#smx

MOMO STRAY PHOTOSHOOT!!

Not the output of the bts vid I posted but this was taken sometime in March after a convention!!

I rly love how these turned out and I'm considering making prints or CosCards to give out at conventions :33

Finally hit top 1,000 smx players world wide!!!

summary: a mission gone wrong leaves you in the hospital and Captain Price hasn’t come to see you yet.

warnings: descriptions of torture and injury. language. angsty, fluff at the end

a/n: tbh i just really wanted to write a Price thing <3

“It’s been a month, boss,” Gaz leans in the doorway of the hospital room, his voice pitched low. Next to him, John Price stands with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving your sleeping form under clean, white, hospital linen.

“I know that, sergeant,” he murmurs, glancing for a second at his subordinate before returning his gaze to you. “What’s your point?”

“She thinks you’re pissed, sir,” he pauses, seemingly considering his words before adding; “Are you?”

“Am I what? Pissed?” the captain turns his sapphire gaze on Kyle, who nods. “Yeah, I’m pissed. I’m fuckin’ furious. They could’ve killed her, an’ when I find ‘em-“

“She thinks you’re pissed *at her*,” Gaz clarifies, gesturing to you. “Sir.”

“Christ, ‘m not. How’d she get that into her head?” John returns his focus to you, watching you roll halfway under the covers before wincing and rolling back.

“Well you haven’t come to see her when she’s awake. For all she knows, you haven’t even been here,” John nods along with Kyle’s words. He’s right. A second passes before John speaks, voice almost completely absent of his typical commanding tone.

“I’ll stay, talk to her when she wakes up,” he claps a hand on Gaz’ shoulder, a tight smile on his face. “You should go home, get some rest.”

“Yes, sir. Be careful with her though. She’s been through it already,” Gaz casts a last look over you before nodding at the captain and taking his leave.

John sighs, quietly entering the room and sitting in a very nearly comfortable armchair next to your bed. He knew you deserved better than his last month of treatment. The memory of *that* day was fresher than he’d like to admit.

You’d been infiltrating an enemy base. It was supposed to be an easy op, in and out, low hostile count. Easy.

What a joke.

They’d set up on two buildings: Ghost and Soap on one, Price and Gaz on the other, ensuring overwatch cover. You had been sent into the bulding. Alone.

Christ, John wished he could take that order back.

At the time, it’d been a good move. The target building had open floorplans and cieling high windows. They should’ve had no issue covering you. Until you’d radio’d in:

“Cap, there’s a stairwell going down in the back corner of the first floor. Wasn’t in the floorplan,”

And you’d gone down.

The dead air time alone was enough to make the ever-stoic Captain John Price sweat in his fatigues. And after 20 minutes of incrimental “What’s your status?”-es, he finally received a response.

“Boss, I fucked up,” your voice was hushed over the comms and Price’s heart dropped.

“Status, sergeant?”

“This place is crawling. Fifty hostiles, maybe more. Entrance is blocked and there’s not another way out,”

“Find another way out, now. That’s an order,”

“Can’t. ‘m sorry. Gonna cut comms and strip my fatigues. They won’t know who sent me. Won’t give anything up. Promise,”

Before Price could stop you, the snap of the walkie cord and static filled his ears.

It took a week to get you back. They found you in a back room, ankle chained to the bars of the dog cage around you. Malnourished, dehydrated, sleep deprived.

It took everything he had to look at you long enough to recognize the muzzle flash burns on your temples and telltale scars running aross your chest and legs from cigarettes being put out against your skin.

Now, your muffled voice drags him from his thoughts. You look better, curled into the stark white sheets. Your cheeks are regaining their fullness and color, and the dark circles under your eyes have all but vanished.

Can still see the scars on your temples though. He shoves that thought away, willing his blood to a light simmer instead of the boiling rage that threatens to consume him.

“Sorry, what’d you say, kid?” His eyes find yours, now fully paying attention.

“Water, please?” you rasp, gesturing to the cup on the bedside table. He nods, grabbing the cup, gently pulling you into a half-sitting position and holding the straw to your lips.

You take a few sips, wincing a little before nodding, a gesture that your finished for now. John sets the cup down, eyes on your throat, brows furrowed.

“They waterboard you?” his voice is even. Clinical. He doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment that crosses your face, however.

“Yes,” you mumble, turning to face away from your superior. “Is that why you finally showed up? To get my report?”

“No, no it isn’t,” he closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. “I’m sorry, for not being by ‘til now.”

“S’fine. What are you gonna do now?” your voice grows softer and he can hear tears in the back of your throat.

“About what?”

“To punish me,”

John’s gaze snaps to yours, only just catching a tear on your cheek before you wipe it away.

“You—you think you’re in trouble?” he asks, voice dropping to a deadly low tone. You nod, face contorting at the motion for a brief second. John shakes his head. “Bloody hell, you’re not—I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me? I’ve been in here a month and I haven’t even seen you,” now your tears flow freely, streaking down your cheeks. “For the first week, I figured you had paperwork to do, but after a month? Even Ghost came by and you know how he is about going out.”

You curled your arms around yourself, bringing your knees up to your chin, sobs ripping from your chest in a hellish attempt to keep you from breathing evenly.

“I’m sorry, lo-“ he stops himself. He can’t say it, the ‘L’ word. Even as a nickname, it could open the floodgates.

“Tell me then,” you whisper, hiccuping through your tears. “Tell me the truth, why would you stay away like that?”

“Christ, I just-I couldn’t. It was too hard,” he drops his gaze the the floor, suddenly finding the linoleoum tile fascinating while waiting for your response.

“Hard? It was too hard? You don’t think it was hard for Soap or Ghost or Kyle? He’s been here every goddamn day!” your tears begin running down your cheeks, hot and fast as anger replaces sorrow. “You don’t think it was hard for me, sitting in this fucking room thinking that my captain was mad at me because I messed up our mission and lost the intel and got tied up and beaten and—“

“I know that, love,” John snaps, standing quickly and turning away. “I know that it’s been hard. And I know I should’ve come sooner. And you want the truth?”

You nod, eyes wide. John drops back into his seat, reaching out to brush some of the tears from your cheeks with calloused fingers.

“You almost died. You’re lucky you didn’t. An’ the whole time you were in surgery I knew that if I saw you, I’d say something stupid,”

“Why?”

“Because-Christ-because I love you. An’ I shouldn’t ‘cause I’m your captain. But I can’t lose you, knowing I never said it, hell. I’m sorry. For all of this. I’ll never bring it up again. An’ if you wanna put in for a transfer, I’ll approve it. Promise,” he slumps back in his seat, looking more defeated than you’ve ever seen him. His hardened outer shell has worn hundreds of missions and storms and losses, and this is what broke him?

You start to laugh, a small giggle, but it grows and John’s head snaps up. You look happier than you have in a while, even before the incident, and warm blue eyes widen in wonder at your sudden change.

“Say somethin’ funny, did I?” he grins, charming and a little bashful and it only makes you laugh harder. After a minute, the sound dies down, leaving you to ask for your water again, throat shredded from the rollercoaster of emotions.

“I’m sorry, just-didn’t expect you to say that,” you quietly start, hand venturing from under the blanket to find Price’s much larger one. “I, um, I love you. Sir.”

“Don’t-have to call me ‘sir’. Not when it’s just us,” then a pause, his eyes find yours and he lets out a slow breath.

“Will we get in trouble?” your voice trembles a little and John winces, knowing you might cry again.

“No, no, I’ll-I’ll talk to Kate, sort something out. Promise,” he gently moves his fingers tighter around yours, thumb brushing over you knuckles. You smile, brighter than the sun and he swears he gains ten years on his life everytime he sees it.

“Can you kiss me now then?” you ask breathlessly, and John laughs, standing and leaning forward. His lips gently press against yours. It’s chaste and soft and short, but it’s perfect.

-—————-———-—-

“They’ve been like that since I got here,” Kyle Garrick stands in the doorway to your hospital room, arms crossed. Soap is leaned against the opposite doorframe, while Ghost sits in a chair a few feet away.

“‘Bout time too, I swear they’ve been makin’ eyes at each other for ages,” Soap shakes his head, gesturing into the hospital room.

The topic of conversation there, you sleeping soundly in the haze of white linen around you, fingers holding the hand of their captain, who’s snoring at a truly ungodly volume from the chair beside your bed.

“Laswell, 10 o’clock,” Ghost mutters, glancing at Gaz.