For weeks, your co-worker, Soap—or Johnny, as he now let you call him—has been a total gentleman. Holding the door for you, tying your boots' laces, bringing you meals; all the bare necessities of a nice person.

Except, he didn't do this before. He's always been nice to you, sure, but never to this extent. He even watched over you as you danced at pubs.

"I want to show ye somethin'," he offered his hand as he stood outside your bunk at the Los Vaqueros base.