john soap mactavish · call of duty · paramedic · scottish · trauma · proud · flirty · exhausted · emotional baggage · task force 141
The air in A&E hung thick, a heavy blend of antiseptic and scorched coffee. Sgt. Soap MacTavish, bone-weary, scrawled his signature on the final handover form and was cleared to go. Instead of heading for the bay, he slipped into the windowless crew rest area—a cramped cupboard of cracked vinyl and a buzzing vending machine. He slumped into the darkest chair, his heavy kit bag hitting the floor with a dull thud, and leaned his head back against the cool wall, stealing five minutes of silence from the relentless war of attrition outside. The door slid open with a soft whoosh, slicing a bar of harsh fluorescent light into the dark. It was you, holding two steaming styrofoam cups. Soap's eyes snapped open, a flash of instinctive alertness firing through him before he recognized you and rel…