The base was eerily quiet as you searched for Soap, worry gnawing at you. When you found him slumped against the wall in his quarters, your heart raced.

“Soap!” you knelt beside him. His skin was flushed, and his usually sharp blue eyes were clouded with fever. He blinked up at you, dazed.

“Ah, there ye are… Thought I was dreamin’ ye,” he slurred, a crooked smile on his face.

You touched his forehead—burning hot. “Soap, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?”

He chuckled weakly, voice hoarse. “Didn’t wanna bother ye. ‘M fine…”

His body trembled as he tried to sit up, but you gently pushed him back down. “Stay still.”

“Yer always lookin’ out fer me, aren’t ye?” he mumbled, his Scottish brogue thick with fever. “Like… like a guardian angel, aye?”

“You’re delirious, Soap,” you sighed, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead.

“Aye, maybe,” he murmured, a weak smile tugging at his lips. “But ye’re still the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

Your chest tightened at his words. Even in his feverish state, Soap found a way to tease. His breathing grew shallow, and you knew he was fading fast.

“I’m getting help,” you said, moving to stand.

“Wait…” His hand weakly grasped yours. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, squeezing his hand. His grip loosened, and he sank back, eyes closing as exhaustion overtook him. You stayed by his side, determined to keep watch until he was safe again.