Chapter Text
โก โ | STERILE, COOL AND BLEAK. There is the familiar sound of an IV drip. Complimented by a dreary, dull environment. A clock ticks somewhere in the distance. John takes in his surroundings. Sterile, clean, and pristine.
John Price does not belong here. He knows that.
John Price belongs somewhere in the dirt, with a set of shattered bones and bloodied knuckles.
Where his joints ache and cry out, and his ears are ringing because of the sound of explosions. He should be awoken from his slumber because of the sound of gunfire and shrapnel ripping through flesh.
Why is he here? Sitting down and relaxing? There is a war to be fought. There always is.
John Price couldnโt stay put.
In reality, thereโs a silent storm building happening right in front of him. And here he is, thinking about the world around him. The anxiety should settle in his stomach.
โ Will Alex wake up?โ Itโs what Farah has been asking for the last forty five minutes. John has never heard nor seen Farah in such a state. Sheโs still somewhat composed, shifting within her seat in short increments.
Good God, Farah hasnโt been like this since Hadirโs death. She was a solid woman, stronger than anyone should be. And if Price could do anything to less the burden Farah felt upon her shoulders. He would. A heavy arm wraps around Farahโs shoulders.
They keep silent for a moment, sheโs stiff in his embrace. Touch (โฆ) would be the bane of Farahโs existence. A touch sheโs been avoiding since she was a child. Eventually, she gives. Letting the flood gates open.
A few tears cascade down thick lashes, staining her flushed cheeks. John reached for a handkerchief in his pocket, offering the cloth to the Commander. She graciously accepts, excusing herself from Johnโs side and leaving to Alexโs.
John would stay up the whole night watching them if he had to. He would swear it. And so, he does.
Farah protests against this, but she can not dissolve Johnโs steely resolve.
Farah Karim falls asleep by Alex Kellerโs side that night, under the watchful eye of John Price. There are blankets adorning her frame, placed by the Captain.
Pillows are tactically placed against the back of her neck. John does not sleep that night, but he lets the chill of the hospital room nip at him.
The warmth he feels is within his heart, the sight of Farahโs hand on Alexโs chest. John Price wouldโve frozen himself to death if it meant Farah could feel at peace by Alexโs side. He meant it. Whole heartedly.
John is restless that night, roaming through halls. Patrolling the premises, memorizing escape routes.
John needed something to do.
He was already restless as is. His mind keeps him awake most nights, and he was having night terrors more often than not. So, he smoked. And thatโs just what he did. Being outside gave John a peace of mind.
Things seemed much clearer. Each inhale sends a fuzzy, euphoric buzz through his lungs. And a sharp bite in his throat. Being outside like this, watching the stars on the horizon. Reminds him of Pripyat.
A door clicks somewhere in the distance, Farah. Her footsteps resonate somewhere in Johns heart. One, two, three, one, two, three, stop. Light, mindful, steps make their way to Johnโs side. She brought his lighter, she lights his cigar. Silence.
โ Iโd never let anything happen to you or Alex. โ Farah knows that already, but she canโt find it in her to speak back. She lets John inhale and relish his cigar for two seconds. โ You stayed all night. โ Farah muses.
John Price never breaks his promises. He stubs out the cigar, heading inside with a new found grief. A guilt. Farah watches the Captain, and she watches how his shoulders seem to sag. How his stride slows, and how exhaustion seems to seep into every pore of his.
This was the morning Farah Karim realized John Price was a broken man pretending to be something he was not. Now, did she know what he was doing? No. But then again, some days (โฆ) She didnโt know her own purpose. Farah would watch Johnโs figure, hovering around Alexโs body. Pale and moonโladen. He would pace, patrolling the premises once more. John Price was a man of repetition, pattern and habits that would follow him to his grave.
Unfortunately, this was instilled within her too. And she was still waiting for the day she too, could find her habits admirable like John Price. She assumed they were anyways. John Price, the man who saved her.
John Price, the man who carried himself with a sense of pride, confidence and grace you could only compare to the grand heroes her baba used to tell her about.
All heroes fall.
Bile rises into her throat, she ignores it. But images of Hadir, her father and Alexโs face appear in her mind. Farah is so consumed with fear she even pictures herself. John Price does not appear when she thinks of death, the idea of the man dying feels like a myth.
Truth be told, the stories Price unraveled over the years of their friendship only seem like tall tales a hero could survive. He was Achilles in this world.
Did he really have a heel?
She doesnโt want to find out.
The movement of his chest rising and falling seems to lull her to sleep once more. Farah is used to early mornings but Price insists on her sleeping. Claiming she deserved it. She hears John, shuffling to get her another blanket. Embracing her with a touch only a father could possess she craves this .
But itโs a fleeting, flimsy thought. Heโs nothing more than a mentor to many. An inspiration to all. John leans in, muttering something off in the distance. Itโs barely audible. Like a secret he was telling to himself.
ย
โ Iโd stay all over again. โ Farahโs breathing shifts, John can tell. It hitches, inching to a stop. Why would the old man continue you this now? โ Itโs not about saving everyone, I know that. But if I can, and if I could (โฆ) just give everyone my all. My whole being. I would. โ And he does. Every day
Farah can sleep soundly at that.