Soap sat in an empty room, besides two tables and ten fold-out chairs that had been beaten down and began to rust from the constant usage. A speaker sat upon the lone table, and hooked up to it was a black, worn out Ipod. Wolf's Ipod… The tears began to well up again, and he brought a hand to his forehead, gripping the skin there as tightly as he could, then releasing and squeezing over and over as he stared at the dust-covered MP3. His left elbow rested on his knee, and the loose skin on his chin rippled along with the bridge of his nose as the soldier struggled to keep tears from falling. His hand seemed to reach for the battered Ipod, instinctively as he always did getting ready to set wolf up with a song at those late night mission-celebration parties. His hand came back again, then went forwards and his finger pressed lightly against the sensitive ring of the Ipod. Soap's finger circled around it multiple times as the dimming screen popped to life, until finally he picked a song and clicked the center button. Bringing his arm back, Soap lifted it to cradle his head, using his other hand as well. His elbows dug into the tops of his knees, and even as the pain of the sharp points started to get to him he paid no mind…. She was gone. Wolf was gone, right up and out of his life when he finally had her to himself, where she finally loved him back. His eyes were shut, and images flew past them as if he had recorded everything: the bell tower exploding; her body being flung out of the open window; the blood, pouring so fast out of her limp body… And the delicate, soothing smile she had given him as life completely faded from her grey-blue eyes.
Price had put a hand on his shoulder as Soap screamed for her to come back after she had died right before him on a busted-up table in a broken down bar, bullets ricocheting all around them shattering already cracked windows and splintering bits and pieces of rotting wood. He remembered the tears pouring from his eyes, the very first time in years. He had been clutching her shoulders, left hand lifting her limp head from it's dangling position as he pulled her close to him, top-half rocking back and forth as he held her head to his own. Soap never remembered being this lost or this torn apart… But he could hear Price now, shouting over the booms of the RPG's and smacks of the bullets. "SOAP! Soap we… We need to move, now!" Price never stumbled on words, and Soap could distinctly hear the smallest quiver in his voice as the old man held back tears of his own, for even if he was their Captain, these three had known each other for years. But suddenly, Soap had been furious at one person, and one person only. Not the man who had rigged the explosions; not the man that had given away their secrets… No. He was mad at the man who was supposed to have been watching her back up on that bell tower: Yuri. He gently set Wolf's body down, before glancing up at Yuri and shouting in a very rough voice, laced with his Scottish accent, "LET'S MOVE." Price had grabbed a few things from Wolf's lifeless body, and as Price ordered Yuri to open the door, Soap came up behind him and socked him in the jaw as he turned. Price hadn't said a word. He stalked down the steps towards the Russian, pulling out his pistol and pointing it at the man as he uttered hate-filled words, words used purely to show his animosity at the man. "Wolf trusted you… I thought we could too…. So why in the bloody hell does Makarov KNOW YOU?" He screamed, leaning forwards to shove the pistol into Yuri's forehead.
He had told them of his past with Makarov, but Soap had strayed in and out of the soldiers tale as he just gave up and walked away, tears spilling over once again. "Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you ar-ar-are…" The words of the song broke him out of the horrible memory, and bringing a hand down to his pocket, Soap brought out the lightest of the two things Price had removed from her body. Her dog tags dangling in front of him as his gloved hand squeezed the small, sturdy chain. "Rebecca Marie Fishers, 1984, TF 141." Is what the pressed letters read, and the blood splattered across the steel made him look away as a sickening feeling in his gut arose. The thin leather journal that had accompanied the tags pressed into the side of his thigh, it's secrets begging to be told, but Soap refused… He couldn't do that now. He brought his hand to his lips for a short moment, remembering the feel of hers, and ran it all the way back up his face to cover his eyes, body shaking viciously as choked, quiet moans pushed their way out of his throat as even more memories returned.
The door slammed open, and a black-haired woman sat up straight on her bed, watching Soap storm over to her as he snapped it shut again. He was rough, yet amazingly gentle as he leaned down, grabbed her arm in one hand and the back of her neck in the other as he pressed his lips to hers. They melded together perfectly, and slowly her arms snaked their way around his neck, and they stayed there even as the pair pulled away from each other after a few short minutes. Soap released her arm, but kept his hand at the back of her neck as he just stared into her eyes. It took a second for her own to open, but when they did they were filled with a deep amount of concern. Wolf's words were soft and kind, yet every single one had worry laced within' them. "What's wrong?" He had no choice but to answer, Soap couldn't deny Wolf a single thing, and as he murmured out his answer, he hoped that he wasn't being too overprotective. And if he was… There wasn't a chance in hell that he would stop any time soon. "I want you to be careful…. I know you trust Yuri but.. There's just something not right with him…." Her smile made his heart jump into his mouth, and as she moved a hand from his neck to touch his cheek, he had to resist kissing her again. "Nothing's going to happen, you hear me? We're going to kill that son-of-a-bitch and send him where he belongs: hell." He shook his head, a humorless chuckle leaving his lips as he glanced down at the covers shielding her body from the cold. "I wish I could be as optimistic as you… I have no idea how we're going to do this.." "We just do what we always do," She replied simply, before grinning as she pulled him closer. "Now come here…" And they kissed again, this time hard, rough, and filled with the lust that had been building inside them for years. They shared that night together, not knowing that it would be the last time.
A knock on the door wrenched him out of fond memories, and he realized the song had ended. Without waiting for someone to grant them access, the knocker walked into the room, and put a hand on his shoulder. The gravely, rough voice of Price entered his ears. "I'm sorry son… We'll avenge her, I promise." Soap just shrugged his hand away, glancing away from the older man as he sighed and walked away, shutting the door behind him.
Soap reached up and played the song again, thinking of nothing but her.