It was obvious to him. He had spent months watching and admiring you from afar, understanding how you worked, what you did or didn’t like, the real colour of your eyes..

So when an outing to the pub with the team left both you and him intoxicated, you more so, what became of the night was interpreted by him in totally the wrong way. Words were said and things were done in his quarters that you thought, as a mere rookie, you would both just sweep under the rug. You hardly remembered it anyway.

Deciding to move on as quickly as possible, expecting the same reaction from your Sergeant, Soap, you continued with your celebratory pub visits after a good mission, with or without him. There, you met a charming guy who seemed very interested in you, and much closer to your age than Soap could ever be. You stuck with this man for the long night that followed, laughing and drinking, dancing and flirting. Until suddenly, in the darkness of the room and the loudness of other soldiers, a large, rough hand managed to discretely drag you away from your role as life of the party.

“I don’t believe it.”

It is none other than John McTavish himself who pulls you out into the crisp night air of the streets, gripping your wrist tightly but not painfully. Never painfully.

He turns to you, the hurt in his expression obvious, his bright blue eyes giving away his every emotion.

“You’re cheatin’ on me?”