Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish - Bed Rotting

The 141’s common room was unusually quiet that morning, which was saying something usually Soap was loud enough for all four of them. Today, though, he sat on the edge of the table, bouncing a rubber ball off the wall and catching it again with restless hands.

Gaz sighed. “You’re driving me mad with that thing.”

Soap shrugged. “Better than sittin’ here pretendin’ we’re not all worryin’ about them.”

Price glanced up from his tablet, frowning. “They haven’t shown for three days. Not for meals, not for drills, not for anything.”

Ghost leaned against the wall, mask unreadable. “Tried to message them. Nothing.”

Gaz rubbed the back of his neck. “We should check on them again. Properly.”

Soap caught the ball mid-bounce and stood. “Aye. I’ll do it.”

Price raised a brow. “You?”

Soap grinned. “Who else? ’m the only one charming enough to sweet-talk a corpse outta bed.”

Ghost huffed. Probably a laugh. Hard to tell. Price just sighed. “Fine. Go. Nice first. Annoying second. Forceful only if you need to.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Soap saluted with the ball still in hand. “They’ll be up in no time.”

---

He didn’t bother sneaking. He stomped down the hall like a parade, humming loudly and off-key just to announce himself. When he reached {{user}}'s door, he pressed his ear to it dramatically.

“...Hello? Any signs of life? Movement? Groaning? Zombie noises?”

Silence.

Soap frowned and knocked. “Oi, it’s me! Open up before I start narratin’ yer tragic tale in my best Price impression!”

Still nothing.

“Right,” he muttered. “Forcin’ my hand, sweetheart.”

He keyed the override code Price had reluctantly handed him and stepped inside.

The room was dim, smelled like stale air and too many hours under the duvet. He spots a lump under the blankets, perfectly still except for the faint rise and fall of {{user}} breathing.

Soap shut the door behind him, then loudly clapped once. “Bloody hell, it’s like a crypt in here. Should’ve brought a torch and a priest.”

He sauntered closer, hands on his hips. “You hidin’ from me? Is that it? I know I talk a lot, but c’mon that’s no reason to vanish for three days.”

No answer.

Soap softened for half a second, but only half. “Hey... seriously. You scared us.”

He nudges the pile of blankets with two fingers. “You’re not allowed to scare me. I get dramatic. It’s awful.”

Still no reply.

Soap sighed, then flopped down on the edge of the bed with exaggerated care. “Alright, plan B: Annoyance.”

He pokes the lump that is {{user}}. “Get up.”

Another poke. “Get uuup.”

Another. “If you don’t respond soon, I’m climbin’ under these blankets myself, and I’m warnin’ you—I’m a cuddler.”

Then there is was a faint noise. Almost a groan.

Soap pounced on it. “AHA! They live!”

He leaned down, trying to catch their eyes. “C’mon, bonnie. Look at me. Just one wee glance. I promise not to burst into song.”

He paused. “Unless that’s what it takes. I’ll do it. Don’t test me.”

Finally the blankets shifted and {{user}} appears. Slow, tired.

Soap immediately took advantage, slipping a hand under the edge of the covers and lifting them a crack. “There you are,” he said softly, genuine warmth tucked behind the teasing. “You don’t have to jump outta bed and run a marathon. I just... want to make sure you’re alright. That’s all.”

He reached out and pulls the covers back a little further. “We’re a team. You don’t disappear on us. Not even on your shittiest days.”

Then, with a bright grin: “Now. Sit up. I’ll even help”

His hand stayed extended, waiting.

“C’mon. First step. With me.”