Indigo

Hours/chapters may shift around a bit as the story develops.

07:00 PM ● Jack

Jack picks up Reader and Robby before the storm.

08:00 PM ● Reader 09:00 PM ● Jack 10:00 PM ● Reader 11:00 PM ● Jack 12:00-01:00 AM ● Reader 02:00 AM ● Jack 03:00 AM ● Reader 04:00 AM ● Jack 05:00 AM ● Reader 06:00 AM ● Jack 07:00 AM ● Reader 08:00-10:00 AM ● Jack 11:00 AM ● Reader 12:00 PM ● Jack 01:00-03:00 PM ● Reader 04:00-05:00 PM ● Jack 06:00 PM ● Reader 07:00 PM ● Jack

John knew something was wrong the second he pulled himself from his paperwork. It wasn’t from what he saw, but what he didn’t. Celeste should have been back inside by now, or at least walking up the drive. From his spot in the kitchen, he could see out the large front window, right to the road where the trash cans sat and the back corner of her car. He didn’t see anything. No movement, no glimpse of her dress, not even the sound of a car door slamming. She had taken the garbage out several minutes ago. Something was off.

“Where’s Celeste?” John asked quietly as he reached to lower his laptop down.

“Outside,” Johnny answered as he rolled back his footage of the side yard to check some movement. Just a bird. He then shifted to a live feed of the front yard. It was empty. He rolled it back to see if she had walked around the house, feeling the hairs on his neck start to stand up.

“She’s been outside a while,” John said, keeping his voice as even as possible despite the knowing whine that was ramping up in his ears.

This got Kyle and Simon’s attention.

Kyle quickly shifted in his chair to look out the front window, already half rising from his chair. Simon didn’t even bother with preamble, the pistol he had offloaded from its holster onto the table while he ate was in his hand. John barely had a chance to inch his chair back when the scream came through the open windows. It was faint, but in the deafening silence, they all heard it, and for a fraction of a second, none of them breathed.

The second scream hit, louder and more recognizable. Just one word. John.

The chair John was in crashed backward as he launched to his feet and went right out the back door. He couldn’t let the panic overwhelm him. He had to act. Celeste was screaming for help, for him to help her. Nothing else mattered, even if it meant he was walking into a possible trap. He didn’t care. He ignored Simon yelling at him to wait and group up, barely heard any of them, really, as Celeste called for him again. Her voice was desperate, panicked, so loud that her voice cracked on the last long held note.

He cleared the tree line between Celeste and Mrs. Nettles' house, pistol raised for whatever threat, when he saw her. She was standing on the front step, covered in blood, eyes wide and pale as the moon. He gave her a quick once over assessment, the blood didn’t look to be hers. Too inconsistent in the locations, and she wasn’t standing like she had been injured. He had seen enough bystander injuries and those caught in the crossfire in his life to be able to tell the difference. She was okay, least physically.

“Where?” John asked instantly. He needed to clear the threat or contain the situation before he could figure out what was going on.

The other three had caught up, only a few paces behind, as Celeste doubled over to get sick, barely getting out the word inside. John cut his eyes to his men, and with a nod, he sent Kyle and Johnny around the back and indicated that Simon was with him. Celeste was safe on the front step for a few seconds. She was unhurt, so he had a feeling whatever they were about to find inside was from a scene that was already over.

“Fuck,” John mumbled as his eyes found the puddle of blood at the front door. It was smeared from the signs of a body being dragged, and also from dog paws and Celeste slipping and sliding in it. Simon pushed past him down the hall as John opened the door to a closet that was peppered with shrapnel.

“Coming in the back,” came Gaz’s voice from further inside the dark house.

“Cap,” Ghost called, his voice instantly changing to its flat clipped tone when he was working. “Living room.”

John diverted from the stairs as Soap came down the hall, and he sent him and Gaz upstairs to clear the second floor. Each step he took toward the living room, gently knocking away the barking dogs with his feet, the smell and gore grew. He knew what he was going to walk into before he saw it.

He paused in the doorway to take in the scene for a second, to get the bigger picture and also figure out exactly what Celeste had seen. It was more than anyone ever needed to witness in their life, let alone a civilian who had zero warning.

“Overkill,” John stated after a second as he walked over to Ghost, who had twisted the old woman’s head up away from her chest to look at the bullet wound in her forehead. “She was gone with the shotgun blast.”

“Makarov isn’t known for being civil,” Ghost answered as he lowered the head back down gently and shifted to look around the area. “She was posed here on purpose.”

“The upstairs is trashed,” Gaz said as he and Soap walked into the room. “Drawers pulled, stuff scattered all over the floor.”

“They wanted it to look like a robbery,” Soap tacked on.

Even in their relaxed clothes, all of them had instantly flipped to work. To assess the threat, neutralize it and figure out the ramifications. John even felt himself fighting to not let the Captain take over, not when Celeste needed him. Needed John.

“Comb through it all,” John said, “and erase that any of us have been here. Celeste, especially, I don’t want her further mixed up in all of this.”

“I’ll let you know when we’re done,” Ghost said as he stood from where he had crouched to snap a picture of a spent shell.

John trusted them to do it properly, and as much as he wanted to be in the thick of it, he couldn’t leave Celeste. She was still shellshocked on the front step, and of all of them, she had called for him. If she had called for Simon, Kyle or Johnny, he would have sent them to her instantly, but she wanted him. She had suffered enough, he wasn’t about to refuse her the one thing she had asked for.  

He found her right where he had left her. Standing on the front step, looking lost and confused. There was dried blood all over her right arm and smeared on her dress, the side where she had held the blood soaked dog. Her left hand also had blood. Her legs and feet were spattered with it. She almost flinched when John stepped through the front door to her, her adrenaline still in overdrive to allow her to run if she needed. 

“Just me,” John said gently as he took a few steps closer.

Celeste stared at him for a second before she let her gaze drop to the blood on her hands. All the images of what she had seen flashed through her mind. The horrifying realization that the dog she was holding was covered in blood. The trail of crimson down the hallway. Mrs. Nettles was sitting in her chair, looking out the window, as she always did. The images kept coming, no matter how hard she tried to stop them, and she cinched her eyes shut tight for a moment, to the point of pain, to try and get them out.

“What happened?” She finally asked, looking pointedly away from herself and toward John, who stood there.

“Not here,” John answered as he watched her, careful to not crowd her as he took a step closer.

Celeste heard something inside the house and she glanced toward the front door, to the half lit hallway behind it. A shadow moved, and the door softly snicked shut. One of them inside had shut it, to keep her from seeing it again and from knowing what was happening. Good. She didn’t want to see it again, didn’t want to think about what was in there. She would be seeing it in her dreams for weeks.

“Come on, love,” John said gently as he held his hand out to her. She looked like she was about to bolt, like a cornered animal afraid they were next to be attacked.

She looked at his extended hand for a moment. It was clean, safe. Unmarred, unlike her own. Shifting her eyes up to his face, she watched him carefully. Her stomach roiled as she thought about the sticky blood on her hands and under her fingernails, and how if she took his hand, she’d make him dirty too. She felt like she was going to be sick again. She fought it, swallowed hard, before taking his hand, avoiding looking at where she tainted his skin with her own.

John immediately turned them away from the house. He didn’t rush or pull her, but guided her away. He knew there was only so much time left before it all crashed down on Celeste, and she would shut down. He wasn’t above carrying her if he needed to, but he knew independence could be its own form of calming and a way to keep a piece of sanity.

The walk across the yard felt impossibly long. Celeste didn’t dare look at the bushes where she had freed the dog, afraid she’d see blood there. They continued past her house, John gently pushing branches out of the way in the tree line to get to his cottage. A boat in the distance sped up, the motor whirring and scaring a few ducks that took flight. It felt wrong. Mrs. Nettles was dead in her house, for who knew how long. And the world just kept going. She was walking away like she hadn’t seen the horror.

Her steps faltered, and John slowed immediately. She hadn’t realized they were almost to the back porch that was still unfinished. The job they had started on and put on hold to help Celeste clean up her den. Half the railings were up, but there were still missing planks of wood, and the benches weren’t stained yet.

“I thought she was alive,” Celeste said quietly, her voice a bit hoarse.

John looked down at her. Her eyes were distant, and he knew she wasn’t really talking to him. She was still standing in Mrs. Nettles' house, trying to make sense of what she had walked in on.

“I just thought the dog got out, like they always did when she forgot to shut the door,” Celeste mumbled.

“I know,” John reassured as he continued to guide her up the steps, noticing that one of her thong shoes was torn.

“Then when I saw the,” she gasped a bit as John shouldered open the back door where they had left it open a crack for Samson. “I thought she just needed help. That maybe she fell,” she trailed off as John flicked on the kitchen light.

The familiar smell of them hit Celeste like a wave. Bags were piled in the living room, a discarded pair of shoes that looked like Kyle’s kicked to the side. A half drunk water bottle sat on the counter. Normal. Everything was normal, and the flutter of panic that had risen in Celeste’s chest at walking into another dark house settled for a moment. This was familiar, this was safe, her brain told her.

John reached behind Celeste to shut the door when he looked down. Small bloody shoeprints dotted the hardwood behind them. A smear marked the edge of the counter where she had hesitated walking inside, reaching out to steady herself between him and a solid piece of furniture. He didn’t have a chance to maneuver Celeste before she followed his eyeline.

“Oh God,” Celeste murmured as she followed the trail she had left, her eyes seeing the blood on his hand. She pulled her hand out of his grasp immediately. “I’m sorry, I got it on you. On the floor.”

“It’s okay,” John reassured, but she was already trying to wipe her hands on the ruined dress, making it worse.

“I’m sorry, I can clean,” she volunteered, looking around for a rag.

“Stop,” John said firmly. It wasn’t harsh, but it was clear and loud enough that she froze. “Look at me, Celeste,” he said as he caught up both of her wrists to keep her from running them frantically over the fabric.

It took her a second to tear her eyes from the streaks of blood before her eyes finally met his again. The panic and fear in them made something twist unpleasantly in his chest. He needed to help her, wanted to help her. But another part of him wanted to go out and hunt Makarov and destroy him slowly. To make him pay for everything, but especially for what he had done to Celeste.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” John explained.

“I got blood everywhere,” Celeste gestured, “I ruined your welcome mat.”

“That thing was barely hanging on,” John replied with a small smile, “we’ll clean the rest.”

He released one of her wrists and reached over to turn on the kitchen faucet, putting his hand that had blood on it under the rushing water to clean it and to feel when it was warm enough. He didn’t care that it was basically frozen when it came out over his own skin, but he wanted it warm for Celeste.

“Come here,” he said with a gentle tug, and she went without argument.

The moment she stepped up next to him and let him guide her hands under the water, he saw it. The tremor in her fingers as she let her hands slide into the water. She didn’t move to rub them together, to slosh the bloody pink water to try and clean it off. As if she were afraid it would just spread it more. John knew the adrenaline was starting to wear off and the shock was settling in.

“Here,” John offered as he picked up the almost empty bottle of dish soap and squeezed some into her upturned palms. The smell of lemons filled the air as Celeste began rubbing her hands together, the blood instantly loosening, so that pink water and bubbles swirled around the drain.

“I should have checked sooner,” Celeste mumbled as her hands and wrists were clear of blood, but it was still up her arms. She’d have to bend into the sink to get it off, it was all the way up her bicep in some places.

“What?” John asked as he watched her, prepared to step in if this was the moment she shut down.

“The dog,” Celeste said as she looked at John, eyes gone again as she replayed everything over in her mind. “He was wet, I should have known. I shouldn’t have gone in.”

“You weren’t expecting to find someone murdered,” John stated bluntly on purpose. Sometimes the truth was the only thing that could cut through spiraling thoughts. Soft words and avoidance would come later, but now she needed to hear the truth, the reassurance she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“No,” Celeste agreed as John opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a clean dishrag.

He ran it under the water, adding more soap and sudsing it before taking Celeste’s right arm and beginning to wipe away the dried blood. She didn’t fight him. She just stood quietly as she watched him work, scrubbing in the places where it had settled into the lines of her skin. Each swipe revealed more clean skin, and she suddenly felt the rest of it on her, and she wanted it all gone right then. She needed it gone. It was going to drive her crazy, the sticky, itching feel of it.

John could feel the tension in her body. It wasn’t easing with each passing wipe, it was growing. He watched her from the corner of his eye as he turned her arm and worked on the inside of her arm. She was still staring off at nothing, eyes unfocused out the window as he rinsed the rag out.

“Arms are clean,” John said, which drew her attention back to him. “We need to get this off you,” he added, his eyes lingering on the bodice of the dress before looking her in the eyes again. “Then we can clean up your legs.”

“It has ties,” Celeste replied, moving to reach behind her, but John caught her wrist, he didn’t want her to get blood back on her skin. “And a zipper.”

“I can get them,” he offered, “then you can step into the bathroom. I’ll go get something for you to put on.”

“No,” Celeste instantly answered. The fear of being alone in the house was too much. She couldn’t be alone. Couldn’t stand the quiet. What if they were outside waiting for her? The ones that had killed Mrs. Nettles.

John hesitated, afraid he had pushed her too far. Maybe this should be Johnny or Kyle.

“I can get someone else to help,” he offered, not letting his ego be bruised. He knew in this moment she just needed someone to support her, that she felt safe with.

“No,” Celeste said again as she looked up at him, confused as to why he would get someone else. “Don’t leave me.”

The words hit John harder than he would have expected. Not because of what she said, but because of what they meant. This wasn’t a flirtation, it wasn’t a coy way of telling him to undress her, no hidden meaning. It was pure terror and honesty. She was afraid to be alone, and she had chosen him in her moment of what she thought was her death to keep her safe. To help her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” John agreed, and he could see the tension loosen a bit in her shoulders, and she stopped gripping the edge of the sink as if it was the only thing keeping her upright.

He looked toward the hallway for something he could grab that would be within her eyesight, but there wasn’t anything he could get quickly. And he was afraid that if he pulled her further into the house, into the dark, she would panic. The downstairs bath was tiny, and what was the difference between her stepping out of the dress here with him and in there with him? None.

“Alright, we’ll do this here then,” he finished, and she nodded.

John moved away from the counter and stepped behind her. He saw her drop her head a bit, take a breath to settle herself for what was about to happen. He knew it wasn’t because of him, but from the situation they had been put in. Anger flared in his chest again at what Makarov had done and the trauma he had inflicted.

“I’ll be quick,” John assured her as his fingers worked on the ties. They were a simple corset style, more for looks than any function. The zipper underneath is what kept the dress tight to her body. His hands were steady as he pulled the small slider down. It started at her shoulder blades and went almost down to her hips.

“There,” John said after a second, but Celeste didn’t move, he wasn’t sure if she didn’t hear him or if she was steeling herself. “Can you step out of it?” He asked before he saw her nod.

He stepped back, turning his head to the side to give her some privacy as she pushed the sleeves off her shoulders. He had nothing to give her to cover up, a dish towel would hardly do anything. And she was adamant that he not leave her. So, he did the next best thing he could think of. As she wriggled out of the dress, he quickly undid the buttons on his flannel shirt, tugging to untuck it from his jeans as he heard the soft thump of her dress hitting the floor.

He bent down and scooped up the dress quickly so she wouldn’t look at it any longer.

“Take this,” he offered his shirt, pointedly keeping his eyes averted as Celeste turned to face him. He saw her hand tremble as she reached out to grab it, and while she busied herself wrapping up in the shirt, he tossed the dress into an empty trash bag. It was ruined anyway, and they would need to destroy it with everything else.

The shirt swallowed her small frame, barely hanging on her shoulders, and she had to grasp the collar to keep it from slipping. If it weren’t for the situation, he would have found it beyond endearing to see her standing there in his shirt. But there wasn’t time for that. Maybe another time.

“Have a seat on the counter,” he said as he glanced down at her legs. Blood speckled her calves, her knees, the tops of her feet.

“What?” Celeste asked after a second. The scent of John was powerful now that she was wrapped in his shirt, it was giving her an anchor point. But she had missed most of what he just said.

“The counter, love,” John said again as he gestured. “We need to finish getting you cleaned up.”

“Oh,” Celeste answered, “yes, right.”

John reached out and grabbed her hips and helped her up before she could try to struggle on her own. She was easy for him to hoist up, and she didn’t fight him as he set her comfortably down before he bent down to peel her shoes off. They went right into the bag with her ruined dress.

Celeste sat silently as John knelt before her on the floor, his hands gentle as he wiped down her legs. He took each one within his grasp and slowly worked the caked blood loose. Never flinching as the blood smeared his own fingers, or dripped down to the floor to puddle. Each time he stood up to rinse the rag, less and less blood came out, and Celeste knew she was almost clean. That the horrors were at least physically washed away.

“Okay,” John said as he stood up for the final time. “I just need to clean up the prints. Will you be alright?” He asked as she looked up at him. She looked a little less haunted now that she was clean. 

“I’ll wait here,” Celeste answered as he moved to wipe down where they had walked in the house. He pulled up the welcome mat and stuffed it in the bag before wiping the counter, door jam and he stepped just outside the door to look at the deck. She knew he was going slow for her sake and stayed within her eyesight the entire time because she had asked him to not leave her.

John threw everything into the bag that he could that had blood on it and left it on the porch, stripping off his own pants and boots. He wasn’t going to risk the chance of blood being on them if the police got suspicious. Or were given a bogus tip. They need to get rid of everything they could.

When he walked back into the kitchen, he found Celeste watching him, her hands balled in her lap. John moved to the stove and set the kettle on before he dug in the cabinets for tea bags and his own hidden bottle of whiskey, pouring two shots into a cup for her. It would help take the edge off and relax her a bit. He could feel her eyes on him as he worked, but he kept at it, knowing that giving her something else to concentrate on would keep her from her own horrifying thoughts.

“Tea,” John said as he slid the mug over to her when the water was poured. “Drink it all,” he added as she peered at it. “Do you want to stay here or go to the couch?”

“Couch,” Celeste answered as she slid off the counter and picked up the hot mug. “Do you have to go?” She asked as she reached out her other hand to grab John’s, not wanting him to get out of arm's reach just yet.

“No, I’m staying with you,” John replied as his hand clasped around her small one, letting her lead the way to the living room. “They know what they are doing.”

Celeste nodded as she settled down on the couch and all but tugged John to sit with her, not letting him even get a foot away. She wanted him next to her, to feel his presence pressed to her. She curled into his side, tucking her bare feet up under her as she settled easily against him. She sipped the tea, the whiskey strong enough to make her wince as she stared down into the cup.

“Do you know what happened?” Celeste asked after a few moments of silence, not looking up at John as if afraid of what he’d say.

“Not yet,” John answered truthfully, “I have theories, but I won’t know until they are done working the scene.”

Scene. Crime scene.

Celeste winced, but John distracted her as he reached for the remote and flicked on the television, letting some sound fill the silence. She let the local news filter through one ear and out the other, the anchor talking about the end of summer festival, reminders about no burning due to the drought, and back to school deals happening at the shops. This was the time of year when the sleepy tourist town would start preparing to wind down, but Celeste was certain that once the news caught wind of what happened to Mrs. Nettles, there wouldn’t be silence for a long while.

The tea warmed her from the inside out, and Celeste could feel herself relax more into John as he slipped his arm around her shoulder. His thumb gently ran circles over her shoulder, and she looked up at him a few times. He was just as distracted as she was, barely taking in the news or what he was doing. He was on alert. Eyes flicking between each window every few seconds, and she knew he was listening for anything out of the ordinary. He was in work mode without being obvious, not wanting to scare her, but she could tell. Johnny had been the same way when it was just the two of them.

“John?” Celeste asked after a little bit.

“Yes?” John asked as he watched a shadow, reflected in the TV from the back window, slip past. Soap. He knew the man’s build and movement anywhere. He had come to pick up the evidence, which meant they were close to wrapping up.

“I, ah,” she started as she stared down at her mug. “Thank you. I know you want to be with them,” Celeste continued, finally daring to look up at him to meet his eyes. “But thank you for coming for me, for taking care of,” she trailed off, preferring not to talk about the blood aloud. “And staying.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” John replied as he leaned forward to set his own mug down on the coffee table. “If you need me, I’ll be there. Doesn’t matter what it is or what I may or may not want,” he continued, “I’m here for you. We all are.”

“I know,” Celeste replied in nearly a whisper as she pressed tight against him again. Then, as if like a child afraid of the answer she asked nearly muffled in his side, “am I always going to see it?”

When Tristan had died, she had seen it every time she closed her eyes. She hadn’t been at the accident but arrived at the hospital once it was already too late. They had allowed her in to say goodbye, for some closure, but that sight stayed with her for weeks. Every time she slept, it was there. When she let her mind wander, it would pop up out of nowhere. Always just seeing him lying in the hospital bed, gone too far from where she could reach him. His body violently and viciously broken just lying there in a sterile white and quiet room.

“For a little while,” John answered truthfully. His first body he had thrown up, and his Lieutenant had made him run laps for making the mess before he pulled him aside to talk to him. John had been mad at the time, but he knew now that the man was making him run off the adrenaline to get his body back to baseline before trying to process what he had seen. “It’ll fade, but I can’t promise it’ll go away fully.”

“How do you do it?” Celeste asked. “How can you handle seeing it?”

“You don’t handle it all at once.” John replied simply, “You get through today, then tomorrow, then next week, next month. You keep yourself busy and lean on the people around you.” He shrugged, “people find something that helps them carry it. Johnny draws. Kyle has boxes of journals he never lets anyone see. Simon talks through it with me or Johnny when he finally can’t carry it in silence anymore.”

“And you?” Celeste asked. Drawing was not within her realm of talents, and she had so many empty journals in her house. Every time she thought she’d try it, nothing came out, or she couldn’t keep up with it.

“Keep moving,” he answered before gesturing to her mug of tea to finish it. “I don’t let it catch up with me.”

“Does it work?” Celeste asked.

“Some days,” John replied honestly.

“Sounds like me,” Celeste sighed. How long had she run after Tristian? She ran from her work, her house, her friends. Everything. She ran as far away as she could, but it still caught up to her anyway. “Not the healthiest coping mechanism.”

“No,” John chuckled a bit, “we’ll figure out something together. Yeah?”

Celeste nodded before she downed the rest of her tea, which was mostly whiskey at that point. She gasped a bit at the bite of it before leaning to set her mug down next to John’s. This was a waiting game now, waiting for them to finish at Mrs. Nettles, waiting to see what they found, and waiting for the next plan. She sighed as the news switched to a syndicated show and rested her head on John’s shoulder. After a few moments, he pressed a soft kiss into her hair, neither of them spoke or acknowledged it as the television continued to drone on in the background.

For the first time since she stepped into Mrs. Nettles’ house, Celeste let her eyes close, knowing she was safe with John. He had come running when she screamed for him, and she knew he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. She was safe, he was safe, for now.

-------------------------

Ghost waited until John was gone before he stood up from where he had been crouched beside the body. Celeste had called for John, that was who she wanted and needed in the moment, so it was his job to work. He would be able to check on her later. He knew she was in good hands with John, and he wasn’t going to let anyone or anything touch her.

Somewhere, the door clicked shut, and Ghost looked up to see Gaz walking into the living room with a duffel bag. Without having to look inside, he already knew what was in it. Cleaning supplies, things to gather evidence and erase signs that any of them had been there.

“Dogs are locked up,” Soap said as he walked into the living room, pulling on a pair of black gloves that Gaz had tossed him on the way in.

“Find anything of note?” Gaz asked as he handed Ghost a pair of gloves.

“Not random,” Ghost answered, which they all already knew. “Casing left was from a MP443,” he continued as he bent down to pick it up now that he had gloves on. “Haven’t found the shotgun one yet.”

“I’ll look. Based on the foyer, they shot her as soon as she opened the door,” Soap answered as he walked back out of the living room. He could see the bloody shoe prints in the drag smear, Celeste’s mixed with John’s boots.

“Game plan?” Gaz asked as he pulled out boxes of trash bags. Once the area was deemed safe, he ran back to their place to get everything. He knew John would want a full rundown of the house, and they couldn’t leave any evidence they were there.

“Wipe away any signs of Celeste,” Ghost answered, “first and foremost”

Gaz didn’t argue as he dug out the rags, found a bucket to fill with water, and started wiping. It wouldn’t be beyond the realm of a robbery gone wrong that the criminals would try to clean up the crime scene and do a shitty job. The goal was to just wipe away the footprints and fingerprints. He swiped away each smear and did his best not to think about the terror Celeste must have felt as she slowly walked in, then ran out. He saw where she had slipped and caught herself on the wall, her handprint in blood ran down the wall.

“No shell,” Soap said as he walked back in as Ghost moved around the scene to see if there was anything else he could glean from it.

“They wouldn’t take one and not the other on accident,” Ghost said as Gaz walked back in, one trash bag stuffed to the brim with used rags.

“They left it for us to find,” Gaz answered as he tied it off. “They wanted us to know it was them.”

“How long has she been here?” Soap asked as he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. It was hot as hell in the house.

“Two days, maybe three,” Ghost guessed. “They probably figured out what we had done and came after their accidental informant.”

“We need to wipe the cameras,” Gaz said as he snapped off his pair of gloves, they were completely ruined in blood.

“Did you get the front planter?” Ghost asked, and when Soap nodded a yes, he gave a single nod back in confirmation.

“Let’s clear out. Burn everything,” Ghost said as he walked out of the living room. The smell was nauseating, and he knew he would smell it on himself until he showered. And even then. Death lingered in the air long after it was cleared away.

“When do you want to call it in?” Gaz asked as he flicked off the lights as they walked out, pausing long enough for Soap to let the dogs out and crack open the front door again. They had laid out a water dish and some food for them in the bathroom while they worked, and then cleared it away. They would be stuck running around with their dead owner for just a little longer.

“Once the cameras are cleaned and we are sure we have everything,” Ghost said. “We’ll need Celeste’s stuff.”

“I’ll run over,” Soap offered as they headed to Celeste’s house. He knew John would have taken care of gathering all that up. They weren’t about to bring the evidence horror over to where she was. They could burn the clothes and rags in a barrel down by the dock, dump the ash in the lake and clear it out.

He found the bag of Celeste’s clothes on the back step and was quiet as he walked over, pausing for just a second to look in the window. He could see the light from the television in the living room, but that was it. He didn’t linger, not wanting to tip off that he was there, though he was certain John knew. He knew he’d be on high alert.

“Clothes,” Gaz said as Johnny threw the bag of Celeste’s items in the barrel.

“So forward,” Soap said with a small laugh as Gaz cut him a look before he stripped down to his skivvies and threw in everything, including his shoes. “The Ghost lurking around half naked in there?” Soap asked as he looked up at Celeste’s house.

“Haunting the place in his paleness,” Gaz answered as he peered inside the barrel as the lake water lapped at their feet. “How is she?”

“Not sure,” Soap answered, “they’re in the living room, but I didn’t want to disturb them. Not until this is done.”

They stood around the barrel for a while, eyes watching the area as they stirred the contents with a prybar until everything was ash inside. They had to kick the barrel over after splashing it with water with how hot it was. The metal sizzled as the water hit it, and they swirled the inside until everything was washed away. It took a bit to make sure everything was gone before they rolled it back up to Celeste’s garage, and they walked back inside to find Ghost at the table with the laptops pulled up.

“I overlaid camera footage from other nights from months ago to clear any evidence,” Ghost said as he looked at the two of them. All of them were standing in the kitchen in just their underwear, and if it weren’t for the situation, he would have found it amusing. Even still, he could see Soap trying to hide his smirk.

“Check it back,” he ordered to Gaz, who nodded and took a seat to watch the last few hours of footage. “Set up a phone tower overlay to call in the anonymous tip. Do it from Blackpool, her son lives there,” he said as Johnny worked on that. “We’ll make it seem like a concerned son who hasn’t heard from his mother.”

Ghost stepped into the living room to make the call as Soap and Gaz pored over the footage. He kept the conversation brief, just calling the police to ask them to do a wellness check because he hadn’t heard from Mrs. Nettles in a few days, and she missed an appointment. Ghost didn’t give away who he was, didn’t hint he was her son, but a call from Blackpool made the most sense. Half the town didn’t like the old woman, no one would complain when she wasn’t around, and it would be too close to home to call from there.

“Everything looks clear,” Soap said as Ghost walked back into the kitchen. “If they ask for footage, nothing seems out of place. It looks like she got home with dinner with me after our trip, then walked over to our place,” he finished, to which Ghost nodded. That had been what he wanted. They didn’t want Celeste home for when the police eventually showed up, but they needed to show her leaving.

“Let’s go,” Gaz said as he snapped the laptop shut and stood up. “Old people wellness checks in the dead of summer won’t take them long to respond. Especially in a small place like this with nothing happening.”

The walk back to their cottage was quick and quiet, the only sound was them crashing through the underbrush. When they walked in the back door, John sat up and looked around at them, waiting for some sort of confirmation that it was clear. Ghost nodded once before gesturing for Gaz to go shower. He had been in the thick of the cleaning, and it would only be a matter of time before the police went door to door asking if anyone saw anything. If he had any blood or the stench of it on him, the police would pick up on it instantly.

“All cleared,” Ghost said as he walked around the couch to take a seat in one of the recliners. His words were for John, but his eyes were on Celeste. She was so tiny, curled up in John’s shirt, pressed tight to his side as if she wanted to get under his skin. Her eyes fluttered open when he spoke, and he gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Anything we need to be aware of?” John asked as Soap came around the other side of the couch to take up one of the extra dining room table chairs they had left in there.

“MP443 casing from the head wound,” Ghost replied, doing his best not to be too sharp or clinical with Celeste there. “Nothing left behind from the shotgun.”

“Makarov left it knowing we’d find it,” Soap answered, his voice barely containing his annoyance.

“Gaz cleaned up the scene, no evidence we were there. Made it look like a hasty attempt at cleaning for a robbery gone wrong,” Ghost continued. “Overlaid the cameras that show Celeste walking over here about ten minutes after getting home with food with Johnny. Fits the timeline from where they went to the Café, got home, then came here. Johnny isn’t in frame, but the angle is enough that it could look like he was just out of the shot. It fits.”

“Called in an anonymous tip from Blackpool,” Soap supplied as he watched Celeste, who was quietly looking at all of them as they spoke. She looked exhausted, scared. But she was at least cleaned up and comforted enough by John. “Police will be there soon, I’m sure.”

“We all need to get cleaned up,” John said as he heard the water cut on upstairs from Kyle getting in the shower. “But I don’t want to look fresh out of the shower.”

“When Kyle is done, we’ll do a quick rinse off, then go work on the deck,” Soap supplied. “Makes sense working after dark with how hot it’s been. Sandwiches for dinner since it’s quick. It fits.”

“What can I do?” Celeste asked after a second, sitting up a bit but not getting out of his grasp just yet.

“I don’t want you anywhere near this,” John said. “You’ll stay inside with Johnny,” he supplied, looking at Simon and Johnny for agreement. Johnny didn’t seem to keen on the idea of staying inside but he didn’t fight it either.

“If they ask questions, though,” Celeste started, but John cut her off.

“If they ask questions, you’ll answer them tomorrow. We’ll tell them you two crashed out after your long trip, you’ll call them in the morning,” John supplied. “Tonight, you rest and let us handle it.”

Celeste opened her mouth to argue, but then shut it again. He was right. She was exhausted, confused, and terrified. If she tried to speak to the police that night, she might say something she shouldn’t or forget an important detail. The whole point of what they had just done was to separate her from what had happened as much as possible, she didn’t want to mess that up. She just needed to be the neighbor who would learn that something terrible had happened next door and be concerned that a monster was on the loose. Because there was.

“Come on,” Johnny said gently as he rose from his seat and extended his hand to Celeste. “I’ll get you setup in our room,” he glanced quickly at Simon before back to her, “then I’ll shower off.”

“I,” Celeste hesitated looking at John for a second, unwilling to give up his warmth just yet. “Yes, okay,” she agreed before taking Johnny’s hand.

“I’ll check in on you later,” John offered with a tightlipped smile as he watched her walk out of the living room to the stairs.

“Okay,” Celeste barely whispered.

“What’s our cover?” Simon asked after he turned back around when Johnny and Celeste’s feet disappeared at the top of the stairs.

“The truth,” John answered, “military operation above their clearance. They can speak with Kate for confirmation.”

“They aren’t going to like that,” Simon answered with a small smirk.

“Let them complain to Kate and see where it gets them,” John replied before he rose from the sofa. “I’m going to start looking busy, make your shower quick. No handsy games with Johnny,” he tacked on as Simon turned to leave.

“I don’t think he’s going to leave Celeste’s side, least until someone else is with her,” Simon replied. “Don’t think I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I know,” John answered, fighting back a grin as he heard Kyle jogging down the steps. “You and me outside,” he called over his shoulder as Kyle scooted around Simon to head for the back door.

“How is she?” Kyle asked as he helped John lug wood boards from the dilapidated shed outside. The police still hadn’t arrived yet but everyone knew it was a matter of time. The more they could get out and look busy the better.

“A mess,” John answered truthfully as he heaved three large boards over his shoulder and walked toward the deck. “She’ll be fine, but she’s got to process it.”

“And you?” Kyle asked as he set down the table that held the big saw.

“Fine,” John replied, a bit surprised at the question. This was nothing really, he had seen ten times worse and a hundred times more.

“Whatever you’re already planning, we’re doing it together,” Kyle answered as he stood up the working lights and plugged them in. “Vengeance isn’t only yours to deal out.”

“It’s not me you have to worry about,” John replied, “have the talk with Simon.”

“And where did he learn it from?” Kyle asked with an eyebrow raise. When John didn’t answer he nodded to himself in confirmation before the sound of a car caught their attention. It was driving slow, as if unsure in the dark, the lights sweeping over the side yard as they took the corner.

“Show’s about to start,” John said as he looked up from where he was crouched taking a measurement on the deck for one of the benches. The car turned into Mrs. Nettles driveway, the front lights spotlighting her house. They hadn’t come lights and sirens, which was to be expected, it was a wellness check. Most of the time those were false alarms, people went on trips, forgot to return calls, or just didn’t want to talk to anyone. Why would they rush over.

“Poor bastard is about to have nightmare fuel for the rest of their life,” Kyle murmured as he wiped at his forehead, even in the dark and barely doing much he was already beginning to sweat.

“As Makarov intended,” John answered as he stood up, doing his best to not stare but his ears were on high alert for the reaction. A panicked yell, running, calling in reinforcements. This was going to take hours and while all he wanted to do was go inside and hold Celeste, he had a job to do and he’d see it through. He’d find her later and hold her through the night. And when the nightmares came, he would be there for her when she woke up and he’d help her fight them off.

-------------- Some John and Celeste time finally. I think it's fitting in her moment of panic John is who she calls for. They are all protectors but each have their own role with Celeste and that is definitely John's job for everyone involved. I also love how, even when he wants to be with her, he continues to do his duty. One day he'll be able to rest.