#maelstrom007

Mal stood at the far wall of their crafting space, studying their old leather bound notebook. It was an account of every project they’d ever undertaken here at the shop, filled to the brim with notes. Currently, it was open to the last commission on their list for this quarter, someone wanting a garment that would fill them with confidence after a particularly difficult time in their life. Before them stood several cones of yellow and orange cotton that they had dyed with this intention in mind. Now to decide what it would become. Mal closed their eyes, imagining the customer in their head, how their shoulders had hunched and neck sunk involuntarily. They needed something to straighten up, bring some height back into their frame. A jacket would do them nice. 

Mal took the cones to their warping board, a square frame with pegs hanging on the wall, and readied the yarn. Before they began Mal closed their eyes once again, taking deep breaths and pressing their bare feet firmly into the floor as they grounded themselves. Once they were settled, they imagined in their mind what their customer would look like in this new jacket. How their face would be full of warmth and joy, how much taller they would stand, the swagger and spring in their step as they walked. Mal let the feeling wash over them, filling themselves up with the giddy confidence. Full of energy, Mal began the warping process, tying an orange yarn to one peg and wrapping it around sequential pegs until it was as long as their fabric needed to be, then doubling back and following that same path back. 

Maintaining this confident headspace Mal continued on, occasionally switching between colors to create a shimmering ombre across the warp. This warp will act as the vertical threads when they weave the fabric later on tonight. Already they could see the gentle halo radiating off of the threads as the intent gets buried deeper and deeper. By the end it’ll be radiant like the sun. 

The slight jostle of someone attempting to open the front door made Mal accidentally skip a peg, breaking them out of their concentration. Immediately the halo of the current length they were working on dimmed, forcing them to backtrack and do their best to bring themselves back into the confident headspace. They didn’t really care if someone was at the door, there was no reason for anyone to be there and thus no reason to give them the time of day. Pick up was always reserved for the last week of the month, and they hadn’t pulled aside the heavy curtains hanging from the gutters that prevented humans from seeing the shop, and warned Fae from entering without an invitation. No, those get pulled when Mal’s commission list was empty and ready for new customers. Which it wasn’t. 

The jostle returns again and only a well timed breath keeps the bubbling anger from making its way into the warp. They tied it off and stepped away with a sigh. They couldn’t afford to keep having their concentration disrupted by the mystery person at the door. 

Opening the door reveals a girl, smiling brightly, “Hey, I think your doors locked.”

“It’s not,” Mal replies. Not in the physical sense anyway. Witch’s wards are strong and clever like that. Although they will have to check up on the curtains outside. Nobody should have been able to find their shop with them pulled shut, although now there was a clear section that was pulled to the side where the girl seemingly forced her way through. Those damn Moth’s were probably nibbling on it again. 

The girl stares at them for a moment, as if expecting them to say more. Evidently the silence becomes too long as she presses on, “Aren’t you going to let me in?” 

“Why would you want in?”

“Because you’re a business? And I’d like to do business here?” The exasperated look on the girl's face is enough to set Mal’s teeth on edge. 

“Pushy aren’t you?”

“Yes. Now come on, I want to get something nice for my boyfriend and he’s going to pick me up any minute now.”

Something about the girl’s big, insistent eyes made Mal’s resolve crack, “Fine. You’ve caught me in an indulgent mood.” Mal turned around, walking back towards the counter, “What are you thinking of?”

When the girl didn’t immediately follow they turned around again, only to see her seemingly stuck mid stride, foot unable or unwilling to touch the hardwood floor of the storefront. Curious. The girl seemed perfectly human to them, but looks could be deceiving. 

“You’re welcome in, for this transaction,” her foot fell with a solid thump, and she continued walking in as if nothing had happened.

“So I’d like to get something for my boyfriend.”

Mal settled in and flipped their notebook to a new page, “So you’ve said.”

“Yeah, well I know that he likes to cover up a lot, but recently his gloves have been falling apart and what with Winter coming up I don’t want his hands to be cold-”

As the girl talked, Mal kept a close eye on her chest, watching for any tethers that shone brighter than the others. Humans, and sometimes Fae, had a hard time deciding what their real intent was for a gift, and sifting through their tethers was always easier than getting it out of them through words. Except that the more this girl talked, the more her chest started to light up like a god damn christmas tree. She was tangled and pierced and snared on so many hooks it was almost distressing, and one in particular burned so bright it almost hurt Mal’s eyes to look at.

“Excuse me,” Mal interrupted her, “but may I?” they said, pointing towards the brightly glowing tether at the center of her chest. 

“Uh, sure,” she said, slightly confused but trusting all the same. 

Reaching out they gently snagged the tether with the tip of their pinky finger. Even with that small amount of contact all they could think of was LOVE LOVE LOVE. So much love, and passion, and desperation, and protectiveness. 

Within the next second, Mal’s ears popped as air that used to be in the space behind the girl forcibly vacated in favor of someone apparating there in its place. Mal stumbled back, eyebrows raised in shock as the absolutely massive fucker came into focus. Piercing brown eyes peered out through a pale white skull mask, with one hand wrapping protectively around the girl's chest and the other landing solidly on the table creating an effective barrier between them and Mal. 

“What’s wrong, Love?” The man's voice was deep, and although he was addressing the girl, (the capital L was obvious in his tone) his eyes never left Mal’s. 

“Well I was going to get you a surprise gift, but I guess that’s not happening anymore.”

“Why were they touching you.”

Mal straightened, “I received permission, if that is your concern. I was only attempting to see what her true intent was for this gift.” Despite the way he was glaring, Mal could tell this man didn’t think they were a threat, at least not physically.

On closer inspection the guys gloves did look as if they were threadbare, ready to fall apart if a stiff breeze came through. He was fae, no doubt about it, and even his human form commanded respect. Mal could see the shimmery effect of the fae’s obscura, hinting at a much larger and much more. . .sinister silhouette. They could do better, break up the outline of his body like camo on a soldier's fatigues, but something told them that he wouldn’t appreciate being upsold at the moment.

“And what was my intention?” Love looked almost giddy to know, leaning over the counter top with a manic grin on her face. 

Mal quickly looked between Love and the man, trying to gauge the pro’s and con’s of this whole interaction. 

“Go on,” he said. 

“Well, it seemed like Love here wanted to stake a claim on you. To possess and protect you as much as you do her.” 

Like a seesaw, Love rocked backwards into the man's embrace, wrapping her arms up around his neck and giggling, “Yeah, I guess I am a little obsessed with you.”

For once he looked a little bit out of his depth, and once again Mal almost had to shield their eyes from the sun that seemed to light up between the two. Jesus these two were co dependent as all hell. 

“So,” Mal said, desperate to get this conversation over with, “any design you want in particular?”

“Oh, right, I think his gloves should be dark black, with white details that look like finger and hand bones. And can you make them really warm and soft? Am I asking for too much? You’ll tell me if it’s too much right? Also-”

Mal dutifully took notes, not even attempting to get a word in edgewise as Love rambled on. Briefly looking up, Mal saw the masked man curled contentedly around and over top Love’s much smaller form like a mountain sized cat. It was hard to find him intimidating now that his eyes were full of love and adoration. 

In the moment, it didn’t occur to Maeve how sad it was that she was the only person struck with a sense of urgency at the noise coming from the well. No, it took her several days before the anguish, anger, and despair properly took her body and froze it stone cold. But we’re not there yet. We’re here in the now. And right now, there is a haunting, bone chilling wailing emanating from the well. 

Maeve nearly falls in herself with how quickly she runs, pail forgotten as she peers over the edge. The desperate sound of a child’s scream echoes off of the stone walls and pierces her ears. But it’s the sight of the small child, face contorted in fear and confusion as it tries to find purchase on the wet stone that truly breaks her. 

“Shhh, sweetheart. Ye’re alright, I’ll get you out don’t ye worry,” Maeve called down, calm and steady. 

Unfortunately the communal bucket and rope were down the well with the child, who most likely pulled the free end of the rope out of its temporary mooring in an attempt to climb out. There would never be a time where Maeve was happiest to be a crafter, pulling a long length of cordage from her rucksack and tying a large loop on one end of it. When she was done she tossed it down, keeping a firm grip on the free end. 

Over the continued panicking cries of the child she yelled, “Put your legs through and rest the loop under your bum sweet thing. Now grab the rope and hold tight.” 

Fear and determination fuelled Maeve as she heaved, struggling against the weight of a sopping wet child as she slowly pulled them out of the well. There was a brief moment of terror where her hands slipped on the second half of the cordage that had become wet when it landed in the water. Despite the burning feeling of rough and woody fiber pulling through her palms she held fast, regaining her grip and pulling with all her strength. Bright red hair peaked over the edge of the well, and Maeve desperately held the tension in the cord with one hand  as she reached out with the other, scooping up the child into her arms. They latched onto her like a leech, nearly squeezing the life out of her as they cried into her neck. 

“There there, I’ve got ye now. Don’ worry a thing lovely,” she murmured, wrapping the child in her cloak, the bright yellow accompanying the mop of fiery red hair nicely. 

By the time they walked home, the child had settled down somewhat in her arms, no longer crying the blood curdling scream from earlier, but still shouting and bawling something fierce. Out from the front door rushed her daughter, long flaxen hair streaming behind her as she came to investigate. 

“Ma, who’s this?”, she said, poking at the bundle in her arms.

“I haven’t a clue darling, But first, let's get them warmed up. Feed the fire will you Niamh.”

Maeve sat in front of the fire, cradling the bundle in her arms as Niamh set it blazing hot. She cooed, humming under her breath and rocking gently. Niamh sat down next to her, watching intently as the child continued to cry, but said nothing. They sat there so long that her daughter fell asleep on her shoulder, snoring gently. And still they cried, and still Maeve soothed, all the way until the morning dawn. Only then, did the cries turn to sniffles, until finally they stopped completely. 

“There we are,” she murmured, “feeling better darling?”

Pulling away from Maeve's shoulder, the child finally turned to face her for the first time, face still scrunched tight and wet with tears. 

“Come now, relax,” she gently brushed her fingers over the child’s face, soothing worry lines and wrinkles until their face was lax and still in her hands. 

“Open your eyes wee thing.” 

Now, there were plenty of things Maeve was expecting, such as brown or maybe even blue eyes to peer back at her with the whites bloodshot and red from the river of tears. 

What she was not expecting was the set of four large, perfectly circular black eyes staring back at her. To her credit, she did not flinch or otherwise spook at the sight, peculiar though it was. At that point in time, all she was concerned about was making sure the poor thing was alright. 

The next thing that happened though, she did startle at. The child began to squirm, turning their head this way and that desperately in search of something. It wasn’t until they spotted Niamh did they stop their search, going stock still as they looked upon her daughter. Almost imperceptibly, the child pivoted their head at multiple angles, as if they were studying her. Then, their outline began to blur into the surrounding air, as if looking at a mirage on a hot day. Suddenly, they came back into crystal clear focus, except now in the shape of her sleeping daughter. 

Maeve’s eyes widened in shock, arms squeezing slightly at the new development. Had she had too much to drink? Was this some elaborate nightmare? But the more she looked, the more she saw the differences. For a start their hair was still shockingly red as ever, but there were other things too. The mole was on the wrong side, and the scar across the brow Niamh had gotten as a toddler was missing, and a multitude of other small discrepancies revealed the poor attempt at what Maeve assumed was blending in. 

She’d heard about creatures like this. Faeries swapping a human child with their own, tormenting their new family until it drove them into destitution and ruin. The child's eyes were still large and black, although seemingly reduced from four to two in the mimicking attempt. How could anyone believe that those eyes wished them harm? Staring up trustingly at her, completely at her mercy. She could have let them drown, or tossed them into the hot fire, and yet it trusted her not to. 

“Do you have a name?” She wondered aloud. Just as she wondered if they knew how to talk, the child spoke. 

“My name is Malcontent,” they whispered, thankfully not in Niamh’s voice. Maeve didn’t know if she could keep it together if they did. 

Pity crossed her features, “What a terrible name for a child. We should change it to something more pleasant.”

“NO!” Malcontent screamed, face contorted in anger, “My name is Malcontent!” 

The irony of the situation did not escape her, “Why would your parents give you such a name?” 

Like a switch, anger was replaced with sadness, “My parents didn’t give me that name. The ones they left me with gave it to me. Kept saying how I couldn’t be their child cause their angel was never as unhappy and angry as I was. I just wanted to go home. But I don’t know how.”

Maeve listened intently, tears poking at the corners of her eyes, “You sure have a lot of words for a child so small.” To that, Malcontent had no response, so she continued, “It was unfair of them to give you such a burdening name. Names have power, and what else could you do but be upset and angry and sad being called something like Malcontent all day?”

“But I was sad and angry and upset before them. And I always will be,” they mutter determinedly. 

Maeve made one last attempt, “I think you should consider trying another name for a while. See how it feels?”

“Fine. But I don’t know many names.” they scowled, as if inconvenienced by the fact that Maeve was trying to save them from the most upsetting name she had ever heard. 

She paused, thinking of the options. There were a multitude of names to choose from, many of which could be a fitting and pleasant name to bear. However, it also felt wrong to completely wash over and erase a part of this child's history and experiences. 

Ghost’s boots had barely hit the tarmac before Price was greeting him, “Ghost, glad to have you back. Trust everything went smoothly?”

“Aye sir, like butter,” Soap said, revealing himself from behind Ghost’s bulk as he caught up with his long strides.

Ghost hummed and nodded an affirmative. It was one of those missions where it was easy, but relaxing for even a second could jeopardize everything they’d been working towards, and his emotional and mental reserves were at their limits. All he had to do was make it through their de-briefing, and then he could finally relax. 

“There’s someone I’d like you two to meet,” Price continued, turning on his heel and beginning to walk back the way he’d come, not even checking to see if they were following.

“Guess we’re not done yet huh L.T,” muttered Soap, clapping him on the bicep and starting to walk away, “Let’s see who the old bugger want’s to show us”. 

He sighed, steeling his resolve and began following in their wake, catching up with them quickly. If Price noticed Ghost’s grumpy aura, he didn’t comment on it, and Soaps mindless chatter filled the space enough for the both of them. Before they even reached the main doors, the distant sounds of. . .whistles? pierced the air. They were sharp, high pitched, and for all intents and purposes sounded sporadic and chaotic. 

“The fucks that,” Soap said, finally picking up on the sounds as well. 

“S’ a fuckin migrain in the makin ‘s what it is,” muttered Ghost, “that your surprise Price?”

“Sorry it’s not wrapped up in a bow for ya Ghost, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

The whistling sound grew louder and louder as the trio rounded the outside of the compound towards the yard, and with it came the accompanying sound of barking dogs. Ghost hadn’t heard that sound in a long time, what with always being deployed and the 141 rarely, if ever, working with dogs. They turned the final corner, the yard coming into full view and finally revealing Price’s surprise. 

The yard was a wide open space, covered with mainly dirt and the barest shrubs of grass that managed to survive the daily trampling and abuse. There was a semi visible track that was made purely from the consistent path made by soldiers during morning conditioning. The center featured multiple man made obstacles meant to simulate real things they may encounter in the field, windows, stairs, tunnels, high drops, corners, essentially urban terrain. He followed Price as he continued on towards the obstacles, revealing a scene that finally put the chaotic noises they’d been hearing into context. 

Naturally, the first thing Ghost’s eyes were drawn to was the german shepherd trying his damndest to rip the arm off of a poor recruit. It growled and held on tight, twisting and tugging and making sounds that had adrenaline spiking even through Ghost’s well trained gut. As the soldier twisted and was dragged along by the weight of the dog the angle changed, and he could see clearer that the soldier's arm was thoroughly padded, although the grimace on their face told him it didn’t do much to relieve the pain. The dog continued its one minded pursuit, even as the soldier gently hit them with a padded baton, seemingly simulating a resisting opponent. 

Suddenly, a high pitched whistle sounded from the other side of the field. Instantly, the dog let go and began running away, despite having only just previously been growling so low and deep that it sounded like it had been possessed. Ghost’s eyes snapped to the source of the sound, and noticed a previously unseen man hiding in the shadows of a half wall in the course. The dog did not lose momentum, barreling towards the man at top speed. Just before the dog reached him he pulled a toy out from behind his back that was attached to a string and tossed it out up and to the side, allowing the dog to jump and catch it with a victorious bark. He briefly played with the dog, tugging and rough housing as he play growled and laughed his praises. In the next instant he was standing tall, giving a terse command that stopped the dog completely in its tracks, sitting down and panting happily. 

“Gentlemen, meet our new operative,” Price said next to him, sounding a little smug at their stunned silence as he beckoned the man over. Ghost was able to get a better look at him when he stepped from behind the half wall and into the late afternoon sun. He could already tell that he was tall, not quite as tall as himself, but he knew that the man would be closer to his eye height than most could ever hope to be. While his physique was slightly smaller compared to Ghost, he had fought enough people to know that he shouldn’t be fooled, especially if he had gotten this far in his career. By far the most interesting feature though, was the large, well loved cowboy hat perched atop his head. He sauntered over, stride confident and unrushed with his dog attached to his left leg like they were glued there. 

“Ye know I’m startin to feel left out with all these out of reg headgears I’m surrounded by,” Soap commented, pointedly looking at Ghost’s mask, Prices bucket hat, and the newcomers cowboy hat, “Feelin the urge to go hat shoppin next time we’re on leave.”

“No,” Ghost and Price said in unison. 

“Augh, yer no fun,” he muttered, scuffing the dirt with his shoe. 

When the man finally reached them he reached up and grabbed the crown of his hat, tipping it and briefly nodding his head as he greeted them. 

“Evenin sirs, names Sergeant Markus Cooper, and this here is Beau,” he said, absentmindedly reaching a hand down to pet Beau’s head, who was staring up at Markus as if he hung the moon. 

“As you may have guessed,” he continued, “ I am a K-9 special operative. It’s a pleasure to be joinin your team.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, and with a subtle lilt to his voice that betrayed an upbringing in the southern US. 

Ghost also noticed that he was right in his initial assumption about Markus’ height. The man barely had to tilt his head to make eye contact, solidly landing himself in the position of second tallest on the task force. 

Soap immediately reached a hand out, “Names John MacTavish, but you can call me Soap. Yer dog’s mighty impressive.”

“Thank you kindly, we’ve been workin together for some years now. Know eachother like the back of my hand,” he said, taking the compliment with grace. 

Markus then turned his gaze to Ghost, “And who might you be?” His eyes were a deep, dark brown, and his smile was wide and easy, charming and full of self confidence. 

The exhaustion from the mission and the unexpected attention from this newcomer left Ghost embarrassingly slow to react. Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, Price spoke up, patting his shoulder gently. 

“This here’s Lieutenant Ghost. He’s not one to talk much, but don’t let that deter you. Soap’s certainly not.”

Markus reached out his hand this time, extending it towards Ghost, “Pleasure to meet you sir.” 

This time Ghost was more prepared, and he met him in the middle, shaking his hand firmly. It was large and sturdy, and for once Ghost didn’t have to worry about accidentally crushing someone’s fingers. 

“Likewise,” he murmured, and was surprised by the man's smile growing even wider. 

“Well boys, shall we bring this inside? Dinner’s ready soon, and I’m sure you two could use a good meal,” Price said, leading the way to the mess. 

Ghost stepped in line behind him, but quickly turned his head back around as Markus said something behind him, “Did you say something?”

Markus gave a confused little hum, before saying, “Ah, no I wasn’t talking to you. That’s Beau’s que to follow in a heel.” And sure enough Beau was diligently attached to his leg again, keeping in perfect pace with his steps. 

Soap tried to imitate the sound, to no avail, which got a chuckle out of the other man, “Hah, nice try, but that ain’t gonna work. I’ve practiced long and hard to keep my commands unique, and Beau here is a very good listener.” 

Ghost turned back around, content to let the other two chatter amongst themselves. 

—

Markus chuckled as Soap continued to attempt to mimic his commands. He wasn’t worried in the slightest. Beau was a smart dog, and Soap was massacring the words to no end, allowing himself to space out a little bit as they followed behind Price and Ghost. He could already tell that he was too invested in Ghost. There was something about his aloofness, the way his warm brown eyes peered through the holes in his mask that drew him in. What was it with him and wanting unattainable men? He needed to keep himself in check. Joining the 141 was a serious milestone in his career, and he couldn’t afford to mess it up. Despite his nonchalance earlier during their introductions, Markus had of course recognized Ghost as soon as he saw him. His reputation made sure of that. Surely messing around with a man of his caliber would land him dead or worse. 

As they entered the mess proper Markus reflexively reached up and took off his cowboy hat and turned in search of a peg, but found none. Shaking his head, he rested it on his knee under the table, off-handedly releasing Beau from his heel in favor of a lie down between his legs. He ensured his legs were spread wide so that they clearly defined the extremes of Beau’s lay down, serving as a buffer between his dog and the people walking past. He’d rather get kicked in the shin or have his toes stepped on than risk Beau getting hurt. 

Next to him Ghost failed to hide his scoff, “Whatever happened to no dogs at the table?” 

He did his level best to hide his irritation, turning to face Ghost. They’d only just met, he’d cut him some slack, especially considering he was his superior officer, “Where I go. Beau goes.” 

They stared each other down for a brief moment, but whatever Ghost saw in his eyes must have convinced him as he finally turned away. “Fine, but he better not beg.” 

Markus didn’t even acknowledge the comment, shaking his head. He briefly waited for Ghost and Price to start eating before starting at his own plate, sure his mom was feeling an odd sense of pride somewhere in the world for him remembering his manners. 

The silence didn’t even last long enough for it to become awkward before Soap was filling it again, “So Markus, you got a call sign yet?”

He sighed, giving an awkward chuckle as he answered, “Well, I have one that was given to me by the first team I ever been on.” He paused, “But I never knew how to feel about it.”

Soap rocked forward in his seat, leaning over the table and almost getting food all over his shirt as his eyes gleamed, “Well! Spit it out then!” Peaking out of the corner of his eye revealed a completely relaxed and unfazed Ghost and Price. This behavior must be commonplace for Soap then. 

Markus sighed dramatically, “Pavlov. Markus ‘Pavlov’ Cooper.”

“Shit, isn’t that the guy that got his dogs to drool just from a bell ringin?” Soap said, mouth full of food as he continued to eat. 

“Yeah, it is. He’s not the best guy to be named after, considerin how messed up his experiments were, but we don’t pick our names, we earn ‘em. I’ve always had a special bond with dogs, can train ‘em like no other. Mine are the best of the best,” he reached down to pet Beau once again, sneaking him a small morsel from his plate. 

Ghost snorted unexpectedly next to him, and he turned with surprise. Markus thought that if he looked hard enough, he might be able to see wrinkles at the corner of his eyes through the holes in the mask. 

“Got somethin’ to say sir?” Even he was surprised by the slightly icy edge to his voice, and Soap visibly froze across from him, eyes wide. 

Ghost turned in his seat, facing him more directly. Jesus he was a big fucker, shoulders broad and commanding the room with his presence. Whatever emotion he thought he saw earlier in those eyes was gone, replaced with bored indifference. 

“What, can’t be that hard to train a dog,” he said, “they’ve been bred for generations for obedience afterall.” 

He sighed. This was a common misconception. Years of breeding contributed to obedience, but that meant nothing without constant reinforcement and structure. In the case of working dogs it was even worse. Without a job, an outlet, they could become destructive and more of a hindrance than they were worth. 

But how to tell that to someone who seemed completely disinterested in you and your line of work? 

“I can assure you Lieutenant, it takes skill and dedication to make a dog ready for war. It’s not unlike training a soldier, every person needs something slightly different to make them succeed in their field.”

“And what, you provide that something different Sergeant?”

“Yes sir I do. And if your Captain didn’t think I was the best of the best I wouldn’t be here.”

The way Ghost looked at him after he invoked Price's judgment made him wonder if that hadn’t been a mistake. But silence fell, and considering the fact that his head was still on his shoulders, he considered it enough of a win. 

Like clockwork, Soap filled the silence, “You mentioned soldiers earlier, ya think you could train some funny responses into people Pavlov?” 

“S’not how it works Johnny. People are much smarter than dogs, wouldn’t work on them,” Ghost said dismissively. 

Markus let the conversation fall away from him, letting Soap entertain himself with this new line of thought with Ghost. The man continued to not entertain the idea, keeping his responses short and dismissive as he absentmindedly ate his food. It was amazing how infuriated he was at the man's ability to close himself in behind a metaphorical brick wall, letting nothing get in or out. This man could afford to be dropped down a few pegs. 

Markus returned to his food, hiding a small smirk as wheels began to turn in his head.