All Downhill From Here

  Konig sat in his same chair, staring at the emptiness in yours’. He sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together and clenched. He stared into that empty space, the rage still bubbling in his chest. Slowly, the rage began to bleed into anxiety and fear. You’ve been missing for two days. You could be anywhere, a different country, a completely other continent. Anywhere. Konig’s hands became fists in his lap. Millions of questions swirled in his head. Were you hurt? Were you even alive? Who took you, and what did they want with you? And as if the universe heard him, the bearer of answers stopped in the doorframe, not quite daring to enter, just as Konig had done many times. 

Konig’s cyan eyes caught on his stature, the 141’s loyal captain. From sight alone, Konig could see John was having as difficult a time as him, maybe even more so. In his hands held a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses in the other. 

“Mind some company?” John said gruffly. 

Konig sat up a little straighter and shook his head. John sighed, placing the glasses on the desk. He sat on the creaking wood, as if confirming they both knew that the other chair belonged only to you. Handing Konig a glass before taking his own, John took a slow sip. Konig carefully moved the glass under his hood, his lips coming to press against the lukewarm glass. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you,” John finally broke the silence, “but neither have you, Colonel.” 

Konig nearly choked from hearing his formal title. John chuckled, setting his glass down. 

“I-I don’t like to mention my title, it makes people act on false intentions,” Konig explained. 

John waved dismissively, “now need to explain it to me, soldier. We all learn to play our cards close to our chests. Just in this case, I lost more than I looked to gain in the first place.” 

Konig looked at the older man in confusion, “what do you mean, Captain?” 

John’s eyes glazed over, “I never told you why we were here, did I?” 

“No, but I figured you were all on the run,” Konig said. “And that it had something to do with Maus.” 

John’s eyes lit up hearing Konig’s name for you as he took another sip. 

“Wren, she saw something she was never supposed to see,” John frowned. “Something that goes all the way up to the top. Something that lacks all honor that those sods tried their damn best to bury it. But Wren found it, and it dug it all back for them. And so they planned to do what they always do-” 

“They’re going to kill her,” Konig said, dread sinking into every ounce of his being. 

John frowned before finally nodding., “but your comrades seem to think they’ve fulfilled their end of the bargain. They left, off to the next highest payer. You’re the only one who stayed. Which is why I came to you.” 

The two men could ignite wildfires with the heat of their gazes toward each other. 

“Are you with us on this? Will you help us get our bird back?” John said with all seriousness. 

Konig’s eyes narrowed, “you have me, Captain.” 

John nodded, standing on his two feet, “good, we move out at dawn. Get ready.” 

“I’m always ready, Captain.” 

“I will see you soon, kleine maus.” 

↭

  The ringing in your ears refused to cease. Your eyelids feel heavy, most likely swollen. Your entire body ached, your wrists and ankles bound tightly together, the zipties digging into your open skin. You laid on your side, your head limply laying on what felt like leather. You tried your best to tune your ears to what was around you. You wiggled trying to find something that could tell you where you were. Your throat felt so dry that even if you tried to speak you worried it would crack and bleed. You groaned, forcing your eyes to open to blinding sunlight. You were in a car, that much made sense. You laid on the back seat, the leather seats sticking to your clammy skin. 

You squint your eyes to see the dusty blonde head of hair over the driver’s seat. You blinked in confusion, trying to piece together how you got here in the back seat of this mystery car driven by a complete stranger. Your memory came back to you like an unwelcome friend. You remember the struggle, the bruise you were sure going to get from being thrown back onto the desk. The sickly sweet smell of whatever chemical your abductor used to put you under. The back of Konig’s head as he left to see what Price wanted. 

Rage burst into you heart as you tried your best to pull against your restraints, only to find yourself weak. 

“It’s useless,” the man you thought you knew as Richards said  in an annoying sing-song voice. “The drug won’t wear off for another few hours. Don’t waste what little energy you have, sweetheart.” 

You glared up at the rear view mirror, finding the man’s eyes peering back at you with amusement. 

“Who are you? Where are you taking me?” You growl. 

“We’re going back to my place,” he smiled as if saying this to his date, “then you’re going to tell me everything you know, and then, I’ll kill you.” 

You felt your blood run cold at his words. Your eyes narrowed. 

“Shepherd sent you.” 

“Ah! There’s that sharp cunningness Shepherd told me all about!” 

You glared at the man with a stare of thousand daggers. This gaze did little to faze your abductor as his smile never left his smug face. 

“Why not just kill me? Save yourself the trouble,” you said. 

“Ah, where would the fun be in that!” The man said, sounding like he was going on a day out at a theme park and not like a man who was your executioner. 

“No, I intend on taking my time with you,” he said, his gaze connecting with your own, letting you see the true darkness in his eyes. 

You fell silent, instead trying to look outside to try to get a clue on where you were, or how far you could be from base. From Konig. You could feel your stomach drop as the tall Austrian popped into your mind. Did he know you were gone? Was he even looking for you? In the end, he was part of KorTac, a company not renowned for loyalty to one agency. But…Konig was different. He was caring, empathetic and kind. If the two of you had enough time, you could find out why such a quiet soul could be in such a messy business. But then again, so were you. 

“You won’t get far,” you said with a huff. “You have no idea who’s coming for you.” 

“Correction: I know exactly who's coming for me, little bird,” Richards said. “And I’m counting on it.”

You brow furrowed at his words, making him snicker, “you really think Shephard would just let their insubordination go? Come on, you can’t be that naive!”

“Shut up-”

“You know, I should really thank you, not only do I get to take out the 141, but now KorTac’s finest? Ugh, it’s like Christmas morning,” Richards sighed. 

You lurch forward in a rage, “you leave Konig out of this!” 

“Oh, like you did?” Richards cocked a brow. “If my memory serves me right, it was because of you that KorTac even got dragged into this mess. And it will be because of you that your beloved Konig will die.”

You felt your chest begin to tighten in panic as the thought of everyone you ever loved, ever cared about being reduced to nothing but cold flesh all in your name. You begin to struggle against your restraints, pulling at them wildly. 

“Ah, doctor?” Richards said. 

You look up at the man and in a split second you catch the small almost travel size bottle in his large hand before Richard squeezed the little trigger. You recoiled back but to no avail, the mysterious potion infiltrated and coating your throat. You cough violently, your vision beginning to swim. 

“Trust me, it would be best if you sit this part out. Easier for both of us,” Richard smirked. “Sweet dreams, little bird.”

You fell onto you back with a groan, eyes rolling back up to the roof of the car. You fought to keep your eyes open but only to be swallowed back into the darkness. 

↭

73. 

73 hours since you’ve been abducted. As each hour passed, your trail got colder and Konig became more restless. This was clear with his foul attitude that no one could dare miss. What was left of the men on the base sat around a makeshift table with schematics scattered across it. Konig stood hunched over, his palms supporting his weight on the table. Price stood at the head of the table, Ghost to his right, Gaz to his left. Soap had tried his best to try to keep Konig cool so he stayed a safe but supportive distance close to Konig. 

“What you know is that Shephard all but lost most of his clean contacts to DC, so there’s a good chance he won’t be able to smuggle her into the States,” Gaz said with arms crossed. 

“That doesn’t completely squash the possibility,” said Ghost. 

“But would he even go through the trouble? I mean if he’s already got what he wants. Why drag it out?” Gaz said. 

“You’re right, if he was smart, she’s long dead,” Ghost said matter of factly. 

The wood of the table creaked under Konig’s fist at the mention of the idea. Soap leaned over. 

“That’s not going to happen, because we’re gonna get to the fucker first,” Soap said. 

Price agreed, “Soap is right. If there’s one thing I know about that snake is that he likes to play with his food. He won’t just kill her quickly.” 

“That doesn’t make it better,” Konig said, finally standing to his full height, effectively dwarfing the rest of the men. “There must be some sort of lead of where she could have been taken.” 

“He’ll want to take care of this quietly and under the radar,” Gaz said.

“Slimy bastard won’t even come to do it himself most likely,” Ghost scoffed. “Won’t want to get his hands dirty, ‘why he sent that fucker.” 

“And we know he’s petty-” 

“That much is clear,” Soap rolled his eyes. “The bellhead chased across half of fucking Europe.” 

“So he’ll take her to a place that holds some kind of memory, maybe?” Gaz shrugged. 

Price’s eyes shot wide with realization, “Las Almas.” 

These words caught 141's attention. 

“Would he really be that obvious?” Soap said. 

“Or stupid,” Ghost chimed in. 

“But that’s exactly wants,” Price said, “he’ll want to take this back to ground zero: Las Almas.” 

“What’s in Las Almas?” Konig asked. 

“It’s where we first found out how dirty Shepherd liked to play,” Soap grunted. “Evidently he slipped out of our hands, until Wren found data suggesting his whereabouts and what’s been keeping the sorry fucker busy. Guess he didn’t want anyone poking around in his business again.” 

“And you think he’s taken Maus there?” Konig said. 

“It’s our only lead,” Price sighed, hands gripping his vest. 

Konig sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly before nodding his head, “then we shall go.” 

“And luckily for us, we have friends on the other side,” Ghost smirked underneath his mask. 

“Los Fuerzas Especiales,” Soap smirked looking up at Konig, “Mexican Special Forces. They owe us a bit of a favor.” 

Konig looked back to Price who almost looked at him as if to give him the word. Konig stoney gaze didn’t waver.

“No more waiting. We leave tonight.”

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Movement caught Ghost's attention as a large Jeep was ripping across the sands and suddenly coming to a stop directly in their path. Ghost was about to make an abrupt turn and run the other way from the mysterious vehicle when he saw a masked woman reach over and opened the passenger-side door.

"Get in! Hurry!" She yelled. He wouldn't have trusted it had she not adorned the SAS symbol beneath the flag of her country of origin on her chest.

Soap reached the passenger side door and jumped in, closing the door behind him. Ghost grabbed onto the hood of the car and lifted himself up and through the open backseat window. Before his feet had even left the ground the woman had already started driving.

Ghost widened his eyes as he beheld the woman behind the wheel. Her hair was tied back in a braid and a thick buckled strap wrapped around her hair was attached to the mask covering the lower part of her face. It looked like a surgical mask except it was black and made of a reinforced material that seemed to be form-fitted to her face. Surrounding her e/c eyes was old black face paint mixed with some patches of dirt. Finally, a small scar ran from the middle of her right eyebrow, over her eye, then disappeared behind the mask.

With expert execution, she ripped the sunroof open and turned her body around to address Soap. "Grab that gun and start shooting."

Without wasting a second, soap heaved the gun that was at Ghost's feet on the floorboards and brought it up to his lap. He stood out the sunroof, the gun hitting the roof of the car before Soap rained hellfire upon them.

Ghost turned around and looked out the back window, seeing rows of men falling victim to Soap's deadly accuracy. The only thing standing between them and freedom now was a rocky maze. The Jeep didn't even slow as they came barreling toward the start of the rocky pathway. The only warning they got from the mystery woman was; "Hang on!"

This must have been a path she had navigated before because she was taking the sharp turns and curves like she had done them one hundred times. Mountains of fallen and weathered rocks were piled around the car as they snaked their way through.

A curse fell from the woman's mouth as she saw what we were quickly approaching. A very narrow passageway adorned with freshly fallen boulders. She hesitated only for a moment before grabbing Soap by his tactical belt and yanking him back into the car. "Get ready to flee the car if this doesn't work." She warned us.

"If what doesn't work?" Ghost demanded, tightening his grip on the 'oh-shit-handle' in the back seat.

Reaching down towards the gear handle she quickly flipped the Jeep from 4-wheel drive to 2-wheel drive without slowing down for a second. That definitely was not good for the vehicle.

Enemies in vehicles of their own were quickly approaching us. A few stray gunshots littered the nearly impenetrable barrier of the vehicle. The woman was not slowing down, not even a little.

Not even when she whipped the car hard to the left, then equally as hard back to the right causing the car to go up on the two passenger side wheels. Just in time for the narrow entrance.

Ghost was glad he had been hanging on, otherwise, he would have been thrown out of the window. The sound of the metal scraping on the roof of the car made his teeth hurt but he soon heard the revving of the engine and the car started to move. They were driving nearly sideways on the wall. Thank god for the Jeep's suspension on the tires. After a few more feet of driving they broke through the other side of the narrow rocky passage, the Jeep falling onto its four tires with a painful bounce.

The Jeep was off again, ripping across the sandy dunes and leaving the shouting men behind them. The woman looked over her shoulder out the back window at the slowly shrinking scene they left behind. Ghost could see it in her eyes as she smiled wildly. Astonished was an understatement for how he was feeling.

"You're fucking insane!" Soap exclaimed, sounding more like a compliment than a complaint.

"It's nice to meet you too, Sergeant MacTavish." The woman hummed with a chuckle laced in her vocal cords.

"You can call me Soap, lass."

The woman nodded her head gently. "I'm First Lieutenant L/n, you can call me Sparrow."

"Ah, my pal Ghost here is a Lieutenant too." Sparrow's attention shifted to where Ghost sat in the back seat. Her eyes met his and he couldn't quite tell what emotions were hiding behind them. She watched him, expectant of an answer. He had none to give her, soap said it all already.

"The fuck is his problem?" Sparrow asked Soap, pointing a thumb back at Ghost as if he weren't even there. Soap laughed and waved a dismissive hand at her.

"He's just shy, he'll come around. Probably."

Ghost rolled his eyes at his partner and then directed his attention outside at the sand dunes. He hadn't even realized that they had made it to a packed dirt road and were now headed west.

"When Price sent me to come get you two, I didn't realize that I would be the getaway car." Sparrow hummed in amusement, meeting Ghost's gaze briefly in the rearview mirror before he looked away.

"Am I sure glad you did?" Soap chuckled, shuffling around in his seat to get comfortable. "Where'd you learn to drive like that?"

Sparrow looked over at Soap as she talked. "My dad was a Formula 1 driver. I was driving a car way before it was legal."

"Really?" Soap asked.

"Oh yeah. He loved it. It gave him and his family a chance to travel the world. I went to every single race." Sparrow explained. A hint of longing was hidden in her tone of voice that Ghost picked up on. He had noticed her use of past tense, it was only safe to assume.

"How'd he die?" Ghost asked.

Soap whipped his head around and gave Ghost a look that said 'Why the fuck would you say that?' Sparrow looked back at him through the rearview mirror.

"Doing what he loved. 3 car crash and only one survived. The doctor said he went quickly and painlessly."

"I'm sorry, Lass."

"We've all got shit that happened to us." She responded.

"Where are you taking us?" Ghost asked.

"Rendezvous point. It's my safe house where I'm currently stationed. Turns out our missions have more in common than we thought. You two better get comfortable, we will be driving into the night."

Ghost eyed the woman suspiciously. He didn't know whether he fully trusted her or not. After everything that had happened with Graves, he wasn't entirely fond of new people. Why had he never seen her before? Was she just a newer addition? What was she doing before this? Those questions would remain unanswered as he sat silently in the back seat, observing the woman carefully as she and Soap made light conversation for the duration of the drive.

Night had fallen by the time the three soldiers had arrived in a small, quiet town. Sparrow pulled the jeep into a makeshift, tarp-covered overhang next to a small house. Ghost looked down at his watch, it was just past 11:30 pm. The three of them walked in through the backdoor that Sparrow locked behind them.

A three-person couch was in the middle of the room with one armchair to the right. The coffee table was hardly standing on three of its legs. For how dusty and sandy the outside of the house and surrounding areas were, the sitting area was surprisingly clean.

Sparrow threw her backpack on the armchair and strolled through a doorway that looked like a kitchen. She came back through the door shortly with three beers in her hand. "They're not very cold. The fridge doesn't work very well."

Soap eagerly grabbed the bottle and popped the cap off. Ghost took the bottle more tenderly. "If you're hungry there's some canned soups in the cabinet. You can heat it up if you start a fire under the stove." Sparrow explained as she took a swig of the beer herself.

"You can take a shower if you want but there's no hot water. Don't drink the tap water, it's disgusting. I have some boiled water in water bottles in the fridge." Sparrow walked towards a hallway with two doors on the right and one door on the left.

"Over here is where you'll sleep. If you two are going to have sex keep it down, we share a wall." Soap nearly spit out his drink at the comment. Ghost chuckled, starting to like the woman a little more now.

"Bathroom is over here. If you need me, knock first. Other than that we will go over the folder in the morning." Sparrow saluted to them before slipping into her bedroom door.

Ghost looked over at Soap whose eyes were trailing where Sparrow had disappeared into her door. Soap's attention turned back towards Ghost with a wicked smirk on his face. "I like her."

Soap opened the door to their bedroom. There were two neatly made beds on either side of the wall. Soap was already taking off his shoes and undressing on the bed on the left. Ghost wasn't sleeping. He wouldn't fall asleep for a few hours at least.

Without another word, he walked out of the door and took a few steps toward the entrance to Sparrow's room. The door was open a crack and she didn't have her shirt on, her back to the door. Ghost knew he shouldn't have looked, it was disrespectful. He should have turned away immediately but the large, nasty scars across her back captured his attention. He stared through the door, wondering, how something like that could have happened. Did it also have something to do with the scar on her eyebrow?

Ghost quickly stepped away from the crack in the doorway and knocked twice on her door. "Hold on."

Sparrow returned to the door a few seconds later wearing a loose, long sleeve shirt and the black mask adorning the bottom of her face. She looked up at Ghost and cocked an eyebrow. "Everything okay? I promise the sheets are clean."

"No, it's not that." Ghost reassured her.

"Can I see the mission brief for tomorrow?"

Sparrow nodded. "Not ready to sleep?" She asked, leading them to the living room where she shuffled through her backpack.

"No."

Sparrow hummed in response as she pulled out a Manila folder, blowing some of the dust off it before handing it to him. "I get that."

Ghost grabbed the folder, looking into her eyes. He wore a mask. Always. At all times. He had just never been on the receiving end of the effect it had on some people. Ghost wanted to take her face in his hands and see what she was hiding. He wondered if the scars on her back were connected to why she hid her face. How similar were they in that sense?

"Lieutenant!" Ghost finally snapped out of his trance and looked around at what would be the woman's features.

"I don't have time to stand here all night and let you admire me." Ghost felt his face heat up, thankful that the mask was covering it.

Sparrow smiled with her eyes as Ghost took the papers from her. "Try to get some sleep tonight, yeah?" Sparrow patted his shoulder causing him to tense and go rigid underneath the touch. He simply nodded his head and watched her walk around the corner of the hallway.

You had been stationed here for a few months now on stealth missions to gather intel on a suspected terrorist threat. The town where you were stationed was in ruin. The water lines and plumbing were shit, most of the food was stale and full of preservatives. The buildings had zero AC and hardly enough electricity to power the street lights. Most of the time, the town felt very glum.

But every Sunday, the town sprung to life. All the citizens got together all their hard-earned money and created. Jewelry, candles, soaps, spices, baked goods and fresh fruits. All the children played kickball in the fields. Then when the adults had drunk their supply of beer, the adults joined in on the fun. By the end of the day everyone is singing under the setting sun.

Today was Sunday. You were talking around the market in a jilbab, a head scarf wrapped around your head to cover your hair and the lower part of your face. You were self conscious about the large, ugly scar on the lower half of your face. You didn't want to scare any of the locals with the ugliness of your troubled past.

Being around for so long you had picked up on some Arabic. Enough to communicate with the vendors anyway. They knew more English than you did Arabic so you felt it was only fair that you tried to learn.

You had managed to score a few goodies for yourself and the boys for breakfast. Cost you extra to buy extra food but you didn't mind doing it.

You entered the house through the front door and saw both the large men sitting on the couch, the papers from the mission reports spread out on the table. "You two are lucky! I scored some good stuff for breakfast."

You dug around in your basket and threw an orange to each one of them. They both caught them and looked at them questioningly. "And!" You added, setting the basket down on the arm of the chair.

"Amira owed me a favor, so I got these." You set down two muffins on the table and looked at the two men with an eager smile under the scarf.

Soap met your gaze and smiled widely. "Thanks, lass."

"How long have you been here?" Ghost asked, his raspy and deep voice racking chills up your spine just like it had the first time you heard it. You looked into his eyes, the dark and mysterious eyes that the black paint surrounding them only added to it.

"A few months." You responded while taking a muffin for yourself from your basket. You brought it up to your mouth under your scarf to still conceal most of your identity.

Soap had already finished off the muffin and began to move on to the orange. Ghost looked down at his muffin and then over at Soap's orange. Ghost grabbed the citrus out of Soap's hands and replaced it with his muffin he didn't eat. You chuckled a little at the behavior.

"So, tell us what the game plan is." Ghost leaned back in the chair, shifting his hips upward to get into a more comfortable position. He removed a glove from his hands and began peeling one of the oranges.

You noticed the scars on his hand as you watched him peel back the layers of the fruit. The way his large hips moved as he readjusted. You had to push down the inappropriate thoughts before they bubbled to your brain.

"Basically, what I've been doing is gathering intel on a possible terrorist threat to the nations. That town you two were in that you so graciously sent into a guns-of-glory spiral was my main operating place. Lucky for you two, the man I've been tracking, Saad Faizan, is meeting with some of his business partners. You'll assist me with gathering the intel that I've been working on getting for months. Then, when Saad's business partner leaves you'll track their location and get in contact with Price from there."

Both of the men looked at you with their heads tilted as you half-assed the explanation of the mission. "So that's it?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "That's it. There's no guarantee how long the men will be here for. It could be today, it could be weeks. Your only job is to make sure I don't die, and follow them when they leave."

"Copy." Was all Ghost said with a nod.

You stood up and made your way over to a trunk by a small window, popping it open. The inside was covered in all kinds of weapons and ammunition. You began to grab your preferred weapons from the crate.

"Take whatever you want, I'm going to go get ready then we will roll out." You walked to your room, making sure to shut the door and lock it before taking off your headscarf.

Looking in the mirror was a difficult task, one you forced yourself to do every day to come to terms with the marring that you now adorned. Two years of forcing yourself to look at it and you still hadn't gotten used to it. Your fingers gently touched the white, rugged skin across your right cheek. A weight pressed down on your chest as you reached for the mask you adorned every day. You put the mask on and buckled the strap in the back firmly. The headscarf returned to your face to maintain a casual appearance for gathering information. The scars made your face too recognizable without it. You weren't sure why they kept you on intel missions. After the accident you pushed for moving to being a Sniper. It would be easier than having to conceal the ugly every day. But they said they couldn't lose you, you were a valuable asset.

When you returned to the living room you saw both the men had finished gathering their desired weapons from the trunk and they both looked at you expectantly.

"Let's roll!"

Ghost and Soap stayed in the truck on the outskirts of the city while you made your way through the town to the restaurant that they were supposed to be meeting at. Your eyes scanned the area for any suspicious threats as you continued walking. Not that anybody could tell you were military, just a cautious habit of being a woman.

"Little bird, how copy?" Ghost's voice rang in your ear.

"Two shakes of a tail feather from location." Your quick wits responded before you could even think about it. You couldn't decide if the silly little nickname pissed you off or gave you butterflies. You heard a hum of a chuckle at the other end of the comms after your response.

You opened the door to the restaurant, immediately spotting the man you had been tracking for months. Dark colored hair, almond shaped eyes, fuller lips and a Roman nose. Next to him sat a smaller man that looked nervous beyond belief. You pulled a small bugging device from your pants pocket under the jilbab.

Picking up a brisk pace, you walked near his table, reaching under the table and placing the bug. You hurried over to the opposite side of the restaurant and took a seat. "Bug is in place. Tap me in." You said in your com to the boys.

Some static noise filled your ear before you heard the Arabic man talking. The waiter came over to you with a smile, asking you what you would like. You responded 'water' back to him in Arabic before he hurried away. "You know Arabic?" Soap asked.

"A little. What I could pick up in the span of a couple months." You responded. Suddenly a very tall, dressed to the nines, blonde man walked in. Followed by a smaller, equally as well dressed brunette.

They both sat down at the table with Saad and the smaller man introduced himself in another language to Saad's partner. The two business men were primarily talking to their partners that they brought, then the partners would talk to each other and then their bosses. That's when you realized that they were translators.

"What language is that, German?" Soap asked.

"No, Russian." You responded quietly as you tried to listen to the choppy conversation between the translators. "Something about moving drugs and guns."

"How many languages do you know, little bird?" Ghost asked, another shockwave running up your spine and sending butterflies to your stomach.

"Russian, German, French, Italian, Spanish. English, obviously. I'm not fluent in any of them but I know enough to get by." You explained.

"Color me impressed." Ghost hummed in your ear.

"You've got enough black face paint as is. I don't think you need any more colors." Your wits responded, earning a laugh from soap in the background of Ghosts com.

You were smiling to yourself under the mask when you heard a familiar word. Баба́й. Babai.

"The boogieman..." you whispered, suddenly coming to a chilling realization. "I think this is the Russian Mafia."

Silence rang from the other end of the boys comms before Soap spoke up. "What do we do?"

"Wait. We will send the audio back to base to be translated." You explained while bringing out a small notepad and tried to write down as many words of the Russian man that you could understand. Most of it was illegal trade of guns, drugs, typical mafia stuff. Until an unknown word caught your attention. "раб." You breathed.

You listened to the next few words in Russian to try and get some context. He was talking about men, sending men and women to Saad and vise versa. "I think they're trading people."

"Armies?" Ghost asked.

"The Russian mob doesn't have an army." You whispered back into the com.

"Slaves?"

A worried breath escaped your lips as a weight pressed down on you. You hoped with every fiber of your being that wasn't true. But for some reason it made the most sense.

About an hour had passed of you sitting in that restaurant and just listening to the conversation. You tried to write down as much as you could understand of the two languages but was grateful that the audio got translated by the professionals.

The Russian man and his partner stood from their seat and headed for the door. That only left Saad and his partner sitting there. They made conversation for a little before both of them stood up to leave. Saad had his partner turn ahead of them to leave. But Saad didn't leave. He rotated and looked over his shoulder, directly into your eyes. Your heart stopped and chills ran their way from your scalp and down your back.

Saad held your gaze for a few more seconds before facing back forward, and leaving through the door.

“Soap, keep up!” Ghost barked, long legs propelling him forward. Occasional grunts would meet their stumbling footfalls as they fled through the treeline, relying on compasses to find their way back to relative safety. Thankfully, the sounds of barking and machine gun fire behind them had ceased, leaving the woods silent save for their laboured breaths and the whispers of the windy evening air. 

”Right behind ye, Lt,” Soap wheezed, his stride unsteady and slowing behind him.

“Y’allright?” Quickly surveying the area for hidden threats, Ghost slowed his sprint, giving his sergeant a moment to catch up. 

“Solid,” Soap replied, voice still strained in a way that had Ghost narrowing his eyes as he limped closer. One hand clutched his side, chest heaving with shaky breaths. Breaths that rattled in his chest, that set the hairs on the back of Ghost’s neck on edge with how… exhausted Soap sounded. “How much… further?”

”Half a klick. Come on, we’re both proper rank.” Ghost frowned under his mask as he watched Soap stumble forward for a few steps before tripping. He reached out, grabbing at his sergeant’s arm to steady him before he could fall. “Almost ‘ere, Johnny. Come on, put your arm around me.”

”Didnae take ye fer th’ touchy-feely type, sir.” Soap offered a cheeky smile as Ghost pulled his uninjured arm over his broad shoulders. 

Ghost suppressed an eye-roll while he slid an arm around the other man’s waist. “Yeah, well, you’re not gonna quit your wingin’ unless I fuckin’ carry you, MacTavish.” Not that I’d mind it one bit, holding you close like that. I’d make sure nothing else could ever hurt you. 

Together—with Ghost supporting most of Soap’s weight—they trudged onwards. No words passed between them, save for his sergeant’s pained grunts every so often. Out of the corner of his eye, Ghost watched him grit his teeth, face unusually pale. Soap’s silence worried him; the man barely stopped talking, even in the middle of an op. Nope, don’t like this, he thought, clenching his jaw. Usually can’t get him to shut the fuck up. Both lost in their own thoughts, Ghost’s kept tearing back and forth between the mission at hand and wanting those distressed noises to stop, because something hurt his Johnny.

”Almost there,” Ghost murmured, as much for his benefit as for Soap’s. The rattling breaths had weakened slightly, only reminding Ghost that he couldn’t slow, couldn’t falter, Johnny needed him. Thankfully, the safe house drew closer, hurrying their steps towards it as much as either man dared. Ghost left Soap stationed just outside of the front door, gun in hand while he worked to crack it open before sweeping the rooms one by one. 

Once he felt satisfied that the area was safe, Ghost finally helped Soap inside, settling him on a rarely used, dusty sofa, wishing for something more comfortable as Soap winced. He himself stayed standing a few paces away as a gloved hand reached for his comms.

“Watcher, this is Bravo 0-7, how copy?” 

“Good to hear your voice, Ghost.” Laswell’s voice crackled through his earpiece. “What’s your status?”

”Made it to the safe house. Just need an ETA on extraction. Soap’s hurt, gonna get him patched up in the meantime.”

”Roger that. Stand by for ETA. I’ll get a bird out to you ASAP.”

”Gh’st…?” 

His heart fell as he turned, seeing Soap—no, Johnny—even more inexplicably pale. Slowly, too slowly, he followed the line of Soap’s newly exposed chest, all the way down to the red blossoming beneath his shirt. Forcing his eyes back up, Ghost’s gaze locked on his sergeant, noting with almost clinical detachment how fearful his bright blue orbs looked in this moment. No, Johnny… you’re not supposed to be afraid. You’re not supposed to be hurt! 

Ghost wracked his brain, every detail of the mission flashing through in overdrive until—

“Think ‘m bleedin’…”

That snapped Ghost back into action. Panic flooded his veins as the stain grew larger, crashing to his knees in front of Johnny in an instant. No longer feeling like everything existed in slow-motion, his entire thought process honed in on his friend, his teammate, his…

No, no. Focus on the task at hand. 

“No fuckin’ shit,” Ghost heard himself say before he fumbled single handedly with his comms. ”Watcher, we’re gonna need that evac sooner rather than later,” he rasped into his mic, pulling Johnny’s shirt up and exposing the bloody hole torn in his side.

The man in question went quiet, save for a pained whimper. “Soap, I need you to keep talking!”

Soap grunted softly as Ghost’s fingers probed the wound, already reaching for his emergency kit as crimson blood flowed like an angry tide across his fingers. Frustrated, he tore his skeleton gloves off, exposing his pale digits to the thick, warm fluid. 

“‘S nothin, sir. Dinnae need t’ fuss…” Soap groaned, eyes focusing and unfocusing. 

A low, pained whine fell from his lips as Ghost pressed hard against the gunshot wound, using his free hand to pack as much gauze as he could into the mess—anything to stop the bleeding—terror thrumming through his mind at the fact that, with the amount of blood pooling under his fingers, he may very well lose the man he’d inexplicably fallen in lov—

”Bloody hell, Soap!” 

Even with the wound plugged, the bleeding wouldn’t stop. Everywhere he looked, Ghost saw red—blood red—and watched as discoloured marks bloomed over where their bare skin touched. Fear truly gripped him as Johnny gasped again, a pained noise but also—

—shocked as he grabbed onto Ghost’s bare wrist, holding on so hard he nearly crushed the bones. 

“Huh, that’s never… happen’d b’fore…” Ghost refocused his gaze, blinking down at where they linked in shock. Down to where the Scot’s hand gripped, as blue—bright blue, the exact colour of Soap’s eyes—spread across Ghost’s skin like ink. A shaky breath in and Ghost pressed his fingers against one of the few unmarred spots on Soap’s chest, watching with horrified fascination as honey brown bloomed across the pallor. 

The exact same way that, as a kid, as a teenager, as an adult, Ghost had been told people found their soulmates. The exact colour of their eyes blooming across the skin wherever they happen to meet.

My soulmate…?

Johnny… Johnny’s my… my soulmate?

But… this can’t be the first time we’ve ever touched, right? It can’t be, this has gotta be a dream, there’s no way Johnny’s bleeding out in my arms and I’m just now realizing he’s my bloody fucking soulmate—!

“Looks like yer eyes, Si…” Soap slurred out, lidded gaze trained on where Ghost still pressed against his ravaged skin. “S’nice. Like it… on…”

”Johnny—“ Whatever Ghost wanted to say next died in his throat as Johnny’s eyes rolled back, his body sagging against the cushions. “Soap? Johnny! Shit!” Scrambling for his comms once again, his hands shook as they depressed the button. “Watcher, we need medevac now! Soap’s down!”

— — — — — — —

While he swirled patterns over Johnny’s arm with his bare fingers, Simon did his best to not think about the marks left behind on his mother’s face.

Every time honey brown followed his carreses, images of father’s handprints leaving green splotches in their wake flashed through his mind. An almost perfect contrast to his mother’s stark white skin, covered in a collage of purple and yellow bruises. 

It had always been a distinct fascination. Something that most people craved—some even going their entire lives searching for it—yet one of the most terrifying things Simon could imagine. 

Riley’s didn’t do love, they didn’t deserve soulmates. Loving another in that way only brought pain and heartache. Especially in this line of work, especially because his bloody fucking soulmate just so happened to be Johnny Fucking MacTavish, the biggest and most wonderful pain in his arse he’d ever had.

Simon Riley-MacTavish. Nice ring to it.

Fuck, Johnny deserved better than him. If it weren’t for Simon, Johnny wouldn’t be lying broken in this bed, relying on a machine to breathe for him. If he had just been faster, kept his finger on the trigger and kept firing even as they ran for their fucking lives—

Simon’s parents had been soulmates. Their relationship ended in tears and bloodshed, bruises in the shape of hands that were supposed to love and nurture and not break and destroy. In blood on the floor and broken bones, shattered as easily as glass. As easily as a heart.

A lone tear beaded in the corners of Simon’s eyes. He had those same hands.

How many things—beautiful things—had he destroyed with these hands?

He couldn’t stand to look at them, knowing how much pain and fear and hurt and anguish they caused. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the gloves back on, waiting for his body to stop shaking. He didn’t want to look at the bare skin anymore, the scars and the bruises and the crooked finger that broke and never healed correctly under his father’s boot.

Tommy and Beth were soulmates, too. And while Tommy never laid a hand against her or their son in anger, he knew those demons haunted his brother like they stalked Simon himself. One of the few things they could bond over as adults, something they maybe could have recovered from together until…

Every good thing in Simon’s life disappeared. How many more things could he lose before he lost the rest of himself? Before Simon Riley finally gave himself over for the Earth to swallow whole, until there was no point where Ghost ended and Simon began anew?

Simon rested his head on Johnny’s chest with a soft sigh. Soulmates were for good people, like the man laying stone still in this bed. Not for people who destroyed every good thing in their lives.

It wouldn’t stop him from loving the man before him, though. It hadn’t, in any case. Simon had loved Johnny from the moment the annoying, pain-in-the-arse Scot managed to worm his way into Simon’s life. 

Fucking hell.

Simon watched the slow rise and fall of Johnny’s breathing for a few long minutes. This would be as close as he ever got to the man he’d inexplicably fallen for ever again. He’d already failed to keep Johnny at arm’s length, instead working to pull the man closer, to protect him under his mask. A silent shadow, daring anyone to come close to the man he so desperately wanted to be his. The man he loved more than anything he’d ever loved before.

Simon had promised himself he’d just… love from afar, that’s all. It’d be enough.

He could stay out of Johnny’s life, but still keep him safe.

And yet here Johnny lay, straddling the barrier between life and death, all because of him. Simon had been foolish to believe he could be the knight in shining armor, whether as Ghost or not. But he couldn’t deny being helplessly caught in Johnny’s orbit, like a moth to a flame every damn time.

He hadn’t been fast enough. Maybe if he could have stopped the bleeding earlier or at least realized something was wrong—

“I’m so sorry, Johnny.” Simon whispered.

The silence didn’t respond.

Simon didn’t deserve a response, anyway.

I love you, he longed to say.

He couldn’t.

It wasn’t safe to be loved by a man like Ghost.

— — — — — — —

Honey brown flashed across Soap’s mind and his skin in his dreams. Every time he felt like he tumbled further into the abyss, warm eyes and a gentle touch pulled him back. A deep, rough voice with words he couldn’t make out played over and over, but the emotions were clear: fear, urgency, care, love…

“…hear me? Soap?”

Head swimming, Soap only groaned and tried to bat the presence away. His hand seared when he lifted it, eyes blinded by the bright white light as he hissed in pain and screwed them shut tight.

”Sorry, son,” the voice gained some clarity at the same time the light shining through his eyelids dimmed, making way for a familiar beard and kind blue eyes when he dared crack his open again. Disappointment speared his gut for a second. For a moment, he had been convinced that Simon was sitting silent vigil beside him. ”Still with me, lad?”

”Yessir,” Soap slurred, tongue heavy and dry in his mouth. Without needing to ask, Price tipped a straw in his direction, allowing him to take long, greedy sips of ice cold water. He gasped as soon as it pulled away. “Thanks.”

”Gave us quite a scare,” Price fake-scolded, voice and expression betraying the fear he clearly tried to push away with a joke. “I told you boys to not break yourselves.”

”Aww, wasnae intentional!” Soap pouted at his captain, pulling a quokka-like smile from the older man. 

“Sure it wasn’t. Danger magnet,” an affectionate hair ruffle followed the captain’s words before his voice dropped to a more serious tone. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I…” Soap trailed off, scouring his thoughts. All he could find were disjointed memories and fragments of the op after everything had gone to shit… “Not much. I—fuck, where’s Si? Is he okay?!”

The heart monitor next to the men beeped louder as Soap fought to sit upright, only stilling when Price physically held him down, pushing his shoulders as deep into the bed as he dared. “He’s fine! He’s fine, John. Battered, but he’s fine. I promise.”

Soap breathed a sigh of relief at that. Price wouldn’t lie to him, not at the same time he called him by his actual name. Ghost’s—no, Simon’s?—face flashed through his mind, so ridiculously expressive even behind the mask, but only to those who really took the time to understand.

And Soap did, because he loved the daft bastard. Simon, without a second thought, saved his life yet again… someday maybe he’d get to repay the favour. At the very least, though, he could tell his lieutenant—the man he loved more than anything—thank you with a round of drinks once he was free. “Where’s he at?”

“Sent him to his room to rest. Same thing you need to be doing, ay?” Price replied gruffly. Soap laughed as he leaned over to ruffle his hair again, leaning into the contact with a barely restrained sigh of pleasure. As much as he wanted to see Simon, to beg Price to drag the man to the medical wing… Soap couldn’t deny how tired he felt, eyelids drooping steadily as his captain’s hand radiated warmth into his skin. 

“Just sleep, son. I’ll tell Simon you’re up. Kyle, too. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Soap nodded, mumbling something soft and unintelligible under his breath. He drifted to sleep with a smile, the memory of his lieutenant’s beautiful brown eyes front and centre in his dreams. Simon would be here when he woke up, and he’d reach out and hug the big bastard and pull him close, finally brush their lips against one anothers…

— — — — — — —

Soap—once he finally escaped the clutches of the medical wing—seethed his entire way back to the 141’s barracks. 

Soldiers all but leapt out of the way as he barrelled down the hallways, flinging the doors open and stalking outside. Sunlight kissed his skin, rare warmth radiating across his body after weeks of sterile white lights, but he couldn’t give a single shit. 

After weeks of seeing nothing but scrubs, blue masks, physical therapy… his best friend, his lieutenant, the man he bloody fucking loved, hadn’t come to see him once. 

More than just angry, Soap’s heart ached like someone had taken a vise to it and squeezed. Price and Gaz had stopped by more times than he could count, preventing him from going entirely insane in his room, but never once did he see the man in the mask. 

Every time he asked after Simon, their smiles faded, heads shook as they told him we tried and he’s not talking to anyone and he hasn’t been back to his room in days. 

Furious, Soap’s feet brought him all the way to the lieutenant’s office… but he couldn’t bring himself to knock, to shoulder his way in, to demand the man’s time. His radio silence made it obvious; Ghost didn’t want to see Soap.

Except… Soap saw Ghost. Saw flashes of Simon on base every single day. In the mess, in the showers, training recruits, sparring… 

And every day that passed had the pain in his chest taking root, expanding through his veins, twisting his smile into something ugly. Something venomous to hide the hurt festering in his heart. Something far, far from the roses he’d assumed would bloom once he finally got off his dumb arse, stopped waiting around for Simon to be less oblivious, and told the man he loved him. 

Oh, the roses grew all right. Except no flowers could be seen, instead the thorns grew bigger and bigger until they choked his life from the inside out.

Johnny missed Simon. 

He wanted Simon.

Needed him, really. Just needed to know it was all okay.

Except Soap also wanted to clock the man. 

Seriously, not a single visit? Not a single word from the man every time Soap begged Price and Gaz for information? What, did Ghost think him weak and pathetic, was that it? Had Soap done something wrong, something so heinous that ‘the Ghost’ couldn’t stand to be seen with him?

Those thoughts plagued Soap’s restless nights. He already struggled with turning his brain off enough to sleep, especially without the exhaustion of running ops and coming back bone tired. Instead, he tossed and turned, ruminating after the sting of his nightmares faded enough that he could focus on anything aside from the sting of rejection. 

Why didn’t Simon want him anymore? Was he that angry about the op? Disappointed in Soap for fucking it up? Did he discover how Soap truly felt about him and became too disgusted to even be seen near the other man? 

At first, Soap thought he’d just imagined the whole thing. That the bright blue across Simon’s wrist had just been a trick of a dying man’s thoughts. Some fucked up mainfestation of his dreams and fantasies to soothe him to the other side. Or maybe that the honey brown across Soap’s belly had just been dried blood captured at a different angle. 

The thought plagued him, so much so that sleep became nothing more than a fleeting thought, a passing entity in the night just out of reach. Just like Simon.

After Soap’s fourth night in a row storming through the 141 barracks towards their small gym, bloodying his barely healed knuckles over and over on the punching bag, Price caught up to him. He didn’t resist as the captain peeled him off the floor, leading him back to the office with the promise of some (decaf) coffee and conversation.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Price finally asked, voice thick with sleep.

“I…” Soap audibly gulped. How could he even say what he needed to? That he was a lovesick puppy whose owner kicked him to the curb? “Ma heid’s mince. Did I do summat wrong? ‘S that why Si won’t look at me?”

Price sighed softly, offering a kind smile. “You did nothing wrong. Simon’s… struggling.” Soap rolled his eyes hard in response.

“Am too! Fuck, am the one who’s bin in t’ hospital!” He managed to grind out. “I dinnae understand… jus’ wanna know how I can fix… whatever ah did. Wanna ken why he… won’t talk t’ me anymore. Hurts.”

“I know. But beating yourself bloody isn’t going to fix it,” Price replied, taking a drag from his cigar. “I’ll talk to him when I see him again, ay? See if I can figure it out?”

“Sir…”

“Let me do this for you, son.”

“I… I think he might be my… my soulmate, sir.”

Price didn’t seem surprised, only humming softly in response. “What makes you say that?”

“I cannae remember much, but in t’ safe house… he was jus’ patchin’ me up. Coulda sworn I saw blue on ‘is hands. Like mah eyes. More ah think on it, though… Dunno. Maybe it was jus’ a dream. A hope.”

Silence spanned the room for a few minutes. “Get some rest, Johnny,” was all Price replied, though the knowing look in his eye reassured Soap slightly. “We’ll sort this out.”

With nothing to do the next day, Soap sat in his room. At first, he’d tried sketching, but photos of Simon’s handsome face stared back up at him. He slammed the book closed in disgust.

Movies were out, no way he’d be sitting still long enough to focus.

Training was still off the schedule for the most part, Price adamant that he rest and not strain himself any further, lest the stitches holding his guts together popped.

Soap glared at the wall as the same anger from the past weeks welled inside of him, fidgeting enough that it didn’t matter what he did, he just needed out. 

At first, he walked aimlessly, picking a direction and letting the cool air soothe his mind. It didn’t matter where he ended up, so long as he found a spot where he could sit and scream and fall apart with no one there to witness it. That way, when he went back, he could smile again and pretend like everything was fine.

That’s how Soap found himself on a scarce path leading towards the edge of the forest. A spot Simon himself had taken him to, the same place where he knew the man would sit to have some quiet. And seeing the lone figure on the ridge, clad in all black with his blonde hair exposed—

—Soap saw red.

”Oi, ye bloody bawbag!” Soap screamed, watching the figure jump with a sadistic kind of glee. He already had the upper hand if he’d startled the man. 

“What, ye think ye’re so bloody fuckin’ special, ‘s that it? Made it oot in one piece, no thanks to yer eejit of a sergeant?! Are ye so bloody ashamed of me that ye couldnae once come t’ visit? Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell, sir, am I that much of a burden to ye?!”

Drawing closer and closer, Soap kept hurling his anger and hurt at the man, reaching out to grab at the lieutenant as soon as he could, intent on bowling the man over and over into the dirt until the aggression worked its way out of his system. He ground his teeth as he watched Ghost’s shoulders shake, the sound coming from the bastard almost like a laugh.

“What, not gonnae turn an’ face me? ‘S that it? ‘S this fuckin’ funny t’ ye?! Seein’ me loose my bloody fuckin’ mind?!”

Close enough to the man, Soap all but slapped down onto Ghost’s shoulder, the feeling of skin on skin reverberating up his arm as he gripped as tight as he could, trying to force the larger man to turn and meet his gaze. 

Ghost—no, Simon?—curled in on himself, flinching away with a harder shudder.

He wasn’t laughing at Soap. He was sobbing.

Simon was… crying? Startled, Soap dropped his grip in an instant, reeling back. 

”Si?” Soap voiced hesitantly. “I—“

”Johnny…” 

All of his anger melted away at the fear and despair in the man’s voice. Days, no weeks, of built-up frustration drained from his bones, leaving weary exhaustion in its wake. Johnny crossed to crouch in front of Simon, angling so he could see his face. “Simon, what—can ah hug ye?”

Simon pulled away the moment Johnny reached forward, as soon as his fingers brushed the man’s chest. “You’re still healing, I don’t—“

“No, ye don’t get t’ do that!” Johnny barked, momentary softness forgotten as he grabbed for the taller man, ignoring his shaky, fearful breaths. “Why’d ye fuckin’ leave me?!”

God, how he hated that his voice broke on the last word.

Finally, Johnny grabbed Simon’s hand, his pale skin nearly glowing in the waning light without his usual skeleton gloves on. Part of him wanted to marvel at how rough Simon’s fingers were, but didn’t get the chance as time slowed, a belated gasp falling from his mouth as the skin beneath his turned bright blue—

—and where they touched, Johnny’s own turned honey brown.

The world went silent and still. Both men locked eyes, staring at each other, souls laid bare. So much swirled through Simon’s expression: fear, desperation, hope, terror, love…

”Si?” Johnny breathed. “It… it wasnae a dream… ye’re… ye’re my—“

”I’m sorry…” Simon whimpered out, cutting Johnny off with a voice so small and scared it cracked his heart. “I… you don’t… I’m so sorry!” 

Johnny didn’t move, didn’t react as Simon curled in on himself, pulling his limbs away to tuck them into safety. He sounded so scared, breaking Johnny’s heart. His soulmate… scared of him?

Had… had he actually done something wrong? Why was Simon afraid of him?

Shit, shit, shit shit shit—

”What are ye on about, love?” Johnny asked, wanting to reach his free hand across and gently grasp his soulmate’s chin. He couldn’t, though, not when tears cascaded down Simon’s cheeks, weak gasps punching from his chest as he screwed his eyes shut. Not when the taller man shuddered and shook and made such unhappy noises, like the thought of being touched was more harrowing than torture.

“You don’t… want me…” Simon managed to sob out, crying openly now. “I… you deserve… more…!”

”Oh, Si…” Johnny sighed. He teared up too, reaching out to rest a hand on his soulmate’s knee. He frowned as Simon flinched again. Definitely fear. My poor bonnie lad… I knew he’d had a tough go of it, but this… my poor bonnie lad. “Can I hug ye, please? Promise, jus’ wanna hug. Not gunna yell, am so sorry, Si…”

Simon didn’t respond for several moments, long enough that Johnny nearly asked again until he found himself with a lapful of anxious, upset, bloody fucking brilliant bonnie Manc. Didn’t matter that it hurt, that the strain on his body definitely popped a few stitches, Johnny took it in stride. 

He wrapped his arms around Simon’s body, pulling the man as close as he could. Wishing he could draw his soulmate into his body, to settle him within his ribcage right next to his heart where Simon belonged, protected and loved and wanted forever. One hand drifted up, carding through the short blonde hair as Johnny guided his head to rest in the crook of his neck. 

“I’m so sorry,” Simon sniffled, trembling in Johnny’s arms. 

“Simon Riley, I’ve spent my entire life searching for ye, an’ ye were here all along? Beautiful bastard,” Johnny breathed out in awe. “Why are ye sorry? Ye’re so bloody perfect for me already. My bonnie lad—”

“No…” Simon sobbed, “No, you… you deserve… better…! Not… broken… worthless…”

“Shh, love. None of tha’, now.” Johnny stroked his hair again, relishing in the feeling of Simon slowly relaxing against his chest. Cradling the man close, brushing his nose across the ridge of his hairline. “Ye’re bloody perfect, baby. How could I want anyone else, knowing I got lucky ‘nough fer someone as bonnie as ye?”

Simon’s struggles faded and fell away under Johnny’s soft words, now clutching him so tight he knew for sure both would be sporting bruises. It didn’t matter, though. He had his soulmate in his arms, the man he’d pined after for so long now… chest swelling with love and care as Simon fell apart.

Despite it all, Simon trusted him enough to fall apart like this.

Johnny wasn’t sure how long they spent there, Simon crying until no more tears came out. His sharp, shuddering breaths eased off, and he didn’t pull away or flinch as Johnny cupped his face, wiped his bright red cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, that same fear and guarded hope simmering in Simon’s eyes. “There ye go… such a bonnie lad. Please… Simon… please tell me ye want this too…”

”Yes,” Simon whimpered, squeezing tighter as if Johnny would disappear into thin air should he let go. “I’m so scared…” He didn’t need to say anything else for Johnny to understand. He’d known the man long enough to know some of his dour history, able to fill in the blanks even without the added context. 

In that moment, Johnny silently vowed to never, ever become another facet of Simon’s nightmares. He breathed that promise into the air, holding the man just a little bit tighter.

”I know, m’eudail. Ye dinnae need t’ tell me anythin’ noe, just… lemme hold ye? Waited so long for ye… hoped ye’d look in mah direction someday…”

”Don’t let go…” More tears brimmed in Simon’s vulnerable, bonnie eyes, threatening to fall until Johnny leaned in to press a soft kiss to his soulmate’s forehead. “Always wanted to… hold you like this. Couldn’t… didn’t deserve it. Don’t… don’t let go please Johnny, I can’t—”

”Never. We’ll figure it out together, aye?” 

Simon nodded at Johnny’s words, pulling away slightly to look at him again with barely disguised wonder. 

Johnny smiled in response, the edges of his lips tugging up into the most genuine, loving smile he’d ever worn. ”I’ve got ye. Not gunna let go, not noe tha’ I finally get t’ have ye.”

“Don’t… don’t wanna hurt you…” Simon rasped pitifully, glaring down at his hands when he pulled away to settle back on the ground. He remembered, back when they’d first become close, how Simon told him about his ‘father’s’ hands. Johnny had only been teasing when he said something along the lines of Ghost having talons instead of fingers to explain why he always wore the gloves… An idea sparked in Johnny’s head at that, making a soft noise to get the blonde’s attention.

“Can I see yer hands, Si?”

Simon cautiously extended them out, frowning as Johnny took them in his. “Ye always cover them, no matter what.” Turning them over, brushing the pads of their fingers together, tracing the veins and tendons and muscles… he pressed a soft kiss to every spot he could before holding them tight to his chest. 

And how bloody fucking beautiful the colours blooming across their bodies were as Johnny laced their fingers together, gripping tight. “Bonnie hands, attached to mah bonnie lad. Ye’re a gowk if ye think am not gunna love these hands when ye’re always protectin’ me with ‘em. Strong an’ soft an’ so fuckin’ braw, mo ghraidh.”

Simon’s gaze shifted, softened. Slowly, he reached out, pulling Johnny close again and nuzzling against his head, still sniffling, but calmer. Johnny petted at the blonde locks once more, feeling Simon hum in appreciation against his skin. There’d be plenty more time later for discussion. For declarations of love, promises of support, lazy mornings spent in bed until they needed to face the world again. For now, he had Simon in his arms. Exactly what Johnny needed, and—by the feeling of the blonde sagging against him, nuzzling his shoulder now before shyly planting his own tender kiss to the skin to watch the colour blossom—exactly what Simon needed too.

“Come on, m’eudail. ‘S gettin’ cold oot, an am ready t’ coorie in a bigger bed.”

Simon chuckled softly, wiping away tears as they both stood. “It’s not that much bigger.”

“But ‘s gunna have ye in it.” Johnny wiggled his eyebrows, pulling a genuine laugh from Simon as they walked together, hand in hand. He took the lead in bringing them to the barracks, catching a quick glimpse of a smiling Price before the captain disappeared. Pushing Simon into his room, Johnny kicked the door shut and made sure it locked before crowding Simon against the bed, watching with wide eyes as the blonde melted under his hands.

After so long waiting, Johnny finally bridged the distance between his and Simon’s lips, brushing them tenderly at first before diving in for more. Intent on searing his name, his touch, his love into Simon’s skin one kiss at a time.

Their bodies melded together as they curled up, hands grasping everywhere they could reach. Tangled together, Johnny kissed away each and every one of Simon’s lingering tears, a smile on his lips as he whispered every single loving word he could think of to the man he loved beyond all reason.

Finally, when the night began to draw to a close, when they yawned more than spoke, they crowded together on a single pillow. Their twin breaths mixed in the space between them, eyes filled with wonder and joy. 

For once, even if just for a moment, the stars had aligned to make everything perfect. Even knowing they had jobs to do and a world to face when the sun rose again, an unspoken promise filled the air between the two soulmates. They had finally found each other, the rest could come later. 

Nothing mattered to Johnny in this moment except for the—no, his—Ghost. 

Kate's voice crackles across the accompanying audio feed "It's a few more hours of this so I'm going to fast forward to the part you'll want to see." then the video speeds up, fast forwarding as the MP's yells turn chipmunk squeaky and he frenetically paces at double speed while you barely twitch in your seat. Eventually, he leaves you alone in the cell and Gaz notes the time stamp. Fucking hell, he'd badgered you like that for four hours? Christ. Gaz scrubs a hand down his face watching the minutes fly by in the corner of the feed until it shows a little more than an hour that you've been left alone for and Kate slows it back to regular speed.

You stand, sigh, and stretch. The flash of skin that shows fires desire in his belly and he quashes it angrily, betrayed, eyes hard on the screen as he watches you turn and saunter to stand directly under the camera.

"Now darling," you drawl directly into its view, he could almost swear you were making eye contact with them, "that was rude."

He hears Soap snort but he can't tear his eyes away from yours on the screen.

"I have places to be, darling. A lady's never late," you simper into the camera, "I'm sure you can understand."

You wink and for a heartbeat, he dares to hope it's some kind of signal for Kate, for them. For him. But then the screen goes dark.

Kate's voice is icy and acidic "The whole base went dark. She disappeared after that, not a single trace. And with her connections...."

Price swears violently and stands to pace in the periphery of Gaz's vision as Ghost finishes Kate's thought "She's as good as gone."

Like confirmation and condemnation, a CIA wanted poster with your military ID photo pops up on the screen. Cheeky even in the standard photo and Gaz feels a funny little twist inside, but it's easy enough to ignore in the burning anger.

"We've put out the word to INTERPOL and other friendlies but I'm not hopeful." Kate's sigh is heavy, "In better news, we have the green light to move on the Konni apartment building."

Your photo disappears and blueprints fill the screen. Gaz turns to stare at his captain and Price is glaring at the ceiling. It takes a beat, then two before Price's shoulders drop and he takes his seat again, huddling forward to lean on his knees to stare into the screen. Gaz leans in and bumps his shoulder to Price's, the light bump back bolstering them both.

The apartment blueprints spin and exits and entrances are highlighted. He can't help the puff of air that leaves him in irritation and Price's shoulder bumps his again.

"The complex is a maze." Kate says, and Gaz thinks darkly he's well aware. It'll be a nightmare to clear. The glowing exits and entrances make it - fuck are those ladders too? He's cursing under his breath when Price rumbles from beside him.

"Gaz'll sweep from the bottom up."

Oh, will he? He can't help the incredulous look he shoots Price at that, and it's mollified by the wink Price shoots him as his captain says "I'll overwatch the rooftop with fire support."

He sighs, "How do we extract?"

"Helo's too risky." Kate says bluntly and he and Price nod.

"You boys catch anything worth bringing home, Nik'll pull you out via fixed wing."

Gaz nods, mind calculating, spinning. Wait - "The balloon..." he muses.

Price's answer is simple "Skyhook."

"If Makarov's there." Laswell tacks on. Signing off with "Get him, Bravo...."

Price watches the small drone take off into the air, small loops growing larger and larger as it climbs in altitude until he has to squint to pick it out from the grey clouds.

Squeezing the comm unit he connects with Kate, "Six to Watcher, drone is up. You should have visual."

There's a beat and static back before Kate confirms with "Eyes on."

He pulls out the tablet he can use to access the drone and with a cursory look, he confirms he can see through its view as well.

"Six to all, moving to overwatch," he mutters into the comms before making for the fire escape, preparing to climb down and move to a building closer to the apartment block. As his hand claps on the cold steel he hears affirmatives come through from both Laswell and Gaz.

As he slides through back alleys he hears Gaz in his ear, "Got multiple Konni troops on the roof of the north building."

"Copy," he grunts back and adjusts his trajectory, going for the secondary overwatch so he'll have a better line of sight to the north building. As he's climbing the fire escape he hears Gaz explode in a flurry of curses and he doubles his pace, hissing into his mic "Gaz, sit-rep!"

"Cap it's KIA." he can hear how Kyle's voice is tight with anger when he elaborates "She's in the building."

"Fuck!" bursts out of him before he can stop it and thankfully he's cleared the roofline. Thanks to training and experience it's scarce seconds before he's behind cover, sniper rifle poised and set, able to pull out the tablet, tapping into the feed Kate and Kyle are watching.

There you are, as bold as brass. Giggling and laying a hand on the arm of a Konni soldier as he steers you through the maze of the apartments. Through clenched teeth he manages to grit out "Watcher, can we get audio?"

"Negative Bravo." Kate's voice is hard "Not without giving away your position."

A slick black sedan pulls up to the curb and you step out onto the sidewalk, flanked by the foot soldier and another man. He's clearly of some importance with how both you and the soldier defer to him, and there's a sour taste in his mouth when he watches you kiss the man's cheek.

"He appears to be in charge." he hisses out and Kate's response is quick.

"I'll run it down. See if we can identify him."

The men disappear into the building as you slide into the sedan.

"Copy." he acknowledges. Shoving down the turmoil boiling in his stomach.

"Gaz you in position?"

"Cap-" comes Gaz's voice and he can hear it in his sergeant's voice. Anger is fire in his veins and he strangles it. There's no space for that now. No time for feelings.

"Switch to two," he orders softly and waits for the soft affirmative before switching to the unrecorded private channel.

"Gaz?" he asks and the soft "Heard." back to him makes his jaw clench.

"Just another mission. Put it out of your head. We'll find out the why later, we're the ones they call to catch people like her. She'll be back in front of us in no time and she'll answer for everything." it's a curse and a promise falling off his lips and he can hear Gaz's soft inhale across the line.

"Mind on the mission sergeant." he orders, and slightly softer adds "We're both going home after this."

There's a beat and he worries. Kyle's solid, he doesn't need these reminders, honestly it's probably more reassuring for him, Price rationalizes.

And when Gaz's voice comes back through the radio it's clear and strong.

"Affirmative. Good to go Cap." and he lets out the breath he was holding. He switches back to the official line and radios it in.

"Bravo six to Watcher, we're set."

"Check." Kate's voice is clear and he settles his rifle on the edge of the roof, following Gaz through the scope and scanning ahead as she continues.

"Do not leave empty-handed. Watcher out." there's the crackle of static as she leaves the line clear for John and Kyle to talk. Only not quite.

"Bravo six this is Watcher on three." and he's swearing under his breath as he watches Gaz make it to the building.

He ignores the summons to the private channel, Kate knows the mission comes first "Gaz press up, let me know when you're at the elevator shaft."

"Rog. On the move."

"I don't need a response, just listen John." Kate's voice makes him tense, and he forces his muscles to unwind as he methodically scans for threats ahead of Kyle.

"KIA made contact."

He grits his teeth and continues mapping targets.

"Soap says you all have some group chat. She dumped info in there for you all. I'm working to verify it." her voice is soft and he's not reading into that. He's not.

"Cap, at the elevator shaft. Got a ladder here." comes Gaz's voice and he takes a deep breath in.

"Copy. Use it." he bites out and then there's the click and static of Laswell connecting back into the official line. What the fuck was happening now?

"Bravo, got a hit on our HVI. Name's Andrei Nolan. Goes back to the Inner Circle days with Makarov. High up the Konni food chain."

Good. That was good. This means a solid chance at finding out where Makarov is hiding and it's clear Gaz's made the same connection as his humour shines through in his response "Sounds like a guy I'd like to chat with, copy. How do we extract him?"

Price snorts, unable to resist teasing back "Alive." and he can practically see the eye-roll Kyle's doing even just looking at his back.

"I'll secure exfil, meet you up top." he says as Gaz climbs.

Then they both get to work.

Nik hands him a rag that he uses to wipe the blood off his knuckles. They both watch the plane transferring Nolan to another base leave their immediate air space before wandering back inside. Gaz is setting up the audio chat with Kate and he settles into one of the chairs around the laptop as there's the electronic tone of connection and the beeps as the encryption locks down their call. Nik nods at him and disappears into the back, and Gaz drops into the chair beside him as Kate's voice comes through the speakers.

"What's the state of play with Nolan?"

Gaz snorts, "He's less conversational than he was...."

It makes him grin at Gaz and he can't help adding on "More o' the silent type now...."

Kate snorts at that and Gaz grins back at him at the crack in her armour before his face hardens and he turns serious, leaning in to address the laptop "They're at war with the world. That's for sure."

Price scrubs a hand through his beard, thinking back to the vehement hate that spewed from Andrei in their interrogation, a near echo to what he'd heard in a plane 4 years ago falling from a different Russian's mouth "He's got blind faith in Makarov."

"Makarov needs him." Kate says and the laptop flickers as she sends images through and both he and Gaz huddle around the screen to peer at them.

Chat logs. All in Russian.

"Been contacting him non-stop." she says smugly "He knows something's wrong."

"You intercepted their comms..." breathes Gaz in wonder.

Price feels a swell of hope in him as well as Kate simply says "Affirmative."

Fuck this is big, a massive misstep by Makarov. A chance to outmaneuver the bastard and take him down before he has a chance to see it coming.

Her tone is hesitating and he tenses as she says "It was a ... gift." and beside him, he can feel Gaz go ram-rod stiff.

"Along with some intel that we can now verify with Makarov's communications." Kate forcibly carries them past that moment as one of the texts in the chat is highlighted and blown up larger on screen.

Конвой отправляется через шесть часов. Встреча в тюрьме.

The English translation appears below swiftly.

Convoy leaving in six hours. Rendezvous at the prison.

A map of Russia appears and rotates to focus and zoom in on the arctic expanse of it as Kate talks.

"They're delivering someone or something, to an abandoned Soviet prison complex."

The look that Gaz gives him is loaded and his stomach clenches.

"Where?" Gaz asks.

"Siberia." Kate says as a blinking dot shows up on the map to help clarify and Gaz leans in to inspect it.

Price scratches his beard and thinks. There's no small chance with a slippery bastard like Makarov this is a trap, but... they'd moved on this so quickly, he couldn't have had time to see this coming could he?

"When?" he grunts out, and Laswell's response is immediate "Tomorrow."

That settles it in his mind.

"This is our chance at Makarov."

Gaz gives him a look, tone cautious "No guarantees he's there..."

He grimaces at that, he knows that but... "I'll take that chance."

"I know you would." says Kate and Nik appears in the doorway with a cheeky two-fingered salute as she continues "Nik can get you in and out."

Price grins at his old friend and nods at him before leaning in to brace his arms on the table. If this is their chance at Makarov he's not going to blow it. He's gonna need the best of the best.

"I want everyone on this..." he says and Laswell's response is to simply to pop the paperwork for Soap and Ghost up on screen.

"Including Farah." his tone makes it clear there's no room for argument, "Next to Ghost, she's the best sniper I know."

Farah's icon pops on the screen as well and he and Gaz trade small smiles as Kate says "You can pick her up on the way. I'll relay."

He shoots a glance at Nik still hovering in the doorway and gets an answering nod to his unasked question. Nik disappears into the back of the hangar and Price is assured knowing he's going to update flight plans and add fuel to their plane.

Gaz pinches in and zooms in on the map of Siberia. The convoy's planned route in blinking red. Conveniently across a patch of ice, and an idea sparks.

"We'll need C-4 and dry gear." he informs Laswell and is pleased to see it immediately pop up on the draft paperwork on the screen. Ignoring how Gaz looks at him.

He puts it together soon enough with a heavy groan, "We're getting wet...."

Smug, Price soothes him "So's Makarov."

Kyle just rolls his eyes at that and Price chuckles. They settle in around the laptop, looping in Ghost, Soap, and Farah into the call. Spending an hour planning the op and putting in the requisitions before they all sign off. Ready to catch Makarov the next time they reconvene.

Ghost shifts, settling into the snow, tuning out the small disturbances of the rocks and cold he can feel even through the thick fabric. Farah adjusts her scope beside him and they both focus in as a cloud of ice and water appears out of the swirling snow.

"Watcher to 0-7, gimme a sit-rep." Kate crackles into his ear. Good timing.

"0-7 in position with Kilo. Bravo's in the water." he updates her.

"Copy. Where's our incoming?" she asks and he scans the black humvees that emerge from the snow into his vision.

Farah speaks up from beside him, a weird echo as he hears her in the comms and directly "Convoy approaching southeast, four vehicles."

"Any sign of Makarov?" even Kate can't hide the hope they're all feeling.

Ghost carefully scans the humvees but with the tinting and thick bulletproofing, there's no way they're making a positive ID. Farah reports as much.

"No PID, but high security on the third vehicle."

The convoy is a few minutes out from where Gaz, Soap, and Price wait. They should be just about done setting the charges now, so he checks in.

"Ghost to all Bravo, how copy?"

Soap's watching carefully as Gaz finishes drilling the C-4 charge to the ice when Ghost comes in loud and clear. He checks over the charge and detonator before giving the ok to Gaz and then signals for them all to get to their positions.

Gaz crackles in his ear responding to Ghost's check-in as they both swim for the trees at the bottom where they can wait, "Solid."

They make it to the bottom and Soap breathes out, the bubbles crowding out of his reg as he clears his lungs.

"Here they come." mutters Gaz across the comms as dark shadows move across the ice. He holds out a three with his fingers for a visual countdown as they all brace on a branch in preparation for the shockwave that'll come with the blast.

Three... two... one. The shadows of the humvees are in position and Gaz gives the signal, Price pushing the detonator as he says "Fire in the hole!"

Soap can't help the manic grin as he sees his best work yet, the bright light of the explosion and the muffled boom going by with the shockwave that jostles but doesn't dislodge them from where they grip the trees.

The humvees are sinking fast in the newly open water. As Price tucks the detonator away he and Gaz loosen their grips on the trees and Soap reports so everyone's on the same page "All station, good effect on target."

"Rog. Go to work. We need him alive." Laswell's reminder isn't needed and they're already swimming to their assigned vehicles. Price flanking Soap as the first Konni soldier kicks through a window, managing to get halfway out and struggling against the water. Grabbing his knife Soap swiftly swims up to him, bracing against the man as he stabs him through where his shoulder hinges, severing the axillary artery and there's an instant plume of darkening water. As the Konni soldier droops, Soap uses the body to drag himself lower in the water so he can peer through the windows.

"Target's air has gotta be runnin' thin." Gaz's voice is tight and Soap grits his teeth at the reminder.

"Vehicles's clear. No Makarov. Gotta move on target Cap. Before he drowns." he says into the comms and he can see Price's OK signal as he doubles his pace and heads for the nearest car, leaving the furthest to Soap.

"Vehicle clear. Moving up." says Gaz and out of the corner of his eye Soap can see him kick off from the humvee as a body drifts out behind him.

Fuck they're running out of time. He quickens his pace and makes for the last car, ignoring the one Price is swimming for.

"Actual, love to let him drown but we gotta get 'im out now." he grits out as Price struggles with a Konni soldier and he almost backtracks before Price slams a knife pommel deep through the soldier's chin. As the burst of bubbles shows Price's successfully got his reg back and cleared his mask he finally makes it to the last car. Gaz meets him there and his heart sinks as he peers through the window.

"Cap we got a problem." Gaz is clearly affected as well by his tone, bitterness seeping through.

Soap bites out through the disappointment "No Makarov, just prisoners." staring at the hooded figures.

"Pull 'em. Let's go." Price's orders come through clear and he and Gaz set to work with their torches, cutting the hinges off the door as Price swims up. With a nod for confirmation they've made it through, Price smashes the glass to let water flood into the humvee and they watch as it fills completely. The prisoner closest to them flailing wildly as the water rushes in. With the pressure equalized, they work together to drag the door off the vehicle and Price waves him in. So Soap quickly cuts the zip ties on the prisoner's wrists and drags them out, pulling them towards the surface. It takes a second for them to start kicking too but they do and Price's voice comes in his ear to confirm that he and Gaz got the other prisoner.

"Prisoners secure. Moving to the surface."

Laswell's quick to respond "Standing by."

His prisoner finally makes it to the surface and he pushes them towards the edge of the ice as they struggle in the water. Patience thin he nearly throws them up rather than helping gently as they fight to climb out of the water. He's on the edge of the ice taking off his fins as they sprawl on their hands and knees, panting heavily through the hood tied tight around their neck when Gaz and Price surface. Doesn't look like the other prisoner made it as they're dragging a limp figure between them and he grimaces, fucking awful way to go. He wrangles his fins out of the water and tosses them on the ice and they pass the prisoner to him. The body is limp and heavy as he drags it out of the water and onto the ice, setting it off to the side. They'll still need to get a picture or an ID so Kate will have something to work with and he's about to cut the bag off their head when Price stands up so he swivels to face his captain.

Kyle's gathering the fins and regs and Price thanks him with a grunt as he switches from the mask to the dry comms, "Six to Watcher. No Makarov. Target was not in the convoy."

Soap passes his gear off to Kyle who packs it away efficiently and quickly switches on the dry comms just in time for the weird in-person and radio echo as Price continues.

"Prisoner has been intercepted and secured." Price looms over the still desperately trying to breathe prisoner so Soap moves to bracket him and Gaz does the same, working on his own dry gear.

"Can you ID?" Laswell asks.

"Stand by..." Price says and nods at him, so Soap leans in. Sliding his knife under the ties of the hood, sawing through them and yanking it off quickly. Anger courses through him just as swiftly.

Throwing the hood down on the ice he swears, "Steamin' Jesus!"

He has to spin and spit more curses so he doesn't slam his knife into General Shepherd as the old man coughs and sucks in air.

Blinking in the light Shepherd's just as confused "MacTavish... what the ... fuck?" he manages around shuddering gulps for air. Price is radiating anger beside him and it would make him laugh at how Shepherd startles at that if he wasn't so fucking pissed. His hands shaking with rage as Shepherd blearily questions "Captain!?"

Price bodily hauls Shepherd up by his collar, snarling at him "Fuck! Is there a single shit show you aren't a part of?"

He can't help checking in with LT, his mind spinning as he watches Price glare at Shepherd "Ghost you seein' this?"

"In my sights." comes Ghost's snarl in his ear and the implication of the sniper being lined up with Shepherd's head doesn't escape him. It moves his hand and he's got the familiar weight of his pistol in his hand before he thinks, safety off and muzzle pointed at Shepherd.

He bites out "Let's smoke him an' call it a day."

God, it would feel good. To finally put the bastard six feet under or just dump him back in the icy water in payback for Las Almas. His trigger finger itches and he sees Price's face flicker with indecision before it hardens and it's some kind of implied permission but before he can pull the trigger Kate's voice crackles through the comms.

"Six, who do you have?"

Price's face grimaces, either at the whole situation or the lost chance he doesn't know but as Price snarls his answer back Soap flicks his safety back on "Gold fucking Eagle, actual."

Kate is incredulous over the line "Shepherd?!"

He scoffs and holsters his pistol, "In the cold flesh"

The snark earns him a glare from Shepherd and he snarls silently at the man in a threat as Kate still processing the news breathlessly says "Holy shit."

Gaz paces into his view, rifle out and antsy, his voice tense "Cap, we're sitting ducks out here."

Price nods curtly and stares at Shepherd. There's a moment so tense he could cut it with a knife before Price grabs Shepherd's collar and drags him forward, and Shepherd stumbles under the force.

Price starts towards the treeline dragging a glaring Shepherd as he says "Then let's move 'im."

"Cap." Gaz says and everyone turns to look at him and he just tilts his head to the body of the other prisoner.

Price sighs and speaks into his mic, "Watcher stand by for ID on the second." and nods at Soap so he pulls his knife as Gaz keeps scanning the horizon.

He's crouched by the body, sawing through the ties on the hood already half-iced over with the Siberian temperatures when Shepherd barks out "Just leave her! Fucking useless whore."

He freezes and can feel Gaz do the same at his shoulder. No. It wouldn't be. He doubles his effort to cut the cord as Price shakes Shepherd and roars behind him "What did you say?"

The cord finally gives in and as he rips the hood off his hand snaps out and catches your head before it can thunk into the ice underneath it.

He's seen the dead many times. In fact, most of the time he sees them they're gone because of him. He's watched the soul fade from behind the eyes of mercs, soldiers and even civvies caught in the crossfire. Some come with a twisted satisfaction that coils deep inside him like a rot he wants to dig out with his knife, some make him want to go back to the church his mom dragged him to as a kid and spend hours on his knees begging for penance. Staring into your eyes blank and gone makes him rage. Fury shakes his fingers and only Gaz's clipped "We need to move to cover." stops him from whirling to sink his knife hilt deep into Shepherd.

Price swears and starts to drag Shepherd to the tree line again as Soap scoops you up in his arms. Gaz trailing him, still carefully scanning for threats as they make their way after them. As soon as they're all into the trees and into some semblance of cover Price releases Shepherd and spins to face Soap, so he carefully lays you down on the ground and out of the corner of his eye he can see Gaz start rifling through his pack. Price looms over your body and runs a gloved thumb across your cheekbone, your eyes still glassy and gone, nothing but a vessel. A body. Fuck. His mind spins. What if Gaz was right? That there were only so many times you could revive? What if this was the time you didn't come back? It shoots terror colder than the tundra wind blowing around him into his veins and it flips to burning rage as he faces Shepherd.

Snarling, he slams the general into a tree, "Why are you here?"

Shepherd's cocky for someone he just dragged out of a fucking lake, tone almost condescending and it makes Soap push his arm harder against his chest as he speaks "They're hunting us."

Shepherd stares at Price still hunched over your body, "John, ... they found me first."

The implication clear.

It's not clear who Price is addressing as he's still staring down at you when he says "What did you trade for your life?"

Shepherd's the only one who can answer so he does, indignant, "Not a damn thing!"

Price flares with anger at that, spinning to roar at him "Bollocks!"

"I'm a four-star United States general." Shepher snarls back and it irks him so he slams the general back into the bark of the tree with a satisfying thump.

Growling into Shepherd's face, "And they kept ye alive?" his tone mocking, letting the implication just hang.

He catches Gaz's eye and tilts his head back to the water "Le's toss this fucker back in th' lake!"

"I know Makarov's next target." bursts out of Shepherd and at that everyone stills, eyes snapping to him. Price scoffs, coming to stand next to Soap as he keeps Shepherd pinned.

"You didn't even know you were the fucking target." mocks Price, blue eyes sharp.

Shepherd rises to the bait, indignant, "You were chasing your own tail before I stepped in!"

His grin is manic as he leans in threateningly, "Give it to us then." and Shepherd stares.

"You get me out of here first." Shepherd bargains and Soap can't help the scoff that falls out of him.

Laswell's voice startles him.

"All stations, I'm tracking helos inbound. North, ten klicks out."

Price's voice is as hard as his glare at Shepherd as he responds "Rog."

"What's the call Bravo?" asks Farah across the comms and he knows in that instant everyone here would be fine if the after-action report simply reported Shepherd was found full of water. It makes him grin meanly as he pushes harder on Shepherd as Gaz pulls Price aside to talk in a low whisper to him. Gaz is the tactician. Wicked sharp, strategic, and Price knows it. His words have weight.

Whatever Gaz says has Price looking at Shepherd then back to Gaz, but Price doesn't hesitate before nodding in agreement to whatever Gaz's plan is.

With a nod back Gaz relays orders over the comms "Ghost, Farah, push to the exfil."

"Rog." says Ghost simply, not pushing for more information but Gaz offers it anyway.

"Watcher," says Gaz, his eyes trained on Shepherd, "tell Nik we're plus two."

He can't help the snarl that falls out of him as Shepherd smugly pushes him off at the words.

"Affirm." comes Kate's response before it turns into a harsh question "Two?"

Belatedly he realizes they never ID'd you over the comms, Ghost knows. He was watching, but Kate has no eyes here, and only the crackle of static as Gaz reports this reveals her shock.

"Now how 'bout a jacket and a gun?" interrupts Shepherd and his response is automatic.

"No." and it's in synch with Price. Least they agree on that.

Gaz already has a jacket pulled from his bag, passing it to Shepherd and he tosses another to Price who carefully zips your body into it. Soap shoves the feelings the sight summons deep inside, breathing the cold air in deep and harsh so it stings his nostrils. Real. Grounding. He does his automatic checks that all his gear is in place and he startles as Gaz holds out a pistol to Shepherd.

"Let's add the gun." Gaz says staring down Shepherd with a gaze colder than the air "We could use the help."

Price spins to point threateningly at Shepherd, but the amount of trust he has in Garrick is evident in how he doesn't belay the order.

Snarling threats instead "You stick with Gaz. One wrong move and I'll put a hole through you. "

Soap can see Shepherd's face as Price finishes his threat and it's tight with the realization that John's not lying. A sharp nod is Shepherd's answer.

Shepherd tests the weight of the sidearm as Price rumbles into the comms, "Six to Watcher."

"Send traffic Bravo." comes Laswell, sharp and clear.

"Plan is to hoof it to transport and drive to the LZ for extraction."

He and Gaz nod at Price in acknowledgement of the orders, and he sees Price do his own cursory gear check.

"I think your guests may slow you down, watch your back. Out here." her warning clear before her sign-off. And he's loath to admit it but...

"Laswell's right." he says catching Price's eye and Price nods. He watches those blue eyes quickly calculate and come to a decision, spinning to face Shepherd again.

"You're carrying her." Price orders, with a jut of his chin to your body.

"She's literally dead weight -" starts Shepherd but he's cut off by a harsh glare and Price stabbing a finger in his direction. So he grumbles but throws your body over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Soap's gut twists but he quiets it. He'd rather have Shepherd hobbled by your body than Gaz, Price, or even himself, he trusts their guns more. You'll survive a little indignity.

The trepidation fades quickly. His mind focusing in on the trees. Their path forward full of Konni soldiers. He drags in another deep breath, ice stinging his nostrils and breathes it out, warm air fogging up in puff in front of him. Time to get to work.

Konni had mother-fucking thermal camo and had pinned down Farah in a lumber mill that took way too long to clear and get her out of. Had sabotaged their truck forcing them to hike to the LZ through a goddamn white-out on the ice, winds blowing colder than a witch's tit. Snow blinding them and the enemy. But finally, finally, they rendevous with Ghost at the landing zone and dig in. Konni feels endless. Clinically detached he drops soldier after soldier, his teammates doing the same as they battle to clear enough for Nik to stop circling in the helo and land.

The Konni reinforcements try to flank them and he's spinning to fire as Gaz shouts in the comms "They're flanking us."

Price's roaring orders Soap's already flying to execute "Bravo - shift left!" and he slides behind the wreckage of an earlier wave of Konni, the humvee providing cover for him to pop up and fire around. Cool satisfaction thrilling him as he sees the sniper drop with his shot.

"Lay down fire!" comes Ghost's barked order, and he doesn't have to think. Popping up and squeezing the trigger. Mind automatically tagging the movement of the enemy and his hands swing the barrel in their direction, the snap of the recoil sure against his shoulder as they duck to avoid his fire. In the corner of his eye, he can see Ghost vault another humvee and circle around to come at them from behind. A black arm rises and falls out of his view and the spread of red on the white snow makes him grin.

"Bravo we clear?" asks Price and he breathes out as Ghost rumbles back "All clear."

He switches on the safety and slings his rifle over his shoulder, jogging back to the clear area for the helo to land in. Price is staring at the sky, one hand dangling his rifle, the other on his comms "LZ's clear."

"Copy, approaching now Captain" comes Nikolai's deep baritone, thick with his accent. Farah, Ghost and Gaz group up with him and he glances at Shepherd standing behind Price. Wait, where? Gaz kneels and he sees your body tucked into the safety of cover as Gaz carefully pulls you out. Farah's staring but no one answers her unasked questions and he shields his eyes from the whipping ice and snow as Nik's helo settles into place.

"Touch down! Ready when you are Captain!" says Nik cheerfully and Price waves them on board. Farah climbing into the back with Ghost and Soap snags Shepherd's elbow dragging him on board with him as Gaz carries your body in carefully. Clipping you into the safety line before doing so for himself and Soap's mildly disappointed Shepherd doesn't forget to do his as he snaps his own on. Price hops in and slides the door shut, snapping himself in as Nik crackles in his ear.

"All in?"

"Affirm. Get 'er up!" and there's the swoop of weightlessness in his belly as Nik pulls them into the air.

Your skin is burning. Fire itching and roaring along it. You choke. Cough, and you can't. It's automatic, your eyes flying open and thankfully someone's there with an airsick bag as you empty your lungs and stomach of the water you swallowed.

Blearily you realize it's Gaz as he eases you up to sitting, his hand firm on your nape as you heave more water into the bag. Your world tilting and it summons bile from your stomach. Spitting to clear your mouth you clutch at Gaz's vest with shaking fingers as the helo tilts again and only your grip keeps you from sliding away. Confused and disoriented you meet his eyes and fear and shame stab into you at how hard his face is. Realization and memory come crashing into you along with the shakes as your body warms. Eyes wide in horror you gape at him and try to find the words. A whole body tremor overtakes you and you cling to him as you shake. He tucks the bag away somewhere and you dare to hope as he swipes a gloved thumb across your lip, clearing away the lingering bile.

"I -" you're cut off as your teeth chatter and you try again, Soap and Price staring with harsh eyes as you try to shout over the sounds of the rotors.

"I was working -"

Gaz shakes his head at you, tapping his headset pointedly and your heart drops to your feet as he doesn't offer you one. Shaking, you forcibly unclench your fingers from where they'd tangled in his tac vest. Clinging to your arms you're wracked by another wave of tremours. Price leans over Gaz and hands you a crinkly silver shock blanket and you struggle to wrap it around you. Gaz takes it from you and wraps you in it, tucking the ends in around you and then heat's burning through you. Fuck. You forgot how much hypothermia sucked. It takes every ounce of willpower in you to not tear off the blanket and your clothes. Logically you know it's all in your head, the heat a by-product of it and that you needed every ounce of warmth right now so you grit your teeth and suffer through. You can see them talking, Gaz and Soap speaking most and you wish desperately that you knew how to lip read as Price's brow furrows and he adds something to the discussion you're not part of. They glance at you and you try to catch their eyes, to meet them and try to explain through eye contact alone but none of them let that happen. So you glance around the helo and meet curious eyes. Farah. You recognize her from the missions you'd listened in on and the AARs you read, her ID pic not doing her justice. Softly you smile at her, and she switches from curious to impassive and her head tilts as she considers you. Dread courses through you, not missing the headset on her. Clearly whatever the boys are discussing makes her not want to even smile back... it can't be good. Your suspicion confirmed when you see Shepherd without a headset as well. Fuck. Fuck. Were you grouped with him now? Oh hell no. Anger battles with the dread and shame to tie your stomach in knots as your eyes finally meet brown ones. Dread and shame win with their new ally.

You knew Simon, the man that had fucked you senseless for a full night way too long ago.

You knew Ghost, the man who had carefully trained you and had traded terrible puns with you.

This wasn't them.

This was Ghost, the operator, and his eyes make you think of sharks. The way their eyes track and follow you while they circle, calculating until they can drop you into a category; insignificant, of interest, food, or threat.

Threat.

That's what you've become. It's evident in his eyes and your shaking doubles. The ice in your veins no longer from Siberia and salt pricks your eyes. No. No. You grit your teeth. There's no crying here. So you swallow. It catches in your throat in a hard ball, nearly choking you, so you suck your breath in through your teeth and swallow again. And again. Eyes burning a hole in the side of Nik's helo until you're fairly confident the tears won't fall. Brick by brick you shore up your spine, building your mental walls taller. They'd clearly made up their minds you think bitterly. That's alright. You know how to play a bargaining game. You'd been on your own before. All you had to do was get out of here and you'd never have to look back again. Never mind you'd done this all for them, that you'd found this fucking lead for them. Never mind the filth and depravity you'd worked through to get this intel, never mind the favours you'd called in. Never mind that you fucking had it, you had him- and you're snarling at grey metal. The anger's good. You let it fill your veins and gleefully fan it as you feel the familiar lift in your stomach as the helo tilts to land. Soap shifts by the door and your eyes snap to him, and he finally meets your gaze. Haunting blue and his shock at your glare almost trips the boiling anger in you, but you brush past it. Fanning the flames instead.

The thump of the helo setting down is felt more than heard, but Price is already sliding the door open as the rotors whine and slow down. They all unclip, Soap manhandling and shoving Shepherd out the door. Ghost, Farah, Price, and Gaz quick on their heels. Trailing after them you clutch your silver blanket around your shoulders and blink at the light in the little clearing you'd all landed in. There's another helicopter across from where Nik's set you all down and Kate's standing in front of it, arms crossed and face hard.

Soap shoves Shepherd between the shoulder blades and he stumbles forward, Price and Farah moving to bracket Kate and she greets them both with a small nod.

John nods at the snow in front of them, "Put him there." and Gaz joins Soap next to Shepherd.

Each grabbing him by an arm and forcing him to his knees as he sputters, "What the hell's this?"

Price rolls back on his heels and forward to his toes as he crosses his arms over his chest, voice hard and face impassive, "The crossroads."

Shepherd's face twists at that and Kate steps forward, hands on her hips, disgust evident.

"Without the stars and bars you look like frozen shit, General." she spits with contempt and Shepherd shakes off Gaz and Soaps' hands. They go to grab him again but are stopped by Price's slight head shake. Despite the wind, you can't help but drift closer, your own vendetta against Shepherd pulling you in, the chance to see a pound of flesh carved out too good to pass up. Even if it's not for you.

He sneers as he gains his feet, "The best of the best... all in one place."

Gaz crosses his arms and icily says "With one glaring exception."

Shepherd spins and addresses you all "What's the agenda of this little pow-wow?"

Soap steps forward menacingly, shoulders cocking up and back like he's about to throw a punch, snarling out "A choice." and starts to circle Shepherd who eyes him warily and snaps out sarcastically "Do I have one?"

Ghost is impassive and terrifying even in monosyllables, "No."

Shepherd sneers, "I'm all ears."

Kate steps forward, interrupting Soap's circling and he joins Ghost in looming on the periphery in a clear threat.

"Own up." she says, hand up in offering, "Tell us everything."

"You know everything." he bites back, and she tilts her head.

"Congress doesn't... and I bet they'd be-"

Price steps forward, continuing her thought "Well, they'd be all ears. Wouldn't they?"

Shepherd laughs incredulously "That's it?" and Farah's brow furrows.

Stepping forward she bites out "No. You clear my name." patting her chest emphatically she continues, impassioned.

"Tell them who I am. What you gave me... and why." her eyes hard on him.

Shepherd snarls back "No one else had the balls to do what I did for you! For all of you!"

Gaz's coaxing voice would almost be convincing if his face wasn't as hard as granite "Then do the right thing, General."

Soap snarls from beside him, "All your intel on Makarov, and your boy Graves on a leash."

Your stomach clenches. Like fucking hell were you letting Graves walk away unscathed from this. But you'll pick your battles. Best to save your own head first.

Laswell's hand flips up to point at the help behind her with a thumb, "Say yes and you get a warm ride home..."

"Or take a little 'me time'..." rumbles Soap, stepping forward to loom threateningly in Shepherd's space "and freeze to death."

"That's the one I'm partial to." Ghost's voice is cutting and Shepherd scoffs at them all.

He pitches his voice slightly different and you get the sense he's quoting something but you don't know what, "Keep the prisoner focused on their own self-preservation and eventually they will break."

Price smiles meanly at him, face absent of the sweet laugh lines around his eyes. Lips tipped up in a cruel smirk.

"Good to see you remembered your training eh ... General?" his voice mocking and you see Shepherd twitch.

But he caves. Trying to be threatening and failing he points at Price and grits out "You screw me on this John and you'll be sorry you kept me alive."

Price just jerks his head to point at Kate's helo, arms still crossed and Farah steps forward, a hand banding around Shepherd's bicep to drag him into it. As she slides the door shut behind them everyone's focus switches to you. You drop your shoulders and stiffen your spine, like fuck were you going to take this lying down. Digging for the anger you had coming into this, righteous and indignant. You'd done nothing wrong, you'd done your fucking job. So you glare. Refusing to cave and give them the satisfaction of talking first.

Soap explodes, "What th' fuck lass?" and you spin to face him.

Snarling you yell back, "That's my fucking line!" twirling to point at Kate "What the hell was that?! Arresting me? For what?"

Her eyes glitter at you dangerously "You're on Makarov's payroll."

"What?" you sputter, honestly shocked. You hadn't expected that. Censure for going off into the lion's den on your own, sure. But betraying them? Did they really think you capable of that? It stings, harsh and biting. The mistrust cutting deeper than any knife.

"Don't fucking lie!" snarls Gaz and you're startled, stepping back from his anger.

Ghost's eyes are still screaming 'Threat' at you as he rumbles "Milena shared his banking records doll, we saw the transfers." and it clicks. They fucking thought?

You can't help it. Hypothermia, fucking drowning, the captivity with Andrei's men had frayed you down, and well really? So you laugh. It shakes your whole body and makes the tears you choked down in the helicopter come back up so you wipe them away as you trail off into giggles.

Kate and John stare at you with nearly matching glares and it sets you off again, Soap steps forward with a snarl and you hold your hands up in surrender "Sorry, sorry!"

Breathing deep to stem the giggles, you continue "But really? Did you forget what I am?"

You catch Kate's eyes and coo "I'm a whore, darling. I get paid to 'meet' people." snorting as you tack on "Be real fucking suspicious if Nolan hires an escort for Makarov that doesn't cost a goddamn dime."

They're out of your eyeline but you can feel rather than see Ghost and Soap freeze in place at your words, and in the corner of your eye Gaz's face goes slack, pondering. Price's chewing on the inside of his cheek and your words, thinking, debating.

Kate's face is questioning as she hisses an accusation at you "You didn't tell me anything about this as an op, am I supposed to just believe you?"

Shrugging you look at her "Am I supposed to run it by you anytime I have a lead? Really? I had no idea if they were actually tied to Konni."

"Do you know how many 'generals' I meet?" you make the air quotes as sarcastic as possible before continuing, "What was it you said, darling? Every lead needs to be verified to be actionable. I met with him, verified it was Nolan and he could give me a line to Makarov, and passed on the info."

Pressing your lips into a flat line you spin to pin each of them with a glare and only Kate glares back at your words, "So I'm pretty sure I was just doing my fucking job. So I say again... What. The. Fuck."

"Bloody hell." sighs Price and he scrubs a hand down his face, and you hear Johnny swearing behind you. Price and Kate exchange a loaded look and then nod at each other. Kate looks at you and for a second you think she's going to apologize but her face goes hard and she says "We're going to check your phone, verify this. You know that. Nothing to add?"

"Passcode's 53704 darling." you snark condescendingly back, and she flinches. It almost makes you regret it but she's already turning to the helo, sliding the door open and ducking inside. As you shield your eyes and duck under the buffeting gusts from the rotors a warm hand grabs your elbow. Squinting through the whirling snow you see John gripping you firmly and you let him guide you back to Nik's helo.

They give you a headset this time for all the good it does. No one speaks on the way back to Nik's hangar, the boys still digesting your words and you spend it stewing in anger.

***

So you're shocked when John snags your wrist when you all trickle off the helo back at the temporary base. He doesn't say anything, just leads you to a small office and you let him. Staing questioningly at him when the door clicks shut behind the two of you. He rocks on his heels and scrubs a hand down his face.

"Bloody hell dove." he breathes out, and you bristle. You thought you'd made it clear, you'd done your fucking job nothing- your thoughts cut off by his hand snapping out and pinching your face between his finger and thumb. The grip almost painful on your jaw as he shakes your head.

"This coulda all been avoided had you just fucking minded your manners dove." he snarls at you and a frisson of heat mixed with no small part of fear shoots through you.

Despite the almost instinctual warning you still scrunch your face in anger and start to protest "I -" he cuts you off shaking your head with his hand and your hands snap up to clutch uselessly at his wrists.

"Just fucking looping Kate in dove. Or me. Fucking 'ell, even Gaz! All you had to do. Was. Tell. Someone." his eyes are dark and so threateningly blue. You frown at him unable to let it drop and he snarls at the glare you shoot him.

"Brat!" he bites out and his hand disappears from your face, there's no time to react before his large palm pushes you back and your thighs bump into the edge of a desk. His chest crowding you, making you lean back as he prowls into your space and you fight to remember how to breathe, desire and fright a heady cocktail. Suddenly his warmth is gone from your front and his hands spin you so you're face down on the desk, one large hand gathering both of yours behind your back.

"John!" you protest and fight, squirming to get free and freeze when you hear the unmistakable sound of a belt sliding free of pant loops. Warm leather wraps around your wrists and his breath and mustache tickle the shell of your ear as he leans in to murmur into it.

"You ready to listen to me dove? Hmm?" and his words make you snarl, for fuck's sake you were the wronged party here! Your anger is blinding and it makes you struggle and you hear an oof from him as your elbow makes contact.

His voice goes harsh and it makes you pause, regret instantaneous "Guess you really need that fucking lesson then dove."

The belt around your wrists tightens and you yank at it as his hand moves from his hold there to the middle of your back, pinning your upper body flat to the desk. There's no escaping the belt and squirming on the desk only sends papers fluttering and other stationery clattering to the floor, no purchase for escape, and he tsks at your efforts.

Cool air shocks your skin as he harshly yanks down the prison pants you'd been thrown into by Konni and it leaves you bare in front of him and you hiss at him again, protesting, "John -"

You cut yourself off to shriek as his hand smacks your ass, hard, the pain hot and bright on the globe of your flesh. You howl and kick as he repeats it on the other cheek.

"Ready to listen now?" he coos condescendingly and you grit your teeth.

"Fuck you!" you snap at him and he just hums. Delivering a sharp spank to each cheek in quick succession, you squeak at each but don't yell like last time. The shock gone. You know it's coming. You know this game. He pauses, waiting, and you stubbornly jut your chin out, cheek pressed into paper and the desk. He chuckles at your defiance and the dark sound makes your thighs clench.

"Aye dove, too prideful and stubborn by half aren't you?" his words and hand are tender, his palm soothing on your stinging flesh.

"Don't worry dove, I'm a patient man."

Oh fuck.

His hand is relentless, his focus as a sniper meaning he works his way over the globes of your ass in a way so that none of it escapes his palm. Your flesh burning and stinging as you grit your teeth and salt pricks your eyes. He pauses and the hand on your back drops to your hip as his other hand grabs your other side. Hoisting you higher onto the desk and as you try to lift your chest up his hand is back. Firmly pressing you into the cool wood and as his palm slaps your ass the reason for the adjustment becomes painfully clear as your hips jump forward automatically to avoid the pain. Doing so just drags your clit on the edge of the desk and it makes you gasp. The thunder of his chuckle shoots into your pelvis and coils low behind your belly button, desire pooling.

He starts to intersperse the spanks with filth. Rumbling in that deep voice as you pant.

"Good girls have manners dove."

Each spank and consequential grind against your clit stoking the burning desire in you.

"Gonna be a good girl f' me hmm?"

Pausing, he runs his hand tenderly down your burning ass and it makes you shiver. His fingers dip in between your legs, tips just tickling the edge of your lips. Chuckling as he runs the pads of his fingers lightly through the wetness gathered there and you whine. Suddenly they're gone and his palm smacks your ass again and you cry out, light and breathy.

"Answer me dove." wait what? What was the question? Sensing your confusion, your mind still stuck on the lost glide of his fingers, he leans in.

"Gonna be a good girl?"

"Yes, sir" you quickly snap out and whine when there's a very light spank to your ass.

His voice is teasing as he says "Try again dove."

What? Confused you offer something else, "Master?"

His answer is another light smack.

"Daddy?" oh fuck, his fingers find their place in between your legs again. Gathering your slick on them to swirl around your clit in a maddening dance that makes your legs shake.

"There's a good girl." he croons at you and you pant into the desk as he switches to pumping a finger in you. A slow glide and push in, a wicked fast pull out, over and over again as his thumb slowly circles your clit.

"Now Kyle says no condom's needed dove, that right?" he says almost conversationally behind you as a second finger enters you and you groan. Barely having the presence of mind to nod and he hums happily. His fingers scissor in you, stretching you and god the stretch and burn is delicious. John's weight settles over you as he leans his chest into your back, moving his hand that was pinning you to the desk around to cup your chin and shove two fingers in your mouth. His mouth nipping and sucking along the column of your neck as he works a third finger into you. You squeak and drool around his fingers in your mouth, shaking and shuddering as he builds white hot lightening in you.

Rapidly he withdraws from you and there's a jingle as he futzs with his gear before more cool air meets your skin, his knife slicing through the prison shirt like butter. He cuts it up the back and at your arms so when he snakes a hand under you to yank at it, it comes away easily, leaving you completely nude in front of him. There's the slide of a zipper and you rejoice silently inside your head before his foot kicks your legs wider and his tip is teasing your entrance. Slowly he sinks into your heat, both of you groaning at the stretch. Christ, he's thick.

His hips start a relentless pace against your ass, and the smack of his thighs makes the tender skin burn but it's blurred by the pleasure of his hips driving you so your clit bumps the desk with each thrust and how his cock head bumps the tender spot inside you with each pass. Your fingers and toes clench, your climax looming and he stops. Mother-fucking freezes. You whine, trying to grind, wiggle, move somehow and his hand smacks your ass, his bulk and the desk sanwiching you between them, giving you no space to move.

"Ah ah ah," he tuts at you "got another lesson to learn still dove."

You hiss at him but he just laughs, waiting until your climax has faded, despite how you whine and plead before his hips start up again. It takes very little time before you're clenching and so close again but he beats you to it. Cumming with a deep groan that could almost tip you over the edge and a few sharp thrusts, and you could just about cry. But he doesn't pull out. Instead, he slides you both around the edge of the desk until he's in front of the desk chair and he flops back into it, dragging you with him, keeping his cock nestled in you the entire time.

His pants are harsh on your ass and you squirm in discomfort but still as he smacks your inner thigh lightly in warning. Carefully so as not to dislodge you, he bends your leg up and out, curling it back so the top of your foot is pressed into the chair next to his thigh before repeating it on the other side, the wide desk chair allowing you to straddle his lap this way. A warm palm comes up to press between your breasts, pushing you back so your back is pressed into his chest, the press of the tac vest harsh but not too uncomfortable.

"Right dove," he says and you can feel it in his chest against your back "Time for lesson number two."

He scoots the chair into the desk using thrusts from his hips and it makes you squeak at the reminder that he's still inside you. He's gone soft but he's so thick that even soft there's a slight stretch. He reaches around you and pulls the laptop that somehow survived your fucking in front of you both, his head coming up to rest on your shoulder as it boots up. You watch, incredulous, as he logs in and pulls up an after-action report.

He kisses your neck and it makes you clench around him as he murmurs into your ear "Stay where you're put."

What? Your mind spins, trying to make sense of this 'lesson'. His arms curl around you as he begins to type. Is he honestly working right now?

"Wha-" you start to question, and he cuts you off, explaining "This all coulda been avoided dove. Had you just stayed where Kate put you and explained. So, Stay. Put."

He bites your neck lightly and you stiffen. Anger keeps you stiff and rigid in his arms, but time makes it fade. Slowly you ease back into him as he works. Every so often one of you shifts and you become brightly aware of the cock still stretching you open, desire flaring hot and bright but he just keeps working. It feels like forever but it surely can't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes before there's a light knock on the door. You go ram-rod straight and hiss in rage at him as he calls out "Enter."

You try to dive off his lap but his arms cage you in and you can feel his half-hard cock thickening in you as Ghost steps into the office.

"Something to say, Lieutenant?" Price questions blandly from behind you like his cock isn't twitching inside you, and your mind is spinning. It can't keep up when Ghost starts talking to you.

"We shoulda trusted you doll." he says bluntly and it makes you soften before he continues "But you shoulda talked to us. We're a team. We work together."

John speaks up from behind you "Our good girl here is learning to mind her manners, ain't you dove?" and punctuates it with a thrust of his hips that makes you gasp and both men chuckle at that.

"What was your first lesson dove?" John asks into your ear, hands squeezing your hips.

Tongue thick you manage to murmur out "To tell someone." and you hiss at the light sting of his slap to your thigh.

"To tell someone, daddy." you correct and he hums happily behind you. It doesn't escape you how Ghost's eyes glint at that and it makes you swallow roughly.

John rumbles from behind you and his words make you freeze, "Gonna reward her Simon?"

Brown eyes meet yours as Ghost steps around the desk and John swivels the chair you both are in so you're facing him. His eyes run over your splayed-out figure and you you tremble at the desire you see in them.

"Very pretty doll," he says softly and you whine, clenching around John at the compliment and he curses behind you, hips stuttering up into you. Ghost grins at that, and your mind has half a second to realize you can see his mouth. Grinning. His mask rucked up to the tip of his nose before his mouth is on yours. Your eyes close as you melt into the kiss as his tongue swirls, teeth and tongue teasing as John pumps shallowly into you, fully erect now. As he pulls back from your mouth John grits out from behind you "Christ she liked that Simon, tight as a bloody vise."

Ghost chuckles at that and tips his head before pulling his mask back down and leaving, shutting the door behind him as your mind whirls. John swivels you both back to face the desk, focusing back on the laptop despite how he's throbbing in you.

"John what?" you question and he nips your neck, leaving his mouth open and loose over the bend between your neck and shoulder. Biting down in warning whenever you try to shift and find the friction to help you to your release.

Time is a construct and an inscrutable blur as your world is reduced to the haunting stretch and throb in between your legs. You can't even summon the desire to try and flee from John's lap when another knock comes on the office door and he allows them entry.

Johnny steps in and shuts the door behind him, a grin immediately splitting his face "Christ bonnie, there's a sight." John chuckles behind you.

"Come to apologize MacTavish?" he teases as Johnny steps around the desk and again he swivels you both to meet the visitor. Soap's hand finds your chin and he tips your face up so you're staring into his eyes, the hauntingly blue stripping you even more bare.

"Aye we messed up lass not trusting ye, but ye didn't trust us first yeah? Still bonnie, I'm sorry." he says softly and it breaks your heart.

Tilting your head you kiss his palm and murmur an apology into it.

"There's a good girl." coos John and Johnny's grin is wicked, anticipating his next words "Gonna give her a reward Soap?"

His hands fly to your breasts, cupping them in his hands as he answers cheerfully "Aye sir."

John does the same slow pumps he did when Ghost was kissing you as Johnny toys with your nipples. Fingers dancing, swirling and plucking at them before he drops his mouth to one. The tease of his tongue and the suckle of his lips make you drop your head back onto John's shoulder as you pant, hips desperate but pinned in place by John's hands, unable to take more. Johnny repeats this treatment to your neglected nipple before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. You whine as he leaves, adjusting himself in his pants.

John kisses your temple and murmurs into the crown of your head "It can be hard to stay in one place can't it love?" his voice turning dark "But if you do, it will be so good, I promise you."

Fuck this man is going to kill you. You fight to breathe as he simply hums and returns back to the mother-fucking laptop. Oh, you're so smashing it when he's not looking.

A soft knock at the door startles you, and the pattern evident, you clench around John in response to it and he chuckles as he calls out for them to enter. Gaz steps in and the door clicks shut behind him.

"Fuck...." he breathes out, eyes dark as you pant wantonly from your seat on John's cock. Moving around the desk as John spins you, he pauses in front of you both.

"What lessons have you learned dove?" John questions you softly. Fuck it's hard to focus.

"To -" you swallow, "To tell someone, daddy." and you hear Kyle swear lowly at your answer.

"And?" prompts John.

Your mind spins, "To-" frantically searching through the blur and haze of pleasure he's trapped you in.

"To stay where I'm put, daddy!" you manage to blurt out and you're rewarded by his crooning 'good girl' in your ear.

He thrusts half-heartedly into you as he questions Gaz, "Got an apology, Garrick?"

Gaz's throat bobs as he watches John's cock slide in and out of you slowly, snapping out of it to clear his throat he meets your eyes.

"I'm sorry pet, I should have trusted you." his voice and his words sincere and you mumble apologies and acceptance around the desperate gulps of air you take in as John picks up the pace.

"Aren't you both so good for me?" he grits out from behind you, and you see Kyles's eyes snap to his over your shoulder, "Gonna take your reward, Garrick?"

"Oh fuck yes." Kyle breathes and drops to his knees. Oh fuck. Your mind is lost as his tongue slides around the edge of your pussy where it stretches around John, and he groans behind you at the sensation. John picks up the pace and tilts your hips with his hands so he's pounding up into the spot that makes you see stars and it tilts your clit right into Gaz's mouth. His tongue swirls, and his lips slide before he seals his mouth around it and sucks.

There's lightening in every cell, every nerve of your body as you explode, coming hard on Kyle's tongue and John's cock. John pumps up into you once, twice, three times before he comes inside you with a deep groan. You get a moment of peace as both men softly praise you before Kyle's gently lifting you off John's cock and down onto your abandoned shirt on the floor. John stands and shakily wanders to a locker where he grabs a towel as Kyle unwinds the belt from your wrists. Gaz presses a kiss to your temple and one to John's cheek as he wraps you in the towel before holding the door open so John can carry you out.

***

John helps you shower quickly on trembling legs, murmuring more praise in between soft kisses and the whole bottle of water he makes you drink before sliding an old shirt of his over your head and tucking you into a bunk. Your mind gone in exhaustion as soon as your head hits the pillow.

You get a meagre eight hours before someone's shaking you awake.

Shepherd and Kate are on the line.

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Your teammates could only stand and watch in horror as the helicopter you were piloting was hit in the tail rotor and went into a tailspin before crashing into the cliff face. Price had called in the air strike, they were cornered and needed immediate cover if they were going to make it out alive. He’d expected one of the other pilots to show up. You’d answered the call as soon as Laswell had called it in.

You’d managed to evade a number of enemy attacks but one had taken a lucky shot and it had nailed you. Your helicopter, which you’d named Boudica after the famous warrior queen who took on the Romans, was destroyed on impact.

Just as the team believed you had been.

Your dejected teammates were safe, the explosion of your helicopter took out the remaining enemy but at a great cost. Price stood, his body felt like cement; he’d just watched you die when this morning you’d been discussing dinner plans.

Ghost had to physically drag him from going into the burning wreckage to search for your body “no!” He shouted “I’m not leaving her!” As he tried to run towards the burning wreckage.

Soap had heard it first. Movement in the scrub behind them. He grunted, raising his gun, preparing for a new onslaught of bullets. “You’re alive?!” Soap cried out incredulously. The rest of the 141 turn to see you; stumbling out of the scrub, still strapped into your parachute, struggling to make your way towards them as it snagged on a branch. You’d managed to ditch right before you hit the cliff.

Soap and Gaz clapped you on the shoulder, cheering “that was badass bonnie!” and “so sick!”, even Ghost offered a “nice job” for your actions. Price stood off to the side, stock stil, watching with a grim look on his face before turning at the sound of another helicopter approaching your position for evac.

Not a word from Price the whole flight back to your makeshift base either as you made small talk with your teammates and the pilot.

Landing, you were immediately dragged into a briefing. For the loss of your helicopter the mission had been successful, the enemies base destroyed, congratulatory praises were passed around the room before Price rounded on you, glaring daggers into your eyes.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“I was doing my job!”

“I gave you an order!” Price bellowed as your teammates cleared the room, not wanting to be in the firing line when mum and dad were fighting.

“I followed it!” You shouted back. A deep sigh passed his lips as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I’m not talking about the mission” he conceded “I told you to come back to me alive…I almost lost you” he said, his hand coming to rest on your cheek, thumb stroking against your warm skin.

Leaning into his touch. His hand moved to the back of your head as he brought you against his warm broad chest. “I need you love, I can’t do this without you anymore” his voice cracked as he held you close.

“John” you sigh “I wasn’t going to leave you there, if anyone was going to bring you home it was going to be me”

Price leaned his forehead against yours “stubborn bird” he smirked.

“Grumpy old man” you laugh “plus you owe me a new helicopter”

The virus, a mysterious and merciless force, spread like wildfire, leaving destruction in its wake, people you knew or loved turned into grotesque predatory creatures, and the world turned into a realm of chaos and despair.

However, amidst the darkness that befell humanity, you clung to a glimmer of hope — Simon Riley.

He was your anchor, your support — Simon, an experienced soldier who had served in the army, had a unique set of skills that promised protection.

You fervently believed that he would protect you from the horrors of this new world.

Simon's voice cut through the tension in the room, his tone laced with determination — «We'll make it through this, together»

It was a belief that you held with unshakable faith, but the harsh reality of the apocalypse did not discriminate.

Even the strongest soldiers could not withstand the relentless onslaught of the undead, and Simon was not immune to danger lurking around every corner.

The day that will haunt your nightmares forever began like any other.

You were in the small, dimly lit kitchen, hastily preparing food from canned food you found during the reconnaissance mission you and Simon had been on together.

There was a hint of desperation in the air, but you tried to console yourself with the presence of the person you loved.

Simon came home that day and your heart sank when you saw him, dried blood clinging to his clothes like a creepy badge of honor and his demeanor embarrassingly quiet and tense.

Worry crept into your voice as you asked if something was wrong, but he brushed off your worries with a soft kiss to your cheek and then your lips.

The consolation was fleeting and he diverted your attention by asking about the food you were preparing.

You smiled, albeit with a hint of concern, and began to describe the impromptu dish you were preparing — «It's just some canned beans and vegetables, Simon, but it'll do»

Your words sounded like a mixture of mundane details and hope that everything could be okay as long as Simon was with you.

He listened attentively, but there was a growing concern in his eyes that was impossible to ignore.

As the days turned into weeks, Simon's behavior underwent an ominous transformation as his once stoic nature gave way to irritability and a creeping paranoia began to overwhelm him.

He began checking windows obsessively, his gaze constantly drawn to unseen threats.

— «Simon, you're scaring me» нou said quietly, reaching out your hand to stroke his face — «What's going on? You can talk to me»

But he dismissed your fears, offering vague explanations that only increased your fear.

The outside world was unforgiving and you clung to the hope that Simon would protect you, but his inexplicable behavior shattered that hope, leaving behind a gnawing sense of fear.

Then, one fateful evening, as you watched Simon through the doorway, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you saw this — an ominous bite mark on his shoulder.

Terror gripped you like a vice, your eyes widened in panic, without thinking, you retreated deeper into the room, seeking refuge under the safety of the blanket.

Your heart was pounding, and you desperately tried to convince yourself that this was a hallucination, a figment of your imagination, born of the horrors of this new world.

When Simon came out of the bathroom and walked over to you, laying down and pressing your back against his bare chest, you felt his lips on your neck.

His voice, laced with tension, asked if everything was okay, and you hesitated for a moment, fighting your fears, before finally, quietly, muttering — «Yeah»

Relief washed over you as you relaxed in his arms and closed your eyes, trying to escape the horror that was engulfing you.

You fell asleep but the worry still lingered in the back of your mind, little did you know that the nightmare had just begun and the darkness of the apocalypse was gathering around you.

The room was shrouded in a deceptive calm, a refuge of fleeting peace amidst the relentless chaos that had become your new reality.

You lay in bed, pressed against Simon's body, finding comfort in the warmth of his embrace — the faint, rhythmic sounds of your breathing mixing with his, a fragile symphony of hope in a world torn apart.

Simon's voice, barely louder than a whisper, abruptly broke through the silence — «You sure you okay, love?»

You nodded, your eyes heavy with fatigue — «Yeah, just.. can't shake this feeling of dread»

The night was quiet and your sleep was peaceful until an unfamiliar noise disturbed the peace, causing you to stir, awakening from the depths of your sleep with a sound that seemed out of place in the eerie silence of the apocalypse.

Sleepy, you sat up and looked around the room, searching for the source of your concern.

Your heart sped up as you realized Simon wasn't next to you, panic set in and you screamed his name in a quiet but insistent tone, the syllables hanging in the air — «Simon, where are you?!»

The only answer was a guttural growl that seemed to come from the shadows.

— «Simon?» you called again, and now your voice was shaking with fear.

But before you could understand the identity of this figure, before you could understand the pale, ghostly face that was slowly becoming visible, it rushed towards you with blinding speed.

Panic overtook you and a scream ripped from your throat as you stumbled backwards.

The flashlight fell from your hand and clattered to the floor, casting a crazy, chaotic light onto the stage.

In that fleeting moment, you saw him — Simon.

His once familiar face was now a grotesque, nightmarish parody of itself, his normal brown eyes pale and milky, devoid of the warmth and recognition that once inhabited them.

Horror filled you as you witnessed undeniable proof of his transformation.

The ominous bite on his shoulder exuded darkness and dark veins snaked out from it like tendrils of malice, your worst fears came true — Simon had turned into one of the undead.

Instinctively, you tried to back away, but he was faster, he rushed at you, his hands gripping your wrists in a vice grip.

Pain shot through your wrists as he squeezed them, and tears welled in your eyes as you sobbed in fear.

In that terrifying moment, when he suddenly turned his face towards your neck, a primal guttural sound escaped his twisted lips.

He was on the verge of giving in to his monstrous instincts, the insatiable desire to feast on your flesh while your heart ached from the profound loss of the person you loved.

But then, in an astonishing display of willpower, Simon gained a glimmer of control, his face contorted with struggle, and he turned away from you, letting go of your hands.

The brief respite allowed you to gulp for air, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and relief, and your knees threatening to give in to your weight and collapse any minute.

Your eyes widened as you watched in disbelief as Simon's hands moved to his own jaw, squeezing it on both sides.

And suddenly, in a nightmarish act of self preservation, he broke his jaw, and a sickening crunch echoed throughout the room, he did it, did it so as not to bite you and not succumb to the insatiable hunger that haunted the undead.

You jumped up, your heart pounding, your mind reeling from the horror of the scene.

Trembling, you carefully held his face in your trembling hands, whispering his name through your tears as his growls became quieter, as if he was trying to comfort you, to convey to you that no matter what happened, he would never allow himself to hurt you.

Simon's voice was heard, hoarse and barely audible as he pressed himself against your trembling palm — «M'sorry, love» he managed to say hoarsely, filling his sluggish speech with remorse and a deep feeling of love.

He closed his eyes, a milky veil still covering his once bright gaze, and you realized that even in the depths of this nightmare, there remained a fragment of the man you loved, fighting against the darkness that threatened to consume him.

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