Chapter Text
107 days.
Ella looked out the tiny window of her prison, gazing out over the vast, rolling desert that had been her only view for so long. Often she wished that the warmth outside would penetrate her cell, allow her to feel anything but the bone-aching chill that had settled deep in her bones. She had forgotten what it felt like to be warm with the sun kissing her skin, legs free to take her wherever she pleased.
At first she had fought her captors, her spirit refusing to die despite the cell, the abuse, and the pathetic rations she was given daily. She had stuck it out through the torture, spitting in the face of her tormentors, staying strong despite the violence. She saw each developing scar as a testament to her will, every bruise as a reminder of who she was, who she was fighting to keep alive.
That will begun to die the first time he lay his hands on her. Despite how hard she scratched at her skin, scrubbing at it until it flared red when she was allowed a short cold shower, his touch lingered on her body. She could still feel the way his fingers gripped into her flesh, the fingerprint bruises trailing up her thighs. No matter how she had screamed, begged, or pleaded, he wouldn’t stop. He never did.
The hope that a team was out there, looking for her, had died after the first month that she was imprisoned. For months she fought off the devastating reality that no one would even know where to look. Hell, she didn’t think they knew that she was alive.
The mission had been simple. Task force 107 was due to travel to a safe-house hidden within one of the western Afghani mountain ranges, where they would then gather intel and ambush a group of Al-Qatala smugglers who were bringing weapons into the country. The mission was estimated to take a few weeks at most, with the members of her task force expecting to be back in time to go home to their families for Christmas.
How wrong they had been.
The mission had gone horribly wrong as her task force found themselves surrounded while trekking through a particularly treacherous mountain range. Lacking knowledge of the area, it was nothing short of a massacre. The rain of gunfire came from nowhere, catching Alex first. One moment he was striding ahead of the group, looking back to flare a cheeky grin as he made quips at the various members. The next, he stopped, body collapsing to the side with a spray of crimson and brain matter.
His body had just fallen to the ground when Gary took the next bullet, then Geoffrey, Ray, and James. Ella was the last to fall, taking a bullet to the left thigh and right shoulder. Not fatally wounded but effectively incapacitated. She had been the only one to survive the ambush. The last thing she remembered was counting the bodies of her fallen task force, and counting all but her captain’s.
Blinking, Ella’s thoughts were interrupted when one of the guards outside her cell muttered something to the other. Despite her attempts, she had been unsuccessful in picking up Farsi save for a few select phrases she had been able to glean the meaning of. Their conversation was short but resulted in the two of them leaving their station, their footsteps fading as they walked down the hall. She took the opportunity to rise on shaky legs and walked the few steps to her door before peering out through the small window that allowed the guards to look in on her.
The dirty gray hallway was empty for the first time since she had been there. The long hall, which housed many cells identical to hers, had always been occupied by at least six guards. Now it was desolate, like a church outside of service. The overhead lights flickered every now and then. Had they always done that? She couldn’t remember. She wasn’t the only one to notice as unrest among the other inmates grew. Something was wrong, the feeling unsettling and so thick it was almost palpable in the air.
For a few moments, the outside world was silent as it had always been. A desolate desert, location perfect as no one would ever hear the cries of the prisoners within. Days would pass as the inmates were tortured with the only sound to accompany their screams being the soft hiss of sand picked up by the wind. She could almost hear a mechanical thrumming, far away, if she strained her ears just enough…
Loud gunfire and shouting shattered what silence there had been. Fast, rapid shots, voices of confusion, rage, and agony weaved in the chaos. Languages mixed, but Ella strained her ears. English voices. The mechanical thrumming had gotten louder and louder, until she recognised it. She would recognise the sound of a helicopter anywhere. It was loud, almost too loud, beating against her eardrums as she raised trembling hands to cover her ears.
The panic was palpable in the guards’ voices, their shouting loud and disorganised, their cries even louder as bullets sank into their flesh.
Karma’s a fucking bitch. She seethed, taking a sick pleasure in every cry she heard.
Hope swelled in her chest, her spirit revived with the primal desperation that her prayers had been answered, that she wasn’t forgotten, that she wouldn’t spend the rest of her days locked in her cell. The other inmates felt it too, with many shouting and banging on their metal doors. It took a lot out of her to not join them, to scream and beg for freedom from her prison, but her feet felt frozen to the floor underneath her. For all she knew these were not friends, but enemies.
She could do nothing but stand by her door and watch. It wasn’t long until the flickering lights buzzed once more, and then cut out, with the only source of illumination being the sunlight streaming in from the cell’s windows. The hallway was cast into darkness, sending the other inmates into more of a frenzy - like bulls antagonized by a waving red flag.
The rapid gunfire from above calmed after what felt like an eternity, and the Farsi shouting decreased, until all was silent save for the occasional gunshot and footsteps from above. A nagging fear crept into Ella’s heart, that the soldiers had done what they had came for and were going to leave them. She had accepted the fact that she probably would die in her cell, but the thought of starving to death with no escape terrified her.
Panic swelled, creeping into her frail body like a thief in the night. It consumed her, sheer fear taking control of her senses. Her shoulders heaved as she took large gulps of breath, her chest rapidly rising and falling. Dirty short nails dug into cold, sweaty palms as she balled her fists, eyes squeezed shut against the darkness.
I’m going to die here.
I’m going to be left to starve.
I’m never going to see the outside world again.
I will never see another human face.
I’m going to die alone.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to…
She hardly noticed the footsteps becoming louder as huge shuddering breaths racked through her body. The soldiers had made their way into the hallway. One by one doors slammed open, mimicking peppered gunshots in her head. Their voices sounded muffled, far away, as if she were underwater. Her ears rung with every heave of her breath, the sound of her own inhalation ringing and echoing in her ears as if the sound didn’t belong there.
Why is everything so fucking loud?!
Her consciousness was ripped, pulled back to reality as her cell door slammed open. A gloved hand had reached into the water and heaved her out of the depths of hopelessness that she had found herself drowning in.
A huge man with a skeleton mask, worn on top of a black balaclava painted to match, took up the door frame. “Got another one ‘ere. Looks like one of us.” He shouted down the hallway, deep gravelly voice laced with a thick British accent, one that reminded her of home. With dark eyes on Ella he addressed her, “You alright? Any injuries?”
Frozen in place, her wide eyes latched onto the figure in front of her. He was large, intimidating. It took a moment for her to force a response. She would recognise him anywhere. Ghost, from Task Force 141. THE Task Force 141. Their task forces had worked together more than once, although she hadn't really gotten the chance to talk to any of their members besides Price, their captain, and Soap briefly. Her throat felt like sandpaper when she swallowed hard, protesting as she stammered, “I-I’m okay.” It had been too long since she had had a conversation that didn’t consist of broken English and interrogation.
If they were here, she had to be free.
It was done. Her pain. Her suffering. The endless days spent wasting away in the cage she was forced into. It was all over. The taste was sweet, light, airy, one that washed over her with a force so strong she felt it would knock her to her knees. The thought of being able to get up and go where she wanted, do what she wanted, make her own decisions, the freedom to dictate who did and didn’t get to touch her, it was so beautiful, but so overwhelming in a way that she couldn’t understand.
All she had wanted was freedom, but why did the thought scare her so much?
“We’re with the special forces. Can you tell me your name?” Her heart caught in her throat as he approached, fear settling in her stomach as he towered over her. Ella was in no way short for a woman, being 5'8", but still she had to tilt her head up to look at his intimidating figure.
Just a week before she was in this same position, a man towering over her, his hands digging into her thighs, a wolfish grin twisting his lips upwards. He took pleasure in her fear as he forcibly yanked her thighs open. He told her that her tears only encouraged him.
Ghost must have noticed her discomfort, the way she instinctively stepped away from him as he stepped toward her, and he stopped. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m going to get you outta here.”
Another man with a mohawk and cerulean eyes walked past, peeking his head into her cell. She recognised him too. Soap. She had shared an introduction with him months, probably closer to a year ago and she had a vague memory of patching him up once, but that was it. For a moment she was quiet, her mind mulling over the words to say to the first friendly face she had seen in months. Another peppered gunshot rung from somewhere outside her cell.
Now is not the time to falter.
With what felt like all the strength she could muster, Ella whispered, “Ella Moore, Task Force 107.”
Soap's brows twitched upwards. “107 was wiped at the ambush. We worked with them, didn't we? Conner said none survived.” His voice was heavy, coated with a thick Scottish accent. Ghost, almost incredulously, looked over Ella. She was not at all what he had remembered. He had noticed her around base or the few times they had worked together. She was strong then, carried herself with pride, muscles and smile prominent. This girl was skinny, scarred, battered, broken. A ghost of who she once was.
“Conner’s alive?” A wave of relief washed through her veins. So she wasn’t the sole survivor. Her captain had made it out.
“That doesn’t matter right now. Let’s get you to the heli.” Ghost said, voice firm. His eyes lingered over the various bruises and scars that littered her skin. “Can you walk?”
Again, she nodded. “I think so.”
“Let’s get a move on then.” The two men were quick to escort her out of her cell and down the hallway. It felt surreal to be out, to see anything but the desert out her window or the hallway through the slats. Nothing felt real as they took her out the building, instead feeling like she was simply a spectator, detached from reality.
Memories flashed through her mind as they walked past the few places she had been allowed to visit since her imprisonment. The dank filthy showers where the guards watched her clean herself, the small excuse of a cafeteria which was littered with random tables and chairs scattered across, and the last room, which turned her blood to ice at the sight of it.
From the outside it was normal. Just a pale green door with a small window slit covered up on the inside by a sheet of paper. It looked unassuming but she knew what it was hiding. The multiple days she had spent there, chained to her chair or the wall, with impossible questions spat her way and blood that traveled down her pale skin in crimson rivers. Tearing her eyes from it felt like trying to rip apart super glue, but she managed nonetheless and kept walking.
The sun was bright, harsh on her unaccustomed eyes. The two men stopped and waited as Ella cringed, wincing from the intense light. Her hand raised to shield her eyes which hadn’t been exposed to sunlight in so long. She stood like that for a moment, various soldiers and inmates walking past her like ants towards the hint of sugar, when a gloved hand settled on her shoulder.
In an instant she was back in her cell, a hand on her left shoulder, a cold blade digging into her right. Words she didn’t understand were flung at her as she cried out, feeling the all too familiar trickle of warm blood down her skin.
She was roughly shoved back and tumbled as she lost her balance. Gunfire rang out, shots peppered as surprised shouts came from prisoners and soldiers alike. Ghost had pushed her out of the way as he heard the first gunshot and stepped in front of her. All around her soldiers ran, guns raised, turning towards their targets. Disoriented, Ella stood on unsteady feet unable to force herself to run to safety.
It was as if her body wasn’t her own, stuck in place, as she could only watch the ensuing chaos around her. She wasn’t sure if she had been standing there for seconds or minutes before two arms scooped her up.
“Soap! To the heli, NOW!” Ghost called out to Soap, who nodded. His arms held her secure against him as he sprinted to one of the waiting helicopters.
There were two large camo helicopters on the ground, with many of the other prisoners being ushered onto them. All in all there must have been around 10-15 of them. Talking amongst themselves was strictly forbidden, so none of them she knew. Not that she would be able to recognize anyone through the chaos anyways. Both helicopters had blades whirring, so loud it hurt her ears, and frantically soldiers were rushing the prisoners on board.
Ghost quickly jumped in, setting her down in a seat and helping her do her safety belt. Her arm was warm from where she had been pressed into him, and with a glance she noticed the all too familiar sight of crimson blood. Realization dawned her.
“You’ve been shot!” She shouted over the noise, gripping onto his arm as he turned away from her, on his way to help the next prisoner. He turned back, his mahogany eyes boring into her own.
“Happens all the time. Don’t worry about me.” Like a ghost he was gone, off to save the next person.
It didn’t take long for the last of the prisoners to be loaded onto the helicopters. Amidst the gunfire, the surviving soldiers jumped in, and without a second’s hesitation they were in the air.
She had never seen the prison from the outside, but she found it unimpressive from above. She expected a large facility with barbed wire fences and towers to make sure no one escaped, but rather, it had just been a small one story unassuming grey building. The sandy dunes were peppered with bodies, friend and foe, most surrounded by pools of crimson blood that were eagerly sucked up by the desert sand.
As she looked at the prison for the last time, she knew that a part of her was left there, still huddled in her cold cell.
***
She wasn’t sure what to feel as the helicopter circled over the base. The last time she had been there she was joking around with her friends on the task force. They had grown to share a close bond between all of them, as was natural for those who go through traumatic events together. It was a month before Christmas, November 12th specifically, when they had left for Afghanistan.
Nothing had changed. The buildings were still the same, as were the various tents scattered around. Soldiers still walked to and from the gym, and she could see a few peppered in the various training ranges. The helicopter eventually came to a stop as it gently landed on one of the helipads, and one by one soldiers helped the passengers disembark. She recognized Ghost was the first to get off, supported by another soldier as they rushed him to the infirmary. Guilt tore through her, but she didn’t have time to allow herself to feel before it was her turn to disembark.
For the first time in a long time, she set foot on friendly soil.
“Moore. With me, please. Laswell would like to see you ASAP.” The Scottish man, Soap, welcomed her.
It took Ella a moment to remember the name. “Laswell is here? I thought she didn’t travel save for special occasions.” She couldn’t recall any time the Station Chief had left headquarters in America, but granted, her task force had never worked closely with Laswell.
“This is a special occasion. We were expecting someone.” Soap replied, his baby blue eyes shifting to hers as he spoke. She noticed the tinge of pity that flashed across his eyes as he regarded her, and she hated it. She loathed it.
“Oh.” Was all that she could muster. Her legs were weak, unaccustomed to walking so much and definitely not at the pace Soap kept, but she refused to fall behind. The building was cool as they entered, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat outside. Soap guided her through a hallway before pausing to knock at an unmarked office door.
“Come in.”
Laswell was seated and waiting for the duo, her pale brown hair tied back neatly as usual, bangs gently sweeping her face. The room was lightly furnished with only a desk surrounded by 3 chairs and a potted plant to take up space in the room. The door was glass, allowing view from both ways but the walls were decorated with soundproofing pads. The smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, though there were no cigarettes anywhere Ella could see.
With a nod from the intelligence officer Soap took up post outside the door.
“Take a seat.” Laswell beckoned to one of the many chairs. Ella tentatively took a seat across from her, hoping she would not sully the chair with the layers of dirt, grime, and Ghost’s blood that was smeared across her arm and torso. Laswell took notice of that too, her brows raising at the sight of fresh blood. Worry was thick in her tone as she asked, “Is that yours?”
Ella shook her head. “No. It’s from one of the soldiers. Ghost.” She said softly.
“Okay.” Laswell offered her a small, relieved smile, “Would you like to go to the infirm first? I can wait if you do.”
Once again, Ella shook her head. “No, I’m okay for now.” Her fingers itched to know what Laswell wanted with her. Her fingers itched in general. She had no idea what was to come next. She was free, but now what? Where would she go? The thought of being brought back to work made her stomach sink, but the thought of being set free with no direction had the same affect. Her mind reeled at the thought.
“I would ask how you’re doing but,” The older woman paused, shaking her head as her eyes raked over files on her desk, “I guess I would know the answer to that.”
Not exactly sure on how to respond, she gave Laswell a small nod. “Yeah.” She was out of place in this room, with this woman, where everything was pristine and neat (save for the stain on the carpet), and it made the unease in her stomach writhe like a ball of snakes.
Laswell sighed, obviously not sure how to regard Ella. Ella couldn’t blame her, either. She wouldn’t know what to do if she was in Laswell’s place. “I need to ask you some questions regarding your capture and your time spent in prison. It shouldn’t take very long, but there’s some details that I really need to know. Is that okay?”
Ella couldn’t find it within herself to speak, let alone meet the eyes of the intelligence officer across from her. The adrenaline fueled by her rescue had ran out, leaving her exhausted. Exhausted didn’t feel accurate enough to describe how tired she was. For three months she was starved, beaten, woken from her sleep at random times throughout the night. She found that she didn’t care what was going to happen next, she just wanted to sleep somewhere soft. The couches outside looked comfy enough…
“Ella?” Laswell prodded again, struggling to meet her gaze. Ella, after a moment, gave a small nod. That already left her weak muscles aching. Dirty hands crossed on her lap and only then did she realise the state that she was in. The grime had accumulated on her skin from weeks without showering, she couldn’t remember when last her hair had been brushed or washed, and the stained, baggy grey top and shorts she wore were a prayer away from falling apart. Her cheeks flared in embarrassment, and her gaze lowered to the mahogany desk in front of Laswell.
“Before we get started, is there anything I can get for you? Doc tells me that you should avoid eating until he takes a look at you, but would you like some water? Coffee?” The look Laswell gave as her eyes swept over Ella was obvious. Pity. It angered her. Instead of pity, she should have been feeling shame. Shame that the force had failed Ella for so long, that they were the reason she had suffered for so long.
Inside she was fearful, afraid that any wrong answer would have her locked up again. So she just looked at the woman across from her, before rasping out, “Water.”
With a small smile, Laswell opened a small mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of cold water. Ella relished the feeling as a grimy hand reached out to grab it quickly, as if the intelligence officer would change her mind and take it back. It was cold in her hands as she twisted the cap open, guzzling the bottle down in one swig.
Fuck, she thought, when last did I have clean water to drink?
It was the best thing she had ever tasted, cool, refreshing spring water. It washed down her throat, soothing the dull ache permanently settled in her esophagus, and with hungry eyes she looked up at the officer. “More… Please.”
“I don’t think you should be drinking that too quickly. Once we’re finished talking, I’ll give you another bottle before I send you off to infirm. Does that sound okay with you?” Ella didn’t like the bargain, but she was desperate, so she nodded again. Her stomach felt strange. She wasn’t use to it being so full.
“Can you walk me through what happened the day of November 14th?”
A simple question, but it hit her like a truck. She had spent night after night in her cell reliving that memory in her head. That fucking day where everything went wrong. Night after night she thought about what she did wrong, what she could have done differently to save her task force. Their faces plagued her nightmares, lips twisted back into snarls as they spat the blame for their deaths in her face. Each time she cried, begged for them to forgive her, but she couldn’t blame them for their anger.
Everything was her fault.
“I… I don’t know where to start.” Trembling, she set her eyes on everything but the woman in front of her. The small stain on the grey rug haphazardly stuck under the desk’s leg, presumably to hide it, seemed far more interesting to Ella. The almost too real fake plant in the corner of the room. The soft hum of the air conditioner that made the place so fucking cold all of a sudden.
“It’s okay. Take your time.” So Ella sat, gathering her thoughts as best she could, rehearsing her retelling of the events in her mind before she began to string the sentences together as best she could for Laswell. It hurt her throat, which wasn’t use to that much talking, but the pain felt meaningless now. She knew what true pain felt like, and this dulled in comparison.
I am not me. I am not here. I am somewhere else. I am warm. I am clean. I am safe.
She repeated this phrase in her head again and again, detaching herself from reality as she had many times before. It made it simpler to remember what had happened to her, what she had endured, if it wasn’t a recollection of her own memories but rather a string of events not relating to Ella at all.
The other woman sat patiently, scribbling down notes as Ella spoke, but never pushing her to speak faster, or interrupting her story. She just let her speak. Only once she was finished did Laswell softly begin to ask questions, gently asking for more information where she felt it was needed, and Ella did her best to answer.
They spoke about the events before the capture, how the task force had left their camp early that day and spent most of the day hiking towards the safe-house. How there were no warning signs Ella could remember, how bodies began falling before she could gather what was going on. Laswell asked her about each member’s behaviour that day, if anything was strange. Unease spiked in Ella’s stomach at that question. She didn’t like what the intelligence officer was implying, but she hoped that Laswell was just trying to cover all her bases.
A moment of silence lapsed as Laswell took more notes. Ella thought of the teammates she had failed. What would they say if they saw her now? Would they be angry? In her dreams they always were. Tears prickled Ella’s eyes and she wasn’t able to keep them at bay as they spilled over scarred cheeks. Laswell slid a box of tissues over to her, which she took with shame as she did her best to stop the tears. Crying was weak, and she didn’t want to be seen as weak in front of Laswell.
Though, who was she kidding?
“I heard Conner’s alive. Is that true? Is he here?” Ella couldn’t help but ask the question that had been nagging at her for so long. Her tongue was dry. She wished Laswell would give her another bottle of water. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him or not. Her heart clenched, tightened like a snake had coiled around it, at what he might have to say to her if he were to see her.
“Captain Conner Paige is alive, yes. He’s stationed elsewhere, however. After he lost Task Force 107, he asked to be transferred to one of our bases in the west.” One of Laswell’s thin fingers trailed the rim of her coffee cup in thought as a silence consumed the pair yet again. “He said there were no survivors. Confirmed it. We thought you were dead, Sergeant.”
“Confirmed it?”
“Yes. According to his report, all six of you were confirmed dead. He said he managed to slip away after eliminating two of the guards, and then hiding in the mountain side. He eventually made contact with the safe-house. We looked for bodies, and there were none.” Papers shuffled as Laswell read off a printed sheet in front of her.
“But how? We were ambushed from above, there’s no way the enemy forces couldn’t have seen where he went.” Ella's brows furrowed in confusion.
“Maybe a stroke of luck, maybe an act of God. Who knows. I’ll look into it Sergeant. Are you comfortable with talking about the period of time after you were captured?”
She knew this question was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. The room was silent again for a while, longer than the times before, until she quietly said, “If I can have more water first.”
The intelligence officer was more than happy to oblige, grabbing another bottle and giving it to her, before the questioning continued. They spoke about her captors, how much information Ella gave up about the SAS (which was none, and also why she had so many scars over her body), and anything identifying about her captors. Laswell briefly asked about the abuse that Ella had endured, again with an air of pity so thick Ella could taste it, apologising for the questions but saying she needed it for the record. Just as if it were a string of events not relating to Ella at all, she discussed the various instances of abuse she was put through by the hands of her captor.
“I didn’t really catch much. They most often spoke in Farsi which I can’t speak. My, uh…” Her stomach dropped as she thought about him, “My captor once brought in a man, his boss, I think, a man named Hassan. I only ever picked up his name. He was bald, strong nose, thick brown eyebrows and brown eyes. He… sat in, and asked a few questions about the military and your movements, but I didn’t know anything.”
Laswell raised an eyebrow, noting that down in her book, before the conversation continued. “We were searching for a VIP in the Al-Qatala ranks. This is him. We had intel that he would have been at your prison camp. He wasn’t, but have you seen him? Here.” Her thin fingers slid over a portrait of a man, an ‘X’ scar on his forehead under a thick head of dark curls.
Ella scanned over the portrait, but shook her head after a moment of thought. “No. I haven’t seen him before.”
A heavy sigh left Laswell’s lips. “I figured, but I thought I would ask anyways. The prison you were kept at was an unregistered prison led by a local Afghani rebel group, most definitely working with Al-Qatala.”
The name was more than familiar to Ella. Al-Qatala had been one of her task force’s primary targets. That was why they had worked with Task Force 141 before. She thought about Ghost again. She hoped he was okay.
The questioning concluded eventually with Laswell stepping outside and speaking to Soap, stationed every faithfully outside the door.
“You’re free to leave. I’ve asked Sergeant MacTavish to take you to the infirmary.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.” Was all Ella could muster, before getting to her feet. The infirmary wasn’t far, but the walk felt like it took ages as she tried to push down the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.