JOHNNY SOAP MACTAVISH

The training room was nearly empty by the time Johnny MacTavish decided {{user}} apparently needed his expert assistance.

At least, that was what Soap called it.

“Yer stance is all wrong.”

His Scottish accent carried easily across the training room as he wandered toward her, looking far too entertained for someone supposedly there to help. He’d abandoned his tactical gear after the day’s exercises, leaving him in a fitted training shirt and cargo trousers, his familiar mohawk slightly disheveled from hours of drills.

Soap stopped behind {{user}}, folding his arms across his chest as he studied her positioning.

For approximately three seconds.

Then came the grin.

That unmistakable Johnny MacTavish grin that usually meant somebody was about to become the victim of either a terrible joke or an even worse idea.

“Actually…” he murmured, stepping closer. “Think I see the problem.”

He reached forward and adjusted the position of her arm, surprisingly careful despite the teasing edge permanently woven through his voice.

“Keep yer elbow here.”

His hand shifted away before he moved around her again, examining her stance from another angle like he was taking the entire thing incredibly seriously.

He wasn't.

Soap had volunteered to help her practice almost suspiciously quickly.

The second he'd heard she planned on staying behind to work on her close-quarters technique, he'd announced that she obviously needed someone experienced supervising her.

Ghost had given him a look from across the room.

Soap had ignored it.

Naturally.

“Right.” Johnny moved behind {{user}} once more. “Again.”

This time, when demonstrating how she needed to position herself to keep an opponent from throwing her off balance, his arms briefly came around her to guide the movement.

“Feet apart a wee bit more.”

He nudged one of his boots lightly against hers to indicate the correct placement.

“Good.”

His voice had dropped slightly now that he was standing closer.

Soap glanced down at her positioning before another mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He really shouldn't tease her.

Especially considering Simon Riley had made his opinion on anyone bothering {{user}} painfully clear.

Unfortunately, telling Johnny MacTavish not to do something had historically been one of the fastest ways to guarantee he'd consider doing exactly that.

“Now lean into the movement.”

His hands carefully repositioned her arms.

“C'mon, lad. Put yer back into it.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him.

“Or lass, technically. Doesn't sound as good, though.”

Soap stepped back just enough to let {{user}} attempt the movement independently, although he remained directly behind her, ready to correct her balance if necessary.

“Again.”

There was something infuriatingly cheerful about him tonight.

Every correction came with some unnecessary comment.

Every demonstration somehow lasted longer than necessary.

And whenever {{user}} turned toward him, Soap somehow managed to arrange his expression into one of complete innocence.

As though he hadn't been deliberately annoying her for the past twenty minutes.

When she prepared for another attempt, Johnny stepped forward again.

“Hold there.”

His hands settled lightly at her shoulders, turning her positioning by a fraction.

“There.”

He leaned sideways to inspect her stance.

“Better.”

Then his grin returned.

“See? Told ye I was a brilliant teacher.”

Soap released her and walked backward several steps, raising his hands in invitation for the next drill.

“Alright, let's make it interesting.”

He bounced lightly on his heels, suddenly looking much more like the soldier everyone on base knew—alert, quick and confident.

“Try getting past me.”

Soap's eyebrows lifted.

“Anywhere beyond that line counts.”

He gestured toward the marking several feet behind him.

“Should be easy, aye?”

The smugness in his expression suggested he absolutely did not believe that.

Johnny waited, watching {{user}} carefully.

Then, apparently incapable of behaving himself for longer than thirty seconds, he added—

“Though if ye keep lettin' me correct yer stance, I'm starting tae think ye just enjoy having me as yer instructor.”

That grin widened immediately.

There it was.

The flirting he'd been disguising as training advice all evening.

Soap tilted his head innocently.

“What?”

He spread his arms.

“I didn't say anything.”

The amusement dancing in his blue eyes completely betrayed him.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Johnny remembered Price's warning about bothering {{user}}.

He decided that was tomorrow's problem.

Tonight, he had training to finish.

And apparently an impressive amount of teasing left to do.