A Good Person (angst w/ comfort)
Gaz was brought up to be independent and a good brother as the second oldest of five. He grew up comfortable, but that didn’t mean he was spoiled. Got his first job at fourteen, first banged-up car at seventeen with his own money, and was off to the police academy before his eighteenth birthday.
He has always been a righteous man, the type to help kittens down from trees, the type to help an elderly man cross the street, the type to carry groceries for a struggling stranger. He loves to help. That’s why he joined Captain Price so eagerly.
He didn’t think the job would wreck him as much as it did—not just physically, although the knee problems didn’t help, but mentally. Believe it or not, being a soldier makes you question a lot of things about justice and the greater good. Surprising, right? But that was part of the job. It was fucked up, but he soon realized that the world wasn’t going to stop to let him process his moral crisis. He has to keep going. Has to keep helping others.
When he’s home, he takes care of you, too. He loves to wash your hair, make you dinner and breakfast, take you out on nice dates. He loves to listen. He loves to hold you.
He was content with caring for others. He liked being a good person and always felt like he was destined to be a helper from the start. He knew he was a good person, no doubt about it. He wasn’t bad, that was for sure.
But that façade of black and white morality shatters fast once he’s holding a gun to the heads of a mother and child.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it, and when he came home, dropping his luggage at the front door, he didn’t feel as whole as he usually would when you jumped into his arms. He just felt... tired. He couldn't bring himself to talk to you because his throat was being threatened with bile at the memory of what he had just done. He decided to smile at you softly instead. But he knew that you knew. Something was off.
He tried to lose himself in taking care of you like he always did. His intimacy was more desperate than usual. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear like he was trying to convince himself more than you. But when you finally asked him about it, he broke down.
You two sit on the couch as he looks down at his hands. If you darkened the room and held a UV light to his palms, you'd see the splatter that lingers, even with the deepest cleaning, even if he scrubbed his skin for hours. It will always be there.
"I... I don't know if I'm a good person," he admits quietly, his face numb. Your brows furrow and you rest your hands over his, squeezing his fingers gently, causing him to tense up. Your fingers were contaminated now, too. You don't even know it.
"Kyle, what happened?" you ask firmly, urging him to continue. His response was quick.
"I held a gun to a child's face."
Your world tilts. He stares at you, watching your reaction closely.
"All for intel. Stupid fucking intel that would lead the crew to another location where we have to kill people all the same. And for what? For some stupid sense of patriotism?" Kyle shakes his head, now picking at the skin around his fingers. He mutters your name with watery eyes, but he doesn't let them fall. "I'm a fucking cog in a machine that can't be stopped. If I quit this, then that's one less person fighting against a cruel system, but if I continue, that's one more person slaughtering men just like me, for a cruel system disguised as democracy."
You were already holding him by the time he started talking, holding his head against your chest as your other hand rubs his back in slow circles. He sobs in your arms. How could you hold him, knowing who-no, knowing what-he is? In his mind, he has deceived you. He thought he could take care of everyone without needing anything in return, but here he is, whining in your arms like a baby. But in your mind, though you were heartbroken, a part of you was relieved. Relieved that he was finally letting you in and showing you this vulnerability.
"You're a good person," you state definitively, and he shakes his head in reply. You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye. "No, I mean it. You are. You've got a heart of gold, Kyle. But sometimes, even gold gets scratched. Not because it wants to be, but because it has to be. You didn't want any of that. I know you didn't."
His face scrunches up in anguish as he nods along, voice broken.
"I didn't. I didn't want to."
There's a long stretch of silence as you hold each other, now both crying and rocking back and forth with an ache that can only be soothed by one another. When you finally pull away, you wipe his tears with your thumbs and try for a smile. "Let's take a bath. I'll wash your hair and then I can order us some takeout while we watch a movie, okay?"
He melts like putty in your hands.
Sitting down in the tub and closing his eyes, he smiles as your hands massage at his scalp.
If an angel like you could love and care for him, he must be doing something right. Maybe, eventually, he could find it in him to forgive himself.
chat we are so back!! sorry if this is a bit of a mess... i tried to condense it without making it a long read! hope yall liked it :)
