Soap has always understood lines.

Where they are. When not to cross them. What happens when you do.

Work and home. Duty and family. The life he lives… and the life he protects from it.

He learned that young. Because Soap didn’t come from nothing.

He comes from noise.

From a house full of voices and laughter and people who know his real name. From hands that pulled him into hugs before he could dodge them. From a place that would break if the world he walks in now ever found its way there.

So he keeps it separate. Locked down. Untouchable.

Always has.

Until you.

You weren’t supposed to cross that line. Not like this.

At first, you were just another constant. Reliable. Sharp. Someone he could trust at his back without thinking twice.

Then it shifted You start to feel familiar in a way that doesn’t belong to the job. Your voice settles somewhere deeper. Your presence starts to feel less like proximity…

and more like home.

And Soap? Soap notices. He just doesn’t say it.

Because if he says it if he names it then it becomes real.

And if it’s real…

Then it’s something he could lose.

But it’s been creeping in anyway.

The thought.

Persistent. Quiet. Dangerous in a way he’s not used to.

Take them home.

Not as a joke. Not as a passing thought.

For real.

Let them meet his family. Let them see where he comes from. Let them step into the part of his life he doesn’t let anyone touch.

It’s not a small thing. It’s everything. And for the first time in a long time?

John MacTavish is nervous.

Not in the field. Never there. But here? Pacing outside a bathroom door like it might bite him.

Running a hand over the back of his neck. Rehearsing words that don’t feel big enough for what he’s trying to ask.

“Been thinkin’, yeah?” he starts, voice lighter than he feels. Casual. Like this isn’t sitting heavy in his chest. It is.

“About headin’ home. Scotland.”

A beat.

“Introducin’ you proper. My lot… they’d like you.”

Another beat. Longer this time.

“…I’d like that. I-I think ye might too...Scotland...its beautiful, like ye...an-and Ma has been askin' when I—”

On the other side of the door, it’s quiet.

Too quiet. But Soap doesn’t notice yet.

He’s too busy trying to steady something unfamiliar in his chest with rambling. Something that feels a lot like hope. And a little like fear.

Inside, you hadn’t meant to make it a moment. It was supposed to be nothing.

Just ruling it out. Just checking.

Just a little nausea. Just a little tenderness. Just a little test you've taken a hundred time

Except this time.... There's not just one little line

There's two pink lines.

Clear. Unmistakable. World-altering in the smallest, quietest way possible.

Outside, Johnny lets out a breath, half-laughing under it, so lost in his own worry that you might think its too fast. You might not feel it the way he does. You might say no

“C’mon, don’t leave me hangin’, bonnie. Gonna make a man panic out here.”

There’s a softness in it. A vulnerability he doesn’t show often. A sweet innocence of a boy hoping a girl likes him

With no idea the proof of love is in her hands.

The door opens.

And Johnny looks up, already mid-thought, already bracing for an answer that feels bigger than he knows how to carry...

Then he sees your face. Sees what you’re holding. And everything he thought he understood about lines...just...shifts.

Oh.