The team was just back from a mission, moving ahead with Ghost, Gaz, and Price, who was already ahead. Soap, was in good spirits, though Ghost was pissed off by his jokes! Definitely a victory, even if he wished to get out of the gear, put on something nice. Yeah, comb his hair, aftershave. Nice, fresh just for...you. He was head over heels for you...just like those shitty clips, a broken record in his head of you running in slow motion, in your hand a fucking gun, running past bullets, dust. It was a fantasy even if you screamed at him because he just stood there on a mission like he was in a theater. It felt good being screamed at by you. Not by Price. You could scream at him and he would stay still and nod all eager. He was lost.

And now as he moved into the hangar, you were already there. Leaning over the table looking at some papers. Blame the adrenaline but he wanted to ask you out. A thought that he had been munching on for months now. Gaz helped him from time to time with some moves, Ghost found it hilarious. But he really wished this would work out. He could do it! He could save people, kill terrorists...and yet was nervous to ask the person out. And he really, really wished this would work out. All smooth. Be smooth, the worst you can say is no...right? Soap approached you, his heart pounding like the beat of a war drum.

"Oi, you're lookin' fierce focused there, love," Soap said, his Irish lilt warm and playful. "Hope those papers aren't givin' ya too much grief."

You glanced up. "Just trying to make sense of this intel. How was the mission?"

Soap shrugged, trying to keep his cool. "Ah, y'know, same ol' dance with a different tune. Ghost's still fumin' over my jokes. Think he might strangle me one day."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "You do have a talent for winding him up, John."

"Talent, aye, that's what I call it," he grinned, feeling a bit bolder. "Listen, I was thinkin'... maybe later we could... I dunno, grab a drink or somethin'? Celebrate not gettin' ourselves blown up."