Chapter Text
The teahouse was warm and peaceful, filled with the low drone of polite chatter and sunlight filtering through lattice windows. A British man with bushy muttonchops and a surprisingly muscular frame hidden under his grey shirt moved to sit at an already occupied table. The blonde American woman looked up, closing the file in front of her.
“Tea?” she questioned. The man settled into his chair and gave her a closed-lip smile.
“Yeah, well, I’m a long way from a proper pint.”
Silence hung between them for a moment, then the woman spoke.
“Russia disowned Barkov.”
“Well they didn’t have much choice, did they? He’s dead.”
“You took a big bite out of that problem, John.”
The woman’s pale eyes flicked back and forth over his face. John nodded, undeterred.
“For now. But left unchecked…”
“They won’t be,” she reassured, then bent to retrieve a folder of files from her bag.
“General Shepherd pulled the files you asked for.”
She set the folder on the table, but when John reached forward she leaned her weight on them, looking him in the eye.
“What exactly is this about?”
John paused, arm outstretched.
“A task force.”
She made a sound of disagreement, shaking her head.
“We already have loose ends.”
“And I will tie them,” John promised, voice low and serious.
“I can fund assets, not outlaws,” she shot back.
John studied her, lips pursed, then nodded slightly.
“Enjoy the tea, then,” he said, making to get up and leave.
Defeated, the woman pushed the folder towards him.
“Zakhaev wants Barkov’s throne,” she said. She tapped her fingers on the folder in a disjointed rhythm of annoyance.
John sat back down. He had the posture of a soldier receiving orders.
“I almost buried him,” John said. “In Pripyat…with MacMillan.”
“That was the father. This is the son, Victor.”
“Lovely family.”
She didn’t seem amused by his dry humor.
“They’re big fans of Hadir’s.”
John sat back. On the table both their cups of tea sat steaming, untouched.
“Well, that would explain why he’s still alive.”
“They’re going to get him out.”
“Then give me what I need.”
At long last, the woman relinquished the folder, slouching back in her chair. John pulled it the rest of the way towards him, inclining his head in thanks.
“Who’s your crew?” she asked as he began flipping through the simple manila files. Each was labeled with a name in small, neat handwriting, some dented from handling.
“Sergeant Garrick,” he said first, pulling out one file.
“Kyle?”
“They call him Gaz. He never said anything.”
John seems slightly saddened by this, but he moves on quickly.
“John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper - demolitions. Goes by Soap.”
“Why?”
“That’s classified.”
The woman rolled her eyes. After bypassing a few files, John pulled another.
“Elizabeth Tyler, SAS. Infiltration and information extraction expert. Speaks six languages like a native and fluent in another six.”
The woman picked up the folder, reading the label.
“Valkyrie?”
“Most people just call her Valk.”
John chuckles.
“There he is.”
He raised a folder before sliding it across to her.
“Simon Riley.”
“There’s no picture,” she noted.
“Never,” came his instant reply.
He reclaimed the four folders in front of her.
“Now the rest,” he said, tucking them under his arms as he leaned forward. “That’s need to know. Unless we got a deal.”
“What are you calling this task force?” she asked. John smiled.
“One-four-one.”
One Week Later
Half a world away, Elizabeth Tyler carefully wrapped her hands. Her gear bag sat, unzipped and yawning open, at her feet. Once she was sure she had everything correct, she nudged the bag to the wall and squared up with the punching bag in front of her, bouncing a few times on the balls of her feet and rolling her head, loosening up.
Her strikes were blindingly quick. What she lacked in sheer muscle power she made up for with speed and accuracy. It wasn’t long before she worked up a sweat, beads of moisture slipping down the back of her neck and down her forehead, but she kept up her assault. Her speed didn’t slow and her hits didn’t veer from their intended marks. Even when a drop of salty sweat rolled down the scar in her eyebrow and dripped into her eye she stayed steady. Stinging eye squinted closed, she completed the series of hits she had planned and finished off with a high kick that left the bag swinging as she stepped away to grope for a towel. Her hand closed around one sooner than expected and she wiped her eyes and brow, looking up to see her CO standing beside her.
“Sir,” she greeted, chest heaving from exertion.
“Tyler,” he replied. “Shower quick, I need to see you in my office on the double.”
About a hundred questions immediately thundered into her mind, but Elizabeth just nodded and gathered her things. Bag slung over her shoulder, she set off for the showers at a jog.
Seven minutes later she rapped on her CO’s office door, dressed in fresh BDUs, hair only slightly damp from the spray of the shower.
“Enter!”
She did, closing the door behind her and standing at attention.
“At ease, Tyler,” her CO said with a wave of his pen, not even looking up from the paperwork he was signing.
She relaxed her stance and clasped her hands behind her back. She had sensed another presence in the room as soon as she had entered, but now her grey eyes immediately sought out the half-shadowed figure, studying him.
The man leaned in the corner of the dim office, a floppy-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. There wasn’t much to make out from what she could see, so she waited patiently for her commanding officer to speak.
Signing the final page with a flourish, her CO shoved the disheveled stack of papers at the man.
“Well, Tyler,” he said, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers. “It’s been…an experience, having you on the team.”
Elizabeth blinked.
“I’m being transferred, sir?”
“Sure are. Some coalition has decided they just have to have you, and apparently the powers-that-be agreed.”
He sounded annoyed, but Elizabeth knew that was just because he hadn’t had the opportunity to throw her out himself. She’d been a thorn in his side for the better part of a year, now. Working with him had been like assigning a pure thoroughbred racehorse to farm labor: a waste of raring drive and power, and they’d driven each other insane as they butted heads over every possible thing to disagree on.
“Well,” she said, carefully considering his next words. As much as she may want to break out into an impromptu song-and-dance number culminating in a giant, double fingered “fuck you” on her way out the door, she restrained herself.
“It’s been a learning experience working under you, sir,” she said. “I hope you continue to receive the recognition you deserve.”
That amount being: fuck all.
Her CO glowered at her in the yellow light of his desk lamp, but before he could jump across the desk and rip out her tongue as she was sure he was imagining, the man in the corner stepped forward.
“Thank you, Williams,” he said in a low voice, laying a heavy hand on her CO’s shoulder. “I’ll take it from here.”
Williams tensed as soon as the other man touched her.
“Yes sir, Captain Price,” he replied.
Whipped dog , Elizabeth thought. She imagined her CO slinking away with his tail between his legs and had to restrain a smile, lips twitching.
“Tyler,” the man — Captain Price — said. Elizabeth straightened.
“Captain.”
“When can you be ready to go?”
Elizabeth cast her mind over her room at the barracks.
“Two hours, sir,” she replied confidently. It would probably take her half that to strip her personal belongings from the room and get everything packed, but she liked to give herself wiggle room. Plus, if she got done early, maybe she could do some digging to see where she was headed before she left.
- - -
“I want both bottles. And your wool socks.”
Elizabeth groaned, slouching against her bunk. The young man sat on the lower bunk looked up at her stonily, arms crossed.
“I’m serious, Valk. Both bottles of Lagavulin and those socks or no deal.”
“They’re £70 bottles of scotch!”
“I am well aware.”
Scowling, Elizabeth looked at her watch, and then at the man.
“You fucking suck, Spider,” she said. He shrugged, utterly unbothered.
“And you’re on a time crunch. Do we have a deal?”
With a longing look back at the golden liquor, Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped.
“Can I at least keep my socks? I got them in the white elephant and they’re so warm.”
For a moment it looked as though Spider was going refuse, then he let out a breath and waved a hand.
“Fine.”
Despite getting what she wanted, it pained Elizabeth to hand over the alcohol. Spider accepted them with barely restrained glee, tucking them away in his trunk. For a moment he just gazed at them, like a mother looking over her child.
Elizabeth cleared her throat.
“Oh! Right.”
Shutting and locking the trunk, tucking the key into his pocket, Spider slid into his chair and woke up his computer screen. Elizabeth leaned on his shoulder, staring at the screen intently.
“Your Captain Price is a busy man,” Spider said, clicking through reports. Some were heavily redacted to the point of being useless, making Elizabeth raise an eyebrow.
“He started out in the SAS, like us, and worked his way up. In 2009 he commanded a unit operating in Urzikstan, then he was kinda all over the map until he dropped off the map entirely for a few years. Can’t find out what he was doing. Late last year his name pops up a few times in relation to the Piccadilly Circus attacks and that whole shitshow, but most of that stuff has been blacked out.”
Clenching her jaw, Elizabeth looked at Spider with narrowed eyes. Still leaning on his shoulder, she was so close his hair tickled her nose.
“I just traded you £140-worth of my favorite liquor for a bunch of redacted reports?” she asked in a quiet, even voice.
For the first time, Spider looked a bit nervous. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, swallowing.
“I mean, that’s what’s there, you’re really paying for the expertise and not the results—”
Elizabeth let out a bark of laughter and pushed away, sending Spider’s chair skidding a few feet.
“That’s where you’re wrong, my arachnid friend,” she said, crouching next to his trunk.
“Hey, what are you—” Spider patted down his pockets. Having unlocked the padlock, Elizabeth tossed the key she had lifted over her shoulder, sending him scuttling after it before it could slide under a dresser. She flung open the trunk and retrieved one of the bottles.
“Hey!” Spider protested from his hands and knees on the floor, key now in hand. Elizabeth stood, bottle tucked safely away in her pack, and gave him a pitying smile.
“I always pay for results,” she said. Bending to pat his cheek, Elizabeth swept from the room.
Alright, Mysterious Captain Price , she thought, pushing open the barracks door and striding out into the sunlight. Let’s see what’s behind the blackout.
The air was humming with late autumn life, the threatening bite of winter padded by the sun’s streaming light. Elizabeth filled her lungs, and it was all she could do not to throw out her arms and spin in the middle of the tarmac as she made her way to the waiting helicopter.
Captain Price rested against the aircraft, smoking a thick cigar. The sweet smelling smoke wafted through the air towards her as Elizabeth approached.
“Ready?” he asked. She nodded.
“Ready.”
Extinguishing his cigar, Price checked his watch.
“One hour and forty minutes,” he said. “Timely.”
“I was just so excited,” she replied. It was delivered evenly, classic dry British humor, but there was a spark of truth to the words.
Price climbed in behind her after she secured her pack. They sat, donning headsets, and the helicopter began to spin up.
“All that excitement and you still had time to look me up,” Price commented casually.
The helicopter lurched and became airborne, and Elizabeth just stared at the man across from her, lips parted in surprise. His eyes twinkled, and she slowly let an impressed smile spread across her face.
Fair play , she thought, settling back into her seat. Despite her general distaste for authority figures (she knows, she picked the wrong career path), she felt a spark of respect blink into life within her.
As her old home fell away beneath her, Elizabeth looked out at the clouds and let herself hope for something better in this new assignment, something where she could finally stretch her skills and be put to use for more than tidying up small mishaps in-country. She knew she had so much more she could do, and maybe this Captain Price was the CO who would finally see that. It was time for a new adventure, and she faced it head-on with a smile on her face.
Bring it on, world. Let’s see what you can throw at me this time.