#I would commission Soap in an ill-fitting wedding dress

[thegeekybaker]

Inopportune Wedding Planning

Characters - John Price x OC

Summary - Eliza finds herself kidnapped with no way out.

Word Count - 1,396

Warnings - Blood, injury, suggestions of murder/death, mentions of firearms

A/N - I really need to start a timeline for my OC and John’s relationship. I’m just writing random fics with the two of them because I love them so much! Also, I think I might change the title later, it’s not my favorite. I don’t know if anyone really reads these, but I enjoy writing them and, in the end, that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? :)

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Eliza looked at the ring on her finger, hoping she’d be able to get the blood out of all the nooks and crannies. Just a month ago, she had stood near the window in her apartment, admiring the way the light reflected off the stone, and now all she could do was think of the man who gave it to her. John Price. Captain John Price, the love of her life for almost two years. He had asked her to marry him one morning during their daily ritual of a warm drink and cigar out on their shared patio, a week before he was set to be deployed again. It had taken her by surprise, even though it shouldn’t have. She was just telling John how the term “boyfriend” didn’t quite seem to fit him or their relationship. It was too shallow a word for what she felt for him, too flippant and impermanent, and so, with a quiet chuckle and a puff of smoke, John set down his cigar and pulled out a ring. Afterwords, he had apologized profusely for popping the question right before he left her again for who knows how long, but Eliza assured him that she knew what she was signing up for, and she would wait as long as she needed if it meant she could spend the rest of her life with him. Now, it seems, she had gotten more than what she bargained for.

The room she was in was cold, almost bitterly so, and her hospital scrubs did nothing to help retain her body heat. Her busted lip had thankfully stopped bleeding, but her shoulder still oozed sluggishly where a knife had been driven into it. Every breath hurt, not only from the bitingly cold air, but from the bruised, maybe even broken, ribs she had from the steel toed boots of the men who had taken her. They wanted to use her as leverage; make John release some terrorist in exchange for her life. In the mean time, they grilled her for information, but she had none to give; John wasn’t allowed to discuss his military goings on with her, and even if he could, she didn’t think he would, just to try and keep her out of situations like the one she was in now. 

Naturally, the camera they had set up captured all of her anguish, though Eliza hoped she had convinced John not to trade with terrorists. She knew he normally would never think of such a thing, but with her life in the balance, she hoped he wouldn’t become desperate. Thinking back on it, Eliza thought she’d behaved rather bravely, if a tad bit stupidly, trying her best not to show weakness every time someone’s fist, palm, or boot came in contact with her body. She kept up the snarky remarks until the man in charge grabbed her face and threatened to cut her tongue out, running a very sharp knife across her cheek for emphasis. She wondered absentmindedly if it would leave scar and, if it did, how it would look in her wedding photos. 

Trying to loosen the ropes around her wrist again, she knew those would leave scars, but at least she could cover them up with a long sleeved gown or some bracelets. Eliza chuckled quietly, a harsh, sharp sound in the near silent room, wondering how she could think of her wedding at a time like this, in a place like this. But, at the moment, it was getting her through it. Thinking about John in a suit, standing at the front of the aisle, waiting for her, gave her a sense of peace, one that she wasn’t about to give up just because of her locale. A tear fell onto her hands when she started to think about the life they could live together. A nice house, the boys from 141 over for dinner, being wonderful uncles to their children. She sniffed back the rest of her tears, trying to keep the creeping feeling of dread that that life would never be at bay.

Leaning back on the concrete wall, Eliza closed her eyes, having done everything she could to try and get free. She thought the least she could do was rest so that she could continue to be strong for John when the camera was turned back on. After a minute or so, she sat back up, eyebrows furrowed. Scooting herself towards the door, she put her ear up to it to hear a distant scuffle and the sound of a silenced gun shot. Sitting up straight, she quickly backed away from the door, trying her best not to get her hopes up. That can’t be John, I haven’t been here a full day, they can’t have found me so soon.

But what if they had?

Eliza’s pulse quickened as she tried to prepare herself for the worst. Maybe it wasn’t John, but a rival terrorist organization that wanted her for their own purposes? Even though she’d already gone over the room multiple times, she did a quick scan again to find something, anything, she could use for defense, but the walls and floor were just as bare as they were every other time she scoured the room. So, she did the next best thing and tried to prepare herself to fight with her bound hands and feet. Using the wall to push herself up wasn’t the easiest, given her sad state, but she was spurred on by the sounds of fighting getting louder and closer to her. Remembering that the door swung inward, she stood next to it, ready to jump out from behind it and try her best to strangle anyone who walked through the door. The sounds of a new struggle sounded outside of her door, though it was over quick enough that no one had even gotten a word out, continuing to keep her in a strange place between hope and dread.

The lock turned and she readied herself to jump.

The door burst open, and, throwing her hands up, she used all of her strength to shove it back into the people entering the room. The first man turned around as the second grunted from the smack of the door, and her heart started to sing. His blue eyes met her green ones, and all at once, she knew everything would be ok. “John!”

“Eliza!” He slug his gun over his shoulder, and when he wrapped her in his arms, everything was once again right with the world. His profuse apologies were muffled by her hair, and she almost protested when he leaned back to cut her restraints, only to be engulfed in his arms again once he was through. In the meantime, Soap and Gaz had entered the room, with Kyle standing by the doorway to keep watch. Johnny was grinning from ear to ear, happy to see Eliza alive and able to stand on her own two feet and, although she couldn’t see his face, she knew Kyle looked the same.

Stroking her hair once more, John leaned back to make sure Eliza could walk, and, once given a strong affirmative, took her by the hand, gun held in the other, and led her out the door with Soap in front and Gaz guarding their backs. Once getting the green light from Simon that their exit was clear, John opened the door that led outside, and, without much further complications, into an armored truck that would take her home.

Even if snuggling into John’s side bothered her bruised ribs and injured shoulder, she was determined to get as close to him as possible. She finally felt safe, tucked into his side, so she let her exhaustion take hold, idly hoping that the gauze patch taped to her shoulder would keep her blood off of him. He had so much darkness trying to take hold of his life, she didn’t want her blood stain to be a grim reminder to him of what had transpired.

As she gently drifted to sleep (or at least as gently as one can riding down a dirt road in an armored vehicle), her last thoughts were of colors for their wedding and the fleeting thought that she should put Johnny in a dress for her and John’s “first look."