I'll be wrapped around your finger

"You think that's bad?" Robby watches you take a sip of your drink, your sparkling eyes dancing as they bounce around the booth. You've got everyone in the palm of your hands when you casually drop, "I had a guy come before I even took my shirt off."

The table erupts. Various members of the day shift, gathered to celebrate Parker's transfer to the better of the two shifts, exclaim their disbelief.

"That's so fucked up," Trinity scoffs. "Fucking men"

Next to Robby, Parker whistles, "Amen to that."

"Damn," Cassie shakes her head, "At least Chad knew how to use his equipment."

The only person at the table who seems even a fraction as uncomfortable as Robby is Dennis. The young man is squished between Trinity and Parker, pink in the face as he listens on. But if Dennis is pink, Robby is crimson. The moment this little sexcapade conversation started, Robby tried to leave, but was promptly scolded by the table to stay.

Robby clears his throat, a dozen eyeballs snap to him. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "I– I should leave. Your attending should not have to listen to this."

tw: dubcon bc... sex pollen

*****

A check-up. That's all you need to do. It should be simple, in and out.

You didn't want to be on Robby duty. In fact, you begged not to be. You try to steer clear of Robby on a good day, let alone one where he's been doused by some experimental, sexy, street drug. Hell, you don't even like dealing with the horny-drug patients when they're not your hot boss.

But Dana asked Mel to do it, and you owe Mel a favor, so now you're the one to suffer.

You knock twice, announcing yourself, and after a five-count, you push the door open. The curtain is pulled around the bed, giving Robby the privacy he needs. You stop just along the edge, fingers gripping the fabric tightly. The air in the room is thick, and you try not to notice how much it smells of sex.

"Dr. Robby?" You caution. "May I come in?"

A quiet curse is followed by fabric rustling. Then, "Yeah."

pairing: John Price x gn!reader cw: sleeptalking wc: 903 an: price, the man you are. id forgotten my obsession with him until I found my Tumblr archives on my pc. this was SOOO fun to write, enjoy!

John Price had never been a heavy sleeper. 

While it was a part of himself that had been apparent to him since before his time in the military, it would be foolish to say it didn’t play an important role in it. He rarely got more than a couple of hours of sleep, which his body had adapted to over the years—not without putting up a fight, that is. 

He’d always struggled with the civvie life. Before you came into his life—a whirlwind of colour and a warmth he did not believe himself capable of deserving—he’d hated sleeping outside of the comfort of his quarters. His house was suffocating in its quiet loudness. 

He had become acquaintances with the cat who rummaged through his trash at three in the morning, on the dot. He still woke up whenever the fridge clicked without explanation in the middle of the night—that sharp, sudden noise that had him shoving a hand under his pillow before he could even process the fact that he didn’t need to aim his gun at an electrical appliance. The electrical line that had been busted for almost three months, constantly emitting a loud buzzing noise, had pushed him to the edge. 

Then you’d come along. Quietly, sneakily—like mould. And, God help him, he’d never been more grateful for anything in his life. A toothbrush here, spare socks there, your things all over his house. What could only be described as a parasitic infestation had never felt better. 

Along with your banter over lunch and your tea in his cupboard, came your…peculiar nightly habits. 

and Jack is wearing a stupid backwards cap and a muscle tank so Robby can run his hands over his biceps…

cw: hurt/comfort. emotional angst. amnesia. nikprice

"You're married."

The statement startled Nik. He had to push down the rush to explain everything.

He followed John's eyes. The small, gold metal band around his finger. The little symbolic piece of metal that'd been slid on one evening. John had gotten one too. Silver. Thicker than Nik's.

Nik realized now that they'd cut it off. He hadn't thought to ask what happened. To ask if they had it.

The ring wasn't the first thing he expected John to ask about. But John has always been observant of details.

Nik managed a nod.

"Complicated then." John adds matter-of-factly.

Nik couldn't help the huff of not laughter that escapes him. Something in his chest tightens.

"Something like that."

John observed him for a long moment. Nik lets him. Nik will always let him. Those blues—as pale and greyed as they are in their current state—seem to pierce whatever viel Nik had put up.

Nik had to swallow down whatever was currently curling its way up his throat.

"Ms. Laswell—Kate—told me about what happened. None of the details though. Said someone I cared about would be coming."

"She did not want to overwhelm you." Nik says. He notices, distantly, that he is rotating his ring on his finger. A nervous habit he picked up from John.

There's a long moment of silence. Nik saw John working through the muddy tapestry of whatever memories he did have.

"John?" Nik prompted. Voice as quiet and steady as he could make it.

John looked down at his own hand. "Tell me about them."

Nik shook his head. Not a no. Not a yes either. That in-between space where he could say anything and everything and yet nothing managed to come out.

"He is..."

Nik's throat worked. He looked at his ring rather than at John.

"He takes his tea strong." A breath. "He is loud when something genuinely surprises him. A real laugh. Not many people hear it." Nik's mouth curved slightly despite himself. "He fixes little things when he cannot sleep. A loose hinge. A cabinet door. Things that do not need him at three in the morning."

Nik gritted his teeth. Looked up at the monitor. Then back at John.

"He is..." Nik stopped, then started again. "He has never once told me he loves me without showing me first. Always actions before words. Always." His voice dropped somewhere quieter. "He is stubborn. In all things he does. Including love."

Silence. For a long, immeasurable moment just. Silence. And the monitor humming to his right. And Nik thought he went too far. And his eyes burned. And there was—

"Oh..." Very softly from the bed.

Nik looked up.

John's face had done something complicated, brows furrowed and wrinkling the creases between them. His eyes were wet. It hit Nik again how young John looked.

As if sensing the observation, John looked away. His jaw clenched tight. His eyes searching somewhere in the middle distance that was easier than Nikolai's face.

Nik watched him and let him search.

"Nikolai—"

"It may be complicated, him and I," Nik said quietly, before John could find whatever he was reaching for. "But I am patient."

With an injury on his back that he can barely reach to clean, let alone stitch up, he needs help, and Nikolai is only ever a phone call away. They have a routine: John reaches out with a location, and Nikolai shows up, no questions asked.

He ignores the worry on the other man's face, the bags under his eyes and the length his hair has grown out to without someone around to help him cut it. He doesn't dare mention their flat, their cat, or the ring he left on his bedside table for both of their sakes.

Nikolai never asks about the knife wound between his shoulder blades, how he earned it or who dished it out. He says very little as he strokes his fingers across John's skin in a familiar pattern, despite the visible weight loss. He allows Nikolai to clean the blood from his hands and treat the raw skin over his knuckles for his peace of mind.

Nikolai offers him one of his cigars, and he takes it and smokes through the sensation of something sweet curdling in his chest. He doesn't ask why Nikolai still buys them; Nikolai doesn't explain. He purposefully avoids meeting the Russian's eyes; they're hollow in a way John has never seen before.

"Do you need... anything?"

"Nah, I'm alright."

"Nikolai, how did you get this number?"

"It is... trade secret. I will send you an address. You need to meet me there. Alone."

"Did I have 'mug' printed on my forehead last time we met?"

"I have never seen under your mask."

"Fuck sake, fine... Send the address."

--

Simon spent a few hours scouting the warehouse through the end of his scope. It was empty. Owned by a shell corporation. No one entered and no one left. And then a text pinged through: are you going to wait outside until sunrise?

Bastard.

Instead of walking through the front door, Simon scaled up to the second floor and slipped in through a cracked window. He found Nik by a workbench. He didn't even look up as Simon approached.

"Privyet, tavarishch leytenant," Nik said, holding his hands out either side. If Simon remembered correctly, Nik had a korshun in the back of his belt, and a Udav or a Grach under his arm, as standard. There was no sign of anything else, or anyone else. "Did you come alone?"

"Against my better judgement," Simon replied, keeping his rifle braced against his shoulder. "You?"

"Da. I am glad my judgement of you was accurate."

"Wossis abaht, Nikolai?"

"I have him."

"Price?"

"Da."

"And you f'ought callin' me was a good idea?"

There was a pause. Nik tilted his chin down and then turned slowly. He looked... rough. Unshaven, dark circles under his eyes. He had always reminded Simon a little of Snoopy from the telly, but built like a brick shithouse, with a macabre sense of humour.

"He needs us."

Simon felt his hands tighten on the rifle, a surge of anger winding up his spine. "He left us."

Nik clenched his teeth and dropped his chin, hands rubbing over his hair. "He was there for you when everyone else had abandoned you, no?"

"Don't you focki--"

"When you had driven everyone away like a rabid dog, he was in your corner," Nik bit out. "You owe him. As do I."

Simon's mind filled with it all. The long nights in the rec room when the nightmares wouldn't leave him alone. The annual leave spent together on a beaten old sofa. The missions in the arse end of nowhere. The way Price had cracked silently down the middle on that cliffside.

He lowered his rifle, sighing heavily through his nose. "Take me to him."

--

It was a small apartment in a town not five miles from the warehouse. The sleepy kind that held a market on Saturday and had an honour system for the local library. Ghost wasn't quite ready for the sight that greeted him as he ducked into the living room.

"Drugged?"

"He would have escaped if I had left him conscious while I was out..."

"Oh, he is gonna be bloody hoppin' when he wakes."

"Da," Nik said, sadly.

Price was trussed up good and proper on the sofa. Boots and legs bound, hands behind his back, probably secured against his wrists so he couldn't break his thumbs to get out. "Was the gag necessary?"

"That is because he bit me."

"He bit you..."

"It is not the first time," Nik said, far too fondly.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ..."

Price stirred as Simon placed his rifle against the wall, and the next time Simon looked round, he was met with two blue eyes glaring fiercely at him. They flicked to Nik and narrowed marginally, a very clear 'and fuck you too'.

Nik walked over slowly, and hooked his finger through the gag, pulling it out of Price's mouth and past his chin. The smirk Price flashed looked unnatural on his face; not the big, face-crumpling smile Simon was used to. "Good t' see y'again, Simon."

"We need to have a talk."

Price hummed low in his throat.

Laswell knew he would be there. Her mole had been watching him for a week, and he had repeated the exact same pattern of behaviour from morning until dusk. She had too much respect for him to try and tap his phones or intercept his emails. Hell, she wasn't even sure the CIA could manage it anyway.

As she stepped across the threshold of the bar and the air conditioning washed over her face, she drew in a steadying breath. They had worked together for many years, and it felt alien to sit on the opposite side of the proverbial table. There was still a chance. She had to try.

"Laswell," Nik acknowledged in his low timber, gesturing the barman with two fingers. "You came personally."

"Of course, Nik. You're my..." she hesitated, "...you're my friend, and so is he." How far a spook could have friends was not a debate she really wanted to consider in that moment. It felt right. Like the only word that really encompassed the last decade and a half.

They sat in silence. Two dry martinis arrived. Nik took the end of the tooth pick and stirred the olive around the edge of his drink. She took a sip of hers, lips pulling back over her teeth as she placed it back down. Strong.

Her fingers pushed over the base of the glass. "You can't save him from this one. He's too far gone."

Nik didn't answer immediately. He pulled the olive from the pick and chewed it. "Perhaps, perhaps not."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Sometimes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nik threw the pick onto the bar and returned to nursing his glass. "When he needs me, he calls me. When he does not need me, I wait to be called."

Nik wasn't looking at her, and she realised now that he was deliberately avoiding it. There was a tremor of pain in his voice that he couldn't mask. It was her way in, but she wasn't sure she was cruel enough to mine said wound for intel. "Is he... well?"

"No," Nik said. "He is... broken."

Laswell heard an echo of Price in Nik's choice of words. 'You broken?' She had seen photographs of him in recent months. He looked... gaunt. Everything from his facial hair to his clothes were dark. Like he had slipped from shades of grey to shadow, and lost himself in the process. Nik would have watched it happen, powerless to stop the spiral. She couldn't twist the knife anymore. "Help me bring him in, Nik. Help me help him."

Nik huffed a laugh, and his eyes lifted from where they had been studying a knot in the wooden finish of the bar. "You know I cannot do that."

Laswell felt a lump rise in her throat. Three decades of fucking service and nothing had ever hit her like this. No loss, no operation, no coup. She realised now she hadn't come here expecting to get Nik to betray John. She'd come to say good bye. "It looks like we're sitting at opposite ends of the table for this one then."

Nik sighed. "It seems so."

"I can give you two days' headstart."

"I appreciate it."

She sniffed, blinking quickly, her head tilting back as she looked at the ceiling to gather herself. Steadied, she lifted her glass from the bar. "To old comrades."

Nik tilted his drink to hers. "Za druzhbu."