#fanfic cod

Summary:

Guilt is the worst of companions for commanders. For three years, Price has carried the gaze of Johnny's fading eyes and his own fatal "We're better than them." Simon finds him on the brink of moral and physical collapse. But human warmth alone is not enough to bring his old friend back. Sometimes, the ghosts of the past return not to torment, but to save.

Notes: After watching the trailer, my emotions are mixed... I just want my favorite boys to be okay 🙂.

.................

The sky above the city was disgustingly clear.

The sunset spread out like molten gold and thick blood. The sky seemed like a canvas, on which a brush was carelessly drawn, mixing orange with crimson. Below, in dozens of floors, the evening illumination of the skyscrapers shimmered, cold and indifferent. And here, on the roof, time stopped.

Price stood at the very edge. The wind ruffled the hem of his old tactical jacket. He seemed to be carved from granite. He was tired, broken, but no less dangerous. He was an old rock that had been polished by the sea for years, but it had not been destroyed; only cracked.

There was a slight crunch of gravel behind him; one step, then another.

"John."

Simon's voice was too quiet for the vast, burning sky. He stood at a respectful distance, keeping his hands in plain sight, indicating that he was not an enemy.

"Don't come any closer, Simon," Price's voice cracked. He didn't even turn around. "This is my cross, and I will carry it alone."

"You've been carrying it for three years," Riley slowly stepped forward. "Look at yourself. You've been smuggling guns, sabotaging three operations, because... what? You thought this would be your redemption?".

Price turned around abruptly, and Simon finally saw his face. His eyes, usually impenetrable, were wet with the kind of inhuman weariness that comes from carrying guilt around for so long that it seeps into every cell of your body. It erodes everything except for that black, sticky weight.

"You don't understand," Price stepped forward, and there was so much desperation in that movement that it couldn't fit inside. It spilled out through the white knuckles of his clenched fists, breaking his voice in the middle of a word and trembling in the air between them like a string stretched to the limit. "I had a chance to let Johnny kill Makarov. One fucking chance." His voice sank into a hoarse whisper.

"I've seen that look. I knew Johnny was going to pull the trigger, and I-" Price stammered, as if the word had stuck in his throat like a splinter. "I should have just ignored the way he was raising the gun." It's easy not to hear that damn command in your head: "We're better than them. We don't fall to their level."

He punched the iron pipe, and the rust crumbled and bit painfully into his arm. He wasn't paying attention. What difference does it make to another pain when everything inside has long since turned into a solid wound?

"The blood was running down between my fingers, but I didn't do anything... I couldn't do anything. Just watch his eyes go out. I spared the monster and it devoured him with my hands".

John thumped his chest.

"He lives here. And every night I see his forehead on half of his face. And I hear, "Don't blame yourself, sir." But I can't. I can't, Simon. Because it's my fault. I failed my soldier.

"Do you think Johnny would want that?" Riley asked quietly. "So you can rot alive?" To turn you into what we were fighting?

Simon paused. The wind died down for a moment, and in that silence, cars could be heard honking their horns far below. Such a mundane and such an alien sound for this moment.

"I don't care", Price whispered. "He doesn't care, Simon. The same for him... It doesn't hurt anymore.

Riley stepped forward, shortening the distance to one step, holding out his hand like a rescue for a drowning man. In the sunset light, his fingers cast long shadows on the gray concrete.

"Then do it for me", he said. "I don't want to bury another friend. I don't want to stand at your grave and think that I could... That I could just talk to you. Don't let you escape into this void".

"You're asking me to come back," Price muttered hoarsely, and every sound sounded like he was spitting out broken glass. "Where to?" There's nothing there.

"There is me. And there's Kyle. And there are guys who are waiting to call you an old jerk. They need their captain. I need.

John slowly raised his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. He stared at Riley's palm and couldn't bring himself to take the last step. He had been walking alone for too long, he had carried this burden for too long, he was too used to the fact that no one would come.

"The house is where they're waiting for you, sir," there was no need to say "they're waiting for you," and Price understood that.

Price closed his eyes. Fatigue weighed down like lead. The wind died down, and the silence came suddenly, thick, irregular, in which the heart was beating treacherously loudly.

And in that silence, on its viscous, sterile radar, Price felt warmth. The soft, living warmth of someone else's hand on his shoulder. The touch was sure; John could have sworn it felt real. So much so that goosebumps ran over my skin, and a lump formed in my throat.

He felt a slight push on his back. It's like being pushed forward when you're hesitating on the threshold of your own fear. Go ahead to Simon.

Johnny.

Not a ghost from old nightmares, not a hallucination that the mind has helpfully blinded out of guilt. No, it's more than that. Something that can't be squeezed into the cold terms of psychology or dim light vapors.

A memory that has become alive.

With every nerve, with every frozen cell, Price felt: This is absolution. Something for which he did not dare to ask even in the darkest corners of his own soul, but waited long and hard. And so it came, not with a plea or a confession, but with someone else's warm touch, though soundless, but saying everything. Forgiveness didn't rattle, and it didn't require an answer. It just washed over him like a wave. It was as if a light had been turned on in a frozen soul.

He opened his eyes and stepped forward.

Riley couldn't stand it, hugging the captain. He grabbed the shoulders of an old soldier who smelled of gunpowder and loneliness, pulled him towards him, abruptly, awkwardly, like a man. Price jerked, his hand clenched into a fist for a moment, and then dropped limply.

"I'm sorry, son", he whispered. For almost letting them lose another one.

Both of them felt this cozy presence. Someone invisible stood next to them, putting his hands on their shoulders, without saying goodbye. Just to remind you, I'm here. I'm always here.

Price didn't cry, he'd forgotten how long ago. But something heavy and sticky that had been stuck in my throat for three years was slowly melting away. It didn't disappear, no. It doesn't go away. But it was getting smaller, easier. Someone to live with.

"Come on," Riley tapped him briefly on the shoulder, in his old-fashioned way. "Stop freezing in the wind.

There was a car waiting downstairs; Kyle was waiting. He was waiting for a conversation that wouldn't solve all his problems, but at least it would be a start. He was waiting for a home where he was remembered, loved, and supported.

John imagined, or just his heart prompted, a short, aching heart: "Thank you, sir."

Songbird on a Wall

this is my first full-length fic. please be kind. this isn’t beta’d

[ tw for references to death and grief ]

The military didn’t leave time for many hobbies.

Sure, the men all went out for drinks most Fridays, and sometimes after they finished drills for the day, they’d have a couple hours to catch an episode of Jeopardy or read a chapter or two of a book, but for the most part, their lives were strictly dominated by missions.

Sometimes, though, the 141 would find time for their own little slices of life. Soap had his journal, Gaz had his computer games. Roach loved fantasy novels, Ghost had taken up knitting. And Price– did chain-smoking count as a recreational activity? It seemed to relax him, anyway.

Sergeant Paul “Scanner” Hamish Mander, however, seemed to be a soldier and only a soldier. He woke exactly at lights-on and went to bed at exactly lights-out. He followed the schedule down to the letter and most days the team had to physically drag him away from the training field.

Scanner was quiet but not closed-off, reserved but not standoffish, polite but not overly social. He was a crack shot with an automatic rifle and had nerves of steel, making him a valuable asset on the field. Every order he was given was executed with precision and without hesitance.

What the team didn’t know was that he also loved music. Scanner had learned to sing and play the guitar from an early age during a summer spent with his uncle in County Clare, though he hadn’t picked up an instrument since before he enlisted nearly eleven years ago. God, he’d been young, hadn’t he? Just a pup, really, with no idea what he was getting into, being fed off of convoluted songs of glory and honor.

He knew now that there was no honor in war. When it was down to him or the enemy, he would fight like a pit-bred dog, tooth and nail, to protect himself and his team.

Scanner realized that his moods had been off as of late; the stress of their work got to everyone eventually. The Scouser had finally hit his limit, so, with what pay he’d had put away for later, he bought himself a guitar and some extra strings, hoping that the music would help to temper his disquieted psyche.

He’d been slipping away to practice whenever he could. He was already good, but he strove to improve, just like in his work. He fancied himself a Michelangelo… now to make sure his art was as good as his reputation.

Now he was awake before the first pale grey light of dawn, perched like a songbird upon the half-wall that surrounded the entry point of the officers’ quarters, hoping to snag a few precious minutes before the daily bugle sounded and he had to listen to Soap groan about the hangover headache the Scotsman would doubtlessly have from the previous night’s intoxication.

Scanner slipped off his gloves to reveal dexterous hands mottled dark pink with burn scars. He almost always kept them hidden– they brought up old memories that he would rather forget. His fingers, though discolored, were still nimble as they plucked out a slow tune on the guitar.

Meanwhile, Soap, who had woken up to take a piss, had overheard the folk-ballad style music and peeped out the door to investigate. Though he was bleary from sleep, he recognized Scanner’s scrawny form up on the wall. Against his first instincts to just barge right into the scene, Soap remained quiet and paused to listen. His piercing blue eyes widened after a few moments, and he trundled back into the building.

Like a whack-a-mole in an arcade game, Soap popped back up about a minute later, trailing a sleepy-but-interested Gaz and Roach. Ghost loomed behind them like a ghoul.

Scanner had begun to sing while Soap was gone. The Scouser had a fine tenor voice, just the right amount of husky as he crooned out a chorus to a song that sounded like something from a Dungeons and Dragons campaign. Old-souled and heartfelt.

“When the rounds of bullets fire,

Keep your heads down.

When the brave ones pass on by ye,

Keep your heads down.”

“Bloody ‘ell,” whispered Soap. Gaz elbows him in the side to keep him quiet, but the Scotsman couldn’t resist another low remark: “Got a fine set of pipes on him.”

“When the hero’s blood runs red,

And you’re scared to raise your head,

Just be glad that you ain’t dead.

Keep your heads down.”

The song was on-the-nose for their soldier’s life, hitting perhaps a bit too close to home for the men. Soap shifted, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Roach’s brow furrowed in concern.

“You won’t win no medals here,

Keep your heads down—“

It was true— none of them were awarded recognition for their black ops. With it being strictly confidential, it couldn’t be risked. The men were under-appreciated by everyone except for Laswell.

“—Don’t be fools who know no fear,

Keep your heads down.”

Soap especially felt called-out by that line. He had a tendency to let his Scottish hot-headedness flare up like a bonfire left unattended and rush into a hostile situation guns-blazing, hackles raised like an angry mongrel. More often than not, it was either Scanner or Ghost who saved the Sergeant’s arse from being handed to him by two-to-one odds.

“We can all lay low and sing,

Duckin’ grenades and bullet’s zings.

Let ‘em chuck most anything,

But keep your heads down.”

“D’ye think he wrote this?” Gaz murmurs to Roach, who just shrugs helplessly. Scanner is still facing away from them, completely unaware of his audience.

“You won’t get no martyr’s send-off,

Keep your heads down.

Just a bullet as your payoff,

Keep your heads down—“

The men collectively winced. It was a grim reality for them. Any mission, any breath, could be their last. Playing the hero or the martyr just threw away the life of one more number on some general’s spreadsheet, accomplishing nothing even when done for the sake of their country.

“You ain’t gonna win the war,

You ain’t gonna make it home,

Cursed; forever more to roam,

Keep your heads down.”

Gaz’s dark-bright eyes were shining with unshed tears now. Soap swallowed hard.

The thought that someday they’d all be removed from the field in a body bag was something that they’d had to accept long ago, but it made their stomachs churn nonetheless. In Task Force 141, there was no such thing as retiring. They fought until they died, the end.

“Thought I’d go out with my team,

Kept my head down.

Captain drilled it into our brains,

Keep yer heads down—“

Ghost frowned behind his skull mask. Was the Captain in the song Price? The Lieutenant wasn’t sure, but he had an unsettled sense that he would find out.

Soap, however, stifled a quiet chuckle, thinking it clever and amusing that Scanner would quote Price in a song. The tough-as-nails, hard-arsed Captain certainly was the kind of CO to berate them for not keeping their heads down and taking proper precautions in a war zone.

Price did it out of care, of course. It was tough love, but Price wouldn’t lose more men than he had to. If that meant a good, old-fashioned hollering session, then so be it.

“Now they’re rotting in their graves,

And I survived, or so they say—“

The men’s eyes widened as Scanner continued the macabre lyrics. The song wasn’t about the 141, then, and the Captain mentioned wasn’t Price. The 141 were definitely not yet dead, despite the carrion birds that flocked in their wake after every op.

“—wish I’d taken mortar with my mates,

But I kept my head down.”

Roach looks like he might be ill. He felt for certain that Scanner had been the one to write the dirge. The speech patterns lined up exactly with the slang-throwing Scouser that Sanderson had come to see as a brother.

But with that realization came another, far more sickening.

They all knew that Scanner had been in the Ranger’s Regiment before being reassigned to Task Force 141. Most of his file was blacked out, requiring a higher level of clearance to be viewed. There was little about his former team or why he had been accepted into the Special Forces.

This song was clearly that story. The men were perceptive— they had to be to survive in their line of work. They could put two and two together.

Wish I’d taken mortar with my mates.

Scanner’s team had been killed in action.

“Bounced around from base to base,

Kept my head down.

Doctors sayin’ I need space,

Keep my head down—“

“Och, Paul,” Soap breathed out, his expression pained. He knew what it was like to lose mates, aye, but to lose an entire unit at once, and then have to be placed with a brand-new team to start over? It would be an unimaginable grief.

Gaz looked shocked to his roots. His hand was gripping Roach’s sleeve. “It’s just a song, right? Maybe he’s just singing to be singing.”

“He’s not the kind of man t’say something just for the ‘ell uvvit,” Ghost gruffed out, his Manchester accent thick with repressed emotion. “Never ‘as been.”

“Now I’m with the 141,

Though I thought my life was done.

Maybe learn them through this song

To keep their heads down.”

Scanner strummed the final chord and the note faded into a shimmering echo in the still morning air. Sunrise was painting the horizon with pale pinks and oranges, the clouds streaks with lavender as if the rosy fingers of Lady Eos herself had taken up a watercolor brush to delicately layer over the foggy grey of pre-dawn.

Soap took a step forward, his heavy combat boots scuffing against the concrete. Scanner’s gaze snapped up and he swiveled, one hand reaching for his empty holster so quickly that he nearly dropped his guitar.

“Easy, now.” Soap raised a placating hand as Scanner exhaled in relief. “S’just me, laddie. Tha’ was a right pretty tune ye was warblin’.”

Scanner hesitated momentarily, already swiftly setting his guitar aside to pull on his usual black gloves, hiding his patchworked hands. “I, er, didn’t know anybody else was listening,” he muttered gruffly. He pulled up his gaiter scarf and plunked his helmet down over the messy crop of his greige hair.

“Ah heard ye an’ couldnae help but come tae listen,” Soap explained, rubbing the back of his neck almost apologetically. He had the decency to look sheepish, at least. “Yer right good. Where did ye learn tha’ song?”

Scanner hopped nimbly from the wall, cracking his lower back with a low groan of relief. “Wrote it. Just a wee ditty. S’nothing special.”

The team’s hearts sank to the pit of their stomach. Roach’s guess had been correct; the events of the song were the events that had led up to Scanner being placed in the 141.

Gaz wiped at his eyes, sniffling. “S’really good. You’re a proper Ed Sheeran, mate.”

Scanner gave a low chuff of laughter. “You’re talkin’ a load o’ shite.”

Gaz sniffled again, but managed a weak smile. “I’m not takin’ the piss, really.”

“Yeah, mate, you’re bloody talented,” Roach added, but Scanner just waved a dismissive hand. As if the Scouser had no idea how the other men were crumbling on the inside thinking about his past.

But Scanner wasn’t quite so clueless as he appeared. Admittedly, he hadn’t known that they were listening, but now he did and he recognized that they would have deciphered the meaning of the words. The lyrics certainly weren’t subtle, by any means. Bordering on blasé, really.

But Scanner was a proud man, even if he didn’t like to admit it. He had once been more open, but an adult life of hard training had overrode whatever natural instincts towards emotional vulnerability that he might have once possessed. He’d built up walls, similar to the one he’d just been sitting on, and like that wall, it would take a helluva lot to knock ‘em down.

So instead of acknowledging the questions that were clearly bubbling just under the faux-calm facade that Soap, Gaz, and Ghost were just barely maintaining, Scanner turned and walked inside.

“Go ahead to the mess hall without me,” he called over his shoulder, as it was their usual routine to eat together before being given their orders for the day. “I’ll put away my guitar and be there in a bit.”

Gaz and Soap shared a helpless glance. Ghost looked as if he wanted to follow Scanner, but was holding himself back, the muscular tank of a man withholding his concern behind his balaclava.

“If yew two are so worried about him,” Ghost said after a long moment where they were all collecting their thoughts and smoothing over their emotions, “then go see Price. ‘M sure he’ll know about whatever this lil performance was.”

Soap looked up at the Lieutenant. The Scotsman was biting his lower lip in the way he always did when he was anxious. The man had a heart as big as Mother Terasa’s herself.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Roach interjected. “Going to talk to Price, I mean. He’s the one who recruited Paul in the first place.”

Ghost gave Roach a withering look. “Callsigns or last names only, Sanderson. Don’t make me report ye for breach o’ protocol.”

Roach gave a small huff. “He’s the one who recruited Scanner in the first place,” he corrected with all the sass of a thirteen-year-old girl.

Soap clapped the smaller man on the back. “Aye, Roachie. Let’s go see if the boss man is in his office, eh?”

“Because he’s got some explaining to do,” added Gaz, his expression determined. “We ought to have the right to know the past of our own teammate, don’t we?”

The four men nodded curtly, almost in unison. Whatever had occurred in Scanner’s past that would warrant the words in that song, they would uncover it. You couldn’t run a team without honesty and trust.

And they all felt a bit hurt that Scanner hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them what had happened himself.

What do you think? Should I continue with a part two?

note:

The tune to the song and the first two lyrics + chorus is adapted from “Keep Your Heads Down” by Brian Jacques. Here is the audiobook version for those wondering what the beat of the song is. ( link will take you directly to YouTube and is secure )

The rest of the lyrics are of my own creation.

NFSW

Master list

Price, talking to Agnes to recruit her: Ok. I need you to swear- Agnes: FUCK! Price: ........ Gaz: Pffft- Price: *rubbing the bridge of his nose* Swear as in PROMISE. Agnes: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH! *smiling at him* Sorry, sir. Price: This bloody lass I swear... Gaz: *was laughing*

Agnes "Blast" Falagi - Me

Before.

10 years ago, in 2009 in Tobrak, Urzikstan.

"With all due respect, boss…" Juliet cleared her throat slightly as she looked at Laswell "I don't think it's a good idea for me to go"

Laswell rolled his eyes and dropped a hand on her shoulder.

"You are capable enough. And John is going to need your brains in case something goes wrong"

Juliet's eyes went behind Laswell where Lieutenant Price, moody and still moving, grunted curses under his breath that were suddenly no longer understandable. Juliet knew that no one else knew him better than Laswell and that was why she handled him so calmly.

But come on, the man was right to complain about her. Juliet had only been in the army for three years and her intellectual abilities led her to work with the intelligence service last year. There was a back-and-forth between Price and Laswell to decide who would get her, but Price ended up giving in because he didn't think it would make sense to have a woman on her team.

That stung Juliet, especially because of the despotic way in which he mentioned it, even with her there. She didn't have to be a fortune teller to know that the lieutenant never liked her. But that never stopped her from achieving her goals. Getting away from him and the base had been a healthy way to stay mentally well. Because talking to him was like walking with a walking wall. Her words bounced around and she made him lose his mind.

"I told you I don't need you…

"That's enough," Colonel Shepperd snapped, making the room shake slightly under the tone of his voice. "Redd will go with you and that's how it will be or you won't go anywhere."

Laswell snorted softly: Juliet also knew the same thing as Laswell when she declared in that frustrated sigh and that was that John Price did not like it at all when his hands were tied and he always ended up doing what he wanted or thought was best to do. Regardless of whether the sanctions came hand in hand. No one was going to stop her from doing what she had in mind, not the president or Shepperd.

Calmly, Price approached the table, pressing the long fingers of his hand on the wood with his gaze fixed on the Colonel in a cold manner.

"I'll do this, with her or without her. You, you know better than anyone" and he raised his index finger at her but he didn't say anything else until Lieutenant Price's blue eyes landed on Juliet's "you, grab your things and let's go. We're wasting fucking time."

Juliet nodded calmly, took the things from her and approached the man silently. She didn't want to bother him with questions because Kate had filled her in on everything they were going to do anyway. The main objective, General Barkov. However, the reason they came to Tobrak, Urzikstan, was because of a coded message that Juliet discovered on her computer, where a "Commander Karim" asked for help, a ransom.

In theory Juliet had always been and has never stopped being part of the SAS. Despite working for Laswell, the owes she has as a SAS soldier have never ceased to be. But that seems to matter very little to Lieutenant Price.

Several hours later, they finally arrived at Tobrak, in the helicopter Juliet diligently prepared her equipment before jumping on the roof of the building, once there she looked at Price as he gave them the signal to enter at the right time. The shots below did not end and Price raised his hand indicating that it was time. So they broke the glass from the ceiling and jumped down, knocking down several armed guards who were attacking a woman lying on the floor.

"Who is Commander Karim?" Price spoke holding his gun.

"I am," said the woman.

"Private Redd received your messages" Price approached and helped her to her feet "Lieutenant John Price Where is the rest?"

"There, ahead"

"Don't walk away," Price put her helmet back on, giving Juliet a dying look before she helped Farrah and handed her a gun.

"Redd"

"Farrah" both women shook hands and at Price's demanding voice, they began to follow him.

They continued through the factory and found the plant burning. Farrah recognized his brother banging on the glass as he struggled for oxygen. Price approached the door ordering Juliet to take care of decoding the door to open it. The evidence and prisoners were burning, so Juliet hurried to open the doors to give Lieutenant Price access.

Juliet and John ran down the hallway toward the factory door where things and prisoners were burning. Farra tried to open the door while his brother was banging on the glass from the other side but couldn't. So Price pushed her aside and forced a lever to open it but she couldn't, without hesitation, Juliet approached him holding her hands to the lever and helped him open it.

John began to help the prisoners out and Juliet did so from the other side. For a moment they both looked at each other and she realized that John kept looking at her. It was not discomfort that Juliet felt, but it was something else that she did not understand at that moment.

As a professional, Juliet focused on doing her job well. She informed Laswell that things had gone as planned and that the prisoners had been freed, but that General Barkov had escaped.

Several hours later, Juliet was helping Farrah supply her friends with weapons to prepare to confront Barkov. John dispersed the trucks and made sure to stick with the extraction plan.

"Make sure they're well stocked," Juliet told Farrah.

"They will, thank you." The girl smiled gratefully at him and they shared a look of this same feeling when they saw Price approach them and his brother Haddid.

"Hurry, even Barkov will come back for his dead," the Lieutenant exclaimed exasperatedly, looking around him and then stopped to stare at Farrah and Haddid, "they know he'll make them pay for this."

"We'll make them pay," Haddid responded.

"We'll be ready," Farrah added.

John nodded.

"They have cleared the northern route. "Stay here, it's safe," John said, handing Haddid a compass.

"Thank you," Farrah murmured to him and then to Juliet.

"The revolution begins now, sister." Both brothers looked at each other.

"The war has begun, brother."

"Even wars have heights," John exclaimed, seeing the extraction helicopter coming for him and Juliet, "don't lose her."

John started walking towards the helicopter and Juliet stood watching Farrah as he backed away. The movement of a hand and a solemn expression appeared on both their faces.

"Come on Redd, we're leaving in two" Price called her and finally Juliet turned in the direction of the helicopter following her Lieutenant's steps.

Once there, John helped Juliet up and they stared at each other as the Helicopter ascended. Juliet looked away to see how Farrah and his group turned into little ants.

On the way back, she and John said almost nothing. He continued to ignore her as always, almost pretending that she was just a ghost and that she was doing all this alone. Juliet's body ached and the accumulated tension of the rescue and the entire extraction process had her tired. She got rid of Price without having to receive a single comment from him or even a glance, she got into a car as soon as they landed in London and this car took her back to the CIA where she had to give her respective mission reports.

Juliet never heard from John Price again, until one day she overheard Laswell arguing with him about something that had come up on one of John's last missions. However, she didn't see him until Laswell invited her to his birthday party at her house. Juliet knew that not everyone knew Laswell's private life and being invited by her was more than a luxury, it was like realizing that Laswell had included her in his closest circle and it was not at all a novelty, knowing that Juliet had become almost like a daughter to Kate.

That night, Juliet put on a loose black dress, a leather jacket over her shoulders, and she calmly drove to Laswell's apartment considering there was nothing wrong with her having a little fun. Not knowing exactly what kind of birthday it would be, she dragged herself with her dress and her white sneakers through the hallways of the building until she reached door 55 on the sixth floor. The building was elegant and quiet and the door opened while she looked at the budding bottle of Scotch Whiskey that she brought him as a gift because she knew it was one of her wife's favorite drinks.

Juliet rang the bell twice as the door opened.

She looked a few times and blinked, leaning forward slightly when she saw the man on the other side of the door.

"Lieutenant Price?" Confusion was evident in her voice and expressions and John raised his eyebrows in disbelief, looking her up and down shamelessly as he rested an arm on the edge of the door.

"Wow, wow… I thought this was a birthday for adults, not children."

Juliet's mouth opened unceremoniously, completely shocked by the immature insinuation that the Lieutenant was making to her. She couldn't blame him if she was barely 21 then and he was in her thirties.

"Excuse me?" she tilted her head, lowering the bottle of Whiskey but John raised a hand to grab the bottle in Juliet's hands.

"Ah, at least the girl brought something good" she snatched the bottle from him before he had time to protest and turned her back on him and walked into the room. Juliet could hear the sound of music and when she entered and closed the door trying to see where the Lieutenant had gone, Kate appeared in her field of vision.

"Juliet! Did you come!" he exclaimed, hugging her.

"Happy birthday, boss!" she responded, hugging her, "I brought you a Whiskey but I think Lieutenant Price already… took it."

Kate turned away from the girl with a sigh and a shake of her head as she placed her hands on her shoulders.

"I ask you to forgive him, he just broke up with his "girlfriend"." Kate raised her fingers in a symbolic sign that she didn't give a shit because she probably didn't like her and grabbed her arm "come, let me introduce my child prodigy to my friends and my girlfriend."

"Uh Will I have that pleasure?"

"You'll get it," Kate laughed, friendly dragging the girl over to the group of her friends on the balcony.

As Juliet listened to Kate and her friends talk, for some reason she couldn't stop thinking about what she had told her that Lieutenant Price had just broken up with her girlfriend. Because that was the first personal detail that Juliet knew about the Lieutenant. Every part of her fucking life was and always had been a mystery to her.

As Kate had been distracted by her friends, evidently much older than her, Juliet walked towards the balcony and leaned on the railing while she had in her hand a glass of sweet wine, the reserve that Kate had ordered especially for her. I knew he loved sweet things. She looked at the city of London below and how it expanded before her eyes around her, the lights shining in the night while the sky was covered in clouds when a shadow fell beside her in silence.

John silently lit a cigarette while Juliet glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Enjoying the party, girl?"

Juliet shrugged her shoulders and drank some of her wine.

"Not bad."

“Laswell strives to fulfill the whims of her girlfriend,” she smiled slightly with a tired expression as she took a drag on her cigarette with her eyes fixed on the dark horizon.

"That's nice," Juliet responded, tearing her eyes away from Lieutenant Price with a tired exhale.

"Mmmm, you're too young to be so jaded, girl."

John stared at her and Juliet couldn't help but return his annoyed look either. God, she hated that he called her a girl, as if she were a baby.

"I'm not jaded and I'm not a… girl."

"You should be in bed, sleeping like a good girl."

"Sir," Juliet cleared her throat, "with all due respect, do you dislike me?" You don't need to treat me like a child, because I'm not one.

"For God's sake, if you are, how old are you? Fifteen?"

"Twenty."

"Damn," he exclaimed, taking a drag on his cigarette, "you're a baby Redd." If it weren't for your abilities, I wouldn't have a fucking idea what you're doing in these areas. A face like yours should be thinking about studying a decent degree at university.

She exhaled in frustration, not wanting to talk about her private life or how she had gotten to those circumstances, she faced him, with the glass in her hands and her eyes fixed on the Lieutenant's face.

"Answer the question sir, because even while I was with you at the base, you seemed to barely tolerate me, so why?" Why do you dislike me?

Price looked at her slightly confused, her question made him feel baffled for a moment as if he didn't understand why Juliet had asked him that.

"What? Of course I don't dislike you. What made you think that?"

"You, yourself, look at me as if you hate me or as if… as if I'm not doing my job well."

John exhaled smoke again as he looked at her.

"I'm just worried that you're overloaded with so much work at such a young age." John smiled warmly, full of genuine concern. "You're too young to take on these responsibilities."

“I am capable enough to do what is asked of me,” she confronted him with the contemptuous and annoyed look.

"Mmm… Capable is one thing, girl" John held up a veil and leaned towards it a little "but living with what you do is another. These kinds of things take their toll on anyone, especially girls your age."

"Don't underestimate me," she murmured as a warning.

John shook his head with a low chuckle.

"Oh, you're anything but someone who could be underestimated, girl. And if I ever start to underestimate you, I want you to slap me. I'm just worried about my team, you've been through a lot in the last year and I…" the words faded from John's mouth as he placed the cigarette between his fingers and stood silently for a moment deep in thought. , with your eyes fixed on hers "you are not invincible."

Juliet parted her lips slightly, feeling the Lieutenant's overwhelming perfume mixed with the clean smell of a man after he had gotten out of a shower and put on all kinds of lotions to smell so… good.

"I know I'm not," she replied, staring into John Price's blue eyes.

"Well, promise me then that you will take care of yourself."

At John's intense gaze on her, Juliet nodded weakly, feeling her cheeks turn red like a tomato under the dim light of the balcony.

"Good," she said in a low voice.

John smiled and patted her shoulder lovingly before leaning back again and bringing the cigarette to his lips to take a drag and exhale the smoke as he looked at her.

"Mm…don't stay here too long. This city is no place for a beautiful young woman to wander alone in the dark." Juliet's cheeks burned brightly.

"I-I… I was about to order a taxi."

"A Taxi? That…?" Juliet nodded while she rubbed her arms even though she was wearing her leather jacket. She had started to feel cold. John didn't think about it and took off her coat to put it on the girl's shoulders. "nothing like that, I'll take you."

Juliet didn't know what to say, but suddenly she found herself sitting in the passenger seat of a dark Jeep while John was driving with the stereo playing very low. John kept his hands on the wheel, driving down the street, briefly glancing at Juliet. Who seemed a little lost in her thoughts, as she looked out the window at the passing streetlights. With his free hand, John lifted a cigarette to his mouth to take a quick drag and flick the butt out the window. Her eyes rested on the road but also from time to time on her.

Minutes later, John stopped in front of a block of old buildings. He looked out suspiciously and then turned to her.

Are you sure you'll be okay alone?

"I'll be fine."

Are you sure you don't want me to walk you to your door? I do not want anything to happen to you.

She swallowed carefully as she looked at him.

"I don't think it's a good idea."

Price looked at her thoughtfully before sighing and nodding his head a little.

"I guess you're right." Juliet blushed again and opened the door to get out of the car. John pressed a button on the center console to roll down the windows and leaned out ᅳ be careful, Redd. Make sure you go to bed, okay?

Yes, sir.

She smiled and turned towards the doors of the building, only when she reached her apartment and dropped the keys on the living table and felt John's smell completely surround her, did she realize that she was with him. shelter from her. She sank onto the couch with him and brought his manly scent and her musk between her cigarette to her nose with her eyes closed.

Silence surrounded her apartment as she lay back on the couch deeply inhaling the scent filled with lingering cigarette smoke and the subtle scent of her perfume. Her eyes closed as she breathed deeply. She was comfortable, safe, she soon began to fall asleep and her eyelids slowly sank over her eyes without her realizing that she was dreaming.

John Price's strong hands were around her tightly, holding her body as he was protecting her from all the dangers of the world, whispering soft, reassuring words into her ear.

Eldritch!konig

Main master list <—> COD master list

Eldritch!Konig x Scientist!Reader

I could not stop thinking about eldritch!Konig and scientist!Reader. The way könig loves his little scientist, and only cares about her but she doesn’t realize and is being sweet because that’s her personality and just wants to do her job😩

She was his little scientist. She made every thing better for him.  he refused ti talk to any other scientist but her So you wouldn’t believe how fast his day went from gloomy to happy when he saw her and he ran to the bars.

“Y/N!” He said standing at the bars looking at her konigs tentacles reaching out to touch her hand. She brings her hand closer so he could touch it “hello könig, I heard about your little melt down yesterday” she says giving a sympathetic smile.

Konig look down at the ground “they said you weren’t here and I freaked out because that’s the day I get to see you” könig said. Y/N smiles at him making him feel less uncomfortable talking about it.

Y/N and könig talk for a few hours. Y/N asks questions trying to find out not just more about him but his species. Konig explained how eldritch beings reproduce. He went on about finding the perfect vessel to incubate the egg until it’s laid, and then taken care of by the male.

Y/N was pleased with her full page of notes “thank you so much for your time könig, you gave me a lot of new information.” König gave her a sweet smile she couldn’t see due to the mask.

Y/N walks out of the room and könig goes back to the pool in his custom cell to fit his needs as much as possible. He submerged his body under the water. Only if Y/N knew he’s intentions, and what he would do if he could get a hold of her.

Angst

Master list

Simon was not of many words or emotions. Of course he cared for his team dearly but it wasn’t as if he had found a lover and cared with his heart and soul, he only cared because there were team mates. He thought he would never know what it’s like to feel real love until her met her.

He loved everything about her, but most of all he loved how understanding she was. At first he wanted no physical contact such as hugs, kisses and intimacy but as time went on he become more comfortable. It had gotten so comfortable that every morning he wanted a kiss before his long day started which she would gladly give him.

Simon never believed he would have a happy ending, he believed he would die alone after retiring or die on deployment but now he had her that changed. What would he do with out her. She kept him happy and sane.

In the end Simon was right though he never would get his happy ending. She died right in him arms a single gun shot to the upper chest. It broke him, the only woman he ever loved gone, the only woman who made him feel human.

He kept her ashes in a beautiful urn that he had picked out , a style that his now dead lover would have enjoyed. The urn sat on the night stand next to his bed.

Simon never did move on or find a new lover, it didn’t feel right. He ended up losing his life on a mission gone wrong. Price ended up keeping his ashes along with Simons dead lovers ashes.

They sat next to each other on the top ledge of prices fire place. It was nothing but a tragic ending for the lovers, they could have gotten married and had kids but in the end it ended with nothing but tears. Price looked at the two urns