Chapter Text
[Day 1, 2011 - 9:35:23, Credenhill, UK]
A tiny drop of sweat began a lazy trail downwards your brow, joining many others as the tip of nose grazed the metal ever so lightly.
Pull.
Another deep breath escaped your mouth, sounding almost like a gasp as your burning muscles exerted themselves, carrying your body up. The biceps flexing in the military-issued green short sleeve, your core tight, your grunt a bit softer compared to the men around you - also participating in the usual morning routine of pull-ups after training. The brisk air made it’s presence known by light breezes, wafting around the sweaty bodies of the task force all lined up outside.
One more, come on.
It was not a stranger move to train with many men and even fewer women surrounding you, push your body to limits you did not know existed. It did not phase you to see all of these bodies exerting themselves, call it an acquired skill or habituated ignorance. A body was a machine, after all. All of them - some better oiled, polished, shined and maintained. Your eyes had seen many living, breathing sculptures in their tenure, without letting loose into the temptation, let alone a lingering gaze. It had been such a long time passing in the military, mind focused on only being the best soldier you could be, that your thoughts had subconsciously trained you to ignore the, so to call, distractions.
This time, you had fallen victim to one of those seemingly harmless ones.
It was impossible to ignore the beads of sweat making their lazy trail down a scarred yet taut torso that belonged to him, skin adorned with tattoos that could be spotted from the edge of your peripheral vision. Abdominals flexing along with the powerful back muscles, the veins underneath the skin so prominent they mapped out his sheer strength that he hid under the military-issued green as he pulled himself up yet another time. Tiny droplets raced each other in a soft but relentless pace, making their way down to the waistband of camouflage print tactical cargo pants. Grunts, deep ones, emanated throughout the crispness of the morning, echoing off of the metal bars and poured concrete outside of the base building. Biceps pulsing under exertion, hands clinging onto the metal rod.
He could do this all day.
In the very corner of your eye, as far as they could reach without turning your head very visibly to simply gawk, your vision would tell you that body belonged to no other than the new guy. The same guy you pulled into the chopper mere hours ago, him holding on for dear life.
The same man with the chaotic, gray blues that focused on you under the red lights. Cracks of blue emanating calmness, stillness under the storm. The same eyes that said somehow, there was light to be found, somewhere.
The same man who was yearning to go back and continue his sketch of no other than you, on the yellowing pages of his journal.
It was funny how the world seemed empty besides you and your center of attention when you had been distracted - it was almost as if the rest of the green earth stopped revolving for mere minutes and allowed you to live in the moment, with no consequence or bystanders.
Oh, how you wished that was true. It was not exactly the best impression to make to your fellow teammates, soldiers you would shoot, kill and defend for, to spot you the slightest bit distracted - let alone the source of distraction.
Heavens were on your side that morning that the Captain had stayed back inside to take care of intelligence gathering, letting the experienced group of soldiers enjoy a relatively leisurely drill to ease off the tensions after getting shot at for way too long than he wanted.
Unbeknownst to you, John was using all his resolve and dignity to not direct his wandering, inquisitive gaze at you as you performed your morning exercises. It was not appropriate to stare in this particular environment, not that it was ever acceptable in their profession, he could only imagine how uncomfortable you may have been as you trained and fought and slept alongside gritty male soldiers that could be too much to handle at times - speaking from his personal experience.
He knew you could hold your own. While having no context on your background, previous battles or accomplishments, it was evident that you took the dangerous life seriously, your mere presence at the compound proved it. One look at your determined face, jaw clenched just as tightly as those muscles adorning your back with each pull up, told him that you had seen far greater horrors and dealt with more challenges in life than to let any disrespectful man get in between you and what you wanted, whatever it may have been.
He swore to himself right there and then that he would do this the right way, no matter the consequence.
Until then, until the moment he realized he wished would arrive sooner than later - he could only sneak very, very secret glances and hope for the best.
Thankfully he had chosen the bars that were a bit far from your choice this morning, hoping he would have a calm, collected and distraction-free workout. He could not help but think about the operation that went awry hours ago, piercing storm raining down on him, breeze threatening to push him towards the steel of the rapidly sinking ship, his commanding officer screaming at him to jump for it.
And how your hand held on for dear life against his gloved, slippery one, not letting go for a single moment until his feet found solid metal instead of air.
He did not even know you.
Oh, how he wanted to. Your presence was a mystery that he wanted to unfold, your story one that he yearned to discover, undoubtedly very much alike the other members of the task force.
He would briefly gaze at your hair fall back down as you gracefully let yourself down the bar, hand resting on the metal rod as you caught your breath in preparation for the next exercise, burning questions raging in his mind.
How many missions had you been on? Had you been shot before? Did you have scars that you exchanged stories for, or better yet, you had covered with tattoos?
He could not help his newfound intrigue towards you - every member who made it to the 141 had a star-studded, impressive background, so had Price told him, and his mind was racing to attempt guessing all the little events that made you, to uncover who you were beneath the military green.
“You okay, mate?”
Bloody hell.
John had to shake his head to snap himself out of it - out of the flashbacks from last night, out of his thoughts completely possessed by you. It did not take the slightly disoriented soldier too long to realize he had been entranced this whole time looking into the space right next to where you had stood, with you long gone. His feet had touched the ground without him realizing, worn combat boots against the concrete, feeling the fresh pump in his arms and the blood flowing through his veins. A weakly perplexed expression adorned his weary yet serious features, eyes blinking a couple of times before he turned his body around to the source of the question.
Where did she go?
Gaz, however, stood with a little smirk, looking like he had been enjoying his morning already. His workout complete and shirt soaked just like the other soldier, his eagle eyes did not let the silent, one-way interaction go unnoticed as he leaned his frame against the vertical metal bar, arms crossed on his chest. A look of boyish mischief in his eyes foreshadowed everything he had to say afterwards.
He had to tease the new kid in the squad, after all. It was only fair.
“Try not to stare that long next time, eh?”
All John could do was shake his head as it fell down in a soft huff.
The static emanating from the television echoed off of the vast concrete confinements, bouncing off of the chairs scattered around the communications center. Screens, small and big, lined up against the walls embedded in all sorts of machinery, making faint bleeping noises with each sweep of the radar, each message arriving.
It had been a wonder to you just why in the world they kept this beaten old television at the edge of the room. It was as if there was something nostalgic holding the soldiers hostage, no one dared throw the old piece of plastic-covered junk away.
The training complex turned just a bit more quieter as the lowly humming tank engines and roaring all-road vehicles came to a sudden halt - the silence of the training grounds throughout the brick and metal walls.
“They finally did it?”
The linoleum floor shrieked wit metal chair legs dragging over, who settled themselves in a final low thud as none other than Kyle with a fresh green shirt took a seat in front of the television, making his way from the message console on the control panel. You wondered what he had read to step away so quickly.
“Bloody hell. I thought the Americans had it under control.”
“That look like it’s under control to you?”
“It don’t sound too good.”
That made your lips curl down in anticipation, just a bit as your breath caught itself slowly. It had been a blessing in disguise to have an unsupervised morning drill, especially after the chaos of the night and now this rapidly unfolding situation. It would be a while till your body and mental got readjusted to the habits and fast pace of the task force, to the way things used to be. Until then, you would keep on pushing and breathing, against whatever this life threw your way.
The antsy, black and white static that previously deafened the soldiers’ ears halted abruptly, making everyone’s head snap back at the small screen centered at the corner of the room, accompanying emerging signals and beeps from intercom stations.
Then came that loud voice, completely overpowering the entire room and demanding attention to itself. A crowd cheering in the foreign language. Screams and begs roared through the screen, overpowered by the chanting, red flags bolstered up on the old stone architecture flashing in bright color.
“Today, we rise again as one nation, in the face of betrayal and corruption!”
Fuck.
Your eyes, along with the other soldiers slowly descending themselves onto the flimsy chairs around you, became glued to the screen. Mind racing on what this would entail as the world watched the events unfold in their own little screens, just like you.
“We have believed this man to deliver our great nation into a new era of prosperity.”
Soap was not too far away from you, just a couple of chairs away as he clasped his hands, the slowly drying sweaty green shirt clinging onto his stretching back, elbows resting on his knees. Though he kept a stoic expression, you could notice a certain hint of anxiousness from his body language, just like everybody else in this room.
“Our noble crusade has begun.”
The news that were about to unwind might as well could have been the next deployment order.
“This is how it begins.”
In a moment, came an ear-piercing gunshot, along with the faint cheers, screams, yells all tangled in with the barking of dogs, and a thud of a body falling on the dirt. The intensity so palpable you could hear the deep, panicked breathing moments before death.
He had done it. The deed he came to do, another stepping stone into achieving his vision, his relentless plan to divide and conquer. All that was to follow, if someone did not intervene, were mayhem, bloodshed and tears.
President Al-Fulani was dead at the hands of Al-Asad.
The air in the room became stale for a moment, breaths durning stagnant yet the jaws remained taut. Eyes focused on the main source of information, though they had begun to divert towards the one man who had been watching the whole ordeal go down with reserve.
Who was going to tell him?
The soldier took a deep breath, running a hand down his face before getting up slowly and turning to the door, he did not have to go much further to reach the person he intended to look for. The roaring thuds of Captain Price’s boots made their presence known in the room as the metal door parted open and his icy, exhausted eyes met many other pairs all directed to him.
“Captain Price, Al-Asad just executed President Al-Fulani on national television.”
And with a sigh followed by a nod of acknowledgement, came your next order of business, piercing through the hefty atmosphere of unknown within the four walls.
“It’s too late to do anything for Al-Fulani. Get your warm gear ready - our next order is a rescue operation in the Caucasus Mountains.”
Glances were tossed around in curiosity, Soap catching your eye for a brief moment when you saw he also had a puzzled look in his orbs before focusing on your Captain. Some soldiers acknowledging without question as they slowly got up, some more reserved ones taking the directive and the recent news in.
You, however, silently prayed Russia was not numbingly freezing this time of the year.
“We take care of our friends. Let’s move.”