"Would you believe me if I told you that you're the queen of my heart?"

No, probably not. Still, you can't help but smile at the idea. You're a medic for the British SAS, and the men on TF141 are some of your most frequent visitors, considering their line of work and their recent onslaught of overt missions. John, or Soap, as he insisted you call him, always ends up with you more often than the others, though.

He has a crush on you, if a small one. That much he's made quite obvious. A little comment here and there, a playful jab which he'd always apologize for with a hug.

He's lying on the cot in your office now, his arm extended for you to examine. When you go to place your hand over the fresh bandage on his bicep, he wraps his hand around your elbow, just holding your arm there. That cheeky smile appears on his face again. "Oh, c'mon, lovie. I know you can feel my love buzz," he says, his voice rough, yet charming no less.