AN- So, my creative ideas fairy and my good writing fairy have both left me and I was stuck with the stupidly random one-shot fairy instead. I apologize for this atrocity I am posting.
Task Force 141 goes to see Linkin Park
Shepard sat in Soap's office, smoking a cigar and reclining in the chair as Soap stood stiffly next to him. The general let a cloud of smoke into the air and coughed once before speaking.
"John MacTavish, your men are doing well. A near perfect streak, except for a few incidents like, erm, prostitutes being found on base and incidents with minor poisoning. Overall, these men deserve a reward. I do understand your men do like music?" Soap nodded, thinking of the blaring speakers in nearly every room from sunup to sundown, each day, every day. Every one of the task force loved music with all their hearts, and the heavier, the better. Soap admitted though when he was a few years younger it had its appeal, it just led to more headaches now. But anything from alternative to head banging sludge, they listened. The general coughed again, and pressed the glowing end of the cigar down on a spare piece of paper, a few bits of ash drifting lazily up into the air.
"Then this works for me. A reward for them would be well due, and I think a concert as payment would be nice for each of them. Is there any band that they may all agree on?" Soap thought back to the arguments over dinner about different bands, and ones that a majority agreed on. He thought of one of the names that stood out in his mind and nodded to himself as he thought about the music itself. The decision took only a few seconds. Soap spoke sure and confident of his choice.
"Sir, they all like Linkin Park." Shepard nodded, and sat up. His fingers settled on the keyboard of his computer and he spoke idly as they flew over the keys.
"Not a bad choice. I do like them myself. I think that tickets in the pit would be appropriate. Here, they are playing in an area only about a hundred miles away in a week. Saturday night. Can you do that?" Soap nodded, and after Shepard dismissed him with a curt nod.
"Then it is settled. The tickets will be mailed, and you will have them before Saturday. Goodbye now soldier. Keep up the good work." Soap nodded in return, and exited the room.
Soap paced in his own office later that day, thinking about how he would break the news to the Task Force. He was sure they would lose it, and many probably hadn't been to a concert in a very long time, or ever. It was an odd thing as a reward, to go to a concert, but Shepard was odd in his own ways. Soap let out a breath and sat down in his chair. He put his elbows on his desk, and placed his head in his hands. Hearing the music blasting next door, part of him actually hoped for a ticket of his own. The last concert he had been to was an Iron Maiden and Incubus tour when he was 17.
With a slight smile on his face he ran a finger over his left wrist, and felt the small bump that nobody would notice, even after close examination. It was its own version of a 'battle scar' from that last concert. He had been right up front, right in the pit, and Iron Maiden had decided to do a full hour of hardcore songs. Soap remembered being thrown around in the pit and eventually falling down, his wrist breaking in the process, as well as a bruised face and a good amount of stress on his body in general. But he had been young, and bounced back quickly. The small reminder of his broken wrist was all that was left to prove Soap had ever been to that concert.
Soap decided that he would tell them all at dinner. A quick glance at his clock told him that they would start eating in about half an hour. That would give him time to do a bit of paperwork, and even compile his thoughts. Without even recognizing it consciously, he turned on the small iPod on his desk and turned on some Incubus, his head moving slightly to the rhythm of the music.
Dinner came around quickly, and all of the men poured into the mess hall a sweating and swearing mess. Business as usual. Soap walked in after most of them had gotten settled, and walked to the front of the room. He had everyone's attention on himself before speaking. Soap cleared his voice slightly, and spoke in a loud enough voice to squash the last of the whispers.
"Now listen to me men. I had my meeting with the general today. And, he has said that you are all doing a great job with the exception of a few incidents." Soap made sure he glared hard at Toad and Rook, who were responsible for the prostitutes. They turned their eyes down, though Soap thought he saw a bit of a smirk traced across Toad's mouth. After a slight sound of discontent, Soap continued.
"He was so impressed that he thought you deserved a reward." At the mention of a reward, a few heads definitely perked up and also caught the attention of a few who had been goofing off. A few whispers had risen again, so Soap continued before it got out of control.
"He knows you all love your music, so you all have a ticket to the Linkin Park concert this Saturday." Soap cringed slightly as a silence so silent it was deafening formed. The more silent they are when they receive the news the louder they will be when the shock breaks. And Soap knew it was coming. The small room suddenly exploded into a yelling, blubbering mess. There were cheers, screams, and shouts of happiness.
Soap crinkled his nose in distaste for the commotion, but knew that part of him was just as excited as they were. A glob of something that looked like mashed potatoes went flying his way, and Soap ducked just in time. He thought about yelling some reprimand to them, calm them down. But when he saw their faces filled with euphoria, he couldn't bring himself to say a word. He walked out of the room. By the noise and chaos that they were all creating, Soap knew Saturday couldn't come quick enough.
By the time Saturday rolled around, Soap was almost utterly exhausted. The tickets had arrived on Friday and he knew that the evening couldn't show up soon enough. The last few days had been almost no focus on the Task Forces part. Shooting was sloppy because they were talking about the upcoming performance by pretty much everyone's favorite band. They were talking about where they were going to stand, when they were going to get there, and who was going to go crowd surfing first. Soap was a bit excited himself, but already worn out trying to keep them all under control.
As the evening edged closer, the new album by linkin park was blasting from nearly every speaker in the base. Soap ran a hand over his face, and walked to his closet. He did have a few shirts that weren't muscle shirts or something similar. Pulling an old pair of jeans out, Soap got dressed into jeans and a black t-shirt. Going out of his quarters to check on the men, he noted most of them were already waiting outside his room in nearly the same attire. Soap squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in frustration at the happy puppy looks that danced over all their faces. Archer was the first to break the silence.
"So, when are we leaving? We're all here." Soap reached into his back pocket, and quickly checked the time on the tickets. He then checked the time on his watch and let out a resigned sigh.
"Now. We can all fit into two cars, and if we leave now, you can all get up front. So go." Soap stood back against the wall, realizing that the stampede was soon to start. He was correct.
They all plowed down the hall, tearing past the corner and outside into the jeeps that would hold most of them. Soap smirked and followed them with a slower pace, realizing that he was about to have a lot more fun than he had had in a while. Soap climbed into the driver's side of the first jeep and settled down in the seat, trying to get used to the feeling of jeans again. It had been a long time since he had worn them, but he was glad he was breaking them in again.
Looking back on all of the guys before starting the car, Soap realized a few of them actually had managed to scrape up some shirts that said "Linkin Park" on them. It surprised Soap to know that they actually loved this band so much to have a few shirts for them, but surprises never ended with the task force. Soap flicked the key and the jeep rumbled to life. He pulled out of the base and smiled as he traced the road to their destination in his mind.
They pulled into the parking lot after hours of driving, and Soap let out a breath as they finally managed to get the two jeeps parked side by side. He was sick of the men complaining he wasn't going fast enough, or that 'he wouldn't let them bring any booze.' But there was no doubt that they weren't raring to go. They unloaded from the car and stormed through the parking lot. Soap didn't try all too hard to keep them under control, because he knew it would be hopeless as soon as the music started moving through them like adrenaline. Soap had to eventually push his way through to the front and make sure that they all got there tickets so that they could get it. That much went without too much hassle, and eventually Soap felt the excitement the men were exhibiting himself as they poured down into the pit, which was filling up enough already, even an hour before the concert started.
Soap joined them in pushing forward through the thin screen of people that were the only obstacle between them and the front of the stage. Soap knew that there was no contest against the task force when it came to muscling there way somewhere, but yet no part of him was going to stop him. Soap felt with reluctance the feeling of age compared to the average person that he saw here, but he also felt a renewed youth in the fact he was still in the game, still able to do this. Then, Soap realized that he still had a while to go before the night ended. Then, and only then would he really consider if he still felt young as he did then.
Suddenly hearing her overhearing Toad and Chemo arguing, Soap tuned an ear in.
"Okay, if you boost me onto the stage, I can pull you up after me."
"No, you boost ME up and then I pull YOU up after ME."
Unfortunately, Soap heard arguments like that all over the task force, but rather than address them, he thought about it himself. Part of him knew that he was too high of a rank and had too much of a reputation to risk anything like that, for one second of enjoyment. But, he knew that any of the other men, except for maybe a few, weren't thinking a single thought like that. They just wanted to have fun, and Soap knew that not a single thing would make him stop them from that. They worked hard, put their lives on the line, and the least that he could do for them was let them have a little enjoyment.
And, before he knew it, the stage was set and night had fallen, and the lights had gone down. The crowd was completely filling up the pit, and Soap was being pushed against from every side. He didn't mine at all, because he knew the real fun was soon to begin.
Boy was he right. Linkin park exploded onto stage a few minutes later, and the music and screams tore into his ears. Amidst the pushing of bodies that pressed him closer to the stage, Soap had a thought that came out of nowhere: It was actually surprisingly loud for someone who was constantly used to the thunder of gunfire and explosions. Soon, amidst the crowd surfing team members and mosh pits coming out of nowhere, everything turned into a blur of sound and color.
Soap woke in his bed the next morning, clothes from last night still on and the worst taste of morning breath in his mouth EVER. He blinked and got up, and walked through the barracks. Taking a peek into each room, he saw all of the men sleeping; sound asleep, still in their clothes from the night before. With a smile, Soap knew that he felt SO much younger again, and the experience the night before was something none of them could forget for a long time. With a slight ringing in his ears, Soap shuffled down to the mess hall for an early breakfast. While the team could have today off to recover, he had tons of paperwork to do.
"It was fun while it lasted" he mumbled to himself.