#dear john

She doesn’t even spare him a glance.

His short nails bite into his palm as words grind out of his throat. “I can’t find her. There’s only two people who could make her disappear and oh I fucking know Nik wouldn’t dare to, but you.” A dark chuckle. “You with your cia American bullshit. You could.”

Only her eyebrow kicks up as he spews out what he’s been stewing on for a week. He can’t find you. Him. SAS captain of the most covert team on base. Hell, the most secretive in the country.

“Not to be blunt Price but,” a stack of folders smacks against the table in front of her. “Why would I waste my precious time on your wife when I have all these wonderful criminals to hunt down?” She sweeps her pale hand across the pile in a demonstration before folding her arms across her chest.

Finally she was looking at him, but now that she was he almost wished she would go back to ignoring him. Her eyes trailed his unshaved rumpled form curiously.

“What did you do?”

Dragging his hands down his face, scratching his beard he thinks. He needs help but how much does he want to share of the intel he’s already gathered.

Your shared home was empty. Wiped clean. Literally. Not a strand of hair or print visible. He checked.

No new posts on social media, the last one was over a year ago, a little celebration post for your anniversary. He already made sure no location services were on your phone or any of those bloody apps. So there he was screwed.

You hadn’t used his credit card, your card, or even made a transaction from their shared account. The last one made was at the post office months ago. Likely to buy stamps to mail the bloody letter.

The silence had gone on too long. Now instead of Kate’s inspection being one of curiosity he could slowly see it being formed into one of rage. A rarity, one he blessedly has never experienced directly.

“Captain, what did you do to your wife.” Her tone was flat, emotionless, separated.

Price huffs, eyes closing.

“D’nt lay my hands on her.”

He knows she won’t believe him until it comes from your lips. But still.

“Laswell, I haven’t seen her in months.” His voice breaks unwillingly. The force against against his pride and status too much for it to bear. “When I left it was good..fine. She didn’t say anything about leaving me.” He swallows the lump threatening to choke him. Fuck this. Fuck Laswell. Fuck you. Fuck you for making him feel this way.

Heat fills him, burning, taking over the part of him that hates to lose.

“Fuckin’ nevermind.”

Price turns to leave partly hoping that she’d stop him. That she would hear his desperation and feel guilty, an emotion he knows she’d never feel towards him.