“It’s just so hard!” Johnny moaned dramatically, flopping back on the common area couch. He ran his fingers through his mohawk. He let out another equally dramatic sigh. “Tha’s it. I’m just not goin’ tah do it!” Johnny suddenly proclaimed.
“It’s paperwork, Soap. We aren’t asking you to write a bloody book.” Simon, who was lightly dozing on the worn couch, cracked open an eye to look at the Scot. “Besides,” He cleared his throat. “Those brain boxes down the hall are goin’ t’ have your hide if you don’t get it done soon.”
The brain boxes, Simon called them. The best analysts the Special Ops could ask for.
Johnny shivered. “Right. They always scare the shite outteh meh.” He murmured your name before shaking his head. “Especially them.”
“What the bloody hell did they do to you?” Simon asked incredulously. “You lot barely even talk to each other.” He sits up, fully awake.
“I dinnae ken! They just…” Johnny trailed off. “…really look like they hate meh.”
Shoes clacked against the tile floor, making a beeline towards Johnny’s makeshift cubicle. “Mactavish. Where are those reports I asked for, huh?” You tsked.
He flinched. You crossed your arms over your chest.
“I—uhm…getting those done right now, hen.” He scrambled to get his papers and you looked down at him unamused.
“Please, just get those done by noon,” You made your way back through the doorway before pausing. “I won’t be asking again.” Your footsteps faded away.
Johnny lets out a huge sigh of relief and slumped back in his chair. “Holy shite.”
Johnny wasn’t avoiding you. At least, that’s what he tells himself. But, he sees you in the break room? Immediately bolts. Outside just because? He goes back inside. It’s this neverending cycle.
Well, it was until you cornered him in an empty hallway.
“What the bloody hell is your problem, Mactavish?” You demanded. He looks down at you, almost at eye level. You cross your arms over your chest indignantly. “Look, I don’t know what crawled up your arse but you need to man up and actually cooperate with me on this,” You continued. “This is a professional environment and you are being far from professional.”
Johnny lets out a submitted sigh and rubs the back of his neck. “I…hen, look—“
Your eye twitched. ‘Hen’?
“Spit it out, huh?”
“You scare me, alright?” He blurts out. “You always look like you hate the shite outteh meh and you just scare meh.”
You stare at him for a silent minute, jaw clenched. “Hate? Mactavish, I’m indifferent towards you at best.”
His heart seized. “…I dinnae ken…” He whispered. You wave him off, running your fingers through your hair afterwards.
“Glad we had this talk, Mactavish.” You brushed past him.
He stood there for a while, letting this new revelation wash over him. “What the hell are ye doin’, Johnny?” He whispered to himself and his cheeks grew a flaming red.
