Chapter Text
"Nyuet."
"No?"
Laswell stares at your answer. The heat on the back of your neck begins to simmer when it dawns on you what you just heard.
You thought you could avoid this for a little longer. Maybe a few more months. But the pile of paper in front of you says otherwise.
"With all due respect, mhnar." thick accent punctuates through your coarse throat, "Nyuet."
She pushes the folder on the desk closer to the edge, and you step back. She closes her eyes, one hand readjusted onto her temple. She expected you to answer this way, to retaliate, to be furious. It agitates you even more knowing she has crassly laid that file in front of you despite knowing.
"You said you're ready to go back in the field."
"I am."
You were more than ready to go back out. The metallic rust that runs through the dirty air, gunpowder itched into your finger beds, the grey sky looming as flashes of bullets rain down like meteors. That is you.
This? This was a joke.
“Then take it.”
“No.”
“There’s nothing else for you.”
“Liar.”
The bridge of her nose flares. Seems like you were listening in more than usual around base. Places that you weren’t supposed to get your ear in once again. Kate can’t apprehend you for that, after all, she’s the one who encouraged it throughout the years.
She leans and clasps her hand together, “Is that so?”
CIA agent, station chief, Laswell was many things. The day you’ve met her you knew she was someone you can’t trust. Too tight on the lips, too loose to pull triggers. An uncomfortable friendliness that bury a hundred secrets. It’s too precise, too much thinking from a single handshake. One you never raised your hand to take. Even when she becomes your handler for a while, it is always neutral, stoic, mapped out entirely with all the possible outcomes. You tried to keep away from that watchful eye, but it sees more than you can control.
Just like now, sitting at her chair, knowing full well the points of your retaliation. You hate playing this little game of hers.
“Chief Ford recommended soldiers covering Kuwait.”
“No. That operation is above you.” She breathes out.
“Operation Orchid.”
“Negative. That isn’t our jurisdiction.”
"Balzar just lost men, helkvet, surely I can-"
“Negative.” She becomes firmer. Her lips thinned, pressed together.
Last attempt to win. You stab your nails into your fleshy thumb behind your back. No way in hell you are going there though. Not if he is there.
“Oh yeah? What if I just went?”
“Do you think insubordination is really a good look for you right now?”
You shrug, “Not like it can get any better. Might as well if its-”
The coughing stopped you, ripping into your windpipes that burned against your squeezed chest. Your hand reached onto the side of your neck, attempting to clear the invisible lump.
You loosen your stiff muscles, shaking your head, continuing raspier than you wish, ”Just…Anywhere. Anywhere but near him. Please. Kate, you know this.”
You were keen to keep the professionalism she loved to hover around you. Over the harsh years, however, both of you have changed in your resolutions. Those piercing smiles break into a soft glow radiating through strict commands. And now, lying to her feels like a cardinal sin. Ironic, given how her job is to gather intel from the sulfur scums of the earth. She no longer needs to dig for answers, you show those jewels begrudgingly through each question. For you, it’s the only way to show that you truly are trying. And Kate had never used it against you, something you deem worthy to try again. It almost comes off as admiration. Maybe it is, and maybe it’s her long con for you to finally dig under your skin and become the puppeteer she always wanted to be. If it was, then it is a bit too late for her to reveal her hands. Not how her eyes have softened at your restrained plea, the ones beyond the words you desperately hope to fillet.
However, that steady gaze that always looked out for you no longer gave the comfort it once held, for now you know what it truly meant. It was of pity. The same gaze you are blinded with for the past few months. One you can’t look at anymore, it reminds you of what had happened. Unsanctioned protocols were held, favours were pulled. She really did try to make it up to you, every step of the way, or the miniscule amount you accepted anyways.
It seems like she had considered your crumbled plea, as if wagering all the other possibilities through her mind, before she calls your name slowly in an exhale, your heart shivers at the tone.
"This isn't a request."
Kate waits for you to respond, the sharpness from your glare before your quick temper that she’s accustomed to, but there was silence. And silence from you was never good, your pupils unfocused, lips slightly parted. She never liked the way your finger would brutalize the other one with rhythmic harsh flicks. The quicker it is, the farther you are away.
"Your official role there is to be their combat medic and translator. Price will fill you the rest once you land tomorrow at 1400."
What Kate added did truly pull you back to reality. None of the roles assigned appease you, and hearing that name doesn’t do any better. Your fingers stopped moving and turned into a tight fist, your eyebrows furrow and mouth twists.
“Who did it?”
The dirty blonde’s edge of her lip quiver, unable to answer that vague and defeated question.
Your throat fully closes up. This really is happening. And once again, you had no say. You never had a say when you’re with him. This must be a direct order from someone who has strings to pull. You can think of many names, but only one pound prominently in your head. Your thread of freedom has come to an end, and he has cut them.
The anger burns your ribs, “Does he know?”
“He does not have the clearance.”
Kate isn’t lying, she had many headachingly infuriating conversations with him, but that old wanker never listens to a thing out of her mouth. Persistent to see with his "bloody own eyes" before he calls it quits.He only quieted down a bit once she had given him vague information. Those semi-monthly short reports of every time she met with him kept him calm. You, on the other hand, had never asked about him or spoken his name once.
Given the sensitivity of the situation, it’s not something she can fathom to mediate between. It’s between you and Price. But knowing you and him, that road to recovery will be hard. And God knows it's going to be a fucking rocky one. Let's just hope you guys will at least try to be civil. What she was given was an opportunity, and she will make sure you take it. No matter the cost.
You seem at a loss at that reply. So you comply, “...Okay. I’ll do it.”
But she saw it in your eyes, those foggy bleak lenses. It tells more than you wish, the real jewels that you try to hide. The one you never have her take.
“Hey,” she lowered her head a little bit, "You have my number, use it accordingly.”
Your flare of anger simmers, she’s giving you a life-line. A resilient answer that you can always count on her if you feel a bit too much. You give in to it sparingly.
She nods at your confirmation, and she goes back to the final rundown of what the final day in the main base entails. What you are needing to inform the medical team on staff at your new base. Once all these are told, saying a short goodbye, you turn to leave. Laswell calls out your name and you look back anticipating another stray of information she might've forgotten. Instead, she stands there, not as an officer, but as someone that acts like they care for you.
"Please, be safe."
You give her a knowing look, "Dheut, myathri."
Despite Laswell's reassurance, your nerves are at an all-time high. Your uniform and tactical gear makes you feel restrained. The turtle neck compression suit isn't helping either. The itch on your neck fancies your attention as you sit inside the loud chopping blades. You chose to ignore it, knowing giving into it will just lead you into an uncontrollable coughing fit. Truly, you would hate it happening now when there are people nearby. Maybe they'll mock you again when they think you can't hear them. You decide to run your fingers on the necklace close to your collarbone instead.
What's on your mind right now? Tell me.
You're excited to be in the field again. To be out there doing what you know best than lounging and being poked around by the doctors. Or to be fair, now play the role of the doctor that pokes around others. At least you have something other to do than the boring regime they've assigned you in main. But that's not what's bothering you. Not from the very beginning.
It's him. Price.
Kate has inadvertently told you this change is an order from above. He must had put in a word to those fuckers. Given he has so much leniency to pull given his track records with completed missions. The thought of him being your captain fills you with…Anger? Yes. Excitement? No. Well, you don't really know. Being forced to do something you have been avoiding fills you with a mixture of emotions that you didn't want to analyse right now. All you know it's ugly. And you are well adjusted to being ugly. That's what's kept you alive for so long.
This anger that constantly runs through your veins allows you to keep going. The look of pure disgust from every glance that caught your eye. The whispers and pointing at the broken cracks of your body. You don’t take it as insults, it fuels you, it keeps you running, it keeps the knife hidden well under your pillow.
And you’re sure Price would do the same. The way his brows would arch, a disheveled firepit that never rekindled, of discontent, of disappointment, of the utter abhorrence that you are still alive. You can’t envision that look… Maybe you don’t want to? A bit of blood dribbles into your throat where your teeth sink deep in the inside of your mouth.
Am I… scared of that?
He won't do that. You know that.
No, you don't. You don’t know anything anymore.
You open up the pill container on your waist and pop two in your mouth. Pushing away those thoughts as the helicopter door swings open. You hop out unceremoniously onto the land of your new prison. It was quaint, discreet was the right way to put it, given how everything seems plain and orderly simple. Everything you smell here is secrecy, ready to be removed without a trace. This was temporary, and for a moment you were glad. It means you are not intended to stay long.
Then it started already, you don’t need to turn to see how the cadets seem to pace slower running past you. It was curiosity, you would like to think, given it seems like everyone has earned their keep here. Everyone except you.
You proceed to leave the premise of the blaring loud helicopter, treading towards the soldier that stood there. He was alert, the small sweat glimmering on his skin makes him seem a bit nervous. Mouth slowly opens as he sees clearer what’s coming towards him. He gives you a quick once over, you cringe at his attempt to be discreet. You don’t blame him for it, he looked new, clean, with a slight tinge of innocence one would have before they’ve been sullied by the harsh warzone. You bet this is the first he’s seen something so wretched.
"P-Private [Y/N]?"
You gave a curt nod in acknowledgement, not wanting to scare him more than he already was. He straightens his jacket before saying more to your non-verbal answer.
"Come with me, I’m ordered to bring you to Captain John Price… Please, ma’am."
You gather your duffel bag and follow the man into the barracks without another word between you two. And through corridors and corners, each step makes your heart pound just a bit faster than you wish. You rounded the corner and that’s when you heard muffled voices behind the door. One particular that you know a bit too well. Like a dog knowing its owner's voice after years apart. The gruffness, the base hitting tones of command. The pit of your stomach is bubbling, and for all the wrong reasons you wished it could be.The soldier guiding you stood aside, insistently for you to make yourself known. It took every bit of you not to drop everything and run.
Instead, you gently place your bag on the floor, before stepping closer to your twisted fate. It feels sickening, heart rattling, knowing who is behind that door. Is there truly no other option? You turn a bit to find an exit, which sadly is being occupied with the fidgety soldier that brought you here. Even if you get out of the direction you came from, there are more people outside knowing you are here, with weaponry that is vastly stronger than the ones that are equipped on your body.
…Or maybe it won’t be that bad? It is all in your head, after all. You know it for sure. Or maybe it isn’t? If you lashed out right here, you’ll never get to see the disappointment that’s on the other side… Or joy? Or hatred?
You’re thinking too much. Just do it.
So you knock loudly, and everything falls silent. Your neck itches, hundreds of ants gnawing at it. Then that familiar voice passed through the door, "Come in."
Firm. Skeleton brisk. You really should've popped two more.
You slowly twist the doorknob and enter. You close the door behind, a small click to solidify your circumstance. The air is still and thick. Not knowing what to do next, you turn and directly gaze where he stood.
His face is decorated with heavy wrinkles. That was your first thought laying your eyes upon him. There were permanent creases between his forehead, more prominent ones next to the edges of his dark blue eyes. The same face that you grew familiar with, worn-torn and commanding, have you puzzled on why is it so hard to keep looking at him.
There were no generous pleasantries. He just… stared.
He bore down at you with an expression you can't figure out. But helkvet fuegur, you suddenly feel small. You feel like a kid again. You never want to feel like a kid again. Not in front of him. Your blood boils on how he's looking at you like that. He was not allowed to do that.
Putting your hands behind your back, your legs clap together, chest and chin held high. You slick away as much of your heavy accent as much as possible, "Private [Y/N]. Present and on call."
There was a sudden tornado-like crash hitting your head. It was deafening, you mentally wince with the overbearing noise and keep your feet solid on the ground. Then it was gone in an instant. What was tremendous anxiety and anger now feels with uncertainty. You want this interaction to end as fast as possible. You repeat the practiced words monotonously, "Kate Laswell has sent a directory and had given me full briefing of tasks upon landing-"
The crease between his eyebrow indents heavily as he calls upon your name. You don't stop even though your heart cracked when he spoke it with such softness. Then again, and again. Yet you keep going as you feel the sting that comes from each one. Then there was a shout that stole your breath. It was as horrible as you imagined.
"-I said. At ease."
You closed your mouth. You stare back expressionless, finding a way to distract your legs from shaking. He stared back with thoughts you can’t decipher.
Then you remember why you’re here all over again, who put you in this situation, who had forced you into this room, and all hope is dissipated into rage. Do you know where it suddenly came from? Certainly not. You really don't give a fuck. Other than getting away from here as soon as possible. From him.
Stay calm. Breathe.
You hitch a breath, before finalizing with, "Apologies. I like to get situated as soon as possible, schell-vik."
He doesn’t reply. Price is completely lost for words. He’s still processing that you were finally standing in front of him. You were right there, in his base, in his office, yet, you looked right past him, into another planet. Like you didn’t belong anymore. His blood boils: Kate had lied to him. All those fucking reports that you were in the road to recovery was a mockery. This wasn’t you that he remembered, that he wished to come back. Price hoped it was just the lighting of the room that was giving that miserable shadow on your eyes. As it seems like one of your pupils is duller and unfocused than the other. Three large scars split your face, littered a lot of others painted generously everywhere. One he never wishes to have it anymore brutalized. The lack of life, a hollow shell of the robust spirit he had by his side. He waited for this moment for hours, months, years. But not like this, he didn’t want to see you like this.
The urge to wrap your frail body into his embrace. To be greeted with the warmth that you deserved so. Instead, he was given a hundred mile stare, a soldier wounded, a grave of a soul. He doesn't allow it to show, it wasn’t the time, there was so much to do before he wished he could. Price strayed his focus away, hand clasping on behind his back, confirmation on his own accord.
"You’ll begin your service again under task force 141. Alongside your lieutenant, Ghost." He quickly nods to the side, "Whatever you need to do comes from him after me."
Of course, you knew there was another presence in the room. But if not the shuffling papers, you would've completely forgotten his existence at the moment. The one he was talking with behind the door. The one he's cordial for. The one Price replaced you with.
The right thing to do is to greet him politely. To give some kind of acknowledgement to the lieutenant. To bow and follow orders in the invisible shows of respect. However, your eyes were having a difficult time moving towards his figure. Like your body is mentally rejecting your situation, that this man, will also be allowed to order you around.
Ghost. Yeah, you knew of him, that’s no doubt. The stories that’s whispered in every soldier’s mouth, harsh hushes, sentences that tremble. You were curious, of course, the person that peaked Price’s interest, and included him into his world when you were gone. So you take a glance, not enough for a tilt of the head, not enough for the myth to notice. Yet that’s all you needed to have your heels turn numb. You were never flustered around danger. You've grown up around them, and seen many different kinds come and go. But buet-shietz. just an arm’s length away, was a presence you wished you never noticed. Deadly cold.
And that shoots straight into your chest as Ghost’s eyes speed to notice yours. He sits still on the armchair, leathery flesh plump and extruding from his heavy figure, resting height the same as your standing one. His balaclava covered his entire face, leaving two hollow sockets to peep through the skull deco adjourned to it. It was not his features that made your spine tingle, but his demeanor.
It’s like Price has chosen a soldier that won’t disobey him. One that never distrust his words, his commands, his leadership. Ghost’s message was clear. Straight shoulders, tense forearms on the folder, feet rooted onto the floor --- on edge to kill if his captain gave him the word.
And the target? You.
You didn't like what's about to transpire in this hellish task force.
A gush of wind blew your name, coming back to the old man’s attention.
"...Hey."
He wasn’t giving you the same face as when you entered. Nor that one you wished you’ve seen. His finger taps the surface of his desk lightly, as if debating every word.
"...I am glad… to see you back."
You huff at the audacity of that line. You cannot believe it. If the door was open you would've torn into the hinges and threw it at him. He doesn't get to be glad. Of you no less. You are here because of him. Screw the formalities. You decide to let some of your ugly show.
"Well,” you fold your arms together, “I'm not."
"No?" Price mimicked your movement, "But you will."
"On vhat grounds? En yordik?"
“It’s not an order.”
“Liek I haas ahn choice.”
He narrows his gaze, noticing the slip of the accent, “It won't happen, I promise."
He says that as if saying something that mattered. You barely choked out a laugh. Promise? Is there an easier challenge to prove it wrong? These empty words feel more of a threat that rings in your heart. It hollows and it echoes right back into daggers. Bleeding out of you with venom, you sneered and snapped on every syllable.
"Vuele ull nyol ishkan?"
[Like how you did before?]
His lips opened and eye twitched. Clearly not expecting that from you. He might not understand what you just said, but what that statement alluded to is clear. His stance shifts behind his desk, one that you expected, one that was right all along. Before you can close your fists, the sofa rustle.
Coldness pulsated through your cord. Starting from your tail all the way up to where your neck stings like hives of bees swarming it. Not needing to turn to confirm, you knew what was happening behind you. Of course he was reacting to the threat - you were showing aggressiveness to his commanding officer after all. You should’ve said something, an apology, step away, to know your place. However, you adjust and hold your foot held onto the solid ground.
What are you doing?
What do you think I'm doing? This fucker has the audacity to act like that?!
Maybe that fucker isn't acting?
You want to see another example again, hmm?
You need to at least cooperate with him when you're out there.
Captain my ass. He's nothing to me. I don't care what he thinks of me. I would rather die out there.
You gave a short nod along with that idea. It's better than the other one you thought of.
Price saw something else. And with it, he unfolds his arms and lean against the desk,"We can care for the introduction briefing tomorrow at 0900."
His demeanor back to one a minute ago. Firm, flat. As if this is routine, as if what you said didn’t matter. It was better this way. It was better that it doesn’t change back to anything else. Just work. And once it’s done, you’ll be gone again.
"Breakfast at 0600. Lunch at 1300. Dinner at 1800. Private Juno can get you situated."
You leave before he can dismiss you, no contact on the brisk lieutenant, not wanting to hear another word from anyone.
Oh, and you bet you slammed that door behind.
A gasp reacted from the other side. The soldier calms down immediately seeing it was only you who exited.
"A-All done ma'am?" hinting a tone of naive annoyance.
You strum your palm open, calming your lungs, you nodded without looking.
Out. Now.
"Alright. Come, this place can be a maze."
With a hold on your baggage, he leads you around the barracks and points out all the important places. With occasional personal riffs of each area. You don't respond to any. Carefully listening to snippets of the important things, not wanting to engage fully. Mind still swirling from that suffocating room.
Mess Hall. Don't eat the meatloaf. They keep the good stuff for Fridays.
Medical Bays. The lady there is nice, but not as good as the rest.
Training grounds. Mind that grass patch, he went tumbling by it just yesterday.
Recreation room. The instant coffee is drinkable.
A library. Well, if you call a room with 50 books a library.
He stops at the end of a hall with a lot more doors.
"Sleeping quarters, lights go out at 10 o-clock." He gestures to the very last door on your left, "That's one reserved for you, I-I believe. I say the best one out of all of them, ma'am."
You nod again at his final note on his tour. When you don't say anything, he seems to shrink in size. A generous tickle brushed your occipital. It was muted. Pulling a soft leather smell.
Okay, maybe he can get a little more than brooding silence from you. He was just following orders. With an added bonus of short commentary. Pleasant, not those annoying ones. He could've done none of that. He didn’t know what happened on the other side of the door. What was his name again?
You peel your lips apart, rough, below a confident whisper, "Uh, thanks… Juno."
His eyes widened in child-like wonder. Whites filling all his glasses. You can't make out what made him react like that. You cock a brow. Should you not have thanked him for showing you around?
Immediately, his mouth plastered a smile. His cheeks raise the thick black rim upwards. His hazelnut curls swayed. The tickle shifts to tenor clacking.
"Sorry ma’am, I didn't expect-" he stifled out an airy chuckle, "we never heard of you, is all."
"I-It's nice to see new faces though," he assures you after prolonged silence. He turns his head and pucker out his lips, motioning it over his shoulder to the other side of the hallway, "I'm by the corner, the one below the speaker. You can knock on my door if you need any more help ma’am."
You arched your mouth upwards stiffly, "Yeah. Thanks. Again."
"Not a problem." He gave a cordial wave and walked away. Leaving you alone and silent in front of your room.
You enter and scan it, the place you'll be sleeping in for who knows how long. A high squished window that gives the room just enough sunlight to not feel closeted. A wooden table and chair with a click lamp and old fashion clock decorating it. Another door across the single mattress bed leading to a private bathroom. You give a quiet content hum. At least you can shower in peace. The burn on your throat begs the differ. You drop your duffel bag onto the chair and begin to undress. Peeling off all the unnecessary weight and leaving only your compression shirt and boxer brief on. The necklace now loosely staggering on your collar. Tracing each bead, your muscle finally relaxes.
You dig out the container and pop out two more pills into your hand. Then shake out four more. You don't really want to go to the cafeteria to eat dinner tonight. Stomach doubling on the thought of getting unwanted stares by people, or worse, meeting them again. And let's not talk about the noise. That damn noise. You need to be under control for you to feel comfortable stepping into that room. No one will bother you till the briefing tomorrow, and you need every second of it to yourself before going out there again.
Laswell probably got the news you landed. You remind yourself to make sure to page her later.
Dropping it all into your mouth, you feel each rock scrape down the dry esophagus. You cough at the impact and laid down. Plopping onto the bed and pulling your blanket up, sighing when the mattress was nice enough to sink a bit by the weight.
You pay no mind to what transpired today. You can’t or else you’ll never stop. And focus on drifting to sleep, mentally exhausted.
At least the empty darkness can shield you before another horrible, miserable, impending day.