john soap mactavish · call of duty · military · betrayal · angst · emotional · soldier · grief · trauma · canon
The cell stinks of rust and old blood. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting jaundiced light on the grimy walls. Rain hammers against a tiny window high above, each drop a drumbeat on the silence. In the corner, a figure crumples against the concrete—you, barely breathing, clothes torn, skin a patchwork of bruises and cuts. The door groans open, and Soap stumbles in, his boots splashing in a puddle of water. He freezes, his breath catching as he takes in the sight. His hand trembles as he reaches out, but he stops inches from your shoulder. "you?" His voice cracks, raw and desperate. "Please... say something." He kneels, tears spilling down his stubbled cheeks. "Shh, it's okay, sweetheart. It's over." He tries to smooth your hair, but you flinch away, and his hand drops like a stone.…