୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
The first time you meet them, you understand why John worries.
Not because they’re dangerous. Not really.
But because they look like men who have never had anyone waiting for them to come home.
The base smells like oil, gun cleaner, and something metallic that lingers in the back of your throat. It’s loud in the way military places always are.. boots against concrete, radios crackling, distant laughter that feels more like tension bleeding out than real amusement.
You walk beside John, your hand tucked into the crook of his arm.
He’s broad and solid beside you, a presence more than a man sometimes. The other soldiers straighten slightly when he passes. Some salute. Some nod.
Most of them stare at you.
Not rudely. Just… curious.
“They’ll stare, love. Not every day the captain brings his wife around”
You squeeze his arm slightly.
He squeezes your hand back.
You’re younger than him—everyone notices that immediately. Softer around the edges than the people who live here. Your sweater is a warm cream color, sleeves slightly too long over your hands. You’d braided your hair this morning because you were nervous.
John had kissed the top of your head and told you there was nothing to be nervous about.
But the truth is, you always are.
Not because of the soldiers.
Because of the quiet ache that lives in your chest.
The doctor’s office had smelled like antiseptic and cheap coffee when they told you.
Too young, they’d whispered gently.
“You likely won’t be able to have children.”
They said it like it wasn’t your fault, even though that’s all you could think.
You remember staring at the wall behind the doctor’s head. A painting of sunflowers. Bright and cheerful.
John had held your hand the entire time.
Later, in the car, he rested his forehead against yours and said softly, “We’ll still have a good life. I promise you that.”
But sometimes the silence in your house feels too big.
Sometimes the spare bedroom stays too empty.
Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night just to press your face into John’s chest and try not to cry.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
Soap is the first one you meet properly.
John MacTavish bursts into the room like a firecracker.
“Cap! Heard you’re finally bringin’ the missus around!”
He stops mid-stride when he actually sees you.
You’re smaller than he expected.
Your smile is shy but warm.
John sighs behind you. “Behave.”
Soap sticks his hand out immediately. “John MacTavish.. but ye can call me Johnny”
You take it, shaking gently.
“I’ve heard about you.” you say politely.
His eyebrows shoot up. “All good things, I hope.”
John takes a slow sip of his tea, avoiding the eye contact.
Soap groans. “Ah, Christ.”
And something about the sound makes Soap’s expression soften.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
Kyle Garrick stands when you enter the room, polite in a way that feels almost old-fashioned.
You blink. “You don’t have to call me that.”
“Yes I do.” he says automatically.
You smile gently. “You can call me whatever John calls me.”
Gaz looks briefly horrified.
Soap wheezes somewhere behind him.
John just lights a cigar.
But Gaz relaxes a little when you start asking questions.
The last question catches him off guard.
“You don’t skip meals, do you?”
Soap howls with laughter.
“Oh, you’re in for it now mate.”
But something warm flickers in his chest.
It’s been a long time since someone asked him that like it mattered.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
You notice him immediately.
He stands near the back of the room, silent and enormous. The skull mask hides everything but his eyes, dark and unreadable.
“A good man. Just… been through too much.”
You stop a polite distance away.
Ghost stares down at you.
“I’m John’s wife.” you add softly.
His voice is low and rough.
“Well. It’s nice to meet you.”
He hesitates… then slowly, awkwardly, he takes your hand.
His glove is rough against your skin.
Your handshake is gentle.
“You take care of him..all of them” you say softly.
“He says you make sure they’re all safe if he can’t…”
Ghost just stares at you.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
The first time they come to your house, it’s because of a storm.
A real Appalachian-style downpour, the kind that floods roads and rattles windows. John had mentioned you loved cooking for people, and somehow that had turned into an invitation.
He smells like rain and something.. moss like.
You immediately push a towel into his hands.
He obeys instantly, wiping himself off.
Gaz arrives next, polite as ever, taking his boots off without being asked.
Ghost lingers in the doorway.
He’s not sure he belongs in a house like this.
Your house smells like soup.
The warm, comforting kind.
“Come in.” you tell him with a smile.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
There’s stew, fresh bread, roasted vegetables, pie cooling on the counter.
Soap stares like he’s found heaven.
Ghost sits at the table like he’s unsure if touching anything will break the illusion, like maybe this is just a dream.
You bustle around the kitchen.
“Johnny, you’re too thin.”
You scoop more stew into his bowl.
Gaz gets a second helping whether he asks or not.
Ghost gets extra bread placed silently on his plate.
You just smile and go back to stirring the pot.
John watches from his chair, cigar in hand.
Later, while the boys argue over something stupid in the living room, you lean against the counter beside him.
“They’re good boys..” you say quietly.
Your eyes drift toward the living room.
Gaz trying to be the voice of reason.
Ghost sitting quietly in the corner but clearly listening.
“They just look like they needed someone.”
John watches you carefully.
The life you thought you’d have.
He reaches over and squeezes your hand.
“You’re good for them.” he says quietly.
He nods toward the living room.
Soap immediately yells something incomprehensible about stealing the last slice of pie.
Ghost mutters something dry that makes both of them louder.
Arguing over dessert like children.
“They’re always welcome.” you whisper.
And later, when Soap hugs you goodbye like he’s known you for years…
When Gaz thanks you three separate times for dinner…
When Ghost pauses at the door and quietly says,
Maybe you weren’t meant to be a mother the way you thought.
But as the door closes and John wraps an arm around your shoulders…
You look at the three soldiers walking down your driveway.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
theartofmadeline
stormborns
izzy806
