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on-a-lucky-tide · 2 months ago

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A soldier yearns for home as a pining pilot watches on.

cw: hints of a shitty ex, soldiers away for Christmas.

Nik hadn’t questioned the guitar that John had loaded onto the Black Hawk. He had transported more unusual things into the heart of eastern Europe, and would do so in the future at John's behest, no doubt. That hadn't stopped him inspecting it while John had been busy briefing the 141 and an attaché of mercenaries Laswell had sent to support.

The case was solid black plastic, chipped and dented, and littered with band stickers. Some had faded to white completely, while others had peeled in places. His eyes lingered over a few bands he'd never heard of - The Fratellis, The Wombats, The… Pigeon Detectives - and some he did. John had a rather broad musical palette.

The instrument itself was well loved too, with a chip out of the main body and more faded stickers across the back and front. The varnish had worn off the fretboard, but the strings were relatively fresh; Nik ran the pads of his fingers over them and they hummed out a warm note. The musical echo of John's smile, Nik thought fondly. He clipped the case closed and grabbed a ratchet strap from a shelf to keep it secure.

They made camp in an abandoned building in the suburbs outside Timișoara. Nik could think of worse places to spend Christmas than the City of Roses, but everyone else's spirits were low. It was Christmas Eve and every soldier huddled in that little building was yearning for hearth and home. Nik had spent so long without one that he had learned to find solace where he could, and if that was enjoying the philharmonic opera and a glass of Țuică in a beautiful Romanian city after the mission, then so be it.

As he walked the floors, he heard Gaz talking softly on his phone, Soap and Ghost too, with muted Scottish voices coming through from the otherside. The lieutenant had lost so much and the sergeant had taken to including him in his own family. One day they would make it official. Nik had already picked out his suit for the occasion.

The team had a limited amount of downtime before all boots hit the ground and they went dark, and every single one had searched out their loved ones in whatever way they could. Nik hadn't realised his own heart had done the same until he ended up outside John's door.

It was ajar and Nik could hear him moving around. He was about to knock when he caught sight of John sitting down in front of a laptop, and his hand hovered in midair. A hazy picture appeared on the screen, flickering once as John adjusted the antennae.

“C'n y’ear me, Carol?”

“Yeah, John. C'n ‘ear ya, la.”

“‘Ow ya keepin’?”

“Fine, it's… I wish y’were ‘ere. I'm… it's hard. Bizzies were round lookin’ fer ‘im, he's gone an' been a prick again.”

“I know, ‘m sorry, be home soon–ahh, there she is!”

Nik leaned in and saw a new face appear on the screen. Kimmy. She was a combination of John and his sister, without a single trade of her father, as far as Nik could tell; erratic brown hair that had fought a comb to the death, broad nose and distinguished forehead, and those blue eyes were clearly a Price birthright, because they gazed owlishly from the screen as she worked out who her mother was talking to and then squealed with delight.

“Uncle John! You commin’ fer scran? Ma go’ pigs in blankets from down The Asda an’.. an’ that spotted dick wi’ custard, an’ an’...”

John chuckled. “Naw, love. Gotta sort out some bad men, then ‘ll be ‘ome, but ‘m gonna miss dinner.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, love, ‘m sorry. Ma got the clobber ya asked fer though.”

“Yeah…”

She didn't look convinced and Nik's heart ached for her.

“Bu’ listen, figured we could still do ar sing along at least. You ready?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Eh, yeah! Wait, wait…”

She left the screen, returning moments later with what looked like an Action Man doll in a carrier vest, and plopped herself back down on her mother's lap.

“Ready!”

John tweaked the strings and played a few trial notes to test the tuning, before he opened up into the introduction. Nik had never heard him play before. Not in all the years they had known each other, and it felt strangely intimate now, John's full bicep sloped over the body of the guitar as he strummed through the chords, agile fingers moving across the frets. Nik wished he could see from the front. Imagined it so clearly in his mind’s eye.

And then John started singing and Nik had to place a hand on the wall to steady himself.

“I wanna thank the storm that brought the snow, and thanks to the string of lights that make it glow, but I wanna thank you, baby. You make it feel like Christmas.” His voice was rich, the auditory companion to the dark amber of the whiskey in his office, gravelly and a little rough from so many years smoking strong cigars, but he carried a note perfectly, even if he was keeping the volume low. Nik felt his heart trying to beat out of his chest, a little breathless as he drank in every word.

Despite the subtle crackle of the poor laptop speakers, Carol’s voice carried just as well, low and silky, as John played through her verse, his smile visible even at the sides through the perk of his round cheeks. “It barely took a breath to realise, we're gonna be a classic for all time. I wanna thank you, baby. You make it feel like Christmas.”

When they fell in together, Nik realised this wasn't a one-off. They harmonised perfectly, practised, John dropping his lower baritone to allow Carol's voice to carry over the top, and Kimmy’s delighted squeak made Nik grin so broadly his face hurt. “Sweet gingerbread made with molasses, my heart skipped and I reacted, can't believe that this is happenin’, like a present sent from God, sleigh bells singin’ Hallelujah, stars are shinin’ on us too, I wanna thank you, baby… you make it feel like Christmas.”

John leaned back, dipping his shoulders, chuckling as he played through another bar, before he carried the next verse with Carol humming and echoing beneath. “Thought I was done for, thought that love had died, but you came along, I swear you saved my life, and I wanna thank you, baby, ‘cause you make it feel like Christmas.”

It was as Carol squeezed Kimmy and pressed a kiss into her hair, the Action Man dancing across the screen in Kimmy's small hands, that Nik realised John was singing to his niece. Not some abstract lover provided by the song, but the little girl that beamed at him like he was a superhero, held by the sister he had raised himself. John had no wife, no children, but he did have a family. A family that loved him, missed him, looked at him like he hung the stars.

Nik dropped his eyes for a moment, but he couldn't look away for long. It was like staring into a bonfire in a snowstorm; the warmth on his skin warding off the bitter cold, but the intensity of the light hurting his eyes. He wanted it so ardently that his entire body ached.

“I never thought I'd find a love like this, but I found forever in that very first kiss, I wanna thank you, baby, you make it feel like Christmas.” Carol finished the lyrics and they harmonised through the last few bars as she kissed her daughter’s rosy cheeks, bouncing her on her lap as she giggled.

John struck the final note and rested his palm over the strings to bring their warm hum to an end.

“Ahh, ‘gain! Again!’

John chuckled, a sound even warmer than the one made by his guitar. “Naw, sweet’eart. S’time fer bed, or Santa ain't gonna visit."

“Yer Santa,” Kimmy said tartly. “An’ y’ain’ ‘ere.”

“Olrigh', smartarse, but if I ‘ave t’ get a flight back over ‘specially t’ rob yer presents back, I will.”

“You wouldn't."

He said nothing, but Nik could picture the raised eyebrow, the stern set of his eyes and lips. Kimmy pouted and slid from her mother's lap, looking mischievous and reluctant, but complying because she knew there was no room for negotiation. Before she disappeared, she leaned in and the camera caught the top of her head as she kissed the screen.

“Love ya, Uncle John. See soon.”

“Sleep tight, ya little beast.”

She scurried away and Carol looked back at her brother, her eyes, just as blue as his, brimmed with anxiety. “You come back safe, y’ear? Safe. No heroics, ya get the job done, ya get yer arse t’ my dinner table before New Years.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She kissed her fingers and they covered the camera briefly. “Love you, big brother.”

She took one final look at him and then the camera went black. He stared at the screen and then let out a long, rattling sigh, his face falling to his palm. Nik’s heart caught in his throat and he was frozen between leaving John to his sadness or offering comfort and revealing he'd been hovering there the whole time, invading his privacy.

He didn't need to worry for long. John's phone rang and he snatched it from the nearby table, sliding his guitar behind him to hang down his back. “Price,” he said, a stern bark. Back to business; John tidied away into the recesses of his heart, Captain Price assuming his place. John listened intently, hand on his hip. “Copy. ETA?” Another pause. “Fuck, that's too soon, we’re… yeah, Rog, we’ll be ready. We’ve got Nik with us.”

Nik smiled, stepping back. He had barely retreated four paces down the hall before his phone buzzed in his back pocket. It was John: “need you, 5 mins”.

Nik ducked into a nearby room to wait out the time. If he appeared too quickly, John would know he had been lingering nearby. He had no right to have invaded that private moment, and John deserved to believe it had been all his. A quiet moment to himself before the clusterfuck to come.

As Nik waited in the dark for the minutes to tick by, he added two new people to his silent, unwavering commitment to John Price. Nikolai would personally return John to Carol and Kimmy, their hero, safe and sound. They would sing together at Carol’s dinner table by New Years, Nik would make sure of it.

Nik left the room and knocked on John's door. When he entered, he was greeted by a lopsided smirk as John looked up from checking his M1911. “Time to get evil, Comrade.”

Nik grinned back. “It would be my pleasure.”

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #cod oc #@juju #your smoop m'love #to say sorry for the angst #oh but it has some yearning #also families are all shapes and sizes #sometimes it's you your ma and your dysfunctional gay uncle (and his russian boyfriend)

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