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"Hen? Like a chicken? "
A hearty laugh fell from his lips but stopped quickly when he winced in pain, folding over with his hand on his chest.
Calm and kind to a fault, she helped him settle back slowly on the makeshift bed and continued cleaning his wound. A stab wound, not enough to kill but definitely painful, made by an amateur mercenary, graced sergeant Soap's muscular chest. If anything, the sergeant felt grateful, as a strategist she did not have to play medic after hours but she was nice enough to share what little medical skills she had with the team and Soap would lie if he said he didn't like her playing nurse with him.
Now, loving and caring as she was, he felt like a term of endearment wouldn't be out of place, but that was without counting on the language barrier; him and his heavy Scottish accent, her and her literal, too-polite English she learned as a second language.
Keen on fixing the miscommunication while she put the last of gauze on his wound, he explained " no, like honey or sweetheart...you know".
Oh he hoped she didn't mind the steps he was taking toward her, but she didn't look mad in the slightest, if anything she looked pensive. Finally she smiled warmly at him " I understand, for a moment I thought you meant it as in coward"
"Never in this life or the other, lass"
They already went through the word "lass" last week and "bairn" the week before.
"Does it sound weird to you?" He asked curiously.
She fixed the last piece of adhesive bandage before removing her gloves and gesturing for him to get dressed.
"Not at all," then she thought for a second while bringing a stool close to where he was sitting "in my country, when you really love someone, of unconditional and unlimited love, you don't call them your heart" she leaned forward with a conspirating look and a mischievous grin, and Soap found himself leaning too, impatient to hear what she had to say "you call them your liver"
He laughed again, this time boundless and free of pain.