Chapter Text
Time doesn’t slow down, but it’s a close thing. John watches the flickering light and the blood flowing sluggishly out of the dead bodies as the door creaks open.
It’s horrifying, fuck , their entire cover will be blown.
Air rushes back into his lungs when he sees Gaz’s face.
How in the bloody fuck did he get inside so quickly?
He glances towards Gaz’s door on the opposite side of the wall and notices that the dead bodies have already been dragged back into the treeline.
John walks into the building, the two of them hidden in the shadows, behind crates of who-knows-what.
“Gotta make sure it was safe for you to come in,” Gaz explains, looking slightly breathless, as if he ran.
“It’s okay, Gaz… I can take care of myself, ya ken? You dinnae have ta make sure everything is perfect fer me.” John answers in a whisper, confused to say the least.
Gaz just shakes his head, turning to the interior of the warehouse. There are men surrounding the stairs to Zakheav’s office and men wandering about. It’s excruciatingly annoying.
If they took out the four men on the outside of the warehouse, there’s only sixteen men left on the inside. Easy enough. John scans the room quietly, counting off heads and formulating a plan.
“Alright,” He whispers to Gaz, “There are four men upstairs with Zakheav, I can see them through the window. Two at the stairs, and ten on the floor. You take out five and leave the rest to me. I’ll take the ones at the far side, you take the ones closest, copy?”
He watches Kyle’s face carefully, studying every twitch of eyebrow and displeased squint. He looks anxious.
“Gaz,” He says again, “ copy ?”
Gaz nods his head. “Copy.”
John pats Gaz’s shoulder and slips carefully around him to the far side of the room.
There’s a man leaning against a storage shelf, John sneaks up behind him and covers his mouth, plunging a knife into his throat at the same time. Blood bubbles from the wound and spills through his fingers.
It’ll be a pain to remove that stain. John thinks distantly, dragging the limp body back into the shadows. That’s one.
There are three men sitting at a table playing cards. What a cliche.
He grabs a silenced pistol out of his thigh holster and shoots the three of them in quick succession, a small pop! Pop! Pop! Filling the quiet of the warehouse.
That’s four.
The last man was sitting on a metal chair, sharpening a knife. John ducked behind another storage shelf and stalked forward, inching closer and closer to his victim. Just as he was about to fling a knife into the man’s throat, a bullet pierces his head and he slumps over.
“What-”
Gaz is revealed, sweating like he just ran a marathon, holding the gun with borderline shaking hands.
“All clear, Soap.” He says.
“Kyle,” John starts in a whisper, starting to get annoyed. “You cannae do tha’ shite. Yer wearin’ yerself out.”
“I’m keeping you safe, you walloper,” Kyle argues, looking genuinely confused.
“I can keep maself safe, Garrick. We were on the same team before, and I could do it maself then so-”
“And look where that got you, John!”
“What the fuck is this?”
Soap’s blood runs cold. Fuck. How could I have missed them?
The two men who were supposed to be at the foot of the stairs had been drawn in by the commotion.
Gaz moves to recoil his pistol, but there’s no time. It’s too late.
John surges forward and shoves him aside, using the momentum and confusion to throw one of his knives into a Konni. The other soldier barely has time to get his rifle up before John kicks in his patella and sends him to the ground. His leg is definitely bent the wrong way, but it gives John time to grab the gun out of his holster and shoot him directly between the eyebrows.
He’s breathing heavily now, but only by a bit. The masks’ presence only amplified by the lack of air getting through.
“Where what got me?” He asks, his eyes narrowed.
“Being by yourself.” Gaz answers like it’s obvious. “You were with Price, and even then you were nearly killed. And I have to see our failure every time I’m with you. The scar- it’s like a constant horrible reminder of what I failed to do.”
John's hand flies up to his hairline, tracing the mauled skin from where the bullet had hit him.
“And now that we’re paired up, it’s like your life is on my hands- and if I don’t do everything in my power to keep you safe, then-,” A pause, he’s considering his words, “then what use am I?”
“Yer my friend, Kyle.” John answers. “Ya jus’ being here is an assurance. Ya are keeping me safe by doing yer job. Tha doesnae mean ya haveta go out of yer way to make sure ye get all the targets before I can. Yer over-exerting yerself.”
Kyle’s shoulders relax and the worry has eased from his features. “Okay,” He says, “sorry.”
“Let’s get this guy, yeah?”
Kyle nods, his expression relaxing as his shoulders lose the tension they’d be holding all this time. They quickly make their way up the stairs, weapons at the ready.
On a count of three, John opens the door and shoots down the four men who, frankly, do a shitty job at protecting Zakheav.
Zakheav, not quite having much time to react, lunges for the closets weapon to him, which happens to be a handgun.
Much to John’s dismay, Zakheav brings the gun to his own temple.
“You filth have no place here!” He yells, sounding crazed.
Gaz surges forward, grabbing Zakheav’s wrist pulling it away from his head.
It could have been avoided, really, but it isn’t.
The gun still goes off, and it grazes John’s cheek, splitting the skin and burning itself in the wall behind him.
Blood spills from the wound and coats nearly half of his face.
“Soap!” Gaz yells, his eyes wide.
“Ach, ‘s jus’ a scratch. Dinnae worry about it.” he waves his hand dismissively, pulling a spare mask out of one of his vest pockets.
“Jesus, you’re just like him.” Gaz rolls his eyes, busying himself by cuffing Zakheav’s hands behind his back.
“Like who?”
Kyle gives him a flat look that kind says, ‘ can you be so serious right now. ’
And-
Oh, right. The only other person who wears a mask casually is Simon.
John turns around as he takes of the ruined mask, wiping at his wound with it before tossing it over his shoulder and replacing it with the new one, which smells, oddly enough, of toffee and gunpowder.
Not his favorite combination.
John sighs and reaches up to his comms, “Price,” He calls in, “You copy?”
“Loud and clear.”
“We got Zakheav. What’s yer status?”
“Roach an’ I just finished taking out the West tower. We’re heading to the South one.”
“Do ya reckon I could drop this bastard off wit’ shadow company?”
“What was that?” Graves’ voice cuts in irritatingly.
John ignores him, waiting for Price’s response.
“Yeah, I don’t see why that would be a problem.”
“Awright. Shadow 0-1, do you copy?”
“Loud and clear, doll.” Graves answers thickly.
“Watch it.” Simon’s voice cuts through.
John allows himself a smile whereas Gaz rolls his eyes.
“Need ya to take in Zakheav fer us. Garrick an’ I haveta meet up wit’ Ghost and Ash.”
“Got ‘cha. One of our Helos’ll pick ‘em up at the clearing.”
“Copy.” John replies easily. The sooner Zakeav is picked up, the closer John can get back to Simon.
And Makarov. Definitely Makarov.
✭✭✭
Jonathan Price is in the middle of taking out a guard at the last tower when Roach pats him on the shoulder.
With a final twist of his knife, Price sends the assailant to the ground. Wasn’t much of a fight, but going around to four towers and taking out at least five Konni in each tower becomes a bit of a hassle.
“Whaddya got for me, Gary?”
Roach lifts his hands and words begin stringing themselves together.
‘Since this is the last tower, are we meeting up with everyone else?’
Price furrows his brows, shaking his head. “That depends entirely on Makarovs whereabouts.”
Gary nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer.
“Price, come in. ” Cabello’s voice crackles through the comms.
“I hear ya, Ash.”
“ We got a sensor inside the building, looks like our VIP is on the top floor. He’s surrounded by several others, about twenty. Captain MacTavish and Gaz are on their way to drop off Zakheav with Shadow Company. I want to move forward to Makarov, but I’ll need backup. Not sure if I can wait long. I want to regroup as quick as possible.”
Price surveys the surrounding towers from his place, and nods slowly. “Affirm, I think that’d be the best course of action. Gives us a better shot at capturing Makarov.”
Gary nods and gives a thumbs up.
Price walks over to the computer and jams internal communication. They stand a better chance if nobody in the compound can call out for help.
“Ash, let’s regroup at our designated exfil point.”
“ Copy. ” his voice crackles out again.
The two of them make their way out of the tower.
✭✭✭
Charles remembers it well.
He remembers her face, and her smile, endlessly warm and entirely comforting.
He remembers the press of her lips to the corners of his eyes.
“Charlie. ” She’d say, and then dissolve into laughter.
It was years ago, at least five, but it could be more.
They had been married all of two months, and then the sickness came.
It was a rainy morning, the sun had just started to rise. Ana had woken early in the morning, rushing to the bathroom to throw up.
“Ana?” He had said, “are you okay?”
He was answered with a cough and more heaving.
Charlie quickly made his way to the bathroom, his eyes widening as he saw the blood spilling from her lips.
“Ana, let’s go to the hospital. We can go to urgent care- let’s get to the car.”
She wiped the blood off with the back of her hand and shakily stood up with the aid of her husband.
“Miss Ana,” The nurse looked between them so kindly, as if they had known something that he hadn't and was sparing them the details. “We’re going to take some blood samples and run some tests. In the meantime, get a lot of rest and stay in bed. Results will be sent to your place of residence within the next few days, okay?”
She nods, lacing her fingers with Charlie's, holding on tight.
When they get the results, Charles watches his carefully curated future crumble before his eyes.
Dear Mr. Cabello,
On behalf of Vulcraige Medical Center, we regret to inform you of Ms. Ana Cabello’s blood test results. The vitals are as follows;
Patient Name:
Ana Lee Cabello
Date of Birth:
April 18th, 1984
Diagnosis:
Stage one brain cancer
The Patient’s condition requires immediate attention and necessary medical intervention. The provided diagnosis highlights the situations urgency and justifies the need for medical care.
If you have any more questions or concerns, please reach out to me at the Medical Center’s main line to book a meeting or appointment.
The letter is short and straight to the point, but it makes Charlie’s stomach churn and vision spin.
“Charlie?” His wife called, her voice soft and her hands gentle(they were always so gentle), “are you okay, Honey? What’s the matter?”
He’s in the bathroom emptying his stomach into the toilet before he can even think of a response.
Charles remembers the months that went by, dragging on for too long, and yet gone impossibly fast.
He remembers being woken up in the middle of the night to Ana seizing in place, her body tense but shaking all over.
He remembers when her hair begins to fall out because of all the chemotherapy, and he remembers when his insurance isn’t enough to cover the hospital bill.
“I’m joining the military.” He had said.
Ana’s eyes grew wide and he could see how they welled up with tears, but she said, “Okay.” and that was that.
It doesn’t take long for him to get through his training, it doesn’t take long before he’s finally bringing in money from his job, sending it in perfect white envelopes back to his wife who stayed bedridden, according to most of her letters.
My Dear,
The house seems so empty without you. I miss you every day.
My sister has come to visit, she keeps me company most days, and cooks me warm meals every night.
She’s started taking me out to the beach using the wheelchair, but I know you would hate all the sand that gets stuck in the metal. It’s nice, I think, to spend time here at home, listening to the constant breeze and the sound that the leaves make when they brush in the wind.
The air still smells of salt, and the bed still smells like you. I enjoy going through your old high school journals, they remind me of when we were young.
I hope you’re getting along well with the others. I hope you make friends and aren’t spending too much time thinking of me.
I love you, Charlie. I miss you.
Your Ana
As the minutes turn into weeks, Charles brings in more and more to provide for his wife. He longs to return to Hawaii, if only to see her through the window of their living room. He misses her more than anything, misses her voice and her eyes, how she looked at him so fondly, and how their gazes always met from across any room. It was comforting.
So when he’s shipped out for a mission that lasts a year, he cannot receive any letters from her, and the loneliness hollows out his chest, however, there are always the letters waiting for him when he returns, and that thought is the only thing that pushes him forward.
He remembers arriving at the Honolulu International Airport. He remembers getting into a taxi and giving the driver his street address.
Just off of Kalaheo Avenue. Right by Kailua beach park, that green house, you know it?
He arrives at his front door, doesn’t count the money when he offers the tip to the driver, can’t even remember their name even if he wanted to.
All he remembers is standing at his front door, grabbing his house key from inside the hanging planter, and opening the door. He remembers walking inside quietly, soaking in the smell of the ocean and the feeling of his bare feet on the wooden floors. He remembers walking down the long hallway and into the guest room, where Ana has stayed since he left.
He remembers walking into that house, to find the bed made, and room empty.
“Ana?” he had called, but there was no answer.
So he remembers calling his sister-in-law, Ella, only she hadn’t answered the phone.
So he remembers calling his brother-in-law, Carson, and he hadn’t answered the phone either.
So he remembers calling Ana’s mother.
“Oh, Honey,” She had said, her voice cracking as sobs threatened to break free, “Did you not get the letter? Ana’s… Ana’s gone, sweetheart.”
So he remembers, and he’s cursed by memory.