There’s a lull in the small break room nestled away in the barracks. Ghost meandering around the counter space while his kettle is heating up. Soap is close by sitting at a small round table with 4 chairs. He’s playing with a knife. It’s a small thing, the blade about 2 inches. Its handle made from a decent quality leather, both sides of the blade are sharp and clean, it’s been near meticulously maintained. Johnny’s been entertaining himself by flipping it in the air. He’s so mentally fucking drained, and bored just to boot.
They came back from a mission a couple of days ago. He’s been through debrief after debrief, a fucking mountain of paperwork, and having to repeat the same fucking story to every higher up because apparently no one can fucking read the mandatory report. Doesn’t matter now though, it’s over with he can move on with his fucking life. Expect he’s in a slight daze, he’s been on the go for so long now. His head not quite adjusted to the sudden stop of it all.
There’s something to be said about playing with a knife especially when you’re almost entirely out of it. Probably something about how it’s a bad idea, or how you shouldn’t do it. Most definitely not something that was muttered by the man at the counter as Soap pulled the knife out.
Unfortunately Soap really should have listened to the wise words of not being a dumbass. He put to much twist on it. Instead of the handle coming down towards his palm it’s the blade. He’s got enough awareness to pull his palm back towards his chest but not quick enough for the blade not to get him.
The thing slices through the soft skin between his thumb and his pointer. First aid says you put pressure on you injury and hold it above your heart. Not getting scolded by your Lieutenant says hide that shit under that table. Clearly Soap was going to address the more pressing matter and put his had under the table.
“Johnny” Simon is looking over his shoulder, he’s clearly flipping between being genuinely annoyed and mildly amused, “did you cut yourself?”
“… no” he’s very convincing.
Simon let’s out a small huff, having finally landed on amused by the situation, “Let em see” he’s got the first aid kit out from the top cabinet.
No point in fighting fate Johnny pulls his hand out from under the table and gives it to Simon.
“Moron” his word holds no bite and he grabs Soaps hand so gently, wrapping the cut with a delicately rarely seen from the man.
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