The house was quiet. My eyes were closed. I didn't really care how late it was. I lay there staring at the ceiling dreading tomorrow. I didn't want it to come any closer than it already was. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to go. Couldn't I just stay here and sleep? I stare at the ceiling. How did his last moments go? Was he hurting. Probably. but, I didn't want to think that way.

*-Flashback-*

The house was quiet. I sat at the table - sipping hot chocolate. Stupid snow. It had to delay the flight - didn't it? I breathed slowly - trying to calm my nerves, and trying to keep myself from erupting in sobs. I rubbed my temples after I sat down my mug. I stood up slowly, looking at the clock. 2:34 a.m. I yawned and slowly walked to the bedroom. His clothes lay all over the floor from when I was looking for clothes this morning in the closet. I crawled in my bed, curled my legs to my chest, and fell asleep.

..

I woke up to the door closing, and the mutterings of swears. I looked at the clock in panic. 4:58a.m. I sat up. My heart beating rapidly. The footsteps were loud coming down the hallway. Then, the door to the bedroom slowly opened. The light switch flipped on - and I closed my eyes and screamed. I waited to be clubbed, hit, punched, shot. Something. But It didn't happen. It gently opened my eyes.

"Did you really have to scream?" And there he was. John MacTavish. I jumped out of bed and grabbed him - squeezing him tight.

"John! How'd you - I thought - The plane - and I.." i rambled in his chest.

John simply squeezed me back, his breathing getting heavy. "I've missed you so much." John said.

*-Another Flashback-*

I held the squirming puppy in my arms - walking to the door of the house. "Stop, Soap. Quiet." I whispered in the puppy. Soap. Such a perfect name for a little doggie. A baby golden retriever. The perfect dog for me. I opened the front door - John was in the living room. Laying on the couch, mouth open, eyes closed, snoring. I smiled and walked to the sleeping man, attempting to get the dog to stop panting.

I put Soap in front of Johns face. The puppy licked him - and Johns eyes opened immediately. He screamed - and jumped from the couch, sprinting to the other side of the room.

"Get that bastard away from me!" John yelled pointing at Soap. "Get that rabies infested animal away from me!" I laughed and walked to him, and he backed up.

"It's just a puppy John!" I exclaimed holding it up, "look!"

"GET IT THE FUCK AWAY!" John screamed at me.

"John! It's just a puppy!" I replied, my mood suddenly swinging downwards. "I just though-"

"You don't know what fucking happened in Russia.! Keep that fucking dog away from me!" John yelled. I glared at him and ran to the other room. Holding the puppy to my chest. I ran to the bedroom, and sat on the bed petting the little dog. Tears running down my face.

Johns feet came down the hall. A soft knock on the door. "I'm sorry." He whispered, "I'm not a dog person anymore." I laughed through my tears and John came in. "I'll - " He sighed, "I'll give it a try."

*-(end)-*

I stared at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a floral dress. He'd said, very simply, if anybody wears black at his funeral they won't be allowed in. He said he died for his country - so there was no reason in being sad about it.

Pft.

My heels clicked on the floor and I grabbed my purse.

Maybe it was the weather that was bringing me down. Rainy, the clouds hanging low. I should've brought an umbrella. Of course I didn't - he was the one who always reminded me.

The Funeral Home was quiet, the slight hum of the heater bringing noise outside. Cars were everywhere. There was a lot of people here. (none of them better be wearing black). I must've been the last one there. I got out of the car, wiping a few tears from my face, and walked through the doors.

The smell of cleaner hit me almost immediately. I shook it off and took in a deep breath. I walked in the two wooden doors on the right, chairs full of people were everywhere. Flowers hung on the walls. A picture of him was on a stand infront of the black casket. All of his friends sat around. I knew them all. Gary, Simon, John. ect.

I walked down the space between the chairs, holding in tears until I got up there. I stopped beside the casket. There he was.

He lay there pale, the scar on his eye more viable than ever. His eyes closed, his mohawk still lay on his head. In his uniform. His hands lay on his stomach, and a picture of me and him, he requested to be buried with.

That's when I couldn't take it. My knees buckled, my eyes filled with tears and overflowed. I sobbed right next to his casket. Simon came over. I knew him the best, he helped me up, and we stood there. I stared at John and cried.

"Soaps okay now." Simon kept whispering. "He's okay."

Quick Note - whenever I play MW3 - I get all depressed. #Truth.