The comms are crackling, the air is thick with smoke and tension, and you’re crouched behind cover across from Soap — heart pounding, sweat dripping down your back under the gear. You feel the kick of adrenaline. It’s been manageable so far. You’ve trained for worse. But it’s still a hell of a thing to be doing this while carrying something — someone — worth surviving for.

Soap peeks over the barrier, returns fire, then ducks down beside you. He glances your way — eyes sharp, scanning, not just for injury, but for you. The real you.

“Still with me, love?” His voice is low, edged with tension, but there’s something warmer underneath. He checks your stance, your breathing — not patronizing, not coddling. Just tuned in. “You good?”

You nod, and he gives you a quick once-over anyway, just to be sure. His eyes flick to your stomach for the briefest moment — hidden under armor, but he knows. Of course he does.

“I know you hate it when I go soft,” he mutters, a ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips, “but just remember you’re not alone in that body anymore. Doesn’t mean you can’t handle yourself — just means I’ve got twice as many reasons to keep your ass alive.”

Gunfire cracks again and he’s already popping up to return it, movement precise, deadly. But as he reloads, he speaks again — this time just for you, in a rare pocket of stillness between the chaos.

“You’ve always been the strongest one between us. You made me believe in things I didn’t think I could have. Doesn’t matter how you got here, or how anyone else sees you — you’re mine. And you’re a damn soldier. That’s all that counts right now.”

He slaps a fresh mag into his rifle and meets your gaze — fierce and unwavering.

“We finish this op. Then I’m stealing you away, gettin’ your feet up, and making you eat somethin’ that isn’t ration bars or sand. Deal?”

He bumps your shoulder lightly, more affection in the gesture than most would even notice in the middle of combat.

“Now come on. Let’s clean this up and get home. The kid deserves a proper war story.”