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indigosunsetao3 · 3 months

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Go...Don't Go

Another submission for for @glitterypirateduck's ‘SoapItUp’ challenge.

I just can't stay away. I came into this story just wanting to do something with the "you deserve so much more" prompt and have it be Captain MacTavish. I went with it and wrote it in about two hours.

Title: Go...Don't Go

Pairing: Captain Soap/Reader (female)

Warning: Angst. Anger Issues. Fluff.

Summary: When John comes home it's supposed to be a few days of paradise, but it always turns into fight. This time you both wonder if you can come back from it.

Prompts: "You deserve so much more" "I'm going to marry you"

Word Count: 2.4k

Another fight. That’s all that seemed to happen these days between the two of you, even with weeks and months of separation due to Soap’s deployments. You yearned to have him home, counted down the days on the small calendar that hung on the fridge and anxiously cleaned the house as if you were nesting leading up to his arrival home. And yet that happy bubble of breathless kisses, holding one another’s hands in the car so tight you thought your knuckles would pop, ended so quick you wondered why you wanted him home in the first place. Then as his next deployment creeped closer, you’d tenuously make up, the fragile truce created as you said your goodbyes growing stronger as you awaited his return.

It was a never-ending cycle, but you both told yourselves it would be better next time. Next time you’d talk through it, have more time to figure it out and truly fix everything. You made plans, wrote in your journal things to discuss and try to work on. Because talking to him about it while he was gone, if he could even communicate, was too much. He was busy and stressed enough with staying alive that trying to figure out why you fought over the fucking curtains and didn’t talk for two days was not a concern then.

But this time was different you swore to yourself. You even brought the journal in the car with you to pick him up. Hoping keeping it present and within eyesight would help you get around to the conversation faster, before a fight broke out. Because damn it you wanted to fix things and get back to the beginning when everything was soft, gentle and fun. What you didn’t account for though is the moment you saw his face waiting for you at the airport arrivals all that anger and pain you wanted to discuss was thrown out the door as you flew out of your seat to hug him. The journal stayed in the backseat of the car as he dragged you into the house with promise and lust in his eyes.

And the journal stayed there for the next three days. Completely forgotten as you both laid in bed together laughing for hours, going down to the rocky beach in the freezing cold morning fog for a walk and to the local pub to catch up with friends. You thought about it of course, thought about what you needed to talk about but damn things were going so well. Why ruin it with that? Maybe your rough patch was over and things were better without having to drudge everything up.

Then everything erupted. You don’t even remember what started it this time, or how it got so far but the familiar pain and rage was back for both of you. You saw the look in his eyes as you stamped your foot and yelled at him to just fucking listen to you for once, so fed up with trying to get a word in between his ranting that you’d try anything to get his attention. His resolve snapped at that and he swiped hard at the glass on the counter so it went flying into the wall not far from where you were standing and exploded into dozens of tiny glittery shards. The ringing silence after that had both of you staring at one another as the amber Scotch ran down the wall.

“Get out,” you breathe after a second, feeling the tears welling up behind your eyes. Tears of frustration, anger and maybe a tinge of fear. Soap had always been loud, boisterous, when he was happy or when he was mad but he had never done anything physical in front of you aside from the occasional door slam. He had always been careful to never let that side out with you because that was his work and he didn’t want to bring work home.

“Lass, I-“ Soap started as he took a step toward you. All the anger and fight seemed to have deflated out of him like popped balloon. But he stopped moving when he saw you step back from him and raised his hands up a bit in surrender.

“Get out, John,” you say again a little more firmly as the sound of dripping liquid hitting tile fills the silence. The Scotch had made it to the floor now and was puddling gently on the tile and you glance at it to see it running into the grout to create a proverbial line between you and him. “Just…go,” you say again feeling the tears fall now and you are furious that he’s seeing how he made you feel.

“Of course,” he answers in almost a whisper, looking horrified with himself as he takes a step backwards, then two. Turning heel, he quickly grabs the car keys from the awful lopsided bowl your niece made you for Christmas and is out the side door to the driveway. He didn’t even pause to grab his jacket despite the rain before he’s in the car and pulling away.

You stood in the silent kitchen for a long while, letting the tears fall as you tried to figure out what went wrong. How could all of this come to be? How could you two fit together like two halves of a same soul in the beginning turn into angry strangers? Perhaps it was all your fault, you were the one that changed and made things difficult. He was still the same old John that you met, the reliable Captain and genuine man that would sacrifice everything for those he loved and his country.

You though, God, you always nagged him didn’t you? Always needed him and resented him in those dark depthless nights when he was gone. Cried to him while he was gone because you couldn’t take another night alone in that big bed. Maybe you were the issue and you were ruining everything, he couldn’t take care of his men and you at the same time. You needed to be strong and let him come home to you whole but you always needed something from him. You just couldn’t let him be.

By the time you bent down to clean up the spilled alcohol and glass it was a sticky mess and you gasped as a shard nicked your thumb before you tossed it all in the trash. There were no tears left as you sat in the silence of the living room with a bottle of wine, no need for a glass, and just stared blankly into the small fire thinking. The wine addled your brain until your thoughts were just a muddled mess that didn’t make any sense and you needed to sleep.

When you awoke with a small jolt the clock on the nightstand reflected it had been three hours since your fight. Rolling over you saw John’s side of the bed was still untouched and cold. Fuck. With a groan you sit up and grab for your phone to see if he messaged you but all was quiet there. Calling out from the bedroom door to see if he was downstairs was greeted with silence as well. Your head was already throbbing as you crawled back into bed, knowing you should get some water and advil but the exhaustion was too much and you let sleep take you again.

Sometime later you felt the telltale dip in the bed of Soap climbing in and despite everything that had happened you roll over to reach for him. You need the comfort of him, even if you were still so confused, because he was the only thing that could make you feel better. He has you first though, his hands grabbing desperately for you as he drags you over to his side of the bed to wrap you up tight against him. He’s shirtless and you nestle your head down into his chest as one of his hands holds the back of your head, the other arm wrapped around your waist.

“I’m sorry,” he says into the dark, his voice a desperate crack as he takes a breath. “Lass, I’m so sorry,” he states again.

You can’t answer, the tears you thought you had run out of were back and you were sobbing into his chest. It felt like this was the moment, the moment things would be made whole again or irrevocably broken and you weren’t ready to face it. Instead, your hands scrabble to cling to him, to grab anything you can and hold on tight afraid it would be the last time you’d get the chance. He smells of cigar smoke and Scotch and the cheap goddamn soap he insists on using because he ‘doesn’t need the fancy shit’.

“Don’t go,” you breathe as he tries to pull back after he sufficiently calmed you down with gentle whispers of affirmations and soft kisses to your hair. “Please don’t leave. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry I’ll do things different, I won’t..” you continue before he cuts you off.

“What are you on about?” Soap asks as he pulls back and softly tilts your head up to look at him. His hand slides to wipe away some of the tears that are still tracking down your face. “You don’t ever apologize to me for something I did, it’s not like you made me act like a fool. I scared you and I’m a goddamn idiot for that,” he says quietly, his eyes searching your face. “I should be begging you not to leave me. You deserve so much more than me, then how I’ve been.”

“I kept pushing you though. You deal with so much on your job, I should have just let it go…” you try to argue.

“You should do no such thing,” Soap answers a bit fiercely, “I deserve to get my ass handed to me now and again. Especially when I’m being a prick” he grins a little bit in an attempt to get you to smile as well. “I never want you to not fight back and tell me how you are feeling,” he smooths your hair back a bit off your hot and flushed face. “You know what I’ve been up to?”

“Drinking at the pub,” you answer a bit sheepishly, having smelled the alcohol and smoke.

“Aye, for a drink or two to calm down,” he answers with a small chuckle before twisting away from you to reach behind him. You let him roll, looking over his shoulder at what he was reaching for before he comes back with the small little notebook in his hand. Your journal you had left in the car. “But mostly I’ve been sat down at the beach reading this.”

You wince a bit, the journal was for talking points but you hadn’t intended on him seeing all of it. Not that it was a secret but it was a vulnerable little thing full of your thoughts and drabbles and maybe even a sappy poem or two about John. You glance at it for a second longer before looking back at him as he shifts to lean up against the pillows on the headboard and he pulls you to lay on his chest. He reaches over to click on the bedside lamp before flipping open the journal and turning a few pages.

“We don’t need to talk about this now,” you say feeling a blush creep up as you advert your eyes from the page as he scans down the bullet points before finding what he was looking for. This section had been a late night stream of conscious session and of course he would want to talk about the sixth point.

“You mean this?” He asks as he points to the line about marriage. About how you dream of what life will be like when he finishes his last mission and comes home to you for good. “Because I really want to talk about this,” he smirks and lightly taps your arm with the journal to get you talking. “Or this one, this one is nice,” he teases flipping a few pages where you had written out all the things you love about him, the words ‘back muscles’ are underlined.

“John,” you bemoan as he laughs a bit before closing the journal and sets it gently on his stomach. “I don’t want to push you into anything. I feel like all I do is push you and you just push back harder and we get nowhere. I’m not going to force you into talking about anything, maybe that’s why we’re in the mess we are now.”

“Oh, we’re going to talk about all of it. We’re going to go over every line in that little journal, I added a few of my own notes, hope you don’t mind” Soap answers. “We’re going to make all of this work because I’m going to marry you one day,” the words are casual but the tone is a promise. “But not until we get everything right, until I’m a better man for you.”

“You’re already a great…” you start but Soap cuts you off with a sideways look. “Fine,” you finally give him a small laugh. “You’re a great start,” you tease.

“I’ll take it,” he answers as his fingers trace up and down your bare arm. “I know you’re tired, I found the empty bottle of wine halfway up the stairs,” he laughs. “But we could get started now.”

“Now? John it’s four in the morning, I’m not going to start having deep heart to heart conversations this moment” you answer him pushing up on your elbow.

“Oh no. This doesn’t involve much talking, well…intellectual talking. I found that small back of the page scribble you added about halfway through,” he gives you a very feral smirk as he grabs the notebook again and flips it to that page. He had placed the small ribbon on the journal in that spot as if he had marked it to save it and go back to later. He turns the notebook for you read, watching as your cheeks redden more as you read it over and see where he had added a few things.

“You really did read it cover to cover,” you say as he reaches up to click the light off, dropping the journal to the floor beside the bed.

“Mm, I did,” he answers before his lips capture yours in the dark.

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