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Roach felt a light knock of an elbow against the back of his head. Well, it wasn’t that light — it was still an elbow hitting the back of his head. But he’d had worse.
Ghost rounded the chair Roach was sitting in in the rec room. Of course it was him.
“Oi, where’s the captain?” Ghost asked.
Roach shrugged.
“Come on, you’re always following him around like a puppy, you know where he’s run off to?” Ghost said.
Roach let out an indignant huff. He did not follow the captain around like a puppy. He was simply observant, and he got along well with the captain, thank you.
Ghost started pushing Roach by the shoulder out of his chair. “Go look for him.”
Roach gave him a look, then looked over at Ghost’s laptop held in his hands. He had a feeling…
“I’m not asking him for a new laptop, it’s because he’s got a meeting with Campbell today— shut your mouth, Roach.”
Roach hadn’t even opened it.
But it didn’t matter. He knew how persistent Ghost could be. Most people thought he was scary. Roach saw him as a very stubborn and irritable, but close friend of his. And Ghost had covered for him after a small fuck up on their most recent mission.
Roach stood up, waving Ghost off as he went to search for the captain.
The first stop was, of course, MacTavish’s office. Roach expected to open the door and see the captain standing over his desk, furiously scribbling something in his journal. Possibly pacing about the room with a map in his hand, and then rushing to his desk to grab a ruler and coloured pen to sketch out a plan of attack.
But instead, one quick look inside showed him nowhere to be found. In fact, it seemed he hadn’t been there recently at all. His desk was far too clean for MacTavish to have been there in the past few hours — the piles of reports were far too neat, and there were only two maps laid out on the desk. The main tell was that his journal wasn’t sitting on top of everything on the desk, which meant he had taken it with him elsewhere.
Roach went to the gym, next. MacTavish usually worked out in the early morning, so with it being six in the afternoon, the chances of him being there were low. Roach preferred evening workouts. But he’d seen MacTavish come in for a quick session to get energy out enough times that it was worth a shot.
Instead, all he found were Meat and Royce having a squats competition. Of fucking course. They hadn’t even seen MacTavish at all that day.
The mess hall was empty, too. As was the firing range (and Roach had a really good feeling MacTavish would be there). He wasn’t in the armoury or the garage either. He asked nearly every single person he passed if they knew where MacTavish was. No one had seen him in the past two hours at the latest.
Roach was starting to get annoyed — maybe Ghost had sent him on a wild goose chase after all. But there was one last place he hadn’t checked yet.
Roach knew most officers preferred to live off base, nearby. But not MacTavish. He lived on base with the rest of the team, though he had a room to himself. Roach had had to deliver enough things directly to MacTavish’s room to not even have to think as he walked right up to his door, every step automatic as his mind wandered. He regained his attention once he came face to face with the carved ‘MacTAVISH’ nameplate nailed to the door.
Roach knocked on the door. Nothing. Maybe he knocked too quietly? He knocked again, this time much harder. Once again, nothing.
Well, if he disturbed MacTavish, that was on him for not paying attention. He pushed down on the handle, surprised it was even unlocked to begin with, and opened the door.
MacTavish’s room was always just shy of organised. Put together neatly, but with enough moving parts that it was never perfectly pristine. Just enough chaos sprinkled into the order that was so very MacTavish. Enough of his own personal touches that made it his room. Like the big Scottish flag that hung over his bed. Or the framed square of the MacTavish clan tartan on his desk. The neatly folded Celtic FC scarf he'd worn to the most recent game. And how MacTavish’s boots were always tossed against the wall rather than being put neatly by the door. Nor did he hang up his jacket, MacTavish always dropped it on his desk chair and one arm would always be touching the floor.
But it seemed MacTavish hadn’t even bothered to toss his boots or jacket where they belonged, as his jacket had been dropped on the ground, and MacTavish was still wearing his boots.
Roach found MacTavish curled up on his bed on top of the covers against the far wall of the room, sleeping on his side and facing the door. His journal was on the small chest of drawers adjacent to his bed, and next to it was MacTavish’s phone, charging. It was already at 100%, so Roach unplugged it, being careful not to make much noise. Roach spotted three missed calls from Ghost, and one more from Price.
He knew he was here to wake MacTavish up, but everything was telling him not to. MacTavish looked so…unguarded. Vulnerable. Peaceful.
With his face not scrunched up in focus, or his eyebrows knitted in concentration or stress, he looked so much younger than he usually did. Roach was aware that MacTavish had become a captain quite quickly. And despite how he acted, the man was only in his mid 30s. But now, it really showed. He had been put under so much pressure and stress for long enough, the man deserved a break every once in a while. In Roach’s honest opinion, the man deserved the fucking year off, and a medal added onto that.
Roach took careful steps towards him, unsure whether he still wanted to wake him up or not. His hand reached out, touching his shoulder. The captain didn’t even stir.
Roach had once accidentally woken MacTavish up on a mission after turning around in bed a little too loud. Sure it was on a mission, so the captain was on edge. But still, it seemed the man was truly out of it today.
He tried again, giving his shoulder a pat. Once again, nothing.
Roach really was starting to second guess waking him up. Surely there wasn’t much harm in letting him sleep in.
But he did owe Ghost.
He grasped MacTavish’s shoulder a little tighter, giving it a shake.
That got a reaction. MacTavish made a soft noise, clearly not wanting to get up. It was a bit cute, honestly. Not that Roach would ever admit that.
He shook MacTavish again, his other hand up ready to try and sign some sort of explanation to the captain once he opened his eyes.
MacTavish’s arm reached out, slowly, towards Roach. At first, Roach thought MacTavish was stretching. But then the arm hooked around Roach’s torso and pulled him down onto the bed.
Roach was barely able to catch himself in time before he could fall right on MacTavish’s face. But it didn’t seem to matter that much, as MacTavish pulled him in close and shoved his face in the front of Roach’s chest, finally settling once again.
It wasn’t an uncomfortable position. Roach had gotten pulled onto his side rather than splayed out weirdly on the bed. The most annoying part was the arm Roach was laying on was trapped between his body and MacTavish’s. His other arm had landed above the captain’s.
MacTavish’s grip on him was tight. Not enough that Roach couldn’t escape — even when MacTavish was awake and actively trying to lock Roach in a grapple, Roach still somehow always managed to worm his way out. This wouldn’t be hard to break out of. He’d need a bit of force, yes, but nothing too much to strain him.
But that was the main issue. If he tried to get out at all, surely it would wake MacTavish up. And he should have been waking him up. But he just couldn’t.
Roach was frozen, his free arm hovering above MacTavish’s body to not disturb him. He didn’t know how long he waited, but he knew it was far longer than he needed to after MacTavish had comfortably buried his face in Roach’s chest. He finally set his arm down, falling around his shoulders and his back. His hand didn’t even reach the bed with how broad MacTavish’s shoulders were.
It was kind of funny to Roach. MacTavish’s upper half was so broad, and yet his hips were so narrow that if MacTavish were standing side by side with him, Roach could probably wrap his whole arm around it and touch his own hip.
MacTavish seemed to notice the arm around him too, as he pulled Roach in even closer.
Despite his short stature, Roach was still quite a big guy. And MacTavish was huge. So it was a fucking wonder Roach hadn’t tipped over the edge and fallen off the bed, even if he was being pressed right against MacTavish. But it seemed MacTavish was adamant on keeping Roach in his grasp.
Roach didn’t really expect MacTavish to be the cuddler type — he wasn’t really one for physical touch, aside from the occasional pats on the back he’d give Roach, or the ones he’d get from Price.
But the way MacTavish was clinging to him, it was clear he was wrong about his assumption. He wondered what MacTavish must have been dreaming of to be having this kind of reaction. Or maybe it was just instinctual for him.
Roach had never heard of MacTavish having a partner. Even if he had, Roach imagined MacTavish would rarely be one to even bring them up in the first place. Maybe if you got him comfortable enough at just the right time, when he was in a good mood and spirits were high, and he’d want to join in on a nice conversation. But as far as Roach knew, MacTavish wasn’t dating anyone. He wondered who he must have been thinking of, then.
Roach’s chin brushed against MacTavish’s hair. It was soft. He’d always thought MacTavish’s hair looked so fluffy to the touch, especially when the sun hit it just right. He was starting to understand MacTavish’s need to push his head into his chest the way he wanted to nuzzle his face right in the captain’s mohawk. He ran his free hand through his hair, absentmindedly wondering how much MacTavish took care of it. And it was, indeed, incredibly fluffy. So much softer than his own hair, which was thick and coarse.
Roach got the impression that MacTavish wanted his hair to look effortlessly taken care of, but it was clear he paid a lot of attention to making sure it looked good. He could picture him with a whole long routine to it, meticulously washing it and then styling and combing it into place every single morning.
At least, on base it seemed that was his usual routine. Maybe not in the field. Because he'd seen the man run gun oil through his hair once on a mission. To this day, Roach still couldn't figure out what could have possibly prompted the captain to do that.
Roach yawned. It was way too early for him to be this tired already. But, with him being completely trapped in MacTavish's hold, and him finding it rather comfortable, there was only so little he could do.
Well, Ghost had only said to look for him. He’d completed his orders. Hell, he’d even send him a text that MacTavish was ‘preoccupied’, so to speak.
Roach could let MacTavish sleep in for a while. And maybe he’d join him for a while, too…
᚛ᚋᚐ ᚈᚐ ᚈᚒ ᚔᚍ ᚐᚍᚍ ᚓ ᚎᚓᚑ ᚐ ᚈᚆᚗᚎᚉᚔᚍᚈ ᚈᚐ ᚈᚒ ᚙᚏᚐᚉᚆ᚜
The first thing John noticed as he started to stir was the thump, thump against his forehead. A steady slow heartbeat. He wasn’t sure where exactly it was coming from, but he could tell it wasn’t his. It didn’t matter too much, he was far too comfortable to bother even thinking about it. All he needed to worry about was that it made him feel safe, at ease.
He felt warm, whatever was wrapped around him was holding him tight. It was thick, and it smelled good. The right mix of cheap Lynx Africa and forest trees. It started moving, just for a moment. But John had to make sure it wasn’t trying to escape. He pulled it even closer towards him until his face was buried right in it, almost smothering himself.
John couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this cozy. Never in his own bed, not since he was a kid. No, the last time he could remember…it was back when he was a sergeant, right after a very successful mission with the 22nd. They’d trekked to a safehouse in a snowstorm, in high spirits knowing for a fact that they were safe, only having to wait for exfil. Gaz had put on the fire, and John had sat down on the couch with Price and Gaz talking about god knew what next to him. It had felt so safe, that he really didn’t have anything to worry about in that moment. The mission orders would come in later, the plans would be deliberated later. Everyone was alive, no one was hurt, the mission couldn’t have gone more perfectly. The next thing he knew, he’d woken up with his whole body laid out properly on the couch and with a blanket tossed over him.
John wasn’t sure where he was, or even when he was at this point, but he’d indulge, just this once, in comfort. He felt a cold at his back and his legs, but whatever his torso was wrapped around was warm. He brought his legs up, wrapping around it to get even more of the heat.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, in a general haze. His mind wandered, a tiny part of him telling him to get up, another part asking him when he’d get the opportunity to feel this kind of rest again. He’d need to stock up on it for the missions ahead. With all the plans he needed to organise, the next mission he needed to get approval for, and Ghost’s request for god knows what for his computer, as he always did…
Fine. He felt awake, now.
John opened his eyes. Despite what he had felt as he clung onto it, and what he heard as his heartbeat synced up with whatever he was listening to, he still expected to open his eyes to see himself choking out a poor pillow. Instead, he saw a chest, covered in a black t-shirt.
One of his arms was trapped under the torso he had been near-crushing for what must have been at least an hour, so he could barely sit up. But whoever he had been handling stirred just enough for John to free his elbow and lean on it to see who it was.
Roach.
For a good minute, everything seemed completely normal in John’s head. No alarm bells, nothing out of the ordinary at all. John nearly leaned down to distract Roach by running a hand up the man’s side so he could free the rest of his arm. His hand had barely moved half a foot before it stopped, hovering in the air.
John stared at Roach as the man slowly awoke once again. How the hell…
Roach opened his eyes for half a second, looking up at John hovering above him. He closed them again, getting comfortable. Then, a second later, opened his eyes and stiffened. He jolted, as though he was about to suddenly sit up. Thankfully he didn’t, otherwise he would’ve smacked John square in the face with his own.
“Roach?” John said. His voice was still rough with sleep, it came out as more of a croak.
Roach stared back, not even raising a hand to sign something out. His eyes were wide. His mouth was bobbling open and closed like a fish, even though both men knew he wasn’t about to verbalise a reply any time soon.
“Why’re you in my bed?” John asked.
He started shifting a bit more, to give Roach more space to sit up.
Roach replied by simply pointing right at John.
“I didn’t call you in to be my pillow, did I?” John asked. He’d said it as a joke, but as he spoke, he started to believe he might have, and just forgot. The way his voice broke towards the end made it clear he was doubting himself.
Roach couldn’t help but let out a silent chuckle, covering his face with one fist to laugh. He finally moved his hand away to sign:
‘You pulled me in.’
“So I DID call you in to sleep with me?” John said, shouting without meaning to.
This time, Roach laughed out loud, snorting and nearly falling back with the effort. He shook his head as he laughed, trying to compose himself.
‘You were asleep,’ he signed, his hand coming to his face and closing his eyes as he signed the last word.
John didn’t know if that was more or less embarrassing, honestly.
He sat back in bed, avoiding showing any more emotion. He’d made enough of a fool of himself.
Roach’s arms came up again, grabbing John’s attention.
‘Was nice,’ he signed.
“What, the nap?” John asked. He didn’t actually think Roach was referring to it, honestly. He was just trying to make a witty joke. But to John’s surprise, Roach nodded, smiling. It made John have a weird feeling in his gut. Not a bad feeling. But weird. The same kind of weird he’d feel whenever he jumped off the helo into the warzone. The same feeling he’d get right before pulling the trigger on an unsuspecting soldier. He didn’t realise he was smiling, too.
“So you found me just to try charm your way into a lie in, aye?” John said. He’d heard the jokes plenty of times saying John treated Roach as the favourite. Usually in the form of a quip from Meat during a mission, sometimes from Ghost too, but more often Ghost said it straight to John’s face. Which John often denied. He simply had a tiny, tiny, soft spot for Roach. He reminded John a bit of himself.
Roach, of course, shook his head.
He started fingerspelling out a name: C-A-M-P-B-E-L-L. Afterwards, he signed the word ‘meeting’, but John didn’t even need to look.
“FUCK!” he shouted. In the haze of comfort from the nap, he’d completely forgotten he had a meeting with Campbell that day. And his alarm clock said he was half an hour late.
John scrambled out of bed and onto his feet. Thankfully, he was already wearing his shoes (something he only noticed in the process of sprinting towards the door). Roach was right on his heels. He should've told the lad where he was going, he could tell that Roach was trying to tell him something, but this was an emergency.
He'd only made it around the corner of the hall before he reached his arm out, catching a doorway to stop himself in his tracks from barrelling right into Price.
Price put a hand out, not to catch MacTavish, but more to stop him in case he did collapse into him (he did not). He leveled him with a look that always made John feel like a kid looking up at their father for a lecture, even though they were the same height.
“Price, sir…” John said, already needing to take heavy breaths from the sudden start-stop. He could hear Roach's steps start to falter, ending right behind him.
“Soap, the hell are you running for?” Price said, more of a grunt, really.
“Colonel Campbell,” John answered, eyes already looking in the direction of the hallway. “He and I—”
“Already taken care of,” Price said.
John took another breath, then looked back at Price.
“Huh?”
“It's been taken care of,” Price repeated. He nodded his head at Roach. “Roach told me you had a meeting with him. I handled it. You'll get the files on it later.”
John looked back at Roach, who gestured vaguely at Price, his way of saying Price had explained pretty much everything Roach had tried telling him. Maybe John should’ve listened…or, well, looked at what Roach had been trying to tell him instead of dragging him along on a sprint for his life.
Price didn’t pay it much mind, but John could feel his stare on him.
“I think you need to go back to sleep, son,” Price said. “Keep an eye on him, Roach.”
Roach gave him a quick two-fingered salute in acknowledgement, then gave John a smile. Like he had too much power, as he started leading John back to the bedroom.