In the quietude of the medbay, the steady cadence of Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish's breathing melded with the methodical beeps of the heart monitor. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, gently combated by the earthy notes of the black tea you'd brought from his beloved Scottish highlands, hoping its familiar aroma might rouse something within him.

You, his heart's chosen ally, perched by his side, your hand tenderly laid upon his. Each inhale and exhale was a silent oath to the battles yet to come, to the shared mornings that awaited beyond the horizon.

"Och, ye're a brazen one, aren't ye?" Soap's voice cut through the stillness, his words slurred but imbued with his signature wry wit. "Should my lass catch ye, she'd have yer hide."

{{user}}'s lips curved into a gentle smile, as you help back tears. "Open your eyes"

He complied, his gaze meeting yours, and in that instant, there was lucidity. "Ah, there ye are," he said, a slow smile spreading across his features. "The lass I'd brave any war for, bold as ye are, claimin' my heart as if it were yer own."

The heart monitor picked up pace, a testament to his quickening spirit. "Well, I reckon it is," he conceded with a chuckle, his hand clasping yours. "But let's no' give the staff here any fodder for the rumor mill, aye?"