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mistydeyes · 1 year ago

Note

Hi,if you’re not busy can you write a fic of Cod characters with a cia agent gf ?

yes ofc! yk i love a good little government agent gf moment :)

a double life

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summary: From hidden occupations to a particular set of skill sets, the 141 learns to adapt to having a girlfriend who has all the right qualifications (and who could completely kick their ass).

pairing: Task Force 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of weapons/violence

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price

"Sorry I can't be there to meet you, Price," Laswell spoke over the web camera feed, "got tied up in South America." Price nodded as he held the bridge of his nose, Laswell had promised her best field agent to act as a point person for their mission in New Zealand. However, just the thought of some middle-aged retired veteran or worse yet, hot-shot rookie, made his headache pound even further. "She's a good one, Price," Laswell reassured, "skilled in practically every major language and the best marks in her physical fitness examination." "Yes Kate, I read her file, but it seems like you failed to include a photo-" He was interrupted by a sturdy knock at the door. "Looks like she's here."

As you cracked the door open, you practically dropped the files that sat in your arms. "What are you doing here?" Price asked jovially and you could feel the breath release from your sternum, "didn't expect an on-base visit like this." As the pieces began to fit together, you realized he didn't know what you were actually there for. "John, Kate sent me here," you whispered as you shut the door gently, "heard you're going to New Zealand." As the realization hit him like an oncoming train, you braced for impact. "You-you work for the CIA?" he asked almost foolishly and you nodded in response. "I did say I worked in Virginia," you corrected, "and you had to know my surprise visit yesterday wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment thing." Price could feel his headache reach a fever pitch as he reviewed your file again. "Then what's with the name?" he asked, "you lie about that too." You let out a laugh as you explained, "People have nicknames and mother's maiden names, John." As you sat back in your chair and crossed your legs, Price wondered what he had done for the universe to gift him you.

soap

Despite your initial reservations, Johnny was quite good at keeping your occupation vague and nonchalant in conversation. You were honest about your work in central intelligence and he took that secret to the grave. Your long-distance relationship was written off as you working in some company in DC and no one batted an eye at your occasional inference at military strategy or surveillance techniques. When you returned home, you would always be sure to show him extra appreciation for his covertness. "Tryna make me patriotic?" he would joke before you would kiss him and stifle his laughs.

However, he loved testing your skill set and seeing if you were as trained of an operative as your file read. "Let's see what they teach you over there, Bonnie," he joked as he lined up his sights at the air gun range. You refrained from kicking him as you stood back to watch him. You almost let out a laugh when you saw his small pellet ricochet just slightly off target. "Hmm and that's why Ghost is your long-range weapons specialist," you teased as he got up and switched positions. You breathed in as you looked down your sights and positioned your rifle towards the farthest target on the range. "You Americans, always so fucking cocky," he muttered under his breath before you quickly shut him up with a quick shot directly into the center of the target. The metal hen spun around widely at your expert marksmanship and you exhaled your held breath. You stood up and tried to size up your tall boyfriend. "Best 2/3?" you offered and you smiled as he kissed your forehead before ushering you out of the way to try again. "Fucking CIA training," he whispered as he got into position again. "You say something, you glorified sergeant?"

gaz

It was 4 am when you arose from the bed and leaned into Kyle, taking in his warmth and seeking refuge from the cold London air. You could always rely on your boyfriend to be your human-sized space heater. As you laid your head across his chest, you could feel him stir lightly. "Time to go already, love?" he asked with his eyes still closed and you muttered in confirmation. You always knew what challenges came with living so far away from the States but you had someone who made it all worth it. He kissed your forehead lightly as you rolled off the bed. You tried to quietly make your way to the bathroom to let him get some more hours of precious sleep but upon your return, it was clear Kyle was more awake than before.

"You sure you don't need me to drive you to the airport?" he offered yet again as you dressed quickly in dress slacks and a blouse. "MI6 is sending a car," you explained as you collected your overnight bag, "just try to get some sleep, my love. I'll text you when I land in Langley." Despite your soft kiss on the cheek, Kyle still pouted as you pulled away. "Don't understand why you can't be a liaison officer for us," he mumbled but you ruffled his hair slightly. "When the position becomes available, I'll be the first application on there," you smiled, doing a final check of your things, "just tell Price to write me a hell of a recommendation letter." With that, you shared another long kiss as you slightly cringed at his morning breath. "I'll be sure to say hi to the cybercrime analysis team for you, hopefully, they'll actually take my advice this time," you laughed before exiting out of your apartment and embracing the cold English air you had grown to love.

ghost

When the question arose of your occupation, you would always smile and defer to being just an "American government worker." However, you always knew Simon had more than just an inkling as to your occupation. When you spoke about military strategy, and combat techniques, or even had various conversations in different languages over the phone, it was clear to him that you were more than just a civilian. The shock didn't even resonate with him when you uttered the words, "Paramilitary Operations Officer," it all seemed to fall into place. He wouldn't bat an eye when it came to long stretches of days that you were in minimal contact with him. "I'll be back," you would reassure as you pulled on a dark hoodie and headed out the door with a bag. Simon would always be there to clean your wounds and ice your bruises.

It was a shock when Simon hadn't heard from you in a month. You had left in the middle of the day in a black Mercedes that disappeared off the English skyline. It was the unfortunate timing that he had been on leave when you left and there had been no word from Price regarding a new mission. Every morning, he would turn over in your king-sized bed expecting to see you smiling back at him. However, the days dragged on without any information meeting his ears. You could practically still picture his terrified face when you turned the key into the door and slammed your bag down. Simon paused upon seeing your blackened eye and wrapped knuckles. The eye bags on your delicate face further added worry to the situation. "Don't ask," you whispered as you fell into his chest, "intel was shit." That was all Simon needed to lift you gently and place you back on the couch. As he held you in his arms with an ice pack to your eye, you slightly pulled away from his touch. "I promised I would come back, didn't I?"

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mrsparrasblog · 9 months ago

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I wont pay for your therapy after this🥲

Mrs. MacTavish

Scotland—Johnny's birthplace and the place where he would be laid down permanently. The three men closest to him, the men who saw him die, stood together with his ashes in their hands. It felt surreal for them; of course, they knew something like this could happen. They had all lost a great deal of friends, but this was different. This task force should have been invincible, they should have been better—too good to be killed. But here they were, only three of them.

"Who dares wins. Sleep easy, soldier."

"See you down range, brother. We take it from here."

"Rest in peace, Johnny."

The men spread his ashes; he was finally where he felt at home, at least that's what his friends, his brothers in duty, thought.

They sat together in a rundown pub, unsure how to grieve or how to throw a worthy wake. Price said he didn't have any family left, so they were all he had, and they still failed him.

An order of his favorite whiskey stood on the table they usually occupied.

"He'd love that, he loved this place," Gaz said, trying to reassure his brothers. He now needed to be the glue of the group, the job Soap had before.

"One time, he hit an officer when he was still a rookie. The officer touched a female civilian, and Soap knocked him out. He almost got kicked out of the military, but he didn't press charges—too embarrassing," Price said, earning a slight chuckle from Gaz. Ghost stayed still; he was frozen since the death of his best friend.

"He almost beat my record at the SAS. Made me proud when I saw him in the recruitment," Gaz told them.

"He was the best," Ghost said. His voice sounded monotone; if he didn't have this thick British accent, he would have sounded like a robot.

"He tried to enlist in the SAS several times at 16, lying about his age each time," Price chuckled at the thought of his best trainee.

"He was more than his accomplishments." The other two men looked confused at Ghost; they weren't as close, he knew him better than them.

"Of course, he was, son."

"He had a journal, always drawing each of us, calling us his family. But now, he is dead. We failed him," Ghost said, bringing Gaz and Price down from their attempts to cheer him up and to appreciate Soap's life accomplishments. But he was dead, and nothing would ever change that.

After a while of drinking without speaking a word, Laswell came in, looking at the group of guys sitting down next to them. "Holding a wake for him?" she asked, nipping at the shared whiskey.

"Spread his ashes," Ghost replied shortly.

"You did what?" Her voice was loud; they could see the look of panic on her face.

"What's wrong, Kate? He would love resting in the Highlands."

"Please tell me, John, you didn't spread the whole ash."

"Kate, what's wrong?" Price asked, and she only sighed.

"I'm torn between granting the wishes of a deceased person and betraying his wishes at the same time," Laswell said. The inner conflict was visible in the wrinkles around her eyes.

"Laswell, spit it out!" Ghost shouted at her, the normally calm soldier completely losing control of his emotions.

"His last wish was that someone specific get his body in case of his early demise."

"Bullshit, he had no family left," Gaz replied, confused. His brother wouldn't lie to him about his family.

"Who is this person?" Ghost asked, his expression full of hurt. He wasn't mad like Kyle about the possibility that Johnny lied to them; Johnny was always smarter than the rest of them. He couldn't entertain the possibility that one of his brothers or whoever this person was would die because of his enemies.

"Mrs. MacTavish," Kate muttered under her breath. She promised him before joining the task force that she wouldn't, under any circumstances, tell anyone about her.

"Like his mother?" Kyle asked, and Kate only shook her head.

"He was married?"

"For ten years," Kate sighed.

"I will personally tell her and apologize," Price said. He knew this was the least he could do for him.

"I will tell her," Ghost thought. He needed to do this for his best friend, especially making sure that whoever she was, she would never be found by Makarov and could live a safe civilian life.

"Count me in, Captain," Gaz said, determined to apologize to Soap's wife. Maybe if he had been better, faster, Makarov wouldn't have gotten Soap.

These three men were as different as they could have been; the only thing about them that all of them shared was the guilt.

A few days later

The last days were harder than usual for you; the pregnancy took a toll on you. The worst part was not hearing anything from your beloved Johnny for a long time. You were used to not hearing from him; you knew what you were getting into when you decided to marry him. But you never even thought about making him retire. You loved him since high school. How couldn't you? He was a charmer. He had been in love with you since you both were 6, starting elementary school.

He asked you at least every week if you wanted to marry him when you grew older. You always declined his advances. You were sure that you even hit him once for staring too long at you. He looked like an arrogant ass who could have anyone he wanted, but somehow, he never, not even for a second in his life, thought about another woman. So after some years, you decided to give him a chance, and you never regretted this decision once in your life.

The bell rang, and you were sure it must have been one of the neighbors asking if they could have milk or eggs from the farm. But before you could gather your pregnant body up, your six-year-old son ran up, opening the door. "Maybe it's Dad, Mommy!"

"James William MacTavish, how often did I tell you not to open the door?"

Your son was a spitting image of your Johnny. It got worse when he decided that he needed to cut himself a mohawk to look like his dad. You were so happy to see Johnny's reaction to the mohawk when he came back.

At the door stood three muscular, tall guys looking down at the little boy. As Kyle saw the spitting image of Johnny, he walked to the nearest trash can and threw up. It was too much for him. The thought of a wife was bad enough, but a son too.

You walked down and gathered your son who hugged your thigh. You looked at the men; one of them was a bit older with a funny beard, and the other one was blonde with a scared face.

When Price saw the visible baby bump, his heart broke. The thought of you not only having a son but also being pregnant gave him the rest; his guilt was eating him out.

"Mrs. MacTavish?"

"Yes?" you asked in confusion. They didn't seem like the villagers who wanted to buy something from the farm, nor the parents of your students.

"We need to talk about your husband."

"No," you knew what this meant; you knew it in your gut.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. MacTavish, but your husband died while protecting his country."

You always thought these films were dramatic, but it was nothing compared to what you felt right now. The pain was indescribable; you felt like someone pulled your ground from you, and you fell, completely in shock. Your tears slowly started to roll down, and you saw how the older man held the blonde one back from reaching out to you.

"No, my Johnny, he said he would always come back. He will come back, he will come back to us, he always will," you sobbed uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am."

From behind, Aiofe and Maeve ran down, our oldest, the twins. "Mom, are you okay?" All your three children sat down next to you, afraid that something happened to their mom.

That was the final straw as Ghost saw even more children, his best friend left behind a wife, three children, and a little one on the way. It should have been him.

You sobbed as you spoke to your children, "It's okay, Simon is just kicking hard in my belly, nothing is wrong with Mommy. I love you."

"We love you too, Mommy."

#johnny #soap x reader #soap cod #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soapghost #john mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #hurtful #tw death

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adnauseum11 · 11 months ago

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Bomb (John Price x Reader)

My insomnia is keeping me up and this kept me occupied.

Summary: Kate Laswell corners John Price with a loaded question. John admits to some startling news.

less than 1k words

SFW

no CW

Besides his mother, Kate Laswell knows John Price better than anyone. So, when they convened their bi-monthly poker game, she knows something's up almost immediately. John obliged her curiosity by playing well enough to make it down to the last three players, thus enabling her to trap him in the kitchen to question him away from the eyes and ears of the few remaining guests.

“How’s retirement treating you, John? Anything new?”

John raised a brow at the open-ended question, twisting from the sink where he was rinsing glasses.

‘It’s fine, Kate. Why do you ask?” The near formal response confirms her suspicions.

“You look like you’ve been trying to crack quantum mechanics all night.”

“Poker is hard.” John said lamely in a last-ditch attempt to not have this conversation.

“Not that hard. Not for you. What’s up?”

John sighs heavily and gives up on his self-assigned task. He fully turns, hands fisting on his still trim hips and assesses how doggedly Kate’s going to chase this. It’s Kate though, so he resigns himself to admitting his most recent conundrum.

“I have a friend. Known her since I before I shipped off to join the infantry. Our circle of friends grew apart but we stayed in touch.” John downplays their friendship, or that his routine when coming off a mission is to text her straight away.

Kate’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline in surprise. John has never mentioned this woman. Sure, talk of personal lives is limited in their line of work, but they had spent years developing a friendship beyond their professional one. Kate thought she knew him pretty well, all things considered.

“What’s the problem? She get herself into something she shouldn’t have?” Kate asks, going for the obvious.

“No, nothing like that. Although I wouldn’t be surprised, the woman’s middle name ought to be trouble.” The ghost of a fond smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“What is her middle name?”

“Grow up, Kate.” John rolls his eyes; he’s spent years keeping his work life and his small personal life separate. He’s not about to compromise that like a rank amateur.

“Worth a shot.” Kate smiles and crosses her arms over her chest, waiting John out.

“I’ve asked her out, we’ve gone on a few dates.”

“And? I’m still not hearing a problem. Really never would have pegged you for melodrama, John.” Kate chides gently, enjoying the disapproving look he sends her way.

“Mind yourself, I’m retired not dead.” John grumbles, crossing his own arms over his broad chest.

“So, what’s the issue? You decide you like being friends better and it’s awkward now?”

“No. Nothing like that. Actually, the opposite of that. But, ah… I’m not sure we’re on the same page.” He scrapes his nails through his facial hair in a reflexive gesture.

Kate’s face softens as she realizes what he’s saying and turns, going on tiptoes to reach a high cabinet. It’s filled with liquors and she pulls a scotch down, pouring them each a few fingers of the amber liquid.

“Cheers old man. Welcome back to civilian life. Relationships are hard.”

“Thanks Kate. Very helpful.” John nods and sniffs his drink before taking a taste.

“I find it hard to believe a woman who has apparently known you for years, and has agreed to go on multiple dates with you isn’t attracted to you, John.”

“She shuts me down, won’t let me do anything but kiss her.”

John throws the rest of the drink back in one swallow with that admission and Kate watches her old friend for a moment.

“How long you been in love with her?”

John chokes, coughing and thumping himself on the chest before raising his eyebrows incredulously at Kate.

“Never said anything about love –“

Kate doesn’t let him finish.

“This is the first I’m hearing this woman exists and I’ve known you for the better part of two decades, John. You have gone out of your way to keep her to yourself, for a very long time. She’s got to mean something to you. So, you’re all in on this relationship now that your life has stabilized and she’s dragging her feet. Is that it?”

“Fuckin’ hell Laswell.” John’s reaching for the bottle of scotch to refill his glass.

“Find out why she’s dragging her feet and fix it you idiot. No risk no reward, you know that better than anyone. Now who’s got to grow up?” Kate raises her own brow back at a gobsmacked John.

“You make it sound easy.”

“Well, it’s pretty straightforward. Easy is another story. That’s between you and…?”

The look John gives her is withering before he throws back another drink.

#captain john price #kate laswell #john price x reader #john price cod #call of duty #fanfic #relationship advice #secret life #awkward conversations

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lethalchiralium · 1 month ago

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JOHN PRICE [COD: Modern Warfare II]

Take My Breath Away

Caring

Dear John

Maybe I Was Boring | Make The Phone Ring

Mirrorball

Come Undone

Leviathan

Believe

The Summoning

Diamondback Masterlist

The heat was something else. With a heavy heart and nothing to lose, you’ve ditched your ex-fiancé to chase your childhood best friend across the country to a small town in a wildfire prone area of the United States - Pine, Arizona. It’s nestled in a valley and is where your best friend, Alex Keller, calls home. He’s following his passion, his dreams, and it soon enough, you’re following it too; but the flames are getting too close and soon you’ll be in the line of fire of your best friend’s superintendent, John Price, and his assistant, Simon Riley.

Seasons Change Masterlist

A outlaw turned cowboy put an ad in the newspaper across the country for a wife to settle down with. You, a quiet 20 year old, are desperate to leave your overbearing mother behind. You want to marry someone who will leave you alone, and John was fully intent on respecting your wishes - until you arrived on Kate Laswell’s Montana farm in the Spring of 1908. He’ll never let you go.

back to ↬ main masterlist

#captain john price #john price #john price x reader #john price x female reader #john price f!reader #captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x f!reader #captain price x female reader #captain price x f!reader #lethal chiralium #lethalchiralium

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tradgedyinwaves · 3 months ago

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Touch - Ch. 9

Sorry for the late post. My days off were busy, but now I'm back at work so we should be back on daily updates.

So many military inconsistencies and just overall incorrect military vocabulary. I’m sorry.

tw: revenge, light torture, sensory deprivation, bondage (not the fun kind),

It’s dark, so dark you weren’t sure if your eyes were open or closed, the only light is the red blinking of a camera above your head. Your wrists were bound with a soft rope as you sat on the edge of a measly cot, using your other senses to learn about your surroundings. You couldn’t hear much besides the rustle of footsteps above your head and the rare voice as guards changed out in front of your door.

The smell was what permeated everything else though. The coppery tang of blood hung in the air, burning your nose, but there was something else. The faint scent of burned and rotting flesh tinged the edges of your senses, making you gag as the smell almost coated your tongue. A choked laugh had filled the silence in the space when you realized someone had sprayed an air freshener just before you’d been deposited in your cell. The lavender had only made the smell worse, almost thankful when it finally faded only a few minutes later.

You’d spent the time counting, focusing on the numbers as if they were going to save you. Reaching 85,000 meant it had been about one day since you’d been taken. You didn’t sleep. You didn’t eat. You never stopped counting, not even when the door opened and light shone on your body. “Aw, precious, just as pretty as I remember.”

When the boys realized you were gone, all hell broke loose. Price was out of the room and on his phone in seconds, calling the one person outside of his team that he trusted: Kate Laswell. Kyle was on Price’s heels, his calm, level headedness the only thing keeping him from tearing the entire hotel down to the studs. Johnny stood staring at the picture that had been left behind, staring at the word as if he was waiting for it to burst into flames. Simon saw red, fists clenching and relaxing at his sides.

Grabbing Johnny’s arm, he hauled the younger man out of the room to follow Price. They were going to get you back, no matter what it took. Simon just hoped they’d make it in time.

Bursting into the room just as Price ended his call, Simon deposited Johnny on the couch and squatted between his legs just to reach up and slap the sergeant. Blue eyes shot to Simon’s dark ones just to be followed with a grunt and nod. Simon stood and Johnny followed, all of them standing around the table.

“Laswell just informed me that they’ve received a video. She’s sending it now. She said it’s not pretty,” Price revealed, grunting quietly as his hand rubbed over his face to scratch at his beard. Kyle was quickly working to set up the laptop and getting the video pulled up.

“What do we know?” Simon asked gruffly, arms crossed over his chest in an effort to hold in the unbridled rage that threatened to endanger the men in the room. He hadn’t been this angry since getting back from leave and finding his mother and brother in such terrible shape and he’d kicked his dad out for the abuse. He should have gone back and killed him.

“She was being stalked by someone using your mask, so it must be someone from your past,” Kyle reasoned, looking over at Simon. He wasn’t accusatory. It was a good reasoning, but Simon growled at the implication it was solely his fault. Kyle raised his hands in surrender, showing the largest member of their team that he didn’t mean to offend him.

“There were pictures of all of us. What’s the likelihood that it’s someone we’ve dealt with before?” Johnny questioned, looking at Price with wide blue eyes that didn’t seem to look AT Price, more through him. Price was startled by that look. He’d never seen the sergeant look so mentally far away.

The computer dinged as Kyle got the video pulled up, cringing already at the capture that served for the video icon. They all gathered around behind him and he hit play, all of them watching the screen intently.

The shot is focused on a blacked out truck when the door opens, zooming in on your still fighting form as they drag you from the vehicle. One of the masked guards, about the size of Simon, has his arm around your neck in a chokehold when you manage to tuck your chin and bite him hard, blood coloring your teeth. He releases you but another hidden man steps up and backhands you across the face causing you to fall to the ground. You’re hit in the temple with the butt of a gun and your body falls limp on the ground while the man who backhanded you lifts you from the ground and carries you off screen.

Another man, this one wearing a copy of Simon’s mask, steps into frame and slowly pulls the mask off, revealing oily black hair and beady eyes that look down at the mask almost fondly. “You know, Simon, this is quite the mask you wear. Makes for a pretty good scare tactic, don’t you think? Though, I suppose that’s why you wear it, huh?” The man lifts his head and makes eye contact with the camera before it goes black.

“How the fuck does he know my name?” Simon growled, low and deep, a menacing sound that would terrify anyone but the men in the room. John’s phone rang once, answered immediately and put on speaker. “Kate, what do you have for us?” Price was no longer the sweet caretaker. He’d been replaced with the Captain the moment they realized you were gone.

“Name’s Darin Moses. Bold of him to show his face, to be honest. We’ve been after him for years, but he’s usually flying so far under the radar, that we couldn’t find him. Nothing would get him out of hiding either, except…” Kate’s voice trailed off, sighing into the phone. “Your girl. Whoever she is, she’s important enough for him to come out of hiding.”

They were all listening intently, memorizing every bit of information. “He’ll be keeping her in a compound of sorts. I haven’t figured out where yet, but based on that video, I can tell you he’s still in the UK. We’ve grounded every private flight out of the UK for now. He wouldn’t be able to take her on a commercial flight with how much she seems to be fighting back.” Kate continued, papers rustling in the background before keys clicked on a keyboard.

“Get us back and we’ll get started on a plan. In the meantime, try to figure out where they’re keeping her,” Price said, picking up the phone and clicking off the call before Kate could reply. “We’ve got work to do, boys.”

When the team landed on the tarmac about 24 hours later, Laswell was there to brief them, walking alongside as she informed them that they’d received a new video. Finally inside, they huddled around a table and watched as their anger roiled and raged inside each of them.

The camera angle now looked down on you from the corner of your cell, more of a security camera type of placement. It showed you up and pacing, muttering what sounded like numbers under your breath as your hand drug over the wall.

A voiceover began playing, blocking out most of your sounds. “John Price, Kyle Garrick, John Mactavish, and Simon Riley. Task Force 141. I have to thank you boys for taking out some of my competition. Making a lot of money now that I’m the only one that can collect information like I can. But the thing is, the men you’ve taken out? They weren’t little pawns or weak. They were powerful men. So now you’ve made yourselves targets.”

There was a rustling sound and you sat down on the bed, now staring up at the little blinking light. “Do you think she knows you’re watching? Or maybe she’s hoping you are.” The screen zoomed in on you, the night vision making your eyes look like they were glowing white. “Pretty little thing. I think once I’ve got you all taken care of, I’ll keep her. Break her down until she can’t fight back anymore. Maybe I’ll bring her your heads so she knows no one is coming to save her.” The screen cut to black.

Little bit of a shorter part.

Thank you to everyone who is supporting this series.

#captain john price #call of duty x reader #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #poly!141 #cod fanfic smut #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #john price #johnny soap mctavish x you #john price x plus size reader #john price x you #john price x reader #kyle gaz x you #touchau

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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SINS OF A LAUGHING SKYLARK (XV)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XVI ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, angst, use of guns & weapons, military operations, death, shootings, interrogation tactics, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Sitting in a guarded building halfway across the base, your ears twitch at every little sound from beyond the door.

Alex is here—so are three other men who fiddle with the guns in their hands and try not to stare at your deathly still face. You haven't spoken a word, and your mother, who sits with a medic stitching up her arm, calls out quickly.

“I-I don’t even remember what he looked like,” she breathes and Alex has a hand on her shoulder, squeezing while his blue eyes dart back from the door to her tear-stained face.

“It’s alright, Ma’am. We have cameras all around here. No worries.” He smiles tightly. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you stitched up.”

The words are so similar to what Kyle would say to you that your hands clench under your chin, your body leaning forward in the chair. Your elbows dig into your knees harshly, and your unmarred leg quivers to jump up and down, restrained only by your iron will.

It was supposed to be me.

Your tongue pokes out to lick your lips, a slow breath pushed out on tight lungs.

It was supposed to be me.

Lowe is dead—Laswell had been brief in her explanation. Shot between the eyes. Your mother's attack had been a distraction, and while people had been rushed to her location, someone had gone in and killed Joey just as you’d seen someone do in the execution videos.

He’d warned you, too.

“I’m not someone's pawn,” you mutter under your breath, only heard to your ears. It was getting harder and harder to deny that every win on your part had been a set-up. Laswell had told you that you knew the answer already, you just couldn’t admit it to yourself—what did that mean? All you had were fractions; moments that were slowly piecing together.

“Shooter coming in from the East,” Alex’s radio buzzes, just as all the others do. From what you’d learned when Kate had pushed you in here, there were a handful of hired guns that had broken past the checkpoint only minutes after Gaz’s plane had taken off.

“How are there so many threads,” you grunt. “Why is there so much going on right when I’m at the edge?”

At every instance, all progress was halted.

“Bar the door. You,” Alex motions to one of the soldiers. “With me.” All in the room are more tense than lions. Alex and the rest rush to the door frame, leaning against it as the third man barricades the door with a chair under the handle.

“It’s like I’m being…watched,” you whisper, brows furrowing. “Even down to when the reporters had shown up at the mansion right after I found the journal—”

“Sweetheart,” your mother calls quickly, worriedly. “Get away from the door.”

You ignore her, your face grim and your pulse echoing.

“Ex-military being used as mercenaries. Leverage.” Your eyelids flutter. “Lowe said Samson had girls; a family. Could that have been something to use against him? Is it being used against other people now? A trail like this leaves behind blood—was Samson killed to try and cover it when it went South?”

And again, the biting question even you turn up blank on—

“Why was he told he had to kill me? Why was he told he had to kill anyone?”

Forget drugs; weapons. If you had to guess…Yaromir Osipov and Mala Kham weren’t even involved in this as much as everyone else believed. A setup? A lie?

By who? For what?

“What does this mean,” you growl, hands moving up to grasp the back of your head, your skull tilting forward. “None of this is adding up.”

Gunshots ring in the hallways outside of this room.

Only desperate men and women would storm a military base knowing that nothing they did would assure their victory. It was stupid. Reckless.

It was utter fear of something far larger than themselves.

This was never about your father’s smuggling business. This ran deeper than you could have ever anticipated.

Your mother’s voice calls your name harshly. “Over here. Now!”

“You need to stop lying to me,” you stand and hear your cane clatter to the floor. Your leg shakes, almost sending you over when you press your full weight on it, but nothing compares to the fire inside of your breast.

You walk over to your mother and stare into her eyes.

She startles, blinking quickly; taken aback.

“W-what are you talking about?”

“You know what dad did, don’t say you didn’t.” Your face burns—lungs fast-paced. Alex calls to you from behind, but even the medic who pauses at your sudden hostility doesn’t interfere. “You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t do that to me. You fucking knew.”

“You watch your language,” she snaps, eyes going enraged. “What are you even saying to me? Your father? What does he have to do with this?”

Your hands jerk, taking the woman by the tops of her shoulders. She yelps, surprise alighting in her expression.

“What are you—?!”

“Tell me the truth!” You yell. “You knew he worked in the smuggling business this entire time—you knew about his dealings with Yaromir and Mala before I was even born, admit it! The drugs, the weapons; his damn dock with all of his goods! You’re not being honest with me, even three years after he’s gone.” Your face is hot with anger. “If you didn’t see the traces of it, you’re blind.”

The room is utterly silent.

Your mother opens and closes her mouth, face open to the air like she’d seen innocent people get shot in front of her—like she’d had to run for her life because of someone else’s sins.

“Tell me what you knew,” you hiss, grasping her shoulders tighter. “Tell me what you hid.”

“You’re sick,” she breathes, looking around at the others. But Alex will be no help, nor the soldiers. They guard the door, eyes snapping back and forth. The medic only watches, unprepared for your outburst. “She hasn’t been feeling well lately.”

“Tell me!”

“Spitfire,” Alex’s yell makes your body pause, eyes narrowed in distrust as the sounds from outside get louder. Blinking out of whatever stupor you’d been in, your face freezes at the nickname, and your subconscious flashes to Kyle.

Stepping back quickly, you drop your mother’s arms and look away; shame settling in the lines on your forehead. But you pointedly don’t apologize, only moving back quickly and moving to press the heels of your palms into your eye-sockets.

Kyle. The shootings. Lowe. Samson. Blood on your hands, blood on your hands, blood on your hands.

It was supposed to be me.

You take a quivering breath, spine bending forward.

Gunshots continue to boom, on and on, and you feel your mother's eyes on you; unwavering in her constant attention.

There isn’t a single part of you that can look back.

—

You stare at the phone as it sits in your hand, your limping leg walking slowly along the tiled floor. The entire building was set on lockdown—along with the base. This place, however, was now filled with trusted personnel; soldiers that had served for far longer than you’d just learned Joey had.

Only one deployment had been under his belt, but that was enough to meet Samson. It was enough to know his character.

Maybe everyone involved in this plot hadn’t suspected the Private because there was never anything to be suspicious about.

Your face hadn’t let up on its tension, not for a minute, but in this tiny instance of relative calm—in some devoid hallway—you slipped into a storage room and stopped. Taking down a deep breath, your eyes flutter as your phone illuminates cleaning supplies.

Tapping into your contacts, your thumb hovers over one of the only icons set there.

Swallowing down saliva, your fingers twitch before, without enough time to tell yourself to stop, you press harshly and move the device up to your ear.

Standing in the darkness, you let your eyes slip closed.

The ringing persists, putting you into some kind of trace the longer it goes on.

Ring…ring…ring…ring. Nothing.

You scoff, eyes opening as the phone dips down. Your hands shake over it.

“Figures.” Shrugging, your heart sinks heavily in your chest. Taking a firm step forward, your hand moves to let the device slip into your coat’s pocket before the sudden buzzing of it startles you. Head snapping down, your face blanks as you stare at the incoming call.

‘Brit’

Only a moment passes before you take a deep breath and settle the phone back at your ear, tapping at the green button.

There’s a long second of silence before a soft clearing of a throat.

“Sorry, Love. Was getting ready for bed.”

You forgot the nine-hour time difference. Mouth opening and closing, you ignore how your body sags at the smooth tone—that accent. He sounded tired, and in the background, you could hear the rustle of sheets. You had a sneaking suspicion he’d, in fact, been in the bed instead of getting ready for it.

“I can call back later,” you mutter, already pushing off the awkwardness that perpetuates the line. Hell, he didn’t even know about what happened when he left. Do you tell him?

“Woah, woah, hey.” A small chuckle. “No, it’s okay. Good to hear from you.”

“...Yeah,” you grunt, feet shifting.

Another long silence permeates like a lingering curse.

“...Everything going alright, then?” Is the slow and even question; a bead of hesitation. He wasn’t sure how to speak to you like this, and, neither did you. “No messes I need to clean up?”

Your body stills.

“Only the ones you make yourself,” you sigh, huffing. A slow infection of guilt hits you. “I don’t know why I called…this is stupid.”

Kyle makes a noise over the line. “You want me to hang up?”

“No,” you whisper after a second, head moving along the walls to look at the various items slowly. “I…I just don’t know. Things are weird.”

Feet shifting, your eyes lightly flinch at the pull of your stitches. While you’d been feeling slightly better physically, meaning the vomiting and the lightheadedness, there were still aftershocks. You were well enough to grab your own food now, and when you made your own coffee, you weren’t shocked at all to find it tasting better immediately.

“You?” Your voice asks.

“Nah,” Kyle mutters. “Have nothing to do besides talk—been running around ever since I got here. Good to see the boys, though.”

“I’m sure they’re thrilled to have you back.”

“As thrilled as they’re able to get, eh?” Your lips quirk at that. The near-kiss in your room strikes you in the stomach like a knife. “But it's been nice, minus the whole…being away part. Still don’t like how far away I am from you.”

“Careful,” you breathe. “Starting to sound like you like me over there.”

“Shit,” he laughs, and you fight the softness that washes your face at the sound. “You’re right. Better cut it off while I’m ahead.”

But the way his words still hold that serious edge makes your lips thin into a line. You wondered what your conversations would be about if you ever had the chance to calm down.

“The talk with Lowe? How’d it go, then?” A deep breath, trying to be casual. “Be honest with me here, Spitfire.”

Your eyes flinch a bit, your body shifting around as you tap your foot for a moment. People will look for you soon—you have to keep this quick. You’d just needed to hear his voice.

“It was another piece I can’t put together.” You end with that. “I feel like I’m running in circles over here, Garrick.”

Sheets rustle once more, a throaty grunt before a low breath. “I said it’ll all work out, yeah? You have to believe it will, Love. We have to keep pushing until it breaks.” A smirk is easily heard. “We all know how you like breaking things, Sweetheart.”

You raise a slow brow, smiling even if he can’t see your expression. “You know I like having you over a call—it means I can stop hearing your voice whenever I want.”

“You going to hang up on me?”

“You know, I might.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t,” Kyle teases. “You called me, remember that?”

“And now I’m regretting it,” your voice is low and sly; face hot.

Gaz chuckles, and your own mirrors before your heart slows to a steady pulse the longer this conversation moves on. You’d called him for a reason, and, steadily, whatever this was doing…it was making your mind slip back into a tranquil state. Part of you wanted to sit on the floor—roll up in a blanket and talk. About anything; about everything.

But you really needed to see his face, too.

Your tongue skates over your teeth, and you hum under your breath. “I’m thinking about asking Laswell for the USB. Try that code one last time. Think she’ll give it to me?”

Kyle’s sound momentarily stops.

“Spitfire…”

“Don’t try to talk me out of it,” your voice is low. “Please, Kyle, I just need someone on my side with this. Will Kate give me a chance to crack the USB?”

Perhaps sensing how off-kilter you are, the Brit relents with a tiny sigh and a slow response.

“I can call her—try to get on her good side.”

“Does she have one?” You quirk a brow.

“Classified.” Chuckling, your eyes stare off, delicate in every sense of the word. Like an arachnid, you dwell in this back room waiting to be caught—if only a few more moments to try and make your web; a small silk hammock of brown eyes and smooth words.

“Thank you,” your voice whispers. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“If I didn’t want to talk, I wouldn’t have called back.” He huffs a few laughs, sheepishly admitting to you. “Accidentally slapped the phone to the floor, actually.”

An unexpected laugh is pushed from your lungs.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“Wasn’t like I meant to, Love. Startled me.”

Your eyes roll, amusement in your tone. “Startling the SAS Sergeant—I should get a medal for that.”

“Not until you get me the one you were talking about before. Still waiting for it.”

Your legs shift over the floor. “The one with ‘idiot’ on the plaque?”

“That’s the one.”

Your expression goes to exasperation, but the smile doesn’t leave. “Why would you want something like that?”

“Well, you’re the one giving it to me, aren’t you?” The deep tease strikes you in the throat, and you have to discreetly clear your throat so he won’t hear the heat rising to your face.

“Cheeky,” you, dryly, state.

“I liked it.”

“Go back to bed, Sergeant,” your grinning face is stuck to the door’s face, trying to study the woodgrain in the darkness.

“...Yes, Ma’am.” There’s a pause where you wait for the other to hang up, though the cut of the line is absent from both parties. Kyle’s voice smoothly comes back to grace your ears. “Call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, okay,” you nod, knowing he can’t see you.

“Okay…try to get some sleep tonight, Spitfire. I’m one phone call away if you need me.”

“I—” You cut yourself off, the strange sentence being choked down in your throat like a cinder block. Eyes blinking, you partially startle at the words that nearly slipped out of you to the awaiting ear on the other side.

“Right,” you quickly move the phone from your ear and hang up.

Standing stiffly in the storage room, your blank eyes dig ahead, and with a shaky breath, you stumble forward.

Moving out into the hallway, you swiftly backtrack to your room.

—

Sitting in your room, you insert the USB into a new laptop and lick at your lips.

“I’m sorry about…before,” your mother walks over, placing a plate of food down in front of you along with your coffee cup. You blink up at her, a sheen of embarrassment layering itself like paint along your eyes. “I was just overwhelmed. It isn’t an excuse, I know, but…I,” you pause. “I feel bad.”

Your mother sighs, and her hand comes up to rest on top of your head. “I knew.”

Eyes snapping up, you freeze.

“I never told you about it, because I knew it would ruin how you saw him.” She breathes lowly. “You don’t get to choose who you end up loving. It happens and then it sticks until something else pries it loose. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

Watching her, your fast words fumble over themselves. “But what about the drug—”

“I only knew the surface,” she backs up, shaking her head. “I would appreciate it if we left it at that, please. Even if we had our problems, he was the love of my life; when he died, I shut it all out. I had to.”

You look away swiftly, but it’s a long time before you can answer her. You had no reason to think she was lying about this. All of it added up to you.

A kiss is pressed into your scalp. “Eat up. Keep your strength.”

Watching her walk out of the room, your attention is torn away by the laptop booting up, eyes darting to it.

Questions on questions on questions.

Taking up your coffee, you sip at it slowly. Setting it down, you cringe at the taste. Stifling a cough haggardly into your arm, you rub at your thigh before getting to work.

—

Kyle rubs his face, sighing deeply. “This is all we've got?”

“And that’s being generous,” MacTavish mutters, sending a slow glance. “Laswell wasn’t lying to you—we have shit-all.”

“How is that even possible,” the Sergeant mutters, standing straight once again. He’d been bent over the countless mission reports for more than an hour, all fruitless beyond thin leads to individuals connected to your father’s business dealings.

“Rats are used to staying in their holes,” Ghost grumbles from the other side of the table, dark eyes shifting to where their Captain comes in from the main door to the meeting room.

A hand is slapped on Gaz’s shoulder.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant.” Brown eyes glance at him, a smirk flickering Kyle’s lips.

“Good to be here, Sir. Let’s get this finished.”

Price nods firmly, a hard expression on his bearded face. With strong legs, he moves to the head of the table and grunts his orders.

“Current HVT is in Tula,” he utters in that gruff accent. “It's the only lead we have—this isn’t something we can miss.” Gloved fingers reach out to the interior blueprints of a small townhouse. “Two teams will move interior and connect the dots. If this target is in possession of any intel involving Osipov and Kham, we need to find it. Soap, you’re with Ghost, Garrick you stick with me. Total, we’ve got two teams of five involving local assistance.”

The Scot knocks forearms with his silent counterpart, and Gaz nods at the Captain in understanding. “Time frame?”

Blue eyes glance at the Sergeant. “We have a window of thirty minutes for prep and transport. We need to move fast.” Price huffs, fixing his hands onto the collar of his combat vest. “There’s the possibility of non-combatants on site. Check your shots.”

The debrief is quick and thorough, and that night everything comes to a head.

Kyle’s body soon sits in the back of an armored vehicle, a night-vision rig on his head, rifle in his arms, and his body hunched forward on the seat. In the back of his pocket, his phone sits—set to mute even if he yearned to take it up and see if you’d called him.

Being away made him nervous for you. Such relentless pursuers…but he had to believe that the actions he’s taking here will make all the difference in the end. Keller can watch after you and your mother; he placed his faith in the Agent before, and he can do it again.

But there was an ever-present pressure on his chest that won’t leave. A weight. Some kind of fishing hook stuck into the back of his brain that pulls every so often, dragging him back to the pole.

He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible and try to find a way to get back to you. Even that first phone call had been layered with hesitation—you weren’t telling him something.

That only made him more worried.

“Garrick,” Price’s voice snaps him out of it, brown eyes snapping up from where they’d been spacing out. His Captain’s voice is low. Steady. “On you.”

The vehicle had come to a stop. Blinking, Gaz nods quickly. “Right.” Hand reaching out, it settles heavily to the side door and pushes after a glance to everyone in the seats.

Boots hit to concrete in muffled thumps, bent knees taking weight as eyes scan relentlessly like wolves.

It was deep night—a night where the air is even still in slumber. Mist hung like a pale shroud, and over puddles in the potholes, Kyle’s focus instantly hardened as he splashed through them.

Now wasn’t the time to think, it was the time to act.

He hurries down a long stretch of alley between the target’s house and the one beside it, slinking along with his rifle’s stock pressing into the clutch of his shoulder. His cheek rests against the side, breathing slowly.

Adrenaline overtakes his heart.

Conforming to the side entrance of the townhouse, he waits as Price moves past him to the other side. They look at one another, the bodies of the other soldiers surrounding them. Over the coms, Ghost’s voice comes through.

“In position.”

“Let’s do this,” Kyle grunts, intent on Price’s expression. A moment of silence passes—only the anticipatory carnage that’s to follow; unthinking minds as fingers pull triggers. Instinct.

The Captain gives a quick nod, and the hunt starts.

After a quick breaking of the door, they all move interior. The skeletal-faced Lieutenant and the Demolitions Expert take the upper floor working down with their team, and below, Garrick and Price do the same, going up.

Sneaking nearer to the kitchen, Gaz lays eyes on two men taking near the dining room. Body flattening against the door frame, his Captain mutters to him as he passes the opening undetected. “Drop ‘em.”

It’s a quick end—the only sound is the metallic clink of shell casings and the thump of bodies. Behind the Sergeant, one other soldier follows at his six.

Dead eyes stare ahead as Garrick passes, and he glances at them only once before moving on.

Waiting at the stairs, Kyle re-joins the main unit, and after a quick once-over, they all begin ascending as more sounds from the level above are picked up on twitching ears. The sharp hushing of civilians—the drop of bodies. It’s all familiar, but somewhat jarring after being away from it for so long.

Part of him had gotten used to the trials of VIP work.

There’s a shout from just above, and the rush of the job comes in a fast wave. The coms alight.

“We’ve got the bastard.” Soap’s sharp voice bounces off the walls and their ears, going through the house.

“Good,” Price barks. “Stay where you are.”

Cautiously, yet quickly, all of the men regroup where their HVT is being held—in his office near the South corner.

“Shura Makarovich Agapov,” the Captain’s voice is a low rasp as his body thumps forward. It was plain to tell that this game was getting on his nerves. Lead after lead drying up more than water in a desert.

This man was all they had.

Gaz blinks at him as the other soldiers move about the office, grasping papers with quick fingers and looking through them—looking for anything of importance. Lowering his rifle back to his chest, the Sergeant studies the walls; eyes slipping over hung-up maps.

“You’re going to tell me about your superiors,” Price’s voice lowers to a harsh whisper as he nears the man.

Shura Makarovich is a large man. Sure of his body so much so that Ghost had tightened the restraints until he saw the Russian’s hands start to go blue. Johnny’s grip never leaves his weapon.

“I do not speak to men who follow orders,” the man eases out casually as if not at all disturbed by the death of his friends and the arrest of his family. “Only the ones who give them.”

“I’d say I’m giving more orders than you right now, eh?” Price taunts, head tilting as he addresses the squad. “Anything?”

“Nothing yet, Sir.”

Price’s jaw clenches. “Yaromir Osipov. Where is he?”

“Yaromir Osipov?” Shura Makarovich’s face twitches. He seems confused for a moment, and Gaz clocks it instantly. The Sergeant’s brows pull in slowly as the hostage flips his tune. “...Why would I tell you that?”

He doesn’t know him, Gaz knows.

Price kneels down as papers are tossed and pushed to the floor; Kyle’s brain working overtime.

If he doesn’t know about Yaromir, then why was he an HVT at all? Why did the thread lead to him? His boots take him across the floor, moving to the papers on the desks, moving them as Soap asks a low question as to what he’s doing. Kyle shrugs him off, looking for something that could explain things.

“Ghost,” Price mutters, and the Lieutenant moves out into the hallway quickly. The Captain looks deeply into Shura Makarovich’s eyes before standing.

There’s a commotion from outside; yelling, before Ghost returns with a woman in hand, harshly pulling her over the ground until her feet stumble.

Gaz’s eyes shoot up, and he goes deathly still.

The woman only speaks in Russian, glancing at her confidant quickly and calling his name. Shura seems taken aback, blinking rapidly.

“What are you doing?”

“Where’s Yaromir?” Price gets up and moves back. Shura makes a play to bolt up, but Soap’s hand shoves him harshly back down.

“Stay the fuck down,” the Scot growls.

“What is this?!” Kyle watches, stiffly standing from a few feet away. All of it was…your face flashes through his mind, and before he can tell himself to stop, he’s moving over to Price on heavy legs.

“Captain,” he slips beside the man, his voice nothing but a murmur but the sharp shock is no trick on the senses. “What’s the play here?”

Blue eyes move slowly his way, face twitching.

“Sergeant, set aside,” Kyle’s expression tightens, dark eyes darting to the woman that Ghost holds.

“Price, I can’t—”

“You can leave if you need to, Garrick.”

“This isn’t the way we have to do things,” Gaz’s voice lightly raises, and that’s all it takes for Price to grasp his shoulder and take him out of the door firmly.

Getting lightly pushed out into the hallway, the Captain’s grim face swivels as the door is tapped closed with a boot.

“Are you in or out, Sergeant?” Is leveled at him without emotion. “We don’t have time to play morality games. You’re either in that room with me, or you aren't. Which is it?”

“We can’t have a repeat of three years ago,” Kyle’s expression is troubled, his once sure mind fracturing.

This wasn’t right.

“Price, there has to be another way.” Blue eyes don’t blink at him, but the Captain’s low sigh and the fix of his feet are all the words needed.

“Stay out,” Price eases, eyes moving over the Sergeant’s face. A hand pats Gaz on the arm, and soon the Captain disappears back into the room, closing the door behind him.

It wasn’t disappointment that the man had given Kyle—it would never be that. But some things had to be done.

Some people had to get dirty to keep others clean.

“Fucking…” the Sergeant trails, head moving in aggression and his legs shifting. His hand comes up and rubs at his chin, eyes half-closed in concern.

You’d gone and messed with his head.

Kyle’s mind flashes to you—the way your eyes had gazed into his as your lips had been so close. Your breath over his face. Even the pound of your pulse when he’d put his hand to your forehead to check your temperature.

How your body would melt when he pulled you out of nightmares.

This wasn’t right.

It had all been his fault. It was the type of guilt that he’d carry to the grave with him; one that would never leave for as long as he tried.

What he’d done to you…

“It’s fucking unforgivable,” he whispers under his breath, fingers tapping his rifle’s stock. He can’t let it happen to someone else.

“What am I missing,” Kyle urges himself, feet shifting along the floor. “There’s something there—what is it?! He doesn’t bloody know Yaromir, what does that mean?”

But what if Yaromir was never involved in this cell in the first place?

Brown eyes spark as a sharp scream echoes from under the door. Barreling through with a slam of wood, the words coming out of Gaz’s mouth are loud, but oh so steady.

It’s as clear as day.

“We know about the location in China.”

Wide eyes from all around jerk back to him, and Price’s face slashes from shocked to enraged in a mere second.

“What the fuck are you—?”

“Chiyou,” Kyle barks, moving closer on fast feet until he’s taken Shura by the collar of his shirt and forced him to his feet. The Russian’s eyes are jumping, his mouth opening and closing.

Gaz’s face leans in close, searching for it—for the one emotion he needs from him to prove the lie he’s spewing from your hypothesis is correct. Behind him, the tiny sobs from the woman are muffled by her hands.

“We know all of it is centered in Eastern China.”

At the fast sweep of fear, Garrick already knew he had won.

You’d been right.

Without another word, the Sergeant lets Shura drop and walks out of the room—already on the phone with Laswell.

TAGS:

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299 notes · View notes

velvetures · 10 months ago

Text

COD AU: Intro

AN: I love this. I have so many thoughts in my head. So many it’s killing me inside. Please enable me. God I hope at least one of you likes this enough to talk to me about it. To hc, to literally just share my words with. And yes…. There is a very heavy Ghost/romance element… but I’m totally not against picturing the other options ahaha.

So I’ve been thinking….

An AU where everyone needs to lay low for a while. Maybe they’re all compromised and someone with enough power and money shows interest to take out the 141 forever. And Laswell, being the problem solver that she is, suggests a safe house of someone close to her. Someone who can be trusted. Not just to provide somewhere physically safe, but also keep a close eye on the team while they’re -somewhat- forcibly being cut off from the world.

So the team are flighted into the middle of god-knows-where in the mountains. A tiny little town -if you can call it that- and they meet their contact.

Not only a girl… but civilian.

She refers to Laswell as Aunt Kate and the Captain and Uncle John. Sweet as can be, and so damn helpful that it’s almost infuriating. Especially to Ghost. She hasn’t seen a single thing about them other than what Laswell has offered, and really appears like she couldn’t care less about opening her house up to them. A house just big enough to fit all four men.

Ghost isn’t sure about the whole thing. It feels wrong being holed up in the deep holler of an Appalachian mountain with a girl not twenty-five. Like some kind of fucked-up movie he wasn’t aware of being cast for. It’s all too strange walking inside her house and seeing photos on the walls, a massive rack of cast iron skillets and pots hanging above her kitchen island, and the way she looks at Price so fondly.

Uncle John…

Something about it rubs him wrong. There’s got to be history there… at least enough for her to feel the right to call Price that. But he’s never heard of her before. And this kind of arrangement isn’t one to taken lightly. There are people hunting the 141… A threat so well documented that they couldn’t even just turn a blind eye and wait for the smoke to clear.

The sweet thing doesn’t notice Ghost’s apprehension.

But she does recognize Price’s excitement in seeing her, as well as his slight disappointment that she’d offered to do this. She’s too good to get involved in matters of war, and he’s honestly surprised that Kate let you. But then again, there could only be so much disappointment he could find in seeing his goddaughter. And funnily enough, there’s a sense of relief he has in seeing how well she’s done for herself since he saw her last.

Intelligent, scarily so. But not in an overt way. He can see it in the way she collects rainwater for watering the little garden out back, and the pistol safe tucked under her bed with a thumbprint scanner. He notices the small town she’d bought her home in, and the relatively tight community. Maybe a little old-fashioned… but it’s good in case something goes wrong. And right now, it’s paying off.

Unbelievably welcoming too… but Kate and John always knew there’d come a day when she’d get a chance to ‘mother’ someone. And now she’d have four men to do exactly that for. Even from day one, she’s already made trips to the store, rearranged her whole home, and bought god-knows-what in anticipation for their arrival.

What’s each of your favorite food, I’ll make lists so I never run out of dinner ideas.

Any preferences on how I should come and go around my the house? I don’t want to startle anyone.

Did you need anything you didn’t bring? If I can’t get it in town or online I’ll text Aunt Kate and have her get it…

She’s nearly frantic to get them settled, and everyone reacts in a muted tone of shock save for Price. He’s well-aware thanks to Kate about how excited she is… something about wanting to prove herself. And Jesus if it doesn’t make Price feel a bittersweet burn in his chest as he introduces her to the others. Seeing her wide eyes examining all of them without the slightest hesitation. Memorizing names and faces, and shaking massive, gloved, hands without missing a beat.

She’s got Soap wrapped around her finger on instant. Maybe it’s a big-brother feeling. One like Price holds for her. Since she’s younger than him -unlike his own sisters- there’s something of a chance to be one for a while. Soap almost instantly takes to her Appalachian lilt and bright smile. They’re both too sweet for their own good at times… and Price can tell right away there won’t be a knife sharp enough to cut the two of them apart after this.

Gaz is quietly polite is a way only he can be. Meticulously trying to stay out of her way as she flutters about. Wanting to help her out, but also downright flustered when she demands she be the one to carry their bags to their rooms. It’s a clear sign he’s not used to it… A woman being this damn sweet and intent on ‘helping’ a man. But he takes it in stride. Learning how to help without stepping on her decidedly ‘southern comfort’ style of catering to them. And god if Price doesn’t have to chew the tip of his cigar when she gets on his ass about something. The poor sod looks like a kicked puppy… and he’s certain she’ll end up training him with due time.

Christ above. If Ghost isn’t the most difficult bastard to deal with initially.

He’s much more sour than typical. Lurking in corners, and unable to settle down anywhere for more than an hour. He looks caged in by the comfortable couch and throw blankets. Swallowed by her pleasantly creaky porch swing and sun-couch on the wraparound. Not even her well-used garage housing an old Fold flatbed makes a good refuge for Ghost. She’s all encompassing in a way he can’t come to terms with easily.

Price sees her trying the hardest with him.

The way her voice lowers when addressing him. How she makes a conscious effort to tiptoe around the house after 10pm because that’s when he shuts himself inside his bedroom… She doesn’t exactly know he never sleeps. Dinners are often served close to the time he finally realizes he’s got to come back inside the house… and without fail, she can be found sitting near him.

Not friendly by any means.

But more like a girl who’s found an old bait-dog at the pound and can’t leave well-enough alone. Sitting with her back it to and tossing treats over her shoulder. Hoping silently that the old, scarred, dog will come around. Damn near predatory in a sweet kind of way. Price can tell she means well. She can see the same thing everyone else on the team can… and she’s just going about it her way.

She’s good like that. Maybe a little too good.

But John can’t deny he enjoys seeing it. All of it really. The way she dotes on them individually. Consistently. Hell, she even does their laundry and bought separate baskets to keep things neat and tidy. The fridges -yes… multiple- all are set with their preferences in drinks, and she’s scarily observant when things need replaced. Toothpaste… shoelaces… socks… there’s no missing anything. Brands and sizes don’t seem to be a problem either, to some shock and mortification.

Uncle John, what’s Soap mean when he says he misses Irn-Bru?

His quick and unconcerned explanation goes without another notice… until he sees Johnny taking a long drink from a bottle of it while sitting on a rocking chair on the back porch watching some hummingbirds fight over richly dyed sugar water.

John’s often preoccupied with worrying about the plans of those head-hunting them and what Kate’s doing behind the scenes in the meantime. But it’s clear there’s nothing concerning his goddaughter but whether or not they’re all fed, warm, and comfortable in her house…

Whether Ghost likes it or not.

Comments are so heavily appreciated on this… I want to make this more of what I talk about & I can’t keep it all on a notebook under my bed.

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