Traitor part 8
ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE
here it is everyone :)) took me forever but itâs finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. Iâll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyoneâs expectations. thank you all for the love youâve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.
let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3
thank you again!
after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.
it never ends, does it?
apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.
it was in each of their eyesâ the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that lookâ not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.
you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadnât bothered picking up what had been disturbed.
youâd be gone too soon for it to matter.
your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before youâre moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.
itâs kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
âhello?â you say as you answer the call.
âitâs kate,â comes the womanâs familiar voice through the speaker. âim on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.â
you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. âyouâre coming here? why?â
you hear her sigh. âwe can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.â she tells you.
âcan you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?â you ask.
she doesnât answer for a moment, and then:
âweâll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.â
you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.
why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?
your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.
laswell is coming here to do damage control.
you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.
you werenât being reassigned. you were being discharged.
but was it at her insistence, or someone elseâs?
you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to priceâs office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly youâre aware that youâre still in that damned robe, but youâre on a mission.
and when you start something, you see it through.
you donât bother knocking as you reach priceâs door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.
priceâs eyes widen at the sight of you, but simonâs face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.
âyou motherfuckers,â you hurl the words at them, âyou fucking knew. you knew.â
âlove, what are you talkinâ about?â price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.
âlaswell,â you say, and priceâs eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.
âwhatever she told youââ
âshe didnât tell me shit,â you huff. âI figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? sheâs playing fucking babysitter, isnât she?â
price doesnât speak. your gaze flits to simonâs.
âIâm sure you were rooting for this outcome, werenât you? couldnât finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isnât it? sending me back to fucking nothing.â
âthis job is my life,â you turn your attention back to the captain. âand you fuckers just canât stop ruining it, can you?â your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. youâre becoming hysteric.
âall because of a fucking lie!â youâre yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.
âcalm down,â the sound of simonâs rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.
and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you donât.
you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the roomâ hell, the world falls awayâ and itâs just him and you.
like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.
on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.
in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.
when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him youâre the rat and he doesnât want to believe it.
itâs just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but itâs more than that.
itâs a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.
and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.
what they condemned you to.
what he condemned you to.
he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.
priceâs eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.
âlet âem,â he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.
âfuck you,â you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.
he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. youâd cringe if this were any other circumstance.
instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.
âghostââ price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.
âfuck you, simon! fuck you!â you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.
and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didnât want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.
but he still didnât jump in. was it because of ghostâs insistence? or because your captain didnât want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?
you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, theyâve split again. thereâs no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once theyâve healed.
more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew youâd never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white linesâ discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.
blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simonâs. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. goodâ now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.
you wouldâve thrown it away anyways.
you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.
his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.
you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.
âdone?â
and you donât have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you donât look away from what youâve done.
itâs no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.
because itâs him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. heâd shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.
and yet he didnât stop you.
âwhy?â you ask him, and itâs a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesnât shy away.
he shrugs. âyou needed it.â
heâs focusing on one aspect of the questionâ on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.
âleast I could do,â he says.
you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?
âis it your fault, then? that Iâm being discharged?â you find yourself asking, and youâre not sure if you want to know the answer.
maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.
âno,â he says, and you know he means it.
he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.
he sighs. âI didnât want you to go.â
that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted thatâ because that is who he was.
and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.
âI donât want you to.â he corrects himself.
the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.
âyouâve been an asshole,â you say, and he gives a curt nod.
âprobably.â he concedes. âbut I wouldnâ take anythinâ back. I told you, I meant what I said.â
âis that supposed to make me feel better?â you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.
âno,â he tells you. ânothinâ I can say can do that.â
you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.
âI am never going to forgive you,â you tell him, words full of so much hurt.
he nods again. âI know. I donâ blame you. donâ expect you to, neither.â
âbut IâmâŠâ he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. âim sorry.â
you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.
âI hope so,â you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasnât moved an inch since youâd finished your assault.
âI hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.â
you breathe in, then out. âand I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,â your voice is soft. âbecause I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.â
his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.
those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what couldâve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.
you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.
their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.
âi donât care to speak to kate,â you say to price, your eyes meeting his. âfuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.â
you turn to johnny next. âyou shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I donât want your sympathy, and I donât want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.â
finally, kyle. âand you,â you glare at him. âif anyone other than simon shouldâve defended me, it shouldâve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.â
you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. âI want you to get me temporary housing and a car because thatâs the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I donât want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.â
none of them spoke, and you didnât give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.
a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. itâs still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.
you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadnât bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes youâd recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.
the driver doesnât speakâ price had given him all the information he neededâ and paid himâ before heâd fetched you. it seems your final outburstâ and beating simon to a pulpâ had finally put some urgency in his movements.
none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.
(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)
the driver turned up the musicâ some pop song you didnât know the name ofâ and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.
you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didnât try to fight it. youâre finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.
you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, itâs peaceful.
you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.
âweâre here,â he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. âcan you get out now? I gotta get home. itâs my wifeâs birthday.â
you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what heâs saying. âsorry,â you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.
you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.
you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. youâve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.
you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.
nestled between some trees, itâs beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.
your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.
how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?
you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didnât want any of them knowing where to find you.
the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sunâs rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.
a new beginning, you think.
you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. itâs a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. itâs furnished, but thereâs no personality to it. it clearly hasnât been somebodyâs home.
the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.
eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you donât recognize.
who else knows youâre here?
perhaps youâll need to leave sooner than you thought.
you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. itâs an offer, you realize. a job offer.
its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.
a new beginning indeed.


















