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random0lover · 2 years ago

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This made me want to wither away into a hole and cry lol

It was amazing though and I’m really glad we didn’t stick to keeping them away. I can’t even fully imagine how they must’ve felt seeing you gone 😭

Dead Disco / Chapter 2

Chapter two of Dead Disco

Simon Riley/John MacTavish/female reader 2.8k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI (no smut but it's inferred), feelings of fear and anxiety, depression, alcohol use, brief mention of eating/food issues, fluff, relationship issues, angst, could be considered toxic, established throuple. The guys discover you're gone.

Johnny is tired. He’s been away from home for thirty-seven days, thirty-seven long days of trekking through a jungle and hiding out in small towns, thirty-seven days of trying to ferry a diplomat’s kid from one border to another, thirty-seven days of heavy fire and artillery bombing. Thirty-seven days of fleeting touches, stolen kisses, all while being unable to feel Simon’s body against his own. Thirty-seven days of missing you.

His eyes dart around the hangar, checking for stragglers or watchful gazes. When he’s satisfied, he moves towards the driver’s side door, to where Simon is standing, arms already extended in wait.

“We’re home.” Johnny breathes, molding himself into the warmth of Simon’s body.

“Almost.” The answer is gruff, but his grip is unyielding, uneager to let Johnny go, head bowed forward, cheek resting atop the dirty scruff of the mohawk. He’s still wearing the balaclava, will still be wearing it until they get into the apartment and the doors are locked, but for now, they both take what they can get. Simon tosses each bag into the back of the car, eyes pinching sour with discomfort. It’s his back again, Johnny silently hopes that the comfort of their own bed would help alleviate some of the pressure on his spine. Those awful bedrolls were rough for everyone, but especially someone as big as his partner.

“Shuid get goin’.” His mind is already wandering to you and how you’re faring. Your absence chafes them, and it’s obvious now when they’re together that something is missing, that they’re lacking a part of their connection, missing their lost puzzle piece. It wears on them during deployments, causing their tempers to string tight and worry to settle in the back of their minds. Guilt burns in the pit of Johnny’s stomach when he remembers how uncertain, how stressed you’d been when he had promised, promised, you that it would be two weeks or less.

“Dinnae worry, yeah? Back before you know it.” you wrap your arms around his waist, face pressing to his shoulder with a deep sigh. He hated this. Every time, it got harder and harder.

“Okay.” The word is mumbled into his shirt, and he runs a hand over your hair soothingly. The sound of a duffel being dropped on the floor pulls your eyes, arm reaching for its owner, your fingers grasping onto the strings of Simon’s hoodie until he's there too, broad chest pressed to your back, the balaclava twisted in his grip. T-minus ten minutes until Simon was gone and Ghost was on point, so Johnny soaked up every second, you between them, right where you fit perfectly, Simon’s warm palm resting just at the top of his spine, the rhythm of being together, feeling safe, feeling whole.

Seconds turned into minutes, and then Simon was pulling away, dragging you with him to press a kiss to your lips before picking up the bag.

“Be good.” He says with a pointed look, and Johnny fights a chuckle. “And keep the terrace door locked.” You roll your eyes, playful spirit peeking through from underneath your worry.

“Yes Simon.”

“We’ll see you soon.” Johnny wraps his arms around you one last time, meeting your mouth with his, slipping into the comfort of home one last time before regretfully stepping away.

He couldn’t wait to lay his eyes on you, couldn’t wait to strip the balaclava from Simon’s face, couldn’t wait to take a shower and feel the heat of your body, the silk of your skin.

He glanced at the digital read out of the time as Simon turned the key in the ignition and huffed in frustration.

“It’s late.”

“She’ll be asleep. Don’t wake ‘er this time.” Simon warned, and he scoffed. He didn’t intentionally wake you last time, you had blinked your eyes open when you felt them fall into bed, and he seized the opportunity. He couldn’t help it; he had missed you too much. And while Simon might be content to just pull your sleeping form against his body and hold you there, Johnny had to hear your voice.

“Hi.” You blink blearily at him, fingers groping blindly along his stomach in the dark. “You’re wet.”

“Had ta shower.” You shift, turning onto your side.

“Without me?”

“It’s two in the morning, darling.” He hums and you yawn in response.

“Simon?” your voice was more acutely aware now, and he knew it was because you were making sure. Checking off the list, verifying that they’d both come back. To you.

“I’m here, love.”

“Mmph.” You murmur. “Missed you.” your face found Johnny’s neck, lips soft on his collarbone, while Simon slid all the way over, molding himself around your back, an arm resting gently across your two bodies.

“We missed you too.” Johnny whispers, body relaxing for the first time in weeks, muscles going loose and his brain going quiet. It was good to be home.

“We could take her out tomorrow. She’d like that.”

“Maybe on Thursday, dependin’ on how she’s feeling. I’m not plannin’ on leaving that bed for at least twenty-four hours. And neither are you, MacTavish.” Heat licked up his spine, settling in his belly while the city flashed by the windows, while he wonders how upset you are, if you’re going to be barking mad at them, or just sad, the way you get sometimes when they have to ease you back into their affection, when they have to break down the armor that grows in layers upon layers when they’re away.

“Too long, it’s been too long.” He expects Simon to agree with him, say something reassuring like he usually does, but he doesn’t respond, and Johnny looks to where he’s splitting his attention between the screen of his phone and the road. “What is it?”

“Darling?” Simon calls through the apartment, while Johnny shucks his shoes and coat at the door. It’s only eight, still early in the night, and they’re surprised when you pad out of the bedroom in your pajamas, eyes red from crying, straight into Johnny’s arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asks when you bury your nose in his chest, Simon standing on your side, gently rubbing your back, concern in his eyes. “Love, what is it?” he pulls back to get a glimpse of your face.

“Had a bad dream.” You mumble into him, and he holds you a little tighter, Simon leaning into the two of you to press his mouth to the top of your head in a kiss. He taps his fingers down your cheek to draw your attention back up to his face, and that’s when he notices.

How dry your skin is. How cracked your lips are. The circles under your eyes, the hunch in your shoulders. He looks up at Simon over your head, who gives him a swift a nod, and pulls you away and into his own arms.

“What do you think… about gettin’ in the shower with me?” He hears Simon coaxing you into the bathroom while he flings open cabinets in the kitchen, looking for your water bottle. When he gets to the fridge, he swallows a groan. It’s practically empty, only harboring the usual collection of condiments, some cheese, a few avocados. But no leftovers, no meals, no protein. Your usual overflowing bounty of green things is missing. None of the kiwis that you insist on buying every single time anyone goes to the supermarket. Nothing to indicate you had been eating.

What have you been doing?

The apartment is dark. Your sweater doesn’t hang on the hooks by the door, your shoes aren’t lined up neatly in the closet. The giant fleece blanket that you always insist on everyone cuddling underneath during movie nights is gone.

The framed picture of the three of you, the one that sits on the little table in the hallway, is facedown.

The bed is made, all six pillows stacked neatly at the top of the mattress, sheets and comforter tucked into the bottom just how Johnny always makes it. Your little jewelry dish that occupies the top of the dresser is gone.

Some of your clothes still rest on hangers. Your favorite robe is still draped over the tub in the bathroom. Your tea collection is still stacked neatly in the cupboard.

A single silver key sits on the island.

Johnny feels like he can’t breathe. He feels like he’s grieving.

Simon doesn’t speak either. He just stands in the kitchen, lost in thought, knuckles white.

He loves you. Simon loves you. How could you just leave?

He reads the infuriating email over and over again. Four sentences. Not even a proper goodbye.

Hey,

I’m sorry. I left. The key is on the island. I locked the front door.

-Darling.

“It’s a week and a half old.” Simon breaks the silence. “She sent it a week and a half ago, could be anywhere now.”

“What if something is wrong.” He wants to deny it. Wants to ignore the reality, the sinking feeling dragging him down, fingers grasping tight to Simon’s as he gulps. “What if…”

“It would be near impossible to find this place, love.” Simon says gently. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The title is in the name of a shell company. The mortgage was paid in cash. No one would know who it belongs to unless…

“What if we had a tail? And we didn’t know… and we led them right to her.” Simon visibly stiffens next to him. It’s a slim chance. The probability of the two of them not seeing a tail is extremely low.

“Call her.” Simon orders and Johnny’s hand trembles as he pulls the contact up and dials.

It rings, and rings, and rings.

“Be patient, Johnny.” Simon murmurs in his ear, breath warm against his skin, the smell of Kentucky bourbon washing over the two of them.

“What if she says no.” Simon grasps his chin with two fingers and pulls him in for a kiss.

“No one could say no to you.” They both turn to look at you, slippers on, Simon’s giant t shirt falling to your thighs. You’ve got a wooden spoon in your palm, face leaning over a giant pot of red sauce that you made from scratch. You’re singing to yourself, happily, quietly, but your smile falters when you look up at realize they’re watching you.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” He says, a little too quickly, and can feel the groan building in Simon’s chest. You frown.

“Ooookay.” You do that thing where you drag the ‘o’ out really long, like you don’t believe him.

“We want to ask you something.” Simon jumps in, disregarding his previous advice since Johnny has gone and spooked you. Your eyes go wide.

“What?” you ask warily.

“We want you to move in with us. Officially.” Johnny blurts, too excited. “You’re here five nights a week, anyway, yeah?” You nod, holding the spoon upright, eyes flicking back and forth between them.

“Really?” He doesn’t miss the doubt in your voice but chooses to blow by it. “But… this is your place, I don’t really like, fit here.”

“Of course you do.” Simon assures you. Johnny pulls you into his arms, leaning back against the counter.

“We don’t wanna be without you, darling.” He combs some hair away from your face, and then licks the spoon, earning him one of your amused giggles.

“You don’t have to decide right now.” Simon says, tempering Johnny’s enthusiasm, and you nod.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Anything for last call?” The bartender taps the wood with a knuckle, and you motion to your half empty beer.

“I’ll take one more, thanks.” The bottle leaves a little ring on the bartop, sticky and wet, shining in the muted light of the mostly empty room. It’s a place with no windows, black laminate floors, neon beer signs flickering on the walls. It smells in here, like stale cigarettes and cheap beer, but you don’t hate it, and it beats going back to your empty hotel room, with the giant empty bed, and the quiet empty hallway.

If the bartender notices your appearance, he keeps quiet about it. If he realizes you haven’t washed your hair, or your face, he doesn’t say anything. All he does is nod to the hundred that you’ve kept sitting in front of you, placing another neat pour of bourbon next to your fresh beer.

It’s the good kind, Kentucky. The kind Johnny wrinkles his nose at. The kind Simon loves. You squeeze the lime into the mouth of the bottle, sticky, sour juice squirting all over your fingers that you pop between your lips and lick clean, one by one, before downing the amber liquid in one swallow.

The hotel bed is a king. Not a California, like the one in the apartment, but it feels just as big with only your body in it. You sprawl in the middle of it like a starfish, trying to feel for the edges, only to come up short. It’s disconcerting, you realize. The feeling of being alone like this, not waiting, not wondering what time the key is going to click in the lock. It’s been over a week, and the uneasy feeling has still not passed. Weren’t you supposed to feel good? Wasn’t this what you wanted? You couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do anything.

You missed them.

You missed them so much; it was hurting you. It felt like a charred hole had formed in your heart, panic and despair leaking through your body.

It had sent you down a dark path, an endless rabbit hole that just got worse and worse as time went on.

So, instead of feeling the full force of it, instead of accepting your fate, you daydream, indulging in a made-up fantasy where they find you, track you down and drag you home. Where they’re standing on the other side of the hotel room door, begging you to come back, pulling you into their arms.

It's just a fantasy. They’re not coming for you, you know that. They have each other. They don’t need an accessory to survive, or even be happy. They don’t need you.

You’re on the verge of drifting into restless sleep when your phone vibrates, somewhere in the down comforter.

You don’t have to look at the caller ID to know who it is.

You knew they’d call when they got home, when they realized you were gone.

You honestly didn’t expect it to be so long, the idea that they got held up somewhere, ran into trouble making your stomach flip. What if one of them is hurt? What if they need you?

No. No, you’re going to be strong. You are NOT answering that phone.

The vibrations cease. You let out the whoosh of breath you’ve been holding.

The vibrations start again.

Your heart clenches in your chest.

Come find me. Come get me and bring me home.

No. No, you’re strong. You don’t need them; you don’t need this.

Don’t answer it. Don’t answer it. Don’t-

Your thumb hits the green button.

“Hello?” The other end of the phone is silent, and then two voices talk over one another for a second before going quiet.

“Bloody hell. Where are you, darling… are you alright? Are ya hurt?” It’s Simon’s voice, raspy in the background. You swallow.

“I’m… I’m fine.”

“Where are ye?” Johnny sounds closer, and you hold your breath.

“I… I’m okay. I’m at a hotel.” Guilt swarms you. Of course. They’re worried something happened to you. “I’m s-sorry.” Come get me, you want to scream, come get me and never leave again. Nobody speaks, and then you hear the muffled sound of a conversation. A terse back and forth before Simon is speaking into your ear.

“Tell us where you are, yeah?”

The knock on the door is loud, and you stand on the other side, hesitant.

Why are you doing this?

The knock comes louder this time.

Don’t be weak. You left, remember? You left for a reason.

You crack the door. Simon’s arms are crossed, and you can’t place the expression on his face, the balaclava obstructing the lines of his mouth that you’re so used to reading.

Johnny, on the other hand, looks torn between being on the verge of tears, and pissed. His hand darts out between the door and the frame, pushing it wider and bringing you into full view. The anger drains from his face within a second. Embarrassment curdles in your stomach. You look like a fucking mess.

“Oh, love.” He whispers, eyes softening. Fuck, don’t cry. Keep it together.

“Hi.”

“Let us in.” Simon demands from behind him, and you chew on your lip. “Please. Whatever it is, we can fix it darling. Just let us in.” He gentles his tone, and Johnny reaches for your hand that’s gripping the door handle.

You’re stepping aside before you even realize what’s happening.

Gee, way to stick to your guns.

#simon riley x johnmactavish x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mwii #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod mw2 #john mactavish #simon ghost riley

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anhwrites · 2 years ago

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Chapter 2. Ivan Orlov

The sun filters through the white curtains and wakes her early the next morning, she silently notes how beautiful the dewy morn is before she stretches and gets up. She goes through the the motions of getting herself ready quickly before making her way to the dining room for breakfast. She joins The Captain and Gaz at the table they'd already been sitting at. They slide a plate of food and an earpiece towards her silently. The three of them speaking quietly to the other two who had ordered room service, getting the plan for that night organized.

"Ana, what's your plan? We know to keep a look out for you, but what will you be doing?" The Captain asks. She stares at him, momentarily stunned by the fact he referred to her as the name she'd been assigned for the mission. She hated the way it sounded coming from him. They hold eye contact for a few seconds too long before she looks back down at her almost-empty plate.

She pushes the rest of her eggs around her plate lazily. Persing her lips in thought for a moment before speaking. "It's the same as always. Walk in, look lonely at the bar, let him buy me a drink, sit there while he talks about himself, look pretty, let him take me wherever he wants, get what I need, kill them, leave before someone sees. Done."

"And if that doesn't go as planned?" Gaz asks gently. She smiles softly down at her place but it's hollow. She had hoped there would be at least one man here that didn't doubt her, but she guessed that wouldnt be happening

"Thank you, but I'm not really in the mood to be talked down to. I'll see you gentlemen later." She lays her napkin on her plate, and pushes back from the table. Her fingers grasp at the ear piece, pulling out and laying it silently on the table as she grabs her wallet and leaves. Normally, she would have some sort of phone with her but decided against it this time. There wasn't a need, she had no one to contact besides Kate anyways.

Getting back to her hotel room she starts getting ready. She lays out the building floorplans and other pieces of information she assumed she'd need.

Twisting around to turn on the shower before crouching down to the floor, unzipping her bag and pulling out the wig and other necessary makeup she'll need while she waits for the water to warm up. When she's done she strips of the clothes she has on and steps into the steaming water. She shaves; exfoliates, and moisturizes, humming a tune of a song she'd heard once in passing. Afterward she sprays herself lightly with an Arabian perfume. She then pulls on an emerald green satin gown, the thin straps twisting and she has to spend a few extra moments righting them. The strings cross over the open back of the dress elegantly, hugging her body in the right ways. Despite what she did, she loved part of her job. She loved dressing up and feeling pretty, granted, most of the time her outfits had to be trashed due to blood stains, she still loved it though.

She finishes her hair and makeup, settling for a high curled ponytail, the bangs of the platinum wig are also curled and styled to the side, it would hide half of her face, just how she liked. Her hair held together with her thin black throwing knives. They were her favorite ones to use after-all. She then slid on the matching elbow length gloves she'd been given. Elegant, but not too much. When she was finished she placed the small caps she'd made on her upper canines. When she inevitably bit him; the capsule will break and the liquid will seep into the puncture wounds, paralyzing him almost instantly, killing his heart slowly. When they did the autopsy it would only look like a heart attack. That is, if she could refrain from stabbing him first.

He's low on the list, admittedly. A stupid businessman who thought he could get away with things just because he ran the Bratva's coffee errands. To translate, he was at the bottom of the food chain. Scraps. As would the next few men. But she needed information and these were the poor fools that had it.

She exits her room quickly, the hall silent as she waits for the door to lock. With her wallet in hand, she takes the elevator to meet them in the lobby, finding that they're already there waiting for her. Trying to pretend that she doesn't notice them staring, instead choosing to admire the art hung up and displayed around the space.

She holds her wallet out to Ghost when she approaches him. His mask on as always, and the warpaint on his skin makes his blue eyes stand out, he eyes her for a moment before grasping it. His large gloved hand covers her own for a moment. Definitely ignoring how large and warm his hand was compared to hers, she turns to the others and allows them to lead her outside.

They walk out to the limousine together. Gaz opens the door for her and she touches his arm gently in thanks, climbing in and getting situated. The men climb in through the other available doors, their gear already laid out on the seats for them to put on. She can't stop the half-smile at the sight. A task-force of fully grown men gearing up in a limo was something that made her wish she had a camera so she could take a picture of it.

Shepherd wastes no time beginning. "Here is your identity for tonight. You are the niece of Thomas Arnold, stepping in for him tonight as he is currently on business, he's southern, from Louisiana. You have your invitation, right?"

"Yes." She answers sharply, refraining from lashing out. "And where is he really?" Grasping the papers from him.

"Just waking up on an island in Bali." She nods, inspecting the papers she's given. Twenty minutes later they pull up to the party. It's a large business building, covered in glass. The door slides open, loud shouting and city noises greet her as she inhales deeply. When she moves to get out a gloved hand reaches out, the leather cool against her bare upper arm as it stops her.

"Take one of these, lass." She blinks at the pet-name, refusing to acknowledge the presence in her stomach due to it. Her eyes glance from him to the small gadget in his hand, an earpiece. She the piece gently from him, curling it into her palm. She left the other one they'd given her at the hotel and a surge of gratitude fills her as she rolls it around gently in her palm.

Sliding out of the limo, she doesn't look back as the cameras begin to flash. Quickly understanding that she underestimated the severity of the party but she ignores them, no one would know who she was, they wouldn't be able to recognize her. Her hair was white now but tomorrow it will be different. She'd technically take on a new name and move onto the next person on her list. She walked into the building calmly. Chattering, glass clinking and laughter overstimulating her and she locates a bathroom quickly, finding an empty stall. She slips the earpiece in on the side that her bangs covered, adjusting it so it was just right, finding that the men were already talking.

"I bet you a score she flushes the ear piece down the pissa." The Captain jokes. She rolls her eyes, readjusting the garters under her dress before letting it fall back into its place.

"Well with the way you've been treating her Cap, I wouldn't be surprised." Gaz grumbles. She cant help her heart dropping to her stomach.

"She holds a mean grudge too, hate to see any of you added to her list all because you were a dick." Ghost adds quietly, she feels her head jerk back slightly. His assumptions were spot on and it made her stomach sink with unease.

"I thought she only added pedo's to her list?" Gaz's confusion is clear, even through a small device. Ghosts tsks, choosing not to reply. The bathroom was empty so she took that moment to say something.

"The translation of that would be, Fuck around and find out, Sergeant Garrick." She states simply. If they were smart, they'd keep to themselves. How Ghost knew so much about her, she didn't know and it made her uncomfortable. She inhales deeply and exhales the same. "Let's get this over with, gentlemen." Yanking open the bathroom door and strolling back into the busy party.

Scanning the large space, she spots her target almost immediately. Ivan Orlov stands to the far right of the bar, one arm leaning comfortably against it as he sips from a short glass. A brown drink could be many things, but it was most likely Scotch.

He's average looking, or maybe she looked at him with bias. With his dark black hair slicked back; he stands at six feet tall, surrounded by other men, she notes. His dark black suit looks good against his pale skin. Dark honey eyes scan the room slowly as he sips.

Making eye contact with him once, she then spots an empty seat at the bar and strides over to it, her posture perfect. Her skin prickles as she feels eyes all over on her. Taking her seat, she leans forward and orders her drink politely, giving the bartender her sweetest smile. The men talk in code in her ear and she ignores them as the bartender hands her the glass with a wink, she smiles into her drink as she sips it through the little straw.

"In position, boys." Soaps voice filters through the ear piece. Then she feels it, his presence.

"Why good evening, gorgeous. I don't believe I have had the pleasure to meet you." The thick Russian accent greeting her. She pretends to jump in her seat, holding her hand up to her chest and laughs.

"My apologies sir! You scared me!" She puts on a southern accent easily, Soaps soft grunt greets her and her smile becomes a bit more genuine. "Louisa Arnold! Stepping in for uncle Thomas."

"Yes! I love Thomas! Do tell him I wish him well." He shakes her hand, turning it in his palm and kissing the back of it softly, he looks at her through her lashes and she had to admit he was very charming. She could see why so many women fell for his tricks. "Let me buy your next drink darling," She shivers, pet names making her feel ill coming from men like him. "What'll you have?" He places a large, calloused hand on her shoulder, covering it almost completely. It was sweaty and she fights the urge to jerk her shoulder away.

She lets out a soft sigh, pouting her lips just a little. "Well right now it's a cocktail, I wanted whiskey but they're not serving it! Can you believe it?" She asks, leaning her body towards him, he glances once down at her chest before back to her eyes, his grin widening.

"Ah whiskey, my kind of girl." Ghost rumbles. She brings her drink to her lips to stop herself from blushing, finishing it with a few sips.

"Why, I can not! I can fix you up though." She giggles and embarrassingly enough it's only for one of the men who spoke. "Do you have a type of whiskey in mind darling? We can go up to my office, and have a quick drink if you'd like." A faint 'for fucks sake' channels through the earpiece. She'd have to thank them for the commentary later.

"Have any Scotch?" She asks with faux-bashfulness, fiddling with her now empty cocktail glass. She already knew the answer, but she waits for one anyway. She doesn't miss Soaps soft grunt in her ear or the Captains. Her smile spreads to a grin as Orlov holds out his hand in invitation, bringing her to her feet. She follows him out of the room quietly and to the elevator.

"We have no eyes on you in there, keep talking so we know you're okay." Soaps grunts. She lightly rolls her eyes, huffing quietly.

"So Mr.Orlov," She starts, twisting her body to face him. "Do you have any family?" She asks as he jabs the button calling for the elevator.

"God no," He laughs, throwing a dismissive wave her way. "I had a wife but we divorced for reasons. She always assumed I was unfaithful to her, always so bitter about the younger women who wanted my attention." She smiles innocently as her gut starts to sink at the same time. "I know you can probably understand, darling. I bet old hags are on you all the time because of how young you look. Why, you don't look a day older than eighteen." He's grinning at her like she's his dinner and her neck hair stands. She wanted to cringe, to sink one of her knives into his eye and leave him here. Instead she peers up at him through her eyelashes and giggles.

"Hmm I do get it a lot." Theres a small whine to her voice as she pouts at him. "But it's a good thing I'm legal." She's being coy once again, and she was careful not to slip up about her age.

"I don't have to fire the bartender for serving someone underage, do I?" His arm lays across her shoulders as they face the elevator doors.

"A girl never drinks and tells." He laughs loudly; throwing his head back, she watches his adam's apple dip in result. Shoving the urge to punch it away. The elevator dings as it comes to a stop, the doors slowly sliding open and showing her a row of conference rooms and offices, the layout open.

"Welcome to my office, darling. Let's get you that whiskey you wanted." He guides her to the last office, not missing the fact that he opened a door to an office marked for a Mr. Miller instead of his own name. It didn't matter to her. But she enjoyed watching make their decisions moments before death. It was like a movie.

She takes the opportunity to walk around the office, getting acquainted with the space, she could feel his eyes on her as she moves. She could feel many eyes on her, every movement of hers was being studied and she smiles faintly at the thought.

"God its like an intro to a shitty porno. Im meant to be stopping terrorists, what the fuck am I doing here?" She hears the Captain mutter.

"You would know, wouldn't you." She murmurs back. There's a cackle, then faint choking noises, then scuffling around on the other end, then silence.

"Here you go." Ivan speaks from behind her, he grasps her arm and she turns to meet him, she accepts the glass with a sweet smile.

"Heads up, he put something in the drink." Ghost breathlessly states. She glances down at the glass then up at him, keeping a pleasant look on her face. Tipping it back, she lets the alcohol brush her lips, not letting any of it get inside of her mouth. She pretends to swallow and sets it down on his desk. "We've got him locked if you need it." Tapping her mouth with the napkin he gave her she makes sure not to lick her lips.

"Come here, darling." He practically purrs, it makes her feel ill but she slips towards him anyways, falling sideways onto his lap as if she were drunk. He grasps her chin, forcing eye contact and kisses her hard. He forces his tongue in her mouth and she takes the opportunity to bite him as hard as she can. Piercing his skin; he yelps, shoving her off of him. She licks her teeth slowly; the caps and poison long gone, traces of copper lace into her taste buds and she feels herself grin.

"I'm sorry, sir." The insincerity in her voice makes him snarl, his face burning red. His body jerks as he attempts to get out of the chair, slowly comprehending his inability to do so. "Did you know that Tetrodotoxin interferes with the transmission of signals from your nerves to muscles and causes an increasing paralysis of the muscles in the body? Tetrodotoxin poisoning can be fatal if doused with enough." She tsks, grinning ear to ear. "Piercing it into your bloodstream, causes it to work that much faster." She gets up off of the floor, moving to the desk. She hops up to take a seat, crossing her legs for comfortability. The slit on her dress rides up and she watches his eyes watch the movement. "I can cure you but you have to answer a few questions first."

"Fuck you, stupid bitch." He growls, she throws her head back and its her turn to cackle, inhaling deeply. She pulls one of the knives that held her hair up and twists it in her hold, she watches hum he watch as the lights in the office gleam off the sharp blade. His eyes squint, betraying the tick she watched jump in his neck.

"I bet you'd like that you sick fucking freak." She growls back. "You'd better start talking, darling." She drawles as she kicks his chair, it spinning to face her better. She lifts her foot up, setting it on the arm rest as she glides the blade lightly across his legs, his eyes start to widen as the tip of the blade crosses his groin. "It's simple, tell me who paid you to smuggle those missiles into Russian territory, tell me where you're keeping the girls, and I will give you the cure."

"I'm bratva, you will never get me to talk." He grunts, she does nothing but raise her eyebrows at him.

"I've made men far larger than you fall, I am not afraid to leave you here to die." He grunts once more, trying to spit at her. It just dribbles down his chin instead. "Can you feel it? The poison coursing through you? Shutting down your organs? I think you can." Her knife sinks slowly into the meat of his thigh and he groans deeply; his head slacking forward - eyes rolling back and she snorts, some bratva. She shoves his head back, slapping him as hard as she can. His eyes snap open, dazed for a moment before his eyes turn to glare angrily at her. If looks could kill. She grips his chin, forcing him to look at her. "You better start talking or you'll have to deal with my colleagues and that's a group of men you really don't want to encounter." She lets him go and watches his head fall forward before she slaps him once more, the force of it bringing blood to his lips. They quiver as his tongue weakly darts out to lick at it.

"The men who gave us the missiles were middle eastern. I can't tell you who they were or where they're from, because I don't know. Just that the language they spoke sounded like they were from around there." He whispers, eyes downcasting in shame. She stares at him dumbfounded before scoffing at him, she slips off the desk and paces towards the window and then back to him slowly. She wanted go stab him for being so fucking dumb.

"The bratva must be real desperate if they're letting filthy vermin like you climb the ranks." She slaps him again just for being unhelpful. It stings her palm yet she welcomes the pain. "You've got one more question to answer though, you're not free yet."

"I don't know what girls you're talking abo-" He's cut off by her slapping him again. The right side of his face is an angry red, and his eyes finally gloss over with tears. Her hand stings but she doesn't care, not when she's so close to getting what she wants.

She grips the back of his head, forcing him to stare her in the eyes. "Now, Mr.Orlov, I'm being nice to you because we have an audience down stairs, normally I'd cut off your pinky for lying to me. Tell me the truth before I cut your dick off instead and make you watch as I feed it through the paper shredder. Got it?" She pats the red mark on his cheek and he winces, a bubbly hiss escaping him.

"They're kept in a worn down warehouse off of Main, the Bratva told me they could get me out of my debt if I helped." He confesses a few minutes later in a whisper, his breath has started to wheeze out of him. The poison was closing in on his lungs and she could hear it, His desperate eyes bore into hers quietly pleading with her, she sneers.

"You're a fucking idiot for believing that." Men were so agonizingly stupid. "Unfortunately the poison injected into your bloodstream is incurable, even if it was I would've rather plucked my own nails off with a rusty pair of pliers than given it to you. гнить в аду, уродливый." She spits as she whispers it to him, she sits back and watches him take his last breaths. She watches as the different emotions cross his face panic. Anger, grief and desperation before finally his head hangs low and his body stills from its light twitching. She grabs the drink he gave her, leans his head back and pours the contents down his throat. Then wipes the glass with his suit jacket, placing it carefully back in its place.

"Didn't know you knew Russian, kid." Shepherd says through her ear piece. She can't stop herself from cringing slightly in response. Striding towards the door she closes it quietly on her way out.

"Theres a reason for that, General." She replies. "He's gone." She mutters as she slips her heels off of her feet and starts to walk barefoot down the back stairwell, taking the back exit.

"Gaz turn the security cameras back on in five." The Captain grumbles as she shoves open the heavy metal door, a black van right in front. The back doors open at the same time and she's greeted by Ghost and Soap. Grasping Soaps hand she allowed herself to be hauled into the van.

"Good job kid. The FBI have been tipped off and are now on their way to the abandoned factory now. We'll give you an update on the women and girls when we can. Eagle out." She sighs with relief at the news, slipping the ear piece out. She lets the bloody knife she was holding be taken out of her hand and she watches as Ghost silently cleans it. Its a little therapeutic, his movements are sure and he gets every piece of it wiped clean.

She inspects herself for blood and finds that she's unexpectedly clean. Just some blood on her gloves which she had knew about. She slowly takes the gloves off, extra careful of the drying blood, she lets them be taken from her.

"How's the hand, lass?" Soap asks quietly at her right, she gives it a once over. A little red and sore but nothing she couldn't handle.

"It'll be fine by tomorrow." She shrugs, the last thing she needed was one of them assuming she wouldn't be able to do her job.

The Captain grunts, sitting back. "You'd better hope its fine by then, considering its your job" He huffs. She huffs back, officially over it. She knew they were acting like a bunch of teenagers, but she couldn't help it.

"Captain, I'll be honest with you. I am a high on bloodlust at the moment, so unless you want to see the Pearly Gates tonight, I suggest you shut the fuck up." Her unblinking gaze watches as his smirk falls to a scowl. "I am not fond of you either, grow up." The van comes to a stop and she's once again the first one out, walking in through the private door of the hotel. When she walks in she takes a moment to slip her heels off and look for the back stairwell. She spots it quickly and strides over to the door; as her hand reaches for the handle, a larger one comes into view, grasping her lower arm. She jumps in her place, alarmed that she didn't see or hear them come up. She turns to make eye contact with Ghost. He lets go quickly, holding his hands up for a moment before they both relax.

He then pulls something out of his front pocket holding it out to her, it takes her a moment before she realizes its her wallet. Giving him a small smile as she grabs it from him and thanks him. "You're going to walk up sixty flights of stairs?" He asks, nodding at the door. There's no hint of disbelief as he tilts his head to the side our of curiosity.

"Maybe just a few flights, i'll take the elevator from there. There's blood on my gloves and shoes. I'd be traveling with a group of large, scary men, one of which who wears a skull mask. I'd hate to send the other guests into an unnecessary panic." Her tone is light, not something even she was used to.

"I'll come with you, just to make sure you make it safely." He adds the second part quickly, she cant help but snort at it. But she also couldn't deny the small part of her that relaxed, feeling relieved that she wouldn't have to be as aware of her surroundings. If there was one person more dangerous than her it was him, and she was grateful he wanted to walk with her. He opens the door and moves out of the way, letting her go first. She ducks her head as a thanks before hurrying past him, his steps silent behind hers. "I'm sorry for the Captain, by the way. I dont make it a habit to defend people often, I don't care enough to. Captains a good man he's just..."

"An ass?" She supples for him as they round their first set of stairs.

"Protective." She cant stop the scoff that escapes her, coming to a stop on the staircase. She turns around to face him. She recoils a little when she notices they're two stairs apart and the same height, before she remembers why she turned in the first place.

"Maybe, but it doesn't give him or anyone else for the matter the right to judge me. I'm not going to sit here for a month and do tricks to try and impress you." She glares at him, turning only when he motions for her to continue walking. She wouldn't apologize for her behavior, or her outbursts. They had their chances.

"I get it, trust me I do." She knew he did, he remained the only one who had yet to doubt her. "So what got you into the job?" He asks breathlessly a few moments later. Her tangent long forgotten. Her stomach dips with awareness as his deep voice echoes off the walls. She had expected him to be quieter, she wasn't prepared for questions.

"You read my file, didn't you?" She retorts; he tsks quietly in return, his head jerking in disapproval. The sound was beginning to be familiar with her, she wanted to hear it again.

"You and I both know your file is dangerously thin. I'm not here to hurt you."She chuckles.

"From now on; if you'd like to know something about me, you will have to offer that same piece of information about yourself. It's only fair, yes?" They're striding down the hallway now. Her bare feet make no noise and she has to take two steps at a time just to catch up with his one, it was almost exhausting.

"I suppose that's fair." He glances at her for the first time since the stairwell and slows his stride. "I initially joined the military after the attacks on the twin towers. Some things happened in between but, it led me to where I am now." They look at each as they reach the elevator and a silent understanding passes between them. He pushes the button calling for it, humming after a moment. She looks down at her feet to smile at the mundane act.

They get in the elevator and he presses the number to the top floor. "I ended up in the wrong people's hands at a young age. Things happened; and I found my way to the FBI, exchanged my skills for safety, revenge. That led me to where I am now." She replies with his words, staring unblinking as the elevator rises to their level, dinging before sliding open once again. He walks by her side silently until she slips her keycard into the door, it lights up green and unlocks for her.

She spins on her feet to face him; his eyes widen just a fraction and its the only sign she's given of his surprise. Her smile is a bit more genuine knowing the fact. "Thank you for walking me, Ghost." Her voice comes out as a whisper.

He nods once "Sleep well." His response was short but it was enough, she shuts the door and leans against it, letting out a long sigh. Her feet ached.

Pulling off the wig; she throws it in the direction of her bag and starts the shower, stripping off her clothes. She admires the dress once more, wishing she could have gotten a picture. She then removes her lenses before stepping into the steaming water.

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