Soap was your bodyguard, or your ‘loyal guard dog’ as the men around the base nicknamed him. Soap was never seen without you, and you never without Soap.

Anyone who even looked at you wrong earned a hard glare from Soap and a knife dangerously close to their throat. No one messed with you two unless they had a death wish.

The door to your shared office opened, Soap stepping in with a tray of food. His Scottish brogue filled the silence, “I got yer favourite.”