light conversation about how he and the rest of the boys were doing.
“Ghost told me to let you know he appreciated the book you lent him, said he’d get it back to ya as soon as he’s able.” The Scot comments, and a hum makes its way from you as you head to the self-checkout.
“Well, that’s good. I said he would like it – the bastard’s so tight-lipped about what he enjoys it was hard to nail-down a genre.” A chortle sounds off when you gather the chilled pollock and scan it; the phone was held against your shoulder to your ear. “High Fantasy for the win, I guess.”
“I should get the man to read ‘The Way of Kings’ next time—form a little book club, y’know? Get all the boys in on it like some old ladies.” It was adorable how cute Johnny sounded, like a kid on Christmas. “Stemin’ Jesus, could you picture that, Bonnie?”
“I’d pay to see you pitch that, Dear.” A cheeky tone leaks through. “Price would laugh straight into your face.”
“Please, the old man doesn’t know how to laugh….He’d just puff cigar smoke in my face and tell me to fuck off.”
“As I said—I’d pay to see it.” Your boyfriend grumbles under his breath as you place the paper bags into your cart, the contents heavy, and grab your receipt with quick fingers. “Gaz would definitely be in for it, though.”
“I don’t doubt that. Anything beats playing cards for weeks straight, aye?” Your hand can finally grip the phone once more, and you sigh contently as the strained position of your neck finally rights itself.
You’re about to answer but slow your pace with a scrunched look of confusion as you exit.
Passing through the front doors, you suddenly get a strange sensation in the back of your mind to turn around. The hairs along your arms stand up as a breeze passes the steadily chilling dark sky, but the way the shiver ran down your spine wasn’t due to cold. Lips thinning, you spare a glance over your shoulder and look along the brightly lit grocery store as its windows leave cascading rays of light over the sun-bleached concrete. The black asphalt of the parking lot is hard under your feet.
There are a handful of other patrons at the checkouts—mothers with children and others buying quick meals for dinner—but none are out of the ordinary.
You huff and roll your shoulders.
Maybe the day’s just getting to me.
“Bonnie,” Johnny’s slightly concerned voice brings you blinking back, turning your head back to the sparsely lit parking lot and realizing you had stopped walking completely. Your hand was sweaty like you’d just run somewhere. Fixing your hold on the device, your boyfriend continues, “...Everything alright? You’ve gone all quiet over there.”
“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh dismissively, trudging forward to your car, “I just got the weirdest feeling right outside the grocery store.”
The cart makes a loud rumbling sound as it goes over loose rocks and the bumpy texture of the asphalt, the metal rattling loudly so you have to strain your ears to hear Johnny’s next words.
“What kind of feeling?” His drowned-out voice was so serious that it shocked you—you’d only ever heard him use a tone like this when he had briefly talked about nightmares that had woken him up in your shared bed.
The Scot’s words were monotone, slow, and even if the sound of the cart’s wheels was raging all around you and making your skull rattle, you’d still swear you would identify that tone over a hurricane. It made your gut churn.
“Really, it’s probably nothing,” you play off with a tense shrug he can’t see, coming to a stop at your car and reaching into your pocket for your keys. “I just got a chill.”
Your eyes look around before you open the trunk, biting into your lip at the long shadows that the tall street lamps give off. Licking over your teeth, you bink dismissively and shake your head, unlocking the vehicle and huffing as you begin loading in your purchases.
“Anyways,” you try to ignore the hard build of your spine or the way your eyes travel back to the brightly lit store. There wasn’t anyone out here but you and the dead forms of cars, trees off in the distance, and far-off lights of other buildings. You swallow and clear your throat. “I was thinking about getting us a dog.”
“You’re not gettin’ out of this that—wait, did you say dog?” Across the world in a shitty bed, Johnny’s once concerned eyes widen, jaw going slack. “No way in Christ’s Hell, Dearie.”
“Oh, come on!” You groan, placing the second to last bag into the car and tuning your back to the street, throwing out your hand. “It doesn’t have to be a big dog—just one I can go on walks with and keep me company. I know you have a bad past with them, Love, but I just want someone to help not make the house so empty when you’re gone.”
Your voice slides off near the end of the sentence, and you try not to sound so sullen. Johnny frowns as he stares into the far wall of the barracks over the heads of sleeping men, itching at the back of his neck. It was no secret that the Scot wasn’t particularly fond of canines—his encounters with them were almost never pleasant unless he knew the handler.
But…
“I’ll think it over, eh, Bonnie?” He relents, sighing, and he thinks he hears snickers from a dark form in the distant corner. The Sergeant glares over at it and continues with a pang of internal guilt about how lonely you must feel most of the time. “Promise…but you’re more likely to get a cat dressed in a suit than a mangy mutt anytime soon.”
You laugh at the attempt of a lighthearted joke, closing the trunk with a roll of your eyes. A breeze goes by and your arms erupt into shivers, clothes not enough to keep out the chill.
“I’ll take it.”
“Hm, you know,” Johnny smirks, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes and grunting out huskily, “there’s another way to make sure the house won’t be all quiet when I’m gone.”
“Keep it in your pants, MacTavish. You’re not even here yet.” Smiling through the heat of your cheeks, the skin of your cheeks glows; your body rolls with heat. “Save it for tomorrow.”
“What, am I gettin’ you all worked up over there?” He hums, and you grab your cart, pushing it into one of the specific areas where someone would grab it in the morning. “‘Cause I have no problem with waitin’, Dearie, all the more perfect when I get to be with ya.’”
“You wish, handsome.” Walking back to the slight rumbling of your car, you speak through tilted lips and completely miss the form walking up beside you. “I think that—”
“Excuse me?”
Yelping, you nearly drop your phone to the floor as it slips out of your startled grip; heart jerking at the sudden intrusion into an intimate conversation. Swiftly turning around you spot the same man as before—the one with the blue cap that had passed by quite rudely in the store. His strong face looks sheepish.
Johnny quickly calls your name through the line, and you let off a reassurance before tilting the device down.
“Holy hell, man, give a girl a warning next time, yeah?” Chuckling weakly to push back tension and the twisting of your intestines, you notice the stranger’s tall frame is covered in a heavy jacket. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yeah, actually,” He’s not outwardly alarming to look at, the man, with his loose body gestures and controlled tone. “Sorry, but I was just wondering if you could lend me a hand. I found a kitten under a van back there,” he points, and you look over to the far corner of the parking lot. Sure enough, there was a large van surrounded by two black cars. Your eyes narrow on the scene, already getting a prickly feeling. “Do you have any food that might bring it out? Or maybe you’d be willing to reach under and grab the little bastard?”
The stranger laughs and continues with a jerking of his shoulders. You watch every movement with an upticking pulse, fingers tight over the phone as Johnny listens with growing worry.
The Sergeant's dark eyebrows pull tight, and he stands like he could run out the door to you; jaw tight and muscles wound.
“Put me on speaker.” You decline silently. Better not to get a hotheaded and protective Scot involved when he was thousands of miles away.
“Sorry,” Clearing your throat, you take a step back, attempting a friendly smile. “I have to get home to my husband.” It wasn’t the first time you’d had to use the spouse card to get away from creeps, and it won't be the last. Worked better than just the boyfriend title, honestly. And there was something about this man’s eyes that didn’t sit right with you. “Work night and all, you understand?”
“He left yet?” Johnny asks, gruff as his accent gets stronger. “Else I’m callin’ the store and sending security out to you.”
“It shouldn’t take a long time,” the man begs and you take another slow step back to the car door, pupils going tiny. Breaths shallow. “You’ll be back to your…husband, in a few minutes. I’d hate to leave the poor guy all alone.”
“Sorry.” You say again, firmer. “No.”
Not wasting any time, you open the car and jump inside, wrenching it closed once more and pressing the lock. Breathing heavily, you stick the keys into the ignition, missing a couple of times, and look into the side mirrors to spy on the tall shadow that hovers like a plague.
“Sweetheart? Hey?” Johnny calls out your name as you force the car to start driving away, face tight and limbs shaking. “Hey, are you alright?”
The man has half the sense to wake up Price, but with the stirring bodies around him, there’s half a chance the Captain already knows something’s off. Johnny hadn’t bothered to check his noise level when the uncomfortableness seeped from you over to him. What kind of a man approaches a woman near dark and asks a question like that? The action didn’t sit right with the Scot.
Johnny’s body hums with energy—volatile rage keeps his heart in a tight fist with a deep seething hatred of not being with you to help force back the freaks in person. He wasn’t above getting into someone's face if the situation called for it; after a couple of outings to less-than-nice pubs, all it took was a few nervous glances from you nowadays for him to create a barrier out of his own flesh.
“I’m okay,” you whisper to him, biting at your lips and peeling back flesh. “It’s all good. I-I’m on the road already.”
A great weight falls from the man in the form of a sigh. He slowly sits back down on the mattress, lips thinning and slightly shaking his head. His free hand comes up to rub over his cheek.
“Good. That’s good…” He snaps out of his concerned stupor quickly, but the fast beating of his heart does anything but slow. “You’re okay.”
It wasn’t worded as a question, maybe more of a reassurance, but it helped you immensely. Your tension lessened at the comforting sound of Scottish drawl and deep, silver, voice. But you wanted him to wrap his arms around you; gaze into those cerulean orbs.
Tomorrow.
“Keep on the line until I get home?” You ask feebly, not able to resist looking in the mirrors as you turn out of the parking lot.
The blue-capped stranger was still standing there, and one of the black cars in the far corner had turned its headlights on. A deep dread overtakes your ribs like you’d just gotten out of something very, very, bad. A sense of a lingering morality stays in between your ribs.
“‘Course. Wouldn’t be doin’ anything else, Bonnie.” Johnny utters, glaring at the floor. “I’ll be ‘ere the whole time.”
It wasn’t fair that he was unable to be there with you—never before had the constraints from his job hit him full strength in the chest like this. If he can’t protect the ones he loves back on the home field, then what was the point of the Task Force in the first place?
By the time you get home after taking the fastest route, you quickly gather everything from the back and shuffle inside, pulse still racing. You lock the door behind you and take a deep breath, closing your eyes.
Johnny’s soft breath over the call was like a lullaby, right in your ear as if he was beside you in bed. Oh, you missed his soft snores more than anything. Your gaze goes glossy, but the tears are held back stubbornly.
As if sensing your turmoil, your boyfriend speaks lowly.
“Y’know, I bet the rest of the boys would really love it if we kept ‘em over for a drink and a bite when we all get back. I can whip up something quick on the grill and you can take a breather, eh?” He speaks so softly it almost makes the tears worse, heart palpitating.
You wetly laugh and place a hand to your mouth, standing in the dark foyer with groceries on the floor and a primal fear slowly leaving you. The familiar scents of charcoal and birch wood from the Scots hair product are stuck into the very walls of this shared dwelling, along with the scuffs on the floor from play-wrestling during movies; a light that needed to be replaced due to Johnny accidentally running straight into it at two am. He had thought an intruder had broken in, but it was just a bird that had snuck in through an open window.
The signs of a well-lived and loved home.
“But you wanted pollock,” you grumble with a hidden smile and burning ears, pushing the tip of your shoe into the front rug.
Johnny beams and goes to lie back down, putting a hand behind his head against the pillow.
“Well, now I’m makin’ burgers. Guess you’re just going to have to sit back and watch my fabulous arse from the porch, yeah, Dearie? Don’t burn a hole into them, now, they’re the only pair I’ve got, and I know how much you like ‘em.”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll even wear that apron you got me—what was it you said it did,” the cheeky Scot smirks, all teeth and crinkled eyelids, and hears your complaints get louder as your mind flies away from what had happened almost immediately. “Made me look like I should be in a porno? Hell, if you were in it with me, I’d not complain ‘bout it. Steamin’ Jesus, I’d let you do horrible things to me, Dearie.”
From somewhere in the barracks a low groan echoes out and Johnny snaps his hand down to stifle his loud laughter as you bark at him.
“MacTavish!”
Great bouts of laughter leave everyone glaring from atop pillows and from over fingers stuffed into ears; some even get up and gather blankets, leaving the barracks room entirely.
In your foyer, your body blazes with heat like you’d been set on fire, a hand placed over your eyes and a treacherous grin on your mouth.
“Keep your voice down, you absolute arsepiece!”
“Aye—! That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya!”
“Johnny!”
—
The second time you called him was out of pure curiosity, only a few hours before your lover was scheduled to come home and cook for you and his Task Force. Around six o'clock.
“When was our postbox all scratched up?” Your thumb runs over the black numbers of the sequence, blinking with wrinkled skin as you take a glance at the neighbors’ and frown. No one else's was like that. “I thought you said you compromised with the local kids and would give them money for sweets so they would stop messing with our stuff?”
“Little fiends were sucking me dry!” Johnny huffs, “No way the devils would pass up more sugar and do something like that. What’s it look like, then? A few stray rocks manage to dent it?”
Your lips release a sigh and you pick up your mail with an annoyed grunt, closing and locking the cubby as you reply. “No way, it looks like someone took a knife to it.” Clicking your tongue, you shake your head. “God, things have just been going wrong lately.”
Shuffling his feet over the tarmac and hearing the plane engines die down behind him, Johnny takes a glance back. Price was standing at the top of the C17 arms crossed and head tilted—the Scot could imagine the raised eyebrow almost immediately.
He grimaces and holds up a finger, walking a few more steps away as Gaz leaves the hull with his bags slung over his shoulders.
“I can’t talk any longer, Bonnie, Price’ll wring me for not helpin’ unload the gear. He’s damn near skinnin’ me already.”
You chuckle, “Tell him I said ‘hello’ and not to damage the face.”
“Oh, you’re a horror, you are, Dearie.”
Quick declarations of love and see you soons were exchanged before the connection was cut, and your feet carried you back into the house. Your phone and the mail went to sit on the tiny hallways table, shoes tossed onto the plastic mat sitting on the floor with a small thump.
Sighing, you rub over your eyes, thinking over if it was worth calling the post office or just trying to fix the scratches yourself.
“I think we have some paint in the garage…” You trail off.
Ultimately, you just pushed that to the back burner. Johnny was coming home. Your lips peeled into a large smile, and you’re rushing off to get into a nice outfit for the rest of Task Force who was coming a bit later than your boyfriend. Thoughts of finally being able to be picked up by your boyfriend's strong arms were all-consuming, being held into a broad chest and digging your nails to the dip of his spine.
Just being able to be around the mohawked-man was a blessing that you’d never take for granted.
You settled on a nice top and casual pants—you’d met the others before, so there was no need to go overboard. Smoothing your clothes down, you enter the living room and go to open the curtains, letting the light of the interior spread to the small lawn and the street. Humming under your breath, the vehicle outside doesn’t catch your attention immediately; the black metal is just another parked entity sitting still.
When you do pause, your curtains half-opened, the delayed shock makes you lose precious time as you stare slack-jawed at one of the twin cars from yesterday at the parking lot. Your fingers clench into the fabric in a sudden moment of frozen shock. As if a mythical creature had just run past your field of view, the parting of your lips is instinctual before the widening of your eyes.
A still second passes before you’re sprinting to the front door—locking it and snatching your phone. Heart pounding, you make a dash to the bedroom, dialing Johnny with fear-tight pupils.
He had told you if there was ever an emergency to call him right away, he’d get there faster than any police officer; for the record, you believed that wholeheartedly. Johnny was more loyal than a dog in a pack, once someone raised the alarm the Sergeant was locked in.
Rushing into the bedroom, you trip over the tossed covers but right yourself as the dialing tone sounds out, heavy breathing making your lungs hurt. You open the nightstand table and dig under a collection of books, hand meeting the smooth metal of an M9 pistol.
Putting the phone on speaker, you throw it onto the mattress.
Legally, you shouldn’t even have this—while Johnny had been teaching you to shoot, you didn’t have a license for it yet. But he’d insisted on leaving you behind with something to defend yourself with.
The confused voice of your lover sounds over the open space. “Jesus, Bonnie, you miss me that much? It cannae ‘ave been more than ten minutes—”
“The car from yesterday is outside the house.” You throw the books to the floor and hear them make a clatter just as you pull out a box of ammunition. Taking out the gun’s magazine, you load bullets with a violently shaking hand. Some hit the ground with a metallic ping, but you pay little attention, just blinking back anxious tears and a harsh focus on the sounds of the front door handle being jimmied.
“I…what?” Johnny’s voice gets heavier, demanding with a snarl trapped in the back of his throat.
Standing stationary in the doorway Base—about a twenty-minute drive from home, the man’s heart suddenly jumps in his breast. Did he hear you right? Behind him, Ghost slows to a stop at the now blocked opening, watching with narrowed eyes; a large rifle slung over his shoulder and a carry bag in his arm. Johnny’s shoulders wind tight, feet parted as he suddenly turns on his heels and takes off back the way he came in, the phone still at his ear where the Lieutenant knew you were on the call.
“What the fuck?!” Ghost’s skeletal head follows after and pointedly notices the Scots lack of care for how his bags hit the ground but keeps the pistol holstered at his thigh and the combat knife strapped to his upper shoulder.
“Johnny?” He calls out, but only the wind answers him. “The hell are you off to?!” The gargantuan man sends a glance over to Price who was watching just as intently, lids narrowed. Gaz cleared his throat.
“....Shouldn’t we follow him? Sounds pretty serious.”
Price sighs, taking a moment to watch Soap sprint to the main building and shove past other soldiers and staff. He grunts.
“Move light.”
The phone call was filled with heavy breathing and hurried orders.
Your boyfriend was running you down the basics of firing at a moving target as the sound of pounding at the front door became more hurried.
“It’s not like a stationary target—when someone’s runnin’ at ya, they're gonna be moving quick and you’re not going to be able to fire if you don’t mean it!”
“Okay, okay,” you mutter with a shaky inhalation, loading the M9’s magazine and clicking off the safety. “What the hell do they want with me?” The whispered question is more for you than it is for anyone else, but the answer from the sprinting Scot startles you.
At that exact moment, the pounding of a fist stops completely.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna fire at the first bastard that comes down that hallway. We’ll ask the questions later.” You hear a car door opening and a yell from Johnny’s side, soon the clammer of grunting breaths an exclamation of ‘hurry the fuck up!’
“I—”
“If you need to, leave through the window and go to the neighbors. Take cover in the foliage and slip away to the back alley.” Johnny never spoke like this to you—clipped and deathly serious. But now that you think about it, as you stay frozen and barricaded in the bedroom, if he spoke any differently you’d probably break down. “Do you copy?”
This was Sergeant MacTavish, and damn him if anything came between that man and the people he cared about.
He barks your name, “Do you copy?!”
“Yeah,” the gun shakes in your grip, but nonetheless you hold it at your hip and turn your eyes to the window. It would be easier to leave, you think. You’re not trained for this! “I–I think I’m going to—”
The front door’s window is broken with a shattering of glass. You rush to the phone and turn off the speaker, afraid that the sound would immediately tell these people where you were. Loud shouts flow into the foyer and spread like venom under the crack of the thin barrier separating you and the intruders.
“Spread out and find her!”
“Yes, Sir!”
Sir? You ask, eyes snapping this way and that as Johnny is dead silent on the other side. You think you hear the slam of a foot to the pedal, but you can’t be sure. Fuck, there was so much going on, you didn’t know what to do.
“Screw this, I’m going out the fucking window.” You gasp out, lungs tight and skin sweaty, you turn on the safety on the gun and stuff it into your belt.
One-handed, you unlatch the lock and strain your ears, hearing feet getting closer. Grunting, you shove the heavy frame up and try to stop the ringing in your ears. Whoever these people in your house were—they were professionals. They had patience; studied your intellect with the trick in the parking lot and followed you home so they could mark your postbox number as a reminder of your address. What the hell was happening?
Just as you’re about to make the small drop into the flower bed, a creak echoes from behind the bedroom door. You freeze in place, one foot dangling into the backyard.
Breathing slowly, your eyes lock to the deep shadow that spreads like two distorted poles as the large feet face the very place you’d holed up. As delicately as you’re able with an award-setting tremor in your gut, you place the phone down onto the window sill; Johnny’s loud and worried voice dims as all attention moves to self-preservation. You’re just about to reach for your gun when the door busts off its hinges.
Starling, and before your hands can find purchase, you’re tumbling backward—out of the house entirely with a stifled shout of alarm. Slamming to the ground and crushing flowers in the process, you have no time to think about the pain going up your spine or at the base of your skull before you’re scrambling for the M9.
Just as someone peeks out from the window, face covered and holding an assault rifle, you’re firing three shots in rapid succession as you don’t even remember flicking off the safety.
Two shots miss entirely, but on the last and final press of the trigger, as your arms catch the recoil, it connects.
A comment is cut short as blood explodes in a great wave of velocity, coating the house upwards almost to the shingled roof. The body slumps, weight bringing it down to hang limp over the frame.
Wide-eyed, you still hold the shaking gun in the air, muzzle smoking, breathing fast through your mouth. Had you just…
Your stomach bunched, acid traveling up your throat to pool under your tongue. Perhaps you would have thrown up at that moment, the setting reality that you’d just shot someone in the head like an anvil in your pounding skull. But the barking voices from inside the house snap you back.
Gasping down the breaths you realized you hadn’t been taking, your wobbly feet dart to shove you up like a newborn deer as sprinting bodies close in on the porch’s sliding door. God, you could only imagine what Johnny was thinking.
Bolting out of your backyard fence, you remember your lover’s orders and run as fast as you’re able to the neighbor's open yard, using the darkening sky to help cover you. Cursing under your breath and thinking over all of the ways this should have already gone wrong, you wipe at the tears cascading down your cheeks.
Don’t think about it—just get away.
It wasn’t long before you were down the alleyway, feet weak and lungs burning. There was a stickiness to the back of your scalp, blood, undoubtedly, from an injury caused by the fall.
It’s a damn miracle I didn’t break anything.
What would you have done then? Just let those people take or kill you? You shiver at the idea and force yourself to go faster. Darting around a corner, your feet skid to a quick halt.
The barrel of a gun was pointed directly at your face.
“Had a feeling you’d be slippery.” It was the voice of the man from the parking lot—the man with the blue cap. Your face jerks to an imitation of confined horror and unease at the same eyes boring into you. He was dressed in gear like the rest of the men now exiting your house to hunt you down. The stranger shifts his feet and you flinch. “Drop the gun, Sweetheart.”
“Who the fuck are you?” You find your voice, hissing out. The pistol clatters to the floor as it slips from your grip and you hate how you flinch at the sound.
“Your boyfriend and his buddies are hard to track down.” Blue Cap huffs, and the tall stature of the man makes you incredibly nervous. Backing up a step instinctually, he follows and smirks. “But I figured the best way to meet him was to find his little bird first—he’d come right to me. Cliche, I know, but you can’t fault me. Works every time.”
What did this guy want with your Johnny? Gritting your teeth, your fingers shake at your sides, hips tense and ready to run.
“He’ll kill you.” You level, not keen to show this man how disgusting you felt being near him.
He shuffles up next to you, grabbing the meat of your arm. Trying to jerk away, the barrel of his weapon is shoved into your ribs; gasping, your body goes rigid.
If your heart goes any faster, it’ll break.
“Not if I threaten to kill you first.” Forcing you forward, you glare and feel the urge to spit in the man’s face. “C’mon, hun.”
“Don’t fucking call me that, freak.”
“Ooo…fangs. Can’t be surprised, you did shoot one of my men, after all. Not a bad trigger finger, but you do need decent work on your accuracy if you wanna make anything out of it.” Your eyebrows pull in as you’re corralled back out of the alleyway, barrel bruising your skin and blood dripping down your neck. The man’s grip hurts as a strangled whimper falls from your bitten lips.
Feet scraping over concrete, you’re brought out into the street as neighbors peak out of windows with drawn curtains; phones to their faces. Did these intruders not care about the police? If anything, that made you sweat more.
“Ride’s waiting.”
“I’m not getting into that.” Grunting, your eyes are stuck on the black void of the car parked in the street. A menagerie of other armed men stands all over. “Hell no—you can just shoot me now if that’s the case.”
“Don’t tempt me, I can still go after the Sergeant’s dear old mom,” your lungs chill as the man chuckles to himself, looking down at you through dark lashes. “He has a cousin, too, am I right?”
Rageful tears spark behind your lids as you blink.
No way it was going to go like this. Where’s Johnny?
The gun was taken from your ribs as you’re shoved forward.
“Get in. Now. We’re already behind schedule.” You stare into the interior and clench your fists, lips quivering but jaw clenched. Your Lover’s voice comes to you, sure of himself and laced with stubbornness.
If you’re ever in trouble, you wait for me, Dearie. I’ll be there ‘fore you know it, ready to defend your honor like the knight in shinin’ armor I am, eh? Why are you laughing…?
Turning back around with every ounce of courage you can muster, you splay your feet and cross your arms.
“No.” The gun is raised to your head, and you want to flinch back in terror but restrain yourself.
“Get in.”
“No.” How your voice wasn’t breaking was a question in and of itself, but Johnny had always said you were stubborn like him. Best time to prove him right was with a barrel to your face, apparently.
The stranger’s eyes light with anger, hands clenching over the body of the weapon as the rest of his men stare on in shock. A growl meets air.
“I’m not asking for a third time, Sweetheart—” One loud boom later and you’re ducking down with your hands over your head, ears ringing and body unsteady; a great weight hits the ground right next to you.
The sound of gunfire rattles the world all around the once quiet street, and you think that you and your Lover will have to move after this. No way the neighbors could let all this slide. Looking up, your eyes jump from the corpse spasming near you to the running men, chaos breeding in the lines between shouts and dropping bodies.
A hand latches into your waist, and you’re being lifted into strong arms moments later. Squealing, your head snaps to the size and meets cerulean blue inlaid in a strong brow line.
“I’ve got ya.” Your body loses all tension at the accent that you would know anywhere, even in death, a strong grip picking you up and keeping you close to his broad chest.
Johnny carries you away in the midst of battle as the rest of the 141 get involved, making quick work of the remaining men. Breathing in his scent, you force your face under his chin, feeling the stubble scrape as your fingers dig into flesh.
He’s here. He’s—he’s right here.
“Don’t worry, Dearie, I’m right here. It’s nearly over, now.” You try to bring him closer as he takes cover behind a wall, pressing his shoulders against the grating stone as he shields you closer to him. Sliding down to the ground.
His eyes snap back and forth, heart rapid. God, he was nearly too late. Johnny presses his nose into your hair as he breathes deeply, watching bodies fall and feeling you shake. Feeling you shiver; now finally able to let everything sink in.
“Shh,” the Scot mutters, pressing you closer as you whisper his name in a hoarse breath. “You’re alright. I’m ‘ere, Bonnie, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His hands filter over your skin, checking for injuries and feeling over growing bumps from under-the-skin abrasions.
His teeth clench together in hate, hotheadedness taking over for a moment as part of him wants to rush out and pick a few of these bastards off himself. But it’s just not that simple.
Looking out into the street with serious eyes, the radio attached to his vest sounds off as the last of the firefight ends almost as quickly as it began.
“Clear.” It was Price. “How is she?”
Johnny sighs, looking down at you in his hold as he whispers comforting words in quick succession.
“Shaken, but alright…” The reply is muttered as you sniffle, your fingers going to wipe away tears. “She’s—she’s alright.”
Johnny beats you to it as he tries to calm down, large digits tilting your head to the side and studying intently as he swipes them away with a firm thumb and a careful frown.
“Johnny—” Your eyes stay locked on him as the Scot gets rid of any trace of fear or sadness, calluses burning your skin just as they always did. His gaze flickers to you; lips pulling tight. None of you choose to move, too content with being this close to one another and safe, even if the situation was serious. “I…”
You trail, not even knowing what to say as the wetness of your eyes blurs your vision, body hot, and the back of your skull aching. Your hands go to cup his cheeks. It’s all the words he needs.
Eyes soft, the Sergeant attempts a weak and worried smile. “I’m so proud of you, Dearie, y’know that? So damn proud.” Your lips quirk, a strained laugh echoing out. A finger pokes the side of your nose. “Hey, I’m serious now. Stop your foolin'.”
Johnny’s fingers run deep circles into your temples as you trace the lines of his cheeks.
“Shut up.” You huff, straining against a wide smile. It was easy to push all of this behind you when you were looking at him. He made everything better.
“Hm,” He moves forward and presses his lips to your forehead, quickly going to lay kisses all over your face until giggles spill out from the alleyway to the waiting three.
Gaz smiles to himself, Price grunts lightly, and Ghost gazes off.
“I’ll just have to prove to my Bonnie Little Lady that she’s a prime piece of work, then, eh? Smarter; more quick than a fuckin’ recon team,” he leans close and you have to try and shove him away playfully when he starts to squish you against him. Your laughter grows as his scratchy chin nuzzles your neck. “And don’t mind me sayin’ now, but a proper fine pair of tits and arse to go along with the brains of ya, Dearie.”
“MacTavish!” you squeal, “I should call your mother up and explain how you speak to me—that’s vulgar! I know for a fact she didn’t teach you that.”
“Teach me? Oh, now, then, no one could teach me a thing when you’re around. Cannae think a bit; better off talkin’ to a pile of stone.” You punch his solid chest and laugh so hard your face hurts, breath fanning against his neck as his roaming praise continues as if his mind was a bag of water punctured by a knife. “I’m always thinkin’ ‘bout you, my Little Bonnie.”
The last sentence is quietly muttered into your temple, a kiss pressed tight. He pulls back slightly and feels at the dried blood on your locks, fingers separating to find the scalp. Johnny’s chest rattles in a sigh, hand shaking slightly when he sees it.
He’d also seen the body on the window sill, though he knows not to mention it.
Christ, you’d had to kill someone.
The prospect of taking a life was easy to the Scot—some days he felt like he had been born and bred to do just that. It became simple. Elementary. Like his mother could memorize a recipe, he could memorize the position of arteries; what shot to take at that instant, and which to wait on based only on past missions that resonated like past lives.
But for you…
Oh, it was never supposed to happen to you.
“Are you alright?” Johnny breaths, humor gone and left with guilt.
He feels your lips on his raging pulse and lets his eyes close, content to feel you move against him as your head remains in his neck. Shifting his body into a more comfortable position, he cages you in protectively. Never again would he allow this to happen.
“I shot someone.” The man’s lips quivered, heart hurting at the blatant shock in your voice. It hadn’t hit you yet, and, hell, Johnny still remembered his first kill like it was yesterday. It wouldn’t be good when all this calmed down. He’d thrown up for two days straight, himself.
“Aye.” He breathes.
“His blood’s all over the house.”
“It is.”
“Is…is that,” you’re shivering, so he massages your spine soothingly until you find the words. “Is that a good thing?”
He should say no, tell you that the situation that you’d been put in was never supposed to happen and it was just an unfortunate reality. Death wasn’t a good thing, per se. But the man had broken into your shared home—busted down the bedroom door with the intent of using you as a bargaining chip to get to him. So, to the Scot, the answer is clear.
No one messed with his family and lived.
“Yes.” Taking down the air of a dusty alleyway as sirens wail a street over, you weren't surprised that your boyfriend had managed to get to your home far faster than the police could. He said he always would, didn’t he?
The bills for the speeding tickets and the running of red lights were going to be atrocious.
“Okay.” Your answer is muttered as you peel back, pressing a kiss to the corner of Johnny’s lips. You believed him. Always would. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” His bright teeth show off a smile as your mirror. He kisses you heavily on the lips. Whispers against your lips, a promise. A vow. “As long as you put up with me, I’ll always keep you safe.”
“Soap,” Price yells, snapping the two of you out of it. “Get on with it!”
The Scot raises a shocked brow and smirks down at you as you tilt your head and listen in happy confusion.
“Y’know, those shots weren't half bad back there. ‘Specially after takin’ a tumble into the flowers.” Your expression freezes in denial as you’re lifted bridal style into the air. Speaking over the calls of police and firemen as they come to the scene, your voice monotones as your legs swing.
“...I missed two out of the three, you dork. That’s failing.” Johnny gapes in mock surprise and you refrain from snorting at the boyish glint in his eyes.
“Jesus, is it really? Hell, you’ll be comin’ for my job in no time, won’t ya? That’s one better than me!”
You kiss him and feel the grunt through your lips.
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